Snow

"Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up: the black shroud over a pool. Love, in its shortest form, becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The snow. Even now, saying "snow", my lips move so that they kiss the air."

-Ann Beattie, Snow, 1983

The Audition

There’s something about the first day of a new semester, so full of promise. Newness pulses in the air and becomes tangible in the sharpness of pencil points, the crispness of ruled paper, the prospect of doing all those things you said you would last semester, getting closer to that one thing you didn’t work hard enough for. But is it real promise? The kind of promise that could be cradled and rocked under the bosom of hope?
Choosing to wear black on this day was symbolic; I was mourning newness, cloaked and covered, shielding myself from the promise this Lysol-coated hallway was pretending to offer. The white gleam of the floor was beginning to blend into the walls around me and I felt like a fat, black blob immersed in a sterile swath of white.
The door opened and a fresh-faced student walked past me wearing an obnoxiously loud pink sweater. I was next. I took off my black jacket, saying nothing, looking at no one. I straightened my body, swivelled my shoe twice so I could hear the satisfying clean squeak it made; I was here, I was real. Breathe in and out. And go. The notes evaporated out of me as if I were the steam rising out of the professor’s mug of coffee.
When I had finished the last note, my mouth snapped shut and I looked up at the professor. The air buzzed with energy as if it were holding onto the vibratos and crescendos of my voice. Real promise, real hope circled the air between us.

Our beautiful Christmas!

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas filled with happiness, good food and family love.

Hello, England.

After the four most exhausting months of my life, i am finally sitting at a computer with no essay to finish, no exam to study for, no art project to complete, no shift at aerie. Over the past month i've scribbled down things to write on the blog inspired by a textbook reading or a lecture and taken so many photos that will document the past month (i will be posting these when I get home).

It felt strangely liberating to be sitting on a plane last night with no choice but to just do absolutely NOTHING. i arrived in London last night (!!) and when i hopped on the train it felt completely normal to be travelling to Walthamstow!

yay for england. i love british people.

219days is 1.

Happy Birthday to 219daysoflondon!

Close to midnight last night, I glanced at my clock to see that it was 11/11/2010 when it suddenly hit me: a year ago I was jetting off to England. And here I am, a year later, sitting in my university dorm room. Time is a strange thing.