tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43324385669911052142024-02-19T13:09:38.023+01:00From US to Themx jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-60572265424866487852012-01-03T02:04:00.001+01:002012-01-03T02:05:07.995+01:00hello, strangerThought I'd stop in and share my current blog, just for anyone who'd like to see the progression of my mind.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.naivephilosophy.tumblr.com/">http://www.naivephilosophy.tumblr.com/</a>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-63608878679682617782011-07-26T04:41:00.001+02:002011-07-26T04:42:49.394+02:00mount pleasant, pennsylvaniaI'm home.<br />
That makes 12 days now. I needed time before I told you, because I myself wasn't even sure how to handle it, how to explain the feeling.<br />
<br />
My last days in Belgium passed by slowly. I'd never felt as if I wanted to go home until the end, until most of my friends were already gone and I felt like it was time to begin the summer. I felt sick with goodbyes, and wanted nothing but the last to finally say hello.<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, there were some highlights in my final weeks, such as a trip to Amsterdam with my host family<br />
<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and a trip to a concentration camp in Belgium named Breedonk.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79Iv8sB_Aa7a51_EGNVkSwl2On08yfJPutF0T9om6i6eHJSUYOPSNSuAWRYbGV1gK2335vm0-9rp5BA2_Hlfq6ZA9G8uAA_r5iemELECtJyCNeN2Ltq9OZ7tu-vdGwDRYRumEPFIgJac/s1600/DSCF8415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79Iv8sB_Aa7a51_EGNVkSwl2On08yfJPutF0T9om6i6eHJSUYOPSNSuAWRYbGV1gK2335vm0-9rp5BA2_Hlfq6ZA9G8uAA_r5iemELECtJyCNeN2Ltq9OZ7tu-vdGwDRYRumEPFIgJac/s400/DSCF8415.JPG" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yptMnqVZSZAB5boZq-MnIisVLB2cXOIvPr-35LvXSnBcD4FLIh0iwExbtU7x2-nO9X8pZT79VwXgaXp7iPHb3UcewDD9AjzMC2Dh5CAMvxRFFqAwStr31M9NP3CSXg57LcRZAGgVHBs/s1600/DSCF8469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yptMnqVZSZAB5boZq-MnIisVLB2cXOIvPr-35LvXSnBcD4FLIh0iwExbtU7x2-nO9X8pZT79VwXgaXp7iPHb3UcewDD9AjzMC2Dh5CAMvxRFFqAwStr31M9NP3CSXg57LcRZAGgVHBs/s400/DSCF8469.JPG" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjdFjnHafrkj6HhYV4xq_EbV4YZ1yc0YJ0N4U8dCWU31DMdUFhorAmSPCQmTq6I1OwToF_1BHOhZpnSex9rBjNepH1GM_2_EwxdBZ4pxpZPyqyXaBwK1U7_Rnq9WnIzmGPdJwKcxJqsg/s1600/DSCF8488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjdFjnHafrkj6HhYV4xq_EbV4YZ1yc0YJ0N4U8dCWU31DMdUFhorAmSPCQmTq6I1OwToF_1BHOhZpnSex9rBjNepH1GM_2_EwxdBZ4pxpZPyqyXaBwK1U7_Rnq9WnIzmGPdJwKcxJqsg/s400/DSCF8488.JPG" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvgqCntzU_6b0fZZy4M-qE-3S2qeDpk31nyw-JR-g-VA3ynOpabFMDqJ4ujq89KPGRLap5MOeEniCjpzJWbj-oQnjeAEbMvk5JOX-EzE96E4Yn4lf9nLWbe790mp6Q5e8lQXn3hyHOfI/s1600/DSCF8494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvgqCntzU_6b0fZZy4M-qE-3S2qeDpk31nyw-JR-g-VA3ynOpabFMDqJ4ujq89KPGRLap5MOeEniCjpzJWbj-oQnjeAEbMvk5JOX-EzE96E4Yn4lf9nLWbe790mp6Q5e8lQXn3hyHOfI/s400/DSCF8494.JPG" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I felt kind of emotionless at the airport as I left; it seemed as if my excitement and sadness canceled eachother out. I had accepted the end of my Belgian adventure, and I was ready to come home to begin another one. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was expecting myself to feel something, to cry, to run up to my friends and lift them in the air as I finally arrived in the Pittsburgh airport, but after about 4 hours of delays, I saw everyone and simply felt like I'd seen them the day before. I felt like I never left, as if Belgium was nothing but a vivid dream I had on the plane and I was returning from a week vacation. At the sight of my mother, my sisters, my best friends, I just stood there without any strong feelings. Nothing seemed to have changed; I was dropped right back into the world I had left eleven months before. Was it really eleven months?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The night of my arrival, my friends and I stayed up until 5am American time (11am Belgian time) talking about the year that had passed, taking midnight trips to Walmart, eating all the foods I'd missed at absurd hours (absurd to Europeans at least), and laughing. That night, I got along with them all as I always had, as if nothing had changed, and it stayed that way for the week that followed. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not until recently have I realized that my relationships with my best friends here are more like sisterly relationships. I'm with them out of habit, not necessarily out of choice. I got along so well with my friends in Belgium, my exchange student friends. They have a part of me with them; they've watched me grow and taught me who I am. I never fought with them; I never tried with them. We all just fit, fit so perfectly since we saw the world in the same way; we felt the world in the same way.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's not that I'm unhappy, but I'm not completely content, not until I find those friends again, those friends to show me inspiration and make me smile. I think I'm on the right track though. I've realized that there are a lot of people who have changed in the past year in the same way I have, which gives me hope. I get along with people now that I never really had before, and it's kind of opening my eyes. There are so many people, so many opinions, so many outlooks on life that I never had paid attention to before, and now I'm beginning to learn so much. To think I felt as if I was open-minded before I left surprises me; I speak with the people who I had shared opinions with, and I find them close-minded.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Slowly I'm beginning to realize how much I've changed, and how much more confident I feel with myself now that I've changed.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Constantly I say that I left the US as an exchange student, and I came back as Jordann.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It couldn't be more true. I never had a name before; I was only caught up in what I wanted to be, but now I simply am.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In truth, it's liberating. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am able to see, breathe, feel. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Have you ever stood on top of a mountain as the sun shines or sets or rises while the wind is breathing around you? When you can lean out over the edge and feel the wind, the world embrace you? You can let go of yourself, and the surrounding beauty seems to keep you standing. That feeling, that's how I feel everyday. I don't need to worry about keeping myself standing, because I see the world around me, its simple beauties, and I know it will never let me fall.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If you've never felt it, go climb a mountain, or at least a high hill, and feel it. Please feel it, because that's life. Or at least the life I know, and I love him. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Maybe you'll love him, too.</span></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-29752442747398112452011-07-04T23:50:00.006+02:002011-07-05T00:31:50.392+02:00and give to you my colours bright.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A week ago, I scribbled my name on the Berlin wall (or at least what remains of it).</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhxzikyyy8HBPu7YafgBVNqhbgDNtdgrX5d2hoWTTqDszV62U0VA3g5G5etekFSbtNq7U77pIKEpvLjsz0_o4sEZNzw95Q9mFa3dCyM3XpZujmbzA6ieCWYW-dyUufmAjKEtndy1wpHw/s1600/DSCF7914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhxzikyyy8HBPu7YafgBVNqhbgDNtdgrX5d2hoWTTqDszV62U0VA3g5G5etekFSbtNq7U77pIKEpvLjsz0_o4sEZNzw95Q9mFa3dCyM3XpZujmbzA6ieCWYW-dyUufmAjKEtndy1wpHw/s400/DSCF7914.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZg0HAkkdygjc-P_VttILRmP3Fj99UdM3O6A0jwHfigTcfQGcjhVFjZQyZgpbws2pDCPuJ2KDi97OErd2JgwHzye8_NmxWc55DLOc64Mp1y6_8QoxfMqynD77zshCw6BBfmd_V_1VhkE/s1600/DSCF7919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZg0HAkkdygjc-P_VttILRmP3Fj99UdM3O6A0jwHfigTcfQGcjhVFjZQyZgpbws2pDCPuJ2KDi97OErd2JgwHzye8_NmxWc55DLOc64Mp1y6_8QoxfMqynD77zshCw6BBfmd_V_1VhkE/s400/DSCF7919.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBAbNccTD8w4On3QRrQQb_j2yk8C0cOYZ5EYrurc_kglWz5UlYZxz7-bwgwKhTjqD6gbQSuo_3_WHqL2u0RBOYsoZsllV2rA8OdROo1w4b405u-KeVzE4ggABs4UcvCR2VgNTDCF0gNw/s1600/DSCF7932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBAbNccTD8w4On3QRrQQb_j2yk8C0cOYZ5EYrurc_kglWz5UlYZxz7-bwgwKhTjqD6gbQSuo_3_WHqL2u0RBOYsoZsllV2rA8OdROo1w4b405u-KeVzE4ggABs4UcvCR2VgNTDCF0gNw/s400/DSCF7932.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2dFbKH_Gx0PKSSifmC4HbxkUSNaCAHDbHsGn3ktETXh0j8tnq-l7-kEv_aQadQarQ2yHNU_s0bWURWFYt-XinJ7oymgt5ijFOmq9GnWF_y3B7PpaWcJQc7_fJwKJrm3oEfWlPRC5A-Q/s1600/DSCF7927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2dFbKH_Gx0PKSSifmC4HbxkUSNaCAHDbHsGn3ktETXh0j8tnq-l7-kEv_aQadQarQ2yHNU_s0bWURWFYt-XinJ7oymgt5ijFOmq9GnWF_y3B7PpaWcJQc7_fJwKJrm3oEfWlPRC5A-Q/s400/DSCF7927.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvq8quwtkmsKzY4JeUygfNW-kNaBAC26j2A3a6P_LXxTQMq-ECXXeiDNprBrgwQJqQ-umxza5l0hl2XKNDeTk_1HVq0FFrZkjSTk4YdFtaz55Fvs1pv_zB8w_AR-VUxCUyY3sPWKSCzo/s1600/DSCF7945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvq8quwtkmsKzY4JeUygfNW-kNaBAC26j2A3a6P_LXxTQMq-ECXXeiDNprBrgwQJqQ-umxza5l0hl2XKNDeTk_1HVq0FFrZkjSTk4YdFtaz55Fvs1pv_zB8w_AR-VUxCUyY3sPWKSCzo/s400/DSCF7945.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>The East Side Gallery:</strong> A section of the Berlin wall that is about a <br />
kilometer long and stands as one of the largest open-air galleries of today, <br />
consisting of about 100 paintings created by artists from around the world.<br />
The artwork revolves around many themes such as one's basic right to freedom<br />
and the hope of a peaceful future for all of the world's people. </td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">For two days, my friend Breanna and I explored Berlin, a trip we had planned ourselves</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(with help of the National Geographic travel guide) as a closure to our year in Europe.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I truly loved the ambience of the city: we didn't feel the rushed, New York hustle and bustle like I had expected, but rather a relaxed, laid-back atmosphere that was also young and energized. To me, it felt like a college town rather than one of the world's most historic cities (nonetheless it is home to Humboldt University, a school that Karl Marx, Albert Einstein, and Otto von Bismark had attended among many other remarkable men).</span></div><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkjMNd40CnIl3TC2GX4JUII-D65JfWj2YjWf59DinCmkJ3SisUxLrJPSqyHKaKjmLJG6bd03cye5TpT-EPbPEj8i_yczl7Aeu4r3Y3q6hzxCHaNdbCq1i3nq-KRRI4AdAr13LyCMUmvg/s1600/DSCF8041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkjMNd40CnIl3TC2GX4JUII-D65JfWj2YjWf59DinCmkJ3SisUxLrJPSqyHKaKjmLJG6bd03cye5TpT-EPbPEj8i_yczl7Aeu4r3Y3q6hzxCHaNdbCq1i3nq-KRRI4AdAr13LyCMUmvg/s400/DSCF8041.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Holocaust Memorial</strong>: 2,711 concrete blocks which <br />
aim to represent an ordered system that has lost touch<br />
with reason, such as was witnessed during the Holocaust.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLSFjW53yDRqyZ3vAKEKNPOXduWiiusQUQpmtmmnHd86oeu4QCEGzyTxwxYwQXE6ju6CBMa8bAm-tTP_62DHv8eBLUReVpIF6IvXsAQDPd2u_-5GVqHtJ8K_jHJKJf9nrE60SKWuqcO0/s1600/DSCF8015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLSFjW53yDRqyZ3vAKEKNPOXduWiiusQUQpmtmmnHd86oeu4QCEGzyTxwxYwQXE6ju6CBMa8bAm-tTP_62DHv8eBLUReVpIF6IvXsAQDPd2u_-5GVqHtJ8K_jHJKJf9nrE60SKWuqcO0/s400/DSCF8015.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>The Reichstag</strong></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYe5mD0ySHRwGkwwPNX0lBjPrufJbYZdijoyP1Fi_H6U3zQc8FhCbeAHtWM0oaIfEXpJPK1oW9Sy166XpKKwhuCc4YmsgEayyDAVnEhdSLugVKDUPvY3Q5VK2F2h5JGctuR1OzMuMkEGw/s1600/DSCF8033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYe5mD0ySHRwGkwwPNX0lBjPrufJbYZdijoyP1Fi_H6U3zQc8FhCbeAHtWM0oaIfEXpJPK1oW9Sy166XpKKwhuCc4YmsgEayyDAVnEhdSLugVKDUPvY3Q5VK2F2h5JGctuR1OzMuMkEGw/s400/DSCF8033.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>The Brandenburg Gate</strong></div></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3itci8LPbXop3x5FuuHl_5pIoDqGxcCiZ-v1NTz7wq_2V7n7Dlbqbm32p9WMTgv5RNXy7dw0IwrBt1ayv_K-JrcjykVzNstLlfYhf6N-xY4j755rud56T_e54oCbQNZ50SVgPENJoRg/s1600/DSCF7979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3itci8LPbXop3x5FuuHl_5pIoDqGxcCiZ-v1NTz7wq_2V7n7Dlbqbm32p9WMTgv5RNXy7dw0IwrBt1ayv_K-JrcjykVzNstLlfYhf6N-xY4j755rud56T_e54oCbQNZ50SVgPENJoRg/s400/DSCF7979.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div align="center"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Checkpoint Charlie</strong>: One of the best known crossing points between East and West Berlin</div></div> during the Cold War. This was the sole crossing point for both foreigners and Allied forces.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDG9Gq70mJhFZld_K9sHU8sDGU10JdQ2meSGwWNPM-24c_VoPviuCIwtohEmjnfkvzetms2082wpY4nFzKJjLqF5wbhXIBNEX3mXSPsKpoRNsmG1Mb6_RmsrXprSUaSJ86uAJTaWu0_10/s1600/DSCF8056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDG9Gq70mJhFZld_K9sHU8sDGU10JdQ2meSGwWNPM-24c_VoPviuCIwtohEmjnfkvzetms2082wpY4nFzKJjLqF5wbhXIBNEX3mXSPsKpoRNsmG1Mb6_RmsrXprSUaSJ86uAJTaWu0_10/s400/DSCF8056.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Humboldt University of Berlin</strong></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I only have more 9 more days, and then I have to wake up.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Happy 4th of July.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">PS: Today I went to the Lion of Waterloo and toured around the battlefield where Napolean was defeated (practically where I've been living my entire exchange) to display my patriotism. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Yes, I know, there's absolutely no correlation whatsoever.. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was the English who defeated Napolean, not the Americans. But hey, at least I kind of celebrated an important battle. That has to count for something.</span> </div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-19251634820053971042011-07-03T00:27:00.005+02:002011-07-05T00:37:07.580+02:00midnight's cigarette.<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfeYZgp4uSira_z-wUXc7yEZgpWq-cTnYN70Je6WG2xV54_dVPNUMI0Z28vPEvlRzQdXOYdXj-zB-9gd2vlBVZz9q5V_XGt6s6CK2LnCx10lgoQ9fiXwhkU86I2YxvlIIMuzPdUCP90pc/s1600/DSCF7804-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfeYZgp4uSira_z-wUXc7yEZgpWq-cTnYN70Je6WG2xV54_dVPNUMI0Z28vPEvlRzQdXOYdXj-zB-9gd2vlBVZz9q5V_XGt6s6CK2LnCx10lgoQ9fiXwhkU86I2YxvlIIMuzPdUCP90pc/s400/DSCF7804-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And tomorrow,<br />
our laughter will be the music I long to hear.<br />
<br />
Chimay's beat so undefined, our hair interwined,<br />
blonde and brown and natural,<br />
dangling from the wooden heights of<br />
our abandoned train tressle.<br />
<br />
We feel our naked feet beneath us<br />
in the cold, moonlit current,<br />
dancing in the milkyway.<br />
<br />
My toes, they're laughing, as they play<br />
hide and seek<br />
in these weeds we would never know<br />
as nothing but our beauty.<br />
<br />
The cool, damp earth<br />
runs below us,<br />
it's running to the sun.<br />
But we stand still and watch the moon, <br />
how is it that he's smiling?<br />
He'll leave us soon, as will we, <br />
we'll leave,<br />
but we refuse to move.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then the earth,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">she shakes beneath our muddy toes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A hand he grasps one the other,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">our fingers tangle, intertwine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then the earth,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">she overturns and casts us into the sky.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are scared,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and we try to hold on,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but we know we can not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">as we free-fall in the stars.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The sky, he takes me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and I lose you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He takes me home.</span>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-12325154860168486092011-06-23T14:43:00.008+02:002011-07-01T23:19:14.329+02:00only muddy toes and the milkyway.<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One of my many intentions while here in Belgium was to write a lyrical essay as I experienced my exchange. It was a style of prose I was introduced to at the Young Writer's Institute the summer before I came, and I've loved it ever since. Essentially (at least in my definition), a lyrical essay is an ensemble of poetry which revolves around a certain theme or is written during a set period of time. It may be surrealist and appear to make no sense at all, or it may be very descriptive and appeal to all the senses; it simply depends on the style of the writer, as does any style of prose.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I never truly began to write with intent to finally make the essay, which explains the lack of correlation between the poetry that I've written here. Instead, I simply wrote to express myself (like always) in a notebook that I constantly carried with me, and this is the collection of some of that poetry, month by month, in my own kind of lyrical essay. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Don't worry if you don't understand; most of the time I don't even know what or how I'm writing. It's the beauty of surrealism and the subconscious of a higher reality.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">AUGUST:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">if i discovered the world, i would have thought this was the end of it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">clouds melting into ice, ice melting into rays of white,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a puddle of mid-winter familiar to the trod of thick-soled boots.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">plastic window at my fingertips blinds me but to a </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">wrinkled smile of recent laughter</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">asking me, "what do you want to be?"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i don't know, nor do i know the you</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"youth never will. 74 years still haven't given me the answer."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>comment dit-on life en français? c'est la vie.</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">try to speak words, but only stuttered incongruencies.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">see those eyes they dream, </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">as she melts the <em>chocolat</em> by <em>minuit</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>avec ségolène.</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">SEPTEMBER:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">minutes hide behind familiar words,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">their bloodshot eyes blind to learning.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">help me! <em>aidez-moi!</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>mais pourquoi?</em> the mirror's lips only whisper secrets.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">ten days and only twelve faces. <em>elle se moque de toi</em>.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and i whistled in the rain. </span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">OCTOBER:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">with you, i want an adventure.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i know of sweaty hands who feared they'd lose their grasp, </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">grasp of what they'd already captured:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a submissive firefly in a cupped-hand cage, glowing only to be his light.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">dreams, or rather hopeful predictions</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of swimming pools in the rainy snow,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">sheltered by the ceiling. darkness embraced by walls,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">disrupted by a smile- two smiles.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">water blurs my view and is in my nose,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but i feel a hand which takes my fingers captive,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">puts them in straight jackets,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">otherwise they'll go astray, in thought</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and in movement</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">from here.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">four legs propelling, treading upwards.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">feet clumsily make the next, first, bad impressions</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">as chlorine fights our drowning seconds</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and we pause the film and drown with them,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">take this picture as the last. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">breathe in, and satisfy the thirst of lungs.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but as lips part they are met by others</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and everything and nothing is lost.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">DECEMBER:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">listen to only words</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">lost in the laughter the pen writes,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the footprint stays.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">he stays to remind me,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>rappelle-moi, j'ai oublié</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">how to speak, how to sing.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">is this rambling? <em>je dévaugue</em>.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>peut-etre</em>. or maybe?</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">crowded train station with a toilet paper tree.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">benches full of eyes watching her read,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i'm reading</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">is this rambling?</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">JANUARY:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>mi chiamo jordanna</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>sono l'amica di sabina</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>sono americana</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>parlo inglese e francese</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i came here with a hug and two kissed cheeks.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">an artist told me</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i was an artist, in english</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">now useless but always used.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">how do i feel?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">FEBRUARY:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>est-ce que tu crois que</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i laugh to be heard </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and then run from those who hear?</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>est-ce que tu crois que</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>je crois que</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i don't know what it is to believe?</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">fallen leaves in disguise of winter</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">still crumble.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>sa beauté s'est fanée</em>.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i used to look through the train's window,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">seeing open fields interrupted by a cobblestone</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">road, harsh to my clenched hands and tires of my bike.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">seeing "linkebeek" graffitied in green,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">words i can not comprehend- </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">only colors.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i'd feel the trembling of the train</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">as he passed another;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">his strength rendered weak by an attraction</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of what he would be, of what he would say.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a force of fear and desire, aimless adventure.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">he knew me,</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">he spoke me-</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a language i did not know.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>MARCH:</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">bent comb bristles smile</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">like my mirror's crooked teeth<br />
tangled by intent to defy a childhood<br />
ashamed of natural tendency,<br />
drowned in tear-free<br />
strawberry scented spray<br />
from something like a fish.<br />
these bristles bend to free<br />
what is now creation. <br />
<br />
braided history, its sunshine<br />
reflects against her sticky sunglasses.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">cobblestones, they gleam, <br />
radiate.<br />
here is my skin for you, <em>soleil</em>,<br />
burn it, beauty it.<br />
leave my lonely shoulders<br />
touched.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">APRIL:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>une heure fanée</em></span>, <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>injectée</em></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>à mon sang.</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ce poison est venu</em></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>de ses yeux,</em></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>ses paroles de silence.</em></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the sea paints me </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">with his broken colors,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">fragility i crush in my palm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i am a canvas,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">your canvas,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">create me with sand between my toes.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the sun's yesterday</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">moves in monochrome</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">ever-changing</span>, <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but not in color.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i am a shadow,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">your shadow,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">leave me</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">where we wild as grass may grow.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">MAY:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we move in phases</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of playlists, preferred particularity.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we are nowhere, and she smiles </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">follow me, let you down</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yet it creates, transcending these</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">inverities of her rusted,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">metal reminissions.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">to liberate, to set to fail</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">or someone like vitalogy,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a mirrored indifference to august</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and everything after</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yourself or something like it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i see my yellowed fingers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">embrace</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">an unlit cigarette.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i will inhale your words,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">let them rest in my rusted lungs to then</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">exhale clouded Tuesday morning skies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">who dare cover my sun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">this is the imagery of sin,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">hiding behind my bitten, stuttered lip. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>JUNE:</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">barefoot, painting with naked colors stolen from the moon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we are an empty canvas,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">naive</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">wasting to read poetry scribbled under our skin,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">skin not yet immune to her sting,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">stinging lil.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and we laugh,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and freedom takes the world </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">between her fingertips.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">breaks the flower's withered stem,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a flower of</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> beginning's end,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yanks it from this warren soil,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and oh! how we are laughing still.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we feel her exhale,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and we exhale,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and the wish and the world is gone </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and we are dancing in the wind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">reality</span>,<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we will never know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">only muddy toes and the milkyway.</span></div></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-32457861655781531302011-06-01T22:21:00.004+02:002011-06-02T22:47:47.681+02:00as promised, if you've read.<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Passing Stranger</b> by <b>Walt Whitman</b> </div><div style="text-align: center;">(Read it aloud to feel it.)</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">PASSING Stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,</div><div style="text-align: left;">You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,</div><div style="text-align: left;">All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,</div><div style="text-align: left;">You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours</div><div style="text-align: left;">only nor left my body mine only,</div><div style="text-align: left;">You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take</div><div style="text-align: left;">of my beard, breast, hands, in return,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake</div><div style="text-align: left;">at night alone,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am to see to it that I do not lose you.</div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Le bois amical</b> de <b>Paul Valéry</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nous avons pensé des choses pures</div><div style="text-align: center;">Côte à côte, le long des chemins,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nous nous sommes tenus par les mains</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sans dire... parmi les fleurs obscures ;</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nous marchions comme des fiancés</div><div style="text-align: center;">Seuls, dans la nuit verte des prairies ;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nous partagions ce fruit de féeries</div><div style="text-align: center;">La lune amicale aux insensés</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Et puis, nous sommes morts sur la mousse,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Très loin, tout seuls parmi l’ombre douce</div><div style="text-align: center;">De ce bois intime et murmurant ;</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Et là-haut, dans la lumière immense,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nous nous sommes trouvés en pleurant</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ô mon cher compagnon de silence !</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Chanson d'automne</b> de <b>Paul Verlaine </b><br />
(One of my favorite French poets.)</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Les sanglots longs</div><div style="text-align: center;">Des violons</div><div style="text-align: center;">De l'automne</div><div style="text-align: center;">Blessent mon coeur</div><div style="text-align: center;">D'une langueur</div><div style="text-align: center;">Monotone.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tout suffocant</div><div style="text-align: center;">Et blême, quand</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sonne l'heure,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Je me souviens</div><div style="text-align: center;">Des jours anciens</div><div style="text-align: center;">Et je pleure</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Et je m'en vais</div><div style="text-align: center;">Au vent mauvais</div><div style="text-align: center;">Qui m'emporte</div><div style="text-align: center;">Deçà, delà,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pareil à la</div><div style="text-align: center;">Feuille morte.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
</blockquote>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-83997613122870934062011-06-01T22:03:00.004+02:002011-06-02T22:22:03.491+02:00perspicacious diversions.For my French class, I had to compose with a partner an anthology of six poems that we later had to present to our class in an original presentation. My partner and I decided to stage a piece of "theater" for our presentation in which I was an American living in Belgium for a year (no kidding!) who had met a Belgian and fallen in love. <br />
<br />
Yes, I know, it simply screams creativity.<br />
<br />
(Here may I add my observation that Belgians, or at least those in my class, are seemingly incapable to think "outside of the box". The majority of them had difficulties grasping the concepts of metaphors, symbols, and allegories- all of which had been introduced to them this year. <br />
<br />
For example, as we were reading Edgar Allen Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death", I had noticed that the seven rooms in Prospero's palace were placed from east to west, the easternmost being the blue room (symbolizing birth, the beginning of life) and the westernmost being the black and blood red room (obviously symbolizing death). I remarked that I loved the little detail that the rooms were placed from east to west to emphasize the symbolism since the sun rises in the east (sunrise represents beginning/birth) and sets in the west (sunset represents end/death), and I had simply made the remark in order to give credit to the genius of Mr. Poe (as he is an American). But instead my classmates gave me all the glory, as if I were the one to write it. I didn't write it, I simply analyzed- a simple analyzation that I'm sure most of my classmates in the US would have made right away.<br />
<br />
Due to this, I now crave more than ever to be intellectually challenged. I want to surround myself with people who love to learn and with whom I can discuss life, religion, politics, and cultures. I need to surround myself with motivated people- people who want to be, need to be challenged as much as I do. The problem is that my school in Belgium is densely populated with slackers. It's a "technical" school: it was originally created for students who didn't plan to go to college after high school, but now it's more or less for people who want to follow either a very specific option (such as Science or Economics) or a unique option (Athleticism or Cuisine), or it's for those who are having trouble in other schools and want either (a) a smaller school or (b) a school where it's much easier to slack off.<br />
<br />
Therefore, there are a lot of students who just don't try- or at least it seems to me that they go to school with their brains shut off. I can see the potential in these students, as they do well when they apply themselves, but they just don't try. They don't want to learn; they're going to school to go to school: to memorize for the test, take the test, and forget. Of course, in the United States there are a lot of students like this as well, but I just usually don't have classes with them. Though now I've been going to school with students of the sort for a year, and the lack of motivation that they bring to the classroom is contagious. As an exchange student, I had put myself at their level. I had told myself it was all right that I scored badly because everyone else had. It was all right that I hadn't done the "homework" because no one else had. It was all right that I hadn't tried because no one else had even wanted to try.<br />
<br />
But then I began to truly be able to work in French. I could understand everything (and if not I always had my handy-dandy dictionary); I could write; I could read. And then I realized the absence of motivation in the classroom, and I began to crave it.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I can say that when I became fluent in French, I began to miss school in the US. I felt like there was something I was missing- I wanted to, needed to learn more. By learning French, I had always been fed with knowledge- my hunger was constantly satisfied. Though when I began to learn less of French as I had known the language, my apetite- even larger than it was before- could not be appeased. <br />
<br />
I began raiding the cupboards, leaving the refridgerator door hanging wide open in search for anything to fill my stomach, empty and constantly rumbling. I bit into literature, gnawing away at it slowly so that each tastebud could learn a new word, a new taste. I read and read, but I needed more. I realized I needed other people with whom I could discuss what I'd read. I wanted a classroom and opinions, hands flying into the air to open other's eyes by sharing what had been seen.<br />
<br />
This then leads me to yet another example: for my French class I read <em>Servitude et Grandeur Militaires</em> de Alfred de Vigny, a Romantic writer of the 19th century. In the final recollections of the book, Vigny concludes that soldiers fight and die with little thought of God for they ultimately follow a different "God" which is Honor. He goes on to say that Honor is the virtue of the life of this world, that it is a guiding light which leads one to the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. Always and everywhere it maintains in all its beauty the individual dignity of man: it is manly decency. In the end, he feels that Honor should always possess such power and such beauty, and he hopes that no religion will try to suppress the sentiment.<br />
<br />
While reading this, I couldn't help but to think of Al Qaida and other extremist groups and the fact that they have nearly the same beliefs as Vigny. Of course, they don't follow the "religion" of Honor, but instead they abide by Honor in practice of their religion or ideology. Vigny believes that honor is manly decency; therefore he believes himself to be decent as he abides by honor. In the same sense, members of Al Qaida believe they are decent for they also submit themselves to honor. However, the honor of Vigny has not the same meaning as the honor of extremists, and this displays a way in which our society has changed since the 19th century due to racial and religious separations. Vigny hopes that no religion will try to suppress the sentiment of honor, but what he should in fact hope is that no religion should alter the definiton of honor.<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, as I read, I wanted more than anything to express these ideas with the class, have a group discussion where we could exchange point of views and opinions. I wanted to be in my school in the US, or at least any school that challenged me.<br />
<br />
I've now realized how much I've digressed.. Did you realize this was all in parenthesis? Well with that said I'm getting off this train and hopping onto the right one. Parenthèses terminées! ) <br />
<br />
So my Belgian friend and I acted out our presentation, for which I had to memorize three poems that I would like to share here (which was my primary objective for writing this post). But I'm going to post them after this or else this is going to be horrifically long... I'd be surprised if there's actually someone still reading this. (Click the smiley face below if you are, just to satiate my curiosity.) <br />
The presentation turned out really great by the way. I'd never realized how much I liked acting, or rather just making everyone laugh.<br />
Exactly what I'm not doing at this point in time,<br />
<em>alors je suis partie! </em>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-34744768684242353782011-06-01T01:46:00.005+02:002011-06-02T22:28:32.967+02:00he is henry david thoreau.Sleep right now would be logical, logical in that my body fatigues at such an hour of early morning when yesterday's tomorrow has already come and gone.<br />
<br />
My brain begins to decrease his speed, his rythmic footsteps are deep of a bass drum, <i>drum, drum, bum, bum, bum</i>. Deep and measured in nature's synchronisation. He walks in freedom of wandering thoughts and observation of all which he is born. Each morning I walk to feel my creation, to center myself. Listen to the trees, they are wiser. They have read more books, for they have written them in those constant rings. Rings of years and poetry, his music. Music recorded, forever inscribed, as the notes of summer's birds. True music, this is how to feel, how I feel, how she feels. We can only truly feel if we stay here. No, don't leave for cement sidewalks, littered with wasted paper we have stolen from wisdom, created from inutile intelligence of detail. <b>"Simplify, simplify, simplify"</b> as he had said. We stole from the earth to only let her body wither, weather. Now it must rain, and feel it. To feel, you need to stay. They'll corrupt you, shove an umbrella in your hand and tell you not to like the rain. Beauty is not to be wet; your makeup will run. To be dry is comforting; so tell me, why does the human body cry? The rain is beauty, beauty of the world's constant changing and giving to all she has created. We're thirsty, thirsty for knowledge and feeling. So drink. Feel the raindrop's rythym on your skin, of a deep bass drum, <i>drum, drum, bum, bum, bum</i>. Deep and measured in nature's synchronisation.<br />
<br />
I'm dancing.<br />
My body always in movement like the earth, never static. I spin, spin, and spin. Dizziness abrupts my thoughts other than that of sunlight. I see only sunlight, and blue, and a glimpse of leaves in green and my world is crashing down. I'm falling, fearless, for how am I to fear when I'm falling into heaven? <b>"Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads"</b> is a secret that we share, he and I. <br />
And I fall.<br />
<br />
And I think I'm dreaming, or maybe it's simply that <b>"our truest life is when we are in our dreams awake."</b><br />
<br />
Though sleep right now would be logical, logical in that my body fatigues at this hour of the morning- but is that an effect of corruption? Was the human body made to sleep as much as they tell us we should? Are we tired simply because they tell us we should be, technically? And what if we had never known, what if we had simply lived by true nature without searching for Science and his truth. Would we sleep but for four hours? For six? How much more life would we live if they wouldn't have told us when to sleep and when to awake, if we could just live by the nature of body without the mind's influence of "8 hours"? I can pose the question, but I will never know truth. All I do know, and he knows, is that <b>"it is unwise to keep the head long on a level with the feet."</b> Otherwise we can not see, we can not breathe, we cannot learn, we cannot be.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And <b>"how can any man be weak who dares to be at all?"</b></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBaIVbiLmBQ4M-WR0Ta4V8kfEfVjyG2TViTqEdQOdKJleWMCAk4UeVhQlvPjJ5m1CM_gnOTvFv7nQvU5l3MCYls01IIporVUXZ7MrPYYfLIUYEPPV35n0MuudGKfIYGNlA-f89kFFLko/s1600/DSCF7721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBaIVbiLmBQ4M-WR0Ta4V8kfEfVjyG2TViTqEdQOdKJleWMCAk4UeVhQlvPjJ5m1CM_gnOTvFv7nQvU5l3MCYls01IIporVUXZ7MrPYYfLIUYEPPV35n0MuudGKfIYGNlA-f89kFFLko/s400/DSCF7721.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59dHt8gsGO9W_o3qE_k70S7Sjn1PfkTKs1Hmqx624LBfSPZ1rcTgveYTNc7xgjmLA0MhQquTurli1Acn-n1hYhUfLccX4OWqjd4sV6xALMmwQMbpe4wQIU6M0b3ZbwZTbzu1Uqfa7NjU/s1600/DSCF4198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59dHt8gsGO9W_o3qE_k70S7Sjn1PfkTKs1Hmqx624LBfSPZ1rcTgveYTNc7xgjmLA0MhQquTurli1Acn-n1hYhUfLccX4OWqjd4sV6xALMmwQMbpe4wQIU6M0b3ZbwZTbzu1Uqfa7NjU/s400/DSCF4198.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Jordann Funk Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-91972182389081770632011-05-20T01:03:00.002+02:002011-05-20T01:11:01.372+02:00les sanglots longs des violins de l'automne.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think that I think too much, and then I sit here thinking of ways that I can stop myself from thinking too much, and then I realize that it's never going to end and that I just need to stop thinking about this all because it's just adding to my thoughts. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I promise, this isn't rambling, it's a serious matter..</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">or at least I think so.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZNnRGd6MqHjHhyphenhyphenuwyEo6ASNxtP9wWs3d1OOzJbPt8EtQ0eBcmkM_jiFqwcQ9SO6qtMdVNAGn-I1Q9FPltYruJHLy02acuZv6grbcM93bAKa1DP7i405mQwgn2qpmRFFukzlIKey72uI/s1600/DSCF7632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZNnRGd6MqHjHhyphenhyphenuwyEo6ASNxtP9wWs3d1OOzJbPt8EtQ0eBcmkM_jiFqwcQ9SO6qtMdVNAGn-I1Q9FPltYruJHLy02acuZv6grbcM93bAKa1DP7i405mQwgn2qpmRFFukzlIKey72uI/s400/DSCF7632.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But if you're like me, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and you need a place to think, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">go to <em>La-Roche-en-Ardenne</em>.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B3cjHLpzG54NLL6tkei8jo9QCLB-o122SgJoH8NK2WBZ3TKL0bHN8AD7f-d88rrGmWzd6pjtdnfJfzmeIqE5bnSetOMzpjkYFO9blI1FYMZmjETJFL2WeMW-gV78UObAjYDYcfQyL8g/s1600/DSCF7634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B3cjHLpzG54NLL6tkei8jo9QCLB-o122SgJoH8NK2WBZ3TKL0bHN8AD7f-d88rrGmWzd6pjtdnfJfzmeIqE5bnSetOMzpjkYFO9blI1FYMZmjETJFL2WeMW-gV78UObAjYDYcfQyL8g/s400/DSCF7634.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CRegMEihXVMMrICVXFai68p8BPpziqW5KU7Q9ai1YG3tuze7l7N-b_d6U4ItHDV3Z77AoEErXYjQXUq-xxZdnXjgCHDb4Agce-XvDy7mANE83kHSraxKRvlGIV0hix0zZJeyG1yYf4Q/s1600/DSCF7637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CRegMEihXVMMrICVXFai68p8BPpziqW5KU7Q9ai1YG3tuze7l7N-b_d6U4ItHDV3Z77AoEErXYjQXUq-xxZdnXjgCHDb4Agce-XvDy7mANE83kHSraxKRvlGIV0hix0zZJeyG1yYf4Q/s400/DSCF7637.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's where you can be in Belgium,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Le Plat Pays" (the flat country) according to Jacques Brel,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and walk on top of the world..</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">or at least that's how I felt.</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Maybe it just takes nine months without mountains to realize their beauty.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Oh, Pennsylvania's autumn. I can't wait to dance with you.</span></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-46552822632361385882011-05-15T16:57:00.005+02:002011-05-21T22:10:09.795+02:00une pensée a day keeps the doctor away.As we live, we meet people who teach us new words, unique words of inimitable rythyms. Before long, every word comes together and we learn to speak a language we had never known, a language true and pure: we learn to speak ourselves.<br />
<br />
I've never been so fluent in the language, so fluent in myself. The people I've met and experiences I've had in the last three months of my exchange have impacted me so strongly. I see the world differently, I've learned new colors and new meanings.<br />
<br />
Most people think it's only natural to know what love is and what friendship is, and I was one of those people. I'd assumed there was nothing beyond what I'd already experienced in my life. Love was love; Friendship was friendship.<br />
<br />
Though I had always felt something was missing. Although I was never alone, I was alone all the time (credit to the song Glycerine by Bush for that last line). I had people in my life that I loved, people that I laughed with and cried with; people with whom embarrassment did not exist and no secret was left untold.<br />
<br />
But I'd never known someone who saw the world in the same way I did, or rather someone who looked beyond the world as I did, as I do. I just figured that every person is unique, therefore I would never know someone like me. And I was content with that. I wasn't truly happy with it, but I was content.<br />
<br />
Then I met someone who inspired me.<br />
I met someone who looked beyond the world like me, but in a different way. They taught me their perspective, and I felt inspiration.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><strong>May 19, 2011:</strong> But what is inspiration? <br />
<br />
I feel as if most people live with their hands raised to their face, covering their eyes like in a game of hide-and-seek. We'll count off years like seconds, waiting to begin the search for life- or rather, why we live. <br />
<br />
We say, "<em>Oh, I'll count until twenty and then I'll start searching</em>." <br />
But then some people get too carried away in counting, too carried away in the rythym of a monotonous life. They'll count and count, "<em>Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine</em>," and by the time they uncover their eyes, they have but a few seconds left to find a life that has been hidden for years, crouching in the shadowed corner of that place they'd always wanted to discover but never had the time.<br />
Others find themselves incapable of lowering their hands since either fear or apathy won't allow them. Maybe at times they'll peak through gapped fingers, but they never find the courage or aspiration to see more than that.<br />
<br />
Anyone can blindly count their life away; anyone can simply exist and never care to see what lies beyond the sweaty palms of their hands. But to be someone, to find who we are, we need to open our eyes and search. We need to have the courage to see the world for its venom- for those who poison and for those who cure. We need to realize why we live, what makes us happy- as that is each person's definition.<br />
<br />
Nature makes some people happy, sports make others happy. For some people it's only money, or art, or helping others. We're all different because different aspects of life bring us happiness, and therefore each of us leads a different life because we don't all follow the same thing.<br />
<br />
Though it's difficult to find exactly that, to find what makes us our own person, our own definition. We keep covering our eyes and hoping we'll blindly stumble upon it, <br />
or we wait until we're inspired.<br />
<br />
Inspiration allows us to see.<br />
It can be a word, a person, a book or a song. Anything or anyone that makes us lose track of our countdown, to slowly lower our hands and open our eyes. We'll stare forward, see the world, see the sun. See lips moving and feet walking. We'll feel, and we'll understand.<br />
<br />
Understanding this inspiration, I feel that it serves as the base of love and friendship as well: to love is to be with someone who always inspires us, and at the same time, we never cease to inspire them.</blockquote><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That inspiration defined friendship, defined love. I realized I wanted to surround myself with people who could better me, who were able to turn the world I had clenched in my hand so that I could see it in a new way<br />
<br />
I wanted to surround myself with people who could teach me, and I could teach them.<br />
<br />
Friendship is more than laughing with someone. It's feeling with someone,<br />
someone who defines life as more than a meager existence. <br />
<br />
My mind is now so open, so clear. I crave to learn and to live.<br />
I love my friends, as I now am aware of the subject, verb, and object in that sentence.<br />
<br />
Life, <br />
just come to me.<br />
<strong>I'm ready to learn you and to breathe you.</strong></span>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-63672376660707008542011-05-10T00:17:00.003+02:002011-05-15T22:40:54.749+02:00a smile in italian.April 10th, 2011 was a date always on my tongue- a date I'd looked forward to even when I wasn't bilingual, when I was nothing but American.<br />
<br />
April 10th until April 20th- ten days where I would travel throughout Italy with the other exchange students of Rotary. I would see Rome, Naples, Florence, Pompeii, Pisa, and Venice. <br />
<br />
When I’d signed up for the trip in the US, I wasn't able to comprehend its reality since it was nearly 9 months away. <br />
During the rainy winter of Belgium, I couldn’t imagine that I was actually going to see the sunshine, be basking in sunshine for 10 days.<br />
And when I'd finally sat down on the double-decker bus that would take me through the Alps and along the Mediterranean; that would take me to see the Coliseum and the leaning tower of Pisa, I still wasn’t able to truly realize what I was about to do or where I was about to go. <br />
It seemed as if I was defying some part of reality.<br />
<br />
Even now, nearly a month after April 10th- a date no longer on my tongue- I feel like those ten days never happened. <br />
I know that they happened: I replay them in my mind and recount the stories. But I can’t feel them. <br />
<br />
I’d discovered beauty and captured it in photographs, but that’s all that remains- along with some souvenirs which barely bring back what they literally mean: the word souvenir, in French, translates into memory.<br />
<br />
But every materialistic object that I’ve brought back from Italy does not appear to me as a memory. A memory is a fragment of the past which we remember since it has emotionally affected us in some way, but I've yet feel affected by what those ten days have brought me because I cannot yet recall them as reality.<br />
<br />
I simply know that the beginning of the month of April was consumed by a meaningless waiting for the future- a sleeping future which quickly and unintentionally devoured what remained of the month. I woke up on April 21st and then read John Steinbeck’s East of Eden until the 23rd when I had to wiggle the book in my bulging suitcase. I didn’t open it again until I was lying at the beach of the Belgian sea with my new, third, and final host family.<br />
<br />
That day the sun was shining, and it hasn’t stopped shining since. Belgium is smiling with summer, simply begging for us to discover her. I’ve spent more time in the woods by my house than I have actually under the roof. There are train tracks that run through the forest, and I spend my free time with my back against a tree next to the tracks, either reading or writing, and waiting for a train to speed by me. It gives me a sense of adventure, a desire to discover all the world has in store for me. I want to be on the train; I want to go where it takes me, and as I step off I’ll simply follow the sun- wander in a rhythm of mistakes and liberties in order to find the beauty of the world and of people.<br />
<br />
I’m just really happy, and I’m not sure how else to put it. I can’t wait to live.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5599976774508559601%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26authkey%3DGv1sRgCMT-6-TuhOP6jgE%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></div></embed><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">(Italy 2011: Here are photos in exchange of words.)</div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-69693212201278975092011-04-27T00:15:00.002+02:002011-04-27T00:15:20.337+02:00I love who I've become.x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-52070653724580628422011-04-07T23:59:00.005+02:002011-04-26T22:02:27.898+02:00suis le soleil.<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I feel so ... inspired.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So free, at ease.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm not sure if it's the sunshine,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">or if I'm simply holding onto his words.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Suis le soleil </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Follow the sun </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's written on my hand, and it reminds me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Do what I'll remember, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Do what will be illuminated by the sun and not lost in darkness.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Follow the sun for his light and for his smile.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tell me what life is</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and then tell me why not?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If we never went out of the lines</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we would never know art.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Follow the sun</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the wind</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the music</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Follow to stumble upon and not to search.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wander in a rythym of liberties and mistakes.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just tell me what life is.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then tell me, </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">why not?</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_BJNrb3I9pncZUEXu7PNqmj7PXxTFqK4Sy9Zf9XA6J9ROyO7MmLoyMiGOb1B8gMipjSEBEbIWqZBZH14OVPXimaWLKBzSnHB_pkM-vwICL4kWcgqokU-IC42ux97K48tNupy-hU7PS8/s1600/beachhhh..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; height: 391px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 271px;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_BJNrb3I9pncZUEXu7PNqmj7PXxTFqK4Sy9Zf9XA6J9ROyO7MmLoyMiGOb1B8gMipjSEBEbIWqZBZH14OVPXimaWLKBzSnHB_pkM-vwICL4kWcgqokU-IC42ux97K48tNupy-hU7PS8/s400/beachhhh..jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Jordann Funk Photography</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-80376276692844307782011-03-28T17:58:00.001+02:002011-03-28T17:59:59.482+02:00thank you.Lately I’ve been worrying about my future, just as any teenager would at this point in his or her life.<br />
<br />
I’ve made plans only to crumble them up and toss them into the monotonous pile of what would have been: a pile which lies in the shadowed, humid corner of my mind; a pile which grows rooted in fear, unease, and expectancy.<br />
<br />
I only love to walk when I don’t have a destination. Otherwise we don’t realize the simplicities which surround us. Otherwise destination is our dictator: he controls each turn we take and the pace at which we walk. Otherwise, we’re not free.<br />
<br />
I was on a train saying <em>this is where I’m going</em>, <em>this is what I’ll do</em>.<br />
<br />
But he said to me, “If you don’t like to walk with a destination, you won’t like to live with one either.” <br />
<br />
That pile now burns in sunshine of a vast, wild meadow of my mind.x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-86869659185423757962011-03-22T15:44:00.016+01:002011-03-28T21:43:15.145+02:00les vacances de carnaval.From the 5th to the 11th of March, I knew nothing but hours passed on trains and my camera’s game of focus.<br />
<br />
<strong>Aachen, Germany: le 5 mars.</strong><br />
we pass a crippled train: his thoughts,<br />
in blue jeans and a black baseball cap,<br />
are searching these barren tracks,<br />
in vain.<br />
<br />
an Unwinding grey morning<br />
of whites and weak colors watch<br />
his absent gaze<br />
as we dive into the sky,<br />
we rise over an empty horizon<br />
<br />
to only hide behind it again<br />
and we Never,<br />
stop to help.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We meet a man in a rabbit fur hat. His teeth, yellowed by the dull contrast of a grey beard, lend us a history book through English words a little rougher than normal.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The day was grey as we searched for colors eventually found in apartments and</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">those bloodshot eyes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">blue eyes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">an excellent musician</span>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">you have une jolie tête</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a pretty head, he said.</span></div><br />
<div align="center"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584779537580726513%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Chateau de la Hulpe, Le lac de Genval: le 6 mars</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I lived in a memory</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">les tomates et basilic</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of a misplaced picnic table in Turtle Creek</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">red plaid gardens watered in night,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">wild in raspberries</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and chocolate’s zucchini</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">round stolen colors roll in my palm</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yellow-ish orange, orange-ish red</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(those colors fallen leaves only imitate</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">in envy of my tastebuds)<br />
<br />
the taste of tomato caprese.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584785109860794833%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></embed></span><br />
<div align="center"></span></div><div align="center"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584786313214223153%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Liège: le 7 mars</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">train toilets have become my throne</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">indefinite</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">as we move and stop</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">only words in a stutter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of what should be done</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">or is it obligation?<br />
<br />
how to dry your hands</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and wash them: sanitation for its sake</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">security, fear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">for longer years only moving and stopping</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">my words</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">our words in a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">in a stutter<br />
<br />
11h41: 2 hours and 13 minutes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pittsburgh and back</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARfEtxkI58aN2YNA7pVwfwj7PWsfEYcVWZszllpx94b__kXE_jJlLjLKQYWF8CV2o-Cysndk2DnvLQAg52Ke0cwdm4Bwc8U3lWP62qbTmxpKm4S8D0yiPJiFYwb0AqikPhbooYtmeZX0/s1600/DSCF9945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARfEtxkI58aN2YNA7pVwfwj7PWsfEYcVWZszllpx94b__kXE_jJlLjLKQYWF8CV2o-Cysndk2DnvLQAg52Ke0cwdm4Bwc8U3lWP62qbTmxpKm4S8D0yiPJiFYwb0AqikPhbooYtmeZX0/s320/DSCF9945.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Carnaval à Binche: le 8 mars</span></span></strong></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Oranges of gold</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gold oranges</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Litter the street</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And fill their bag</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Teeth smile and sputter saliva of youth</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And its civilization,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">«Madame, Madame : Gardez le sac. »</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">« Votre montre,</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">s’il vous plait.»</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
Coca cans kicked in cobblestone streets-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is where we sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And where we feast upon our</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Oranges of gold,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gold oranges</span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584775838102562225%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></embed></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lost: le 9 mars</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lille, France : le 10 mars</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584786741783029489%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></embed></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Maastricht, the Netherlands : le 11 mars</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5584774678218794065%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="192" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="288"></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></embed></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Le 12 mars I bought daffodils to see her smile.</span></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-21119344063514244282011-03-01T00:02:00.006+01:002011-03-06T11:17:43.151+01:00c'est la vie.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj4zF4_jk8K_qBPg15EoIAV-dBKLPARFAjPlcPHNS63hchdj2iMypN9PAAhrbqgHYZ2OiJbvfo5MSIxuilN-0OzF3TfXJUk13geivh4zWEngq8lnZbe_oLEebSb74w8wGSRqnb-qQhxg/s1600/DSCF9276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj4zF4_jk8K_qBPg15EoIAV-dBKLPARFAjPlcPHNS63hchdj2iMypN9PAAhrbqgHYZ2OiJbvfo5MSIxuilN-0OzF3TfXJUk13geivh4zWEngq8lnZbe_oLEebSb74w8wGSRqnb-qQhxg/s320/DSCF9276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I haven't forgotten what I love and have left behind,</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrj-pAp-MxDC-axK0jELuSnp2zQyNVPZgfFFoXkrZxNPyICRu6NU6AYUWCCbmm6CoS9VfSdhY7OtQ5dYbmvfGTJVK6b6XQPjUBeMI6EJeAD8iasg-MvjOVX9CZsVgn7xXP_UHZCkaoJU/s1600/DSCF9344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrj-pAp-MxDC-axK0jELuSnp2zQyNVPZgfFFoXkrZxNPyICRu6NU6AYUWCCbmm6CoS9VfSdhY7OtQ5dYbmvfGTJVK6b6XQPjUBeMI6EJeAD8iasg-MvjOVX9CZsVgn7xXP_UHZCkaoJU/s320/DSCF9344.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">though it's hard to feel deeply nostalgic <br />
when I wake up to the laughter of sparrows and starlings </td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQeJdBJTajl89HqR6t5iDYW-U62hHdWwQpzN9Ti2Q9GCAV20eP_xZvRcM1yzlV_261j3JA0x_J-EOQqE1CjviOcK9uxeDGYnMD_zmkFC2mH9I8OG9P5pDZiBccU40ktkMrSjTyVzgtYs/s1600/DSCF9364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQeJdBJTajl89HqR6t5iDYW-U62hHdWwQpzN9Ti2Q9GCAV20eP_xZvRcM1yzlV_261j3JA0x_J-EOQqE1CjviOcK9uxeDGYnMD_zmkFC2mH9I8OG9P5pDZiBccU40ktkMrSjTyVzgtYs/s320/DSCF9364.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and then soon venture outside to fetch eggs for breakfast<br />
from the chicken coop in the backyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hpWdAGqPmvts33XuN5fy9ae69BGbNKzGFbnPBDUxi933FibJY_sk3AAlIkdqzXSTswProYkmjsJIXTbDmaDhg7SmohrEPxOqWAIUns36cDKq-hVx9al9S2_SgcSiGz3Us-UV02lkb3U/s1600/DSCF9369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hpWdAGqPmvts33XuN5fy9ae69BGbNKzGFbnPBDUxi933FibJY_sk3AAlIkdqzXSTswProYkmjsJIXTbDmaDhg7SmohrEPxOqWAIUns36cDKq-hVx9al9S2_SgcSiGz3Us-UV02lkb3U/s320/DSCF9369.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">accompanied by my best friend Bounty,</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9NBOYeLyoDrduxI2eon6eKA8xuLlmRXLGk2C8wjwbFLYtCbz-7sShAIFP4g5QBCZZXeHwsbseLxEVR7MtOWyTCym-T8A_eH7sn4Z02mDc0Ermwszp4jduTygayQtg9t2iUsgHnybg9k/s1600/DSCF9385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9NBOYeLyoDrduxI2eon6eKA8xuLlmRXLGk2C8wjwbFLYtCbz-7sShAIFP4g5QBCZZXeHwsbseLxEVR7MtOWyTCym-T8A_eH7sn4Z02mDc0Ermwszp4jduTygayQtg9t2iUsgHnybg9k/s320/DSCF9385.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and, as I walk back in the house, hear the song I'm whistling repeated in a chipper tone, </td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="text-align: center;"> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiXH6_oEV6p2sQXh0taR5Pil1gljL5vZmPBrwaPCTH5qwP-tz2poTsLg7AQxm98wES68t6Ipd13rnse1DZXdKAJQEAY_qC1u0w1WGx0aUAaIc7qL6puHnlze2nO9_n3uDFxyK2nzVlmI0/s1600/DSCF9302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiXH6_oEV6p2sQXh0taR5Pil1gljL5vZmPBrwaPCTH5qwP-tz2poTsLg7AQxm98wES68t6Ipd13rnse1DZXdKAJQEAY_qC1u0w1WGx0aUAaIc7qL6puHnlze2nO9_n3uDFxyK2nzVlmI0/s320/DSCF9302.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and it's especially difficult to feel nostalgic when I know that no matter what<br />
I can always buy a waffle from the hippy van down the street. </td></tr>
</tbody></table> </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-77244600443393240712011-02-27T00:12:00.003+01:002011-02-27T11:28:28.196+01:00je suis minuit.The half-way point. <br />
It's a time during which an exchange student can't help but to think: <br />
to think about what they've done and what they've yet to do; what they've learned and what they've yet to learn.<br />
To think about how they've changed in personality and opinion, and how their home has changed in meaning and comfort.<br />
<br />
Have I changed?<br />
Should I hear it in my laugh <br />
or in the way I say my name? Although it is true that I now prefer the French JorDANN more than a simple "Jordin". <br />
And that's a change.<br />
<br />
En fait, I have a hard time remembering who I was before I came to Belgium, or rather, who I was before I began my life as an exchange student. When I think of how to label myself, the only thing that comes to mind is <i>exchange student</i> or something in its effect.<br />
How can I know if I've changed if I don't know who the person was that changed?<br />
<br />
My year of 2010 was entirely consumed by what I would become. I worked, thought, wondered, worried, and worked some more. By the end of August, I could finally say "I am" rather than "I'm going to be."<br />
Looking back on it, it's as if the majority of 2010 didn't exist: I'd gone all-in with the present for a chance of a better future.<br />
Slowly pushing a messy, colorful pile of seconds, minutes, and hours towards the center of the table, I'd bet it all for what I'd hoped to win. All the while, I had never felt so weak, so vulnerable.<br />
For strength's reputation, I bluffed. Though I had to force a smile rather than try to prevent one. How is it that no one ever called it?<br />
<br />
But I never folded my hand,<br />
and here I am: sitting on my bed in Belgium with my laptop cradled between my knees, content to have made the bet.<br />
<br />
"and here I am."<br />
What is "I"? A single letter so powerful and uncertain.<br />
You may read this and think you know "I": the way "I" speaks or the way "I" wanders.<br />
But "I" isn't who <strong>"I" <i>was</i></strong>, it's rather who <strong>je <i>suis</i></strong>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I no longer want to fly.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I did, I would never witness the puddle's goosebumps when he feels the touch of the rain. I would never hear Abe Lincoln, his cheek pressed against the sidewalk, begging for liberation to simply give luck for a day.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm now patriotic.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Living in Belgium has made me appreciate the US: it's constant laughter, always listened to like music and never criticized; it's open roads, wide enough that we can drive our aspirations as well as our "big American trucks."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've forgotten how to spell and instead learned how to breathe.</span></div><div align="center" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Words have no sense: they're powerless in the presence of a crooked smile </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and its captivation,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">of humbled innocence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think I'm just who I'm supposed to be, though I always will become. It's a constant effect of time and its duration.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And in effect of time and its speed as well as the body's gradual exhaustion,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">writing has finishe </span></div></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-19365367986498596062011-02-10T19:10:00.003+01:002011-02-10T21:47:02.264+01:00bientôt.Everyone had told me, “You’re going to Belgium? I hope you like the rain.” <br />
I would defy them all with a smile and a witty reply, <br />
“Of course I do. All the better to dance in.” <br />
<br />
Now for nearly six months, I haven't seen the sun.<br />
I've sang<br />
<i>"Rain, rain, go away. Please come back another day"</i> <br />
and I've shouted <br />
<i>"Olly Olly Oxen Free!"</i> <br />
but never a reply.<br />
<br />
My dance always stops at the sound of "hypothermie!" and loud shivers as my bones shake.<br />
I'd never realized before that smiles can only be seen in sunshine. Something like Luminol and a blacklight.<br />
<br />
But today it was Spring in Belgium: sunshine, 45 degrees, and the birds' constant laughter as they mocked the naked trees. As school had finished in the afternoon, I rested at the campus to witness the smile of my friend Catherine as she drove off on her new Vespa scooter, and then my friend Charlie and I began our Tuesday walk together, me toward the nearest bus stop and him on his way home. <br />
I was liberated of my wool scarf, knitted gloves, and heavy winter jacket. The air smelled so crisp, fresh, new.. Am I in Belgium?<br />
The sunshine highlighted the simplistic beauty of every smile and the skip in every step, and all I could do was laugh. Charlie couldn’t help but question my amusement. As we walked, he continued to glance over, an all-too-familiar look on his face which always says, “crazy American girl.” My only reply was, “soleil” as I tossed my hands into the air and smiled at the sky, spinning once to feel the dance of my dress lead by the step of the wind. <br />
<br />
I've known 170 days in Belgium,<br />
and I've yet to meet 142 more. <br />
<br />
Did I ever tell you that, with the time change, 5 months is 5 weeks here? I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon, because soon is the only way things know to be. <br />
For example, soon I’ll finish writing, and soon I’ll go to sleep. Soon I’ll wake up, and soon I’ll go to school. Soon is Friday and even sooner is Monday. Soon is March, April, and May. Soon I’ll say “Happy Birthday” to my best friend in the US over Skype, and soon I’ll post “Tu me manques..” on Charlie's Facebook wall.<br />
<br />
All too soon is “au revoir” <br />
in all its irony <br />
followed by an unaccepted <br />
hello.x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-88819898977249415642011-02-10T17:39:00.000+01:002011-02-10T17:39:05.400+01:00who's jordann funk?FOR: FUNK/JORDANN LEA<br />
ROTARY BELGIUM-RETURN FOR JORDANN FUNK<br />
<br />
13 JUL 11 - WEDNESDAY<br />
<br />
AIR UNITED AIRLINES <br />
LV BRUSSELS 1200N <br />
08HR 18MIN<br />
<br />
AR WASHINGTON DULLES 218P NON-STOP <br />
<br />
SEAT-38J<br />
<br />
AIR UNITED AIRLINES <br />
<br />
OPERATED BY /UNITED EXPRESS/SHUTTLE AMERICA<br />
<br />
LV WASHINGTON DULLES 500P <br />
01HR 06MIN<br />
<br />
AR PITTSBURGH 606P NON-STOP <br />
<br />
SEAT-7Ax jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-6766911112646533102011-01-22T17:11:00.166+01:002011-03-06T11:24:15.502+01:00monotony of change.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F109135285357910365139%2Falbumid%2F5565036898859925473%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" height="211" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" style="height: 211px; width: 347px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="347"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"></embed></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's the end of January.<br />
<br />
I returned from Italy on the morning of the 8th, and the following day's afternoon I moved to my second host family.<br />
<br />
Normally, I'd write and write about the changes in my life, but change has become so normal that when something new happens, I don't feel its excitement and the need to express it.<br />
<br />
It also doesn't help that my other hobbies have over-ruled writing.<br />
<br />
For example, I now have a guitar that I can keep until the end of the year; I borrowed it off a neighbor of my first host family. However, at my first house I couldn't really play much because my host sisters really enjoyed their silence. That meant I could only play in about 15 minute intervals and never after 9pm. Seeing it that 15 minutes is a minute in regards to playing guitar and at home I usually play before I go to sleep, </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and then consequently this happens:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3bjOAyLV9e3te_Pcsyzfon-63UWTZx4u7dLEABfZD2EVKZNwuwvqqaMed6eKIQF8etamT0hq9TVIf3guKfHOyRnHCrskDD0ozmHVwTkpvvJ-fQ11ViQVPD1GpYL_VUpg_H8JetRz69I/s1600/Image011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3bjOAyLV9e3te_Pcsyzfon-63UWTZx4u7dLEABfZD2EVKZNwuwvqqaMed6eKIQF8etamT0hq9TVIf3guKfHOyRnHCrskDD0ozmHVwTkpvvJ-fQ11ViQVPD1GpYL_VUpg_H8JetRz69I/s200/Image011.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I really couldn't play at all. Though now, my host family doesn't mind in the least and my host sister understands the need as she plays piano as well. Consequently, I've been playing all the time, which of course has its negative effects as I choose it over school work and tend to seclude myself by playing. Nonetheless, I did the same thing in the US, so the downfalls provide a feeling of home.<br />
<br />
Another hobby that's taken away from my writing is reading, and unfortunately, it's not reading in French. Currently my English class is reading <i>East of Eden</i> by John Steinback, but the abridged version of course. Though my teacher wanted me to actually participate in the class, especially since "John Steinback is an American writer of German decent, just like you Miss Funk," so he bought me the original version. I'd also mentioned I wanted to read <i>1984</i> by George Orwell, so he bought me that as well. As he handed me the two books on our last day of school before vacation with a smiling "Merry Christmas", I couldn't help but to return an even brighter "Pennsylvanian smile" (as he always refers to it). They were by far my favorite Christmas presents.<br />
<br />
Well, at least my favorite <i>tangible</i> Christmas presents. Italy was unforgettable, so unforgettable that I have yet to really write about it because I feel my photos (slideshow above) and memory will suffice. I was welcomed in Rome on the night of the 29th by one of those wonderful airport hugs and a family dinner full of smiles and misunderstandings. My friend Sabina is an only child whose mother can speak English but not her father. Therefore, at dinner we'd talk in English but then feel guilty for leaving Sabina's dad out of the conversation, so we'd translate everything back to him. For once, I wasn't the one in need of the translation, but sooner than later, that need was constant as the next day Sabina and I jumped in a car with her friends and headed off to Tuscany. For four days, we, 15 Italian teenagers and 1 American teenager, stayed in a house in the countryside of Tuscany to celebrate New Year's Eve. We played cards and foozball alot, and I realized how far a person can communicate with simply body language.<br />
<br />
I also realized how lucky I am to have chosen Belgium for my exchange. I'd always thought that the open-minds of Belgians regarding foreigners and the English language were simply the same as other Europeans. Though, my stay in Italy made me realize that Italians in general are nearly the opposite. The typical "Italian" stands firmly by the idea that the Italian language is all they'll ever need; they may realize the importance of English and other languages but don't bother to learn them. However, for parents who decide they want their child to learn English, the price is quite expensive. My friend's mother, who is more or less revered since she knows English, teaches the language in one-on-one sessions for fifty euro an hour, all without having a degree. As Sabina's family understands the growing importance of English, they had decided to send Sabina on an exchange to the US so she could learn the language. Nonetheless, none of Sabina's friends could understand why she was doing the exchange; they didn't see the point in it. On the contrary, in Belgium, more or less every student does some sort of exchange to learn English; it's just an average part of education. Therefore, after adapting to the Belgian mindset, I had been more than surprised by that of the Italians.<br />
<br />
Also, Sabina's family had told me about the exchange student from Canada they had hosted while Sabina was in America. Her name was Marjorie: she was short, blonde, and blue-eyed like me. In other words, she was the typical "dream girl" of Italian boys since in Italy, everyone has dark hair and dark eyes, and it's always human nature to prefer what is different. (During my stay in Italy, I almost felt watched as I'd be the only person on the metro or on the bus with blonde hair, or at least natural blonde hair. I've never gotten so much attention from guys in my life.) Therefore, all of Marjorie's classmates had thought she was pretty and gave her attention the first few days, but then before long, they more or less rejected her since she didn't speak their language. They didn't even try to communicate with her; they simply gave up. This really just amazed me because my classmates in Belgium were the opposite: my first day of school they accepted me, and they tried their hardest to communicate with me. They never gave up.<br />
<br />
All of this just made me realize that I've really made the right choice by spending my year in Belgium. It may not be significantly different from the US, but it's better than being different in a negative manner such as in Marjorie's case. Though sometimes I do wish that I had chosen a Latin American country where I could lounge on the beach all day and actually see sunshine; but I really don't think I would have succeeded with Spanish since I can't roll my R's<br />
<br />
Sunshine would be really great though. People aren't kidding when they say it only rains in Belgium.<br />
<i>Rain, rain, go away. Please come back another day.</i>Another day when Jordann has left your country.<br />
<br />
Which reminds me: I have to choose a return date soon. I've never felt like more of a walking contradiction. I want to stay; I want to go. I have to choose a date to love and to hate. Who wants to be the lucky winner? I think it'll be a date I'll always remember.<br />
<br />
Like my birthday, the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow it's January 25th. Didn't January just start?<br />
<br />
I need to stop wasting time talking about the speed of time<br />
and I need to stop rambling.<br />
I'm rambling.<br />
Goodbye.</span></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-45170295285913350062010-12-29T14:32:00.001+01:002010-12-29T14:37:44.612+01:00roma.Oh yeah, forgot to add in there that I'm going to board a plane this afternoon and head off to Italy for ten days.<br />
Better yet, I'm going to visit and stay with one of my good friends, Sabina, who was an exchange student in the US last year. She lives in Rome, and we're going to Tuscany for New Year's Eve.<br />
<br />
It's just like a 10-day youth exchange in Italy, something that Sabina and I had always talked about as I was going to Belgium and she was returning home. We'd both be in Europe, so we'd have to visit eachother.<br />
<br />
But in all honesty, I never thought it would happen.<br />
<br />
I'm going to see her in four and a half hours. <br />
Is this reality?x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-72226281447571470512010-12-23T22:41:00.002+01:002010-12-24T00:06:12.467+01:00plaisirs d'hiver.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzbtavi__oBh6aAb3txSmV9e0jAf9oHy5zQTdH_ETHpCsCw9teDrF42XSXcFU8JzSOLQGMVvaWfqpmT0QTU1Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07pk17v8grRFelB0q0g9IQ0G5-451UrqPJwojICmliC4IJTFh3SK9TFVykUkfpPgGl0Nje6NQukDS3HR_3oX2SdhrJeR9jShxjGNZJXTLvGJoYZmGqeohzKQDpF-ajzekRgXDikxCC_4/s1600/DSCF8414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07pk17v8grRFelB0q0g9IQ0G5-451UrqPJwojICmliC4IJTFh3SK9TFVykUkfpPgGl0Nje6NQukDS3HR_3oX2SdhrJeR9jShxjGNZJXTLvGJoYZmGqeohzKQDpF-ajzekRgXDikxCC_4/s400/DSCF8414.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80AeefTyPSSfNvuGJe-o4zmlWy1pKbp5s49CY3H4g8sCdA01YucxlBBj2AiqR-rOtjEhML69sZ43tecS3NVqoK4x1AssLkcb9-8wS_mhaFHdinzIjr_3vH4wghai4JbNPJVl-tQcN_2I/s1600/DSCF8413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80AeefTyPSSfNvuGJe-o4zmlWy1pKbp5s49CY3H4g8sCdA01YucxlBBj2AiqR-rOtjEhML69sZ43tecS3NVqoK4x1AssLkcb9-8wS_mhaFHdinzIjr_3vH4wghai4JbNPJVl-tQcN_2I/s400/DSCF8413.JPG" width="331" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiwCh8XvKWazILpDnTLpWrDRgmJcbWV2h4C1tgPrqkeiM_8kY7GtoHCdFasqCn_rKfOsFVbnrHhFgsW1E9-AnJ773UfVT67Tqd8LwbiewgyXml6aL7xrj6BxVJNRhhbgr_VN76xQZrbs/s1600/DSCF8421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiwCh8XvKWazILpDnTLpWrDRgmJcbWV2h4C1tgPrqkeiM_8kY7GtoHCdFasqCn_rKfOsFVbnrHhFgsW1E9-AnJ773UfVT67Tqd8LwbiewgyXml6aL7xrj6BxVJNRhhbgr_VN76xQZrbs/s400/DSCF8421.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N0BNfF6NLzHxv5E5e3rgAXysfKq8ptqyg4_DN7-qtqKaqCZ_jYFN7fORjZAKFmYBmlCBLlkS4GN_Ibo08D2KiRz_ppraaSuwaROIPeIJ1-Uuka5X-I3YKVD5pFZf-Gtbyb_yu5kf37U/s1600/DSCF8412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N0BNfF6NLzHxv5E5e3rgAXysfKq8ptqyg4_DN7-qtqKaqCZ_jYFN7fORjZAKFmYBmlCBLlkS4GN_Ibo08D2KiRz_ppraaSuwaROIPeIJ1-Uuka5X-I3YKVD5pFZf-Gtbyb_yu5kf37U/s400/DSCF8412.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-81111504080452800502010-12-18T19:47:00.000+01:002010-12-19T01:05:19.663+01:00belgië, zijn muziek.I stood in front of the doors of Woudec in Alsemberg.<br />It had taken me fifteen minutes to walk there- five minutes more than usual due to the frequent slide of my feet on the icy sidewalks.<br />The doors opened up for me, and as my legs rushed in, ready to find refuge from the cold, I heard the common <em>beep</em> which signaled my arrival.<br /> <br />I raised my eyes from the ground as I walked forward and saw an elderly woman speaking with an employee of the store. <br /><em>"So is it supposed to work this way?"<br />"Yes, that's right. Here, let me show you."</em><br /><br />While thinking about how much I'd liked the employee's accent, I realized he was talking in English. They were talking in English.<br /><br />I continued to the counter, waiting for the person in front of me to finish. In his hands was a Nikon DSLR, and he was saying something along the lines of "Mijn camera werkt niet goed."<br /><br />At that moment, the other employee who had finished showing the woman how to use her cell phone walked up to the counter and smiled at me.<br />Returning the smile I said, "Bonjour, j'ai besoin de développer des photos."<br /><br />He then led me over to the machine for the instant prints, and explained to me how to go through the process. We spoke in French, but at the same moment he was suggesting something to the man with the camera in Flemish. <br /><br />Despite what most people think, I really like the sound of Flemish. <br /><br />Something I've realized recently is that comprehension takes away from the beauty of a language. If you know the meaning of the words, you listen to understand them and forget about their natural beauty, natural rhythym. I used to be awed by the sound of French; I was so enraptured by the music of words although they had no meaning. But now the language is so common, so everyday that it's lost its essence of beauty. Though if I turn my comprehension off and just listen, I can hear it. This method pleases me momentarily, but then afterwards I always get the blank stares of "You really didn't understand what I just said?"<br /><br />But I'm in this tiny store, only about as big as two bedrooms, yet three languages surround me: English in my head; French from my mouth, his mouth; and Flemish from theirs.<br />And at that moment I thought of how much I'm going to miss this, this diversity of language, when I return to the US. <br /><br />Everything I read will be written in English. <br />Everything I hear will be in English. <br />Each word I say will be, in English. <br /><br />I'm not sure how I'll be able to handle such monotony.<br />Or how I'll feel when each word I say is right, proper, unaccented.<br />I'll be able to speak freely, and I'll lose the smiles that are often developped in response to my words.<br /><br />Is it really already the end of December?x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-19733140817294401302010-12-14T16:02:00.000+01:002010-12-14T16:26:50.067+01:00-0℃❅☃<center>my class:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQmIh-x9gVhLGUFkOy2R15v-IYqB5N5a2vvIvRGP9cUeU6Y5ldhIGa3Yi3kerPCF90qW0x3vKGg5Rk_u_MvtMASi7XVUAlt8KBn1fRO4n82dbj63GJVhoxrU-ZPhhqR89_RSh5h-vWAw/s1600/DSCF8380.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 357px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQmIh-x9gVhLGUFkOy2R15v-IYqB5N5a2vvIvRGP9cUeU6Y5ldhIGa3Yi3kerPCF90qW0x3vKGg5Rk_u_MvtMASi7XVUAlt8KBn1fRO4n82dbj63GJVhoxrU-ZPhhqR89_RSh5h-vWAw/s400/DSCF8380.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550553887869348370" /></a> <br />my host family: <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPRkoNMuW-ntjGw5-7hqgYZ5z6mXhx2BP0j9ZIam5rGe4aMmdEaqNA2xcJG_eo6OJRsnZEk8n7Di1Ao-2-g-lKlQQc2MbrsK_VY65nSFFavPVaKxbzrD0pwPvJr_viygg4_G67yfcnkY/s1600/DSCF8388.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPRkoNMuW-ntjGw5-7hqgYZ5z6mXhx2BP0j9ZIam5rGe4aMmdEaqNA2xcJG_eo6OJRsnZEk8n7Di1Ao-2-g-lKlQQc2MbrsK_VY65nSFFavPVaKxbzrD0pwPvJr_viygg4_G67yfcnkY/s400/DSCF8388.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550556790965103634" /></a><br />our christmas tree: <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWR63GHvPziq3-B6chtsW-NiGM9eUCbo-yNTPw-NXF4WZ0tQe6C3ggV9fSkd88grIXtDdc43UQxGu5jXjn1qE74EMP1h1W_n12mC_Es4O4dH0BzNBA8LGiy_ypMcmvK61bJIYeU0-m4xE/s1600/DSCF8394.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWR63GHvPziq3-B6chtsW-NiGM9eUCbo-yNTPw-NXF4WZ0tQe6C3ggV9fSkd88grIXtDdc43UQxGu5jXjn1qE74EMP1h1W_n12mC_Es4O4dH0BzNBA8LGiy_ypMcmvK61bJIYeU0-m4xE/s400/DSCF8394.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550555292718041426" /></a></center>(Mom, I didn't know what to do with myself as I was helping to decorate the tree. I could put the ornaments anywhere I wanted to! Yet, I did have the tendency to direct where each ornament should have been placed, but I kept the dictating to myself. I figured that's only your job. :p)x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332438566991105214.post-61500818100900809822010-12-04T13:13:00.000+01:002010-12-04T14:38:45.076+01:00the snow and his smile.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXykrztpR78NlhokY5T2iULRq5Vb1XAQGDrrJjsycJQrKiYH9G2j7xf_KWRygMqqZYzNHf8vY9knc_gjhKd0QqfsfoE-L4ie_50f2q3wjuW5fHL9SPEbYJmURTpyob6sunh-b6ZBhq9VY/s1600/DSCF8340.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXykrztpR78NlhokY5T2iULRq5Vb1XAQGDrrJjsycJQrKiYH9G2j7xf_KWRygMqqZYzNHf8vY9knc_gjhKd0QqfsfoE-L4ie_50f2q3wjuW5fHL9SPEbYJmURTpyob6sunh-b6ZBhq9VY/s400/DSCF8340.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546805747838705218" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn76Y4cXISG9ZA3Qd0sMWqB8vYhXLiYOayeT8RcGBsXQ8D6hgqcxGoeRIuQZdTx12m72PDIWofxmCx0IHkXI_BDzQTBJOcMXWXfkS0QaxaXInj1L20_pgDiMvQaijZt96KHyHkMl0CEbY/s1600/DSCF8325.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn76Y4cXISG9ZA3Qd0sMWqB8vYhXLiYOayeT8RcGBsXQ8D6hgqcxGoeRIuQZdTx12m72PDIWofxmCx0IHkXI_BDzQTBJOcMXWXfkS0QaxaXInj1L20_pgDiMvQaijZt96KHyHkMl0CEbY/s400/DSCF8325.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546819359579929890" /></a><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdIMelxdUxDouptg1YIIlQRP01ueJUGhjYVUsAM4OE7kgsM0kfYwNHpAa52xXNq-76Rr9Ph1ddAJjEEYXqFd-S5VrB22_maICCLcKBbesxou9r_WnTsa7NexWzDnsudyxrbZEIH87SDBM/s1600/DSCF8309.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdIMelxdUxDouptg1YIIlQRP01ueJUGhjYVUsAM4OE7kgsM0kfYwNHpAa52xXNq-76Rr9Ph1ddAJjEEYXqFd-S5VrB22_maICCLcKBbesxou9r_WnTsa7NexWzDnsudyxrbZEIH87SDBM/s400/DSCF8309.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546807650357505874" /></a><br /><br /><br />As I’m sitting down to write this, I’m experiencing the nervous feeling of time passing all too quickly. <br /><br />This is my fifth month in Belgium. I’ve been here for four months in total, but this is the debut of my fifth month, which is uncomfortably close to the halfway point. I tend to wonder if I’m truly making the best of my time, especially since it’s being dispensed at the same rate as my money. <br /><br /> At this point, I find myself focusing on my studies more than anything since my exams commence the week after next, but at the same time I think that maybe I should be spending my time exploring the country rather than in my room memorizing its politics. Most other exchange students laugh at the idea of school and succeeding, but I actually feel like I’m capable and that I should try, especially since this year counts for me in the United States. Though, in the long run, will I regret spending my time gaining knowledge I will more than likely soon forget rather than wandering about the country, taking trains and introducing my taste buds to chocolate, beer, and waffles that they could never meet in America?<br /><br />But I can’t say that I haven’t experienced the things I’ve wanted to. To me, it’s not necessarily visiting every city and tasting all the food which makes an exchange; it’s more so that which can happen every day. It’s what I’ll always remember although most other people probably won’t, like the first snow of the season, everyone with pink noses which barely peek over at least two cozy, knitted scarves; the constant sound of sniffling; fingers huddling in the shelter of mittens; and permanent smiles, white as the snow which caused them. It’s, later that day, being chased by the threat of a snowball clenched in my best friend’s hand, obstinacy eventually causing it to soar directly toward my already numbed cheek, leading to both of us tumbling through the snow in a war with no final victory but the teacher’s smile as we entered the next class powdered white with rosy cheeks.<br /><br />It’s being told “Appy Tanksgiving” throughout the day, making it a little better that I was going to school for the first time on the last Thursday of November, and then teaching my host sister how to make pumpkin pie that evening. It’s hearing grace in Spanish, French, Hungarian, Chinese, and English as four American exchange students surrounded a table bearing stuffing, roast beef, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce they had prepared themselves, introducing the tradition of Thanksgiving to five different nationalities.<br /><br />These are the things which make me happy, just the little things. If I'm feeling down, I think, "Jordann, you're an exchange student in Belgium, and you're here because you earned it," and I just feel better.<br /><br />However, I have been dealing with more melancholy feelings than usual the past couple weeks. I've realized that I don't necessarily feel sad from being away from home on a regular basis, but I do when I realize that things are changing when I'm not there. It's as if in my head I have an image of this world, exactly the way it was before I left. I know that in time, I'll once again live there, which comforts me. But when I realize that my world's changing, I become overwhelmed. My world is becoming unfamiliar, and there's nothing I can do to change it. The image in my head no longer provides comforts, but fear instead.<br /><br />I know that my best friends are changing; I know that my aunt and uncle are moving away. But what can I do about it? My mind is adamant to change, but it's going to happen whether she wants it or not.<br /><br />So, Jordann, just be tough. Focus on now, not the past or the future.<br />Focus on the saying the words "<em>littérature</em>" and “<em>amoureux</em>”. Focus on the smile of the snowman you and your host sisters built in the backyard. Focus on finding your gym bag you forgot on the bus. <br /><br />Just laugh, like always.<br />Smile to just smile.x jordann.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14149978270950242157noreply@blogger.com0