Rainy Days

Wherever the sun has gone, I would like to go there too.
There, in a utopia, where the skies are azure blue.
The grass enfolds my bare feet with warmth when I see you.
We dance and run until the day is done.
The sun's rays yawn, breathing a pink hue into the sky.
And then you and I
Watch the sky turn to night.
There amongst the stars we feel
All right.


Cute, right?

I am perched in my cozy room on this disastrously stormy day, skipping class, and obviously using my time wisely by blogging. I was able to capture a series of photos that truly capture the unfolding of this storm. I was awaken this morning by rain beating against my window pane. That's right beating. Not spraying, not misting. Beating. Contemplating whether or not it was worth popping out of bed, after only enduring the least amount of sleep possible, into a world where soggy fashion is all the rage. Through some unseen force that I could only describe as free will I tossed my sorry behind out of bed and into the shower.

To add to the despondent mood today a dear friend of mine broke up with her boyfriend. She found me in the dining hall and silently plopped down beside me. As I greeted her with normal good morning jibber-jabber I saw tears streaming down her face. To say I was concerned would have been an understatement. With tenderness I tentatively asked her what the matter was. Only a gasp of pain was emitted from her sad mouth. The tears began again. As I did my best to console my broken-hearted friend, I longed for trying to find the right words to help ameliorate her pain. By the grace of God, another lovely gal pal joined us. Together, she and I comforted our dear friend. After many tissues, tears, and loving words we escorted her to her room where she could sleep it off. Who would want to deal with a broken heart on a day like today? Not I, that's for sure. I even considered my singleness as a blessing for just a moment. Not even a moment, more like a quarter of a second.  Then I quickly reassessed my obviously impaired judgment, wrenched my umbrella out of the depths of my backpack and went out to meet the world.

Then I got soaked.

Early in the morning, only a dark apocalyptic sky and a whisper of rain.

Rain drops from the slight shower.

Then the wrath of mother nature struck.

It only got worse from there! Emergency sirens were echoing across campus, local alerts were attacking my e-mail, phone, and facebook. Hasta la vista class, and hello lovely day indoors.

Date a Girl Who Reads: A quote by Rosemary Urquico

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
— Rosemary Urquico

When lost...seek

I am going through a crisis. I do not know what classification of crisis I would label it as, all I know is that it is dark and scary. As I began my second year at college, an empty feeling developed in the pit of my soul. That's right my soul. The innermost sanctum of my being. The spiritual penetralium of my identity. What gradually began as a empty sentiment has quickly spiraled into an all out loss of identity. I have tried to explain this idea of a "loss of identity" to my dearest confidants. Bless their hearts for trying to comprehend something that I, myself, have only begun to discover. The best way I can possibly explain this feeling is that one morning I woke up, looked in the mirror, and could not recognize the doe-eyed girl staring back at me. I had no idea who she was, what her talents were, who she loved, what she loved, or who loved her. Something inside of me shattered. I shattered. Lost and confused, I desperately have been on a quest to find that something that will make the emptiness vanish, make me feel like I have a purpose, and that one day soon I will be safe in the knowledge of my destiny.

In a vapid and somewhat vain attempt in restoring that feeling of solidarity in myself I turned to God. My relationship with God was what I thought was something powerful, something that no person, no beast, no force of nature could ever disturb. God was my rock, the only consistent aspect of my life. In reality, he was the only consistent aspect of me. I knew, without an inclination of a doubt, that when I was in trouble that I could talk to him. Even if that meant that I was laying in my bed in the middle of the night, talking to a dark room. As weird as it seems it felt completely right. I joined a church on campus, gained new friends with whom I did not have to conceal my powerful faith, and even began attending Bible studies. With newfound, and might I add unabashed, confidence I began paving out a new path for my life. Each brick I would cautiously and tediously spread cement and place it on the warm Earth, finding rejoice in looking back in seeing how far that I had come. Being the naive girl that I am, I did not keep my attention focused on what was coming. Reader, let me just tell you what was coming was a large black train. A train that derailed my spirits. Devout in my biblical studies, I would arrive at Bible study with a multitude of questions, a hunger to learn, and a yearning in my heart to be one microscopic bit closer to God.

It was a Thursday when I was told outright and upfront by the members of my bible study that I was going to hell. My beliefs and my heart were both inadequate before the eyes of God. I did not get to pass go, I did not get to draw another card. This is the only specific time in which I could pinpoint the first chunk of my heart crumbling into a pile of mush. Unwanted, unworthy mush. I was dazed. As the study closed in prayer, my eyes welled with tears. I felt my stomach turn and a knot the size of Madagascar formed in my throat. I could not breathe, I could not think, my stomach was pressed into my chest threatening a vile upheaval. I ended the prayer with a questionable amen and then ran. I ran away. I ran and found a quiet place to have a complete melt down. I sat outside on a bench and sobbed. I cried until it hurt. I could no longer breathe, snot was running down my red blotchy face. When the emotional storm finally quieted itself, I felt numb. Lost. God's hand on my heart was gone and all I could feel was the evanescent touch begin to fade.

The God that I knew and loved was gone. I could not feel him in my life. When I reached out I felt...nothing. Like I was attempting to whack a pinata with a stick, but only managed to disrupt the sanctity of the air with my crazed swings. Where did he go? Why would he leave me? Am I not worthy of his love? What did I do to deserve this abandonment? Questions remained unanswered and I remained alone. Praying became a forced foreign practice. Through the weeks my talking to God dwindled into a big fat pile of nothing. I did not speak to him. No longer did I bother to reach out for him. I was and am locked in a dark room in which I stumble over furniture and knick-knacks in feeble attempts to finally recapture my elusive God. When I will finally reach that switch that, with a flick of the wrist, will emit the light I have been looking for...is a really good question.

Still lost.

Still looking.

It's the little things...

I woke up early this morning to start off my to-do list, an omnipresent entity in my life. I blogged for a while, made oatmeal (the most delicious breakfast food hands down), and cleaned up my dorm room (finally!). The whole purpose for me getting such an early start, however, was to take some nature photos before I merrily pranced on my way to yoga class. Nature, though, had a different temperament from me today. Instead of being bright and cheery, giving off a golden aura, it was gloomy, dark, wet, and foggy. How would I take wonderful pictures without the blessed rays of the sun? I tried my best, that's for sure. After about an hour, the sun started to peak it's sleepy head from behind the clouds, gently warming my nature walk. I can be such a hippie sometimes, but I love it.

Morning dew :)

Yes I really did get that close to that creepy-crawler.

I was the perfect height to fit under this moss laden tree!

"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"

- The Power of a Moment

Oh my divinity!

Fridays are special days, for Fridays are baking days. Friday. Even the word has a lovely ring to it, unlike the droning echoes of its foe, Monday. Hurrah for baking Fridays! A tradition started this year by myself and one of my lovely gal pals. Both of us are avid bakers, known for our culinary flair. While the world may be chaotic, especially in college with exams, papers, and professors that seem to have personal vendetta for you, baking Fridays is the way to escape from it all. We bake and gab about our lives, what happened this past week, what new song on the radio is cool, mon ami even dissuaded me from piercing my nose. I begrudgingly acquiesced. Even so, on this past Friday we made some of the most decadent cookies my tongue has come across. My wonderful friend found the recipe, for that many people are grateful. For even I asked myself, where has this cookie been all my life? There has been many a time in which this cookie would have ameliorated boy problems, dorm problems, and friend problems. Delectable cookie without a name, it was enchanting to meet you.

And now for a little photography show:

Cookies filled gloriously with butterscotch, toffee, mini-chocolate chips, and white chocolate chips. Pure bliss.

Amazing lighting! Thank you Mr. Golden Sun :)

Aerial view, I would kamikaze that cookie.

My favorite picture ever!

Eat, Pray, Love

I have been voraciously reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is honestly a struggle for me to put the book down, which leads to moral debates in which I weigh the pros and cons of not doing homework. This book is constantly near me, in my backpack, on my desk, but most of all, in my hands. A memoir of the author's journey in finding herself after enduring a trying divorce creates the structure for one of the most captivating books I have ever had the pleasure to read. It is through these moments that I can be fully grateful for being a literate soul. Gilbert writes as if she were in your living room, her feet propped up on the coffee table, like she were your closest confidant. A style of writing that I only pray that one far off day I could capture for just a moment, what I would do with that moment.

Not only is this book pleasurable to the creative mind, fanciful words and captivating visual imagery flirting with your mind, but this book also whets my desire to travel. There is so much of the world to see, so much that God intended me to see. At this very moment, I am saving precious paychecks and birthday money for a trip to the most magnificent place that I have been graced to know existed. Paris. The city of lights. The holder of the Eiffel Tower and the keeper of the Louvre. French cuisine in which I would only fantasize about creating with my two feeble hands. There are so many lovely dishes that it is difficult to fathom how each separate one would taste. The flavorful food dancing around my tongue, kissing each taste bud with the blessing of a culinary God, allowing you to experience heaven for just a breath. 

I expose my ears to wonderfully crafted French music and a beautiful minute Eiffel Tower dangles around my neck. This necklace was one of my most prized Christmas gifts. Given to me by my mother with the notion that while she could not give me Paris, she could give me a little piece of the land of love to keep close to my heart. The most adoring aspect of my mother is that she believes in me. There is no doubt in my dogmatic mind, I will make it to Paris in the coming year. Yes I, the girl who has her nose stuck in a book and her head in the clouds, will make it to Paris. For now though, it is just a far off dream. I, myself, never have difficulty in lulling into slumber, for the dreams I hold are precious visions that one day will be a reality. I rest my worrisome heart on this promise.

Yay for underwear!

On this lovely breezy and sunny afternoon, I was perched in my Abnormal Psychology lecture hall, lazily perusing the student newspaper, taking a moment for my overactive brain to rest for just a moment. The conversation between two girls sitting behind me, however, lured me to the surface of consciousness. One of the girls was reaching out to her classmate in regards to finding a career path, something I struggle with myself. She has no idea what she wants to be when she grows up. The two chatted like biddies in a beauty shop over their career dilemmas and the murkiness of the future that looms dauntingly in the near distance, until one suddenly received a promotional text message from every girl's favorite pantie shop, Victoria's Secret. On receiving such text she excitedly explained to her friend how she had been waiting three months for the sale. Another phenomenon I can completely relate to, sales. Hello, shopping escapade. The lucky text recipient then stated "well, I don't know what I am doing with my life, but yay for underwear!"

Maybe this girl has the right idea. I have been struggling with finding a career that I would enjoy, after all a career  is something that you plan on doing for the rest of your life. I am but a few breaths away from turning twenty, a day in which I truly believe that I will inherit the wealth of wisdom and knowledge of the universe that will, in essence, make this decision somewhat easier if not actually feasible. Hopefully the chance of the universe showering infinite wisdom that day will be high...

I, as a Psychology major, have a multitude of options for choosing a career, many of which call for many many years of schooling outside the undergraduate study. Learning is something I adore, especially in Psychology, because Psychology teaches you how to explain the phenomenon that you observe in your own life. It also equips you with the most precious gem, the holy grail of Psychology, that is know as dealing with people. That's right, living, breathing, thinking, feeling, people. As far as a career option, I know that working with people is an absolute must. Working with paperwork, numbers, etc. honestly puts me to sleep. I just. don't. know. Clinical? Probably not. Industrial Organizational? No. Some career in which I can interact with people and help them with their life troubles, all the while making a decent amount of money? Where do I sign up?

So, now that classes have finished and I am sitting in my (very messy, it's been one of those days) room I am feeling lost. Like a career gypsy, I have no home. But, I found, there in the back corner of my mini fridge, a wonderful discovery. I have the last and final package of baby carrots, which I will munch and crunch to my heart's content. While I may not be blessed with knowing exactly what career hat I will choose (I am guessing that there will be many since I constantly seek sensation), I have carrots. Yay for carrots!!

Do you know what's lovely?

Breakfast. Breakfast is lovely. The idea of breakfast is lovely. Breakfast, not to be too cliche, starts your day off right. The most important meal of the day also occurs in the morning. There is something absolutely divine about mornings. The sun's rays are just peaking out above the horizon, gently warming up mother Earth, awakening humans and animals alike. The dew on the grass glistens and not a creature is stirring. I love mornings for all these reasons and then some.

College life does not advocate mornings. Late night dining halls, clubs, movies, dates, you name it and it probably starts around 11pm (at time at which I am heavily asleep, possibly snoring). College also is not a proponent of breakfast, hence the pizza being served fresh out of the oven simultaneously as the dining hall opens.

My advice to you is to firstly, ignore the pizza it will only bring you heartache. Secondly, reach for fruit and grains. College is stressful, which in turn suppresses your immune system. Incorporating fruits with high contents of vitamin C is a great way to avoid unsightly illnesses that always seem to rear their ugly heads around finals. Grapefruit, strawberries, melon, and oranges are all great sources of vitamin C, not to mention naturally amazing in taste. Also, incorporate some type of grain. Toast, bagels, oatmeal (my favesies), cereal, granola, etc., etc. Voila! A delicious, well-balanced breakfast that fuels your brain (we all know how important that is) and your body.

Marble rye toast, my special fruit salad, and chai tea (my caffeine Achilles heel)

Look at that marvelous toast!! Working with the toaster takes patience, courage, and acceptance of failure.

My own fruit salad! While the dining hall may offer pre-made fruit salads, this salad ensures no added sugar or processing. Just chopped up strawberries and a banana :)

Today is the day to: Be poetic

Poetry is painting with words. Words are the oil paints and your mind is the canvas. The visual imagery and fanciful words create the utmost beautiful sceneries. Poetry takes your mind on a mini vacation, suddenly the world melts away and all that you are cognizant of is the image of a utopia. As I find poetry a sort of healing, medicinal regiment for the soul, I will share with you one of my favorite poems written by Emily Dickinson.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

I think it is one of the most lovely pieces of literature I have ever had the pleasure to read. While I cannot analyze the meaning or the rhyme pattern, I am able to break off a little piece of the beauty and hold it close to my heart. Truthfully, I have no idea what I am going to be, career wise. I am lost in that regard. I do know one thing, one special thing, that I was destined to help people. So this poem offers a little encouragement in that I might not end up with a career that offers a myriad of benefits or a large salary, but I will end up saving the world. :)

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to my obsession. My kindle. It is the sole high tech item that I have in my possession. Because, yes, I am one of those people who wander the Earth sans Apple products, touch screen doodads, and whatever a droid may be. Whatever it is it does not sound too amiable. 

Today is the day to: Be Greek

There are several advantages to stepping outside your comfort zone. One, is cooking foreign cuisine. That glimpse of trepidation in approaching the notion of using ingredients you can hardly pronounce, awaiting judgment from friends and family because, after all you did volunteer to cook. It can leave you shaking in your boots. Trust me on this one, you can do it! Today is the day to successfully create a cultural, edible masterpiece. I have a heart that is set on travelling the world, unfortunately, I do not have the means to travel. But this does not stop me from experiencing the world and its beauty. I charge into the kitchen like a bull running the streets in Madrid with a sprinkle of confidence and a large helping of hope, both of which turn out to be the key ingredients of any culinary concoction.

So, my friends, here is a little look at my culinary adventure to Greece. While I might not be able to see the azure color of the Mediterranean sea from a bustling open air market amongst the natives prattling in beautiful, poetic Greek language, I sure can whip up a traditional Greek dish called spanakopita. Recipe derived from allrecipes.com

Ingredients:

• 2lbs Spinach
• 1/2cup Flat leaf parsley
• 1 bunch of green onions
• 1 large onion
• 3tbsp olive oil
• 2 garlic cloves
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup ricotta cheese
• 1 cup crumbled feta cheese
• 8 sheets phyllo dough (I used more because it is delicious!)
• 1/4 cup olive oil (used for brushing phyllo dough sheets)
• Salt and pepper to taste.

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, lightly grease a 9x9 inch pan.

1.Heat a large skillet with 3tbsp olive oil.

2.Peel and chop onion, parsley, green onions and mince garlic.

3.Add onion, garlic, and green onion to heated skillet, cook until onions are tender and slightly browned.

4. Once onions are cooked thoroughly, add in spinach and parsley. The spinach will cook quickly!

5. Once the spinach has been cooked fully, pour contents of skillet into a large bowl to cool.

6. Cheese mixture: In a medium bowl, lightly beat two eggs, add in ricotta cheese, and feta cheese. Mix! 

7. Once spinach mixture has cooled, pour cheese mixture into the large bowl. Stir.

8. Layer 8 phyllo sheets into a 9x9inch pan, lightly brushing with olive oil after each sheet. The sheets are very delicate so handle with care.

9. After the last phyllo sheet, pour spinach/cheese mixture into pan. 

10. Layer last 8 phyllo sheets, repeating the process of brushing each sheet with olive oil. 

11. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 30-40 minutes.

What comes out is an AMAZING golden colored savory dish!

Serve warm (trust me on this, the fresher the better! The cheese is a melted delicious mess among the flavorful greens). Garnish with parsley :)

Voila! A beautiful Greek dish that can be easily made right in your own home/dorm/apartment/etc.

Snickers, my twenty pound rather rotund Dachshund, is a big fan of feta cheese. So, being the loving, caring, part-owner that I am I let her experience a little bit of Greece too with a chance to lick out the feta cheese container. She jumped on that chance.

 

Bonjour!

So, here I am. Online. My own blog. I feel as if I am some sort of cyber debutante and this is my coming out soiree. I have been told by many a friend and family member that I should start a blog. Some have gone so far as to say that I should write a book. Now, I do not know if I would go that far with my writing talents, but hey a that's a compliment I will stick in my back pocket for a rainy day. Here is where I will introduce myself to you all the while taking the time to reflect on myself. Writing has been one of my hobbies since I was a little girl. Journals, diaries, extremely prosaic and thorough facebook posts, you name it and I have the words for it. You see, I am a little like Hamlet. I too am all about words, words, words. Some one out there will catch that allusion.

It really astounds me that this little factoid is coming second in my personal disclosure, nevertheless I am an avid baker. From chocolate chip cookies to petits pains au chocolat I am a constant shadow lingering in the kitchen. The only downfall to this minute obsession is that I am also in college, which means I have no money and no kitchen. Even so, baking calms my nerves. There is something settling about measuring each ingredient. Baking is controllable. Baking is strategic. Baking makes the world disappear for just a moment. I am learning, through my old age, that life is nothing like Baking. If anything, life is like making a batch of chocolate chip cookies and having them come out as a key lime pie, freshly whipped meringue and all.

As it is subjectively early on a Sunday, I am feeling that hollow empty feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Before that turns into a monster called grouchiness from low blood sugar I will do my best to ameliorate that problem, for humanity's sake.

My friends, it was a pleasure to meet you. But for now, Au revoir!


-R