From Minnesota with Love.

Minnesota has been lovely (albeit a tad too hot for me, with a tad too many mosquitos). I fly back to LA this evening, and while it will be good to no longer have to talk to Spencer through the interwebs and phone lines, I will miss this calm, pretty place. I will miss the green fields and green trees. I will miss the quiet. I will miss the safe feelings I feel here. I will miss the ivy covered brick buildings. I will miss the library. I will miss the track a small jaunt away that helped me feel happier (and more myself) than I have felt in a long time. I will miss hearing snippets of Kierkegaard conversations everywhere I go. I will miss being with one to two good friends everywhere I go. I will miss my Danish classmates and my Danish class. I will even miss the fact that the majority of Kierkegaard scholars are as (socially) anxious as Kierkegaard. I will miss. I will miss.

I will/do look forward to Spencer, taco trucks, the ocean, two little dark haired darlings who I love, their angel mother, my grandma with (and without) her always abundant avocado and lemon trees, and the weather that is very nearly always perfect.

xo

(pictures and follow ups to come)

In a Better World.

I watched a film today in Danish Class. This Oscar winning, best-foreign-film of 2011. It is difficult for me to describe, because it was both extremely beautiful and extremely horrifying—likely the most horrifying piece that I have ever seen.

It began with death and ended with life, and explored many, many important themes in between: grief, loneliness, friendship, false strength, genuine strength, meekness, courage, forms of power, war, brutality, healing, marital relationships, separation, vengeance, forgiveness, sacrifice, and redemption.

Written out, these themes may seem a little trite, but in presentation they were shattering. In fact, the film affected me so viscerally, that many moments found me perched upon my seat in the back row, craning upward to better see the sub titles, while other moments found me hiding my face with my hands or crying hysterically. Never mind that I was in a room filled with near strangers. There was no other way for my body to react to the things that it saw on the screen. I also felt my heart—the palpitations. There was no stopping that either.

When the film ended, we sat there quietly and collectively, for a long time. Eventually I stood quietly, and walked quietly, with only the rare word spoken to, or from, my friend. It was a longer time before I could really speak. My soul was still reacting. My body and mind were still reacting.

Even now, I am processing it.