The Writer's Dilemma

I'm back in the US. It sucks balls. It's ugly, everyone is speaking english and the southern accent is about the worst thing an ear can hear. The only thing that is pleasant is family and friends and the beach. that's it. so, no, i don't wanna talk about my emotional depart, i don't want to tell you how many tears i shed, how i don't feel at home, how my mind plays tricks on me, telling me in my dreams that i'm not really here...and definitely don't want to talk about leaving the person i love. so, i'm going to share something i wrote while sitting in a park in Nantes, on a beautiful day, sunning myself and writing at the same time.

A crisp, fresh and blank piece of paper has the potential of being a writer's greatest comrade, his right-hand man, his first mate, the element that helps create a masterpiece; or, it's the writer's fiercest enemy. It has the power to make one crumble into miniscule, self-loathing pieces. The once crisp and fresh page morphs into a stark demon, stiff with rage, towering over you, demanding that you fill it with your creativity before you fall into a discouraging heap; before your mind turns into your enemy: blank and void. And at his tyrannical demands, you frantically write, anything and everything just to please him, to escape the torture. But, after you fill a page babbling with nonsense, you calm down a bit. You realize you have the power to rip up this repulsive sheet. As you tear the loathsome sheet with one clean pull, you imagine the smooth metallic sound of a guillotine slicing through a tender neck. Yes, that demon is gone, but what rests behind it? Another empty piece, armed and ready to destroy you. You're not ready for this. Finding courage within, you grab the remnants of your former demon. You search wildly for any phrase or word that might contain creativity or worth. You dissect the page like an M.D performing an emergency transplant. Find what you need from the old patient and quickly put it into the new one, transforming it into a beautiful, strong organ, pumping and functioning perfectly in the new specimen. Your former page is dead, but the new blank one is suddenly rigorously alive. Your extractions from the former, strung together perfectly, become fabulous ideas in your new piece. And suddenly, this demon is replaced by a saint. What was seemingly nonsense is now brilliance. The pile of discouragement is now a mountain of possibilities, your shivering fear is now trembling excitement, and your once empty, voided brain is now pumping out ideas like a factory during the Industrial Revolution.

Alas, this is the life of a writer: any writer. You can never dismiss what your mind might perceive as nonsense. You can't fear the nakedness of a fresh page, a new start. An empty mind is the fall of the writer, the cancer of the pen. We all always have thoughts in our heads, whether it's anxieties, fears, hopes, dreams or something simplistic like what you wanna eat for lunch, it's always a good place to start if the fear of the blank page engulfs you. Just put down anything that's running through your head, ideas not even essentially related. Then, like Sherlock Holmes, analyze this "nonsense." Look for potential metaphors hidden in what might be viewed as an everyday word. Find the beauty and real meaning of your own thoughts. There exists a certain significance to very pondering, every wonder, every question and every opinion. As a writer, it's your job to uncover that beauty, or that darkness or that humor, what ever the case may be. As a writer, you can't hide behind words. You're already hidden by the page, which offers you an anonymity. You can embrace this capability of anonymity, the power to say something on paper that you might not otherwise confess face to face. Possessing this advantage, you have to follow through with the rest of the exchange. You have to be willing to express your emotions, in all degrees. You can't fear judgement and have to see that there are those who scorn, but there are also those who embrace. Being a writer means you are able to point out the imperfections of society; your emotions can console, can inspire, can anger, can cause change. A blank page, at times, may be the writer's worst fear, but you have to find a shield to dodge the arrows of discouragement. That shield is the ever presence of expressing ideas and your sword: the pen. Each writer has a duty to fulfill and if left unsatisfied, the only person left ashamed is he who failed to realize this obligation and his heart is left empty, blank and rigid like an ink-starved sheet of paper.

Don't Worry, Be Happy: easier said than done.

I had a nightmare last night. And i can sum it up in one sentence: i dreamed i was back in the united states. the reason i call it a nightmare is because of the way i felt in the dream, which felt very real. not lucid, but not dreamy, somewhere between the two. i felt trapped and kept yelling, "it's not my time, it's not my time," like an inmate on death row or something. i dreamed i was on the plane headed back to the U.S. and i was struggling and had the feeling of being kidnapped. just when it started to get emotional and a bit crazy, some unknown person, (maybe the nice witch glenda of the wizard of oz) whispered in my ear, "hey, wake up, it's just a dream. you're still in france, just open your eyes." My eyes slowly opened and verified for me that yes, i'm still in france, now go back to bed and dream happily. it's always been said that dreams mean something, that there's always a hidden meaning behind them that holds your real sentiments, worries, anxieties, motivations, or thrills. now, what in the devil could this mean? oh i don't know, maybe something along the lines of the thought of returning home has twisted my brain so severely that it's like one of those balls made of rubber bands, or a slinky, or play-do, or a knot in a yo-yo (never can get those things out) orrrr [insert twistable/moldable childhood toy of your choice here]. why does this bother me so much? why is it causing me to bite the inside of my mouth incessantly? (gross, i know, but we all have our little nervous things, i'm sure yours aren't so flattering either.)

Easy to answer that one. because i've started a new life here. i even hesitated writing that sentence because a part of me still doesn't want to admit, i guess. but it's completely true. when i leave the first of july, i will have lived here for 10 months. yeah, maybe some people think, "hey what you frettin' about, that's not even a year." and to you i kindly say, "bitch, please." it's ALMOST a year, ok, and think about how much a life can change in just a month, or a week, or a day. i've gotten used to the city, i have friends (most of whom are other foreigners and who are all leaving now too), i like my house where i live, i know my professors and the ins and outs of my university, i know the bus routes, i know about the trains....siiiigh. it's really a new life. ok, let's be honest. i'm not going to miss the bus routes or the trains or the university. its just that, i dont wanna admit it. but the thing that goes along with this "new life," if you will, is, ummmmmmm love. shhhhhh. yeah, that's right. i've committed the most cliché crime ever, falling in love in europe, nevertheless france, for god's sake. the people who are known to be "romantics" and blah blah blah. and to those who might mock, to you i again kindly say, "bitch, please." how am i supposed to leave now? how are you just supposed to leave someone you love just because you live in a stupid other country? why do i have to return to my other life, a life that i don't even wanna face right now. just have to leave someone i care about for the other scavenging females out there.

also, returning to the U.S. means i have to face a whole bunch of stressful situations that i don't want to deal with. i have to deal with the culture shock, the depression of missing everyone, the anguish of a lonesome heart, the stress of finishing school, finding a job/not living on the street, being successful, and of course, the fact that i have to go back to eating what americans call "bread" and "pastries." it also means seeing my family and my friends again. and enjoying the bars/clubs for the first time in the U.S. it means i get to reconnect with best friends and family, who i know i can always lean-or in this case, maybe- fall on. all these positive and negative emotions are just swirling around in my head, all the damn time. it's just one big huge pot of FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK soup. if anyone ever catches me daydreaming (which i tend to do quite frequently) that's probably what i'm daydreaming about. except it's more like day-worrying. there's no dreaming going on. or a day-mare, call it as you want. so that's where i am in my head right now. a lot of other fun stuff is going on, the usual, but who wants to hear about that? well if you do, just ask me when i'm back home. i'm sure i'm never going to shut up about it anyway, so you really have no choice.

It's been a while...

ok, i decided that i need to continue to write so fuck it, i am. since i last wrote in february, a lot has happened. our little group of unca kids went to spain and morocco for our spring break. i could tell you about how much fun we had partying and seeing sights and all, or the bad stuff like how a spaniard tried to get in the shower with me or how a moroccan vender wanted pleasure in exchange for a hand embroidered pillow cover, but i wont bore you with details that have since faded a little. instead, i'm going to do what i always do and write about my thoughts. so bear with me. or not, you could just press the little X if you're tired of my writings. anyway, the other day, ninh and i were talking, and he mentioned how once a person goes abroad, they change. they have to. being in a foreign country, experiencing new adventures, being more independent, all of that is bound to change a person. this thought has wafted in and out of my thoughts, and renders me to think about myself. how have i changed? and is it necessarily positive? i'm gonna go ahead and say hell yes. The other Casey was a hott mess, now that i've thought about it.

i only have a few months left here and all i keep thinking about is how can i stretch my time here till the last possible moment? i dread the thought of leaving. the thought of it brings a dampness to my eyes already....i've almost become what they call an "ex-patriot." that's to say i prefer europe to "my country." which is true. in general, i like it better. sure, i miss some aspects of the US, my friends and family, but the idea of living in the US to me is like throwing an eagle in a cage. i'm not trying to sound pretentious, i understand fully that each person has his niche. each person is comfortable in a different place. all i'm saying is, i'm no longer comfortable in the US. it feels like i've lived in france for years. it feels homey. but the most attractive aspect of europe is the mix of cultures. you can get on a plane and in a few hours you can be in spain, or holland, or italy, or greece, or wherever. in a few hours you land on an entirely different culture, language, traditions, mode de vie...all of that. and that is infinitely intriguing for me. i have the travel virus. and bad. i desire to see all of europe, and the fact that i can't right now kills me. for one, i'm too poor, and secondly, i have to go home and graduate, dammit. but i've always kept a thought at the front of my brain that tam actually told me about seeing paris: don't try to see everything the first time you go. it's too big of a city. assume that you'll be back. and i'll be, she was right. i will come back. and the second time around i can go to those countries i haven't seen yet.

What's this "new" Casey like? i'm sure you're all so eager to know. i'm sure you're losing sleep over it. ok, not including the funds from my parents, i'm pretty independent. i've finally realized that the only person i need to rely on to be happy is...um, duh,myself. i've been able to recognize my improvements in the language and actually give myself credit for it, i'm more outgoing and willing to meet new people. ok, but, the french education system is so easy compared to the US, that it's hard to motivate yourself to do any work b/c they don't give out homework or anything...so i've been a bit of a slacker on that side of it, but, my appreciation of alcohol has risen, so you know, that's cool too. Also, family. communication. i didn't have internet at my house for a fucking month. i was pretty depressed. couldn't talk to my family or friends, not even on facebook or ichat or anything. i need my friends and family so we can exchange stories and adventures, ideas and discoveries; you know how when you experience something funny or amazing or scary, there's always that one person that you know who will appreciate it more than anyone else...well i lost that for a month. and telling it over and over to myself just made me feel a wee mad.

The most striking realization that i've had is that i'm only 21, but i sense a feeling of direction in my life. Sure, it's not a defined, carved-out path, but more like a compass pointing in a general direction...maybe swinging from south to southeast, but whether i go south or east or southeast, i'll hit my land destination. sure, i'm gliding on vast, open waters, but isn't that more beautiful than sailing on a meager, man-made canal where you already know you'll end up? Yes, the US would be a safe, comfortable place for me to live. i know the language, i have family and friends close by, i understand it well, etc. But if i wanted comfortable, i'd go to Ikea. i'm looking for the excitement of other worlds. i'm looking for the reward of being able to handle a foreign language well, i'm looking for different beliefs and perspectives. yeah, i'm not in a 3rd world country where there's no running water or internet...but everyone has to start somewhere. and i like this beginning. who's to say i won't end up in africa, or haiti or anywhere. it's my boat. i'm the captain. so, i'll be docking for a few months while i obtain my diploma, but after that, we're setting off again into the blue. I'll miss you France, but girl, you know i'll be back within a year, ready more than ever to conquer your language. The idea of graduating college and actually being in the "real world" used to terrify me. Now, sure, it's still scary, but it's something i've accepted and have realized that only i control the outcome.

last semester i submitted 2 poems to "Headwaters," the UNC-A lit. magazine. i was actually satisfied with these...one about the Loire River that i wrote here, and one i wrote a few years back about me and a friend exploring in the woods...i won't go into detail. anyway, to get to the point, i received pretty recently a very impersonal email about how they "regret to inform me" and that there "wasn't enough space" and to continue my "fine" writing. ok one, don't bullshit me and say it was a space problem and "fine writing?" FINE?! Let me tell you some things that are "fine:" my eye doctor appointments, the habitual response to "how was your day at school," the half-assed dinners that i make myself, how i slept last night, and a china plate that i would love to smash on the floor right now. those poems were me, flat on the paper, and they just crumbled up all my sentiments and put it in the damn trash b/c they're americans and don't recycle....they meant something to me and i was even a bit proud of them...do you know how hard it is for me to satisfy myself with what i write? pretty damn hard...so, i feel pretty shitty...kind of on the level of cool, the one thing that i think i'm good at, i'm actually not. not even for a stupid, not-even-legit college magazine. i'm glad i didnt submit the lyrics to elizabeth's song that i wrote or it would be worse. anyway, yes, i am complaining but i have a right to. i guess i don't wanna write this blog anymore either. Adieu to all, i suppose.

p.s. i leave for spain and morocco on friday. woo.

Dix Choses Honnêtes

I was reading sara's blog and she said anyone who reads the '10 honest things' is tagged...ah hell why not?

1. I wanna live in europe/abroad for the rest of my life.
2. I doubt my intelligence/cabability all the time despite reassurance from others and cover it up with sarcastic remarks most of the time.
3. I think bacon smells good (i know, vegetarians arent allowed to think that but whatev)
4. It makes me really sad that i havent met my brother's child yet.
5. I have a huge shopping problem.
6. I like my blonde hair and I dont ever wanna be brunette.
7. Graduating college scares the shit out of me, im afraid ill end up a failure, or worse, a 40 year old waitress at Waffle House.
8. Appearances are important to me (esp clean teeth and tanning)
9. Im sick of organized religions and people being punished for being different
10. Karma is real and im not going to deny that there are some things out there that will kick me in my ass sooner or later...
11. I love writing and think it's the only thing im good at...but i have only just realized this my last semester of college...
12. I hate french keyboards.
PS i added two more cuz im cool and rebellious like that. whattt up. if someone reads this, you're tagged for 12 honest things....do it to it.

I Ain't Ever Comin' Back...

écoute tout le monde, it's not that i don't love you all and miss you....but damnit, i have no desire to go home. none. seriously. yes, i miss certain things from the US, but in perspective they hold no real value to me (besides friends and family, of course). it's even gotten to the point where i don't even remember how i would ask for something at a restaurant, store, etc. in english.... even while writing this i have french phrases/words flying through my head...when i think about the fact that it is already the end of january, i become anxious and start making lists in my head of what i have to do before i leave, like a "bucket list" or something...and i do think a part of me will die a bit once i return...that feeling of internationality...of culture....all going to be drained away like frigid, stagnant bath water...i do believe these doomed thoughts come from my constant feelings of self-doubt...which manifest from my perfectionist character traits...the second i feel a bit proud...i get discouraged because i make mistakes. in my distortion, i've come to believe that i should only leave France once i have a decent level of fluency....so yes, a large part of me wants to stay....for years. regardless of the fact that i'm my own worst critic...maybe even the worst critic of my critic too...i am positively sure that i want to get out of the US once i graduate...i don't know how that will happen, money being the hindrance, but if i try, surely something will come for me, right? Right.

on a differnt note, why do crazy people always ride the bus? more importantly, why are they always near me? there are some regular crazies who ride the number 8 with me...you got, girl with a sunken-in-chin-maybe-has-no-teeth-but-does-have-a-face-rash, Monsieur talks-to-himself.....loudly....M. i'm-going-to-look-at-you-while-saying-things-that-have-no-meaning, M. i -like-to-walk-around-the-bus-and-stand-really-close-to-all the passengers, and then of course you got your drunks who don't even realize they're bumping into people as they stumble to the back, or the younger bums with sagging pants, ratty beanies and dirty shoes, who reek of cigs and alcohol so strong that i can almost feel myself getting 2nd hand cancer...but of course there are the normal people too...and the beautiful people too...and kids. little kids on this bus filled with an odd combination of people...sometimes i just want to ask where are their mothers...then i wonder what the other normal people think of me. i know my scowling and looking down constantly doesn't help...i wonder if they can tell i'm american and if they can hear my music leaking out of my ipod...and if so, do they like it? because i've definitely had a few experiences where i was the one able to hear the music...and it was a guy about my age...slicked back hair, leather jacket, baggy jeans....M. Cool...or i'm sure he'd like to think so. the fact of the matter is, he made the mistake of turning his "jams" on way too loud and a similar whine not so unlike britney spears, kelly clarkson and miley cyrus came flowing from his mp3 player...what. a. douche. that perked up my morning for sure.

So, on a general note now, i'm starting UCO classes (that means just in the regular university, with french students and exchange students) this semester...i'm excited to see how i'll do with the comprehension and the work...but mostly i just wanna meet new people...but even more than that, i wanna prove to myself that i can do this...i'm ready for this challenge.

Also: a couple weeks ago i finished Sartre's "La Putain Respecteuse," have moved onto a bilingual version of sherlock holmes, english on one page, french on the other: don't worry i don't cheat!!! have downloaded some new french music...have started to run/work-out again, realized my classes are getting a bit too easy now, got permission to play the keyboard in the living room, started my visa renewal process, and have been really nostalgic for the sun. my mom and ellery are coming in less than two weeks: a week in paris!! wooohooooooo!!!! i'll be sure to take lots of pictures....à bientôt bitches.

Noël en France

Ok, so i've been very neglectful lately of my blog. it's been over a month...almost 2 by now... i did start an entry about what i did during the fall break traveling to lille, brussels and amsterdam...but it was just too much...and i waited too long to write so it can't be as detailed as it could've been...let me explain...no, let me sum up (princess bride anyone?) : me, suz and elise traveled by the TGV to lille, in the north of france, only stayed one night though, beautiful city but didnt get to discover it as much as i wanted. next, brussels, two nights. awesome. soooo cool. such a gorgeous city and really cool architecture...the people we hung out with were just as awesome...went to the delirium bar...absinthe bar...walked around a lot checkin stuff out...went to une soirée étudiants (student party)...basically a huge warehouse type thing with dance lights and 1 euro beers...oh and no police at all! soooo effing fun! then amsterdam...not the prettiest city and they don't speak french at all...but there's weeeeed! and that was fun...then i got the flu and slept 18 hours in my bed in our hostel...yep yep. since then, i've visited paris twice, visited a castle in saumur, chambord and chenonceau in tours (both castles, too)...all which were very fun. but...this blog isn't about what i did and where i went (maybe a little), but preferably how i feel and what i think as i experience new things.

today's christmas. and i wanna talk about it. i think it's the first year i really, truly, deeply, completely realized how much more important family/friends are than any presents received. around 3:30 am this morning, i sat in the middle of my bedroom floor, my christmas box from chip and tam between my legs. as i struggled with the exceptionally thick and sticky tape, i started to realize that even though i may feel independent in this new, foreign country, that i may tell myself i'm not homesick...my heart was. i realized i was like the bubble wrap my petits cadeaux were wrapped in: hardened, protected, sealed, but so easily punctured once touched. i sat there opening this brown square box conscious of the fact that opening a gift is only thoroughly enjoyable with others by your side...with the slight nervousness and anticipation upon the opening of it, knowing someone is watching you, but you don't want to meet the gaze until after you've torn the wrapping off. i opened my box wishing myself a merry christmas, wishing i had a stocking stuffed full of random bonbons and trinkets...i opened my box feeling wholly grateful that someone would waste 45 bucks for shipping on me just so i'd have a present on christmas. then at the same time, feeling a deep sense of loneliness that i was alone opening this..that there was no one to thank and hug...no one to watch when they opened my presents that i bought for them. no one to gaze at and watch their reaction as they got closer and closer to the prize tightly wrapped inside the cheery paper. i didnt even care that the box from my mom was in the mail and i'd still have something else to open. i'm not sure why these mix of sentiments struck me so intensely, i just know they still exist. i went to bed this christmas night with a mysterious feeling of solitude, but hoping the morning would bring something better.

it did. i woke up ready to meet the french family who was welcoming me and one of my american friends for their christmas lunch. they live in the country and have 3 kids, a boy 2 yrs. old, raphael, a girl 4 or 5 yrs. old, alban, and another boy 7 yrs. old, charles edouard. when we first arrived, they still needed to cook, so we went upstairs to play with the kids. at first, i was under the impression that we were "stuck" with the kids, but that notion quickly disappeared. it's so interesting (and cute) to hear kids talk your second language... besides other exchange students, they're actually on your level. we hung out with these kids / the family all day, ate with them, played "jungle speed," a pretty cool game, and took a walk in the countryside. these kids welcomed us so quickly, and were sitting in our laps after an hour...there's something about kids...they can feel people out very quickly. they can tell who they like and perhaps who the "good people" are. these kids are very smart, charles was telling us history stories and was interested in the animal tracks while we were taking a walk. they're also very boisterous, but when their father would tell them to behave, they would listen, or if charles would pick on his sister, he would apologize or help her find whatever he took out of her hand and threw behind the bed...there is something very honest and straight forward about kids that either makes me want to be a child again, or perhaps it's just an impossible craving to find a person like that, or the realization that i'm tainted myself, that everyone is somehow tainted by one experience or another and the chance of total honesty and innocence and vulnerability is tarnished...there was just something so genuine about these kids that intrigued me...that made me wish i could stay...that made me offer to baby-sit...that made me insist more than once to stay in contact...

there came a point when we were all walking through the muddy path uphill, and i caught the view, that just made me realize how cool it is to be here. how unique and real it is. of course i didnt let anyone on to my thoughts, but after i saw the green hills and setting sun over the country road...i thought about christmas and what it meant. people celebrate "christmas" for the "birth of christ," but not me. sure, it's a christian holiday and of course it's jesus' "day," and to some other people perhaps its just a day to bring family together and get presents. me, i thought about elizabeth as i climbed through the mud in the late afternoon. i thought about how her death showed me to never give into weakness. to always fight. because you can't let yourself down and you can't give into other's weaknesses. i loved her, i still love her, literally not a day goes by when a thought, short or in depth, about her enters my mind. she hasn't been in my dreams for a while now, and i miss her. that's how we keep in touch. the lucidity of her presence confirms many things about the "after-life," or just a different, fresh life, i like to think. maybe she's off doing something that she couldn't do here..maybe she's busy visiting places...people...maybe she's just chillin. christ died for "our" sins, and i don't care what anyone thinks, but she's like my christ. her death and my constant intrigue for what could have been of her, of our friendship, makes me keep going. when i told her i was going to study abroad, she didn't want me to go... and before she could even give it a chance she left. but the only difference between us is that i always planned on coming back. and i would've said goodbye.

sure, christmas is technically about christ, and maybe presents, but really, REALLY it's about stepping back and seeing the lushness, seeing what is presented to you. and profiting from it. and trying to transform the muddled confusion into lucid lessons. shit, you don't need mark, john, paul or those other guys to write some imaginative tale, we write our own through all the mud we trudge through trying to get to the top of that hill to see the beautiful view.