Alpine Calamity

Preface:
I found this in an email. I wrote this for an English course in high school. I don't remember the prompt. It is the story of my bike accident in Germany.

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Alpine Calamity

I don’t remember much. It all seems like a distant dream, one that should have awakened me with a jolt. But this was different. It lacked certain dream qualities; the fall was too quick, my stomach didn’t have that light-as-air feeling and I did not instantly wake up.  I vaguely remember being lifted. I managed to mutter a mere “ow” only to let my barer know that I was conscious, though I didn’t actually feel any pain. I didn’t feel anything. Then, my head was lying on my mother’s lap and she was stroking my hair until the ambulance came and lifted me onto the stretcher. I recall my mother asking for scissors because she finally had the chance to cut off the hair-ties I always had around my wrist. I remember ironically singing one line from Stay Awake by All Time Low—stay awake get a grip and get out your safe—over and over again in my head. I wasn’t scared.  As a matter of fact, I felt very safe and content. I was more worried about the two hair-ties that my mom just destroyed than about what was actually wrong with me, I wasn't even sure what had happened.
 
The hospital is just one blur. I took some X-rays, and my friend’s mom translated all the German for my parents, informing them that I should be woken every two hours to make sure my concussion didn’t worsen. Before we left the hospital the doctors patched up the huge scrapes that covered my arm and lower back. I was also given a brace to readjust my clavicle which had been snapped and small bottle of morphine to ease the pain which soon became excruciating.

I don’t remember much about the accident. I remember racing my friend down the mountain. Speeding so fast down a steep slope that my tire began to shake, in an attempt to slow down, I pressed the brakes. Then, all I remember is concrete and nothing. I don’t recall waking up, and unless my mother hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t even remember the two men that picked me up and carried me to the side of the road and stayed with me until my parents arrived. They were just behind us on their bikes, unaware that their daughter lay in an unconscious heap on the road.

It took me a year to gain enough courage to ride a bike; I wore a helmet that time. It was terrifying at first- flashes of the accident kept racing through my mind. However, that reaction didn’t last long. My father encouraged me to pedal my way through simple and flat streets of Washington D.C. and helped me ride up and down a simple hill. The fact is that no matter how much I fall, I know I always have to get back up.

No Food or Water in the Desert: the Story of My Ramadan

It's been 2.5 weeks since Ramadan started. I am hungry and thirsty, but it has become easier to manage. Most people are shocked when they hear that me and two of my friends--both non-Muslims--have decided to participate in this month-long fast. The Muslim students I have encountered on campus, however, were delighted that I was doing Ramadan. It is their holiest month, after all.
            In fact, Ramadan encapsulates two of the five pillars of Islam: fasting and charity. It is a celebration of receiving the Qu'ran from God, but it is also about being reminded of the suffering that continues around the world. During the month, Muslims do not eat, drink, smoke or participate in errant activities while the sun is up. It is a month of reflection on your material life and to connect with those who have less. It is not about punishment and the purpose is not suffering, it is to reconnect with God and to take care of your fellow creations.
            Despite this, Ramadan is still incredibly challenging. If I want to eat breakfast, I have to wake up before the first morning prayer which generally happens around 4am. After that I am restricted from food and water until after the evening prayer around 19:40 when I can finally feast.
            I decided to put myself through this challenging Islamic tradition for myriad of reasons, but it’s not everyday one finds themselves in the Middles East surrounded by a different faith. This may be the only opportunity I have to participate in and to learn from an authentic experience. As of now, I have been invited to three iftar (breaking of the fast feasts) all around Palestine. This experience is one that has already begun to change my view of Islam. Witnessing the community and the camaraderie behind Ramadan is inspiring. In the villages, people support each other through the difficulty of the day. 

            On top of moral support, Muslims raise money to support local charities. For example, last year British Muslims donated over £100,000,000 in the UK alone. I hope by being apart of this tradition I can speak about my experiences with my friends and family back home and with future friends I meet around the world to help them paint a more accurate picture of Islam.
            Ramadan, for me, is a way to reconnect and strengthen the charitable and warm image I have of Muslims. In today’s world, it is easy to get caught up in the media and lost in the negative image of this particular faith. By participating in Ramadan, I hope that my Muslim friends and colleagues will know that my friends and I are not being swayed by extremism because we understand what Islam is really about—peace. Through my participation, I hope to gain a unique perspective of the Muslim faith. Ramadan is not only about fasting, but about being a good person. The hunger pangs and the dehydration are meant to act as a reminder that there are people who do not have access to food or water. There are people suffering much more than me and even some of those people will be participating in Ramadan being reminded that there are some who have even less than them.
            Ramadan is meant to help realign myself and to remind me of my place in the world. I hope that with every thought of the magnificent feast waiting for me after sunset, I will also think of those suffering more than me. I will think about the families stuck on rafts in the Mediterranean fleeing from their worn-torn home—about those who do not have a home or a warm feast waiting for them tonight—about children having to spend another day separated from their parents and about their families who miss them dearly. 
            Ramadan is also a celebration, the iftars act as an opportunity to gather as friends, families and communities to be together and celebrate what is most important—our relationships. If I’ve learned anything in the last 2.5 weeks, it is that I have a strong support system, a family, in the friends I’ve made during my time here. I wish them all a happy Ramadan and I thank them for accepting me and teaching me about their faith. 

Ramadan Kareem (Happy Ramadan).

Meet Val

Valoire Moonvein was born in the in-between of this world and the other as her mother was dead before Valoire was even released from her womb. While her physical body matured in the far off desert land of Zakharra, she spent her childhood distantly floating between the scorching desert sun and the soft light of the other-world. Her connection to the other-world was much stronger than with other elves because of her precarious birth. 

When she was about 90 years old (still young for an elf), a fierce curiosity of magic entrapped her. She spent hours of her day alone in the desert a few miles from her wooded oasis to meditate in hopes of harnessing the energy to produce magic. She spent her days peaceful atop the highest peak of the sand dunes attempting to connect with the energy of the sun. 

Being a novice and not knowing much about harnessing energy, when she finally latched on she took it a step too far. 

Her body was engulfed in the flames of the other-world. Every inch of her was screaming in pain. She didn’t know how to release from the spell. Everything was burning. The world was too bright. She was on fire, disappearing in an agonizing magical flame.  She was finally able to let go of the energy, but her body was powerless. Left weak and dying in the middle of the desert she laid down to pass body and soul into the otherworld.

She was found by a wondering elf. Her dehydrated and almost translucent body had already begun to transfer itself into the other-world. She was quickly transported to the local cleric who was able to bring her back to her physical entirety. 

When she awoke from her daze she was blind. The cleric wasn’t able to cure it. 

Elves are seen as ephemeral and perfect. They have boundless beauty and agile bodies and minds. To be a disabled elf is not something the population can understand. Valoire was left under the care of the reluctant cleric-having been abandoned by her family and friends. After years of living at the clergy, Val became intimately acquainted with the smell of halls and the feel of the each room. She was even able to distinguish the sounds of each clergyman’s footfalls. Even within the walls of the Clergy, she was ostracized and left alone. 

Her blindness in her physical body and the abandonment of her people connected her even more to the other-world. She was still blind on both planes, but in the other-world instead of seeing darkness she saw a soft light which made her hopeful that one day she may regain her sight. 

One quiet evening, during meditation, Val was confronted with a beautiful voice whispering to her as if she were sitting next to Val. This was the voice of Sune the light goddess of love and beauty.

 Sune had been watching Val. The goddess pitied the beautiful elf for she could not basque in the beauty of the world around her. 

The elf herself was also striking, her hair, eyes, and skin were effected by the failed spell, making her once golden hair into a deep ruby red, much like Sune’s hair. Val’s skin was burnt by the light which gave it a darkened silver tone, but her eyes were the most striking of all—once they were clear blue but now her irises were a mystifying ice blue and what was once the whiteness of her eye is now a crisp obsidian. 

For years the goddess would occasionally drop in to converse with the meditating elf confused about what to do with this strange being. Finally, Sune confronted Val in the other-world and appeared in Val’s vision. Val was shocked to be seeing again and whatsmore what she was seeing was one of the most gloriousy beautiful beings she’s ever encountered. Sune looks exactly like what you’d expect from a Light goddess of love and beauty. 

Valoire was brought to tears and felt blessed that she could gaze upon something so beautiful even for the briefest of moments. Sune was moved by Val’s emotions so much so that she regifted Valoire with sight declaring it unfair for such a ephemeral creature to not be able to glorify in her own beauty and the beauty around her. 

With her sight back, Val’s appearance, while still beautiful was so bizarre that she didn’t feel welcomed in her own community. She remained at the clergy spending her days reading the endless books on magic and the godess in the clergy library. With the help of Sune, she became comfortable enough with the basic understandings of magic and decided that she would travel to distant lands to discover the beauty of the world that Sune had so often described to her. At the age of 507, Valoire set off alone to discover the land of Faerun.  

Since Val had spent most of her days either alone or in the company of Sune, she wasn’t very accustomed to social interactions. The abandonment of her family and friends has left her weary to trust those she meets. She has a bit of an awkward but kind demeanor which contradicts her intimidating features leaving those she meets befuddled and awed. People find her to be curious and often approach her with fascination, she sometimes obliges their conversations but maintains distance and a air of mystery until stranger’s become acquaintances who become friends… a hard thing to achieve with Valoire Moonvein. But more often than not, Val pretends she doesn’t understand the language, brushes the person off, and walks away. 

Val spends her days doing what she pleases. Sune inspires Val everyday to basque in all the pleasures of life. Val takes little consideration of what others think of her and does as she wishes, but her kind heart makes her compassionate and careful to those who are weak or unable to protect themselves. Because of this connection to love and beauty, Val has a strong code of honor that most don’t understand… She is open and good seeing opportunity in everything. She is especially fascinated by beauty often going out of her way to follow a butterfly or sit a little longer at a beautiful view. Her fascination with beauty, however, often leads her to judge those who are unkempt or or don't seem to put any effort into their appearance. It is of great displeasure and discomfort for her to look upon disheveled people or things which often leads her to be incredibly rude towards those who do not take care about their looks.

Some may see this as vein, but to Valoire, it as an insult to Sune who loves the beauty within and without. Why deny your outer beauty for the sake of your inner beauty when you can have both? 

What is a leader? A good communicator.

-to define is to limit-

It's officially been a year since I jumped across the pond to the land of Israel. I’ve come to realize that this is the longest I’ve been away from home. This transition to grad school in Israel has also been the transition of being a young American depending on her parents in many aspects of her life, to being a young American depending on herself in all matters. I’ve become an adult…? 

~I say the words American here because we are discussing identity in a lot of my classes and while I normally don't use my nationality as a main aspect of my identity, I have begun to understand how my American background and culture has defined me as a traveler and a person. More on identity later though...~

I’ve taken control of my life, which requires a lot more responsibility than I could even imagine. It’s not just the buying and cooking of food (I gotta eat..) or taking out the trash and paying bills (these are real bummers though). It is establishing and truly solidifying what I find sacred at this point in my life. By understanding what I feel to be most important I can begin to understand who I am as a human on this planet in this time. 

When you’re growing up, even if you are an opinionated and loud child (sorry, mom and dad), you still have to comply to your parents morals and values. You can be a leader within your friend or age group, but no grownup really listens to a kid. Having the appearance of an adult requires that I set good examples for those around me (young and old alike). People judge adults more than children, and I have to decide how much I care about what others think of me. Not only that, but I have to decide what kind of role model I want to be and what kind of leader I am. 

I define a leader as someone who inspires, who is responsible, creative, and who takes initiative. Someone who is trustworthy and accountable, who can see the big picture while also considering the little stuff (the treatment and desires of others). Someone who listens and can effectively communicate. The most important aspect of a leader, however, is her ability to adapt. Last week, my class had the opportunity to speak to the grandson of Ghandi, Arun Ghandi. Among many insightful advice given, he said one thing that struck me: Identify your weaknesses and change those weaknesses into strengths. He said if we were what we are then we wouldn’t progress at all. Meaning that everyone is capable of change. 

To be a good leader, one must be able to understand when and how to adapt to certain situations and in many cases that adaptation is when the leader realizes where her deficiencies are as the leader. Identifying your weaknesses can be tough. I’ve always considered myself an effective communicator. I am loud and bubbly, I am considerate and I can an-nun-ci-ate. Unfortunately, this isn’t the entire formula for an effective communicator. 

A good communicator is a good listener and that is something I fall short on. I think many people would label themselves as good communicators, but in reality they just mean they are quick to come up with rebuttals. Rather than progressing the conversation forward, they are good at keeping it at a stalemate- in an incessant back and forth, no listening, no understanding- just closed arguments. 

We recently finished a mediation workshop. It was a week of simulations, it was very draining, but extremely rewarding. Being a mediator is not a judge, it's not a negotiator. It's not even about finding a solution for people. The role of a mediator is to act as a third-party "mother". Mediators listen and their communication is just a reflection of the listening. It’s like being a glorified translator-- translating people's emotions into interests so that all parties involved can hopefully understand the other's side better and come to some sort of agreement on their own. 

Mediating involves reflective listening which is exactly what as it sounds—you listen and reflect back almost verbatim what the speaker said. It’s a little awkward at first, but it’s very validating for the listener to know with certainty that they are being heard which in turn makes them more engaged in the conversation. 

A Buddhism class I took discussed the idea of deep listening. This involves almost no verbal or non-verbal communication on the side of the listener. The listener is supposed to engage fully with the words she is hearing while also focusing on what she is feeling and sensing within herself as the listener. This focus could be anything from concentrating on facial movements to the sensations running through your body. 

Communication is both what you comes out of you (speech, body language, non-verbal queues, etc.) as well as what you bring in through reflective and deep listening which helps you to understand. Communication is a two-way street and in order to be a good leader you need to know how to navigate in both directions. This navigation involves quick thinking--adaptability. It's one thing to listen and understand what is being said to you, but as a leader one must also consider what to do with the information that was just given. 

So hopefully, by applying these new techniques I've learned in my classes I can become a better and more effective communicator. I want to change my weakness into a strength and then show others how they can achieve this change as well! 

A leader is much more than a communicator, and there will be more posts to come, so be patient while I figure out what kind of leader I want to be. 

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I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with this blog. It takes a lot of concentration and work to write, but it's something I've been wanting to do for awhile so I'm going to try out a few different types of posts and see what happens! 

This is going to be a series of what I think makes a good leader. I want to identify where I fall short on my definition of a leader and discuss how I can change those weaknesses into strengths. 

Thanks for your attention!

xx

My nightmares-dream analysts welcome!

I've always had very vivid dreams. It's one thing I really appreciate about my mind-not only do I dream vividly, but I can generally recall the dream when I wake up. 

The only downside to vivid dreams is vivid nightmares. I haven't had a nightmare in awhile, but the last two nights I've had some pretty intense nightmares. All of them, as far as I can recall, took place either in my childhood home or in the town. Here is what I remember from one the of the first night's dreams:

I'm upstairs with some of my childhood friends, I go out into the hall (maybe someone was calling me) I go into the guest bedroom where there is a man and a woman. They ask me if I want to see some filming of Wallace and Gromit (great claymation movies, BTW). They seem like decent people so I walk towards the open door, unable to see what is in the closet until I turn the corner. Before stepping closer to them though I get paranoid-something doesn't feel right, but I proceed anyway. Things get a little fuzzy here, I think they grab me and I try to calmly tell them I don't want to be apart of this game. Fast forward and I'm running down the hall towards the backstairs with a zombie pursuing me. I run down the backstairs into the kitchen and am faced with a giant brown bear (and another deadly thing that I can't remember). They were moving pretty slowly, but I still had to choose which side to attack as there was no escape. I decide it'll be easier to take on one zombie rather than two other things. So I turn towards the zombie (conjured) knife in hand and take a slow stab to his skull. Fast forward and I am confronted with the couple again. I ask them what happens if I get caught by these nightmares and they say I'll be stuck here forever, and what if I kill them? The girl responds that they'd be stuck (I don't exactly remember what she says, but the main gist is if they died it wouldn't be good for them). The guy starts explaining something to me while a conjured polar bear (my next predator) is lying on a yellow loveseat as if paused in a game. The man turns away during his monologue, and in hopes of killing it before it comes to life, I stab the polar bear. The man turns around and notices the marks on the bear and laughs saying it doesn't count until the bear is alive. I then notice a set up game of Settlers of Catan on the table and implore the couple to play a game of that before we proceed. The girl gets enthusiastic saying Settlers is the best game ever and I gently wake up right after exclaiming "I know, right?". 

The next segment I remember:

My parents and I are at a lumber yard, they are driving a blue Subaru (not their normal car) and we come across another couple and for some reason it is decided that my dad and I will ride in the car with the husband and my mom and the wife will ride together. Anyways, as we're exiting the yard there is what seems to be a rogue piece of equipment driving around and I watch as my mom's car hits some loose lumber and rolls down the cliff onto the road we are on. I immediately fly out of the car to my mom's window-she is fine (thank God! ...or my subconscious), but she's stuck upside down by her seatbelt. I crawl into the car to hug her all the while thinking of the piece of equipment that could roll down on top of both of us. -then I wake up.-

Onto the next night:

I'm on the school bus riding home and out the window all I can see are dead headless people. There's hundreds of them. Headless bodies lying all over the place and monty-pythonesque wooden carts piled with dead headless bodies. I'm scared. The person cutting off these people's heads is after me. Fast forward, I'm in my childhood room. There's leaves and acorns all over my floor despite the windows being closed. It's dusk-the lighting very eerie, the air quite chilly. I realise the light is on and I immediately turn it off panicked. Apparently the house hasn't been occupied for awhile and I don't want anyone to know of my presence. I'm petrified to the bone, but I slowly crawl to the window to see if anyone noticed the light on. I look out and there is a suave man across the street leaning against his motorcycle with sunglasses on (and maybe a cig in his mouth). He's not looking up at the window which reassured me, but he was observing the house making me tremble in fear knowing he's seen the window. I quickly duck down to catch my breath. I look up again and see the red lights of the rear of his motorcycle as he drives away. ---There is more that I don't remember and I don't remember the moment that I wake up either... but this dream really creeped me out while the other ones really scared me. 

And that's all I remember. If anyone has any insights in dreams, I'd love your input. I'm having trouble analyzing them. I have a nightmare from my childhood that involves a glass house and a giant bear, so bears seem to be a theme. 

I hope I have a pleasant dream tonight, I'm a little nervous to go to sleep... 

Good night! 

Momento mori

XX

Being a woman in a masculine world (i.e. the gym)

I found a gym (cue applause) it is literally right around the corner from my apartment. It's called Space! Isn't that wonderful?

The gym itself is mostly full of buff boys grunting and sweating and classes full of women sweating and laughing out of pain and exhaustion. 

I feel this weird need to prove myself a super woman whenever I'm in a hyper masculine atmosphere. I like these classes, I have no idea what I'm doing in the gym and I plan on taking these classes until I can come up with my own workout regimes... it's just these classes are full of women (save one man!) it's such a contrast. You're either the only woman in the gym or the only man in a class. Why is that? These classes are hard! The one I took today we were deadlifting and bench pressing a bar. We squatted and lunged with this bar and then we dead lifted some more. I have no idea how I survived. My whole body is shaking from muscle exhaustion. I do feel stronger, if not a little sore... 

It's the same on the beach. Israelis play this game called matkot on the beach, it's essentially table tennis without the table and there is no winner-you just see how long you can keep the ball going. Every time I go to the beach, I bring matkot and play with people. I'm not great, I can't aim and slam the ball, nor can I return a fast ball, but I can keep it going for awhile.  I've noticed though that maybe one out of every 7 women players I see can actually hit the ball with some accuracy. It makes me self conscious. I don't know why... I just hate feeling like people are looking at me thinking "oh, she's not that good because she's a girl" or even worse "oh, she's pretty good for a girl." You can see the exasperated expression of all the male counterparts trying to be patient with this female newbie when all they want is to just play matkot. It embarrasses me for some reason, I feel like I have to prove myself and prove to every other male that women are good at this shit too, we just don't get as many opportunities to be introduced/practice to these silly hobbies. 

Anyway, I'm ranting. I know there are plenty of women that are beast at matkot, I just haven't seen many. 

I don't have much to say this time round... just: Woman power! We got this, ladies (and this goes to all you lady people, regardless of what society says about you)! We actually live in a woman's world, we've just accidentally let the man get too big of a head. We're reeling them in though, no worries :)

momento mori

xx

The Israel Life-Hack

It's been approximately 5 months since I've been in Israel. I have moved into my apartment and received my course schedule for the coming semester. I have my favorite places to read, hang out, and eat. I frequently lounge on the beach and I'm thoroughly delighted to be here.

Israel is a "westernized", and, in most cases, developed country. It is one of the top 'Start-Up' countries (an Israeli start-up created WhatsApp). Tel-Aviv is a bustling, colourful, and fun city. The people are open and smart. The culture here is different in a way that I don't necessarily notice it in everyday life, but when I think about it and when I step outside of the Tel-Aviv bubble, I can really sense what makes Israel Israel.

I went to a discussion tonight called "How to Hack the Israeli Culture". During a discussion of defining Israeli culture most people said aggressive. Not aggressive as in violent, but aggressive in the sense that everyone here is working in their best interest and in the interest of those they care for and will do whatever they can to succeed.
Israelis have this philosophy of "if you want something, ask for it". I had heard about it and never experienced it until I went to a yoga class one day. I chose a nice spot in the back corner where I'd have all the room to flail and fail in peace... apparently another guy had a similar thought in mind and he asked if I'd be willing to switch. Now, in the States, that normally wouldn't happen. First come-first serve. I got the spot first therefore it is my spot. Not here, people are straightforward and opinionated. They won't shy away from an argument and they will argue-yelling and all. And then hug it out with their adversary or join them in a friendly football match.

The overall gist of the discussion was to be authentic. Israeli's aren't professional or formal. Their small talk skips right over the weather and enters family life and dreams and life philosophies. They're not shy and their always willing to debate and question things. Israelis may seem aggressive and overly forward in their interactions, but overall they are an authentic, creative, and kind people...much like the rest of the world.

 It seems that every Israeli is confused about my moving here though. For them, unless you're Israeli or Jewish (and even then a non-Israeli Jew confounds the natives), they don't understand why you'd be here when you could be home (which is much more interesting than here). Despite this confusion, every encounter I've had has always been positive. They've been excited to share their culture and their world with me.

I hired a mover to help me move into my new apartment, I rode in the truck with him and the whole time we talked about the conflicts around the world. He also related to me the history of the street I live on and how the architecture has changed in the last twenty years.

I also had a taxi ride once where the driver wants to change the stigmas around mental illness in Israel (and ultimately the world). I'm having coffee with him on Monday to discuss the next steps towards achieving his dream. It was a stroke of luck that I got into his cab.

All in all, I have been utterly authentic to myself and to the people I encounter and it has, thus far, had a positive effect. It feels like I'm meant to be here. I felt this feeling when I first thought about moving here and it hasn't left me since I've arrived. I have been welcomed and encouraged. I've met some incredible people and have had many enlightening conversations. Israel is an amazing place and I am so grateful for every day that I spend here.

Momento mori
xx

For at least I know I'm free

16 years ago, I was 6 years old. I was in the first grade having a normal day when the phone rang.

Growing up, every time the phone rang in the classroom, I always prayed that it was my parents surprising me by picking me up early. When the teacher called my name saying my mom was here, I was ecstatic. I don't remember much about that day, just tidbits here and there. I remember walking down the halls of my school holding my mom's hand asking why I got to leave early and her response was "because it's the end of the world, and I wanted you home." I didn't quite understand what she meant, I was just happy to be going home.

When we finally got home, my parent's friend was sitting directly in front of the TV, crying. I didn't understand that either. I saw the smoke on the news, but my little mind that had only known peace and happiness didn't comprehend what was happening.

I don't remember anything else about that day. "It's the end of the world..."-for America, it certainly felt like it. Our freedom was being threatened. Our sisters and brothers lost. I didn't understand the gravity of the situation until a few years later.

9/11 is a day that has gone down in history.

Today is one of those days where every American reflects on what it means to be American.

Lately, I've struggled with my nationality. Being a traveler, claiming to be American has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Most introduction conversations go:

Stranger:"Where are you from?"
Me:"The States"
Stranger:"haha so.. [insert some joke about the new president]"
Me:*Awkward laughs* "yeah... that's the place"

There were times where I was ashamed to say I was American just because of how people react nowadays. When traveling, it's easy to pick out other Americans in a crowd. We're generally the loud ones. Pretty much anytime you can overhear a conversation due to its volume, it's Americans. I've wondered why that is... why are we so obnoxious?

And it really is freedom. The idea of freedom is embedded into our culture. Even though most of those living in the United States aren't truly free, we are more free than many other countries in the world (less free than others). The word "freedom" rings in every classroom and on every media outlet. We were founded on the idea of freedom-we still have a long way to go before we truly achieve it, but America screams freedom to people who don't have it. This sense of freedom gives us confidence which makes us loud and proud.

My parents raised me to understand freedom. They supported my every decision and tried not to hover over me. I grew up being able to do what I wanted to do and be who I wanted to be. That's the only way to grow as a human-to explore yourself and your surroundings. You can't do that when a government or parent or power of any kind is governing your every move.

We are eccentric people, Americans. We can wear what we want to wear, say what we want to say, be who we want to be and even when people judge us or try to change us, we don't have to listen to them because we know we are free. Every human is free, we are all free! Being human means free will-the freedom to choose-freedom to be free. We are being oppressed by the power hungry, but we are still free. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Never forget you are free-wherever you are.

My passport allows me to go to virtually every corner of the Earth without question and in every corner of the Earth you'll meet an American (and probably a German).

It's interesting meeting other people and telling them I'm American... once we get past the Trump jokes they want to hear what it's actually like there. At first, I was very cynical in explaining America today. I would tell them it's not that great, people of colour are still being shot just because of their skin, there are people that still believe in slavery. Women don't have nearly as many rights as men. I get catcalled and stalked in America more than I do here, in Israel. I was negative because I'm angry. The reality of America is not reflecting the America I grew up loving.

I'm still angry at the state of the States, but even those of us who are upset cannot deny that being American (no matter your colour or creed) is a privilege. Every single American is privileged to be American and if that's not apparent with the DACA bullshit that's happening you need to take a look at the countries we are forcing these people back to or the countries we are denying refugees from.

Yes, there are injustices, yes we are far from perfect. However, the unity that this division has created is powerful and heartwarming. Look at the discussions that are happening in college classrooms and on front porches and the creativity we are using to fight the good fight. We are all in this together.

We can do this because we are free.

And that's the importance of today. Even though we were threatened and struck down- we stood up- Together. We were all united that day in love and peace.

Momento mori
xx

Momento Mori

Here I am. Telling myself I'll have the discipline to keep a daily blog. I don't know why it has always been so daunting for me to write everyday.. It's as if the second I make it a requirement my mind refuses to do it even if it is my idea!

I've always had this mentality, just ask my parents. I won't do anything I have to do, I only do what I want which, I believe, has helped me understand what makes me happy and what doesn't, but it has also affected my studies and my professional life.

I enjoy writing. Everyday I think of at least three new things to write about and yet, I never do. Maybe now that I am entering my graduate program in conflict resolution and mediation, I'll have a little more discipline.

For those of you that don't know, I have moved to Tel-Aviv, Israel to pursue my masters at Tel-Aviv University. I've decided on Conflict Resolution, mostly because I am angry at the state of the world and I would like to learn the vocabulary and the skills to help it.

Although my ultimate dream has been, and always will be, to go to space, I already feel guilty leaving the United States with the tension that has bubbled up, I can't even imagine my emotional state leaving my own planet. I hope that the lessons I learn and the experiences I gain during this next year will help me to join the fight for peace. Plus, one does not simply go to space...

Space... that's what we need to be studying and discussing. We're all humans in this vast unknown. We need to study our world and our surroundings rather than fighting each other.

Momento mori- remember you will die. I carry this phrase with me whenever I feel aggression or misunderstanding towards my surroundings or someone. We're all temporary and even if you consider that thought morbid or uncomfortable, everyone needs to remember that.  I hope to never negatively affect someone when I have control over it. Momento mori, so make your life good and spread goodness.

We are just visiting. Our time in this time is limited, so why are we killing each other and our planet? Why aren't we exploring?

Exploration--of the sea, of the Earth, of the Universe! That's what we need to focus on.

Imagine during the Cold War, instead of the Soviet Union and the United States racing each other to space and the moon, they sat down and worked together. What would space travel be like today if political tensions didn't exist? Put all the world's math and science nerds in a lab together and see what magic happens.

Peace through exploration. Peace through understanding what is out there beyond our atmosphere. Peace through curiosity.


Let's work together.

Momento mori.
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