... I'm switching over to http://rachel-in-goma.blogspot.com/
:)
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Death
My dad sent me a joke e-mail last Wednesday. 
I wrote him back: "Ha ha."
He wrote me back: "Call me when you get a chance."
So I called him. And he told me my dog was dying and my mother was hysterical.
Oh, dad...
I'm in the middle of the office of my internship getting this phone call, keep in mind.
***
I wrote to one of my friends that I was having a horrible day and my dog was dying. She wrote back that she was having a horrible day, too, and was having to spend a lot of time with her family on a vacation and she was ready to scream. I haven't talked to her since.
***
On my facebook wall, my away message read that I was "Having a bad day". My friend JP from northern Uganda wrote a response, asking "Why?" I tried to explain about my dog dying. I know he can never understand it intellectually, because the cultural attitudes towards pets are so different, but I bet that he can understand it emotionally, because grief is grief, right?
***
Wednesday night I went out to dinner with five dear friends.
***
I spent Thursday morning, in between waking, dressing, brewing coffee, and otherwise preparing for work, google-searching the opinion of different religions as to whether or not animals go to heaven. It's a mixed bag.
***
My friend Gwen, who is getting her Ph.D. studying evangelism in Liberia, wrote me that heaven is overrated, anyway, and that the best we could hope for would be to be reborn into a happy life. I love Gwen.
***
I thought about whether it would be better if he'd just been hit by a car and snuffed out instantly. Is it better to get to say goodbye? I don't know. I hate watching dying. The dying of the person infests all your memories of the person. Like Granma. I remember her somewhat making me jelly sandwiches and having sleep-overs with me, but mainly I remember her disorganized and confused and yelling at me for not offering chocolates to her friends, the invisible people on the ceiling (true story).
Maybe it's up to me to shift my own memories of her, and concentrate on the good and let the bad go.
***
I love Wookiee. I am never nervous around him. Ever. I just love him.
***
I got a "W" tattoo on my foot, so I will always remember that I will never forget him. It isn't for him, it's for me. And it isn't to remember him; it's to remember that I will always remember and love him.
I do just love him.
I wrote him back: "Ha ha."He wrote me back: "Call me when you get a chance."
So I called him. And he told me my dog was dying and my mother was hysterical.
Oh, dad...
I'm in the middle of the office of my internship getting this phone call, keep in mind.
***
I wrote to one of my friends that I was having a horrible day and my dog was dying. She wrote back that she was having a horrible day, too, and was having to spend a lot of time with her family on a vacation and she was ready to scream. I haven't talked to her since.
***
On my facebook wall, my away message read that I was "Having a bad day". My friend JP from northern Uganda wrote a response, asking "Why?" I tried to explain about my dog dying. I know he can never understand it intellectually, because the cultural attitudes towards pets are so different, but I bet that he can understand it emotionally, because grief is grief, right?
***
Wednesday night I went out to dinner with five dear friends.
***
I spent Thursday morning, in between waking, dressing, brewing coffee, and otherwise preparing for work, google-searching the opinion of different religions as to whether or not animals go to heaven. It's a mixed bag.
***
My friend Gwen, who is getting her Ph.D. studying evangelism in Liberia, wrote me that heaven is overrated, anyway, and that the best we could hope for would be to be reborn into a happy life. I love Gwen.
***
I thought about whether it would be better if he'd just been hit by a car and snuffed out instantly. Is it better to get to say goodbye? I don't know. I hate watching dying. The dying of the person infests all your memories of the person. Like Granma. I remember her somewhat making me jelly sandwiches and having sleep-overs with me, but mainly I remember her disorganized and confused and yelling at me for not offering chocolates to her friends, the invisible people on the ceiling (true story).
Maybe it's up to me to shift my own memories of her, and concentrate on the good and let the bad go.
***
I love Wookiee. I am never nervous around him. Ever. I just love him.
***
I got a "W" tattoo on my foot, so I will always remember that I will never forget him. It isn't for him, it's for me. And it isn't to remember him; it's to remember that I will always remember and love him.
I do just love him.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Update
So. I've found myself an internship.
- It's at a fantastic organization, doing advocacy for refugees in Africa. Just what I want. To use the privileges of my education to magnify the voices of those whom the world ignores.
- It's only two days a week, and it's unpaid. Crap.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
This week, I...
(Things that I've done this week to carve myself a niche here in DC)
1. Apartment searched
2. Found an apartment (which I won't be able to afford if I don't find a job)
3. Began moving in
4. Job searched
5. Went on one (1) job interview
6. Went to a bookstore to turn in an application for part-time work
7. Turned down one (1) internship
8. Began transcribing Mama Ayaa's interview
9. Got health insurance
10. Stressed out a lot & cried
11. Met up three (3) times with four (4) old friends
12. Went to the bank, checked my records, got back $$$ from a faulty charge and canceled my credit cards (after my car was broken into)
(Do I need to go to the police about my car being broken into in order to eventually collect insurance??? Probably.)
13. Bought bookshelves and constructed them to separate the part of our living room that is my new bedroom from the rest of the living room
14. Drove to Baltimore and picked up a mattress from Aunt Maggie
1. Apartment searched
2. Found an apartment (which I won't be able to afford if I don't find a job)
3. Began moving in
4. Job searched
5. Went on one (1) job interview
6. Went to a bookstore to turn in an application for part-time work
7. Turned down one (1) internship
8. Began transcribing Mama Ayaa's interview
9. Got health insurance
10. Stressed out a lot & cried
11. Met up three (3) times with four (4) old friends
12. Went to the bank, checked my records, got back $$$ from a faulty charge and canceled my credit cards (after my car was broken into)
(Do I need to go to the police about my car being broken into in order to eventually collect insurance??? Probably.)
13. Bought bookshelves and constructed them to separate the part of our living room that is my new bedroom from the rest of the living room
14. Drove to Baltimore and picked up a mattress from Aunt Maggie
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Mama Ayaa
I was transcribing an interview with my friend Mama Ayaa this morning, in which she talks about the deaths of many in her family at the hands of the LRA.
Hearing her voice, I missed her, and so I called her up. She was excited to hear me and said that she'd dreamed last night that she was speaking to me. And then she kept saying that she "loved her little girl, her youngest girl, yesterday." I kept saying "Oh... that's nice". I was calling on skype, on the computer, where the audio wasn't perfect. It turns out she was saying that the LOST her little girl yesterday. One of her young nieces who stayed with her after her sister died, died of malaria. It seems like it never ends, there.
Hearing her voice, I missed her, and so I called her up. She was excited to hear me and said that she'd dreamed last night that she was speaking to me. And then she kept saying that she "loved her little girl, her youngest girl, yesterday." I kept saying "Oh... that's nice". I was calling on skype, on the computer, where the audio wasn't perfect. It turns out she was saying that the LOST her little girl yesterday. One of her young nieces who stayed with her after her sister died, died of malaria. It seems like it never ends, there.
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