Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Polina's LiveJournal:

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Monday, December 25th, 2006
2:52 am	Merry Christmas! At midnight mass last night, the priests wore fluorescent pink scarves around their necks while a synthesizer and electronic piano pumped out Bollywood style Christmas hymns. The side of the stage was adorned with a makeshift Christmas tree, covered in multicolored balloons, flashing lights and streamers. The top balcony had some sort of orange strobe light effect and one of the priests kept waving around a big silver ball of incense causing many in the audience to cough. The mosaic on the back wall contained a large Hindu goodluck swastika and the white garden statue out back depicted baby Jesus coming out of a lotus flower. We came home at 2am to decorate our room for the present opening ceremony the next morning. For stockings, we stuffed little pieces of candy into our dirty socks and then hung up them over the window sill. We draped the fans with streamers made from newspaper bought for 10 rupees. Andrea hung ornaments from a large purple flower and suddenly we had a Christmas tree. On the table, there was a cardboard box with a sign that read, “Write your dreams for the coming year and Lord Ganesh, the God of new beginnings, will bless them.” And then, Sean and Jasmine and Sarah woke us up this morning with music beautifully blasting from tambourines and bells and drums. We marched into breakfast singing Christmas carols and proceeded to feast on dosas drenched in maple syrup and cinnamon powder. We reconvened in our festive room to dance to spontaneous drum dancing, then the writing of nice things about another on fancy paper and then secret santa gift exchanges. Sean gave me a small brass puja bell and a book on Hindu rituals and symbolism. “For your show next semester,” he said. It's almost easier to write about this then the street show in a little village of 200 people under the stars. but perhaps that will come, if not in written words, then over cookie dough tea conversations. And now we’ve just returned from a buffet feast. I can barely move, let alone breathe, and life is enchanting, indeed. Merry Christmas Everyone, may all you ever dreamed for come to be. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006
8:04 pm	YASMINE Yasmine: she is tall and beautiful, intoxicatingly feminine and overpoweringly strong. She starts each session with a five-minute meditation around a small flickering flame, “to summon the divine creative energy with in you.” She says just enough to know you do not breathe, smile, fidget, or mumble unless it is inexcusably justified and intersplices her poignant dialogue with small Spanish phrases such as “Mas or menus” and “chelo.” She works us hard. Crunches and legs kicks, half splits and standing tree poses. “Your body is your tool, sculpt it, nurture it, take care of it, otherwise, how will you be able to communicate anything at all?” “We are dealing with the topic of women,” she softly explains, “so we will tell the story of Adam and Eve, wordlessly. Sculpt your bodies and transform your voices.” She teaches us acrobatics on a concrete floor, no mats, no spotters. “You must stand on his shoulders,” she commands. She hands us a large cloth to be maneuvered, woven and reinterpreted through out, splits us into two groups and leaves us to work collectively. If she doesn’t like something, she chimes in unapologetically. She is constantly asking for more; one step further, one layer deeper, one dance step more complicated. And then I watched the other group’s piece; I was so moved, re-reminded of the power of images, collective creation, our bodies as abodes for spiritual energy and the ingenuity of an incredible teacher. I have committed to major social faux phas in the last week: 1. In the middle of reciting my poem for Mr. Ashouk, I stumbled over my words and accidentally burst out with, “Fuck!” To which all of the Indian students’ mouths promptly dropped. Mr. Ashouk slowly and gently put his arm my shoulder, and softly said, “Madame, please remember that you are in India and that you are at an Indian college.” 2. Loudly cheering “Woooooo!” after a performance from the back row of the auditorium, prompting all of the rows in front to turn around and stare. (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 14th, 2006
7:45 pm	A fetsival of sorts I spent the first day of Chanukah watching a Christmas Gospel play: blue sequence shirts and Depeche Mode style dance moves interspliced with New Testament teachings. Our studio is a concrete classroom, open barred windows that unashamedly let in the outside streets sounds of beeping rickshaws, puja bells and heaps of burning trash. For seven hours the teacher tells us to close our eyes, move with the rhythms of our breath. "No yawning!" he commands. We oblige. We sculpt our bodies, he mends our energies and I leave feeling spiritually energized. We're creating a play to be taken to the streets on the theme of water. He says, "In Canada, when it rains, you frown, in India, we celebrate." While he talks you can feel the burning plastic Coke water bottles, without which our weak western stomachs would not survive, blackening lungs. Yesterday I went to the doctor, hoping he'd cure an overstayed four month nauseas visit, recently intensified by the mix of spicy food and thicker air. He took my pulse, checked my heart rate over my clothes, said everything was fine and prescribed me three medicines which I promptly picked up at the outdoor pharmacy stand next door. Then we went to the astrologer, who looked at Andrea's palm and told her she'd die at 75. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 12th, 2006
1:16 am	Offerings We slowly walked past the women on the sidewalk selling baskets full of flower garlands, ban nanas, limes and incense and then slipped off our dirty sandals and walked up the black stone steps lightly trickled in chicken blood. The seven foot statue of the God and his horse were covered in layers upon layers of flower garlands, an assortment of colors: yellows and whites and reds and pinks. Only his face peeked out; making darshan, or visual commune possible, by staring deep into his painted black eyes. The floor in front of his feet was submerged in offerings of incense, coconuts, banana leaves, bananas, chicken heads, candles and fallen flower garlands. His throne is surrounded by rusting tridents, covered in offerings of regular silver locks and limes poked through the tips. Families brought their live chickens, tied their feet together, lay them in front of the statue, sprinkled coconut milk over the twitching bodies, circled incense above and then brought the birds to the man below, who promptly chopped off their heads. The heads were then returned to the God, as an offering, while the bodies were cooked and feasted upon, ten feet below. The man this morning spoke of human rights. He had white hair and glasses, a pen in his right breast pocket and a deeply endearing disposition. “The UN Charter,” he said, “with its focus on privatization of human rights is Western centric by nature and overlooks the needs of differently structured nations.” He spoke of the need for an acknowledgment of community and collective rights, for a re-thinking and re-understanding of truths that we hold to be universally true. (Comment on this)
Friday, December 8th, 2006
6:07 pm	"Close Your Eyes and Feel the Vibrations" I read the other day that smell is the sense that evokes memories the quickest. I stepped off the plane Friday morning, and the smell of diesel fuel mixed with Chai, cow dung, incense and an ancient history overpowered my memory. I was flooded with images of rice paddies, traffic jams, elephant Gods and little girls saying "good morning, Aunty" that had become buried behind a more recent OC-esque understanding of the world. The dormitories in which we are staying are beautiful; mini white palaces decorated with royal red furniture and a shower that requires no stepping into; you could sit on the toilet and bathe if you liked. And then we leave the pristine gated community, wander into the market place, a chaotic enclave of rickshaws, bicyclists, sacred cows, motorcycles carrying whole families, women carrying large sacks of rice on their heads and bright blue buses that have, "Sound Horn OK" stenciled on the back; all are fighting for street space. The sari shops have fabrics dyed in colors I’ve never seen before, and there are people everywhere: women selling long black strands of real hair for ten cents to make wigs out of, sugar cane juice presses, samosas, chai stands, mangos and pineapples and apples and oranges line the sidewalks; there's barely space to move. "Buy buy buy" is following us wherever we go, a bubbly disabled woman asks us for a rupee, when we walk on, she hits Joanne in the bum. A truck passes: a man is sleeping on a big bed of cilantro in the back, until the driver comes back and wakes him up. I feel so alive here. Life feels so lived here. Nothing is held back. Safety precautions are thrown out the window and if you want to fart, you fart. And then we wake up 6:45 to go to theater class. Communicating through our bodies, through sounds and ritual and silent understandings. He says, "close your eyes and feel the vibrations," a beautiful blessing, indeed. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005
9:31 pm	I feel like I should have something profound to say... So tomorow I leave. Last night I dreamt we all met at the airport and wnet for pizza and greek salads and I laughed like I haven't laughed in 6 months. I spent the last 10 days sprawled out on what I was invisioned paradise to look like. I think the majority of my brain cells have been washed away by the transparently blue water... I could see wasting away your whole life like this, where the days are only fueled by pinneapple lassis and the occasional breeze, but I think at the end of the day I need passion and theater and greek salads and to be surronded by people I love, and I leave feeling almost incomplete. For the last 2 nights of the 10 days I fled from a crazy French boy to the 'party side' of the island, where thousands of people gather each month to get ritualistically intoxicated under the full moon. I felt like I was walking through Clueless: The Video Game. Everyone was so beautiful. It felt like a combination of Miami, Times Square, Maui and the red light distract, but not like Asia. Perhaps that's because there were more westerners than Thais. I wonder what they think of us, eating out every meal, getting ridiculously smashed everynight and throwing money around like it grows on seasonless trees. It's funny, if you wonder around @ 3am, you see all the drunk macho guys walking arm in arm with lady boys, compeletly unaware that their soon to be bed time partner is not what they expected. There are lady boys everywhere. In one Thai book it states, "God created men, women and ladyboys." And they make me happy, especially after India's rigid homophobia. What's not so funny is all the disgusting old men walking arm in arm with beautiful young Thai girls. Remind me when I'm sixty not to come here with my husband... In a the corner of a restaruant was a little Buddhist shring, one of the offerings was a bottle of orange fanta with a plastic pink straw. I have less than 24 hours left and I feel like I should have something more profound to say... But I guess I leave knowing I'll never be the same, and that's all I can ask. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 9th, 2005
6:12 pm	For $875 US Dollars a week you too can volunteer to help out the Thailand Tsunami victims... I spent Sunday making the alphabet flashcards more culturally appropriate. Sink was changed to sun, mitten to monkey and the white picketed fenced off house to horse. For our farewell, the school teachers cooked us a wonderful meal of curries and samosas and rice pudding. Formalities forbid the women from eating with us though, so we went down to join them on the kitchen floor, where they continued to cook Paratos on the two burner camping stove. Julie, the eldest daughter, is nineteen. She's to married off next yea, but was recently rejected by a prospective groom's mother because, as she claims, Julie's emerald green eyes are "not nice." I arrived in Thailand at 5 am this morning. The first stage of culture shock is the "honeymoon period" where you fall head over heals for the foreign culture. I somehow managed to skip that in India. But all I wanted to do today was leap with joy at the sight of a 7-eleven. I wanted to hug the men who passed without taking notice of my existence, and high five all the local women for walking freely by themselves down the street. The I came to a fence plastered in missing person signs. One read, "Minors Are Not Permitted to View Underneath Photos, very gruesome content." I kept thinking about how all these people are dead. Then I realized what I was really thinking was how on my live journal I was gonna write that I what I was thinking was how all these people are dead. Then I started thinking about how I was thinking about how what I really was thinking was that how on my live journal I was gonna write that I what I was thinking was how all these people are dead... And then I saw the unifromed school children sitting on the sidewalk, sipping on jello ball fruit shakes, the kind Vera likes to buy in China town. And the smells from the street full of vendors's selling vegetable chowmein and fresh mangos and sizzeling kababas became intoxicating and I re-entered my honeymoon seven-eleven bliss. I think tomorrow I might see it differently, but for right now, everything is wonderful. Especially because I've officially booked my ticket home. Feb. 26 At 7:20 am the plane should be landing in Boston. ahhhhh!!! And for $875 US Dollars you could also live very comfortably in Thailand for four months.... (Comment on this)
Monday, February 7th, 2005
10:37 pm	Welcome to Happy Birthday Galore! Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!!Hapy Birthday Leah!! Happy Birthday Danny!! (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 6th, 2005
5:03 pm	And all the North Carolina cows are singing: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIKS!! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 2nd, 2005
4:34 pm	And the sign read: FOR SALE: TYBETAN BOWELS Tiny hands clutching metal begging bowls reached through a fence as I walked to the tree where Sidhartha attained enlightenment over 2500 years ago. I've been in Bodh Gaya for five days and have five more to go before I leave for Thailand on Monday. Arriving felt peaceful, for the first time. Cows and cycle rickshaws wander amidst Red clad Tibetan monks and beautiful Buddhist monasteries. It felt genuine because it wasn't just new agey westerners looking for a temporary enlightenment fix; and the Dhali Lama left 3 days ago. I felt at ease walking alone down the street, for the first time in a long time. Then I wandered near Bodh Gaya's main attraction and twenty children surrounded me, pulling at me sleeve, saying "rupee, rupee..." And I realized my previous comfort mostly stemmed from ten minutes of poverty isolation. Each morning, Mike and I ride gearless bicycles to the brightly painted village school where children await instructions on how to use the newly donated alphabet puzzle, sidewalk chalk and badminton birdies. They grab and hit and hold as if they'll never see a toy again. And then they settle down. And smile. Except for the girl whose hiding the Barbie doll under her dress, afraid that someone will see. A former photographer from Sweden started collecting money to start schools in Bodh Gaya's poorest villages. Three years later, one school building stands, while one school meets on the principal's rooftop and another in the courtyard of a former Buddhist temple. The children sit on empty potato sacks and write on little black slates and skip the letters "I" and "n" as they recite the English alphabet. I flipped through the school's record book. The family incomes ranged from 8,000 to 20,000 rupees a year. That's about 200 to 500 US dollars. But what use is more money when rice grows in your backyard and water is self pumped for free? And you don't like chocolate. Because the doctor refused to treat the four year old girl who almost died after falling in a well. But the other doctor did. And she'll lie, wrapped in a fully body cast on a wooden table in a tiny, barely lit clay room for 45 days. And she's smiling. And her mother's smiling. And after we handed her a packet of biscuits her father brought us a baby goat to hold while the village children crowded around the doorway to see. It felt so remote. So removed from reality, even though it was only a 10-minute ride from the highway. Being there made everything seem so meaningless and minuscule and ridiculous and trivial. There's no emphasis on "progress" and cancer cures and 40,000 dollar a year educations. I'm just becoming more and more muddled trying to decipher the discrepancies between "do something meaningful with your life," "in 300 years you'll be forgotten" and how much joy eating a packet of cookie dough can bring I just felt like I was amidst a different species. Is that Un-PC? I see myself becomes less idealistic. Perhaps more passive. But I think it comes from optimism. From the boy with no legs who smiled and the happiest sixteen year olds I've ever met. If they're not feeling shitty about their lives, why should we? B/c we see it from a different perspective? That's starting to seem more and more like condensation and pity and cultural insensitivity, but maybe I’m just jaded. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 26th, 2005
4:51 pm	Welcome to Living the High Life Ben, the 25-year-old Minnesotan with perfectly matted hipster hair, had six hours before his Beijing flight. It was five hours before official check in time at the Intercontinental Hotel, and twenty hours before my mom was arriving that evening, so we took a deep breath, stepped out of the bus’s protective interior and decided to kill some time together. After 10 minutes of feigning deafness to the incessant, "Rickshaw, yes? Taxi? Where are you going? What country? Friend, hello, friend, come, rickshaw, good price, Indian price, okay, yes, friend, hello, friend..." Ben turned to the little man tugging on his left sleeve and said, "Denver, please take us to Denver." "Okay, no problem, twenty minutes." We chuckled and walked away. Obeying the "always approach people who don't approach you first" rule, we asked a rickshaw if he knew where the Intercontinental Hotel was, and after he vehemently assured as that he did, we got in. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves stopped for the third time, with the driver asking someone for directions. When we walked into the lobby our jaws dropped, and so did everyone else’s. What were two young, filthy, grungy, stinky, stingy backpackers doing dirtying the marble tiled hotel lobby floor? Well, I was coming to live the high life and Ben needed a place to store his stuff for a couple of hours. I think I laughed for about ten minutes when I saw the room. Then I took a shower. Got dressed. Got undressed and took another shower. That happened about five times. It was great to see my mom. We caught up on Bostonian details while I ate a Greek salad vacant of feta cheese. The next morning we met up with Grace, and for our first cultural experience we went shopping. We each bought beautiful Punjabis, (traditional Indian attire) and got dolled up for a night on the town. The next day we took a plane to Nepal and it is here that the true adventure begins. Comfortably seated on the airplane, my Mom told me about the US State Department’s Advisory warning against traveling to Nepal. Over chi at the hotel we were told about the upcoming three-day Maoist strike, banning all motor vehicles from the roads. .A 2day, 3-night jungle safari had already been booked, so we were not going to let some meager pinkos stand in our way. The next day we boarded the jungle bound plane, popped in the complimentary ear cotton and opened the newspaper. “Maoists set off bomb at Chitwan airport.” That’s where were headed. Luckily, it turned out to be the other airport, 20km away. Outside, two bicycle rickshaws were waiting to take us across 30 kilometers of car free highway. Villagers stopped to stare while schoolgirls giggled as they shyly waved hello. Four hours later the rugged jungle terrain prevented the rickshaws from taking us any further, so we boarded elephants instead. Two hours and three rivers later we arrived at the lodge. 3 years ago there would have been over fifty guests, this year, we were the only ones. Floating down the river in a 60 year old dug out canoe seeing a wild bear and rhinoceros from the top of an elephant and spying on crocodiles taking a snooze were some of my favorite jungle book esk activities. We woke up the last morning to the sound of rain and darkness. We had to get to the airport, but the strike was still on, so taking a taxi was out of the question. Wrapped in raincoats and plastic we boarded our elephants, switched on a flashlight and delved into the jungle. One bicycle was waiting by the highway, but the second couldn’t be convinced to pedal in the rain, so our guide borrowed a bicycle, pointed to my seat in the back, and took off. Two hours later the bicycles came to a sudden halt. A wild rhinoceros was lurking along the highway, looking like he might charge any second. The local men put on their fiercest faces, waved their arms in the air and ran towards the ominous predator while screaming, ‘RAAAAAAA YAHHHHHHH MAAAAAAAAAA KAAAAAAAAAA.” Needless to say after this heroic act of bravery, we safely arrived at the airport soaking and dripping and chattering to find that our plane was 2 hours delayed. Mom and Grace left late last night and I guess our other adventures will have to be saved for future dinner conversations. But overall, it was wonderful. I have taken enough showers to last me the next month, eaten enough spicy food to last me a life time, and been ripped off some many times that it’s become justifiably laugh rather than scream worthy. Grace has appropriately dubbed our motto for India, “They fuck you at the drive through.” (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, January 10th, 2005
7:18 pm	Hellen, have the most amazing trip... Welcome to where having white skin and breasts is an invitation for cars to pull up and offer you 5000 rupees to get in. 5 camels, 4 Indians, 3 shooting star, 2 Koreans and one thousand trillion billion pieces of sand accompanied us as we fell asleep to the sounds of scorpions snoring in the Great Thar Desert. At the end of the two day camel safari, my butt hurt a lot. The oddest thing I've ever seen in the middle of a desert is a little village. It houses no more than 30 people and three cow skeletons. Daily stops are made here by government trucks bringing water and tourists photographing the star wars style hovels. I wonder who first decided to set up shop here, and what was wrong with them... Kazz left for Thailand yesterday, so its back to 8 o'clock bedtimes. I'm kicking back in the little holy town of Pushkar for a few days until my mom comes, I'm very excited! Meat, public embraces, drugs, photographs and eggs are strictly prohibited, so in a desperate attempt to distract my mind, I took a reiki class. I was joined by "Champa," a Spanish girl who only dresses in magenta gypsy garbs and insists on speaking in an Indian accent. The teacher told us to meditate and change our predetermined hand positions every three minutes. For the first half I kept thinking how I shouldn't be thinking so much...how the constant analysis of what was happening wasn't allowing anything to happen...and then I put my hands over my heart shakra. I burst and just started crying and crying, not of sadness, not out of anything i can rationally understand, almost like my body was reacting to my mind being so emotionally numb for the past 4 months..I felt strange afterwards, like i didn't understand myself, but three hours later we did the same exercise again, and i left feeling light, almost seemingly drug induced so... In an email, Mr.Poon wrote, "I pray that you are loving yourself." I cried after I read that. Leah writes, "i forget that things will get better that things probably already are. i forget most often that underneath it all i know that i love myself..." I think it's a testament to how fucked up our culture is when to love yourself is a big deal. Verichca, Mariks, Noa, Sash...where are you, I miss you... (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 30th, 2004
5:29 pm	Title Welcome to turning down the chance to be in a bollywood movie because you have to catch a bus. We slept in a colony of bamboo huts last night; hearing the waves crash against the sand as I fell asleep, I wondered if they were going to come wash me away. We went to Palolem beach to escape the new age hippiedom of our first destination. Anything other than techno music seemed to be forbidden, as 35 year old ecstasy addicts rocked out to it 24 hours of the day. The beaches in Goa are unintentionally segregated. The Indian tourists, with the men in their tighty whitey underwear and women fully clothed, swim on the left most one while topless European girls and thong clad English gentlemen sprawl out on the right most beach. The braver of the Indian boys cross the unmarked boundary line to take unpermissioned photos of things not supposed to be seen until the wedding night. In between swims, women carrying baskets on their heads offer you pineapples, watermelon, papayas...Bangles, bracelets and sarongs are also sold among the mobile beach vendors. Yesterday, a man who offers to clean your ears for a small fee was getting beat up by a Japanese tourist. We're rentings a room in a house, next to us our two Swiss boys, making for some good chocolate lov'n conversations. We've rented scooters to help us jet from beach to beach and to find refuge from the techno music. More than once I've had to brake for an oncoming cow... So my New Years resolution... Gandhi says, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." I've spent too much of my teenagedom shooting off the joe schmoes of the world for so easily turning the other cheek while simultaneously making a thousand empty excuses for my own passivism...I don't want to do that anymore. I want to bring the tote back to the supermarket. And to discontinue bathing...just kidding. Happy New Year! And as Simon advised before I left for college, "do something you'll regret..." (Comment on this)
Saturday, December 25th, 2004
11:48 am	Anilop's Adventures in Sdrawkcab Land Anilop finished the last of her cheese, rice and tomato quesedilla, threw the tin foil into the waste basket and made her way up Summit Hill. As the high school lacrosse team panted by, Anilop noticed that things seemed a bit odd; the sky was a tad purpler than usual and Dr. Bob's house appeared to be floating a couple inches above the ground. Opening the side door of her house, she expected to receive the usual Adelaide greeting and intoxication of delcious smells from her mom's cooking, but instead experienced a suffocating blackness. A half second after taking a cautious step inside she found herself falling rapidly down a black hole. She landed with a thump. Before she had time to fully conceptulize where she was, a beautiful white rabbit ran by. She immediately recognized it from Ms.Sailer's 10th grade bio text book, where the caption had identified it as the "Zil species," renonwed for its deap sea blue eyes, golden hair and incredible ability to design clothes. "I'm late, i'm late, for a very important date..." Zil kept repeating, but not until the third time did Anilop realize it was kinda strange to hear a rabbit speaking, so she decided to follow it. But Zil, who had a knack for rollerblading, was too fast and Anilop soon found herself crawling through a small door, unsure of where it would lead. "Chi pogalasta," could be heard faintly in the distance. It was the same language Anilop was used to at holiday dinners. Excited by the prospect of finding her people, she followed the familar voices. Anilop soon found herself gazing at a large mahagoney table, laid out with floral printed china tea sets and crumpets of many shapes and sizes. Though the table was laid out for a great amny more than three, only three seats were occupied. One place by Ayam, another by Ahsas and the last by Arev, who all shared a common funny language that they jabbered in at a rapid pace. Ayam was the first to notice Anilop, and wary that she was dirty capitalist, did not immediatley invite her to sit down. But after Anilop siad, "prevet comrades," all three excitedly jumped up and offered her a seat. Over 33 cups of tea, 56 varieties of crumpets and large "Happy Unbirthday" cake, they exchanged the detaisl of their lives. Arev had been single handely responsible for curing the mother country of turbecolousis, while Ayam was the chief designer and painter of hobbit homes and Ahsas was capable of contorting into 5022 positions while reciitng the Buddhas mantras forwards and backwards. At 4 o'clock the three set out to refill their cups. But Anilop, embarassed of revealing that she was inexperienced tea drinker, bid her friends adieau and headed off in the the direction of the forest. Midway down a windy path, a cat, with enchanting torquoise eyes, appeared in mid air. It said hello in 50 different languages and then introduced itself as "Aon, leader of the Jews." It advised Anilop to walk in the directon of the sun, the dissappeared, smiling. SO Anilop, intrigued by the cat's kindness and feeling sorry that they didn't have tiem to talk longer, set off in search of the sun. It wasn't before long that she stumbled upon a large mushroom, where puffs of O shaped smoke balls were floating from atop it. She peaked over the edge. There sat a handsome curly haired catepillar, smoking a robatusen flavored hukkah. "Hello," the catepillar lethargically said, "My name's Ynnad, would you like some?" he asked, offering her the hukkah. "No thanks," she explained, "I've had some bad expereinces with that in the past." Ynnad smiled, he seemed to know what she meant. Putting down the hukkah, the catepillar smoothly reached for his guitar and began playing a set by the world famous band, "The Peacocks." After the musical serenade was over, he bid Anilop farewell, slowly slid off the mushroom and began making his was towards Barcelona. Anilop waved goobye and wandered deeper into the woods. She began whisteling "Stacy's Mom" to appease the approachign uneasiness, when suddenly, two gorgeous girls, wearing matching rainbow colored helicopter hats, jumped out from behind a tree. "Hello!" The two enthusiastically explained. "I'm Zil" said one, "and I'm Okiram" said the other, and then proceeded to do three back flips while Zil recitited her nobel prize winning pieces on gender in society and Okiram rowed to and from Japan six times at a world record pace. It was all followed by a delcious dinner at the local bertuccis, which sadly had to end when Okiram realized she was late for her cow milking escapade. Leaving the former bachi ball restaurant, Anilop was wondering where to wander next, when the cat reappeared in mid air, this time eating a piece of Matzha "Shalom!" She happily meowed, "Sorry I had to leave so quickly late time, the army summoned me for some very important buisness and i've just now been able to get a short break." "How do you like working for them?" Anilop asked, "Amazing Aon answered. "But will you promise to visit even if you're so far away?" "I promise." They both smiled. A smile that seemed to say that no matter how far apart they were, no matter how many oceans lay between them, they would always be friends. "Walk ten feet to the right, the dutchess is waiting for you. I've got to go make some falafel now, take care of yourself..." "Bye," Anilop waved goodbye as Aon slowly merged into the 6 o'clock twilight, Anilop walked ten feet to the right. There stood a beautiful young maiden, with long black flowing hair and an incredible ability to understand the world from a whole new perspective. Anilop tapped her on her right shoulder and asked if she was the dutchess. "Oh, yes, hello! Yes, I'm the dutchess, dutchess Hael. Would you like to come play croquet with me and the queen?" That'd be great!" So the two walked on, sharing memories about a summer in New York, sketchy Asian and Russian boys, UCLA, and tribal music with two beds...before they knew it they'd come to a large open field, where people of all different shapes and sizes were gathered around to watch the queen play croquet with a field hockey stick. "She's really quite amazing at it," the dutchess explained, "the best in the country." Anilop pushed her way up to the front to catch a glimpse of the queen. She had tantalizing blue eyes, which had the magic ability to instantly increase caramel frappachinos in size. "She's also a painter," a jester explained, "and a photographer," the white night added, "I hear here stuffs up at the Met," a third chimed in. "What a girl," the three simultaneously sighed. Anilop desperately wanted to talk with her, but an evil french man started throwing cosco bought pineapples when she tried to approach. But the urge was too strong, so Anilop continued, dodging flying fruit every couple of steps. It wasn't before long that she felt something hard hit hear head and everything went black/ She woke up in her bed. An unidentifiable time had passed. She wasn't sure where she had been or what she had seen,s he just knew she was so grateful for the people she has met along the way and for all that they had shown her. And that she missed them terribly... Merry Xmas. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, December 23rd, 2004
4:36 pm	Welcome to where Christmas decorations seem oddly out of place Welcome to getting tear gassed in a Nepalese night club. Welcome to an all night rave in a bamboo forest, but falling asleep at 5am because, as Kazz claims, I need a lesson in 'keeping it real." Welcome to being lazy, so not elaborating, but i will soon, I promise... Dear friends, where have you disappeared to? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 15th, 2004
5:00 pm	Welcome to River Rafting through a Lord of the Ring's Movie Set The local bus dropped off us on the side of the Katmandu Highway. Not many other cars were on the road because the Maoists had declared a strike, and locals feared having stones thrown at them. Tiki, (or Tushi, Kachi, Tissue or Teapot, we never really figured out what his name was...), our guide, led us down a steep stone hill to an emerald green river and a bright blue boat. We floated by ancient zip lines, bamboo fishing rods and gypsy children lying naked on old rubber tubes. A few times, I saw my life and massive amounts of water flash before me, but for the most part, it was peaceful... and beautiful, so beautiful that after a while your senses can't take it anymore and you cease to feel anything, except utter amazement that such a place exists. They put us to bed at 6:47 pm. We slept in a tent by the river and woke up to indentations of stones in our backs. A day later we set off to trek to catch a glimpse of the Himalayas. "Trekking" mainly entailed walking up hundreds of rickety stone steps and having school children yell out the only English words they know, "Chocolate, school pen, rupee..." We met some Americans along the way. They had come from the village above where local graffiti read, "Go Home Imperialists Yanks..." We were warned to watch out for the Maoists. I kept expecting bandits, decked out in red and ammo, to jump out from behind a haystack; but supposedly the only trouble they give tourists is demanding $15. We met one man who our guide later told us was a Maoist, but naively thinking that he was simply trying to sell us something, we ignored him and he quickly left us alone. It's odd that one person's once in a lifetime walk is another person's daily commute. Yesterday we ate pizza and French fries with three 22-year-old Hare Krishna's. It seemed like they were on a perpetual acid trip, though they claim to have renounced all drugs, meat and onions 2 years ago. 3 more days in Nepal and then back to India. In Feb, I'm joining up with a group from LA to help build a village school for two weeks. They've asked us to send out a fundraising letter to everyone we know, so I've attached it below. Make of it what you will... I miss you all terribly and I'm so grateful for this experience because it makes me appreciate you and all that I have all the more. I dream about you and Greek salads and Twinkies lots and can't wait for the laughs to come. Happy Holidays.... ***********Fundraising Letter************ Dear Friend: I am writing to you today to ask for your support for an amazing project I will be working on in Bihar, India this winter. The Bridge to Bodhgaya is a groundbreaking partnership between volunteers working across the world to build schools and communities for the poorest of the “untouchable” population. I have applied and been accepted to join a team of professionals who will finish a school building later this winter for kids who have never had a school before. The twelve team members coming from around the world will not only be building and providing humanitarian care for this community, we will also be making a documentary of our work for a once-in-a-lifetime television broadcast. We are doing this to show that ANYONE can make a difference just by reaching out and offering our gifts to share. I am now asking you to help us make this project possible by offering your support, partnership and gifts for this exciting project. We cannot make this happen without partners like you! To make a donation for the Bridge to Bodhgaya, please fill out the attached form or visit http://www.ihcenter.org/groups/amoration.html We must raise $60,000 in the next month to fund the building of the school and all travel expenses for our team. If you know of anyone who can offer project support through donations or other forms of partnership, please contact Jennifer Evonne, our project manager, at evonne@amoration.org or by phone at 310-774-1209. Amoration and Privilege-Sharing are 501©3 projects of the International Humanities Center and all gifts are tax deductible. We encourage you to offer anything you can and tell others about this amazing partnership. Thank you for your support in every endeavor. I look forward to sharing the photos and footage of our work with you! For more information, visit www.amoration.org For photos of Privilege-Sharing’s work in Bihar, India visit http://public.fotki.com/amoration/bridge_to_bodhgaya (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 9th, 2004
10:44 am	NOTICE I'm off to trek in Nepal, so if you don't hear from me for a week or two, no worries. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 5th, 2004
12:32 pm	While going for an afternoon stroll So now I understand why before I left about 50 people told me, "Oh, your going to India, that's where they put dead people in the water." We're in Varanassi, a small city with narrow winding cobblestone streets that seem to transport you 200 hundreds years back in time. It's one of India's most holiest cities, and if you die here, your guaranteed an automatic trip to Nirvana. It's also a huge honor to have your ashes scattered over the Gangi River, so yesterday, while wandering by the water, we came across 5 simultaneous funerals. The bodies, wrapped in white cloth and decorated with flowers and beads are dipped into the river and then burned for two hours, while male family members sit about 10 feet away and watch. Holy priests, children and pregnant women's innocence allow them to bypass the creamation process, so their bodies are just dumped directly into the water. If you walk a little further down the river, you'll see children and men bathing, women washing clothes and cows going for an afternoon swim. (Comment on this)
Friday, December 3rd, 2004
2:56 pm	Mariks Dearest Mariko How are you? Where are you? How are the cows? I love you and I miss you and I want to hear from you. So write me or the cows wrath will be known. Love, that girl that once upon a time swam in the lane next to you (1 Comment |Comment on this)
1:55 pm	Welcome to Mars...twenty years ago New cellphone number: 9897533021, hopefully this will work a little better. Welcome to a marriage proposal. The man sitting on the opposite army barrack style bunk and I started chatting on the thirty hour train ride from Bombay to Delhi. I learned, after a couple of broken English misunderstandings, that he's an independent film maker, specifically dealing with films about 'social problems.' I explained I was interested in a similar style of theater and we superficially talked about that for a while. 15 hours later I found him saying, "so my parents will talk with your parents, and if they agree, it is perfect, we same profession..." Yeah, and we can barely communicate... So I've met a really nice English guy (no, it's not like that, I think I've actually become successfully asexual ovet the past 3 months) and we're gonna travel around for the next month. There's a whole new sense of ease in traveling with someone else, a sense of 'us against all these people trying to cheat us' and it becomes more of a laughable adventure than a mind numbing experience. On the bus to Agra yesterday, we shared the highway with three camels pulling large carts. There's no real sense of personal space in India, I guess that's a minor side effect of overpopulation, so bus rides often leave you packed like sardines and sometimes people jump through the window to avoid getting on through the crowded door. 5 people often sleep in the same room, most on the floor. Work offices usually also serve as night time bedrooms and if you walk through the streets early in the morning, you'll see loads of people sleeping in door steps, sidewalks and pushcarts. I guess if you don't know cleaner, dirty means nothing. I think the first great social justice someone could do for India would be to drop massive amounts of condoms on the streets. And the second would be to develop a grabage system. I'm sorry if I've seemed distant in my writings. I guess it's all been such a big mind fuck that my brain has disconnected itself from my emotions, and I haven't really felt anything significant for the past three months, except missing you all very, very much. But i've definitely seen myself changing in someways, especially in being cured of the Brookline/Bard 'putting poverty on a pedestal' indoctrination. (Comment on this)