Act IV, Scene I

Miami University football game, Sept. 15, 2007



For the last time, I make the schlep back to small-town Oxford, Ohio. This time, not with a car, but on a plane, and not with parents, but on my own. With help from Kyle. For the last time, I compulsively check my class rosters online, and see what books I need to spend my life savings on. I won't say this is the last time I will say goodbye to New York. I won't even say this is the last time I leave New York to go to Ohio. I can't help but hear the lyrics from "Maybe This Time" echo in my head. Senior year, here goes.

I can't help but note the significant changes that this year is pregnant with - I am sans boyfriend, best friend, and sans skating. I have wrestled with these changes all summer. For whatever reason, watching some of the most important people in my life walk across that stage and receive their rightfully earned diploma didn't hit me immediately (quite possibly because I was simultaneously fending off a 48-hour stomach flu). It took little hints, signs, and conversations before I felt the effects. You never know what you've got 'til it's gone. I truly understand this now.

I have spent the past three years of college feeling as though I'm floating. Floating to skating practice, to class, to the weight room, to my humble off-campus abode, to bed, only to get up and repeat the floating process the next day. Of course, there have been classes I have absolutely loved, and thus had perfect attendance, and those I absolutely loathed, and thus tried to come up with an excuse to miss as many as possible without failing. I have been affected by films, and guest lecturers, I have engaged in conversations with professors about life and diversity. I have laughed. I have cried. I have pulled all-nighters. I have spent $500 in coffee at the library. I have pored over maps and scholarly geographic journals. But have I found my passion? Have I found THE answer (or, at least, an acceptable one) to the perpetual question that follows around college seniors: 'What are you going to do after graduation?' This question is MUCH less fun to answer than, "what do you want to be when you grow up?", I have found.

To be blunt, I have no idea. Graduate school is on my radar, but not for a while. What's the sense in devoting yourself (not to mention your bank account) to something you are not 100% passionate about? I simply do not see the sense in it. At this moment, I would absolutely love to go to a lesser-known part of the world (a.k.a. not Western Europe, as much as I love it) and teach English. I heard a quote in the movie, "Eat, Pray, Love" last night that put my feelings about this into words perfectly: "I need to be unnerved." I have constantly questioned my abilities to teach, to coach, to lead. After captaining a varsity skating team, and coaching and caring for 20something children at 2 years of summer camp, I feel somewhat better, but by no means fully confident. But I NEED to be taken out of my comfort zone. Simply, I need to be unnerved.

I am invincible...as long as I've got coffee

cappuccino...perfetto.

The coffee shop is a unique place. All walks of life come together here, I notice. The studious college student, poring over Greek philosophy, the young businessman, with a cell phone AND a blackberry, a yellow legal pad, another important-looking book, and two cups of coffee - I initially thought he was here with someone, until he started jabbering away on his phone while scrolling through his e-mail on his blackberry. On my far right, a rugged, middle-aged man reads a large, hardcover coffee table book. Perhaps he’s a father who still goes running and hiking. To his right, a tall, thin, blandly dressed woman reads the New York Times; her hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, with reading glasses perched perfectly on her tiny nose. As I crack my back in my seat (a nervous habit of mine, but is also useful for stealing glances), I try to see if she's got a ring on her left ring finger – I can't tell. One of the Lookout Joe workers, a girl in her 20s with long, strawberry blonde hair, comes over to sit with a man -- most likely a regular. They read the Cincinnati enquirer and discuss something I can't hear. Ah, the young business professional is gone. The middle-aged woman is not wearing a ring. Curious. The iPhone-holding, outdoorsy father in the corner gives me a smile as he resumes his position on the overstuffed couch. I glance out the window and watch the traffic, both pedestrian and automotive, rush by Mt. Lookout Square. I wonder if I could live here.

I suppose you could say I'm doing a trial run of just that - staying with Kyle and his roommate for 10 days or so in an apartment not far from this little cafe where I've set up camp should give me an idea. Especially since work doesn't start for another week, I'll have plenty of time to explore while Kyle is at the Cincinnati EPA office.

Oh! How unobservant I have been while losing myself in my thoughts! I have completely missed a new wave of customers; along with the fact that the smiling, outdoorsy father has extremely toned calves, wears the same Keen sandals my own father back in New York wears, and is sporting a black "Outdoor World" t-shirt. Oh, and it's raining outside.

I mindlessly flip through my new "Everything About Learning Portuguese" book, and watch a mom come in with her daughter and son, looking like they just came from soccer practice. They seem happy together; the daughter and son do not quarrel, do not talk back to their mother who has so generously bought them blended coffee beverages and bagels. Ah, my mysterious un-ringed middle aged woman moves to a table outside - I can't blame her, it is a bit crowded in here now.

You had me at 'hello'.

A couple embracing in St. Mark's Square, Venezia, Italy

I've always equated this expression with other cliches such as "love at first sight" or "from the moment I saw you, I knew..." My cynical self always wondered how could someone know something like that without knowing anything about the person?

It seems, though, that no one really describes their relationship as a product of one of these cliches until they've been in the relationship for a while, so how do we outsiders know that he "had her at hello"? There is obviously some initial physical attraction, plus an element of mystery and a witty comment or two that make you want to know and hear more. Commence, love.

Speaking of love. In lieu of recent events this weekend, it would be hard to not question the existence of such a complex concept as love. How do you tell someone that love really does exist after she's been cheated on by a long-term boyfriend/possible fiance? When the divorce rate in this country is upwards of 50%? I think even the most optimistic of people would have difficulty making that argument. But I am drawn to the flip side as well: if there truly is no such thing as love, what are all these musicians writing and singing about (aside from sex, drugs, and alcohol)? What have millions of movies been based on? If there is nothing to debate, why have we been debating about love for ages?

People ask: how do you know if you're in love? The most common response is - "you just...KNOW." For people who think primarily in black and white, no gray area, this is a maddening answer, because there must be some concrete constant from one couple in love to another. It's probably equally as annoying for people who see gray areas as well. Is love different across cultures? Countries? Gay vs. heterosexual couples? Is it really just a chemical reaction in your brain of dopamine, norepinephrine and phenylethylamine?

I realize that I am not the first nor the last to pose these questions, but, as previously mentioned, the events of the weekend combined with my new relationship have brought certain things to the front of my mind. The fact that these thoughts have made me feel like I've had 18 red bulls and 7 cups of coffee is another matter entirely.

The butterflies are passive aggressive and put their problems on the shelf but they're beautiful. -- Ben Kweller

amore per sempre,
mers.

Every limbo boy and girl...

Lakeside in Neuchatel, Switzerland

Ciao tutti! It's been a while. With 3.5 weeks left of my junior year, you'd think school work would also start to taper off - of course, this is not how life really works, and I still have a international economics group research paper, two italian 300-word essays, a history paper, several labs, another economics exam...oh, and THEN a week of finals.

It may sound like I'm complaining, but oddly this is the part of the semester I enjoy the most. The skating season came to a close at the beginning of March, spring break served as an excellent midway break, and now I can truly, fully immerse myself into what are the most interesting classes I've taken here at Miami.

Now when I say the skating season ended in early March, this is a blanket statement, as we have still been having 3-4 practices a week, full weights, and one day in the dance studio. Individual skills, interval aerobic training, and making sure our programs fit in the confines of the ice show curtain. It's been a loooong post-season, let's just leave it at that.

Sooo...a few weeks ago I had an assignment to write about my reentry experience in the U.S. from studying abroad this summer. I got positive feedback on it, and wanted to share it here (partially a shameless promotion, partially in case my computer crashes and I lose everything near and dear.)





Mapping My Experience: A Reentry Story

Obsessed. Emotional. Torn. Transformed. These words only scratch the surface in describing the process of re-entry. One is not actually in a foreign country until coming home from one. As Michael R. Paige puts it, “…re-entry shock is the unexpected confrontation with the familiar.” It is assumed that coming home will be so much easier than having to adjust to a foreign culture and the baggage that comes with that – a new language, a new cuisine, new social norms. However, it doesn’t seem to matter whether you find home to be the same way you left it or if you find out your parents moved houses, adopted two more kids and got a cat. It’s still a different environment than what you’ve been used to for the past two, four, or twelve months of your life. Personally, I found (and sometimes, am still finding) myself yearning to repeat those two months in Italy, just one more time.
I have heard the saying, “all good things must come to an end” before, and I’m sure I subconsciously realized this during my trip. Once it was really over though, I was a woman possessed. The smallest things made me cry – I could barely talk to my mom to let her know I had safely made my connection from Rome to Germany. My experiences consumed my thoughts, speech, and dreams. It didn’t hit me until I got home how different my lifestyle was in Italy. After the first two nights at home, I woke up thinking I was still in my cozy Urbino apartment, and would walk in to the kitchen to find my roommates fighting for wireless internet. I expected to shower and then start sweating immediately after, walk down Via Raffaello to get our morning coffee at the café and head off to class. As I slumped at my kitchen table in my New York house, with coffee, wireless internet, and air conditioning at my fingertips (and no class!) I was disappointed. It wasn’t even that life at home had changed – in fact, it was as monotonous as life in the summer usually is. Friends and parents at work all day, sometimes at night; I had skating and a workout regime to occupy maybe four hours of my day, but besides that, I was left to sit in my comfortable air conditioning and vainly wish to be sitting in the Piazza della Repubblica, sweating and people watching, reading and doing homework. Needless to say, I never experienced the ‘honeymoon’ stage of re-entry, in which being home for the first couple weeks is glorious.
As hard as it was to leave my bella vita in Italy, I got extremely lucky in a variety of ways in coping with my reverse culture shock. For one, my parents are very well traveled and thus well versed in readjustment, so they understood my reaction to my reverse culture shock. My best friend had also gone abroad at the same time as I had, so we were able to compare and contrast our experiences. Out of the 22 people in my study abroad group, 21 of them go to Miami, so I also have an outlet on campus where I can go and be with those I shared such a memorable experience with. A bunch of us are currently in an advanced Italian literature class together, and we help each other out, sometimes pretending we’re still in our classroom in Urbino. Having these people around has certainly made the re-integration process easier. It gives me peace of mind as well to know that while Miami has its stereotypes (and certainly has people who live up to them), there are those who embrace cultural diversity and international experiences.

I thought I had the World on a String...

You know those days when you're slightly frazzled because you get woken up at 7:30 by frat guys playing beer pong across the street? Then you keep hitting snooze on your alarm at 9, don't get up until 9:45 when you were supposed to be at the library, finally get to the library at 11, and sit down with a cup of coffee to casually check your e-mail before starting your "real work"? You know when one of those e-mails lets you know that your oldest friend in the entire world is taking time off school to join the Air Force for 4 years? Yeah. I've had one of those days.

On one hand, I'm so so SO proud of him for figuring out that he probably wouldn't have gotten the most out of his college experience by staying at an institution 30 mins. away from home, with ~60% of his high school. With so much to offer the world (ahem, a triple major in Physics, Economics and Engineering?), I personally think that he would have been better served out-of-state, away from his comfort zone. But that's the thing about him: he wanted to stay close to home - even floated the idea of joining the military right out of high school - to help his parents save money to put his younger brother through college as well. After two years, lots of research and conversation with the Air Force people, he decided this was his best option. And we have to be supportive of his decisions, right?

I surprised myself with my reaction to the news. Tears began to fill my eyes as I read the words on the screen - I think a part of me was taken back to the times when I'd listen to my grandmother tell stories about how her neighborhood was emptied of it's "of-age" boys during the war. Of course, this is nowhere near the caliber of that time. But it made our involvement in the Middle East real for me. I'm sure many, many people have had this moment already - they think, "Wow, this situation over there really sucks, but I can casually sit here and go through my daily routine without really thinking about it because I have no direct ties." and then BAM, someone they never, ever thought would enlist, does. I guess he's looking to go into mechanical maintenance, and wouldn't be on the front lines. Thank goodness one of my best friends happened to be sitting opposite me when I got the news, reassuring me with kind words, a hug, and a promise to pray for all involved.

I'm not even really sure if I'm entitled to be this upset. Because we've been friends since before we were born (his parents were the only people in attendance at my parents' wedding - by my parents' discretion, not because they didn't have any other friends), we've grown up together, spending every other (if not every) summer at one or the other's house, camping somewhere in New England, or swapping visits for Christmas. But of course, we grew from carefree kids into awkward adolescents, to the point where we didn't know what to say around each other (I'm including myself, him and his brother in this). So for a long period of time (as awkward adolescence lasts a lot longer for some of us) we weren't in each other's lives.

Thankfully though, the last time we were together, last winter I believe, I drove them to the huge movie theater in White Plains (with a slight detour because I missed the exit I've taken 245345 times) and we saw/laughed through Gran Torino, talked about things our parents don't think we talk about, etc. It was so so SO refreshing.

I want to write to him and tell him how proud I am, but I can't bring myself to do it just yet.

Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona, for some California grass...get back, get back, get back to where you once belonged...

"Life is strange."

Candles inside the Duomo in Milano, Italy

You know how they say things come to you as soon as you stop looking for them (or something to that effect)? Well, it's true. Especially with people. You can want and want and want someone to notice you, talk to you, etc., and as long as you're focused on that, you (a) miss everything else, possibly other great things/people and (b) that someone will never submit to your (albeit silent) will. You finally move on, focus on other things, and then boom. Weeks later, they may as well have fallen directly into your lap, for the effect their attention has on you.

They (as to who 'they' are, I'm still working on this, and will let you know soon) also say that good things come to those who wait. This phenomenon has been revealed to me a few times recently as well...the most recent example being this past week, when the final payoff of skating 24+ hours in 4 days was a full run-through of our senior long program that we had only learned in said 4 days. It was worth the numb feet, numb fingers; the sore legs, sore arms, and heavy eyelids. Even though we were exhausted by the last hour on Saturday morning, I felt our team come together to pull this one last thing off, as a combination celebration of being done with a really hard week and a thank you to the choreographers and coaches who were with us the entire way.

"ora sono qui, voglio sorridere." Gianna Nannini, "Maledetto Ciao"

amore per sempre,
mers.