Erinn Goes Abroad

Pen pals nourish the appetite of a wandering mind.

I know this because of my own experience with a pen pal. When I was 10 years old, my family ventured to the land of Erin (read: Ireland. Hence my name). We toured the country by car for 10 days. In County Claire, we found ourselves at a B-n-B shared by a school of French girls. They were in Ireland for an annual trans-Europe trip, fervently practicing their English. I was an undemanding specimen to test elementary skills upon, being of an elementary age. So Amelie, also 10, confidently approached me at the breakfast table and it didn’t take long to create a pen-pal-accord. She was exceptionally talented at drawing horses, which made her a stout ally in my book. After we decided to become pen pals, I would enviously trace the sketches she included in her letters, hoping to somehow match her skill. Later Amelie sent me postcards from the other countries her school visited and I would wonder what it must be like to have that kind of access. To me, Disney World was exotic. Ireland was an unfathomable realm (until that trip), but for Amelie and her classmates, it was another stop on their school trip to several different countries. That struck me, I think, and has had some type of influence over my curiosity for exploration of this deliciously diverse world.

Pen pals provide a looking glass into an unknown microcosm- especially if we don’t have the means to visit that place personally. Pen pals build relationships in unlikely places, promote tolerance, and lucratively contribute to cultural exchange. That’s why I support my dear friend Jessica Munna’s effort to build a pen pal exchange between South African students (where she is currently living as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar) and those from the USA.

Jessica says, 

Engaging youth & education are the most direct ways to impact a community and my hope is to broaden the horizon for students in both countries, to help foster long-term friendship between them, and to broaden their worldview.

Donate here.

If this project sounds reasonable- nay! Noble and Imperative (I think so!)—then, I hope you will contribute to the cause. Funds are needed to cover expenses like shipping, but it won’t take much to empower this program. The reciprocal exchange of culture begets international understanding and that in turn, the promise of peace. 

To receive updates on the program, click here.

Last May I had the good fortune of meeting the astronauts of the final Discovery mission. Today Discovery takes her final flight.  My dad was in attendance and reports it was a mighty spectacle. 

“So you fly standby too?”

I peered over the edge of my LA Times. Kay, a retired Delta employee, met my gaze with steely blue eyes- not unlike my Granny King’s. It was nearly 2 in the afternoon and I had been at LAX since 5 am. Shattered, I was trying to keep myself entertained, though quickly exhausting my options. I had noticed her idling near the gate’s check-in desk (like me) waiting eagerly for a seat assignment. Kay had white, chin length hair and a curious habit of locking and unlocking her jaw. She nodded to my newspaper,

“Most people your age don’t like to read those sorts of things.” At that moment we became friends.

She updated me on the delays with the planes, why it was an impossible day to fly standby and revealed a plan. To Phoenix, she promised, and we would get on a flight to Atlanta. I was in no place to dissent.

Once we finally arrived in Phoenix, it was 6 hours before the next flight to Atlanta. So we did what only a reasonable person would do: seek out the nearest glass of wine. She chose a red, I went with a white, and that’s when she told me her story.

When she was 18, she escaped to California. She learned a lot, she confessed, but after a year she packed up and returned to her hometown in Michigan. She said she took one look around and thought, “This isn’t how I remembered it”. So she caught the next bus south towards Cleveland. There she started working at a Radio and Television station and consequently met her husband.

“A writer,” she sighs. For a moment, she’s lost in a memory, but I dare not interrupt. Instead I reach for my white.

“…I’ve been to all 48 states in the continental US. I’ve seen a place-or-two overseas, but still haven’t gone to Paris. I will,” she grins. “Italy was one of my favorites. Let me tell you a funny story about Rome…”

Solidarity can find you in bewildering places. 

No writer can write complete fiction or absolute fact. 

An archived observation.

** This photo fails to do the Wellington harbor even a morsel of justice and it was not taken at the time I recorded this observation. However, it simply must do! This is from a journal entry written back in October about the Wellington Waterfront. 

I’m sitting on the ledge of the harbor, next to the Frank Kitts Market on the waterfront. My legs dangle from the cool cement block and rest easily on the rocks that cascade into the sea. It’s a cloudy day though the water is surprisingly still. You can even see the currents that would otherwise be overcome by violent ripples. Despite the clouds, the mountains that inhabit the perimeter still stand majestic. Devastatingly serene and blithely unfazed. The colors before me are all of the same palette- steely blue with only subtle shades of variation from sea to mountain to sky. A lazy sail boat floats past and its beige sails read “NZL-5815”. For the rainbow of color, I cast my eyes up to the hill - on Mount Victoria. The houses that rest upon its nooks and crannies are every stain of pastel but the center piece is the brick Catholic church. She dwarfs the nearby homes with all her stateliness. When Caresse and Amie and I got manicures on their shared birthday, we ventured up that steep mountain to view the structure. The vista from the church out to the harbor is just as magnificent there as from where I’m sitting now. A group of buskers set up camp nearby and the disruption propels me back to the present. I hear the tinny tuning of a guitar. Suddenly seagulls shriek madly over God knows what. The pleasant pitter patter of footsteps behind me is a calming constant. Idle chatter. The hum of a distant plane flying into Lyall Bay. Today I feel a justifiable selfishness- not a soul to account for, simply left to my own device. Free to ponder and take in the present moment. And so the catchy strums of a guitar fill the air. 

What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

I’m currently reading Edward Bernays’ book Propaganda published in 1929. Among his varied accomplishments, Bernays is personally responsible for popularizing cigarette smoking following WWI. Through a campaign sponsored by the American Tobacco Company, he told the press at the New York City parade that a group of women’s rights marchers would light “Torches of Freedom”. He had hired these models to be in the parade and strategically signaled the models to light up for the photographers. These actions purportedly helped to break the taboo against women smoking in public.

I find these few pointed actions alone to be highly intriguing. Before questioning the ethical implications, it’s interesting to consider how herd mentality theory can play out into real life examples. It seems that Bernay unflinchingly utilized propagated techniques to sway the masses. To be fair, the dangers of smoking were not yet known. And as I mentioned “varied accomplishments” earlier, among them was hosting the first NAACP convention in Atlanta in 1920. It had no incidences of violence, which helped to contribute to its success. So before we assume that propaganda is a largely sinister phenomenon, let’s explore a bit of his book.

In the very first chapter, he posits:

“We must find a way to make free competition function with reasonable smoothness. To achieve this, society has consented to permit free competition to be organized by leadership and propaganda.”

What an interesting way to explain economic demand. While we might expect power of demand to be controlled by the consumer, Bernays would disagree. 

“… Today, because ideas can be transmitted to any distance and to any number of people, this geographical integration has been supplemented by many other kinds of grouping, so that persons having the same ideas and interests may be associated and regimented for common action even though they live thousands of miles apart.”

Remember this book was published in 1929. My how he might have laughed (or more accurately, been blithely unsurprised) at the invention of the internet! And how much his words still ring true!

 In light of election coverage, the Syrian conflict, tension between Iran and Israel, (and other newsworthy topics), it’s critical to evaluate the purposeful actions being taken to shape the events we are reading about on the internet, in the newspaper, or any other medium. 

Chew on that, blogosphere! I’ll now remove my poncey scholarly spectacles. In other news, I’m starting a new blog now that the winds have shifted & my rotary scholarship has sailed. It’s in the brain storm phase. To be more specific, the brain cyclone phase. I want the blog to follow a coherent theme but not so much as to narrow the scope gratuitously. See my dilemma? Stay tuned.

“I have always loved both the freshness of arriving and the relief of leaving…” -Gerald Locklin

The start of 2012 seems like the ideal time to write about the conclusion of a wondrous year abroad. I’m back in Atlanta, in the state of Georgia in the USA. Being back felt a bit strange at first but it’s funny how quickly the dust settles and one falls into a semblance of normalcy again. I find that I still love this city. I like the view of the skyline when I’m driving south on I-85 and the buildings boldly jagging into the clouds. I like the familiarity of the street names and all the friendships rekindled as if no time passed at all. I don’t feel like a stranger here… well, mostly. When I walked up to my old university today I felt like I had awoken from a dream that seemed so real it could have happened. Visceral but foreign. Like Deja vu… or it’s distant cousin.

I’ve also been surprised by several things. I was warned that I would be and the discomfort I might feel would be called Reverse Culture Shock. For one, I had forgotten about the behavior around consumption in the USA. It seemed particularly prevalent during the holiday season. I’m noticing how much people buy and how little they recycle. I’m reminded about one of America’s strongest virtues, convenience, and I’m not sure if I value it the same way I once did. I also notice how vividly Christian values permeate American society. I intend no criticism with these observations but they are certainly food for thought.

Now that it’s been about a month since I’ve left New Zealand, I’m beginning to look ahead towards my next steps. I have abstract ideas about what I want to do, but now it’s all a matter of execution. At the moment, I’m relishing in the chaos that is currently inhabiting my mind. According to the Georgia State University people I spoke with today, I’m set to graduate in May. That’s something to look forward to!