Beginning.

Open wide my door, my LORD.

Open wide my door, my Lord.

Open wide my door, to whatever makes me love you more.

Lord, nows the time.

dear GOD.

I really wanted to go to Thailand.

I'm not really that heartbroken.

I didn't really think I would be going.

But every now and then, there's a real pang:

like when I see anything that says GoED.

Or when people talk about petitioning North Park for credit.

or when I realize I still haven't told Charith.

I want to withdraw my application,

because I don't want to see the cheery little email saying:

'You're accepted!'

and having to decline.

I try not to think about it too hard.

When people ask, I'm honest.

"I need to start realizing I'm not going for real.

I formulated my identity around it,

Around who I was supposed to be after."

It's honest. and it's true.

But I don't think I can handle any questions after that.

Any real questions.

I've hidden all the things that remind me of hot tropical places.

I try to suppress the thoughts of me strolling in markets

of standing at open windows in soft red and purple wrap skirts.

or remembering that this was supposed to be what showed me my purpose.

oh. and it was supposed to be the compromise with my parents.

I could be poor. As long as it was something they could brag about to their friends.

And for all my education, independence, and pretending to be grown up,

I'm still a little child daydreaming of someone who will love me more than anyone else.

I still wish for romance.

for shivers.

for butterflies.

and real kisses.

but more so, I still hope for a man

to walk sleepy and dark roads with me,

to talk Jesus, media, and justice with me,

and who actually actually desires me for real.

I don't really think I'll ever have that. I don't know where such people are.

I hoped he would be in Thailand.

I really don't feel like this should matter.

I really don't want it to.

I'd rather not deal with these things.

I'd rather forget about it.

-me.

IMG00014.jpg

Jen's characiture of Brandon

i'm just not doing what i need to be doing. which is school work.

i'm a terrible student.

GoED

GoED is going to be $17,000+, up front, in the middle of August.

No scholarships. No FASFA. Loans aren't a good idea because I've already taken out $23,000.

$17,000+.


I talk to my Dad tonight.

-update-
8:30 pm

My Dad doesn't waste words. He also doesn't like telling people things they don't want to hear.

I explained the situation.
He cut me off, said, "Chris, do you have to go to thailand? Can you stay here?"
me: Not really.
dad: me and your mom have been talking and we just don't have $17,000.
me: ok. well then, i guess i just won't go.
dad: well, chris... me and your mom will talk about it.
me: no, no. if we don't have it then we don't have it. i'll just stay here next year.
dad: i'm sorry, chris.
me: it's ok.
dad: bye.
me: bye.

I've contacted 2 more schools about payment programs. Greenville (an affiliate school), and Bethel- the wild card.

i'm not getting my hopes up. i don't know what makes me sadder, that i'm probably not going, or that my dad couldn't offer me anything more than 'i'm sorry'.

Cross post from the food blog

"There's a hunger beyond food that's expressed in food, and that's why feeding is always a kind of miracle. It speaks of a bigger desire."- Sara Miles, Take This Bread

My Nanay (grandmother) cooked constantly while I was growing up. Huge pots, mounds of meat, her orange strainer in a stainless steel bowl, and the rhythm when she would alternately chop pork into tiny perfect cubes and run her knife over the bottom of an upturned mug to sharpen. She would cook enough for small armies, and we ate for days.

I didn't begin to cook until I was 18.

All my efforts up to that point were few, far between and horrible. Scrambled eggs were small, gritty and dry, and cakes came out of a box. But that summer I spent three weeks in the Philippines, where I ate 5 or 6 meals a day, surrounded by more people than I could count, and when I returned something happened. ^whisper: It was magic.

I woke up one day and thought, "Hmm. I think I want muffins." I bought a mini muffin tin, called my photo teacher for her blueberry muffin recipe, and swapped the blueberries for blackberries. And it was over.

The rest of that summer with a few good friends and online recipes, I was broiling chicken, making my own pesto, and baking like it was my job. Looking back on all the important things that happened that summer, like when I decided to switch schools, when I invited a random salesman in my house, the dreaded ex-boyfriend phone call, catching up with old friends or meeting new ones, it all happened in my kitchen cuz I never left.




It's at a table a person learns what it means to serve and be served and to talk to one another and share our lives.

Jesus, who is God incarnate, came eating and drinking, fed the hungry and gave water to the thirsty, and at his death his body was broken and his blood poured out to take away the sins of the world.

The word 'thankful' in Greek is translated as 'eucharisimi', 'be eucharist'. Eucharist is the word used to describe the Lord's Supper, where bread and wine are eaten to remember Christ's sacrifice. So, the way I show thankfulness is to break myself open and pour myself out for someone else. I give of myself. I've taken in this literally by baking bread to be broken and shared.

The very first church started this way, people would gather together to pray for one another and talk about God, all over a shared meal.

Anyway, I'm on vacation at home this week, and I've cooked two noteworthy things, Lighter than Air Chocolate Cake and Spinach and Tomato Omelette.

Lighter than Air Cake from SmittenKitchen.com






Spinach and Tomato Omelette with help from Pineapple girl

Milwuakee and Diversey

Kimball bus stop-chicago red eye

the squat

it's true.
i can't do the squat.

but i did in my shoes today!


^_^

It might be a fluke, but whatever.

goED

I have passed the big hurdle.... North Park has approved GoED.

I still have to apply to goED, and to George Fox University.... and I have to raise enough money for my camera.

and while I'm super excited to go (you can tell by all the travel blogs i'm collecting), I've never been so afraid. and afraid like i'm not meant to be this way. or to do this thing.

which is really kind of silly. Because, what would I be doing if this wasn't it?

(dot). (dot). (dot).

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things - air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” - Cesare Pavese

- source

page 5 of 6, 3:30am, due 8am.

needs revision.

poet 2.0

conducive to creativity.

I found a new way of writing papers.

It's so exciting that I've been so focused I had to blog about it.

So here are a few pictures.

^what the corner of the room looks like.

That's butcher paper from my friend upstairs, colored markers i bought at the beginning of the year, and packaging tape.

I have a really hard time sitting down and writing out my papers. I'm always getting up and sitting down, getting up and sitting down. I just can't seem to organize my thoughts. So, as I was in an up moment, I stood by my window and remembered that scene from A Beautiful Mind where Russell Crowe is scribbling furiously into the glass window panes. I thought to myself, Huh, I wonder if I can do that with dry erase markers.... too bad I don't have-

And then I remembered my neighbors giant roll of butcher paper, which he said he never really used.

So, I finagled it. And it has kind of revolutionized my life. I actually have an hefty outline and a thesis. Uh-mazing.

In the process, I also rediscovered Copeland from my high school days... and I find myself sketching.

and this one inspired by Rives poem, "Compliment"

I feel very good. But now, I want my bed.

letters

To you, whomever you may be:

I hope you're a poet,

and that you write about me.

- me, your lover.

pathetic.

today: i really just feel like being someone's favorite.