Writing My Life Story

I walked in the double glass doors of the cafeteria and headed for the trays and silverware. Generous portions of thick fried noodles, fluffy white steamed rice, oily green beans, and sweet and sour tofu were ladled onto a plastic plate. A tug of sadness tinged my thoughts as I realized this would be the last time I came through line, ready for another $5 meal. As I headed to the pastries to pick up a slice of pie or two for Sabbath's dessert, thoughts jostled and elbowed to express themselves. After I pulled a pale pink cafeteria chair up to one of the thirty look-alike cafeteria tables, the thoughts began to coalesce.

We are each writing a book of our lives. Each of us chooses what to write in that book and when to start a new chapter. We hold the pen poised each morning as we faced with a clean white sheet that waits for us to continue the story. Will we follow a predictable story line or will there be unexpected twists and turns around the corner? Will today be one where an exciting change is clearly seen in us or will we be predictably dull? Will we laugh uncontrollably or cry inconsolably? Who will we declare our forever love to and who will be crossed out of our books with thick black ink? Will we be satisfied with the experiences scribed on the page at the end of a long day or will we wish it were not indelible ink and we could erase a section here, delete a section there?

R.D. Cumming said, "A good book has no ending."

Life is filled with letting-go-moments. . .another one approaches. . .

A feeling of nostalgia overtakes as I realize that today is the last day of everything. Six weeks seemed like forever when I first came, now I wonder where the days flew to, they weren’t supposed to go so fast. Good friends, acquaintances, and memories march across my mind, obliterating the down times, those times I wanted to go home. A week ago, two weeks ago, I vowed I would never return, now I am planning what I’ll bring with me next summer, anticipating reunions, new experiences, and returning to old haunts. I still remember that first day, half an hour late, a sea of strange faces staring back at me while I struggled to one of the ivory and metal desk-chairs, plugged my laptop in to an outlet, opened up a new Word document, and began to type. Completely out of my comfort zone, surrounded by unknown people, unsure how to handle uncertainty, I soon learned that regardless of where I am, I have the capability to adapt and that the place will quickly become my home. Strangely, this campus, with its people, has grown close to my heart.

I remember discovering Dexter Drumlin, hiking barefoot through marshy grasses, reveling in the freedom to be close to nature. The constant uncommon summer rains kept the humidity at bay that first month while spectacular thunder and lightning shows illuminated my nights, awakening reminiscence of a happy childhood, running barefoot through warm African rain. Lunchtime was a looked-forward-to event of the day, when friendly servers smiled as food that I didn’t have to cook was ladled onto a plastic plate, along with the daily fresh salad in a plastic clamshell.

I soon made friends with my roommate who enjoyed quiet as much as I did, stayed up late, and liked her own space. Joan set up her “office” in the lobby where an overstuffed couch served double duty as a comfy place to nap while I took up residence on my bed where I watched movies online by the hour. On the first day, Heidi caught my attention, a thirty-something Bermudian with a zest for life, an infectious laugh, strong opinions based on personal experiences, an amazing ability to read people, and a sarcastic wit that complimented mine. We had signed up for the same classes and suffered and sighed our way through the homework together, moaning and groaning when extra papers were assigned, relieved when the teacher forgot to bring a key handout to class, and laughing at the idiosyncrasies of our classmates. Sarai, her eight-year old daughter, and I bought identical Wacky Bears, played X and O’s and giggled together. “I like you,” she said one afternoon, as she smiled up in childlike innocence.

One weekend I splurged on a rental car that came with complimentary GPS and the four of us set off through jungles of highways to experience Massachusetts as summer tourists. More exhausting than classes, we packed three days with ferries, islands, tours, and the coast, returning late at night. Unexpected trips to the mall with Rosemary, another classmate, meant I could treat myself to a meal that wasn’t Richard’s fake-meat Loaf or rice with diced veggies from a can. Panera Bread’s sourdough baguette and vegetable minestrone soup became a favourite meal and I stuffed myself silly on boiled eggs, kidney beans, green olives and Thousand Island dressing from Chuck E Cheese’s fresh salad bar.

Hours of bioethical theory filtered through endless games of Solitaire, Minesweeper, Freecell, and Inkball. Break time meant trips to the snack shop where 35 cent mini bags of chips and 10 cent chocolates kept me awake for the final couple of hours and my stomach from grumbling at a scanty hurried breakfast. If I was feeling particularly hungry, I would hurry to the vending machine in the science lab where I would splurge 90 cents on a Reese’s Whipps.

There were the challenging moments that stretched my patience spider-web thin. An unexpected late-July rain sprung open millions of mosquito eggs and clouds hovered in our classroom while vicious females danced and dived, biting on top of still-fresh raised welts. The humidity soared over 90 percent and I resorted to a frozen water bottle to distract me from the thick heavy air. Sleepless nights blurred into each other as I stayed up till after midnight, hoping sheer exhaustion would make me unconscious sooner but to no avail. Class hours were spent in pointless discussions and my mind ached to be challenged academically. I struggled to learn how to work with different personalities and missed the friendly Californian culture. I wanted to go home countless times, yet knew I could not let myself down by refusing to “stick it out.” So I stayed and I learned how to wait for the next day or the next week to bring new experiences.

Life is a tapestry, they say, woven in time. Each memory unites discordant notes, pure melodies, strong chords, sweet tunes, and soul-stirring songs that weave themselves into a harmony of life. Today, as I contemplate the knowledge learned, the moments experienced, the friends formed, and the inner strength discovered, I do not see the difficult times. . .I see the beauty.

Friday's Freedom

I sit on my roomie's bare mattress, facing a single window out which I can see a dreary Friday afternoon whose drizzle, thankfully, has reduced the heat and humidity to a pleasant temperature, a gentle farewell as I prepare to leave in 36 hours. As Trey Lorenz keeps me company on Pandora, I take a deep breath and let all the air out along with weeks of stress, uncertainties, late nights, and loneliness. In two days I'll be home!!!

I don't know what to do with myself with all this free time! I do know what I should be doing, which includes packing, vacuuming, doing some last minute spot cleaning, and maybe watching a movie or two. Maybe I'll even take a little nap! I've got a long list, as usual.

But for now, I relish the hours that stretch deliciously long. . .and smile. . .

Sleepless Nights

Last nite I tried a trick suggested to me by my very brilliant sister, Rachel and stuck a juice bottle into the freezer for several hours. After hanging out in the library till the very last minute, and then taking up residence on a couch in the downstairs lobby where a mosquito or two danced about but the air conditioning still kept me cool enough to think, I finally retrieved my now-frozen bottle and headed up to my perpetual sauna of a room. My roomie was fast asleep with the door wide open and the humidity poured out like a tidal wave, reassuring me that it would be yet another eternal night. Unfortunately the hallway lights are controlled by a central switch and are never ever turned off, and I can only sleep if it's completely dark, so I shut the door on what little cross-wind we could hope to catch and braced myself for the wakefulness that awaited me. Ever the worrywart, I didn't dare to fall asleep clutching the bit of Antarctica that I cradled in my arms, afraid that I would end up with frostbite or a patch of black skin on my arm. But I learned that if you hold a frozen bottle milimeters away from your face, it will actually create a sort of vacuum so that it feels like a tiny spot of airconditioning. It did help (and I'll be freezing two bottles tonight, maybe I should just pack my bed with frozen water bottles!!!) and thankfully I have only 2 and 1/2 nights left. Half a night because Saturday evening I have to be up by 2 am to get to the airport on time. Well, we can look at the bright side of matters: I'm getting adjusted back to Cali time by going to bed around midnight or later every night!

boston in the summer

I wrote this poem around midnight last night as I was trying desperately to sleep and despairing that it would ever be cool enough to drop off. . .I'm actually not in Boston but it works with the rhyme better.

I think I know what hell is like
'cuz I've been there & I've been back
to Boston in the summer

Humidity is never low
though thunderstorms may come & go
in Boston in the summer

The East Coast is sure welcoming
as clouds of mosquitoes blow right in
to Boston in the summer

At night the lightning strikes around
as rain pours and pelts the ground
in Boston in the summer

A California girl I'll always be
and swear I'll never ever leave
for Boston in the summer

(c) maria Lombart, 7.28.09

It's 11:35 pm and I'm still up. . .

I've nicknamed the back stairs in the women's dorm "Skunk Hall" cuz I'm pretty sure we have a resident skunk who loves to liberally spread his perfume on a regular basis! We won our debate today. . .against the sale of live-kidneys being legalized. I realized quickly, though, that everything about a debate goes against my core personality. I am a peacemaker, and a debate centers around rebuttals and arguments and trying to prove the other side wrong, and I have spent my whole life around trying to make people feel like they are right! So I was highly uncomfortable during the debate, and we still have one to go. It'll soon be over though! I just hope this humidity is over soon too. I'm almost ready to go and curl up in the hallway. . .it's cooler than in here!

It's Tuesday (but why can't it be Thursday?)

I can't study. I have one position paper, one book review paper, 10 pages of reading, preparation for yet another debate, and my final bioethical term paper to do. Preferably all to be done today. And it's 3:15 pm and I'm trying to study but two long-lost friends are catching up on all their life-stories from the last 55 years about 20 feet away, and they're not using their "library voices" which is rather distracting to say the least! But at least I'm in a nice cool place, so I should try to focus on the topic of pro-life and stop surfing fun vegan blogs and finish everything so I can enjoy The Batchelorette finale tonight!