All I ever write about is love anymore. So maybe, for the sake of diversity, I'll try to write about something different. Something entirely different ...
How about money? Yeah, money. I can write about that.
So ... I watched "Slumdog Millionaire" for the first time tonight, and I have to admit -- I balled my eyes out. I'm a girl, so I'm allowed to do things like that. Cry, that is. Not watch movies. Everyone watches movies ... or at least they should.
It was amazing. And the part that amazed me the most wasn't that people actually live like that. I've read enough books and heard enough stories and Googled enough countries to know slums like that do exist. The amazing part was how drinking out of the same river where people go to the bathroom doesn't automatically kill your soul. Dash your hopes. And make you not want to live another day.
Slums -- not like downtown Atlanta slums. Or Ponce de Leon slums. Or even the big-time slums of New York City can touch the slums of Mumbai. They are the definition of hopelessness. Where 50 rupees would make you sell an autographed picture of your brother's all-time favorite hero. One that he would literally swim through waste to get.
Those kind of places are where money is not a means to an end. It's an ideal. A way out. An escape from the writhing pain and fear everyone lives in. Or at least that's how I imagine it has to be like.
Then again, I've never been without shoes. Or water. Or food. I can't remember not having a car or a bike or a church or a family. And I'm not sure I could live without my dignity. I think I would rather die. I think.
That is the great thing about the human spirit. It is true what they say, or what someone once said, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It may even numb you for awhile, but it doesn't kill you.
At the risk of going back to my favorite subject, the one thing they couldn't live without was love. Even when their mother was gone, they had to have one or the other -- love or money -- to even have a reason to live. One went one way, one went the other. And, as you see, love conquers all. Even when a million rupees hangs in the balance.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Eyes on Fire.
I am obsessed with Twilight.
I've read all the books, bought the DVD (and watched it a handful of times already), downloaded the soundtrack, Googled Rob Pattison and gritted my teeth when I realized "New Moon" wouldn't hit theaters until November. I am truly obsessed. And, up until today, I have had no idea how to answer the question I've been asked so many times -- "That's for teenage girls. Why do you like it so much?"
Finally, as I was listening to my newly synced soundtrack, I realized ...
Sure, vampires are sexy. Well, at least Edward Cullen. And sure, it's well-written. And of course, it's a great story.
But that's not it. I've read plenty of good books and have fallen in love with plenty of great characters throughout them all. But Stephanie Plum from Janet Evanovich's novels (who I loved with a capital L) and Alexander Cross (James Patterson's irresistible forensic psychologist) didn't capture my heart as much as Mr. Cullen.
It's the love.
I realize this is corny as shit, but ...
I am in love with Twilight because of the love. Because of the forbidden love that no one thought would work except Edward and Bella. The love that went against every fiber in his being, the love that should have destroyed everything instead of made it better. The same kind of love, that say, would send you across the world. ... Maybe even 8,500 miles, to be exact.
So maybe I'm not Bella. And maybe, even in my wildest dreams, my boyfriend will never lunge at my neck when dinner isn't on the table when he gets home. But, maybe, just maybe, he's my own personal Edward. Or Romeo, if you're old-fashioned.
When I left Georgia the first time to follow my boyfriend to Guam, no one thought it would work. Hell, even my mom, who had never seen me as happy as I was back then, made me buy a two-way ticket -- just so I wouldn't get stuck on an island halfway around the world.
It wasn't until two weeks ago, when I went home for the first time since I'd moved out here, that people actually started believing I had not totally lost my mind. That this was real. And the move I had made months ago wasn't out of lust or total insanity. I was just doing what I knew was right -- following the path I was supposed to follow.
So, yeah, that's my story. That's the reason why I love Twilight, even though some people may think it's just another corny, teenage tale of star-crossed lovers. In a way, it's my own personal fair tale. Even if mine doesn't come with a real-life, vampire Edward.
I've read all the books, bought the DVD (and watched it a handful of times already), downloaded the soundtrack, Googled Rob Pattison and gritted my teeth when I realized "New Moon" wouldn't hit theaters until November. I am truly obsessed. And, up until today, I have had no idea how to answer the question I've been asked so many times -- "That's for teenage girls. Why do you like it so much?"
Finally, as I was listening to my newly synced soundtrack, I realized ...
Sure, vampires are sexy. Well, at least Edward Cullen. And sure, it's well-written. And of course, it's a great story.
But that's not it. I've read plenty of good books and have fallen in love with plenty of great characters throughout them all. But Stephanie Plum from Janet Evanovich's novels (who I loved with a capital L) and Alexander Cross (James Patterson's irresistible forensic psychologist) didn't capture my heart as much as Mr. Cullen.
It's the love.
I realize this is corny as shit, but ...
I am in love with Twilight because of the love. Because of the forbidden love that no one thought would work except Edward and Bella. The love that went against every fiber in his being, the love that should have destroyed everything instead of made it better. The same kind of love, that say, would send you across the world. ... Maybe even 8,500 miles, to be exact.
So maybe I'm not Bella. And maybe, even in my wildest dreams, my boyfriend will never lunge at my neck when dinner isn't on the table when he gets home. But, maybe, just maybe, he's my own personal Edward. Or Romeo, if you're old-fashioned.
When I left Georgia the first time to follow my boyfriend to Guam, no one thought it would work. Hell, even my mom, who had never seen me as happy as I was back then, made me buy a two-way ticket -- just so I wouldn't get stuck on an island halfway around the world.
It wasn't until two weeks ago, when I went home for the first time since I'd moved out here, that people actually started believing I had not totally lost my mind. That this was real. And the move I had made months ago wasn't out of lust or total insanity. I was just doing what I knew was right -- following the path I was supposed to follow.
So, yeah, that's my story. That's the reason why I love Twilight, even though some people may think it's just another corny, teenage tale of star-crossed lovers. In a way, it's my own personal fair tale. Even if mine doesn't come with a real-life, vampire Edward.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Punch in the Face.
So Facebook has this new application (God, I hate applications) that lets you choose your Top 5 of any given subject. Top 5 cars you wish you had, Top 5 cities you've lived in, Top 5 favorite movies, even Top 5 people you'd like to punch in the face.
I had fun with that one, although a Top 20 would have been more suitable. And more fun if you could choose people that were actually on Facebook instead of just celebrities (there are a few ex friends that come to mind).
Here are few, for your own amusement:
1. Lindsay Lohan
2. Paris Hilton
3. Tom Cruise
4. Madonna
5. Bill O'Reilly
6. 90% of the GOP
7. Chris Rock
8. Angelina Jolie
9. Nick Saban
10. Otis Brumby
My boss is constantly telling me about people she'd love to punch in the face. But apparently, it's not meant to be mean-spirited. In Chamorro, it's a term of endearment. She always tells this other account manager that her kid is so cute she just wants to punch him in the face. Who the hell says that? Really?
Anyway, it works. I may start saying that to people randomly. And if they looked at me shocked I'll just say, "Don't worry, man. That's a good thing." Ha.
I had fun with that one, although a Top 20 would have been more suitable. And more fun if you could choose people that were actually on Facebook instead of just celebrities (there are a few ex friends that come to mind).
Here are few, for your own amusement:
1. Lindsay Lohan
2. Paris Hilton
3. Tom Cruise
4. Madonna
5. Bill O'Reilly
6. 90% of the GOP
7. Chris Rock
8. Angelina Jolie
9. Nick Saban
10. Otis Brumby
My boss is constantly telling me about people she'd love to punch in the face. But apparently, it's not meant to be mean-spirited. In Chamorro, it's a term of endearment. She always tells this other account manager that her kid is so cute she just wants to punch him in the face. Who the hell says that? Really?
Anyway, it works. I may start saying that to people randomly. And if they looked at me shocked I'll just say, "Don't worry, man. That's a good thing." Ha.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Beauty in the Breakdown
I love airports. Always have.
There's something about the hellos and the good-byes of total strangers. Something so raw -- emotionally -- it's hard for me to resist. And with 30 hours of travel between Atlanta and Guam, it's even harder to avoid staring. I've found myself many times gawking at happy couples or busy businessmen making their way from one point in the world to another.
Yes, I'm that weird girl in the airport wearing her iPod, just watching. I watch women chase after their babies, men in camoflauge hats and sweatpants play on their Blackberry obsessions, couples hold each other just outside security while only one held a suitcase, and parents run to hug their sons or daughters in uniform who just walked out of the terminal.
Airports are the best place to see the best and worst parts of life -- the hellos and the good-byes. Ultimately, you can't say one without saying the other. And ultimately, everyone has to do it at least once.
I wish there were more hellos than good-byes, but it seems lately, I've had many more of the latter to endure. More tears and farewell hugs than greetings. But I guess that's what being thousands of miles from "home" will get you. Not to mention a boyfriend in the military.
While that's hard most of the time, I think saying good-bye makes you appreciate the hellos that much more. It makes waiting in the airport something different than just a means to an end. Almost euphoric ... cathartic.
I met a guy named Tommy while I was waiting for my flight to Chicago. He was coming from Charleston, headed to California to visit family. A few months earlier, he had been moose hunting in Denali National Forest in Alaska and skydiving in Colorado with his dad, who said he wanted to try more things after he recovered from a heart attack. Tommy had tattoos on both arms and he carried one small suitcase for a 2-week trip. I doubt he'd checked any bags, as I had.
It's people like that that make life so interesting. People like the couples who seem like they could hug forever just outside security. In a way it's comforting, to know that other people have to go through the same things I do. The good-byes. And the business trips. And the vacations that never seem to last long enough. It makes me think we're all just the same ... in a different way.
There's beauty in the break down.
There's something about the hellos and the good-byes of total strangers. Something so raw -- emotionally -- it's hard for me to resist. And with 30 hours of travel between Atlanta and Guam, it's even harder to avoid staring. I've found myself many times gawking at happy couples or busy businessmen making their way from one point in the world to another.
Yes, I'm that weird girl in the airport wearing her iPod, just watching. I watch women chase after their babies, men in camoflauge hats and sweatpants play on their Blackberry obsessions, couples hold each other just outside security while only one held a suitcase, and parents run to hug their sons or daughters in uniform who just walked out of the terminal.
Airports are the best place to see the best and worst parts of life -- the hellos and the good-byes. Ultimately, you can't say one without saying the other. And ultimately, everyone has to do it at least once.
I wish there were more hellos than good-byes, but it seems lately, I've had many more of the latter to endure. More tears and farewell hugs than greetings. But I guess that's what being thousands of miles from "home" will get you. Not to mention a boyfriend in the military.
While that's hard most of the time, I think saying good-bye makes you appreciate the hellos that much more. It makes waiting in the airport something different than just a means to an end. Almost euphoric ... cathartic.
I met a guy named Tommy while I was waiting for my flight to Chicago. He was coming from Charleston, headed to California to visit family. A few months earlier, he had been moose hunting in Denali National Forest in Alaska and skydiving in Colorado with his dad, who said he wanted to try more things after he recovered from a heart attack. Tommy had tattoos on both arms and he carried one small suitcase for a 2-week trip. I doubt he'd checked any bags, as I had.
It's people like that that make life so interesting. People like the couples who seem like they could hug forever just outside security. In a way it's comforting, to know that other people have to go through the same things I do. The good-byes. And the business trips. And the vacations that never seem to last long enough. It makes me think we're all just the same ... in a different way.
There's beauty in the break down.
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