I'm excited for tomorrow. There's something that always washes over me when I go to vote. The sense of national pride and belonging to a nation that I feel when I stand in endless lines of people to make little, seemingly insignificant marks on a piece of paper. Most people don't know this about me, but one day, my goal is to work for the government. Maybe this contributes to my love of participating in elections. During the months leading up to the key November day, I hate politics. I hate the nothing statements and the broad, unspecific dreams that are painted, with no practical ways of fullfilling them. This is one of the reasons I want to work for Washington. I want to be a part of working for the fulfillment of those promises and ideals. But once the votes are cast, the real agendas and character comes out. I love this transition. Who knows if it's good or bad, but integrity starts to enter the scene on election day. We have actions to match up with words and see what's really being said. I love it.
That being said, I'm also thrown back to where I was during the last Presidential Election. I was still in high school, and spent 2 months being berated by faculty about why voting for Bush is the only choice that lines up morally for Christians, and if you vote for Kerry you're an awful Christian (to be fair, only one person made this statement outright). Even though I wasn't able to vote, in nurtured a rebelliousness in me. Now I'm in medical school, where most people's number one issue will be healthcare reform and other related issues. I'm in a place where it's the assumption that everyone's voting for Obama. It's a pleasant place to be. I usually choose not to engage in these discussions, but it's fun to listen to people talk knowing that my opinions are actually the majority.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
These should be my words
Whenever family and friends found out that I'm traveling by myself, I would be met with sympathy and concern. They never quite understood the feeling that I get when I'm waiting to board a plane or a train with an impending adventure. It could be boarding a plane to CA, a train to Nebraska, flying to India or Europe, or just driving to Chicago. It's this special feeling that wells inside of me that I'm quite content to ponder and meditate on in my own heart. It made me glad when I read an essay in this amazing little book called Cold Tangerines. I'm not by myself in treasuring the joy of traveling alone.
"...It began a love affair with traveling, and even more than that, traveling alone. I felt so small and so anonymous, surrounded by the sounds and smells and sights of a place I'd only read about, and I could go as quickly or as slowly as I wanted to... When you're with someone else, you share each discovery, but when you are alone, you have to carry each experience with you like a secret, something you have to write on your heart, because there's no other way to preserve it."
-Shawna Niequist
"...It began a love affair with traveling, and even more than that, traveling alone. I felt so small and so anonymous, surrounded by the sounds and smells and sights of a place I'd only read about, and I could go as quickly or as slowly as I wanted to... When you're with someone else, you share each discovery, but when you are alone, you have to carry each experience with you like a secret, something you have to write on your heart, because there's no other way to preserve it."
-Shawna Niequist
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
"Hope" is a thing with feathers--by Emily Dickenson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers--
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops--at all--
And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard--
And sore must be the storm--
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land--
And on the strangest Sea--
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb--of Me
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops--at all--
And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard--
And sore must be the storm--
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land--
And on the strangest Sea--
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb--of Me
Saturday, October 11, 2008
6 months ago
Journal entry from 6 months ago, sitting in Hyderabad airport waiting to fly home.
"There's some finality about an airport. Something ominous and cold that I feel as I pull my carryon behind me, my purse hanging under my arm with a cup of coffee in my hand. As cold as I feel, there's an excitement of pending adventure. 34 travel adventures later, I feel more confident and more like I belong at the airport. I've stopped having nightmares about missing flihts. But this time, the feeling of excitement is almost nothing. I feel alone. Isolated. Small. I'm fully aware that I look more comfortable flying now than I ever have. But I feel like a little child. A scared little kid who's lost and misplace and alone. From today on, no one will ever fully understand me. From today on, there won't be the unspoken communication of frustration. From now on, I'll have to explain myself an dbe completely torn between lives. When I was here, I knew I was going back to the place my heart ached for. This time, I know better. I'm ready to leave, but I know that this trip signifies everything changing.
The moon looks like the s mile of the Cheshire cat. Or a hammock. I can't seem to make up my mind about which. I said goodby to my city tonight. I smelled th elast of the stale urine, and Ramesh told me to make th most of the sewage stench, seeing as I wouldn't have it at home. I had the last traffic experience. I was in the busyness of the city one last time. And the power went off 3 times in my last hour on campus as if to say goodbye. I had my last cup of dessert tea, walked my last lap, and waved to the last excited Indian child on the street. This phase of my life is done."
"There's some finality about an airport. Something ominous and cold that I feel as I pull my carryon behind me, my purse hanging under my arm with a cup of coffee in my hand. As cold as I feel, there's an excitement of pending adventure. 34 travel adventures later, I feel more confident and more like I belong at the airport. I've stopped having nightmares about missing flihts. But this time, the feeling of excitement is almost nothing. I feel alone. Isolated. Small. I'm fully aware that I look more comfortable flying now than I ever have. But I feel like a little child. A scared little kid who's lost and misplace and alone. From today on, no one will ever fully understand me. From today on, there won't be the unspoken communication of frustration. From now on, I'll have to explain myself an dbe completely torn between lives. When I was here, I knew I was going back to the place my heart ached for. This time, I know better. I'm ready to leave, but I know that this trip signifies everything changing.
The moon looks like the s mile of the Cheshire cat. Or a hammock. I can't seem to make up my mind about which. I said goodby to my city tonight. I smelled th elast of the stale urine, and Ramesh told me to make th most of the sewage stench, seeing as I wouldn't have it at home. I had the last traffic experience. I was in the busyness of the city one last time. And the power went off 3 times in my last hour on campus as if to say goodbye. I had my last cup of dessert tea, walked my last lap, and waved to the last excited Indian child on the street. This phase of my life is done."
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