End Of the Street

Next time

2012-01-21T14:24:00.000-05:00

With only two weeks away for my wedding, I don't think I will have time to blog. Next time, dear reader, I will be married. I wish you could all be there, but of course that is not possible. I hope to have pictures to post as soon as it is happens!

Here we go!

Changes

2011-12-09T09:14:00.000-05:00

The other day, like most days, I was talking to Beloved. This time it was special though because I was talking to him about my blog and the fact that I don't seen to interest readers with my thoughts. I told that Leo thinks and has expressed it repeatedly that I need to include pictures. I asked Beloved, if he would become my editor. Sweet man, smiled and said that he would love to. For a man who does not like the Internet, this is quite a commitment.

I have been thinking about the possibilities of change. How having a full time editor will help me develop as a writer. I also have been considering the changes of the nature of my blog and how the upcoming changes of the context of my life is about to change. As my life changes, so will the expression of my life. As a celebration of that milestone, I have two options: 1. Closing End of the Street and opening a new blog or 2. Archive End Of the Street as it is now, and start over at the same place, but new. There is something in me that wants to cling to the dribble of an lonely little girl finding her voice and the friends she has made in her blogsphere, but recent disinterest makes me wonder if the first option might me the most viable. Many thoughts are being considered right now and the blueprints for my blog, whether becoming a New End Of the Street or a new blog altogether, are being drafted. Lookout for these upcoming changes.

Mr. Good Teacher has also encouraged me in my bloggery. He would like to see is developed so much that blogging would become a source of income for me. That is an interesting idea. In the past, writers sold their expressions to newspapers and magazines. Nowadays, bloggers sell themselves to advertisements. But still, with my BA to finish paying for and a house yet to build, writing for an income does not sound like a bad idea.

So readers, if you are out there, NOW is the time to speak up. What changes would you like to see in End OF the Street? How do you see change?

Womanness

2011-12-08T15:58:00.000-05:00

It has been an exciting week. I really don't want it to ever end. I spent the last couple of days, looking at information to include in my last paper for the semester and making arrangements for the wedding. Today, I went to the doctor, and had a little chat about the magic little pill that is suppose allow me to keep balance in my life: be married, have a job, and go to school. I really struggle with the idea of taking the magic pills (I can't seem to even say the c-word in my blog, although I had fun talking about it with my family doctor). I did find out some interesting information about the magic pill and those nasty headaches I get from time to time. Very interesting.

I guess I struggle with the idea of taking magic pills because I struggle with the idea of myself. I still, I am beginning to realize, struggle with my identity, my role in my family and my society, my womanness. I see this whenever we sit down with to Pastor Officiator and Officiator Wife and have pre-marriage counselling. I also see it whenever Mother In Law, the conservative dear that she is, tries to impose her good old fashion cultural values on me (values that Beloved grew up in, and are part of the reason I love him). I also see it whenever Mother and I discuss what nuptial traditions I will keep (like wearing a white dress) and what I will discard (like wearing a veil over my face or wearing a grater). I see this when I wish my big sister Renee was here to help me choice which picture to include in the wedding invitation. I also see this when Beloved, my sweet Beloved foots a bill that I caused.

You may wonder why I choice the non-word womanness over femininity. If you do, you are a very thoughtful person. I use the non-word over the word because femininity, which is defined by google as the traits of behaving in ways considered typical for a woman, is just that. It is typical, socially acceptable,defined. It is something you can find in books and google. Womanness on the other had is personal to me. At age 25 I feel like it is something I am still stepping into. Personally I love words that end with the suffix "ness", which denotes the state of something. Womanness to me is the state of being a woman. What does that mean exactly? I can't tell you exactly. I am one woman with many sisters, and they are still discovering their own womanness. One of the things that is tied to my womanness is taking a magic pill.

Why do I? I wish I didn't have to. I know I don't have to. In fact, the voice of the doctrine of the church I went to as a teenager tells me it is sin. The voice of the science teacher and the moral decision teacher at the Catholic junior college I went to tells me it is sin. The voice of my mother in law and her good old Mennonite ways tells me it is bad for me. The voice of the electronic representation of my older sister who is so far away from me tells me there are other ways. Basically, for me, as a woman in Belize, a university student, and an employee, I need to. Any other options are not a) available b) financially viable c) would cause me to sin against myself and deprive me of my purpose at the present. Since Beloved and I have decided to shack up in his little house after the wedding, there would not be space for a baby anyway.

I realize this post is probably way more personal them any of my readers care for, but this is my thoughts. This is who I am. Who I am going to be: a magic pill popping wife, student and herbalist. Call it a contradiction, but I call it the crazy balance in my life.

Changes

2011-12-05T15:24:00.000-05:00

So the semester is over. I have to write to more papers, one on how gender roles work in a short story given my my lecturer, and the other on a topic of my choice based on the novel Dreaming In Cuban. Other then that, it is time to think about the wedding. Nine weeks to go people.

I realize that I Beloved and I are two very different people. I am a tough fighting go getter. I am working hard to make something of myself. Beloved is relational. He hates running around getting things done. He would much rather relax and smell the roses. I always loved this about him. Last weekend, I learned to cherish this quality in him at a all new level.

See, Saturday I worked, as usual in the health food store. It was a busy day and I was feeling good. we had many customers and a lot of shelves to stock and products to re-bag. I should have watched out because that mixed with a couple of other realities mixed together to cause one massive headache. Now I get migraines from time to time. Usually I take a hot and cold shower and sleep it off. This time, however, it was like a volcanic explosion in my head. None of my home remedies helped. Beloved, who usually drives me home after work so a) I can quickly take a shower and go out again or b) we can hang out with Mamita. This Saturday night however, we went to the hospital. Beloved took me, despite my protest when I began to choke on my vomit. Mamita called the Doc in Guatemala, who spoke to the nurse, who, at minutes to 9 pm administered some strong drugs that eased the pain and put me to sleep almost instantly. I know such unprofessional medical practices would unset some of my American friends, but really, if the Doc knows what I need, do I really have to go through the whole emergency scene and spend hundreds of dollars?

Beloved took me home and put me to bed. I don't remember him leaving. I remember being half awake and knowing he was gone, but I was too asleep to protest. The next morning I woke up at 11 am! That's right I spent 14 hours. I felt real dizzy. Almost loopy. I called Beloved and he came right over. All day he was my person nurse,giving me water, making sure I ate, make sure I did not eat too many sweets, took me for a walk around the block. He was good and gentle and sweet. Mix that with the worried boyfriend who held my head back when I tried to vomit and carried me into the hospital because the pain in my head was too much to stand, and you have a winner. I love my man. I love the way that he puts our relationship at the forefront of everything.

We may not have the biggest house to live in after we are married, but you know what, we can work together to build our dream house. I love my beloved and he is mine.....

The world goes 'round

2011-12-02T08:38:00.000-05:00

This morning I was chatting with a friend and an interesting phrases came to my mind, ran through my fingers, pressed on the key of my laptop, and appeared on my screen: "I'm just doing my parting helping the world go 'round". What a crazy phrase! Afterwards I thought about what I meant by saying something like that. It comes out that it is a key signature of my key phiosophy.

See, the world going around, or rotating is a very important phenomenon. Without it, life would be very different because there would be no change from day and night. Half of the world would be in utter darkness and except for a few rarities, nothing would grow. It would be a cold dark place. The other half, the day half would also struggle to live because it would have too much light, too much day. It would be extremely hot, and it would be hard to rest. This would have its toil on the growing cycles on plants and animals. Things would be pretty horrorible. Doing your part to help the world go 'round is extremely important.

On the other hand, it is not. See, the world rotates without our help. The earth is capable of maintaining its cycles (life, death; night, day; growing, resting etc...) without us. The Creator was very clever at giving us essentials without demanding any imput from us. So on the other hand, doing your part to help the world go 'round is essentially vain... it amounts to nothing.

So there you have it. My balanced approach to life. I am both important and essentially nothing. What I do is extremely vital but it can be replaced. The way I help others can mean the different between life and death but at the same time, without me, the cycles of life would continue.

So my challenge for you READER is this: Go about your life doing your part to make the world go 'round. Remember that you are both crucial and unnecessary.

Mirror, Mirror, In the Book

2011-11-28T21:45:00.001-05:00

"Gringa Pichinga, Gringa Pichinga"
It used to ring in my ears, all the way home, well not home, but to that place in the middle of the bush. At first I used to ask T what they are singing. I knew it was about me. I knew because they would stare at me as this strange little phrase would ring out of their mouths. I do not lie, the whole bus load of childring going to the village would sing it, sometimes the whole way.

When I left the village, I left like an uncaged bird. It is not so much that I hated the pristine jungle and the beauty of nature that surrounded the primative farm. I got used to life without electricity and running water. Before that we lived in rural California, so it did not bother me that the roads were not paved and some times impassable. I loved the exotic free trees and the wildlife. I was, however, glad to leave. Glad to leave being misunderstood. The village, all my nieghbours and the people around me, did not understand me. They did not understand how I spoke to boys my age or even older, how I dressed, how I spoke. I confused them because I rode horses, read books, enjoyed riding in the back of the pick up with the others. Horror of Horrors, I used to walk places by myself. To them I did all the things that a pichanga did, so I must have been one; Sucia, Skettle, Bitch.

I remember the first time I told one of my neighbours that I had a relationship with Jesus, that I read the Bible and prayed. He laughed in my face and exclaimed "What kinda Church gyal you?" When I told him I wasn't a "Church Girl" I was a "Jesus Girl", he laughed, said that sweet him as the funniest thing ever.

I am no longer bitter about the village. A couple of months ago, Beloved and I took a drive out to the village. He won tickets to zipline at a new eco-lodge back there and we made a day out of going. I was nervous going back there, and showing him the place of my personal darkness. I should him different places of trauma for me. I told him about the neighbour, who years later was arrested for raping a young girl, and how I felt like I betrayed the little sister I never met with my silence. I told him how riding horses through the jungle was a mixed pleasure and dread for me. I cried a few times, and I stared straight ahead much of the day. The crowning momement was during the zipline, the tour guide knew me. I felt like copying the lines from Finding Forester " You couldn't break me!" but he did not personally have anything to do with it. He was just one of them.... he did not understand me.

Today, I presented to my class, the most meaningful book that I have read so far in my life. I choice to present on Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez' 2008 Chic/k Lit Novel The Dirty Girls Social Club. I love Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez because she understands me. Of course we are different, but we are very much the same. She is a New Mexican writer, used to be journalist. Her father is a Cuban, her mother a white woman with Scottish hertiage. Alisa grew up poor, misunderstood and labelled. There is something about how she rose about it all with a positive attitude that speaks to me. Her novels and her blog do not come across as ultra-Feministic, or bitter. Sure she has earned the rights to celebrate her womanness, celebrate the fact that she was not destroyed by public opinion, or the dominate society. She celebrates. She celebrates and discusses rather then moans and cries about her lose.

I now follow Alisa's blog. She writes on it everyday, sometimes twice a day, so I can't keep up with it, but when I can, I stop in at her site. I have not read an entry yet that I could not contact with. As a woman, reader, Latin American, educated person, and general person she provokes thoughts in me. My heart sings as I read things like "people are people, they are complicated", and "submission has to do with loyality and trust". I feel like her blog reflects my heart.

According to chicklitbooks.com, Chick Lit is a genre of books written by women for women. I protest that. The first person I recommended The Dirty Girls Social Club (that so happens to fall in the category of Chic Lit) to after I read it the first time was my brother. After I read it the second time, I lend it to Good Teacher (who happens to be male). When I read it again this last time, I share bits and pieces of it with Beloved (who is male). I shared it with my class that is about half male. I hate the idea that women's issues belong solely to women. I want to share my life's exeriences, my female powers, and my empowerment with my brothers and my sisters. I think keeping Chic Lit among the chicks only continues the cycle of alienation between men and women. Now I am not saying I want my brothers to thrive on soft femi literature, I just want them to stomach it. I want them to understand it: to understand me.

"I understand the need for political boundries, but I certainty do not think humanity has boundaries"

Balance or Whole hearted

2011-11-25T00:21:00.000-05:00

SO today, while I failed every duty given to me by the expatriot lady that is sponsoring my education, plus the few I gave myself, I was thinking about my personal philosophy....

Context:

Today was American thanksgiving. Unlike the Belizean form of this holiday, Harvest, which is a more church practice in which people express gradatute by giving something they will either be sold to help the church with a project, or giving to the less forunate, American thanksgiving does not make sense to me. I don't understand this ritual. I don't understand how over eating rich food is tied to giving thanks.

While I was serving food and entertaining guest, I had a thought. Am I a balance person or am I one of those people who does things to the extreme? I am an-all-or-nothing type of person?

I was reminded of the proverb that says "zeal without knowledge is destructive". I am sure that the answer is in there. Zeal is important to life. It igives us a cause to do and passion for our beings. Balance however, helps us to see the other side, keep things in preceptive and understand things. For me it is also important to be patient. Just waiting to see how things work out often makes things more natural and less forced. In otherwords, I have decided to be balance about being zealous.

For example: I love Jesus. He became my friend and saviour when I realized and confessed my sins. And asking for his help as THis however does not make me a Christian in the normal sense. I question much of Christiandom and its world view and guiding principle. You may call me a luckwarm believer, but this is me. You probably won't see me hitting the streets, protesting againsts things, and at all sorts of rallies. I would rather sit down and have a discussion about something then parading my position on the streets.

Another thing about my balance attitude that does not fit well with others is that my positions on certain issues is fluid. I am open ot change. I am also open to argueing a point that I do not necesaarily hold. I can be polite and I can also give food for thought and add some alternative preceptive. Also, I understand that things do not necassarily work out the way you thought they would. Because of that, I do not make a lot of public statements that support a particular issue. For that reason, I don't vote.

Beloved votes and he is a avid supporter of a particular political party. This does not mean I am going to become one. I may begin to vote, but that also means I am going to have to start informing myself. I don't like minding people's opinion and I am love to contradict public opinion so that is going to be a fete.

Anyway, for now I am wondering.... How can I become a caution, balance person, but still be dedicated to my work and activities?

Copy and paste Psycho-analyst

2011-11-22T21:48:00.000-05:00

Last week I wrote a paper psycho-analyzing two of Joyce Carol Oates characters from two of her short stories. I am going to post the paper here at End of The Street. This paper was particularly interesting to write. I love Joyce Oates writing style and her realistic approach. Some how she can sketch her characters and the circumstances around them in an unbias but realistic way. She is niether cyntical nor hopeful. I like the balance she adds to the literary world and psycho-analyzing her work is like talking to Best Friend and hashing over issues that come our way.

This particular piece was very meaningful to me for two reasons: I grew up distance from my father and I basically built my life (with the help of friends) to be what it is and I am proud of the independence that I developed because it; I am in the process of surrendering my independence (but not my empowerment) to Beloved.

Hope this essay gives you some insight.

Psycho-analyst of Joyce Oates’ characters

When people say there is too much violence in [my writing], what they are saying is there is too much reality in life (Joyce Oates).

American writer, Joyce Carol Oates, is a known for the verity of genres that she writes. All of her writing, however, is tied together with a realistic approach, having been said to write fiction “about real people in a real society” (Meyer 969). The authenticity of her characters allow for readers to analyze the psychological position of her characters, as they represent a particular era and trend in American culture. Main characters Grace Burkhardt and Connie from her short stories, “The Night Nurse” and “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?”,respectively, are two prototypical Americans that Oates uses to show the psychological process of people of specific groups.

Grace Burkhardt is an example of an independent woman, very commonly found in post-feminist American society. She is has a driven, self-determined personality that are revealed by her inner thoughts regarding her fall and hospitalization. She is determined to behave well and exert her good health (970) even though she is obviously ill. The character’s internal monologue give readers sight into her subconscious struggle, while a third person narrative tells the events of the story. These monologues tell readers Grace’s subconscious fears: being helpless, and alone and dying (972). In the end, Grace has to face the reality of her situation. This wipes her of her entitled feelings about herself as she learns what it means to need a stranger’s help (974). She also has to face the ugliness of her past actions and how she treats people. The nurse, Harriet Zink, forces her to relive her college days when she was politely mean to the odd person out in society (978). Harriet forces Grace to understand the pain of being rejected and misunderstood (978). In the end Nurse Harriet shows Grace that she cannot excuse her behavior but must take ownership for it. Grace also learns to put herself in other’s situations. She realizes that she is not a strong independent woman after all (980).

Independence is also a theme in her 1991 short story “Where are You Going, Where Have You Been?”. The main character, Connie, is a teenage girl in the 1960’s who is struggling to develop independence. While her desire of independence is really a displacement for other pains in her life, Connie, acts out her desire in misguided ways. She engages in risky behaviors that eventually render her vulnerable to Arnold Friend, a serial abductor. Connie struggles with her father’s workaholic-ism that leads him to a sort of absenteeism, even though he is physically present in the family (1). She displaces her feeling about her father’s emotional abandonment by earning the affection of boys her age and ignoring older men (1). Her risky lifestyle, that is a indirect reaction to her father’s lack of influence, is also indirectly responsible for making her prey to Arnold Friend’s attack. He signals her out during one of her escapades (1) and targets her because of her reputation as a serial dater (4). In the end, Connie is unable to handle the situation and her real desire for her parents’ protection surfaces as she cries for her mother (5).

In her writing Joyce Oates confronts the hypocrisy of Western culture’s value of independence. She gives readers sight into how independence is actually a projection of a subconscious desire that characters cannot confront. She uses her short stories to analyze the psychological develop of women who hide their deficiencies in order to attain a feeling of autonomy. Unfortunately, concealing these deficiencies estrange these women from important issues in life such as health, family and safety. Because these issues are subconsciously hidden, Oates uses acts of violence to wake up her characters and her readers to the realities of life.

New Bucket List Entry

2011-11-17T02:04:00.001-05:00

Seemingly ironically, I am reading both the works of Junot Díaz and Edwidge Danticat in two different classes. The more I read them more I want to get to know these authors. I have also read several online articles written by both these authors collectively and individually. The more I read, the more I love them.

Junot Díaz wrote a rather long list names to acknowledge at the end of his powerful novel The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. One of the entries reads as follows "Edwidge Danticat for being mi querida hermana".... be still my heart! It warms me to see such colaboration among authors.

This touched me so much that after reading the novel, I went to the author's web page, found his email address, and wrote him a fan message. I have never done such a thing both because I always thought doing so would bother a writer and because I never really connected to a novel so much. I was moved. Everything made so much sense to me in his novel that I thought that Junot was talking to me personally. I know I sound cliche, but I really feel that Junot is one of the "Lena Boys" I meet on the street in my hometown, and stop and "hail" for a moment. I can just hear him call me "Sistah Bets".

So now I have a new entry in my bucket list. To meet Junot Diaz and Edwidge Danticat either individually or collectively. Junot is a lecturer at MIT. Any one up to going to Massachusetts with me?

Girlish Wedding Plans

2011-11-09T12:41:00.000-04:00

This semester has been quite an adventure. Along with Ms. Melanie Smith's Sciology course and Mr. Jhon Florez Nature and Structure of Language class from my first semester here at University of Belize, I am taking some of those life changing courses that widen perceptive. I have become a nerd once again, and my love of studies has been renewed. At this moment, I never want to graduate.

While I am working one more semester towards my BA in English, I am also making some major wedding plans. Everything is working out nicely. The invitations are almost ready. Thanks Artist Friend, they are looking very sharp. I hope to print them soon and have them in the mail. Surprisingly, it is very difficult to find the right paper. Everything is either a version of regular typing sheets, too soft to do any good, or are of Bristol board thickness and are too hard. The location has been set, Beloved and I and probably spent the most time looking for a spot. We have settled on a nice lawn wedding, at his house, soon to be our home. It won't be fancy, but let's just be real. I am not a fancy person and I think Beloved is secretly relieved that we won't rent any of the nice jungle resorts in the area. All of them are wonderful but there always seems to be a set-back or two that just won't work for our wedding.

Since we are getting married in our back yard, Beloved and I thought of a wonderful little ritual, something that I think just might become a tradition. In our wedding ceremony we are going to plant a tree. While we both agree that it is very symbolic, we are yet to agree on what kind of tree. He wants a mahagony tree, because let's face it, he is patriotic. I want a "Haman's tree" also known as terminalia catappa or Sea Almond Tree because someday I want to have babies, and I want my babies to learn to climb trees. Wouldn't you want to grow up climbing an Almond tree?

Anyway, enough is enough. If I don't get to class, Critical Writing and Research will happen without me.

Exiled

2011-11-01T21:06:00.002-04:00

So I have been pondering the idea of exile. What does that mean exactly?

Guns

2011-10-27T13:43:00.001-04:00

In today's Caribbean Literature class, we discussed Haitian Poets. The discussion was a part of the Haitian, surrounding the novel FARMING OF BONES. Of all the poems we read this morning, this one in particular spoke to me. It is short and to the point. It is one of those poems that make you think introspectively, really consider your values. For me it confirms something in my soul, one of my highest convictions even though I have had trouble reasoning around it. While I subscribe to non-violent views, I am not a pacifist. Also the poem brings about the hypocrisy of power and control, especially how it has plagued political conditions in Latin American. One side or the other usually results in some sort of massive violence. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this powerful poem as much I do. Feel free to share your thoughts.

Gun
By Frantz Kiki Wainwright

gun talks
gun can kata kata kata
pan pan pan
paw paw paw
gun talks all languages
gun is polyglot

it kills
it talks
it talks the language of freedom
it kills whoever talks
the language of freedom
gun is on both sides

Unremarkable the Poem

2011-10-25T18:20:00.000-04:00

After really reflecting on my comment about myself being rootless, I scribbled down a poem. I know this would never pass in the writing class I am taking as it does not open with a "zinger" the first and the last lines do not juxapose, and basically, the poem lacks everything that makes a poem. I am fine with that because the Poem, is really be raging against... against what? What am I raging against? I really don't know. I hope you take the time to read it, as it is the longest poem I have ever written and you can help me out in my quest....

Unremarkable

I am just an average girl
Middle class struggles with uncelebrated accomplishments
I live among sisters like J-Lo and Queen LaTiffa
But I am in there shadows.
Shadows. Shadows. Shadows

My granddaddies were not oppressors
While slave were being traded and Mesitzo were being raped,
They fought for their clans and watched
As their kilts were burned and their castles under seiged
They did not forget how to weave the patterns of their tarragons.
They did not forget. Not Forget. Forget

My Daddies were average men,
Broken by their war and mind-games.
They disappeared too soon: overworked, over drugged, over-whelmed
Under-appreciated, undermined, under supported, under achieving.
They taught we about Honour. Hard Work. HARD WORK,Hardwork .
Work ethic that killed them and child support cheques never paid.
Never paid. Never. Paid. Ne.ver. Paid.

My Mama? Who is she?
The first woman janitor of the state hospital.
All she conquered was stolen:
By children, by men, by the system, by Haters, by society’s boxes.
Her talents boxed up and shipped away to another foreign place.
Until all she wants to do is stay home, in her little house,
And yell at the neighbor-men for not feeding their kids.
Feed your kids. YOUR Kids. Kids.

I wish the men in my life were Denzel Washingtons or even Jackie Chans
With stubborn, intelligent jaws, marked by friendly, shy grins.
Or ancient-artists with modern twist.
Exposed sacred secrets married with humour.

Instead my brothers are starved victorious academic boys.
Bitter by he-struggles.
And Handsome constructions workers hating the brothers from across the borders
Claims they are stealing his job, robbing his pay.
Together they laugh like the haters who always Hate
And never win.
Never win. Never win. Never. Win.

So here I am.
My blue eyes hurt in the tropical sun.
If I don’t study hard, I’ll lose my scholarship.
I have to teach a litter of little haters because I have to have a job.
Pay the rent, keep Mama from starving.
But the world thinks I am a volunteer.
Ask of me for the handouts that I want but never ask for.
They yank when they “speak” to me, while I want to chat.
Kriolized be mi tongue.
I learned not to hate the haters or the brothers
But I war daily against the game.
Against the game, the game. Against. The. Game.

Migrant Literature

2011-10-24T14:56:00.001-04:00

Lately,I have developed a passion for migrant Literature, that is the type of literature that addresses issueses of people who are aliens, strangers, exiles, ex-patriots, and generally those who are not "at home" with the major setting of the story. "Oh course, Beth," anyone who knows me might say. The immigrant in me can relate to the characters in my stories.

I would like to think that my new found passion is deeper than that. I would like to say that I am drawn to marginalized people because the human I am relates to the humans they represent. However, I think I just might be shallow to be fascinated by migrants because like all the migrant novels I have read, I feel displaced. I stand out. I am stranger. I either attract people or repel people because of my foreign-ness. I have to deal with my identity every time I look in the mirror or meet someone new. Whenever issues regarding the country of my birth or my biological race are mentioned in class, heads turn to see my facial expression. Although I do not have it as rough as many of the subjects of the novels that I read, I still struggle with these things. I relate to them as they unfold in the stories I read. You might say that I need to get over myself, embrace my dual citizenship, my foreign influences, my racial minority, my rootlessness, the fact that I am different from any of my peers.

I recently read Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys. My lecturer does not like Rhys much as she thinks the author is over-celebrated and over-victimized woman that was out of touch. I on the other hand understand Rhys. The cry of her heart matches mind. Like her, I want to be understood and at home in the Caribbean. I do not to associate myself with the racial prejudices that have poisoned my home. I have issues with my race, in fact, I have this subconscious desire to be a pretty dark skinned girl. I have no desire to identify with the self-interest that white people, rather Colonial European powers, or North America "democracy" impose on people. I am appalled by forms of white supremacy, or any racial supremacy for that matter. I want to be celebrated like my sisters are.

Last year I took African Lit. for two semesters. In a strange way I just know that Mama Africa is my mama too. It is a strange feeling. I know that Christian popular ideas have it that Africa is just a land, like any other, if not worse. That it is a place that missionaries run to and Western powers exploit. But to me, this silly white girl, it is much more. I pray Africa because I feel kinship to her, not because I pity her or what to benefit from her. I guess if Mama Africa is not my mama, then maybe she is a glorious Aunty. You know, the Aunty that is so dear to your heart, that you ache to call her Mama.

Another book I am currently reading is dealing with migration into the United States. The novel is called "The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" by Junot Diaz. The story is about a woman from the Dominican Republic who is basically exiled to New Jersey, where she raises her two children. One of her children is Oscar, an overweight, comicbook nerd. The novel also goes into some family details, and history of the DR. I know I am not really that much overweight, I am not from nor have I ever been to the DR, I am not a comicbook nerd, I don't speak English with a heavy Spanish accent or much slang, but there is something about this brother that brings my heart home. I wish I could just give Oscar a big hug and tell him everything will be all right. Junot can be my homie, although I've never referred any one as such.

So there you have it folks. I confess to being a comrade to Jean Rhyse. I understand her. I also understand the haunting questions that cross-dressers ask themselves, although my question is different.

Why was I made this way? Why can't I be a pretty Latina girl? Why can't I be a Kriol sistah?

Books

2011-10-19T16:30:00.000-04:00

Lately, as an English Major, I have been been reading some thought provoking books. I love reading and I enjoy most if the works I have to read, and those that I don't "Like" I make the most of. While I considered my myself an avid reading, most of the types of books I am reading here at University of Belize I would have never read on my own. Overall I am happy to be introducted to my "new books".

While I never thought that I would be a 'Lit-Chick" I am learning so much about myself because of my choice. Last year when I was putting everything together to go back to school and complete my bachalors, I was a little stumbed by my decision to study what UB-ian term as "pure English". It would have been more plausible that I, as a teacher, take some form of pedagogy but I realized that this season of my life needs to be more introspecifive. I didn't know why, but now I am glad did so.

As an English Major at UB I am mostly a Literature student. So many issues about myself have been raised. My whole world-view and my thoughts process have been redefined. Literature spans so many didn't areas of life and cover so many different social, cultural, historical, psychological, etc issues that I see why I was draw to English, although it was subconscious.

I need to talk about this more on my blog. So many issues are spinning in my mind and I need to discuss them. So look forward so some of my literature discussions in the future.

Andrus

2011-10-07T01:39:00.000-04:00

"I'll change my name if you change yours..."

This is something that I told Beloved when discusses, rather dreamingly one day, our upcoming marriage. It was more of a joke, a jest so to speak. It does however, contain more truth than I let on...

I am not an extreme feminist. I am not a partiarchalist either. In fact, changing my name would not be a problem if it was not for what changing it meant. There are several implications that have lead me to conclude that having a hyphenated last night is the best for me. So come February, I will become Elizabeth M. Andrus-X. Professionally I will remain as Elizabeth Andrus.

The first reason for my stubborn cling to my name is really spite. You see, Beloved is an open-minded liberated man. I love him for his ablity to think out of the box. I love him more for this trait in light that his community, his culture, and the general idealogies of his people do not promote out of box thinking. Mores are more than mores to them. They are moral codes and to define these moral codes is to be judged. I do not fear their judgements. I have settled that long ago. In coming to terms with the fact that I am like a hippie moving to a Puritan society, sort of brought a small level of spite. Maybe, I am being disrespectful in my spiteful demand to be a hyphanted woman, but really who should get offended?

The second reason why I do not want to change my name is because I do not see any point in it. It is not practical. There are too many Elizabeth X's in the world anyway. For me, the partiarchial practice of married women taking their husbands' last name is an outdated practice. It is no longer useful and it promotes sexism. Furthermore, in my case, marrying and moving to the "community" also involves a high level of classism. The unmerited respect I will earn as a married women is not something I want to identify with. I also do not want to identify with the prejustices that will come with being a part of the X family. For better or for worse, I am myself. Beloved can be himself.

The last reason is the most personal. I am Andrus. There are not many Andrus's left in the world. In fact, I am the only Andrus in the who country of Belize. In Guatemala there are three Andrus's in the whole country. I struggled to identify with this name. Growing up, I used my step-father's last name. Even after his death, I felt need to continue to use his last name as a tribute to him. He was a great man, who loved him. James Andrus the Second did not love me so much. So Becoming Andrus was a process of healing internal wounds and a surrender to God, letting Him be the ultimate Daddy of my life. While some times I give tribute to the former Beth Garland, and he amazing step-father by giving the characters in my stories a variation of that name, I have been a completely redeemed Andrus.

I love it's unique sound and the fact it has an ambiguous origin. It sounds like Andrews but it is not. It sounds like Andres but not quiet. Some say it is pre-Anglo Irish, others say it is French. I will never know. I love the mystery behind it.

So people might complain. In-laws might think I am rejected them. They might think I am this spoiled child-bride with crazy ideas. But the bottom line is this: I do not belong to Beloved. I am not his woman. I love him, and he loves me. I respect him and he respects me. I love to do little acts of service for him, but he does the same. We are going be parterns in life. The legal contract that we will sign will be a mutual agree to build and work and life together legally. Socially we will be married, partners in adventure, housemates, lovers, a couple. Spiritually, we will be one.

I don't see any ownership in that. Should I?

A Poem I love

2011-09-27T17:10:00.000-04:00

I came across this poem for a class. I love it because I can relate to it so much as I am a sister and friend to many boy-men. It is my hope that all the males in my life learn what Sakinah C. Muhammad wonders.... what is it that makes a boy a man. For those of you who are not familiar with Belize Kriol, the spelling it phonetic. If you have trouble, refer to the Beeliz Kriol dictionary link to the right.

Whe Mek Wah Bway Ton Man
by Sakinah C. Muhammad from Straind Confessions, Belizean Poems published by Angelus Press LTD. 2003

Look yah mi darie,
just check this out!
every way yo ton,
every path yo look
yo si dehm all round;
all round yo, them di swell fi man;

Whe mek wah bway ton man!
dehm always wah know-
so dehm cantinue fi explore it moe and moe;

Dehm look pan the trees and dehm si the bees;
dehm si the turkey
and the peacock prance wid pride;
fi the snake, and the wom
y look like wah easy glide;

But whe mek wah bway on man!
y look so complicated, sound so
exajarated!
why y feel so difficult dehm cant
undastand;

What da wah real man anyway!
wi aught to show dehm one!
palitician, preacha, technician, teacha!
tell dehm whe qualifications dehm hav fi get;

Da no lone good looks and pretty-pretty clothes!
Y caan be muscles! Fi canvince anybody
y da have fi be moe!

How bout shiny shiny gold chain-
lat and lat a dehm?
Dehm deh no impress me way bit,
so da definitely moe;

Still, I wanda and wanda
and dehm wanda and wanda,
like deh pa and grampa before dehm;
wh mek wah bway ton man;

Some a dehm beat up pipple;
quiet, easy, puny pipple-
knock dehm down and kick dehm all ova
the place,
and still no sure if that mek dehm man;

Plenty a dehm show off,
three or four gial;
that no mek dehm man eeda;

But poe thing, dehm peo thing
really need fi know-
dah whe mek wah bway ton man?

As I read this poem, I think of three different men in my life. Well, at least to say, they are males. But what really makes these boys, my counterparts, become men?

Wedding dresses

2011-09-13T10:10:00.000-04:00

In case you did not know, I am getting married. It is difficult to be a student and try to make wedding plans for February. I have six months to go. Somedays I feel good about it, others feel the pressure.

This pressure is interesting. It is not an inated pressure. Instead it is peer pressure x 100. It is crazy how so many people think that their helpful insistances are not so helpful.

When I tell people that I want a semi-formal wedding I often get this awkard look from them. You would think I had just said a curse word. Even one woman went into a fit of rage, insisting that no one wants a semi-formal wedding. Semi-formal weddings are not style, they are excuses for the bridel party not having enough money. In that case, I am still going to have a semi-formal wedding. It is both my style and my excuse. I do have limited finances.

Between my sister-in-law, mother, mother-in-law, friends, and older lady mentor-friend whom I call grandma, no one seems to understand that I DO NOT want a fancy dream. I want a plan cotton white ankle-length summer dress.Oh and I want my mother to sew it. If it looks homemade, good.

I don't want a veil, I want flowers in my hair, and my hair down. I do not want to spend a huge amount of money on it. I think it is immoral how some people can spend tens of thousands of dollars on a wedding. I watch a show sometimes about wedding dress shopping and I think it is digusting and self-centred to claim that you can have a day. "Its my day and I am going to be the centre of attention!" I often her brides say ont he show. Gross. I want my wedding to be about me and Beloved. Me and Beloved in love, sharing our vows with those we love.

I want to get married outside. Close to the jungle that I love. Because my dream spot is no longer an option, I am looking for a place that is beautiful. I want the place to speak for itself without a lot of decorations.

One cool morning in Febraury, in the jungle in the Cayo District, I want to have a fun wedding. No hassle. No prefection... love and friendship makes things prefect.

Last Semester's Poem

2011-09-05T23:17:00.000-04:00

I found this poem written on a folder sheet, crumbled up and smashed between some books. I wrote it last semester, and it is not too bad, if I don't say so myself. Let me know what you think.

Hey You!
Nieghbour
Friend
Brother, Sister
Any fancy name we give for "person",
Walking down the street.
Passing me by in Life.

Do You?
Assumer
Gossip
"Concern"
You, cannot really see my story,
Walking down the street.
Passing me by in Life.

Hey You!
Stop!
Listen!
Share with me!
Let's see the beauty in our lives,
Walk with me down the street.
Joining me in Life.

Freedom machines

2011-08-23T14:51:00.001-04:00

I ride a bicycle.
So what, you might say, everyone does.
It is a clean, cheap way to move around
It makes you independent.
Unlike driving a car, there is little need for a mechanic if something begins to malfunction.
Unlike a car, you don't have to pay for gas, insurance, licenses etc.
Purchasing a bicycle is easy and relatively inexpensive.
Riding proves exercise, keeping you fit. Physical and mental health
While riding, you can look around. You are more involved in the environments that you pass through.
While riding a bike, you add balance to your life. You have mobility but are stilled tied to the environment. You can get places, but when it rains you have to stop and go under cover.
Riding effects your wardrobe. Short sexy shirts are out. High shoes that objective your womanhood are out. Griddles and long irrational skirts are out. Restrictive clothing are shed.

A liberated woman is no longer a flapper or a hippie. She is a woman on a bike going about her business. Wanna ride with me?

Senior

2011-08-16T15:11:00.000-04:00

Lonely.
That is how I meet this new school year. I am lonely. Of course I meet people and we talk. But there was no well wishing text yesterday morning from my good friends. The absence of things like that gives me a dull ache, reminding me of the broken circle.

I am also physically lonely. I am house-sitting for a family friend in the capital city. It really works out nice because I ride my bike to school rather then bus in from Santa Elena, but the house is empty. There is no one to come home to. The house is big so I play music to chase the ghost away. I have house-sat before, but never until now have I been scared to be a lone. Usually the loneliness is a welcomed break. I used to enjoy the solitude to think and pray, filling my time with reading and little chores. Now it is very different.

I'm lonely for my Beloved. I worked for his parents this summer and I saw him almost every day. I am suffering some serious withdrawal symptoms. I can't wait for this weekend until I can see him again. I am glad for a little distance, so he can get work done without me distracting him, and I am glad that I am going to school and accomplishing something before I begin The New Adventure. But today is Tuesday and I am already out of credit to text from my phone! Everything has a price. I am beginning to relate to The Song Of Solomon (Song of Songs).

Why am I so lonely?

2011-06-24T19:48:00.000-04:00

As a little girl, I remember looking out on the patio, where they met with Grady. I could not hear the words they spoke, but I saw the tired and pained look on his eyes. Of all the people that visited him, the NA group alarmed me. Later I watched as they removed his patch from his leather vest and a tear roll down his face. Two weeks later he died. The sickness that stole his manhood, his family and his life, also robbed him of his posse, his group, his support....

Last night I looked into her eyes; they were cool blue. Her hands were clasped in a no non-sense manner, but the sharp rocking of her head betrayed her. She was no cool and matter of fact deep down inside. I knew I could have my way, interrupt her and cause her to falter. I wanted to scream out. Tell her and the rest of them that they are sell outs. I was impressed how she handled being the spokesperson of the group. Her thoughts were organized and she did not stutter. I trained her well.

The meeting was brief. It was basically to official inform me that I was excommunicated. Twelve years of friendship, of heart to heart sharing, of quarrels, and make up, of frustrating misunderstandings and the sweetness of knowing that above all else, they know....gone.

I made a single choice. Isolated as it was, it grew and grew and grew. Other choices were made for me as a consequence. I was forced into a box and shipped out. My best friends, my sisters more then sisters, the main characters of the novel yet to be written feel like I betrayed them. But reality is... they betrayed me.

My mother once told me that a friendship is only as strong as what can break it. I don't want to admit that the sisterhood was broken because I made a single choice they did not agree with. I wish they could be happy for me, even if they might have their reserves. Instead, I was meant with opposition and was told "we can no longer be friends, we are officially divorced". The finality of the meeting and the unwillingness to discuss was a dagger to my heart.

I wonder, did they feel like murders during their holy quest to righteousness? Because I feel murdered.

As I step into a new season of my life, I meet it with a depression that I would never wish on anyone. So after the meeting, I buried my nose in his chest and I had a long hard cry that wet his shirt. He drove me home and stayed until late. I wish no one would ever have to mix the joy of young love with the despair of broken sisterhood. But I will survive.

Am I making a mistake?

Exams and Weddings

2011-05-18T18:06:00.002-04:00

This week has been stressful. Not stressful as in you can't eat, can't sleep and don't seem to have enough time to get all your work done stress. Neither is it a stress that makes you feel like you are being pulled into a million pieces. In stead, it is a steady course. Writing five final term papers is not as easy as I thought. And while I love researching and writing, and I am happy with most of my Literature Final Assignments, there is something in the adrenaline rush in exams and the relieved feeling in the aftermath.

So today, in between giving my eyes a break from reading article after article that a Nigerian friend sent me (bless Paul's heart) about organ trafficking in West Africa, and finding marked pages in Grace Land by Chris Abani, My mind wondered into something that was not academic. It was difficult not to let it spill out on my paper because the thoughts kept coming up. So now, minutes before I have to dash off to the bus and go home and SLEEP, I am taking myself back to that time...

Five years ago. I am twenty. I am in Sixth form. I hadn't taught yet, not really. I still have what my Favourite Teacher calls "naive hope" about the field I am about to enter in. I know my students are going to love me, I I do not realize that impacting the up and coming generation will be so difficult for me, that I can be summed up as "not very good". I am at Big Brother Friend's house. He is is 25, not as young, not as hopeful. But he is smart. He is helping me with an assignment and I am enjoying his company. He ask more questions then the assignment require, because he wants to truly know that I know what we are working on. I enjoy the challenge. His mother is in and out of the kitchen where we are working.

I understand this woman more than she thinks. She tries to hide the hopeful grin on her face that spells out that joy that a young pretty girl is spending time with Her Son. She does not understand that the dynamics of our friendship are platonic, and in fact, she probably denies that platonic friendships exist. So she baits me:

"So Bets, when you wa married?" At this time in my life, I understand the hope in her voice, and I understand the concern her has, and I am not yet weary of their nagging or distrusting of their intentions. I don't think the question is rude, even though she is digging my adnormal ways of viewing relationshio. At 20, the idea of marriage is still a novelty and not longing in my heart. My lack of weariness has not made me complacent yet. So I tell her-and the rest of the household who suddenly began to ease drop- my hopeful answer. I tell her with a smile: "Before I'm thirty".

My answer is honest. It is how I view life. My answer shows that I have a plan in life: go to school, get a job,travel, find a nice Christian man, have a nice family while I juggle it all. I recently was healed from the bad things that happened to me as a young teenager, and I am convinced that all things, even those dark and scary things, work out for good. My faith was renewed and strong. I basically feel that since evil could not kill me, it can make me strong when it comes against me.

So now I am 25. Big Brother Friend is thirty. And he is getting married! Of course it is not to me, and no you do not have to read with sarcastic eyes that I am happy for him. I love his betrothed like a sister and I think she is an amazing woman. Even though I did not know her before, I am proud she is my friend.

This up and coming marriage is some how a relief for me. I feel like now, my little sister role is over, and I can wipe my hands on that wedding day, and really begin. Begin what? you might ask.... and I ask myself that same question.;

Spider Man!

2011-05-05T11:52:00.003-04:00

Since I am a full time student, and I am an English Major at that, I have been writing a lot of creative, clever essays. I finally got want I have always wanted.... to sit in front of a word processor all day mulling over words. I really love it although Dyslexia still lures around and I have to spend extra time making sure my work isn't marred by her evil presence.

Anyway, I while finding resources that I lost with my flash drive, I found a paper I wrote last month. It is about Anansi! Our favourite Spider Man! I had all intentions of posting it here, in fact I did, but I realized that it is too long and no one would read it... there is also too much "teaching pleasing" in the paper. Don'te get me wrong, I enjoyed writing that paper, but it is a give and take situation.

I do think it is unacanny the parallel's between Anansi, and Thought Women of the Southwestern United States and Iktome the Spider dream catcher, who was also a trickster. I wonder if other folklores have other parallels. I think I am going to begin another topic of research....

I love Trickster tales though. I think they are great. With them, life is never boring. Good girls like me always thought that trickery was foolishness and foolishness is sin and should therefore be avoided. I never realized how much wisdom can be shown in the delightts trickery! How easy it is to understand human nature with it.

Anyway, that is just about it. I hope you, my reader, feels free to share your thoughts with me.

Pompous!

2011-04-06T13:16:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a painful day.

I lost my flash drive. If you are a student your flash drive is a valuable item beyond finances because even if you had the cash to replace, you still lose research papers, articles, homework, reports, pirated copies of e-books that you have to read and never get again... uggg!

Second issue of pain was the Belize-Mexico Across the Board Cultural Symposium. I presented a research paper I did last semester during it. It was good. I revealed my passion to the world. I prepared nicely. I did the slides in Spanish and I spoke in English so I could fill my ten minute presentation to the fullest. Plus, I won't have to worry about forgot how to say something in Spanish (as I am prone to do). This was a handy cap however, because that meant I had no pointers, no graphics, not silly statics. Maybe that made my presentation better. I don't know. But the bottom line is, I spent 10 minutes presenting to teachers, students, diplomats, publishers, writers, all sorts of big cheeses. Did I feel edified in any way? Nope. In fact while I sat quietly for the 3 hours after my presentation while other "colleagues" presented I began to see through all the glorifying bore. Pompous floated into my head. This is all pompous!

I got an award out of it. I piece of think paper with some ink on it. It is smaller than a regular sized typing sheet. people clapped for me. I wonder why I wasted my time. Why didn't I just take the time out and do some other work. Why did I neglect my Anasi paper for this? I could have sent the day reading the Awakening or researching for a class project on Barbados. I should have finding all of the things that I lost when my flash drive disappeared.

I find it interesting, however, that some people thrive on pompousness. Pretense is important for them. I got this from my landlady this morning. I stay in the capital city on days I go to school with a older, long time family friend. She is a nice lady but very old fashioned. Today I don't have any class but I needed to come to school to find all things I lost on my flash drive and take some time out to blog. I was wearing the nicest most comfortable, old and worn pants. It is my favourite, and since I plan on just sitting on my bum all day working on the computer in the lab, I didn't think much about the stains and faded marks. Besides, they are comfy. The most comfy pants I own. So who really cares? Any one who would doesn't have a real life anyway.

Sort of like my friend going to the store in her pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt.

Unfortunately Landlady does care. She laughed at first. When she realized I was seriously going to school in THOSE pants she got mad. She asked me to change. I told her I didn't bring another pair this week, she dug in her closet and found me a pair of faded, silly fat old lady pants. They are strife and funny shaped. I laughed. These pants are properly gross. At least my pants have character.

I was going to rebel. I got mad. "The principle behind it!" I was going to preach. But then my heart had a check. What is the principle behind it? I say pants don't matter. I claim that pomposity disgust me. But then, would I be pompous? If pants don't really matter why make a big deal about her old lady pants? She is really trying to be nice. I think her views are twisted, but hey, at least she cares about me.

So to prove to myself that pants don't matter I am wearing old lady pants today.

Test

2011-03-29T18:35:00.003-04:00

Cast your bread upon the waters, For you will find it after many days. Ecc 11:1

Today I was at the University. I was busy. I had just come out of a class with a returned assignment with scribbled B in a circle on top of the front page. I was fuming, thinking of how I could have made this written assigment better. Thinking of none only flanned the fire in my brain.

Then I thought.... how much I am a Them? I don't want to be a Them. Them are the people that drive me nuts with their need to be perfect, insisting always to get an A. Them are the people who know no balance of life, no laughter in the sunshine while they are in school. Them are the type of people driven for excellence so much that they miss what matters the most: the process and personal

As I walked down the steps toward my next class, I was stopped by Sister. I wanted to introduce Sister to you as Friend, but that word is empty on the person I have in mind. She and I do not share parents, but are hearts are melted together through a the trials of life and we share so many joys that we can smile at each other and know what we are thinking.

Sister and I spoke for a couple of minutes. I told her about my Applied Linguistics project (the one I should be working on now) and she told me about her open day presentation tomorrow. I asked her if she was ready. She said she has all the info but not the custome. She left her costume at home on accident. I asked her why she doesn't go home and get it because I knew she was free for the evening and her "home" is only a two hour bus ride West. She looked at the dust, squinted her eyes, and her beautiful copper skin had a slight flush to it. I knew she was broke

"It is the end of the month true?"

I pulled out my wallet and took out three shiny dollars coins for her. I told her I couldn't lend her the round trip but maybe her parents could help her out.

So why I am telling you this? Am I bregging that I can help Sister? That I am well off or more managed? That while the end of the month and the hot hot dry season roles in, I have a purse full of coins that I don't need?

None of this is true. The truth is. I am not a Them. I understand that behind the classes, the grades, the intellectual pressures to preform, there is something. The test of life is not a pen or paper, nor it is a neat presentation with pretty power point slides. Instead it is how we hold each other. It is how we have each other's back.

Sister may get an A tomorrow. She may not. Her costume might make a different. I know one thing, I know she passed the test and so did I. We share.

Master Craftsman

2011-03-04T10:49:00.004-05:00

He does not like my poetry. That really sucks because he is sort of authority. You see, once you have something called a MASTER'S DEGREE and PUBLISHED WORK you are entitled.

Not that he says anything outright... but the sensitive me picks up the disdain behind in his narrowed eyes, closed mouth, and limp hand... interesting because I never pick up cues in other people's body language but as I silent and hopefully wait while he reads my lines, my mind reads is disapproval and disinterest like lines in a primary school reader.

I never pretended to be anything. I am not a Belize's Write Writer. I am not extraordinary, and I probably do not write anything that some one outside my mind would want to read, but I still write. I still scribble out little sketches of porgressive young people making a small difference in their worlds.I still write the lines of un-rhyming lines that have no meter. This lines dance in my mind until they find my notebook. I don't write to be seen. I write to breath. It would mean so much if he would spend three minutes pointing out misfitted thoughts, ask my why I employ such and such feature, and offer some sort of alternative. To me, that would make him a true craftsman

Why does it making me so angry when he causally looks at my lines with indifference? Why does my heart cry for approval and long for constructive criticism from this teacher? Why don't I learn from my experience, know that that the only thing he is doing to say is "this could use some polishing".

Lastly I want to know why are poets so hypocritical to say that poems are not suppose to be proper, or polite, they are meant to break the rules.... yet, offer no sense of validation to those they school?

Homemade Juice

2011-02-25T13:35:00.002-05:00

lately, I haven't been feeling well. I haven't been sick, but I have been feeling LOW most people would tell me it is my blood, but for Christmas, I did the whole purge cycle including the build up afterwards... So lately I have been drinking lots of teas and juices. If that doesn't work I am going to visit my Dr Brother. I have an ugly distaste for doctors but I still have little sister adoration for my big Dr. Brother.

This morning I was using a big fancy veggie juicer. I was merrily turning beets, carrots, cabbage, onions, parsley, garlic, tomatoes, sweet pepper, and celery into juice and I drunk the brew with gusto. Afterwards... cleaning up was not so fun. I thought... what does a person do with all the roughage? I mean it was so pretty and it represented so much... what does a person do with it after all the juice was sucked out?

I threw it away but it hurt my hear to do so...
I just notices something.... Afterwards is not a word. It is suppose to be Afterward but today I am writing how I speak so you have to read it so...

2011-02-22T14:49:00.003-05:00

I know she meant to be concern but her words cut the wounds that she caused wide open again.

I was chatting with her and she asked me about school. I told her the general answer. I am still not sure if I can trust her. I no longer hold what she did against her, but trust is an entirely different thing. My life has moved on. She felt however, that she can speak into my life. She told me that she expects more from me, and that she wants me to get all A's this semester.

Basically, my process, my life and my efforts are not good enough for her. Why does it matter? She is no longer here, supporting me, encouraging me, being there for me. So how dare she ask as though it matters what she says. How dare she play like she has anything to do with it.

I fume because I am mad. I am hurt because of who she was. I am hurt because I let her pretend that everything is ok and as though it doesn't matter what she did. I am mad because I am not strong enough to tell her straight up that she hurt me and I no longer trust her. I am mad because we cannot work things out until I do.

youthfulness

2011-02-14T09:12:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I had a gathering to celebrate life because my birthday is tomorrow. It was nice to get my friends together. The food was good. Don't feel bad that you weren't there. It rained and the yard party turned into a house party. Plus since I am not working and my mother was sponsoring the event I was only given a 20 person guest list.

Now I am 25, well, almost. I got five gifts (besides the party and the presents of 20 friends). Mr. Reimer gave me the biggest bouquet of flowers ever. It had roses and carnations. I love carnations and the roses were that rare imported kind. They sweet so nice! 3 points for him!

My married friends gave me a Tupperware dish... Wait they gave me two! And a to go coffee cup for my tea! Wow! Because they are the practical and thoughtful friends will be my friends forever (that is an inside joke, please don't think I am that materialistic).

A sweet little boy, gave me a card. He made it and in the inside was the shading of a shilling. That boy has skills. Before he grows up someone needs to invest in his art skills so they don't get corrupted. Better hurry because he is turning nine this month.

My old sixth form friend gave me a single carnation. I wonder who Frank bought the flowers from.... hmmmm Anyway, it is a deep red flower. It took my breath away! I know I said it already, but I just love carnations. She also included a little card that read 'You are my carnation". How sweet is that? Friends are flowers in the garden of life

My old boss (plus) gave me an expensive lotion. I just love the smell and it is in a travel friendly bottle.... lovely!

My longest friend. The girl who say me for who I was when I was 13 years old and heart broken, gave me a mirror (Precious!) and a bag of soap powder! Soap Powder! But she explained: Now that I am 25, I am grown up. Time to put my childhood away and embrace my adulthood. Thus SOAP POWDER!

Really, Who 's got it?

2011-02-09T10:50:00.004-05:00

It is about a fifteen minutes walk from the bus stop to my house. In the morning I usually rush down the bumpy street but in the evening, I relax. Eden Road is a rough up hill, and I work hard during the day, so I take my time, one foot in front of the other, breathe deep and enjoy the walk. This practice has offered me opportunities to get to know my neighbourhood better. This lead to an interesting reflection.

On Eden Road, there is a large house. The house was built by a foreign doctor, who was married to a doctor.... they were "big time" people and the house mirrors they lavish lifestyle. Why they chose that particular area of town to build their house is beyond me, because Eden Road ends when in meets Hillview Street, and Hillview is a government housing area. Needless to say, the doctors' big pretty house and big pretty yard was sold when they moved back to their country.

The big pretty house has new residence. I don't know if they own it, or if they are just renting it, because since I have lived in Hillview, the big pretty house has had several different "big time" families live in it. But I do see something. These residence, have a big pretty truck and a small pretty car. A little boy with white skin and forever clean clothes lives in that house.

Just up Eden Road, up the hill, is another house. As big and pretty as the first house is, this house is not. It is a small board house with small windows. It was painted with green paint mixed with black oil to keep it from rotting, but it is still rotting. There is a pipe outside with a bucket underneath just like when I was a child, and the poor people used to catch water with a bucket in the yard. In fact, it seems that the people in this house are quite poor. Sometimes when I pass by in the late evening, I see candle light from the door.

In this small house, lives many boys. There are big boys and small boys and anything in-between. As I pass the house the little boys leave their yard to walk down the street with me. We talk about many things. We talk about times tables, words, bananas and sweets. There is no limit to what the little boys say. They are usually dirty, wearing clothes too big for them, and they usually have running noses. But they are polite and sweet. It makes my day to walk with them. Sometimes I give them whatever healthy snack I have. One of them always makes it a point to ask "Can I carry your bag" even though his little frame would strain under my heavy University School Bag.

This morning while I was rushing down the hill to catch the bus, I met the Little One standing by the gate at the BIG pretty house. I had seen he and his brothers playing with the little boy from the BIG pretty house a couple of times, so I figured this little boys lateness to school had something to do with it. I slowed my pace and I starting walking with my little friend. We spoke about school and how little boys should not be late, about big dogs at the BIG house, and about the little white boy. I asked my little friend if they were friends.

"Yes" he said, "but he likes to cry a lot. I think it is because he does not have not one brother. I don't like when he cries, but I share my brothers with him anyway."

That hit my heart. So who is really rich? My little friend seems to realize how much love his big family has, even if they life in a little house.

Googling for maps

2011-02-03T10:06:00.002-05:00

I am taking a couple of really interesting classes this semester. Of course they are different from last semester because I don't get to make any stage settings out of cardboard, come up with props and act while my group member and friend, Orville, makes the script out of the text...that was REALLY FUN, even though it was a lot of work. This semester I do more serious work. My teachers are more serious people. They want me engage in long discussions about themes such as Democratic Depressions and Intellectual Exiles and the like until I get blue. It is interesting and all of that, but it can get boring. Acting out literacy interruptions is hard but fun. Both are time consuming in their own way...

Hence this semester I spend a lot of time on the Internet. I look up themes and define terms. It is interesting. Right now I am looking for a map of New Mexico that shows where the Laguna reservation is, because the novel I am reading for Multicultural American Lit (LITR 3302) makes references to a lot of actual places. I can't find it! I use Google images type in "New Mexico Laguna Map" and I get all sorts of irrelevant stuff. Even naughty pictures come up! That is not a map!

I am about to realize that I am even less computer savvy then I thought. Poor thing. Is there hope?

Any minutes now I will find that which I am looking for.

Amazon

2011-01-31T14:11:00.002-05:00

This new semester at UB has taught me a few things. Last semester I was convinced that the administration and bureaucracy of the national university is a mess. Getting anything done required lots of back and forth, paper work, unanswered questions. Getting anything done means having friends in high places and "pulling some strings".

I recently found out that the lack of professionalism is not a UB problem. It seems that every where getting anything done requires tons of head ache unless you know someone the rest of do not.

I have a friend who is currently in the USA. Since she is returning to Belize in a week, I asked her to order some books from me on Amazon. I love books and there is nothing that would make me happier than books at a reduced price. I would have personally ordered the books but I do not have a credit card nor do I have a mailing address that fits Amazon's requirements. Stupid imperialist.

The plan was simple. I found the books I wanted/needed on Amazon. I sent her the link to these books. She clicked on them and ordered them.

That was last week. However, today I go an email from her with a forward from Amazon. They don't have this book, they can't send that book. Stupid incompetent system. What is wrong with you people?

Does anyone out there feel the same way? OR am I all alone?

The Polls are back

2010-12-16T12:30:00.002-05:00

There is something relaxing about my Blog. I have learned that I blog most when i am stressed out with some process of the other. End of the Street, unaware to me, was birthed as an escape from my academic career. No matter how busy I am while I am in school I blog. When I am not in school I blog sparingly. Interesting....

One thing I enjoy about blogspot is the polling feature. I am a poll girl in a nice academic rated G type of way. So the polls are back. And they will be back as my career at University of Belize will be a 3 year lag. I love my studies, but like all good thing we can't have too much of it. So I will blog.

Adult Sibling Rivalry

2010-11-30T18:13:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we were children
People of war,
I was on one side-
slow and misunderstood.
You on the other, wise, insightful...
Mighty
So strong you contradicted yourself.
Yesterday we were children.
It was hell

Then, last night. It was different.
People of Peace,
Compassion, correction, comradeship.
I cheered your victories.
You helped with mine.
We listened and heard
Fought against the world
It was bliss.

I woke up. Or did I?
We are still Children
People of war.
I am still slow
Your still look down so low
Misunderstanding....

Princes and Fathers

2010-11-28T23:46:00.004-05:00

"You need to stop day dreaming and wake up and face reality. No prince ain't gonna come and save you."

While those are most likely not the exact words of Grady Garland, my late step father, they still ring in my ears today in a voice that I remembers as his. While Grady never used the word 'ain't' my mind plays the confrontation summarized above with that word used because of the igorance Grady had on the topic.

Today, my blue eyed prince came and saw me. Wonder of wonders! I thought about what Grady had told me years ago ( A really long time ago). And how praise God they are only part true. I think Grady was a cynical of love because of the wounds he carried. Although he was a good man, he was alsoa wounded man witha life time of hurt. He did not want the same for me. He wanted to protect me from the things that hurt me. He wanted me to be strong. I wanted to believe in fairy tales. After all, I was a little girl.

I want to tell the world, that even though life is tough and things happened that want you to believe that things like princes sweeping you off your feet and true love that conquors and redeem does not exist. I am here to tell you that it does. Of course, I am 24 and really in love for the first time. However, it is not my blue eyed prince that saved me. In fact, being saved for life began on the day Grady told me that.

I had a reasonably fun youth. I was very conservative about my relationship and I was able to make many guy friend as well as girl friends. I had a great time. Many laughs and talks and good times doing unusual things. I was still careful and gaurded. No one was going to save me, so I had to save myself.

As a younger youth, I was in some serious darkness. I as depressed and hurt from blows life already dealt me. I tried to be guarded but I was hurt by people I thought I could trust. Then the Prince of My Soul came and saved me from darkness.

So when I look at my blue eyed prince, I thanks God that I am a strong woman. I don't need him to save him, but rather, I need him to share with me. Of course no one is going tosave me... I have to save myself, let Light in my heart and make healthy choices. But it is nice to share those choices and that light with a handsome Prince.

Back Again

2010-11-19T10:37:00.003-05:00

Do you see my profile picture? The one focused on my hugging a friend.... Well, I have an interesting story. See I am bad about letting friends slips out of my reach. I am Guilty of being the out of sight out of mind type of person. It is hard for me to maintain the friendship that I treasure while grooving in life. God has an interesting way of breaking me.

You see, I met my friend, who we will call Friend, years ago when I was a teenager. Her sister and I met at a youth event. Sister and I were fast friends. We would spend weekends with each other. She taught me Belize City life and I taught her how to Cayo. I have great memories visiting her family. It is through these visits I met Friend. Soon she and I developed a friendship. With Sister, Friend would some and visit me often and we had many great times. When events and stuff would come around, we would look out for each other.

Sadly I got busy. I got a job away from home. I was on the road too much. I got caught up with trivial things in life, like paying the bills. We got disconnected. How sad.

God has a knack at resurrecting things. Now that I am University of Belize, I met up with Friend again! She and I take a class together, but we do more. We hang out when we can. She is a dancer and she invites me to practice, just to see and some times I go. Some times I don't. Friend and I are back together and we are friends again. Not that we ever stopped.

Someday I will learn to balance life and not let friendships die.

A Friend Poem

2010-11-16T17:22:00.001-05:00

I have a friend that sees me
As I was growing up,
She saw who I was
When I covered up,
She saw who I was
When I clammed up,
She saw who I was
When I won't shut up,
She saw who I was
When I messed up,
She saw who I was
When I opened up
She is the one who helps
Me keep looking up
She stills sees me,
As I try to be grown up.

I looked in her eyes today, and I realized I haven't let her see much of me lately. And I miss that. I love her.

From my heart.....

Beth

On the Road Again

2010-10-15T12:26:00.004-04:00

" You are naive about a lot of things in life.... Someday you will change your mind and I hope you do not grow cynical about life in the process."

Once my favourite teacher old me that a long Sixth Form day ago. It was in my last semester English class when we were discussing a current event concerning family structures. I had refuted an idea by stating that I would like to have 5 children some day. One of my wise, older returning-to-school-to-save-my-job peers laughed and said something about good luck to that and how'll I would need a rich man for that. I made some blissful remark about how everything would be OK with love, hard work and sacrifice.....

Years later.... During I was chatting with my Sweet about what we would like in the future. We both agreed that only a couple of kids and lots of travelling would be a nice ideal. We didn't set any concrete plans but we both agreed that small is good. I was thinking about that just now. What happened to me? I'm a surrendering to the idea that life is hard???? What happened to the blissful, trusting me? I think I am still there, but what caused the change? Another thing.... if I can change my mind about something like this.... suppose I change my mind again, down the road when I am IN it????

So this it is. In honour of my ideal and the person I set out to become. Whatever happens, and however hard life really is, I will look up, trust God that everything will work out, and I will not lose my head..... I have changed. I will change. Process is about changing, but while I change I will make sure I tell myself, in whatever changes I make and whatever goals I make, I chose to be a hopeful person, I will not be naive but I will be trusting.

That is the person I chose to be.

UB

2010-10-07T19:28:00.002-04:00

Hello everyone, I am a student of University of Belize now. I am an English major. Both things I never thought I would do but here I am doing it. It is going ok but I never have enough time to do anything well. That includes blogging. That bothers me because I want to do my best in EVERYTHING I do.

I have two struggles in this season of my life. I have been feeling very nostalgic. I miss the place that I stopped referring to as home a long time ago. I miss the huge ceder trees and my biological family. I miss going to the national parks and taking hikes. I never used to hike much and I rarely got together with my family but I still miss it. My Sweety says I should go for a visit. I would love to but students don't have that kind of money and besides, what I miss is probably not there. I think I miss something else..... what could it be, what could it be.

Also, I have not been doing any type of writing lately. Que Lastima! That is so sad. I love writing. I am trying to write now, but unfortunately I have to hurry to class and I feel flat.... I probably sound flat too. But I am not really flat.

On the journey

2010-08-09T14:15:00.002-04:00

I am on a trip. I love trips. But this one i s especially hard. I am still having fun and relaxing a bit but I have mix emotions about it.

I have spent some time to myself and I realize there is a deep dark space in my heart. It is a horrible place that makes me cry. I know that some day, I will have to face it but I would really want to just close the door and pretend that everything is cool. The longer I wait the harder it guess. I ask God to just take it away but His calm quiet voices tells me I have to cast down this altar of idols. So I ask Him to strengthen my inside person.

So many things are a struggle in life. It is nice to get some prespective and realize that struggles are good. I can walk around with my chin up. I might have been dealt with a hard hand of cards to play, but they are good. I am clever and able to make something out of it. God is faithful and his grace is strong.

As I walk down the dusty, clumsy street, I will be a grace swan floating on the water

2010-05-10T14:58:00.002-04:00

Dear Readers,

I am back in my blogshere. I feel like I am back to life. It has been a tough 3 months. But it has been a beautiful 3 months.

As you may know I redid my teaching practicum. I am still waiting for the results in writing but I was told I passed. Part of me whats to dance a silly dance and part of me wants to say "oh yeah..." in a flat voice and continue living. There is no reason to lose your head over a maybe pass.

My teaching practicum was an exciting thing for me. I reentered the classroom after 9 months of scooping ice cream at the over-rated WD's.... and I was graded while doing it. I realize how much I love teaching and how horrible I am at it. Truth is: Beth is not a great teacher but she loves 'em kiddos. I also realized how much I want to be a resource teacher and work with children that need extra help. I sort of has time to re-evaluate the Big Dream. I also realize how important it is to have people around you involved in your life. Doing a teaching practical is tough but it is easier if you have people around who love you and support you and you let them in with what you are doing so they can love you and support you more.

But the biggest thing is.... I learned how much I love a certain somebody. After nine months of shared coffee over break and small spontaneous parties with friends we have in common, I could have disappeared to my home town to do my practicum and just sort of slip out of his life. I began to do that, thinking I was overly silly and infatuated and too attached, but then he won't let me. He confirmed that I am not overly silly, infatuated or too attached, but I deeply cared for him and he cared for me. So while my teaching practicum was tiresome and stressful, it was beautiful and exciting. Many late night calls, weekend picnics and encouraging text made the whole experience completely worthwhile. Even if I was told wrong and I failed this practicum, at least I got him out of it all. I love that man.

So now my practicum is over.... my relationship with Mr. Man will definitely have a new twist to it. I am going back to scooping ice cream until my great UB Adventure begins. So it will be back to 15 minute coffee breaks and smiles over lunch. Of course a new twist will be added and I am excited about discovering what it will be. I waited 24 years for this....let's see if I have what it takes to keep it going.

2010-01-19T17:58:00.000-05:00

So I look at the temptation in the face and I wonder. Will I be like my mother? Will I repeat the cycle of allowing bad men ruin my life? It is not that he is anything like the men my mother chose in her life. Oh, he is vastly different because he is not a bad man. In fact he is very good, so good in fact, I am tempted to repeat my mother’s cycle just for him. You see the cycle is not about how bad the men are, or how much they ruin lives. The cycle is about compromising who I am and what I stand for to be with him. If I exchange my Big Dream for his Big Love, I am repeating the cycle. I am letting him ruin my life. He won’t mean to because he is not a bad man, but compromising who I am to be with him would inevitably ruin me.
So I have a theory. It is not men who make women’ lives miserable. It is the women themselves that do it. Sacrificing who they are on the altars of their man’s love, only leaves them with ashes for dreams and essence. When they do that, their men become hungry demigods that require more and more sacrifice, grossly warping the dreams of the sacrificer. As things warp the demigod becomes thirstier and requires more until the sacrifices go from dream and hopes to values and self worth. Things begin to spiral downward until the woman has nothing left. Then she is a dejected repressed human without any essence of life. Poor thing.
So I wonder.... do all bad men that ruin women’s lives start off as good men who were just overly celebrated? Are they mere victims of the idolatrous women that worship them?

How much should I give up for the man I love?

What's there to be afaid of?

2009-12-20T15:47:00.003-05:00

I wish I was the typical girl that I think typical girls are like. I was, I would tell you all about how I spent my Saturday night and I would go over the details and sigh here and there. But I am not. I have a silly fear of looking like a fool or being assumption. Funny how I am not shy enough to walk into a factory of guys to find something for a customer, or I am not afraid of people's harsh judgments, nor am I sacred of the future in the age of a world wide financial crisis, BUT I am terrified to express my thought about one person, in a blog that is all about expressing myself.

Afraid to express myself in a place that I built specially to express myself is a strange thing. I might have problems. The truth is, I am afraid to express myself to anyone about this certain thing nowadays. I don't think they would understand, and that their conclusions would hurt them. I am also afraid that expressing myself clearly to the right people would alter my life greatly. My alliances would change. The future would look bright but some how that scares me.

Someday those fears will ripped open and exposed. Then I would be released.

Back in the day

2009-12-13T23:39:00.003-05:00

Back in the day, I was eccentric. I was not your normal wild girl, but I was not your average good girl either. I did crazy things without thought of the consequences, but my motives where always single hearted: To do something interesting and provoke thought. I would often take a crowd of friends some where dark to watch the stars, stay up until in the ween hours of the morning talking to a guy friend on the street in front of his apartment, and a few times, I would single-womanly go with a bunch of guys for a midnight run in the park. My highlights of my youth, however, were stranger than that. If anyone who didn't know me well knew about it, they would be shocked. I once told my mother about the few unplanned trips to my favourite spot after night classes or when a "thinking" friend was in town and she warned me to be careful, because people would not think that visiting that place was harmless. They wouldn't see the poetry in it, but rather they would see something carnal, something vile it. I should be careful.

So the other evening I was once again, after two years of being a mature young woman with the pettiness of my youth locked down, had plans to do a very mature thing. Plans changed in an instant, however, and suddenly a friend and I had nothing to do. I tried to do something mature and responsible and politically virtuous, but that plan failed too. Think, what to do, what to do... in a brief moment of hesitation the I decided to visit my poetry spot. I would take my friend out there for the first time and we would enjoy the quietness and the magic of the spot as I did with my school buddies a few other years ago. I gave a pep talk and listed the basic rules. I claimed that I never met anyone out there except those I went with, but in cause we did meet someone this is what we should do. Funny that I said that, because I never did before....

It turns out that was sort of a prophesy. We did meet someone out there. The thought of it sickens me still. I feel violated although nothing happened. I think in some time in the future I am going to need therapy because of it. I was shocked out of my socks. I don't think I will ever visit my spot in the moonlight again. Oh I will go there, but during the day, when tourist are about and the shadows don't hide anything.

I told my mother it was perfectly save out there and that I was a girl committed to thinking and pondering and I go to places like that for adventure and clear air. She told me that others are not and someday I would find that my spot is not an innocent place. It turns out, she was right. People do go there and they go there for dishonourable reasons....Horrors!

WD's

2009-11-12T16:39:00.002-05:00

For me, working at Western Dairies, is a let down. It is not my type of work really. I love serving customers, and I am glad for the chance to work in order to go to college, but it is far from my dream job.

But there is one plus this job offers me. The small talk I make with customers often leads to interesting tidbits of information or some sort of insight. One customer claims that I served him so well and he enjoyed his ice cream so much that he brought me a ten pound bag of freshly farmed shrimp. But the ice cream on the cake was meeting Leo's maternal grandfather. We were slow at the time he came and ordered five pizzas so he and I chatted. He was amused that Leo and I are friends and the fact that, although I look like Mennonites, cannot speak German.

Finding out that this customer was my college chum's family was fun and simple to do. See Leo and Tracey have become sort of a my Orange Walk reference. Any time I have a chance to chat with my customers to find out where they are coming from. Once someone mentions they are from Suga City my face lights up and I think about my buddies. If I have the time, I play the name game and see if these new friends know my friends.

This time the game lead to some info that I just might use in the further....Moowooohaaa!

A quote I found in my dictionary...

2009-11-03T18:25:00.002-05:00

"A seamless fusion of beauty and intelligence" by Jack Kroll. Who was this Jack Kroll? I did a web search after I came this quote in my Miriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary. I found that he was an editor of some newspaper, somewhere in the US. I can go the rest of my life without learning more about him but some how his quote found its place in my heart. It will always be in the forefront of my mind.

First of all I love his word choice. It is poetic but also scientific. The idea of Beauty and Intelligence being held together by fusion in one subject adds to the idea that there is indeed intelligence in this subject of beauty and smarts. Seamless! How I love that word. I do not use it often because I do not what corrupt it. It is one of those magic words that can when used in the right place, add the right touch and make the touch thoroughly expressed. Seamless or without seams, no scars or breaks or difference. It means that when two things are joined so perfectly that there is no real difference between them. The are two separate things but not really separate. What makes his subject smart makes her intelligence. Smooth and creamy flowing together. Seamless makes me think of the taste of expensive chocolate melting in my mouth. I love it. Seamless is beauty.

I also love this quote because I would love it was said of me. In fact, it has become a personal goal to make my beauty be seamless to my intelligence. I am both smart and pretty. I am sure of that. But to be seamlessly so.... In my life I have been complemented for being pretty (and other variations of the word) but I have been rarely called smart. I know I am though. There are some things that public opinion do not need to confirm

Concerts

2009-10-27T20:46:00.002-05:00

So my little sister-friend wants to go to the Tercer Cielo concert in Orange Walk on the 20th of December. It is her favourite band, and although they are a little too romantic for my taste, I can appreciate them. The fact that they will be in Belize is very thrilling for her. I for one have always wanted to "walk bout ina Suga City" myself so I am making plans to give my sista a Christmas gift. Anyone have any ideas how to make it happen?

Kitten or puppies?

2009-09-30T15:34:00.003-04:00

So it was a tragedy. First degree murder really. We found her with her head bashed in with a stone three times the size of her body. I still feel bad about it, not that I had a lot of affection for her, but the way she was murdered makes me sad... how could someone do such a thing? How can such horrible things happen?

My cat, Mixita (Mishita), was named after a local Mayan term for small cat... she was indeed a petite thing, a small white cat with a few patches of orange that told of her secret Calico race.... She served my family as general pest control well for almost four years. She endured the trauma of house moving, which most cats find overwhelming, with ease that put me to shame. With her service I never had to kill roach, nor rat or keep the birds out of the garden (although she was trained to not kill birds) and she kept our dogs, as annoying as they can be, in line in and in shape. The only real annoyance she was to me was that she used to sneak in through the bathroom window at night and sleep on the sofa and leave cat hair and once she had kittens on my white dress that I put in the laundry basket.... but those bothers are light in the fact that I will no longer have my Mixita to hold. I will never laugh at her tiny paws boxing Big Rocky and putting him in his place. Now, the birds are eating the berries off my tree and the geckos are getting out of control. I miss my Mixita... oh that I loved you more!

A week before her murder, she gave birth to four healthy kittens. Since then Lady, my mom's cocker spaniel has decided to mother them. The little dog is old and can't have any more of her own puppies, and the truth be told she was always jealous of Mixita's kittens and used to try to steal them. With joy she has taken up the job of bathing and snuggling the four orphans. For obvious reasons she can't nurse her charges so my mom and I take up the feeding aspect of kitten raising, although Lady is the chief guardian. I don't think she even realized that they are cats, rather then dogs... see enjoys being mommy once again that that is all that matters.

The kittens are six weeks old now and we are weaning them. Anyone interested in kittens? They are as well mannered as their mothers and really are sweet things. I am not a pet person and I am still getting connected to them. So if you or anyone you know needs a cat, let me know. They will only go to the best homes!

Dream Children.

2009-08-24T20:10:00.003-04:00

I just realized that I would rather work hard for my dreams than other wise. Someday when I am in my BIG DREAM in the real, I will be happy for what I did.

When I have my children it is going to be tough to find the balance between providing for them and making things too easy. I want to be able to help them achieve their dreams but I don't want them to take it for granted either. So I was just musing on that for a bit when I had this thought:
The only way I can provide for my future children's dream and have them genuinely own them is to live mine and give them a platform. Finances and help may or may not be the best way to go, but if I can inspire them to work and hard plan well (and learn from my mistakes) they will be ok.

Some times I am impatient to get to know my children in the future. I think they are going to be some great people to share life with. Let's see if I continue the process of life and be the woman God has made to be so I can a great person to share their life too...

Don't get bugged by my musing....

Jobs

2009-07-31T14:14:00.002-04:00

My latest job has had me thinking about my career life so far in my life. I started working since I was 14 years old. Most of my jobs have involved the food service industry someway or the other. Funny because I do not like working with food. I am not a good cook and I don't really enjoy working with food. I don't get the surge of joy and accomplishment that other people have when others eat up their delights. Once upon a time I used to enjoy waitressing. It was fun to meet people and make small talk, entertaining local and international tourist with different tidbits of information. My brother once claimed that I was geisha, but I had charm and grace. But that season of my life is gone. The upclose and personal and progressiveness of teaching has spoiled my appreciation for customer service. Now I think it is all vain... In light of the thrilling of watching and helping little people change as they learn and grow, the small talk and tidbits are never ending and repeative. It is really dull.

But now that I am embarking on another adventure, I have to endure yet another job with food and customers.... Sigh.

This too shall pass

Getting old (er)

2009-07-26T15:05:00.002-04:00

I just realized that I am 23 and 1/2 years old. I am getting old. At this point of life the philosophies I formed as a teenager are being tested. About every day people ask me "are you still waiting for...." (for of the many things I am waiting for).

Yes I am still waiting. I wait for two reason:
1. Life is beautiful when things happen in God's timing.
2. Waiting build strength.

So I am still waiting.

Brothers

2009-07-19T19:30:00.002-04:00

For the last two monthes, my brother and his wife were staying with my mother and I. It is always a joy to have my siblings home, but with that joy come with plenty of stresses. I am proud to announce to the world that last November my neice made me a grand-auntie and this November coming, my brother is going to make me an auntie. While the prospects of being an auntie is thrilling, living with pregnancy was a lesson for me to learn. I am glad I was part of this season in her life. It was a challenge, and sometimes I almost gave in to feeling mad and tired. But the love we have for each other made our family bonds stronger. This afternoon after rushing to the border at Melchor to take my brother and his wife to the bus to go back to Guate, I emotion I felt while dashing to the bus before it left them was sweeping. Their was a slight pause in the rush when everything silenced and tears swelled in my eyes. It was movie like. The pause was deafening. Then the bus drove off and life began again. Mom and I jumped in the car and crossed the border, back to Cayo. After two months of investing in their lives I am left allow again.

Now, if I get all torn up when my grown up and married brother leaves home to go back to his house and life, how I am going to live through my own Great Departure that I am dreaming about?

Men! My frustrations

2009-05-10T16:13:00.002-04:00

I had to hike to work on Friday. I got a ride from a from a fellow laborer, a one hand man who often drives an old beat up Side Kick and gives other commuters rides. Now, let me tell you about this Side Kick. It is a two door vehicle, but the passenger side seat doesn't have a back to it. The removable heavy plastic cover for the back has been permanently removed. The windows in the doors are always opened, even on raining days and the vehicle doesn't have a muffler so, as small as it is, it sounds like a tank. Needless to say the ride to work on Friday was cramped, dusty, bumpy, silent, and generally uncomfortable.

But I would rather travel like this than in the 2009 silver Hilux that I would normally catch on days I have to hike. I mean, really, who really wants to ride it in? The drive is a friend of my, a family man from my residential area. He is an intelligent, nice guy working hard to make his way up in the world and he is doing a great job of it. His son is doing well in school and his wife is a sweet trusting woman that supports him. Comfortable, stylish ride, great conversations.... I used to enjoy getting a ride from him, until the fateful day. He asked me to join him for lunch.

Ouch. Wrong move man. Now I fully aware of the fact that his intentions could be honourable, but I am not going to risk it. Life has taught me that most men mean something. There has been a time when I was naive enough to take him up on his offer all in the name of friendship and a good conversation, but I have learned that things like this start small with good intentions and can grow into something that I don't want to deal with. Besides, even if "nothing" grows out of it, I don't want to be known as the girl that has lunch with married men. Hence, I stick to catching rides with the beat up Side Kick, driven by the one hand man and have no conversation while commuting.

What is up with married men anyway?

And so I think about her

2009-04-26T15:09:00.002-04:00

When I was a child, in a different place, in a different time, I made friends with a girl. Funny, because she was the only girl I let get close to me as a child. I had a painfully low self esteem and I thought most girls didn't like me so I rejected them first. I realize that most of it was because of self image, but I didn't make girl friends that easily. Now if you had ask me to romp around with my brothers and their friends, that is a different story. But somehow she became my friend.

Katie Combs and I were in the same grade and had same classes sometimes. We were also in Girl Scouts together. When I was in the thrid grade (standard 1) she stuck up for me when another girl was making fun of me. In fourth grade (standard 2) we were in different classes but I would see her during break time. I don't know what happened in fifth grade (standard 3). But in Sixth Grade (standard 4) she was there. She was an oasis to me. I was a co-dependant of a depressed person (means that I was depressed because my mother was depressed). She was my friend. Whenever I think of Sixth Grade with Katie, I mentality think of it as a proper noun.

The great thing about being her friend was that she, at our young age, somehow learned the art of not judging or putting people in boxes. I remember that she did not possess me nor I her. She could easily have her friends and me mine, without any feelings of competition. She never voiced the fact that I played like a boy as the other girls did. She never begged me to go to the library with her. We were in band together but we never sat together because she played the clarinet and I played the alto saxophone. Now she was a serious musician. Her parents signed her up for more then just regular school band. I couldn'teven read music. But we were friends. I felt her appreciation for me when I sat with the boys in the last row of the music ensemble across from her. She laughed at my jokes and never criticized my loudest.

When I moved away, Katie was a faithful friend. We wrote each other like mad. I wanted to run away and live with her, but I knew that wasn't possible. In my moment of utter darkness she was on my mind. In my life of sunshine, I did not forget her. Time has sought to separate us, but she lives in my heart.

I googled her name and I found out that she is far more successful then anyone I know. She is doing what we love. She is a journalist. Her picture makes her look pretty and intelligent. I was moved with a wave of regret. How dare I let time separate us! I should have been there, in her journey, a part of her life.

Now I don't have many regrets. I enjoy my life, but letting Katie Combs slip out of my life is a one regret that I have.

Thirteen Years Ago

2009-04-18T22:23:00.003-04:00

I often read the memorials in the new paper and wonder why someone would want to publish something like that. Out of all the brilliant and enlightening things you can put in a newpaper, why would you announce to the world that a loved one that you miss still, died so many years ago, too young but still lives in your heart. I felt this way until this month I started musing on the following:

Thirteen years ago my step father lost the long battle he had with cancer. He died on April 5th, 1996 on Good Friday. I was ten when he died. He was a great man with a lot of hard love and practical principles of working hard, living moderately and being clean and honest. He had a solid phylosophy and a lot of love for us as his children. My little girl heart often misunderstood him, and because I often the found myself being disciplined, I even thought he was harsh. I didn't realize his love.

Thirteen years passed since he died. I am a completely different person now. I was a loud boisterous little girl that was full of questions. I wanted to have a baby. I wanted to share his coke, I tore my stockings, broke my leg. Tore open my knee and cried when I had to get stitches. I laughed outloud and made big deals out of the fact that my playmate, Billy, was bigger than me but I was OLDER. I didn't do well in school. My handwriting was terrible. I did not like playing outside much.
I wonder if he would be proud of me. I mean I am a young adult now, with a long resume full of seasonaly jobs I held but I have a career at a private school. I think he would call the children I teach "yeppies". I ride a motorcycle, like he did, but it is so different. He restored Harleys while I drive the plastic bike. I use my helmet with joy, while he crused them and used the smallest one possible. He wore black leather, and would go on long trips with his buddies. I use my bike for pure economic reasons. My bike is not a lifestyle for me. I still live with my mother. He always wanted us to look after her. There was a time in my life that I was distant from her but that has passed. I work in the yard when it is needed. I do not have to have it neat to be happy. Same with my clothes. My clothes don't define me. I like pretty and interesting clothes, but Idon't have to be perfectly dressed. I think we would catch. He was a brillant man. He knew many languages although he didn't brag about it. I brag about the limited abilities I have in Spanish and Beeliz Kriol. He was a Causian. He didn't socialize with people different from him. I am not sure why, if it was just convince or a effort, but am friends with everyone. I can chill with people from all different races, because I focus on heart. I think he would disown me for this for some reason. He loved his meat and any good home cooked meal. He expected his wife to have dinenr ready for him. I dislike cooking and I am hapazard about preparing meals. He loved his boys to be boys and his woman to be woman. I grew up gender confused, and I just recently learned that being a woman is a powerful thing.

I read his favourite book while I was in sixth form. It was a short read but it reminded me that he was a very different person than I am. I wonder how my life would have been shaped differently if I had more of his influence in my life. If he had been there to guide my through my teen years, would I have had the struggles I had? My life would be so different....

I still miss him....

Hi

2009-04-10T19:25:00.002-04:00

I was away for the weekend. I have been home for a few days now but I am trying to find my bearrings all over again. Funny because when you go through something like I did on my trip, you can't be the same person again. You don't want to. So I am in a shell right, fasting and praying in a figurative way. In the next few weeks a new Beth will emerge. I know that I am made new everyday, but this is a time in my life that is sort of a massive transfer. Butterflies? They have it easy!

I met all sorts of people during the weekend. I knew perfectly well that after the weekend I would never see them again, but there are a few of them that I miss terribly. Mekobi? Maybe... I want some pepitos.

Buses, buddies and memories

2009-03-25T18:10:00.003-04:00

Ok so before Leo thinks I am in the US (oops! Too late!) and Dom write me off all together, I better post. Ihave been very busy lately but I have been very good at managing it. The End of the Street is getting managed in there too, even if things appear other wise.

About this post. I took my mother to Chets the other day (wait that was more than two weeks ago). She flew from Cancun by herself which I thinks is pretty brave. Going through Mexico by English only speaking self is quite a fet. I had car trouble the day before she left and because she had luggage and and has trouble with her hip I took the bus up to Chetumal, Mexico with her. It meant I had to miss a whole day of school rather then just a few hours. The trip was LONG! I don't know how my friends from Orange can just jump on the bus and come done to Cayo.

I mused on two things most of the trip. One was the fact tht I am getting responsible. Being responsible cost a lot and hurts sometimes. I was really hurt in my heart when I was in OW walking around Leo's park waiting for the bus to take off again. I almost cried like the spoiled baby I was when I saw his water tower, the clock down town. I thought about Tracy, when I saw the ladies in the park with their children. My heart jumped when I saw a hotel that looks like it might be Helwa's. I thought about how two years ago, if I was in Orange Walk or anywhere that friends of mine might be I would careless and stop in to seem them. I wold even make myself at home for a week! I have changed a lot. I don't so much that I used to. I am not scared of the person that I am becoming and most of the time I am thrilled that I am growing up finally, but while I was on that bus I was broken hearted. I was finally in OW and I couldn't stop in.

I got home at 9 am. I took a shower and went to bed. The next morning I got up, made my bed, ate breakfast and went to work. For the last two weeks I have been a big woman with a house adn three dogs. I have two vehicles to take care of (Mom's car and my scooter). I take care of the garden and water the flowers. Eat Mom's veggie and cook my own food. I am good at it so far. I miss the carefree days of Sixth Form when I could hang with my friends without regards to a clock but I am also glad those days are over. I miss my buddies and stuff but I am also glad I have a pay check. I am glad that I can help my mom, pay a tithe, be a pillar.

The next question is, how am I being a pillar to? A lot of people have asked me why I haven't been around... It makes me realize that I have much to do when time manage comes around. I think my friends are starting to question how much I care for them. I have been a very dedicated person. I used to be dedicated to my relationships but now they are getting crowded out. I am learning now that things grow at different rates. I can't invest in everything as much as I want, but I can work at things little at a time. Give a little here and a little there.

I want to write more about this but I have to ran.... things are screaming at me for attention....

Disenchanted...

2009-03-08T20:33:00.002-04:00

I love my big brothers. They both were offered very little in life and they have made much for themselves. They live in different countries and have different lifestyles but are level headed young men, willing to sacrifice for their dreams and for their family. One of them is in northern California, working hard and going back to school after years of avoiding it. The other is a medical student in Guatemala.

I find it very special when they come home. I proud of both of them. When they come home to Belize they bring little treats, new food for thought and lots of hugs. They both have their own gifts and personalities. Sometimes I argue with them and I might even hurt their feelings because I don't share in ALL of their interest but I always appreciate it when they come home. It makes me feel sad when they leave. I feel listless and empty.

As my brothers leave off to their futures and new adventures, I stay at home. I enjoy teaching my little ones, driving my motorcycle with a plastic frame, living a humble life. I have basic needs met. People around me love me and I have challenges to meet. Someday when things are right I am going to leave home. I am going to shed my nice little job and sell my cycle. I am going to make some huge risk and I am going to overcome. Sometimes it will look like I lose but I will really win because my loses will not keep me down.

So while I feel sort of sad because the fun weekend is over, I am thoughtful. My brother's surprise trip home is done. I took him to the bus station at the border and he is on his way to Guatemala now, to his small apartment, his wife, his church, his studies and work, and his poetry. I feel sad because I miss him already but I am hopeful because someday it will be my turn....

And you will go with me.

Someone Tell Me

2009-02-24T18:01:00.002-05:00

Why did Dom lock his blospot for private viewers? How am i suppose to encourage him not to smoke cigarettes and scold him for playing too many video games...?

Some one please tell me, or yell at him for being so silly.

Here I am

2009-02-20T20:40:00.002-05:00

So I am 23 years old now. All I can say is that I am glad to be alive. Glad that I live in times like this time. We are in exciting times when things are pretty different. I press in on my dreams practicing discernment and learning when to wait and when to press in fearless and faithfully.

I am working hard and happy with the work that I am doing, but I am happy to know that I am not going to stay here forever. I wish things were working out faster, because I am 23 after all. But I know that bread throw on the water will return in many days.

Some times it is hard to wait, hard to press in, and hard to look forward with a smile. There are times when I think about only classmates getting married and having babies I wonder about the choices that I made concerning waiting. Then I think of people like Omar Landero, a guy in my high school 3 science classes. He is in Cuba studying to be a MD! Last time I spoke to his brother, he only had a few years left.... that is ending soon.

But then I see my sister friends and I realize I am in a good place. When I get the Word I will press in and that pressing in is going to be great! Just wait with me and see. I dare you.

Strange Dreams

2009-01-30T23:49:00.002-05:00

So the other night a had a crazy dream that I was in love. The dream in different forms has been re-occuring. Not the same dream but the theme same. I am working hard at warding off silly thoughts of being enamoured.

Why? Because I have so much to do before.

Poems

2009-01-25T14:57:00.002-05:00

I haven't written a poem in a long long time. I wonder what has driven the long mysterious poem that once danced inside of me and peeped out sometimes to say "Hi" away... I wonder if he dried up completely because I haven't been able to reflect long enough to bring him up for a tad bit of a visit.

As young teenager my poems were therapeutic. I wrote over my notebooks and scraps of paper thoughts that over clashed within me. I wrote of the glorious new love I found in God, and the gloom and doom I was fighting. I wrote about crushes I had and disappointed I faced. I really think I would have gone crazy if it wasn't for those little poems.

Later, as life become more stable, and I learned to deal with the sweeping dramatic feelings that sought to engulf me, my poems were more thoughtful. Reflective of things. I was never very figurative but I explored thoughts like love, social discrimination, my father, praises to God, and so forth. By the time I entered into my 20's I was sort of known for the sweet little poems I could write. But today I was thinking about it, the last little poem I wrote was when I left sixth form.

So once I can find my little poem man again, I will let you know what he has to say...

This is not about the weather

2009-01-18T14:58:00.003-05:00

Due to my error in judgement and faulty proclamation of dry weather coming to Belize early this year, I am writing a post that has nothing to do with the weather, whatsoever. Maybe now Freeze, who is back by the way, it seems, can get on with farm life (although he is not really a farmer anymore...).

Instead I am writing about change. I ran into a friend from 6th form days a few weeks ago and I have been thinking about change and transformation every since. While talking to him, I realized that he and I are very different people from when we were school chums. I can go on and on about the different details about it but that, my friend would make for some pretty deep and personal information that I would not reveal to the world... besides who would be that interested in how I have changed anyway?

One thing that I learned is that change is inevitable. "na-na-na boo-boo, you have to change".

The question is, are you changing for good or bad? Are you getting moldy with bad habits and stale with attempts to be the same or are you like a nice wine that processes and gets crisper, cleaner and better with age?

I like wine.

Dry

2009-01-11T14:45:00.002-05:00

I was in my princess pajamas walking though the house one night during the week (maybe it was Monday?). I stood staring out the window that faces the street and just breathed in the air. The evening air was still. Still still. And stiff. So stiff you want to be hot enough to sweat but you can't. Then it dawned on me: The Dry Season Has Come. Oh, I dread the dry season. I am a rain creature that delights in the different types of watershed. I might even like snow. This dry season is coming early. I just hope that it is not too hot and not too long.

Until it rains I will make sure that while my environment is dry, that I stay personally watered. A dry souls is a catastrophe much worst than a dry land.

Someone said that when there is no rain in your soul you must dig wells so you still have life in your soul. What do you think?

My Bed

2009-01-02T12:25:00.003-05:00

Happy New Years everyone! I hope that the year 2009 started off good for you and that the rest of the year is bright and full of inner strength!

I have been out and about this holiday season. It has been very busy. I still have one more place to go during my vacation time, but I am not sure if I will make it. It should have been the first place for me to go when school closed for the holidays but my attention was stolen by surroundings. I have been busy with weddings, one more birth, camping with the Doc and his wife, cooking with my sister-in-law, taking the Doc (who's Belizean driver's license expired since going to Guate) around to see this one and that one, New Years Day I hitched a ride with friend and went down south to visit a friend that I haven't seen in a while. It was a good trip, it was heart wrenching for my own personal reasons but it was good. I have a level of clarify now in my heart. One thing that I learned is that I can't take other people's actions personal. I still have my ideals and hopes for my friend, but if they don't happen, I can't "beat up".

With all the activity that has been going on two things have happen. First the little store of money that I have been saving up has shrunk to a level that reminds me of the "chaya days" (the days in sixth form when finances were low). I promised myself that the "chaya days" won't be repeated, man, festivities and travelling are fun but expensive. Someday I will learn to manage money and I will be good at it. Oh, but I had fun and I built some good, priceless memories!

The second thing that happened was the sacrifice of my bed. Having the Doc and his wife home meant giving up my antique victorian style single bed for a week. Mom's sofa is nice for naps, but after a week of sleeping in it, I will be happy not to lay in that sofa for a while. When the Doc and his wife left I had the joy of my princess bed for a night (it was too short, really), then I jollied off down south and abandoned the joy of my sweet pillows and soft sheets and half slept in a strange bed. I had fun during the days but at the night I tossed and turned in bed. The last day of my trip my friend asked me if I was alright because I look really tired. I went home and the first thing I did find my little bed for a nap. Horror of Horrors! while gone my mother moved my room around! I was comfortable in my little bed that I pushed in the corner of my room behind my bookshelf. I liked snugging up to my sheets and many pillows between my books and my walls (sorry Danny, I haven't drawn anything on this wall yet), but now my bed in the middle of my room with nothing on the side. Ouch! I tired to rest but I kept having dreams that everyone was watching me. Today I might move my room back to how it was....

What does that tell of my sub-consciousness?

Grand Aunt

2008-12-04T17:19:00.003-05:00

This year has been a Year of Babies for me. In fact this as been an active social year. Including my brother's wedding last December (Happy 1st Anniversary Doc and Jeidy!) I have been to six weddings this year. This also has been a year of birthday parties. Have you noticed that some times birthday celebration can be a as simple as wishing the birthday person a happy day and giving them a half hug, but other times the celebrations are big and extravagent, sparing no cost? I wonder why this is....
But what intriges me is the amount of babies born. I have been to five birthing clinics to visit different mommies and babes this year. I have been to four baby showers (two of which I was key in). A part from that I have seen countless newborns. Many of these babies were pioneers babies, the first of their families, and the ones that cause the most change in their parent/s lives.

One of these babies in more precious to me than the rest. Although all babies are sweet to me, and all of my friends' babies have a special place in my heart, one is dearer to me than any other. I gloat pictures and blog comments of Leo and Tracy's little boy, I have never seem him but I love him. I am enamoured with Freezes first nephew. But one is above all. I have not seen her, neither do I have any photos of her, but by faith I know she is alive. Kaidence Rayne was born on Nov 21 of this year, in my former hometown in California. Why is she so precious to me, the treasure among the richness of the babies around me? Diamond of diamonds.

She is my grand-neice.

Start giving me congraduations now.

Happy Garifuna Day

2008-11-18T17:55:00.002-05:00

When I graduated from high school, Ms. Judy Diego was the guest speaker. While introducing her, the principal said "Ms. Diego was born in Stann Creek. This Garifuna lady is now CEO on the Ministry of Education" or something to that effect. At the time I thought it was odd that they had to specify that she is of the Garifuna culture.

Three years later, while in sixth form, I was in a class discussion about Garifuna us Garingu. The discussion turned from a whole class discussion to a debate between a male Garifuna classmate and I. I felt that if we are going to have a day to remember a culture we should have a day to remember all the cultures of Belize so why not change Garifuna Day to We the People Day or something like that? Mr. Garifuna man got mad. He was quick to defend that his people deserve a special holiday because they are a special people. When I asked why, because as far and I am concern all people should be equal. He started to say that they are Africans stolen away but never enslaved. Bahh, I said, I would rather celebrate a people who were enslaved, because they never ran away, they were enslaved and they survived. Survival is something to celebrate. Then he said that his people were African royals. But they were African royal, but they were still stolen away. He claimed then that his people are the only ethnic group in Belize that still has their culture, that have not been brain washed by colonialism. But every ethnic group in Belize has a culture. In this day of globalization cultures may be harder to define, but everyone has a culture because culture is how you live; once you have life you have culture. And finally he went to the extreme of claiming that his people were the only people that have been so discriminated against. I resorted that every Belizean have been discriminated against. Whatever ethnic group has been or is discriminated by other people, regardless. You are either a Corn, Carib, White Cheese, Coolie, Spanish, Indian etc...We were soon shut up by our teacher and other classmates, but the conversation left me feeling quite smart, and him feeling bad at me. I was labelled as a "hater" since. I thought he was just hardheaded.

Today I was thinking. Tomorrow I am going to stay home from school because there is a national holiday called Garifuna Day. I am going to stay home and do some homework. But maybe, just maybe, I will think about how we all survived something and by the grace of God we are thriving.

High School

2008-11-14T19:45:00.004-05:00

Since Christmas 2007, Mom and I have lived in a house in Hillview, Santa Elena. Now, Hillview isn't my favourite area, but that has never been a factor to consider....

To get to Hillview you have to ride the bumpy road that passes Eden SDA High School. I only went to this high school for two years rather than the usual for. I went to a small private school that pretty much went by their own rules. In the middle of second form mother realized that their own rules where wierd and not good enough for her baby girl. So in third form, to make a long story short, I dawned on my big brown box pleat skirt and plain white button down blouse, huge knee length white socks and black shoes. I also had a small round school bagde pinned on my left shoulder that used rip off anytime I slid my back over my shoulder.

I didn't exactly hate high school. I mean I was the student body president and I got good grades. But I didn't enjoy my days at Eden. I was on a small campus, so everyone new my name, and some people might thing I was popular. I had some friends but I was highly misundestood. The smallest of Eden was not void of the clinques and groups with the segration. I think that is one reason I didn't fit in. I wasn't Adventist. I was from a minority. I liked my English teacher, even though, or because of, she was eccentric. I had work experience. It seemed like I thought about things that others didn't. I wrote poems in my notebook and I paid attention. I meant it when I said that Efrian Magana was my friend and I didn't like him. I didn't smoke weed, nor did I watch a lot of tv.

When I graduated from High school in 2004, I was mad because unfair grading system marked my grades lower. I was glad that high school was over. Weeks before graduation the few friends that I had at school stabbed me in my back, and I turned into a bad person.

Eden High School is not my high school.

The joys of teaching

2008-11-11T17:58:00.002-05:00

I know I talk about my job way too much, but the truth is, I love teaching. I love explaining things to the kids and getting them to behave a certain way. I am starting to wonder if it should be a character trait of teachers to have big egos...

We had a potluck teachers, parents dinner last night. We handed out report cards, visited with parents, ate, and had a little meeting. My school is so screwy. The parents are rich, self-centered and snobby. I was hurt by the fact that most of the meeting was in their German dialect language, and I was left out of most of the conversation, although I was suppose to be so important. I was frustrated by parents attitude to raise the hot lunch prices cause I personally find it already high for a school endeavor ( Remember Beth, this people are not like you....). I found the meeting a real interesting case study.

But then, my little kids hugged me this morning as they arrived to school. Their bright smiles fixed it all. I might just learn German just for them....

Busy once more

2008-10-31T18:55:00.002-05:00

So I will be back to school as a student. Three nights a week I am going to attend classes at BSM
It is a new thing to Belize and I am grateful to be a part of it. It will make me busy again, but I think it will be worth it.

Interesting, my admirer from the last post proved to be just want he always was: big brother friend. He is a great person to look at life with and just chillax.

Funny because I am at a great place in my life. I feel like I can go on for every. I am young, smart, pretty and single. My single-ness doesn't bother me. In fact I am content with it. The weather is cool in Belize right now and the rain has ended. I am so happy. My little children that I teach love me and stress me sometimes but it is not as horrible teaching them as I thought. It is hard yes, but challenges are good things. So are the hugs of my little 7 years old sweety-pies...

If I can be a great teacher does that mean I will be a great mother too? What do you think?

Stuck

2008-10-18T16:38:00.005-04:00

So I am stranged in Spanish Lookout once again. Although I am in good care, I miss home. I want to go and take care of my mummy! She is sick and I want to cook dinner for her. I love the rain, but like all loves, I need my space (and some dry weather so I can cross the river and go home).

Being stuck as make me think a lot about my love ones. I have noticed that a certain single, male has been quite concern about my safety He has texted a few times just seeing how I am doing, if I am dry, have a place to stay etc....HMMMM... this is new. I wonder how I should proceed....

Pan Am Day

2008-10-14T21:40:00.002-04:00

I finally realized why we have a holiday for Pan-American Day, also known as Columbus Day, in other countries. I used to think that it was a very bias holiday to celebrate and was a waste of time. So what is the big deal about the Europeans coming and messing up the Americas? I mean why celebrate the fact that this man and his posse came and killed and decimated huge populations of people.

Then I realized that this holiday is not one to celebrate, but to remember. I can not morn the lost nations of people lost when the Europeans came to the Americas, but I can look around and remember.

It all had a beginning. Everything I see does. I will remember the beginning.

Solomon Islands

2008-10-08T15:36:00.002-04:00

Anyway interested in visiting the Solomon Islands? Have a look and tell me if you can read this.

Click here

The Bus

2008-10-04T18:09:00.003-04:00

I love riding the bus. I rode teh bus with my big brother today to Belmopan because he wanted to check on a job and didn't want to go alone.

It rained during the ride and all the windows on the school bus converted for public transportation was hot and steamy. I met a young girl on the bus and we had a nice talk about education and the importance there of. My brother has a harder time. He stood much of the way, and when he did sit, a woman with a young baby in her arms entered the bus and he just had to give up his seat. What a nice guy!

Belize is beautiful when it rains. I wish all my people from abroad have beautiful rain too. There is nothing sweeter then beautiful rain.

They are from Punjab

2008-09-28T22:04:00.003-04:00

She was beautiful. As I walked through the market, hurriedly picking out fresh veggies I spotted her and a male companion that I can assume is her husband. She was dressed in her traditional clothes, a knee long blouse that had hand stitched designs and shiny things with a loose pants that matched. She had a long scarf wrapped around her neck that had the same stitching but of a different cloth. Her large nose ring shone in the sun and her long black hair was tied with a ponytail of the cloth of her scarf. I didn't want to stare but I wanted to take her in. She was graceful and intelligent as she showed for produce and I was awestruck. For a moment I wished I was her.

I found the courage to talk to her. I told her I thought she was beautiful and I asked her where she was from. Her accent was thick honey. I want to learn about her world. But it was a breakthrough just to talk to her. Thanks Reema for the advice. Maybe next time I meet an Indian sister I will be able to overcome my shyness and really step forward in friendship. I don't want her and other like her to think that I am rude and prying, because I am sincere.
I googled Punjab... what a place!

Birthday Wishes

2008-09-19T23:26:00.003-04:00

It is the Independence Day countdown here in Belize! The 21st is the big day and Belize is turning 27 years old. I plan to bring the day from tonight by going down town, between the Hawksworth Bridge the police station, and Burn Ave. with the with some friends. We are going downtown and mingles with the throngs of people until about 1 am. I thrive on nights like the nights that we bring in Independence Day in a similar fashion that peole in the US bring in New Years. The crowded streets, the sea of people, and slow traffic. There are speeches, the fireworks, seeing so many people out and about. There is something about it. There are all sorts of people out. Everyone has their own plans

So if you are going to bed early, going out for a while or staying up all night bashing (like some people in Orange Walk do, so I hear), have a happy Independence Day. If you are not from Belize, well, just image all that you are missing out.... no, think about us here as we celebrate 27 years of nationhoodness...

Happy Birthday Belize!

Sista Bets

2008-09-13T20:04:00.005-04:00

Back in the day, I was know as Sista Bets... I was a 'Lena gyal that everyone knew. I had a handful of close "braddahs" that I loved with all my of heart. My love for them was platonic but still very real and very strong. When I was a little teenager, I used to bake for my guys and cook for them. Most of them were my brothers friends, but they recognised me as a significant friend too. The listened to my jokes, made fun of my jokes and presented me to their girlfriends. As I grow older I cooked less, but my acts of love where still there. I washed their clothes for money ( I was broke those days), looked out for them, spent hours talking about things, prayed for them, and ates lots of Cayo Twist with them.... Life sometimes pulls us apart because they get girlfriends, get married, move out of town etc.... but I still love them. I miss a lot of them and I am sorry that my life is so busy at times and I can't really keep up with them.

If you are one of my "breaddahs" and I haven't see or heard from you in a while, take heart... I still love you with all of my sisterly heart. I wish you the best, and I still pray that your journey in life is what you desired, or close to it....

Nuff Love,
Sista Bets

Independence

2008-09-08T19:05:00.002-04:00

This evening I was talking with a teacher friend on the ferry. She teaches at a different school and has a different schedule so this is the first since school started that we have met on our commute to work. She like so many women that I know is pregnant right now. When I mentioned how strong she is to teach while being pregnant she laughed, "Soh... yu xpec' wa maan fu mantan mi?" I laughed back and said yes... that is what I would do. "Noh soh if yu noh yus tuw ya indeependence."

That made me muse on that thought. While I look forward to building my family, finding a nice man that I can trust and lean on is something that I look forward to. I look forward to having some one to take care of me as I take care of him. I want him to drive for me, fix the car, chop the yard and all those other things that I don't think about....

I guess this longer for dependence is because since I was 12 I have pretty much been on my own mentially. Since I was 14 I have worked during the summer to get school supplies and pay tution. I used to babysit during the weekend to help my widow-single mother. While I was still in high school I become the main breadwinner after my mom had an accident, the doctor went to Guatemala, and my other brother was struggling to build his new life in the US. Mom has worked odd jobs throughout the years but she hasn't held a job for a long period of time, since I was a teenager she has left my morals and habits for me to decided. House hold things, have for the most part have fallen on whosoever cares...

I am not writing all about this to cry and woe so that I can get your symathy.... poor little white girl.... but because as our nation's Independence Day is on us, the thougth of Independence has been on my mind. Although freedom is a wonderful thing I look forward to a day when I can be inter-dependent. Independence is a lot of stress.

Fast Food Antigua Style

2008-08-31T22:38:00.004-04:00

I must say, I never liked fast food. While my traveling buddies would swarm McDonalds on trips to the US or Guatemala or Mexico. But on my recent ttrip to visit my brother I found that not all McDonalds are tasteless and "plastic". In fact, according to my sources, McDonalds in Guatemala is a very real thing because Guatemala is home to much of that fast food chains specialities, fries made from green papaya, cafe styled coffee, Mcpapas, etc...
Needless to say, I enjoyed this McD's trip.... let's do in again in the far future!

Computer

2008-08-30T15:33:00.001-04:00

I have computer finally. Now I am working on the Internet connection....

One thing after the next.....

Little Girls

2008-08-06T23:04:00.002-04:00

I work with a young girl. She is about 14 years old and has a beautiful smile. She comes from the village and dropped out of school because is is fourteen and hasn't finished standard six yet. That makes me angry, but I know that it is a reality. She would want to got to school but because she failed so many times her parents are not willing to continue to send her to school. It hurts me to see because I know that it is not her fault she failed so many times (at least three times) because she is smart. The village school systems are very poor. The teachers are untrained and unlearned, there is little resources to use at the school, and no one seems to care that one little girl is continuing the cycle of ignorance. I tell her that she has a choice to make her life what she wants and that if she works hard like she is for the Lord, and makes good choices she will do well in life. She might even get a good job at the store. But in my heart I am worried that a half drunk half crazy old man will catch her eye and she will become like so many rural, ignorant women...

Why am I a private school teacher?

2008-08-02T11:58:00.002-04:00

Pardon my tardiness in getting the latest poll report out. It has been a few days since I have been able to use a computer. It has been on my mind though! I agree it.

Just a note. There was a typo in the poll. I accidentally said "What every Marteen does on the computer" rather than "Whatever Marteen does on the computer." I realized it after publishing it but was unable to fix it because someone had already voted. Sorry about that. I hope that it did not alter your choice.

I find it very delightful that all contributors are hardworking people. I am proud to say that no one would like to live off of allowance from there parents or sit around and talk with the cashier all day. It seem to me that we all are adventurous, thoughtful people, interesting in making a living. At End of the Street we like to drive fork lifts, organize inventory, and talk with customers, while counting money (make sure it is all there, people) and do mystery work on computers have primary focus in our idle summer work.

I would like to express my gratitude to all those who voted. It is people like you who make End of the Street a fun and intelligent place to be.

Stay tune for the next poll. It will be published shortly.

Brave

2008-07-25T16:56:00.003-04:00

"Being brave doesn't mean you don't have fears. It just means that you are stupid enough not to give into your fears."

~My Uncle Leon who wasn't really my uncle

"I don't want you to be helpless nor hapless"

~ My Dad, Grady, who wasn't really my Dad

There is something thrilling about driving a forklift. Driving it is like saying to my brothers, "you see, I am not really this dainty, weak young woman!" Or to my mother, "I am as adventures as you, as capable as you!" Or to my co-workers, "You think I'm amazing, you haven't seen anything yet!" Driving a forklift is fun because it is very three dimension. In a warehouse such as Universal Hardware's you have to be careful of things in front, on the side, and above you.

When driving a forklift sometimes you have to go up high to shelves to get items for customers. Some one, probably a man, was smart enough to put many often sought after items high on the shelves. Most of the times, the more popular the item, the heavier and higher it is.

I find it amazing that my brain does something to my body when I am at the highest shelf. No matter how high I am, the last shelf does tricks on me. My knees go weak, my breathe shallow, my head spins, my heart races and my blood sugar sinks. I am fine when I rummage through shelves at equal heights as long as they are not the top shelf. Since the warehouse has been added on to and one side of it has a higher ceiling, the shelves also go higher and I have tested this phenomenon and found it true. The top shelf is not for the faint at heart. It is not easily contended with. But I am brave at heart. I have and I will continue to beat the top shelf.

Quick! The clock is running!

2008-07-16T22:18:00.002-04:00

I only have a limited time to write and so much to say! My summer job is for the most part fun, but it leads me to some frustrating times. It involves several miscellaneous jobs most of which keep my hands busy but my mind free to think. Now that is pretty hard for me because generally I want to write what I think. My work hours give limited computer access (I use the computer cafe) so I have limited time to write. Himmel, lots of time to think, limited time to write. Ouch!

In other news, the boys discussed in the last post have returned to the store. I think they have lost interest in me, thank God, but they have earned the judgmental nickname "Dumb and Dumber" by the cashier and myself (we are good friends.... I got the job because nepotism is alive and well). I know we should "chisme" about the customers, but they are not really customers. Their buddy, my coworker has developed a crush on me. He hasn't "stepped pon me" yet, but if and when he does, I have a strategy...

If I were to reveal the truth, I find it quite amusing. No, I am not the mean girl who lives to break hearts, but I think I could write a case study on this, and use it for further research...Mennonite boys strange creatures because they (he) appears to think it manly and attractive to be pushing and bossy. Far from the gentleman I dream of...

In other news, I went to a wedding this past weekend. It was lovely! My good sista-friend Gina married her dream boy. I went to the city (Belize City) for the wedding and spent time with her sisters who are also my friends. We had a very feminine time and it was fun! I said a speech to the bride and I also met the grooms father, who is the owner of the Amandala. He complemented me on my speech. I was speechless after that! The wedding was beautiful and I was happy to see one of my friends given to marriage.

Well, time is up! there is so much more to say but I have to go or pay more $! Stay posted as I will be back as soon as I can!

Boys...

2008-07-05T15:57:00.003-04:00

The other day I was working, minding my own busy, cleaning up the staff area at my summer workplace. The staff rest area is right in front of a huge door because it is also the loading and unloading area for the warehouse. While I was sweeping, I was speaking to one of the warehouse guys that I work with. He was down because another guy had been teasing him about something.... Ironically the accused bully was outside by the loading ramp chatting with some buddies who don't work with us. I don't think that I ever say these guys before. Let me tell you., they were a sight.

The two visitors were a couple. I mean this because they seem to feed off of their own insecurities. They had the "brotherhood" thing going on, big chains, oversize Bob Marley t-shirts (what would Bob think about his fans?) , backwards caps and a single diamond stud in their right ears. These guys looked so much like average rebels it made me smile.

Alas! While I was gazing at them and smiling, the three of them looked up. They mistook my smile of muse for interest and smiled back. Silly boys, although they were probably in their mid-twenties, they starting acting like high school boys when they caught the eyes of a pretty girl. The truth is they probably have not been to high school and have not learned how not to get a girls attention in the safe fake environment that high school provides. They started doing anything to get my attention, whisper, laugh aloud, smile, punch each playfully, whistle at me.... you know the juvenile type of stuff. I figured I would make their day and I walked outside to get some water to rise out a disposable dish because I wasn't about to quit my chores because of them. One of them said I should save my "sweet" time and through the dish away. I told them that I care about the environment but they laughed. I knew they didn't understand. One of them, in an attempt to make me feel bad offered me a cigarette. Silly boys!

If I could I would have wore a shirt that read "I have been waiting all this time for a prince of a man.... Don't wast your time."

But then, I wondered.... is that a right attitude?

InterCultural

2008-07-02T22:48:00.002-04:00

So the other day my gurls and I were shopping in Cayo. We walk into a shop and they are automatically drawn to the shoes. I, on the other hand, am drawn to the TV playing in the corner. We were in an small store ran by a man from India. Miscellaneous items are sold in small single room store right of the street by like like proprietors along the centre of Cayo . Z Tv is on and I am automatically intrigued. My friends think it is strange because I don't understand Hindi and this particular show doesn't have English subtitles. Why do I watch a show without the slightest idea of what is said? Why do I endlessly watch Z TV when I house-sit houses that have cable (which house would need house-sitting if it didn't have cable?). Why would I argue with classmates that people from India are not East Indians, but are Indians while "Indians" may be called West Indians?

The truth is there is something about the small mass of people in Belize that have come from India in recent years. During British colonization Indians came to Belize in mass as indentured servants, but this group of people don't captivate me as much as the recent Indian immigrants. I want to befriend them so much. I know that they are busy building new lives and making a match in a new nation but I just can't seem to cross the border into their lives. I will always be a customer to them... I wish I could become a friend to them....

I have so many questions to ask.

Readjusting

2008-06-12T19:10:00.002-04:00

Hey Guys!

I just want to let you know that I have a summer job. The hours are really good and the money is great. But my life schedule is all in a kilter... so be patience.... Like that Frugie (SP?) song.... this has nothing to do with you, I just need some space.... myself and I.....

Basically I have to readjust my life so fit this new job so for the time being my blogging will be touch and go. Hopefully when I get it all figured out I will be a regular blogger again. If not, it will be be all good because I am getting a computer at the end of the summer and then I will definitely be regular.

Fears

2008-06-10T21:42:00.003-04:00

Those of you that don't know, I drive something like this. Of course it is a picture from the factory website and it is new and shine. Mine is a four year old copy.

Now that you know what I drive, let me tell you about my 8 biggest fears.

1. Driving on and off the FERRY on my cycle
2. Driving on gravel roads on my cycle
3. Driving on smooth roads on my cycle
4. Driving through the dust on my cycle
5. Driving through the mud on my cycle
6. Driving on the hard compacted dirt that is neither mud or dust on my cycle.
7. Driving my cycle up and down hills.
8. Driving my cycle on the flat stretch of open road at Norland
9. Driving my cycle at night
10. Driving my cycle through the thick dewy mornings
11. Driving my cycle when the sun is hot.
12. Driving my cycle by myself
13. Driving my cycle with a passenger
14. Driving my cycle behind someone
15. Driving my cycle with someone driving behind me
16. Driving my cycle when I am the only one of the road.
17. Driving my cycle.............

You fill in the blanks

Rain

2008-06-04T12:59:00.003-04:00

I am stuck at a friend's house. Yesterday, I crossed the bridge to this little town spend some time with a friend and help her with work. I thought that the storm was over but it started again last night. See here.

All three from here are connected to the rest of the world with some sort of bridge or fairy. I usually take the fairy. In regular heavy rain, heavey the fairy closes and it could not withstand this storm. The next route is on a nice paved road that makes the trip a little longer but a lot smoother. That bridge is under water. The next route is a long rough road that goes through four rural villages. The road during this time is muddy and crosses over a few creeks and low lying little bridges. I came that way yesterday. That way is closes now though.

A friend of mine just texted and said that she was over in this little town and she took the long way home. She attempted to drive across a low bridge covered with water and was almost swept away.

I may stay put for awhile. Good thing I have Internet access.

I still love the rain though.....even if I might not be eating rice this year.

Writing

2008-06-03T12:26:00.002-04:00

A friend of mine said that I should study writing. At first I thought she meant that I should read and notice writing styles and voices of others compare them. I told her that I do that all the time. Then she clarified that I should get go to university and get a degree in writing.

S I am looking at a few things. What do you call what she recommended? A degree in writing.... Would that be creative writing, journalism, what? Nothing in the school of creativity in uc mentions writing. Besides does a person have to go to school to be a writer... like they do to be a nurse or teacher or lawyer?

My time is over so i can't muse that thought with you anymore....

Rain is lovely

2008-06-02T11:24:00.002-04:00

I know that I mentioned this before, but I love the rain. Even this neverending, tropical rain that rains ceasely in different patterns of rain. I know that with this type of rain crops are being destroyed, jobs ruined, houses flooded and maybe, not that I have heard of any, lives lost. Does that make be feel guilty for indulging in my love for rain? Nope, not one bit. I should be looking for a job, but alas, the rain is cool and makes me sleepy. I have spent my weekend at home, enjoying the poetry in the rain. I have down all the indoors things: read a book, write a peom, think deep internal thoughts, cooked, gone through my stuff (I am still not done unpacking), and I dream. The days have been long dreamy days. Dreams that help me plan.

This is my plan. Not that you need to know it, nor do I need to make it public. This is strictly for conversation. I plan to teach one more year at Rose Glen. My little private school has been a year long escape similar to the week's rain. It has to come to an end. This time next year it will. After that I want to go back to study. I am not sure if I am going to redo my practical or if I am going to forge ahead without it. I want to go somewhere to study though. I have been looking into a few universities aboard. Melvin, my friend who I fling things on, thinks I should go the US. Maybe.... maybe not. So this year in my spare time I am going ot look in to universities aboard. I don't want to go to UB nor Galen. I know I am stubborn. So many people told me that I should go there part time. I was even offered a scholarship. Stubborn indeed but I have to find a place to study that I can connect with. I went to Sacred Heart sort of as a desparate act. I wanted to study but I felt I had no other options. I enjoyed my time there and I made myself connect but I would rather I connected from the beginning.

I just might end up being a poor, broke woman with so much debt that I will spend the rest of my life paying them off... but at least I will write peotry (or even learn to paint, like I always wanted to).

Being Grown Up

2008-05-29T12:26:00.002-04:00

I moved into my mothers house this weekend. It is a strange feeling because this house is so different then the other places that I lived. I mean, I have been in this house every weekend and some weekdays since me moved there right before Christmas, but this house is not a referance point for me. It is not my house, nor is it home.

I realized that I am a very sentimental person when it comes to my house. Before this week I lived with my high school best friend but I was in her territory because the house was just across the yard from her parents. That was a cool place to be because it was a like a long high school sleep over, only because we slept at nights.

The house I lived in before that was a nice house in Cayo that I rented from my good friends. Mom and I moved there when I started sixth form (junior college) and I really grow up there. My brothers weren't around and I really learned to find interest without them. Mom went on a lot of trips while I lived there so I was on my own a lot. One of her trips lasted 5 months and Rachel, who was also going to Sixth form stayed with me. That was a great time in my life. We were college girls, but very mature about it.

That house was what I named my blog after. That house inspired me to be me. I breathed in that house. I wrote about that house I learned that I love art, and poems and writing and that I loved to learn and feel responsible and I loved God and I loved talking to him at night rather then the early mornings like I was told. It was in that house I drew on the walls, failed something for the first time. I neglected the yard because I realized I don't like gardening unlike what I thought. I thought about being a nocturnal person while i lived there.

That house in no longer in my possession. My friends' divorce stole it from me. But when I think about home... the house at the end of the street that has the little room toward the back of the house, the one that has little mice drawn on the window sill.

The Ghost of My Classroom

2008-05-28T16:21:00.002-04:00

I looked down at his eyes. They were blue. Blue as blue can get. I have blue eyes too, but I am not very used to seeing them. Even after teaching here for 9 months I am still not used to seeing blue eyes. Now I know why people make annoying comments about how pretty my eyes are. They are not so much pretty but mostly outstanding.

He had the naive, sweet, and trusting look of a 9 year old. He flung himself all me and rested his chest in the pit right below my ribs. He loved to hug me and I enjoyed his hugs.

I look down, and ask him: "What am I going to do this summer without your hugs, Scary Fairy?" (I call him by a name that rhymes with his real name. He and the rest of the class love it).

"Oh, cry"

That Ghost hunts me....

being misunderstood

2008-05-27T15:40:00.002-04:00

I know I have discussed beauty more times than my reader would really care for, but this one is on the tip of my heart... and well, my blog is really about my journey..... so bear with me.

I was lately confronted by a concern and caring sista- friend for not caring about my self. She finds it odd that I am such a beautiful and outgoing woman and I don't wear a lot of make up and my clothes are "frumpy"and my shoes are old, weird, and ugly. She was honestly puzzled why I don't wear much jewelery, don't buy fancy face washes, and don't keep my nails neat. She was concerned because she thinks my attitude about this is careless, and I harm myself by neglecting myself. She thinks my attractive personality is harmed by my uncared for appearance.

While the confrontation hurt, I saw her heart. I know she was just concern about me. But the truth is, how do I deal with that? I like certain things about me because that is how I feel comfortable. She thinks comfort has nothing to do with it.

Funny because to me... comfort is attractive. People who are comfortable with who they are, how they feel, and how they look makes me admire them. I am attracted to guys with unkempt hair and old faded teeshirts, not that I don't like to dress up, because there are times that I do, but I think comfort is beautiful. I find it odd that she feels that being"all made up" is beautiful.

So now that she bore her heart to me, it is up to me to find the balance of it all.

Conversation

2008-05-24T14:44:00.002-04:00

I was in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower.

Best-Sister Friend Roommate person: are you almost finished?

Beth the Bather: No, actually I just started.

BSFRP: While I need to pee!

BB: Well, hold on, I will grab a towel

BSFRP: No, its ok, I will find a tree.

BB: NO! Don't EVER Do that (while mocking serious concern and shock)

BSFRP: Why not?

BB: The nymphs don't like it.

BSFRP: Well, I am close to the nymphs and they let me pee on the trees.

BB: You are not close to them because if you were you won't pee on them. You Just think you are.

BSFRP: Not true.

BB: How would you feel if someone peed on you or your loved one? Trust me, they don't like it. You don't want to suffer their wrath.

BSFRP: What wrath? My brothers do it all the time.

BB: And why do you think most guys can't write good poetry?

Moral of the story. Guys who do write good poetry don't pee on trees. Stop peeing on the trees and let poetry live.

I am going to miss living with my best sister friend roommate person. We had some seriously funny and inspiring laughs.

Quickly: Before it rains!

2008-05-21T18:25:00.003-04:00

it is about to rain.... I want to go home today so I better go before i get wet. i want it to rain so bad!

I am looking into future colleges that I would like to go to.

Last day of school is Friday. Closing programme is Monday night and 7 pm. There is a family supper before the programme. Any one want to go as my family?

Oh, happy summer vacation to all my student blogger friends.... except Caleb who does have a summer vacation because the Southern Hemisphere has a different summer time. And Freeze, welcome to the rest of your life.

Tired?

2008-05-20T17:48:00.002-04:00

I feel tired. I want to just sit around and talk but I have nothing to talk about....
Maybe it is because I am just a few days a way from finish closing my first year as a teacher. I sort of feel out of sorts... Not hopeless or anything, just as though I want my life to start now. Oh, wait, this is my life... It has started. Very good.

Lately, beauty has been a topic of conversation between my sista-friends and I. I came to the conclusion that there are three things about beauty. 1. We can be beautiful, 2. look beautiful and/0r 3. feel beautiful. I think feeling beautiful is important but not a priority. It is feeling good about your looks, you style, your manners, etc...

Looking beautiful is not that important because it is subjective. I get this all the time. Some people think I am just beautiful while other keep wanted to fit me. People see it as important though and they often judge you on their own perceptive of it.

My goal, who I want to be, is a person who is beautiful. I don't want to be the cynic I am so close to becoming right now, but rather I want to be alive with beauty. I want to be fun, hopeful, helpful, happy and just plain beautiful. I want to be innocent and clean, but wise and understanding. I want to be noble and cause others to be noble too. I want people breath easy because I am around. I want life to be abundant and full. I want to be colourful and strong, but sweet and lovely.

So, as I walk in this place of redefinition and change, don't expect too much from me, just you are free to witness the person I am becoming.... The Beauty that I am being.

A silly poem I wrote a while back.....

2008-05-16T15:22:00.003-04:00

This is from the Fairy Book collection. I hope you enjoy.

I love you,
but you can't have me,
'cause you don't really want me.
It's all or nothing.

I love you,
but you can't handle me,
'cause you can't see all'a me.
It's all or nothing.

I love you,
but you hurt me,
'cause you don't notice me.
It's all or nothing.

I love you
but I'll stop me,
'cause I strong can be.
So I'll let you be.

It's all of nothing.
I'm not your thing.

Oh, P.s. I am not sure if this really represents my heart, but I love the attitude!

Hummmm

2008-05-13T16:59:00.002-04:00

I ran into a friend from college the other day. Can you believe it has been a year since I was on my teaching practicum two? This time last year, in fact, I found out that I failed my practical. I cried and cried about it. I was angry about it too. "Who do they think they are to fail me? I mean I wasn't that bad at it.... not like some others..." That was my attitude. I know it stinks... but that was how it was. It was a really humbling experience. My precious 4.8 was ruined and people are still surprised when they hear about it. But the fact remains.... I can fail something, I am not all brains and I don't have a silver spoon.

I will go and redo my practical. Although I dread doing so, I know that it needs to be redone. Satchwell, my favourite teacher at Heart, said that it would do me good to fight that demon. I didn't do it this year because I simply didn't plan on it. Besides I was still tired of it. I agreed to teach at my little private school next year so I won't do my practical next year either. But I will redo it. Don't worry.

I just have a few more days of school. School is closing early because we had really short holiday time and we don't do exams. I am ready for the break. What are my plans? I want to visit the Doctor and his wife and maybe get a summer job. I have a whole list of graduations and graduation parties to crash this year. I am going to stop crashing graduations though. Someday day it is going to get boring. I have been a graduation crasher since the 2001....I got hooked on them at the Doctors high school graduation in 2000. I didn't go to my graduation though. I was too angry about it.

I was visited to one of my students house for dinner tonight. I am excited. That means I don't have to cook. I hate eating the food that I cook. Why is that? I also hate eating alone. So if anyone is around, let me know I will feed you as long as you sit down with me to eat. I made some great baked beans the other day for the Mother's Day picnic. They were the rave of the day. I burned my arm making them. Pressure cookers are dangerous, Tracy. I was given a new cooker for my hope chest and I was stupid and tried to open it while it was hot. Don't do that. The cooker will explode if you do.

Tell me, how does my writer's voice sound in this entry? I don't like it. It sounds too monotone to me. I am trying different writing styles right now. This one probably isn't the one I want to practice too often.