my noes is a bit stuffy

There is some kind of sticky sickness running through my veins , not the physical kind but the emotional...although my nose is a bit stuffy. Parts of it are to naked to reveal to an audience but I assure you its a far deeper feeling than simply missing being home, that's almost become the easy part. I can't even say it is even being here, but something dark has been festering in my chest lately. Now I continue to fill my days with picnic park trips of wine and cheese but this side of me is rarely far from surface. I suppose as i engulf myself in debates of human rights i realise all that I myself am entitled to them as well. It is behind these words that my anger truly lies. I have the right to be respected, to be treated fairly, to be cared for and to receive help when I need it. The black smoke coughs out these demands in irrational fits and watching myself act this way usually makes me cry. You can only do so much before your exhausted, only try so hard before you give up and only forgive so many times before the apologies just lose meaning. If this is what they meant by "finding yourself" then I'm afraid of what I'll turn into. Your talking to someone but can hardly hear them because your head is screaming to loud. In tsunami's these feelings and insecurities come crashing on your shore where they are held by levies because honestly, who the fuck in Geneva gives a shit? Whats funny is this is why I haven't wrote in a while, I was afraid that all these toxins would come spewing out and had not wanted to infect you.

once all of humanity becomes my family

below is the essay i submitted to AmeriCorps with my application. I had to answer what my motivation was for wanting to work with them. Tell me what you think!!



It was not until my second year of college did I know that my life would be committed to helping others. Like clay, there are many facets that shaped me into the person I am today. One of which is my sensitivity to those around me. I have always been known as a sensitive person so leaving my Human Rights class in tears was not anything new. Many would see this sensitivity to emotion as a burden but I truly believe it is my greatest gift. It is the ability to empathies that deepened my need to use the resources I have been given to help those around me. By resources I do not mean I am greatly wealthy, far from it actually. I was raised by a single mother with five siblings; I know what it means to struggle. I knew that I had far more than most, even with what seemed like so little. With the love and support of that large family I pursued my passions and even earned a degree along the way. Their help was necessary and without them I know I would not be shinning as brightly as I do today. Now with hands full of knowledge and ambition how could I thank all the people who made this position possible? Not just my family who does it out of love, but what about the women at churches who gave my mother food for us to eat, or teachers who filled me with the passions that ignited them, or even the friends who simply believed in me what would be enough to thank them. The only thing that could come close to reciprocity would be to do my best to stop a child from going hungry, to share my passions with another or to believe in someone who truly needs it and even then the scale is forever tipped. At the ripe age of twenty two I face a world that is drowning in its own mess. I am not blind to the atrocities that exist in the world and within our own country. I know that these issues are bigger than me, that they span centuries and reach corners of the world I will never touch. This is why I cannot see a more necessary role than that of philanthropy. It is with the sensitivity that in every little girls face I see my own, in the tired eyes of a struggling mother I see the wrinkles of mine. Once all of humanity becomes my family what other option do I really have then to try with all my power to make their lives more beautiful. For how I see it they already have for me so it’s the least I can do.

electric veins

I have a strange and unexplainable love for a five hundred foot tall fountain. Now I'm not one to obsess over landmarks but my care for the Jet d'eau crept on me like Indian summer. I look for it when positioning myself with direction. Part of my love is for the stability it brings me in knowing my location. My internal compass, passed down from my mother that grew stronger with several cross country trips, can rest once my eyes find it peaking over building tops. But the other part is just a regular old irrational love for a Jet, normal right? They built it as a safety value for the city's water, and after realizing how majestic it was kept it around, how Swiss of them. In a classic case of you-don't-know-what-you've-got-till-its gone one day while heading home from work it simply wasn't there. In anunnecessary wave of panic I convinced myself that it would never turn back on, that the signifying tower over the city had disappeared like a lady in a magic show. I learned that they turn it off if it gets to windy which was probably the case, but the point is that I missed it, more than I thought I would. I now smile when I notice it giving it the appreciation it deserves, and even speculate what it would be like to stand under it. When today followed in its familiar pattern of work and dinner, I had no idea what my Jet had in store for me. The gang, after being cooped up in hum drum office work went for a walk around the neighbourhood. In search of cheap dessert we headed to the Pier that is lined with cheap ice cream stands. " un glace du Rose, si vous plait" I ordered comfortably....Rose flavored ice cream, I had to investigate. Now at first it was what I imagined eating a bottle of perfume would be like but after a few licks it grew on me, and i ended up enjoying my strange treat. Heading back towards our home along the Pier we were coming up on the Jet' d'eau when Alex (who usually bugs me as I would imagine an annoying little brother would) had the idea to walk up the stony path that takes you out to the Jet. Well he didn't have to talk me into it to much as we headed towards it. It was dusk and the lake effect wind was picking up, making the Jet spray shift and wave as if it were dancing. Alex clomped right up to the massive shoot of water but as I approached it my heart jumped into my throat. The few times I convinced myself that the wind would shift a bit to much resulting in certain death and I turned and ran. The spray covered the remains of my ice cream and soaked me as well. With cone in hand I build my courage and squealed as I run next to it. My heart is beating so loud in my ears I hardly hear that my scream turned into a laugh and my furrowed brow was now smiling. Pumped with adrenaline and covered in my Jets version of a hug I can feel the city soak into my skin. The Geneva that I admired from afar has been absorbed by my pores. Some time during this adventure without realizing it I went from clenching to smiling. Regardless of how I'm feeling at any individual moment the tsunamis of emotion both good and bad gives me electric veins and I have never felt more alive.

the happiest sadness

At the midnight on Thursday I told a man dressed as a pirate it was my birthday, apparently it was my nautical friends as well. We cheers it with tequila, who know maybe he patroles the southern waters. Either way the Spring Brothers pub enabled yet another night of debauchery. A new face is added to our trio, Jake is a Georgia boy who headed north for Ohio State University. His 6'6" stature is softened by southern colloquials like "well who's gunna do that you and the frog in your pocket?" ...frog in your pocket, now I've heard a number of Dixie statements from my good friend Leah who's taught me oddities like mud boggin and mean muggin but this one is down right silly. Either way he meshed well into our tripod and by the end of the night we all clopped home arm in arm, him proclaiming that this was going to be a great semester, I agreed. I woke up early with that Christmas excitement of it being my birthday, and woke up the gang. Jake had left early for a weekend in Berlin and Alex was drained from the night before leaving Caitlin and I to head out for La rue est vous (the streets are yours) an annual street festival where everyone in the neighbourhood sets up shop. There are allot of clothes bags and shoes but also home cooked food stands, dj's playing techno, accordions and children kicking soccer balls. When combining my love for garage sales with street fairs you have the equation for a perfect day, an amazing birthday. I ate nutella cake that was phenomenal. "Now how many people can say they have eaten nutella cake on there birthday." Caitlin joked "No one I know" I respond with a smile and a sip of espresso. We play around with old women's glasses, sort through dusty jewelry and dig thought plies of clothing and I wonder when someone will pinch me and I'll wake up from this fantasy where no one speaks my language. Sometimes its nice to not understand anyone, you can imagine that there flowing words are discussing beautiful things, like art or philosophy. The chime of strange sounds makes the whole place seem magical. When I do hear American accents it sounds a bit startling to my ears, like when you take a sip of water and expect it to be Orange Juice and you brain needs a moment to register what has happened. With our new treasures of sunglasses and jewelery boxes we tram home to grab Alex and head out to dinner. we find a small cute place with white linen table cloths and a huge wine list. Our charming waiter is uneasy with his English and often closes his eyes to remember words. "ughhh how you say for this?" he eventually gives up and points to my napkin. We tell him and he repeats in a few times storing it to memory. On his recommendation and the place being out of duck I enjoy a beautiful steak smothered in mushroom, the best scalloped potatoes I have ever had, green beans and a glass of Swiss wine....Happy Birthday to me. We wander around Geneve in search of dessert. Now in the city of chocolate you would think we wouldn't be able to swing a cat without hitting one, but it was close to eleven and this city was singing itself to sleep. We stop at a late night pastry stand where the women/ baker hands me an apple turnover still warm from the oven. Now some how from getting on the tram to getting off at our stop a valve must have broke in the sky because our walk back to our home was a soaking wet one. Any attempts at covering your self were futile so laughing was my only option that and the occasional "you've got to be kidding me". Maybe its from living in Michigan but there is something about changing into dry clothes that will always remind me of home. Its that perfect mix of dryness and warmth. Now for a day and night nothing short of perfection parts of me ached to be around... my people. To find out what throughout present Carla had come up with, or to smile while Viki takes extra care to make sure the day goes perfectly. Today reminded me that birthdays are beautiful reminders of the people who love you. Even in the most charming of things in the most elegant of places are just things in places with out hugs from Jon or cupcakes from Belinda. Home sickness always rears its ugly head in the strangest of places, in Mali it was with a bunch of expats while eating tacos around a pool and I suppose here it was my birthday. I know that these three months will zoom by in what will seem like a whirl of memory's all to soon. I promise to remember my birthday in Switzerland as I have it here because the happiest sadness is missing those you love.

rookie moves (part 2)

Round two. This time I showered at an appropriate time and decided that today was the day that the action would happen. For some reason the term "general debate" had me imagining country's yelling across desks with accusations of the atrocities they allow on their citizens. (Rookie move) I learned quickly that general debate actually means the High Commissioner making a statement about important types of human rights problems and then 50 or so country's tell her that they wholly agree with everything she said. But seriously give me a freakin break, wheres the justice? where's the truth? I have sadly yet to see it. But when my ears perked up at the mention of my own country I heard them say something that few others did. " Laws without implementation are just words so we can sit around and keep talking of rights or we can make something of them." Although I can feel the Uncle Sam sentiments all over that statement it felt good that someone had finally after 40 sum country's called a spade... a spade. This is of course unless the people violating the rights are the US government I learned. The statements made about prisoner withholding, torture and Guantanamo didn't even get mentioned within their 3 minute statement although they were directly addressed by the President of the commission. Funny how that works. After an over priced lunch and a San Pellegrino we headed to a lecture being given by the smartest man I think I will ever hear speak. As we walked into yet another grand hall filled with semi-circle seating we were told it was an open event and we could sit where ever we pleased. Well, like kids in candy shop Caitlin and I ran to any country's seat in an attempt to feel really important and plopped down at Estate- Unis (USA) and Ethiopia extactic for the photo opportunity. We were still giggling from excitement when the actual Ethiopian delegates standing behind us, ask if we will be speaking on there behalf (joking thankfully). We both turn beet red and apologised repeatedly for our silly mistake. We joke for a minute about what we would say if asked anything I tell them "no comment no comment"we blush some more, slowly exit there seats, and gossip about it until the lecture starts. The lecturer is Jeffery Sacks, now I won't go into his background of extensive academe but trust me on this one, the man knows his shit. He talked about the climate crisis and as he spoke the knot in my stomach festered. There is nothing more terrifying than a Harvard Professor telling you literally that your world is going to end. A speech that had intended on motivating governments left me feeling helpless and tiny in a world full of garbage and smog. Way to end the day right. As always in this fiction novel of a life of mine it was raining when we exited the United Nations. Down the grand exit lined by the flags of the world I tried to imagine what it would be like if there was a way all the nations could function together ...peacefully. I could hear a soft spoken voice inside my head " Sleep on it Heidi, you've had enough for today." I agreed it probably was right.

waking up a New York lawyer (part 1)

I wonder sometimes how anything at all gets done at the United Nations. I'm sure two days is not an accurate representation of the amount of work is actually accomplished but from what I've seen the red tape is so thick I spend most of my day weeding through it and my nights trying to unstick myself from the bureaucracy. The day of the Human Rights Council periodic review I was so pumped to see the action that I could not sleep. I literally woke up at 2:30 in the morning and in my hazy sleep state convinced myself it was morning and proceeded to take a shower. It wasn't until mid conditioner did I realize that the twisted thoughts I was having were false. The clock was not on Michigan time like I had convinced myself, not even close to it. So I went back to bed and eventually did wake up and headed to the UN. My stomach started doing back flips when I got my security pass, the guard made terrorism jokes about my last name ( which I never really know how to react to) and the fluttering didn't stop until I found my seat in the NGO section of the room. A place I feel very much at home. The meeting was scheduled at ten but when eleven thirty rolled around we were all getting a bit fidgety. Word spread around our area that Honduras who a few months ago under went a military coup had both old and new government delegates there to represent them....drama. Somehow they both arrived and no one quite knew what to do with them or who legally would represent the country. The Gevneven section of the UN cant sneeze without consulting New York who as we all know is six hours behind and was not answering calls at 4 in the morning. I'm secretly glad I didn't have to be the polite Swiss waking up a New York lawyer at the time, oye. The meeting that we had planned to attend until two started at one. Deflated as a balloon Caitlin, my fellow intern and I walked back in our fancy outfits to our work incredibly disappointed. "Tomorrow will be better" Caitlin trys to cheer us both up with her ever present optimism and at the time I don't much believe her, but ..as it turns out she was right.

"NATO?"

Last night at a British style pub called the spring brothers, the fellow Spartans I went out with were arguing with a 17 year old while I was being dazzled by their slightly older friend from Sweden. Although he ranted mostly about flying UK jets and his excitement of being in the British Army, I paid more attention to his arm around me and the hand that kept nudging me closer. Pretending to care about G force was the least I could do. Freddy although didn't seem to mind my nationality was rather annoyed that his name appeared on a list that one day may go to Afghanistan, "why does me from some shit country have to risk my life for your war." After reminding him that it was not my war and that Sweden wasn't a shit country. "NATO?" I responded in a joking about a non-joking matter kind of way. I could hear the baby Aussie making himself feel better by making fun of my American friends. "Who's the President of Australia?," or "Whys your drinking age so high?" was the best he could summit up for insults. Breaking away from the powder blue eyes of my new friend, I asked why they were fighting with a child, a comment the rude one did not take much liking to. Our strange post-bar street conversation ended after the yougnin offended a touch to far. I think it was a whip at Obama that put my friends over the edge, but who knows really. As our group went one way and Freddy's another he grabs my hand, kissed me and wished me goodnight on the cobblestone narrow street of old town. It wasn't until this morning on my ride down to the Saturday market did I realize with contentment that I'd probably never see him again, I had a fun night. Now this market is some bizzar mix of street fair and fruit stands. With nutella filled Churro in hand I watched a gypsy dance alone to a Peruvian flute band while eating yogurt, and a girl play a drum set in a jail outfit equipped with hand cuffs, a noose and bunny ears. (seriously) Maybe my mind was to busy processing and absorbing to realize that a massive amount of warm nutella had relocated itself onto my beige cardigan. Classic move for me really. I used one of the many beautiful fountains and attempted to wash it off to no avail and figured my choco stain was my Q to head home. The tram zoomed me away.

that Versace could feed a family.

The pidgins here fly so close to your head that i duck every time it happens. No one else dodges them, only me and today in the park I saw one with only one foot. Strange. I sat amongst the view of the city with the mountains standing proud behind it and read documents that will be presented at the United Nations Human Rights Council Universal Periodic Review and I will attend Monday Morning. That's UN talk for huge meetings held to address individual nations problems in relation to human rights. Experts present findings, the governments deny them and the UN draws a line somewhere in the middle and makes demands. It's challenging to read about the world food crisis in a city that is chocolate scented, or about child solders while a group of eight year olds play a soccer behind you. Detachment sure comes easy. It seems strange in a city where I see window displays of shoes that cost more than my whole wardrobe, the largest number of NGO's hold office. It is actually kind of disgusting that a man in an overpriced suit at a board meeting decides what is best for the people a whole world a way, like he knows...like any of us know. We wonder why attempts at development have failed Wonder why there is food crisis at all or why some little boys laugh and play soccer whille others are forced to kill . I bet that Versace watch could feed a family. My lens is changed since going to Mali and am glad I went there first. One night it was pouring rain and a group of us dodged into a cab to escape it. We joked and tried to talk to the cab driver until we came to a red light. Just outside of my window, soaked to the bone was a boy holding his hand out. He was crying a hard steady cry that was visible through the downpour. I think i actually felt my heart hit the floor, and crumble right there in that taxi. We zoomed away in the vigorous Bamako traffic and he stayed there, hand still out, face still wet with a mix of tears and monsoon. The air of the cab completely changed it now was saturated with a mix of guilt, saddness and shame. Maybe this type of memory is what makes me bitter on my rides to work. How can life be so functional one place and so shattered in another? Although I feel myself indulging in this atmosphere the image of that boy is forever burned into my eyes. I will do my best to hold onto what I belive is truth by reading in the park next to a one legged pidgin.

then I can too.

"Lady's... we need a sexy title" E burst through the door saying at nine this morning. "All night I think of something that will wow everyone and I wake at tttthree in the morning and know this" ( yes she roles all her t's and r's). My excentric boss is talking about our latest project for human rights and responsiblity that she belives is in dire need or some curb appeal. When a women close to 60 is shaken awake by her own motivation it's clear that the passion and commitment will wow everyone far before any sexy title, but she'll never know that. Her grey Boufant hair, African jewlery and signature hot pink scarf will stay in place during her fast paced walk to change. She will accuse every religious person working within another organization as being a planted spy but remind you (and herself) that you must be tolerant of everyone. "M-O-R-M-A-N" she mouths to me this morning during a council meeting ... just in case I was wondering I suppose. Her hard feminism has distorted religion into a patriarchal game of supression and power that she wants nothing to do with. "Maybe buddahism, because there god is kindness, but still I dont know" she will ponder on one of her many, many spoutings. It refreshing, to periodically get breaks from research or report summary's to listen to the guiser of knowledge. How or why she ends up talking about the importance of covering yourself from the sand storms in Kuwait, or how the media feds us spoonfull's of garbage and we all gladly ask for second helpings I may never know. "the three s's is all people care about ...sex scandle and sport" shes now told me twice, each time with equal enthusiasm .I'll smile and agree and act like a sponge because I know enough to listen to this women, and listen well. I have someone now who really understands the heat within my chest that refuses to accept this world for its current ways. I can see it behind her eyes. But I also see the saddness, "ttthe women's movement does not have the strenght behind it anymore, and people are worn down pushing the same issues" she'll shake her head and whisper. Following always with the inspiration "and is why we need a sexy title to rrrejuvinate the women of the 21st century into action!" We both know that far greater strides need to be taken to shife the gears of movtivation but today this is the step that will make us that much closer. If I learned anything in Rome aside from always watch for tram rails it's that it was not built in a day. A few years ago I was at some random party, some equally random guy was talking to me about my carrer choices. " This world is going to crush you, darlin" was his snide comment. My responce to Mr. know's everything was that even if that may be... I will keep doing everything I can, even when I'm flattened. I knew this his pessimism had some truth behind it, that the obstical's to achive goal's are high especially in reguards to human rights but if E can wake up every morning and sometimes in the middle of the night with that amount of drive, then I can too. It's during the hardest times in life, when swimming up stream becomes the norm that reminders like E land in front of you like a floating feather. Reminding you that the way your headed is totally worth the stride.

espresso

Being trapped in an old nun's convent does have its bonuses. For someone with a head cold in the era of H1N1 I feel a connection with the Europeans century's ago infected with black death. The white walls of my room are becoming smaller and most of my interactions come from hearing what the birds have to say outside my window. Yet I understand the birds song's as well as anyone else who's speaking around me. Both have a rhythmic and charming tone about them, their languages flow with a delicacy that makes listening without understanding a pleasant treat. My small ventures to the quaint pharmacy and market are enchanting but even the short journey's leave me tired and wanting to return to the soft white bed I left only a half hour ago. My mind will always surpass my body under endurance tests, but part of that overexerted brain is thankfull that everything else sat down on the curb and gave that ego of mine the finger. I missed a tour and a boat ride...whatever. Those building will be there next weekend reminds my aching shoulders. What I did not miss was yet another meeting of unlikely characters, and surly that is the only sort that I attract. Drenched in fever I slowly bring myself to the community kitchen in desperate search of the first food I've eaten in hours. My exhausted hands fight with the key to the stubborn pantry, hearing my pitiful whines the man about my age holds out his hand in a gesture of help. He pushes his overgrown hair out of his face and I notice that it matches the color of his deep set and over sized eyes, espresso. His near translucent skin outlines his strange yet alluring features. Before I'm finished staring at what can only be some sort of french vampire, he yanks at the lock and the stupid thing finally opens, well sort of. He pulls the door clean off the hinges, now before this moment I used a combination of shy gestures and basic french to communicate, well in mild panic I forgot all about that. In shocked English i rant "oh my god, oh my god, oh no this is bad.. shit shit.. its not you fault..." he interrupts my freak out with french that could stop a volcano from erupting, and did. Now i couldn't repeat what he said of course but I understood the intention, "call the reception you spaz." I turn to do so and thank him because hey he did get the door open, he waves me off with his dark stare that I'm coming rather fond of. Tonight I return to the same kitchen feeling far less like a leper than the day before and sure enough Mr. porcelain is down there with what I assume is his mother father and little sister. He's joking with her about her pronunciation of french vocabulary and I'm thinking how that same work sheet could probably help me a lot. I make the snitzchel I bought earlier at the market and eat alone in the dinning room. A french dubbed version of desperate housewives has everyone in the room laughing, except me of course, to me its faces I know and words that I don't so I face my back to the television. They all slowly leave the dining room and I clean the mess from dinner. I walk back to my room and with each step my head pounds hard enough to make me squint, but as i reach the staircase I realize someone is standing there. Half a flight up the stairs sure enough dark eyes is there and as I climb closer he starts walking, as if he had always been. I want to think he was waiting for me. We turn down the same corridor, he reaches his door and fumbles with his keys. As I pass he turns his chin towards me and with the first smile I've seen come from his face quietly tells me, " bon soir", I say it back to him but I'm sure it lacks the elegance. I can't help but smile and look down as I walk into my white cave, my sterile jail cell but also my home that I have become rather close with.

we didn't start the fire.

In cold and rainy Geneva somehow I am more hot than in Rome. I woke up this morning at dawn before my alarm sounded and felt like the hotel's cat Ingram had scratched down my throat but there are times in life when you just need to keep going and surly this was one of them. I strung the carry on over my shoulder and wheeled the jam packed black roller over cobble stone. Rushing between moto's and smart cars the damn thing fell over at least four times. The last of which i actually smacked the homeless man who tyred to help me under conditions of me giving him euros in exchange. I actually smacked his hand. Arriving at the train station I cheers Roma with my final cappuccino that soothes me for only a moment. Then the lugging continues from here to there, then back , the again all the while my cough slams all my muscles into a pounding headache. i just have to mention that my body temperature right now must be through the roof, now I don't have a thermometer but I know a thing or two about constant chills while sweating,but i digress. Some how by means im not sure of still, Heidi is actually in the Alps. I suppose some kind of divine Cosmo's that make things particularly challenging for me said "hey lets see how she holds up in the rain". Oh and i don't mean a Sunday afternoon drizzle.... a drenching, all out attack of down pour making me resemble I assume a soggy, tired puppy. "keep going" perseverance tells me through stern clenched teeth. I leave the train from the airport behind me, the train that i arrived on by by pure chance and enter the shit ton (that really is the best word to describe it) of bus stops all headed in every which direction. I walk around what feels like a hopeless search, and then i see it, number 27, its pulling away and cuts a turn. I sprint, now with my record of injury's one would think running, in the rain with about 60 lbs of luggage would be by demise but some how i make it. Call it chance, fate or just luck but a bus is stuck in front of it blocking all intersections from moving . I knock on the door feverishly and give my best smile, a smiling soggy puppy and the bus driver grunting in french lets me on, my big break. "final leg" optimism chimes in my head. " You've made it this far". Dragging my luggage up the dirt road I can see through rain soaked eyes le cenacle, my home for the next three months. that quarter of a mile walk was a cheesy Sylvester Stalone movie where at the very end of x he collapses at y but finished with dignity or whatever. the soundtrack to Jurassic park chimes in as i carry my bag up the marble steps. Yet somehow completely soaked , sicker than when i started and beaten to the bone, i close my door behind me, dig out my ipod, and dance to billy Joel's we didn't start the fire, like it was going out of style. Well, dancing to billy Joel has totally gone out of style but that didn't matter much at all to me at that point. At the heathrow airport just over a week ago today, I was at this very same breaking point where you can cry or laugh, collapse or dance, give up or keep going. In London i cut a rug and laughed out loud alone in a bathroom, I actually did that. I've been told that I have a knack for making other people feel better, I never thought that the same silly crap I pull on others would work on myself, but hey it did and sure enough the rain eventually stopped

wasabi fears.

something about the pasta carbonara and the jumpy bus ride over cobble stone that made me nervous for what is ahead of me. "You always say you are nervous." Xavior bluntly tells me a few days ago. Since then, every time I say it in his presence he snickers and rolls his eyes in a french reminder to relax. He was right, I do say it quite a bit. Here I always thought of myself as the calm easy going type, like a cat in the summer, not a dog facing a vacuum. In honor of him I was use another adjective... ... ... I'm afraid. Now that was hard to admit. As Rome slowly closes part of me wants to believe the plane I am getting on tomorrow will take me back to the states, its that part that is afraid that three months is just...to ...long. My romantic idea's of travel usually keep these fears at bay. I think that bumpy ride home knocked them out of there normal hiding place and into the back of my throat. It screams for recognition and snicker's that I can't really be doing this, that I am just not strong enough. But that is only part of me, an intense part but a small one. It's like wasabi, a short burst of overwhelming heat that passes before it has a chance to really burn.
There's no stopping now, the roller coaster had started and it's far to late to get off the ride. What else can I really do but enjoy it? Even when your stomach jumps into your mouth and all you can do is scream for relief, soon like all things ,that feeling will pass and you'll be laughing while you whirl around another corner. I suppose it is always the unknown that is scary but Albert Einstein said that "the most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious", and i think he knew a thing or two. So maybe it's the length of Geneva, maybe its the new place, guess I'll figure that one out later, because even for only one more day I still have Rome, and I like that a lot. Roma means one who wanders, a gypsy, who knows maybe that's what brought me here to begin with. I think I've earned my Italian stiletto's, its time for those now...