Every day I wake up and try to convince myself I’m at Oxford.
Perhaps that seems silly: how long can it take for one to realize where one lives? I’m going to be here for a year and still….I feel separate and apart from time and place. It isn’t that I feel like I’m in Kansas or DC or America or Europe or England or Oxford. I feel like I’m nowhere—somewhere worthwhile but somewhere that does not exist for anyone besides me and my fellow international students who I am getting to know more and more.
It hasn’t sunk in that I’m here to stay or that I’m on the verge of starting my Oxford education. This first week of orientation, labeled “0 Week” here at Oxford, has been weird. I’ve been jumping around from activity to activity, meeting Freshers and third-years and other JYAs (Junior Year Abroad students). I don’t have much time, my room is a mess, and I’m being thrown more and more reading lists. I have pretty successfully cut myself off from pop and have been drinking loads of tea. During orientation, we all eat in the dining hall together, so I have had several English meals (all involving potatoes, which is a food group for me anyway).
Originally I had thought that I would buy a bike and ride it around, as is the Oxford student way of life. Soon after arriving, however, I noticed the proximity of the bike lane and the bus lane; let’s just say they’re intimate neighbors. And by bike lane I mean two lines painted inches apart and thrown next to the curb. The bicyclists flap out their arm and weave into traffic to get around round-abouts. They inch along, kicking off the curb in stand-still traffic. They sometimes wear intense yellow vests, dorky helmets, and legit rain jackets. I have been enjoying walking everywhere, probably an hour per day minimum. It helps further that silly feeling I’ve always had that I am secretly Elizabeth Bennet, roaming around the English countryside.
So far I visited Port Meadow in the outskirts of Oxford—it was stunningly beautiful, a natural, peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of city centre. We stopped by the delicious little Trout Inn that is in the Meadow, where I had the best fish and chips of my life. I ate dinner at the Eagle and Child (where the Inklings held their meetings) and had drinks at the Lamb and Flag. The neighborhood Tesco’s has become my very own. I check my pigeon hole for mail at the Porter’s Lodge. My ears are caressed with “leisure,” “inquiry,” “cheers,” and “schedule” on a daily basis; while the accents are becoming less noticeable for me, they are nonetheless still beautiful.
I attended Freshers’ Fair at the Exam Schools, where hundreds of little stalls artfully beckon the overwhelmed newcomers to the Oxford community to sign-up and join the C.S. Lewis Society, Assassins’ Guild, Oxford Law Society, the Rugby team, Catholic Students, or the Drama Society. I signed up for probably twenty clubs I’m sure I’ll never participate in. It was like our SAC Fair at Georgetown but intensified.
Last night I attended our first formal dinner at Mansfield, held in the college chapel. There was a pre-dinner drinks reception with champagne, and dinner consisted of meat pâté, stuffed chicken, potatoes, steamed vegetables, toffee pudding, white and red wine, coffee, and chocolates. The chapel was beautiful, the tables lit by candlelight, the tablecloths snowy white, and the Freshers and JYAs neatly tucked in behind numerous forks, knives, and glasses. There are two formal dinners per week at Mansfield so I think that I shall try to go once a week. When else will I experience this? I am so blessed.
Currently I am very overwhelmed by my upcoming tutorials. The reading lists for each paper compare to what I would read for a final paper at Georgetown—plus a few more books. The Oxford University library system is a bit confusing and overwhelming, but I bought my first book from the UK version of Amazon, visited and made several purchases at the enormous Blackwells bookstore, and ordered my first book from the stacks at the Bodleian. I trust myself to get it all the done, but nonetheless, this is quite intimidating. Of all the adjustments I’ve made, I think the move to the tutorial system will be one of the most challenging.
Overall, I am enjoying myself tremendously and feel quite settled in. I’m very excited for the next few weeks to unfold and to finally know what it feels like to study at Oxford. Soon and very soon I shall be what feels like a college drop-out no longer.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Welcome to Europe
I’ve missed blogging so much. It seems like I’ve thought a hundred times “It would be so great to blog about this…” After traveling around Europe for two weeks with my mom, I am here at Oxford, moved into my dorm. It has been quite a hassle to figure out how to get internet access, but hopefully I will have internet in my dorm room next week. It’s surprising what a luxury getting on Facebook and checking my email is after traveling. Sometimes I think God provides us with breaks from what we take for granted precisely so that we stop taking it for granted.
I don’t really know where to start to bridge the gap between the last time I wrote and now. International flights suck. Heathrow airport immediately made me feel like I was in Europe with its clean, minimal, modern lines (reminiscent of IKEA, I think). Instead of bathroom or restroom, the Brits refer to the loo as the “toilet,” which seems a bit crass. It made me laugh when I saw the sign for “baggage reclaim”; the English are nothing if not proper with the use of their language. After all, one already possesses one’s luggage—there is no need to claim it (as we silly Americans have shortened it to), simply to reclaim it. Nonetheless, I don’t feel like I’m in Europe yet. I don’t know when it will finally hit me—maybe never? Maybe when I’m no longer studying in Europe?
Mom and I took a bus to Oxford to drop off my luggage in my dorm room, and my first brief glimpses of Oxford were breath-taking. I still haven’t explored too much, and I can’t wait to look around all the different colleges. We then took a train up to Glasgow for four days, where I enjoyed my first fish and chips (delicious), my first Guinness (gross), took my first taxi ride in one of those roomy, fancy British cabs, went on a tour of the Highlands, visited Edinburgh, and enjoyed our “local” pub.
It was weird how everyone driving from the right side of the car on the left side of the road didn’t faze me too much, nor did being legally able to drink or even using a different currency. Even the beautiful accents aren’t standing out as much anymore. The weather has been colder than home but with several sunny days thrown in, so that transition hasn’t been too difficult. In all the hotels I’ve been to in the UK thus far, the Brits typically provide a tea kettle, trouser press, and heated towel rack in the room, which I found amusing. When traveling, trash cans (aka “rubbish” or “litter” bins) were very difficult to find, and in each of our hotel rooms, they had the same miniature trash can in the bathrooms. Surprisingly, however, with the few trash cans, I have seen zero litter. It seems to be taken very seriously here that people keep their roads and public buildings clean, and I think some public employees have the task of cleaning up the streets.
One other thing I have noticed is an extreme awareness of fire safety. The numerous fire extinguishers and fire blankets in buildings are paired with thorough fire exits and pathways in most buildings I’ve been in. Several times I have been scared that I would set off some alarm when I opened a door. There are signs posted everywhere that says “CCTV is monitoring this building/the speed” in public areas and on highways with a picture of a video camera; it feels like Big Brother is watching my every move sometimes.
Throughout our travel, my homesickness seemed to manifest itself in an intense craving for McDonald’s. That seems especially odd since I don’t eat McDonald’s too often at home, but I guess it makes sense. I wish I could have a homesick craving for something healthier. Oh, well. I really do enjoy shopping at the Tescos here though; they’re good quality and comparatively have pretty good prices. I’m excited to cook for myself, although I don’t think I’ll get too adventurous.
The trains in the UK really are super convenient and pretty comfortable overall. Also, they provide a beautiful opportunity to soak in the countryside. Between the fields covered in fluffy sheep and the clouds which seem to touch the earth, I love the English and Scottish countryside. The Highlands, Loch Ness, and Loch Lomond were….awe-inspiring. Stunning. I don’t know how it is possible to look at them and not know that God is our heavenly Father. I will say the Highlands were taller than I thought they would be, which sounds stupid. But it’s true. They towered majestically on either side of the road we were on, making me feel small, human, insignificant.
Looking back, I do think my time in Scotland was my favorite portion of our trip. After Glasgow, we returned to just outside of London to fly to Munich for Oktober Fest. To be perfectly honest, I was disappointed. Munich felt bleak and cold, and the language barrier proved to be a barrier. I shouldn’t have been so surprised.
Despite several attempts, we couldn’t get seats in a beer tent. The lederhosen were awesome, the food was delicious, the atmosphere was fun. There were several amusement park rides similar to those in America—but on crack. For example, there was a circle of dangling swings people sat in (like we have back home), but it rose up hundreds of feet in the air. Yikes. I spoke with several other Americans who had a fabulous time, but my mom and I were not too impressed. Our trundle beds in our authentic German hotel may have had something to do with that too.
Next we flew back to London and took a train to Liverpool. Mom and I went shopping there, which seems a bit odd I suppose. We had a great time though, and walked down to the dock as well. We stayed in an apartment that felt very luxurious and roomy, like a little slice of home away from home. When we went to the pubs Friday night, I was surprised to find that there were so many senior citizens out and that karaoke was so popular. Everywhere.
The next day we flew to our final destination: Dublin. I reunited with one of my best friends for the weekend, which was delightful!!! We went to Malahide to see the coast (and got a bit lost, walking around for hours), took a tour around the city, walked around Trinity and Grafton street, and went on a musical pub crawl. My mom had been on one previously and loved it, so the three of us got tickets to go. Usually, a few musicians take a group of people to a few different pubs, to discuss Irish musical culture and play traditional music in a warm, acoustic setting. One of our musicians seemed trashed, and the other dominated most of the time with his stories, jokes, and ego. When they actually performed a few songs, they were very talented. It irked me a bit that the more talkative musician kept bashing touristy Dublin and Americans; I know tourists can be quite annoying, but they also generate a great deal of revenue for Dublin. Many of us come with respect, wanting to learn of a different culture, meet people, enjoy ourselves. Nonetheless, we had an excellent time.
Mom dropped me back off in Oxford and left a few days ago. I think it’s finally starting to hit me that I’m staying, but even then it hasn’t truly sunk in. I’ve organized my room and decorated a bit, bought groceries, done laundry, and have been reading for school. Orientation starts tomorrow, and I can’t wait to meet other students. I’m feeling nervous again with all this anticipation and a slight bit of homesickness for both Kansas and Georgetown already.
This is a SUPER long post; I apologize for the length. I’ll write again soon with more about Oxford itself.
I don’t really know where to start to bridge the gap between the last time I wrote and now. International flights suck. Heathrow airport immediately made me feel like I was in Europe with its clean, minimal, modern lines (reminiscent of IKEA, I think). Instead of bathroom or restroom, the Brits refer to the loo as the “toilet,” which seems a bit crass. It made me laugh when I saw the sign for “baggage reclaim”; the English are nothing if not proper with the use of their language. After all, one already possesses one’s luggage—there is no need to claim it (as we silly Americans have shortened it to), simply to reclaim it. Nonetheless, I don’t feel like I’m in Europe yet. I don’t know when it will finally hit me—maybe never? Maybe when I’m no longer studying in Europe?
Mom and I took a bus to Oxford to drop off my luggage in my dorm room, and my first brief glimpses of Oxford were breath-taking. I still haven’t explored too much, and I can’t wait to look around all the different colleges. We then took a train up to Glasgow for four days, where I enjoyed my first fish and chips (delicious), my first Guinness (gross), took my first taxi ride in one of those roomy, fancy British cabs, went on a tour of the Highlands, visited Edinburgh, and enjoyed our “local” pub.
It was weird how everyone driving from the right side of the car on the left side of the road didn’t faze me too much, nor did being legally able to drink or even using a different currency. Even the beautiful accents aren’t standing out as much anymore. The weather has been colder than home but with several sunny days thrown in, so that transition hasn’t been too difficult. In all the hotels I’ve been to in the UK thus far, the Brits typically provide a tea kettle, trouser press, and heated towel rack in the room, which I found amusing. When traveling, trash cans (aka “rubbish” or “litter” bins) were very difficult to find, and in each of our hotel rooms, they had the same miniature trash can in the bathrooms. Surprisingly, however, with the few trash cans, I have seen zero litter. It seems to be taken very seriously here that people keep their roads and public buildings clean, and I think some public employees have the task of cleaning up the streets.
One other thing I have noticed is an extreme awareness of fire safety. The numerous fire extinguishers and fire blankets in buildings are paired with thorough fire exits and pathways in most buildings I’ve been in. Several times I have been scared that I would set off some alarm when I opened a door. There are signs posted everywhere that says “CCTV is monitoring this building/the speed” in public areas and on highways with a picture of a video camera; it feels like Big Brother is watching my every move sometimes.
Throughout our travel, my homesickness seemed to manifest itself in an intense craving for McDonald’s. That seems especially odd since I don’t eat McDonald’s too often at home, but I guess it makes sense. I wish I could have a homesick craving for something healthier. Oh, well. I really do enjoy shopping at the Tescos here though; they’re good quality and comparatively have pretty good prices. I’m excited to cook for myself, although I don’t think I’ll get too adventurous.
The trains in the UK really are super convenient and pretty comfortable overall. Also, they provide a beautiful opportunity to soak in the countryside. Between the fields covered in fluffy sheep and the clouds which seem to touch the earth, I love the English and Scottish countryside. The Highlands, Loch Ness, and Loch Lomond were….awe-inspiring. Stunning. I don’t know how it is possible to look at them and not know that God is our heavenly Father. I will say the Highlands were taller than I thought they would be, which sounds stupid. But it’s true. They towered majestically on either side of the road we were on, making me feel small, human, insignificant.
Looking back, I do think my time in Scotland was my favorite portion of our trip. After Glasgow, we returned to just outside of London to fly to Munich for Oktober Fest. To be perfectly honest, I was disappointed. Munich felt bleak and cold, and the language barrier proved to be a barrier. I shouldn’t have been so surprised.
Despite several attempts, we couldn’t get seats in a beer tent. The lederhosen were awesome, the food was delicious, the atmosphere was fun. There were several amusement park rides similar to those in America—but on crack. For example, there was a circle of dangling swings people sat in (like we have back home), but it rose up hundreds of feet in the air. Yikes. I spoke with several other Americans who had a fabulous time, but my mom and I were not too impressed. Our trundle beds in our authentic German hotel may have had something to do with that too.
Next we flew back to London and took a train to Liverpool. Mom and I went shopping there, which seems a bit odd I suppose. We had a great time though, and walked down to the dock as well. We stayed in an apartment that felt very luxurious and roomy, like a little slice of home away from home. When we went to the pubs Friday night, I was surprised to find that there were so many senior citizens out and that karaoke was so popular. Everywhere.
The next day we flew to our final destination: Dublin. I reunited with one of my best friends for the weekend, which was delightful!!! We went to Malahide to see the coast (and got a bit lost, walking around for hours), took a tour around the city, walked around Trinity and Grafton street, and went on a musical pub crawl. My mom had been on one previously and loved it, so the three of us got tickets to go. Usually, a few musicians take a group of people to a few different pubs, to discuss Irish musical culture and play traditional music in a warm, acoustic setting. One of our musicians seemed trashed, and the other dominated most of the time with his stories, jokes, and ego. When they actually performed a few songs, they were very talented. It irked me a bit that the more talkative musician kept bashing touristy Dublin and Americans; I know tourists can be quite annoying, but they also generate a great deal of revenue for Dublin. Many of us come with respect, wanting to learn of a different culture, meet people, enjoy ourselves. Nonetheless, we had an excellent time.
Mom dropped me back off in Oxford and left a few days ago. I think it’s finally starting to hit me that I’m staying, but even then it hasn’t truly sunk in. I’ve organized my room and decorated a bit, bought groceries, done laundry, and have been reading for school. Orientation starts tomorrow, and I can’t wait to meet other students. I’m feeling nervous again with all this anticipation and a slight bit of homesickness for both Kansas and Georgetown already.
This is a SUPER long post; I apologize for the length. I’ll write again soon with more about Oxford itself.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Oh, Kansas Weather
Of course a Kansas hail storm causes my flight to be canceled. As soon as I am actually ready to go to Europe, I cannot leave for another day.
My mom and I headed to the airport tonight, running a bit late as usual. We made a mad dash to Quik Trip for one last delicious “Henry Special,” then booked it to the airport. Upon arriving, I find that after scrupulous packing, one of my suitcases is 4.5 pounds overweight. So I opened it up and pulled out a pair of boots to stick in my mom’s carry-on and my pair of cowboy boots that I put on and wore. What a great way to start our trip and enter England, I thought: on good footing.
Then we go through security, with some dubious “personal items.” In addition to our rolling carry-on suitcases, my mom had a small duffel for her personal item and I had a backpack that was rather hefty for mine (personal items include a purse, laptop, or briefcase). For once in my life, I received a low-key inspection of my insulin pump (which is usually swabbed and tested for explosives) and no pat-down. I was shocked when the security lady asked me to pull it out of my pocket and merely thanked me for doing so.
It started pouring outside as we boarded our plane. We had to climb down two flights of stairs to get outside, go into the rain to load up our carry-ons onto a luggage cart, climb another flight of stairs into the plane itself, and get settled. We then sat on the plane for two hours while it rained, then hailed. Next we had to wait for a maintenance worker to examine the plane for hail damage; while he was finally doing so, it began to hail again. Then he inspected it, found four dents, and we were informed that pictures of the dents must be sent to Utah for engineers to assess before the plane could be flown. We deboarded the plane and waited in huge lines to speak with an attendant to reschedule our flight. For the cherry on top, we received our carry-ons back soaking wet. Fabulous.
Unfortunately, there were no attendants. We waited in a line for at least half an hour before an attendant appeared. Then we finally find out that there are no flights that arrive in England earlier than Friday afternoon (originally we were to arrive Thursday afternoon and already have our hotel booked for Thursday night). My mom pushed and prodded until they found the absolute earliest flight leaving tomorrow morning, where we will need to take three planes and arrive in England Friday morning. Whew.
After four plus hours at the airport, no food since noon, and all the stress of boarding a plane, I’m sitting here in my room at home. When I am FINALLY READY and no longer in denial, here I am pointlessly sleeping at home when I could be flying over the Atlantic right now. Oh, the irony.
Hopefully, our flights tomorrow will run smoothly, without mishap. I mean, there are only so many delays that one can have in a first international flight, right? Let’s hope so. At least this trip is guaranteed to be memorable, right out of the gate.
My mom and I headed to the airport tonight, running a bit late as usual. We made a mad dash to Quik Trip for one last delicious “Henry Special,” then booked it to the airport. Upon arriving, I find that after scrupulous packing, one of my suitcases is 4.5 pounds overweight. So I opened it up and pulled out a pair of boots to stick in my mom’s carry-on and my pair of cowboy boots that I put on and wore. What a great way to start our trip and enter England, I thought: on good footing.
Then we go through security, with some dubious “personal items.” In addition to our rolling carry-on suitcases, my mom had a small duffel for her personal item and I had a backpack that was rather hefty for mine (personal items include a purse, laptop, or briefcase). For once in my life, I received a low-key inspection of my insulin pump (which is usually swabbed and tested for explosives) and no pat-down. I was shocked when the security lady asked me to pull it out of my pocket and merely thanked me for doing so.
It started pouring outside as we boarded our plane. We had to climb down two flights of stairs to get outside, go into the rain to load up our carry-ons onto a luggage cart, climb another flight of stairs into the plane itself, and get settled. We then sat on the plane for two hours while it rained, then hailed. Next we had to wait for a maintenance worker to examine the plane for hail damage; while he was finally doing so, it began to hail again. Then he inspected it, found four dents, and we were informed that pictures of the dents must be sent to Utah for engineers to assess before the plane could be flown. We deboarded the plane and waited in huge lines to speak with an attendant to reschedule our flight. For the cherry on top, we received our carry-ons back soaking wet. Fabulous.
Unfortunately, there were no attendants. We waited in a line for at least half an hour before an attendant appeared. Then we finally find out that there are no flights that arrive in England earlier than Friday afternoon (originally we were to arrive Thursday afternoon and already have our hotel booked for Thursday night). My mom pushed and prodded until they found the absolute earliest flight leaving tomorrow morning, where we will need to take three planes and arrive in England Friday morning. Whew.
After four plus hours at the airport, no food since noon, and all the stress of boarding a plane, I’m sitting here in my room at home. When I am FINALLY READY and no longer in denial, here I am pointlessly sleeping at home when I could be flying over the Atlantic right now. Oh, the irony.
Hopefully, our flights tomorrow will run smoothly, without mishap. I mean, there are only so many delays that one can have in a first international flight, right? Let’s hope so. At least this trip is guaranteed to be memorable, right out of the gate.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Farewell, So Long, To You My Friend. Until We Meet Again.
Every sensation I described in a previous post has been heightened. I feel very tense and unsure and expectant here on the verge of going to Europe. I also feel incredibly blessed.
It makes it so much harder to leave a place when you know that people will miss you—or in other words, when it has been lovingly confirmed that you belonged in that place. For me, this has been true of both home in Kansas and home at Georgetown. I miss them both already with every fiber of my being (dramatic, I know) and am a bit sad at the wear and tear distance will bring to my friendships and relationships here in the States. I am very confident, however, that God has blessed me with two homes, many friendships and loving relationships, and this awesome opportunity for a reason which He alone knows; the distance will bring new strength to the relationships that really matter in my life. God will mold my relationships to be strong and to endure by testing them. That is what I have concluded with a mere sixteen or so hours between me and the jump, the leap.
It’s odd to be here in this moment, in this time which I anticipated so clearly for the past year. While I applied to Oxford, I thought that either I would pack to return to Georgetown, pack to go to my second-choice university, or pack to go to the university of my dreams. I imagined so clearly the hustle and bustle of my family helping me narrow down what I would bring, the last-minute errands I would scurry around to complete, the lasts I would poignantly “enjoy.” I blurred through the goodbyes I didn’t want to picture, sort of as though the tears had already formed in my eyes. Though to be honest, I probably won’t cry tomorrow. I’m not a crier. Nonetheless, my feelings run deep, and I am dreading the final goodbyes with people I love and don’t want to leave.
Thinking about how I feel now as compared to how I feel when I normally leave for Georgetown is odd too. The three months between now and Christmas break when I return home is actually a shorter time away from home than my first semester of the year at Georgetown. I usually pack the same two suitcases. Typically I feel similar emotions as now, particularly when compared to leaving for my freshmen year at Georgetown. There is just some nameless difference that makes this departure feel of more import somehow. I think it is the psychological distance between Kansas and England as compared with Kansas and Washington, DC. Though my family would probably not visit me either way first semester, the distance to England is so much more utterly impossible. Maybe too it is the student visa I had to apply for. I'm an immigrant really, though only temporarily. It makes me think of how immigrants could leave home a hundred years ago, and even today, knowing that they will not have the means or opportunity to visit their homeland or loved ones again. While that is not remotely true for me, it sets the mood somehow. This big distance I shall traverse demands acknowledgment. And the similarities between this journey and my normal trip to Georgetown are a bit unsettling. I have been in denial that I am going to Europe anyway, but with the similarities between the trips, I am semi-convinced despite myself that I am headed back to the Hilltop.
Isn’t it funny that it seems like an either/or scenario? Either I want to go to Georgetown or I’d rather be at another university. Either I would like to be at home with my family or completely alone in a place I’ve never even seen (or been remotely close to). Either I want to spend time with my friends or make new friends. Either my life here is enough or I need to experience this year abroad. I hope every person I care about knows that it could never be either for me. It has to be a painful, emotional combination of both that in this moment feels like all that I want is tugging at my heartstrings until they want to snap.
Maybe that’s the drama in me. As I said, I’ll keep in contact, I won’t be gone for too long before I’m home again and return to Georgetown again, and I have an amazing opportunity opening up before me. I’m excited. Of course, I’ve had a dizzying week of oscillating between nerves and excitement, but I do think the excitement wins out (though I am wary enough of the nerves to expect a sneaky comeback).
I’ve been blessed with an easy packing situation, after my sister helped me narrow down my wardrobe—like really, surprisingly easy; my suitcases are both underweight, even after I threw in some maybe items I could do without. My family and friends have been excited for me and tell me they believe in my ability to do this when I get the most nervous. I will miss BBMing my best friend absurdly often. I will go through withdrawal from Diet Dr. Pepper and Quik Trip drinks. I will miss my dog and my entire family impossibly much. I will hunger for these lazy summer days when I’m super stressed. But….that does not negate what awaits me. It just sharpens the impact of the whole experience, I think. We have to lose things to gain them, right?
I just want to thank everyone in my life for being a part of my beautiful summer. I want to revel in the fact that tomorrow my next adventure commences. I want to stand up and shout, “I’M GOING TO EUROPE, BABY!”
And that feeling I have written about before? The whole dreading when the experience begins because soon it will be over? Well now that it is on the verge of beginning I am ready to slow down and savor this beautiful year ahead as it unfolds.
I’m ready.
It makes it so much harder to leave a place when you know that people will miss you—or in other words, when it has been lovingly confirmed that you belonged in that place. For me, this has been true of both home in Kansas and home at Georgetown. I miss them both already with every fiber of my being (dramatic, I know) and am a bit sad at the wear and tear distance will bring to my friendships and relationships here in the States. I am very confident, however, that God has blessed me with two homes, many friendships and loving relationships, and this awesome opportunity for a reason which He alone knows; the distance will bring new strength to the relationships that really matter in my life. God will mold my relationships to be strong and to endure by testing them. That is what I have concluded with a mere sixteen or so hours between me and the jump, the leap.
It’s odd to be here in this moment, in this time which I anticipated so clearly for the past year. While I applied to Oxford, I thought that either I would pack to return to Georgetown, pack to go to my second-choice university, or pack to go to the university of my dreams. I imagined so clearly the hustle and bustle of my family helping me narrow down what I would bring, the last-minute errands I would scurry around to complete, the lasts I would poignantly “enjoy.” I blurred through the goodbyes I didn’t want to picture, sort of as though the tears had already formed in my eyes. Though to be honest, I probably won’t cry tomorrow. I’m not a crier. Nonetheless, my feelings run deep, and I am dreading the final goodbyes with people I love and don’t want to leave.
Thinking about how I feel now as compared to how I feel when I normally leave for Georgetown is odd too. The three months between now and Christmas break when I return home is actually a shorter time away from home than my first semester of the year at Georgetown. I usually pack the same two suitcases. Typically I feel similar emotions as now, particularly when compared to leaving for my freshmen year at Georgetown. There is just some nameless difference that makes this departure feel of more import somehow. I think it is the psychological distance between Kansas and England as compared with Kansas and Washington, DC. Though my family would probably not visit me either way first semester, the distance to England is so much more utterly impossible. Maybe too it is the student visa I had to apply for. I'm an immigrant really, though only temporarily. It makes me think of how immigrants could leave home a hundred years ago, and even today, knowing that they will not have the means or opportunity to visit their homeland or loved ones again. While that is not remotely true for me, it sets the mood somehow. This big distance I shall traverse demands acknowledgment. And the similarities between this journey and my normal trip to Georgetown are a bit unsettling. I have been in denial that I am going to Europe anyway, but with the similarities between the trips, I am semi-convinced despite myself that I am headed back to the Hilltop.
Isn’t it funny that it seems like an either/or scenario? Either I want to go to Georgetown or I’d rather be at another university. Either I would like to be at home with my family or completely alone in a place I’ve never even seen (or been remotely close to). Either I want to spend time with my friends or make new friends. Either my life here is enough or I need to experience this year abroad. I hope every person I care about knows that it could never be either for me. It has to be a painful, emotional combination of both that in this moment feels like all that I want is tugging at my heartstrings until they want to snap.
Maybe that’s the drama in me. As I said, I’ll keep in contact, I won’t be gone for too long before I’m home again and return to Georgetown again, and I have an amazing opportunity opening up before me. I’m excited. Of course, I’ve had a dizzying week of oscillating between nerves and excitement, but I do think the excitement wins out (though I am wary enough of the nerves to expect a sneaky comeback).
I’ve been blessed with an easy packing situation, after my sister helped me narrow down my wardrobe—like really, surprisingly easy; my suitcases are both underweight, even after I threw in some maybe items I could do without. My family and friends have been excited for me and tell me they believe in my ability to do this when I get the most nervous. I will miss BBMing my best friend absurdly often. I will go through withdrawal from Diet Dr. Pepper and Quik Trip drinks. I will miss my dog and my entire family impossibly much. I will hunger for these lazy summer days when I’m super stressed. But….that does not negate what awaits me. It just sharpens the impact of the whole experience, I think. We have to lose things to gain them, right?
I just want to thank everyone in my life for being a part of my beautiful summer. I want to revel in the fact that tomorrow my next adventure commences. I want to stand up and shout, “I’M GOING TO EUROPE, BABY!”
And that feeling I have written about before? The whole dreading when the experience begins because soon it will be over? Well now that it is on the verge of beginning I am ready to slow down and savor this beautiful year ahead as it unfolds.
I’m ready.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Beloved Kansas
I think that I must reflect upon not only Georgetown before I leave but also upon missing my beloved Kansas. I get many Dorothy and farm jokes when people figure out where I hail from, but I wish so much that I could share my love of Kansas with all my friends at school. She has a beauty that isn’t flashy but is genuine. That beauty which endures calls to me somehow, as though Kansas is in my blood.
I love the people of Kansas, good at heart, diverse in their own way. But I really enjoy the idea that everyone aspires to live elsewhere but somehow got rooted down, stuck here. Really it seems like everyone just got caught up in Kansas’ spell. And her lovely low cost of living. And crime rates. And good schools.
Overall Kansas is very conservative, but it seems to come from a hard work ethic and belief that we should rely upon ourselves and help one another rather than increasing the size and scope of our government. People pass opinions and religion down through their family like other places in the world. I’ve found that Kansans love to debate politics and religion heatedly even when everyone at the table agrees on the issues being discussed. I could pretty safely guarantee that if someone drove across a highway in Kansas, even for just one or two hours, he/she would see signs promoting pro-life ideals and being saved by Jesus. This isn’t a place that is scared of strong beliefs—and sharing them.
I take walks in my neighborhood in the evening sometimes, and this summer I saw a series of things that made me love Kansas. First I saw an inter-racial family playing basketball with their dad; then I saw an aged lemonade stand sign perched on a fence. Next I came across a huge wheelchair ramp into a modest home with a sign posted on the door that read “Choose Life.” Finally, there was a group of friends playing ping pong in their garage together. Maybe I’m oversimplifying what it means to live in Kansas. I just so loved what I observed on this walk through my neighborhood, where I felt completely safe and at peace.
The scenery in Kansas is part of why I love it so, and perhaps it took being away for awhile to appreciate it more or realize what is right in front of me. Where I live I can drive fifteen minutes into a city, and fifteen minutes in the opposite direction will take me into the countryside. Kansas enthralls me with her wide open spaces that make me feel so utterly free. The flatness of Kansas enables one to see forever it feels like, with the sky opening up and demanding attention. During the day, Kansas land ranges from every shade of green to gold and varying shades of brown. Crops dance in the wind and golden fields of wheat and sunflowers seem to reflect all the sun they have soaked up. While the hills may be mild, the land itself seems so alive, ever changing, reflecting the beauty of the sky. When sunset comes, it feels as though the sky has saved up all the extra colors not used in the green and golden landscape to spill down vividly with the sun’s descent. Pinks, reds, oranges, yellows, blues, purples blend together seamlessly, differently every night. A good friend told me that sunsets seem to be God’s love letters to us. How true it seems. It almost feels like God made Kansas flat to better showcase His sky. I haven’t been anywhere else in the world where the sky has reached out and touched me as it has in Kansas.
I’ve been wondering more and more lately if parts of Ireland will look like the gentle, rolling hills in Kansas in the summertime. Probably not. But I do know that I will miss this place sorely. Its beauty is unique and captivates me in its deceptive simplicity. Of course, I will miss the people even more, between my loving family and friends. The only comfort I can find is that sometimes absence really does make us appreciate one another more. And hopefully I will meet amazing people abroad. I know I will see awesome beauty while abroad as well, but I mustn't take Kansas for granted. After all, I only have one more week to appreciate her before I leave....
I love the people of Kansas, good at heart, diverse in their own way. But I really enjoy the idea that everyone aspires to live elsewhere but somehow got rooted down, stuck here. Really it seems like everyone just got caught up in Kansas’ spell. And her lovely low cost of living. And crime rates. And good schools.
Overall Kansas is very conservative, but it seems to come from a hard work ethic and belief that we should rely upon ourselves and help one another rather than increasing the size and scope of our government. People pass opinions and religion down through their family like other places in the world. I’ve found that Kansans love to debate politics and religion heatedly even when everyone at the table agrees on the issues being discussed. I could pretty safely guarantee that if someone drove across a highway in Kansas, even for just one or two hours, he/she would see signs promoting pro-life ideals and being saved by Jesus. This isn’t a place that is scared of strong beliefs—and sharing them.
I take walks in my neighborhood in the evening sometimes, and this summer I saw a series of things that made me love Kansas. First I saw an inter-racial family playing basketball with their dad; then I saw an aged lemonade stand sign perched on a fence. Next I came across a huge wheelchair ramp into a modest home with a sign posted on the door that read “Choose Life.” Finally, there was a group of friends playing ping pong in their garage together. Maybe I’m oversimplifying what it means to live in Kansas. I just so loved what I observed on this walk through my neighborhood, where I felt completely safe and at peace.
The scenery in Kansas is part of why I love it so, and perhaps it took being away for awhile to appreciate it more or realize what is right in front of me. Where I live I can drive fifteen minutes into a city, and fifteen minutes in the opposite direction will take me into the countryside. Kansas enthralls me with her wide open spaces that make me feel so utterly free. The flatness of Kansas enables one to see forever it feels like, with the sky opening up and demanding attention. During the day, Kansas land ranges from every shade of green to gold and varying shades of brown. Crops dance in the wind and golden fields of wheat and sunflowers seem to reflect all the sun they have soaked up. While the hills may be mild, the land itself seems so alive, ever changing, reflecting the beauty of the sky. When sunset comes, it feels as though the sky has saved up all the extra colors not used in the green and golden landscape to spill down vividly with the sun’s descent. Pinks, reds, oranges, yellows, blues, purples blend together seamlessly, differently every night. A good friend told me that sunsets seem to be God’s love letters to us. How true it seems. It almost feels like God made Kansas flat to better showcase His sky. I haven’t been anywhere else in the world where the sky has reached out and touched me as it has in Kansas.
I’ve been wondering more and more lately if parts of Ireland will look like the gentle, rolling hills in Kansas in the summertime. Probably not. But I do know that I will miss this place sorely. Its beauty is unique and captivates me in its deceptive simplicity. Of course, I will miss the people even more, between my loving family and friends. The only comfort I can find is that sometimes absence really does make us appreciate one another more. And hopefully I will meet amazing people abroad. I know I will see awesome beauty while abroad as well, but I mustn't take Kansas for granted. After all, I only have one more week to appreciate her before I leave....
Thursday, September 2, 2010
My Midnight Vigil
Today it became official. I cannot live in denial for much longer about this whole Oxford thing. I received my first email from one of my tutors, a premier scholar of C.S. Lewis. He gave me a rather vague assignment to read as much of Lewis as possible before term, which made me cringe slightly—there’s not much time before term commences and yet oh so much Lewis to read.
Nonetheless, I was ecstatic. How can I deny my future when I’m given practical responsibilities to make my future possible? That’s what it comes down to, really, for me in this journey to Oxford. The dream becomes much more tangible, attainable when I have to do something to get myself there.
There are obvious signs in my life that the time draws near, like flipping through my planner and seeing so few pages between now and then. But it is the real things, the boring, mundane, responsible things that truly make me realize it’s happening. Like when I called my bank to tell them I would use my debit card while abroad. After I filled prescriptions, checked airline baggage guidelines, made doctor appointments, investigated ordering Euros/Pounds, etc., etc., I have become gradually more acclimated to the idea that I am going. It’s happening. It. Is. Happening.
This waiting period is wearing on me, when acknowledging how little time I have left creates a weird tension between enjoying that time and using that time wisely to prepare for the unknown. As I was telling a friend, it makes me think of Gandalf telling Frodo he will leave for the adventure of a lifetime soon, so he should rest and relax until that time while simultaneously he should somehow make himself ready.
Isn’t it somehow forced, staged, to enjoy my last meal there or visit with so and so before I leave? Doesn’t it inject that which I love with this heightened awareness and nostalgia so that that which I love is overshadowed, dimmed?
It also reminds me of Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams puts Matt Damon in his place, telling him he can quote every book known to mankind but what has he actually experienced himself? In one of my earlier posts, I described how I have tried to piece together an understanding of Oxford through reading literature written at or about Oxford. I have asked people who have studied there to tell me what they love about their Oxford. I have looked up pictures and read articles….but this all amounts to brain knowledge, not experience knowledge. It’s a thousand thoughts, emotions, facts that remain two-dimensional when I want so badly to feel the three-dimensional, faceted, heady experience itself. Only that can really unlock these riddles of advice and thoughts and pictures for the brilliance that they really are.
I mean, thinking of how quickly college itself has evaporated, I am sad to think of how close I am to leaving, for then the experience has started and will soon be over. That’s a stupid philosophy, I know. Studying at Oxford won’t be the pinnacle of my life and once it’s over, there will be a million other noteworthy experiences to anticipate. And yet I also know, completely and without a doubt, that this will be a year unlike any other, full of firsts and onlys.
In life, there are those breathtaking moments that live only in our memory, which seems to smooth away each imperfection and make the moment perhaps more beautiful than it ever actually was. I have this strange feeling that I’ve jumped ahead and a frustrating cycle awaits me. I’m sitting here envisioning a perfect version of what I will experience, expecting that the reality cannot possibly live up to that dream, and knowing that afterward I will perfect that imperfect experience and miss it sorely as I dream of it.
Perhaps that makes sense only to me. Maybe that is as it should be. I thought about what this would feel like, this period of waiting before the birth of one beautiful year. I want the vigil to be over and yet I dread it because the vigil is so unique, so fascinating and frustrating in and of itself.
I’ll look back at this time and wish I could return to it. Not just my time at Oxford, but this exhilarating, painfully intense moment on the brink of that time. I picture myself wondering, “If only I could go back to that time before I knew, before I had any idea of what I will experience. Before I could miss what is to come for I had no idea what would come.”
Maybe I won’t feel any of these of things. Maybe it’s useless and silly to think ahead as though I can possibly know my future self. I just like to think that I can. I feel helpless here on the brink, knowing the subsequent fall is coming. Therefore I daydream and wonder aimlessly in a muddled fashion. Bear with me.
Nonetheless, I was ecstatic. How can I deny my future when I’m given practical responsibilities to make my future possible? That’s what it comes down to, really, for me in this journey to Oxford. The dream becomes much more tangible, attainable when I have to do something to get myself there.
There are obvious signs in my life that the time draws near, like flipping through my planner and seeing so few pages between now and then. But it is the real things, the boring, mundane, responsible things that truly make me realize it’s happening. Like when I called my bank to tell them I would use my debit card while abroad. After I filled prescriptions, checked airline baggage guidelines, made doctor appointments, investigated ordering Euros/Pounds, etc., etc., I have become gradually more acclimated to the idea that I am going. It’s happening. It. Is. Happening.
This waiting period is wearing on me, when acknowledging how little time I have left creates a weird tension between enjoying that time and using that time wisely to prepare for the unknown. As I was telling a friend, it makes me think of Gandalf telling Frodo he will leave for the adventure of a lifetime soon, so he should rest and relax until that time while simultaneously he should somehow make himself ready.
Isn’t it somehow forced, staged, to enjoy my last meal there or visit with so and so before I leave? Doesn’t it inject that which I love with this heightened awareness and nostalgia so that that which I love is overshadowed, dimmed?
It also reminds me of Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams puts Matt Damon in his place, telling him he can quote every book known to mankind but what has he actually experienced himself? In one of my earlier posts, I described how I have tried to piece together an understanding of Oxford through reading literature written at or about Oxford. I have asked people who have studied there to tell me what they love about their Oxford. I have looked up pictures and read articles….but this all amounts to brain knowledge, not experience knowledge. It’s a thousand thoughts, emotions, facts that remain two-dimensional when I want so badly to feel the three-dimensional, faceted, heady experience itself. Only that can really unlock these riddles of advice and thoughts and pictures for the brilliance that they really are.
I mean, thinking of how quickly college itself has evaporated, I am sad to think of how close I am to leaving, for then the experience has started and will soon be over. That’s a stupid philosophy, I know. Studying at Oxford won’t be the pinnacle of my life and once it’s over, there will be a million other noteworthy experiences to anticipate. And yet I also know, completely and without a doubt, that this will be a year unlike any other, full of firsts and onlys.
In life, there are those breathtaking moments that live only in our memory, which seems to smooth away each imperfection and make the moment perhaps more beautiful than it ever actually was. I have this strange feeling that I’ve jumped ahead and a frustrating cycle awaits me. I’m sitting here envisioning a perfect version of what I will experience, expecting that the reality cannot possibly live up to that dream, and knowing that afterward I will perfect that imperfect experience and miss it sorely as I dream of it.
Perhaps that makes sense only to me. Maybe that is as it should be. I thought about what this would feel like, this period of waiting before the birth of one beautiful year. I want the vigil to be over and yet I dread it because the vigil is so unique, so fascinating and frustrating in and of itself.
I’ll look back at this time and wish I could return to it. Not just my time at Oxford, but this exhilarating, painfully intense moment on the brink of that time. I picture myself wondering, “If only I could go back to that time before I knew, before I had any idea of what I will experience. Before I could miss what is to come for I had no idea what would come.”
Maybe I won’t feel any of these of things. Maybe it’s useless and silly to think ahead as though I can possibly know my future self. I just like to think that I can. I feel helpless here on the brink, knowing the subsequent fall is coming. Therefore I daydream and wonder aimlessly in a muddled fashion. Bear with me.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Oh, That Beautiful Hilltop
Wow, I miss Georgetown. I knew it would happen now, a few days before school starts. The facebook statuses have been updated for hundreds of friends, saying "Back to the Hilltop!!!!". I would have been moved in by now. I would have experienced that weird solo flight to DC that makes me question if I am leaving home or going home or both. After arriving at the airport, that beautiful drive across Key Bridge would offer me a view of my beloved Potomac. I would have arrived and had that first glimpse of Healy that makes me know without a doubt that I am a Hoya.
With class in a few days, I would have made that stupid climb uphill to the bookstore by now and made painfully expensive purchases there and on Amazon. I would have had a series of beautiful, joyful reunions with friends, getting nervous, checking the clock, looking at my phone, craning my neck around the corner, questioning “Is she here YET????”.
As stingy as I am, I still would have used the handy excuse that I had just arrived in DC and therefore absolutely needed to pick up a Georgetown Cupcake, a salad at SweetGreen, froyo at Saxby’s, a quesadilla at the Epicurean. Then I would have finally given in and have gingerly made that first trip to Leo’s, immediately recalling the hundreds of meals I had already eaten there with distaste. After resisting for 24 hours or so, I would have made the trek to CVS for Diet Dr. Pepper.
I would have decorated my room with pleasure, creating that little place that is all my own on campus. Lists of all the sight-seeing I still, after two years, have yet to do would be on my desk. Books I had to sneak into my suitcase would be around my room, pictures of home everywhere to make me miss it less.
How can I forget Dahlgren? I would have run my fingers through the fountain as I passed, sensing the thousands of Hoyas from years past in the atmosphere of Dahlgren Square, and slipped into mass feeling completely at peace. The Village A and LXR rooftops would have beckoned me up to confront me with how blessed I am with the beauty of my surroundings.
I’d be wishing school and work didn’t start so soon and thinking about how wonderful life would be if I could live the college life without grades or finals. I would be avoiding Lau like the plague. I’d be contemplating the semester ahead. I’d feel like my life was surreal and wonder where my summer had gone.
Instead, I’m here at home. I feel like a compulsive liar when I tell people I’m studying abroad and say school doesn’t start for me for another month. Really, I feel like a college drop-out and also like Georgetown kicked me out and said, “Don’t come back.” I’m excited for this year, of course, but that doesn’t matter right now. I have to mourn what I’m losing before I can enjoy what I'm gaining.
With class in a few days, I would have made that stupid climb uphill to the bookstore by now and made painfully expensive purchases there and on Amazon. I would have had a series of beautiful, joyful reunions with friends, getting nervous, checking the clock, looking at my phone, craning my neck around the corner, questioning “Is she here YET????”.
As stingy as I am, I still would have used the handy excuse that I had just arrived in DC and therefore absolutely needed to pick up a Georgetown Cupcake, a salad at SweetGreen, froyo at Saxby’s, a quesadilla at the Epicurean. Then I would have finally given in and have gingerly made that first trip to Leo’s, immediately recalling the hundreds of meals I had already eaten there with distaste. After resisting for 24 hours or so, I would have made the trek to CVS for Diet Dr. Pepper.
I would have decorated my room with pleasure, creating that little place that is all my own on campus. Lists of all the sight-seeing I still, after two years, have yet to do would be on my desk. Books I had to sneak into my suitcase would be around my room, pictures of home everywhere to make me miss it less.
How can I forget Dahlgren? I would have run my fingers through the fountain as I passed, sensing the thousands of Hoyas from years past in the atmosphere of Dahlgren Square, and slipped into mass feeling completely at peace. The Village A and LXR rooftops would have beckoned me up to confront me with how blessed I am with the beauty of my surroundings.
I’d be wishing school and work didn’t start so soon and thinking about how wonderful life would be if I could live the college life without grades or finals. I would be avoiding Lau like the plague. I’d be contemplating the semester ahead. I’d feel like my life was surreal and wonder where my summer had gone.
Instead, I’m here at home. I feel like a compulsive liar when I tell people I’m studying abroad and say school doesn’t start for me for another month. Really, I feel like a college drop-out and also like Georgetown kicked me out and said, “Don’t come back.” I’m excited for this year, of course, but that doesn’t matter right now. I have to mourn what I’m losing before I can enjoy what I'm gaining.
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