Walls at their breaking point

In the middle of our complex lesson on Attached Pronouns in Classical Arabic, our tutor slipped in a short aside on the “guarding alif.” The alif that appears in perfect plural verbs. It’s not read. It’s silent. It just stands there like a wall, he said, as he drew a sharp, vertical line down on the white board. It stands there to let you know that this word ends here. And its stays there. Well, that is until we need to attach a pronoun or something to it. With a swipe of his thumb, he obliterated the guarding alif and gave it ownership.  

Last night I came home from Paris. I’d spent three days talking incessantly to one of my dearest friends. When I rode to the airport on Friday, I felt like I was scrambling out of Oxford for a breath of fresh air. Last night, when I returned, I climbed up the three sets of stairs to my attic room. I opened the door and felt the rush of iced breeze. My radiator had been off for the length of my three day trip, and steeping into my room felt like stepping into a freezer. The central heat was off for the night. I changed and slipped under my duck feathered duvet, and pulled another blanket over myself. The air was so cold that my forehead was starting to pound. I shut my eyes, and while I was so exhausted, the freeze in my nose was so alarming I couldn’t sleep. I spent hours going back and forth between suffocating under my blanket and bringing my head out only to freeze. The night passed. I woke up with the headache I’ve had all day. Sleeping in cold isn’t unfamiliar. I do it often, only not in a room with walls. I sleep in the cold when I’m in the mountains, when I’m near the highest peak in mainland America, when I’m at the edge of the Sierra lakes. I take the cold as a gift from the star ceiling over my head. But in this room, in this house, in this city that is defined by its medieval walls, this air was painful.

This headache has been a lens. Everything I’ve done today, touched today, I’ve seen and read and experienced through this headache and the story that came with it. I’m immersed in a world of invisible walls: my hard book cover, the gloves that protect my fingers from the slashing breeze as I ride my bike, exhaustion, the locked café doors.

I’m reading a book about ultrarunners, people who never ran a day in their life, who become proof of man’s unlimited and boundless capabilities by running hundreds of miles in unimaginable natural terrain. They break every physical, mental, and emotional boundary we think exists. I’m close to the finish line, only 20 pages left to read, and I can’t decide if this book has been uplifting or miserable. Because every time I’m confronted with such inspiration, with people who break every link in their chain, I’m upset by how bounded I feel. Knowing what we can achieve and knowing how to achieve it are different from actually believing you, yourself are capable of it.

Walls are as easy to bring down as they are to build. I’ve realized this even more from this painful and stubborn headache. It’s not the swipe of the finger that really matters, but what we attach ourselves to once we’re standing in the vast boundless openness before us that gives it meaning. 

There is such an unsettling silence without him. I never realized how accustomed I've grown to having someone always present in my space. The strange thing is that I love solitude, or so I thought. It isn't that I no longer love solitude. It's that I've realized that I like the solitude that comes by choice. I like pulling away from it all, but I like to keep him close. I don't expect us to talk when we're in the same space. We don't have to do anything. Just as long as he's there, as long as he's in my space.
He's so far.
This time difference is brutal.
Why am I here?

Yosemite Backpacking Glen Aulin

Mehdi and I have decided to start writing down our backpacking experiences, so that we can remember the details of the places we're going. At first I thought of starting a new blog, but then considering the number of un-contributed to blogs that I've started, I decided to just write them down in here.

I'm going to start with our most recent trip. 

To backpack in Yosemite, one needs to either be very organized and a plan far ahead, or be willing to endure a series of strenuous early hour-long wait sequences. We, of course are far from organized, so to obtain a backpacking permit for our chosen "Glen Aulin" trail, we had to stand in line the day before. 

Mehdi and I left for Yosemite around 2pm July 25th and arrived at the park's gates around 5pm. Our backpacking permit pick-up location was one the other side of the park at Tuolumne Meadows. From the entrance to Tuolumne Meadows is about 1.5 hours. Once there, we went to the closest campgrounds and realized they were all packed full. We had heard that in order to successfully obtain a permit, people stand in line form 3am. To make sure that we had an opportunity to get the permit, we decided to spend the night in the car and hit the line at the break of dawn. The car was surprisingly comfortable, once all the food was stowed in the bear boxes and the chairs were brought down, the sleeping mats were laid out, the sleeping bags unrolled and Mehdi's position confirmed so that his long legs would be comfortable. 

Our alarm went off at 5:30, and we jumped out of the car with our jetboil, tea bags, biscuits and two mugs to stand in line. We were first! I sat on the rock right behind the sign that read "The Line Starts Here." Almost instantaneously, several other groups came out of their car and stood in line. The Tuolumne permit office didn't start giving out permits for the next day until 11am, so safe to say all of us in line ended up becoming pretty good friends by the end. 

Once we had our permit, we headed over to the backpacking base camp and reserved a campsite, and then went and explored Yosemite Valley. It was Mehdi's first time. It was also our anniversary! And we searched for a nice place to eat lunch, and escape the heat and couldn't find anywhere but the crowded food court with frozen burgers. :-) 

The backpacking base camp was very cozy and crowded. Our site alone had at least 4 parties camping in it, but everyone was really friendly. We met a young man who was doing the entire John Muir Trail in 11 days for his fourth time! Quite the inspiration. 

At 7:30am the next day, we met my mom and Milad at Tenaya Lake. We parked one car there and all drove in the other car to the Glen Aulin trail head. After putting all food goodies in the bear boxes at the trail head and adjusting our bags we started on the trail at 9:00am. 

The trail was about 6.5 miles. It was gorgeous, stunning, and not difficult at all. It was mostly flat with a few downhill stretches. The trail rain along limpid waters and across large granite surfaces. If it weren't for the stacked rocks, we would have surely lost our way. At about 3 hours, we got to the sign marking Glen Aulin, and it was another .3 to High Sierra base camp. We walked for another 20 minutes before we were welcomed by a wide, but short waterfall running into a dark blue and green swimming hole. 

We crossed two bridges over the water and then entered High Sierra camp. High Sierra camp has a store and several tent lodges. You have to walk past the lined tents and the dinky store before getting into the backpacking campground. We picked an amazing campsite farther away and more elevated. 

A note of caution: Bear boxes are only located near High Sierra Camp. There is only two and they are incredibly fetid and disgusting. We were very happy that we had brought our own bear canisters, (one for every two of us). 

Our first night was incredible. My mom and Milad took a nap since they had been driving from 2am, but I couldn't resist. I wore my swim pants, and went right down to the waterfall. The water was so much warmer than I expected. It was so refreshing and calming to swim in natural waters. Mehdi came along, he waded up to his knees and took photos. We made a cup of tea, as I shivered from the cool breeze on my wet clothes, before making our way back to camp. After changing and drying off, I woke up my mom and Milad and we made coffee and tea and snacked on dried fruits under the sun on a large piece of granite, secluded from any other group. Afterwards, I followed my mom down to the brook using the small path we had in our campsite. And in less than 10 minutes we were both in the water. We tempted Milad in, as well. 

On Saturday, we day hiked to the "Water Wheels." It was only 3.5 miles, but a steep downhill in one direction. We found a magical place to sit and eat lunch right at the edge of the Water Wheels. Our hike back was an intense climb in striking, draining heat. But once we returned, we stopped at the Glen Aulin falls and all went in for a swim. I was so happy that I seized the moment and swam yesterday, because on Sunday the water felt far far colder. 

On Sunday, we woke up at 7:00, ate a delicious breakfast of oatmeal and peanut butter and then backed up. We were taking a different route back, that began at the same place that marked the "Glen Aulin" location and "High Sierra Camp .3 mi." It went past Murphy Creek and came out at Tenaya Lake. The pros of this trail was that it offered variation in scenery. It moved through forests rather than large open spaces of granite. For this reason, it also offered a cool shade. But it was filled with mosquitos. We could barely sit for a water break without feeling at least two pinch at our legs or necks. It was also relatively flat. We made it back in 4 hours, drove back with the car parked at Tenaya Lake, picked up our goodies from the bear box, returned the bear canisters to Tuoloumne Meadows and began the four hour drive home (with a stop for a hearty pizza lunch, and iced coffee). 

There's a rainstorm/windstorm/thunderstorm in the middle of June. It's kind of miserable for us, sitting inside, staring at computers, withstanding the grueling process of editing dissertations. But the trees--the trees' leaves and branches look like they're swinging, headbanging, turning, dancing. Their trunks like the strong, defined arms of a dance partner. The grass shivers, as if its giggling.
How genuinely nice it must be for the rain to feel so appreciated, so needed. What a reward for such a responsibility.

Another Sleepless Night

Last night was another sleepless night. I drank a cup of herbal tea and even forced myself through twenty pages of Mill on the Floss, genuinely one of the slowest paced books I’ve come across. And yet, I still managed to toss and turn for several hours before grabbing my Ipad and searching, for what I’m sure must have been the 50^th time since I’ve arrived at Oxford: How to relieve insomnia. I reviewed the list of 20, 25, 40 “helpful  tips to never have trouble sleeping.” And then flicked on the light to warm a cup of milk, mostly out of curiosity to see if the tip: “A cup of warm milk and Oreos calms the nervous system,” actually had any merit. It didn’t.

As I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, frustrated at how often this process repeats itself, this strange feeling of familiarity swept over me. Not past-few-days familiar, or even past-few-months familiar, but very familiar. I remembered lying awake just like this at the age of six, noticing the ways my toes created two mountain peaks in my turquoise blanket. And then, at the age of ten. And then all throughout the ages of eleven to seventeen. I resolved all my sleepless nights by dragging myself out of bed at 4:30am, making my way to my sister or parents’ rooms, and pushing them over to make room for myself by their side.

In the few weeks before my wedding, my mother said, “I’m glad you’re getting married. You won’t have trouble sleeping anymore.”

“Why?,” I asked. “What does that have anything to do with it?”

“You always sleep better with someone at your side.”

I shrugged it off, and never even noticed a connection.

But last night, I put it all together. I don’t remember a single sleepless night from the past two years of my married life. There was not a single night in the five days that Mehdi visited me last month that I had trouble falling asleep. 

It’s not fear. I used to think it was stress, but I’m relaxed at this point. Considering how draining writing a dissertation is, it’s not an excess of energy.

It’s almost as if part of me has just never gotten over leaving my mother’s womb.  

My Graduate School Companion

an email from my sister, finalizing her decision on our summer travels

Thank you for your application of admission. We, at the University of Indecisive Travels have gone through your application and have made a decision. We apologize that it took some time, quite a bit of time, we had an influx of very high qualified applicants and the decision making was very difficult. To give you an idea of what we took into consideration: grades, GPA, how cute you are in the photo you attached, and how much fun our committee had in trying to decipher your name! Wow! What were your parents thinking?! I would be SO curious to meet them. 

Furthermore, one member of our admissions Committee by the name of Rey Zing, was very very indecisive (more so then the rest) However, after much thinking, crying, banging her head to the wall, and just straight up staring into space she decided that she no longer wants to be a part of the committee and needs to take a break and go to Great Britain instead. This threw us all off, as we were one man (woman!) down! When we asked Rey Zing why she is doing this, she said that she needs to detach from this tough decision making and that she doesn't want peoples futures to be stuck in her hands. She said she is not God...I was surprised. Instead, she said she wanted to go trek through Great Brittain.... on foot... (that crazy b*$#%!) with her sister. We were all wondering who this mysterious sister was that suddenly attracted her to the Googer Booger (as we call Great Britan here in the office) so we asked her about it. She said that she and her sister have never explored a foreign land together, and that it was in her utmost desire and interest to hold a travel book, and explore foreign lands with her, discover, discover, and learn. She had this odd excitement in her, when she said she really wanted to munch on a 'very welsh breakfast' and discover the history of random ruins along the hills and coast, and listen to her sister tell stories of medieval times and things she has learned and discovered throughout her studies. Rey Zing also kept drawing picture of her and her sister sitting on green hills with their feet dangling off a brick ruin wall, singing Irish melodies and nibbling on biscuits...yes nibbling. In these photos, oddly, she had a smile drawn on her face, her sister had a smile drawn on her face too but for some reason she was also holding a vacuum on the hills! Odd! Regardless, Rey Zing was out the door in about 2 minutes after making this decision. Mind you, all this was said by her in a very fake and desperate English Accent. All of us here in the office, felt so BAD for this mysterious sister! We were worried she did not know what she was truly in for.


.......that was until....until....we took a closer look at the drawing she made of her sister, and felt sudden Deja Vu....that sister...was

.....you, Choosefeer....................

Choosefeer, we are at a loss for words, here at the admissions office. Confused. Struck. Confuddled. Regardless we would like to say that you have been admitted to the University of Indecisive Travels. Please be safe and stay alive when Rey Zing visits you (do you even know about this?) We really want you here at our university.



Admissions Head