I used to think of fireflies as "God's Sparkles."
This was because I only saw them at dusk, when the day had simply faded away without a sunset so that all that was left was a dull grayish landscape waiting for the horizon to die. Dusk is soft and pretty in its own right, but it's magical and perfect when sprinkled with little flickers of floating light. Sparkles.
It is very different when you are running down the road in the middle of a June night, with no cars or houses or even a moon to ruin your night vision. There is nothing but the sticky air, and a jagged black horizon and the charcoal shade of the road. You could be running in a vacuum, except for the feel of asphalt under the pale smears of your sneakers, and the air moving past the inside of your knees.
The fields to the left and the right of your pumping fists are blanketed with flashing lights.
The lights are brighter and quicker and denser than any tacky Christmas strings, stretching in packed thousands and millions along the road and back into the fields, climbing the trees like hoards of silent paparazzi, frantic and dancing and brilliant and bright. Your legs are burning and your lungs are heavy, but you are running through fields of white fire.
There is no sound but the crickets and the frogs, your mouth and your shoes, and the strange lonely call of a peacock chasing you down the electric hill.
~Maria
Saturday, June 12
Sunday, May 30
Are You Worth Fighting For?
I really don't believe that this country pays enough attention to Memorial Day. Little me couldn't remember the difference between Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, and bigger me has the sinking suspicion that a large percentage of the population still has that problem. This is really, really bad.
When I think about war, I think of two sides, like two sides of a coin:
1) As a character in "Black Hawk Down" said, "When that first bullet goes past your head, politics goes right out the window." I am certainly not qualified to talk about the fog of war, but have heard that it is dirt and sweat and homesickness and blood and not enough sleep and pain and "is it worth it" and stretches of excruciating boredom punctuated by horrific excitement; ie, not glamorous. Hell, in fact.
2) On the other hand, there are heroes. Like that of the two soldiers who begged for permission to be deployed, fully aware that there was no one to help or back them up, to the sight of a fallen helicopter. They didn't even know if anyone had survived the crash, but when the arrived, they dragged the injured pilot out and fought for their lives against pretty much the entire city. The two soldiers, Gary Gordon and Randall Shughart, died protecting the pilot, who survived since he lasted long enough for the leader to take him hostage, and both received the Medal of Honor post-mortem. It is possible to die for your friends. People do.
That being said, what I think about most is not the war, but the aftermath.
What hits me is that I am what they fought for. I am the country that is "the land of the free and home of the brave." I am the girl who has not been killed or raped because someone won a battle. I am the one who is alive instead of another.
I am the only one who can make it worth it.
During the visit to hell "Saving Private Ryan," a dying captain mutters to the last Ryan, "earn this...earn it..." and at the very end, Ryan is crying over the graves, begging his wife to assure him, "Tell me I led a good life. Tell me I'm a good man."
For me, Memorial Day is not about remembering a list of casualties. It is about remembering my own role in the fight, and promising to fulfill it as well as the guy who kept shooting. It is about thanking the girls who did what I could not by doing what they could not. It is about becoming worth fighting for.
People need to be hit hard with what they have to live up to. Don't morn the dead, see what you can do to be the living.
Happy Memorial Day.
~Maria
When I think about war, I think of two sides, like two sides of a coin:
1) As a character in "Black Hawk Down" said, "When that first bullet goes past your head, politics goes right out the window." I am certainly not qualified to talk about the fog of war, but have heard that it is dirt and sweat and homesickness and blood and not enough sleep and pain and "is it worth it" and stretches of excruciating boredom punctuated by horrific excitement; ie, not glamorous. Hell, in fact.
2) On the other hand, there are heroes. Like that of the two soldiers who begged for permission to be deployed, fully aware that there was no one to help or back them up, to the sight of a fallen helicopter. They didn't even know if anyone had survived the crash, but when the arrived, they dragged the injured pilot out and fought for their lives against pretty much the entire city. The two soldiers, Gary Gordon and Randall Shughart, died protecting the pilot, who survived since he lasted long enough for the leader to take him hostage, and both received the Medal of Honor post-mortem. It is possible to die for your friends. People do.
That being said, what I think about most is not the war, but the aftermath.
What hits me is that I am what they fought for. I am the country that is "the land of the free and home of the brave." I am the girl who has not been killed or raped because someone won a battle. I am the one who is alive instead of another.
I am the only one who can make it worth it.
During the visit to hell "Saving Private Ryan," a dying captain mutters to the last Ryan, "earn this...earn it..." and at the very end, Ryan is crying over the graves, begging his wife to assure him, "Tell me I led a good life. Tell me I'm a good man."
For me, Memorial Day is not about remembering a list of casualties. It is about remembering my own role in the fight, and promising to fulfill it as well as the guy who kept shooting. It is about thanking the girls who did what I could not by doing what they could not. It is about becoming worth fighting for.
People need to be hit hard with what they have to live up to. Don't morn the dead, see what you can do to be the living.
Happy Memorial Day.
~Maria
"Click"
When I was younger, I would try to capture memories.
I distinctly remember lifting both hands, both thumbs and first fingers shaped into "L"s, and fitting them together into a viewfinder. I remember whispering "click" when my baby sister was inside the frame. I remember thinking that when I got to heaven, God would be kind enough, or amused enough, to show me what my younger self had wanted to bring to eternity.
It has been quite a few years since then. I had almost forgotten what it was like to want a moment to last forever.
It was the middle of the night, and I had run out in my bare feet to to the bright garage, only to be invited on an impromptu motorcycle ride. I hope I never forget how it feels to run up the stairs as excited as a girl to sneak boots from beside a sleeping sister, or the feel of the cool night breeze on my arms while the humidity was still leaving my palms sticky. I hope I never forget Daddy's unconventional idea of "just around the block" or the way he saw deer so far ahead that there was no chance of an unexpected tragedy. I hope I never drop the last two letters in "Daddy," and since I'm 20 years old and they haven't left yet, I think that one will come true.
I rode for the first (and last, considering how much he stresses this) time without a jacket, and I gave in for the first (and last) time to the yearning to spread my arms like wings, just for a minute, since no one was around. I wished I could stay like that forever.
This is such a personal post, but since my days of hiding behind doors and pretending to record the sounds of baby laughter, I have learned that the real way to capture something, for me, is in words. Even if I never get good enought to transplant a feeling into a stranger's soul, the black squiggles will at least be magical to me. Thanks, God.
~Maria
I distinctly remember lifting both hands, both thumbs and first fingers shaped into "L"s, and fitting them together into a viewfinder. I remember whispering "click" when my baby sister was inside the frame. I remember thinking that when I got to heaven, God would be kind enough, or amused enough, to show me what my younger self had wanted to bring to eternity.
It has been quite a few years since then. I had almost forgotten what it was like to want a moment to last forever.
It was the middle of the night, and I had run out in my bare feet to to the bright garage, only to be invited on an impromptu motorcycle ride. I hope I never forget how it feels to run up the stairs as excited as a girl to sneak boots from beside a sleeping sister, or the feel of the cool night breeze on my arms while the humidity was still leaving my palms sticky. I hope I never forget Daddy's unconventional idea of "just around the block" or the way he saw deer so far ahead that there was no chance of an unexpected tragedy. I hope I never drop the last two letters in "Daddy," and since I'm 20 years old and they haven't left yet, I think that one will come true.
I rode for the first (and last, considering how much he stresses this) time without a jacket, and I gave in for the first (and last) time to the yearning to spread my arms like wings, just for a minute, since no one was around. I wished I could stay like that forever.
This is such a personal post, but since my days of hiding behind doors and pretending to record the sounds of baby laughter, I have learned that the real way to capture something, for me, is in words. Even if I never get good enought to transplant a feeling into a stranger's soul, the black squiggles will at least be magical to me. Thanks, God.
~Maria
Saturday, May 15
Upcycling
Once upon a time, a bought a new shirt. The second time I wore it I promptly ripped it. Roughly a year from the fateful day, I got myself to Ye Olde Goodwille and procured yet another gray shirt, took both of them apart, put both of them back together again, and voila! T-shirt couture.
Yes, I will wear it in public, although now that I think about it I should really reinforce the neckline...
While on the subject of upcycling (recycling, except better, for those of you unfamiliar with the term), I should mention that I managed to transform my tangled pile of jewelry into some semblance of order last weekend with some similar elbow grease. An old frame + some cup hooks that had been floating around my craft supplies + a partial can of black paint + some white crackle paint =
I am hoping to hang it on the wall. (inspired by these fancy jewelry holders.)
Today I am officially finished school, so hopefully this blog will pick up a bit. I love you all!
~Maria
Sunday, May 2
Art?
I never like my own artwork.
This kind of declaration tends to send my supportive family members into convulsions, but though I am subsequently passionately assured that someone else enjoys it, I am unmoved. You can find someone in the world who will admit to enjoying anything. That does not make it art.
However, I have experienced an epiphany! An "ahHA" moment! A mystical floating lightbulb!
I suddenly realized that I had never stopped and asked myself why I actually enjoy art, what kind of art I like best, or what I am trying to accomplish. How can you acheive something if you don't know what you are striving for? (It is technically possible, but the odds are against it.) I can point out certain qualities that particularly appeal to me in the art I see, but they are sometimes mutually exclusive, and the other questions are unanswered.
This, of course, led to an extremely confusing and somewhat passionate philosophical discussion that spread from the breakfast table to the living room hell bent, at least on my part, on figuring out if art was objective (your perceptions do not matter: it either is or is not art) or subjective (does not exist in the world, but in your mind: if you think it is art, it is). I retreated unsatisfied, and it is still bugging me.
Sorry that this is not a particularly inspired post, but I thought I should say something. Finals are next week, so once I am out of school I will be able to establish a regular schedule to impart my genius to the world. Prepare yourself.
This kind of declaration tends to send my supportive family members into convulsions, but though I am subsequently passionately assured that someone else enjoys it, I am unmoved. You can find someone in the world who will admit to enjoying anything. That does not make it art.
However, I have experienced an epiphany! An "ahHA" moment! A mystical floating lightbulb!
I suddenly realized that I had never stopped and asked myself why I actually enjoy art, what kind of art I like best, or what I am trying to accomplish. How can you acheive something if you don't know what you are striving for? (It is technically possible, but the odds are against it.) I can point out certain qualities that particularly appeal to me in the art I see, but they are sometimes mutually exclusive, and the other questions are unanswered.
This, of course, led to an extremely confusing and somewhat passionate philosophical discussion that spread from the breakfast table to the living room hell bent, at least on my part, on figuring out if art was objective (your perceptions do not matter: it either is or is not art) or subjective (does not exist in the world, but in your mind: if you think it is art, it is). I retreated unsatisfied, and it is still bugging me.
Sorry that this is not a particularly inspired post, but I thought I should say something. Finals are next week, so once I am out of school I will be able to establish a regular schedule to impart my genius to the world. Prepare yourself.
Friday, March 26
A King and a Girl: a Journey
A few weeks ago, firmly scolding myself for getting my hopes up and barely daring to mention to anyone my intentions, I applied to spend a semester in Rome. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I can introduce myself to the world as one of the ten winners! Five of the others are from my honors class, and of the remaining four I know two, so it will be a sociable and friendly experience, as well as all the rest of the attributes related to study abroad. Needless to say, I am ecstatic.
In light of the exciting news and the fact that this blog will naturally start revolving around Rome in the fall, I decided to post an excerpt from my application essay. I hope it tides you over until I finish polishing my reflections on hate-crime, feminism (in honor of women's history month) and animal "rights."
...What do I do when I am confused? I go back to the basics. The basics are: 1) Have Faith, because without God, there is nothing; 2) Work, because even if you are not sure, as long as you are trying God will give you hints; and 3) Cultivate Beauty and Logic, because they are the way that God reveals Himself. Providentially, as soon as I had plotted this master plan out with my humble brain, the opportunity to spend a semester in Rome dropped out of the sky.
I am already determined to travel. I want to see, experience and learn everything; not only subjects, but perspectives, lives, culture and life. The little travel I have done, and the little exposure I have had to other cultures, has convinced me that seeing the world through other’s eyes drastically increases the chance of finding the truth, just as seeing an object from more than one angle gives a much clearer picture of its three dimensional shape. Not only does travel enlighten broad subjects such as life, politics and humanity, but provides opportunities to learn skills that may be a specialty of a certain region. I hope to travel all over the world, but Rome is by far my most cherished goal. At this point in time, it even holds the answers for all my questions.
Rome! Rome is… the center of the world! All roads lead to Rome because all people need Rome- the center of truth, beauty, history and faith - in their hearts. God’s Vicar, with the keys to the secrets of individual happiness, world peace, and true Beauty lives there like any other elderly man doing his work. Cathedrals, the greatest collections of art and architecture, turn these arts to their true end: the connection of ordinary people across time to heaven. Aqueducts, the Coliseum, roads and old buildings that make the history of thousands of years suddenly as real as the local supermarket stand like any other arrangement of building materials, real enough to touch and sketch. If the source and summit of Faith and Beauty, and the true end of Work, are not here, then I don’t know where they would be.
On the other hand, Rome is like any other city. It would take a little effort to see the magic in a busy modern street; but the quest only gives the treasure more value, and the physics give the theory its truth. I could walk in the street. I could speak to people. I could see things. I could learn. I could write. I could think. I could sleep. I could grow. Maybe I could rediscover my art. Maybe I could rediscover my faith. Maybe I could rediscover the meaning of life there, in the center of it all, and by finding it in Rome, learn to find it everywhere else.
I plan on rereading the essay every now and then while I am in Rome just to remind myself of my lofty intentions. A man's word is his honor! I do not intend on making myself a liar!
~Maria
PS. Want to provide some moral support and encouragement? Comment by clicking the little blue"comments" word below!
In light of the exciting news and the fact that this blog will naturally start revolving around Rome in the fall, I decided to post an excerpt from my application essay. I hope it tides you over until I finish polishing my reflections on hate-crime, feminism (in honor of women's history month) and animal "rights."
...What do I do when I am confused? I go back to the basics. The basics are: 1) Have Faith, because without God, there is nothing; 2) Work, because even if you are not sure, as long as you are trying God will give you hints; and 3) Cultivate Beauty and Logic, because they are the way that God reveals Himself. Providentially, as soon as I had plotted this master plan out with my humble brain, the opportunity to spend a semester in Rome dropped out of the sky.
I am already determined to travel. I want to see, experience and learn everything; not only subjects, but perspectives, lives, culture and life. The little travel I have done, and the little exposure I have had to other cultures, has convinced me that seeing the world through other’s eyes drastically increases the chance of finding the truth, just as seeing an object from more than one angle gives a much clearer picture of its three dimensional shape. Not only does travel enlighten broad subjects such as life, politics and humanity, but provides opportunities to learn skills that may be a specialty of a certain region. I hope to travel all over the world, but Rome is by far my most cherished goal. At this point in time, it even holds the answers for all my questions.
Rome! Rome is… the center of the world! All roads lead to Rome because all people need Rome- the center of truth, beauty, history and faith - in their hearts. God’s Vicar, with the keys to the secrets of individual happiness, world peace, and true Beauty lives there like any other elderly man doing his work. Cathedrals, the greatest collections of art and architecture, turn these arts to their true end: the connection of ordinary people across time to heaven. Aqueducts, the Coliseum, roads and old buildings that make the history of thousands of years suddenly as real as the local supermarket stand like any other arrangement of building materials, real enough to touch and sketch. If the source and summit of Faith and Beauty, and the true end of Work, are not here, then I don’t know where they would be.
On the other hand, Rome is like any other city. It would take a little effort to see the magic in a busy modern street; but the quest only gives the treasure more value, and the physics give the theory its truth. I could walk in the street. I could speak to people. I could see things. I could learn. I could write. I could think. I could sleep. I could grow. Maybe I could rediscover my art. Maybe I could rediscover my faith. Maybe I could rediscover the meaning of life there, in the center of it all, and by finding it in Rome, learn to find it everywhere else.
I plan on rereading the essay every now and then while I am in Rome just to remind myself of my lofty intentions. A man's word is his honor! I do not intend on making myself a liar!
~Maria
PS. Want to provide some moral support and encouragement? Comment by clicking the little blue"comments" word below!
Saturday, March 13
art, truth, crime and titles
Why "art, truth, crime and me"?
Art: My own hardly lives up to my wishes- while perfectionism does have its benefits, comfort with one's own work is not one of them- but I persevere and really love looking at others' work. Beauty will be one of the staples of this blog, whether it is mine, other's or found.
Truth: "The unexamined life is not worth living," or so saith Socrates. Life is always worth living, but I must say that truth is the only thing worth fighting for, and life is a fight. The truth is always more exciting, anyway.
Crime: Real crime is exhausting. It is hard, unglamorous work for our civil servants, the leak that drains the economy, the rubber band that slowly cuts off the circulation of morals throughout society. I am a criminal justice major, not because I am chasing the false glamour of TV crime shows, but because of the way crime shows the heart of humanity.
Me: Never, ever forget to take into account your source. You get twice as much information that way.
I hope that was informative! I kept my little explainations brief, but found that I have a lot to say about each of these subjects, so more will come. Enjoy Life!
Art: My own hardly lives up to my wishes- while perfectionism does have its benefits, comfort with one's own work is not one of them- but I persevere and really love looking at others' work. Beauty will be one of the staples of this blog, whether it is mine, other's or found.
Truth: "The unexamined life is not worth living," or so saith Socrates. Life is always worth living, but I must say that truth is the only thing worth fighting for, and life is a fight. The truth is always more exciting, anyway.
Crime: Real crime is exhausting. It is hard, unglamorous work for our civil servants, the leak that drains the economy, the rubber band that slowly cuts off the circulation of morals throughout society. I am a criminal justice major, not because I am chasing the false glamour of TV crime shows, but because of the way crime shows the heart of humanity.
Me: Never, ever forget to take into account your source. You get twice as much information that way.
I hope that was informative! I kept my little explainations brief, but found that I have a lot to say about each of these subjects, so more will come. Enjoy Life!
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