bended knees

I sat across from a beautiful African girl. She asked me, why do muzungus have hair? And I really couldn't answer her, Africans are so much smarter than us. She told me about school and what she was learning. She spoke with such good english, I knew that she was clever, much clever than me who after 6 years cannot speak more than a few sentences in German. She told me about the food she makes and I couldn't even desribe the food I make... mac and cheese, are you kidding me? She asked me how many children were women supposed to produce. She told of her desire to go to America and go to university, but she had no money. She touched my pale skin and I touched hers and that's when I knew that she was my African equivilent. I told her that people in America did everything they could to get dark skin like hers. She was floored, she said, Americans want to be black?? If I went to America they would want to be me? I didn't want to correct her because I wanted it to be true. I still don't know if I did the right thing, but hopefully I did not murder her dreams.
Last week I was humbled when my best friend asked me, on bended knee, to spend forever with him. Just one week later a small Ugandan girl, with that same action, begged me just to touch my hand. So much has happened in this one week, but already I feel like I did nothing to enjoy the luxury that I enjoy.

Oh sweet irony

Dear readers,

I know we seldom update this blog, but I would like to refer you to the post before this. The dear author, Miss Stack, has caught the disease and will soon be Mrs. Gillis.

Sincerely yours,

Miss Garfield

Go Get Vaccinated

There is an epidemic leveling out BYU campus, killing off one victim at a time. Once a person contracts this lethal bug, there's no turning back, they become unrecognizable subhuman forms, forgoing food, drink, and company. Normal conversations cease, roommates abandoned, homework forgotten. The correct medical term for this zombie-like disease is ringonthelefthandringfineritis, or more commonly referred to as "The Love Bug." This infection is surrounding me from every possible side... roommates, cousins, both girls sitting on either side of me this very moment at the library, friend from German class, the girl across the hall, half the members of my FHE group, and a girl I visit teach. The germ enters the body as soon as you meet a cute boy. Then the first sign of an outbreak is holding hands in public. Then after that lasts a few months, then comes the hypothetical situations conversations that go like this: "So if you were to get married, what season would you get married in? If you were to get engaged, what kind of ring would you like?" At this point, you can still go to the doctor and be cured of this infectious disease. But if you don't get it looked at, it progresses to the man hunting down your roommates and conning them into finding out what kind of ring you want. Then bridal magazines start showing up all over your apartment. The phone bill increases dramatically as you call your mom for advice. Then the looking through calendars to find a good date that works for your family. Of course, then the boyfriend asks you on a nice date to your favorite restaurant, then whips out 2 dozen roses, stomps out a heart in the snow- drags you to the exact middle of the heart... gets down on one knee... then you've got the disease full-blown. The disease takes over your life... you stop doing homework to pick wedding colors, the only thing you talk about are table settings for your reception, and you have a silly smile on your face that never leaves. To avoid this rapidly moving disease, cease all contact with the opposite sex, wear sweatpants to class, and never shower.
(That being said, I'm actually really happy for the above mentioned brides-to-be, just scared of it myself)

On pretending

My roommate handed me a pair of fake glasses she purchased at the dollar store. So fake, in fact, they didn’t even have plastic lenses. No, they were just the frames- as fake as it gets.

“They’ll make you look smarter, like you belong in a classroom.”

We were sitting in a home-made replica of an English classroom, pretending to be students so that our friend could teach us for her English teaching application. My roommate thought that in order to be a student, you have to have glasses.

The next day at school I wore my new frames. There was an empowering feeling that came along with these ‘specks.’ I saw the world like it was a movie screen—boxed in by a black border. My lectures were more inspirational, my friends wittier, my love life more dramatic. The glasses promoted me to play music and narrate in my head. People looked at me differently in my black frames. I was more sophisticated, more intelligent, more likely to whip off my glasses with one fluid motion and give someone a disappointed sort of look with my arms crossed in front of my chest.

The problem with these fake glasses is that if anyone notices that they don’t have lenses then they would have the complete opposite effect; I would look positively stupid. So it was a big gamble with only two outcomes; looking smart or looking dumb.

That day of glasses, I got 100% on two quizzes, I wrote a whole paper, and I debated politics with a Political Science major. The glasses made me smarter. I don’t think these light weight champs actually possessed superpowers to turn me into a genius. But I do think that while wearing them I was able to focus in on the objects in those little squares, and cut out all the distractions. I was there in the moment, boxed in on one thing at a time. By doing this I was able to pay closer attention to my schoolwork, the conversations I was in, and the things I was reading. It was like Dumbo’s feather- it was actually his ears that made him fly, but he thought it was a magical feather.

Glasses are traditionally associated with intelligence. The bookworms, the Computer Science majors, the valedictorians; those are the people that wear glasses. They are the ones who wear their eyes out by staring at computers screens and books. While in Elementary school, simply wearing glasses made you a target for slide, well-thought out insults, such as “Four-eyes,” “Nerd,” and “Specks.” Why are glasses regarded with so much hate?

Glasses correct vision. It doesn’t matter what kind of person you are, where you go grocery shopping, how many laps you can swim, or when you took your first step. You are either born with faulty eyes or you look directly into the sun and sizzle your corneas.

The car pulled up the driveway—I reached in the depths of my bag and pulled out my lense-less frames and fitted them perfectly around my ears under the bush of curly hair sitting atop my head. I collected my stuff, thanked my ride, and bounced from foot to foot, as I skipped to the front door of my parent’s house.

I flung the door open to announce my entrance. I heard footsteps on the stairs and I saw my dad galloping down to greet me. He saw me and stopped short.

“What are you wearing?

I merely smiled and let my fake glasses slip down my nose, in what I thought sophisticated librarians or philosophers would do.

“You look like an idiot! Why in the world would you choose, of your own free will to wear glasses when you have perfect vision? Do you even know what kind of burden it is to wear glasses?”

I first chuckled, amused by my dad’s very strong opinions. Then slowly, the more he antagonized me for my glasses usage, that movie director inside of me died.

But then I tried on his glasses and I discovered the world from his eyes. His vision was confined to two rectangles, beyond those two magnifying glasses all he could see was blurry masses. He was completely dependent on the contraption loosely placed on his face. He has to take off his glasses and replace them with prescription sunglasses every time he goes outside. My mom orders him to remove the irksome device right before a photographer counts, “Three, two, one, say cheese!” Never can he wake up and see the sun patterns on our wood floor. He has to deal with the constant jiggling as he runs.

My intentions to be a glasses-wearer were as fake as the frames. I wanted to look like someone I wasn’t. I had glorified glasses and the “intelligent” people who wore them. I never stopped and thought that glasses were more like a bothersome burden to those who actually use them to see. I don't need an object, whether it be glasses or a magic feather, to make me smarter. I just need to believe in myself, focus and eliminate distractions. Oh, and, maybe a little late night rendezvous with books might help. . .

BYU Drug Deals

Today as I was walking to class I saw an exchange between two guys. One older looking guy with slicked back hair reached into his inner pocket of his jacket as he said, "Dude, you've got to try some of this-- it's crazy." Then with a shifty glance first to the left, then to the right he pulled out a small blue bag and quickly shoved it into the other scared looking boy's outstretched hand. He pocketed it and silently walked away but not before I saw what was in the bag-- fruit snacks. The older boy shouted, "Try the green ones," as the carrier walked into the distance.
I think people here as BYU are craving rebellious activities without actually doing bad things. Or maybe the sugar in the fruit snacks can give some people highs. But whatever the reason was, I was insanely entertained!

The awkwardness continues...

I was sitting in my missionary prep class the other night. I looked around me, eying the plethora of 19 year old boys. I was happy when an older wiser girl sat next to me. We started with all the usual small talk about how excited we were about the class. She asked me if I lived far from campus, I replied with my address. I, in turn, asked her where she lives, to which we replied, "Y Mount," which just so happens to be the married student housing. I quickly looked down, and sure enough there was a big diamond ring on her left hand. I could tell she felt super awkward about being in a missionary class, so she said, "Yeah, my husband and I are moving to California after this semester, so I decided to just take religion classes for now." I tried to ease the conversation, so I said, "Oh! That's so cool, so while your husband will works, what will you be doing?" She paused for a few minutes and gave me a weird look and said, "Well.... I'll probably just be a mother." That's right, I looked down for a second awkward time to see her huge protruding belly. My eyes bulged and thinking maybe that she was graduating, I shifted the conversation back to schooling. That's when she told me this was her fourth semester in college. Yes, she was my exact same age, but married, pregnant and in missionary prep, and I realized my gift at making situations insanely awkward.

I live in a Seinfeld Episode

Jerry and friends constantly end relationships over trivial things, such as the woman has man-hands, or the guy is a close-talker, or Jerry, the comedian, has a girlfriend who never laughs, etc. I used to ask myself how can such small things determine the outcome of a relationship?? I can now testify that I know the answer to that question.
Stackfeld Episode 1: The Mustache
SCENE 1:Camera pans around BYU Campus as geeky 90's music plays
SCENE 2:A girl of about 20 walks into a classroom and sits down at a desk. She looks around and notices the cute boy sitting next to her. She smiles at him as they make eye contact
Suzanne: Hey, Isn't today a beautiful day?
Cute Boy: (smiling) Why yes, yes it is! What's your name?
Suzanne: I'm Suzanne, what's yours?
Cute Boy: I'm Nate
SCENE 3: Montage of Suzanne and Nate sitting next to each other in class, finding out they are in the same ward, laughing and smiling at each other
SCENE 4: Nate walks into class one day with a little bit of a mustache growing
Suzanne: Hey, looks like you forgot to shave this morning!
Nate: Naw, actually I'm growing out my mustache for Halloween
Suzanne turns away looking horrified
SCENE 5: Another montage, but this is of Nate's uneven, thick, hairy mustache growing over time and Suzanne looking disgustedly on
SCENE 6: Suzanne's apartment, after Halloween
Suzanne: Hey, now that Halloween is over are you going to shave?
Nate: No, actually I really like it, I think I'll keep it.
Suzanne: (sinks into a chair, looking faint) oh...
Nate: So Suzanne, would you want to go out with me tonight?
Suzanne: (unable to look at directly at his face because of the "stache") No, actually I don't think this is going to work
ROLE CREDITS