Acrylic Paint and I have a little battle that needs resolving. It's been too long.
Clockwatching
Why do we have to leave? It seems like everyone is counting down the days until we go. Every day I hear "only ## days left!" I can't go anywhere without a number shoved in my face. But why is everyone so anxious to get back? Yeah, I get it. America. Family. Showers that won't scald you on a moments notice and the luxury of people understanding your every word. But who gives?
This is it. After ## days, I'm out of here, and I won't be coming back. English will no longer be a secret code. Siesta's will be unthinkable. Pretending to understand my roommate's twisted portuguese/spanish, a distant memory. The friends that I've made here, that I've laughed with, shared secrets with, made memories with, even cried with-- well, they will no longer be within my grasp. I think that is the hardest part. Home will always be waiting for me, but this won't. This is now and then no more. I can't understand how everyone is so ready, so willing to get away from it.
Life and Death and What Happens in Argentina
I think we've all had those days, where at the end of them, you sit back and realize life as you know it will never be the same. Once in awhile, those days are good days. Like the day you got your first kiss, or graduated from high school. But quite often, those days just don't have that positive of an outcome. I mean, it's life, and as we've come to figure out, "it's not easy".
I've been having my fair share of these moments. The moments where you think, really life? Some of them have been minor incidents: being electrocuted, spending my birthday in a hospital, living in a dorm full of insects and community showers. But then there are times when you know nothing could ever be the same.
I knew this when I decided to come here. Of course, how could life ever regress to the state it was in previously? I anticipated that, eagerly looked forward to it like a kid going into Jr. High for their first day. Obviously I knew there would be school work, but wow, the big leagues! Until, consequently, you realized you didn't place in the smart kids math class, history with Mr. Sanford is sinfully boring, and owning your very own locker isn't quite as cool as it was made out to be.
Now that's not to say Jr. High wasn't a blast (minus the potent reek of hormones and wildly uncontrollable drama caused by pre-teenage angst) But what happens when that same situation is taken into a life a little bit older, I don't know... say mine, for example?
This is where it gets tricky. I already lived out Jr. High. The life changes in those two years were enough. But here I am again, going through the same roller coaster of feelings that any teenybopper could easily identify with. Emotions are high, life is confusing, and I'm living in an alternate reality. A reality where pesos are money, dogs run wild and some tribal language is being forcibly stuffed into my brain. This goes without saying that whilst being here I have completely lost any idea of where my life is supposed to go, which is kind of stepping all over the toes of the reason why I came here, metaphorically speaking of course.
So I resort to painting while watching action movies that do not interest me whatsoever. Now please don't think I'm pent up with an artists moodiness and am trying to figure out the meaning of life. Not in the least. How could I be moody when I have been handed this excellent opportunity? Who else gets to do this (besides the 60 or so people who are here... duh) Umm.. the answer? Not a whole lot. I can't thank God, my family and friends for supporting me while I'm doing my own thing over here enough.. Anyone whose here can testify for how much we all miss home. We are all counting down the days until that plane lands back in the states to our own turf. No, we're literally counting. I did the math and its 117 days total. 67 days more of class and 50 days left of weekends and holidays.
But after all of that math, it only comes down to 1 day. The day that we're talking about specifically is this day.. January 14. This day, this is a day that will never be forgotten. It will not be looked on with fond memories or with a sigh of contentment, like remembering that day when your parents surprised you with your first bike. No, this day will never have that effect. Its the death of life as I know it. And things will never be the same.
Petal Power
Yes, it had to be done: a flower painting. How trivial, I know... But, in self-defense, this is my first whack at it, so I should be commended for holding out for so long.
The Beacon
El faro, Ushuaia. On a trip to Patagonia, we made a stop at the most southern city of the world. The lighthouse [el faro] is a notorious icon. Stylized in watercolor, painted in a day, why not?
Lady Friend
There's No Place Like Home(s)
As I sit in my sweltering hot dorm room in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, I can't help but miss the brisk cool winters of my home in Nor Cal. It's been a long three and a half months since I've seen the California sun, and I still have quite the ways to go. I decided to go on this unbelievable endeavor to grow into myself, mature. Maybe become a charitable person to society. Realizing that I was forcing this upon myself I understood that this would not be an easy situation. When ever is bettering oneself easy? My struggle to drag myself to the gym consistently proves my lack of will power. But always the narcissist, I overestimated myself. Not only am I not as strong as I once thought, but I am not following through with the before stated "finding myself" as much as I am losing it.
So in a last ditch effort, I created this monster. It's supposed to be something like a public diary. But lets face it, only a few of us are actually capable of keeping diaries, and those of us who can be faithful to them, are highly jealous and overprotective. Which in that case, I'm going to put forth a disclaimer. I am not consistent. I do not expect to impose greatness of words into this. I merely have more time on my hands and as a would be artist, I feel the need to expand.
If there is one thing that I have learned in this new country of mine, it's that I have chosen to be here, and it is becoming my new home. Not to say that California is no longer my beloved, but my heart is having to open, to share some space and to widen for La Villa, Argentina. This new space that has taken up residence inside me physically hurts. The new food, the new culture, language and people especially, are forcing their way into an already full being. This expansion has not been fulfilling, but more like growing pains. And some might say its leaving its reckless marks, stretch marks if you will. Be as that may, how wonderful is it to say that I have twice the amount of everything in my life. I have not one, but two homes. I have two countries, two schools, a pair of most everything. So when I say there is no place like home, well there isn't. But then again, there is no place like this space that I am in now, either. So welcome, to my own personal space. This insane in-between that I am currently half-living.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
