Crossing Paths

I remember, when I was about 16, my cousin and I were driving into the valley to pick up her kids from a weekend camping trip, when ran into a man at Starbucks who was clearly interested in my cousin. 

"Was he looking at me?" she questioned. 

"He definitely was!" I said.

Always the hopeless romantic, I asked her why she didn't just say hi. He obviously wanted to talk to her; what if e was "the one"? My sixteen year old brain went into overdrive, propelled by caffeine and the giggles. 

"Well," said my cousin, "if a person is really supposed to be in your life, I believe you'll see them more than once. If that guy - that cute guy - is supposed to be in my life, I'm sure I will bump into him again." 

I remember thinking that that seemed pretty sound. Why she wouldn't just say hi, I still didn't fully grasp, but I could understand her thought process. Thinking about it now, I think her theory is pretty accurate. My best friend Maddie came to visit me in Ireland for these last two weeks, and I realized just how powerful our friendship is. 

We can communicate an entire sentence with a look or a nod. Words are rarely necessary before we acknowledge what the other is thinking, what the other going to say. My now infamous line is, "I knew it in my soul." We are just connected. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that the universe was trying to bring us together for a long time before we actually became friends. 

When we were in 7th grade, Maddie's dad died. Christmas of that year, the priest discussed the tragedy in his homily. I was there. I was alter serving with Maddie that day, but we didn't really know each other. Around the same time, our mutual friend had a birthday party we were both at. I know she was there, but I'm  not sure we were even really introduced. In eighth grade I sat next to Lily, one of maddie's closest friends. She had a picture of Maddie on her binder, and I remember looking at it thinking, I know thy girl from somewhere... Finally, Freshman year we were assigned to sit next to each other in Dr. Malhotra's Biology class. That was it. We have been practically inseparable since then.  

Having her in Ireland with me was amazing. As soon as we see each other, it's like no time at all has passed. We're right back to joking and laughing and having the occasional DMC (Deep Meaningful Conversation). She knows what I've been through. She knows what I'm going through, and it feels so good - after having to introduce myself to a whole new group of people in Ireland - to just be, no explanations needed. 

I needed her in my life, and the universe made sure to bring us together. 

Not Quite the Tuscan Sun

I know, I know, I haven't written in forever. I have been writing, just not posting. But now, as I sit in the Dublin Airport for the next three hours, I figure I can take the time to upload some things.  Here is what I had to say Firenze: 

Florence 

Florence was not my city. I had dreams of wearing my floppy hat, a maxi skirt, and flip flops and enjoying some time under the Tuscan sun.  When we first rolled into the train station, we were surrounded by graffiti and run down buildings. Chelsea said sarcastically, "Oh God, we'd probably have to live here," knowing full well that we are both out of money after a long semester abroad. We laughed about it, until the train stopped. "Firenze Rifendi" the sign read. "This is our stop." 

Well, we thought, at least the apartment was cheap for the night. Maybe it'll be nicer than these, we do have a 10 minute walk. Well, with 20 pound backpacks and full purses, an easy 10 minutes walk easily becomes a troublesome 20 minute walk. We just kept reminding ourselves, though, that we were in Florence, Italy; that it would all be worth it. We met with our host, who was very nice and helpful and we thought, it's ok. We'll catch a bus into the city tonight and have a glass of wine in Florence and enjoy our time. We found a wine bar with wifi, and for a moment everything seemed great. Then we tried to book train tickets for the next day. 

Not only has ticket prices jumped significantly, there were only 2 possible times for departure. Either we had to leave Florence at 7 in the morning  or at 5 at night. Knowing we had an early flight out of Venice the day after we got into the city, I was really disappointed. "I guess," I finally said, "we'll just have to see Venice at night." But of course, as soon as we went to buy the tickets, the website wouldn't accept Chelsea's info. So we left the wine bar feeling utterly defeated. 

"Let's just go buy 3 bottles of wine and go home and make some pasta, Si we can get up early tomorrow and see as much of Florence as we can." So, we bought our 3 bottles for 10Euros and were ready for our wind down night. We found a bus stop that said it picked up for route 23, and that the bus would be there in 17 minutes. 17minutes later, the bus drove up, and away. Are you kidding me?! We just sat out in the fond for almost 20 minutes, at the RIGHT bus stop and it didn't stop?! Ok, we regrouped and walked down a ways to a different stop. Again, it said 23. Again, it showed the pick up time. Again, it drove past us. Fine! Fine, universe! We are not meant to take the bus. So we got a taxi. We spent 6 instead of 2, but we got dropped off at our front door. Fine. We'll just eat and go to sleep. 

"Ali," I heard, "do you know how to turn this stove on?" 

I went to the stove, flipped a few switches, and then figured out you had to twist the nob for the gas, and then push down the button for the flame. I couldn't see it, but I heard it. I figured it was just one of those new, sleek stove tops; the kind that turn red when the burner gets hot. "Got it," I yelled. 

Within seconds, what I thought was the stove top, but was actually just a glass cover, exploded, sending glass flying all over the kitchen. My instincts must have kicked in. Next because I don't remember turning the burner off, but when Chelsea came in the room, I was standing in front of the stove just staring. Shaking and staring. 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know. It just exploded." 

After cleaning the entire kitchen, on my hands and knees, we finally ate some pasta - at least the pesky stove cover was gone - and drank some wine.  Nothing, we decided, about this day went as we'd hoped. 

Opportunities

As I lie in this bed in an apartment in Krakow, Poland, I can't help but think of how lucky I am to be here. I think the rain makes me reflective. The soft patter of a gentle rain on this top floor apartment has me thinking about a lot. Of course - being so close to Auschwitz - I think of how lucky I am to have been born in a time and place where I am free. I have never had to fight for my freedoms or my life, and I think that's easy to overlook. It's easy to forget how lucky I am to have born in a beautiful place like Thousand Oaks, with a beautiful family like mine.  

Today is Mother's Day, yet another reason to reflect, and I can honestly say that I am so incredibly grateful to have been born to my mother. My mom is one of those people who just makes friends. I've never seen her burn a bridge or end a friendship. She just loves. She has shown me how to love - how to build connections and how to keep them. She has raised three pretty great kids (if I do say so myself) and each of us has a little bit of her. Vinnie rambles the way our mom does, picking up conversations in the middle, after he's started them with himself. Gerard loves more openly and more honestly than anyone I've ever met. And I, well, I look like our mom and I talk like our mom and I'm a little weird like our mom. We share a similar sense of humor, and I know in about 30 years, I will practically be my mother. This is something that I am very grateful for because if I someday can give my children the courage to traveland the   opportunity to study abroad, then I'll have done something right. I know that my mother has sacrificed in order to give me the things that I want, and for that I am grateful. Realizing that a human being in the world loves me so much they are willing to put themselves second, feels pretty incredible. That's what it is - pretty incredible. The love between me and my mother, the opportunities I've had to travel, the way things fall into place - pretty incredible.    

And then there were two....

I know I've been very bad at updating this blog of mine, but I guess lately I've been busy trying to soak in the last moments with my study abroad friends before we all had to say goodbye. Starting April, just three days after returning from Amsterdam, I had to say goodbye to Carolyn - the friend I'd seem the world with. Then just three days ago I had to say goodbye to Markelle - a friend I connected with more quickly than anyone in my life. And then this morning, I had to say goodbye to Erin - the friend I have had the pleasure of living with for these last four months. Of course there were other goodbyes along the way, other see-you-later's and it's-been-fun's, but saying goodbye to these three has been the hardest. I've written before about how I truly believe people come into your life for a reason, and I know that each of these three ladies were brought into my life for their own reason. I will cherish the laughs we have shared and the memories we have built, but it is still hard to say goodbye. Sure, we're all going back to America, but America is a big country. These friends I've made are scattered all over the country, so it will be hard to keep in touch. I believe we will, but we'll never have the same experience as our time shared living in the Niland House in Galway, Ireland. 

I guess that's life, though - a string of missing things. Here in Ireland, I miss home; at home, I will miss Ireland. I will miss going to formal tea at Cupan Tae. I will miss being able to walk to the beaches of salt hill to clear my head. I will miss the Quays, and being able to order a drink and just enjoy the company of my friends. I will miss bopping around the shops of shop street, spending too much money on souvenirs. But most importantly, I will miss being able to burst into Erin's room and demand she come out with me; being able to walk down the stairs to watch a movie with Markelle; being able to call Carolyn and say "come hang out with me." I will miss the ease with which I could see my friends. 

Now, I suppose, I'll just have an excuse to see parts of my country I've never seen before because as Erin walked out our door this morning, I realized, it's down to two - just me and Chelsea. 

Nice to be here

I'm usually not one for sun bathing. To start, I'm very white, which means that if I don't apply the proper amount of sunscreen then I burn, and if I do, then I'm just still pale. On top of that, my mind wanders terribly. I'll be laying out, enjoying nature, and all of a sudden I remember every phone call I have to make and every email I never responded to. I compile grocery list and a chore chart and then I usually think of a great possible chapter to a book I've never started. So, inevitably, I spend five minutes in the sun before giving up and running off to do something more productive.

Today, though, I fell asleep on a rock in Nice, France - it was all very Little Mermaid - and it was wonderful. One second I was day dreaming about the adventures we've had so far, and the next, I was being rudely awoken by a cruise ship's blaring whistle. What a dream I am living! (Aside from the whole sunburn thing.)

Espana

I have a million and a half things to say about Spain, but for now, as I lay in bed thinking about waking up in 8 hours to catch a long train to Nice, France, I will give you this little vignette.

Today Carolyn and I spent a good majority of the day people watching. At one point, we were sitting on a bench on the Docks of Barcelona, resting our feet after a day spent exploring the city, and we were caught in the middle of two very interesting scenes. Just to our left, there was a private yacht, surrounded by a gate, protected by a body guard. Three cars - an escalade and two mercedes vans - drove up onto the dock to drop off some apparently very wealthy people. Other passerby stopped to take pictures if the boat, the barceletta; impressed, I suppose at the extravagance of the vessel. The women wore heels and the men wore suit coats. It was all very posh, very over the top.

Then, just to our right, five street venders, each holding a folded up white sheet - rucksacks, if you will - ran to the edge of the dock to hide from the policia. One man jumped down to a hollow, cylindrical buoy, where he stashed each of the five or six bags. Then they all split, running in different directions, just as two policia cars pulled up. All of the men left the area before policia arrived, except for one lookout. This one man, who looked to be in his early twenties, perched on a bench right in front of the policia, never looking in their direction. At one point, he took his sweatshirt off and walked away, returning a few moments later, sans sweatshirt, and sat in a different spot. Here was this kid, hiding from the police in plain sight, as others dined on a lavish yacht 30 feet away. It was really strange, and pretty socioeconomically accurate, to be sitting in the middle of the two.

Gone from my sight...that is all

I know I am in Ireland, and this blog is supposed to follow my adventures around the Emerald Isle and not around my roller coaster of emotions, but there are somethings that I would rather share. Last night, two of my closest friends from home each told me that they love to read my blog, that it speaks to them. Upon reading those texts, as simple as they were, I felt surrounded. Even though I was, at the time, sitting alone in my room, I felt surrounded by their love. I felt connected to them because I am able to share who I am and where I am through this little blog of mine, and they are willing to take the time to read it. I love that feeling. I love feeling that my writing means something (as scary as it is to press "Publish" every time). So, tonight I will share with any reading eyes that I am torn.

I have reached this strange point in my journey, where I realize that I am running out of time here in Ireland, and I don't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, I am so excited to see my family; to hug my nieces and snuggle my mom and see my friends' new home and grab coffee (good coffee) with my friends. I am excited to see sun and walk outside without putting on three layers. I am excited to eat burritos. There are so many things that I miss about home that I am excited to return to, but I'm also sad. I'm sad that I will leave behind these new friends I have made - my friends from Missouri and Virginia and Boston. I'm sad to be leaving this land that is so rooted in tradition, and filled with beauty. I'm sad to be leaving a country where I can go to a pub to grab a casual drink and listen to the incredible live music. I'm sad to be leaving the Irish accent - especially an Irish accent singing an American country song ;) There are a lot of things that I will miss about Ireland once I am at home, enjoying the things that I am missing now, and that has me in a strange state of mind. I suppose all I can do is enjoy the time I have left, and take advantage of every day!

That is something that I have tried to do since my dad died - enjoy life. Before his funeral, we tried to collect as many pictures as we could of my dad, and it saddens me to realize that there aren't many of him in the last few years of his life. I don't have any pictures with my dad at my high school graduation or my last dance recital. In realizing this, as sad as it is, I realized just how important it is to take advantage of the time you do have, to embrace those around you.

If I'm being honest, I'm in this reflective mood tonight because I just watched "the video." It is a collection of pictures from his childhood to mine, and I love it. My friend made it for me, and even though for him - an incredibly talented editor - it was probably nothing, to me, it means the world. Those twenty minutes or so that we sat together, ordering and adjusting the pictures I'd scanned into the computer meant more than I could even describe to you. It is one of the few memories from those two weeks after my dad died that I remember vividly. So, when I watch "the video" it is bittersweet. I remember that time, sitting in my friend's office, recollecting on the photographs, and laughing at the fact that every time Stevie Nicks bolted out, "Cause I built my life around you," the picture was of my dad and a fish. We couldn't stop laughing. In a lot of ways it was true, but he fixed it so the focus of the lyrics were a family picture. I mean, we should have just recorded over and made it "I built my life around fish," but I don't think it would have had the same effect. I digress. The point is, I am filled with happiness that my dad was alive; he was a brother, a husband, a fisherman, and he was my dad. I love to watch as the (often mischievous) gleam in his eyes shines through each phase of his life. I love to see his Optic Zone necklace, and his love for those around him. I love to see his love for me. It is often, though, the picture at my birthday party, where he is looking with such love and adoration into my little, blue, four year old eyes, that I tear up. He really loved me. And I miss that. I miss knowing, no matter how mad I got at him or how loud I yelled at him, that he loved. I miss his bear hugs and his foot waves. I miss snuggling next to him and watching Swamp People. (I found a show called Lizard Lick Towing that I wish so badly I could tell him about.) I miss him, and that makes me sad. It's a complicated sadness, though, because much like my mixed feelings about leaving Ireland, it is a sadness derived from happiness. I am happy that he was alive. I am grateful that I got the time I did have with him. But because I knew that love, I yearn for it. So, I guess what I'm saying is that even when I post sad things on this blog, I recognize that it all originates from a place of happiness. I'm never trying to be too over the top, I'm just trying to be honest, and the truth is: I love my dad.