The End of One Story.. the Beginning of Another

Hello friends who followed my journey to India- I’m posting now to invite you to follow a new adventure, this time, 5 months in Ireland. I will be studying at University College Dublin and exploring all that Ireland has to offer. Please see my new blog to follow this trip from start to finish!

And again, my sincerest thanks for all your support and kind thoughts during my Indian adventure this past summer, it will not be my last!

Thanks again, Kelsey

Irish Adventures found here!

PS. My publication from the fall semester on my trip to India can be found here.

 

Its.. Over?

I told my story today. Well, I told one of my stories today. And it felt powerful and meaningful and beautiful.

It’s strange how hard it has been for me to verbalize what India has been for me. It reminds me of the post I made back when I was leaving the country- knowing how difficult it would be to make sense of the many ways that the experience left an impact.

And wow, it’s been really difficult.

I’m not sure really what made it possible for me to stand up in front of the crowd today and tell a story. Maybe its the fact that it was for a class, maybe its that I secretly really like presentations, and maybe its that the story I told wasn’t the most personal or difficult to speak about.

But when I looked in front of me and behind something magical. Seated in front of me was a large group of people who came to see me talk because they believed that maybe, I had something worth saying. They came out from the middle of their finals stress and fatigue to see the presentation of my fellowships work. There was something really powerful about that. My Dad came. My best friends came. Some of my aide groups from this last year and the year passed came. Mainly, people who really cared came. I’ll never forget who showed up. It truly meant the world to me. Really.

And when I looked behind me when I stood up to speak, I knew that there were six incredible individuals behind me. They’ve been behind me the whole time, really. The other fellows- we’ve been with eachother since the beginning, but even more impactful, during the entire summer of stress and frustrations and challenges. I remember going to the computer crying and sending out an email. I remember coming back to the computer to read words of encouragement and praise, or a story of a similar issue from someone else.

And I remember late nights working together on papers. Rereading and rereading, working hard to create something meaningful- something that was not just an individual effort, but truly a collective piece.

I feel truly in debt to the people who have supported this process. I’d like to thank all who worked on my paper with me, those who tirelessly helped me unpack the whole experience- those who grew with me and learned with me, those specific, special friends who really made this all possible. You know who you are, and I am truly grateful for your support and love.

And to the other fellows, Tess, Kayla, Maddie, Chris and Matt, as well as Marci and Mitra, I have only the deepest of admiration and respect for all that you’ve done and all that you’ve done for me. This process has truly been one of the most challenging experiences of my life, and with the support and love of others, I came out better, changed, empowered.

You know, the story I told, it was far from personal, but I feel very proud to be able to tell it. I realized the other night that although many of the experiences I had in India I would rather not speak about, this does not mean that there are many aspects of my experience that are fully and truly something worth sharing. And somehow or another, I do have the guts to do that.

My paper is now published in a beautiful booklet. It will be online soon. When that happens, I will post it.

I’ll be headed to Dublin in less than a month (isnt that crazy?!) for study abroad. I will have a blog for that, but it will probably be a new link, I will post that when it happens.

It’s strange, so much seems to have ended, yet so many stories are still untold. It makes me wonder how I’ll ever get through it all- if I’ll ever get to a point where I truly understand and know what it all means to me.

And thats when I remember, it’s never going to be over.

This is just a beautiful beginning.

 

Ps. While you’re here, can you click that banner to the left and donate some hours to one laptop per child? I’d super appreciate it.

 

Endings.

As you may know, since the semester began for me at Brandeis in August I have been working on in an internship class to analyze the experience I had while in India this summer. This has been done through a series of five-page long weekly papers. The summation of this experience is (hopefully) a published paper which encapsulates the experience I had. I’ve been writing papers about relationships I had, the environment I lived in, paradoxes I experienced, the poverty I saw, the people who impacted me.

It’s been a frustrating process. Trying to unpack the things I did has been trying, and in an academic setting- even more difficult. I have often felt that I have had to compromise my experience for the betterment of academia’s understanding, questioning the reasoning for writing about this experience at all.

Tonight, I am in the process of concluding my final paper and feel a strange sense of remorse. I have waited for this point in the semester to come since the semester began, dreading each paper as it gnawed upon my brain, pulling out memories and experiences I’d rather forget. But tonight, as I reflect upon the experience I had, its strange how I feel I’ve come to terms with much of it.

Writing this final paper has not been as difficult as I expected. While it is not about anything too personal, not a story of walking on crutches or crying myself to sleep, I feel deeply a part of the story I tell. I am proud of the statements I make and feel as though I can support them with my limited, but profound experience.

I just told my friend in front of me at the library that after this paper, I technically never have to process India again. I won’t be sitting in class analyzing my experience, qualifying and quantifying the information in my journals and the stories told on my blog. This isn’t to say I won’t keep thinking about these experiences. To the contrary, I am reminded of India each day, no less than the last. Yet there is some peace in knowing the pressure to analyze it is leaving soon.

I have spoken at length with my professor about the difficulty I’ve had making sense of all of it. The idea of having to tell a story to the world, to create something to share, to have some sort of purpose in all of it- these concepts have frustrated and challenged me. I learned in India that an experience can be an experience on its own, without having to have meanings or explanations. I feel as though there is little that needs to be said, yet each week there is a paper to be written. Attempting to write about this has been one of the most paradoxical things I have ever done.

But I am proud to know I have tried in some way, to explain what I went through in the academic realm. Mostly because this process has made me realize how little academia really has to do with anything important. I can’t write a paper on how Sister Ruth holding my hand made me feel at home that day when I was lonely. I don’t want to find an academic approach to discuss how the laughing shared between the nurses and I in the hospital made me feel human again.

Some things are just felt in the heart. Some experiences are best told through tears, with paintbrushes or between close friends.

India taught me that some of the most important stories we’ll ever tell, will never make it into our final papers.

And that is perfectly fine with me.

“Illumination”

I am in the process of writing my second paper for my internship class- this one specifically on my own personal context- who I am and how that context shaped the experience I had in my time in India. The chapter in our text that discusses this topic opens with a quote I have since become quite attached to. I have come to see this in my own work both as a writer and an artist- who I am is an intricate and complicated part of my work. It is true that often times the subject is just a mirror. It’s quite beautiful really.

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. The sitter is merely an accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter, who, on the coulored canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my soul”

– Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

The New Story

I don’t know where to begin tonight. I have just written my first paper for my internship class about the “enviorment” that I lived in and feel like I left so many things unsaid.

This seems to be the theme of my life now that I am back.

Let me rewind 18 days to the 12th of August when I arrived back in the US. I remember stepping outside the doors feeling like the “CAUTION: HEAVY” sign on my bags was really just a metaphor for me. I felt so full of thoughts, exploding with emotion, conflicted by my love for the smell of the Atlantic and my desire to run back to catch the next flight back. I have never felt my footsteps hit the pavement with so much weight.

Since then it’s been a whirlwind. Literally.  I got home at 10pm on Thursday and Friday went to replace the phone I lost, do some quick shopping and family visiting- Saturday I was at my cousins wedding and Sunday I was back at school for orientation leader training.

So since the 15th I’ve been either training or being a part of the class of 2014’s orientation. It was wonderful. I was blessed to have a fantastic group of new students who were passionate and joyful people- who respected me and appreciated my stories of India. I am so thankful for them and all the other orientation leaders who offered me an ear these past two weeks. It has been invaluable to me.

But it’s still hard. It’s hard to tell stories. It’s hard to know what stories to tell. It’s hard to know there are many stories I never will tell. It’s even harder to know that there are many stories that will never be understood.

I have a class for that now- for dealing with the stories in an academic way. My fellowship course will probably be the best and most difficult course I take at Brandeis. It requires me to keep my memories fresh- to reread my journals, to reread my blogs, to stumble through my emails and find the lessons in all I experienced.

And I am excited about this but equally scared. A lot that happened that hurt. A lot of what I saw that was not pretty. And although things worked out well for me in the end- the process of getting to that point was difficult, filled with mistakes and mishaps, moments of real sadness and moments of indescribable joy.

It is also strange to take such a profound portion of my life and bring it into a classroom. Analyzing my journals, coding the expressions and experiences and sociologically analyzing my own life is difficult. It seems to belittle the process of experience. When we begin to rationalize the complexities of our actions they seem to become less tangible. I lose their sense of trust when I am begin to quantify them. I am afraid of how we in classrooms choose to qualify experiences to fit an academic understanding. In reality, I have found, much of our lives are so far beyond an academic understanding that it is impossible to imagine how to “correctly” look at an experience. Why is their any “correctness” in our experience? Why are we culled to such emotionless thought? The tools of analysis in relation to our experiences are our experiences themselves.

This post is really nothing more than a moment. A moment of recognition for everyone who has followed this path, all who have listened and all who have learned with me the beauty that is found in stepping beyond our comfort zones, of challenging ourselves, of digging deeper, of asking for more.

As I begin the process of unpacking I will continue to write here, be it sparingly or not, about how this experience is shaped in my life and has shaped my life. I am new and constantly awakening the person within me. We are all new, each day- and India has taught me this beautiful and exciting revelation.

I feel changed. I am in the process of figuring out how and why- but there is beautiful truth in the recognition that none of us can have our lives so profoundly moved and not become something new in the process.

This is where my new story begins.

Thank you.

“The Manifesto of Encouragement”

Today I opened my email and found the link to Danielle Laporte’s website. She calls herself a firestarter, and she always sends uplifting emails about motivating yourself and your life- I was clicking around and found “The Manifesto of Encouragement” and immediately smiled. I’d like to share it with you.

RIGHT NOW:

There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

Someone you haven’t met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that willchange how you look at life.

Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God’s children.

A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, “nourish them.”

Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you — for free.

Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

The next great song is being rehearsed.

Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they’ll be thriving like never before. They just can’t see it from where they’re at.

Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want — and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it’s reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all “So worth the wait.”

Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche — this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

Someone is fighting the fight so that you don’t have to.

Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe. Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.

Beautiful isn’t it? And for a shameless plug, you can be part of something encouraging by clicking on the one lap top per child link on the left side bar- it will donate time to children who want nothing more than to learn and grow. My goal of 3000 hours needs your help! (PS. We’re at 1797 at time of post)

“She is a very happy girl, I can tell”

If you know me you probably know that I am one of the most sensitive people around- both emotionally and physically- that being said, I am INCREDIBLY ticklish. This is becoming increasingly apparent every time I go back to the hospital.

Since my wounds are on my feet, fixing the dressings requires the nurses to be gently playing with my toes and rubbing my feet. They are so careful and gentle in their motions, making sure that they don’t hurt anything. This becomes an entertaining situation very quickly.

I can’t help but laugh hysterically whenever they get close to my feet. The cold cotton ball with the antibacterial solution drives me crazy! I sit on the hospital bed and squirm, letting out some of the most genuine, ridiculous, loud and silly laughs. More nurses enter the room and laugh along with me, while the nurse who’s doing the bandage asks if I’m okay. I can barely respond through the giggles- feeling so silly and childish. Pretty soon I have a room full of women in white and pink outfits, laughing up a storm. Even the stoic wheelchair driver, Godiva is laughing as well. It’s beautiful.

If I may have a “favorite” part of my surgery, I think this is it. While I feel pathetic and somewhat ridiculous laughing as I do, laughter is such a beautiful, human thing. We can all commune with it together and enjoy its company in our day. It touches people.

Today one of the nurses as I was leaving, looking quite drab in my wheelchair, thinking about how bummed I am about not being able to walk myself to the car- I overheard one of the nurses say to another, “She is a very happy girl, even though she looks sad- I can tell.” The other nurse nodded in agreement.

It’s easy to get down on ourselves sometimes. If we let it, our minds will quickly drive us mad- but in that ten minute procedure every two days I’m getting enough laughs and joy to keep me patient with my recovery and level headed about the whole thing. It’s temporary, and while it’s difficult now, there are many joys even within it.

I get to spend time with these wonderful nurses who know my name and smile when I arrive every couple days, and I get to laugh as they so carefully take care of me. With this, I’m making them laugh as well and enjoying the pleasure that ones own happiness can bring others.

There is joy hidden somewhere deep inside pain I think- sometimes, you just need to tickle it out.

Quick Update

So- you’ve probably been wondering if I fell off the face of the earth or if maybe suddenly nothing seemed worth writing about here. I can happily say that both are false, but there have been some crazy happenings recently! I wrote a really great post that I will post soon, but for now- I had surgery on Tuesday.

I think I’ve mentioned that I have really bad corns on my feet and they’ve only been getting worse here.. I was having trouble walking and couldn’t go barefoot, and considering this is expected in Indian households, it was beginning to become a noticeable problem. Also, since one of the corns had opened, it was just asking for infection- surgery was the quickest and best option.

It was a quick procedure, one I will write about in more detail soon, but know that the entire hospital now and they all come running to the car when I come to get my bandages redone every couple days. I am having the stitches removed on Thursday and then we will figure out from there how much longer I’ll be on crutches.

I am not in pain, but I cannot put pressure on my foot- therefore I’m not walking/going very far. That being said, I’m not at the school right now since there are so many stairs and unsturdy ground.. I’m staying at a flat in the city that Ravee owns, having a friend come and help me make meals and keep me company.

So far all is going well, my wounds are healing and I’m mostly in good spirits. It’s really difficult not being able to walk, but I am surprisingly well balanced on one foot and I’m pretty quick with the crutches. This sometimes gets me into trouble, so I’m trying to learn to slow down again.

There’s a lot of this learning here- the process of listening to my body, taking care of the small things, appreciating moments that are seemingly of little importance. I will write more about these humbling experiences when I discuss the hospital experience. This whole situation is very humbling really, requiring me to ask for help, seek assistance and be compromised in the presence of others.

This is new to me. I’m not one to slow down, nor do I like the idea of everyone watching me crawl up the stairs on my butt. I’m learning to laugh more than cry about this- because really, this is a ridiculous situation I seem to be in, but well, I can sometimes be a ridiculous girl.

I am so blessed to have so many people here who are taking such good care of me, watching over me, taking me to the hospital, checking in throughout the day- I have been told I have many mothers here and I’m finding it to be true. The people here are so openly loving, caring, and thoughtful. I am so lucky to be in their presence.

India is bringing it all out in me and giving me so much in return. I am so thankful.

honest artists

most poets are liars,
and most liars are artists,
but as an ‘honest artist,’
let me tell you,
that when your preachers and teachers fail you,
the artist can show you where God is.

I am borrowing this quote from Wajida, I felt like it embodied how I feel about art, especially here in India. Below is a slideshow of some of my work, as well as that of my students. It’s exciting to be able to share these images with you. Art can bring so much incredible joy.

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