Homesick...literally.

"In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him."

Well, well, well. Look who we have here. I write to you able to count the remaining German days using all toes and fingers. I've been spending much time lately volunteering with Young Life. Some of the pics are from the coffeehouse that we had two weekends ago, and all the fun mountain pics are from a hiking trip we did less than a week ago. It was incredible to be hiking through beautiful Austrian alps with four days and three nights worth of things on my back. I've never done anything like that before. I made it out to be less demanding than it truly was. I went out thinking, "This is just glorified walking." Wrong, Karen. Wrong.

We ended up not finishing the hike on Day 3 because the weather conditions were really poor for us, and we wanted to end on a good note with happy memories--not people getting hurt, being cold, or slipping all over the place. We took a bus back down to groundlevel in an hour's time, which seems nice. But if you're me, you are already prone to motion sickness; winding down mountains while simultaneously experiencing drastic changes in altitude doesn't make things any better! Long story short...the immediate effects were awful. Then two days after the fact--yesterday--I puked unexpectedly in public at the main train station. I was totally embarrassed. I was thankfully with someone I knew, but I suddenly had blurred vision and I remember saying, "I think I'm gonna pass out, I think I'm gonna pass out." I seriously thought the next time I woke up I'd be sitting in some weird german hospital and having no idea where I was. But that didn't happen. I had a real live guardian angel with me. I puked again when I got home, and remained restless until 1 am. You never feel more homesick than you do at times like those. That's like, in the handbook of being a child--you demand your mother be there, and when she can't be, it's a really tragic thing. I didn't exactly have food to eat, either, so I called on my darling Christianna and she came quickly with an assortment of goods in a bowl for me. I told her I felt like it was Halloween, and she said it was a healthy one :)

When I was enroute to Germany in September, I didn't know it. I mean, I knew it. But I didn't know it. I felt like someone had packed fake bags for me, said "Action!" and made me go through security. I was actually kind of laughing. I feel this same way as the end of the semester nears. I am quite overwhelmed and there's no good in worrying about it. One of the worst feelings in life is that of going through the motions. Whether it's school, religion, a relationship...you name it...I think one of the saddest happenings is to execute actions and not give a care about it. I can't feign interest in school right now, this is killing me.

In other news, I'm going to continue working on mosaics tomorrow at one of the most artistic homes I've ever been in, and I truly can't wait! I will miss my hostess to a great extent, but I find great joy in knowing I'll see her again. For certain.

Much love and maybe I'll see you soon.

Working On My BACHelors

Good morning, good morning, and good morning!

This is the first weekend since I can remember (okay who am I kidding...I don't often forget dates...SINCE FEBRUARY) that there has been nothing on my calendar. It would seem fitting to go ahead and "take it easy", but alas my friends, this is the time I need to buckle down and propel myself forward into the next few weeks. I sort of feel like this year has been a TV episode, and as the end of any series approaches, so do I watch the end of my german life and I think..."What will this look like once it's all come together in the end?"

But perhaps it's more of a cliff hanger ending. Perhaps I will get to see the characters again.

You just.
Never.
Know.

I think my german abilities have come further than I want to admit, because I'm modest. While walking with a classmate to a cafe the other day, I realized myself saying, "I don't think this year is supposed to be one where you come back fluent. I mean, I'm not saying you couldn't. But I think it's sort of a make-or-break year. It's the end, or it's just the beginning."

Surely "fluent" is a relative term. Can I get by? YES. Can I order food? OF COURSE. Do I know when I'm being yelled at? OH YEAH BABY. But can I always say exactly what I desire to? No. Can I do this in English? No....I simply can not. So I will leave here in 39 days with the stronger foundation of this language. Apparently I'll also leave with a Bavarian accent--at least that's what a native in my Kommunikation class said. I said, REALLY? WHAT DOES IT SOUND LIKE? And he said you can't explain it...it just...is.

Oh...the things that you can't explain; the things that just simply "are". Those are the best things to me.

Last weekend I enjoyed four-day weekend with a trip to Leipzig--home of Bach (Composer J.S. Bach). I think when I write it out, people know whom it is I mean, but every time I tried to tell someone with my voice, I think they thought I had something in my throat. ("Who...?") I went with my beloved friend Christianna and my beloved sister met us there for a portion of our stay. It was lovely to be as far north as we were, but strange to recognize a sense of Munich pride. And not so much pride, as the way it sounds, but moreso just acknowledging that yes, things are different. We're so used to our "Grüß Gotts!" that it was strange to put the muzzle on them.

We heard lovely music and singing and enjoyed a concert in Bach's church, where he played the organ. It's always so strange when you're somewhere in life recalling historical events. The same experience, though it evoked drastically different feelings, happened while I went to Dachau last Tuesday with Lynn, Gillian, and Tina. Walking through the "shower room" was a horrible thing. To see myself as a unknowing worker, led to believe I was about to take a shower, then dying moments later. There, I recalled events. No, I wasn't there when it happened. But I was legitimately creeped out. And my inner being was grieved. And I just wanted to get out, and offer thanks that my life was not so.

You can tell in life when you are ready to move on from something. In the same way, you can tell when you're not quite ready. Lately I've been experiencing both, and to the extremes. Mostly it's a sense of, "Okay, I am done with this." I am done with dreading u-bahn rides, that a strange man will begin speaking to me. I am done with going grocery shopping and being hit on. Done with my submarine room. Done with cooking for one.

I am not done with the relationships. Some of the faces I see regularly. I am not done with Latte Macchiatos. I am not done with real bread baked that morning. I am not done with the personality of a city. I am not done with throwing German words into my English vocabulary.

Actually I'm not even done here yet.
....so what am I talking about?

Karen Gets Kicked Out of Church

*if you haven't already read the disclaimer to the left, read it first, then proceed!*

Yes...it's true. I went on this bike tour last night with one of my friends. We had stopped at this one square and nearby is a Catholic church that she'd never been in. So in we go. (I should mention, yesterday was 84 degrees Fahrenheit.) Wait. (I should also mention, we also knew we'd be riding a bike around in this hot, sunny weather for four hours.)

I was just in the middle of telling my friend about my church history, when all of a sudden, a woman approached me abruptly out of no where, and told me (German) that I had to leave immediately (!) and that my clothing was inappropriate (!). I apologized on the spot and left quickly. But my reaction followed me out the door.

I was pretty taken aback. It was the most ironic thing, because last week I had seen this woman twice in two days, back-to-back, and she had stuck out to me. For some reason, I noticed her. And the places I noticed her were on S-Bahns that I normally NEVER ride; at times I NEVER ride. This was amazing to me...that in actuality, I had met this woman twice before. But then there was the dreadful third time--maybe they should say "Third time's the harm."

The irony isn't over yet. Lynn and I recently had a discussion about "exposed shoulders" in church. I guess I never realized that was a Catholic "rule". I don't agree with it, perhaps because I don't understand it. I remember hearing a few times growing up that God didn't care what I looked like at church, as long as I was there. Really? See, these days I believe that. I believe God wants my heart and He doesn't get all in a tizzy about the material covering my heart. I am not suggesting we enter a church looking like strippers, or in our birthday suits. I'm just saying...this is how people of faith get a bad wrap. People telling me what I wear is inappropriate. Well...guess what people. God is not some small mass of air that just squishes between the walls of one church, in one place. And when I left that church and took steps outside, guess who was there. Yep--the Big Guy. And when I kept along on the bike tour, guess who was there? And when I went and had a beer at our stop along the bike tour, guess who was sitting next to me?

Do you see where I'm going?
Do you see where He already is?

It's just another experience that confirms how everyone's just too busy worrying about other people. We complain we never have enough time, yet most of people's time is wastefully spent criticizing, worrying, planning, and complaining. I'm not excluding myself from this majority. I'm just saying...

-------

So, the bike tour was fine I guess.

Only two months left here and I have tons and tons to do. That's why I'm writing to you.

Fast Forwarding.

I'm going to wake up soon. I know that soon, I'll be back on dry, familiar soil and sitting in traffic. And I know it's going to happen. I know that in two months, two weeks, I will wake up in my own bed again, see my face in mirrored-closet doors, and wonder what's for breakfast. Most of the day, I will forget my dream. And then at one instant, in one moment, in one familiar face and at the sight of one cup of coffee, the dream will come back to me. It will be a recurring one. And every day, in every moment, I might remember this ten-and-a-half month dream. No one ever said that dreams had to make sense. No one said they were all clear, all perfect, all happy. I don't think that dreams and nightmares are opposites. I just think nightmares are stories you're glad you've woken from. And you want to forget them.

I don't want to forget this dream. In fact, I won't allow it. Things won't have happened chronologically. Or logically, for that matter. Because that's not truth. Yet this truth won't make sense to anyone because they can't see all the faces I saw, and they can't remember the sequences that I did. I always think no one believes me whenever I retell my dreams. It's because they become sporadically clear, then sporadically opaque, in, well...a sporadic moment. And I lose credibility. "It happened, it really did." They don't want to hear about it anymore though. We never want to hear about dreams we haven't seen ourselves.

And so I will sit with these visuals. And I will relive them over and over in my head until I hear someone calling me out of a distant trance. And I will go to them, eager to share of my visions. And they will remind me, "I've just woken up, too."

twenty-one

Well, I'm 21...! Weirrrrd. What's stranger is turning 21 in a foreign country, where there is nothing significant whatsoever about this age. Birthdays are just one of those things in life that only seem real with the proper ingredients: people who know you at a level where they remember your day + singing 'the song' + whoever means most to you at this juncture in time. Stir together to make your own celebration.

The day before my bday, my friends from church and I hung out at the Olympic pool, then went back to our friend's house where everyone but me and Adam (his bday is the 9th) prepared a special dinner for us. It was really lovely but we ate around 10:00 pm, so I was huuuuuuungry. They made a cherry-chocolate cake as well and that was deeee-lish. I got some awesome soap for the bathtub--that is to say...for "a" bathtub, which I do not have.

What was strange about the whole birthday-in-Germany thing, too, was that most people I see would WANT to know that Tuesday was my bday. But it's so incredibly odd for me to walk around exclaiming from rooftops, "I'M OLDER!!!! AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT!!! AND YOU SHOULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT!!!" Haha. For real. It's kind of this odd balance that you have to find. Because truly, we are all so busy with things that have to do with ourselves, that if we don't peep up about certain things, they just sort of get swept underneath the rug. Ohhh life--you're silly.

I was so excited to get tons of e-mails/calls/letters from my parents, family, friends, etc. I got some great mail! I felt loved <3 Uncle Ralph is in town, too, so it was fun to see him and Deborah and have my first glass of beer as a 21-year old with a man who quite simply loves beer and all food that is German.

These upcoming weeks are crazy. The next five consecutive weekends--potentially six--are occupied. My apologies in advance for delayed responses to communication! I'm trying to manage everything, yet simultaneously enjoy what remains in my experience abroad this year. Thanks for being understanding about this all...one thing I keep saying lately is that I wish I could combine all my worlds--with the food, the people, the conveniences--just a place where I get to pick all that. I do think that place exists, but I sure know I'm not the one who gets to make it happen.

Alles Liebe. Love you much.

The (Older) Testament

Hellooooooooooooo. Last week was so eventful and I was really excited to write for you a week ago Thursday, but then the excitement continued and I wasn't awake enough to write when finally returned from a long day. And then the weekend came. And then the school week. So here I am with some news that may be old, or may be truly news.

Two of five classes I'm taking are at the LMU--aka the "real" German university here. Regardless of whether or not my classes are taken with JYM or LMU, all work, teaching, and thinking is done in German. But...I didn't want to leave here without having pushed myself to give a few LMU classes a go. The registration process kept me intimidated about the whole ordeal last semester, and even though they're really scary to go to, I've made the choice to make them part of my routine!

Thursdays are my busiest days. Before I dropped I replaced a JYM class with an LMU one though, my day would have begun with class at 8:30 am, and I wouldn't have been home until about 8:15 pm...and in that time between, I'd have had seven and a half hours of classes. That's. Just. Not. For. Me. I've never been good at sitting in classrooms, nor learning in them. I've always prefered the type of learning done while out and about; hands-on learning. It's more my style. But I guess it's not up to me.

So anywho, to shorten up my stories, I prayed my way through last Thursday, because I had to take a risk. Yes...an academic risk. You see, such things do exist. I didn't want to be in this art class anymore, but really wanted to challenge myself to take a communications course (since that's my other REAL major at Miami--wink) and the time conflicted with the art class. And we're only allowed to miss one class, per class, in an entire semester before our grade begins its descent outside of our control. So this meant I was using my FREE SKIP card to simply find out if this unknown class would even be right for me. If there were even places still left for me, or if the class was full. I just had no real idea. Not even an idea about where I was going. So yes, Thursday was a day of faith and that's why it's so memorable to me.

Anywho, I got to that COM class and once it finally began, they were speaking my language. Well, sort of. It felt amazing to hear words like "Zielgruppe"-TARGET GROUP, and a professor who understands the importance for a good title. I was totally thrilled to sit there and have this international-communications experience. The only challenge was the part when we had 30 minutes to come up with a theme, creative title, and written description of a crisis-catastrophe story. The art of strategic communication is something that develops over time; learning what power words are capable of. Knowing how to achieve alliteration and what sounds too trite. In English, this is my passion. In German this, however, is my severe weakness, as the language is my weakness! Hah. So there I sat with my dictionary. It was quite humbling. But I was getting excited nonetheless. I came up with, "Außer Atem und Außer Kontrolle"--Out of Breath and Out of Control. Strange to me though...an amazing title, caption, or wordplay in one language, once translated, can totally lose all power. Amazing.

Another thing that happened that day was that my first class of my religious history of the old testament, the professor went on and on, and on again, about Americans and their religions. He continued coming back to America in his lecture, saying that the problem we have is we are 'too' free. Mostly like...celebrities making up their own religions, because it's whatever they feel like, and then other people follow them. He said 94% of polled Americans, when asked if they believe in God, said 'yes'. He said the follow up question should have been, "Which one?" I just found the whole thing interesting. After class I felt I should introduce myself. Though terrified, I did it. Said I was an exchange student, blah blah blah. He asked where I was from, and ashamedly with a puppy-dog shame said..."aus Amerika..." and he says, "Where?" And I say, Chicago. And he says, OHHHHHH well I hope I didn't offend you! My theory: If anyone says that to you, ever--they already know they've said something they probably could have left unsaid.

But the most suprising thing about this class experience is the amount of old people in it. I'm talking...old. I'm talking hearing aids, an unusual amount of marked handicapped places, and more grey and white hair than I've ever seen in one classroom in my entire academic life. So this is a testament to the old. Testament means promise...or tribute...or proof. This is a tribute to those older folk, who love learning so dang much that they go to classes, even though they can't hear. But they are just so in love with knowing that nothing keeps them from it. That unlike most Americans I know, who just want a stupid piece of paper that states they've completed something, these Germans want something lasting. And in terms of proof....well, I never would have believed unless I saw. (Oddly coincidental, isn't it...)

So I'm off into day. Oh wait! I just remembered the part of my day that made me laugh most...when during that history lecture, one of two old pals in front of me sneezed. The man on the left looked at the sneezer, patted his back a few times, and said, "God bless you...hehehe." *

(*explanation of why this is funny: because, you see, this class is in GERMAN. So when someone sneezes, they normally say GESUNDHEIT (health!) and they don't say anything that might translate to anything about God, or being blessed. So this old man knew his english, and was clever, because it was in the midst of all the talk about Americans. We were actually on the topic, "Belonging Without Believing." )

So:
Do you belong without really believing?
Or, do you believe without belonging?

Time of Your Song

I never knew I was a klutz. Yesterday I was walking around with my fly open for who knows how long. Two days before that, I was walking up the escalator with the rush of people off to work when mid-step, lost all balance and landed directly on my left knee. Kneedless to say, it was funny. My friend next to me told me I started laughing before I even hit the ground.
Whoever first acknowledged that the ability to laugh at oneself is absolutely necessary to survival should have a monument built somewhere.

I just got back from grocery shopping--it's like...my FAVORITE thing to do. One of my favorites, and something I will truly miss. For some people, when they step into a bookstore they are in heaven. Others enter malls and drool. I, however, am one to lose track of time simply admiring all a grocery store may offer. Today, I accidentally bought the wrong yogurt. Twice. I bought two puddings instead, but then me tell you, it was NO mistake! It's a dish I will probably crave the rest of my life. It was no accident that I went ahead with the purchase. I mean, the little containers looked a little different than usual, but I didn't pay much attention and just kept on truckin'. It's sort of like that thing called life...where there are times when things seem a little strange, you can't put your finger on it, and then things end up working out anyway.

How lovely.

Mom, Grandma, Aunt Jean, and Lynn were all here in this last week. We had a tremendous time doing too much walking and eating soups that are far too salty for my tastebuds. When they all came to see my room, it had been several minutes when all of a sudden--and having nothing to do with the conversation--Grandma said, "You know Karen, your place is about the size of my walk-in closet." Haha. She's soooo right. I like her honesty and her bluntness.

I'm still renovating my room. I will always be renovating everything in my life, because there's always room for improvement. Figuratively speaking, however, I just haven't got the room.

On Wednesday, the first day of my literature class, I had something funny happen to me. An unexpected something. My professor, whom I had last semester, stopped in the middle of our discussion. In German, of course, he proceeds to address me (in front of the entire class...) with something that went a bit like this: "You know something, Karen, last semester...I really thought you understood completely nothing. I mean, nothing. You had no idea what was going on. (Insert Karen's nervous laughter at herself, which increasingly becomes more normal in her life.) But when I read your final paper... you had EVERYTHING right. You completely understood everything."

I don't think you'd ever have an American professor call you out on anything like that. But this was mid-thought, mid-class, and so, so odd. I couldn't really believe he was saying this to me. In the end, sure, it was praise. But I was mildly humiliated in front of my peers--and the new JYMers who don't know me--because I was made out to be an oblivious goon.

What I've taken out of it is affirmation regarding how much easier it is for ME to make sense of things on paper; how much easier it is for others to make sense of me when they're reading my words. I enjoy that. I truly, truly do.

(Watch, now there are probably tons of sentences where you don't understand what I'm saying.) Yet I don't quite think that's any writer's job. I don't think that a writer is just spoon feeding you information. I think it's a writer's responsibility to make someone else stop dead in their reading tracks. It's a two-way method of communication. (Oh, how I MISS studying my communications major. Yes, I already know I'll be there before I know it. You need not remind me of such things.)

Hans-Peter, during our group gathering yesterday, brought in a clock and made the timer go off. He was giving us a loud reminder about time being nearly up. I don't know why this is such a surprise to anyone. I don't know why people think time works differently while abroad. I barely understand what "time" even is--how then, am I to manage it?

Round Two

Hellllllllo. It's gorgeous today and I've just returned from an hour-long walk back to my room. I decided I'd walk as long as I was in the sun; the sun took me all the way back home. Today is Easter Monday, which I don't even think I knew it existed...but I'm glad it's so nice because all the people who don't have to work today are able to enjoy themselves in this incredible weather.

It's pretty weird that I still haven't begun my second semester, while overachievers at home are probably beginning to study for their final exams. There I go again--always trying to make sense of time and put things into perspective. Things aren't that way, so I don't know why I still try and force logic into all things. I remember but a few, special memories of my Grandpa, and the one coming to mind is the time we were at their house and doing a puzzle. I kept trying to put all the pieces together somewhat urgently. Grandpa's soft voice crept in and told me quite simply, "...Don't...force...it..."

I can still hear him saying it.

Forced things, to me, are never true things. I'm back in Germany and I feel forced to be studying this subject. To be honest with you, I'd had enough German studies before I even arrived. I think learning another language is necessary and an incredibly enriching experience...but I think it has more to do with recognizing--and coming to a thorough understanding of--the truth that people in the world aren't going to be the same as you, but even so, they still surrender to the same basic needs as you do. They still deserve your respect.

I am just now having time to process things from the last three weeks. Today I'm trying to process why I was created to process things. Walking helps me. I wish we could all walk more. It'd be better for us in so many ways. Time with our thoughts, our prayers, exercise for the legs, a little Vitamin D if you're in the sun, and perhaps just spending time as it was intended to be spent.

Bar-theh-lona

Hi guys. I write to you from my very own home. In two weeks I've been on the go--managed a trip to Barcelona, a week or so with my visitor, finally saw Lynn, and hopped on my flight back to the states. Barcelona was beautiful and the weather was a step up from Munich's as of late because we got some face time with the sun. After stepping off my plane, I suddenly remembered that I don't speak Spanish, and I immediately was struck with my overwhelming urge to speak German to EVERYONE. It was incredible and I still can't believe how desperate I was for that language.

I must admit I was disappointed with most of the touristy things Rachel and I tried to see. So many of them were under construction, being restored, closed--you name it. I think people generally have the right motives in wanting to "keep things nice" and preserve them. But I am more strong in the notion that this act is wholly another example of how man thinks he can make things last forever; that somehow eternity could be found within four walls of a building. ("I don't think so, Tim."--Al Boreland-Home Improvement)

The highlight of the trip was the fresh market experiences, and this to-die-for shrimp tempura and sangria we had. I'm telling you, the shrimp was so fresh I think they got on a boat to catch it AFTER we ordered. I was craving guacamole the entire time, but it wasn't really available anywhere so I suggested to Rachel that we just....make our own. It was incredible to be resourceful, find bowls, utensils, the right ingredients, chips, and so on, to make our snack complete. The most expensive part of it all was the CHIPS, can you believe it? We paid the equivalent of about 4.5 USD for the dang chips. At home, normally avocados will cost you an arm, but there it was the stupid fried chips. Oh well. We enjoyed them thoroughly.

We also attending a musical performance held in a cathedral. It was Manuel Gonzalez playing spanish guitar, and it was quite beautiful. Rachel and I talked with him after the performance and complimented him on his gift.

I was really excited to get back to Germany, drink tap water, and bathe in the reality that I actually do know more German than I think I do. Like all things in life, it does take leaving something, someone, or a habit, to fully understand its affect on your living. I do not agree that you can never know this feeling unless being separated, because I tend to think I do appreciate most things in real time, but I emphasize the fullness at this time. It's powerful.

I will put up some pictures soon. I hope you have a great day and I encourage you to lose something; that you might find it again.

You're silly

So I have to say that I'm sorry. I didn't do the best job of writing and explaining myself last time. You're right--I WAS in the midst of finals and writing papers in a language in which I have no writing style, and yes, that made me very busy and stressed. I wasn't trying to make anybody feel bad or anything. I just never know who's all reading, what they want to hear about, etc. I try to tell you things that aren't so ordinary, because I don't find them too interesting. I never mean to confuse anyone, and I always intend to make some sort of sense. It's my fault when it doesn't happen.

I'm going to be "out of the office" for a little while. I've received some very nice e-mails in the last days that I'd really like to respond to, but I'm afraid I can't give you an adequate response before I head out tomorrow for some traveling. Again...very excited! I've never been to Spain.

Last Tuesday I went to the Fasching celebrations with some classmates. It's soooo ridiculous. It's like Halloween meets St. Patrick's Day. The early drinking and spirits of patty's day; the bizarre costumes of the big halloweenie. We toasted with champagne, ate our weißwursts, krapfen (jelly doughnuts), und so weiter. The crowds were crowded and we were on our feet all day. My footsies have been really hurting me as of late, and the pain gets worse when you live in a big city and practically live standing! I do enjoy walking, don't get me wrong...AND it's been especially beautiful weather here lately (50 degrees fahrenheit or so). I'm just sayin'--maybe my boots weren't made for walkin'.

Off to do some last minute things. Clean my room, find missing things, you know. I hope you get the same rays in a few hours that are shining down on me as we speak.

Isn't it cool that we get to enjoy the same sun?

Brace Others, Not Yourselves

There is a tragic phenomenon that seeps into the minds of us all. It deals with our ever-present nature and desire to achieve reciprocation in all things. I don't believe it's ever too much to know that you are loved. I don't believe it's ever too much to know that you've done a good job. I don't even think it's too much for us to remind each other--while things are going well--that we want to be called on the next time we are needed. I suppose a similar concept affects whether or not I write to you. I haven't written lately because I don't think you're reading; but perhaps you aren't reading because there is nothing to read. See where I am going here? It wasn't until my dear friend Elise encouraged me to write that I decided she, and perhaps others, might still want to know what is going on. But how else do we know such things unless we are told? There are far too many critics in this world, and I love the thought of a body of people who prompt and encourage one another to adopt an active role.

I have finished my first semester of classes...almost. Since February the 7th I have not been attending any formal lecture, but I have had a few papers to work on, my last being due February the 21st. We are in the midst of Fasching celebrations here--crazy costumes, Krapfen, and lots of people. On Fat Tuesday I'll be doing some tour with other JYMers that begins at 8:30am. We will "kostumieren" ourselves first, however. I have no idea what to expect. I'm trying hard to get this paper hanging over my head finished, but it's so tough because we are essentially already on break. Do you know that I am heading to Barcelona shortly? It's true! I'm quite excited, and the day after my return my best friend Jonathan will be visiting me. I'm more excited about my visitor than I am about going somewhere to visit, but I suppose you just can't compare the two.

I went to a show/concert Monday night that I really enjoyed. It was electronic music, even though one of my JYM mates described it as instrumental. I suppose that counts, but I went there thinking I was going to hear some Bach. The venue was smokey and loud and someone burned my arm with their cigarette. Too bad I'm not Terminator, because when that happens to him he's not phased in the least. I, on the other hand, screamed and was mad I had nothing cold to put on my arm. I've had enough of the smoke here. I've already got my share of scars on both my feet--I'm not really looking to add to the scar count!

A story: please read the title of this entire entry if you've not yet done so. (Okay, ready now?) Last Saturday I was working on a paper at a cafe near the Universität. A woman, who reminded me of my brother's friend Daniel's mom, had a dog with her and was also hard at work. I was writing a paper for my literature class, which translated is titled: The Simplemindedness of Man; The Omnipotence of God. As I wrote, while eating, while person-watching (my utmost favorite multi-tasking combination) I noticed this woman's bracelet with several small ichthus images. My wise friend Kirsten once told me (if I remember correctly) that in old times, as two people would converse, a Christian would nonchalantly mark half of the fish with his foot in the sand, and if the other were also a Christian, he would signify this by completing the second half of the fish with the swoop of his foot in the sand. I thought and still think this is fascinating.

I was wishing the same for myself. I wished I could just go up to this 'stranger' and say, "Hey lady...I know what you know." But I imagine if stuck my finger in her coffee and made this curved shape, that might not go over so well. So I just let things be.

But yesterday was different. Yesterday, nearly a week later, I was back again and ready to work. And would you know it, the only table available was across from a man and a woman and a dog. I should mention, this woman was the same as the one I just earlier described. Surely I took note of this, but again, what was I to do? I found the man to be fairly attractive for a German in his 40s. I noticed myself continually looking up at them, curious about what they were up to. Tons of books were on the table, and I would have given much to know what they were working on. The man and I exchanged friendly smiles whenever we noticed each other. I imagine he heard me speaking english with my friend Kelly and in some way that must have sparked an equal amount of curiosity.

An hour or so later, for a split second of time, I saw it again. It? He wore a bracelet. His, however, was red. Amazing that I noticed it--his sleeves were quite long, and it was only because the dog had stood up to get some lovin' and the man's long sleeves no longer hid his wrist. It was even dark under the table, but it still caught my eye. So I sat there for the next half an hour or so, wrestling with my thoughts: "Do I say something?-No, don't say anything, what do you think you're going to say?--Just say something! It's harmless!--They're going to think you're weird. Do I even know how to say bracelet? Why do you always feel compelled to tell people what you're thinking?"

As odd as it sounds, I knew if I didn't say anything I'd regret it. The woman got up and left, and I didn't realize they were leaving-leaving. So as the man packed up, I thought, okay, here goes. (German): Excuse me--I just wanted to say that I like your bracelet. He looked at me, kind of a look like "how did she see I was wearing one?" and after looking at his wrist and back at me, he thanked me. "Do you want it?" I start laughing. "No, no! I just wanted to say that I liked it."-"No really, you can have it! I have more at home. It's no problem." I start laughing harder. My face now burning and my thoughts relieved that the intense red walls and red lighting concealed my blushing cheeks. "No no. Last week I saw hers, and it was green. So I just wanted to say that it was nice." He had still been holding it out, and put it on the table. "Do you know what it means?" He really meant it. He wanted to make sure I knew, and I did. I smiled with a smile to say "Hey man...I know what you know." And he wished us a good day and left. I, of course, continued laughing.

My friend Kelly said much she likes nice people, and I agreed. I felt bad because I didn't mean to disrupt her work at all, but it was yet another refreshing moment of generosity. Even the fact that he stayed there long enough to have a conversation with me, before I even got the words out, says something about that man's character. I am pleased this is new memory that will forever be stored on the good list of Munich moments dwelling in my thoughts. The funny thing is, I didn't even really like the aestethics of this bracelet. I just liked what it represented. It wouldn't have ever thought this man should offer me something of his, but I loved the fact that he expressed interest in making sure I actually knew what it meant.

And back to the idea and lessons of reciprocity: It is better to give than to receive. This man freely gave what had been given to him; he wanted nothing in return.

Pictures:
-Tulips that Rachel's aupair family's mom gave to me for Valentine's Day.
-Pics from Rachel's birthday celebration.
-Randoms. I wish I were an artist.

In The Middle

January 30th is one of the only two days that fall between my brother and my sister's birthdays. I remember one year when I was so upset by all the attention they were getting that I ran upstairs balling, as usual, and shut the door behind me. Auntie Jo followed me up, and told me she had something special to give me...it was my first $2 bill. I remember putting it in one of these green jewelry boxes my dad had given me. Dad always likes to keep extra boxes around because he says we can always use them to put things in. You never know when you'll need it, he says.

I walked downstairs all happy again. I didn't have to reveal my secret to happiness. I was humbling keeping my source of joy to myself, that I may be the bigger man. Just then, I watched Stephen and Lynn opening presents. Turns out they each received their own $2 bill, too.

I like to be the Auntie Jo in that story. I like to do things that make people happy like that, if even for a moment. Doing the unsuspecting random acts of kindness, or giving the silly gifts that warm up your heart, even if only for that moment. As if someone put it in the microwave for :10. It still counts.

The last few days have been quite trying, but quite wonderful and rewarding because of such depth. I got to give toothpaste to someone who didn't have any. I tricked gender roles by holding a door for a man who had no hands left after his purchase at the bakery. I got to hide behind Sendlinger Tor with Rachel as we waited for our friend Tom and attacked him with snowballs.

Relationships changed this week, as they should. I've had epiphanies this week, as any human should.

I'm very much looking forward to this semester being over. It's not because I want time to move faster and leave or something. I just need something new to keep me entertained with classes, and something new to try out again. I have gained in this last week a much more positive expectation of myself here...and I need this semester to end officially so I can try to improve.

I think there is something beautiful about second chances.

I think if you are someone who likes second chances, it's worth asking yourself why.

I think if you have asked yourself why, and you couldn't think of anything, you need to give yourself a second chance and really let it sit for a second. Or for two.

For the Breathing

Nothing's new,
A week is past.
Less found from the last.
The days are stronger.
Yet weeks, they are weak.
My floor, a mess.
Words will not speak.
Smokedbeer to my lips,
ice cream to the hips.
That was Saturday,
not the day of today.
Tomorrow the middle.
And so another night.
Long to dream.
Quick to wake.
Fast to fall all over again.
Dreams are nothing new if they aren't remembered.
September.
Wonderfully made,
the inmost being.
Knit, no longer falling apart.
Always remember the start;
can't end.
It never has.
The tops of mountains feign the caps.
Fear, fünf, sex.
And the palms are grasped again.
Do not worry, just talk.
He will listen, she says.
Can't Tuesday be a day for twos?
Friday, a day for freedom.
Every day is such.
Does he love me too much?
An ever-present yes.
Slandered through your knowing.
Don't tell me about slurs.
Tell me about the growing heart.

You Really Do Gotta Be

I was a wise third grader. If you've known me that long, you might have seen the infamous recording of me singing You Gotta Be. The lyrics suit the day's events well:

Listen as your day unfolds,
Challenge what the future holds,
Try to keep your head up to the sky...
Lovers they may cause you tears,
Go ahead release your fears,
Stand up and be challenged
Dont be ashamed to cry...

You gotta be, you gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser,
You gotta be hard you gotta be tough you gotta be stronger,
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together,
All I know all I know is love will save the day.

Herald what your mamma said,
Read the books your father read,
Try to solve the puzzles in your own sweet mind,
Some may have more cash than you,
Others take a different view,
My oh my, hey hey hey,

you gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser,
You gotta be hard you gotta be tough you gotta be stronger,
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together,
All I know all I know is love will save the day.

Time asks no questions, it goes on without you,
Leaving you behind if you cant stand the pace,
The world you cant stop it and if you try to,
The best part is danger staring you in the face.

Oh oh remember

Listen as your day unfolds,
Challenge what the future holds,
Try to keep your head up to the sky...
Lovers they may cause you tears,
Go ahead release your fears,
My oh my, hey hey hey

you gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser,
You gotta be hard you gotta be tough you gotta be stronger,
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together,
All I know all I know is
l o v e w i l l s a v e t h e d a y.

They Have a Target Here. No, Not the Store; It is me.

I write to you, not-so-slightly overwhelmed and equally confused by the series of events unfolding these last four months. Wow, four months. May I remind you about Demietri? The Russian, who adamantly followed me before and after I wouldn't give him my number. May I remind you about my wallet? It was stolen from me. May I remind you about the man who sang, "you should go home..." as well as the other man who flicked me off for no reason after a pleasant Sunday of church? Now, I need someone to remind me why I'm here still. Why these things "just keep happening" to me. Meanwhile, I'll remind myself that suffering produces perseverance, then character, then hope.

Sunday night marks another painful memory. This is one of those tales that really requires you to know the setting, and by the time I explain it, the story will have lost its power and you might not see why I've taken you through it. Here I go, anyway. As I got off one U-Bahn to wait for another arriving in five minutes or so, I was doing nothing but standing and breathing. On the platform across from me, for the trains heading the opposite direction, there was a man walking intently. He looked at me from his side (which you must know, our sides cannot be reached unless by use of the overpass), and he flicked me off with the thrust of his hand. Sure, at first I thought he did this to me, then told myself to stop thinking that way; but looking around me, I didn't see anybody else. I was appalled. Though facing left, my eyes followed him because I couldn't believe what had just happened. As he walked farther out of the picture, he made eye contact again, and again he deliberately and viciously flicked me off. Shocking. But then the worse part came. The part where this man did a one-eighty, and began walking up the moving escalator--to the overpass. Because this passage is a platform high above my level, I lost sight of this man.

My stomach dropped and I got that bad feeling that can't be described in any other way than a bad feeling. I prayed for physical protection. My train finally was arriving, and as it stopped and people began to exit, out of nowhere, the man dashed into my peripheral and proceeded to come right up to my face, saying, "Bitte ich durch fichen, bitte ich durch fichen!" I can't remember if this is what he said. It was loud, and it was a blur to me, and it was terrifying because he sought me out after I had done nothing. I am unsure at this point if he was saying "F-you" or if he was saying "I want to f-you." Regardless, I know it couldn't have been anything pleasant.

I said, "Bitte?" and just looked at him, then pushed my way onto the train. I quickly turned to see if he had followed me onto the car, but saw no one. And that was when I began to cry. I cried the whole way home until I got to my room, and I was incredibly shaky. I am tired of being treated this way. I am emotionally exhausted from having to ask myself, "what happened this time?" and wondering why these types of things aren't happening to anyone else I know here. Two days later, when having a conversation with an authortative figure, I was thoroughly offended when I was told, "Well, you're an attractive girl and these things happen to you. On the bright side, you'll have an easier time getting jobs, so it sort of balances out." No. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. There is no scale that will ever balance the dehumanizing of another. No one will convince me there is justification in choosing less than moral actions. You will never win that battle with me.

I thought these things were going to cease. I fear they have not, because this morning yet another odd thing happened to write home about. The winds were quite strong today, and as Rachel and I perused the streets with errands to accompish, we happened to be passing by a Greek restaurant at exactly the same time a gust blew down two easels with the day's specials. "You get that one, I'll get this one," I told her. So we picked them up, and just as we were about to leave, a man came out and started telling us thank you, and to come inside for something that I just couldn't make out the word. Native, Southern Germans can be hard enough to understand, but this was a Greek speaker. I didn't understand what he was saying, but I knew he wanted to thank us for our "good deed". We went inside, and another younger man presented us with a shot of licorice schnapps. They told us how to say "Prost!" in Greek, and Rachel and I looked at each other like, "is this really happening?" we shrugged our shoulders, and accepted their cultural offer of thanks. They asked if we were sisters, and I told them yes, sisters in Christ.

We left, and then just a second later, the younger man came out and started asking about coffee. I couldn't understand at first if he meant to come back in and have coffee, or what. I should have known, though. He wanted to have coffee with us later, and said he was going to give us his number. I said, no, that's okay, and if we wanted to then we'd come back to the restaurant at a later time (translation for guys: No. I don't want coffee now. I don't want it later, either. Actually, I'm never coming back, and I never want to see you again.) At this point in time, the man put had put his hand on my collarbone, and before I knew it, he was kissing my cheek goodbye.

Immediately I turned to leave, and jaw dropped, I turned to Rachel in utter disbelief of what had just happened. Who could have ever known what one gust of wind could result in? Certainly not schnapps at noon. Certainly not a conversation with Greeks. And most certainly, not an unwelcomed kiss from a strange and scruffy man.

I am unimpressed with the 'tact" of men. I am tired of being accused of doing wrong in any of the above=mentioned situations. And most of all, I am looking forward to the day coming where I never have to deal with this again.

(You Get to Create Your Own Captions)

There's A Place Like Home for the Holidays

Merry Christmas to you and Happy New Year!--one day early. Isn't it strange that it will be 2007 several hours before it probably will be for you? I used to think it was strange that I was eating dinner when you were eating an early lunch. Then I thought it was weird when I was up early and it was still "yesterday" for you. But now...now I think it's strange that my date will end in a seven, yet yours with a six. (Come on now...don't you guys know it's not good to live in the past?)

As I write, Lynn and I are watching Friends DVDs, Stephen and Dad are playing cards, and Mom is probably checking her e-mail. Today we headed out to Bratislava, and after a one-hour train ride, we had to present our passports to the pass control people. Funny thing though. Someone you know didn't bring her passport; she goes by the name Karen. You might acknowledge this as abnormal for me, and it is. But here was my logic--the last time I came to Austria, a close sister told me I didn't need to bring my passport because Austria is in the EU. So, when I left Munich with the fam on Thursday, I didn't even intend to bring it, since Slovakia is in the EU...

But boy oh boy was it funny when everyone else was "all clear" and then I stepped up to the plate, practically laughing in the guard's face, and attempted to show him copies of my passport and visa. He looked right at my face and said, "NO." Then he brought me over to some guy behind a glass counter, showed him my papers, and the man just shook his head violently, left to right, repeat, repeat. He undoubtedly resembled the soup nazi from Seinfeld. Then I asked the man, "So what do I do?" And he said, "LEAVE ON THE NEXT TRAIN BACK TO VIENNA!" Haha. Lynn and Mom stayed, while the boys and I turned back around and walked directly to the same train we just arrived by minutes before.

We've been spending lots of time together doing what people do. We eat a lot, walk around a lot, yell at each other, laugh at each other, mock one another, and sleep. I enjoyed the opportunity to show my family around Munich, but with the way things are over here, Sunday through Tuesday were all holidays, therefore many typical touristy things weren't open. We did, however, see Neuschwanstein on Tuesday, and it looked like a scene taken straight from a snowglobe.

Wednesday we visited family on Mom's side in Gemünden, and let me tell you, the eight-hour-plus train ride was more than worth it. Oh, I can't tell you enough how enjoyable it was to meet relatives I've heard lots of stories about. There's so much to say, that you'll just have to ask me about it. The hardest part was leaving, because as I was hugging Tante Emmy (who is blind), she began to cry and said, "It's so hard to be blind.... It's so hard to be blind..." It crushed me and rethinking it now crushes me yet again. I told her one day we will be able to see each other, because I believe that. But I've never felt so sad and helpless in front of family like that.

But before we left, Hildegard insisted Lynn and I come into the kitchen, and we all made sandwiches for our return ride home. Each sandwich had to have buttered sides, salami/ham, and cheese. UNCUT SANDWICHES WERE NOT ACCEPTABLE. No, no! They all drove us to the train station then, in four cars, and sent us off in German style. We boarded the train, and they just stood out there, directly on the other side of the window. It was hilariously awkward and funny, because we didn't know if we were supposed to keep waving and stuff or what.

Things are going good though. Sometimes it's a little rough, but so is life.