Dumb things that make me cry...

As of late I have become increasingly aware of how much I cry. And it's not about big or important things. No, I cry over really insignificant and stupid things. For example...

Bears

It started when I watched a movie with my family about eight years ago. In the first ten minutes a bear was shot, and I burst into tears. For some reason, it was just too sad for my eleven-year-old heart. And it hasn't gotten better. Last year for my English class I had to watch a documentary called Grizzly Man about a man who lived with and studied bears in the wild until one killed him. I wasn't upset when he died (kind of saw that coming). But when two of the bears got in a fight and started ripping each other apart, I started crying again. 

Old People

I'm not sure when this one started, but it's pretty serious. When I watched The Notebook for the first time I didn't cry when Allie left Noah (twice) or when they finally got back together. But I bawled during the last few scenes of the old couple in the nursing home. 


I also sobbed after the first ten minutes of the movie UP. I thought the whole movie was going to be about Ellie and Carl and their life together exploring the world. I was sorely disappointed when--after a montage of picnics and jars of change and colorfully painted houses and old armchairs--Ellie died. I couldn't handle the fact that Carl was going to be so alone(until he met a boy scout and a talking dog, I guess).


This summer I worked (briefly) at the local grocery store. I saw a lot of people wandering in and out of the cluttered aisles. One day I was kneeling putting away lightbulbs on the shelves directly across from the juice refrigerator. I saw an old couple hobbling around, checking things off their small grocery list. At one point the woman left the cart to grab something she had forgotten in another aisle. I watched the old man as he looked up and down the drinks, picked up a carton of pulp-less orange juice, and smiled excitedly and contently as he placed it delicately in the cart. And, yes, I started crying. I have no idea why.

Pollution

A few weeks ago, BYU started construction on the entrance to the SWKT (for those of you who don't know what that is, it doesn't really matter--it's just the tallest building on campus). I walk by it almost every day: on my way to Physics in the morning; between my Book of Mormon, Humanities, and Portuguese classes; and again on my way home at the end of the day. And every time I walked by I got a whiff of the sweet aroma of construction. I don't know what it actually was that made the air smell that particular way, but whatever it was, it reminded me of São Paulo. I've heard that smell is one of the most memory-stimulating senses. And now I believe it, because the first time that poignant and almost sickening scent reached my nose, I was immediately taken back to my childhood and the pollution over that great and chaotic city. And I cried a little bit.

Era Uma Vez

This semester I am taking an intermediate level Portuguese class. As part of the curriculum, we were required to watch a couple Brazilian movies to work on our aural skills and comprehension. One of the movies was called Era Uma Vez. The English title is Once Upon a Time in Rio. Basically, it is a Romeo and Juliet story wherein a rich girl from Ipanema falls in love with a poverty-stricken young man who lives in the morro (slum) on the other side of the city. As they battle social norms, disapproving fathers, drug trafficking, and the heartache of forbidden love, these two young people act as a lens through which you get a glimpse of a tragic aspect of Brazilian culture: the favelas. At the end of the film, pretty much every main character dies (... like in Romeo and Juliet). The final shot pans over the dead lovers lying on the black and white mosaic sidewalks of Rio and ends framing a stunning, but slightly melancholy, ocean view. When I finished watching the movie, I was so angry. I started ranting to my roommates, and then all of a sudden I shouted, furiously, "Guys, I'm crying!' They didn't really believe me (understandably), but then I started sobbing and couldn't stop the rest of night. I went to bed sniveling, holding back the incessant flow of tears. 

Katy Perry

I don't even like Katy Perry. BUT one day I decided to watch her music video Thinking of You. I have no idea what prompted me to do so, but the 1940's setting, lovely cinematography, and absolutely gorgeous co-star got me hooked. As the video went on, I started falling more and more in love with the fetching young soldier. And then, at the end, Katy Perry receives a telegram, and I started crying so hard I was excruciatingly embarrassed. Watch it and you'll understand.


And last, but not least...

Pumpkins

This is by far the worst. When my parents came to visit in October, they took my roommates and I to the grocery store and bought us three beautiful pumpkins to put on our doorstep. They were some of the most perfect (and the heaviest) pumpkins I've ever seen. I loved them. And then one day I looked out the window and saw the maintenance workers hauling our pumpkins away. I ran out (dramatically) and asked why they were taking them. After a long conversation (...argument) about the difference between carved and uncarved pumpkins, apartment regulations, fines, and other boring but traumatic things, I finally got them to agree to leave the pumpkins. As soon as I walked in the door, I started bawling because I was afraid of losing my festive squash. 

Crossing the Border, eh?

It's been a while, I know.

But right now my family is eating homemade Indian food outside on the deck, and I ate so much of it I couldn't bear to see it or smell it any longer. Don't get me wrong, it was absolutely incredible. But I needed a break.

I think road trips bring out my blogging fever. I don't know what it is about driving across the country, but it drives my brain crazy--phrases and descriptions and halves of sentences and random words explode in my mind, filling it to the brim. I've been on a few road trips since May, but it's probably too much to fit into one sitting.

My most recent venture started at 6:00 am last Friday morning. It was preceded by a six-hour excursion to the final Harry Potter movie premiere (that's another story). After less than three hours of fitful sleep on the living room couch, I dragged my packed bags to the van and curled up in the middle seat for the 13-hour drive to Denver, CO.

We spent the weekend at my uncle's house and a cabin on Grand Lake. After a dozen delicious meals, losing Mitchel on the Colorado River in a kayak, an insane thunder storm, and a herd of nearly fifty elk, we piled back in the Honda Odyssey and continued on to Utah.

I am ashamed to say it, but I actually like something from McDonald's. Scratch that, I love something from McDonald's. Curious? Next time you're driving West on Highway 40 through Vernal, UT and a lot of nothing, stop by McD's and get a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit and a cinnamelt. Trust me.

I visited my future apartment, walked around campus, ate BYU Creamery ice cream, and went to Ikea. Pretty good taste of college life, I think.

I want all of these rooms: 
http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/departments/bedroom/tools/bedroom_rooms_ideas

Anyway, basically my apartment is going to be the coolest on the block.

Yesterday we drove across the border between Montana and Alberta and drove into Canada. It was extremely easy. Maybe that's why those harmless, do-nothing bugs are called Canadian Soldiers...
Kidding.

Surprise

Last week Taryn and Richard threw a surprise party for me. I had asked Taryn earlier what our schedule should be for studying and dinner after our exam. She kept saying something about Lentz House and pizza and people from my hall. It did not make any sense at all. When she urged me not to go to Peirce, I was even more confused. And even though none of it made any logical sense, for some reason I just kept following her around all day. When I texted Catherine, Zoey, and Meredith about dinner, none of them responded. I felt hungry, tired, and alone.

And then, around 7pm, we headed over to Lentz House, my favorite study place on campus. It is a new building, especially compared to the gothic-style church and towered dormitories of South Campus. Everything is neat and clean, but there is still a quiet, homey feel to it, like you've stumbled into a neighbor's house on a Sunday afternoon when everyone is napping. 


As we approached down the paved pathway, I saw a group of people sitting around an iron-rot table on the back patio. None of them were eating (or doing anything, really) so I assumed we were dreadfully late. "Looks like we missed the party," I said to Taryn obliviously. And then as we got closer a little tickle in the back of my head made me realize we were right on time. 

"WELCOME," J.P. said in his pretentious acting tone. Everyone gave him an amused look and then shouted, "Surprise!" as I came around the corner. My favorite songs were playing, there was a full bottle of Fresca bubbling as the cap twisted off, and the table was decorated with blue and white twisted streamers. In all, it was a lovely afternoon.


There are days when I can't believe I'm actually not going back to Kenyon College in the fall. I think that autumn and Middle Path will forever be connected in my mind. However, I know that no matter how far away I am and no matter how many bodies of water stand between us--the Kokosing, the Mississippi, the Colorado River, and the Great Salt Lake--Kenyon will always be a little bit of home.

"But when we are far from Kokosing,

We still shall hear a calling bell,

When round us evening shades are closing;

Farewell, Old Kenyon,

Fare thee well."

"In meadows sweet with asphodel..."

Picnic food.
Photo booth.
Funnel cake.
Inflatables.
Neon sunglasses.
A whole lot of drunk college kids (myself excluded).

This weekend was Kenyon's Summer Sendoff. I spent part of the day on the South Quad, mostly eating and watching highly intoxicated classmates make fools of themselves playing giant Twister and tripping over each other on the inflatable obstacle course. But it was pretty fun.


Later, instead of attending the Rebelution concert (lame, right?) I went down to the Gap Trail with Meredith, Catherine, and Katie. We played on the old train and took some pretty amazing pictures with an iPhone. When we'd had our fill of synchronized jumping, staring off into space looking super hipster, and smiling goofily into the camera, we decided to take a walk down to the Kokosing. I had never been down to the river, and I was immensely surprised at how pleasant it was.

I felt daring as I trudged through uncharted woods, jumped from rock to rock, and trekked across an abandoned field slowly making my way back to the college. If it hadn't been for the distant sounds of Rebelution echoing across the rural landscape, I would not have known I was minutes away from a bustling outdoor fair of fried food and rich kids. I felt very much removed from all that, almost like I felt as a child hiking through the Provo Canyon behind my grandfather on our summer camping trips. It even smelled like his camp fire-infused button up shirts and calloused whittling hands.

Chapters

Today in Anthropology our professor wrapped up the class by introducing us to the ideas of reflexivity and of the crisis of representation. As an exercise he had us imagine that we were writing our autobiographies. With this in mind, he told us to come up with the names of the chapters that would be in our book--the "Chapters of Your Life." We shared our chapters with someone we did not know in the class, and then they related our autobiography outline to the class. It was an intense, emotional, almost cathartic exercise. Here's what I came up with:

Chapter 1: Spanglish
-Being an American with Canadian and Argentine heritage

Chapter 2: Fifty-four
-(Approximately) the number of first cousins I have
-Growing up among family members and the way they have shaped my life

Chapter 3: "Are You Amish?"
-As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I often get this question
-Growing up a member of the Mormon church and what it has taught me about perspective and tolerance

Chapter 4: The Other Hemisphere
-Moving to Brazil and coming to understand another way of life

Chapter 5: Ms. Lebiecki
-My fourth grade teacher, who gave me a taste of the thirst for knowledge
-Education at a private international school and how I learned to love learning

Chapter 6: Stoplights
-People coming up to your car window as you're stopped at the light and begging for money
-The poverty I saw in Brazil and how that changed my perspective on materialism 

Chapter 7: Toasted Ravioli
-A typical food from the St. Louis area
-Moving to Webster Groves, MO and the battle against myself to accept it

Chapter 8: Turkey Day
-The 102-year-old Thanksgiving game and the oldest high school football rivalry West of the Mississippi
-High School and the traditions of a Midwestern town

Chapter 9: OH-229
-Kenyon College
-My freshman year

Chapter 10: Deja-Vu
-Deciding to transfer to Brigham Young University

Flee to the Cleve

"If the whole world moved to their favorite vacation spots, then the whole world would live in Hawaii and Italy and Cleveland." -Floyd, 30 Rock Season 1, Episode 20.


Last weekend some friends and I took a little drive up to Cleveland. We left at about 3 o'clock on Friday afternoon, that sleepy time of day where there is a lull in anticipation of the weekend. I stashed the car with my favorite candies: Starburst (original), M&Ms (peanut) and gummy worms (or snakes, actually). The five of us piled into my '96 Toyota Camry and started our two hour trip up OH-13. 


We got lost in the first ten minutes. Now, if you know me at all you know that I tend to overreact and worry and panic. A lot. And while driving is one of my favorite pastimes, it is no exception to that rule. I know I have said it before, but I will say it again: RURAL OHIO IS A MAZE. Somehow we made it to Westlake, OH--unscathed for the most part, excepting our patience perhaps.


Waiting for us on the table, that giant wooden table in the kitchen, was my grandmother's delicious taco salad. Just the smell of it wafting through the old house made my mouth water and my heart beat with a nostalgic warmth. And then, to my utmost delight and surprise, my grandma opened the oven to reveal her homemade apple crisp. My initial reaction was to cry. I suppressed my tears of joy by gulping down a class of cranberry-apple juice.

Going to baseball games has been one of my fondest childhood memories of Cleveland. So walking out of the windtunnel and into the stands at the stadium was like stepping into my past. The field glowed neon in the night lights, and the crowd exploded in applause and whistling and shouts of "Chooooooo!" during the game. It also happened to be Dollar Dog Night. So, against my better judgment, I ate a hot dog. AND IT WAS DELICIOUS. 


I stayed in my aunt's old room that night. The white carpet, walls, and comforter made me feel like I was laying in a cloud. I looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars and drifted off into a pleasant, fleecy, content sleep.

Sonic

On Thursday I drove to the Columbus airport to pick up a friend. Having a car is possibly one of the most significant conveniences I have experienced this year. And driving is incredibly relaxing for me. As soon as I pull out of the parking lot and get on the open road, everything becomes a blur of soft colors whizzing by my window. It's as if my troubles are the houses and barns and empty fields that, while they may catch my eye for a moment, pass by and out of my line of vision without another thought. Sitting alone in my old Toyota Camry is one of the only times I sing aloud at school. That is probably the most relaxing part of my day.

Driving anywhere from or in rural Ohio is always an adventure. I can never understand the layout of the roads, and for some reason everything is named in numbers. 13, 36, 661, 62, 71... The list goes on. If you are unfamiliar with the intricately woven geography of back streets and interstates, then traveling can be rather treacherous. As we made our way across the almost vacant landscape and down those vein-like roads that lead us through the heartland of America, I couldn't help but notice the tragedy of my unfamiliarity with my home state.

What struck me the most was how the barns, set back against the grey and straw-colored landscape, somehow made red a natural color.

On our way back to Gambier, we stopped at a Sonic Drive-In. Pulling up to the menu, I felt summer wash over me. I honestly have no idea how many times I go to Sonic during the months of June, July, and August, but let's just say that it was enough for me to have serious withdrawal symptoms while I'm at school. As I took the first sip of my strawberry limeade chiller, I closed my eyes and breathed in an extraordinarily taste-tantalizing, creamy freshness and smiled.

Snow

Today, it decided to snow.
And by "it" I mean the clouds above Gambier. I guess the snow is just trying to make one last appearance before the curtains close on winter and springtime takes the stage. At least, that's what I'm hoping.

Snow is kind of a new thing for me. I mean, in this quantity. I don't remember much about the winters before I turned six and moved to South America. And we seldom came back to the U.S. in December (because that was when summer started in Brazil!). So when I moved to St. Louis, I was looking forward to the White Christmases that to me characterized the picturesque American holiday season. To my dismay, the snowfalls were few and far between.

This year was different. There was snow on the ground in Gambier from right after Thanksgiving until mid-February when we had a strange stint of sunny, warm days. It snowed the next weekend. And just as I thought I would begin to see the sun consistently and would be able to put my puffy coats and scarves away for the season, I look out the window and a million tiny dip n' dots start falling and sticking to the quiet, damp ground.

I can't wait for April.

Bem Vindos!

Welcome! 
In all honesty, I have absolutely no real good reason for writing a blog. I tend to follow the notion that you should only write something worth reading, and you should only read something that makes you feel that quiet flutter of inspiration. Hopefully some of what I share will be worth it!


A little about myself:
I am eighteen years old and a first-year at Kenyon College in Gambier, OH. Basically, I live in the middle of nowhere. And somehow I love it. Even though I grew up in one of the biggest cities in the world--São Paulo--I somehow feel at home among the ancient trees and rolling hills of rural Ohio.
I was named after a song by Bread. Check it out.
I have four little brothers who, despite their many outbursts and quirks, always make my day.
Although I have yet to declare a major, I am thinking either Physics or English. fyi I have trouble making decisions.
Food is one of my greatest passions. I adore reading about, watching, cooking, and eating it. It has made me a bit of a food snob.
Most importantly, I love the English language. And that's what I want to share.