Studying

I have this wild restless feeling that comes when the day is sunny and warm, and there is a cold wind blowing. There are no connections tying me to home, no connections to Italy, no connections to the ground. I could easily start screaming. My whole body longs to jump up from the table where I am studying and start to run.
Oh, studying. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, shoulders slumped over a computer or book, body temperature dropping from lack of movement until your hands are cold and clammy. Goosebumps and a deep bone chill, but with circles of sweat under your arms. Evenly distributed throughout the room are more poor souls like myself, heads down, ipods plugged in. Your eyeballs are dry, your brain fried. You are hungry, tired, thirsty. But it's my mind that hurts the most. I can't read another single word, yet I continue to try, the words bouncing off my retinas basically, brain matter unable to absorb anymore. IT IS SO DRY. WHY DO THEY USE SUCH BIG WORDS??? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY?!
Facebook calls; you go and get a coffee. All of the sudden cleaning your room, the bathroom, the walls, anything seems more appealing than trying to make sense of and memorize dates/names/ideas.

At this moment, I would rather watch paint dry than still be sitting here. I would rather try to eat sawdust. I would rather wait for a pot of water to boil dry. I would rather watch golf, no, curling. I would rather move a hill of sand from one spot to another using only tweezers, or empty a well using an eyedropper.
Instead, I am staring at the dust motes illuminated in the ray of sunlight by my head, and imagining breathing all of that in.
Sigh.
Ok, back to the books.

The Hippies

Lounged in the sun on the stone steps this afternoon. Bought a sandwhich and brought my sister; we studied for a while. When the sun went behind the clouds and the temperature dropped, we started talking to the juggler and the harmonica player who had shared a can of corn on the steps below us.
They told us about their hitch hiking around Italy. They depended on people for food and for a couch to crash on.
We are living like, how do you say, Jack Kerouac. On the Road Again. said the harmonica player. Tonight we are staying at a Communist ladies house.
They were both going to school for Chinese language, Mandarin. That's almost as bad as my Classics degree. They looked cold, dirty, hungry.
For breakfast we had a big glass of milk each, then we climbed that mountain. The juggler pointed.
I stared. I longed to say Take me with you! I'm quitting school, and I will travel with you, depending on kind people. I could play the tambourine. You could teach me how to juggle. It will be fun. Let me go grab my back pack.
But I didn't. I have paid a lot of hard earned money to be here, to learn Italian and Art History. I need to stay still sometimes, in one place, to learn things in a classroom instead of through experiences. As much as every fibre in my body leaned towards moving forward with them, I chose to stay here. Maybe I am growing up.
We had to go soon. As we left, I said Here. Have an orange. and I offered them each a Clementine.
Thank you so much! This is wonderful! they said.
I smiled. You need your vitamins, I said. You should stay healthy. And I shook my finger at them, like a scolding mother. They laughed.
I laughed too, but inside I was sad and curious about what would happen to them. I wanted what happened to them to happen to me.
Maybe next time.

So, I think I will go live in a tree house in Olympos, Turkey, when I am done school in March.
Who knew things like this existed??
http://www.sabanpansion.com/index.php

We settled into the rooms in the old monastary. I bought an extra cheap blanket since the nights were so chilly. I do not think any of us were prepared for the bitter damp wind that comes with living on the side of a mountain... they are mostly prairie kids anyways.
Matt, D and I went to Naples for this long weekend. It was almost like being back in Cairo again, but without the heat, fewer people, and- can you believe it- more garbage. It did not help that we arrived in the dark, and were staying literally on the wrong side of the tracks beyond the train station. That night we wandered around looking for something to eat, and stepped in dog poo, saw people buried in the trash, and saw a man pull out a gun and point it at someones head. But there were some beautiful moments. It was warmer than Cortona, t-shirt weather, and so one day we sat at a cafe by the seaside, outside in the sun, and ate pizza in short-sleeves. I wanted to take that couple of hours and bottle it and keep it for rainy January afternoons.

We three are going to Rome again this weekend. I love that city. I love that we can do weekend trips there. I am trying to stretch my money though, perhaps until June, to maybe visit some friends in Hong Kong. But Hong Kong is a million miles away from Syria or wherever I am going to be in May. We will see. I was trying to do some book-keeping last night, figuring out a budget, and I think I can do it if I spend $300 or less a week. Which will include accommadation, food, train tickets, etc. Haha, nothing ever goes according to plan though!

Dinner is the highlight of my day. We get served every night a large plate of pasta, often just with olive oil, garlic fried zucchini, and then a salad with some form of protein. Dessert is next. There is always a jug of wine on every table. It is warm, filling, healthy, delicious. We would all gain a zillion pounds but since we are living in a mountain town, none of the streets are flat... constant treks up hill and lots of stairs.

School during the day. We often play cards for a few hours before dinner. After dinner we either sit around and drink more wine and play games, or you can go hide in your room with a book. I do both.

I do not have early class today. I think I will go read for a bit. It is nice and quiet this morning. And warmer. The views are spectacular.

Part of me hates this. I tried to explain it to someone very special to me today as I was saying goodbye, I said, I hate this. The anxiety about leaving. The tiresome being on your guard constantly. The never having a safe place to rest your head; worrying about your belongings; where's my passport panic? But then I told them, this is what I love. This is what makes me tick, travel is my life-blood.
I don't think they understood. We said an awkward goodbye anyways, both of us being unable to leave first. I finally bounced out of the car, muttering: Well, bye then, I'll see you later, even though I knew that it was just habit to say that, that I probably wouldn't see them later.

Once I was through security, it felt like I had returned to my alternate reality that exisits only when I travel. Comforting, thrilling, every second unexpected. My dad had given me one of his Maple Leaf lounge passes to spend my 3 hour layover in Toronto in comfort, so that's where I am now. I rolled in looking rumpled and poor, gorged myself on the free food, and am now sipping a Scotch on the rocks while using their free internet. It's nice to live like the rich people do. I hope that everyone thinks I'm rich. I'll pretend to be a princess or heiress or something.

New Years Eve will be spent in the air on my flight to Munich. I hope they serve champagne. I hope I can stay awake that long.

We cut down our Christmas tree this Sunday. It has become a tradition to drive out to our neighbours acreage, find some spot along a deserted back road, hold down the barbed-wire fence, and hop over. We wander into the woods- everything is soft and cushioned with snow: the ground the pines, the air. My siblings and Keifer and I let the Olds look for a perfect tree; we have exploring to do.

We throw ourselves headlong down deer trails, bumping through the tight undergrowth, trying to dump loads of powder down each others necks. We run far- though it is -15 or something we get warm, not sweaty, but comfortably toasty in our puffa jackets and layers of wool. Once in a while we stop in a small clearing and all lie down in the deep drifts and pretend it's Narnia, or that we are Harry Potter.

Through the trees ahead, we see a change in light. Cautiously, we creep to the edge of the pine trees and peer in. It's a birch grove, full of fallen logs and prickle sticks. There is much more light here, we can actually see the sky. Almost reverently we enter. It's quiet. Well, the whole forest is quiet, but it seems like a friendlier quiet then the oppressive pines. Of course, the quiet doesn't last for long. We are 4 people between the ages of 16 and 21, and soon laughter and screams of protest and singing ring out.

We realize time has passed, and far far away is the road with the big van and the trees.

Let's go back now, says Keifer. We are miles into the forest. They will be wondering where we are.

So we follow our tracks back into the dark, and we run at a crouching level so as not to get brained with a branch. When we eventually stumble upon the adults again they aren't angry, but how could you be with 4 rosy-cheeked, laughing, good-spirited, snowy kids?

We drag our trees to the vans, tie them on, and drive back to the cabin. A fire is going and we make pizza in it, and gluvine (mulled wine), and we dance around the tree hanging ornaments everywhere. It seems pagan, this religious holiday, probably because it is originally, but I guess my Nordic roots embrace it and the celebrating with friends and family, with the "drink and be merry" sentiment.

We brought a tree back into the city with us. It is smaller than the one at the cabin, but still lovely and scrawny and full of character. Those are the best kinds, I've come to realize. Not the most picture perfect or magazine worthy trees, but the ones with memories attached.

I think I want some beach. Some mountain. Some forest. Just a wide open space to get lost in. To swim in, whether literally or figuratively.

Some quiet. That's really what I want: silence.

Golden, dripping and all encompassing silence. Apparently, it makes you live longer. Too much noise cuts years away.

I like sounds. Sounds and light and life are all tied up together. But NOISE?

Shhhh. Please. Just stop talking for a while. Just lie here, breathe my breath, be still.