I wish I could keep up with this!

But

It is the holiday season, and the holidays are no time to exercise restraint.

Cheers.

Life sans car involves a lot of walking. While I was living with my friends, I walked to and from the gym, grocery store, mall, wherever - all my errands were easily accessible. I always wore a backpack so I could have an umbrella on hand (very necessary) and acquire things along the way. I'm also one of those environmental types who feels a lot better about themselves by not using disposable grocery bags. Every time I was at the grocery store and stuffing all my things into my backpack, the self-checkout would beep at me and someone would have to come over and verify that I wasn't stealing. It was always the same man, and I was always semi-embarrassed that I had the same problem every day and couldn't be organized enough to stop the machine from beeping. Me and Mr. Safeway had yet to have a real conversation, but we were definitely on familiar terms.

I haven't been back to that grocery store in awhile because I moved, but I was there today picking up aluminum foil for this dia del accion de gracias - I like the Spanish version, it sounds more active than the English word - and Mr. Safeway was there as well. He was standing very near to me, most likely anticipating some kind of issue, when I heard him say "Ma salaama, habibi," to another man, and then he replied with "inshallah." I got so excited I forgot to think after that. This is the first time I have heard and understood Arabic in a completely natural setting. And in my local grocery store?! How unexpected! What he said wasn't terribly complicated, in fact most people who have traveled to a Middle Eastern country would be able to understand, but it was still incredibly rewarding to be there, to understand, to get feedback on months of studying the language.

The literal translation of what Mr. Safeway said is "Peace be with you, my dear," and "God-willing." These are very common terms of endearment, similar to "Have a good day," and "I hope that what you said actually happens." After I heard him speak, I asked him where he was from (Egypt) and told him I was taking Arabic classes. He pounced on that one! Offered to help me, give me dictionaries, it was . . . amazing. Moments like this - when you find someone who is different than you, been through different things, lived in different places, sees your world with different eyes, and you find a way to connect anyway - are what define "humanity" for me.

There is a certain organization with whom I would really like a job, and although I am fairly certain they do not want to give me one, I don't let minor details like that deter me from going for it. This organization hosts events on a regular basis, but the majority of them are on the evenings I have language classes, so I have not been able to attend them recently. Finally one opened up on an evening I was free, so god almighty, I was going. I got off work later than intended, and then needed to catch a bus from Fremont to Queen Anne. There is no convenient way to do this, and it was my first time making that journey. I had tried to be careful with the planning, but I missed the bus written on my route. I sort of knew where I was going... and my personality on adrenaline has waning amounts of patience. I hopped on the next bus bound for downtown, chatted up the bus driver, and made a Plan B. I easily found the stop with the buses headed for Queen Anne, but I knew one was going to be better than the other. A bus pulled up, I asked the bus driver if he could take me where I wanted to go, and his only reply was that there were two buses going up Queen Anne, and I missed the first, so I better get on this one. That was good enough for me, vamanos!

I pulled out my iPhone and GPS'ed while I was on the bus - it kind of felt like gambling, in the sense that maybe I would get lucky enough to get dropped off in front of my destination, but also maybe not. A few unexpected turns on the map kept the excitement of that going, until I realized I was on the not-as-convenient-route, and I had also ridden past the best point to get off. Luckily it was not raining that night, but it was still very dark, very wet, and very full of leaves. My little ballet flats were no match for the treacherous sidewalks of Queen Anne.

I continued to GPS as I was walking, and the next street to cross over to Queen Anne Ave was not so close. However, I did see some stairs. These stairs, I recognized. Over the summer some friends I decided to do an "urban hike" we read about in a magazine. One of the ones featured was a "workout" hike including as many sets of stairs in Queen Anne as possible. These stairs were EXACTLY the ones in the photo. I decided a little sweat never hurt anyone, so I went for it. I was slightly scared because it was pretty dark, but I figured Queen Anne is a nice neighborhood, and if I kept moving really quickly I would probably be okay. I made it to the top a little sweaty and out of breath, but satisfied. I was now very close to the wine and chocolate tasting, although a little late. I was still moving quickly, GPS in hand, when I finally got my comeuppance for enough rash decisions. I tripped at high speed, iPhone flying into the dark (my greatest of all fears being realized), backpack full of Spanish and Arabic textbooks jostling over my head, and landed on my hands and one knee. I had ripped my leggings, skinned my knee, and both my palms were oozing fat droplets of dark red blood. Oh my, was I embarrassed. I was also 1.5 blocks from the chocolate shop - could I really give up now? My iPhone still functioned. So did I.

I rolled my legwarmers - I will be the first person in 20 years to say thank goodness for legwarmers - over the leggings to at least cover the tatteredness, and went semi-full-speed ahead. I walked in late, frazzled, bleeding, and in hopes of a job. Good plan. The man who worked there was so polished and polite, my embarrassment escalated. He was very friendly though, and got me a first aid kit, and after I was done disinfecting he caught me up with the chocolate discussion and tastings. When it came time to mingle, I was still so frazzled I couldn't really approach anyone, and as a result only creepy older men talked to me, so the job networking was not so much happening.

In the end, I did manage to talk to enough people, including the couple who owned the shop, to still be the last one to leave. The owner asked me to take all the rest of the samples, so I headed out with a bag full of artisan chocolate. My next bus driver had to wait for me to run and catch the bus, and I ended up giving him half my bag of chocolate - mostly because I didn't want to take that much chocolate home anyway, but also to be a friend.

My satisfaction from this experience comes not from the fact that I ended up with a new job, or because I made a lot of valuable connections (neither of these happened), or because I ended up with a ridiculous amount of expensive chocolate. It is because I never gave up. It would have been so easy to go straight home after work, especially since I didn't know the bus route, and the majority of the time I take a new route, I end up in some state of disarray, be it rain, ending up at the terminal, or a skinned knee. It would have been so easy to turn around at any point in my trip - getting on the wrong bus, falling over, while creepy man was giving me his business card. But I was still the last one there.

Ok, time to write again. I was inspired by precisely four things, and since I attended a blogging networking event last week, I am more or less obligated to continue writing. The strongest inspiration is that somehow, (and completely ironically, given that English was by far my worst subject during my years of formal education), I have gotten other writing opportunities because of this blog. The second is that recently I met two lovely ladies who appear to have a genuine zest for life, and spectacular blogs. I'm following both of them, so check our their blogs if you have some extra time. The third reason is that I suppose you could define my current method of income as "sales," and I don't like it. I'm much better at it than I expected, but I don't enjoy it. I don't want to convince anyone to buy anything - I much prefer the idea of living with fewer things. From my personal experience, level of income and number of material possessions are not even remotely correlated with personal happiness. So to help persuade someone that life will be better with said object or experience, is a lie. Time to get back to things I genuinely like doing. And finally, there was a woman on the bus this morning carrying her frozen turkey. I know the big feastival is three days away, but carrying that thing on the bus shows true dedication. How could I not share with everyone this woman's commitment to the cause? I stared at that turkey the whole ride from downtown to Fremont. Riding the bus continues to entertain me - it is being part of a community, and being anonymous at the same time. Alright, I meant to write more, but was distracted by Gchat...what else is new!

Happy holiday travels,
And bring mittens if you intend to carry a turkey any farther than Grocery Store -> Car or Car -> House. Unless you want the Fard staring at you and your fowl for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

I am currently taking a break from blogging, for a couple reasons - the first being that I got really busy and have several things in my life that are requiring a lot of energy (all good things...!) and also because I want to transition this blog to more of a "present-tense," so I think a break will make that easier, rather than attempting to transition in just a few days. In the meantime, I just started writing for Seattle Picks, so you can get a little taste of The Fard there!

Illa likka,

This is probably going to appear very shallow, but remember, it's all relative. And that's my point anyway.

As this disgustingly gloomy day comes to a close, I remember not so fondly how dark Seattle can be all through the winter. The sun shines rarely enough to cause quite a vitamin D deficiency, and on days it does shine, the temperature is low enough to tempt one to stay inside. Thus a number of my photographs before I moved to California involve two delightfully lightly colored Farowich girls and friends. Now everyone is a little older and a little more vain. Nearly every single one of my friends goes tanning. My friends in Seattle go tanning. My friends in New York go tanning. My friends in San Diego go tanning. My Asian friends in both Seattle and San Diego go tanning, too. The general consensus is that people just look better with a "healthy glow."

Fast forward to face wash shopping in China. . . every single bottle includes whitening and bleaching agents. The same goes for body lotions and sunscreens, pretty much anything you might find yourself massaging into your skin. For those of us with already fair skin and trying to make the most of a deep Greek bronze, face wash shopping became a very time intensive activity. NJ needed a steady supply of sunscreen and could not find any. The tiny bottle I brought from home was gone in two days. The face wash we found, but the sunscreen was impossible. For a product that is already supposed to keep your skin from getting darker, why wouldn't you want a bleaching agent in it?! BG knew the Chinese character for white, the lucky man. Furthermore, when we were at West Lake for the first time, the sun was shining pretty brightly, and all the Chinese were carrying parasols and huddling under trees. Blue sky is somewhat of a rarity in China, so this looked slightly preposterous to me, but BG pointed out that it was very typical Chinese. And talking to my Korean friend CK, she told me that she knows girls who have cosmetic surgeries to enhance a light complexion.

Protective parasols and dangerous blue sky

The Chinese girls who worked in the office with me at school were shocked by how dark my skin was when I arrived after being in Greece. They were almost apologetic, as if I had gotten so dark by accident.  Of course I knew that a lot of physical attributes are deemed beautiful by culture and society, but it was never so obvious as now. So much effort being into the changing of skin color, and different cultures are going in different directions! Kind of seems like nonsense. In lieu of this, I going to try to avoid running with the lemmings and visiting the tanning salon this year. Not sure that I will make it, peer pressure and vitamin D deficiency might do me in, but here goes.

First I am going to share something light-hearted and funny, and then I will confess why I like talking to strangers (the sound effects here are of my mother panicking).

In Spanish class last week, my teacher, who is from Barcelona, asked us about the phrase "to be as happy as a clam." Basically she said it was ridiculous, and please do not ever try to say "estoy feliz como un almaje" while in Spain, if you would like to retain your dignity for the night. She asked us how clams could be happy... and no one is sure. One woman thought it was because they formed a sort of smiley face, and I had always thought it was because clams were content to sit in the sand and wait for a destiny of chowder. The version of this saying in Spain is "aburrirse como una ostra." To be as bored as an oyster. That one I can understand; if I was an oyster, I would indeed be bored, while the thought of waiting to become center stage at Ivar's doesn't quite do it for me. All in all though, I'm not in the habit of comparing my emotions to that of a shellfish!

Speaking of Spanish, it's different in Argentina. They use the vos form, which I never figured out even though I was there for a month. There is also a heavy Italian influence on the language there, so some common words like calle and pollo are pronounced differently. More or less, if you've been studying Spain Spanish or Latin American Spanish, you're going to have issues in Argentina. The other thing you can have a lot of issues with is trying to maintain an already rocky relationship via Skype with six hours time difference. Bueno suerte. And if you figure it out, let me know because I couldn't do it. Two weeks into my four-week trip to Buenos Aires, I was newly single and keeping things together fairly well considering the decision was mostly not mine. I also suggest avoiding the Skype break-up... it is really not sufficient in any way, shape, or form. Either way, it happened, and I am here flexing my heart muscles to show off my acquired strength.

By the end of the trip, I was exhausted from trying and failing to speak Spanish everywhere we went. Trying to think every single one of your thoughts in a foreign language, conjugate your verbs, roll your r's, or try to find something in the store you can point to, is hard work. On top of that, RW and I had stayed past the end of our class and rented an apartment in Palermo, but she left for the States two days before me. I know two days sounds like it should be nothing, but that was the most intense feeling of loneliness I have ever been through. No American friends left. No idea what the boyfriend was doing. Way too tired to explore and talk to people (hugely as a result of the first two).

A few weeks ago, I was at the International District bus station, and a small Asian woman came up to me with questions about her bus. It took me forever to figure out that she needed to get on the train to Tukwila, but she was so happy that I was patient, listened, and looked at the map with her. From the experience I just mentioned, I know I would be equally happy to be in her shoes. It's just nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.

Sidenote: Do not trust the South American mail system. Both RW and I arrived in BsAs with boyfriends, and immediately decided to send postcards to them, our roommates, and our families, covered with "I miss you!'s" Both RW and I left Argentina single. We were there in January. The postcards arrived in April. Que verguenza.