In love with art? Not quite.

"It's the city of love. I want you to find something-anything- to fall in love with. Now go!" James shouted at us tired bunch of kids. After a mere 4 hours of sleep and a train ride from London, our bus was pulling up to the Louvre in Paris. With my eyes half shut and my stomach growling, the last thing I was thinking about was love. But then again, they say you don't quite prepare for it.

I was expecting that something in the Louvre would inspire me. I thought that since it was supposed to be such a great museum, I would suddenly have a passion for art because it was so beautiful. But no, the most interesting thing I saw was the ceiling and walls of the building...they were well built and pretty to look at. Still though, I waited in line to take a photo of the undersized Mona Lisa and posed beside the armless Athena. My question when wandering through the many halls was why the stuff there posed to be any more special than anyone else's art. I still don't understand who decides what art is good or not, because if I were the one picking, my museum would be a bit different than that one. So obviously I didn't fall in love with the art. Oddly enough, I fell for something- or rather someone- impermanently in the museum. It was the clothing that made me look, the eyes that kept my attention, and the smile that made me fall. It was the first young, very attractive Italian man I have ever seen. He wore a white polo shirt tucked under a blue and green v-neck Lacoste pullover. To match, he had white shorts and shoes. He bumped into me while in the mess of tourists trying to get a photo of the Mona Lisa. I looked, and then he looked. And he smiled and opened his mouth, but was troubled by what language to speak in. So after letting him struggle for a few seconds while I stared, I smiled back and said quietly "It's okay." That ended his pain as he mumbled out "I, I am so sorry, miss." Again I repeated, "It's okay." We both turned back to the painting and lifted our cameras to snatch photos. It was only seconds, but felt like forever. I couldn't wait to boast to the bus about my first love in Paris.

Photos in my Life.

I have always been fond of photos. Recently though, with over 5,300 photos sitting on my laptop, I have pondered the question as to where my obsession came from. 

It all leads back to my Grandpa. Not him specifically, but when I was young, I remember him being really sick. My mother took photos of us whenever we were together. She said that they would help us remember the good times later. I didn't really understand, confused if she was telling me I would forget, or even why I would have to remember if good times kept coming. Now that my Grandpa is gone, and has been for over half of my life, I know what my mom meant. Whenever I am at home, I go digging through boxes of developed photos shoved in the closet under the stairs. Apparently my family doesn't have time to dig up old photos, but I guess my breaks are the time I try to do so. Looking at photos of me and Grandpa does bring up great times that I have almost forgotten about. I remember the days when I would run back home upset, because Grandpa beat me ten times in a row at rummy (our traditional card game.) I remember the days at my grandparents' cabin, sitting around the fire trying to make the perfect marshmallow. 

See these photos are what remind me of these memories and bring them back to life. Without the photos, I would have lost touch with all of these good times. I think that's my fear. If I don't have photo evidence of something, my brain will forget. And so I make sure I have enough photos of everything. My camera comes everywhere with me, because you never know when a moment will appear and it just can't be described by words alone. I will always have my camera by my side. Its a true photographic memory. 

When I am older and my life has changed, I will have photos to remind me about the important things. Actually, I will have photos to remind me of the stupid irrelevant things in my life as well. Like a paper hat that amused me and some friends for a day and proof that I brought notes home with me during a break to assure a friend they were on my mind. There are pictures of facial expressions while eating sour candies, and devoted teachers painting nails during spirit week. These moments represent the times in my life I think are worth remembering. And trust me, there's a lot of them. I never second guess myself on whether to take a photo or not, because I would rather have the photo than regret taking it. 

I am still strong.

It's been a pretty rough few days. and I assume with my stupid self, it's going to be a stupid week. Maybe it's my fault for bottling things up for half a year. I had talked about it, and cried a bit for him. But until Saturday, I had never cried for myself. 

You know I am strong. I am pretty good at holding myself together. When I'm by myself I can be a different person, but out and about, I hate letting people see weakness in me. That's why I was so mad when I screamed his name across campus. Of course he stopped, and when he noticed I wasn't okay, he ran towards me. Well hello tears. He had things to do and people to see, but he stood there, holding me tight. He let me cry and cry without speaking a word. I couldn't have said anything, even if he asked. But he didn't ask. Not until I was ready to answer. I felt like an idiot. My red face even darker than usual. The other boys were waiting for him...I was making them all late for practice. I couldn't let Coach Hand get mad at them. So I tried really hard to pull myself together. Arnaldo knew it was about my father. He looked at me, started to ask. I just nodded, and uh oh. More tears. There was no where for them to go but out. I am just so happy I have such amazing friends. They took me to the baseball field and didn't let me go until they had to. They promised that he would be okay, and that I was never ever alone because they were my family here. They made funny faces and reminded me of time we've had. They blasted crazy music into my ears and danced like, well, them. You know I really thought that was the end of my weakness showing through.

I am really good at distracting myself. I tend to use distractions as a way to solve every problem. That's when I mess up and let people down. Stupid me. But the MAIT was the perfect thing. Who can think about cancer when they are wear a volunteer shirt with purple and gold beads, matching converse shoes and face paint all over. Not me anyway. All night I concentrated on screaming my heart out for the boys, making sure no one went home sad. I put the balls on the court before every game and at halftime. I organized half time events and watched three of my friends win $50 for getting a basket from half court. After, I surrounded myself with the happiest people ever. Their attitudes rub off on everyone I think. 

Saturday ended and Sunday morning came. Sunday is the lord's day. I have so much to thank him for, I can't believe I was even sad. But I was. And it came even harder than before. I wasn't going to let my friends see me like this. I had found the solution and I was sticking to it. I needed to rollerblade. And when I rollerblade I could cry and cry and nobody would see. I could be in my own world and let everything out. Entonces esos puertorriqueños locos cinieron cambiar mis planes. They were thinking otherwise. "Chasing sobbing Leanne to the track seems like a good idea. Lets forget the fact she ignored our phone calls and our texts and walked away from us at lunch." Urghhh. See they're not supposed to see that side of me. I am tough. I can handle this. They made me stop. I mean, unless I ran them over, which could lead to injuries and eternal guilt on my part. And so they hugged me and let me cry out all of the liquid in me. You know I don't think I've ever in my life cried that much. 

But amazing things happened out at that field. Those amazing people showed me why I trust them. They reminded me that everything will be okay. If it's not okay, they will always be there to make it okay. Not only them, but their families too. It's gotta be the first time I have prayed in Spanish. I didn't understand it all, but it was beautiful. Three prayers from people I have never even met. They told me that they cared. They assured me that I have the best people I could ever have right here with me all the time. We prayed and prayed. God's got this for me. I just needed someone to remind me of this obvious fact.  So I became closer with my best friends. I now officially owe them my life. 

I still am quite a mess. But maybe better? Maybe just more distracted. Whatever it may be, I think I got better this weekend. I think letting some things out and talking to people is good. Very much needed on my part. 

Too much...

I have problems. Well, like everyone, I have lots. Let's just focus on one right now. I care about people too much, and I love too easily. Not easily, just without expecting it in return. Usually it's okay, but sometimes, it leads me into trouble. Tonight she told me "...and babe, you can do better. you deserve someone who will appreciate and respect you." I guess I do. But somehow its the idiots who I spend my time with. I waste my time worrying about them, when I should leave their sorry selves behind because I am better than that. I don't get anything back from them, and after so many years, I'm just used to it. 

My best friends are supposed to care about me and have my best interest in mind. They should want to spend time with me and love me unconditionally. That's what I try to do for my best friends. I put them above myself cause I wish for the same back. And don't get me wrong--with most of them, I get back what I give them (and more). There's just the few who take me for granted. And I let them. Antonio always tells me that I am "so smart with books" and how can I "be so stupid at life." Maybe I am just lacking common sense skills. I am only realizing it now that I am becoming more sure of myself. I am noticing that 

I don't need people who don't need me. It's good, but it's just another stupid thing in my life that I don't have time to deal with right now.

School drives me over the edge night after night. Studying has become my life. When I don't have a book open, I try to ride horses, the reason I made this life changing decision. I guess I speak to some friends. But I don't have the time I wish I did to keep up relationships. I find moments to call the ones I love, even when they aren't worthy of it. I guess my realizations are part of life. It's a learning process, and it just sucks that I'm a bit slower than others. 

P.S. Here's my most recent favourite picture that I have taken. It was my last night in Mexico. When i was trying to find beauty, I found it in the most simple things, even when it's too dark to see much of it.

Holiday Adventure

I finally have found time to sit down and write about my past few days. They have been a whirlwind, an interesting start to my holidays. I'll copy what I wrote from the airport saturday night: 

It's saturday night-- the first one after a grueling semester of hard classes. What are you doing tonight? It you're two of my best friends, you're on a man date together watching a movie. If you're another, you've replaced me with your boyfriend. It you're me, you're sitting on a red carpet at the Chicago airport. Christmas break is here, and already Santa is being mean. I guess he didn't realize that I wasn't lying when I said all I wanted for Christmas was to spend a week at home with my friends. He can't even give me that. Today has been a very hectic day. It started early this morning when I decided I should pack for my two week vacation. It then led me to the airport, where things ran smoothly. I was planning to arrive at home around seven, just in time to hang out with my friends and have an awesome saturday night. Life was fabulous until the windy city welcomed me. Apparently Chicago loves me so much, I am not allowed to leave for another 24 hours. Standby from four until eleven is not enough torture, because the plane has to leave without me on board. I could have been on it though, don't get me wrong. My brother is in the air on his way home. He got the one and only standby seat available. It was supposed to be mine, but I couldn't deny his pouty face. Gosh, he owes me bigtime. Anyways, I need to try and sleep. Hope I get home tomorrow. 

A lot changed since I wrote that. My brother ended up being kicked off the flight too, because of weight. We woke up early and got on the first flight to Winnipeg in the morning. But that was with frustrations too. We made it home, but half of our bags didn't. I have my clothes for Mexico, but my bag with shoes, pants and jackets is lost somewhere between Chicago and here.

Nope, it doesn't end there. At the airport it was -28 C (-39 with windchill) and apparently the vehicle left for us didn't want to start. Arriving a day late wasn't enough, so we got to sit at the airport for hours. I got to come home 5 hours after landing with my uncle, and my parents spent almost 9 hours trying to get this truck started-- which they did. Once at home, I wanted to cry. I felt so out of everything. But of course, I couldn't. I had to get the vehicle and drive around to say hi to the friends I promised I would visit. I got to slide around on slippery snowy roads with the most amazing people in the world. 

So my holidays are entertaining..I am making due with the little clothes I have. I am spending each and every moment with purpose so I can't regret. And I am trying to be thankful for what God has given me. 

Not enough words..

If I properly knew how to use curse words, tonight would be a night I would consider using them. Unfortunately I haven't learned the proper way to fit them grammatically into my sentences, so I will refrain from typing them. Sometimes though, I can't find a word strong enough to express an emotion of mine, no matter what the emotion may be. It could be love, disgust, annoyance, hate, they all seem to be weak words at times and I am unable to create an accurate picture of what attitude I want to portray. Now punching the wall or screaming really loud could help, but it's not easy to describe that through a computer either. 

I get frustrated when I can't portray what I want others to see. Like who I am or what I think...somehow people just don't get it. Though most of the time I want to believe it's their fault, I must consider that it could be a bit of mine. Expressing myself has always been hard. If I speak whatever is running through my brains at the moment of action, I would be a very bad person, making a lot of mistakes. Controlling my words and actions is one advantage I have...but it's no good if I can never give off what I want to. 

Like tonight. There's this feeling of hate towards pages and pages of notes I need to know for tomorrow. I hate studying for six hours. Hate doesn't come close to what I feel towards these words  written on pages and pages of dead trees. So I loathe them...but yet that can't depict what I feel. Urgh. I don't know if even a word I could create would be what I want to say. On the other end of the spectrum, I miss my best friend so much, and I love her unbelievably, words don't come close. I could say that she's the only thing that makes me read these notes that I hate, because I know if I do, I will do good on my exam, and she will be proud. (And I get to see her on Saturday) But that's not really what I feel. I love her so much, that love doesn't come close. It's this feeling that makes me care about her more than myself, and this drive to do everything in my power to make this week go faster so I can see her. Is it weird because she's a girl? I hope not, she's just my very best friend. It's bigger than love and stronger than my passion for anything else, stupid words won't let me express it correctly. So I'm sorry Megan, that I can't get out what I want. And notes, you are gosh darn lucky there isn't a word that lets me portray my attitude towards you right now.  

Bigger Than Me.

Tonight is a really busy night. I have been sitting at my desk for four hours already, without moving (except for a quick shower). I have been working so hard to finish all of my homework assigned. It seems like purposeful torture. It's such horrible mental pain. I complain about how hard I work, and how I wonder what I get from it. It hurts my brain, and sometimes I even have a headache to prove it. But I really don't know anything about pain, I can't even compare to someone I know and love. 

He has gone through so much ermm, crap? It's not fair. So God does everything for a reason, and I try to accept that. But sometimes I wonder why he has to put the people I love through so much pain. What did my dad ever do to have a mass of evil cells grow in his brain? He is the most giving person I know. He puts everyone above himself, and lives to serve God and others. Then this? I mean okay, torture me, I can accept that. But why him? He doesn't deserve any of the pain. He takes it so well though. I have never heard him complain. I complain for him, because I can't fathom a reason why. But never have I heard a negative word come out of his mouth. I admire that greatly. God is sending me some kind of message, and I am too freaking caught up in my own life and studies to take a hint. I'm one tiny person on this Earth. So is my dad. If he can have some of the suckiest news ever be thrown at him and still have a smile on his face, I should be able to write a gazillion synthesis essays and ask the governor of Florida millions of questions while standing on my head shouting out algebra questions...and be happy doing it. 

I wish I could understand more. Life would be so much easier if I knew reasons for everything that happens. I could calm down and not wonder if he deserves that or if I had this coming. Unfortunately that isn't how life is. I am left to ponder events and sit here wasting hours of my precious life trying to understand things that have already happened. Is that what I am supposed to do? I don't know, but because it's all I know, I will sit here anyway and try.