life continues

Tags

future, thesis

Thus began my last semester of my German graduate school program – the last of four semesters – a tiny chunk of my life in comparison to the rest of it. It seems especially weighty (the fact of the “last”) because I am not in Germany, and so truly marks the end of something wonderful.

This final semester of the international master’s program of infrastructure planning at the University of Stuttgart is dedicated specifically to the research and production of a singular paper – Thesis. So, due to cost and availability of English literature, I am back in Texas. Literally, in this moment, I am at the university library in San Antonio, doing research (kind of being productive )

Besides for the shear boredom of sitting for 7-8 hours in the same chair, at the same table, looking at black text on page after page, book after book, I really quite enjoy what I am doing – mostly, or entirely, because my thesis topic is my choice. I am interested in the subject; this is the direction my life is headed and has headed; this is where I want to impact the world: Redevelopment After Urban Disasters.

Disasters happen throughout the world – natural, technical, civil strife. Disasters rip apart life, society, and the physical environment. I want to help heal that. And I really want to do that in developing countries.

So, will I go back to Germany? Yes, but only for a moment to present, finalize and submit my thesis (and graduate), just like I am in the United States for a moment. I deeply enjoy and feel comfortable in the States and European metropolitans, but I am a wandering spirit. I love traveling; I love experiencing and being engrossed in other locations, other cultures, other lives; I love finding “home” wherever I am. I want to be where I am needed.

And so life continues. And life will continue into the unknown and unplanned at the end of this year. (I do have “plans” that consist of desires and hopes and expectations … but nothing solid, which is a point of minor anxiety. But alas, c’est la vie.)

not there

So yesterday was 11 September 2011, 10 years from one of those days that a story (is story accurate? event?) circled the globe. I know many people wrote about remembering that day and the people who were killed either by an attack or in the act of rescue. Facebook posts were full of the “where were you when…” responses. Even my church back home did a remembrance video with clips & gorgeous music (a wonderful gift of that worshipping body: music), as I am sure many, many other churches did the same sort of thing (or at least with the same end goal).

But me … I am glad I was not there – glad I was not even in the U.S.

I realize that must sound strange, maybe even … I don’t know … like I’m hiding from it or just don’t want to deal with it. But for me, there really isn’t an “it” to deal with.

Yes, I remember where I was when I first heard about the first plane crashing into a World Trade Center tower. I was a sophomore in high school then, and I remember that I was in my computer science class, which meant we had TVs in the room, internet access with lots of computers, and a laid-back class & teacher so that we sat there watching the coverage. But I only remember this because society told me to. “This is a life-changing moment.” “The U.S. as we know it will change.” ”Years from now, everyone will remember exactly where they are and what they were doing when this happened.” So, like a good little girl, I remembered.

It’s like me remembering when my dad died. I am not good with dates or chronology, but I knew that people would ask (especially in the months to follow) when the accident happened. I can’t tell you what day of the week it was and I wouldn’t know the date except I found a memory technique to help me remember the numbers … basically, I cheated. But the date itself doesn’t hold any emotive value for me. Neither does my birthday, but that’s off topic.

For me, 9/11 almost never happened – though I know it did. It’s like seeing pictures from war zones on someone else’s land. It is so far away that I don’t feel involved. Geographically, New York is quite far from south Texas, and then, I didn’t know anybody who even lived there; I wasn’t close to any active duty military or firemen/police/medics. The sub-populations that were directly affected weren’t in any of my sub-groups. The events of that day didn’t affect me or impact my life (besides now the fun times at airport security and the current wars … still though happening out of my sphere). It was like watching a movie, that once the reel was done, it’s all over and back to life as normal without a second thought.

So why am I glad not to be in the U.S. for that day of remembrance? Because I feel like if I would try to explain myself – why it doesn’t bother me – and that those very words might be misconstrued as an attack on a person’s sense of fight for freedom. I know that sentiment is strong among my kinsmen, but my thoughts, well, ‘them are fightin’ words’ and more than likely offensive or in the very least appalling. That day just wasn’t a life-changing event for me. Sorry. I know there are many of whom that it was. Death and evil are a terrible facet of life that sometimes feels just down right unbearable. There are many in our world who have those types of life events on a more sad/cruel repeating interval. Why doesn’t the world stop for them?

not here

Tags

death, experience

I miss him.

It’s not even every day that I think about it. It’s just sometimes.

Right now, I think it’s because some good friends are planning to come visit me (and Germany in general) in a bit over a month from now (!), and my sis came to visit last Christmas. I greatly value that. There is something powerful about shared experiences. I am grateful (and have told her several times) that my sister was able to visit me in India (as well as Germany) because she could know where I was coming from and how my surroundings change me, and there’s a unique language to it all that is hard to understand without that reference point.

All of this leads up to the thought, the desire that my dad could vacation with me as well.

I miss him – I just miss him.

mi casa, su casa / mein Haus, dein Haus

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hosting

I’ve mentioned before that I’m quite new at this thing of hostess. I’m still figuring out the facets (probably a life-long endeavor, no doubt). But something struck me today: The best compliment I can receive is not the spoken ones.

I knew parts of this years ago. I remember back in the States when I would be driving someone around, I would try to be clear that they could change whatever they desired to make themselves comfortable – the A/C & vent settings, the radio, the seat position … whatever. For people I had in the truck on more than one occasion, I would get delighted if they adjusted things without my prompting. It’s a sign of true comfort and belonging.

With that previous understanding, I find I quite enjoy when whoever it is that I have over in my flat, a group or individual, that they take care of themselves. Not that I don’t want to serve them and be gracious and hospitable and all that jazz, but that they know they can help themselves to whatever I have. Yes, I will try to remember to ask if they want something to drink or nibble on (assuming I have nibbling items), but the idea that my friends have made a home in my home is such a compliment to me.

Along the same vein, as a baker & cooker, more than the “umm” and “oh, this tastes great”, an empty dish speaks louder. Words are just words and can be manufactured, but if it was good enough to devour (and possibly even lick the sides) you know their heart.

I don’t know if any of this is universal, but I know it works for me. So, thanks, right back at ya.

how true

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quote

“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.” – Dagobert D. Runes

And yet, it feels like when traveling and people-watching (one of my absolute favorite activities while traveling), those people are so much more interesting than the everyday folk … though I specifically enjoy watching people do everyday things. Hm.