Book...Open ended

It's more of a musing. And eventually, a direct question I will ask my friends and myself.

What book do I write?

My entire life, and especially in the last three years, my friends and even loose acquaintances, have told me, "I love your writing. Please write a book." And I have replied that I will, and have every intention of doing so. The only thing i have to discover is...what sort of book do I write? Every writer has to avoid being too self-reflective so as to not bore the reader or even to appear too self indulgent. (Which, we usually can be when it comes to writing.) But do I write something about a fictional character I have yet to bond with? Do I write about myself and my adventures? A former banker, single and 20 something succeeding at University Life in another country?

What would you want to see from me?

My Way

To be updated...

Life in the wind

There’s always plenty to be said. This, if you think about it, means there is plenty to be written about as well. Though for some reason I have spent the last two years procrastinating logging onto my blog. Instead, I have spent the last two years living in England. It has kept me quite busy, not just in terms of studying for my degree but also in learning about myself. The first year was euphoria – Everything brightly colored, the sights breath taking and the sounds fascinating. Then slowly the reality of day to day living gently crept up on me and I realized that, in my day to day life, I missed my family being a part of that. I had made the naive mistake of not visiting home until 13 months had passed and home-sickness hit me harder than it would have if I’d gone home sooner. Finally, in the beginning of my second year abroad, I went to see my parents. I was relieved to find everything as I’d left it. A part of me feared that with me gone that everything would be gone or different. But the sight of my Dad at his computer, dogs at his feet and of my Mom on the patio, writing her books made me feel whole again. I might be living away from my family but I was still a part of it. And just like the comfort of an old shoe, I fit right in.



Reassured, I returned to the UK to finish my Second Year of study. I’d spent the entirety of my second year studying full time, participating in a Peer Mentoring program for my School and working every weekend and nights as a waitress in the City Centre. I had made another elementary error … in Math. In my earnest desire to borrow as little as possible for my student loans, I had figured in September to May but had left out June, July and August. So I worked to pay for my rent and living expenses over the summer and through the semester. It was difficult, sure…Here I am ten years down the road and a whole lot more experienced and I was waiting tables again like when I was a teenager. But it proved to me that if you want something enough, you do what it takes to make it happen. I wanted to live in England for the full course of my degree and I wanted to get to know the British culture. And, working shoulder to shoulder with the local staff, weekends and nights, I accomplished that. Covered in sauce.



Before I even thought of beginning my third and final year here at the University, I went back home to see my family. I spent a full month with them and am a better person for it. Going back to my roots has allowed for me to begin fresh this summer. I know where I came from, where I am now and have a good idea of where I want to go in the future. Surrounded by distraction it is easy to get lost in the din of everyday life. Phone calls, emails, news articles, interaction can be, if you let it, a 24/7 habit. And I’m no angel when it comes to being ‘’plugged-in.’’ I was actually surprised when a psychic went to read the color of my aura and instead came up with the name of my favorite wireless network. (Kidding, kidding.) But this summer I began by turning off the phone, limiting my access to an hour at night to return emails and visiting properly with the people who have shaped my character: My mother, my father, my little sister and my grandparents. From them I have earned my sense of humor, my ambitions, my hopes for myself and the humility that comes from someone knowing every success, and every failure, and loving you anyway.



So there you have it. There is always plenty to be said. And, with a bit of effort and a moment to reflect, I will start to tell you all about it on here.

She hides in prose. She dresses in words and lets dangle from her lips poems, lyrics or rhyme. Her eyes sparkle with metaphor and gentle hands grasp tightly onto her pen that allows her to share inner thoughts to an outside world. Dancing with daydreams and sleeping with stories told to her from a fairytale book beside her bed. Lights sparkle at night and she sees memories unfold before her eyes. Swirling in her wake are letters and phrases, a mixture of fonts and colors. Some bold. Some small. Others large and some twisted.

She is a writer and her heart beats with a melody that sings an unheard song. Eyelashes flutter and worlds are created behind brightly shining eyes filled with tears of wonderment at a world so ... beautiful. Sounds rush about her throughout the day and distract from a talent she disguises in many other forms - none of them in the purest, most vibrant or most raw. Energy is her focus - mostly positive, evoking a vibration of love to all who meet her. Pulsing, feeling, walking, reading, writing, typing ... she calls out silently. She calls out silently, hoping someone will answer the call.

Memories of a different time

Why I chose to study in the UK

Here is a link to my experience in the United Kingdom and why I chose to change my life and finish my degree:

http://www.facebook.com/notes/education-uk-usa/student-representative-meaghan-couture-why-i-chose-to-study-in-the-uk/271635856233165

A pulse

A pulse that beats within me says:
Write. Write. Write.
But the voice that governs my actions decides
You don't have the time.

I walk and I read and I plan and I work.
I pay bills and send emails and go places
I'm scheduled to be.
Showing up is the key to success...

But all I want to do is write.
All I want to do is my future...
All I want is to be done

But alas...it's unwritten.

Jungle

Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.

Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.

I miss writing. I really, really do.

School's Out For Summer

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

I think that is going to be my next (and last) tattoo. I have one on my left should blade and one on the nape of my neck...looking in the mirror, one on my right shoulder blade will look complete. Feel complete. Next thought...

Thank god University is out for the summer! I am SO worn out mentally because of that, plus other life things like finding a place to live over the summer, missing my family, bills, second year loans, arguing with little details still tied up in my past. Hoping I did well enough yet needing to keep moving and not look back because I'm the only one making all of this work. I am so fortunate to have found a full time job for my summer break at a wonderful place with a good vibe. I'm staying in a foreign country all by myself - I need a place to make money and work hard but I also need a stress free environment. I've come too far and worked too hard to be somewhere I'm not happy. So I am thankful I've found someplace I feel accepted and encouraged to succeed.

I may get a chance to write more now that I'm not trying to absorb the parameters of consonants, the phonetic symbols of all the languages in the world, whether or not an affix is inflectional or derivational, how children acquire languages, the VOT release of a velarised voiced alveolar lateral approximate (l) or what Grice's Maxims happen to be. I can just - focus on work or a new relationship or ... me. I've not had an opportunity like this or felt freedom like this in a very long time. And I'm truly very happy. My parents are proud of me, my sister wants to follow my footsteps...I'm blazing my own path and while at some points it got dark or lonely or I was afraid...I kept on going and it's been rewarding.

Some free writing poetry and then I'm off to surf the net:

The noise of the evening floats on the air
As she lies down on her bed, her yellow cotton dress
Spread around her like small rays of sunshine spilling from her breast.
Whirs of traffic, the click of the clock, the laughs from upstairs,
The beating of her heart - All sounds that gently reach her ears
And make her smile, taking in a gentle breath and quietly releasing a sigh.

She's done it, a whole year. Thinking back on her path it seems like the
Life of another, not her own. And yet it is her life, her story, her memories.
Some of it so hard, so lonely. Other parts full of joy, awe, love and magic.
This mystery of her life still elusive and mysterious. Her heart on a journey all
It's own with no guide or guarantee that by opening it again she won't get hurt.
The scars of past lovers still ache on cold mornings, the threads of her spirit
Woven together by the hard work of family, friends and her determined nature.

Unsure of what her future holds or how to live her life, she stares up at the sky
And waits for a sign. As a star shoots by, she smiles and the wind gently taps
Against the window. Life is but a melody, a dance, a story. And with hope and a Little bit of kindness...maybe she's finally done it.

Creating

Pen to paper is the most difficult place to begin for a writer. The ideas we have are usually overflowing, keeping us awake at night as we jot notes on little scraps of paper with a penlight. And you would think it would be easy for a poet or a storyteller to use ink to transfer what they see, feel or think onto a blank page. It isn't. Every new beginning is daunting.

Creation is never simple and when it's successful, that is even more rare. That is why we usually attribute the creation of great art, music, poetry, literature - to the gods. Muses. Sprites. It is such a miraculous task that surely no mere mortal alone could perpetrate such an action? Yet that is what writing is...it is the manifestation of what we create in our imagination from our knowledge and ideas. By writing I am not claiming that we achieve equal level with demigods but rather I am giving credit where credit is due: To those people who every day and night break the chains of self doubt, push through the little nagging voices of people who say they can't and just DO. For we are our own worst enemies.

I promise to keep trying. After all...I got this far.

Tattoo

I got it about a year ago now. I have wanted this image as a personal tattoo for about 5 years. I held on to it and never got it because the people I was around judged me for it, told me they'd have less respect for me. I already had a celtic tattoo on my left shoulder blade, and they frowned when they saw it.

The tattoo on my left shoulder blade is in memory of my grandfather, Jack. He passed away when I was 13 from a massive heart attack. He just dropped to the floor, gone instantly. My grandmother, Rose, was distraught and sold the house they had shared for 40 years almost immediately. I snuck into his bathroom and took the handle off his cabinet door. And it is that symbol that is on my shoulder. It means a lot to me. It symbolizes family. I cannot be ashamed of it because it reminds me of my Poppy.

Oddly enough, Titanic (1997) came out that year. My grandfather's name was Jack and my grandmother's name is Rose. I cried like a baby the whole movie. I haven't been able to watch it since. And not watching a movie for the last 12 years that was the biggest grossing film until he decided to top himself this year with "Avatar" is no easy task.

It was the same year that my cousin was shot 4 times in a robbery. He lived despite all odds that he wouldn't and through the miracles of doctors they re-created a lot of internal organs for him. I watched him in the hospital, visited him as often as I could, cried for him, hoped for him. He finished college, he got married and though he was told he'd never had children, he has a beautiful baby girl.

That tattoo reminds me of when I was 13 and thought I'd lost all of my family to tragic and quick ends but realized I hadn't. That I can't bring back those that are gone, but I will live for their memory. It symbolizes to me so much more than ink on skin. It's a part of my life.

The same goes for this new, secret tattoo I am sharing with the void. This triquerta means a distinctive link between the physical, mental, and spiritual parts of self. It means past, present, future. And people may judge me for it...But -

I am who I am. And that is good.

This little light of mine

I promise to start shining again really soon.

Changes

I keep meaning to write about my new journey. This will hopefully remind me to do so but I think that I also need to find out who I am now with all of these changes in my life. I was a full time daughter, friend, co-worker, sister. Now I'm far removed from those daily roles. Now I am a daughter and sister via letters in the post, thoughts at bedtime and weekly video chat. I am no longer a co-worker. I no longer share the same weekly classroom for dance and yoga classes with strangers whose faces were my friends.

I am no longer on ground where any face I see will have a history attached to it. All of my exes, all of my friends, all of those who could be familiar are now removed and in their place are faces I've never looked into before. Nor do they bear any recognition of me. I am somewhat of a phantom...an apparition. I float past the eyes of strangers who may register me for a moment, realise they don't know me and I float back out of their consciousness again.

Changes.

Here in this new environment I am changing all of those things that I didn't like about myself from my youth. Where once I would have been silent, I speak. Where once I would have cast my eyes downward, I look up. Where I would never have before accepted help, I am learning to accept outstretched hands offering assistance. So...who am I now?

I've been musing over this. There are so many features that make up a person. At it's most surface level I am a 26 year old who struggles with the number of her age with the stage of life she's put herself into because it's unconventional. I also switch the the third person reference for poetic effect. Damn you Grammar Classes.

I like reading FBI, CIA thrillers. I like mystery novels. I enjoy listening to Indie music groups as well as Top 40 Top Charts. I like jazz and classical and opera. I enjoy the theatre. I like dancing - in clubs, at a formal ball, in a dance class, in my room. I love to shower. I shower more often when I'm stressed. I value my mind over my body. I write poetry when I can. I'm an avid fan of the shows Frasier and West Wing. But I also take pleasure in watching Glee. I enjoy the simple things in life - seeing ducks waddle on the sidewalk, a shooting star in the night, raindrops on my cheeks. A melody that I love getting stuck in my head.

A student again - I'm starting at the beginning to set a proper foundation for the future that I want to have. I gave up possessions in favour of life experiences. But with that has come a price to pay and it's in the form of evaluating my life. And it has left me melancholoy sometimes. Every single person I know back where I used to live (it isn't my home) has said that they are so envious of my ability to have done what I've done. They dream and live a little through me. And I can't help but think -
Why was I the one who was able to get away? To not be trapped? How can I be this person? People who knew me when I was young - I was such a shy little thing. If you'd told them I would be moving to another country all alone to live and pursue higher dreams that were tucked away in her heart - They probably wouldn't have believed you as I would have been clinging to my mothers dress, hidden behind her knee. I was labeled sweet, friendly and intelligent. Never beautiful. I was told maybe one day I'd be beautiful. That forever injures a person's self esteem. And if or when I attain beautiful - I will never identify with it. It's my inside self that I have spent so much time working on - whatever happens on the outside is irrelevant. I dislike it when men whistle at me as I pass. I am intelligent and capable, educated and funny. But they don't know that about me. I don't how to reconcile with that either.

Changes. I've never been good with change...

I don't know who I am I guess. I will give this another try later in the week. Until I can find out the answer. Writing helps me. In the meantime, I will enjoy the sunshine in Manchester. A nice break from the raindrops that fall on my eyelashes...