We have slept outside for two nights in a row now. The night before last, in a desperate attempt to avoid waking up to pools of sweat on our sheets multiple times in the night, Kara and I pulled our mattresses off the beds and laid them side by side in the courtyard. Stefanie slept on her mattress pad the night before as well (out of desperation too I believe, air doesn't circulate well) but we opted for the added trouble of the mattress over marginal comfort. We slept like babies, with minimal guilt in the morning when we woke up on our comfy mattresses next to Stefanie on her sheet.
This week went by very fast. It probably had to do that with the fact that we got back from Buenos Aires at midnight and woke up the next morning for class. We like to keep things going around here. The absence of our extra 3 hours of spanish lab this week made a world of difference in my sanity. Its amazing what having an entire afternoon free will do for your mental health.
I find myself writing so much here between blogging, and trying to stay in touch at the homestead, my attempts to faithfully record the events in my life (for once... would you judge me if I said diligence was never my strong suit?) and of course... it is STUDY abroad. be ye not fooled... we have papers due too.
It's nice. I write it because I think it's validating not because I have to. There's just a lot worthy of note these days and it takes some effort... Don't tell anyone I need validation. It might effect my cool-factor.
I do live a wicked awesome life. It's a shame not to write it down. Last semester I decided I'm going publish my autobiography. A lot can happen in 20 years.
If Miley Cyrus can publish her autobiography about how hard middle school has been then I can at least start mine.
This week we read a book called Child of the Dark and wrote a response paper. Personally, this is the kind of assignment I can get on board with. Response papers. That's just a fancy way of saying 'opinions.' I friends, have many opinions (that are right.)
It is about a black Brazilian women who was handed life on a paper platter with nothing but hardships from the beginning. Even without an education she develops a love for writing and writes her story and the stories about the slums of Brazil in a diary which was later published and became one of the best selling books in Brazil. (Child of the Dark) The diaries were published when a young reporter attended the opening of a new playground in São Paulo and hears Carolina threatening some men who were fighting with children over the see-saws. She was threatening to tell of them in her writing and when it's published they will be there for the world to see how horrible they are. As it were, she did.
It was a very good book. Not in the same way that makes you Harry Potter people wait in line at ridiculous hours of the morning to get a copy of the newest hardback and in fact, the note from the translator and the first 50 pages are enough to get the gist and almost as much as you can handle. The pain of life is communicated in the first few pages. The rest of the book is just an extra dose of depression to add to the guilt that you've just been handed. NOW you want to go read it, I can tell.
At the risk of making this post really long and boring I'm going to share part of my response to the book. I have found it so relative to my experience in Uruguay... daily I am humbled by the situations of the people around me. New exposure to an old disease. I see so much more clearly the undulations of the world without the differences being scaled down to a middle class- and a little above or below.
"I think that helplessness has something to do with my forgetfulness and the feeling of having your hands tied behind your back will always harness your concern. This book is an encouragement to me because its very existence exemplifies the only way I know to make a difference. It’s the only way I think I fit, because I can’t fix the world but I can see that the world needs to be fixed. The story behind the book’s existence is as monumental and motivating to me as the very story itself, though the two obviously must go hand in hand.
As an artist I have had to struggle with my profession in light of my knowledge that life is a burden for many. I believe in it, art that is (life too, I suppose) but what justification can I have for art in a world where people are forced to work themselves to death in order to live? (Art in this case includes the art of words... For instance, the diaries.) My solution has been to find a way to use art as a tool for awareness, because I think awareness is what the world lacks. If not to give awareness then a guilt trip, because many people are aware of suffering we just choose to turn our faces from it. In the note from the translator he says, “She is not trying to be artistic – just sincere” but the truth of that statement for me is that art is sincerity.
One cannot say that if there were a God there would be no suffering, because surely that person has seen suffering enough to think the world is unjust, and the fact that there is any logic at all present in a world of tribulations is a testament to his presence in it. Times that sense is found among the rubbish are more than mere coincidence. Coincidence is the fact that so many people happen to suffer a similar burden. My limited knowledge of God’s reasoning keeps me from understanding why life is what is it, but my experience and exposure to the suffering allows me to see that he is doing something. "
hay caras de sudamerica que no puedo olvidar.
annnd... on a seperate and unrelated note. Some pictures from Buenos Aires
DUDE. all photos copyright. jessalyn massingill 2009- back off. :)
-jessalyn
No comments:
Post a Comment