life is really the most important artwork

meanwhile...

this has been a week; the sweetness of communion with catherine mccammon, the disorientating experience of being ill, the hours spent sleeping and catching up with myself. i've got a while to go, i think. still, siestas in the afternoon are indeed the way forward. the weight has lifted and i think i've just about convinced myself that i do not have to sit any more exams, or write anything specific unless i so desire.

it's completely odd. i have been learning to drive, too, which is freeing and frightening in each breath. and yesterday, i sang fragments from the latest daniel bedingfield single. all day. i drove myself crazy after a while. as we were driving to my grandma's house i was thinking about how it used to be...sifting through my memories and experiences, trying to find reason in the chaos.

i didn't find reason but i saw a rainbow over belfast, and it seemed we were driving towards the pot of gold at its end. i remembered how the first view of stormont in the evening sunlight would make me catch my breath, and i'd think i'm going to work there one day. and who knows, that one day might prove accurate in the dim and distant future. for now, though, i am content to watch the sea be a different colour every day. content to sleep, and dream of weddings and moving and the great j.o.b. hunt.

time will tell, and i will enjoy the everydays.

aaaaargh

nothing is working...

i hate the internet, but i love it but i hate it but i love it.

dammit.

back to the drawing board...

somehow, and don't ask me how, half my template got deleted...so, in a desperate need to re-publish, i chose a new template. i'm still traumatised. bear with me until i get my links, and my comments, and my fingerprint on said faceless template.

i'm going to have a strong drink now...and maybe upgrade to blogger pro. at least then i could have got some technical support...

brianne, i need you to work your html magic...

and don't get me started on the fact my archives have disappeared. or that i can't republish everything. or that the three people i know who can speak html are in north america, central america, and thailand respectively. much tsk-age...

the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...

this weekend has been playing catch-up...sleep and family and church. there have been a lot of new haircuts and new plans; we sat in springsteens until closing time and swapped stories and news, and things-we-might-one-day-want-to-do, should the time be right. we're all tempted to buy justified; rachael already owns it and it comes highly recommended. everyone is growing up, stepping out in faith, spreading their wings. it's the oddest thing, coming back.

i can't tell the sky from my shoes.

it struck me, as i was drifting to sleep last night, that i always try to make things more complicated than they really are. this summer needs to be about more than me chilling out. uni needed to be about more than me just finding wings. conversations and laughter are more complicated than you think.

or maybe that's just my perception of reality. still, i've been striving for a year. to achieve. to make myself worth something. to hear God. last night i was filling my prayers with noise and chatter and three clear words emerged: the clearest for a long time.

rest in Me. and so i am resting, reading the psalms and emailing, watching daytime tv and not feeling guilty for having no plans. news travels fast in carrickfergus: new zealand and sarah's wedding and my degree. everybody knows, it seems. but that's okay, this is home, even for a while, and i know i don't have to stay here indefinitely. i know where i am from; i know my roots and i'm beginning to learn about the family skeletons. still, i am happier in the truth that i do not have to do things the same way as they have always been done. i do not have to conform, nor do i want to. sometimes, late at night, i question my decisions. ultimately i know, however, that they are mine to make. mine is the bed to lie in, should anything go awry. if i was american i would be sitting on the porch drinking in that which is going on around me...this being northern ireland i will sit in the garden and watch the clouds on the breeze, appreciate all the details i have missed doing my finals, and dream.

last night i dreamed of colombia...last minute-rushing-forgetting-my-mobile-leaving-the-flat-door-unlocked-and-losing-my-luggage. amy and brianne remembered my passport: perhaps they are not so blonde after all. well, in my dreams at any rate. days and nights go by; it's ok soothes me and becomes my lullaby.

sweet dreams.

the amazing adventures of...

so the days go by, each a distinctive blur of sleeping and eating and walking by the sea. they are developing their own slow rhythm, like a lullaby sung quietly at night. summer is feeling like a half-written song, so far, but something tells me hindsight will finish it. after so many words lately i'm content just to look, to lie on sofas and observe, to sit on beaches and watch the sun go down.

in the mean time, check out the amazing adventures of king louie...paul buttery is the man responsible, so keep an eye out: king louie in a place near you soon...

(i made a new link too)

as the sun goes down

brianne has been commenting left right and the proverbial centre from her travels on the other side of the world.

sometimes, i am baffled by how big the world is and how unending the world wide web seems. but then i am just an irish girl from a small town amazed by the big big world.

andy, if you are singing amelia right now, i will be forced to confiscate any or all of your aimee mann cds. and 10,000 maniacs. and rage against the machine.

however. there is a counting crows lyric that reads "never just an ordinary girl"...i may be crazy but i'm not ordinary.

siesta

today it is so hot it's hard not to sleep. van morrison is playing on the stereo downstairs, and i'm just beginning wake up. lately i have dreamed, of running and prisons and escape plans gone wrong. kiefer sutherland's arm got cut off too, but i'm pretty sure he managed to save the world from sure-fire disaster. when i wake up, though, i am as tired as though i did the running and the escaping myself. getting out of bed is getting harder, and i cannot remember the details of my dreams. themes, and feelings, and even movie stills, sometimes. but not the dreams themselves. it's vaguely unsettling; days go long and nothing gets done. and i have to keep reminding myself: there is nothing pressing to do. i can drink coffee and watch er and neighbours and not have to re-write my dissertation.

graduation hasn't sunk in yet. so i have walked by the sea and replayed the past few weeks in an effort to make sense of the details. i'm finding it an easier option not to think; life is slower, and i have more time, but little inclination to analyse. this is a great thing...

i am walking by the sea, flip flops off and trousers rolled up to the knee. the sun is making a graceful exit behind the hills of islandmagee and tinting the twilight pink. my camera isn't doing any kind of justice; i'm taking photos in my mind but i'm not sure how long they'll last for. still. i have dreamed of this, this walking on the cool sand and dipping my feet in the shallows and this salt on the breeze. catherine and me are talking about new zealand; we are dreaming of the pacific ocean and the fjords and feeling free. i wish brianne was here to talk to me about what the dreams i have at night mean: it's the the little things i want to say to her, and to amy [there was an elvis presley flim on tv yesterday called clambake] that make me miss them all the more...central america is a long way away.

maybe they don't mean anything. maybe they do.

in any case, it's either coffee or sleep.

these are the days of endless summer.

i've been on the road for what seems like forever...a mere three days, at least i think it was three, but each day seemed like a week. driving in sunshine, night driving, sunburn and more tears. sunderland and scotland and many coffee stops on the way.

so i am home. ireland home. already i have kicked off my flip flops and begun to blog. perhaps this will be a great summer...perhaps. someone else's keyboard and someone else's list of favourites to negotiate. this is weird. a homecoming without any of the excitement i used to feel...seeing the sea, and the uff flags, and knowing...this is northern ireland. i am wondering the wheres and whys, the reasons for and searching for rhythm in the chaos. sitting in a house smelling of lavender, surrounded by boxes. listening to coldplay.

look how the stars shine for you

being home.

so this is goodbye...

we're all packed up and ready to go. our rooms are bare and dusty; it looks like we've never lived here, and yet as i look around the rooms my eyes are full of tears and memories. memories of work, and tears, and unspeakable joy. of happiness and blondeness and new shoes. of coffee and revision and christmas dinners around rickety tables. memories. late nights and early mornings; friendship shared and love lavishly poured out and some door slamming.

i'm packing up my life so far. going back to ireland. watching my friends leave one by one, and feeling the tears start as each one drives away...no-one warns you how hard this is. so let me warn you now: leaving is one of the hardest things you'll ever have to do.

we stayed up til sunrise.

it's twenty past five now, and the others have gone to bed. i'm still awake, listening to radio four and feeling happy-in-my-soul. i'm tempted to push through til six; we'll see.

tonight was the hottest i have ever been: even people standing completely still broke out in a sweat. so, we danced and laughed, i lost everyone and found them again, i got beer thrown over me. another night at the union, my last for a while...the disco ball sparkled and people were crying and now it's all over.

leaving is final.

but it's okay, because i'll see you again. somehow, someday, somewhere. i believe it is our fate. i believe it is our destiny...

i'll go be quiet now. maybe listen to dirty dancing one last time. think about the packing i need to do tomorrow. think about the weekend, and home, and a summer of rest. and the uncertain exciting scary future.

He's got the whole world in His hands.

...and those are big hands. so i'm pretty sure we'll be more than okay...

things get confusing

"you go your way, i'll go mine"

carole king

i'm not sure which way is up today. brianne has put carole king on the stereo, and it is hot outside; i'm feeling transported, somehow, to the 1970s. i half expect the people coming in and out to be wearing polyester in varying shades of brown, and maybe some platforms. it fits the retrospective direction our conversations have taken lately.

do you remember when...?

in three years, you can change beyond measure but still recognise yourself. you can move to a different country and leave your family behind. you can be thrown in at the deep end, and remember how to tread water at the last possible second. in three years, you can meet some great people who you love, and some not so great people who make you think "have a nice life, mate". you can live in a house and a flat, you can be a leader, you can sing more than you have ever sung before and still want to do it again. you can learn and be humbled and see Jesus in your friends. you can laugh and cry and develop a tendency towards blondeness (if in doubt, blame someone else...). you can dress up as a bug and dance around like an idiot. you can stay up all night and sleep all day and spend too much money on cds. you can work harder than you have in your life, and you can spend an extraordinary amount of time addicted to neighbours and to warner village. you can dance like an eejit every time the pearl and dean music comes on. you can plant onions. you can go to see counting crows and beat your caffiene addiction and see the world through contact lenses. you can get your nose pierced and you can see your friends get married and you can be incredibly blessed by it all. rejoicing, and mourning, and seeing with heaven's eyes.

you might even get a degree, too. it has been the best of times and the worst of times; and i am beginning to learn that i would not change a single day. tomorrow i leave my keele, and i cannot think of anything to say here that is not a cliche. i will miss this, more i can realise now. however. i do not want to be anchored in the past; i want to be excited about whatever is coming next. i want to live freely, with grace. to keep going on without dwelling in the might-have-beens.

salt and light...

flip flops and sunshine

rain, apparently, is a sign of blessing. in light of this i think my graduation day was very blessed...i wore flip flops, and it rained; a fitting end to my three years. i wore the gown and the hood and even the hat-thing, and i shook the deputy vice-chancellors hand and i graduated.

wylie was right...it's a little bit anti-climactic. i'm glad i experienced keele, though. something to remember in years to come. people who have influenced and shaped me. people to remember, really.

and now i shall pretend i am not leaving, and go bowling like i haven't a care in the world.

bring it on...

some other beginning's end

this doesn't feel like a beginning. we are packing, and meeting each other's parents, and trying to ward off thoughts of the inevitable. we are leaving. i'm trying to enjoy the moments of now, of right-this-second, but i am thinking of thursday, of cars pulling away from keele, of hugs and goodbyes and tears.

maybe i won't cry. who knows. i'm listening to rosie thomas and wishing for some space where change is not inevitable, where life is not mundane without change. i'm wishing for heaven, i guess. wishing this wasn't over.

tomorrow is graduation. an embossed stamp on three long and incredible years. an ending. and people keep saying this is another beginning...

but it just doesn't feel like it.

(our God is an awesome God)

so...maybe it won't rain frogs...

but man, God is awesome.

alone last night in the flat (and a little freaked out by some bizarre noises) i started reading the psalms...

just listen to this...

sing to God, sing praise to His name,
extol Him who rides on the clouds -
His name is the Lord -
and rejoice before Him.
a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in His holy dwelling.
God sets the lonely in families
he leads forth the prisoners with singing...

sing to God, you kingdoms of the earth,
sing praise to the Lord
to Him who rides the ancient skies above
who thunders with mighty voice
proclaim the power of God,
whose majesty is over isreal
whose power is in the skies.
You are awesome, o God, in Your sanctuary...

praise be to God.

and God's people said yes and amen.

(still frames in your mind)

i have been reading other peoples words today.

snapshots of their lives.

i'm still reading yours too, caroline. so keep posting...

still. makes you wonder...how we really see.

(elle)

i used to count calories. my much-less-funny-than-bridget-jones past resurfaced today when a copy of elle magazine found it's way into my hands at toni and guy. and i had to wonder: for whom do we diet? what is our motivation? our thinking is disordered...mine certainly was. so. i used to be obsessive, not about food, but about controlling how much and when. i ate 20 grams of fat every day for two years. i do not remember being happy while i did so...but everyone around me told me i looked great, and so i kept going. that was round about the time my caffiene addiction started, i think. something to get me through, i guess. looking back on it, i worry about the might-have-beens. what could have happened. but we bury these things because to admit them is to reveal our weaknesses, expose our real selves and risk terrible rejection.

there are 80 calories in a banana. one calorie in a can of diet coke. these are things i used to know better than i know my multiplication tables. four eights are not twenty three, as i have publically (and embarrassingly) discovered. at my thinnest i wasn't even that thin, at least not dangerously thin, or elle thin, but i didn't look like myself. and i can't remember what stopped me from going any further down the path to a more severe eating disorder; i remember knowing, though, that i did not want to be thin-and-unhappy. i did not want to look miserable in photographs. i wanted to eat what everyone else at the table ate instead of a specially prepared low-fat low-taste low-everything piece of lettuce.

and that was the best thing i ever did. the most sensible teenage thoughts i had for many years, i think. i will remember what i learned from those years, and i will praise God for letting me see me with heaven's eyes. a daughter, a princess, loved. beautiful and worthy and surprised daily by the grace of God.

so. now i smile real smiles in photographs, and i will not be afraid to talk about this if anyone should ask.

(happy independence day)

(my own private magnolia)

i played aimée mann this morning on my way to work. i forgot i was wearing headphones, and so my walk was like my own moment in magnolia.

it didn't rain frogs, though.

still. one more day of work left, and then the fun starts. or rather, i get really busy. beauticians and shoe shopping and parents arriving and graduations and parties and leaving. however, i am smiling and still sleeping at night (not enough, i regret to say, not enough)...so.

it will all be okay, i think.

(she who sings, prays twice)

we turned the radio off halfway through the afternoon; fadzai was sick of hearing the same tunes over and over, so she took drastic measures...we sat in silence, and then we started to sing. alison sang in swahili and fadzai sang in shona and i harmonised with both of them. we sang spirituals and sister act, and the hairs on the back my neck stood on end when we joined together.

afterwards, we sat in silence, and our singing was like praying.

at lunch, i read the lonely planet guide to new zealand and listened to athlete turned up loud...i'm getting more excited about the future with every page i read...roll on september 2004, and my move to new zealand, and another chapter in the life of esther.

i will come back, though.

and on the way home i continued in silence, walking until i ran out of pavement and then walking some more. listening to the rain on my umbrella. letting the needles of water rest on my face and breathing in deep.

and our singing was like praying.