. . . wow

I sailed around the world awhile ago. I don't know if you remember.
Sometimes I forget.
I was in Vagina Monologues.
Changed my life.
I quit a journal,
and started another.

Four years ago, all I wore was pink.
I now own nothing resembling cotton candy or 80s carnations besides my fluffy slippers.

I've changed.

I've lived in the dorms, a 4 person apartment, on a boat, in a sorority house, in south america, in a 2 person apartment, my car, and now in a brothel (not a real brothel - 10 ladies, 1 house).

All in three years.

I've met two best friends and lost touch with others.
I've questioned my faith, forgotten about it, and slowly started to rediscover it.
I embarrassedly saw the Vagina Monologues - wondering if it was against my religion - and two years later spread my legs in front of 2,400 people as the opening act.

I now even cuss occasionally.

I've changed.

I want to mention now that somebody recently complimented me on my writing, which, as extremely flattering as it is, makes me super nervous. I feel like I have to produce some excellent blog worthy of compliments, when all I want to do is sort through my recent and not so recent past. Why I choose a public forum like a blog when I don't want to care about what people are thinking is a god question, for which I have no answer.

But I'm finally putting my head down to write this. Literally. As I lay here ont he carpet in the middle of my room in the brothel, my face is literally smushed into the leftover carpet from my Santa Cruz house. Yep, I still like writing and doing homework sprawled out on the floor. Some things never change.

I can't believe I keep changing. Every time I go through a major transformation, I think something down inside me says, "okay, now I get it." I don't know what "it" is. Life? How everything works? A bit presumptuous, I think.But if I'm not presuming that I understand something so large, then why am I continually surprised when I change again.

Side note: Another thing that hasn't changed is that I still hate being told what to do. Hate it. Want me to not like you/be seriously annoyed? Want IMMEDIATE results? Tell me what to do on anything I didn't ask your advice or opinion on. Works every time. I know it's something I should be more graceful on, but until I work that kink out, just don't do it. I mean, really, that's not a road you want to travel down. After you do it (especially if you do it repeatedly!), I'll avoid you like the plague.

But back to the things that have changed. . .I don't even know where to start. Which I guess is okay, since I already started. But do I go chronologically? Categorically? How do I explain all the ways I've changed?

And where is my jumping off point? You know? Where's my baseline that I'm showing my deviation from? And I'm nowhere near a finished product . . . so just how do I go about doing this?

I don't think I can.

How do you compare the changes between a bundle of balloons and a Picasso painting? They're different. Some similarities, maybe, like the shapes or colors. But very different, and in a such a way that you don't even know where to start.

Uhh. . . one's a bundle of balloons and the other is a Picasso painting?

Exactly.

One is me before and the other is me now?

Sounds okay to me.

So I don't think I can sum me up in a blog post. I don't think that I can show my changes. I think the best I can do is talk about who I am now, and let you see the changes for yourself. These posts go back quite awhile, and I'll try to be more consistent in the future.

So who am I today?

Lila June Carpenter. 21 years old. Christian & questioning. PACS major Global Poverty & Practice minor. I love sleeping. I have great friends from Semester At Sea, Berkeley, and Santa Cruz that I love dearly. I don't always get along with my family. I hate it when people tell me what to do. I am more confident in myself than I was before, but still sometimes need encouragement. I love dancing. Although I don't think I'll be spelling it "womyn" anytime soon, Vagina Monologues gave me a new appreciation for women and the strength in being one. I am highly sensitive to stereotyping and assumptions, and as a result started and run a new publication of campus called the Human Journal. I like long walks on the beach, sunsets, and poking dead thing with a stick. I'm a work in progress.

Because, Hell, Why Not?

A conversation tonight made me realize that though a lot of people (kinda-sorta) know (basically-ish-ugh-kinda-not-really) what I believe, they don't really know why. I recently applied to BWAP which is a Christian organization that does service in SF, and they had this question: "Describe your relationship with Jesus Christ." For my answer I wrote what you'll find below. I was going to put it up earlier, actually right after I wrote it, but it seemed kind of . . . like I didn't want to. Partially because of laziness and partially because . . . I don't know. I think most of it was laziness. Actually, that's a complete lie. Part of it might have been because I know a lot of the people who read this blog disagree with what a believe or don't know parts of my life story that were in my answer to this application question. And I was scared that if they knew all of it, they'd be weirded out or think I was crazy or stupid or something. There's stuff in here that some of my family doesn't know about (and won't like) and other parts that friends don't know about (and will think I'm crazy for). And believe me, there are a lot of things that you're about to read that at one point or another I would have pointed at someone else who was going through it and said they were stupid for it. But I think that's part of the beauty of growing up and living in a non-stagnant world; I get to change my mind and my perception of the world I inhabit. And I think part of what goes along with that is the people in my life have the freedom to change their mind and perception about me. It's only fair, right?

I thought about editing it down to make it "blog appropriate" for all my various readers (which there are surprisingly many of. I'm always thrown off when different people mention different things from my blog that I think only a handful of people read). But I realized that if I edited it down first for what my grandparents don't know, and then for what one group of friends doesn't know, and then for what another group of friends will think I'm crazy for, and then for what will scare my family (don't worry, mom, it's not that bad). . . There would be nothing left.

So I'm about to go open up the document that I wrote a couple weeks ago and haven't looked at since, and copy and paste it onto here. Honestly, I don't remember what I wrote, and I'm not going to reread it until it's up and posted because I don't want to be tempted to edit it down. So here it is, I"m going to post it right now.

Because, hell, why not?

Describe your relationship with Jesus:

Jesus and I are tight. We’ve gone through some rocky times, but I feel like we’ve grown a lot this past year and a half. I grew up in a Christian-ish home (Mom was Christian, Dad wasn’t), and my faith was always a huge part of my life. I feel like there have been a lot of steps where I’ve “made it my own” over and over. I think that’s important. As I enter new phases of my life, I have to reaffirm my life to him at each phase. I know that once he’s in my life, he’s in my life forever. But still, it’s helpful for me to recognize the new stages of my life and realize how my relationship with God has changed at each one. My life isn’t stagnant, and neither is my faith. The first time I made my faith “my own” was when I was five and accepted Jesus into my heart. A year later, my mom got cancer, and I made my faith “my own” when we no longer went to church as a family-ish unit (my dad never went), but instead I had to ask my dad to drive me every time I wanted to go. When my mom got cancer again when I was in sixth grade, I again had to work for my relationship with God, asking my dad to drive me to both church on Sundays and youth group mid-week. Every time I was sick – in sixth grade with pneumonia for two months, in seventh grade for mono for three months – I had to reaffirm my faith in God and his ability to get me well. Through every best friend who abandoned me and decided I wasn’t “cool,” enough, I had to make my faith “my own” again and remember that He will always love me. Junior year when I missed six(?) months of school because of an illness that tens of doctors couldn’t identify, I again made my faith “my own” as I trusted that God would get me better, since nobody else could. Freshmen year at Cal I started treatment for an eating disorder that I had developed in high school, and again God was the only one I could lean on. Sophomore year my world was flipped up side down when I circumnavigated the globe, seeing poverty, hardship, slums, townships, other religions, other cultures . . . My world that had before been drawn in black sharpie on white paper became a blur of colors and confusion, and I was terrified I would lose my faith. At first I didn’t want to tell anyone I was questioning, because I thought questioning meant doubting and doubting meant that I was a “bad Christian.” But I didn’t understand how a loving God could let parts of the world be that horrible, or how whole countries filled with people who practiced different religions would be sent to hell. I didn’t understand how to reconcile the more comfortable idea of “everyone has their own truth and you just need to do what’s right for you” with the idea I had grown up with “Jesus is the only way.” I got a tattoo of a Jesus fish on my head. In Roman times, slaves would get tattoos to show commitment to their masters. I thought that if I committed myself in the form of a tattoo, I would somehow have to stay Christian, because I couldn’t not be Christian and have a Christian symbol on my head. I stopped reading my Bible after a year and a half of reading it everyday. The following summer I took a break from Christianity. I went to South America and didn’t even bring my Bible; this compared to a time when I read my Bible everyday while I was traveling around the whole world. The only two times I went to church in South America, I was almost sexually assaulted. Coming back to Cal, I knew that things had to change for me. I felt like I understood “God.” I knew that there was a God, because there have been so many things that I don’t think could “just happen” and so many beautiful things that I don’t think could just “happen to look that way.” And I knew that God was loving, because I have been so incredibly blessed and have felt so incredibly love by God, that I knew that He loved me. Like one time on a retreat, we had “quiet time,” and I decided that instead of talking to God and praying, I would listen. So I sat there . . . and “listened” . . . and got really bored. Then when it was time to go in, I saw had an acorn and had a really, ridiculously strong impulse to pick it up. I don’t know why, and even my head was like, “What are you going to do with that acorn?” But I pocketed it anyways and went on with my day. When I got home later, I went on facebook bumper stickers, and the first bumper sticker said, “Here’s an acorn. I love you.” with a picture of an acorn. Weird, I know. But it happened. So, like I said, I have felt loved by God, and I don’t think that I’m the only one in the world He loves, so I have to conclude that he is a loving God . . . But then I got to the “Jesus” part, and I got stuck. I didn’t know how to think of Jesus, I didn’t have any “proof” of him. I was stuck. I knew I wanted Him back, and I knew I wanted Him in my life, and I knew what that peace of knowing Jesus felt like. But I was still stuck. So I joined the leadership team at church and started leading a triplet, which seems like a weird step. But I knew that they only way I would get anywhere was if I was in the word about it and in discussion about it, so I had to be committed to something. I was upfront about being in a weird phase of questions, but still knowing that I wanted to know Jesus. So I lead a triplet, was a leader for the triplet leaders, was involved in church, talked a lot to Nick, and prayed a lot. I still know that there are a lot of things I don’t know, and honestly I think if I was back in Jesus-times I would sometimes get really annoyed with Him, but I know I love Him, and I know He loves me, and I know about the graceful sacrifice He made for me. He is teaching me His grace, and He is filling me with His joy. And now as I’m slightly homeless and in the dregs of finals, I can still be graceful to those who have hurt me, and joyful in the face of suckiness. And it’s all because of Him. Like I said, we’re tight.

P.S. For the record, I don't think I've "arrived" at all in my spiritual process, and there are still a lot of questions that I don't have the answer to, but I'm going to be corny for a second and say that life isn't about the destination, it's about the journey, and it's not about getting the "correct" answers, it's about asking the hard questions.

Pictures

So I was going to go back through and add relavent pictures to the blogs, but it's taking too long. So I won't.

. . . maybe later.

But probably not.

Cheers.

Weird Phases

Sorry for the weird phase there. I'm doing much better now. No more crying over shirt sizes.

But today I realized that I have entered ANOTHER weird phase of my travels. Let me tell you about it.

With my free, bonus day, I went to Cuzco's best Inca ruins. I know I'm at a weird phase in my travels when I can go to what used to be the richest, most luxurioulsy decorated Inca ruins that are integrated into the structure of a beautiful huge church, and be most impressed by the BATHROOMS!

Oh my gosh, I would have paid the entrance fee just to use that bathrooms, if I had known about them in advance.

First of all, it was FREE to use the bathrooms. AND each stall has it's own toilet paper. I didn't have to carry my own roll around with me OR buy some by it the square OR take some from the communal roll before entering the stall, which always runs the risk of a) taking too much and looking like you're about to do some disgusting business, or b) taking too little and . . . running into a problem. AND the doors closed. All the way! I didn't have to try and hold the door shut with one foot while using the other one to balance. THEN the toilet flushed AUTOMATICALLY. And there was SOAP and HOT WATER and AUTOMATIC sinks that WORKED! It felt like a real sink, not like a toddler druling on me! I probabaly spent 5 minutes washing my hands, just because I could. And then I dried them in the hot air blower things, that actually blew hot air!

The ruins were nice too, but, wow, those bathrooms. . .



(Also, side note, you know our world has come to a weird phase when you can't afford to enter a church. That just doesn't seem right.)

Turns Out I'm A Liar

I am still ready to come home.
But I leave on the 18th. Not on the 17th.
I get home on the 19th. Not on the 18th.

Time For Me To Come Home

I think it's time for me to come home.
Actually, I'm quite sure of it.

I know this becuase:
a) I've run out of money
b) My flight is tomorrow
c) Yesterday AND today when I was trying to buy something for my little bro, I almost started crying because I couldn't figure out which size to get. (Don't ask me why I almost started crying. Believe me, it surprised me too.)

So I'm quite glad to be coming home tomorrow. Even though what I mean by that is leaving for home tomorrow. I'll be home the day after.

I'm in one of my autistic moods today. What I mean by that (for those of you who haven't heard me use that phrase), is that I don't make eye contact, I don't feel like talking to people, and I feel like staying in bed and reading all day.

I tried to kick myself out of it this morning, walked around, couldn't find where I wanted to go, got tired, and went back to my hostal. Then I stayed there for a bit. Then I took a nap. Then I said, "Lila, this is your last day in South America, go do something." But I really, really, really didn't feel like doing anything. Especially in Cuzco where people keep telling me to buy stuff. But, after remembering all the people yelling at me about relaxing masages, I forced myself out of bed, walked to the town square, and followed the first person that yelled at me about relaxation.

It was an awesome massage. Especially for 25 soles (about $8.50).

I thought that after I would feel rejuvinated and ready to go do stuff, but I don't. I tried to go shopping again, and, like I said before, almost started crying 'cause I couldn't choose a size for my not-so-little-little-brother. (Result: All of the VERY FEW gifts are things that don't have to fit correctly. Like sweat bands).

And then I gave up on shopping. I don't want to do anymore. Thought that counts, right? So if you feel like I should have got you something, know I probably thought about it. . . and then gave up. Does that make you feel better?

Bleh. I feel sick. I may have been a little too adventerous with my food and drink yesterday. (Pink, frothy, home brewed corn beer??? Guine Pig??? What was I thinking?). Oh how I long for honey nut cheerios and mac & cheese (not together). But right now, honestly, any food sounds gross.

So now I don't know what to do. I feel like I was adventerous enough yesterday to carry over to today. I ruined many tourists' pictures. I tried to feel bad about it, but it didn't work.

Let me tell you what happened.

Background: Peru is a Catholic country that likes to party. Not "party" in the sense of nightly drunken debauchary, but more in the sense of every Catholic saint is deserving of a parade with dancers and everyone drinking beer (normal beer, not pink corn beer).

I followed music to find the celebration in the middle of some random street and sat down to watch. The dances were really intersing. There were a couple different ones - some were all ladies in bright colors, others were me in masks that honestly kind of really scared me who would whip each other to demonstrate force (weirdest thing I've seen in my life), and so on. I sat on the curb and watched, and asked the people next to me what was going on. The people next to me came and went, and eventually I was sitting next to a whole bunch of the non-scary dancers. We talked for awhile, and then the parade moved into a plaze a couple streets away. I was in charge of carrying all the non-scary dancers' drinks.

When we got to the plaza, and the non-scary dancers had finished their performance, they all came and sat with me. So there was I - jeans & gross, smelly t-shirt - in the middle of all the dancers in their beautiful, intricately beaded costumes (which I spilled soda on). When their dinner got passed out, they made sure I got some too. And same with the drinks. When the tourists tried to get a picture of all of them, I could see them looking at me with a "what the heck is she doing their" look on their face.

Made me laugh.

I might join the dancers again tonight. If I don't go to sleep first. Maybe I'll just go for a little bit. . . but I really want to go to sleep. And I feel like my head might explode. Wow, feeling sick sucks.

We'll see.

Okay, that's it for now. This is probably my last blog entry. . . that's probably a lie.

I'll see you soon.

Lots of love.

Bye.

Question

If you saw me right now, you might ask this question:

"Lila, why are you carrying a dead guine pig around in a bag?"

And this is what I would say:

"Because I got it for lunch, discovered that whoever said it tasted like chicken either is an idiot or has only had really disgusting chicken, got a to-go bag because I didn't want to insult them, AND NOW I CAN'T FIND A TRASH CAN!!!!"


Seriously, probably the most disgusting thing I've had in my life.

It had a claw.

All The Good Stuff

So I realized on the train from Aguas Cailentes to some unpronounceable city that I totally forgot to write all the good stuff. I must have left a very bad impression of Machu Picchu, which would be entirely incorrect.

So here I am, to correct myself.

Even though the climb almost killed me, I am so proud of myself for doing it. I would have NEVER thought I could have done it, and I did it. So that definitely ends on a posivie note.

Also, it turns out that the climb to Wanya Picchu wasn't all that spectacular because it was really ridiculously foggy and you couldn't even see Machu Picchu.

And it supposedly started to rain and thunder right after I left and continued for the rest of the afternoon (I had beautiful weather).

On top of that, Machu Picchu in itself is absolutely breathtaking. I kept going through my pictures again and agian on the train ride, not able to believe I actually went there. It's. . . amazing. So intricately constructed. They didn't use anything to hold the rocks together because they carved them to fit together perfectly. And there are llamas everywhere. I love llamas!!

Oh! I realized that I didn't even write about getting to Machu Picchu, which, in itself, was quite an adventure. I got to Cuzco in the wee hours of the morning, when it got light I went and found a hostal. Then after sitting in the hostal for 5 minutes waiting for the owner to clean out a room for me, I decided that I didn't want to be in Cuzco. I wanted to go to Machu Picchu, and I wanted to go right then. Because I would have been REALLY disappointed if I ran out of time to go.

So, even though the only train had already left, I figured I would just start heading in that direction and see what happened.

But then I realized that my camera had been stolen, and I went and sat in the plaza and went through all my stuff. A little boy came and sat with me and tried to make me feel better. He was cute. Maybe 7 years old. He told me about a city between here and Machu Picchu that was really beautiful. In return, I bought an overpriced llama finger puppet from him. (Those of you who know me know how much of a sacrifice that was for me because I hate spending money on useless things and I really, really hate puppets).

Then I got a taxi to a bus station, a bus to Urubamba, and a shared cumbi to that unpronounceable city. A total of 11 soles, or about $3.75. Then from there, I went to the train station. There was a train leaving in 1/2 and hour for Aguas Caientes (train is the only way to get there). It was the most expensive type of train. There were three types, but the one I would have prefered (half the price)was booked for the next two days. So I thought "just suck it up" and I bought the ticket. I considered getting one back for the following the evening, but ultimately got one for two days from then in the morning.

The train was SO NICE. In my traveling, I'm used to ripped fabric seats. But these were huge leather ones. The food was that tiny kind of food that looks super expensive. Really good too! And the windows were HUGE! I saw the other trains, and their windows were tiny. It was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO beautiful; I was thankful for the huge windows.

You know in the beginning of the movie George of The Jungle when they show the whole jungle? It looks like that. Amazing.

So I went into Aguas Caientes, and you know the Machu Picchu story from there.

Another good thing: how often do you get the excuse to sleep 19 hours straight??

This morning I got back on my ridiculously nice train with men that get manicures and 12 year olds that wear more make up that I've worn in my whole life (accumulatively), and I rode to the unpronounceable city. From there, I got a ride to Urubamba with a nice Dutch family that had hired a car. From there I got a bus to the tiny city the little boy told me about.

And that's where I am now. A city of 900 people in the middle of nowhere. There aren't any resturants, are 2 hostals, and are really cute kids. I flew kites with them.

I know that I've written a lot of "bad" things, but I want to emphasize that I've really have had a great trip.

And despite (almost) getting roofied, almost killing myself on the mountain, and getting my camera & $100 stollen, I'd say BY FAR the worst, most frustraiting and disappointing thing that's happened to me is the horrid watch tan that I've acquired.

And when a watch tan is the worst thing that I'm most upset about, I'd say it's been a pretty good trip.

Lots of love.

Maddness

After much debate, discussion, and research, I have come to a very educated and important conclusion:

The Incas were crazy.

Then after what I did yesterday, I've discovered something else:

I'm worse than they were.

To demonstrate why, let me tell you a story. I have to admit up front that I'm a little disappointed about my limited time and my limited ability with word manipulation, because I feel like I won't be able to paint a very accurate represention of my near death (don't worry parents, I'm okay now) experience. But let's give it a go, shall we?


Now to start off, I would like you to think back to 8/12/10 around 10:00pm. What were you doing? Maybe watching tv? Eating? Checking your facebook? Normal night stuff, right? Want to guess what I was doing? I'll tell you: Getting out of bed to start my day. "But Lila," you must be thinking, "You're time difference isn't that much. What time was it for you?"

It was 2:00am.

There's a hike that you can do to watch Machu Picchu at sunrise from the big hill behind it. I heard that it was worth it, so I decided to do it. I know I'm a lot slower than the average bear, so I left an hour early to give myself extra time.

I walked a long way in the pitch black (thank you for the headlight!!!) until I got to the entrance to the gate to Machu Picchu at the bottom of the hill. Where I realized I forgot my ticket. And also learned that they don't even open the gates to start the hike unitl 4:45. So I walked (hiked!) back to my hostal, got my ticket, and returned. It was now about 4:30 already.

When the gates opened and they started letting people in, I started what I thought would be a nice hike to the top.

No.

Chris, Kerry (save his ankle), or Stuart would have been completely fine.

I was a different story.

I had to stop often to catch my breath. And not in a "oh, I just jogged around the track, so I need to catch my breath" type of way, but more in a "Holy Crap! This must be what an asthma-attack-feels-lile-I-can't-breathe" type of way.

After awhile, I was in the back. Which I didn't really mind because a) there weren't THAT many people climbing, b) I liked going at my own pace, and c) I liked being able to turn off my flashlight during my breaks and be in pitch black. That's kind of cool.

Can I just say that THANK GOD that it was dark, because if it had been light enough for me to see what was in front of me, there's no way in heaven, hell, or opposite land that I even would have CONSIDERED doing what I did. No fricken' way.

I really can't describe it better than to say that it's by far the hardest and stupidest thing I've ever done. I keep thinking that I would have topped myself and leave it like that (applying to 24 colleges, climbing the highest mountain in Ghana when I was really wickedly sick - TWICE, climbing the Great Wall in China when I was super sick. . . .), but no! This tops it all.

Oh! AND I have a theory. You know those guys who climb Mt. Everest without oxygen? I reckon that they just forgot it. Because I did that stupidly huge mountain without water. I heard that you couldn't bring food or disposible water bottles into Machu Pichu, so I didn't bring any. Turns out you can.

And when I got to the top - FINALLY - just before 6, I was met not with the sunrise over Machu Picchu, but with a line to get into Machu Pichu.

Needless to say, I was confused. But that's what happens when you don't do your homework.

So I joined the others in the line. Some of them were fellow hikers, others were getting off the busses that were just arriving.

The first 400 people in like got to do the hike to Wayna Picchu, which is what I thought I just climbed. When the guy came around and asked me if I wanted to go at 7 or 10, I said 7 (I wanted to get it over with), the person next to me said 10 and he stamped their ticket and moved on.

I was a little concerned about not getting a stamp, but I figured it was noting. Maybe only 10:00 people got stamps.

So I entered Machu Picchu and explored as I made my way over to the entrance to the Wayan Pichu climb (just so you know, I'm spelling that completely wrong). I shot up a quick prayer. "If I'm supposed to go, let me get in. If I'm not, let me need a stamp."

Well, turns out I needed a stamp. After waiting in line for a half out and making friends with a lot of people in the line, there were cries of outrage (seriously!) when I got turned away.

But I knew it was for the best.

I don't know why, but I still found a deserted corner and cried for 5 minutes. It was uncharacteristic of me, but I was tired.

So instead of climbing another stupidly big mountain, I explored Machu Pichu, which was really, really cool. I could tell you more about it, but I'm running out of time and you can look at it online. I want to tell you more about the story specific to me.

Around 11:00, I decided that it was time for me to go home. "What? So early?" You forget that a) I had been there for 5 hours already, b) I had no food, c) I had climbed a giant mountain, and d) I was scared of passing out.

So I made my way to the riduculously expensive and long bus ride down the hill. While sitting on the bus, I reflected on what a blessing it was that I didn't get my ticket stamped. If I had, honestly, something bad might have happened. It's a dangerous trail, and I wasn't up to facing it. I most likely would have had to be air lifted out, which, as cool as it would have been, would have also been expensive and inconvenient.

So I went home at 11:00. Got food from the first place I saw (I ate alpaca), and went to my hostal. I was in bed before 1:00 and didn't get out until my alarm woke me up at 8:20am this morning.

Wow.

Now really quickly, I'm going to see if there's a picture of what I climbed. Then I have to go.

Nope, can't find one. They probably do that on purpose for some werid reason. But try looking up the hike from Aguas Caientes to Machu Picchu.

Love you!!!

My Wish For You

I hope you weren't hoping to see any pictures.
Because my camera just got jacked.