There's No Place Like Home

And again... I managed to neglect this blog.

Things have been really hard lately. I've never been so challenged as I have the past several months. After my uncle killed himself, my grandmother died. And then her body was looted and all her jewelry (wedding ring included) stolen. My brother's friend overdosed on heroin, and I've never been so desperate to rally around my family as I have this semester.

We're a unique bunch...Never confused for some 1950s model family, but we work well together. We balance each other in an intricate way, and are never lacking in love. Needless to say, I've been homesick; there's something terrible about grieving alone 3,000 miles away from my family. But I'm trying to take care of myself (with the help of a supportive group of friends).

I recently made several calls looking for a therapist, and am meeting with various people to find the right "fit." I also quit my internship at Latitude because I just don't have the time or energy to perform well. I'm sleeping more (and by that I mean all the time. I could sleep for 12 hours straight every night), and drinking more tea. I even went to the gym yesterday.

I'm also seeking art. My boyfriend dragged me into the MFA the other day, but I've been dancing and singing (and heck, even writing) more. There's something about art and beauty and the aesthetics of it all that I'm inevitably drawn to.

I was seriously considering my co-op opportunity in San Diego, because it would provide me my last opportunity to live at home. I could support my father, and pick up groceries, and jacuzzi and tan. I could wear shorts in February. But then I stumbled upon this quote...

‎"A ship in port is safe; but that is not what ships are built for." -Grace Hopper

Going home feels safe, and it's what I (for the most part) want. But I don't know how much I'd grow from the experience. I outgrew San Diego a long time ago, and while I love my family dearly, I wasn't built for being "safe." I was made for exploring.

But still...There's no place like home.

Ventfest: Trivial Problems

I've been worried about my dad, lately. When I start adding up the unfortunately events that have played out this year, it's overwhelming. In addition to the deaths of three family members, we also have a verbally and emotionally abusive neighbor that's been threatening my family. And sometime between the time of my grandmother's death, and when her body was cremated, her jewelry was looted, literally yanked off of her cold, dead fingers.

It's difficult to remain optimistic about little things in the wake of such tragedy. In the past month, I've grown up more than I would have liked. And I'm not the only one; I've watched my dad grow in numerous ways. He's recognized the importance of family, and—as I understand it—has renewed his commitments to himself, his happiness and his family. And he's been rattled.

And all that is just his personal life.

So when people come to me to discuss problems and drama with their relationships or how they're so stressed and busy, I'm inclined to turn and walk away. I don't know where I'm going with all that, but it's overwhelming. Never before have I been so intimately touched by death. So pardon me that I can't be bothered with the superficiality of temporary inconveniences.

While I Was Out

Oh, hello there...

It's certainly been a while since I wrote here. I have a confession to make. I've been cheating on this blog.

What started off as a class assignment has turned into a genuine passion and interest. I've been blogging about organic food in Boston on my new(ish) blog, MetrOrganics. Catchy, right? Basically, I eat, breathe, smell, cook and shop organic food in the Boston metro area and—guess what—write about it. It's fantastic, and I've finally succeeded in creating a singularly focused blog. But at the expense of loving this one.

So, some catch-up work...

• I've been taking much better care of myself and living by the notion of loving myself first and others second.
• But I have been loving others. Remember those angsty, hyper-transparent posts about a certain boy who was unavailable? Well we've been exclusively dating for a couple of months now, and he's provided all the support I could ever ask for. He also serves as a guinea pig for all my organic cooking experiments.
• My family has been in shambles lately. Following my uncle's death, my grandmother just passed away a little over a week ago. That makes three deaths on that side in the last year. Needless to say, I've been extremely homesick.
• I accepted and started a new internship at Latitude News, an international news site/magazine that makes international news more digestible and applicable to American readers by establishing the context of the issues and providing parallels in the United States.
• I'm on the hunt for my January co-op! I've already been offered a position at the San Diego Union-Tribune and am waiting to hear back from (in alphabetical order) The Boston Globe, Boston.com, Daily Item, Farm Aid, Jill's List, OurStage Inc., Second Nature, Tech Target and TheStreet.com. I'll keep you posted.
• WOOF Magazine is up and running (sort of). We have our website and twitter going strong and have set our fall print date!! Glad to see my ideas finally panning out.

He keeps me sane and puts up with my freakouts :)

Calculating Life

In the wake of my family’s loss, I’m struggling to sort through my feelings. The problems is that emotions are not easily translated into words, and there’s no one thing that can describe the overwhelming nature of this all.

I’ve never previously dealt with death or loss. It was a concept to me, something that I heard about and read about and that I could conceptualize, but by which I had never truly been touched. But with a simple phone call last night, everything changed.

I cried. But then I stopped myself, grabbed a pen and started writing lists of everything I needed to do. Writing lists felt organized and as far removed from emotion as possible. I’ve never been one to allow myself to be very emotional. I don’t know how to process things so I subconsciously numb myself. I run as hard and as fast as I physically can. I write. I make lists.

But sometimes the numbness is just as painful. When I close my eyes or think about someone so near and dear to my heart, I can’t fully process everything.

I’m consumed with anger, that someone would so selfishly take their own life. I’m sure he considered the consequences of his actions, but he made the decision anyway. Now someone has to tell his aging mother that her youngest son is gone. Now someone has to piece together the broken bits of his life. Someone has to write an obituary and decide the next steps.

I’m sad and sorry that he was in such pain. I’m filled with guilt at having forgotten to call him on his birthday. I’m so sorry for those blind sighted innocents that were forced to play a part in his death, people who will be broken for the rest of their lives and feel guilt for something that was never their fault.

In the simplest of ways, I’m also happy though. If things were truly bad enough to motivate someone to take their own life, than I’m happy that he’s no longer in pain.

And I feel an overwhelming and instinctive love that overpowers most everything. I love him, despite the pain and the sorrow and the guilt.

No matter what I feel, though, it doesn’t really matter. Someone I love is gone and I will never be able to see them again. I will never hear their distinct radio-worthy voice at the other end of the line. I will never hold their hand or laugh with them. And I will never again open their tin foil-wrapped presents. The emptiness is something indigestible and it literally gives me a stomach ache.

He is gone. And I’m still at a loss at how to calculate it.

The government puts a value of a human life between seven and 10 million. I would give ten times that to bring him back. I would walk those 600 miles. I would do anything. But saying that doesn’t mean anything because I can’t. He’s gone.

Gone… But then again, matter cannot be created out of nothing. And matter can’t just disappear, either; it’s turned into energy of some sort, recycled and processed back into the universe. So from a religious or scientific perspective—either way, there is an energy in the universe that is my uncle.

Column: Yoga an expensive but killer workout

News Staff Illustration/Will Macowski

By Marian Daniells, News Staff
Huntington News

I bought my first yoga mat when I was in high school, after my dad’s doctor suggested he attend yoga classes to help him relieve stress and relax. We probably went to three classes at the local YMCA before we lost our motivation completely, and I forgot about the mat.

Five years later, that same pink mat magically rose from the dead. It traveled 3,000 miles in my dad’s luggage at my request before it finally arrived in my hands in New York, where I was on co-op this past spring. I decided to give yoga another chance.

One of my best friends, Laura, had been blogging about Boston’s yoga scene for the entire semester I was in New York. I blog-stalked her as a way to keep up on her life and feel some sense of connection to the people I’d left behind in Boston. She made the Boston yoga community sound like the most wonderful, prestigious club. She described her physical and emotional transformation, the benefits of yoga and her obsessive love for lululemon, a store for yoga gear and clothing in the Prudential Center. I couldn’t help but find her enthusiasm contagious.

My first yoga adventure was trying Bikram yoga – which is commonly referred to as “hot yoga”–and is a whole different breed of crazy. It’s completely different than traditional types of yoga. In Bikram, yogis go through two breathing exercises and 26 postures during each 90 minute session. And it’s in a room that’s over 100 degrees. People who do Bikram seldom do traditional yoga and vice versa. Although Laura wasn’t a big fan of Bikram, I had to give it a try.

There’s really only one rule to Bikram yoga: you can’t leave the room. I, however, managed to break that sacred rule during my very first session. Sometime during the first half hour, I started seeing spots. Then I heard the telltale ringing in my ears, and knew I was in for a difficult next hour. Before the class was out, I vomited into a towel and came dangerously close to passing out. The instructor begrudgingly let me run out of the room to vomit properly in a toilet, but I did manage to return to the room and finish my session. I found some sort of sick pride in proving to myself that I could overcome my body’s limitations.

See the whole article here.

###

The Stars at Night / Are Big and Bright

Yesterday, I had the day off...

I woke up cuddling with one of my closest girlfriends and we made our way down to breakfast, then impulsively bought hair dye and dyed my hair in her apartment (I think I'm finally back to my natural brunette). We hung out at the boys' house and then I left for dinner in Cambridge.

After burgers at Bartley's (yay for a summer Bucket List accomplishment), I strolled around Harvard and Central squares and eventually made my way back to the boys' house, where I ended the night with a few beers, potato chips and lots of laughs.

Between bouts of "bro-ing out," my girlfriend and I stole away up to the roof. We lay out and looked at the sky and talked about relationships and honesty and the beauty of Boston. Cheesy at it sounds, there--surrounded by my family and friends and a warm summer breeze--I felt so incandescently happy.

It happened again this morning, as I was walking through my campus and realizing for the hundredth time just how stunningly beautiful this place is. I love this city, this time of my life. And I thank whatever powers that be daily that I made the decision to come here. I am happy, giddy even. I am in love with the people and the city and they, in turn, love me. I have a home here. For the first time in my life, I have furniture in my name. I have everything.

The world changes so quickly and I'm clinging to every moment. Lord only knows what will change in the coming months, as I return to classes and more and more friends graduate. But for now? I'm loving to live and living to love. And I wouldn't have it any other way.