Chatter, Strikes, and Killing the Power

I sat on one of the wooden benches lining the grassy courtyard. Professors and students alike mingled, ambling aimlessly through the grass or sitting and talking. 

I scooted further down in my seat and let the sun's beams spread across my face; I became a lizard, stretching languorously in the heat. I closed my eyes and opened my ears. 

And I listened. I listened to the conversations like one might tune into radio chatter. I let the language roll over me in waves, picking out words and phrases I knew, but overall losing myself in the unknowns and mysteries of the foreign melodies.

It was beautiful. Everyone surrounding me could have been talking about what they had for lunch, or complaining about homework, or gossiping about that stupid boy in class - it didn't matter. The words hit my ears like silk and were beautiful all the same. 

With a strange smile spreading over my face, I knew English could never sound this way. It was polluted and trashed beyond saving.

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Ciao tutti!

I guess it's been a while since I've submitted a new blog post. The past couple weeks have been pretty groovy, I suppose, without many strange or otherwise intriguing happenings (like my getting hopelessly, horribly lost, for example). There have been a handful of curious instances, though, which I will briefly touch on here.

Last Wednesday, (the 5th of March), I experienced my first Italian strike. Apparently they are very common here and the Milanese people just groan and grumble about it before adjusting their schedules around it. The strikes are held by the public transportation employees, those who pilot buses and guide the metro through the bowels of Milan underground. So, on these days (which are generally Wednesday's and sometimes Friday's, or so I'm told), the drivers declare that they will collectively run only between specific, brief hours in the morning and evenings - nothing more. 

As a person who has only encountered a strike in the way of seeing it on the news days after the event, I found the organization odd. Typically, in my little head, I thought strikes were definite, a sort of all-or-nothing deal, but that's not how they work here. 

Thankfully this complication didn't contort my schedule too much; I needed to use the metro to get to and from school within their operating hours anyway, so I didn't have to walk or taxi in either direction. Attempting to walk would have been flirting with disaster, so I'm glad I didn't have to (it's a forty-five minute stroll at best, two-point-three miles - that leaves a huge spread of opportunity to get lost). 

Aside from the metros being impossibly crowded and stuffy (I couldn't even lift my arms on the ride home) and the overall dismal atmosphere constructed by everyone's mutual frustration, nothing was different. I survived the strike and the longest day of my week at school (9:30am to 5:30pm straight, four back to back two hour classes with no real lunch break) and was eager to get to the apartment, cook up something to eat, and relax.

Well, that had been asking too much.

I had hit the store just a five minute walk away and bought a pre-made pizza I could heat up in the oven (not necessarily frozen, but not fresh, either). Thus, I cranked on the dials and waited for the beast to warm through and pop the delicious, cheesy beauty in.

As soon as it made the clicking sound that indicated it was beginning to heat up, everything in the apartment shut off.

The kitchen was dark. The fridge quit humming. The oven was dead. The lights on the modem stopped blinking, cutting me off from nearly all communication to the outside world.

Keep in mind, too, that darkness descends here right around 6pm, so I had no help from natural lighting. I had to use the flashlight on my phone to maneuver through the apartment.

Thankfully I was able to contact someone of the housing staff from the international office after several frustrated attempts on the phone, and he was able to walk me through how to fix the issue. I had thrown the breaker by turning on the oven, which was odd because my roommate and I had used it numerous times before without any trouble. Anyway, I was able to restore power to the apartment after about an hour or so of uncertainty, and I knew how fix it if it ever occurred again. Piece of cake, glazed over with familiarity. 

Oddly, though, for the next week or so we couldn't use the oven or the itty bitty laundry machine because turning either one on threw the breaker. This was obviously an issue, as we hadn't had trouble with it in weeks before, and it didn't make sense. We were able to get the overall problem solved within a couple days, and the apartment is now operating at full potential, so I can warm up all the pizzas I want without trouble.

Other than all of the above, it's been pretty peachy keen here. The weather has been gorgeous, borderline springtime sort of thing - pretty, clear blue skies, and sunshine everywhere. At one point I glanced at the ten day forecast for Milan on my weather channel app, and it was high 50s and 60s all ten days with zero percent chance of precipitation all across the board. I don't know about you, but I have never seen such a forecast. And it all came true just as it said it would, which makes me a very happy, very warm little individual.

I certainly hope all is well back in the states (except for the weather - sorry! I'll try to send some sunshine your way!) and I miss you all very much. Being here has been a marvelous experience, and I'm only 1/4 of the way into it. I'll be happy to be home at the end of May, but man is Milan a nice place ;)

With love and gratitude,

V

Finding God by the Bathroom Sinks

January 9, 2011

I never expect much when I walk into a public restroom. Maybe all the stalls are out of toilet paper or the only working toilet is clogged. Perhaps even the bathroom is completely void of paper towels. My expectations never exceed much of anything.

But even then, things still catch me by surprise.

It was a regular Sunday at church; I sang and worshipped, shed a few tears at the lyrics and was dismissed to The Zone where the youth services were held. Upon exiting the main auditorium, I realized I had to use the bathroom. I had never used the church bathroom before and I also thought it weird because I hadn't drank much of anything before we left. Even so, I still walked down the short hallway and made a left through the door labeled Women. I went into a stall and did my business, but as I went to stand and do my belt, someone else walked in. Normally, it wouldn't give me pause, as it was a public restroom.

Until I heard her speak.

“All right God, you've got my attention. What do you want me to do? What…what do I need to do?” she said, and I could hear the tears plainly in her voice.

Quietly, I tried not to pull her out of her God moment and simply unlatched the door and walked to the sinks. She looked over at me and gave a faint, apologetic smile as she wiped her running eyes with tissues.

“Sorry,” she told me after a sniffle. “I thought I was alone.”

A strange, nervous heat tingled in my stomach as I saw the helpless expression clearly on her face and went in for a hug. I had never met this girl a day in my life, but in that moment, it did not matter. She didn't shy away but actually leaned into the embrace.

“God wants you to do something magnificent, I'm sure,” I tried at a smile. She continued to wipe her eyes.

And in that moment, it didn't matter that the service was about to begin or that I'd be late for it. All that mattered was this girl, this torn, powerless girl who happened to stumble into the bathroom after me.

The heat in my limbs pressed me to reach out to her, and I knew immediately that it was the Holy Spirit. I decided to ask what was wrong.

And then it was like I had broken open a dam of thoughts; things just started pouring out of her. Not just things, but very personal life things. Again, I didn't know this girl and she didn't know me.

She said many, many things that just made my heart go out to her. She told me that she felt like she was at a point where she was unloved and alone and lost. Her boyfriend's mom absolutely hates her and has spread nasty rumors about her. She's been called every bad name in the book. All of her friends have pretty much ditched her to the point that she was praying for someone to come along and be a good friend, the friend who would actually listen to her.

She allowed me that precious position for an hour as she sobbed through her hurts and troubles.

Time was nonexistent. I knew I probably wasn’t going to make it into the youth service, and that was all right. I had found God by the bathroom sinks instead.

After this girl felt she had let a heavy weight ascend from her shoulders, we hugged again and she thanked me for asking if she was all right and listening even though I could have chosen to quietly wash my hands and leave to get to The Zone on time, and missed this opportunity completely. I told her that listening is what I do, and I was glad she found my face friendly enough to spill her thoughts to.

Her smile was full of humble gratitude as she called me an angel, one sent specially from God for her. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a good reason I felt the need to use the restroom even though in the several times I have been to the church, I have never ever walked through that one particular door.

We walked out, said our farewells, and she was lost in the crowd pouring from the sanctuary doors. The services were over.

I stood there, trembling. The excited, supernatural energy had not yet dissipated from my body.

I couldn’t help the grin on my face. I probably looked stupid, standing there in the hallway smiling to myself. It didn’t bother me in the slightest; people could think what they wanted.

In the name of God, I had been seen as an angel to someone. I’m not perfect by any definition of the word, and I constantly wish to be so much closer to God than I am, but I knew in my heart that this is exactly how I was meant to be portrayed to the girl crying in the bathroom. An angel, sent to answer a plea for help – not to do anything spectacular or showy, but something so simple. To just listen.

To those of you that know me, you know that this is one of the main reasons I want to go into the field of Psychology. God apparently nurtured this talent of listening in me for more reasons than one.

Praise Him for using a broken, sinful human being like me as His megaphone to reach out to a broken heart.

God…you are so, so amazing.

The Fate of the Sleeping Dame

On the edge of the countryside there lay a modest kingdom, fighting to remain in existence. King Frederick and Queen Aveline, the kind monarchs, were beginning to grow older and uglier. They had no children; Aveline was barren and could not bear a child and because of this, she fell into a deep depression that no one could shake her from. The only way for their kingdom to flourish once they were gone was for a child of theirs to marry into another kingdom, but since this could not be so the townsfolk wept and mourned in despair, knowing they would have to find somewhere else to live without their beloved king and queen.

One beautiful spring day while Aveline was wandering around in the wood as a therapeutic way to cope with her deep set depression, a frog hopped across her path and gazed up at her with bulging wet eyes. She sighed and made to move around it, but it sprung up and clutched her leg with its slimy feet. Shrieking, she kicked it off and attempted to stomp it into the dirt, but a voice stopped her.

“Dear Queen, do not be afraid! I bear news - good news, great news! Calm yourself and you shall receive it,” said the frog.

The Queen screamed again, but the rumbling voice of the frog caught her ear with a few specific words.

“Within the next year you shall bear a child, the most beautiful girl in all the kingdoms, and then you shall keep your own kingdom alive,” the frog continued. “She shall marry a prince and bring you glory.”

Aveline ran back to the castle and bolted herself into her chamber, equivocating whether to believe the words of the frog or not. Finally she decided it couldn’t hurt to believe she could bear a child, although for all her years she could not, and told the news of her stroll to the king. His reaction was the same as hers – it couldn’t be possible and yet, what have they got to lose in believing the words of this frog? Anything could happen – magic was not unheard of throughout the kingdoms.

A few months passed and it seemed that the frog’s words were coming true. The queen’s belly became swollen with a child. Through the duration of the pregnancy, Aveline’s depression lifted and she was as joyful as ever. The king was delighted to see this change and held a great banquet for when the child was born; he invited everyone in the kingdom, even the seven Elder Faeries. However, the king decided against fetching the Elder Faerie that was nearly on the outskirts of the kingdom, as she had wronged the monarchs more than she had helped. The last thing he wanted was for something to go wrong and have their precious child given an abhorrent gift.

The day finally came and Aveline birthed the radiant baby girl, naming her Aurora. She was darling, with eyes like the summer sky and hair of light silk. The king and queen instantly fell in love with her and wanted to show everyone what a gift she was. And so the banquet was held, filling up the dining hall to the brim with happy folk, music, and food. Soon the time came for the Elder Faeries to bestow their gifts upon Aurora and in turn each one gazed upon the babe and gave her virtue, beauty, and riches among other things. The seventh was preparing to give her gift when the doors to the hall burst open, revealing the uninvited Elder Faerie.

“It seems you have started the festivities without me,” she purred, hobbling toward Aurora’s cradle. She squinted her beady eyes at the child and sneered. “Since you have deigned invite me, dear King, I shall bestow your darling child with the most glorious gift I can give. On her eighteenth birthday, she will give into her curiosity and prick her finger upon a spinning wheel, falling down dead.”

The gathered crowd gasped and began shouting protests which the Elder Faerie quieted with a glare. She wheezed out a horrific laugh as she watched the terror on the king’s and queen’s faces. Aveline stumbled over to the cradle to hold her child close to her bosom. The Elder Faerie disappeared in the blink of an eye and left the hall speechless.

The seventh Elder Faerie spoke softly, reminding them that she still had something to give. The king pleaded with her to take back what the uninvited Elder Faerie had done, but the seventh said it could not be done. She could only soften the sentence. With that, she turned the fate of death into a deep sleep that only an expression of true love could break. Immediately following this, the king ordered every spinning wheel to be burned.

As Aurora grew up, her parents kept a very close eye on her, which she despised greatly. They never allowed her to wander further than the castle walls even when she longed to venture through the woods and explore. Her heart was caged and she didn’t have many friends – this made her crazy and depressed much like her mother before.

At last, one of the maids that had come from a distant kingdom to work at the castle decided to sneak little Aurora outside in order to let her be free. However, she did not know about the spinning wheel and Aurora’s fate, so she thought the King and Queen were being exceedingly harsh on the poor teenager when she so much desired just to go outside and dance among the trees. Every night she heard her longing and crying out to the starry sky to take her away. Her soul was trapped and needed the nourishment that freedom provided. The maid pitied her and so disguised her as a maid and let her out the back toward the forest. Aurora thanked her continuously, her face lighting up in a way that the maid had never seen before.

Aurora ran into the forest and threw herself down upon a pile of leaves, giggling with joy. The creatures of the forest were attracted to her and enjoyed the freedom with her, jumping around and twittering along with her songs. She loved it so much that when she returned to the castle, she begged the maid to let her go out at least once every week, to which the woman agreed. What harm would be done? She was just a curious child in need of the adventure.

Every Tuesday evening when the king and queen were occupied in a meeting, the maid snuck Aurora out. One night, Aurora ran into a boy about her age in the wood playing much like she was. At first she didn’t know how to react, but then he smiled at her, stuck his hand in the mud by the stream he had been playing in, and threw it at her. A mud fight began between the youngsters and instantly they were friends. When it was time for them to leave, they promised they would meet each other in the wood every Tuesday and play.

This pattern carried on until they were older, Aurora on the edge of eighteen and the boy, Philippe, nearly twenty. All that time, however, neither of them thought it important to disclose that they were heirs to their respective kingdoms – in their eyes they were just friends, not a prince and princess. Aurora’s parents and Philippe’s parents had no idea of their relationship.

On Aurora’s eighteenth birthday a huge feast was held in her honor and she received many gifts. It was a fun day, but she couldn’t stop thinking of Philippe and wishing he were there to celebrate with her, but of course she could not tell her parents about him. That would lead to many questions she didn’t want to answer and she didn’t want to get the gracious maid in trouble.

That evening, after everything was over, Aurora went up to her bed chamber and got dressed for the night. She walked out onto her balcony to overlook the forest that had helped raise her and noticed a door that she couldn’t recall ever being there before. She crossed the balcony and opened it, stepping lightly up the spiral staircase until she reached the top. There in the room sat a spinning wheel, but she didn’t know what it was. Finding the thing wondrous and intriguing, she went over to it and examined it, running her hands over the wheel until she accidentally poked her finger on the needle. She fell to the ground, eyes closed, chest moving slowly up and down. It wasn’t until morning when her mother was calling her down to breakfast that she was found. Aveline wept as the servants laid Aurora down in her bed.

In the next Tuesday that passed, Philippe awaited Aurora’s presence for hours, wondering where she could be. Having watched her go in a specific direction when she left, he sought her out. At last he came upon a kingdom where the castle was overgrown with thorns. He found this strange, but when he ventured further into the town, the people all seemed very sad. He asked for Aurora many times and each person turned their face away in sorrow. Confused and frustrated, he thought perhaps he could get an audience with the monarchs, seeing as he was a prince, and ask them if they knew of the girl.

A handful of people were standing outside the thorn castle looking very grim. He approached them and introduced himself. The king and queen came forth, eyes red and cheeks sad, and inquired what a prince from his kingdom wanted there.

“Aurora,” he said firmly. “I am searching for a girl by the name of Aurora. Do you know where I might find her?”

Aveline began to weep and the king consoled her before turning piercing eyes on the boy. A short interrogation was had and Philippe confessed he had been seeing her in the forest every Tuesday. The king told him that she was unreachable and in a deep sleep; he’d have to forget her and move on. Philippe, determined now because of the impossibility, asked him which room was hers and promised to save her. Frederic, at the end of his rope, allowed the boy his permission but held the sinking hope in his heart that he would die trying.

Philippe borrowed a horse, galloped back to his kingdom and gathered a small force with weapons to cut through the thick thorns surrounding the castle. In haste, he returned and began hacking away, steadfast and certain he would prevail. The rest of the men in his force didn’t have much luck, but Philippe managed to find a doorway and chopped with his sword until it gave. He stormed through the dining hall and searched the castle, never stopping even when more thorns grew up ferociously through the ground and tore at his clothes and skin.

Finally he got to Aurora’s chambers, blood dripping from multiple gashes over his body, one coloring his cheek. When he gazed upon her he smiled, and said, “Aurora…all that time we spent in the wood and I could never tell you, but now, I have no fear. I love you, Little Briar-Rose, and I want you to be my Queen.”

Caught up in the passion, he bent over and kissed her delicately on the lips. Her blue eyes slowly opened and cleared themselves of sleep and when she saw him, she smiled too.

“Philippe,” she murmured, “that would make me so very happy.”

Immediately the thorns withered and died away, leaving the castle free once more and the town rejoiced, knowing the spell was broken. Both kingdoms were overjoyed that their only children had found love and didn’t hesitate to throw a wedding. Aurora and Philippe were married and their kingdoms became one. They lived on happily for the rest of their days, always taking time to walk through the woods that had brought them together.

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A creative assignment written for my English class last semester. We had to take a fairy tale and modernize it/put our own twist on it. As is obvious, I chose Sleeping Beauty, which is probably my favorite fairy tale. 

The tone is supposed to be a bit silly and out there - hopefully I did it right. Anyway, enjoy.

V