Mango tree

It’s been a few years since I’ve been in Ecuador in September…2002 or 2001 (I know I was here 2001…we all remember that, don’t we?) I believe. The wet season is creeping in…the first signs are the mango buds. This past Saturday, I stuffed myself with green mangoes (sprinkled with salt) for the first time in forever…my favourite treat…fresh off the tree. I believe mangoes are good to eat at all stages of their development, from marble to monster, but the secret of the tropics is that they are better when they are green. so what if you can’t make juice out of them… When I was 9 we had a mango tree…I climbed it so much I can still remember the shape of the branches, better than I can remember what my room was like in that house. We moved when I was 10, and didn’t have a front yard, but the park was full of mango trees. And my new high school (which starts in grade 7 in Ecuador) was also spacious and populated by the trees. The staff were sticklers as far as climbing to get the fruit, but I remember staying after school hours many times, throwing rocks up into the loaded branches to taste the dislodged spoils. My backpack full of those green beauties…green mangos…mmmmmmm. The best. I could eat them until my tingling teeth fall out. (eventually, the salt and sour acid make you teeth feel as if they have been stuck in a freezer for three hours and are biting into dry ice) As I was throwing fist sized rocks up at mangos this weekend, I revisited my childhood. The rainy season is upon us. The mangoes come first. Then, las ciruelas…in december, come the thunderstorms (glorious) and the swarms of crickets (very uncomfortable)…the mosquitoes…the heat is already increasing, slowly so that before we know it we can’t breathe from the humidity…ahh. It’s my favourite season (it’s easier to pick when there are only two to choose from). More stuff going on to keep things interesting, and I always associate it with the school holidays. And FLOODING! Flooding is fun.

dont even read this

"why all the tragedy" i really want to write, to tell people whats going on right now. i sit in front of this gee-dee blank screen and nothing comes out. its not that bad...no death, no sickness, no breakdowns. just...suckiness. i miss the feeling of having friends. i miss the feeling that someone actually WANTS to see me...that I'm not a perpetual pebble in someone else's sandal. i really wish i didn't sound so selfish and whiney when i am upset. all my righteous self-pity dissipates when i read the crap that i write. apologies.

i think i have thought more swear words this past week than any other time in my life.

sometimes...you just want to curl up into a ball and eliminate all thinking. but if you curl up into a ball, thinking is all that goes no, so you get up and walk around with a broken heart and by being busy, eliminate the htinking. But everything is not normal. You yearn for...something more.

things fall apart

I'm reading a book. this is significant because it's exactly the same book that i was reading last year during these dates. I only realized that AFTER i started reading it and remembered when and where i got it: a charity shop in london. girlfriend in a coma, by douglas coupland. next: all families are psychotic, by douglas coupland, which i read on the london coach up to school.

I listened to an old CD today...

What am I gonna be when I grow up? How am I gonna make my mark in history? And what are they gonna write about me when I'm gone? These are the questions That shape the way I think about what matters Well I have no guarantee of my next heartbeat My world's too big to make a name for myself And what if no one wants to read about me when I'm gone? It seems to me that Right now's the only moment that matters You know the number of my days So come paint your pictures on the canvas in my head And come write Your wisdom on my heart Teach me the power of a moment In Your kingdom where the least is greatest The weak are given strength and fools confound the wise And forever brushes up against a moment's time Leaving impressions And drawing me into what really matters I get so distracted by my bigger schemes Show me the importance of the simple things Like a word, a seed, a thorn, a nail And a cup of cold water -Chris Rice

its not wrong to miss capernwray…to wax poetic over hours of nothing spent under the stairs…to wish you had some shitty sheep field to play football in still…to wrack your brain trying to remember how many stairs the tower had…i could swear i knew at some point…one thing i really miss is someone else washing my sheets for me…that white delight of starchy cleanness always made up for the hassle of having to clean all the crap of my bed as quiet as possible because it was 11:00 pm and i had forgotten to put the new sheets on before my roommates went to sleep…again. remember trying to find a good private place to watch a movie? as term wore on and more places were needed…stable stadium seating (i was actually present when curtis had that brainwave)…dining rooms and bathrooms were employed…the laundry room was novel but noisy. the phone booths were safe after a certain time… persecution against Microsoft users…how much time did you spend waiting for the internet to start working again? did you ever throw one or two p coins at anyone out your window? did you ever get hit by one from my window? sorry. well, not really. how many secret crushes? did you ever have one on a lecturer? not even a little one? yeah right. derek burnside. ah. one year anniversary of term start is coming up...the 25th, for most of us (heidi, you late)...i went to england a week and a bit early, so that's the reason for this early anniversary entry. this year is going to be marked by such recollections… “oh…halloween again…i remember dressing up and going to dave and sadies and sue’s for treats”…one year anniversary. travel weekend. the first prayer day. (american) thanksgiving. one year anniversaries. do you remember what you did at capernwray on those days? first term flew by then, do you think its parallel will this year? life condensed. the beginning of term, when we were all born as people again because no one had known us before (mostly no one)…childhood and adolescence as we found our feet, changed, made connections…became confident in this new us…confident in our surroundings. we knew everything, it seemed. and at some point, God found us again, maybe again and again, and moved in with us…or moved away. he’s faithful. as dependable as italian bake on alternating thursdays. eventually, we were comfortable enough to be able to live there for the rest of our lives…perpetually stacking plates after a meal...we knew the routine…we knew when to go steal fruit and when to use the staff laundry room and what else canadian nickels we good for…we knew who gave the biggest scoops of ice cream in the beehive, and we knew the names of all the kitchen girls, and even where they were from. we had it all down pat. and that’s when we had to leave, and take it all with us. we still know all this stuff. It just doesn’t matter to anyone outside of the blogrings or the email, the occasional meet-ups, the reminisces. it is the past. it is a year ago. its never going to be again. its precious to us, but only to us. only to me.

parents pressure

what university to go to...when...for what... i guess if i had money to pay for it the decision would be easier. as it is, i make 10$ a month, max, but usually, I break even. argh. i'll just not go.

Happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy BIRTHDAY

Pam i drew this for you. ok, so i'm no josh schreck on photoshop. but, everybody has their strengths, ok?

Adult Retreat

the campfire...the quintessential ingredient to any retreat i hung out mostly with these guys...alex scratched his tummy most of the time, too.

i went to adult camp over the weekend...i'm not an adult, but they needed dishwashers and vegetable choppers so...any excuse to go to camp! so many memories. the downside was this child...and other babies...who significantly affected ones ability to sleep. apparently the guys cabin had issues with 50 year old men snoring "like birthing pigs"...but babies are pretty bad, too. i slept in a tent with janna and karen the last two nights. mucho better. karen, mercy and i..."las ñañas" (the sisters) (ñañas is quechua, not spanish, so those of you who have a minimal grasp on spanish, don't be confused. quechua is the language of the indigenous people of ecuador) ivan and i watching a volleyball game. very sunny. ok, so again a double picture i can't figure out how to delete. oh well. anyone going to complain? maybe you can take advantage of the repetition to notice details, like the capernwray sweater...

My dad is building a camp. We bought the land and now need to build on it...its at the beach, beautiful beach. Brent wants to organize a team from his Bible School in BC to come down and do some building, maybe spring break. Can I express how happy that would make me? No, no I can't.

ecuadorians like to laugh. they are easy laughers. i listen to an average conversation and most of it is carried out amidst giggles or laughing…happiness is an element of communication, it is something you communicate constantly, by laughing, if you don’t (and you don’t have to), then you will be asked how you are doing, and why. and it’s ok to tell the truth. today, i would laugh if i could. but nobody feels much like laughing. angela left, she went home to canada, so i’m short one housemate, but mostly, missing one more friend. the goodbye’s go on, don’t they? we’re never done with them.

armando… last night, when you were with janna and i was on the hammock, i could hear pretty much ever word of your conversation, and i didn’t want to. i didn’t want to go upstairs to my room because i would fall asleep. so, i went in to angela’s bed and turned the fan on and lay my head in front of it, to drown out the sound, then wrapped a sweatshirt around my head for good measure, and to block out the light…i wanted to think. think and pray. i felt kind-off crappy. crappy about the whole thing. you came to talk to janna and we pointedly ignored each other. its been like that for a month now. i evaluated my attitude towards you up until now, i’ve told janna about it: i’ve been standing my ground because i didn’t think that what you are doing, what you do to me all the time, is very fair, and i don’t think it is getting any better, and i wanted to punish you for that and i wanted to teach you a lesson…i want you to change. i was withholding love from you because you were withholding it from me and i didn’t want to encourage bad habits like that. but last night, underneath the sweater and before i fell asleep, i did pray. i tried to keep a little quiet because i really wanted to hear god on this one. and god said love. and i said i do love, but this time, this time, you need to learn your lesson, you need to learn that this is not ok, that you can’t get away with treating me like dirt for no reason. i told god that i was being loving because i was teaching you a lesson. i thought i made a pretty good point, actually. because, you know, love is many things and sometimes, when you love someone, you need to teach them what is right and what is wrong…right??? then god said, humility. and then i knew. i knew that i was babbling nonsense. i wasn’t trying to teach you a lesson because i was being loving. i was hurt and i didn’t want to get hurt anymore, and it hurts when i try and talk to you and you ignore me, it hurts more to feel that rejection than it does if i DON’T try to talk to you. and also, i know you love me, armando, even though you do your best sometimes to prove the opposite, and as much as i whine to people about you and how you treat me, i know you love me. i know, eventually, you will talk to me again. i know becaue every time you have done this to me, stopped talking to me, you eventually start again. and it feels good, when YOU seek me out, when YOU apologise because you know you’ve hurt me. it feels really good. so i had my eyes twisted shut to all this. i was being proud. i was going to wait for you to come to me, yes, to teach you a lesson, to make you suffer, to humble you…but not out of love. because i was to proud to seek out pain for myself. god told me that it isn’t my job to teach people lessons, as badly as they need to learn them. god told me that is HIS job…he has made my job very clear to me: love and die to myself, stop acting out of pride, start being humble. Its going to hurt. armando, you are going to hurt me alot. i don’t think god was telling me to keep walking into that hurt willingly, keep playing those silly games YOU play to feel loved…because you play the games, too…i don’t think that would help anyone. but god called me on my pride…i was being proud. i wasn’t being loving. i don’t know HOW i am supposed to be loving and humble, without encouraging your self-destructive and harmful behaviours…without playing your mind games…without falling into your traps…i don’t know how to do that yet…but i know i have made a mess of it up to this point and i don’t want to. i'm sorry...?

Right now, I'm happy. I haven't slept in 36 hours, but I'm happy. frinds come over at midnight and hang out with you until 8 am. we did this last year sometimes and they were my favourite thing we ever did together. the occassion this time (because there is usually an ocassion) is that Angela, my roomate, is going back to canada on friday. its sad, but not difficult. last night wasnt the BEST "pijamada" we've ever had, but i like the results of it...improved relationships with some people. i like my friends. i feel lucky to have them.