Did I mention... 04/12/2011
So, I've kind of been avoiding this blog, simply because I have too, too much to tell. Did I mention I'm in South Africa? That's right. Mamelodi, Guateng, South Africa. Right above Johannesburg. Yeah. About a month ago, the nonprofit Beaded Hope offered me a journalistic internship which involved a trip to freakin' Africa. Basically, I'm here to experience and gather writing materials. Then I come home, finish up my three classes, and spend the quarter writing for Beaded Hope. How. awesome. is. that. Check out beadedhope.org/blog for updates. I'll be blogging, as will Jennifer Davis (executive) and her son Connor. Internet is hard to get, so I won't be updating this one as much... but when I get back expect video and stories and pictures! South Africa? Shacks are right in the backyard of nice houses. These shacks are made of found materials... which literally means they are put together with whatever could be found. And apparently there is a small white minority in control. These are the Africaans, and they're rich. And racist. Yeah, South Africa is full of racism. Who knew? And apparently, they still have servants. This is only day one and my brain is already throbbing from info. Awesome. The dirt is red, the people are friendly, and I've seen a white tiger, some cows, and baby leopard cubs. Wow. Peace and love, Amanda [MicheleFreaking] Evans 3 Comments Working on: it is well 03/09/2011
If you know me, you are probably aware that I am sort of, well, microscopic. I'm short, wear kid's shoes and still get confused for 15. Which is fine. I got over it a long time ago. Mostly. But anyways, sometimes I just feel too small to really be able to handle anything going on inside of me. And when it all wells up (and i have sufficiently closed myself off to everyone), I feel the need to do something really dramatic to release everything. Last night, about 930, was the beginning. I parked my car on Lyons, and as I walked, it suddenly struck me that I could really hear the rain, its softness as it sprinkled the prelude to more rain. So I just sat and listened. And then some unpleasantness happened, details being not important. But it kind of slammed me down. And then as I internalized it and processed it throughout today, I realized that I was actually extremely hurt by the whole thing. And I was in a group of people, so I had to escape-escape-escape. Because I just knew that tears were going to happen. And they did, the second I was alone. So here I am crying in the rain. I get to my apartment, drop of my backpack, and it hits me: I have to get out of here. Gotta go. So I do. And the rain started pouring. I really love the rain. I don't try to hide from it, I just look up at the sky and say "bring it." And the clouds usually oblige. I march off down the sidewalk, giggling every once in a while, because I'm seriously getting drenched.... And I know exactly where I'm going. There's this place just off campus, far enough from the street that people probably don't notice you, but you can watch the cars pass. It's just this circle of what I presume to be granite blocks. The tallest one has to be ten feet. It's my favorite thing about Clifton. I run through the muddy grass, up a hill, to get to this thing. Sometimes you just can't care about what people think. The other part of this story is that I was wearing my favorite brown boots. I call them my falconess boots; my Robin Hood boots. They're just great. I get there, and I hide in the circle at first, just to pray. And then it was up. I climbed to the top of the tallest, accessible block, stood up, and screamed. Yeah. I pulled a Garden State.  Just like that. And then I sat down; and prayed; and sang; and listened to the tip-tap of the rain on the leaves, the grass, the granite, sounding like "hush, hush, now, let me quiet you with my love." So I was quieted. I whispered good-bye after a while, ran through some muddy puddles in the grass, and walked home. and that is how I deal with things. dramatic. beautiful. maybe a little crazy. I don't want to end there, though. This last part, this epilogue, is just too amusing. At this point I'm completely soaked, my hair is dripping, and my purse is saturated. And also, it turns out it's kind of cold. My hands are numb and can't move very easily. So I rush home this time, trying to stretch out my hands to keep them alive. I reach my apartment, fumble around for my keys, close my eyes as I excruciate myself to unlock the door. (yeah I just made that a verb. What of it?) I'm freezing by this point. At least, now I realize I am. I start stripping in the doorway, peeling my sopping panty-hose off and laughing at my absurd existence. Grab a towel, dry off, PJ-bathrobe-slippers it up. And then I found the box of mac 'n cheese my friend London gave me. And suddenly that just seemed necessary. So I go to the kitchen, make some hot chocolate, and start eating Boursin and crackers while the water boils. My stove is gas. And we don't have a fireplace. So that little flame seemed as good a fireplace as any. I stick my arms out over the flame, trying to regain sensation, when a smell pops into my olfactory thingamajig. I look down, and all of my left arm-hairs are deep brown and curled: completely burned. At that point, I think God just was laughing at me. Ok, with me. It was kind of hilarious. So that happened. And I might have given myself a fever with all that, but it was so.worth.it. Point being: If I can't be big enough, then I will just go sit in God's bigness. EDIT: My friend Stacey just sent me this, and I think it's too appropriate: James 1:3 "Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportu "Dude you sound like a meerkat..." 03/06/2011
Due to the intensity with which I love my peoples, I did not sleep a bit today. And now here I am working midnight-8. Cannot wait to be done with this job! It's awesome but.... no. I'm pretty sure my eyelids are just gaining weight every second. So. sleepy. And Daniels was hoppin today. (Yeah, I just said hoppin.) Apparently the new insult is: "Dude you sound like a meerkat! What, are you a f**king meerkat?!?" I would love to know what a meerkat sounds like. Optimism 02/28/2011
Skittles?: taste just as good on an awesome day as they do as on a horrible-crappy-crap day. Even if they aggravate a stress mouth sore. cacophonic kasplakaty kergdrific KOPSKANKITY. Oh my. K's are just so.... angsty. SKITTLES. Playlist: "Your Beloved"--By The Tree "Please Be My Strength"--Michael Gungor Band (MGB) "You Have Me"--MGB "F**kin' Perfect"--P!nk "Beautiful Things"--MGB "Your Beloved"--Hazel Grey "Dry Bones"--MGB "The Earth Is Yours"--MGB "Late Have I Loved You"--MGB "It Is Well"--By The Tree Yes. Friend Mandie threw me into a worship music kick. And it's awesome. The end. No really. The end. Old poetry: check it 02/28/2011
I sort of feel bad about this... but, well. I would write something original, about ballsy encouragers (oh yeah), but I know I'll be writing articles all day. So I figured, here, check out some of my old poetry. Because that's always fun. And not everybody gets to see HOW AWFUL I USED TO BE AT WRITING. Kidding-well. But I just found this, had forgotten about it. Interesting, because this is actually a pretty close style/rhythm to my current stuff. (This is a good 6 years old, mind). Super interesting, because I'm pretty sure this is the only poem I ever wrote about my anorexic tendencies. notice how I was SO GOOD at rhyming ;0 Pro Roller coaster in disguise, Quick, quick run and hide Behind a paper bag, creeping, creeping, The Sadness comes seeking We’ll Dance at the top But you cry at the bottom Dunno why I feel so rotten, Just last minute I smiled so often. Hormones or PMS we’ll say Time passes, but it’s still the same way. Feelings are tiring things, Never ever letting up. Emotions wipe us tired of life Sometimes seems it’s all no good We would pay to feel nothing But then we’d kill to feel anything Drugs, yes, no, maybe? Paying to feel nothing Paying to feel happy Live a lie, a little lie Roller coaster in disguise, I’m hiding, hiding, from the plunge Loops and loops, making me sick Too many feelings all pouring out Tiresome roller coaster Slow down, slow down…. Stop, rewind, play, repeat Over and over, memory after memory Too much thinking, Not enough praying I’m done for now, no thanks I’ll pass Suddenly I’m not that hungry anymore I really wouldn't normally post something like this, I suppose. But I find that this time (and night shifts) turns off my save-face reactions. Last weekend, I went on this retreat with my campus group, Navigators (Christian community. Basically, it's awesome.) Funny thing is, at the end of it all, I cried. Okay, more like I sobbed. In front of my whole small group. So if you know me, you know that I rarely ever cry. Once a month, if that. And it's usually due to hormones or stress. And beyond that, I almost never, ever, ever cry in front of someone. I can recall each time I have, they are that sparse. But for whatever reason, it just hit me in that moment, that: I am alive. Pretty basic, but there you have it. I am alive. And that realization evoked memories, empathy for a younger myself, and gratefulness. If you've ever come close to willful death, you might get where I'm coming from. It's just that, for this three year period of my life, I was depressed, and confused, and hurt, and lost, and very much suicidal. I was up most nights until 3 or 4 just going over things, fighting myself, and trying to figure out if hope was even worth it. Well it was. That was a dry period. I didn't have many people to turn to, as most of those people deserted me for one reason or another: girl friends, because of reasons beyond us; girl friends, because of their failings; and a boy because his love turned out to be conditional. I didn't have many people to turn to, but I did find solace in two friends: Natalie and Corey. Honestly, I think the glimpses I saw in them of pure love kept me alive, kept me hoping, kept me fighting off that final moment. And at the end of the day, I really only have God to thank for throwing those glimpses at me at all the right moments. Those right moments lead to better moments, lead to today. If I could go back, hug 14-15-16-year old me and say: "It gets so much better." I would. Because it does. I can't do that, but I am here. I'm here, I'm alive, and it's got to be for a reason. All of you out there, just know: It gets so much better. It really does. Jajajajajajajaja 02/14/2011
If you like me, chances are you'll like my brother: Matt Evans. He's pretty great most of the time. And he's all professional like me, with his own Weebly account. Anyways, check him out: http://randomattster.weebly.com/ He's kind of like me in that people think we're nice, but in reality we are correcting your grammar... in our minds. Also, happy Saltine's Day! Once upon a time, I did not like Valentine's Day, and thought how much cooler it would be if we dedicated the day to crackers instead... so there you have it. Saltine's Day! As a gift: here is a totally great picture of me holding the hand of my teeny-tiny goddaughter, Jaelynn Michelle :)  so cute, so cute Psssst. 02/09/2011
Hey. Yeah you. Hey. I like you. Let's be friends. Only human 01/30/2011
I can't fathom it: why my stupid heart insists on hoping, always hoping. And even though I pray to God for it to end, for my heart to just get-over-it----nothing happens. I say: God, if this is a meant-to-be kind of thing, then let it be. But if it's not, please, please, please, just take it away? It seems simple. But then, when it doesn't just disappear, I remember I'm human and think: Well, why God? Why is it here? Still? And that's when the hoping starts all over again. And I just try to squash it, because hoping in vain--just the thought of it--is exhausting. And I'm not old, but I feel like I've had my share of crushing on the DL. Sometimes, I think maybe the reason it doesn't just disappear is because I'm not ready to let go. That maybe I'm too frightened of a world of possibilities--because maybe I don't want the possible. I want you. And you seem to be impossible. I try to tell people about it sometimes. And I just say "You know?" you know? As if somehow that can fill in everything. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking about it all and I roll my eyes; sigh to myself; and shake my head . As if to scatter the thoughts, the hopes. As if they don't just reassemble themselves in 20 seconds' time, anyway. I try to train it, my stupid heart: always hoping, hoping. Gamer chick 01/27/2011
Well, maybe I'm not totally a gamer, but I do dabble in RPG's and MMO's and even play an occasional 1p shooter... And I grew up with the good stuff: Super Smash Brothers, Ocarina of Time, Duke Nukem, Spyro, etc, etc. Having brothers definitely helps the whole gamer thing. I'll watch them play Fallout or Halo and they're always up for watching me play anything from the Zelda genre. There's something about video games. And somehow, the gaming world is important. I think more important than people acknowledge. We fret about violence in video games and how that affects the minds of kids--whether we can trace murderous thoughts to video games or whatever. But I think the issue is bigger than that. I think video games are just another, more realistic, version of stories. We had oral traditions, and then poetry, epic poetry, novels, radio shows, TV, movies, and now, video games. What's it all mean? What's the point of all these stories? And, really, what's a video game, but a good story? And I mean the classic games: Zelda, Halo, Doom, Resident Evil, WoW. They're all pieces of a greater story. Why do you think it is that playing Free Realms never satisfies the hole left in an ex-WoW player? Seriously, who can make a truly epic story out of a pixie in a cartoon world? It just doesn't work. And trust me, I tried. For all of five minutes. It's the same reason that playing WindWaker is so much less satisfying than playing Majora's Mask. The gaming world should just avoid cartoonery in general. That's what cartoons are for. I have this theory that when women started becoming all feministy, and beating down the boys, we mighta pushed a little too hard--destroyed their masculinity mayhaps. How many girls complain about guys not taking the initiative in a relationship? I don't know, but in my experience it's a lot. And I kinda think it's our fault. We beat them down, telling them to let us take charge, and then expect them to pop back up and be just the right amount of leaderly. ~Excuse me as I'm just making up adverbs here, I'm kinda sick. I even had to look up effect/affect. Just because, when my head's foggy like this, I get all philosophical---start thinking that words are arbitrary and doubting the meaningfulness of language. It's scary stuff.~ I think, in my own personal observations, that has a whole lot to do with why guys are more likely to be gamers than girls. Sure part of it is the engineer mindset that guys are more likely to have. But why is it that girls play Sims and guys play Halo? Maybe it appeals to some basic nature intrinsically installed in our genders. So many daggone girls like, for some daggone reason, to make fake people and have them live out fairly realistic lives. Meanwhile guys (and apparently me), are stuck playing these adventuresome stories, with achievements and leveling and weapons and skills and quests etc etc etc. What's it all mean? What does it all flippin mean? Something inside video games, the same thing inside stories, appeals to a bigger picture of life. A life that I think we all feel cheated of. As kids, we read these stories of dragons and pretend to be Link saving Zelda.... and then all's we end up with is a business degree and a totally boring, never-going-anywhere, lifestyle. It's like we've all been set up to have our daydream balloons punctured. It's a big joke, this dreaming. But forget that. I'll accept insanity and maybe push myself out of mainstream America if it means doubting epic storylines. Well I tell you what. I'm still gonna keep doing yoga, and try to learn jujitsu and practice my ocarina. Cause you just never know when adventure could break through the thin membrane of reality in this world. |
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