Realism

Unfortunately, I am not completely out of touch with reality. I just can't seem to get away from it, no matter how hard I try.

It caught up to me before Christmas even got here, when we were visiting my grandmother on my father's side. My aunt asked me about my college plans (which are currently limited to the fact that I'm going.) I got so stressed out just talking about it. My throat started getting really tight, and I almost started crying.

I don't know! I don't know where I'm going or how I'm getting there or what I'm doing once I get there! I have no idea! I'm not there yet. I'm here. But There keeps haunting me here. It won't go away.

Shoo, College, it's not your turn yet.

So later on, my sister and I were chatting with one of my father's cousins from Germany, who is this really smart professor type and happens to be quite knowledgeable. He asked us what we thought of certain recent global events, which we happened to have heard nothing about. Needless to say, we didn't have much to say on the matter. Anyway, he was really encouraging us to read the newspaper or subscribe to email updates on this stuff.

But I don't really want to know. That might be horrible and immature, but I don't want to hear about wars and rumors of wars, of politics and destruction and terror. I don't want to know what is going on in the rest of the world or even in the rest of my country, because I'm safe right here. I want to curl up in a little ball and shut my eyes and plug my ears and pretend that everything is fine. I want to live in blissful ignorance, because in my little corner of the world it is bright and sunny. There might be rain coming, but I don't want to hear about it now. I'll deal with it when it comes. In the meantime, why should I wring my hands and count clouds?

My father's cousin said it had always surprised him that Christians were not more active in certain charities. Shouldn't our beliefs give us more urgency?

As far as charity goes, I don't do much. I do not volunteer anymore outside of my church and my school. I don't always tithe like I should. I co-sponsor a little boy through World Vision, with a friend from church. His name is Alex and he lives in El Salvador. Reality is, though, I should do more. I should write him more letters, send him pictures. I should give more of myself, my time.

And then there is reality on a much smaller scale: homework. Yes, homework over Christmas break. Gee, thanks. Merry Christmas to you too, teachers. Anyway, I haven't finished and I won't be finished when school starts back. I'll be behind before I ever go to class. (I sort've left a textbook necessary for one of the assignments in my locker...oops...)

Rather than blogging about reality and how much I hate it, it would make much more sense to pick a side. If I'm really hiding from it, I shouldn't be acknowledging it like this, right? But if I've decided to face reality, shouldn't I be doing something about it? Either way, this post should end right...

Here.

Feliz Navidad!!!

This season is always an interesting one for me, being involved in various choirs and such. Life seems to crescendo around Christmas. Usually, exams at school fall right before Christmas break. The year wraps itself up like another present under the tree and families gather around tables of food. Traditions are upheld. Everyone takes a deep breath. And then we hold it as we watch the clock. Everyone cheers and toasts to another year.

Well, right now I'm at the 'taking a deep breath' step. I love Christmas. I love the music, the rush of activity, the decorations, the air! Christmas air is definitely different than regular air. I love the lights. Mateo recently hosted a lovely little party the night before Christmas Eve at this adorable little village-of-sorts on the beach. It was so beautiful there. The beach, the night, the lights, the streets, the houses, the fountain. There was a little gathering of trees all wrapped in pure white lights with luscious green grass and a little brick pathway and benches. There was a tall Christmas tree with sparkling ornaments in front of a bell-tower. There was a glistening sea on the other side of a stretch of cold white sand, all under a clear and calm sky. Everything was picturesque (except the random glimpse of Winn-Dixie in between two houses...I pretended it wasn't there).

Christmas Eve, I played! I played the organ with a little ensemble of a cello, a violinist, three sopranos, and a bass. I messed up so much, but it was just incredible. I love playing with other people. There's just something magical about the way it all comes together. About the way the music shifts and changes when you layer it like that. About the way each part sounds so simple on its own, but is vital to the whole. The service was long, and somewhat foreign. Lutheran churches have a different fiber than Baptist churches, but the heart is the same. It was raining when I left. I had to run through a curtain of diamond raindrops to get to my vehicle.

On Christmas day, my little sister was ecstatic. I had opened all my important presents the night before. Santa only brings me candy these days (he threw in a flash drive and a Starbucks gift card to pacify me). But I had more music. My mother bought me the cd's I have been begging her for. This Italian composer, Ludovico Einaudi: I am obsessed with his work right now. We listened to it on the way to my grandmother's house. The route itself is actually quite beautiful. I was driving, and taking in the view, and listening to Einaudi. I had a grey Christmas, full of barren trees and empty fields, of grazing cows and narrow, winding roads. Of piano music and a warm kitchen and family games. It was grey, but it was gorgeous.

So I'm a little starry-eyed right now. Go listen to some Einaudi. Divenire is one of my favorites, I think. You'll see why.

Little Girls are Brutal

My youngest sister had a party today. She and six of her second grade friends governed our house for two hours, and the rest of us barely survived. Squealing, screaming, bouncing, yelling, jumping, skipping, running. Thankfully, nobody broke anything and none of the little girls got their feelings hurt. I was on edge the whole time, though.

They were supposed to be scrapbooking. "Ew, Christian. Look, guys, Christian is in this picture." "I don't want him in my picture!" "Where is he?" "Right here, in the front." "I'm going to cut him out." "No way! Really? Are you really?"

She did. She cut the little boy out of the picture. Then she shredded the exert and threw it away. "Look, Mrs. Cabrera, I cut Christian out of my picture!" Laughing. So proud of herself.

"Poor Christian," my mom said.

After the cake, they ran wildly about, chasing each other, screaming. My grandfather turned his hearing aids off.

Watch out for the lamp!

Watch out for the Christmas tree!

Watch out for the dog!

One girl, bored and disatisfied, announced, "I'm going to play in your room." Now, my little sister inherited some American Girl Dolls from the two of us older sisters, and she has one of her own. I made it a point to tell the girls one of those was mine. I thought the idea of Big Sister's things might would scare some respect into them. (They play rough!) It didn't do any good, though.

My mom suggested we just remove the dolls. So when they started screaming and chasing each other again, I sneaked in and scooped up the trio. However, before I could escape, they flooded back in.

I felt like the Grinch. I was cornered, caught red-handed, and the girls were staring at me with wide eyes. "Why are you taking the dolls?" "Uh, I'm just going to put them away. To be safe." "Where?" "Aw...you mean we can't play with 'em?"

No. No, you cannot.

At one point, to be funny, one of the girls decided she'd lost her thumbs. She tucked them under her other fingers to make fists, shoving them in the others' faces and yelling, "Look! I don't have any thumbs!"

"Me either! Mine fell off!" "Oh no, I lost my thumbs!" "We don't have thumbs. Waaaa!" And then one of them threw out a word heard in this context, though I'm sure none of them understood. "We don't have opposable thumbs!" "No opposable thumbs!"

How appropriate, because you're all animals!

I was absolutely thrilled to see the parents at three o'clock.

Confession...

I am not green.

When I go to the grocery store, I use plastic bags. I do not recycle them. I am not on a mission to save the planet. I was totally disgusted when the fourth Maximum Ride book turned out to be Global Warming propaganda. I didn't like Wall-E for the same reason. It gets under my skin when the green agenda manifests itself everywhere.

The prompt for our Spanish essay went something like this:

"Imagine that you are a fish, bird, or whichever other animal and that one day human beings arrived to the region where you were happily living in a perfect habitat. Narrate how they arrived, what they did, with what they experimented or what they constructed, how it affected your habitat and what you did in order to survive."

Is it just me, or is that prompt a little skewed? I felt like words were being forced down my throat for me to cough back up on cue. Now, it's not like I hate the planet or don't acknowledge that, yes, we've made a mess of things. We're human; we mess up. It's what we do. Sure, I think we should do the best with what we've got and take care of the world we've been blessed with. But we're not going to save it. This life, this world, is temporary. We have to quit pretending we're in control.

Besides, I think most of the media that supports everything green has their own secret agenda, motivated by money.

I made the mistake of telling my Spanish teacher I felt like I was being brainwashed. She was very offended and swore up and down that she would never brainwash us (which, I really don't believe she would. She's very nice and has our best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean she's always right). And Mateo, who was present, said, "That's exactly what a brainwasher would tell us!"

She walked away.

I wrote about sheep, who had a shepherd, who saved them from wolves.