Change

I was going through some old files on my computer when I came across a file name I didn't recognize and that hadn't been opened since April of 2006. It is entitled Going Home. Pardon me if it seems a little too serious, I have my melancholy moments like everyone else (and maybe more than some others). But it struck me for the way it captured how I felt in a moment nearly two years ago, give or take a couple months, as college was coming to an end for me at UNL. It captures how I tend to react to change--something that I will deal with again soon (and fairly consistently hereafter). But, I thought I would take a risk and share it with you.

I tell myself as I leave that I’ll always remember this moment and feel the way I do now when I return, if I can return, that memories will be enough. I won’t be a fool. I know things must change for me to continue. This is my excuse to be sentimental, to ache at a remembrance of something I’ve lost. This is my rendition of transition from what I thought I knew so well and that could never end, to what remains so vague it scares me, excites me, despairs me, ignites me. A sorrow scattered hope explains me. Now resting and confident; now vulnerable and impotent. Beneath it all is the sense that a part of me is dying, or hiding dormant to be never awakened. Waiting for a change in me, an improvement that betrays direction—this sustains me, this place that awaits me. I am wounded but I am not dead.

I know it seems a bit much, haha, but it's how I felt. The memory and the moment intrigued me though, considering where I've been, what I've learned, and where I am going--even since then. Try it. Maybe consider a specific moment from the recent or distant past. Look where God has brought you and the hope you have for where He will take you from here.

Life in 'the hood'

Occasionally I have to take the "EL" to get to classes if I leave late enough in the day. It's sometimes a bit unnerving because campus is in Hyde Park--the south side of Chicago, the sketchier side. I take the Metra an hours' ride to the city then walk a few blocks from Ogilvie Transportation Center to the Green-Line stop on Clinton St. That line takes me about 35 minutes south to within a mile of campus but I usually wait for a bus that takes me straight there from the El stop, Garfield. Unfortunately, the Garfield stop is in a rough neighborhood and I usually have my expensive laptop with me (thankfully carried in a bag that looks like a normal backpack). There's a small grocery/liquor store there so you tend to see a lot of older men loitering around there drinking out of brown bags. I tend to get asked for money a lot at that stop as well.

Thursday was the first time I would have to take this route in over a month and some of the 'used-to-it' feeling had worn off. I had nearly reached the Garfield stop and remember thinking at about that point, "This isn't so bad," when I saw one man in the car a few seats in front of me quickly move closer to another man who had got on a few stops back. The two of them talked secretively and furtively glanced toward the conductor at the front of the car. Moving quickly to the two open seats four feet in front of me, they conveniently faced to my left so that I could observe everything going on between them. The newer passenger handed five or six little, clear plastic bags full of small, green-colored leaves to the other in exchange for a small wad of cash! A drug deal--I observed a drug deal on the El! Other passengers who knew what was going on acted as if nothing abnormal had just happened. In fact, one woman sitting directly facing the perpetrators asked the man who purchased the drugs if she could see them. He handed a couple of the packages to her and she closely looked them over and smelled them before giving them back. One would have thought they might have been just as easily purchasing food or a souvenir. I couldn't believe it. What do I do with that?

I got off at my stop, a little more paranoid than normal and trying to convince myself not to be irrational. Who was to meet me at the bus stop but Eric Johnston, or that's who he introduced himself to be. He wore a dirtied, dark wool coat, an old winter hat, worn pants, and stained boots. He appeared to be homeless but he made a point to say, "I wouldn't say that I'm homeless, but... I'm kind of in between living situations." Whatever that means. He proceeded to ask for me to pay the bus fare which he said "thank you" for before I actually agreed, haha. But I decided I could do that. I'd rather pay his fare than just give him cash. He said he had some business to do on the other side of the U of C campus and then talked almost non-stop from that point as we waited for the bus, through the bus ride (he sat next to me), and until I got off about how he was a jazz pianist and all the people he'd played with since he got out of the army. It was genuinely fascinating, I was just skeptical about how much of it I could believe.

Anyway, welcome back to the neighborhood, right? OK,it's not really my neighborhood, but I'm down there a lot.

In the Thick of it All Again

So, I'm nearing the end of my second week back and things seem crazier than ever. Upon my return, I received notification of a scholarship opportunity sponsored by the State Department. It's for an intense, critical language study program this summer abroad! So, of course I'm applying. Essentially, if I get it, it would mean an 8 week study of Arabic in Cairo starting immediately just before (yes before) the official end of my last quarter at U of C! Whatever I do next year, I have been realizing the need for and really wanting to learn a second language well. This would be a huge opportunity to do that as well as add some beef to my resume'.

With this scholarship application process, requiring multiple essays and academic recommendations from faculty I hardly know, I have been getting into classes as well. After a week-and-a-half of deliberation, I have finally decided (though not yet decidedly registered) on three courses. Arab-Israeli conflict, which will be a very interesting class with a very interesting, and dare I say stereotypical, foreign-accented, Jewish professor (he's great); US National Security Policy, which I have only been to once in four class sessions thus far (I'll get to it); and International Political Economy, a very dreaded and very required course for my program. All of which contribute to three days on campus a week and an already very busy work load.

Meanwhile, my Illinois family has been sick. The boys, Joseph and Joshy contracted a stomach flu and proceeded to give aspects of it to the rest of the household--including a visiting grandmother and great-grandmother (97 years old!!). So, yesterday (Tue.), on what was the day I had planned to complete one of three IPE papers due today already (Wed.), I writhed on my bed in pronounced, gastric pain for most of the day. Fortunately my professor gave me until tomorrow to complete the paper, which is actually essentially done now as I write. However, to accomplish this I decided not to attend the fourth session (and third class that I have now missed) of Security Policy. Also fortunately, I have good class mates that have agreed to give me notes.

My thoughts have also been stressfully consumed with plans for the future as I have been meeting with career counselors and planning to attend career fairs, which I also missed today. I don't know that it means much at the moment, but I am seriously considering pursuing foreign service with the State Department in the next couple of years. We'll see what happens! God Bless!

P.S. Sorry for the long posting. I had a lot to cover.

Back Again

Well, I'm back in Chicago and eager to get into a second quarter at the U of C (classes start Monday). I almost made it from Omaha on a single tank of gas without any stops. I say "almost" because I was about 30 minutes from my home here and my tank was on empty so I was forced to stop and get gas after 417 miles and about 6 straight hours of driving. I thought it was a good challenge. I have my fridge full of groceries, my car emptied, my Chipotle for dinner, and now I can finally hit the sack. It's good to be back.