I went home last weekend to hang out with my folks and my brother. I was goofing around the house waiting for dinner to happen. I began to rummage around the kitchen for something to tide me over, but then stopped. I felt the urge to ask my parents if I could have a snack before dinner. I had to stop and remind myself of a few things. I’m 22 years old. I know I’m hungry. Dinner wasn’t for another 30 minutes. If I wanted to eat, I should eat.

I’ve talked about this before, but there’s something about being back home that makes me feel like a little kid no matter how old I get. I regress back to my role as a dependent child waiting for my parents to tell me what to do next.

Up in Emporia, I’m my own boss. I decide when to eat, when to sleep, and when to go hang out with my friends. Back home I feel like I should check in with my parents before making any big decision.

It’s not a matter of being considerate. I think if you are sharing a roof with somebody you should keep them up to date with your comings and goings. For me it’s about getting permission to do the simple things I do on my own all the time.

And it isn’t brought on by my folks – they are fully capable of treating me like a full-fledged adult. I’m the one that seems to have problems thinking of myself as a grownup when I go back home.

But maybe it’s not all bad. The point of going home, and getting away from Emporia, is to relax and take my mind off the stress of school. It’s kind of nice to go home and not take any of my worries with me and let my parents tell what to do again. It’s a nice change of pace when you can give up the responsibility of making every little decision.

The other thing I’m starting to realize is that I have a strange desire to prove myself to my parents. Does that happen to anyone else? Maybe it’s because I know how important being in college is to them. They didn’t get their college degrees until much later in life, so I’ll be the first in the family to get one right after high school.

It’s costing us a pretty penny to put me through school, so whenever I come home I feel compelled to prove to them, (and to myself I think) that it’s worth all the money. I tend to do that through elaborate, very abstract conversations about current happenings in the news or in society.

Maybe I’m over-analyzing the situation. Back in high school I would talk to my folks for hours about anything under the sun, from politics to history to art. And I didn’t think much of it. But now that I’m a full time student, I guess I feel more pressure to prove my worth?

It doesn’t really matter I guess, because I love all the conversations I get to have with my family. Most of the students I know in Emporia hate talking about school when off the clock, so getting able to really discuss the material I’m learning is not a common experience for me.

I know my parents are proud of me, and would be proud of me no matter if I were in college or not. I think I’m really just more interested in proving my progress to myself in an attempt to show that I’m really growing up, and I’m not the same person I was when I lived at home.

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Harrison George

I can’t believe I’m 22.

While most kids dream about the day they finally turn 21, I was always much more interested in 22. That represented the true age of adulthood. I guess it’s because all the birthdays before that carry so much symbolism; 16, 18, 21.

But after 22 birthdays just become a thing- an amorphous semi-holiday that carries no concrete benefits. If anything, they become despised as they only serve as a reminder of how old we are getting.

So now that I’m 22, what comes next? I’m an adult now, by all legal and social standards. (The only thing I can’t do at this age is rent a car, but I don’t think that will hold me back that much.)

I certainly don’t feel like an adult. In a lot of ways I still feel exactly how I did at 16, or 18, or 21. I’ve certainly learned a lot since then, both in terms of book smarts and life experience. But personality-wise, I feel like the same person I was as a kid. I guess that’s what personality is- those characteristics that stay with you your whole life regardless of age or education.

I should point out this analysis of age was not brought on by a recent birthday; my birthday is in September. So I’ve been 22 for over five months.

The reason I bring it up now is because it’s just now dawning on me what it means to be an adult. It’s the age-old difference between knowing something and realizing it. I know I’m 22, but sometimes things happen that really make me realize I’m a “grownup.”

Two events happened to me recently. First I stumbled upon an amazing site that really conveys my experience in dealing with adulthood. The site is titled “OMG I’m the Adult”, which perfectly sums up how we all feel when we have those grand moments of realization. The site is a collection of user-submitted stories in the vein of Fmylife but to the theme of maturity.

Some are casual observations about minor events-being called “Sir” or Ma’am” by strangers, while others are downright intense.
One of my favorites: “Six Word Memoir. Sign on the dotted line. I became my mother’s legal guardian.”

You can read more of the stories at http://omgimtheadult.wordpress.com. The site isn’t as updated as often as I’d like, but it’s great to know others have experienced the surreal transition that occurs between childhood and adulthood.

Secondly, a few weeks I updated my Facebook with the following status: “I am __ years old and still can’t ___.” I was inspired to do so after coming to the depressing conclusion that I was 22 years old and still didn’t know how to properly spell the word definitely. For whatever reason, I never took the time to learn to spell it correctly, and always had to spell check it. It’s little things like that which keep me from seeing myself as an adult. “I can’t be a grown up,” I tell myself, “I don’t know how to spell definitely. Shouldn’t a grownup be able to do that?”

Anyway, the response I got was enormous- 27 people submitted their own version. The answers were astounding, ranging from the absurd (“I am 22 years old and still can’t floss.”) to the heartfelt (“I am 22 years old and I still can’t approach a stranger.”) (By the way not everyone was 22 years old, that’s just a weird coincidence.)

We all have these arbitrary conditions that we think have to be met before we can be full fledged adults. Maybe it’s owning a house, or having a kid. Or it’s being able to parallel park. Or learn to swim. Or like the taste of coffee.

I guess I drew some solace in hearing that other people were worried about growing up too. The feeling I got was no one feels ready to be a grownup; it just happens whether we like it or not.

My parents probably felt the same way I do now. One day you’re a kid goofing around with your friends, the next you are paying bills, working a job, and starting a family.

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“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”

The above quote is from one of my favorite movies, “Indiana Jones.” In it, Harrison Ford is referring to his presence in Nazi Germany during WWII. While I’ve never been in a situation that extreme, I think of this quote when I find myself outside of the Midwest region I know so well. I think the quote says something about people’s mentality; we like to think we are the normal ones, and the rest of the world is crazy, or backwards, or weird.

As a kid I was under the belief that people were people, no matter where you went. When I traveled through Europe in high school I learned how wrong I was. People are very different. Looking back, it’s childish to think that everyone is like you simply because that’s all you know. Cultures create personalities, so with different cultures come different types of people.

I remember my first night in Italy when we were eating at a café and I asked the waiter for refill on my soda. He looked at me like I had pasta coming out of my ears. Apparently in some parts of Europe there are no refills – you drink what you get, then you’re done. As a child raised in a soda-decadent culture, that baffled me. That was my first experience in crossing cultures.

It’s important to note when I say people are different, I don’t mean inherently or morally, merely superficially. Just because the waiter didn’t like refills didn’t make him a bad person, or me one for loving refills. I’m simply talking about those tiny differences that are the result of cultural upbringing; the ones we all take for granted as being universally apparent. Just wanted to make that point.

The older I got, the easier it became to see cultural differences. The more I traveled the U.S., and the more stories I heard from friends and family, the more I learned about the differences within regions.

I remember my dad telling me about his first time in Boston. He stood in line for 10 minutes at a coffee shop before realizing he wasn’t moving. People were merely walking right in front of him, slowly pushing their way to the counter to be served. To a Midwesterner like my dad, it seemed chaotic, but he was assured by a Bostonian that there was a method to the madness. Apparently something as simple as waiting in line is up for cultural interpretation. They don’t even call it waiting in line there – it’s waiting on line!

I asked a few of my friends about their experiences since moving from the Midwest to other regions. When they tell people they were from Kansas they got one of two responses; either a “Wizard of Oz” reference, or an apology: “You’re from Kansas? I bet that sucked.”

The third most common response seemed to be, “Where is Kansas?”

My friend Sarah said, “I’ve found that many Seattleites don’t really know where Kansas is. It’s mostly just “over there” somewhere. Also, telling them I had to drive 30 miles to go to a mall or a movie theater is mind boggling.”

Mainly what I’ve heard from my friends is that people outside of the Midwest are much ruder than we are. We have all heard this stereotype before, but I was surprised at how often it popped up in people’s comments.

My friend Larry talked about his first few days in D.C.: “I remember my first time in Georgetown, walking from the metro stop I noticed that even if you said “hello” right to someone’s face, they would completely ignore you. That was a first for me. I counted 30 people on that walk. Not one of them seemed to notice I was there.”

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Kansas Day!

Last week Kansas celebrated its birthday for the 149^th time.  For the 3^rd year in a row I helped throw a Kansas Day celebration in Emporia. It’s full of all things Kansas- Wheat State Pizza, Wheat Beer, and some good old 70’s rock, courtesy of Kansas. This year we had an unexpected treat- John Brown stopped by to say hello!

Anyway, in honor of our wonderful state’s birthday, I’ve decided to compile a Top 10 List of Kansas-Inspired Historical and Cultural Impacts.

1. William Allen White- Not just a Kansas native but an Emporian at that, WAW was a celebrated journalist and civil rights activist.  As a newspaper employee I like to think of him as a Patron Saint of sorts.
2. Wizard of Oz- No Kansas list would be complete without mentioning that famous film that made every non-Kansan ask you, “Where’s Toto? LOL” Kansas will always be synonymous with Dorothy, her dog, and her group of rag-tag friends.
3. Flying Spaghetti Monster- Though the origin of the FSM stems from Oregon State, the motives were 100% Kansan. The creature was created in response to the Kansas Board of Education’s vote to include Intelligent Design in public school’s science curriculum. The creature, which looks like a squid/pasta hybrid, is a fantastic farce of the ongoing religious quagmire in Kansas schools, and reminds America we can still laugh at ourselves.
4. Air Capital- Wichita has been home to the Boeing Company, Cessna, Raytheon and Bombardier Aerospace’s Learjet division. At one point Wichita supplied two-thirds of the world’s commercial airliners. I’m throwing this in just for my dad. He worked in the Wichita Airline business for over 27 years, and is absolutely nuts about planes. Over that time he met both John Travolta and Harrison Ford when they flew into Wichita while flying their private jets.  I’m sure my dad was real lame and only talked to them about plane stuff, like if their wings were stable and if their cabin pressure was adequate or something like that.
5. Pizza Hut, Braum’s, and White Castle- 3 of the country’s biggest chains started in Kansas: 2 of them in Wichita and 1 in Emporia. Without these businesses, America would have been just a little bit less fat.
6. BTK- Not all these impacts are good. In the 70’s, Dennis Rader, AKA the BTK killer, had the country and Kansas in a state of terror with his ghastly murders and his creepy notes.  He was finally caught in 2005 and once his identity was revealed, my hometown of Wichita was filled with eerie stories of run-ins with the killer. “I swear to god that guy came to my house last year to take my dog to the pound.” Exclaimed one of kids in my school.
7. Brown Vs. Board- The landmark case that ended “de jure” racial segregation in public schools around the country. Did you know this case did not just involve the families of the Topeka area, the Browns included? It was actually the conglomeration of a multi-state effort to end school segregation- there were over 200 plaintiffs all together. I had old classmate in one of my classes last year who actually knows the Brown family in Topeka and is still in regular contact with them. He says they are very normal folks. I can’t imagine living a normal life after having such a huge impact on the country and the legal system.
8. Celebrities!!- We’ve got Fatty Arbuckle, Paul Rudd, Dennis Hopper, Bill Kurtis, Don Johnson, Annette Bening, Elvira,  and of course, Kirstie Alley. My sister once met Kirstie Alley in a coffee shop in Wichita and helped her carry drinks across the street. Turns out there was a Scientology meeting in the church nearby and Kirstie was giving the sermon that day. No joke.
9. Prairie Reserve- Alright indulge me as I eco-nerd out here for a second. The prairie is the most endangered of all the world’s biomes, and the biggest swath of it left is right here in Kansas, near Strong City. Prairie used to cover over 8 states, but now 98% of it has been farmed or cattle-fed into extinction. Now the rest resides on federally protected land, ensuring that future generations can still enjoy the intense and exotic beauty of the prairie.
10. John Brown- Known as the man who killed slavery, sparked the civil war, and seeded civil rights, (and also as the father of modern-day terrorism) big beardy Brown started a revolt that directly kicked off the Civil War. Before that he was making the news for passing out guns throughout Bleeding Kansas to combat the pro-slavery movement. Impressive as his life might have been, I think most of us know him simply as the dude on the cover of that Kansas album (see above picture)

As with most top 10 lists, I can never put everything on here I wanted to. What do you think should have made the list?

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It was two years ago. I was on the airplane to come to Emporia. I flew on Northwest Airlines. Crews on the airplane were obviously American, however, I could not understand what language they were using. It made me feel scared and disappointed at the same time because I spent 10 years on my English in Japan, and I had much confidence in my English before I got on the airplane heading to America.

Once I arrived in Emporia, I went to Country Mart to see the American products available. Whenever I travel abroad, I always visit the local real estate agent and local supermarkets. Can you guess the reason? If I know the average housing price in the area, I can tell the average living standard. From what I could gather, the average housing price here in Emporia is between $50,000 and $120,000 for one big house. That is about one fourth the price compared to houses in Japan, even though houses in Japan much smaller. I could assume the living expense in Emporia would not be bad.

The local super market is a source of entertainment for me because there are so many different products which I cannot buy in Japan. For example, there are so many varieties of meats in Country Mart, though they do not have many kinds of fishes at all. Japan is a small island, so we eat fish a lot. Emporia is obviously located in the middle of the continent, so I assumed most of people do not eat a lot of fish. I thought eating raw fishes like Sushi is out of the question in Emporia.

I had always heard that obesity is one of the biggest problems in the States. Though American foods are very tasty, they are usually bad for our health, and those foods are extremely cheap here in Emporia. I was surprised that one giant bottle of soda at Country Mart is about 88 cents. In Japan, you can find the half size bottle of soda for $3.5, so people in Japan do not drink soda as much as American people do. I think if the junk foods’ price increases by triple, the obesity problem will be quickly solved.

            After visiting Country Mart I walked around the campus for a while. I found whenever I met American people, they always asked, “How are you doing?”, even if I did not know them. People in Japan never talk to strangers. I was surprised by the friendliness of American people.

Though I enjoy the friendliness of Emporians, I know I still have some things to learn about American expressions. When one of my new American friends said “What’s up, man?” I just looked up the sky and said “There is blue beautiful sky!” I obviously didn’t have any idea what the real meaning of the expression was, haha.

So this was the first day of being in the United States of America. Coming to the U.S. was my dream since I was a child. I was very excited and scared at the same time. Most of the new international students might think the same. Welcome to the United States of America, especially here in Emporia!!

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Sorry it’s been so long since I last updated. I would like to blame it on the fact that we only had school for half the months of November, December, and January, but the truth is I got too preoccupied with school to keep up my posting duties. But now that we are back in the swing of things with school, I think I will have this under control.

Breaks are always a strange time for me because they are a reminder that I technically have two homes. Since I started college, each consecutive break feels more bizarre as I try to readjust to life under my parent’s roof.

Luckily I have a good relationship with my parents, so there’s never any tension. (They seem completely content with the fact that I am going to graduate with a remarkably unmarketable degree) It’s more a matter of remembering to take them into consideration before doing things. I have a problem remembering to wait till official “dinner time” before eating. I’m used to being on my own: when I get hungry in Emporia, I eat. It’s that simple. But at home, I have to take others into consideration.

But, that being said, there are lots of advantages to being home with the parents. Free rent, free food as far as the eye can see, and luxuries like satellite television and a dishwasher.

Can we talk about the food for a minute? Compared to my fridge in Emporia, my parent’s place is like living in Buffet City. I don’t realize how long I’ve been living off Ramen and Pb and J’s till I am reminded what real food is like. The way I eat at home, my poor parents probably think I’m starving myself while I’m away.

Just like readjusting to my parents can be a task, so is trying to reconnect with old friends from high school. I stay in touch with as many as I can through the wonders of Facebook and whatnot, but it’s still sometimes strange hanging out with someone you haven’t been “real” friends with in over 3 years. It sounds cliché, but I guess it’s a vital part of growing up – you make new friends and your old ones move to the peripheral. Back in high school it was easy to be friends with anyone- you were all stuck in the same building for eight hours a day. Now, when you have to go out of your way to make time to see them, you realize which relationships are built on strong foundations and which were made simply because you were both in PE the same period.

The most surprising thing about breaks is how quickly I begin to miss Emporia. For all the complaining I’ve done in the past about how slow and small Emporia might seem, it’s funny that I start to miss it so quickly. I find myself missing the closeness of the town, and how I can walk anywhere I need to go within 5 minutes. It’s definitely not like that in Wichita; everything’s a 20 min drive with heavy traffic. It makes me realize Emporia has become just as much a home to me as Wichita. It’s amazing a city I’ve only known for four years can have such a strong impact on me.

But, now that I’m back in Emporia I feel a desire to get back home and relax with my family. Grass is always greener I suppose. The transition from holiday break to the new semester is always a tough one – I usually need a few days in Emporia to reboot and get ready for the hectic schedule to come.

I guess that’s the goal of the school break- it’s just something to keep me motivated until it arrives. And then once it arrives I realize I don’t really want to break from what I was doing. (And it only took me 4 years of college to figure this out haha)

What about you guys? What have your experiences been going back home for breaks? And has the experience changed the longer you’ve been in school?

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Group photo at the weekend in Putten oh so long ago...

Today, I took a bus to Central Station and saw a dear friend get on a shuttle home. As I bussed home, it hit me—it is almost over. The quaint little Dutch town on the German border that I have come to call home for the last few months will soon be miles and miles away from me, as my journey in life continues.

I will never forget the places I have been and the things I have done. I will never forget the emotions I felt throughout the whole process here. The joy, depression, homesickness, elation, confusion, and general appreciation for the way the world works. But most of all, I will never, without a single doubt, EVER forget the love. Before I came here, I wasn’t sure whether or not I thought love truly existed, or if it was just the way humans processed some kind of overload of joy. But now, right now, as I sit in my room in the nearly empty Vossenveld student housing complex waiting for Andy to get back so we can plan dinner, now, I know it’s there. Love is here, if not in the air somehow, at least inside me somewhere. I know that I love this place, and I love so many of the people I have met here, and I love travel, and exploration of the mind, or heart, or the world. I think I may lose this feeling over time, because time has a funny way of going about things, but I will certainly not forget it. Not forget how hard goodbyes are, or how easily new friends can become old friends in an instant, or over some undefined amount of time. I won’t forget the love, I promise you that.

So now, I sit alone and wait for a plane to take me back to the world I willingly left to find something… I’m still not sure what. But, I think that maybe I achieved that goal for myself. I found that something. Some knowledge I didn’t have before, about the world, or at least my world. So, then, for lack (as usual) of the ability to properly describe the highly complex process of human emotive responses, I will say the only thing left to say—my thank yous.

Thank you to my parents and family for helping me out in making this experience possible, without your support, it’s obvious to me this wouldn’t have happened. Thank you to the government for helping financially, though, of course, it wasn’t a hand out. But, still, I have been given the right to go discover the world if I want, and to have a right like that is not as common as you would think in today’s world. Thank you in advance to my friends back home for allowing this hiatus in our face to face relationship, and for picking up where we left off, as I assuredly hope you will let me do. Thank you to Emporia State for their steadfast commitment to international education, and allowing me to take part in something so incredible, even if it is only so to me. Thank you to the Bulletin, for allowing me to express, or at least try to express, my feelings and experiences throughout this whole process, I appreciated the chance to express myself via this blog—there is nothing truer to me that outright expression, and you made it possible. Thank you, likewise, to those who have read my posts throughout this semester—be you friend, family, or complete stranger—I am forever in your debt. Thank you to Andy, whose friendship and camaraderie throughout this entire semester was nothing short of a lifesaver, or at least something constant to cling to. The blessing of being able to share something like this with another person gave me great comfort, and no doubt a lot of great times.

But most of all, the biggest thank you I feel I have to give, is to my fellow exchange students at Radboud this semester. It is because of you that this experience was as great as it was. Thank you to all of my friends here, for so many things that I can’t even really explain. Thank you for the laughs, the good times, the tidbits of insight into your lives before this semester, and the life we made together here in Nijmegen. I swear upon God, or my heart, or whatever else, that I will NEVER forget how you made my experience here the greatest of my life, whether it was by staying up till 5 in the morning with me and waxing poetic, or talking sports, or simply smiling at me in passing, thank you so, so much. No words can express exactly how thankful I am to have met all of you, and I truly hope our paths will cross again down the road somewhere. But, even if they don’t, we remain connected because of this experience, and in that way, we will always be together. I hope you remember me as I will remember you, and I hope that your lives are everything you want them to be, no matter what goals you have. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and my mind, and my soul. Thank you.

So, I guess this is where I leave you. And, surprisingly I have come so far since my first post—physically, but more so mentally. I have come so far and yet, I have no choice but to leave you the only way I know how, the same way I found you. I am the same fearful, curious, out-going yet reserved college kid I was when I wrote my first post, which seems so long ago. Yet the only fitting way to say goodbye, as I have found out by saying more goodbyes in the past week than I ever want to do again, is to just say it, and attempt to put an asterisk behind it to explain all of the incomprehensible and inexpressible emotions attached to the word.

So, therefore– adios, papa, farvel, arrivederci, zbohem, doei, auf wiedersehen, slán leat, au revoir, God be with ye, and, of course, last but not least…

Goodbye*

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Friends and I in Porto de Soller.

You ever notice how people, when on a beach vacation or simply traveling to a body of water, almost impulsively throw rocks into said body water? It’s like we have to throw the rocks, we have no choice. We need to throw the rocks to remind ourselves how incredibly small we are. To toss a one inch long rock into a sea thousands of miles long puts everything into perspective. The size of the rock in our hand, and the feel of it just before it leaves us forever into the abyss of blue water. Our size, the size of the water in comparison. It all happens subconsciously. We don’t literally think about why we are throwing the rock, we just do it. Maybe we throw it because we know that the tide will push it back towards the beach, and that one day, far in the future, it may be possible to pick up that same rock, on that same beach, and toss it 50 feet out into the same water we tossed it into all those years ago. Okay, it may seem a very small feat to throw a stone, a pebble even, into a vast body of water, but before you go thinking this entry is too depressing for you, consider this metaphor I have stolen from the novel, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,” and then adapted to use in my own context.

Imagine that you and I are on a beach, say, in the Mediterranean, and I pick up a stone, one stone among the thousands that cover the rocky beaches of the Balearic Islands. Now, imagine me, looking strait into your eyes as I hand you the stone, and speaking these words: “Throw it as far or as near as you want, just throw it.” You look down at the stone in your hand, and you notice how light it is, how far you could throw it. You look up at the endless sea. You wind up and chuck the rock 100 ft, into the water, and you don’t even see where it hits the water because the sun is blinding you and you’re focusing on your follow through. And I look at you, and say, “Congratulations, you have changed the world”.

Maybe we jumped, maybe we didn't!

One stone, thrown from one hand, on one beach, on one island, in one sea changes the entire make-up of the world. Though it may not be a monumental change, it is still change. And besides, nine times out of ten, any monumental change that a person makes to this world is for the worse, not the better.

You know, in a way, I think that’s why we, humans, travel, at least I’ve come to realize that’s why I travel. To make a change in this world, no matter how small. To step off a plane in Paris and immediately hug the first person I see. To smile at everyone in Prague and sincerely hope that it brightens their day. These things may not settle any health care bills, or bring a country out of a recession. But hey, what reason do you have to not smile at the next person you see? Or hug them? Well, maybe not hug them, I don’t want to be responsible for any lawsuits and/or beating … Anyway, the point is not to save the world. I’m not saving the world, I’m just throwing rocks into the ocean.

So, as I sat on a cliff over-looking the Mediterranean Sea on the island of Mallorca, watching the sunset into the distant horizon, as the yellows meshed with the dark and light blues, and greens and whites, I thought about the world, and myself, and why exactly I wanted to come to Europe in the first place. Why in the hell did I spend so much time and effort and money in order to come to a country where I didn’t speak the language, and knew only one other person on the entire continent? It is because of this, I thought. It’s because of the sun. It’s because a picture may be worth a thousand words, but seeing the real thing is worth billions, nay, trillions. It’s because of the people, all the people, whether I like them or not. But most of all, it’s because I would throw a million rocks if given the chance, and frankly, with the wind at my back, and the sun on my face and great friends around, I see no reason why this whole semester could even remotely be called a mistake. Money is money, life is life, I’m throwing rocks at the sea until the day I die.

Sunset at Deia.

Sunset at S'Arenal.

Water at Sa Calabra.

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Ah, Thanksgiving… I can’t believe it has already been here and passed. It snuck up on me, really. And with it, the thought that I wouldn’t be home to spend the day gorging myself on select delicacies prepared by aunts and unwilling uncles till I was fuller than the oven and fridge had been not two hours before, and until some random game of football whisked me off to the dreamland only a Thanksgiving dinner can take you to.

This was the first real moment of true, inescapable homesickness I have felt since I left 3 and a half months ago. I mean, there have been little instances when I felt a twinge of longing to be at home, sitting comfortably in my parents’ living room, watching some wildcat football and eating chili, but the moment would pass quicker than it just took to explain it. But yesterday, when I woke for class in the morning, something felt a little different. Like this chapter of my life was starting to close just as I really realized it was beginning.

The Dutch, obviously, do not celebrate Thanksgiving, however, around this time of the year, December 5^th to be exact, they celebrate a slightly tweaked version of Christmas which I was privy to recently.

The celebration of Sinterklaas is hundreds of years old, and based on numerous factors concerning Dutch History. It is similar to Christmas in that there is a Santa Claus figure, Saint Nicholas. But unlike our jolly “bowl full of jelly” Chris Kringle, Sinterklaas is actually quite skinny, and could probably pass as a Catholic Bishop with a flair for fashion and bright colors. His helpers, not elves, mind you, are normal sized people with black faces.

Imagine my confusion when, having no prior knowledge of this holiday, I biked to the grocery store about a week ago and saw white teenagers with black face paint on, giving candy out to children while some delusional dude who thought he was the Pope gave out gifts. The whole scene baffled me until I got home and asked one of my Dutch friends what in the hell was going on…

He explained the story of Sinterklaas, and my mind was appeased for a bit. I am all for weird holiday traditions whose meaning is not quite clear due to generations of change and adaptation, but this one, frankly, struck me as a little bit weird. I mean, a fake Pope, who lives in Spain, and travels with a posse of black people, and who, if a child is bad one year, puts said child in a bag, takes a switch and beats the tar out of him? Really? And besides all that, those pseudo-elves scared the hell out of me.

Even now, when I see them in the grocery store, tending to little child and spreading general cheer to all, even then, I am scared of them. I really don’t know what’s weirder, that “6 to 8” Caucasians can paint their faces black and imitate an African without a civil rights group getting upset, or that I am scared of them. I guess that is just another of the cultural differences between the two countries. I have to believe that if this holiday was celebrated in America, there would be some serious lawsuits involved.

But, alas, to each his own. Sinterklaas is a big deal here, and as such I am willing to ignore the oddity of it and just enjoy it. Besides, it isn’t as if America doesn’t have really weird celebrations and holiday traditions (see: “Black Friday”, or the overall concept of “Thanksgiving”). So I will attempt to enjoy myself and have a happy/merry Sinterklaas, and I hope you do the same.

P.S.- For more info on Sinterklaas, check out this video, it’s great and I think explains it better than I did. And it’s pretty hilarious.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCUHTDrca4s&feature=related

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Group photo in front of Trevi fountain

Simply put, Rome has captured and captivated me more than any other place I have ever been to, seen a picture of, or ever dreamed of going to. As soon as our flight touched down and I first stepped out into the brilliant mosaic of scattered lights and darkness that was the Roman dusk, I knew this was a place I would like. What didn’t know was that this was a place I would fall in love with.

Rome is a city of firsts. Imagine the first breathe of Italian air. The first cappuccino you drink in the first authentic Italian café you see. The first encounter with a restaurant worker who insists that the other restaurants around are full of Pinocchios whose collective nose continues to grow with every sentence. But not him, oh no, not him.

Imagine the first glimpse of the awe-inspiring, beautiful, no-picture-could-ever-capture-its-true-nature Coliseum. Ditto for the Roman forum, the Pantheon, St. Peter’s Square, The Spanish steps, Trevi fountain, Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, hanging opulently over the heads of mesmerized tourists within the immaculate Sistine Chapel, their necks permanently thrown back, mouths agape; Raphael’s School of Athens- similar effect. The first pizza, pasta, gelato, gypsy encounter (in that order), sidewalk purse salesmen (who magically disappeared whenever the policia appeared). Imagine all this in rapid succession like lighting off a string of firecrackers. Oh, and the most chic McDonald’s I’ve ever laid eyes on– never thought I’d be taking pictures of a McDonald’s when I left for Europe.

Inefficient stairs in Vatican City

In between all of the iconic, must-see attractions the city has to offer, though I have the strong suspicion that I didn’t even scratch the surface of what the city truly has to offer in terms of historically significant sites, after all of those, there are the stories unique to our trip and our trip alone. One involving a, in my opinion, too long for comfort conversation  at four in the morning with some Italian soldiers carrying what I was sure was enough firepower to gun down any suspicious character passing through, or else anyone who engaged in a too long for comfort conversation with them. Another involving a group of Navy Seals who not only proved the metaphorical implication of the phrase “loose lips sink ships”, but also may have proved the physical implications as well, after buying the entire bar 2-3 rounds each, and confirming conspiracy theories I never thought a member of the armed forces would believe. Yet another involving a native of Spain who kindly invited all of us to visit him in Sicily after my friend miraculously learned to speak Spanish without showing any prior knowledge of the language. These stories, I am certain will be the ones that last. And, when added together with the fact that we had these adventures while seeing some of the most famous historical and artistic landmarks on the Earth, made my Roman adventure not only one of the greatest weekends since I have been in Europe, but perhaps the greatest weekend of my life. That being said, I’m sure there were things about the city I didn’t particularly like, but, at this moment, they all seem to have escaped my memory.

Roman Forum

St. Peter's Square

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You know how there are some moments where everything is just great? Moments when even though there are innumerable things going wrong, or just not going the way you want, you still can’t help but smile? This week was a series of those moments, intermittent with moments that I sincerely hope will never be dismissed from my memory with time or age or what have you.

The week started off fairly normal, until around Wednesday. On Wednesday, everything got a little bit troublesome. See, we (meaning Andy and I) had planned a trip to Dublin, Ireland weeks ago with around ten other international students from Radboud. I had been looking forward to this trip basically since we booked our plane tickets because when I decided to study abroad, Ireland was one of the places I put on my “must-see” list—cheesy, I know. The main reasons for the placement were pretty straightforward- one, that I am half Irish on my mother’s side, and the other is that Dublin has a extraordinarily rich history in Literature, producing some of my favorite writer’s—James Joyce being the most prominent among them because, well, he’s James Joyce.

Therefore, up until Wednesday, the Dublin trip was always in the back of my mind, something to get excited for. But on Wednesday, Andy and I discovered we had a problem. Our flight left at 8:05 from Weeze airport, outside of Dusseldorf, Germany, which is about 45 minutes by car from Nijmegen. Because we had to arrive fairly early to get though security, there would be no train leaving from Nijmegen early enough to get us there on time. The solution to this problem, which I can say with all confidence, really, really, sucked, was that we had to take a shuttle to Weeze at 3:30 in the morning on Thursday, and then stay in the airport until our flight left at eight. We understandably did not get much sleep before the shuttle left, or in the terminal after we arrived (you would think they would make those places more suitable for sleeping). So, between the lack of sleep, and the exhaustion of travel, we arrived at our hostel in Dublin in a state of semi consciousness. We were woken up, however slightly, by the fact that we had made it, and were now free to enjoy the city, which, I can say with no doubts is my favorite city in the world.

But, as I said in the beginning, this initial sensation of being in such a wonderful place wore off, however slightly, due to extenuating circumstances. For one, of the ten people who said they were going to Dublin at the same time as we were, only two actually came. Also, at some point before or after leaving for the trip, I was bitten by some type of unknown poisonous insect on the leg, and therefore, by Friday, was having trouble walking, which does not help with any site-seeing endeavors I wished to involve myself in of. Also, when we arrived back in Nijmegen, parts of my bike which were previously attached had mysteriously become unattached. This last concern is really a mute point because this morning, when I woke up, my bike had mysteriously disappeared altogether into thin air, ending the fledgling reign of the second bike I’ve owned since arriving in The Netherlands.

BUT, and there is a but, as I said in the beginning of this entry, throughout all of this, I could not help but to smile. Even though my leg was throbbing, and Dublin was not the party we had envisioned, and the fact that exhaustion was carried along to all of the sites we visited like heavy baggage, throughout all this stuff, I smiled. I smiled because I couldn’t believe I was there. I smiled because I wanted to sit in the Temple Bar with a pint Guinness and a plate of fish and chips, and never leave that spot. I smiled because of all the things I could have done and actions I could have taken, smiling seemed the best option thinkable. I smiled, and still smile for a million other reasons I can’t express and which don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. The important thing to remember throughout this entire post is that I smiled. And, I know most of the problems I just told you about are trivial and more inconveniences than real problems, so it is a lot easier for me to sit back and say “just smile” when life inconveniences creep up and bite you, but I promise, if you do, or if you at least try, all those troubles will be put into perspective. If at some point you can sit back, cross your arms, and show the world those pearly whites, all those things you were vexed about a moment ago will fade into the background, individual ships on an ocean of space and time. After all, if life is all there is, then you’ve got it all. So, as I wrote in my last post, and will continue to write until arthritis makes it impossible to do so– smile.

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