I'm one of those people who wants to know what they should do so they can go do it. These people are the natural teacher's pets and overachievers because someone somewhere along the way figured out how to manipulate us by making us think that we should do everything we can to help out everyone we can in every organization that we can find. What blows my mind is that this is not what I have to do, it's not something like eating or breathing or singing, but rather it's something that I'm supposed to do, that I should do to be successful in life or fulfilled or something. Nobody made me be in the band, nobody made me be in SAI, no one forced me to play handbells, no one pressured me into joining a committee, no one pushed me into one organization over another. No one's making me consider my future and plan it out. It's just what I should do.
It's an interesting line between should and must. There are quite a few things that I must do now because I'm so invested in them, I don't know that I have a choice in the matter. I mean, a while ago, say three years or something like that, I'm sure I had a choice but now I'm so caught up in the workings of the organizations that if I left it'd feel like a cog was missing from the clockwork and I'd be so jealous I couldn't stand it. I'm trying to remember that I'm replaceable, because everyone is, but I love this feeling of necessity and importance. I'm in charge of things. I get to decide things and do things. I get to guide and lead and help shape and form and I love that. I'm terribly afraid that if you take away the frilly words, I just like being bossy. And I like it so much that taking away all these things that I should do would be pulling the crutch out from underneath my recently restored happiness. Admittedly, it hasn't been all that recent and the injury wasn't that bad and so the crutch should not be as necessary as it is but there you are. [Blogger's note: I promise I'll deal with things more directly in the future. I'm even getting a little confused with the extensive imagery.]
So I do all of these things and I fill up my calendar and I feel quite accomplished because I should be doing all of this. I should be living my life to the fullest because I will never have another opportunity like this again. I should be enjoying every last toll of the bell tower because it will only be around in my life for another school year. I should have meetings and plans and things because that's how I'm going to leave a mark on this wonderful place that's left such a mark on me. I should be doing all of this and I am and at the end of a busy day, I'm smiling because this is what I'm best at. I'm accomplishing things. I should be doing this.
But there are also these other things that I should be doing that I am not and the little guilt monster that lies hidden in my stomach jumps when I think about these things. I should be looking at applications. I should be writing essays. I should be asking for letters of recommendation. I should have this all figured out with a plan, because that's what you do when you're a senior, is you have a plan and you follow it through and you have a backup plan and you follow that through if you need it and at the end of the day, you're really just planning what stuff you can take with you out of your parents house because you are actually moving out because suddenly it's May and you're on the field in Kenan at graduation and the real world is actually at your door step because you cannot hide in college any longer and what are you going to do since everything you know and know well has now become obsolete knowledge because there's no more time for you here and there's going to be another freshman turned senior in your place in four years and where will you be in four years aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout. Sigh. And I know that other seniors don't have it figured out either, but you're supposed to, you know, successful people have a plan and I am a successful person and I have a plan.
I do have a plan. In my other window of Firefox there are several tabs concerning certain theological schools and I have a couple of dates boxed in on my calendar for visits to schools. I'm also finishing all those exciting education classes and student teaching in the spring, so the backup plan is in full swing as well (though I feel like you shouldn't teach in a school unless you have a passion for teaching in a school and I can't say that I've grown that yet so I shouldn't teach, right? Right). I like to daydream about staying right close to Chapel Hill because I am in no way ready to leave this place yet. I love North Carolina. I love our green state and our mountains and our beaches. I love walking in the quad listening to the music of southern accents as they float along in the general symphony of speeches that only campus affords. I'm not sure if I could be happy anywhere else. It's funny, four years ago I was looking at out-of-state colleges because I had no desire to be stuck here forever. Some things change. And even if that daydream bursts at the seams, I still have plans for other places and it'll be good to go somewhere different and experience a different life and all that jazz. The problem is, I'm happy here. I don't want anything else. I'm one of those seniors who is stolidly ignoring graduation day because I think my heart might actually break. I should move on to other things and I do have a plan for that. But this might be the first time in my life when what I should do is different from what I want to do a large, painful way.
I start to think about this post-college life thing and I want to do something impulsive like move to a large city and become a bartender and spend my days reading and writing and sneaking peeks at astrophysical journals. Sometimes you want to go where no one knows your name. I want to be an effing mystery for ten seconds, some enigma that no one can figure out, from the name that I use to the place I say I'm from. I want to run away and find myself and see if there's anything to me beyond the choices that I make and the plans that I lay down.
Then again, I have never been a nomad- where I'm from is who I am. I have the feeling that I'd scream North Carolina even if I went to live in Illinois or California or Alaska. There are chunks of me that are unexpected, like chocolate chips in pancakes, but all in all, you'd look at me and say, Yup, that's a pancake. Most of me is happy with that- what would I be if I wasn't this? But I have this little restless part of me that thinks that adventures are still to be had, that thinks you should run out your door without your handkerchief or walking stick because life only happens to those people who live and I want to live. But I look at me and I see a pancake. Pancakes don't have adventures. Well, Pancakes might have adventures, but he's led a much more exciting life than me. But the point is that I'm not sure that I'm suited for the outside world. I'm a church mouse. Some people are just like that.
But.
I'm not sure that I should be.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friends Part the Next: The Epic of the Lost Key Concluded
The next day did not prove to be fruitful for the key search. Wolfie called the Methodist Church and was rewarded with a long conversation by a very kind old lady who suggested that she put the key on a key ring and get one of those key chains that lights up or something like that to assist in the finding of the key. She even called down to the maintenance man at the church to have him check the sanctuary for the key, but with no success. However, Wolfie was invited to come to look for the key herself. As the precious old lady said, "It might be worth your time to come look for yourself because I'm sure that no one would be looking for a single key. You know, it just wouldn't cross many people's minds. Even though I told John to look for a single gold colored key, you know, he was probably looking for a key ring. So just come on over, around four o'clock, and you can have a good look around yourself. I really think it would be worth your time. All right, dear, see you at four o'clock."
The conversation at Panera was much less cheerful. After a brief conversation with the burly male voice that answered the phone at the bread company ascertaining that there was not a key in either booth, she was invited to come and look for herself later in the day as well. Wolfie asked all of her friends at the planetarium, but no one had seen a key (strangely, a single silver house key had been turned into the gift shop that was dishearteningly dissimilar to the missing key and which made the ninja-like trip to the alarmed ticket office a bit pointless, though no less epic). After a long day at camp with kiddies, Wolfie trudged over to the church and had a look around herself. She left the church empty handed after a long conversation about birdhouses, brought on by the offhand comment, "I'm just going to hope that a bird took the key for its nest because that's more cheerful." Wolfie trudged down to a key-less Panera and then trudged once more down to the bus stop and back to the apartment.
She found Smalls on the couch beasting another temple in Wind Waker. Smiling apologetically, she explained that she had not found the key anywhere and sighed apologetically as she flopped down on the opposing couch next to Tiberius. Smalls was quite understanding and offered to show Wolfie how to unlock the door using the credit card and Wolfie gladly accepted, feeling that this skill, along with picking locks using hair pins, would come in handy in later life. They headed out the door, leaving Tiberius to jump up to the couch near the window to watch their progress.
Wolfie first handed over her license, since it needed to be renewed anyway. Wolfie, having both recently turned 21 and recently been mistaken for a middle schooler, was not concerned about the safety of a piece of plastic that compounded the problem by declaring that she was underage. She settled back against the black rail of the porch to watch a master at work. She exclaimed when she heard a click but was tempered in her excitement by Smalls' assurance that "That might sound like a good noise, but is, in fact not." She settled back further as Smalls demonstrated the best way to insert the plastic into the space between the door and the door frame and nodded understandingly as she watched the technique. However, the lessons progress was interrupted by the snapping of plastic. Smalls handed back Wolfie's license in two slightly bent pieces. Even in retrospect, Wolfie said that this was not a big deal at all- in fact, in removing that incriminating picture, it was probably actually a good thing. In fact, since Wolfie did not own a car, it would be months before a new license would be required.
It was at this point in the lesson that both the student and the teacher realized that the key to their relief lay on the other side of the immovable front door, both literally and figuratively. A few feet from Tiberius' faithful perch were Smalls' keys and both of their cell phones. Wolfie handed over her check card and Smalls fought the lock with renewed motivation. The oppressive heat, humidity and blood sucking insects of a late Hapel Chill summer drove the two of them to consider various other options. With locked and screened windows and a locked rear door, the only option seemed to ask the community office to let them back into the apartment. Wolfie set off down the road as Smalls had walked onto her porch barefoot. After a brief conversation with the lady in the office, she headed back to the apartment to find Smalls on the porch watching a new neighbor move in what looked like stolen paintings into her apartment from a large unmarked truck. Tiberius had abandoned the situation to hunt down a wild bone in the jungle that the living room must appear to a foot high terrier.
Smalls and Wolfie sat on the front porch shooting the breeze as package after large package was moved from the truck. The maintenance man never came, but the lady in the office came by on her way out for the evening to let them in. Grateful for the artificially cooled air, the two sunk down onto the couches and vowed never to speak of the incident again. Wolfie only gave me details under extreme duress, forcing an oath of secrecy upon me. However, it's too good of a story to keep silent. (For reals, who loses their key, knows they can't open the door with a card and then locks themselves outside without keys? Pretty intelligent and awesome people, that's who.)
Later that evening, Wolfie went to have a movie night with Sarah. On the way out of the house at the end of the night, Sarah noticed that she didn't have her keys. Her dutiful friend attempted to pick the lock with Wolfie's beaten and now unusable check card, but determined that the card was too flexible to force the lock back into its slot in the door. Wolfie was now satisfied that she was among three people in her life who were capable of unlocking doors with credit cards and considered the whole experience a combination of cursed luck and awkward happenstance. She slept well that night knowing that an extra key was being made the next day.
Of course, the next day Wolfie was greeted with a voicemail from Panera, where her key had been recovered. She gave it a place of honor on her key chain and smiled ruefully as the clerk at Wachovia mildly judged her when she showed her battered plastic. She would have you know, dear friends, that though her epic ended happily, do not allow your story to become a tragedy. Buy a large exciting key chain that lights up and practice opening your doors with those fake credit cards they send in the mail. Because clearly there are no other moral lessons to be gleaned from this story.
The end.
The conversation at Panera was much less cheerful. After a brief conversation with the burly male voice that answered the phone at the bread company ascertaining that there was not a key in either booth, she was invited to come and look for herself later in the day as well. Wolfie asked all of her friends at the planetarium, but no one had seen a key (strangely, a single silver house key had been turned into the gift shop that was dishearteningly dissimilar to the missing key and which made the ninja-like trip to the alarmed ticket office a bit pointless, though no less epic). After a long day at camp with kiddies, Wolfie trudged over to the church and had a look around herself. She left the church empty handed after a long conversation about birdhouses, brought on by the offhand comment, "I'm just going to hope that a bird took the key for its nest because that's more cheerful." Wolfie trudged down to a key-less Panera and then trudged once more down to the bus stop and back to the apartment.
She found Smalls on the couch beasting another temple in Wind Waker. Smiling apologetically, she explained that she had not found the key anywhere and sighed apologetically as she flopped down on the opposing couch next to Tiberius. Smalls was quite understanding and offered to show Wolfie how to unlock the door using the credit card and Wolfie gladly accepted, feeling that this skill, along with picking locks using hair pins, would come in handy in later life. They headed out the door, leaving Tiberius to jump up to the couch near the window to watch their progress.
Wolfie first handed over her license, since it needed to be renewed anyway. Wolfie, having both recently turned 21 and recently been mistaken for a middle schooler, was not concerned about the safety of a piece of plastic that compounded the problem by declaring that she was underage. She settled back against the black rail of the porch to watch a master at work. She exclaimed when she heard a click but was tempered in her excitement by Smalls' assurance that "That might sound like a good noise, but is, in fact not." She settled back further as Smalls demonstrated the best way to insert the plastic into the space between the door and the door frame and nodded understandingly as she watched the technique. However, the lessons progress was interrupted by the snapping of plastic. Smalls handed back Wolfie's license in two slightly bent pieces. Even in retrospect, Wolfie said that this was not a big deal at all- in fact, in removing that incriminating picture, it was probably actually a good thing. In fact, since Wolfie did not own a car, it would be months before a new license would be required.
It was at this point in the lesson that both the student and the teacher realized that the key to their relief lay on the other side of the immovable front door, both literally and figuratively. A few feet from Tiberius' faithful perch were Smalls' keys and both of their cell phones. Wolfie handed over her check card and Smalls fought the lock with renewed motivation. The oppressive heat, humidity and blood sucking insects of a late Hapel Chill summer drove the two of them to consider various other options. With locked and screened windows and a locked rear door, the only option seemed to ask the community office to let them back into the apartment. Wolfie set off down the road as Smalls had walked onto her porch barefoot. After a brief conversation with the lady in the office, she headed back to the apartment to find Smalls on the porch watching a new neighbor move in what looked like stolen paintings into her apartment from a large unmarked truck. Tiberius had abandoned the situation to hunt down a wild bone in the jungle that the living room must appear to a foot high terrier.
Smalls and Wolfie sat on the front porch shooting the breeze as package after large package was moved from the truck. The maintenance man never came, but the lady in the office came by on her way out for the evening to let them in. Grateful for the artificially cooled air, the two sunk down onto the couches and vowed never to speak of the incident again. Wolfie only gave me details under extreme duress, forcing an oath of secrecy upon me. However, it's too good of a story to keep silent. (For reals, who loses their key, knows they can't open the door with a card and then locks themselves outside without keys? Pretty intelligent and awesome people, that's who.)
Later that evening, Wolfie went to have a movie night with Sarah. On the way out of the house at the end of the night, Sarah noticed that she didn't have her keys. Her dutiful friend attempted to pick the lock with Wolfie's beaten and now unusable check card, but determined that the card was too flexible to force the lock back into its slot in the door. Wolfie was now satisfied that she was among three people in her life who were capable of unlocking doors with credit cards and considered the whole experience a combination of cursed luck and awkward happenstance. She slept well that night knowing that an extra key was being made the next day.
Of course, the next day Wolfie was greeted with a voicemail from Panera, where her key had been recovered. She gave it a place of honor on her key chain and smiled ruefully as the clerk at Wachovia mildly judged her when she showed her battered plastic. She would have you know, dear friends, that though her epic ended happily, do not allow your story to become a tragedy. Buy a large exciting key chain that lights up and practice opening your doors with those fake credit cards they send in the mail. Because clearly there are no other moral lessons to be gleaned from this story.
The end.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Friends Part Deux: The Epic of the Lost Key
So I have this friend named Aj Wolfie who was staying with another friend of ours for about a month this summer. The way she explained it, since she wasn't going to be staying at this place very long (which is regrettable because it was a pretty awesome place with a hedgehog [even though he didn't like Aj very much] and great decor and an awesome roommate) she decided that she would just carry the key around in her wallet instead of putting it on her key ring. In her defense, it's really hard to get those keys on a key ring. I'd avoid it if I could. Anyway.
My friend's roommate Smalls was going to be out of town for the weekend. Smalls lives far to the west, about a five hour drive from Hapel Chill, where our story takes place. Hapel Chill, it should be noted, is one of the best places on Earth, with the nicest people and most beautiful campus, not to mention promising sports seasons where they will not (pleasepleasepleaseplease) lose to their non-rivals on Wolfie's senior night football game. I should also mention that this story takes place in beautiful North Carolina. You'll appreciate how wonderful it is only after you've left it for a year or two. Now that the scene is set, we can return to our narrative.
With Smalls far away, Wolfie had no way to get to church on Sunday morning. She bribed her former roommate, C-Stine, with a free breakfast if she would come retrieve Wolfie from her momentary lodgings. C-Stine complied and the two set off in C-stine's borrowed car, since her usual car, Rafiki, was in the shop after having bested a contest with a sleek black wimpy car that didn't pay attention to the important things in life, such as stop lights. They drove to Panera for a quick bagel and then C-Stine dropped Wolfie off atUniversity Presbyterian University Lutheran University Baptist a Methodist Church. Wolfie remembers really enjoying the service, though she thought it was a little awkward coming in because she entered the church from the back instead of her normal front seat. She also had to climb over someone to help usher, but it all worked out in the end.
After the service, Wolfie went to meet her friend, Mary Jane, a red head, for brunch. Mary Jane was in town for the afternoon before heading down the road to meet her contra dancing partner and as she and Wolfie hadn't seen each other in a while, they walked down to Panera and had a good long chat in a booth across from where Wolfie had sat earlier that morning with C-Stine.
Wolfie then had to go to work at the planetarium because apparently weekend shifts are hard to fill in the summer in a college town and Mary Jane came along, having to wait a few hours before she could head out of town. Wolfie was helping a new tech train and spend most of her time before the shows started walking around the building pointing out random quirks and secret passageways. The afternoon shows went well and Wolfie clocked out to go meet her friend, Hermione, to watch a musical at her apartment. On her way out the door, she remembered hearing a metallic clink as something fell to the floor from the table in the student area, but she thought nothing of it.
Hermione had a genius plan which included Squirt, Red Vines, Reeses Pieces and Double Stuff Oreos and pizza. The musical, an online masterpiece of a sequel, often took a while to load, so even though they started the musical around 6, it was 11:30 before they finished the package of their favorite way to say Red Wines in a German accent and were heading back to Wolfie's apartment, since she had to teach a camp the next day. Wolfie picked up her bag at an odd angle in the darkened hallway, but the trip to the car and then to Wolfie's home was successful.
Outside the door, Wolfie fumbled in her bag while Hermione waited to see her safely in the house. In searching for her key, she discovered a hole in the lining of her bag and that her wallet had been left open since her second trip to Panera. Figuring that the key was in the lining of her bag, she motioned for Hermione to go home and sat down on her darkened front steps to search through her bag.
Five dimes, an empty purse and fifteen minutes later, Wolfie called Hermione back. She remembered the clinking noise and hypothesized that her missing key was at the planetarium. Hermione drove her over there and together they searched the darkened halls and hidden passageways of the planetarium for the missing key. The metallic noise, upon closer inspection, was a drill bit. Unsuccessful in their endeavors, Wolfie placed a few phone calls to C-Stine and Smalls to see what they could come up with. Smalls was helpful- she provided a phone number for maintenance but also suggested that the door was easily unlocked using a credit card. Armed with the erstwhile keys, Hermione and Wolfie headed back once again to Wolfie's apartment while C-Stine searched her car for the key with the aid of a flashlight.
Many attempts and that's what she said jokes, not to mention a few exclamations of Alohamora, were wasted on the recalcitrant door. The maintenance man was phoned and the two friends retreated from blood-thirst mosquitoes into the safety of Hermione's car where they listened to wonderful music and jumped for the car door handles every time someone pulled into the parking lot in front of Wolfie's apartment, which was more frequently than expected for approaching two in the morning on a summer Monday. The maintenance man finally arrived in a beat up red pickup truck and let Wolfie into her apartment for the night. She bid her good friend Hermione farewell and thanks and fell almost immediately asleep, determined to search for the key more thoroughly on the morrow.
... To be continued.
My friend's roommate Smalls was going to be out of town for the weekend. Smalls lives far to the west, about a five hour drive from Hapel Chill, where our story takes place. Hapel Chill, it should be noted, is one of the best places on Earth, with the nicest people and most beautiful campus, not to mention promising sports seasons where they will not (pleasepleasepleaseplease) lose to their non-rivals on Wolfie's senior night football game. I should also mention that this story takes place in beautiful North Carolina. You'll appreciate how wonderful it is only after you've left it for a year or two. Now that the scene is set, we can return to our narrative.
With Smalls far away, Wolfie had no way to get to church on Sunday morning. She bribed her former roommate, C-Stine, with a free breakfast if she would come retrieve Wolfie from her momentary lodgings. C-Stine complied and the two set off in C-stine's borrowed car, since her usual car, Rafiki, was in the shop after having bested a contest with a sleek black wimpy car that didn't pay attention to the important things in life, such as stop lights. They drove to Panera for a quick bagel and then C-Stine dropped Wolfie off at
After the service, Wolfie went to meet her friend, Mary Jane, a red head, for brunch. Mary Jane was in town for the afternoon before heading down the road to meet her contra dancing partner and as she and Wolfie hadn't seen each other in a while, they walked down to Panera and had a good long chat in a booth across from where Wolfie had sat earlier that morning with C-Stine.
Wolfie then had to go to work at the planetarium because apparently weekend shifts are hard to fill in the summer in a college town and Mary Jane came along, having to wait a few hours before she could head out of town. Wolfie was helping a new tech train and spend most of her time before the shows started walking around the building pointing out random quirks and secret passageways. The afternoon shows went well and Wolfie clocked out to go meet her friend, Hermione, to watch a musical at her apartment. On her way out the door, she remembered hearing a metallic clink as something fell to the floor from the table in the student area, but she thought nothing of it.
Hermione had a genius plan which included Squirt, Red Vines, Reeses Pieces and Double Stuff Oreos and pizza. The musical, an online masterpiece of a sequel, often took a while to load, so even though they started the musical around 6, it was 11:30 before they finished the package of their favorite way to say Red Wines in a German accent and were heading back to Wolfie's apartment, since she had to teach a camp the next day. Wolfie picked up her bag at an odd angle in the darkened hallway, but the trip to the car and then to Wolfie's home was successful.
Outside the door, Wolfie fumbled in her bag while Hermione waited to see her safely in the house. In searching for her key, she discovered a hole in the lining of her bag and that her wallet had been left open since her second trip to Panera. Figuring that the key was in the lining of her bag, she motioned for Hermione to go home and sat down on her darkened front steps to search through her bag.
Five dimes, an empty purse and fifteen minutes later, Wolfie called Hermione back. She remembered the clinking noise and hypothesized that her missing key was at the planetarium. Hermione drove her over there and together they searched the darkened halls and hidden passageways of the planetarium for the missing key. The metallic noise, upon closer inspection, was a drill bit. Unsuccessful in their endeavors, Wolfie placed a few phone calls to C-Stine and Smalls to see what they could come up with. Smalls was helpful- she provided a phone number for maintenance but also suggested that the door was easily unlocked using a credit card. Armed with the erstwhile keys, Hermione and Wolfie headed back once again to Wolfie's apartment while C-Stine searched her car for the key with the aid of a flashlight.
Many attempts and that's what she said jokes, not to mention a few exclamations of Alohamora, were wasted on the recalcitrant door. The maintenance man was phoned and the two friends retreated from blood-thirst mosquitoes into the safety of Hermione's car where they listened to wonderful music and jumped for the car door handles every time someone pulled into the parking lot in front of Wolfie's apartment, which was more frequently than expected for approaching two in the morning on a summer Monday. The maintenance man finally arrived in a beat up red pickup truck and let Wolfie into her apartment for the night. She bid her good friend Hermione farewell and thanks and fell almost immediately asleep, determined to search for the key more thoroughly on the morrow.
... To be continued.
Friends
I have wonderful friends, whether they're just the momentary friends who trade silly bands with campers and chase butterflies off our volleyball court (for reference, we looked kinda like this) or whether they're wonderful friends that help me move, get me a shower curtain, help me find a bike, help me move a bike or in general let me perpetually trespass on their kindness, they are all beautiful people. That being said, they're also pretty funny (as evidenced by this) and I wait on my bus back to my awesome new apartment, I'm going to transcribe a couple of my favorite voicemails for you to enjoy. The names have been omitted to protect the innocent.
__________________________________________________________________
Voicemail 1:
Addie Jooooooo! Happy Birthday! I love and miss you from Chile and um I don't know and sorry I don't have a lot of minutes so I can't talk long but I love you and I hope that everything is wonderful and your birthday is fantastic and good-bye!
Voicemail 2:
Addie Jooooooo! I guess you're in class or something but I got Skype which is exciting 'cause it's like 2 cents a minute for me to call you and um I miss you and also you need to know that I have found out that my father's going to be a drag queen named Trixie Treat for Halloween and that my mother's going to be his pimp in my grandmother's fur coat. Um. That is all.and there's nothing I can really say to finish that, to follow that up. Like, my mind is blown, I'm so excited. They went to Goodwill and apparently my dad bought silver shoes over the internet and while they're looking for dresses he's like, "No, we can't get that, it won't go well with my shoes." Um. But that's it. That's the end of my story. I love you and I miss you and I hope you're doing wonderfully! Bye!
Voicemail 3:
(Sounds of a copier) Oh, hey, sorry. Um. So apparently my computer's a pansy-ass and thinks that because its printer cartridges are incompatible that nothing else is compatible with it and -no, stop printing, you piece of crap!- and now it's going fast again and I don't really know what to do so I'm trying to scan it but if you can get the notes -Hey! Paper jam? No! Not cool!- if you could get the notes from Jana, I'd appreci- No, I am not pressing cancel for my help!- Anyway, I'll talk to you later and I'm really sorry that -ugh!- my printer sucks! -No! No! No!- OK, bye!
Voicemail 4:
I have a story for you. So you should call me.
Voicemail 5:
Hi Addie Jo, I called you and you didn't pick up so now I'm leaving you a message (sound of us laughing) OK, bye!
___________________________________________________________
OK, maybe these aren't as epic to you as they are to me, but I love them, as evidence by the fact that I saved one from my birthday last year, another from pre-Halloween last year and another from November last year. But if they don't amuse you, try to tune in for the sequel, which is the Epic of the Lost Key. It's going to be legendary.
__________________________________________________________________
Voicemail 1:
Addie Jooooooo! Happy Birthday! I love and miss you from Chile and um I don't know and sorry I don't have a lot of minutes so I can't talk long but I love you and I hope that everything is wonderful and your birthday is fantastic and good-bye!
Voicemail 2:
Addie Jooooooo! I guess you're in class or something but I got Skype which is exciting 'cause it's like 2 cents a minute for me to call you and um I miss you and also you need to know that I have found out that my father's going to be a drag queen named Trixie Treat for Halloween and that my mother's going to be his pimp in my grandmother's fur coat. Um. That is all.and there's nothing I can really say to finish that, to follow that up. Like, my mind is blown, I'm so excited. They went to Goodwill and apparently my dad bought silver shoes over the internet and while they're looking for dresses he's like, "No, we can't get that, it won't go well with my shoes." Um. But that's it. That's the end of my story. I love you and I miss you and I hope you're doing wonderfully! Bye!
Voicemail 3:
(Sounds of a copier) Oh, hey, sorry. Um. So apparently my computer's a pansy-ass and thinks that because its printer cartridges are incompatible that nothing else is compatible with it and -no, stop printing, you piece of crap!- and now it's going fast again and I don't really know what to do so I'm trying to scan it but if you can get the notes -Hey! Paper jam? No! Not cool!- if you could get the notes from Jana, I'd appreci- No, I am not pressing cancel for my help!- Anyway, I'll talk to you later and I'm really sorry that -ugh!- my printer sucks! -No! No! No!- OK, bye!
Voicemail 4:
I have a story for you. So you should call me.
Voicemail 5:
Hi Addie Jo, I called you and you didn't pick up so now I'm leaving you a message (sound of us laughing) OK, bye!
___________________________________________________________
OK, maybe these aren't as epic to you as they are to me, but I love them, as evidence by the fact that I saved one from my birthday last year, another from pre-Halloween last year and another from November last year. But if they don't amuse you, try to tune in for the sequel, which is the Epic of the Lost Key. It's going to be legendary.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Of Blessings and Light Poles
So I was walking down Franklin Street this morning and I got stopped at the light waiting for the little walking man to appear. I decided to take a look around at my surroundings. The gum spots on Franklin Street and I have a pretty close relationship- I stare at them intently while I'm studiously avoiding looking anyone in the eye because I don't want that awkward eye contact and because it's much easier to avoid a conversation if you don't see the person that you should, in theory, have a conversation with. Much easier than ducking into a store to avoid talking to Washburn. If you've taken Mechanics, you know what I mean.
But as close as I am with the gum spots, I've never had the chance to notice the light pole on the corner, where the signs for Franklin and Columbia were dismantled that eventful April Sunday. The pole has some history. It's covered in staples interspersed with nails and spotted with a few pieces of paper that have been separated from the fliers that previously decorated the dark wood of the pole. Hundreds of people, maybe, have stuck their slogans on this former tree and left them there for the world to see. Stoically it stands, surveying the street and the sidewalk, never commenting on its abuse as it remains there, unwavering, a faithful spokesperson for anyone with a staple gun and a printer to the good people of Chapel Hill and the hordes of visitors to campus.
Sometimes I feel like the light pole. I feel like anything and everything tries to stick itself to me, tries to make me represent whatever it is that they're proclaiming to the world. All those fliers for church events and the programs for concerts and the schedules for things and the clubs and the organizations and the opinions and the books and the movies and the pictures and the ideas, all these things are just stapled onto me, covering me up, wrapping me like some gag gift of a person.
And why wouldn't they? I mean, let's face it, humility out the door, I'm not a bad spokesperson. In the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty much always someone you wouldn't mind representing your cause or your organization. I'm pretty middle class and with a little bit of work, I can look much better. I might not be the best looking kid on the block, but I'm not terribly ugly, and there's nothing that airbrushing won't fix these days. I go to a great university, I make good (read decent) grades, I smile, I'm responsible, I have a diverse interest in things, I'm knowledgeable and I'm nice to talk to most days. I come from a pretty good place in society. My life has been wonderful and it's easy to see the ways I've been blessed. I'm pretty much a walking testimony of what God can do when He's feeling generous. Or, for those of you who don't really go for the whole deity aspect of things, I'm a product of what middle class suburbia and a couple of strokes of wonderful luck can do for a person. I have some prospects. I can be successful. Parents wouldn't mind it if their kids grew up to be me and that's just on potential. I can fit in in most groups and levels of society and even though I feel like an awkward bridge on the inside most times, I'm OK on the outside. So plaster your signs away. I'll be happy to carry your logos for you.
But see, that's the problem, I think. I have so much. No matter how much I highlight what I don't have in my mind, no matter how many nights I spend thinking about how much I wish for things in life to start happening to me again, I know that I have been uniquely blessed and looked after. I know that there is a future in my life and that everything, good and bad, will make me into a better person if I use it the right way. I can explain away my tiny little pains with elaborate dogmatic turns because life has been good to me and I try to ignore the thoughts of what I'll become when life isn't so good to me anymore. I can smile because God has always provided for me and when I chance it, I can see His hand in my life.
And why is that a problem? you may ask. The problem comes not in what I have, but in what others don't have. What makes me so special that I deserve these wonderful things? What's so great about me that I can have these wonderful people in my life to encourage me and make me better, to be my friends and help me see the world? Why should the money always be there for me? Why should it always work for the best for me? Why am I the one reading about the floods and the fires and the violence? I can tell you right now that I'm not any better than those people, people whose situation is so different from mine. They are still beautiful human beings and they deserve as much as I have, even more. So why am I so blessed? And why can't they be too?
No, this is a really big issue for me. Like, maybe they're blessed in different ways, like blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of God kind of blessed. Or maybe they're really blessed through their trials and they're better and stronger people. Maybe they'll be given wisdom and courage so they can help someone else who's going through the same thing. You know, maybe they'll have a testimony about it. And anyway, it's all going to even out in the end, you know, the rough places will be made plain and every valley shall be exalted for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it. And when all of those explanations don't seem good enough anymore, when I don't want to just trust that it's going to be fair one day, that grace is going to pour down on everyone, not just the ridiculously blessed, when I actually want to go make it fair, what then? Because I despair when I think about this.This haunts me when I let myself think about it. Do you trust that the kingdom's going to come or do you bring the kingdom to you? And if you bring the kingdom to you, why don't we do it more? Why is the kingdom so perpetually far away when we've had 2,000 years of history to bring it here, to the people who really need it?
Why are all the posters on Franklin Street? It's not like the light pole is going to go spread Your words to the people who need to hear it most.
But then, maybe it should.
But as close as I am with the gum spots, I've never had the chance to notice the light pole on the corner, where the signs for Franklin and Columbia were dismantled that eventful April Sunday. The pole has some history. It's covered in staples interspersed with nails and spotted with a few pieces of paper that have been separated from the fliers that previously decorated the dark wood of the pole. Hundreds of people, maybe, have stuck their slogans on this former tree and left them there for the world to see. Stoically it stands, surveying the street and the sidewalk, never commenting on its abuse as it remains there, unwavering, a faithful spokesperson for anyone with a staple gun and a printer to the good people of Chapel Hill and the hordes of visitors to campus.
Sometimes I feel like the light pole. I feel like anything and everything tries to stick itself to me, tries to make me represent whatever it is that they're proclaiming to the world. All those fliers for church events and the programs for concerts and the schedules for things and the clubs and the organizations and the opinions and the books and the movies and the pictures and the ideas, all these things are just stapled onto me, covering me up, wrapping me like some gag gift of a person.
And why wouldn't they? I mean, let's face it, humility out the door, I'm not a bad spokesperson. In the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty much always someone you wouldn't mind representing your cause or your organization. I'm pretty middle class and with a little bit of work, I can look much better. I might not be the best looking kid on the block, but I'm not terribly ugly, and there's nothing that airbrushing won't fix these days. I go to a great university, I make good (read decent) grades, I smile, I'm responsible, I have a diverse interest in things, I'm knowledgeable and I'm nice to talk to most days. I come from a pretty good place in society. My life has been wonderful and it's easy to see the ways I've been blessed. I'm pretty much a walking testimony of what God can do when He's feeling generous. Or, for those of you who don't really go for the whole deity aspect of things, I'm a product of what middle class suburbia and a couple of strokes of wonderful luck can do for a person. I have some prospects. I can be successful. Parents wouldn't mind it if their kids grew up to be me and that's just on potential. I can fit in in most groups and levels of society and even though I feel like an awkward bridge on the inside most times, I'm OK on the outside. So plaster your signs away. I'll be happy to carry your logos for you.
But see, that's the problem, I think. I have so much. No matter how much I highlight what I don't have in my mind, no matter how many nights I spend thinking about how much I wish for things in life to start happening to me again, I know that I have been uniquely blessed and looked after. I know that there is a future in my life and that everything, good and bad, will make me into a better person if I use it the right way. I can explain away my tiny little pains with elaborate dogmatic turns because life has been good to me and I try to ignore the thoughts of what I'll become when life isn't so good to me anymore. I can smile because God has always provided for me and when I chance it, I can see His hand in my life.
And why is that a problem? you may ask. The problem comes not in what I have, but in what others don't have. What makes me so special that I deserve these wonderful things? What's so great about me that I can have these wonderful people in my life to encourage me and make me better, to be my friends and help me see the world? Why should the money always be there for me? Why should it always work for the best for me? Why am I the one reading about the floods and the fires and the violence? I can tell you right now that I'm not any better than those people, people whose situation is so different from mine. They are still beautiful human beings and they deserve as much as I have, even more. So why am I so blessed? And why can't they be too?
No, this is a really big issue for me. Like, maybe they're blessed in different ways, like blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of God kind of blessed. Or maybe they're really blessed through their trials and they're better and stronger people. Maybe they'll be given wisdom and courage so they can help someone else who's going through the same thing. You know, maybe they'll have a testimony about it. And anyway, it's all going to even out in the end, you know, the rough places will be made plain and every valley shall be exalted for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it. And when all of those explanations don't seem good enough anymore, when I don't want to just trust that it's going to be fair one day, that grace is going to pour down on everyone, not just the ridiculously blessed, when I actually want to go make it fair, what then? Because I despair when I think about this.This haunts me when I let myself think about it. Do you trust that the kingdom's going to come or do you bring the kingdom to you? And if you bring the kingdom to you, why don't we do it more? Why is the kingdom so perpetually far away when we've had 2,000 years of history to bring it here, to the people who really need it?
Why are all the posters on Franklin Street? It's not like the light pole is going to go spread Your words to the people who need to hear it most.
But then, maybe it should.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
All I Know About Spiderman I Learned From StarKid Productions
OK, so I have many many things to say and no coherent way to say them. I have like three posts in my brain that I really think are worth the time I'll spend on them when I spend it on them, but this is not going to be one of them, so feel free to stop reading at any point and time. I promise, you're not missing much.
First off, can I be a terrible, horrible, shallow person for like ten minutes? Because I'm going to. If you've seen A Very Potter Sequel (I'm going to ruin a small small section of it for you if you haven't) then you know Hermione's scene at the end with Draco and you know her little speech. "I know that I have the lowest self esteem out of anyone at Hogwarts, but... but I think that I can do better. No, don't feel bad. Listen, you're always going to be a stepping stone on my journey to feeling good about myself. So thanks for being there, for me to step on." And this speech comes off just as mean as it does here in the show, I promise you. But if you understood where Hermione was coming from, maybe you'd think it was OK? Nah, nope, it's still terribly mean. (PS I hope you appreciate how hard it is for me to go back into the I-work-with-kids-on-a-daily-basis-so-I've-learned-the-nice-way-to-say-things way of speaking because the more accurate word is a little bit inappropriate for general audiences.) But the thing is, I understand what she's saying. And it's not that she knows that Ron likes her (you never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot) and it's not that she's confident that there's going to be someone else, it's just that she doesn't want what's been offered. And you know, maybe we all have dreams that are a little too big for our potential and you know maybe we all can't have a real love of our lives and maybe we're all just waiting for a time that won't come or an awkward explanation of the Mary Jane and Peter Parker romance that somehow ends up with Ron as Mary Jane but is still super precious and incredibly endearing. Oh, just go watch it.
A friend of mine is turning 21 in a little bit and she's kinda worried about the party on her birthday. There are now three guys in her life who will probably be expecting her attention throughout the evening and she's a little exasperated. I would be too- it's not like we've ever had so much as one guy wanting our attention. And it's flattering- let me jump off the feminist bandwagon for a second to say that it's really, really nice when a guy pays attention to you and it's very easy to feel like you're worth less because you're not as pretty as the girls who normally have all the guys at the very least looking at them. There are so many beautiful people here and they're all accomplished and they're all going to go do great things or at least make a ton of money and if you step back, you realize that you don't belong and you're very amazed that you got here in the first place. So to get attention from any guys here always seems like a big deal to me.
I really dismiss out of hand anyone I don't see on a pretty regular basis. I've realized that I'm a terrible conversationalist. I have to be in your world to have any idea what you're talking about or to even care enough to add something more than the occasional "yeah" to the conversation. So if you think that our friendship is going to grow over Facebook, you're mistaken. And I think I can do better than someone who can only message me and learned everything he knows about me from my profile. However, if I once knew you pretty well and I want to keep up with you and have some idea of what's up in life, as well as have the chance to come visit you or see you before we all grow up and join the real world. then Facebook is a perfectly acceptable method of communication. I need to figure out some good etiquette, some nice way of saying that I'm just not that into Facebook stalkers, because it's vaguely disheartening to know that the kind of guys I attract are guys I haven't had a conversation with in real life.
And what silly distractions guys are! I should be able to ignore you and focus on whatever's in front of me, not ignore what's happening right in front of my face to say hey to you. Though I'm glad you generally speak to me first. Arg, it's so frustrating! Sometimes you think it's you, that you're just not allowing yourself to be happy (which, let's face it, do I really have time to go chase down a guy? Do I have time to be chased? And after the chasing is done, do I really have time to commit to a relationship? Then again, if we're being honest, I probably spend as much time moping about my loml as a relationship takes up, so I probably do have time...) and then sometimes you think that it's just the guys that are around you, but most of the time I'm just fed up with the fact that I still get to dream about a first kiss. What is my life?
Sorry, that was all very shallow and I feel really bad for feeling it and if I could get rid of it without massive amounts of effort I would. But it's really enough to make you want to scream "Bitter and alone!" as you speed down a highway. Because, you know, some of us aren't looking for anything small. We're not looking for anything cute and momentary and like everyone else's Saturday night stories. When we tell someone that they mean something to us, they mean something to us and there's no way of dumbing that down, but I don't know how to tell you that. I don't want Prince Charming. I don't want to marry a doctor. I don't want someone who's gorgeous but a jerk (though I do have a propensity to like jerks and hope they grow out of it... poor Snape [starting at 2:50]). There are plenty of fish in the sea (oh wait, there's an oil spill, never mind) but you know, I don't want just anybody. And I'm willing to test out a couple of somebodies, but I know that there's one person who's going to light up my world and make every cliche not so terribly cheesy and false. I'm not searching desperately for The One, per se, I just have faith that my future's been provided for.
Which seems unfair. But that's a story for another post.
First off, can I be a terrible, horrible, shallow person for like ten minutes? Because I'm going to. If you've seen A Very Potter Sequel (I'm going to ruin a small small section of it for you if you haven't) then you know Hermione's scene at the end with Draco and you know her little speech. "I know that I have the lowest self esteem out of anyone at Hogwarts, but... but I think that I can do better. No, don't feel bad. Listen, you're always going to be a stepping stone on my journey to feeling good about myself. So thanks for being there, for me to step on." And this speech comes off just as mean as it does here in the show, I promise you. But if you understood where Hermione was coming from, maybe you'd think it was OK? Nah, nope, it's still terribly mean. (PS I hope you appreciate how hard it is for me to go back into the I-work-with-kids-on-a-daily-basis-so-I've-learned-the-nice-way-to-say-things way of speaking because the more accurate word is a little bit inappropriate for general audiences.) But the thing is, I understand what she's saying. And it's not that she knows that Ron likes her (you never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot) and it's not that she's confident that there's going to be someone else, it's just that she doesn't want what's been offered. And you know, maybe we all have dreams that are a little too big for our potential and you know maybe we all can't have a real love of our lives and maybe we're all just waiting for a time that won't come or an awkward explanation of the Mary Jane and Peter Parker romance that somehow ends up with Ron as Mary Jane but is still super precious and incredibly endearing. Oh, just go watch it.
A friend of mine is turning 21 in a little bit and she's kinda worried about the party on her birthday. There are now three guys in her life who will probably be expecting her attention throughout the evening and she's a little exasperated. I would be too- it's not like we've ever had so much as one guy wanting our attention. And it's flattering- let me jump off the feminist bandwagon for a second to say that it's really, really nice when a guy pays attention to you and it's very easy to feel like you're worth less because you're not as pretty as the girls who normally have all the guys at the very least looking at them. There are so many beautiful people here and they're all accomplished and they're all going to go do great things or at least make a ton of money and if you step back, you realize that you don't belong and you're very amazed that you got here in the first place. So to get attention from any guys here always seems like a big deal to me.
I really dismiss out of hand anyone I don't see on a pretty regular basis. I've realized that I'm a terrible conversationalist. I have to be in your world to have any idea what you're talking about or to even care enough to add something more than the occasional "yeah" to the conversation. So if you think that our friendship is going to grow over Facebook, you're mistaken. And I think I can do better than someone who can only message me and learned everything he knows about me from my profile. However, if I once knew you pretty well and I want to keep up with you and have some idea of what's up in life, as well as have the chance to come visit you or see you before we all grow up and join the real world. then Facebook is a perfectly acceptable method of communication. I need to figure out some good etiquette, some nice way of saying that I'm just not that into Facebook stalkers, because it's vaguely disheartening to know that the kind of guys I attract are guys I haven't had a conversation with in real life.
And what silly distractions guys are! I should be able to ignore you and focus on whatever's in front of me, not ignore what's happening right in front of my face to say hey to you. Though I'm glad you generally speak to me first. Arg, it's so frustrating! Sometimes you think it's you, that you're just not allowing yourself to be happy (which, let's face it, do I really have time to go chase down a guy? Do I have time to be chased? And after the chasing is done, do I really have time to commit to a relationship? Then again, if we're being honest, I probably spend as much time moping about my loml as a relationship takes up, so I probably do have time...) and then sometimes you think that it's just the guys that are around you, but most of the time I'm just fed up with the fact that I still get to dream about a first kiss. What is my life?
Sorry, that was all very shallow and I feel really bad for feeling it and if I could get rid of it without massive amounts of effort I would. But it's really enough to make you want to scream "Bitter and alone!" as you speed down a highway. Because, you know, some of us aren't looking for anything small. We're not looking for anything cute and momentary and like everyone else's Saturday night stories. When we tell someone that they mean something to us, they mean something to us and there's no way of dumbing that down, but I don't know how to tell you that. I don't want Prince Charming. I don't want to marry a doctor. I don't want someone who's gorgeous but a jerk (though I do have a propensity to like jerks and hope they grow out of it... poor Snape [starting at 2:50]). There are plenty of fish in the sea (oh wait, there's an oil spill, never mind) but you know, I don't want just anybody. And I'm willing to test out a couple of somebodies, but I know that there's one person who's going to light up my world and make every cliche not so terribly cheesy and false. I'm not searching desperately for The One, per se, I just have faith that my future's been provided for.
Which seems unfair. But that's a story for another post.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Prayer of Oscar Romero
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
It is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
Of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about,
we plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
In realizing that. This enables us to do something,
And to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
But it is a beginning, a step along the way,
An opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
Between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
It is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
Of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about,
we plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
In realizing that. This enables us to do something,
And to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
But it is a beginning, a step along the way,
An opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
Between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
A Request From Mali
Hi friends! This is from my... well... so Diata came from Mali and stayed at my grandparents house and became a facet of our lives for a couple of years. This is her story, so if you have connections, let me know and let's see what we can do about this.
Dear Friends, I am writing you this email in desperation, needing your help. I am stranded in the land of Timbuktu. My name is Diata Berthe. I am from Mali, West Africa (by the way, Timbuktu does exist and it is in Mali). I came to the USA with the help of an American family who have been my sponsors. I have been in the USA under an F1 student visa from July, 2003 to May, 2009. When I first went to the USA,I spoke very little English and did not have a high school diploma either. I started with an ESL program at SUNY Albany to improve my English. Then from there, I moved to Hickory, NC and enrolled at Catawba Valley Community College (CVCC) in their Early Childhood Certificate Program. At the same time, I attended GED classes for a year. I did this to improve my English. From GED classes, I changed to Adult High School at Caldwell Community College (CCC) to get my high school diploma, so I could study for an Associate Degree. I could have settled for a certificate and be finished. But, I did not want to settle for a certificate only. When I enrolled in the Adult High School at CCC, I was doing college and high school at same time. I had to take 12 to 14 hours of college credit each semester in order to keep my student visa since I could not get a student visa for High School. I was forced to do both together because I wanted to succeed. I failed the first high school placement test, cried, but tried again a second time and passed. I then had schedule conflicts between my college and high school classes, partly because the two schools were almost 1 ½ hour drive apart. It was a lot of work, but I managed to do it. Even with all those obstacles, I managed to graduate with honors from Adult High School at CCC in 2007. In 2009 I graduated with honors again with two Associate degrees - Early Childhood Education and Elementary Teacher Assistant - from CVCC in Hickory, NC. After graduating, I decided to take one year off under an Optional Training Visa (OPT) and work at CVCC Day Care Center. I started that OPT May 15th 2009 and it was over May 14th 2010. After the OPT, I renewed my F1 student visa for another year and was registered to return to classes in August 2010 to complete a bachelor degree. In between time, I decided to go home to Mali to visit my family during the summer and return in time for Fall classes. I left the USA May 27th for Mali with a round trip ticket return date July 18th. Before coming to Mali, I sent many e-mails to the US Embassy in Mali asking them questions about how I could be sure I would be allowed to return to the USA to complete my education. I never did get any answer to my questions. Every time I asked them questions, I received an automatic reply telling me to go to their website to get my answers. The questions I was asking them were not answered on their website. After many attempts I was finally able to schedule an appointment with the US Embassy in Bamako, Mali for June 8th as was required for me to be able to re-enter the USA. I had to pay $390 for the visa application and interview. At that interview they denied my visa. The Consul who interviewed me June 8th, told me that I did not prove to him that I had worked hard enough at school. He refused to look at my transcript. I was surprised he said that without even having opened my transcript to see my GPA. I have a 3.72 GPA. He did not even explain to me why my visa was denied. I strongly believe that those Consuls do what they feel like doing with very little regard for the applicants. Having had to pay $390, I should have had the right to present my case and not be simply told "No! You are dismissed." On June 9th, I rescheduled online another appointment for July 13th at 7:00 AM and again paid $390. This was the earliest available date. When I went for that interview, I was told, along with seven others present, that they had changed their application form to a new one on June 15th (after I had already rescheduled). So, I was told to go back and fill up the new application form number DS160 instead DS156 and DS158 which I had already completed after downloading them from their website. When I finished filling it out, I went back to the Embassy, but by then it was 8:30. I could not see the Consul because my interview time was already passed. They had never tried to inform us the form was changed even if they knew we had appointments and would all be sent back and have to reschedule for a later date. I wonder how many others were victims of the same problem. Again I had to schedule a new appointment. The earliest appointment time I could get was July 26th at 14:00, although my return ticket was for July 18th. The travel agent worked hard to reschedule my departure date for after the 26th, but Delta Airline wanted over $4,000 to reschedule. Congressman David McHenry's office in Hickory, NC asked the Consular Office to give me an expedited interview for before the 18th, but the Consul, Jason Chiodi, flatly refused. July 26th, my visa was denied a second time although many friends in America and other countries had sent emails to the Consul on my behalf. The Consul who did my second interview, Jim Wilson, was more polite than the first Consul. He took time to tell me the reason they would not give me the visa. He told me that it took me too long to finish my two year degrees. When I explained to him why it took me longer, he told me that he understood, but he still did not give me the visa. To my surprise, what the second Consul said was different from what the first one had said. When they denied my visa at my first interview, I wrote an e-mail to the Congressman's Office in Hickory to see if they could do something to help me. They were told by Consul Jason Chiodi that I did not show enough proof that when I would finish my education in USA I would return to Mali. At my second interview, I went with as many proofs as I could. After presenting all those proofs, I was told that it took me too long to finish with my two year degrees. They said that they denied my visa under section b214, whatever that is, I do not know. To me it seems they are changing their story from one interview to the next. I need your help to straighten out the story they keep changing. Why did I have to wait 1 ½ months longer and pay another $390 to be told what I could have been told at my first interview? Students are not rich. During my second interview, I told the Consul that I have all my belongings, important documents, my debit card, a car and motor scooter back in NC and that I was taking care of my sponsor's affairs in the USA. They are Americans but currently live in Indonesia. I was told that someone could send me my things by mail. I have been living in Hickory with an elderly couple, both in their eighties, and helping them with household responsibilities.
The questions I have is if millions of Americans travel during different holidays, why me going to visit my family after not seeing them for nearly 7 years should become a big problem, as if I had killed someone. The reason I am sending this e-mail to you, is that I need public support for my case. I know that this does not only happen to me, plenty of international students are in my position. Why should a student who comes to the USA not be able to return home part way through their education to visit their family knowing for sure that they will be allowed to return to the USA? What if they need to go home for an emergency? For example if someone in their family is terminally ill and they would like to see them one last time. If they dare leave the USA, they may never be allowed back in, even though they already had a valid visa, are properly enrolled in school and have a scholarship or have already paid their tuition for the next semester by the hard work of their parents. Their fate is always in the hands of an embassy staff member in their home country. That person does what he/she feels like doing. Can that be called a fair system? Why can't the USA issue exit/re-entry permits to students who already have valid visas like many other countries do for their foreign residents? The foreign students in the USA are only free if they stay in the USA. They don't have the right to go back to their home land and return to the USA easily. When they are in the USA, they have many challenges to overcome. I want to add that all students coming to the USA to study are not criminals and they should not have to feel like they are prisoners in a prison camp or cannot leave the country like people in communist countries. American people pride themselves in saying that all people in their nation have freedom, but the way Embassy workers treat people does not reflect that. To me this system goes right along with their new law that says you cannot open a bank account in the USA without a Social Security number. When foreign students first come in, everybody knows they will not have a Social Security number to open a bank account. Plenty of those students are forced to ask their teachers or their friends if they can use their bank account to deposit or transfer their money since they cannot open their own bank account. Talk about a system! Perhaps they are expected to bring along enough money with them for the four years of their studies and keep it under their mattress. I went to the USA in 2003 and I could not get a Social Security number until 2007 and that number is not even working right yet. When I worked at CVCC and it was time to run my SS # in the system to get my pay check, it shows that it is an invalid number. I have been to the Social Security office, the IRS office, and then even to the Congressman's office, trying to solve that problem and did not get anywhere. I was told I should hire a lawyer to help me. Why should I, as a poor student, have to hire a lawyer to help me correct an error in the Social Security computer system? I would have plenty more stories to tell about the problems foreign students face when they go to the USA. I will stop here for now. I am pleading for your help with my case. I know many other foreign students are in my situation and this issue needs to be addressed and a solution found. Now, I don't know what to do. I am asking you to take my case to the public in order to intervene for me with the Embassy so I can return to finish my education.
Thank you for taking time to read this e-mail. I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely,
Diata Berthe
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