change

i have yet to sit down and document this week because it has been so filled with emotion that i have trouble grasping my words. Sunday was warm and beautiful. It was 78 and a cloudless sky when my sister and i got up groggy eyed and made our way down to the statehouse. As we arrived we saw it...the mass of humans that had converged upon the grounds of this regal white building. we had come to see the same thing as the rest of this sunday morning ... Barack Obama. We looked for the closest space we could to stand and watch. We ended up on the west side of the building standing in the shade of a monument to brave Ohioans who had fought in the civil war. The event started out with the local politicians warming the crowd up for the main event. Standing shoulder to shoulder I surveyed this sea of humanity. They were white, black, young, old, muslim, jewish, rich, poor, office workers, union men, and they were full of hope.  Standing there I heard the speech I imagine this man had given hundreds if not thousands of times before, but he still spoke with an earnest tone. I had heard much of the campaign talk already, but standing there on that bright autumn afternoon I knew we were on the edge of something great.

I had voted almost a month ago thanks to the early vote so as to not be stuck in what could amount to be a very long line. so, when tuesday came it felt like any other tuesday. I had to work that evening and was going to miss the beginning of the election coverage.  I assumed nothing would be official to very late if at all tuesday night. As the evening grew late and the polls closed I was receiving text after text of the states that were coming in.... all blue. By the time I was ready to close up shop the whole thing had been called ...He had won. 

You could hear the beeping horns and the yelling outside of the store, but it wasn't until I got home that night and turned on the tv did i really see it. When Obama delivered his acceptance speech something changed. An ease was in the air that hadn't been there before...that of real equality...that of hope for something better than the last few years. Wednesday I woke up to a different America. I woke up to the America that voted for hope over fear, and it poured into the streets. I woke up to a new country.

the waiting game

i played the waiting game for some time now. waiting for life to happen. waiting to grow out of this "stage". waiting for my life to start. waiting to take the next step, open the next door. i got pushed through that door earlier this year to find nothing but...you guessed it, another waiting room. now i am back to the waiting game. wait till christmas? wait till spring? i dont know...but i keep waiting. i wonder if all this waiting will always lead to more waiting?

i cannot...

think of the possibility of a mccain/palin presidency. watch the katie couric interview. it is still blowing my mind. heres a bit.

i spent a year of my life stumbling along

Kounellis in Sarajevo: artistic project in Vijećnica / National Library
Originally uploaded by .chourmo.

i realize sitting here today that i spent a good year of my life stumbling along. This sounds like a negative statement. its not. it was the most enlightening 365 days my heart has ever beat out.
one july afternoon i was out stumbling along the streets of sarajevo (which when left alone for too long, on my way to language class, or to the store i'd find myself always doing) when i wandered upon a grand piece of architecture i had viewed almost everyday from my apartment up the hill. the largest standing relic of the war on my side of town was this library; great and yellow and majestic. the national library stood above all of the minarets and red tile roofs for all of the old city to see. It was a hollow coffin of a building that had been fire bombed by the serbs some 10 years earlier. all of its magnificent windows had been boarded up and the bottom twenty feet of the building was all plastered with billboard advertisements for some eastern european brand shampoo or snack food or the random political banner. this hot afternoon i had taken a different route home from merkator (the cities most modern yet still very communist eighties grocery store/mall) and found myself standing in front of the regal ruins. This building has always caused great wonder for me, most of my curiosity centering around the question of "what must this place look like on the inside." Today i had just happened to glance up at the front door (looking more like a construction worker access than a grand entryway) when i noticed it was open. I decided to go in. when i got through the dusty foyer i noticed that it was some art exhibit in the octagonal shape vestibule. i paid the few marks to woman in the corner of the room and walked up to 12 foot doorways filled with books and rocks and sandbags. in the ruins of this hall of culture was an artist exclaiming "all is not dead here!". I stayed inside the library for another hour or so walking from doorway to doorway in awe at what my eyes beheld.
my stumblings have all been that to me. a suprise. a hidden wonder that seems to have been all but accidental,but a beauty held and awe-inspiring. 

post script: more of the library

an uncomfortable

today marks 7 years since a great tragedy. I am torn at times between anger at those who would use the attacks on the world trade center and the pentagon to fuel their own agenda for a "war on terror" and the desire to see justice served and a people protected against sucha an attack again. I have come to realization today  that i dont know would have happened 7 years ago. This realization is this..."the war against terror is bound up in the war against poverty". This is not a quote by Moveon.org, or Obama, or some hippie nut but a quote by General Colin Powell. Those responsible for the attacks seven years ago might have been wealthy Saudis but it was in collapsed poverty stricken Afghanistan they found success and sanctuary. Wouldn't it have been cheaper (and smarter) to make friends out of certain enemies than to defend yourself against them. I am coming to a realization that our best homeland security rests on the success of ending poverty in nations that we have all ability to do so in. The war on disease is a war on terrorism. Making AIDS, Malaria, and TB extinct in Africa will kill a fertile ground for terrorism. And it is doable. The plans are drawn up. We just arent convinced of it. This isnt on the news. This isnt in the papers. This isnt about oil or power its about valuing lives. We can be the generation of people who no longer accepts that an accident of lattitude determines whether a child lives or dies. Imagine if the money we spent on the war in Iraq  sent girls to school, began microenterprise loans, purified water, gave 20 cent innoculations, pardoned unpayable debt, taught AIDS prevention, fed villages, and taught responsible farming. Where would the terrorist camps be? Who would join them? I have come to the realization today that the destiny of the "haves" are intrinsically linked to the fates of the "have nothing at alls". we experience that seven years ago. Let us continue to learn from that today.

derailed

what do you do when you find the train you have been on is derailed. when you discover a detour along the path. when diversion is your path ahead. i procrastinate. i wait until the last moment. and when i finally pull the chord the parachute doesnt pop open. i still dont know if i have ever once known what are my plans and what are your plans. i still dont know if i hear you more than i hear myself. The only thing i know is that late or not I GOT ON THE TRAIN. It was a gamble...it would either make it to its destination or it wouldnt but that wasnt up to me. i took the step of faith. i did what i was responisble for. the rest is out of my hands.

thoughts

I wanted to write about Francesca today. About her death, and suicide, and how none of it makes sense and how painful it is for those left around and how death always seems to do that. But…I cant do it yet. So today I will talk about one of my favorite subjects…suburbia. The burbs and I have a love hate relationship. I recently moved home to my mother and new stepfathers house in preparation to leave again for the mission field. I moved from my quaint little one bedroom apartment in Grandview. I was an urban dweller. When I say my apartment was quaint I mean it was old, overpriced, and had little amenities. Moving home I remembered just how much I hated the suburbs, with their SUVs full of soccer moms on their way to republican rallies or the newest mega mall. Soon after settling in I realize there is a lot that I love about the burbs. Its those small details that I have come to an appreciation for. Air conditioning. I know this seems like a dumb thing but myself as well as all the friends’ apartments I frequent are lucky to have a single window unit to cool the entire space. This makes one quite used to a constant glaze of sweat on the forehead and uncomfortable moments in the middle of the night when you throw all the covers off yourself in what hot rage. It is one of the most calming feelings to walk into a clean white walled house set at a constant ambient temperature of 71 degrees. ….also grass. Well maintained, green endless spanses of grass. Im talking about the kind of grass that collects perfect little dew drops in the morning that you walk through to get the paper and curl your toes in. i love the smell of people cooking out and the smell of bonfires in backyards