having been away from the "home country" for awhile now, i really do miss everything americana.
i really just want a house in some part of new england with a newfoundland dog, a husband, 2 kids, a job as a librarian, and a bike.
i want to host book club with some vivacious women friends.
i want to make little knick-knacks.
i want to teach my kids about the little things in life that make it so beautiful and have them remind me of it everyday.
i guess all i want is the american dream complete with a apple pie in the oven and a wrap around porch.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
4:11 pm.
I am currently sitting in a PC room in Seoul, South Korea.
I have lived here for almost a year.
I live together in an apartment with my sister and my dog.
Her name is Reagan and his name is Murry Hewitt.
I left Phoenix, Arizona, September 1, 2007. Hugged my mom and dad bye, and my sister and I flew off into a month trip with 49 pound packs, a deadline to be on a train platform in Moscow by the 11 and a camera.
I had just turned 18 three weeks earlier and had graduated highschool only a few months before. We had a plan in our heads, money in our pockets, and visas in our passports. We were ready to go.
I won't get into details, it's all better told in person.
But I did meet many different people, experianced many different cultures and changed my mind on many different issues.
I am a different person than I was a little more than a year ago.
I am not afraid of the world. I am not afraid of what will happen in the future, or even in the present. I am not afraid of people.
I'm not saying I was some recluse that was scared of the world, but I was still naive and only open to the ideas that had been instilled in me since birth.
I had one mind. I had one goal. I had one side.
My shell cracks a little with every new person I meet.
Have you ever experianced that?
That feeling like all your life you had been trapped in a case, and one day, the case cracks and you feel this cold water seeping through the cracks, touching your exposed virgin skin and you feel the sudden exhileration of freshness and a whole new world you have been in but never experianced?
Maybe you haven't.
But it is a great feeling.
I have lived here for almost a year.
I live together in an apartment with my sister and my dog.
Her name is Reagan and his name is Murry Hewitt.
I left Phoenix, Arizona, September 1, 2007. Hugged my mom and dad bye, and my sister and I flew off into a month trip with 49 pound packs, a deadline to be on a train platform in Moscow by the 11 and a camera.
I had just turned 18 three weeks earlier and had graduated highschool only a few months before. We had a plan in our heads, money in our pockets, and visas in our passports. We were ready to go.
I won't get into details, it's all better told in person.
But I did meet many different people, experianced many different cultures and changed my mind on many different issues.
I am a different person than I was a little more than a year ago.
I am not afraid of the world. I am not afraid of what will happen in the future, or even in the present. I am not afraid of people.
I'm not saying I was some recluse that was scared of the world, but I was still naive and only open to the ideas that had been instilled in me since birth.
I had one mind. I had one goal. I had one side.
My shell cracks a little with every new person I meet.
Have you ever experianced that?
That feeling like all your life you had been trapped in a case, and one day, the case cracks and you feel this cold water seeping through the cracks, touching your exposed virgin skin and you feel the sudden exhileration of freshness and a whole new world you have been in but never experianced?
Maybe you haven't.
But it is a great feeling.
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