Off to France

Hi all,
Another adventure is afoot. In eight days, I'll be flying to Paris, then on to Nice, and from there bussing or riding the train a short way to the town of Menton. Why? Well, other than the fact that Montréal is brutally cold this time of year, while Menton has been dubbed France's most temperate city, there is also a university there. Sciences Po has a regional campus in this town, whose population is less than that of McGill's, at <30,000, specializing in studies pertaining to the Mediterranean and the Middle East.
Ever since we first starting attending college and career fairs in grade ten at school, I've been on the lookout for universities with good exchange programs. McGill, of course, has partnerships with many universities worldwide; the reason I chose Sciences Po, and specifically its Menton campus, is... multi-faceted. I'll update this later as to why I chose to study a subject area (political sciences/international relations) that is so wholly different from my current program in linguistics and psychology; as it's New Year's Eve, and I've just been informed that we are moving on out, I'll leave you with this lovely Google Maps screenshot of a location 2.5 minutes from my apartment-to-be:

The Yellow Room

In going through notes from my time in Kalacha, Kenya, I found some memories of a place I'd like to sit quietly right now :


the yellow room - June 24th

I had a dream about a yellow room, once. What's funny is that I only remembered it just now, as I was titling this. The dream was significant, one of those that you write down as soon as you wake up, to be sure that you remember it right and that it goes unforgotten. The journal containing the specifics is sadly not at hand - all I recall is the funny feeling of that yellow room, how it was eerie because on the other side of the door lay a garden I had to enter, heaven in some form, but I couldn't leave the yellow room just yet; I think there was someone important to meet. Since memory's limits require that story be left for another time, I'll tell you instead of the yellow room in which I can currently be found.

~

The yellow is soft like butter, but every surface has layers of faded red stains - dust carried in by the wind, dirt rubbed on from years of life. Laundry hangs brightly, tidily, fluttering along the cord stretched across the room with every push of the entering wind. On the floor, rust-coloured dust collects in swirls, entering through the screen windows despite the slants of glass pane. You feel at peace here. It's calm, bright, and big. A space to be alone, to sit away, in that moving, windy silence. 

-- June 24, 2013

Where I've Been

To those of you who may actually have checked this blog during the summer, and wondered where on earth I went - I went to Northern Kenya. And told... nobody. At least, no one in the blogosphere. Sorry to anyone who this perturbed! But I have a hunch that most of you who read this regularly are my dear friends in real life, and so knew what was up ;)

But in case I'm being presumptuous, here's a link to where I put updates for this summer, in case you feel like playing catch-up :) 

www.northtokalacha.blogspot.com 

At Sea

I saw an island tip today, a little peninsula jutting out that looked exactly like the one I’d imagine the Pevensies and Trumpkin the Dwarf would’ve rounded in their small canoe right upon re-entry into Narnia at Prince Caspian’s beginning. The sand was all bright white, likely made of the same stuff I was standing on: millions upon millions of pieces of seashell, worn down to near grains by ages of tirelessly roving waves. Above that were the trees – tall, dark, and mostly evergreen; these forests must certainly be just as capable of containing ghosts as the ones in that book, or at least of inspiring rumours thereof.

Here in Montague Harbour, as it is all up and down the West Coast, the forests are so full of life the plants hardly know where to go. They grow at haphazard angles, branches jutting here and there, twisting, intertwining, weaving together a collective forest carpet: ferns, pines, salal, more, and, my and most people's favourite, the arbutus tree. They all reach out towards the sea. Everything, everything, is green – if not wholly, then bright moss grabs hold, ensuring that each living thing is capable of joining in to that wild and hallowed chorus, breathing: Life.

There are otters, sea lions, herons, oysters, and crabs in abundance. Sometimes I wonder if I was horribly cruel to kill all the barnacles I’ve killed. When all is growing, even the ground you tread is home to millions of creatures. Everything is alive. Even the rocks, great walls of stone, are in a constant process of slow transformation. They’ll be pockmarked with holes, like a wall in some city of cave dwellers, or sometimes have large scoops taken right out, as if the sea were a greedy child going in for too large a scoop of ice cream.

I love it here. There must be few places in the world, or in North America at least, where you can find so many distinct shades of green and blue, and where you share an instant bond of camaraderie and mutual life-love with every person you meet, confirmed in a wave, smiling nod, or friendly greeting.

If ever the chance comes your way, seize it, and simply be here, if only for a short time. Breathe in the salty air, float a long while, talk, walk, sit, explore a long while, and savour the remoteness of it all, how real and alive everything is. It’s good for the soul. 

Apart

I'm supposed to be packing up my apartment right now, but I was overcome with a wave of sadness at the thought of all of the goodbyes I'm going to have to say tomorrow.
I've had to say quite a few goodbyes over the last week, but at least those have been spaced out. Tomorrow, it's church. So BAM, goodbye hugs for roughly 100 people. ... Ha, okay, maybe not 100, but a lot.

I have a hard time saying goodbye, and as I thought about why that is, I realized it's probably because connection and closeness with people I love is pretty integral to my and most other people's lives. When you leave for a long time, say, 3.5 months (I guess in the grand scheme of things this isn't thaaat long, but still), those people you love are going to learn a lot (hopefully), and, again hopefully, deepen other relationships and form special new ones. But you're not going to be a part of that. I suppose I have a fear that this will lead to a lessened connection between myself and those left behind, so that, when we're together again, things just aren't the same, and we're not as close.

The flip side, which I've been starting to appreciate more and more, is that, um duh Christina, I'll be growing and forming exciting new relationships too. This doesn't need to detract from old friendships; rather, it can work to build them up. Separate growth of friends can deepen connection in a sense; when you part and then come back together, yes, it's hard to say goodbye, and yes, friendship bonds with some may weaken because of it. However, in most cases, this growth while apart can lead to maturation and identity development on each individual's end. When you bring true friends back together after this, there will likely be that sense that time has passed and that experiences have been experienced that the other can't really share in, but when the friendship's true, you won't get estrangement. Instead, you'll have bundles of stories and exciting epiphanies to share. A new dimension will be added to the relationship, because of the unique experiences that have shaped and changed each of you.

So, friends who read this (and those who don't), chances are I'll cry a lot when, or shortly after, we say goodbye (if I haven't already done so), but I'm also really, really excited to see you in the fall - to share my stories and to listen to yours, to enjoy the feeling of refreshment that comes with added friendship dimensions, and to being able to return somewhere where faces are familiar and full of love.
.... No pressure ;)

Je vous aime, tous !

Home Again. Part 1.

In the midst of love and life experiences, deep sadness, joy, and resolute hope, each year brings further tangling up, weaving together, unraveling, creation, and rebuilding of relationships, which are what I have long thought determine a person's "home". Since each year is different, and each season brings with it a new lens of experience through which to perceive my various relationships - with friends, family, classmates, strangers, and other - I think that my perception of what "home" means is wont to shift too. Granted, a lot of last year's post on homecoming still holds quite true.

Right now, I feel extra unsettled. The place I want to call home isn't entirely the home I want it to be, and the place that I could call home isn't where I want to be. (So really, I'm still a two-home gal ;)) ... Haha! How fickle am I?

Definitions of "home" that have been sitting in my mind as of late:
- A place where there is always someone waiting for you at the airport (or at least someone who wants to be there, even if they can't make it!)
- A place where you have family and good friends.
- A place you want to be.
- A place where you can happily picture pieces of your future playing out.
- Where your absence is felt, and where there are people whose absence you feel.
- Where, when you leave, there are people who eagerly await your return.
- Where, when your plane gets low enough so that you can see the whole area splayed out below, you feel that tug, that special fondness that not only makes you feel you could just look and look and eat up everything in sight, but that makes you ready to touch earth too, because you know the paths you want to wander, and who you want to wander them with.
- It's a place where you know that the person, and people, you want to wander those paths with is/are just as happy to do so as you.

- It's a place where you know you are wanted.
- It's a place where you know you are loved.

---------------------------------------------------

As I finish writing that list, it kind of strikes me that those are mostly very selfish, one-sided "home" definitions, all very concentrated on what home does for me. ... I think that perhaps I need to work on what home means to me with respect to what I do for those there. 

To be continued.

Joy

I tend to take life seriously, especially when it comes to people and spirituality. Granted, at least in my opinion, these are two areas where some measure of seriousness is definitely warranted. However, I often overanalyze situations that don't need overanalyzing, over-think decisions that aren't really that important, and can be distracted by what may seem to others to be the minutest of details. But hey, we're all works in progress.

That said, this evening I was reminded of something that I decided to share:

God wants us to laugh with Him.

I love laughing with Him, and spinning under stars, sun, trees - to revel in His abundant beauty and goodness.
It's perhaps when joy is at its most full here on earth, to simply be with and delight in the Creator and most intimately perfect Lover of our souls! Isn't He GOOD?

But life, though a great dance, isn't blissful dancing all the time, and so we, at least I, fade into discouragement and that overwhelming, at times all-consuming, seriousness, when every.thing.matters.far.too.much. The seriousness is at risk of, and at time slips into, legalism, or a works-based faith where I feel guilty for putting even a toe out of line.

Tonight though, tonight, as I was pondering the right thing to do, the "right" or "best" way to spend my time, (Bible?/school?/Bible?/school?/music?/Skype-relationship-investment?/school?/food?), God reached out His hand and asked,

"Will you come and laugh with Me?"

"You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound." - {Psalm 4:7 (ESV)}

"Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, 'The LORD has done great things for them.' The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad[!]" - {Psalm 126:2-3 (ESV)}

"The thief comes only in order to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows)." - {John 10:10 (AMP)}