Bonsoir tout le monde!

Today I decided to delete my travel blog. For some reason I felt very restricted by it and the thought of trying to catch up on blogging about all of my trips seemed daunting.

This blog feels more limitless and free. I can write about my reflections on life rather than just my travels.

I think one reason that I felt so restricted by my travel blog was that it had a cohesive theme. I felt like if I didn't recount everything related to my travels abroad within an acceptable amount of time then I would be a FAILURE. For some reason this feeling reminded me a lot of when I was a child.

My mother used to ask servers not to give me the children's menu at restaurants. I wonder if this was the case for any other anxiety-ridden children. Imagine me, crayon in hand, hard at work on the "fun" menu activities as if it was the SAT. I put so much pressure on myself to finish all of the activities before the food came. If I wasn't done, if the menu wasn't perfect and complete, I would refuse to eat. If I couldn't be perfect, I was obviously not worthy of food.

I bet Freud would have a field day psychoanalyzing me.

See, this is why this blog is special. I can share anecdotes like that without worrying that it isn't specifically travel-related.

While on the subject of travel though, I am really sad to be leaving France in less than a month. Travel is so much more possible when I am in Europe than when I'm in the USA. I'm exposed to so many more cultures and languages. I can meet people from all over the world, whereas back home it can feel very...homogenous. America is like an isolated bubble at times. It is easy to forget that there is a whole world out there. Thank goodness that Ryanair is planning on making more affordable flights from the states to Europe.

Despite getting rid of an official "travel" blog, I do wish to reflect on some of my trips, especially my trip to Marrakech which rendered me culture-shockingly speechless and changed how I view the world (as cliché as that may sound). I need time to let my reflections marinate in the juices of my mind though. 

(Gross. Mind juices. Julia, what are you saying?)

Finally, I would like to leave you all with this wonderful article that combines two of my favorite things: foreign languages and Pokemon.

À bientôt! :D

It's been a while. I'm not dead.

It has been forever since I've posted. I am still alive.

Summer has been going pretty well. My life is fairly uneventful, except for job-hunting and writing. Let me know if you want to hire me. My skills include nothing, haha. But really, I can do things like stand or sit or sell people things (probably).

I wish I lived in Chicago. It is so much more lively than Oxford. Even though public transportation hates me and often makes me carsick, I love it. I love how strangers are forced to make eye contact and listen to each other's small talk. It's sad how so many people just look at their phones instead of out the window or at each other. That reminds me of this cartoon I saw.

I have been doing a lot of writing lately because I am going to Portugal late June for the Disquiet Literary Festival in Lisbon. Here is an essay that I just wrote a few days ago. I was inspired a lot by some of my previous blog posts.

Drippy

I remember raindrops. My preschool teacher read us a book called The Adventures of Drippy: The Runaway Raindrop. I was so excited by the idea of a raindrop being alive. It is one of the first times I remember personifying an inanimate object. I’d pick a raindrop and watch it make its way down the car window on a fluid journey. I would follow its path with my finger, leaving behind a trail of clarity on the fogged up window. In my mind, the raindrop was Drippy, but sometimes my four-year-old self decided that wasn’t creative enough. Maybe that raindrop was me, I thought. Maybe I was the raindrop. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, I was projecting my consciousness onto this tiny drop of rain.

Down it would flow, its brothers and sisters flowing beside it. It was like a race with new competitors being added by the second as the rain fell harder. I’d watch it merge with other raindrops and think of how it was like it had made a friend. Or maybe it had eaten its friend and gotten plumper. The bigger the raindrop got, the faster it fell down the glass. Finally, it flowed to the point where I couldn’t see it anymore. I sat up straighter and got on my knees to try look for it on the side of the car, but it was gone. I never liked to say goodbye. I wanted to know where it would go now. I only got to see a tiny fraction of its journey. Inanimate objects deserved my empathy as much as living ones.

When I was five, my kite escaped. It had the face of a ferocious tiger. I didn’t even like the design very much, but once it was gone I was distraught. My mom and I looked for it for what seemed like hours, but all we found was a bit of string. It began to storm. I sobbed as we drove home. Later that night I asked, “Mom, if you lost me, would you stop looking too?” She kissed my head, and laughed. “Of course not.” But I wasn’t so sure. To me, my life was no more important than the life of that tiger kite. It was out in the storm alone. Its pain was my pain.

15 years later, I still look at the rain against my car window, but now I’m the one in charge of getting rid of it. I turn on my windshield wipers, and watch the poor little Drippy’s disappear with each swish of the blades. But I need to be able to see so I can survive. Is my life more important than the raindrops? I don’t like to put myself above anything, but maybe it is true. Could I be more important than another human being? My heart tells me no; every human life is equal, but my brain sometimes begs to differ. The value of a human life comes from how much passion one has. If you are living life intensely and passionately then you are worth all the stars in the sky, but if you just flow along like a raindrop, not caring, then perhaps you are worth less. But who am I to judge the worth of another human or even a raindrop for that matter?

If I’m in the backseat, sometimes I will revert to being four. I’ll be four and 19 simultaneously. I’ll see a raindrop merge and in addition to friendship, I’ll think of sex. Two raindrops become one. The pregnant raindrop might leave behind a small trail of raindrops like offspring. These tiny drops are stagnant for some time, before finally being big enough to flow on their own. I’m still waiting to flow on my own. I need a storm to motivate me and help me grow. Because it’s the storm that forces you to grow, not the peaceful sprinkling spring rain.

Or I’ll think of survival of the fittest, how the big raindrops eat everything in their path. The larger, stronger raindrops move faster through life to reach the finish line first. They’re like the corporate CEOs, the heads of major industries, like Ebenezer Scrooge eating Bob Crachit. Maybe I’ve become jaded. Bah, humbug. My views are tinted by experience like the black tint of my car windows. But four-year-old me still lives inside my chest like a bonsai waiting to burst out.

When I was young I had really bad motion sickness, so often a cloud of Dramamine drowsiness blurs my memories. But one memory is so strong that I can’t shake it. I was in the fourth grade riding the bus home. We stopped in front of the railroad tracks and I told myself, “I'm going to remember this moment for the rest of my life.” And I have. I was so directive and decisive about remembering that it has stayed with me. I wanted to remember how peaceful I was at that moment. I thought that even when I grow old I would have this memory of youth where nothing particularly special was happening. I smiled to myself as we bumbled over the tracks. I remember sitting on that brown slab of a seat alone, unrestricted by a safety belt. I remember.

I think we all need something to hold on to from the past that isn't a big important moment. Sure, I remember my parent’s divorce, graduating high school, my first breakup, or my first kiss. But I wanted something that didn't have so much significance behind it because really most days are just normal, just ordinary. But maybe that is what is most important; not the big events, but the small meaningless moments that often pass away unnoticed.

So there I was, sitting alone on the bus. Other kids were talking to each other loudly and laughing. Suddenly, I felt much older than them. I looked out the window at a tree blowing in the wind and I imagined myself as an old woman, wrinkled and slow. I knew I wouldn’t always be young and mobile. My body would slowly deteriorate. I didn't want to forget my childhood so I tucked away that small moment in my mind so I wouldn't lose that part of myself.

Have I lost that part of myself? I hope not.

The other night I was driving through my old neighborhood when I had a very strong, sudden urge to walk Pablo in my old neighborhood. We needed to walk together one more time before he died or before my family moved away from my hometown. Pablo is a beautiful, slightly overweight sheltie that I’ve had since I was six. He grew up with me. He herded my stuffed animals into a circle and let me cry into his thick fur coat. When I was growing up I used to walk him to a stop sign a few streets over. It was my time to think and unwind, to recharge my introverted nature. Pablo was my silent companion, my trusted friend who bounced happily along beside me. I would look down at him and he'd glance back up at me and smile. For those of you who say dogs can't smile, you're mistaken.

So the next day we took the walk and travelled back in time. It was odd looking at my old house and the basketball hoop I used to practice on back when I was an elementary school basketball star. I’ve definitely lost most of my athletic ability, except for tennis and the occasional run. I saw the divide between our old neighbor’s yard and our own where we once found Pablo in the compost pile. He was covered in rotted fruit and he vomited everywhere, but he still wanted to keep eating the decomposing food. Silly dog.

Pablo seemed to remember the neighborhood. There was a youthful bounce in his step reminiscent of puppyhood. He wore his signature smile with his tongue flopping around. Of course he had to poop and pee everywhere; that is to be expected. It was a much slower walk than before. Pablo is old now and his stamina is not what it used to be. To me, the walk seemed much shorter. My legs are longer now. To Pablo, the walk probably seemed much longer, because moving is much harder for him than it was in his youth.

My old neighbor Max had a corgi named Hannah. I never knew much about Max, except that he would give Hannah several cans of food a day until her belly dragged along the ground. The two of us would stand in a comfortable silence and smile down at our dogs as they played together. It was a running joke in my family that Pablo was in love with Hannah. As we passed their house the gate was left open. I imagine that meant that we were always welcome, even though both Hannah and Max have died.

Pablo barked at a guy on a bike like he always does, nearly causing him to fall onto the pavement. Some things never change, like Pablo’s unexplained hatred for bicycles. I think he might be concerned about people on wheels because it seems unnatural or dangerous. He always gets concerned whenever my mother stands on a chair. He’ll bark and whine as if to say, “Get down from there! You could fall!” He barks when my mom picks me up, maybe out of jealousy or concern that she will drop me. He also barks when my mom dances. This might have something to do with her poor dancing skills, or maybe he is jealous of her abilities. Pablo wishes more than anything that he could talk to us. I can see it in his dark eyes.

 Pablo got two compliments on how beautiful he is from two people I passed. He could use the self-esteem boost since he’s gained a lot of weight in his old age. When we reached the stop sign that had so often been our turnaround spot I felt odd. I couldn’t place the feeling and I still can’t. I’d like to say I felt closure, but I didn’t. I didn’t really feel anything. I thought to myself that maybe I needed to touch the stop sign, to feel the tangible metal on my fingertip. So, even though there was a car there and I was self-conscious about looking weird, I caressed the stop sign pole. It felt rusty and cold. Still nothing. Then I looked down at Pablo. He was peeing on the stop sign. Then I realized this was our territory. His urine marked it as surely as urine could. I didn’t have to feel like I was leaving my childhood behind, or any sense of closure, because our lives were still continuing on. Our past was just as alive as our present and our future. Then I felt a raindrop on my shoulder. It was just Drippy stopping by to say hello.

You Aren't Like Them Comic

I didn't make this, but it is fantastic.

You Aren't Like Them

The Run-on Sentence of a Chronic Insomniac

I want to talk about life and the meaning of it all and look at the stars and fly a kite even though I hate kites and then roll down a hill and throw up and get carsick in a taxi and then eat some street food and hear some shitty cover band and then lose the claw (almost getting a stuffed animal) and then slide down the bowling alley lanes in nothing but socks and cross the street, dangerously close to getting hit, and then stay in a cheap hotel with a waffle maker and then eat some gelato and have an awkward encounter with a stranger and then smile at someone and look up at a tall building and feel so small and then ride a camel and learn something new about the human body and then roast a few marshmallows and then pass by a homeless guy, feeling so guilty, and then hear a song that reminds you of a certain time or of your ringtone when Chris used to call you to ask about your Vonnegut paper and you put yourself back into your high school self and realize it's a different person completely even though you share the same skin.

A Cluttered Mind

The life of a hermit isn't lonely. Maybe I am a hermit crab.

Is it bad that I enjoy sitting in my room alone?
Our culture is so extrovert-based that I actually feel guilty for not going out on a Saturday night. Well, I feel guilty for not "acting my age" in an odd sort of sense. I act like I am simultaneously a 30 year old woman and a 10 year old boy. 

This is probably going to be rather incoherent because that is my mind's current state, but please bear with me.

There is a difference between being alone and being lonely.
When I am alone I feel at peace. I can focus on me, which is something I struggle to do when I am around others.

I find myself being lonely less. I just want to be alone. It isn't a sign of something wrong with me.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/comics-every-introvert-will-understand
These comics are so accurate.

I had an interesting thought the other day. Is one human life worth more than another?
If you had asked me this question a year ago then I wouldn't have hesitated to say that every human life is equal, but lately I've found my opinion shifting slightly.

I think that the main thing that makes a human life worth more is if he or she lives life with passion. The more intensely life is lived, the more it is worth.

*                    *                    *

I'm really proud of making those stars.

You're never too old to make a fort out of pillows and sheets.

A Sticky Situation...

Urban DICKtionary and the habit I share with Bo Burnham

Whenever I think that I've come up with some new word Urban Dictionary always already has an entry for it. My life is so hard. A few years ago I thought of ninjaneer, like a person who trains ninjas. 
But then I came across this:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Ninjaneering

Today I came up with both procrastidating and procrastimating. Sadly...Urban Dictionary, being the DICKtionary that it is, already had definitions for both of them:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=procrastidating
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=procrastimating

AND FOR DICKTIONARY:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=dicktionary

It is now my goal to outwit Urban Dictionary. Expect updates.

Maybe I should stick to the other method of making myself feel more creative than I actually am, which is trying to say sentences that I don't think that anyone else has ever said before. (Bo Burnham actually does this too, which I find quite amusing. I'm not alone in my weirdness!)

Examples:

"But I removed my boobs and temporarily replaced them with books."

"My favorite movie is From Justin to Kelly."


"Out of the Box is the reason I have unrealistic expectations."
(This actually has a story behind it: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCU0MrdI1Oc
My roommates and I shouted at this video in pure fury. THIS SHOW IS FULL OF LIES. REGULAR BOXES DO NOT TURN INTO THIS AMAZING PLAYHOUSE. THERE ARE NO MAGICAL RESOURCES THAT APPEAR FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF CHILDREN.)

"I remember a stand selling huge, bigger-than-your-face ravioli." (This was from a dream I had. Mmm, they sound so delicious.)

If any of you have said these sentences before, congratulations. You've proven that I am unoriginal.

Back to school tomorrow so there will probably be less posts...but hopefully I can find some time to write out random things.