York

A couple of weekends ago, I went to visit my aunt, uncle, and one of my cousins in York, England. While walking around the city wall, parts of which date back to 310 AD or earlier, all I could think to myself - and this kept repeating in my head - was, 'It's so beautiful. It's so beautiful. It's so... just, nice!!' I couldn't come up with anything more clever or original than that, because I couldn't seem to think of words to march how lovely it was. Yet, in the way that any of us who write tend to do, I'm going to try and describe it, or at least a piece thereof, anyways. 

York calls to mind stone and mist and at least a good quarter of the stories I read as a child. There wasn't any mist, though there was a lot of stone, and I technically haven't read a story that was placed in York - none, at least, that jump to mind. 

But it had those elements, the brick row houses that Polly and Digory would've crossed between by secret attic passageways, finding themselves in a secret laboratory and ultimately another world. It has the fortress wall, originally surrounded by a moat, still standing from the centuries and centuries ago, calling to the imagination every story I've loved from a history book or a fiction, that talked of valour and smiting and heros and damsels, of victory and betrayal. 

The clematises and gardens everywhere, both wild and tame - they're the secret garden, they're faerie fields, the queen at tea, the author's inspiration, Beatrix Potter. 

Pubs - more than one for each day of the year - they're the mead and songs and bards, the pipe weed and tales, location of lonely travellers' clues, meeting points, the fellowship's gathering before setting out into the great unknown. 

Moors - that park was dark life and manors, sheep and hard work, characters dreaming of a better life or at least of love, and ravines, wuthering heights, rejected orphans turned governess, creeks and hollows for horses to stumble and it to rain and Mr Darcy to ride in and show you that he's noble and good underneath it all. 

And finally - the simplicity, the mothers walking with their babies, the iron gate being re-painted fresh black, the buses and cars, "remember to recycle!", the neatly aligned chimneys and picture perfect windows - that's where the cupboards under the stairs are, the home of plum puddings and aunts and the cats and the "normalcy" of it all, where deluminators come in handy and where chimney sweeps come out to dance at night. That's the normal so begging to be interrupted by magic, whether it's come to save Mr. Banks, to fly you away to Neverland, if your mad uncle Andrew brought it, or it's because you're a wizard Harry. 

It's like a pop up book of so much of childhood. Why on earth didn't I want to come to England before?!

Close

I spent this last week in Berlin, visiting my (third) cousin and her parents for the first time! It was such a fantastic week; their family was exceedingly generous, so friendly and accommodating, and I had the chance to learn some German while exploring all over the city with my cousin, Vero.

By the end of the week though, I was happy to come back to Menton. I kept feeling overwhelmed by the sensation that I have less than two months left, and it feels like it's just now that places and people are beginning to feel more familiar and comfortable. (Isn't that always the way?) But really, all one can do is treasure the remaining time, and give up looking to the end of things, other than for how it serves as a reminder to make the best use of the present.

Today, we fêted a friend with a picnic lunch on the beach. Some third years were visiting for a couple of weeks (at Sciences Po, all of the students spend their third year abroad, usually in the Middle East or somewhere else in Europe, and some come back occasionally to visit), and we started talking about the things they miss, and the things I know I'll miss, about studying in Menton. I don't write this to be pre-emptively nostalgic, but rather to share some of the unique parts of this experience:

- Everyone is like a family. As an exchange student here for just a semester, I experience this to a lesser extent, but, given how nice it's been, even for me, I can imagine how tightly bonded the students become who are together, in mostly the same classes, for two years. You see your friends basically every day! Kind of like high school, I suppose.

- The town, based on my impression, is like a university campus. There are some parts of the town, and specific buildings even, where many students have apartments, making it feel like student residences are scattered throughout. I said it in the last post, but again, rare is the occasion when I walk more than ten minutes to get somewhere.

- Everyone's home is an extension of yours - at least, that's what one of my friends said today. And it really is kind of true. Because of how relatively close together everyone lives, it's easy to pop over for quick hellos or to borrow something, and you're not worried about staying late, because a five-minute walk home at the end isn't all that daunting, compared to the typical 30-45 minute trek (at least) with multiple transit transfers in Montréal.

- I love the conversations. To have the chance to study with students coming from everywhere from Brazil to Palestine to Morocco to Germany to Lithuania to Lebanon is an amazing experience. McGill is very international as well, yes, but Sciences Po Menton is so... densely international. At McGill, you can have your various small groups of friends, and a few of them may be from outside Canada or the US, but it's much more unlikely that everyone in a group of five will represent a different home-country, whereas here, that would be the norm. On top of this, being Middle Eastern studies/Poli Sci/International Relations/whatever the heck the label is, students, they're all generally well-versed (at least compared to me and most people I know back home) in Middle Eastern history and politics, plus, everyone is learning Arabic! It makes for a fascinating confluence of backgrounds and thus world-views, and I'm really going to miss this. I like being one of the more ignorant ones in a conversation about politics, because you learn so much more that way, and I definitely get to experience a lot of that here ;)

- I'm made inordinately happy by how many languages everyone speaks, and uses in regular conversation. It's not perceived as weird or pretentious or "trying too hard" to throw random French/Arabic/Italian/German/Spanish/etc. words into conversation, because chances are, some of the people you're speaking with have one, or more, of these as their native language. So, just for the record, if any of you back home are reading this, you're probably going to be referred to lovingly as habibi or habibti, because, at this point, I can't not :D

- The atmosphere is, generally, more relaxed. I know I'm biased, being an exchange student, but even though the "regular" students do have a crazy full course-load, the library still closes at 8pm every night, is also closed on weekends (which I actually won't miss), and it seems that a lot of people aren't overly hung up on a paper being turned in a day or two late. ... Rethinking this, I probably am not fully representing regular students' sentiments on this front... But, when you wake up to this:

And this is your view from the library/where one of your sailing/kayaking courses (which you can apparently get credit for if you're an actual Sciences Po student!) ...

And this is what a study session can often look like...

Then yes, I do stand by my statement that, on the whole, things are more relaxed.

So voilà, there are a few little pieces of what makes being here special! I'm leaving the people out of it for now, because that'll get me too worked up for the time being.

The Basics

Menton, pop. 28,833
Sciences Po, Campus Menton, pop. ~200
# of nationalities represented on-campus: 46
----------
Montréal, pop. 1,649,519
McGill University, pop. 39,349
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It's been a change. Size-wise, demographics-wise, subjects-wise... The question always comes up, after telling people what I study back home: "... How did you end up here?"
From research-focused linguistics and psych courses to far more theoretical political science, political philosophy, sociology, and history courses, all focused on the Middle East... Why indeed. Well, first off, doesn't this course list sound fascinating?

- Pensée politique arabe moderne (Arab Modern Political Thought, or, "PPAM")
- States and Societies in the Arab World
- Les grandes étapes de la question palestinienne (The main stages in the Palestinian question)
- Wars of Memories: A Perpetual Enmity Between East and West?
- Iran in a Changing World

Essentially, my (simplified) thought process in choosing my exchange location, for those of you who care, was as follows:
'I want to professionalize my French. ... France seems like a good place to do that. I don't know if I would do too well talking all my courses in French though... Hmm, well Sciences Po looks like one of the only exchange option schools that lets me do half and half. They don't offer any Psych or Linguistics courses though, shoot. Well, I was originally thinking about International Relations, and maybe Poli Sci, coming out of high school, and I would like to learn more about the field, so why not give it a shot! Woooo one semester and all my electives are eaten up... Oh well. Hopefully worth it. Ah, say! They have regional campuses, and a smaller city would probably be even better for practicing French, and, oh look, each regional campus focuses on a particular area of the world *link-link-link* the Middle East would be fascinating, and I could take Italian! Or Hebrew! Or Arabic! (Though I ended up being met with the sad news just before my arrival that you're not allowed to start at "Level 0" in any language halfway through the year. Sad day.) *googlegooglegoogle* The city the campus is in is on the Mediterranean on top of that... Ok it's a plan.'

And so, here I am! Living in the relatively small, retiree-populated town of Menton, just a thirty minute walk from the Italian border, a ten-minute train ride to Monaco, and a three minute walk to school (and to the beach!) I live with a "regular" first year student from France, M, and a full-year exchange student from Brazil, S - both are completely crazy and wonderful - in a tiny apartment in the old city, where a walk of more than 10 minutes means a location is "far away".

Those are the basics. Sorry that I took forever to post. Hopefully, now that this is established, I'll find time to write more... Don't get too excited and hold your breath or anything, but I'll do my best ;)

Gros bisous,
Christina

To see souls

You walk down the street, or cram onto the metro during rush hour, and you're surrounded by a mob of faces.
A body - that's just a bundle of cells, proteins, water, blood - atoms, matter.
The you I perceive is perceived as such because lightwaves bounce off the matter making up you, and I have these rods by night these cones by day that are oh, so, adept at visualizing you.
But that's not you, that's your body.
The stinky, ratty clothes that could really use a wash; the overly proper and too perfectly polished get up; your wrinkling skin that's too old for the time you've spent here; that long, warm, dark hair falling down to your waist; those knees that give way, frail from too many adventures necessity took you on; your protruding veins, your protruding eyes, everything bulging out of a body too thin -- every single physical feature by which I too often judge capacity for life and love and loveability -- none of those perceptions are really you. It's just light bent a certain way due to a living, breathing, moving mass of matter. Which does have a lot of beauty, yes, and a lot of stories to tell. You are, in part, your body, but you are also so much more.

Your soul.

That's what I can't see. That's what I usually don't see or think of when the light's just right and I'm moving down the street quickly, when I see you all everywhere, around me in a lecture hall for 650 beings. But your soul, your heart, your mind... That's what's going to last and that's what is there to love, first, and most.

I want to learn to see the beauty in every broken and perfectly created body - I want to see souls.

A few months ago, I was with a group of friends and we were discussing objectification, how we are all too focused on the surface. Two sides seemed to form, as we brought up strategies for how we're trying to fight this human tendency. One side said: strive to expand your definition of beauty, to perceive everyone as beautiful in a different way; the other: remember that beauty, the surface, isn't what's most important - don't let beauty matter so much to begin with.

I think though, that if we'd talked a little longer, there would have been no cause for disagreement, because I'm certain that the two can go hand in hand. It wouldn't do our capacity to appreciate beauty justice if we strove to stop valuing it, but, it is also true that it is not all-important, especially not as we define it. That's why I want to see hearts, minds, spirits, and to see these in and through the body. We do experience life through bodies after all - experiences write on each of us, our skin, fingers, eyes, and hair catching all the unassorted unfinished pieces of life story, and laying them out in one great, ever expanding and changing corpus. This, life's external imprint, is tied to its internal marks; it's in the interweave that we find people, and what is each person? As I believe it, each of us is an image-bearer of the divine. Once you see that, it's impossible for a perception of each individual as beautiful to not follow, and this beauty comes with a very expanded, supernatural definition indeed.

I want to remember that each person I perceive is not some static, 2D point that drifts in, then out, of my line of vision, not some body only, but this huge complex sphere, a planet with rings that overlap and interfere with many others' rings, just as mine do in each of the relationships I do and don't hold dear.

To not perceive a library or a metro full of ever-studying and journeying robots who drift in and out, relieving each other of their shifts, but as people that are every bit as dear to God and as much His image-bearers as I hope myself to be.

I want to see you as a bundle of emotion, intelligence, thought, aspiration, and love. To see your beautiful bright eyes, yes, but to see them as beautiful because they are reflective of whatever it is, within, that is you. Because you, you bear the image of the Most High God.

I want, desperately, to walk through life seeing souls; to not just perceive in a way that is limited by light and matter, but to see.

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)}

Easy

Don't you think it would have been easier to live back in the Little House on the Prairie days

When Central Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and on, were all far off places, when all countries but your own and the motherland were packed with myths and exotic tales
All so exotic. Exotic, fabled, and foreign. Their problems, wars, and pains, unknown to you. And no one would fault you for your lack of knowledge and lack of care.

Now though, now if you don't know, I see you as a hypocrite
For saying you care when you don't
You care
But not the world around not even
Around the whole of society you
Don't care
Well where's the use in caring,
When all it does is hurt. Right?

Because you don't have time
No time to care
Because you're here now, and here now means focusing on you you you
University tells you, tells you to do good, tells us it will equip you
But then you forget and you get lost sitting in a class that's all symbols and formulas and no people
But this is supposed to help them one day. Right?
University begs us to get wrapped up in ourselves
Forces our heads down to desks full of formulas and concentrates us on grades
Compares us with everyone around
And tells us each assignment matters
Then reminds us of the world and all its problems

Tells us of the futility of it all and how

Even if you want to do something good

No good thing is simply good - it's all wrapped up in prejudice and overly Western influence and white-saviour complexes

But do, do good.

You could forget to

But even then even if you don't forget, even if you figure out what to do

It's all so big and far and foreign and who are you?

They yell at you and say it's none of your business that we'll take care of our own

And that you should take care of your own.

Yes yes I should I should.

And I'll be well-paid too

How nice. Because I'm here.

No that's good then. That's good.

Because then you can give it all away

All all away

.... I know I probably won't.

If I get anywhere that is.

But see that's about me. And me and me and me

That's this time in your life

To care about you

So that one day

....

One day what?

The family

The family is so important

Yes that I'll go with that

Focus on the micro because many good micros will eventually build into one grand macro, one good picture

But NO

Still the money is mismanaged there and education is inadequate and they're all dying all dying

Abortion is birth control and HIV says you're singled out for divine punishment

They're lies all lies and how will they know! All the people! I don't speak Kyrgyz

Who does? Who'll go and tell them? The Canada travel advisory says avoid non-essential travel because everyone robs and thievery and assault are rampant.

Well it should be local anyways right. Right right right. That's what they've been telling us. That's what's ideal.

But many doctors won't treat HIV patients or demand danger pay. Danger pay. Masks marked up by 500% corruption corruption. Are people caring? People are caring. They are. I hope the Church.... I hope....

I hope they're there and caring.

I can't do anything anyways. In and of myself. I know, believe me I know, a thousand times over. And I'm afraid of not even wanting to. Caring here first. Here where I am. But ...... Excuses are easy to come by, especially if you don't know whether or not they're excuses or legitimate arguments.

Pray.

Pray pray pray. That's all we can do.

Even there though.... There's SO MUCH to pray for. And I can't do it all at all. (Ask others) okay. Okay. How do you get others to care when you hardly know if you care enough yourself? When you don't have the time and I don't feel like a prayer warrior

Only God will make all things right

But we we have no idea

And we sit here with our problems -

Are they valid?

The stress the relationships the questions about the future the worry about all this -

They're valid because they reflect how we all desperately need God

But on the other hand it makes me wonder sometimes

Did all of my problems surface because I have so much time and lack of worry about survival in living my upper middle class life? ... Time and enough needs taken care of so that I had the chance to come up with new worries? Are these worries even necessary?

Is any worry necessary.

I need to find someone else who cares

But it's really hard to care and keep caring when you figure there's not much you can do.

(Don't think you're some hero who has to carry it all because HE carries it all.)

I think it's because I'm fearful of how easy it is to fall into apathy. I don't want to be apathetic but ............ What's the use in JUST talking about it

And JUST caring about it all anyways

Without action. Is there a purpose to being "informed"?

To being informed when all it makes you want to do is collapse under it all because you know YOU can't take care of any of it? Is there a point in just talking, in just awareness about ALL of the injustice and discrimination and hate and ignorance?

Look for the joy. Remember that it's not all bleak (but sometimes I feel that it IS all bleak!)

And one day one day HE will make all things right and all things well

It's just

That

.....

What are we to do until then?

How hopeful, how optimistic should we become?

I have a hard time hoping and praying for revival when some parts of the Bible seem to say that things will just get worse until Jesus comes back.

But then

There's other philosophies too that say, that say things will get better and better until He comes, that we are to build the kingdom of Heaven on earth

Does this mean there's hope for now? And that there is a point in doing all we can? To heal both physically and spiritually?

There's just so so much.

And only He can take care of it all.

The stories in the news

Everything looks dark

"The newspaper is God's to do list delivered right to my front door" - Archbishop Desmond Tutu

It's an awful lot to do.

I don't want to want to escape.

(Don't end on a hopeless note. Because it doesn't end hopelessly.
He's here, you know. He's there. He. Is. There. And HE doesn't tire or grow weary or stressed and HE IS able and fully equipped. It's not up to you. It's not up to you. He is willing and able and cares consistently and more than you ever can or will. So pray. Pray to Him and be where you are now.)

Act justly and love mercy and walk humbly with Your God. {Micah 6:8}
Be thankful. LET the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. Put on love. {Colossians 3:14-17}
Love one another deeply. {1 Peter 4:8}

The Remembering

I've been reminiscing lately, and re-going over, parts of some of my absolute favourite book series, The Chronicles of Narnia. They're the sorts of books one could read a thousand times over, at least in my experience, and still come up with new insights, and old, wonderful reminders that provide a glimpse into the character, heart, beauty, and majesty of God. I could go on about these stories for a while, but that's not really the point of today's post. What it leads to is this: As I was in this C.S. Lewis vein of thought (and consequently, in a C.S. Lewis vein of internet procrastination), I stumbled across this quote from another of Lewis's novels, Out of the Silent Planet. I'll admit I've only read a part of this book (part one of a trilogy), but it seems it's high time to read more:

"A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking, Hmān, as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing. The séroni could say it better than I say it now. Not better than I could say it in a poem. What you call remembering is the last part of the pleasure, as the crah is the last part of a poem. When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it. But still we know very little about it. What it will be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then–that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it."

I think sometimes that memories are frowned upon as these fragile things, that are either of no value, being only whisps of a past reality, or else dangerous entities, holding the possibility of escape to something that is no longer real. To be sure, there is a fine line to walk here - we live life in a constant, ever-moving present, and so should not become wrapped up in the past... But there is a strange and appealing beauty to the concept of pleasant memories that continue to live, developing and affecting our present ... The idea of a "real meeting" occurring when you see how the initial event has changed and moved you, "what it makes in me all my days till then- that is the real meeting." 
An important experience, a wonderful encounter -- it need not simply die the moment it ends. It has the potential to grow fuller and more meaningful as time passes, and as it influences what you experience in moments both now and to come. Of course, a memory may die too, and sometimes that is for the better. Sometimes time shows you that it was not, perhaps, all that special or worth the cost of remembering it to begin with, and you are really better off forgetting. 
But "real" meetings, initial moments being merely a shadow of something more - I think that's a rather captivating idea. 

Vignette

He was sitting alone, with his dreadlocks, long pony tail, plaid, and cropped jeans. Hiking boots with wool socks too. And, the accordion. In a newly gated off area, he was at the centre; a stage was off to the side, signifying the evening's main attraction was to come.
But he, so solitary and typically grunge-accordionist, gave the whole place its atmosphere:
The square was almost austere in the posed-ness of it all, with the mix of many hipster-types, post-work day 9 to 5'ers, moms, hippies, old men... All frozen, quizzical, critical, lost in thought, enjoying the day and the moment. The music wasn't happy - it was somewhat rough, in fact - and neither was the sky. It was all very muted, enjoyed, and... too nice. The young, cool people were smoking and pensive. They couldn't be bothered to smile, but I think that's the way they like it sometimes. A grandma got up with her grandson and tried to dance with him, but it didn't last.




The shame was that I saw no one drop money in the accordionist's case, even though they were all staring at him. Maybe they were afraid to walk into the centre of the ring and be observed, or too busy exhaling ribbons of smoke.
As I left and dropped some change, I was rewarded with the most genuine of smiles. The air felt happier as credence was given to the moment's maker.

Homecoming

It was sad and wonderful and comforting yet estranging all at once. Stepping off the plane, walking down the arrivals ramp, and seeing them, the beautiful four, all together, filled me with so much joy. Finally! I got to see their lovely, familiar faces, so casual and yet so happy, and got to step in and among them and hug them and be surrounded by family. That, is a very good feeling.

Four months is not so long; others have gone longer. Nonetheless, I'd have to say that, at this particular point in life, four months apart was quite long enough.

I love my family very much. Their quirks, hugs, arguments, smiles, encouragement, humour, are all delightful. ... Actually, they do annoy me at times, but overall, none can compare, obviously! They're my family.

However, being home has been a little more difficult than I expected. I spent my first couple days back trying to pinpoint exactly why. Why on earth was I feeling homesick for Montreal?! Because that was the feeling: homesickness. I talked with my parents about booking flights back on the first evening home (for complicated potential-employment reasons), since I'm returning to Montreal for most of the summer, and, completely without thinking, I referred to Montreal as "home".

"Well, it would be good for me to arrive home by mid-May..." .... "Wait honey, home? Did you just call Montreal 'home'?" 

.... Oops. That was unwitting. It just kind of slipped out. My mom said, almost sadly, "You've adjusted so well." I guess that is most parents' dream and nightmare - they want their child to be happy, healthy, safe, well-adjusted, and surrounded by people who care for them, but they themselves also desire to be needed and wanted by their children.

For the first couple days, the homesick feeling persisted; it's still lingering a bit, in fact, but I think I'm doing better at embracing the moment and enjoying my time here while it lasts.

What I'd like to share, though, is why I've been missing Montreal so much in the first place.

The people. I've made what I consider to be some tremendous friendships over this past year. Some are with other scholars and fellow McGill students, but a large majority of the people who've made me feel at home come from my church. Having such a wonderful church community is a relatively new experience for me, and one that I was quite surprised by. I am so blessed to have been so welcomed, along with the other "BC girls". I could go on and on about these people, but I won't for the time being, as my fingers would probably cramp up, and it's almost bedtime. I'd recommend simply visiting me in Montreal and meeting all of them for yourself!

The city. There is so much diversity here! Of people, neighbourhoods, concerts, music, events, food. Montreal is truly a vibrant city. Coming from a rather culturally homogenous city, I've loved the change in pace and atmosphere. I think it can be quite good for a growing young person. I also have a small love affair with the city's transit system, la STM. I'm not entirely sure why, though. Most likely it's that I'd never used transit much before, so the STM is my first taste; I'm getting to know it more and more, and overall, it's rather friendly I'd say. Getting to know Montreal and creating a mental map of the island's layout is very satisfying.

The language. FRENCH. Well. Have I told you I love this language? I do. I really do. Anytime anyone is willing to speak with me in French, it brightens my day. I even love the Québécois accent! I mean, it makes comprehension rather difficult at times, but it is so tied up in the uniqueness of the Québécois identity, which makes it fascinating. (Though I must say, my own French has retained a certain level of "proper France-French" to it... This may be beginning to change, however.) The juxtaposition of Anglophone and Francophone Québécois culture is also very interesting to observe. Beginning to know and better understand some of the underlying tensions and history is so very very interesting and exciting.

Anyhow, most of this is simple surface stuff. What really made me feel quite bereft upon arriving home in BC is the sense that I'd stepped back in time. You know how most people say that they feel as though, once they've been away for a while, everything back home should have paused and stayed the same so that they could come back to everything as they'd left it, but then how that's never the case and things have always moved on and everyone has changed? In a sense, I felt the opposite. I was ready for everything to have changed and moved along, because that's how it had always been in the past when I'd gone away for a while. Besides, I'd changed and had begun to move along, so why shouldn't everyone else? 

But no. When I got back home, some things had changed, yes. The furniture was rearranged, my bed had strange pink apple sheets on it, my mom was working more often, and my dad had taken up karate, but... My role hadn't changed. (Selfish, I know. All about me.) Actually, I suppose it had changed a bit; I was now a returning university student who was able to sit at home and rest up while life continued on around me. However, my room was still where it used to be (thank goodness I wasn't relegated to the guest room!), our dog was still eager to be walked, I still lived on the same street, I had the same wonderful high school friends I was eager to hang out with, and I was just.... me. Stripped of all my Montreal experience and friendships and city and language affection. I walked the same stairs I'd been walking for the five years I'd lived in this house. The roads were the same and the language was the same. The lake was there like it's always been.

Of course, why on earth would any of this have changed?! That would just be silly. Rather nonsensical, in fact. But it struck me: everything was moving forward and changing for me in Montreal. I was growing up there and starting to become a little bit of an "adult". (In small ways; I suffer no illusions that I am some fully independent "grown-up" by this point at any means! but in Montreal, adulthood is definitely what I've been inching quite steadily towards.) It was in Montreal that I'd done a lot more learning than ever before on how to take care of myself, emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. It's in Montreal that the exploring, the discovering, the big choosing, the new-relationship building, was and is happening. That's not to say that some of it can't be carried on here. It's just rather difficult to transport relationships and a city and its lessons across the country. For me, at this point in my life, Montreal is where the movement is. It's where the newness continues and where I'm taking steps forward. I feel a little frozen here, being away from it all, even if only for a couple weeks. Things would be different if I knew I was staying in BC for a longer time, but I'm not. I'm headed back across the country soon to my second home. 

At the moment, that one is a little less safe and certain than my solid home here. Nothing can ever beat family in terms of feeling perfectly at home; I was born and raised in this British Columbian city, and I have no plans to leave it behind and forget about it (don't worry Mom and Dad :)). Besides, it's kind of gorgeous to say the least - a place everyone from Québec wants to visit! But more importantly, it's filled with beautiful people: old friends, grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents... People, parents especially, who I'll always want and need on some level, be I here, Montreal, Mongolia, Morocco, or Monaco. Or even someplace that doesn't start with an "M"!

It's funny really, this outcome of the human ability to love so many people. If home is where the heart is, what is one to do if a rather large and motley crew of people can hold parts of your heart all at once? Let's just say that I think it's okay to have more than one home for the time being. One has a very strong and old foundation. The other's foundation is currently being laid, and the construction workers are doing quite the solid job so far. It's hard sometimes, to have your heart dragged in so many directions. But it's alright too, because, in truth, more homes just mean that there's a lot of love going around, and that makes me one very blessed girl.

Weird, and ever so slightly disconcerting.

That's the only way I can think to describe it. That feeling I got after the empty library had filled up and we'd all been there for eight hours or so, the sense that something about this all was so odd:
the brilliant young people sitting and sitting and sitting for hours on end, maybe eating, maybe studying instead, just poring over books. No social interactions, except for the guilty pleasure visit to Facebook. Cramming their heads... Us cramming our heads, actually, with knowledge until we'd lost all sense of excitement at the intake of new information.
What was the point? Does this even help? Well, um, yes. Yes I suppose it does. Good marks and all that. But it was just so strange to see rows upon rows of students filling themselves up with book-knowledge - it was as if they were all lined up just so, positioned so the feeder tubes could pour in information, and they all hoped it would stay in there long enough to allow them to succeed in life, even if they forgot everything right after the exam.
I know this all sounds normal - this is university Christina. That's what we do with ourselves.

Yes yes, okay. I'll do it too.

It's just that, at the end of the day, I get the sense that a little bit of the interestingness and will to do something with myself has been sucked out of me. But that's okay right? Exams will be over soon.

All I can say is that I hope there's a very good motivation behind all of this.... A very good point to it indeed.

It was empty at the start. Kind of pretty and hopeful actually!

Knowledge regurgitation FTW.

Cherubim Hymn

This is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard.
Listen and be at peace.

Une pause

Elle est perdue dans ses espoirs
Ses rêves -
irréels parfois, mais parfois
peut-être plus réels
possibles
proches...
qu'elle peut deviner.
Mais encore... peut-être que
ça n'est plus qu'une espérance.

Psychology & Realism

It's already begun:
I have some kind of irrational emotion, and I understand why I'm having it. Well that's convenient and useful for emotional well-being, but it can happen when I have whims too, dreams, lovely sentiments... Reason and knowledge of the mind swoop in and explain away all mystery.

I've only taken two psychology courses at McGill, and the way of thinking behind them has already infected my mind.

I realize the word "infected" makes it sound entirely unpleasant, but really, it's not completely, and I use "infected" only because once this mindset grabs hold of you, it becomes difficult to ever let it go. Being able to explain human behaviour, or at least feel like you can, does have its perks: it helps enormously in conflict resolution, counselling, moving past harmful irrationality, understanding others... etc. etc. The trouble is, there are times when I don't want to understand everything, and don't want to unravel every mystery. Naturally, this begs the deeper question: is it wrong to want to avoid knowledge, to remain in ignorance?

Generally, my answer to this question would be yes, it is wrong: one should seek truth!
I do stand by that, but I think that when it comes to the human mind, there are times when explanations turn out to be inaccurate and/or unnecessary. Inaccurate in that they don't do justice to the mind's true state of affairs, and unnecessary in that they can stifle creativity and imagination.

Life is nice with a little mystery, with a few things that can't be explained away by logic, and humans are one of the more mysterious and interesting groups to observe! Human life and emotion in all its complexity is fascinating to wonder about and experience. Often, when realism kicks in in the middle of some imaginative train of thought, it kills it, and all you're left with is a feeling of "Oh. Well, I suppose that makes sense then." It can be quite the letdown.

The reason I'm so focused on psychology is because I'm considering studying both it and linguistics, and the time for course selection has arrived. At this moment, the thought of pursuing courses that try to explain and understand human behaviour and mental processes is a little disheartening. I feel as though it might quash some of my creative spirit. Maybe that's silly. Maybe, like the physicist who understands matter and goes on to research the possibility of string theory, I could use this knowledge to think past what is and consider what more could be discovered - that requires imagination!
(I know that physics isn't the same as psychology, yes yes, but allow me to draw the hopeful parallel.)

After all, isn't all education about seeking to understand more and more?

It really does change your perspective though, psychology. It applies to everything, making it hard to get out of your mind, because it's the study of, well, you, and everyone around you, which is why it's so popular! And important. Sometimes, this seems fascinating, but at other times, like right now, I feel as though I don't want to have a bundle of knowledge explaining away the wonderment and curiosity that comes from having mysteries of the mind to explore. Is it wrong to purposefully avoid certain knowledge and simply live out the human experience?

If anyone has an opinion, I would very much like to hear it!