Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 21 years old.
Yesterday I found out that one of my best childhood friends died, in his sleep, without warning. He just... died. He was only 20.
I do not understand why he had to die, I don't understand why tomorrow I will be allowed to be 21 and he is not. I don't understand why his whole life was condensed into a few years. I've known him my whole life, since I was four. We grew up together, played together, our families did everything together. And now we're left with this gaping hole where there was supposed to be life, and what does anyone do with a hole? It's not the kind you can fill, it's a bottomless one that gapes and yawns and never closes up. It's an eternal hole, and those aren't the good kind. They're the kind of holes that hurt really bad. What about his family? What about Grant ad Kris and Karen...? What about the life he was going to have? What about the life he DID have?
I keep getting random flashes of memory of Noel. Not big memories, just snapshots.
One time our moms were helping out at a community service center in town and Grant, Noel, River, and I were confined to the daycare center to stay out of trouble. Noel and I were maybe five or six. Noel was excitedly telling me about his "initials", and I was proudly informed that they were "N.O." Having absolutely no idea what initials were, I told Noel that my initials were N.O. too. He looked at me amazed. "Really??" he exclaimed.
Another time the Ordelheides were over at my house. This was a common occurrence, especially since it was summertime and we'd often drop by each other's houses unannounced. We were playing in the backyard, which Grant and Noel always told me looked like a park because it was big and equipped with a treehouse, playhouses, a hill, and lots of swings. It was starting to get dark and there was an eerie green light coming from a window in the house over the fence from us. Noel was convinced it was a witch's house and that she was probably concocting some brew in there.
"I am NEVER coming to your house again at night!" He told me.
These memories are little, but they're mine, and they make up my childhood. There are countless more memories... of beanie baby fights, playing monopoly, hide and go seek tag in the dark, going on hikes and trips and eating popcorn on Saturday nights, watching "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure", the one time I forgot to lock the door when I was going to bathroom and Noel and Grant walked in me and laughed and laughed. All the birthday parties. The time when we were sleeping over at their house and I had long johns on that were made for boys and Noel laughed and laughed at me, so I stole his favorite stuffed animal and thought maybe I could keep it.
Ah. Why.
In a little while you'll wake up, wonder why your night's sleep was so long. Wonder what happened. And we'll tell you, and you won't be able to believe it, but by then it won't matter because we'll be going to somewhere much better...
Death can't keep you, Noel, it doesn't have to power to have you. It's only a matter of time before you are ours again, before you are safe and healthy and here.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Dancing Fingers
They say what goes up,
Must come down,
But don't let me fall.
I don't really know why I'm here,
I guess I'm just here for the ride
I swear, it feels like I'm dreaming
It's vividly defined
So call me whatever you like
Tie me to whatever you like
But don't let me fall.
-B.o.B Don't Let Me Fall
I went to Thelma's yesterday, to do therapy on her arm and hand. I enjoy doing it, and I think I will enjoy being an occupational therapist. Her fingers are so tight; they grip without trying to, grab onto your finger like a baby's reflex would. It takes all my strength to bend her arm out straight. It's so odd, forcing the body to do what it was originally supposed to...trying to coerce the muscles and joints into moving again; doing what they are supposed to do.
Thelma is almost apologetic about the whole thing. She's a single lady in her forties. You can tell she had different plans for how her life was supposed to go, but these things happen. When I was there yesterday, she was sitting under the open-air hut near her house, talking with her other relatives who were preparing pancit and vegetables and cooking seafood over their little ceramic coal fire. Yeng, a friend or relative of Thelma, invited me into her house next door for snacks. It was tapioca porridge and coke, and as soon as I finished my bowl she ordered me to eat more. She asked me why we don't eat pork, and wanted to know where in the Bible it was, so I promised I would bring my Bible next time.
Today after going to Thelma's again (Yeng wasn't there) I went to Central Elementary School to see Auntie Minnie, a church member and friend. She is a second grade teacher there and has more than forty students in her classroom. She is tired. She smiled when she saw me, though, and especially when she saw the cookies I had made her.
"You love me very much!" She exclaimed happily.
I laughed. "Yes, I do!"
She has every type of student imaginable, and is constantly calling them "naughty, naughty children", which makes me laugh but she's kind of right. She has a special needs boy in her class who is a handful enough on his own. He was trying to beat up on the other kids. Luckily he's a skinny little waif of a boy and can't do much damage.
I was teaching my piano students about correct hand position last evening. Your palm should be curved, not flat. Your fingers should dance across the keys, not walk. Lively!
So tonight I printed off lots of piano music. I tried to make my fingers dance across the keys, taking my own advice, but I couldn't. They wouldn't dance. They just tripped and fell and made mistakes. I couldn't make the music sound like I wanted to. The flats and sharps didn't cooperate and nothing else did either. Finally, I gave up.
It's kind of like today.
Little girl in the clinic, crying and screaming and coughing. She got hit by a bus a few months ago and still has to come into the clinic often to get bandages changed. Today she was getting her ear canal hole re-opened.
Pigs in the slaughterhouse on my bike ride; baby chick with one foot, couldn't keep up with his mama. Dogs with so many diseases and bugs they have no fur.
Conversations with people that didn't go the way I wanted them to; anger and irritation that welled up inside me when it shouldn't have.
Thoughts that I wish I didn't have, problems that I wish could just go away, time that I wish was already spent, fingers that I wish would dance.
I guess all you can really do is go to bed and sleep tight and then try again in the morning.
Tomorrow I think I will have dancing fingers.
Must come down,
But don't let me fall.
I don't really know why I'm here,
I guess I'm just here for the ride
I swear, it feels like I'm dreaming
It's vividly defined
So call me whatever you like
Tie me to whatever you like
But don't let me fall.
-B.o.B Don't Let Me Fall
I went to Thelma's yesterday, to do therapy on her arm and hand. I enjoy doing it, and I think I will enjoy being an occupational therapist. Her fingers are so tight; they grip without trying to, grab onto your finger like a baby's reflex would. It takes all my strength to bend her arm out straight. It's so odd, forcing the body to do what it was originally supposed to...trying to coerce the muscles and joints into moving again; doing what they are supposed to do.
Thelma is almost apologetic about the whole thing. She's a single lady in her forties. You can tell she had different plans for how her life was supposed to go, but these things happen. When I was there yesterday, she was sitting under the open-air hut near her house, talking with her other relatives who were preparing pancit and vegetables and cooking seafood over their little ceramic coal fire. Yeng, a friend or relative of Thelma, invited me into her house next door for snacks. It was tapioca porridge and coke, and as soon as I finished my bowl she ordered me to eat more. She asked me why we don't eat pork, and wanted to know where in the Bible it was, so I promised I would bring my Bible next time.
Today after going to Thelma's again (Yeng wasn't there) I went to Central Elementary School to see Auntie Minnie, a church member and friend. She is a second grade teacher there and has more than forty students in her classroom. She is tired. She smiled when she saw me, though, and especially when she saw the cookies I had made her.
"You love me very much!" She exclaimed happily.
I laughed. "Yes, I do!"
She has every type of student imaginable, and is constantly calling them "naughty, naughty children", which makes me laugh but she's kind of right. She has a special needs boy in her class who is a handful enough on his own. He was trying to beat up on the other kids. Luckily he's a skinny little waif of a boy and can't do much damage.
I was teaching my piano students about correct hand position last evening. Your palm should be curved, not flat. Your fingers should dance across the keys, not walk. Lively!
So tonight I printed off lots of piano music. I tried to make my fingers dance across the keys, taking my own advice, but I couldn't. They wouldn't dance. They just tripped and fell and made mistakes. I couldn't make the music sound like I wanted to. The flats and sharps didn't cooperate and nothing else did either. Finally, I gave up.
It's kind of like today.
Little girl in the clinic, crying and screaming and coughing. She got hit by a bus a few months ago and still has to come into the clinic often to get bandages changed. Today she was getting her ear canal hole re-opened.
Pigs in the slaughterhouse on my bike ride; baby chick with one foot, couldn't keep up with his mama. Dogs with so many diseases and bugs they have no fur.
Conversations with people that didn't go the way I wanted them to; anger and irritation that welled up inside me when it shouldn't have.
Thoughts that I wish I didn't have, problems that I wish could just go away, time that I wish was already spent, fingers that I wish would dance.
I guess all you can really do is go to bed and sleep tight and then try again in the morning.
Tomorrow I think I will have dancing fingers.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Pin Prick
I just pricked my finger with a needle. Unfortunately, it wasn't a sterile needle--it was a needle that had just been used to help take a cyst out of a lady. Instead of getting the cap back on it right, I pricked myself.
The one thing you're not ever supposed to do; prick yourself with a used needle, and I did it. Accidentally, while trying to help. I fussed and obsessed and worried and everyone just laughed at me and the doc told me to put some hydrogen peroxide on it and put a finger glove on and let it sit. So I did. And now I am still obsessing and fussing, but it is what it is. The people here don't have AIDS, thank goodness.
But what if they did?
It's times like these that make me remember my mortal self. I am still in the stage in life where I think I am immortal--I can't fathom dying someday. It just doesn't work in my head, doesn't make sense, doesn't click. And I don't think it's really supposed to. I don't think we're really supposed to understand death, because if we did, then it would mean we were supposed to die. By not understanding it, by our brains not being able to fathom it, to have to grieve...this to me means our brains were not meant to have to deal with death. We were not meant to die. We were never supposed to know that there was such a thing as death.
Last Sabbath, just before Sabbath School was starting, I went out to the lawn in front of the church to eat my breakfast orange. Pastor Marc was standing out there, his face was turned toward the sun, his hands in his pockets, his eyes closed.
"Enjoying the warmth?" I asked
"Yes!" He smiled when he saw my orange. "Can I have your orange peels?"
"Yes, and you can have some of the actual orange, too." I smiled.
He took the peels and put them to his nose.
"I love to smell them. They smell so...fresh." He closed his eyes and buried his nose farther into the peels.
Ah, if only life were as simple as orange peels and the sun on your face!
I think maybe that's what life is about, and Pastor Marc knows it. The simple enjoyment of the day--knowing that it won't last, and trying to make the most of it. It's so hard to do. I don't know if anyone ever can do it consistently. But it's worth a shot, I suppose, finding the beauty in everything, or something like that.
The one thing you're not ever supposed to do; prick yourself with a used needle, and I did it. Accidentally, while trying to help. I fussed and obsessed and worried and everyone just laughed at me and the doc told me to put some hydrogen peroxide on it and put a finger glove on and let it sit. So I did. And now I am still obsessing and fussing, but it is what it is. The people here don't have AIDS, thank goodness.
But what if they did?
It's times like these that make me remember my mortal self. I am still in the stage in life where I think I am immortal--I can't fathom dying someday. It just doesn't work in my head, doesn't make sense, doesn't click. And I don't think it's really supposed to. I don't think we're really supposed to understand death, because if we did, then it would mean we were supposed to die. By not understanding it, by our brains not being able to fathom it, to have to grieve...this to me means our brains were not meant to have to deal with death. We were not meant to die. We were never supposed to know that there was such a thing as death.
Last Sabbath, just before Sabbath School was starting, I went out to the lawn in front of the church to eat my breakfast orange. Pastor Marc was standing out there, his face was turned toward the sun, his hands in his pockets, his eyes closed.
"Enjoying the warmth?" I asked
"Yes!" He smiled when he saw my orange. "Can I have your orange peels?"
"Yes, and you can have some of the actual orange, too." I smiled.
He took the peels and put them to his nose.
"I love to smell them. They smell so...fresh." He closed his eyes and buried his nose farther into the peels.
Ah, if only life were as simple as orange peels and the sun on your face!
I think maybe that's what life is about, and Pastor Marc knows it. The simple enjoyment of the day--knowing that it won't last, and trying to make the most of it. It's so hard to do. I don't know if anyone ever can do it consistently. But it's worth a shot, I suppose, finding the beauty in everything, or something like that.
Even this late it happens
The coming of love, the coming of light
You wake up, and the candles are lit as if by themselves
Stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows
Sending up warm bouquets of air
Even this late,
The bones of the body shine
And tomorrows dust flares into breath.
--Mark Strand, "The Coming of Light"
 |
| Peek-a-Boo |
Friday, February 4, 2011
Pastures New
These are my friends, here. But sometimes I hate them. Is that normal? Sometimes I can't stand what they say, what they think, what they do. But I love them. Is that normal?
Lately the phrase about greener pastures has been running through my head. You know, "on to greener pastures", or "she was ready for a greener pasture". I think that maybe my middle name is "greener pasture". Sometimes, or actually, more often than sometimes, I am looking for something better, something nice, something easier, something greener.
Sometimes I wish that here, in the Philippines, I had some greener pastures to explore for friends or people. I wish there were some more people I could go be with for a few weeks, some new faces, new personalities, new thoughts, new comments.
But like my mom observed when she was here, "there's something to be said about thinking you can't possibly stand another minute with these people and then having to keep living with them anyway."
It's true--for now, I have this same pasture. And it's well worn down, and I know the corners well and the hiding spots, and I know where the dirt is better and I know where it's hardest to find the grass. But it's MY pasture, and these are my people, and I hate them, and I love them.
Lately the phrase about greener pastures has been running through my head. You know, "on to greener pastures", or "she was ready for a greener pasture". I think that maybe my middle name is "greener pasture". Sometimes, or actually, more often than sometimes, I am looking for something better, something nice, something easier, something greener.
Sometimes I wish that here, in the Philippines, I had some greener pastures to explore for friends or people. I wish there were some more people I could go be with for a few weeks, some new faces, new personalities, new thoughts, new comments.
But like my mom observed when she was here, "there's something to be said about thinking you can't possibly stand another minute with these people and then having to keep living with them anyway."
It's true--for now, I have this same pasture. And it's well worn down, and I know the corners well and the hiding spots, and I know where the dirt is better and I know where it's hardest to find the grass. But it's MY pasture, and these are my people, and I hate them, and I love them.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
February
So. It's been forever since I have blogged, and wish it hadn't been so long. Lots has happened! The big thing being, of course, the month of January.
The rest of December was okay, not my favorite month of my time here. Being away from home for the holidays isn't known for being fun, and it's not. Manila isn't the same as my warm house and bright Christmas tree. But being with the girls was fun; we travelled around to different touristy spots and did lots of mall-hopping. (Manila is basically one giant mall.) We got to visit AIIAS, the seminary/graduate school in the Phils, and meet some of the people who worked there.
Then is was January. Ryan Wilson, a former SM in the Phils, came to visit us and give us advice about living here. The visit was helpful and not helpful, everyone's SM year is different and it was hard to compare our years together. After that we had a week of meetings in Panciun and did kids meetings, health talks, and regular lectures.
The week after that, my mom came to visit for a couple weeks! We went to Vigan, Laoag, and then Pagudpud. We lazed around at the beach and went touring to waterfalls and more beaches. We visited the people around and ended the time by going to Manila, during which I got sick and my mom ended up changing her flight to stay with me. We had a great time and I was sad to see her go.
Nowadays...we just had a big medical group from the States come and visit. They did clinics all over Pagudpud, and we got to help out with them and be doctors. We road on top of the jeepney today to get to Panciun. I felt so...alive, in the early morning light, it was a clear, beautiful day...it felt like a spring morning. The wind in my hair, the sun on my face. Feels good.
Lots of drama in Pagudpud these days...seems like everyone in the church has got a problem with someone else. Everyone wants to get in good with the Americans, and it's hard on us and it's especially hard on the church family. I wish the people here could just get along with each other and realize that it's not so much about what you have....it's about the relationships you form. I hope that us SMs have been good examples of that.
Every evening the seven of us have prayer together. We talk about the day and the random prayer requests we might have, and then whoever wants to say a prayer can do so. It has been a big blessing and has brought our group together, I think. I love my fellow SMs. We drive each other crazy, but somehow it all works out.
Anyway, more later. It's time for me to go to sleep!
The rest of December was okay, not my favorite month of my time here. Being away from home for the holidays isn't known for being fun, and it's not. Manila isn't the same as my warm house and bright Christmas tree. But being with the girls was fun; we travelled around to different touristy spots and did lots of mall-hopping. (Manila is basically one giant mall.) We got to visit AIIAS, the seminary/graduate school in the Phils, and meet some of the people who worked there.
Then is was January. Ryan Wilson, a former SM in the Phils, came to visit us and give us advice about living here. The visit was helpful and not helpful, everyone's SM year is different and it was hard to compare our years together. After that we had a week of meetings in Panciun and did kids meetings, health talks, and regular lectures.
The week after that, my mom came to visit for a couple weeks! We went to Vigan, Laoag, and then Pagudpud. We lazed around at the beach and went touring to waterfalls and more beaches. We visited the people around and ended the time by going to Manila, during which I got sick and my mom ended up changing her flight to stay with me. We had a great time and I was sad to see her go.
Nowadays...we just had a big medical group from the States come and visit. They did clinics all over Pagudpud, and we got to help out with them and be doctors. We road on top of the jeepney today to get to Panciun. I felt so...alive, in the early morning light, it was a clear, beautiful day...it felt like a spring morning. The wind in my hair, the sun on my face. Feels good.
Lots of drama in Pagudpud these days...seems like everyone in the church has got a problem with someone else. Everyone wants to get in good with the Americans, and it's hard on us and it's especially hard on the church family. I wish the people here could just get along with each other and realize that it's not so much about what you have....it's about the relationships you form. I hope that us SMs have been good examples of that.
Every evening the seven of us have prayer together. We talk about the day and the random prayer requests we might have, and then whoever wants to say a prayer can do so. It has been a big blessing and has brought our group together, I think. I love my fellow SMs. We drive each other crazy, but somehow it all works out.
Anyway, more later. It's time for me to go to sleep!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)