My Honey Possum Discovery

You can discover lots of little known facts on the Discovery Channel. I discovered the Honey Possum last night. It is a very small marsupial found in Australia. When they are born, they are only 5 millimeters long. Fully developed, they are about 10 centimeters long.

Honey Possums have long snouts which enable them to feed off of nectar. They pollinate flowers much like bees. Cute little buggers, aren't they?

 I also discovered that male honey possums have the biggest balls relative to their size. The picture above shows one ball visible between the hind legs. To give you a better understanding of the ratio, think of what a male human being would look like with watermelon sized balls. I know, right? Their balls house sperm that is 5x bigger than human sperm. It is the largest sperm out of any animal; even bigger than the largest known mammal, the blue whale.

Now I feel sort of bad for the honey possum.

Sweet Taste of India: My Semester in the Far East

Schoolboys from Police DAV Public School

Police DAV Public School K-12

So maybe you know this, but I went to India (alone) to do part of my student teaching for two months. I taught 4th-10th standard art (standard is their way of saying grade) in a school called Police DAV Public School. I was located in the northwestern part of India in the state of Punjab, approximately 100 miles from the Kashmir border with Pakistan (highly disputed over). I lived in a city called Jalandhar, with a population of over 700,000 people. In that state, most of the people are Hindu, but a good portion are Sikh (pronounced <sick> in India). 

Sikh Men at Aman's Wedding Ceremony

I have come to realize that a large chunk of people I talk to have never heard of Sikhism. I will compare Sikhism to Hinduism, a religion most people are somewhat knowledgeable of. I noticed that Hindus greet others by saying "Namaste" or "Let their be a salutation to you" while placing their hands palms together over their chest, in a prayer position while bowing their heads. Typically we see this after a session of yoga, but they do it daily. A Sikh person will do the same gesture, but say "Sat Shri Akal" meaning "God is truth". A male Sikh will commonly never cut his hair, and also, in many cases, allow the hair on his face to grow long. They wrap their hair in a cloth and twist it up into the shape of a turban.  In contrast, Hindu men typically keep their hair short. Hindu families even ceremoniously shave the head of  a male baby shortly after he is born. They do not typically wear turbans to my knowledge. The most obvious difference is the belief itself. Sikhs believe in one god that goes by many names. They do not worship idols, or statues; they reject the caste system so prevalent in Hinduism even to this day. However, Sikhs believe in samsara, or a repetitive cycle of birth, life and death, similar to Hindus. Interestingly, all Sikh men share the same last name: Singh which literally means "lion". There are more differences and similarities that I do not know enough about. 

Some of the Art Department Staff

Every state in India has it's own culture, and it's own identity, respectively. In the state I was in, Punjab, they spoke Punjabi first and foremost; some also spoke English and Hindi. The school, I was fortunate enough to be placed in, taught lessons in English, but many of the teachers, I learned, did not speak English fluently. Some students could speak better English than their teachers. Most of the art department faculty could not speak English very well, so needless to say, I was fairly lost to begin with. To my surprise, I picked up on their mannerisms and expressions quickly and this was never a big issue. Sometimes it helped if I wrote or drew what I was trying to say. The Principal of the school and her family spoke perfect English. Luckily, I was invited to spend a substantial amount of my free time with them. 

A Village Woman Cooking a Chapatti

Even the smell in India is different. I was first introduced to the spicy aroma upon entering the plane from Newark to Delhi. It was a smell I learned to love because I immediately started to correlate it to Indian food. And the food, in my opinion is AMAZING to say the least. Being that I was a vegetarian, I fit right in. It seemed that most Indians practice a vegetarian lifestyle and refrain from eating most meats. Hindu people do not eat beef because the cow is considered to be sacred and roams free in India (usually decorated with paints and bells... cute cows!).  In fact, if you do eat meat in India, you are considered Non-Veg. In the north, where I spent the large majority of my trip, the staple foods are beans, lentils and potatoes. Bread is preferred to rice. I usually ate different curries (mixtures of vegetables with staple foods in a sauce) using a chapatti (similar to a flour tortilla) to scoop it up. I was sure to use my right hand only, but only after I was frowned at for trying to use both hands, including my "unclean", left hand. This hand, I learned is the designated for wiping purposes only in the washroom (bathroom). I was always sure to carry toilet paper, an American tradition that I could not bear to stop even in India. Side note... the toilet paper I had brought to my room in India had a picture of Britney Spears on the protective paper covering. It made me laugh hard. 

Holy Cow!

I was fortunate enough to learn some basic Indian cooking techniques from a Non-English speaking Nepalese man, who worked as a chef in the kitchen of the Principal. He works in the winter and goes home to his wife and family in the summer, apparently a common practice in northern India. We communicated through cooking and our made-up sign language. I learned that tomato and onion are the base of almost every Indian recipe. Next comes the spices! No Indian kitchen is complete without an Indian spice box, a round metal dish containing smaller containers of different spices, namely: salt, garam masala, ground coriander seeds, red chili powder, mango powder, white cumin seeds, tumeric, and mustard seeds (among others). I learned to prepare paneer (cheese curd), chapattis, pranthas (potato tortillas) and dal. I should have taken notes, because sadly, I don't remember everything.

Aman and I at Her Bangle Ceremony

I had considered the fact that I wasn't going to "fit in" and worried about how this would settle with the locals. I have white, pink-toned skin, blonde hair and measure 5'10". I was wearing my hair very short at the time as well. Most Indian women meet the exact opposite description. I was careful to cover my shoulders and wear long pants or skirts so as not to provoke lustful feelings among the men. Even considering, I could not take a walk around campus without at least one man following me around for quite a ways and asking me every question in the book. This is typical and socially acceptable there. In fact, I was even asked if I would like to be married a few times. They always were sure to give me their phone numbers in case I changed my mind. For this reason, I kept mostly to myself, unless I was invited somewhere by someone I knew. Not to say that I felt unsafe. The school was stationed at a police campus. Armed guards were in front of nearly every important building. These men did not budge (like those famous English guards) and looked very protective. I just wanted to fit in, and people just don't recreationally run there. I could not run outside during the day without feeling a little uncomfortable because of the looks. I tried running at night, but found I was too clumsy for that. I came home bloody and scraped up from head to toe after a run-in with a pothole. Later on, I discovered a track open to the public, and my friend Rajinder, a P.E. teacher taller than me, took me there. For these reasons, I am sad to say, I did not run unless Rajinder wanted to go to the track, which was not too often.

A Sikh Groom and Bride (Aman)

Rajinder was a good friend of mine while I was staying on campus. She has a corky, spontaneous personality similar to mine. She just says it how it is. In addition to her appearance, Rajinder proved to be quite different than most Indian people I met. She lived across the street in the apartments with her husband, also very tall, and their two, lovely kids. This in itself was an nontraditional arrangement. Usually the bride moves into the house of the husband and shares the home with extended family members. Rajinder met her husband during an amateur basketball tournament. They had a love marriage, uncommon in India. Usually marriages are arranged by the parents. Lots of things are considered when deciding compatibility. A man and woman are married into the same caste. Indians are also generally very auspicious and look to astrology and numerology to help guide this decision. Some marriages occur at a very young age, even as young as five,  a practice that is not as common nowadays, but still happens. I think it's more common to be married after schooling, like in the states. I am not sure the details of how it all works, but I believe the couple usually gets to see each other beforehand, just to be sure they are physically attracted, but not always. Dowries are given by the bride's family. Rajinder spoke of her dowry including the appliances in the house and a car. They were a middle class family. In India, there are many rich and even more poor. It was not as common to see the in between, at least in my experience. I loved Rajinder because she seems like a very confident, open-minded woman. 

I Especially Loved Rajinder's Daughter

Mostly Rajinder would invite me to her apartment and we would just talk. She expressed a deep desire to live in Canada with some of her relatives. I found out that lots of Indians find homes in parts of Canada, England and the United States. Her family was always sending her nice things from Canada and she had developed a love for the western culture. I think this was one reason she really liked talking to me. Rajinder discoved that she loved Nike shoes and rap music. I can't remember what rapper was popular at the time, but her daughter (age 10, I think) made me teach her the words so that she could sing it to her friends. I had to explain what all the slang words meant because she was just mummbling. Maybe I wasn't the best rap teacher, but she was a wonderful student. She practiced her English on me any chance she got and I was surprised at how fluent she was even at her age.

Rajinder's Family

One time, I had the opprotunity to go to Chandigarh, the capital of Punjab, to visit Rajinder's in-laws. They lived outside of the city in the country. They had more property to themselves than I ever saw the whole time I was there. Buildings in India are generally very close together without yards. I was surprised at how much colder it was there. Being that is was the wintertime while I was there it could get cold at times, but it seldom dropped below 55 at night, and stayed at a comfortable 65-75 degrees during the day. I don't know what the temperature was the night I slept over, but I procrastinated making the walk barefoot to the washroom on the cool, marble floor night I stayed. Rajinder's in-laws were very hospitable (as was every other Indian person I met) and we talked about a range of things. I discovered her father-in-law was featured in several motion pictures as a side character. He worked as a professor in a college there, teaching Punjabi. He taught me a few words, but it has been too long and my brain cannot rememeber all the details. We also visited an open air market. Rajinder bought lots of new clothes and convinced me that I needed even more souvenirs because she could bargain better than me and that I should take advantage of it. That was true, and I did buy a few things more than I probably should have. But how often are you in India in your life?

Funny story, while I was in Chandigarh, I took a "shower". Taking a "shower" in India is a little more complicated than in the states. Well it's not really a shower at all because most bathrooms in India do not have a shower or bathtub. Instead, you bathe from a big bucket with a scoop to rinse your body. I had grown accustomed to doing this, since I had the same bathing situation in my room. Bother "showers" even had a geyser, or small water heater made solely for washing, attached to the faucet, so I was fortunate enough to have hot water. Everything was going very well. After learning through trial and error, I had become accustomed to my routine way of doing things: 1) turn on the geyser (pronounced geezer, no joke) at least 30 minutes ahead of time; 2) fill the bucket until the hot water runs out; 3) take clothing off when the bucket is just about full (can be cold in the morning); 4) stick head in the bucket to get hair wet; 5)use a washcloth to do a pre-wash over entire body; 5) add soap to the washcloth and scrub quickly, shampoo; 6) hold the bucket over the head and pour the luke-warm water over entire body. Oh and skip the conditioner; it's way too complicated. The only problem I had in Chandigarh was that I forgot my personal shampoo. I was tempted to use the body soap in my hair, but I found what I thought was shampoo. After adding quite a bit of the stuff to my hair, I realized that it was way too greasy to be shampoo. I discovered it was hair oil! Indian women and men have thick, course hair and sometimes add oil to make it softer. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but no one noticed except me. 

Rashmi and I in Saris

The Principal of the school, Rashmi, was like my mom away from home while I was there. Rashmi lives in a house, set aside specifically for the principal on campus, with her husband and her daughter, a junior in high school. Her son, whom I met one time, was away at college and lived on his own. I got to meet him once. If I had one word to describe this entire family, it would be "balanced". I always felt at ease in their presence and in their home. They practice Hinduism and I was introduced to some of the ruitines they set aside during their day for devotion. Most Hindus have a section or a room in their home devoted to worship. It is essentially a shrine to whichever gods the family most associates with. I asked one time how many gods there were in Hinduism, and the answer I got was unclear. I'm not sure if anyone is sure of an actual number. I liked Krishna, a blue, flute playing, child god that likes to cause mischief. I remember Krishna so well because he is one of most beloved gods in India. Rashmi's family enjoyed a show on television based on Krishna. The god is played by an actual cute little Indian boy painted blue. The characters speak Punjabi, but Rashmi interpreted what was happening. Krishna is a lady's man. Always trying to make the ladies long for him by playing pranks. The show was pretty cute. 

The Golden Temple (Notice the Line)

Rashmi and her husband took me to Amritsar, the home of the Golden Temple. The Golden Temple is a Sikh place of worship. My understanding is that Sikh people try to make a pilgrimage their at least once in their lifetime. However, everyone is welcome inside. The Golden Temple is exactly what it sounds like--a temple made of gold. It is surrounded by water, maintained and considered holy by the people. Apparently scientists have found a way to filter this water and I was encouraged to drink the water because it was totally safe and would bring me good fortune. In addition to drinking the water, I saw several people bathing in the water fully clothed. Indeed, the water was clean because I did not feel the after effects that I did after consuming only a few sips of local water elsewhere. 

Inlaid Gems in Walls of
the Temple

When we arrived at the temple, we immediately replaced our shoes with little cloth booties cover our heads. As goes in all temples, you are not welcome to wear your shoes because it is considered unclean and it is respectful to cover your head. We met up with some very important looking people that took us all the way to the front of the line, around hundreds of people, and let us enjoy a V.I.P. access route into to this magnificent structure. Back in Jallandhar, every morning before school, in my room, I routinely watched a televised worship service broadcast from the Golden Temple. I familiarized myself with what was happening and found comfort in listening to the meditative chanting words spoken and the live music played with some Indian originated instruments, even though I couldn't understand any of it. And now, I saw firsthand exactly why they practiced this ceremony every morning. I recognized that the holy people I recognized from t.v. were sitting around a very important looking movable shrine. The shrine was decorated with blankets and gems, and inside, I learned, was one sacred, handwritten holy book. It was evident that the holy book could not touch the ground and was taken care of much like a human because it was being kept warm from the blankets. The words being chanted by the holy men were from the book itself. Anyone who travels to the Golden Temple will feel at peace. It is a very beautiful service to experience. The walls on the inside are made of marble and cast with inlaid semi-precious and precious gems much like the Taj Mahal. I was extremely thankful to be allowed access into the temple. But afterward, following typical hospitality, our guides presented me with a gift. It was a light-up, box depicting the Golden Temple and ten or eleven gurus above the temple holding their hand, palm-forward, with a light ejecting from their hand down to the temple. When I pressed a button the beams would light up and make a noise similar to a light saber from Star Wars. Very cool.


After my enlightening experience at the Golden Temple, we had lunch with a very wealthy, prominant figure in Amritsar, a friend of Rashmi's. The luncheon took place in this man's grand home. We were welcomed by one of the housekeepers and asked to make ourselves comfortable in the sitting room. I remember this clearly because I've never been asked do that and it made me feel important, and honestly, a little uncomfortable. I tend to freeze up in formal situations like that. Some more guest arrived and the orderves rolled in. I remember eating plate after plate of delicious sweets, crackers, cheeses, and vegetables. When the host finally joined us, he invited us into the kitchen. We were informed that the kitchen help had prepared the meal and it was ready. The meal was traditional Indian curry. It was a red curry more like a soup and we added rice to it. I don't really remember what else was in it, but it was very hearty and delicious. Well the first bowl was anyway. Bowl after bowl of this stuff was given to us. In India, it is not polite to turn down something that is offered to you even if you don't want it. You can refuse a few times, but it is still given to you. It is only by the third or fourth refusal that it is no longer offered. This guy went above and beyond and just kept feeding us regardless of the fact that we were all stuffed to the brim. I don't think I've ever been so full in my life. Even Rashmi commented on it afterward. Another thing I remember is how careless this man was scooping up his curry. Most of it ended up on his designer suit. It didn't seem to bother him though. He had a wardrobe change following dinner. Apparently he was a man of many expensive suits.  He was a fat man in a really nice suit.

Rajinder and I in Matching Green Saris

I had a few nice traditional outfits that I wore on special occasion in India. Rashmi took me sari shopping so that I would look "smart" at the Hindu wedding I was invited to attend. In a nice sari shop, they let you sit in a couch and bring you wine. Then they bring you about every color imaginable of the most beautiful fabrics you've ever seen in your life. Everything gits you because it's not made yet. A sari is custom fit by a tailor to your exact measurements. Now I am not much of a shopper, but I could do this. Easy. If you don't know me, I am what they call a "lightweight" when it comes to alcohol. I do not have a high tolerance because I don't often drink. So maybe it was the wine going to my head, but I was convinced to buy, not one, but two beautifully hand-made silk saris. I even picked out a fabric for my pretend wedding. I knew my mother would have done the same exact thing if she were me, so I didn't mind forking over the money. Now I'm not going to get specific here, but I assure you, this price was way under the best deal I could have got in the states. In fact, I don't think I could even have ordered this fabric in the states if I wanted to. It was a big purchase to say the least, but it was mine. I love the fabrics in India.

A Rickshaw With a Heavy Load

When I came home, I felt a culture shock greater than my arrival to India. The first thing I noticed was how bland the colors are in the states. In the airport, everyone was dressed in black, gray, or some neutral color the shade of puke. The carpet, the couches, and the walls were all the same, lame tones. It also seemed slower and dull. People were driving slower and actually abiding traffic laws. No fun! I had grown used to my drivers going any speed they so desired and honking the horn to get where I needed to go. The simplicity of living was gone. No more hand pulled rickshaws, people balancing mass quantities of goods to sell on their bikes, or dung piles to be collected, dried and used as fuel for fire. Everyone seemed to have the same constipated look on their faces. I had just come from a third world country where millions of people struggle just to get by. Yet, I realized that those people seemed to share a positive attitude despite their circumstances. Why did everyone now seem to be so sad?

A Bindi (Dot on Forehead)
Can Signify Marriage
Or Just Worn for Looks

I believe that overall, most the U.S. is overworked. All work and no fun makes Jack a dull boy. But I also believe that we are stuck in our mundane lives because we choose to be. Some of us are just trying to get by. For others, nothing is enough. Why not forget the bills or the promotion just for one day? Why not do something unexpected? Something completely spontaneous? Something you've always wanted to do, but for one reason or another, have not done. We never really know how long we will be living this beautiful life, so why not make it happen now?! If you want to climb Mt. Everest, you've got a lot of money to save up. If you can't afford it, just do something you can afford to do. I lived in the Black Hills of South Dakota, a uniquely, incredibly beautiful wilderness in heart of America. It pained me to hear people say that there was nothing to do. There is always something to do. Put a smile on your face and talk to someone new. Life is what you make it. 

Wow! If this doesn't entertain you, check your vitals.

Peacocks: Don't Let Their Beauty Fool You

Do you like peacocks? I used to like peacocks just fine. I remember seeing them at the Oregon Zoo for the first time when I was about five years old. I don't remember if they were in an actual cage or if I just happened to notice them strolling by on the sidewalk, but I was absolutely enthralled with their beauty! I remember staring at these amazing birds for as long as I could before my parents got bored and had to drag me to the next exhibit. It's true, even to this day, I will admit that when the males open up their butt feathers, it's hard to let your eyes escape it's beauty. But, let's remember that they just do it to show off (typical male).

The "real" peacock, the one that takes pride in being the most annoying bird on record, has shown up at my doorstep and will not leave. He's been here now, for going on two hours. It's behavior has forced me to classify it into the "freaky bird" category. Other birds fit into this category for various reasons. Chicken is freaky because it looks disgusting when it's raw and even more disgusting after you have vomited it up because it was cooked a few degrees under the "ready-to-eat" temperature (which varies and no one can seem to get right). It also seems pretty gross when it's hanging from the ceiling of a tent in an open-market surrounded by flies and smelling of decaying flesh. Needless to say, I don't eat chicken for this reason. Turkey neither. Don't get me wrong, because I don't want to "save the birds" or do something nice and humane like that. I just think they are, simply put, revolting, dirty animals. I'm laughing now, because I realize that I won't eat their body, but I will eat what comes out of their arses (that's English for ass)... eggs. They are essentially, unborn chickens, aren't they. But they taste good. And come in a protective coating so that we don't have to witness what we're eating until right before we cook it, and then it magically cooks completely 3 minutes later, will no ill effects afterward (at least in my case).

Snow owls are creepy too. I don't have alot of firsthand experience with these birds, but ever sense I saw the movie, The Fourth Kind, I have had some pretty creepy nightmares involving snow owls. If you haven't seen the movie, you should. I don't know how much of it is actually true, but the movie clearly proves my case in point that birds are not to be trusted. The snow owls in The Fourth Kind provide a direct link between humans and aliens. I inferred that the birds were actually posing as spies for the aliens. And the aliens were somehow controlling the fowls' minds and using the mental pictures supplied by the birds for their own, sick reasons. Another movie that comes to mind is Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Need I say more?

Not convinced? The dictionary.com definition of the word fowl is "any birds that are barnyard, domesticated, or wild, such as the duck, turkey, or pheasant." But it can easily be confused with the word foul, an adjective meaning "grossly offensive to the senses; disgustingly loathsome; noisome: a foul smell". Coincidence, I think not.

Let's get back to the suspect at hand: the peacock. Yes, if you are wondering, the same peacock is still on my lanai (deck). The only difference, is that now, he has pooped twice as much gray colored feces similar to oatmeal in texture. In detail, it's the oatmeal that you added twice as much water to because you accidentally looked at directions for making the meal for two instead of one. It happens. And it happened all over my lanai. Of course, he chose the spot right in front of the entryway. The spot where he knew I would want to venture eventually. But that wasn't enough. Oh no, not for this little guy. It was like he was oblivious to his poop. He pretended to not notice it and he walked through it continuously until it was tracked the whole length of the double doors.

It gets worse. He pecks at my flowers. The flowers that I had good intentions for admist my attempt to develop a green thumb. You should know that I am continually trying to revive the poor plant, moving it from the front to the back of the house, and sheltering it when the wind picks up, pretty much catering to it's every need (that I can think of). I even added fertilizer to give the flowers some life, something I never do, a last-ditch effort. Now it's come to my knowledge, that it is in all seriousness being pecked to death by an insidious creature with a brain the size of a walnut.

If you've never heard the cry of a peacock. You don't want to. It will frighten you. It can be compared to a child's scream for bloody murder, or the sound that may come from a bedroom during a frisky lovemaking session magnified in volume tenfold. The first time I heard it, I ran outside and searched for what had gone horribly wrong, half expecting to find a child lost for three months or a stray cat that been run over by a semi and somehow managed to survive. This is the call of the peacock. A sound we have grown all too familar with. Daily.

In conclusion, peacocks are on my list. Don't trust them.

Why Blog? Why Run?

I usually feel it around minute eight... the relief of feeling my legs suddenly sensing the effortless stride I now call "autopilot". I know it's happening when I feel a slight tingling sensation starting from my legs, working all the way up my spine. A runner's high, I suppose. My mind relaxes and I am able to concentrate on the basics we seem to take for granted day to day. I am suddenly reminded that my body is breathing and my heart is beating. My feet repetitiously pound the surface like a beating bass drum, and I somehow feel more grounded physically and mentally. This is my brief moment of zen.

I never thought I would be a "runner" or a "recreational jogger" or whatever label I fit under. In high school, I remember sitting behind a cross country runner in my world history class. I consider myself a pretty good student, but history quite honestly has always been hard for me to get into, and especially so at the time because it was being taught from an outdated textbook, with slight references to the art and music of the times (my forte). So I spent most of class observing the habits of others around me. This girl in front of me seemed to have it really together. I knew she was a cross-country runner and she was very meticulous in everything she did. She always carried a water bottle (before it was cool to do so) and managed to secretly, eat the power bar, hidden in her hoodie pocket, one crumb at a time, like a bird. Her running shoes were a brand I did not recognize at the time and, I noticed, they grew increasingly dirty day by day.  This all seemed very foreign but strangely appealing. Why were a million questions floating through my mind? I had to talk to her to find out why she punished herself by eating those bland, tasteless bars, and why she pushed herself to run at a pace and a distance out of her comfort zone. I couldn't fathom running anymore than necessary for any reason other than to participate in a team sport.

And then came a day that I was not tardy to history class and I actually had some time to converse with this  intriguing individual. I wanted to know why she did what she did and how she did it. But, most importantly, I wanted to know how I could do it too. She explained that running was something she did for fun, believe it or not, and that she used to be just like me a few years before. She explained how she started by running a mile, and then, someday that wasn't enough and she ran two. Before she knew it, she wasn't satisfied unless she was running at least five miles a day. That night, I bought my first pair of Asics (those weird looking shoes I saw tied to her gym bag), and I never looked back. I started from square zero, copying every detail that I could remember from our conversation. There's more to it than you think! It was hard, but within a few months, I could run continuously for thirty minutes--a feat that, shortly before, I had never even considered.

What sparked this sudden change in lifestyle? I'm not sure to be exact. I think I wanted a complete make-over. Physically, I was tall and awkwardly lanky, constantly being misdiagnosed as being sick, due to, in part, my pale completion. Once, my friend's mom even called me homely. Lovely. Emotionally, I was dealing with too much at once. In a nutshell, I was subconsciously trying to be the perfect child in a not-so-perfect family, just to appease everyone. When in reality, I was just a typical, egotistical teenage mess, just trying to fit in so that I wouldn't be labeled "different". Honestly, I didn't like the person I was. My dad had just comitted suicide, and in a small town, that makes you a target for sympathetic looks and whispers behind your back. Everyone wants to say how sorry they are because they don't know what else to say, but that's where it ends. They keep their distance because they don't know what else to do. I was alone. No one to relate to.

I felt like I didn't belong, but I didn't want to belong anymore. I wanted to be me whether anyone liked it or not. I was going to turn my life around, no matter how hard I had to work for it. In fact, in my mind, the more sweat and blood, the better. I guess I didn't really know how to deal with everything happening in my life, so I just ran--not away from it, but as an alternative to anti-depressants. I was treating the cause of the symptoms, rather than the symptoms themselves. Something, I think, should be prescribed more often.

Quick, jump to this weekend. The reason why I even thought of any of this stuff at all. After saving up for about two years, I was able to buy my first surfboard. Not just any board. A brand new stand-up paddle board that I had my eyes on for almost as long. Before that, a few years earlier, I was turned on to road biking and swimming for cross-training purposes during countless injuries running competitively. Oh, and let's not forget downhill skiing even though it's seasonal (and telemarking, thanks to Chance). A year at MSU in Bozeman was an obvious choice for me. I guess you could say, I have broadened my "zen" moments to include other recreations. Contradictory to the minimalist approach, I know, but these are material possessions I refuse to compromise. These "things" keep me sane.

I have also been practicing a secret "therapy" that I am going to divulge now. I keep a journal. Mostly for sketching when I feel creative, but sometimes I creatively write. But, I tend to write only when I am angry. I end up regurgitating the words from my mouth to my paper, only to immediately dispose of evidence shortly thereafter. Since I am now shifting my train of thought from negative viewpoint to positive one, I have decided to share my thoughts and feelings publicly, to a select few friends and family, whom I trust. I strive to keep things humorous and lighthearted. I am not an opinionated person. Quite contrarily I like to keep an open mind. In fact, I tend to shut down if the conversation gets too biased in one direction. I apologize beforehand if anything I ever write offends anyone. It's non-intentional if that is the case.

Why blog? Simply stated: it's my therapy. And also, someone mentioned casually that they would read my blog if I had a blog. I had to do some research on this blog business because I didn't really even fully understand what a blog was. I'm not technically-challenged; I like to think of myself as technically ignorant, but for good reason. So vwah-lah! Here it is. Post all the comments you want or none at all!