Strawberry lemonade

This is maybe my fifth attempt at writing about my experiences so far this summer. Now I'm a fairly verbose person, at least when it comes to the written word; my problem hasn't been thinking of words to describe my summer; it's been thinking of the right words to describe my summer.

So much traveling has happened during the past three months, beginning with a tri-continental celebratory grad trip and ending perhaps with a quick jaunt to Colorado for a family reunion in two weeks. And in each of the places that I've visited so far, I've left little pieces of my heart.

There's a piece of my heart in a barn in Lula, Georgia.

There's a piece of my heart at the very top of the London Eye.

There are pieces of my heart scattered among the trees surrounding Hume Lake.

And there are big ol' chunks of my heart on the back of an elephant, in the middle of a township, behind that sign at the Cape of Good Hope, all in South Africa.

I have a lot more to say about my summer (I'm hoping my thoughts will float to the surface soon), but for now, I'll leave it at this: all the life I've been living so far this summer tastes like a tall glass of strawberry lemonade with sugar around the rim.

I don't want to overdo it on the strawberry lemonade, but it tastes mighty delicious for now.

Freedom

How do real grown-up adults introduce themselves to each other?

For the past four years, I have introduced myself by stating my name, hometown, major, and which dorm I live in. I'm not totally sure what the adult version of that is.

I was at the airport in London the other day and had a bit of a crisis moment. The woman at the Customs counter asked me what my occupation was because I had forgotten to fill in that section on those little sheets they hand out on the plane.

"I'm a stu---" I began to say before I realized I couldn't actually claim to be a student anymore (I finished my undergrad degree about a month ago). That's when the panic began to set in.

I have absolutely nothing going on in my life at the moment. No job, no romantic partner, no apartment of my own. I don't even have any close friends in the surrounding area. And I really don't think I'm the only recent grad in this position (thanks a lot, recession).

So I had a little bit of a panic attack at the airport before my dad finally answered the question for me.

"She's a writer," he said. "A freelance writer."

Yeah, I'm sure that didn't look suspicious at all to the Customs lady (although she did agree to let me into the country).

The point is that my dad had it right: because I have no claim to anything or anyone, I can be whoever I want to be. I may be at a point in my life in which I am hopelessly lost, but I am also absolutely free.

Did you hear that, other recent grads who may be in this same position? We. Are. Free. And I don't know about you guys, but I am planning to use that freedom to write like the wind about this peculiar stage of life.

So here I am. My name is Rheanna, I grew up in the heart of the Andes Mountains in South America, I majored in English, and I am currently living in South Orange County, CA. And these are my musings on what it means to be a hippie vagabond wanderer gypsy freelance writer. Or whatever it is I claim to be today.

Welcome to freedom.

On Dating

"There are three possible parts to a date, of which at least two must be offered: entertainment, food, and affection. It is customary to begin a series of dates with a great deal of entertainment, a moderate amount of food, and the merest suggestion of affection. As the amount of affection increases, the entertainment can be reduced proportionately. When the affection IS the entertainment, we no longer call it dating. Under no circumstances can the food be omitted."

-Miss Manner's Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, via Bon Appétit, Sandra Byrd

Where I Live

The dreaded conversation happened again today.

One of my newer co-workers was just trying to be friendly to me by inquiring as to how classes were going. I responded with the usual "fine, but busy" and thought the conversation was over, until she continued with the question I will never have a real answer to:

"So where do you live?"

"On campus, just down the road," I replied, hoping this would be sufficient.

"No, like where do you live?" She asked again.

Where do I live? Oh please, let me tell you:

I was born in Los Angeles, spent several years in Lancaster, grew up in Ecuador, became a person in Dana Point, and attend university in Azusa. Although my family still lives in Ecuador, next year they're moving to South Orange County, but already they're inhabiting an apartment I've spent less than six months in.

"My parents live in Ecuador," I finally respond.

It takes her a moment to recognize the fact that I just named a foreign country. "Wait, Ecuador?"

"Mmhmm."

"Like you were raised there?"

"Yep."

"Wow," she says, "I never would have guessed."

I think that's a good thing.

"So like what's it like up there?"

Trying to ignore the fact that she just identified my South American country as being somehow "up" from where we are, I respond as nicely as possible that it's really different and fun "up" there.

And she chuckles to herself, makes one more comment about how she never would have guessed, and exits the room.

REJECT

"It's no good. When someone leaves you, apart from missing them, apart from the fact that the whole little world you've created together collapses, and that everything you see or do reminds you of them, the worst is the thought that they tried you out and, in the end, the whole sum of parts adds up to you got stamped REJECT by the one you love. How can you not be left with the personal confidence of a passed-over British Rail sandwich?"

-Bridget Jone's Diary, Helen Fielding

Luke 19:28-44

After telling this story, Jesus went on toward Jerusalem, walking ahead of his disciples. As he came to the towns of Bethphage and Bethany on the Mount of Olives, he sent two disciples ahead. “Go into that village over there,” he told them. “As you enter it, you will see a young donkey tied there that no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks, ‘Why are you untying that colt?’ just say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

So they went and found the colt, just as Jesus had said. And sure enough, as they were untying it, the owners asked them, “Why are you untying that colt?"

And the disciples simply replied, “The Lord needs it.” So they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their garments over it for him to ride on.

As he rode along, the crowds spread out their garments on the road ahead of him. When he reached the place where the road started down the Mount of Olives, all of his followers began to shout and sing as they walked along, praising God for all the wonderful miracles they had seen.

“Blessings on the King who comes in the name of the Lord!

Peace in heaven, and glory in highest heaven!”

But some of the Pharisees among the crowd said, “Teacher, rebuke your followers for saying things like that!”

He replied, “If they kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!”

But as he came closer to Jerusalem and saw the city ahead, he began to weep. “How I wish today that you of all people would understand the way to peace. But now it is too late, and peace is hidden from your eyes. Before long your enemies will build ramparts against your walls and encircle you and close in on you from every side. They will crush you into the ground, and your children with you. Your enemies will not leave a single stone in place, because you did not accept your opportunity for salvation.”

Stepping Stones

"I met my wife," said Mr. Hart. "When I did, it all made sense. She reminded me of everyone I'd had a relationship with before. I think I must have fallen in love with bits of her that were in other people. Relationships are like stepping-stones."

"They are?"

"Sure! Every relationship is another stepping-stone on the way to where you're going. You've got to step from one stone to the next because there aren't any shortcuts, but each step you take you're getting closer."

"Closer to what?"

"Finding out what makes you happy."

- A Winter Night's Dream, Andrew Matthews

Gracias por la lluvia

I wrote this one morning on my way to school in high school. In my head, it's also set to music.

I love the rain, especially in So Cal where it never rains. It makes everything seem a fairytale world, with the sky dark and daunting like some foreign prince has taken the sun captive, but at the same time, the sound of raindrops steadily dropping is such a comforting sound. And walking in the rain? Might be the best thing ever:

It's another rainy day

My world is cloudy and grey

I can't stop thinking about all you've done for me

It's the beginning of a new week

Pressure comes with no break

Will I push you out of my mind and forget?

I want to praise you
for the things you've done
that have kept me going on,
going strong.
I want to sing to you
the glories of your Precious Name.

Thank you for the rain

Oh God

It's beautiful, beautiful

Thank you for the rain

Oh God

It's beautiful, beautiful

Thank you