April Showers (of Blessings)

At the start of this month (in regards to The States), I was phoneless, carless, homeless, and jobless.

And by the end, I have a great vehicle I plan on driving until it dies in a nursing home parking lot sixteen years from now (its predecessor Bess set some pretty tough standards for Toyotas. 500,000 miles logged into that car over 16 years, five of which were mine. And, though she did die in a nursing home parking lot, which really is just ironic, she is still kickin' with a nice hispanic family my dad knows).

Secondly, I have been invited to join a home. I'll have my own room, the kitchen and living areas are lovely, there's a fenced-in yard so they're letting me keep my wee pup (Oh how I've missed him!!), and my roommates, though I don't know them, seem so sweet and warm. They are introverts, too! From our one FaceTime and emails/Facebook posts of theirs, I can already tell I'll enjoy living with their quirky selves.

Third (which I have already mentioned), I have occupation. Signed my contract just this week, actually, when my new boss came to visit Lakeside. I was very thankful for the chance to get to chat with them and rewrite my first impression on them. The first impression? My roommate Lauren's wedding rehearsal was at their home. I had the flu. And spent the majority of the rehearsal puking and hiding out in their kitchen hoping nobody would notice my absence. It was super classy.

My favorite part of all three of these was that they took me entirely off-guard. Honestly, I prayed for a car that worked, a roof that preferably didn't leak, and a direction. At the same time, I had in my mind what would be considered The Dream, the best possible situation. Did I ask for this? No. Because I would have been thrilled with the basics.

In return, I have had the complete shock of not once or twice but three times over being given the EXACT parameters of my dreams.

This is not a "suffering leads to gifts" or rewards for service. Not at all. Don't misunderstand me.
I see this as grace and confirmation over and over and over that the direction he's sending me in is exactly where I am supposed to be walking toward.

Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

THURSDAY:
Though it is very nearly impossible to get "in" with a friendgroup here in NI (they've all known one another since the dawn of time it seems. and is.), I had the fortune to have been adopted by Lynsey and Lauren at a Newcomer's meal, a month after arriving here. Later, we were joined by Kiera, their other best friend.

Yes, their reasons were that my friend Shelby (last semester's cook, now gone) looks like Zooey Deschanel and we're Americans, but it happened nonetheless.

Through them, I had a support system, rides to small group, and, to be blunt, a way to stay sane.
This semester, though, that desperation for somebody to talk to me has melted into genuine friendship. I feel safe to be silly with them. They're tops.

On Thursday evening, we had a fancy dinner party and movie night.
Each one of us contributed a course, and we sat about and ate and talked and laughed.

After, we hopped around in my backyard before retiring in my living room for a movie and Ruth's Salon.

When my hair was long, I used to do all sorts of Pinteresty things to it, so my buddies graciously allowed me to pin them up.

FRIDAY
After a long day of work, my friend Megan (from small group) came to fetch me, and we headed down the Lisburn Road toward ice cream. We thought we were going for coffee, but obviously ice cream's voice was like a Siren call. Irresistible, really, as we had forgotten our beeswax. 

Our date lasted for probably four hours as we talked over God's direction for our lives, our recent travel ventures (she spent a month or so in Thailand in January), and what's been running rampant in our minds.

That ice cream? Honeycomb with snickers and nutella. Drooling is acceptable and expected. 

SATURDAY
Remember Craig from the Naomi/Craig combo?
Well, it was his birthday! Yay!!!

I, along with Naomi and a whole bunch of his friends, went out. We sat at a table under a pavilion outside a pub and "had the banter" with one another.

Fun fact, suspenders don't mean suspenders here. Brackets are to suspenders what suspenders are to lingerie/panty hose holder uppers.

You know, just easy ways to make myself look silly.

People don't think I'm funny here.
I was funny in the states! I know because I asked when nobody would laugh at my jokes!!!
Conversely, I don't often find the people here funny.

People laugh, and I just sit there stupidly wondering what I've missed. Happens all the time.

I may not be super thrilled about a lot of the aspects involved with American culture, but I am indeed looking forward to people chuckling at more than my stupidity. Oh they'll still laugh at my stupid moments, but at least it'll be tempered with actual witicisms.

SUNDAY
Part I:
After church at Vineyard, Megan (same one from the evening of ice cream) and I went to the Titanic Quarter. She had heard about a Thai Culture Festival and wanted company. I was all too delighted to oblige.

It took a good deal of walking around confused to find the place but, amidst the vast area of what once was an immense shipyard, we found it: T13.

T13 is a big-ish warehouse (she thought it was huge. I'm american. Ees medium size) which has since turned into a skate park.

It was so Belfast I can't even tell you.

Amidst the "festival" (8 booths, one of which was for dohnuts, one for coffee, and a stage), there were ramps and clusters of kids on bikes, skateboards, and scooters.

We ate pad thai and dohnuts (neither of us suggest combining those), walked around people watching, took selfies with the oil rig outside I think looks like a giant octopus and the cranes used to build the Titanic.

On the drive home, we chatted over the end of the world and how we're all already chipped. Technology is creepy with the degree to which it knows me: exactly where I am, my likes and dislikes, my friends, everything I say and do.

Twas good. She's a valuable friend. We always have such constructive conversations.

The tugboat used to tote people out to board the Titanic. 

Part II:
I miss having guy friends.

As a girl who grew up with brothers and has always found guys to be easier to bond with than girls, not having a single guy friend on this continent for months and months has been a serious gap.

However, I must have passed some sort of test, because Kiera, Lauren, and Lynsey started bringing me around the rest of their massive friend group, as well as night church at Newtonbreda Baptist (which is wonderful, by the way).

Last evening, post service, we all went out for Maud's (again. Man.  Ice cream never ever gets old to me), hung out there until they closed, then headed over to my house for games and just hang out time.

Yes, I've only got a month or so left here and yes, that is a little late to make new friends.
But despite what deepening my friendships and making new ones is going to do to my heart when I leave, I would rather leave with the memory of having risked living boldly and actually having the opportunity to miss people than to leave just as separated as when I came.

One Step Closer

I like word searches.
I don't know why; there's no particular skill set needed to complete them (aside from basic literacy..but not really even that), but I find I have a knack for the thing.

Well, writing research papers, for me, is just like a really long (way more literate, hopefully) word search.
The word search is even in it.

Now, you've endured reading my complaints about that all-inclusive poetic list of every.single.notation of weather-related terms in Derek Mahon's poetry and also my long and instructive post about my theories about the most effective way to write a research paper.

Today, I actually completed one.
(and everybody said "AMEN!")

5 days, 1,000 words per day, and here we are, folks. Alive and well.

And, thank goodness, it turned out that that personal file of meteorological facts came so so much in handy.

I'm a little neurotic about writing papers.
And everything.

There has to be a method to it.
It doesn't have to be my method, but it has to be a method.
Preferably a my method...

It may be an ISTJ thing. 

a. I make a Quotes Page
b. (particular to this paper) I had my weather notes
c. "The Draft"
d. a clean, unsaved, new document which acts as the "under construction" page.
e. Later, there is a "final" page.

Nothing is to be written on the actual drafts page. I try sometimes. Then my mind just gets cluttered and overwhelmed with how much crap is going on.

Section at a time.

I write a section, pulling all the quotes I think I may want from my quotes page, as well as their citations, and write my paragraph(s). When that's done, I take both the paragraphs and the citation and insert it into the draft. Only there is it formatted.

Delete draft page.

Make new draft page (important for some weird reason).
Piece by piece, I work my word search.

By the end, I have a beautifully color-coded Works Cited page, a single-spaced (double is overwhelming) draft, and my name at the top.

Wait a week (so I can catch errors more easily).

Copy and paste all of that into a new document, put it in a weird font (so I can catch errors more easily), read it aloud to somebody (so I can catch errors more easily), edit the heck out of it, making sure everything is correctly punctuated and referenced, change my Works Cited page to black, change all of it to double spacing, and SAVE.

Submit.

I'm currently in the waiting phase, but my 5,000 words are carved and crafted and waiting to be cleaned.
This is such a good feeling.

One more 3,000 word paper.
One 3,000 word bibliography (which weirdly and wonderfully counts as a paper).

Then I get to fly home.

Hallelujah!!!

Hurt People Hurt People

One of my university professors from back home, Dr. Nick Ogle, says, "Brokenness cries out to brokenness."

Those two catch phrases, if you will, are very similar, I think.

It's similar to the old cliche, "Misery loves company."

We're all pretty messed up, it's true. And we're all messed up both the same and different than one another.

And yet, and yet, we all like to think our messed-up-ness is completely unique. Nobody in the entire world understands!!!! To a certain degree, that's true. There has never been another person like you, so no other person has experienced or processed pain in the same way as you.

However, in our confusion and in our partial/poor processing and understanding of our problems, we act out.

We become cagey, reckless, electric.

We find people who are similarly cagey, reckless, and electric and form destructive, dependent bonds with them.

Or/and we lash out at everything that moves.
"She looked at me weird."
"He sent me a smileyface emoticon as her entire text response."
"How hard is it to take two seconds and return an email?!."
"GET OFF MY TAIL, JERK! I'M GOING THE SPEEDLIMIT"
"Slam that door one more time. C'mon. I dare you."

Anything can set off the trigger.
All that self-anxiety and tumbles of frustration (that honestly we may not even recognize what the source of it is) is then tunnel-visioned onto whomever gave that twitchy finger the go-ahead.

In response, the squinter/emoticon abuser/slow emailer/butt-face driver (who, in defense of shootey-mcgee over there, probably deserve at least a paintball to the gut or an airsoft gun bruise or two) receives an avalanche of venomous slush.

Nearly all of it deserves displacement.

That's not what it seems, though. And it's definitely not how it feels.

But we don't take the time to analyze that.
We let it happen.

We, the offended, leave that interaction burning hot with rage, all at the offenders.
The offenders leave angry, hurt, and confused at what the heck just happened??
And, in response, transfer their anger, hurt, and confusion onto their own personal trigger people.

And honestly, at the end of the day, it doesn't make a whole heck of a lot difference if we do recognize what we have done and why we have done it.

Apologies are great. Recognizing and verbalizing that you have wronged is an incredible step forward. And it could indeed mend that acid-burned relationship.

But it still happened. And those dominos still fell.

Your words have power. Your actions have power. Don't be so smallminded as to think you can do whatever you want without broad consequence.

Be careful not to let tumble from your lips words that do not deserve existence.

That's not to say hoard offense. Rather, seek God, seek truth, seek understanding, and seek ways to word your pain which demonstrates knowledge that you are not only one in the battle.

Everybody's got their stuff.
Take the time to ask.
To give the benefit of the doubt.
To exercise mercy even if they deserve your wrath.

Because hurt people hurt people, yes.
But  blessed people bless people.

It works both ways.

Vienna Waits For You

 Maybe I expected too much out of Austria.
A girl at the hostel asked me if it had been everything I hoped it would be, and I didn't know how to answer.

What had I hoped?

I had hoped...that it would answer something.
Though, at the same time, I'm not entirely certain what question I was asking.

Was I disappointed with Vienna?
No. I can't say that I was.
Was I blown away by it?
No. Except by way of ice cream. Holy goodness. I very nearly proposed to the proprietor of the second ice cream shop we visited. Only refrained because, on the off chance that he answered, "Actually, yes. I am indeed in the market for a wife", I would seriously have considered going for it. My jokes are only ever partial jokes. I wasn't playing with the fire (or ice) of that one.

My favorite part of Austria (other than the ice cream), was the busride: Praha -->Wien and Wien --> Praha. Lots of quiet time to sit curled in sunshine, watching the quaint houses and countryside and fields on fields of yellow flowers and windmills.

We were a little late on our arrival to Vienna, due to the fact that we missed our first bus by about 45 seconds. Actually, looking back, it was pretty funny. At one point on our journey to the bus station, we ended up in this dusty, deserted construction site. ..What? How?

There was also a more than sketchy situation with an overly amorous British couple on the bus in the seats next to us. Did I mention we were the only 4 people on the bus?

Finally we made it to Vienna. Day 1 there consisted in walking to our hostel. It was a heft 6 mile dander, but gorgeous. Just gorgeous. Would have chosen it for a day's activity. Actually, it was one of my favorite activities we did there.

Through a park, along a river. Mm. Yes.

Bridge graffiti

We finally arrived at our hostel, entitled "Believe it or Not Hostel." And, actually, it lived up to that haughty title. To rooms with wee lofts to accommodate more people. You've gotta stay at least two nights. And it's away from the main hub of the city. So the people who end up there are calmer and, at least the ones I met, intelligent. 

Breakfast in the morning made by owner Lili, laundry, all sorts of random amenities, and a great price. It really does make you feel at home. Loved it. Had the opportunity for some great, constructive conversations with people from all across the globe. 

Did I take pictures? No. I did not. 

 Day two in Vienna, my buddy London joined us. We got coffee from a cafe with no prices (we are convinced that the prices were changed if you were or were not a tourist), visited a bookshop, wandered the city, went to another bookshop, and got POURED ON by rain. There were actually some pretty serious feet side effects from the rain and my chacos. Namely, so much blood. But you don't need to hear about that.

Doesn't that look just like Cinderella's castle back there? 

We also found a market. It consisted of people dressed in traditional austrian gear and wine. 

and this band. There's an old guy you can't see that's in the audience just playing along with a wooden kazoo. Made. My. Day. Ain't no party like a solo-kazoo party. 

The oldest running Viennese church. Fun fact, inside is an entire human skeleton.

It's guarded by this dude. 

With this sweet stained glass inside. 

One day, I hope to be posh enough to get away with pushing a pram full of small dogs and totally own it. 

 So day 2 in Vienna our poor feet needed a break, so we made it a day of sunning and snacks.
Appfel streudel, some weird ball of dough with honey and cinnamon, and the best ice cream of my existence. Match that with snuggling in the grass of various public arenas and getting made fun of by German youths. No shame. We don't get sunshine in Belfast.

I can't even go into detail about that ice cream. Just know that it was delicious.
That night and the next, we got delicious, inexpensive sushi. Nothing like raw fish, I tell ya.

The buns of human rights. Erected for a good cause. Currently, it was good enough cause for me to laugh uncontrollably. 

The next day was a little odd. I shall explain.

Started out normally, we went to an outdoor market, passed by a Russian memorial (of course) then over to the Belvedere (please tell me I'm spelling that right), then to the botanical gardens (where there was another garden market)...

I have multiple shots of this man. I just feel the need to admit that. 

In my defense, I refrained from shooting the people next to this guy. Started feeling a little creepy . 

The Austrians know their way around a garden. 

I don't  know what these are, but I want them. 

 ...THEN it felt like somebody shoved a knife into my eye, had to take my contact out, and was sent into spiraling blindness. My whole face swelled up, I couldn't open or shut my eye without pain, and it was spouting water. Truly pathetic. Please make fun of me.
Don't worry. Gets worse.
Sonya then had to lead me like a blind person all 4 miles back to our hostel. After lying for a few hours with no change (except maybe my face swelling up even more), I took some allergy pills and a pain killer. On an empty stomach, which resulted in nausea, which resulted in taking a motion sickness pill, which resulted in total delirium, which resulted in me collapsing on the community couch and talking at/to/with an australian guy I'd never met before (and never saw/saw again) for God knows how many hours while Sonya went back into the city to explore it at night. I have little to no memory of the entire night. But I hear from the British runner and the Croatian cross-fit instructor that I was hilarious.

So there was that.

Actually, funny memory, that was not my first "blind" experience. One year at JBU, my freshman year, my buddy Steve and I did it on purpose. On our way over to the annual Siloam Dogwood Festival in our friend Layden's car, we found a pair of blind people sunglasses. You know, the kind that visor you in from all sides.

Instantly a plan was formed.

I put on the glasses and took Steve's arm as he led me around the festival--a solid two or so hours--calling out (LOUDLY) walking instructions. One of my favorite memories. Absolutely so hilarious.

Sonya and I waved goodbye to Vienna early the next morning. Didn't even have a chance to meet/apologize to my Australian.

One last shot of Vienna as we headed to the subway. Or Metro. or Underground. Or whatever you do so wish to call it. 

I think on my next trip to Austria, I'd want to hit up Salzburg and mix it up with a couple days in Munich, Germany (cue Pink Panther references). It was good, very lovely. I'm very glad we did it, and I loved meeting the people from our hostel.

Who knows what I was looking for. Who knows what I found, really.
Vienna is Vienna, for all that she is and for all that she is not.