It's one of those days that when I walked into my building, heading up to bed, listening to a poppy song on my ipod that I literally, LITERALLY, spun a turn in the entry hall on my tippy toe-my other leg swinging around in a whimsical kind of way, only to turn around and see someone else coming into the building. I composed myself and pressed the up button, hoping he'd take the stairs. We both entered the elevator (which by the way has a sparkling floor and a mirrored ceiling so you feel like youre in a mini rocket capsule) and I felt giddy that I had a little secret swirling about my head.
1. people are interesting and fabulous and passionate. Yannick, another student in my Croatian program was reminding me not too long ago that there are 6 billion people in the world. I can't imagine each of those individuals bursting with potential, but you know it is true!
1.a. Today I was doing some researching/interviews/drinking lots and lots and lots of coffee and one of the gentlemen I was speaking with said "i think the word impossible should be erased from every dictionary in the world" ...
2. It is good to be challenged.
Today the people I spoke with had various, almost polar, points of views from feeling like they had no opportunity to the idea you can achieve anything you want, if you know what you want. It is always a spectrum.
[when i was re-reading this i realized it sounds like I am in love, but I am not. I just adore the neighborhood I live in, my cozy room, having good interviews, feeling productive, phonetics class, and podcasts. I do not adore, eating too many pastries, not having enough hours in the day, being rushed, and waking up late.]
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
a strange internet find.
daydream (noun) A dreamlike musing or fantasy while awake, especially of the fulfillment of wishes or hopes.
Synonyms: air castle, castle in Spain, castle in the air, oneirism, reverie
Usage: He escaped into daydreams of heroic men and beautiful women.
Synonyms: air castle, castle in Spain, castle in the air, oneirism, reverie
Usage: He escaped into daydreams of heroic men and beautiful women.
Always a a product of individual and institutional power
Constructing a conversation-realizing I need to be more organized-oh thats why they made us write literature reviews all of college-notes on things I am reading-unless you are interested in gender and nationalism Id skip this sketch-book like entry, this attempt to publically acknowledge i am not simply A BUMP ON A LOG.
Currently reading - GENDER AND NATIONALISM
Intro by Tamar Mayer
notes:
Nationalism is the excerise of internal hegemony, the exclusive empowerment of those who share a sense of belonging to the same "imagined community"
Because nationalism, gender and sexuality are all sociallay and culturally constructed, they frequently play an important role in constructing one another-by invoking and helping to construct the "us" versus "them" distinction and the exclusion of the other
A nation "is a soul, a spiritual principle" (Renan 1990:19) a "moral consciousness" (Renan 1990:20) which its members believe must be maintained at all times and at all costs.
Who I am is connected to who the nation is; that is my "ego" is often inseparable from the "ego" of the nation to which I belong and which helps to define my identity.
Culture and ritual are centeral strategies through which the nation projects itself inwardly, as well as to the outside world and through which it mobilizes its members.
Currently reading - GENDER AND NATIONALISM
Intro by Tamar Mayer
notes:
Nationalism is the excerise of internal hegemony, the exclusive empowerment of those who share a sense of belonging to the same "imagined community"
Because nationalism, gender and sexuality are all sociallay and culturally constructed, they frequently play an important role in constructing one another-by invoking and helping to construct the "us" versus "them" distinction and the exclusion of the other
A nation "is a soul, a spiritual principle" (Renan 1990:19) a "moral consciousness" (Renan 1990:20) which its members believe must be maintained at all times and at all costs.
Who I am is connected to who the nation is; that is my "ego" is often inseparable from the "ego" of the nation to which I belong and which helps to define my identity.
Culture and ritual are centeral strategies through which the nation projects itself inwardly, as well as to the outside world and through which it mobilizes its members.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Studying croatian fried my brain. Its rainy again and I am sitting in booksa, again, but happy to do so. happy to feel in one place, to breathe a bit deeper. I had a whirlwind night last night. I went and saw the screaming females, a band from new jersey that I've seen play in St.Louis. They were super great and it was nice to spend an evening dancing with some punk kids.
In other news I have my first Croatian test soon. So many cases. The language is awfully tricky.
study study study.
In other news I have my first Croatian test soon. So many cases. The language is awfully tricky.
study study study.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
"lie, as in to tell an un-truth?"
It's been a good two weeks since I've updated and I am not exactly sure where to start. First of all, all the English teaching fulbrighters were in Zagreb for the week including my dear friend Sarajane and my new dear friends Katie and Dylan who are living in Belgrade. Its funny how being stuck in similar situations can really build a feeling of comradery or family. Maybe it's because were all sort-of fresh out of school, living in new places, I don’t know but it was nice, very nice, to just have a group of people who were really in similar situations and mind sets. And to see an old friend: D ... it made my heart lighter. It takes time for places to feel like home but its nice to know I am really a product of many communities and even when we aren’t interacting in those communities on a daily basis they don't just disappear into dust.
It's Sunday afternoon, my favorite these days. It's my only day of the week when I have zero obligations, except to make time to think a bit about the week and hopefully write a little and read a little. I'm sitting in books and there is some nice classic blues playing and everyone here is reading and studying and the sun is coming in the big front windows. I walked here; enjoying the 60-degree weather wishing it was logical to sit outside on my computer. Last Sunday I went Mirgori, the cemetery there are photos of below.
I went Halloween night with a couple of friends from Zagreb. The cemetery was mostly deserted and the sun had already set. There were waves of lit candles as far as you could see. In many ways it was peaceful and calming. Outside of the cemetery you could buy roasted chestnuts and popcorn, as if one was going to the fair. As we were walking up the hill towards the bus, one of my friends said: "Its not a cemetery tonight, its something different." It wasn't simply about visiting the dead but also seeing how people value lineage here, or honor their dead. Maybe it was because I was in the oldest and most famous cemetery but there was hardly a grave without a candle, even if the grave was over 100 years old. It made me realize I've never even been back to Gramps' grave and what does that mean? For me, the cemetery Halloween wasn't sad because it wasn't about loss but about remembering, and remembering that everyone loses someone. Sometimes when you go to a cemetery to visit a grave, a particular grave, you feel as if you are the only there, the only person mourning and here it was community, someone has moved on but you clearly aren’t the only person who has lost someone and I suppose hopefully when you’ve passed you'll also get a candle on your grave. Maybe this is all a bit morbid to write about my blog but in many ways it was comforting and sweet. As sad as I was about not being home on Halloween I was glad to be strolling through the grave yard, smelling like decomposing leaves and thinking of fall camping trips, and the people in my own life who have passed away but are always present somehow in the stories we tell about them and the parts of ourselves that have been shaped by them.
Monday I went to the cemetery again, this time with the other girls on the Fulbright. Since Monday was the actual holiday the cemetery was packed. People were mulling about and little kids were carrying candles to graves, eating popcorn, eyes wandering about looking into the darkness of the night. Behind the main church there was an immense glowing cross-made of candles and emerging erect right in the center was a crucified Jesus. Between the cross and the church was the grave of Franjo Tudjman-the Croatian nationalist dictator responsible both for ethnic cleansing and also, in some ways, Croatia's independence. People were kneeling at his grave and praying, and the massive cross constructed by prayer candles emitted so much heat as you approached it you felt warm, taking off your jacket, wondering if it was rude or exploitive to take photos. In general the atmosphere felt more circus-like than the night before. The memorials, the graves, the people, the cross, it all seemed extreme, the kind of thing that happens in big-budget Hollywood movies. In addition to all the hubbub there were professional cameras on huge cranes filming the whole thing, the mass, the priests, the people. My favorite however was the old man who circled the cross of candles dressed in a navy suit and shinny dress shoes carrying an old shovel full of dirt. When I first spotted this bald-headed stout fellow I thought, surely they aren't burying someone tonight! I soon realized he was putting out small fires that happened when the candles began to melt plastic or fall over onto a pile of dry leaves. His attention was focused only on the little flames that would sporadically ignite in the center of the cross...a little shuffling of feet and a few minutes later the stout suit sporting man would dump a bit a dirt and keep moving on.
It was also Masa's birthday. We went home and ate some cake (that amela and I made at 8 in the morning! Chocolate ganache! Yum!) and drank some wine and played paper telephone. It was casual and nice and warm.
Tuesday I got a terrible call. Ive waiting to move into an apartment with a friend, Ana, of mine. She called to tell me the deal feel through. I automatically felt panic, then stress, then stupid for thinking I should wait for her to find out the details for sure anyway. But, we all make mistake, right? And as my dad would say, these are anthills in our lives. I've found a new place, not right in the center but in an awesome neighborhood I really like and with someone really nice. It's a brand new apartment and I'll have my own room + Internet and a nice kitchen, all for super cheap! So now you can all come and visit and send me letters :)
On Thursday I went to vukovar with the Youth Initiative on Human Rights. I went to vukovar last time I was here and it was super impact and really was the first time when I was here when the things I had been learning about felt like they had actually happened, that they weren't just stories that existed in books or experiences thought about in academia but rather many people's reality.
This time around it was interesting because I went with people from Serbia and Croatia, people who had more personal feelings about what happened there, or had experiences they could relate to what happened in Vukovar.
TO BE CONTINUED....
It's Sunday afternoon, my favorite these days. It's my only day of the week when I have zero obligations, except to make time to think a bit about the week and hopefully write a little and read a little. I'm sitting in books and there is some nice classic blues playing and everyone here is reading and studying and the sun is coming in the big front windows. I walked here; enjoying the 60-degree weather wishing it was logical to sit outside on my computer. Last Sunday I went Mirgori, the cemetery there are photos of below.
I went Halloween night with a couple of friends from Zagreb. The cemetery was mostly deserted and the sun had already set. There were waves of lit candles as far as you could see. In many ways it was peaceful and calming. Outside of the cemetery you could buy roasted chestnuts and popcorn, as if one was going to the fair. As we were walking up the hill towards the bus, one of my friends said: "Its not a cemetery tonight, its something different." It wasn't simply about visiting the dead but also seeing how people value lineage here, or honor their dead. Maybe it was because I was in the oldest and most famous cemetery but there was hardly a grave without a candle, even if the grave was over 100 years old. It made me realize I've never even been back to Gramps' grave and what does that mean? For me, the cemetery Halloween wasn't sad because it wasn't about loss but about remembering, and remembering that everyone loses someone. Sometimes when you go to a cemetery to visit a grave, a particular grave, you feel as if you are the only there, the only person mourning and here it was community, someone has moved on but you clearly aren’t the only person who has lost someone and I suppose hopefully when you’ve passed you'll also get a candle on your grave. Maybe this is all a bit morbid to write about my blog but in many ways it was comforting and sweet. As sad as I was about not being home on Halloween I was glad to be strolling through the grave yard, smelling like decomposing leaves and thinking of fall camping trips, and the people in my own life who have passed away but are always present somehow in the stories we tell about them and the parts of ourselves that have been shaped by them.
Monday I went to the cemetery again, this time with the other girls on the Fulbright. Since Monday was the actual holiday the cemetery was packed. People were mulling about and little kids were carrying candles to graves, eating popcorn, eyes wandering about looking into the darkness of the night. Behind the main church there was an immense glowing cross-made of candles and emerging erect right in the center was a crucified Jesus. Between the cross and the church was the grave of Franjo Tudjman-the Croatian nationalist dictator responsible both for ethnic cleansing and also, in some ways, Croatia's independence. People were kneeling at his grave and praying, and the massive cross constructed by prayer candles emitted so much heat as you approached it you felt warm, taking off your jacket, wondering if it was rude or exploitive to take photos. In general the atmosphere felt more circus-like than the night before. The memorials, the graves, the people, the cross, it all seemed extreme, the kind of thing that happens in big-budget Hollywood movies. In addition to all the hubbub there were professional cameras on huge cranes filming the whole thing, the mass, the priests, the people. My favorite however was the old man who circled the cross of candles dressed in a navy suit and shinny dress shoes carrying an old shovel full of dirt. When I first spotted this bald-headed stout fellow I thought, surely they aren't burying someone tonight! I soon realized he was putting out small fires that happened when the candles began to melt plastic or fall over onto a pile of dry leaves. His attention was focused only on the little flames that would sporadically ignite in the center of the cross...a little shuffling of feet and a few minutes later the stout suit sporting man would dump a bit a dirt and keep moving on.
It was also Masa's birthday. We went home and ate some cake (that amela and I made at 8 in the morning! Chocolate ganache! Yum!) and drank some wine and played paper telephone. It was casual and nice and warm.
Tuesday I got a terrible call. Ive waiting to move into an apartment with a friend, Ana, of mine. She called to tell me the deal feel through. I automatically felt panic, then stress, then stupid for thinking I should wait for her to find out the details for sure anyway. But, we all make mistake, right? And as my dad would say, these are anthills in our lives. I've found a new place, not right in the center but in an awesome neighborhood I really like and with someone really nice. It's a brand new apartment and I'll have my own room + Internet and a nice kitchen, all for super cheap! So now you can all come and visit and send me letters :)
On Thursday I went to vukovar with the Youth Initiative on Human Rights. I went to vukovar last time I was here and it was super impact and really was the first time when I was here when the things I had been learning about felt like they had actually happened, that they weren't just stories that existed in books or experiences thought about in academia but rather many people's reality.
This time around it was interesting because I went with people from Serbia and Croatia, people who had more personal feelings about what happened there, or had experiences they could relate to what happened in Vukovar.
TO BE CONTINUED....
Friday, November 5, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
"We knew they had freckles"
Recap! Just the highlights.
monday: Ariel Acrobats! Thats right, when the ribbons hang from the cieling.
tuesday: concert, alt rock electronic-ish depech mode ish croatain rock band
thursday: jean shopping.
friday! Croaticum field trip: sight seeing included neanderthal musuem in Krapina, a castle, and church THEN, and embassy halloween party.
Saturday: 11-4 mare and marko-coffee +games+halloween poster+lunch then another halloween party with party games! Acting out scenes from horror films.
Sunday: Mirogori <3
Monday: Cake+Masa birthday and Mirogori again....
This is what i look like these days. just kidding! It was my attempt at a halloween costume, ever seen the Craft!? I hope so!
Mirogoj Cemetery on All Souls Day, Nov. 1st. Oldest (i think?) cemetery in Zagreb, built first in 1876. The arcades, where all the famous, well most, are buried/entombed.
Mirogoj Cemetery on All Souls Day, Nov. 1st. Oldest (i think?) cemetery in Zagreb, built first in 1876.
Finished Birthday Cake! All home made from scratch, including the whip cream letters.
Amela and I baked her an early morning cake, you know its frindship when you only sleep four hours just to bake a cake... well not any cake, chocolate cake (made with turkish coffee+dark chocolate+coca powder+yogurt) with rum infused gnache. Not to brag, but it turned out perfect-o...Torte od cokoladu!
Mirogoj Cemetery on All Souls Day, Nov. 1st. Oldest (i think?) cemetery in Zagreb, built first in 1876.
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