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

october update

i haven't written without capitalization in ages for anything other than instant messaging and the occassional poem. (i don't know why im'ing makes me not capitalize; it must be some kind of inner urge to make it as "instant" as possible.) i used to write like this before, when i thought i had to be just like everyone else. then i realized that my strength lies in my written word and if my written word isn't uniquely me from every point of view, i may as well be everyone else.

i would like to be a roller derby girl for halloween, but i don't know where to find roller skates, so i'll probably just be a reindeer instead. i came home last night and my roommate was listening to christmas music; this sparked a two-woman rendition of santa baby at the top of our lungs and later, an attempted trip to the hot tub, which was thwarted by a group of praying hot tub-ers (seriously, who prays in the hot tub?) so we played foosball and ping pong instead and my roommates dominated. anyway, we were enlisted by our college group to plan a halloween party, so all of this together resulted in the decision to be "christmas" for halloween.

we had world vision chapel this morning, which basically means that the world vision office leader, choripan (at least that's how it sounds) uses this time to honor the handful of students who went on missions last year by way of international music, personal recollection of experiences, and lots of clapping and whoo'ing. there was also a video that showed images of all the places apu students ministered to. it made me feel homesick.

this is just a note to let you know that i'm still here.

What I'm Looking For

From March 2009:

I don’t want to come out of college with an engagement ring plastered on my finger. I want to fall in love on my own time and have my pick of the world when it comes to finding my future spouse. I don’t want to limit myself to the boys I go to school with because, as nice as they are, they’re still just boys. I want to literally search the earth for a person who, metaphorically speaking, completes me.

And this is the kind of man I want:

• A man who is sensitive, but not to the point of being more sensitive than me.
• A tall man with broad shoulders.
• A man with a sense of humor.
• A creative man.
• A man who knows how to write and use proper grammar/spelling.
• A romantic man (but not too sappy).
• A man who can sing.
• A man with energy and passion.
• A man who loves Jesus in a way that isn’t your cliché American Christian way.
• A man with big hands.
• A man who can play at least one instrument.
• A man who has spent a significant amount of time in a country other than the U.S.
• A man who goes against the grain.
• A tough man.
• A man who is older than me, if not physically, then in emotional and maturity years.

I’m not bemoaning my lack of a man at the present. On the contrary, I’m perfectly fine flirting and exchanging coy looks and text messaging five boys at the same time. This is fun and this is what college is all about.

I am bemoaning my lack of life, though, and I’m quickly coming to the understanding that I will not and cannot find that kind of thrilling, transitory, and inspiring life that I desire on your typical American college campus. So I’ll wait and long for a way to seek out this kind of life, rather than a boy who will become my “happily ever after.”

The Time I Was On Steroids And My Family Made Fun Of Me

Picture this: it's the summer of '05 and the Russ Clines have just moved to beautiful Dana Point, CA to partake in a 7-month-long vacation from reality. We're all moved into our new house and celebrating seaside weather by eating most of our meals on the patio and visiting the ocean as often as we want. Because we've just moved, the younger members of the family are virtually without friends (except for the occasional friendly face we see during the youth group our parents make us attend) so we're mostly hanging out with each other, dabbling in the art of makeup (yes, even Riley) and XBox and attempting to learn how to surf.

So it's the middle of summer and time is about to start passing more rapidly as the beginning of school approaches and we're enjoying one of our leisurely-spent breakfasts on our back patio when suddenly the peace is disturbed as one of my hilarious family members cracks a joke and we all partake in showing our amusement at the hilarity.

"Rheanna," Riley interrupts my grumpy morning-time revelry, "what's wrong with your face?"

I look into the window that I'm facing and have no idea what he's talking about.

"No, try smiling," my mom says.

So I smile and realize that there is something amuck with the reflection looking back at me in the window: try as I might, half of my mouth will not turn upward.

My family members laugh. Yes. They laugh. They laugh, they tease, they joke, and all the time my head is racing through all the possibilities of what could possibly be wrong with me. I'm thinking maybe a bug bit me during the night, or maybe I sprained a muscle, or maybe I accidentally took a muscle relaxant with the bite of scrambled eggs that my parents insisted I eat. (I have a natural aversion to scrambled eggs, mostly because the yellow color reminds me what they really are, but my parents think that if I don't get any protein in my breakfast, I will die. Or something.) It was a very traumatizing experience. Myself, living through this internal agony, while my family made fun of me.

Eventually I convince my parents that something is actually wrong with my face and they take me to the pediatrician (pediatrician! at 16 years of age!) who informs me that half of my face is paralyzed because I have Bell's Palsy, I will need to take steroids to try to make it go away, and even if my face does go back to normal, I will always have Bell's Palsy and it could show up any time in my life. So I go on steroids and my family continues to mock me, making comments about my impending manliness due to the steroids.

My face eventually went back to normal, but the trauma because of this experience will always live on inside me.

(I also eventually forgave my family, even though Riley still says that my name means "one who looks like man" in ancient languages.)

Breathing

If you've had any kind of contact with me over the past week or so, you probably have noticed that I have been a tad stressed out, which, you know, isn't that big of a deal. It happens to everyone; I've just been having a hard time dealing with it lately. So this is me dealing with it:

Things About My Life That Make Me Happy

1. My brand new Art Minor. Last week, I decided on the spur of the moment to declare a minor in Art, based on my thorough enjoyment of classes such as Ceramics and Women in Art, and so far haven't reconsidered.

2. The fact that I am not a freshman. Every year, the freshman class gets bigger and bigger (literally) and I become more and more grateful that I am older, wiser, more experienced, and altogether "with it" more than I was as a freshman. I love that I am an upperclassman, I love that I live almost off campus in The Village, and I love that the kind-of-annoying freshmen in my upper division classes just serve the purpose of making me feel smarter. Thank you, semi-annoying freshmen, and next time, don't take upper division classes during your first semester of college!

3. My apartment. Although it is lacking a little in cleanliness these days, my apartment is my favorite place to be in Azusa. Thanks to the lovely organizing and decorating skills of my mother and roommates, the apartment has become a comfortable place pulled together by my favorite colors (or non-colors, considering they are all neutral) and accented with splashes of bright happiness.

4. My roommates. I have incredibly supportive roommates and I like them. It's kind of one of those win-win situations.

5. Having classes that require me to read things I should have read in high school. Yes, I know I complained about Jane Austen to death and Mark Twain almost made me drop American Lit, but as I get deeper into my English classes, I'm realizing how great it is that I get to read American classics and stories about courtship from the Victorian Period as homework. Seriously. It's really great.

6. Independence. I have the freedom to do what I want when I want to do it, regardless of the hour or how much other stuff I need to get done first, without having to tell anyone what I'm doing. I also have the space to figure out who I am and why I do the things I do and it is a wonderful thing.

7. Long, almost normal-colored hair. I cut my hair short about a year and a half ago and it's finally back to the length I like. It also is almost back to my natural color after about three years of wrestling with blacks and reds and too-dark browns.

8. College group(s). At the moment, I am involved in two college groups, full of interesting and new people. I never thought I would say this, but I am beginning to love connecting with new people every week.

9. This exciting time of life. My friends and I are embarking on our 20's and I am loving hearing about semesters abroad and first-time I love you's and even weddings (although these terrify me at the same time). I can't wait to see (and hear about) what happens next.

It's good.

Love me

The window's open and smoke is getting in my eyes, except
not like how they say it does in the song, it's a literal smoke
with literal embers drifting drifting through the screen. "Love
me," they seem to say, and I have to agree with them because
I'm just sitting on this couch with nothing to do except let the
smoke in my eyes. I want something more to do, something
to occupy me while I wait (for the thing I've been waiting for
all my life), but there's nothing to do so I just sit and think all
about the things I wish I could be doing instead while this
whole time circuitous thoughts have been running in and out
my ears and I have this pressure on my chest that makes it
hard to pretend to be normal. I have food in my refrigerator,
but it's nothing I want to eat, not even the cookie dough ice
cream, which used to be my favorite, because there's nothing
inside me that's hungry except a low growl that is misinter-
preted too often. And this is my life right now, this is what
I'm stuck with. If you were here, you would fix me, I know.

Why I Need People

Human connections are important. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand the value of community and relationships and everything that goes along with those. As human beings, we need to know that there are other people who are like us, who think the same way and feel the same things, who are passionate about the same areas, who need us just like we need them.

The other day, I was texting my roommate and resolved that she needed something to cheer her up, due to a stressful day at work. So I drove to a Starbucks to pick up our favorite drinks. While I was waiting for the barista to make our Passion Iced Tea Lemonade and Pumpkin Spice Frapp, I had a short conversation with another customer about the merits of Mocha Chip Frappuccinos (Human Connection #1 of my story.)

After receiving the drinks, I surprised Roommate at the church office she works in (Human Connection #2). Roommate was happy to see me and I was happy to make her happy, in the same way that she has made me happy in countless ways during the two years of our friendship.

I didn't have anywhere I needed to be, so I drove with Roommate to pick up one of the students she works with from the train station. There was a church event happening that night and the student just needed a way to get there. I'd never met Student before, but as soon as we picked her up, I introduced myself and immediately felt comfortable in the way that only happens between two like-minded and -souled people (Human Connection #3).

After all of this Human Connection, I decided to stay and help at the church event that Roommate was helping to put on and felt decidedly more connected than I have felt in a very long time.

John Donne said that "no man is an island entire of itself" and he was right. We can try to live like hermits and create shells that swallow us whole, but eventually we realize that we need to feel connected with other humans in the same way that we need to breathe air and drink water and eat food. Without those connections, we become lost inside ourselves, like islands falling into the sea.

Dust to Dust

More from 2007:

you want to know something ridiculous? that's what i'm most afraid of. that i won't make a difference in anybody's life. that i'll just be some girl from some other world.

i don't want to just leave dust all over other people's lives. dust is annoying and you always try to flick it off but it doesn't really go anywhere. it's pointless and useless and leaves dirty marks.

Boundaries; or Why I Would Like To Do Anything For You

May 2, 2007: found in my Bible as Lit notebook.


Maybe this is how I'll always
feel; looking back on the occurrences
that drenched my spirit in
lighter fluid, then tossed me in
the flames (even though it takes a
while for things to catch on fire in
the altitude, it still happens eventually).
Maybe I'll be stuck with my confusion,
frustration, bitter prejudation tinting
all of my memories and convincing me
that nothing worth it happened at all.
(Except for you, that is. You made my
year. Remember?) But there's the
rub: worthwhile things finally made
it into my semi-non-existent
life. Your smile finally lit up my
days. Your encouragement finally
pushed happiness into my walk. Your
chilvarous notions finally made me
believe (that they're not all like
that "other one" out there in the
real world).
Yes. You made my year worth it.

Summer of our Youth

Monday night and life is about to begin:
the hurling, unfurling, fleeting flight of humanity, caught
in their quest to return to their holes, some
rushing outside to linger in the sunlight while the rest
are unwelcome to join the whole. One
moment forgotten by few and it still unrolls along the swift
cliff of the beginning. We are the learners
of knowledge, the students of wisdom, but this is not the
most important to-do point now. We are
a school of fish and we've been oceans away for months
too long and this is the time to misbehave,
disobey, soak in the summer of our youth. We will pay
attention to what we must when the time
comes, but for now, this is our day and we will play.

We will play.

Everything Changes But You

"Finish Last"
Stellar Kart

People change and plans get changed and
Everything changes but you
Everybody moves around and
Everything gets pushed around but you
You always stay the same, stay the same

I want to finish last
Last in the world's eyes
No matter what I do
I will be first in your eyes

I am running in this race and
I am pressing onwards towards the finish line
You have promised me a better life
Far beyond this world, far beyond this place and time


This song has been on my mind lately. The first time I heard this song, I was 16 and I thought I had my whole life planned out. Things changed, as they always do, and a split second later, everything I had planned for had fallen apart.

The problem is that even though we try to pretend like we know what's going on in our lives, we don't. And when everything we thought we had taken care of spins completely out of control, we have to realize that there's only one person who never changes and it's his plans (and his opinion of who we are) that really matters. It's cliché, but so true and so hard to learn.

I am doing a different thing right now than I thought I would be doing a year ago, and that's ok. I'm human and that's just how human plans work. What I need to be thinking about is whether I'm doing what God has planned for me. And as long as I'm doing that, who cares if I'm not exactly where I thought I would be a year ago?

All the time, all the time

This morning, I was driving to work and doing all of the random stuff I do while I drive, including, but not limited to, having full conversations with myself and reminiscing about where I was going and what was going on the last time I was in Betty (the car), when I finally got to the place where I turn in to get to the parking lot of my office building. As I do every morning, I turned on my left blinker, signaling that I was about to turn left. That's when I looked in my rear view mirror and noticed that there was nobody behind me to care about my blinker.

I'm at a point in my life where sometimes I feel like there's nobody behind me to care about the decisions I make. I'm definitely not saying this is true, because I know there are literally dozens of people who would do anything to help me get out of any mess I may find myself in, but sometimes it feels like I'm alone.

It probably has a lot more to do with the being single thing than I would like to admit. I'm the kind of person who likes to feel responsible for someone, and needed, and most of the time I just don't feel that way. The truth is that I'm still struggling to find my place in this thing we call "college" (but feels like a prison sometimes). And while I'm struggling with that, I can't help but reconsider my decision to spend four years in Southern California. This may be my proximity to several large-ish fires and the smoke and ridiculously hot weather that comes along with that speaking, but there are times when I just don't like it in Azusa. Maybe I should have made decisions that would have brought me to a different place. Or maybe not.

All of this is to say that I know I'm not metaphorically sitting in my car with no one driving behind me. I know that. And, most importantly, I know that God is driving in front of me, meaning that he anticipates my moves before I even consider them. But every once in a while, I think it would probably be nice to have someone driving behind me who doesn't have directions to the place we're going.

Falling in love with love

I fall in love easily.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. I've been in love maybe hundreds of times in my lifetime. And I'm not just talking about falling in love with boys, although that does happen pretty often. I'm mostly just referring to people, things, ideas, concepts, books, authors, paintings, lyrics, colors that I randomly encounter in life.

It doesn't take much to catch my attention. I like interesting and unusual details that aren't typically found in what I'm experiencing. I like voices that are imperfect, hearts that are broken, flaws and scratches, spelling mistakes (even though they bother me to death), and patterns. I keep an inspiration folder on my computer, full of random items I encounter on the internet, and it's spilling over with beautiful things, maybe things that only I would find beautiful.



Once something has caught my attention, I fall in love in a matter of minutes.