rain-soaked matisse.

I believe that everybody has a couple adjectives by which they can be defined. These words weave together to paint a loose picture of the person -- something like a poorly contrived watercolour painting. Though details are indefinite, shapes and figures can still be perceived. Picture a Matisse painting that has been sitting in the rain for a few hours ... or stare at a bright light for 10 seconds then close your eyes -- paying close attention to the floating neon shapes. Yes, somehow in my imagination these blurry images can represent the foundation of a personality. Don't ask me how. Just go with it.

I don't know if it is my time here in London, or the natural growth of self -- but I am beginning to wonder if the adjectives that I had chosen as mine are still valid. Is my definition of self supposed to be the true person I am, or an idealistic person I aspire to be? One one hand I want to pursue an idealistic sense of self. But on the other hand, I wonder if I am neglecting parts of my personality that I should be embracing. Is "me" good enough? Or should I keep working at being "better than me"?

I realize that this is not the most interesting post. In fact, no matter how I phrase my sentences, it really is quite confusing. But here is the carry-home message: I am thinking... a lot... about who I am and what I want to be. I am at an extraordinary point in my life where I have an incredible amount of control over my future. If I wanted to, I could change my major and alter where I will be in 5 years completely. It is an uncomfortable amount of power that I'm not quite sure what to do with.

In short, every decision that I make today will play into my life 50 years from now.

No pressure.

xin nian yu kuai.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Chinese, that means Happy New Year. It may have been weeks since you thought about the New Year, but not so fast. Just as those resolutions were starting to fade, the Chinese New Year whirls through as a reminder of how quickly you failed to achieve them. sigh.

In good faith, I spent my Sunday afternoon in Chinatown. Lured by the promise of an extravagant parade and the possibility of free food, it was too good a chance to pass up. Unfortunately, we missed most of the parade and the only free things in sight were red envelopes full of cheap chocolate. I did manage to hunt down some tasty Lo Mein and a couple dancing dragons though!

Tomorrow is one of my most beloved days of the church calendar. Not much can top a day where you can guilelessly gorge yourself on syrup smothered pancakes in the name of your God. Yes, being a Christain has its perks.

Although I am a little dissapointed at the commercialization of Shrove Tuesday in England. To the masses it is known as "Pancake Day," and they couldn't tell you any of the religious reasoning for the feast. It is so commercialized that it warrents a special display in the grocery stores -- complete with flour, nutella and lemon juice. What is this display missing, I ask you? Syrup. Why? They don't put syrup on their pancakes here. They squeeze fresh lemon on top and coat it in sugar. Hmm... I'll give it a shot tomorrow but we'll see.

I did manage to find a tiny bottle of "Maple Flavoured Syrup" hidden in the corner of the store. There wasn't any Mrs. Butterworth's to be found. I am not sure if this stuff will work but my fingers are crossed that it does the job!

spandex afternoon.

Two weeks into my time here, and I could not say more about my experience. I have found that studying abroad has already done more than open my eyes to a new way of life. It is helping me realize the things that I take for granted. For me, a few of these things are boxed macaroni and cheese, the word vitamin being pronounced correctly, free nights and weekend cell phone minutes and the Elon gym 30 seconds from my dorm room.

In mourning of my home gym, I decided to go on a run today. Decked out in my cold-weather tight spandex pants and track jacket I headed down to the canal near our flat for a nice run on the tow path.

At first everything was lovely. The placid water was broken only by the gentle bobbing of a duck. A pair of cyclists pedaled leisurely along side one another. The sun was almost warm and the wind was slight. All that I could hear was the rolling murmur of the water and the repetitive cadence of my running shoes. I'm sure you get the picture -- it was beautiful.

I was soon confronted by the end of the tow path, so decided to head around a couple of blocks before circling back to the flats. I felt adventurous for venturing into uncharted territory (can you tell where this story is going yet?) I started out on a side street with the intention of taking the first left, after which I planned to take another left and end up back at the canal. Good idea, right? In most circumstances, I would have been fine, but in London they don't believe in city blocks. Apparently angled roads, dead ends and alleyways were all the rage in the 1800s. And all this time I thought all they cared about gold, tea and world domination!

My plan to take lefts turned out to be a disaster! Instead I found two dead ends, had to jump a fence to get on the sidewalk, ran through a outdoor market, nearly got killed by a double-decker tour bus, and, I kid you not, got chased for about 30 second by a loose dog. Really, I am not making this up.

I wound up at Paddington Station -- one of the biggest transportation hubs in London. Now it is one thing to be running through a neighborhood in spandex. But it is an entirely different matter to be in the center of 100 people, trying to cross the street in spandex. All I could do was keep running, because it just doesn't get much worse than walking in spandex. I convinced myself that if I kept running they might not notice how out of place I was among the Marks & Spencer clad swarm of young professionals.

I heard a couple guys whistle. But mostly people just starred. I kept reassuring myself that I would never see these people again. Oh please God, never again.

Thirty minutes later, with amazing luck (and utilization of my internal compass), I found my way back to the canal. Fueled on embarrassment, I sprinted home, thus completing one of the fastest runs I have ever taken. Good exercise, indeed. I guess I can continue on without my beloved gym.

Lesson Learned: Always look at a map and plan out a route before venturing into the world in spandex pants.

chasing childhood.

Isn't it tragic how we spend most of our childhoods pretending to be adults? Armed with cute faces and innocent eyes, we have almost anything at our disposal. Instead we spend our free time envying the big kids and "playing house." As far as we are concerned being a grown-up is about being cool, driving a car and staying up past nine o'clock.

As a kid, I was really excited about getting a job and I knew I wanted to be a librarian. Why I was attracted to the field is beyond me, but I knew it was my calling. I set up a library in my room, organized the books by title and invented a make-shift dewey decimal system. Calling my parents up the stairs, I insisted they check a book out, but warned about what would happen should they be late to return it. Oh my.

Now that I have finally reached adulthood, I have figured what it is really all about -- bills, work and responsibility. I am suing Barbie and The Game of Life for false advertisement. How did they convince me that being an adult was so much fun?

I am griping about adulthood because we visited Hyde Park today. Hiding in a sea of lush green fields we found the Peter Pan Playground. A pirate ship was the center of attention, complete with hanging ropes and even a plank. Fun looking obstacles surrounded the ship and a shreded tire bedding buffered any falls. Since we were grown-ups without children, we weren't even allowed into the playground. Harsh.

We were able to take a step back in time with a visit to the Peter Pan statue. Naturally we all took turns posing. Also, a trip to Hamley's (London's answer to F.A.O. Schwarz) provided a little waunder down memory lane. I put together a slideshow so you can follow my nostalgic few days.

Try not to tear up... being an adult has its perks too. For example...you can go on all the rides at Disney World?

mounting culture.

I am quite sure that I have done more in the past week than I normally do in a month while I am at home. While the work load is still light, I am trying to really take advantage of the free time that I have. Living in one of the cultural capitals of the world, I have been like a fly to light to see museums, performances and historic sights.

Firstly, there is the theatre. Yes it is -re not -er, I am part British now, remember? On Wednesday, my flatmates and I treated ourselves to our first big time show. "We Will Rock You," a musical centering around the greatest hits of rock gods, Queen, was at the top of our list of things to see -- partly because we love Queen, but also because it was rumored the tickets were cheap. What can I say, we're college students! In the end, good decision. The show was part musical and part rock concert that left us singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs (and quite out of key.) "Thunderbolt of lightning -- very, very frightening!"

Thursday, Bethany and I decided to infiltrate high society by attending a performance of Agrippina at the English National Opera. Wearing our most lovely outfits, we sat amidst a flock of AARP-qualified opera lovers. The theatre was absolutely lovely, adorned with gold embellishments, marble accents and intricate carvings. In stark contrast the show was actually quite crude, featuring unexpected partial nudity and a select array of words that I will allow you to guess. I fully enjoyed the show, partly for its well contrived plot but also for its surprising humor.

As a final note, it snowed in London yesterday. Probably just a couple of inches, but practically the whole city was shut down. It was rumored to be the worst snow in 10 years, which is hard to believe considering most of it was melted by 3. A lot of the underground trains were closed down or severely delayed, so our class was cancelled. Alas, there truly is a place in this world that is worse at coping with snow than North Carolina. Who would have thought.

london alone.

Being alone in a big city is supposed to be a scary thing. As little girls we are told stories of monsters and beasts, when really they should warn us of rapists and thieves. Today was my day to venture into the city on my own accord. Armed with a London map, guidebook, tube pass and cell phone I made my debut as "alone in the city."

I began my venture with a trip to the Press Office of the Liberal Democrats. Starting on Wednesday I will be interning there twice a week. In an effort to ensure I do not get lost on the first day, I took a dry run to help establish my route. As I walked out of the Westminster tube station, I was instantly dwarfed by the overwhelming "Big Ben." I cannot think of a more magnificent symbol to see every morning on my way to work. It's like a little reminder: "You're in London. Do something!" Just a minutes walk from Parliament I stumbled across the office. It's set on the corner of a cozy side street. Not much traffic -- which is great, as I am still getting used to the whole "look right" concept.

Next I wound my way over to Westminster Abbey. In an attempt to cheat the system, I decided not to pay the entrance fee and instead return for a free service one evening. I did show my support by buying a postcard from the gift shop though! I am collecting postcards from nearly everywhere I visit and will be writing journal entries on the back. Hopefully by the end I should have a couple dozen postcards that should serve as a really nice, meaningful souvenir.

For the fun of it, I hopped on a random city bus and vowed to jump of wherever something looked interesting. Carpe Diem at its finest? I think so. I sat next to an elderly man on his way to see his daughter, Michelle. We had a stimulating conversation about the advantages of coming from a society where Peanut Butter is a regular part of the diet. Score one America.

A short ride later, I ended up in Trafalgar Square and explored The National Gallery. For a couple pounds donation I rented an audio guide. I was completely impressed and overwhelmed with the history and stories behind each piece of artwork. It will take the entire time I am here to make my way through the museum, and I am excited to have only just begun.

After all my adventures I met some friends at the premier of "Music & Lyrics" at the Odeon. From 40 feet I spotted a very handsome Hugh Grant and blushing Drew Barrymore. Quite a contrast from the art museum, I know, but since it was a first for me, it was a big deal nonetheless.

Returning home with feet that burned from walking and a head that throbbed with exhaustion, I felt triumphant. A day that I thought would be boring and drab turned into one of the best I have had yet. Solitary travel is something that I would have once feared, but am now growing quite keen on. It makes good time for reflection which would have otherwise been filled with conversations. I will be secretly hoping for more lonely days to come.

questioning cadence.

Only a few days in and I am already feeling myself become part of the ebb and flow of the city. Swipe card. Step down. Step down. Step down. Turn left. Doors open. Step in. Grab bar. Wisp clatter. Train rattles. Breaks squeal. Doors open. Step out. Turn left. Turn right. Step up. Step up. Step up. Swipe card. Fresh air. There is an underlying cadence to just about everything. From flutter of the British accent to the gentle rumble of the underground.

The first few days -- I was awkward. Unsure of my surroundings, I felt like a baby calf wobbling on long feeble legs. But given four days to grow and learn, I have come very far. I actually think that at some point I will feel a part of this place that amazes me so much.

However, the more I become part of this place, the more I am forced to think about who I am. I have to decide what parts of my identity are mine, and what is just something that comes along with living in America. The more I assimilate to British culture, the more I wonder if I should. Perhaps being here isn't about fitting in. But rather about being willing to stand out.


Peeling a person apart from their culture can have two results...

1. The culture is so much a part of that person that they are empty and lifeless without it.
2. By stripping away ones culture, you are allowing the true, undefined self to thrive.

In hope and fear of these two options, I am being careful with myself as I make this transition. Facing the gap between culture and self isn't particularly easy -- like removing a hat without knowing if your hair has managed to keep its shape, or has gone awry. I'm only hoping that my scenario turns out more like number two, and not at all like option one. Will my hair look good without the trusty cap?