Moving stuff

I have a lot of stuff. I just do. I don't even know where it all came from. I have an entire luggage set, filled with stuff, about 8 boxes, filled with more stuff, and a few random bags, also filled with stuff. For the record, let me define stuff:

Stuff:

Clothes, books, writing utensils, CDs, DVDs, bed linens, photographs, previous assignments, coat hangers, 1 mug, 1 matching bowl, old calendars, jewelry, a collection of big hats, portable iPod speakers (with AM/FM radio, woot!), make-up, wrapping paper, shoes, boxes full of old notes and ideas, and an entire line of Clinique skin care products.

ACK!

What ever happened to living simply? When I first came to New Zealand, I didn't have nearly this much STUFF! Where on earth did it all come from? The sheer volume of it all has recently been brought to light due to the fact that I am moving into an apartment today. I didn't even realize how much I had myself, until I looked into the van we're using and saw how little room I had left my boyfriend for all his clothes/books/writing utensils....

It frustrates me that I accumulate so many unnecessary items, and it saddens because, after a recent trip to India, my eyes have now been officially opened to the poverty and the desperation that so many across the world are living in. Not that an Indian child would like a 2008 calendar, but still. I'm just saying, there are people who will never see the amount of money it would take to buy all this stuff in an entire lifetime. And I'm over here in my comfortable new penthouse apartment, forgetting that I even own it all. I feel guilty, and I feel like this materialistic obsession endorsed by myself and so many others of my generation is slowly deadening us to the pain and suffering of our fellow man. Wow, I know that's a pretty big statement, but I wholeheartedly believe that by living simply, we would more easily be able to relate to, and therefore help, those around us with less.

I'll end with a quote from one of my favorite saints, St Teresa of Avila,

"It is love alone that gives worth to all things."

Jesu Christo (Spanish Jesus)

Once upon a time, a 17 year old girl spent a week in Barcelona and found God. Among other things...

I feel like I have to describe this night somehow, because I'm sure if I don't, one day I'll forget some of the details. I think it's already started though, so forgive me if I take some poetic license and fill in some of the blanks with my imagination. 

I was wearing this light blue-ish, pink-ish sort of beachy Roxy halter that I had bought for way too much money the same day because I didn't have anything to wear to go clubbing. It was long past midnight and I was sipping Champagne on a huge marble balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. 

Okay. Pause. I have to tell you about this house. It was owned by a retired French businessman, it was three-stories, all in white marble, and immaculately decorated. I have never seen a house (I mean, someone's actual residence) that beautiful, before or since. Pieces of extremely valuable art hung on the walls and littered the shelves. Pristine collectibles from all over the world were on display as if they were family photos taken last summer at the Grand Canyon. Four bedrooms, each with it's own study, bathroom and large balcony; it was more like a hotel than a house, really. 

Anyways. Unpause. I'll fast-forward through a couple of scenes from there. Not that they're not interesting, only that they're unimportant. So, at the point where the ambiguity of whether it's the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning is at its highest, I come back out of the bedroom. (For the record, NOTHING serious took place in there between me and someone else) I am completely naked and wrapped in a white top sheet I had taken off the bed. I'm standing on the balcony, overlooking the sea, sipping now stale champagne, and watching the moon's glitter on the water. It was like I had been cast as Lucy Honeychurch in a modern day, Spanish version of Room With A View. At least, that's what I felt like. 

It's hard the describe the actual amount of beauty and peace I felt with myself and with the world at that moment. I realized then and there that God must exist, because a world made out of chaos and completely coincidental events just isn't possible. Although my idea of God at this point highly differed from that of any religion I had been introduced to. I started to believe in a God that recognized the beauty of precise moments, of nudity, of stale champagne, of the reflection of a full moon on the water. That perfection was not finding that one man to spend a summer with, and that leaving him was not that big of a deal. Perfection is standing on that balcony, and simply knowing that your soulmate, and your ultimate happiness is out there marveling at the same moon somewhere.

Sister's Plight

I recently had a conversation with my younger sister, and she described to me a few events that had taken place over the weekend between her and her "friends." I use quotes because I doubt the levels of honesty, loyalty, and trust that the friendships contain. She is part of the (again, I use quotes) "popular" crowd. The people she calls her friends have been mocking, backstabbing, and demoralizing her, with, in my opinion, no other motive than to make themselves feel better.

One girl, in particular, seems to be driving this wave of dismissal towards my sister. And earlier on in our discussion, we both came to the conclusion that this girl was very insecure, and that we, in fact, felt sorry for her. She used the term fake, this girl is fake, covering up her insecurities with attacks on other people. She then went on to say that she thought all girls were fake. That she was, I was, and a whole list of all her other friends were as well. I did not receive this generalization very well. I asked her if she really thought I was, or if she was, and I listed quite a few of my own friends and asked her again if she thought they were indeed fake. The conclusion she then came to, was that she has been surrounding herself with the wrong group of people. That maybe the "popular" crowd, isn't all it's cracked up to be. That maybe she should have spent her time with a more genuine lot of people throughout high school. 

It saddens me that her friends drink at 18, that they have sex in their parents houses while they're still in high school. Not that I'm against either of the two actions themselves, but I just think they should be saved for University, when you're at least 500 miles away from your parents. It saddens me even more to think that I didn't set a good enough example of what a strong, free-thinking, unpopular and still very happy young woman should act like. 

We are very different, my sister and I, and I understand that she was never going to turn out exactly like me. But throughout high school we definitely had a higher than average fight rate, and I think that itself turned her away from trying to follow the path I did during those critical years. But I do wish I had had more talks with her like the one I had today. I wish I had told her that in two weeks, none of this drama will matter, that in two months, you'll be laughing about it, and in two years, you won't even remember it had even happened. 

I think overall, I can just give her this advice now, because I'm sure this kind of drama follows some people to college as well. I love my sister dearly, and I hope she finds the kinds of friends that she deserves.

Is the left right?

I think one of the most confusing things about living here is not that they drive on the wrong side of the road, but that they walk on the the wrong side as well. There's construction going on at the University I attend, and a part of the side walk has been significantly narrowed due to this. So I'm walking towards my class, like any good American, keeping to myself on the RIGHT side of the sidewalk, and I run into this huge stream of people walking directly towards me, while the left side is completely empty. 

I don't know what to do. Because, unlike driving, there are no rules against walking on the right hand side, I am inclined to keep doing it, to force people out of MY way instead of getting out of theirs. At the same time, though, I'm not sure I can be bothered fighting off the hordes of students rushing to get to their next class, or the ones that are just lazing around, texting their friends and therefore not looking where they're going. 

Maybe it's all part of the Kiwi Experience. Learning to be versatile. Learning to walk on the left, have people pass you on the right, and then doing it the other way around when you get home. I think sometimes that being a citizen of the world is more about that kind of thing, and not just speaking a language and being aware of global attitudes. Embracing the culture isn't just learning Poi and eating fish 'n chips in your flip-flops (excuse me, jandals). It's walking on the wrong side of the side walk, and smiling while you do it.