tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87953670820228042842024-03-05T12:42:36.115+00:00Land of the FreeI am a Southern Studies graduate student at the University of Mississippi. I have a BA in American & English Literature from the University of East Anglia, which also included a year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I am engaged to my "study abroad sweetheart" and will soon be moving to Spartanburg, South Carolina. My blog is about academic/personal experiences and observations as an international student turned ex-pat, with particular attention to culture shock.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-78342032174370747222014-03-12T16:53:00.000+00:002014-03-12T16:53:24.537+00:00When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.<span style="font-size: x-small;">^ True story for grad school.</span><br />
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Every so often I get an email, Facebook message or Tweet from undergraduates or recent graduates who want information on coming to America to work or study. I understand that the process can be daunting, so I'm going to attempt to answer the most common questions. In addition, I'd like to encourage all my readers to think very seriously about the personal and financial implications of going to graduate school, especially abroad. My experience of graduate school, while not perfect, has ultimately been fulfilling, and I want that to be the case for as many people as possible.<br />
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I'm speaking with an American Studies background, so this is probably most relevant to Humanities students. Unfortunately I don't know much about other disciplines, but hopefully some of this information will still be useful. If I haven't answered your questions in this post, please leave a comment here and I will try to get back to you with my own knowledge or other resources. Also, if you have any questions about me/my life trajectory in general, please let me know as I am attempting to make a blog FAQ!<br />
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On to the questions...<br />
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<u>The Application</u></h3>
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My number one reason for applying to graduate school in the US was that I believed an MA in Southern Studies at the University of Mississippi was perfect for me. I was in love. It was The One.<br />
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That's the most simple answer: because you really, really want to. But the other benefits that I will mention are the great funding opportunities, the length of the program (2 years as opposed to 1 year at home), and the fact that it's more chance to do relevant field work (in American Studies) and get a daily experience of a foreign culture. It's also excellent for making global connections and showing employers that you can achieve something truly impressive.<br />
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<b>Where should I apply?</b><br />
I'd recommend coming up with a list of possible schools to apply to. How many you actually apply to is up to you (and bear in mind that there are application fees for each); I know people that applied to just 1, 3 or as many as 10. Start with a good ol' Google search of MA programs and get a feel for what draws you in when it comes to program content, location and funding opportunities. I'll try to go into detail about each (see also Money Matters section below).<br />
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Think first about the program, the structure and expectations, the classes offered, and the research interests of faculty. Does that fit with the kind of work you wish to do? How much are you willing to learn new skills versus working in the same way that you did for your BA? Don't be afraid to reach out to potential departments to ask questions and get a feel for whether or not you'd fit there. I think that I asked my director for information on the demographics of the program, past theses topics and what jobs graduates had gone on to do.<br />
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Now consider the university itself. What do you need or expect from campus life? Think about size, facilities (library, fitness center), housing options, extracurricular opportunities, and anything else you would have thought about for applying for the BA and year abroad. Is that more or less important than the program itself? To be honest, on paper Ole Miss is not my ideal university. I don't identify with a lot of the undergraduate culture, which is heavily invested in sports and Greek organizations. It's not the easiest school to attend as a minority or international student. But I love my program and my department and ultimately I recognize that it was a brave choice for me. I knew it wouldn't be a cushiony experience but that it would make me grow a lot as a person.<br />
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On a related note, would you rather live in a college town or city? I consider myself to be more of a city person, but I keep ending up in the small-town South. That is mostly due to my research interests, but also due to cost. More on that later.<br />
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This is just my suggestion, but if you have already done a year abroad it might be worth thinking about going back to the same region. I've lived in the US for almost 3 years in total, but only the South. If you stuck me in Alaska or Michigan I would not know what was going on. Coming back to the South somewhat limited the culture shock the second time around.<br />
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<b>How do I apply?</b><br />
I applied for my MA through the British Association of American Studies. You can see where the available awards are listed <a href="http://www.baas.ac.uk/awards/" target="_blank">here</a>. (The application to go this year is closed, as the deadline was November 29.) BAAS has specific programs that they find candidates for, and the places are not necessarily repeated year to year. I would recommend applying for BAAS at the same time as doing traditional applications, unless there's only one place that interests you. My application to BAAS was similar to the traditional route, except I had an interview with a panel and was competing for one place.<br />
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For the traditional application, go on to the department's website to see what you need to do. Sometimes you will need to apply through the graduate school first, and it varies as to whether it is all online or by post. Please note that deadlines for the US are not like ours in the UK, meaning that they are usually from October to February and are not open up until the program starts. Some programs require you to submit other items to be considered for financial aid and/or a graduate assistantship, but others consider you automatically.<br />
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<b>What do I need to do beforehand?</b><br />
Most applications will require a personal statement of some kind, a transcript and 2-3 letters of recommendation. Many graduate schools also require a GRE score with your application. I've never been convinced that departments really pay much attention to the GRE, although I've heard it can be used as a way to decide funding. There are several centers in the UK where you can take the test.<br />
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<u>Money Matters</u></h3>
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<b>What funding is available for me?</b><br />
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There is more information on Graduate Assistantships below, which is how I've been funded. There are also external funding bodies available to international postgraduates, information for which is available on the Fulbright website <a href="http://www.fulbright.org.uk/study-in-the-usa/postgraduate-study/funding/external-funding-bodies" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<b>What are the other costs associated with graduate study?</b><br />
These are some of the things I had to pay for. Open up your currency converter to see it in sterling!<br />
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<u>F1 Student Visa and SEVIS:</u> $160 and $200 <br />
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<u>Flights:</u> Dependent on location and season (much cheaper from NYC than Memphis!). Anywhere between $500-1,200 is likely. Factor in how often you think you'll visit home or other places.<br />
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<u>Fees:</u> Oh American universities do love their fees! At Ole Miss, I pay $100 international student fee per semester, as well as a $50 capital gains fee. I also had costs to register, and more for graduation.<br />
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<u>Healthcare:</u> We all know this is important. Excuse the pun, but this may be a hard pill to swallow for British students. My school requires graduate students to enroll on their plan unless you have another one that is suitable (i.e. still on parents' plan). My healthcare plan, at around $1,500 a year, entitles me to doctor visits and prescriptions, but I have to pay $100 for emergency room visits and things like dental care, blood tests and referrals are not covered. It can be really aggravating to see your money disappearing rapidly and yet it doesn't cover much at all compared to what I grew up with. Some departments cover the cost of healthcare, as I understand it, so that's worth doing some research on.<br />
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<u>Books/Equipment:</u> Since I came to the US with no books or anything, I spent a lot of money. If I'm remembering correctly, my first semester was about $500, the second $300, the third $200, and the last more like $100 (thank you thesis). It depends on your program. I think the high cost came from the amount of new textbooks, as well as some documentary equipment I purchased. If you have a good library with lots of books available, or access to a credit card, you may be able to do a return system rather than buying them.<br />
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<u>Living costs:</u> I don't want to say, "Assume the worst!" but I do want to say that this can be surprising. As I live in Mississippi, people assume that I am enjoying the cheapest lifestyle in the world. Er, no. Rent is cheap, gas is cheap, restaurant food is comparatively cheaper than the UK. Supermarket food is extortionate (2-3x what I paid in Norwich), phone bill is certainly more and I've been hit by enormous bills during the cold weather period. In a city, it would likely be cheaper food and phone bills, but much higher rent. Bear in my that the US tends to have fewer options for furnished accommodation, so you may need to budget for furniture, kitchen items, etc.<br />
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Some graduate and/or international departments will provide a breakdown of expected costs, so it's worth checking those websites for more information.<br />
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<b>Agh! Can I please get another job on the side?</b><br />
Your student visa only entitles you to a certain number of hours on campus. It is not legal for you to work off campus. During the summer time, you can work extra hours on campus or off campus through OPT (more on that below).<br />
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<b>Is it worth taking out more loans? How can I afford this?</b><br />
Taking out loans is a decision only you can make. America has a much different attitude to debt than the UK, so I do know people that have loans they will <i>never </i>pay off and it doesn't bother them at all. I think that's a big reason why<i> </i>so much gets so ludicrously expensive on a college campus, as no one seems to talk about the fact that not everyone in school is financially comfortable. I was actually not completely informed of the financial implications of graduate school before I got out here (hence why I'm being so detailed now) so I was faced with that dilemma at a later date. <br />
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I think that you should do your best to get as much funding as possible, assess what personal savings and family contributions are available to you, then consider how much of a shortfall you have. If you think that you could reasonably pay that amount back once you're employed, and you think the experience would be really, really worth it, then that is something worth considering.<br />
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<b></b>Daddy Free would also want me to say: remember to stick to your Excel spreadsheet budget.<br />
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<u>Work and Study</u></h3>
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<b>What is a Graduate Assistantship?</b><br />
A Graduate Assistantship usually entitles you to a full or partial tuition waiver, as well as a stipend (wage). I am on a 20 hour assistantship, which means I work for that many hours and it entitles me to a full tuition waiver. Observing the English and History departments, the work more often than not seems to involve teaching an entry level course. Southern Studies is unusual in that a lot of us are doing different jobs for the department (teaching assistance, documentary assistance, working with the Southern Foodways Alliance) and some of us get rotated each semester. In my time at Ole Miss I have worked as a research assistant for a professor and for the Mississippi Encyclopedia project, worked as a Teaching Assistant, worked at the University of Mississippi Museum and now at Rowan Oak, William Faulkner's house.<br />
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There are also other assistantships available outside of the department, for example I have friends who are funded by the international office.<br />
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<b>What is the workload like?</b><br />
Like American undergrad, the structure is a lot of different work - presentations, short papers -<b> </b>but it is much more difficult than what most people experience during their year abroad. At the end of each semester there are substantial final projects. I often whine that graduate school is the
worst blend of the British and American system, but it's been good for
me to have to learn to turn around short papers quickly and juggle
between reading and working on a final project. I also loved that I got to take classes outside of the department, although they do have to be relevant.<br />
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Also, for undergraduates
who are currently working on or have just finished a dissertation: I
basically write 3 dissertations at the end of each semester. I'd like to
say a lot was written by mid-semester, but that would be a lie... I have done too many all-nighters to count. But basically no writing assignment can make me nervous anymore!<br />
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<b>I'm not sure if I want a career in academia. Should I still go to graduate school?</b><br />
I'm of the opinion that if you are dead-set against a career in academia, you probably shouldn't do a Ph.D for the fun of it. (Is that even possible?) But a Master's is a different ball game, or at least it <i>can </i>be. Dr. Tom Smith, who was my dissertation supervisor at UEA, warned me that instead of just thinking about academia I should think about what aspects I was interested in (e.g. writing, teaching, publishing) and consider pursuing that instead.<br />
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So I went against his advice! But only because my program was non-traditional, with the opportunity to learn about documentary, foodways, music and have a truly interdisciplinary approach to cultural studies. I entered my program thinking there was a big chance I would want to get a Ph.D (except I would do it back in the UK, thanks for that advice Professor Bigsby!). Now that I'm at the end of it, I think it's more likely that I won't, but the program was absolutely not a waste to me. It gave me the confidence to decide what I <i>really </i>wanted to do, and gave me the skills to do it.<b> </b><br />
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If you think you should go to graduate school because you're not sure what else to do, I want you to stop that train of thought immediately. I am passionate about my work, and most of the time I love what I do. But it's exhausting. It's so hard. There will be no one there to hold you hand if you start to lose motivation or confidence - you have to be able to push yourself. Where that drive comes from is individual - whether it's a PhD or a job or a personal desire to better yourself - but it needs to be something that is present in one way or another, rather than an absence of other goals.<br />
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<u>Employment</u><b> </b></h3>
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<b>What options do I have to work after studying?</b><br />
After
completing a degree in the US, you can apply for an Optional Practical
Training year at a cost of $380, sometimes with an internal fee of around $100. The job must be relevant to your
area of study. Two friends of mine have applied for OPT and are going
to be working in international and student outreach departments at the university. You can apply for OPT during the summer if you want to get an off campus job, but you must deduct the time you spend working from the overall 12 months. More information on OPT is - where else?! - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Optional_Practical_Training" target="_blank">on Wikipedia</a>.<br />
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<b>But what if I don't want to study?</b><br />
This is bad news for Humanities students. Unless you work in a STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics) field, it's difficult to apply for a work visa. These types of visas are called petition-based, which mean that your employer sponsors you to come out or stay to work. Jobs that favor humanities candidates are generally not rolling in it so they often won't consider international candidates, especially those that do not have established careers. But I will say that I don't personally know tons about it, so I will try to find out more in time if there is anyone that still wants to consider that route.<br />
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However, there are some options still available to you right now. <a href="http://bunac.org/uk/work-abroad" target="_blank">BUNAC</a> offers both summer work visas (<span class="st">£</span>495+) to recent graduates/current students, as well as internship opportunities available to everyone (<span class="st">£699+)</span>. Other organizations such as the <a href="http://www.mountbatten.org/" target="_blank">Mountbatten Institute</a> offer city-based internships alongside a business postgraduate qualification.<br />
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<u>Life Abroad</u></h3>
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My experience has
been that it is much harder to make friends in graduate school. I have a
select few close friends who I speak to or see regularly, compared to a
larger group of friends/acquaintances as an undergrad. Some people come
to graduate school with a spouse/family, or they have a whole life back
at home and they see the 2 years as just temporary. I was honestly
surprised by how many people come to graduate school with no desire to
make new friends. But I should also add that I'm not a social butterfly,
and I'm sure the experience would vary enormously according to cohort,
location, etc. I will have a lifelong bond with the friends I have made
here, as we have gone through a lot of stressful times together, and
many of us share similar career aspirations.<br />
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A
quick word on dating... I can't tell anyone what to do, but whether you
are single or taken, please think about how more time abroad will impact
your personal life. When I got into graduate school I was already in a
steady relationship, and we had many conversations to make sure that we
were clear on each others' goals and the fact that time apart was
necessary to achieve them. Long distance relationships can and do work,
but it's another challenge that is not necessarily the best decision for
everyone. If you are single, consider that meeting someone abroad can
also be a difficult path to go down. I don't want to say anything
simplistic about putting love before work or work before love, but there
needs to be a happy balance that works for you.<br />
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<b>How necessary is it for me to be able to drive?</b><br />
It's not a deal breaker if you are in a big city where there is public transportation. If you are in a more rural area, life is going to be significantly more challenging without a car. During my year abroad in Chapel Hill, I paid more rent<b> </b>to live closer to campus, I went grocery shopping little and often so I could carry it home and walk (which Americans still thought was insane!), and there were bus links to surrounding areas like Durham and Raleigh. Although Oxford is making headway with longer bus hours and a new Megabus, when I first moved there it was extremely restrictive - no buses on weekends or past 6, changes in order to get to the grocery store, no public transport to Memphis/New Orleans. I think it's totally fine if you're an exchange student and have the time/patience to deal with it, but as a working Master's student it was extremely stressful for me to never know when I could grocery shop, to strain my back carrying a ton of library books and to have to deal with any and all weather conditions. I like to think it made me a stronger person (!) but looking back I wish I'd got the driving stuff figured out ahead of time.<br />
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Gas prices are significantly cheaper than the UK, but buying a used car is a lot more expensive. My insurance is a lot because I'm not on any kind of family plan or whatever. But for all the stress, I am in love with my car and so happy to finally have my license (as of a month ago!). The test was hilarious to me. I will write a post on that one day.<br />
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<b>How do I know if going abroad is right for me?</b><br />
In many ways, I wasn't exactly ready to go abroad again. I'd had a difficult time in Chapel Hill, and my last year at UEA was sometimes very lonely and confusing. I felt like I'd been moving around so much and that I had no home anymore. I almost didn't apply, but luckily the few people I mumbled to about the opportunity pushed me to do so. Once I'd done the application, I realized that I really, really wanted to go.<br />
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I will say that I think I couldn't have handled graduate school here if I hadn't already done a year abroad. I still had culture shock and homesickness and the whole shebang, but I did have more confidence in myself, more knowledge in the region, and friends/family who were a shorter distance away in North Carolina. <br />
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<b>What have been your most positive experiences as an international student/ex-pat?</b><br />
I have some silly things to say and some serious. First of all, it really gets old when people make fun of your accent after so many years, but I have to admit that even I get a kick out of how I sound. My two British ex-pat friends and I joke about our weird hybrid accents, none of which sound the same as each other. You never know when a forgotten British word is going to come flying out to the confusion of all around you, or if you're going to pass as American to someone who's not paying attention.<br />
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I enjoy the superficial aspects of my ex-pat identity, like my accent, my noticeable fashion choices (no shorts and T-shirt on this London girl) and how people always want to know my life story. But really what has changed most is on the inside. I have a better understanding of how culture functions, how your ideas, your tastes, your prejudices are so sharply shaped by where you grow up. I've had to confront so much about myself, what I want and what is holding me back. The hardest part of all has been to realize that I'm not nearly nice enough to myself every day, and that that will destroy me if I can't learn how. Being away from the comfort of home - my family, my friends, my culture - has forced me to look at myself more closely, too.<br />
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The <i>most</i> positive aspect of everything that I've done is undoubtedly the people I've met. I've had many wonderful teachers and mentors here, who helped me develop and pursue my ideas for my writing and future career. I've made friends that I survived a car crash with, that I've travelled with, that I've turned to when I felt like I was losing my mind. I met the love of my life in Chapel Hill, as well as my two bridesmaids. My life is now here in the South, as well as in England.<br />
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*<br />
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I truly hope that this helps many of you to think about your futures, whether in academia, abroad or otherwise. Please let me know if I can answer any more questions - or if there are any other topics you'd like covered on this blog!<b> </b>Graduation is looming, which means I will finally have more time to update regularly. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-90684972380552256912014-03-09T16:48:00.002+00:002014-03-09T17:03:34.989+00:00It was just my imagination, running away with me<div>
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[Written January 24, edited February 27]<br />
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I recently experienced what many would consider to be the most symbolic end of childhood: my parents sold our house, which the five of us moved in to in early 1994. It was not a surprise, except that the looking, buying, selling and moving all happened while I was living abroad, so I never got to say a "proper goodbye". Less than three weeks after my parents moved to another part of St Albans, my boyfriend proposed and we began looking for a house of our own, albeit in another country. After a decent amount of drama and stress we found a suitable place for us to start married life, in a historic district in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I'm sitting in that house right now, but I won't be moving in until after I graduate in May.</div>
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My parents love me enough that they did not dispose of all my belongings, but they did request I sort through what could go, what could be boxed up, and what I wanted to take to my own house. I had wisely done a clear-out after I finished at UEA, disposing of old schoolbooks, an enormous collection of classroom notes (the question remains: how <i>did</i> I get in to university?), expired cosmetics, ill-fitting clothes and any ornaments that could be described as childish but not sentimental enough. But I admit I wasn't thorough, and I still found more to do this time around. The process of clearing out is one of remembering, of choosing what to remember and what to forget, and choosing what becomes part of the future, too.</div>
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Clothes are easy enough. If I live without them in America, how much can I possibly need them to remain here with my parents? I let go of a few bum-inflating pencil skirts and promised myself newer, more flattering ones; I salvaged a skirt that I may never wear again, but was part of the dark angel costume I had on the night I met my future husband. I kept a school shirt with writing on it from 2000. I kept an unforgiving dress I wore in 2007, which says a lot about my optimism.</div>
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Books are not so hard either. My method was to create my bookshelf exactly as I would want others to discover it (not just an imaginative exercise, as my fiance's parents will be staying in that room soon). The top shelf is for my collection of children's books, dominated by <i>Harry Potter</i> and <i>The Princess Diaries</i> series, with others such as <i>Jeremy James</i>, <i>The Enchanted Horse</i>, <i>Heidi</i> and <i>Little Women</i>. I boxed up far more, to keep for other children one day. My mother has truly excellent taste in children's books, and her love of them was passed down to me. I threw such things as <i>Boy</i> and <i>Going Solo</i> aside - Roald, you're coming to America with me. The second shelf was a collection of categories. Young Adult (welcome, Sarah Dessen and Ann Brashares), classic English literature (Thackeray, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickens, Austen), non-fiction (Bill Bryson and Michael Palin, Howard Zinn). The third is perhaps an homage to my degree, filled with American literature, mainly twentieth century (Edith Wharton, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald). There is only one Faulkner novel, because the rest live with me in Oxford. My poetry collections and writing how-tos are bound for South Carolina, eventually.</div>
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Photographs are the main way that we all use to look at the past, and we're of course the generation that went from developments to digital and internet sharing. I'm lazy about physical photographs. They're all sitting in a drawer. I don't want to look at them, nor do I want to throw them away. One day, maybe? The most I did was sit with two secondary school friends, Anna and Robbo, and examine our yearbooks. We observed that for just about everyone you could pick, we know each person has grown more attractive. I guess that exercise will only be exciting when this ceases to be the case. (And thank you, Facebook, for giving us access to such information.) I don't recognize myself in the yearbook photos. I'm thinner now and my hair is longer and all that, but mainly it's that I smile differently. I hadn't even thought that could change. My dad told me I am so much happier now than I used to be, so maybe that explains the smiles.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The waters are murky when it gets to correspondence. There's probably no need to keep birthday and Christmas cards, unless there's a letter inside. I have singled out ones that I want to remember from friends, but I'm content to let them stay in St Albans; I only like to look at them every couple of years anyway. I keep what will make me laugh, and there are many from my teenagers years, practically written in a different language of slang and codewords for boys we fancied. Which brings me to my next question: what do you do with old love letters? It's madness, surely, to take them into your married house. But with a finished relationship, these old letters are not about reminiscing about the other person - they are for reflecting on how much I have changed. I'm not so keen to dispose of them, yet I'm mortified at the idea that anyone would keep mine.</div>
<div>
<br />
Hey look, I got into UEA! I got into Chapel Hill! I got into Ole Miss! Let's throw out any and all rejection letters.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
My writing, oh my writing. I was entranced by Anne Frank, so for 3 or so years in primary school I handwrote a named diary of my own. I kept a journal from around 2001 to 2010, after which I began to write less frequently (another symbolic marker of adulthood?), but this one is stored and password-protected online, meaning I don't have urgent decisions of what to do with it. For I don't wish to burn the girlhood diary, or handwritten entries of distress that I wrote as a teenager, but I don't want someone else to come along and read them either. I'm keeping the script and accompanying portfolio for the Beaumont School play, <i>The Madness of George King, </i>which I still have great memories of working on<i>. </i>I'm keeping the travel journals from 2008/09 in the USA and France (semi co-written with Katharine, as we liked to intrude on each others notebooks during the long train rides) and 2011, where Faye, Jess and I repeatedly get into trouble in American cities.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
It's amazing to me how much time I spent living in my own head. All the writing is proof of that. It is partly cultural, partly individual. My fiance had such a different experience of high school. He played baseball, he dated, he studied hard to get in to the University of North Carolina. He thought a lot about what people thought of him, but by his own admission didn't do much looking inwards. I was kind of a lone wolf in a lot of ways. I had a lot of friends, I had a lot of crushes, I spent time doing drama and ice skating and running wild (we are so lucky to have public transportation and to get to experience London) but I was thinking thinking overthinking all the time. I had friends and family say, you know I love you, but you have to stop thinking so much. There was a lot of mental torture that came with being introverted, but the gift was my writing, and I'm so happy for that. The tradeoff for being happier and healthier these days is that it's hard to be 100% immersed in my stories, the way that I witnessed my summer camp teens being. It's interesting trying to find a balance between my real life and the lives in my head. Either way, I think we should all remain at least a little bit childish as we age.<br />
<br />
Speaking of writing, there were plenty of fictional pieces lying around. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I have 4 folders that are chock-full of stories. I found old stories/novel ideas and poetry, but my favorite was finding little scraps that I would later develop. I'd written a couple of paragraphs about a girl called Hayley who was apparently dating an older lawyer. I've no idea when I wrote that, but she eventually showed up in "We Can't Go On Like This", a story I wrote for Randall Kenan in Chapel Hill. I found a timeline of events for a summer love triangle between three graduates that years later morphed into "Gooseberry Pie", which I wrote last semester for Megan Abbott. It's funny to me that I physically stash the ideas somewhere and often forget I've done it, yet they float about in the back of my mind until I'm ready to organize them. I wonder if my husband-to-be will be driven mad by the unintelligible notes on the lives of made-up people.<br />
<br />
I have two things to finish off with. Anna's family have moved house recently too - coincidentally to the same road as my parents! Our families just can't separate - so she's been engaged in a similar reckoning with the past. I found it hilarious that she came across two stories from when we were young teens, one by me and one by her; she is sure that she was just copying me. Hey, I've always liked to inspire others to write! I am sure that we made different choices in remembering and forgetting, just as we can recall different childhood memories (a hysterical activity regardless). <b>So tell me: what do <i>you</i> choose to keep and throw away, both mentally and physically?</b><br />
<br />
Lastly, I wanted to share a scrap of a story that I started in Chapel Hill. I must have been homesick because I set it in St Albans, which I'd resisted writing about before. It's about a rumor I heard many years ago, but I never found out whether or not it was true. I remembered it without deliberately trying to. I brought the scrap back to America with me, and for better or for worse I was going to type it up here - but now I have no idea where it is. It's probably hiding amidst Southern Studies notes. I wonder what will become of it? Maybe it will live in a drawer forever, or eventually be thrown out, or maybe it will inspire a fully-fledged story or novel. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-42619496619046309002014-01-07T16:33:00.000+00:002014-01-07T16:39:28.905+00:00Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.[Fun fact: Most of this was handwritten during a London to Norwich train journey. Which is looking finer than ever!]<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://freelancefolder.com/wp-content/uploads/business-choices.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://freelancefolder.com/wp-content/uploads/business-choices.png" height="320" width="259" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This post is about making life choices during your twenties, respecting other people's choices, and the culture that surrounds the idea of "choice" in the first place. Normally I write about country-to-country culture, but as a twenty-something who is soon to leave education/academia for employment, and single life for marriage, I felt that this was an interesting time to reflect on the expectations of potentially the most transient stage of life. My intention is not to sound dogmatic or arrogant about my own particular path, but I am going to draw upon my own experience and how it relates to people's cultural expectations and responses.<br />
<br />
So much has been made of Wander Onwards's <a href="http://wanderonwards.com/2013/12/30/23-things-to-do-instead-of-getting-engaged-before-youre-23/" target="_blank">"23 Things To Do Instead of Getting Engaged Before You're 23"</a> that I'm hesitant to respond to it at all. But it struck a nerve with me, both because I am only 24 myself and because I recently got engaged. In all honesty, I don't care for this post. It's not particularly because she is criticizing a choice I've actually made; I even think she has some valid points for waiting to get married and knowing yourself well first. But overall, I find her approach anti-feminist. Putting aside the jab that married women become "fat" (from pregnancy?), this author subscribes to the idea that women are either exciting single women with an abundance of adventures ahead of them, or they are boring, man-dependent wives. Neither this author nor the women gleefully re-posting it are convincing me that their life choices are superior to mine. Frankly, I'm confused about why they would want to.<br />
<br />
Friends, family and acquaintances have responded to my engagement much more forcefully than any other life choice (and let's remember I moved from almost-London to Mississippi, hardly most people's idea of a reasonable decision). Perhaps there is something stiflingly universal about engagement, expected and elusive at the same time. It's as if the fact that I am engaged sends a message that I think <i>all</i> women should be engaged now too. I guess that means I think more people should be scholars of the South, too? <i>Well</i>... Anyway, the vast majority are congratulatory and sincere, but some -
usually my age, usually female - look down at my ring and have an
immediate impulse to express and/or defend their own life choices. I've heard
variations of, "Well, I'm still single" followed by a chuckle or wince, "I don't
think I'll ever get married" with a contented smile or sidelong glance, or, a little more biting, "But you've only been together 2 years?" and, "That's young to get married." With a headshake. I am not someone who wants to show off the ring all the time and tell
everyone I meet - wedding planning is so beyond terrifying that I am
happy to talk about the weather instead - so I can only imagine the replies to a more gregarious bride.<br />
<br />
These responses imply that we think our choices are the result of nothing except our own desires, immune to timing and circumstance; indeed, it suggests we think that we <i>can</i> choose when and how life events take place. I don't believe in such complete
control. Right now I'm at home in England and I've had the pleasure of
catching up with old friends. Some are in long-term relationships and
living together, some are engaged, some are single with various
feelings about it. What are my single friends doing "wrong"? I'm
inclined to say nothing. (For one, there is <i>no problem at all with enjoying being alone</i>, can we all try to remember this pleeease?) At university I didn't chase after
relationships, I turned down what I wasn't sure of, I would not accept
blind dates. My mind was focused on becoming a writer, traveler and
academic. I got comments about my lack of "experience", unwillingness to "try" and even a suggestion that I might not be heterosexual. And yet one day I met my future husband, and I was only 21. Of course I committed to this relationship in particular, but no, there was nothing I "did" to "achieve" a proposal. I didn't sacrifice my love of travel and academia, either. It was really a combination of choices and circumstances.<br />
<br />
When thinking about this post I was reminded of my favorite TED Talk, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhhgI4tSMwc" target="_blank">Meg Jay's "Why 30 is Not the New 20."</a> Jay's argument is that we should not trivialize twenty-somethings and instead encourage thoughtful personal development. Vanessa of Wander Onwards obviously has her sense of fun down, and I admire someone who wants to travel by themselves, but I don't accept her conclusion that she has, "already experienced more of the world in the last 22 years than [her] married peers will ever experience in their life." If you can and want to, I also encourage travel - but let's be clear that it's not the only way to soul-search and develop as an individual. I believe that you can get to know yourself through travel or staying at home, in a relationship or single, in education or at work, as a parent or childless. I believe that conscious choices - made assertively, not due to fear - that are made wherever possible will take you on the path to happiness. It won't be perfect, and we all have things that hold us back, but that is at least a more honest way to live than following someone else's notion of what life should be, whether that means getting married before you are ready or going abroad because you think you should.<br />
<br />
We are obsessed, even now, with whether women (and men) can "have it all." I think what "all" means is entirely up to you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-78601227490895464172014-01-04T22:57:00.000+00:002014-01-04T22:57:44.094+00:00It was always so hot, and everyone was so polite, and everything was all surface but underneath it was like a bomb waiting to go off.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today I will attempt to answer the question: What is the South?<br />
<br />
From Southern Studies 101 to Southern Studies 601, from Mississippi to North Carolina, I have talked to a lot of people about what "the South" really means. We draw lines between different countries, but defining a region is more complicated. <br />
<br />
In the UK, we pretty much understand where England ends and where Scotland and Wales begin. But I've found that people get more argumentative when it comes to placing counties within a region. For instance, when I was at UEA, I heard people argue that Norfolk was part of the North, the South, the Midlands, the East and the Southeast. (Can't we agree on "East Anglia?") Defining, say, the South of England, would be entirely subject to context and individual perspectives. It's exactly the same in the US, except they like to talk about it a lot more.
<br />
<br />
During my first semester at Ole Miss, someone asked if it was my first
time in the US.<br />
<br />
"No," I told him, "I lived in North Carolina for a
year."<br />
<br />
He replied, "Oh, so this is your first time in the South!" <br />
<br />
What? Is North Carolina a Yankee state now? My North Carolinian fiance grinds his teeth at the very suggestion he is not a real southerner.<br />
<br />
There are some states that most people willingly agree are part of the American South (such as Alabama and Mississippi), and others that are more up for debate (such as Texas or Kentucky). For some people, the Deep South is somehow "more southern" than the culture found in the Carolinas. So who's in, and who's out? Who is at the center and who is on the fringe? How do you define a region, and what does it all mean in the end?<br />
<br />
Here are some different definitions of what some consider to be "the South":<br />
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Geographical Definition</span></h4>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e4/Us_south_census.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e4/Us_south_census.png" width="320" /></a><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">"The relationship between the Mason and Dixon needs some fixin'." </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">- LL
Cool J. </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">(Who could do with enrolling in Southern Studies 101. Brad
Paisley should come too.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As you can see from the map on the right, the US Census defines the South as encompassing the following states: Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Louisiana, Oklahoma and Texas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What a big party! And it really does screw with you when you're trying to use statistics to back up a point about rural culture and big cities such as Dallas and Tallahassee keep getting in the way. Moving on...</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Historical Definition</b></span></h4>
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTrDTe8cEBbWyAcllr8sri75kKGRgnCCYwq6EFa--02F6nsZCMDcA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTrDTe8cEBbWyAcllr8sri75kKGRgnCCYwq6EFa--02F6nsZCMDcA" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><i>"Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! Hurrah!</i></div>
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<i>In Dixie's land we take our stand, and live or die for Dixie!" </i><br />
<i>- Confederate States of America War Song. </i>Also Kevin Spacey, briefly.<br />
<br />
The South is still defined today by its role in the 19th century: secession from the Union (on the part of - in order - South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina, Tennessee), support of slavery, formation of the Confederacy and subsequently the Civil War. To tell the whole truth, despite the fact that I am a Southern Studies student, I am no Civil War buff. Eventually I will sit down and watch the entire Ken Burns TV series.<br />
<br />
But for now I will just say that I was honestly surprised by how much the Civil War still has a ghostly presence within the South. Also known as "the war between the states" and "the war of Northern aggression", it did after all end as long ago as 1865. Yet it is referenced far, far more than I can recall World War II being brought up during all my years in Britain, and that was only my grandparents' generation. I can remember being a young girl and hearing soldier stories from my grandfather, evacuee stories from my grandmother - but I never digested it as a source of personal pride or personal history. The Confederacy still is a part of southern "tradition" for some families and individuals, which manifests in a number of ways: joining a group like the Daughters of the Confederacy, celebrating Robert E. Lee Day, flying the Confederate Flag, etc.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <b>Cultural Definition</b></span></h4>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><i>"The old game, I suspect, is beginning to play out in the Bible Belt." - H.L. Mencken.</i></span> </h4>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">It occurs to me that "the South" is not always a recognizable term to those who do not call the United States home. Which leads to a somewhat awkward situation when I try to explain what I'm getting a Master's in. <i>Southern America... You mean like Brazil?</i> No, just no. <i>At least you'll be close to you boyfriend in California, right? </i>Hmm... <i>How near is it to New York/Washington D.C./Chicago/Los Angeles? </i>It's not. I can sort of work with you if you know where Florida is though.</span></h4>
</div>
<br />
You get the idea.<br />
<br />
But what people DO know is that some parts of America are very, very religious. Occasionally someone will ask, "Is Mississippi in the Bible Belt?" Yes, yes, YES. Now we are getting somewhere! The Bible Belt refers to the southeastern (and sometimes southcentral, and occasionally midwestern) states of the US, and points to the proportion of evangelical Protestants, as well as the importance of religious/church culture in general. Sometimes you hear the phrase "the Buckle of the Bible Belt", as in most extreme, but it is apparently a multi-buckling belt as many places have been labeled this, based on the presence mega-churches, percentage of Baptists, or perhaps Pat Robertson appreciation.<br /><br />
My department at the University of Mississippi is called the Center for the Study of Southern Culture. It's exactly what it says on the tin: we study culture. What is culture, aside from religion? In academic gobbledeegook, we are an interdisciplinary bunch who study topics such as literature and literary theory, history, sociology, anthropology, documentary, ethnography, communications, globalization, politics and economics. Each discipline gives us a small idea of southern identity, even as it may obscure other ideas. Culture is not always clear-cut and harmonious. It is complicated, in flux, evading conclusions.<br />
<br />
I can give you southern tropes with which to communicate ideas about the South, but as I've said, these are mere dots of the puzzle. Southern people say "y'all." Faulkner, Welty and O'Connor wrote southern literature. <i>Let Us Now Praise Famous Men</i> documents southern life. Charlotte, North Carolina, is the headquarters of Bank of America and is part of the global South. The South is so vast, so varied, so complex, that even after years of study - and for some, a lifetime of experience - there is always more to learn.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <b>Personal Definition</b></span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“I quickly realized there is no such thing as the South; there are just hundreds of souths." - Wiley Cash.</i></div>
<br />
If I had to pin down the main reason why I love to study culture, I would say its fluidity.<br />
<br />
Most people know I am far from a black-and-white person. I believe in moral relativism, I am agnostic, I see the world in terms of multiplicity. I am also not an ambivalent person. I find our world contradictory, unjust sometimes, unfathomable and yet meaningful - never boring, never not worth thinking about. I get lost in the details of life, people and places. I know I can never fully answer a question like, "What is the South?" and yet I will try for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />To end this post, <u><b>I have a challenge for you</b></u>.<br />
<br />
Whether you have lived in the South all your life, moved there for college or a job, married a southerner, taken a trip to Atlanta, watched <i>Gone With The Wind</i> one time, or never heard of it until this post, I want you to take a moment to think about this.<br />
<br />
Set a timer for 1-2 minutes. Without stopping, write down everything that comes to mind about the South.<br />
<br />
I'll end here with what I came up with, and I hope some of you will share your thoughts too.<br />
<br />
<i>The South is...</i><br />
Sweet tea, long porches, slow talking and soft accents, nice manners, racism, women who want to get married young, excellent universities, storytelling, conflict, sweet potato mash with marshmallows, humidity, buzzing cicadas at night, football and basketball, blue skies, mountains, banjos, MLK, honey, peaches, patriotism, guns and cars, rednecks, cotton and mills, grits, Elvis Presley.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-27053304638892354982013-08-12T13:29:00.001+01:002013-08-12T20:53:46.787+01:00I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadAFZHpHkGWuFThta3w19UGEdgUsYl-PseZ2ohTsxj5C2bG7CNWtoAI2nPbUtQ8hNOzjD8oJuQ0CCZT_ffeyQtRQ3IyLO0x0d2Ivae33maede7ciHeTrYOeW9WN3sWt9Jg8soDUkHJtmZ/s1600/2012-08-20+05.36.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadAFZHpHkGWuFThta3w19UGEdgUsYl-PseZ2ohTsxj5C2bG7CNWtoAI2nPbUtQ8hNOzjD8oJuQ0CCZT_ffeyQtRQ3IyLO0x0d2Ivae33maede7ciHeTrYOeW9WN3sWt9Jg8soDUkHJtmZ/s320/2012-08-20+05.36.38.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What did I do THIS time?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I left you with a kind of cliffhanger in my last entry. <br />
<br />
You may be wondering what is going on with my patched up feet. Well, I'll get to that. It's part of my story of the first ten days of living in Oxford. I'm writing this in part to remember it and tell a good yarn, but also as a comfort to anyone who has just started out abroad and is having a tough time.<br />
<br />
My first few days were exactly as you would expect. I moved into my apartment, bought items at the local Walmart, collected a package of tea and goodies I had sent myself, and attended several orientations. And I do mean several.<br />
<br />
The first was a day-long international student orientation, in which I met students from many countries including Canada, China, Ethiopia and Mexico. The orientation leaders went through the alphabet and had people shout out their countries as we got to each letter. There was some confusion about how to represent us. United Kingdom, Britain, Great Britain, England? I grew up thinking of myself as English and being from England, but American vernacular has seeped in and now I refer to myself as British and from the UK. Whatever. We talked about classes, culture, healthcare, food, politics and, rather importantly, immigration matters. This is why I don't get the movie <i>Like Crazy.</i> Did her school not provide her with an orientation? Why would she just overstay her visa like that?! Everybody knows you don't overstay your visa!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://content.internetvideoarchive.com/content/photos/7512/100430_032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://content.internetvideoarchive.com/content/photos/7512/100430_032.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I expected better from you, Ethel Hallow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The next day we had a very long Graduate School orientation, which unfortunately covered a lot of the same matters... On the one hand, I applaud US universities for making such an effort to inform students right away. On the other hand, I kind of like the British approach which is to mumble awkwardly for 30 minutes then hand you a bunch of paperwork that you will inevitably stash away and forget about. Anyway, we were let out of the auditorium for the glorious sunshine, plus free lunch and a T-shirt. Here I met a few people from my program, who I would see again the next day at the Southern Studies orientation. We sat in the conference room of Barnard Observatory, where I would have many classes, and shared our interests and where we were from. We were introduced to members of the department, including a few second years. Then we had a picture of the 13 of us outside on the steps of Barnard to mark the occasion. "Dear God," I thought, getting in to the spirit of Mississippi life, "Please let me graduate." Then one last orientation for those of us with assistantships.<br />
<br />
I'll talk more about my assistantship and classes in another entry, but for now I'll give you the basic details. In the Fall semester, my assistantship consisted of a Teaching Assistant position for a Southern Studies 101 class, and a Research Assistant position for a professor in the department. In the Spring semester, I continued to be a TA while assisting with research for the Mississippi Encyclopedia. As for classes, in the Fall I took a compulsory Southern Studies graduate seminar, a Southern Foodways class affiliated with the Southern Foodways Alliance, and Documentary Studies. In the Spring, I continued with the graduate seminar, plus a class on Faulkner and an internship with Living Blues magazine. I spent most of my undergraduate years attempting to give all my projects a southern leaning, and now I don't even have to try! It's such a great program and I feel very lucky to be part of it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://oxfordmississippi.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/barnard-observatory-ole-miss-2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://oxfordmississippi.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/barnard-observatory-ole-miss-2008.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new home, Barnard Observatory.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On top of the orientations, there were several social events organized by the department. As you can imagine, the summer evenings in Mississippi are very nice; once the sun goes down it is less unforgivably stifling and a much more pleasant temperature. So many events are held in the garden/yard. Now, given my disaster with mosquito bites during my first week at Chapel Hill, I came to Oxford with many insect repellant supplies: cream, spray, and even a special type of sunscreen with some mixed in. I say that it my own defense, because every time I am bitten someone scolds me for not putting any bug spray on. I DO use it, it just isn't 100% effective and those damn things seem to just LOVE my blood. Actually, I believe they love pasty white English skin, as other internationals have been bitten badly too. Anyway, can you guess what I'm leading up to? I was bitten all over my feet and legs.<br />
<br />
It was worse than the time in Chapel Hill. I repeat, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uhn-6bApArZlk2gcKvLOE-EMdIgingqj0s7NrfsqgAhOD3ZR8fm0pxZNHcdiY5E8tCW1SpZAwctxKIY07nVuqtTPlslfeOY2U_x9DCA6KH2fcMKGwgVoF6oPbctC-5BPmWUkzBvoid-J/s320/002.JPG" target="_blank">IT WAS WORSE THAN THE TIME IN CHAPEL HILL.</a><br />
<br />
Always the overachiever, when I visited the doctor he pronounced my hivey feet as, "the worst case of insect bites he had ever seen." I was then prescribed antibiotics, a large dose of steroids, and rest. So I sat in my new apartment with my boyfriend, who had now missed his planned departure date in order to wait on me, change my dressings, and carry me from the couch to the bed. Here's another important detail to this story: I was already considering moving out. I can't go into the full details, but suffice to say, there was a safety issue with the apartment that I considered to be a dealbreaker. As I was trying to get my head around moving somewhere else already and thinking of all the legal/logistical things I had to do before the semester got underway, I got much sicker.<br />
<br />
There is some debate as to what actually happened, as different doctors suggested the following: a) They were not actually mosquito bites, b) They were mosquito bites, and were also carrying West Nile disease, c) I had an allergic reaction to the antibiotics, steroids, or both, d) I was prescribed too high a dosage of steroids. Personally, I think I am just more allergic to bites than anyone most doctors come across (I get hives and dizziness), and the enormous amount of steroids didn't help. Anyway, I ended up in the emergency room, crying about my new ridiculous life in Mississippi and the fact that no one understood my accent, requesting to see my parents, and having to email my department at 4am to say I would be missing the first day. Not a good omen for the rest of the semester.<br />
<br />
In the end, it all turned out okay. I moved out of my apartment and into a house with two North Carolinians (plus a cat and a dog), gathered furniture for my new room, said goodbye to my boyfriend, and hung my ER bracelet up on my bulletin board. I kept it as a reminder that, no matter what happens here, it could not be worse than the first week.<br />
<br />
But that was before I had experienced finals week.<br />
<br />
I'm kidding. I know how much it sucks to have your very first week in a new place be filled with uncertainty, sadness and sickness. In Chapel Hill, I missed a few of the early social events and felt like I was late to the game with making friends. Being sick for my first weekend brought on an unexpected wave of homesickness. I let that homesickness define me. I let it pull me right down into a depression that took months to get out of. In Oxford, I am proud to say that I did not repeat those mistakes. I did experience homesickness again, and I did have some stressful days that made me cry and wish I'd stayed home. But for the most part, I got on with my life. I reached out to people, made new friends, worked hard for my classes and job, and before I knew it the end of the semester was near and Oxford was my new home.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://expatchild.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Culture-shock-graph-complex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://expatchild.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Culture-shock-graph-complex.jpg" height="257" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It's hard to have stability in a new place, especially if you've only got a few months or a year to experience it. I remember that before I left the UK, I was told about the stages of culture shock. Theoretically, I was supposed to looove the new place in the beginning and feel some culture shock a few months in. Maybe this is dependent on personality, as some people don't seem to experience culture shock at all. For me, every time I have moved, whether to Norwich, Chapel Hill, Oxford or home at any time, the first month was the hardest. I guess what I want to say is, no matter where you fall on the spectrum of reactions to moving abroad, remember to reach out to other people. Reach out if you need help, but also if you're doing great and could cheer someone else up. (This applies to those at home as well as abroad.) I'm also happy to help anyone who wants some TLC via email or Skype. Really, no one needs to go through what I did the first time around. This is what I realized in Oxford, and I'm much happier for it. <br />
<br />
For anyone who's struggling, remember that those of us with the scary experiences have the best stories to tell! Not convinced? When I got back to UEA, I mostly had classes with others who had returned from a year abroad. Sometimes I would start telling a story to the person next to me, and it was often so outrageous it would make everyone turn around to listen. I can promise you that was not the case before.<br />
<br />
So how about y'all? If you've lived abroad before, how was the first week? If you're going abroad soon, what are you excited and/or nervous about?
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-8465690141460224122013-08-05T23:35:00.002+01:002013-08-12T20:53:03.796+01:00Now let us drink the stars, it's time to steal away. Let's go get lost right here in the USA.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I hope my lack of blog entries can be a
testament to how busy my first year at Ole Miss was. Luckily, I’ve been keeping
notes, so while I still have a few study-free days left, I’m going to write
several entries. I hope you enjoy them!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">[Written September 2, 2012] Hello, finally,
from Oxford, where it truly is a dark and stormy night. Outside it is a
cacophony of rain fall, thunderclaps, wind and rustling branches. Inside, I’ve
had several cups of tea to calm myself down as the dog roams around barking
(the kitten is completely unafraid and smug). I have five (!) books still to
finish in time for this week’s classes. I have an essay about a truck contest
to write. But I have been in America almost a month and, apart from a few
scribbled notes, have not had a chance to write about it yet. I figure I will
never be any less busy, so now is as good a time as any.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Of course I want to write about Oxford.
I’ve been dreaming of the Faulknerland since I was nineteen; it’s amazing that
I’m actually living here. It is a wonderful place for so many reasons, but best
of all it already feels like home. The thing is, I have the next two years to
bore you all with Oxford-related gushing. And it just so happens that I have
other stories to bore you with first. I flew to San Francisco on August 8, and
drove* for five days to get to Mississippi. So first of all I want to take you
through some musings related to that. Please, no hatred from any Brits about
putting the month before the date, I need to get in the habit!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">*And when I say “drove”, I mean sitting in
the passenger seat eating Rainbow cookies, worrying aloud about Ole Miss and
taking pictures of billboards and cornfields whilst my boyfriend sat behind the
wheel the whole time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/08:
London, UK to San Francisco, CA </span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">During my ten hour flight, I came to a
conclusion: airplanes bring out the worst in people. Cramped, tired and always
enduring the screams of children, airline passengers must be the worst
customers ever. Everyone is so demanding and unfriendly in a way that I feel
sure they would not be in any other setting. Fellow passengers were especially
demanding and unfriendly due to a malfunction with the entertainment sets,
which meant no TV or music for the first two hours of the flight. I, of course,
came prepared. I sat reading Bill Bryson and tried not to laugh out loud. I’m
sure I must have been quite a sight, grinning widely in a crowd of frowns and
pursed lips. If I am ever even a fraction as good as Bill Bryson I will die
happy. Also, I’m not entirely convinced he and my dad are separate people.</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjf2Tou4VjWknWV0zmOr4N-ZrPLk-i-xCvB5H8UZ8eOQhnVmBJ5g9WStz5wRShIy0Q7ifaeucWDvZIP7Zc715s3uf58dyCeW_qGhY1mfvGni0LaDyVnfxGD2BdYN4Rlv7xCRiV5HkcjiB/s1600/2012-08-09+17.03.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjf2Tou4VjWknWV0zmOr4N-ZrPLk-i-xCvB5H8UZ8eOQhnVmBJ5g9WStz5wRShIy0Q7ifaeucWDvZIP7Zc715s3uf58dyCeW_qGhY1mfvGni0LaDyVnfxGD2BdYN4Rlv7xCRiV5HkcjiB/s320/2012-08-09+17.03.04.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was more cheerful on this flight than
usual – as it happens I’m afraid of flying. A lot of my positivity has to do
with Virgin Atlantic. They truly are the best airline I’ve ever experienced;
the staff is helpful, the entertainment selection is usually great (when
working!) and I actually really like the food. And they were very nice to me
that time I fainted in the middle of the aisle back in January [2012]. Now, if
they would pay me for endorsing them publicly I would like them even better.
Graduate school is expensive!</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">My cheeriness was waning by the end of the
flight, however. Someone had rapped on the bathroom door in a most demanding
and unfriendly manner as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I am as
courteous as possible on a plane, and this, I felt, gave me the right to take
the tiniest bit longer in the bathroom. But apparently not. I harrumphed back
to my seat and was then slumped on by the people next to me for the remainder
of the flight. It is very odd to constantly have a child’s feet or head in your
lap when you do not know them. I vowed to never let my own future children loll
about like that on a plane, and squirmed Britishly for the last hour.</span></span></div>
<br />
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdzwIblWA1JdD0yPEEnm3olgQ_eAO3-ONvI67OHziy0n4JrFwj0Bt7XV6-EjDytcTRFwucQcaiT8bAEIOdaCE7TIWhG2BYIw8nUXitlWyp71Ei4ErJVnzpLWnLT3KTdfZKdxr-Nl7XIFp/s1600/2012-08-09+21.22.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdzwIblWA1JdD0yPEEnm3olgQ_eAO3-ONvI67OHziy0n4JrFwj0Bt7XV6-EjDytcTRFwucQcaiT8bAEIOdaCE7TIWhG2BYIw8nUXitlWyp71Ei4ErJVnzpLWnLT3KTdfZKdxr-Nl7XIFp/s320/2012-08-09+21.22.24.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">After queuing for another hour and a half,
I somehow still had the adrenaline to ignore my coccyx injury and haul my own
at-the-weight-limit suitcases off the conveyor belt. I was thankfully still
awake enough to recognize my boyfriend at the gate rather than absentmindedly
trying to board a plane to Canada or something (“Must. Be. In. Commonwealth.”).
We got in the car, drove through San Francisco, and for some reason covered the
topics of drugs, drunk driving and guns within the first hour. I shifted in my
seat and fought the urge to run, on foot, back to the airport to go home. I
stayed awake through the evening, which I spent with Chip, his roommate Marie,
and Tar Heel friends Katie, David and Amanda. We ordered Chinese, which was a
huge amount of food for a small amount of money. Ah yes, I’m back in the USA.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/09:
San Francisco, CA to Elko, NV</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chip and I set out in the car the next
morning, circling back five minutes later to collect the coolbox. (But not, as
it turns out, my Topshop sandals, which still reside on his bedroom floor.)
Then, since we had delayed ourselves already, we decided to go grocery
shopping. I was very pleased about this, as my greatest hang up about doing a
road trip (or being in America generally!) is not having adequate access to
fruit. Since we were running late already I didn’t get a chance to dance around
the grocery store exclaiming over every item. Don’t worry, that blog entry will
come.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H2OtVa4l3vEw_nbAXIOL2xAVlVTBGBXRBwTNU9px0HKN6Z5x3iHhrPNqGeHqr3rHE4pjmcI_BB3Ht-5k0ou5YS1ymMMDrVmSS6xjPbHI2xRKCh6q1R4xP-uDX6sEbK7909AS63MlTcec/s1600/2012-08-09+21.11.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H2OtVa4l3vEw_nbAXIOL2xAVlVTBGBXRBwTNU9px0HKN6Z5x3iHhrPNqGeHqr3rHE4pjmcI_BB3Ht-5k0ou5YS1ymMMDrVmSS6xjPbHI2xRKCh6q1R4xP-uDX6sEbK7909AS63MlTcec/s320/2012-08-09+21.11.47.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">I was sad to leave San Francisco so soon.
It’s one of my favorite cities where I have made such great memories, and I
still dream of living there one day. However, we drove over the Bay Bridge,
northeast to Sacramento, Lake Tahoe and Reno. We listened to only a little bit
of Rush Limbaugh. And what can I tell you about Nevada? We left the greenery
and rivers of California for dusty, open space. We drove for hours without
seeing much of anything. We had no radio or cell phone coverage. We passed gas
stations, each one looking the same, except sometimes with the addition of a
casino. I was surprised by how many bits of tyres (or tires!) there were on the
road. Then, just as I was starting to get bored, actual tumbleweeds rolled in
front of us on the highway.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">We reached Elko in the evening, passing a
small roadside community on the way in. The little part of Elko we saw had
chain restaurants, an RV park and some surprisingly high-priced hotels. Interestingly,
Elko has a “boom and bust” economy based on the price of gold; a large amount
of Nevada’s gold is mined there and the town has many abandoned mining camps.
As Hunter S. Thompson wrote in his short story, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fear and Loathing in Elko</i>, “The federal government owns 90% of this
land, and most of it is useless for anything except weapons testing and
poison-gas experiments.” But clearly there is more to it than this. Elko hosts
the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering every January, and has done for almost 30
years. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a good time to me.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5clzDsrGxeNT8lt285dA5u2sDrjlaMtXbyNfEhgO2JzqEBI8DKY4G9zju8QXXAOhbTw90Y35qPPlb1im-DlwBNgxkg0JQT8KUZSwTGUen8MrW8ePD96iNOQShV3_HlI1RScpQihabRZLq/s1600/2012-08-10+17.32.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5clzDsrGxeNT8lt285dA5u2sDrjlaMtXbyNfEhgO2JzqEBI8DKY4G9zju8QXXAOhbTw90Y35qPPlb1im-DlwBNgxkg0JQT8KUZSwTGUen8MrW8ePD96iNOQShV3_HlI1RScpQihabRZLq/s320/2012-08-10+17.32.46.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">The hotel we stayed in was much the same as
many I’ve experienced in the US. I always wonder how they came to decide on the
exact same breakfast:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a waffle iron with
batter next to it, cold hard-boiled eggs, cheap muffins/donuts, white bread
with peanut butter or jam in plastic pots, yoghurt, questionable-looking fruit,
cereal in dispensers and some juice, tea and coffee. I’ve seen the same selection
as far-flung as Georgia, Texas and Colorado. You could see the same America in
any given hotel. I don’t know whether that’s comforting or creepy.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/10:
Elko, NV to Laramie, WY</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Back on the road, Nevada continued to be
flat, dry and empty. We were cheered up, however, by a lady waving at us from a
neighboring car; we understood as they passed us and we saw their South
Carolina license plate. Southerners unite! We eventually crossed into the
mountains of Utah, and I became engrossed in the selection of billboards at the
side of the road. The billboards gave me a number to call if I was in debt,
informed me that evolution was an evil myth, praised the immigrant population
and encouraged me to “hail to the beef” at a local restaurant.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">But what you really want to know about is
Salt Lake City. We drove around it for a bit out of curiosity. It is a big
place: spacious, beautiful, and more than a little bit freaky. It’s impossible
to be in Salt Lake City without constantly thinking, “Is that person over there
a Mormon? Do they know that I’m not a Mormon?! Oh, there’s the North Carolina
license plate. They probably do know I’m not a Mormon. Maybe they don’t mind.
Are they looking at me?” I’m not really speaking to Mormonism or Mormon people.
It is not something I’m particularly educated about, unless you count <i>Angels in
America</i> and Mitt Romney. But sometimes the reputation of something gets under
your skin all the same, and that’s how I felt there. Not a mature or informed
approach of course, but a truthful one if nothing else.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC_daEa7USU1iua_RCA3XPhjyA_8SS9ABqusN-KSmhZfmq_3-uo47TFRqR28kGmh3FxOjJcUWZZFBo3nr3cONEtmwzhFO3p_F2OfBpqGv580I3KxXQgUVU1ECg4BkFcsh2cYItobbZcmj/s1600/2012-08-11+07.34.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC_daEa7USU1iua_RCA3XPhjyA_8SS9ABqusN-KSmhZfmq_3-uo47TFRqR28kGmh3FxOjJcUWZZFBo3nr3cONEtmwzhFO3p_F2OfBpqGv580I3KxXQgUVU1ECg4BkFcsh2cYItobbZcmj/s320/2012-08-11+07.34.18.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">We exchanged the close-range mountains of
Utah for the endlessly wide feel of Wyoming. The spaciousness and high altitude
made me nervous. You absolutely cannot get that same feeling in the UK, that
you are in the middle of nowhere. It was like being on another planet. I was
relieved when we finally arrived at our hotel in Laramie, with lots of
buildings and people surrounding us. I know that plenty of people were shocked
that I chose to move voluntarily to a place as different as Mississippi, but I
will take humidity and DFE (Deep Fried Everything) over high altitude,
headaches and nosebleeds any day. No offense, Wyoming – you’re just out of my
league and I know it.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Laramie is home to the University of
Wyoming, the only university in the state. It is also home to Kirsty Callaghan,
fellow UEA American Studies graduate and the recipient of the BAAS award in
2011. Since we knew we would be passing through Wyoming anyway, Kirsty and I
arranged to meet at a microbrewery called, fittingly, Altitude. We talked
cowboys, attitudes to land and the upcoming election. Kirsty had been
volunteering for the local Democrats (apparently a caller once complained about
her English accent and the fact that they were clearly outsourcing) despite the
fact that Wyoming is typically a Republican state. I’ll get into this another
time, but the Republicanism in Wyoming seems to be based more on living far
from Washington DC and wanting freedom to do what they wish in their huuuuuge
open spaces, compared to those in the South who think much more about social
hierarchy and staying true to tradition. It is interesting to think of how in a
country of this size, political parties have to appeal to people of so many
different cultures.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/11:
Laramie, WY to Kansas City, MO</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK9NZoGgCMfQBZhTbYLoSWQlsK1SFi5_QzDTLP3_SQjqZ6LCOu4n_7UvfJJ1o-3KDFBlAbkmVthfZiMhC4C16lJhdJa57uNdSvUja7S4O_yKib66IY9Y0TpfyNcEUKUZaidN8JG-yvtfo/s1600/2012-08-11+16.56.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK9NZoGgCMfQBZhTbYLoSWQlsK1SFi5_QzDTLP3_SQjqZ6LCOu4n_7UvfJJ1o-3KDFBlAbkmVthfZiMhC4C16lJhdJa57uNdSvUja7S4O_yKib66IY9Y0TpfyNcEUKUZaidN8JG-yvtfo/s320/2012-08-11+16.56.30.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">We left Laramie in the morning, looking out
for the golden Abraham Lincoln head that Kirsty had told us about. Despite its
size, I wasn't able to get a picture of it in time, so <a href="http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large-5/giant-head-of-abraham-lincoln-in-laramie-wyoming-gregory-dyer.jpg" target="_blank">here is a link</a> if you're
curious (and I know that you are).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">[Continued Jan 17, 2013] After this, there
really didn’t seem like anything better to do so I fell asleep and when I woke
up we were in Nebraska. Go back to sleep, right? Absolutely not! You see, one
of my favorite books is Willa Cather’s <i>My Antonia</i>. I even have an audio book in
which the narrator sounds suspiciously like Reverend Lovejoy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">[Continued Aug 5, 2013] Okay, so admittedly
I don’t have much more to say than that. We drove through Lincoln, which is the
capital city of Nebraska and the second most populous after Omaha. I know that
not everyone understands these whims, but I absolutely want to return to
Nebraska and learn more. I am intrigued by its small population amongst the
plains and prairies, and its historical and current race relations between
Native Americans, African American migrants and European immigrants. It is also
the home of both Warren Buffett and Kool-Aid, so there you go.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I have always been curious about these
places that people turn away from, or tell me, “There’s no point in going there
– there’s nothing to see.” It is said about many, many US states. If I feel
strongly enough about a place, I will ignore the warnings and go anyway. Often
I have been rewarded with some amazing discoveries of landscapes, buildings and
people. I think you can tell how much I took Michael Palin’s work to heart,
especially his view that there is more that brings us together than divides us.
I still believe in looking for stories in unlikely places.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">We went through Lincoln without pulling
over at all. As we waited for a light to change on the outskirts of the city, I
rolled down my window, closed my eyes, and listened to the hum of locusts in
the grass.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/12: Kansas City, MO to West Memphis, AK</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Two important things to mention about
Missouri: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><u>One.</u> I damaged my camera in a town called
St Joseph. I was busy puzzling over a billboard (yes, again) about a blood
drive boasting about its “FREE AIR CONDITIONING.” I’ll let that one sit with
you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><u>Two.</u> Half of Kansas City is actually in
Missouri, half is in Kansas.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1no_WeDDrQs77cTSzO6JmpkpGLvkyl1ME5IE7QKZFeCvNNPEQJOw6Sc8VyStMw-gzSig-dkQ6VKXrW4FItm5iGhHfbQYJCpfBS-0adwpTGSEKzpyTrRuyNmEbC9X34w8b9PF4eeBMFBi/s1600/2012-08-12+18.08.35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1no_WeDDrQs77cTSzO6JmpkpGLvkyl1ME5IE7QKZFeCvNNPEQJOw6Sc8VyStMw-gzSig-dkQ6VKXrW4FItm5iGhHfbQYJCpfBS-0adwpTGSEKzpyTrRuyNmEbC9X34w8b9PF4eeBMFBi/s320/2012-08-12+18.08.35.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">Okay, so I know that second one wasn’t
really a surprise to most people but I totally didn’t know. I also didn’t know
much about Kansas City other than a refrain from a Stray Cats song, but I am
always curious and Chip is a barbecue fanatic so we took some time to explore.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I’m going to take a moment to teach some
BBQ 101. Settle down, settle down, I know there are disagreements about this. In
England, “barbecue” has several definitions. It is first of all an event,
reserved for any day that there is the slightest hint of sunshine (“Darling,
the <i><span style="font-style: normal;">Manfredjinsinjins at
number 43</span></i><i> </i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">are
having a barbecue, do we have any Pimm’s?”)</span></i>, a piece of outdoor
cooking equipment that you swear at when it refuses to light properly, and an
action describing how you cook your beef burgers, sausages, chicken, salmon,
corn-on-the-cob or bananas.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivagaX__PF1FZV4DetLaMf8vonoet5fMyyDfvQ8qrfhwdv6ipxaC_xhUDOyl3pqE18LZLNLOBp2YeyuK0c7Xqt9bNPjBtKalwBSOe4Im12PodRYpAmFyJt0aBe2HDzifoMFub0i9bL_mrE/s1600/2012-08-12+18.28.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivagaX__PF1FZV4DetLaMf8vonoet5fMyyDfvQ8qrfhwdv6ipxaC_xhUDOyl3pqE18LZLNLOBp2YeyuK0c7Xqt9bNPjBtKalwBSOe4Im12PodRYpAmFyJt0aBe2HDzifoMFub0i9bL_mrE/s320/2012-08-12+18.28.06.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">In America, barbecue is the food itself,
and the culture that surrounds it. Americans do not have a neighborhood barbecue,
they have a cook out. They also do not barbecue their food – they grill it.
What we call grilling is called broiling here. Stay with me! Anyway, more
interesting is the discrepancies between different regions of the US. (I
apologize if I butcher several of the details in this explanation.) In North
Carolina, barbecue is pork, and the sauce changes by location: vinegar in the
east, tomato in the west, a blend in the middle. The pork is shredded (or
pulled as we might say) and often served in a bun topped with coleslaw. In
Texas, barbecue is beef, and there are many regional differences of technique
and sauce within the state. In Kansas City, barbecue can be pork, beef or
chicken. That’s about as much as I can condense the topic of southern barbecue
without doing a full essay, so please try it if you visit the South or its
fringe states. I have sometimes considered becoming a vegetarian, but the
thought of barbecue prevents me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-style: normal;">Despite
these differences, there is one thing that Americans and Britons have in common
when it comes to barbecue: both insist that their definition is the correct
one.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">08/13:
W<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>est Memphis, AK to Oxford, MS</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">We should have learned from Missouri/Kansas
that just because a city <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seems</i> like
it’s probably in a certain state doesn’t necessarily mean that it is. We wanted
a cheap hotel in Memphis, to check out the closest city to Oxford and have some
time to relax before moving me in to my new place, so we didn’t book one right
in the center. We booked one in West Memphis, and then became thoroughly
confused that our GPS (British: SatNav) couldn’t find it at all. Well, that is
because West Memphis is not in Tennessee, like Memphis is. It’s in Arkansas. Go
figure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQdptlb35TdZYn7VT3Ys_xO4nKmwK5Q563UmYXm8NIFHqzWzdXN5BYqbjQ18LrFbVL6yzxvTYMm7qb3xsBDnw2pxrxQXc7OKioS5lGZYBHxQ5yu2t73OnQsWhl9kD30gYBFp71Dw7Pnec/s1600/2012-08-12+23.53.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQdptlb35TdZYn7VT3Ys_xO4nKmwK5Q563UmYXm8NIFHqzWzdXN5BYqbjQ18LrFbVL6yzxvTYMm7qb3xsBDnw2pxrxQXc7OKioS5lGZYBHxQ5yu2t73OnQsWhl9kD30gYBFp71Dw7Pnec/s320/2012-08-12+23.53.46.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">A question I get asked a lot at home is,
“Why is it pronounced Arkan<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">saw</i>?” You
lazy people, don’t you know how to use Google? It’s okay, I did it for you. The
root of the name is Native American, a Quapaw/Sioux word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">akakaze</i> meaning “land of downriver people” or “people of the south
wind” respectively. The pronunciation is French. Apparently, the pronunciation
was a matter of such debate that it was made official in state legislation in
1881. But unfortunately that did not solve all of the problems in Arkansas. It
took until 2007 for the state to pass a resolution that the possessive form of
the name should be Arkansas’s. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om3kgqKNTqI" target="_blank">Scandal! Scandal!</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I didn’t have a chance to see much of Arkansas,
but as a neighboring state to Mississippi I hope to do so in the future. When I
think of Arkansas, my mind goes to Bill Clinton, the violent desegregation of
Little Rock Central High School in 1957, an amazing MFA program at the
University of Arkansas, the arming of teachers at Clarksville High School and
the headquarters of Walmart. On our drive through Arkansas, we stopped at the
most antiquated gas station we had encountered so far. We also drove behind two
horse-drawn buggies. I had never connected Amish culture to Arkansas, but later
research revealed that there is in fact one community in Sturkie, which we must
have been near.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMn6SY53Siz5JMWsW81f_VIXt1O7xtFiBodEgtBkrpcJVuUC5P3yMZk8MncdqPWk_jl7gQ8mDTIOqQ_BbS_zTJfywLMCbBJ4aHAORolzY6I6xR3rGTNywJ3DO3N-7fUqWPV_P2snjnlLS/s1600/2012-08-13+18.12.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMn6SY53Siz5JMWsW81f_VIXt1O7xtFiBodEgtBkrpcJVuUC5P3yMZk8MncdqPWk_jl7gQ8mDTIOqQ_BbS_zTJfywLMCbBJ4aHAORolzY6I6xR3rGTNywJ3DO3N-7fUqWPV_P2snjnlLS/s320/2012-08-13+18.12.11.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">But back to the journey. We left Arkansas,
and West Memphis, for Memphis Proper in Tennessee. I always think that southern
cities are somewhat of an oxymoron, which was made apparent as we waited
f-o-r-e-v-e-r for pedestrians to cross the street. No one is in a hurry (unless
they’re on a highway). Chip, a native of North Carolina who had been in
California for a year, sighed and said, “I have missed the South so much.” Our
last meal of the roadtrip was in IHOP (International House of Pancakes, which I
always want to stylize as iHOP) where we were served over and over again with
more coffee and more Dr Pepper. IHOP is one of those restaurants that is
pleasantly unprofessional, with consistent food and harried-looking waiting
staff. I still have ambitions to visit IHOP on Cox in North Carolina, where, I
am told, they receive more prank phone calls than legitimate ones.</span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqzGpNp4iKOPtmTE-08aGEf3O5PtBAWEGSy8MW92mVGn6ucXDm9zzQZKViI3xW0q-GBsmAY5ORuMVXQkejYvC7OaR02HkVOKqVfq52r7jt5eNjVSxlqMsJOIHWFsDp3-ub5mG_wXgG_0K/s1600/2012-08-13+21.43.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqzGpNp4iKOPtmTE-08aGEf3O5PtBAWEGSy8MW92mVGn6ucXDm9zzQZKViI3xW0q-GBsmAY5ORuMVXQkejYvC7OaR02HkVOKqVfq52r7jt5eNjVSxlqMsJOIHWFsDp3-ub5mG_wXgG_0K/s320/2012-08-13+21.43.14.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was extremely anxious on the drive from
Memphis to Oxford, feeling my stomach flip as we passed the Welcome to
Mississippi sign. Now, I have passed that sign and done the 85-mile drive
several times. I have many stories of my first year of Oxford, but for now, as
pretentious as it is to quote myself, I will leave you with a Tweet from the
first day that I arrived:</span></span></div>
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<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB">My hair is huge, my skin is bitten, my
belly is full of fried catfish and hushpuppies. It feels so good to be back in
the South. <s>#</s><b>olemiss</b></span></span></span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB"><b> </b></span> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvkfFe4pjd4oBRE20fa0q3LYFNN0ML4FHuIviaLKGQm3LM8-WdlPTeCgDovb4irQxUo7Gf6liVwEqnuU4QOFiU7fDTL5dozqS9pRtC0l4_JhJYm8DsNeDX61u2sPKxP9CX5vuQBMI2gyI/s1600/2012-08-20+05.36.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvkfFe4pjd4oBRE20fa0q3LYFNN0ML4FHuIviaLKGQm3LM8-WdlPTeCgDovb4irQxUo7Gf6liVwEqnuU4QOFiU7fDTL5dozqS9pRtC0l4_JhJYm8DsNeDX61u2sPKxP9CX5vuQBMI2gyI/s200/2012-08-20+05.36.38.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And <i>this</i> is a whole 'nother story.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /><b></b></span></span></div>
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<![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-11438241615213990922013-07-13T13:17:00.001+01:002013-08-12T20:52:14.651+01:0023.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReBs5tQwER4lBEDT3S-U_xfOS0Oz6jI9nuHuBXKborlromvhHapyVaW0wEW2O6165no3Kgr8ImVd5khrKh2XTrdq8UcXP_hGUbX1GERx6ubdBSVEDBTVquXdPbupAMAEvVMrishGQJTPh/s1600/pug+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReBs5tQwER4lBEDT3S-U_xfOS0Oz6jI9nuHuBXKborlromvhHapyVaW0wEW2O6165no3Kgr8ImVd5khrKh2XTrdq8UcXP_hGUbX1GERx6ubdBSVEDBTVquXdPbupAMAEvVMrishGQJTPh/s200/pug+cake.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cake for my last birthday. I got creative.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I won’t always love
what I’ll never have, I won’t always live in my regrets…</i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I am 24. As far back as I can remember, my birthday
has made me anxious. I’ve never liked to be center of attention. I dreaded
opening gifts in front of a circle of people, desperately trying to compose my
face into an expression of delight whilst fighting the urge to run out the
door. As an adult, it’s about more than just shyness. I absolutely appreciate a
thoughtful present, but I would genuinely rather someone makes time for me than
they spend money on me. I’m sure other July babies can relate to the fact that
there’s a lot going on with holidays, events, summer jobs – time is difficult to find.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Birthdays were really a cocktail of disaster for someone like
me. I’m a deep thinker, a perfectionist, I like things to go to plan, and I always want to please others.
But I am very stubborn. I never felt like I could live up to the expectations for a birthday and so some years I refused to
celebrate it at all. If you think I sound selfish, I actually agree with you.
I’m sure that I hurt family and friends by not being grateful that they wanted
to do something for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’ll sit alone
forever, if you wait for the right time… What are you hoping for?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is less pressure as I get older, especially with all
my moving around, but I am still thinking about how to approach a day that
makes me panicky. My solution, from now on, is to use the spotlight in a
positive way. Firstly, I want to take this day to express how much I love and
appreciate my friends and family, whether in England, Ireland or America. I
have had a turbulent couple of years, and you have all shown me so much love
and support. I could not have kept going without your company, your advice,
your comedy and your kindness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Secondly, I am giving everyone a present. Can you guess what
it is? Yes, a real blog post! Okay, maybe not the BEST present but you’re here
now so it’s something to read while you eat lunch or whatever. I am doing
something a little artsy-fartsy and different by interspersing this post with
lyrics, but it’s for good reason.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amazing still it
seems, I’ll be 23…</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was inspired to write this post a couple of days ago when
I was listening to Pandora and Jimmy Eat World’s “23” came on. It is a very
special song to me. I first heard it in 2005. Twenty-three felt a long way away
to me then, and I could only imagine what my life might be like in 8 years. I
distinctly remember playing the song on my iPod on Hallowe’en of 2007, as I sat
on a plane headed to New York. I had the next five years mapped out: gap year,
two years at UEA, a year in the states, final year of UEA. I would turn
twenty-three around the time of graduation, and from there was a true unknown.
Listening to the song, I vaguely wondered about location, career, and love. At
that time, I had dreams to live in the US more permanently, I thought I would
like to work in publishing, and I wasn’t sure that I knew what being in love
felt like. Every time I heard “23”, as I came closer to reaching it myself, I
would think about how my hopes and dreams were changing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No one else will know
these lonely dreams…</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That moment was 5 years and 8.5 months ago. Naturally, my
desires for location, career and relationships changed a lot during that time.
I suffered through extreme homesickness during my year abroad and felt sure I
would never leave England again; I became convinced that I wanted to be an
academic; I swung from avoiding dating entirely to muddling through difficult
relationships and finally figuring out what I wanted. But the funny thing is,
most of what I initially wished for – what I thought about during that plane
ride – came true during my 23<sup>rd</sup> year. I moved back to the US; I
pursued a Master’s and realized I want to work in publishing more than I want
to get a PhD; I’m in a stable and happy relationship. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I still listen to Jimmy Eat World. I have many memories
of playing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Futures</i> with secondary
school friends, which turned into a lot of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clarity
</i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chase This Light </i>at UEA. It’s
funny to me that thinking about them really irritated me when I was at Carolina;
it is so fitting to how frustrated I was with life in general. They released <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Invented</i>, which at first I did not like
at all, and then went touring in Europe, stopping at none other than NORWICH,
where all my friends went to see them without me. But, it got better. Their music still conjures good memories, and I have tickets to see them live in
Charlotte this summer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now - with the help of Jimmy Eat World - I
will tell you a few things I’m especially grateful for as I move on from 23…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m still driving
away… </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media.caranddriver.com/images/media/3068/2003-saturn-l200-photo-3459-s-429x262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media.caranddriver.com/images/media/3068/2003-saturn-l200-photo-3459-s-429x262.jpg" height="195" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am finally driving! I’ve always boasted about my love of public
transport, cycling and walking, and didn’t bother to get a license. But then I
moved to the South. And mashed up my coccyx so I can no longer sit on a bike. I
couldn’t buy groceries or really go anywhere in Mississippi without the aid of
friends, so I finally got a permit and bought a car. Her name is Caddy (who
gets it?). I’m planning on taking my test in a couple of months. And yes,
British friends, you can make fun of me because I did NOT<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a) learn to drive a manual or b) get TRULY
tested by enduring the humiliation of the British driving test. But I will
counter with the fact that my driving test fees cost $15 (around £10). So.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That once we said
goodbye… </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/82/London_Big_Ben_Phone_box.jpg/220px-London_Big_Ben_Phone_box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/82/London_Big_Ben_Phone_box.jpg/220px-London_Big_Ben_Phone_box.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of Britain, YES, I MISS YOU ALL. I miss narrow lanes and
HobNobs and European fashion and Ribena and the BBC and Curlywurlies and people
who know about Michael Palin and Stephen Fry and The Tea Junction. I’ll be back
in December with my strange American-Southern/English-Southern accent. Bloody
hell, y’all!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No one else will have
me, only you… </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLQDxAQgxcMK9GXUoVxZs-m1tNYJx4_W73Yg8XzrMWd5uQhHOIdD5-mExlNZrV8AuvT4visYEjMxq7yuGovKIl_RLT3_yVPYTdWX9WZAsUgKYYMgIaPWchLek3vCpyjn3h3_IPoy4nqpS/s1600/pink+jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLQDxAQgxcMK9GXUoVxZs-m1tNYJx4_W73Yg8XzrMWd5uQhHOIdD5-mExlNZrV8AuvT4visYEjMxq7yuGovKIl_RLT3_yVPYTdWX9WZAsUgKYYMgIaPWchLek3vCpyjn3h3_IPoy4nqpS/s320/pink+jeans.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Public declarations of love are not really my thang, but I
still want to say how much I love and appreciate my wonderful boyfriend. He
makes me laugh, puts up with my hysteria and hypochondria, politely tries most
of my experimental dinners, and truly believes in me. He’s my best friend, and
I’m so happy that I will finally spend a birthday with him. Even if we will be
having vegan cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t give away the
end, the one thing that stays mine… </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8v2HdpT4lYITVBTka39cNERSSEiOyC9iZZ1K4vt8Zdt09MO5aAw1wlIrxI-F1zqALozs8ZoF_Sj1AGAUDYSVxqZ44P0PXXdEzNxbFMFmBAbSYDrBwYgyQidFoX6XQ-eWYMtoZTC9r6Zu3/s1600/camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8v2HdpT4lYITVBTka39cNERSSEiOyC9iZZ1K4vt8Zdt09MO5aAw1wlIrxI-F1zqALozs8ZoF_Sj1AGAUDYSVxqZ44P0PXXdEzNxbFMFmBAbSYDrBwYgyQidFoX6XQ-eWYMtoZTC9r6Zu3/s320/camp.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Writing is still my greatest passion.
I’m very grateful that I have had so much encouragement to keep going, and
ideas to keep me working. On a related note, I am spending my summer interning
with the Hub City Writers Project, a literary nonprofit in Spartanburg, South
Carolina that is both press and independent bookstore. I have been running
their teen summer camps, which has led to new dreams about stories, teaching,
nonprofit work and more. It’s been a real privilege. Also, their conference is
this weekend, meaning I can spend my birthday hanging out with writers.
Perfect!</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I won’t always live,
not stopping… </i> </div>
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It seems I like to keep lurching around and between two countries,
despite how much I loathe packing and plane rides. Over the last 2 years, I
have lived in Chapel Hill, North Carolina; Norwich, UK; (a total of 3 weeks in
San Francisco, California); St. Albans, UK; Oxford, Mississippi; Spartanburg,
South Carolina. I’m not sure where I’m headed after this year. I made a list of
possible cities for fun and came up with a variety including Austin, Brighton, Buenos Aires, Berlin and even “somewhere in Sweden”. Mostly I just want to be somewhere
where someone will pay me.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And I’m sorry every
day… </i> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I considered making my own sad face but ultimately decided I'm not as cool.</td></tr>
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I ended up being WAY too busy in graduate school to ever update this
blog. But I have been keeping notes, and I’m hoping to have a window of time
before classes start again. I desperately want to tell you all about Oxford!</div>
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But that’s it from me for now. Happy birthday to me, but
more importantly - I hope that YOU have a great day!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0Spartanburg, SC, USA34.9495672 -81.932048234.8454372 -82.0934097 35.053697199999995 -81.7706867tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-85815336922941641092012-08-04T16:37:00.000+01:002013-08-12T20:51:25.779+01:00I was born, lucky me, in a land that I love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I've been looking over my first ever post, <a href="http://jodiefree.blogspot.co.uk/2010/08/where-are-you-going-where-have-you-been.html" target="_blank">Where are you going, where have you been?</a> and am struck by the fact that my feelings from then and now are so similar. (And that I didn't actually know what "liberal arts" means, but I pledged not to edit anything retrospectively.) You would think that with everything that's happened to me over the last two years, I would be a different person entirely. Or at the very least, that I would view my old words as naive - but I don't. Back in 2010, I was sad to say goodbye and worrying about how to handle depression abroad, but I was also very excited. It's pretty much how I feel now. The only big difference is that I have a greater understanding of my own weaknesses, and how these can be challenged in such a situation.<br />
<br />
If ever I talk to people who haven't studied/lived abroad about the difficulties I experienced, a common reaction is that my expectations must have been too high, or that I made the wrong choices. By contrast, when I talk to those who have been abroad, even if their experience was 100x better than mine, they usually nod their heads and say, "That's how it goes sometimes." Don't get me wrong, there is a lot that I could have done better. This time around, I do want to be more assertive, more forgiving, more aware of how I'm feeling and what I can do about it. I understand my strengths a lot more now, too. But I also know that for any year in your life, regardless of setting, you can't be expected to control every single thing. Quite simply: shit happens. It might be that it takes me awhile to make friends, or to get into the swing of classes, or to adjust to the new climate. It might be that something goes horribly wrong. But no amount of preparation and/or panic is going to change that possibility, so I might as well focus on the excitement. My enthusiasm for my year abroad was certainly not what made it difficult; if anything, it was the reason I was able to keep going.<br />
<br />
Obviously, the major difference between then and now is the fact that I'm leaving for two years, not one. It's also a more transient time than when I left before. The lives of my friends and family are going to change so much between now and May 2014. They'll be pursuing careers, moving houses, travelling the world, getting engaged. It would be an entirely different world for me to come back to. I've had to say a more permanent goodbye to the life that I knew, both in Norwich and St Albans. Strangely enough, that is easier. I don't have the burden of coming home and trying to fit back in again a year later, pushing aside these experiences that no one else witnessed. It's easier to believe I can make Oxford my new home in a way that I couldn't with Chapel Hill. I expect I will still feel lost at first. When you move elsewhere, sometimes you have to accept certain sacrifices. For me, it's some of my hobbies, such as fashion and cooking. In Mississippi, I can't live with one eye on the high street at all times, collecting limited edition clothing*, nor can I comfortably peruse Sainsbury's to make my usual dishes. I will have to adapt, and accept I can't always get hold of Quorn or creme fraiche. These are little things, but I'm sure they will sometimes make me sigh. I'm not sure it's possible to ever feel as comfortable in a foreign country as the place where you grew up.<br />
<br />
*I'm a proud owner of a Queen's Guard crop top, a Jubilee-themed Topshop item. It's a real wonder that I actually resisted the Corgi-patterned bags.<br />
<br />
When my visa-approved passport was returned to me last week, my nana was surprised to see that I don't have an Irish passport. It would never occur to me to get one, since I have never lived in Ireland and my dad's side is predominantly English. She asked, "But do you feel Irish?" I thought about this for a moment before replying, "I do on St. Patrick's Day." It does go a little deeper than that. I love visiting Ireland, and knowing that people I love grew up there, saw these places every day. I have a lot of childhood memories that tie me to the country, even little things like the food I begged for and the music I heard there. I wear a Claddagh ring, a gift from my nana. I thought seriously about applying to Trinity College. Yet to be honest, my relationship with Ireland is almost no different to my relationship with the South. I love Southern food, Southern literature, Southern music. I feel like I have an understanding of the culture without being truly part of it. It's somewhere I would be excited to live. There's no rhyme or reason to me attaching myself to it in such a way, it just happened.<br />
<br />
What does it means to "come from" a country or town - is it your heritage, where you lived as a child, where you move to as an adult? I've been meditating on this a lot recently, perhaps due to the number of patriotic events this year. Some people are dismissive of the idea that one can be proud to be from somewhere, as it's really only an accident of birth. Other people hold tightly to their nationality, whether it's somewhere they can barely remember or where they grew up all along. The other day I met up with Tash, who was the first friend I made at UEA. Whilst I grew up only a short train ride from London, Tash grew up 5 hours away, in Devon. We walked along the Thames, thronged by Olympics tourists, and both felt that in some way, this capital was truly ours and something to be proud of. I'm not going all Colonialist on you - I offer no intelligent comments on Britain's history, and I don't view my birthplace as an achievement of some kind. But I am grateful for the way my country shaped me. As the Olympics opening ceremony demonstrated, Britain is a country that values art, humour and compassion. Who I am now, as a person and as a writer, is largely the result of that.<br />
<br />
For instance, I would probably not have encountered the same television and writing. Many people know how much I admire Michael Palin. I'm a huge fan of Monty Python, and he was always my favourite. I used to rewind the Biggus Dickus scene of <i>Life of Brian</i>. I love his travel shows and his books. Now, everyone and their parrot just likes to discuss how Palin is so "nice", which is actually not why I am drawn to his work. Obviously, he is a talented writer and actor, and his journeys fuelled my own interest in travel. But mainly it is the fact that he appears to be someone who is comfortable with the fact that life does not have hard and fast answers. He doesn't aim to conclude, and he lives his life with empathy. (I shudder when I say "empathy" now, thanks to my dissertation!) When I read his work or his interviews, I feel a sense of peace, even if my life is currently all over the place. Last week, I read <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/the-dark-knight-rises-perhaps-michael-palin-isnt-the-nicest-chap-in-britain-after-all-7976634.html" target="_blank">an interview with him in the Independent</a>. He made a comment about John Cleese which resonated with me:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I think he set himself a very high standard of achievement and possibly
feels he never quite attained it. He's always moving: first to New York,
then to California, now Monaco. Where next? I always wanted to say to
him: 'John, you're so talented. You have a lovely wife and kids; just
relax.' But there was always something more that he wanted, to a point
that was almost destructive."</blockquote>
"Just relax" is my new mantra. I worry <i>so</i> much. Every day I wake up asking myself if I'm good enough, in my relationships and in my pursuits. If I may say so, I have inherited the British tradition of apologising for everything, which means it's hard to congratulate yourself. Being awarded a scholarship is one of the biggest things that's ever happened to me. You would think that I spent every day since January being overjoyed, proud of myself, successful. But I've been taught modesty all my life, and sometimes that drifts accidentally into self-consciousness. In some ways it's easier to process failure than it is to know what to do with success. I think it's how most people would feel, actually. My inclination to deconstruct and understand is in many ways a good quality, but sometimes it does need to be ignored and replaced swiftly with a "just relax."<br />
<br />
I was caught on camera the other day as I was considering all of this. I have no idea what it was for, but I was amused that the footage, shot so randomly, would be rather poignant to me. I had taken the familiar train journey from St Albans to Kings Cross-St Pancras, and sat down outside the station. I was dressed in Topshop and Miss Selfridge, my iPod in and playing the Kinks. As I waited for Tash's train to arrive from Norwich, I continued reading Faulkner's <i>The Wild Palms</i>. At some point I paused, thinking about the upcoming move, my tendency to agonise, and how I should "just relax". I glanced up, squinting into the sunlight, and noticed the camera pointed right at me. The person holding it couldn't possibly have known, but what they recorded was a moment which connected me to all the places I've lived, the person I've been in all of them, and the place and person I'm now going towards.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also like to express myself with cake.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-25215011028502124382012-07-07T14:52:00.001+01:002013-08-12T20:50:17.818+01:00You are high school to me. All of the boyfriends and mean girls and tests and teachers and our CRAZY mothers – we went through it together. We raised each other.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdGhczI2Pjet7ZYRA0IzVhz0lj2Lr_QU8vu3JeIGaaz-hwEVpzC_XQGn0Wr6sQaC7KCOhRUMa6ft6roJVQxB69aF28wnFVw9dlhkcvmCQSQE37UzJH3IXH9ByDxqZKrJpWQPeq2V1JKUN/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdGhczI2Pjet7ZYRA0IzVhz0lj2Lr_QU8vu3JeIGaaz-hwEVpzC_XQGn0Wr6sQaC7KCOhRUMa6ft6roJVQxB69aF28wnFVw9dlhkcvmCQSQE37UzJH3IXH9ByDxqZKrJpWQPeq2V1JKUN/s200/031.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some people get tattoos, I get stuffed animals.</td></tr>
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Hello there. I have the feeling this is one of the harder posts I will have to write in here (yes, even worse than that one about mysterious bug bites). You see, in 2 weeks' time I will a) have graduated from UEA and b) be having my visa interview for Ole Miss. This means I need to start acknowledging the fact that I am not going back to UEA. Which I <i>really</i> do not want to do. I'm going to write about my UEA journey for me, and for you. For you if you were a part of it, as a friend or a tutor or a bunny bouncing around the grounds. For you if you are starting UEA this year, half-way through your degree, or thinking of applying (go apply for American Studies at UEA right now). I would do it all again if I could.<br />
<br />
UEA has been an enormous part of my life for the past 4 years of course, but actually it's been even longer than that; I first went to an open day in 2006. So far, I had been somewhat bemused by the process of applying to university. I had checked out a couple of places, vaguely thinking that I wanted to do something literature based but not really sure what that would mean. UEA appealed to me at first because of its reputation for creative writing, and I have always wanted to be an author. However, I ended up at an American Studies talk. It felt like a more adventurous choice, and that was what I wanted.<br />
<br />
As a side note, I am actually glad that I didn't end up doing a creative writing course. I know that for many people, it is a wonderful experience and helps them to become better writers. But it is not the only route. At UEA, I was part of the Creative Writing Society, I wrote a lot in my spare time, and I took a couple of classes (one at UEA, one at UNC) without it being my degree title. When I moved back in with my parents recently, I went through my old stuff, including sketch books. I had forgotten how much I had loved art, had even once wanted to be an illustrator as well as author. Don't laugh, but GCSE Art burned me out. Being graded according to a syllabus just wasn't for me, especially as I don't have a lot of range. I liked art history, adored drawing, could be persuaded into painting, but hated sculpture with a passion. I was a lot happier when I was left to play around by myself. I know that if I ever wish to be published I may have to approach my writing differently, but for this period of my life it was the right decision to keep it as a beloved hobby.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to this American Studies talk. The speaker was Professor Christopher Bigsby, who would later be my teacher for Early 20th Century Novels in America. (I probably took it to talk about Faulkner more, <i>and </i>because it was in the Arthur Miller room. Two words, people: leather armchairs.) I couldn't tell you everything that was said in that meeting five and half years ago. I can tell you that I walked out of it, across campus with my parents, and said, "I am going here and I am doing American & English Literature." I have never been so sure of a decision in my life. I had a few obstacles, namely my difficult relationship with exams. I had to do a number of retakes in order to get the grades I needed. But I was absolutely determined, and after a gap year of travel and work I moved to Norwich to begin my new life.<br />
<br />
My first year was all about pranks and ridiculousness in Suffolk Terrace (the "Naked Flat" had quite a reputation), worrying about my essays and making lots of new friends. UEA quickly became my home, and my friends were my family. My second year was a blur between running Creative Writing Society, going to the LCR a lot, working at Starbucks, applying for my year abroad and pushing myself as hard as ever with my essays and exams. I'm still never quite sure how I managed it all. My third year was my year abroad in North Carolina, and I crashed. I suppose it had been a long time coming. I was lonely, scared, mosquito-bitten and often depressed. Painful as it was, the result of that year was lasting friendship, love, travel and self-belief. My fourth year was a time to heal. When I first returned to the UK, I still suffered from insomnia, found it difficult to talk to anyone, and was struggling to leave the past in the past. I felt better than I had done, but I was still lost. Or so I thought. After gaining weight abroad, I got into better shape than I ever have been. I wrote a few short stories that I'm proud of. My dissertation was marked as a First, and it led to my interview with BAAS and now my Master's in Mississippi. A lot happened between my first day in Norwich and the last, but I got my happy ending for sure.<br />
<br />
As my description probably implies, my social life was an important part of my time at UEA. I was lucky enough to be placed in a first year flat which, for the most part, stuck together. I still count several of those flatmates as close friends. In fact, many of the friends I made at UEA I actually met the first week that I started, in my seminars or societies. I also struck gold with my part time job at Starbucks. Many people despise their part time jobs, but I didn't. It was a gift for me to have somewhere else to be other than campus or home (especially when our heating broke), to meet people who were not at UEA, and to have days where I was a barista, not a student. Then there was the Creative Writing Society. It was such a privilege to be a part of it, especially as Secretary. I don't think I have ever laughed more than I did at those workshops, even when I was the one running them and should probably have been a little more focused. I actually took a few of my workshop plans to my BAAS interview because I felt they showed a side to me that essays alone could not. Of course, the final two years of university were definitely not as social as the first two, after I left then came back. It was very hard to adjust. But I'm glad that I had to. As much as I value my friendships, I'm glad that I'm setting off to graduate school with the confidence to do things alone. I write stories without anyone to workshop them, I go for runs by myself, and I'm much better at listening to my own heart.<br />
<br />
I'm going to go ahead and state the blatantly obvious: university is hard. I don't know anyone who sailed right through 3 years or more without making mistakes. I don't know anyone who didn't suffer from circumstances outside of their control. It's why I am so glad to have done it all at two amazing universities. Without the truly incredible faculties at both UEA and UNC, I would not have got through my degree. I would have run right back to St Albans and stayed there the rest of my life. On top of every other pressure at uni, the last things you want are to feel like your course is boring and that there's no one there to help. I never, ever felt like that. I enjoyed every module I took at UEA, from the American Body to American Music to Tales of the Jazz Age. I always felt like I had support academically, and even emotionally. I needed a lot of encouragement, and I got it. At my interview for the BAAS award, they asked me to describe times in which I had been the recipient of good teaching. I had so many examples to choose from that I had to pause and think. I sincerely hope that the experience I had at UEA will make me a good teaching assistant at Ole Miss.<br />
<br />
So, now that I have moped my way to the 8th paragraph, I hope everyone can see that I did quite like UEA. I remember the first time I visited campus, when I was still in sixth form and spent all of my time daydreaming (I've outgrown that nasty habit, obviously). I wondered what I would be like by the end of four years there. I am happy to say that, imaginative as I was, I have far surpassed my own expectations. My life is bigger and brighter than I ever believed it could be. So thank you, UEA, and keep doing what you're doing. I'll miss you every day.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh and cute as first years - September 2008.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So mature that we irritated the bar staff trying to take this picture about 8 times - June 2012.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-58763094718819800492012-03-22T14:41:00.002+00:002013-08-12T20:50:34.383+01:00"Is he in therapy?" "Nah, he's got me."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-GB">I wasn’t planning to write again until next month, when I am once again going to San Francisco followed by the BAAS conference/banquet in Manchester. However, I recently attended a meeting for outgoing year abroad students which inspired me to write this entry. Dr Rachael McLennan asked me to come so that I could talk about my year abroad experiences and how they informed my dissertation and led to my scholarship. As I sat there, it suddenly dawned on me that all the advice being given was still relevant to me, since… I am going abroad this summer too! I know – I should really try to remember that. Anyway, I wanted to write about what I wish I had known whilst I was abroad in case it is useful for anyone else. I also think it will be useful for me. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I had so many intentions before I left for Carolina, but once I got there my motivation dwindled and I mostly stewed in my homesickness and frustration. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I’d like to think that it will all just be easier this time and shrug it off, but if I have learnt anything from my year abroad, it’s that self-awareness is your best friend. I can’t know or prepare for everything that’s to come, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. Oxford is the next adventure for me, and my excitement far exceeds my anxiety. Part of taking a big risk like that is accepting that you’re going to be in freefall. Even so, I hope that my previous experiences will be beneficial (to anyone else, too, if you are reading!).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">As you will glean from the structure of my points, I don’t believe in hard and fast rules, but about trying to create a healthy balance. Here are some of my best lessons…</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Be Proactive and Assertive</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I think at UEA we are lucky to have so many open societies which actively look for more members. I found that UNC was more of a puzzle, and I didn’t have much luck joining anything or finding out about events. Despite the early disappointments, I really wish I had kept trying. I wish I had seen more plays, attended more campus events, explored new places – even if I had to go by myself. I was so used to being part of a group at UEA that I never learned just to go and enjoy something on my own. It’s an important skill and it will stop you from missing out. Out of my comfort zone, I also became more reserved. I stood in my own way when it came to making friends and wasn’t assertive enough; consequently it took me a long time to make them. Don’t allow yourself to stop trying if it doesn’t go your way at first. Keep going. Push yourself.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">BUT Take Care of Yourself</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Sometimes it’s okay to just watch <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">One Tree Hill</i> in your bed (especially if you’re in North Carolina, then it’s practically research). Really. Don’t feel like you have to do everything if you don’t feel like it. I routinely tortured myself about everything I was missing out on, and it was pointless to put so much pressure on myself. When I look back, I realise that I do have a lot of good memories, even if they were just hanging out with my friends and not doing anything “significant”. Not every day is going to be exciting or even pleasant at all, and that’s okay. Being somewhere new is incredibly stimulating, but it’s also overwhelming. I wish I had been easier on myself, and done more to feel good. I would definitely recommend taking advantage of the free gyms, different sports/exercise opportunities etc. I really regret not taking up running in Chapel Hill, since it’s a beautiful area and it would have kept me healthier. (Better late than never, though – and Norwich is beautiful to run around too!) Also, reign yourself in when it comes to the food. I’m not just talking about weight gain (though that was a definite part of my year abroad), but about the fact that there can be a lot of additives etc which your body is not used to, and it can make you unwell. Also, be careful with alcohol. It’s all very well to have a good time, but you’re much more vulnerable in a new place with new people.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Communicate with Others</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It’s great meeting new people, but sometimes you will just want to hear a familiar voice. I was a Skype and Facebook addict the entire year, and for the most part I loved hearing what was going on at home. I wanted to stay connected to my life in Norwich. It’s important to have encouragement from the people who know you best. It’s also important to be open with the people around you. Ask your new friends, your professors, etc, to help you out if you are struggling. I was often far too stubborn for my own good, and did not want to admit how much I needed other people to help me, or to make a change in my situation. I could probably have avoided a lot of pain and drama if I had spoken up earlier about what was going on with me, or accepted the olive branches being offered. It’s also really important to talk to people who have been through the same, whether that’s people at your university who have studied abroad, other international students, or friends from home who have done American Studies or similar. (Here I feel I should say a big thank you to Ailsa Bristow!)</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">BUT Listen to Yourself</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve just admitted that I’m stubborn, but conversely I was a victim of listening to other people too much. When I was having trouble at UNC, I found that a lot of people were (unintentionally, I’m sure) dismissive about how hard it was. When you have never lived abroad, it is completely impossible to truly comprehend how isolating and lonely it can be. Some of my isolation was most definitely my own doing, but a lot of it was out of my control. When you are struggling, it only makes it worse to have someone tell you that it’s not a big deal or that you’re just not trying hard enough. What is even worse than that is to believe it yourself. Be honest with yourself, and try hard, but don’t blame yourself if everything isn’t perfect. The other point I want to make here is how important it is to pay attention to your own needs. I think if I had had the courage to make decisions just for myself, and not worried about what other people would say about it, I would have been much happier. Sometimes it is not selfish or arrogant to decide that you know best, it’s just the truth.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Document Your Experiences</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Takes photos, keep a journal, keep a blog (hi), make a box of keepsakes. It’s a good idea to carry your camera around with you, even just to take pictures as you walk around campus. I loved writing this blog. It forced me to have a sense of humour even when all I wanted to do was cry and book a flight home. I’ve written a journal most of my life (regularly for 10 years now), and I think it’s an excellent way to appreciate the little things in life, and to hold yourself accountable to mistakes. When I read back on my personal journal, it’s a little painful to see how much I struggled sometimes, but it also tells the most outrageous stories. The most dramatic of those were from my month of travelling around with Jess and Faye. I have many photos from our trip that I cherish and look over every time I need a laugh. Though it may not feel like it at the beginning, the year goes by very fast, and it’s important to preserve the memories as best you can. As was mentioned in the meeting, something like a blog may come in handy later when you’re applying for jobs. The biggest benefit to me was being able to write something that a lot of people were interested in reading – it actually put me back in touch with old school friends who had followed the links on Facebook. I’m intending to be a more regular blogger when I go to Mississippi.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">BUT Remember Your Life is Not a Movie</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I said already that I was a Facebook addict. I know it is a double-edged sword. Photos, communication, information, humour = good. Stalking, jealousy, wallowing, grammar atrocities = bad. I was so worried about what people thought of me at home, falling from my social/academic grace abroad, that I became obsessed with how I appeared on Facebook. I haven’t changed my profile picture in two months – are people talking about how I must not have any friends? Was that last status funny, or a little too whiny? WHY IS THAT PERSON HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN THAN ME? Try to remember that Facebook is not a true reflection of reality. Also, whilst I mentioned that photos/journals are important, the best moments I experienced abroad were not photographed, blogged about, or shared on Facebook. University is an incredibly social experience, and I was so bound up in that at UEA. At Carolina, I truly learned to be comfortable by myself. My most vivid memories are of private moments in which I got closer to a friend, finally felt like I could do Zumba, or finished a particularly challenging project. I didn’t need to stop and take a photo in order to remember it. </span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">Congratulate Yourself</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This is probably one of the hardest things you will ever do. Well done for considering it, well done for taking the plunge, well done for staying where you are, well done for making the most of it, well done for coming home a better person. Applaud yourself every day!</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB">BUT Say Thank You</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I have to admit, I was not always as grateful as I should have been. I was so consumed in my own unhappiness at points that I did not take enough time to say thank you. I hope that by the end of my time I was a lot better at expressing my gratitude to all the wonderful people that supported me. Part of the reason why I chose to write my dissertation on empathy is because I realised just how important it is. It is because of the people that took the time to listen and to understand that I was able to keep going, to make sense of the difficulties, and to trust that things would get better.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And now for the most important tip of all…</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">For God’s sake, apply insect repellent.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Good luck to everyone going abroad this summer!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's not a lot of reason to this other than the fact that I love Obama. And he has great facial expressions.</td></tr>
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ETA: So I just discovered that you can look up stats to see how many people are reading. I have had far more people stumble across this blog than I expected! I know that some probably got here by mistake or clicked back immediately (especially if all you saw was the pic of my bug bites - sorry!) but if you do read this blog, please leave a comment to let me know! Sometimes people email me or comment on my Facebook but it would be great to get comments here, too, just to know what your thoughts are, if you've had similar experiences, etc. Once I'm back in the States I would really love suggestions for what to write about. :) /end vanity.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-14261372053476053262012-01-16T00:54:00.000+00:002013-08-12T20:47:23.109+01:00My, my. A body does get around.Hello neglected blog! I was planning to write an entry following the completion of my dissertation, but that rolled into my trip to San Francisco, and that rolled into my interview for a BAAS Graduate Assistantship position... And now, you see, I have several exciting things to talk about. Firstly, I wanted to talk about my dissertation. A lot of people have asked me what it's about, and when I say, "William Faulkner and empathy" the follow up is a blank look. Despite the length of time that I've spent on it, it's actually difficult for me to condense it into a soundbite. I therefore thought it would be more interesting if, rather than attempting to demonstrate my whole argument, I mixed it in with why Faulkner appeals to me and how my ideas developed over the last year. This fits in nicely to everything else I have to say, too.<br />
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My dissertation is closely linked to my time at UNC. When I first began researching back in January, I was a mess. I hadn't made many friends, didn't feel like I was fitting in, and was struggling to be positive about my experiences. Despite this, I was excited to get started with my dissertation. Faulkner was already one of my favourite authors, and since I was in the South I thought it was best to stick with a Southern author. Now, a lot of people don't like Faulkner at all. I have to admit that I can't understand this. His work is challenging for sure, but I've never found it to be boring or incomprehensible. Usually I discount the first reading as a time to enjoy his use of language and "hear" the dialogue of his characters, and worry about making sense of it later. I really cannot be effusive enough about how much I love his work, it's a reading experience unlike any other. My first time reading Faulkner was my first year at UEA. I remember reading <i>As I Lay Dying</i> in the launderette, sitting there far beyond the time that it took my laundry to finish because I was so engrossed. I fell in love quickly, and pursued my interest in the South all through my second year. I wrote about Rockabilly, Sarah Dessen, and back to Faulkner again with <i>The Sound and the Fury</i>. I prepared to move to North Carolina.<br />
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I probably shouldn't admit this, but my lightning bolt moment came when I was supposed to be listening to my professor. It was the last 5 minutes of class, she was assigning us homework, and I was mulling over my increasing frustration with feeling misunderstood by those around me. I asked myself what was missing, and the word "empathy" jumped out at me. It was a relief to put a word to my struggles, and a moment later I found myself realising that that was a big part of why Faulkner was so special to me. Class ended, I sped out of Greenlaw and over to Davis Library. Tommy Nixon, a research librarian at Davis, was kind enough to talk to me for a whole hour about what he thought of Faulkner. We didn't go into great detail about empathy exactly, as I had a lot of specific research ahead of me, but my conversation with him made me sure that I was on to something great. After finishing my studies at UNC I travelled to Oxford, Mississippi, where Faulkner lived and wrote. I walked around the University of Mississippi, the town square, and Rowan Oak, Faulkner's house. It was an incredible experience for me to see firsthand where he sat and wrote on his typewriter, where he scribbled story notes all along the wall of his study (I'm not alone!), the trees he walked beneath to get to his front door. It was more than pure fascination: I felt like I had seen a piece of Faulkner the man, and it gave me confidence that I understood him, and his writing, well enough to attempt my dissertation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBX303xqPNkC9-mLjGR2fma-_YreUf0NJpIH25NQemIvcjbMCgp0sNmw7kEuv4BMIOBSylSctWoGWOUNQaXQUrqoR4YbNImPmWJnO0Bti8NeWFlf8_UGllhpVLG1Behj5T3IeFrXE3PmE/s1600/DSC_0509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBX303xqPNkC9-mLjGR2fma-_YreUf0NJpIH25NQemIvcjbMCgp0sNmw7kEuv4BMIOBSylSctWoGWOUNQaXQUrqoR4YbNImPmWJnO0Bti8NeWFlf8_UGllhpVLG1Behj5T3IeFrXE3PmE/s320/DSC_0509.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frolicking in front of Rowan Oak, June 2011</td></tr>
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As I have already written, coming home was a difficult step for me too. I was getting my life back together after so many problems, but I had to make peace with the mistakes and hardships of my year abroad. My dissertation was the perfect project to get me through. I read John T. Matthews's <i>Seeing Through The South</i> (I recommend!), and came to understand the extent to which Faulkner was haunted by the past and nervous about the future. He had a vivid imagination, valued his privacy, and wanted to understand others without giving too much away about himself. He could be hilariously obstinate towards reporters, and I was constantly finding the most biting, witty interview remarks. My dissertation traced the evolution of "empathy" from a concept related to aesthetics ("feeling into" works of art), to psychology (understanding others' mental states) and to morality (to what extent we are obliged to help if we understand). I applied this to three themes of Faulkner's works in three separate novels. "Empathy and Trauma in <i>As I Lay Dying</i>" considered the use of form and symbolism for encouraging readership empathy for the Bundren family's trauma. "Empathy and Gender in <i>The Sound and the Fury</i>" examined how failing to understand each other and meet gender expectations within the family caused the downfall of the Compsons. "Empathy and the Community in <i>Light in August</i>" looked at outsiders vs. insiders, individual vs. community, and how Faulkner saw a society as so connected yet so fragile without empathetic action. It was a pleasure to work with my supervisor, Dr Tom Smith, who gave me such helpful guidance and politely ignored my moments of hysteria.<br />
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During the last month of my dissertation, I discovered the British Association of American Studies. I was checking out my options for going back to work in America, and one of my friends mentioned <a href="http://foreverwest-kirstycallaghan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kirsty Callaghan</a>, a UEA graduate who was studying in the US. As many of you know I am the ultimate social network stalker, so of course I found Kirsty's Twitter and got in touch to ask about the award. I searched on Google myself, which is when I found one of the options for this year, the <a href="http://www.baas.ac.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=390%3Ama-graduate-teaching-assistantship-in-southern-studies-university-of-mississippi&catid=6&Itemid=13" target="_blank">MA Graduate Teaching Assistantship in Southern Studies, University of Mississippi.</a> Need you hear more? I am a Southern culture obsessive, especially when it comes to food and music, and this would be in the very town that Faulkner lived. Not only would it mean a Masters, but the opportunity to teach and even apply for an internship. So it may surprise you to hear that my first reaction was to say No. I read it through, just barely gave myself time to imagine it, then shut the window and just thought No. I said to myself that the deadline was too soon, I needed to take time out after my degree, I couldn't possibly study abroad again. However, I found myself still thinking about it afterwards, and I couldn't help but mention it to people over the next day. I even said, "I wish I could apply for this." When no one looked at me with comprehension, but with utter bewilderment, I realised I was standing in my own way and had no good reason not to at least <i>apply</i>. So I hurriedly asked for references, requested transcripts and wrote a personal statement. I looked at my stack of Faulkner novels, and asked him to love me back.<br />
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Before Christmas, I was invited to interview for the position on January 14th at Keele University. <i>Slight</i> hiccup - I was due to be getting back from America that morning, and could never make it in time. A couple of phonecalls and a depressing amount of money later I was booked onto an earlier flight. I tortured myself with practice interview questions in my head, but otherwise enjoyed Christmas with my family. It was lovely to be at home with them this year after missing last year's, despite how wonderful that was too. Naturally I got disgustingly ill in time for the new year, and opted instead to drink tea and go to bed early. I didn't sleep well for three nights in a row, and by the day of my flight I was definitely someone you'd avoid on the bus. Unfortunately those next to me for 10 hours on the plane didn't have that luxury. So there I was, with a cold, cough and sore throat, my head pounding and the repeated thought of <i>You are going to die! You are most definitely GOING TO DIE! </i>as is standard for every flight I have to go on. It sucks that I love to travel but am still terrified of flying. 5 hours into the flight I was feeling very hot and sick so I got up to go to the bathroom. I then fainted in the aisle, and woke up with about four stewardesses grouped around me. They gave me water and an oxygen mask and I tried my best to be amused/keep my eyes away from the emergency door. Despite the journey, my trip to San Francisco was absolutely perfect. I ate Kahlua cheesecake, spent a day in Golden Gate Park, watched an adorable pug in Dolores Park, bought a sequin trapper hat from Forever21, watched the Tar Heels win twice, drank a couple of IPAs and most importantly spent time with my favourite Southern gentleman. (Yes, someone does come before Faulkner.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOuX4NcQ8AjsauOBrXI8d-kWKVTmWFExY2ClqTPsd8t5LZvgDksQ50WA5Ro6vZ7tfyVSpb_Ya2xvAKp1NBvjCcdpYRDKHEdtRTceo7oV2fnI2suYoRWVVufx12DXSQ4Qc4rfvwVcSw21w/s1600/094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOuX4NcQ8AjsauOBrXI8d-kWKVTmWFExY2ClqTPsd8t5LZvgDksQ50WA5Ro6vZ7tfyVSpb_Ya2xvAKp1NBvjCcdpYRDKHEdtRTceo7oV2fnI2suYoRWVVufx12DXSQ4Qc4rfvwVcSw21w/s320/094.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why do I always encounter the police on my travels? Golden Gate Park, San Francisco</td></tr>
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I was well-prepared for my interview and was therefore uncharacteristically calm. Kirsty suggested bringing along a copy of my dissertation, so I did this along with a selection of Creative Writing Society workshop plans from my time as Secretary, essays relating to the South from UEA, and a couple of projects I did at UNC. I debated bringing along my short story, "Storms and Flurries", set in Charlotte, NC, which was published by <a href="http://www.wtd-magazine.com/" target="_blank">What the Dickens?</a> magazine, but I thought it might be inappropriate for the interview. Sadly they actually <i>did</i> express disappointment that I hadn't brought it along with everything else, but at least it is easy to find online! Anyway, I took the advice of my friends to remember that I was already qualified enough to get the interview, and to focus on demonstrating my personality. I felt a little flustered trying to explain my dissertation, but more confident once we talked more casually about the South and why it is so interesting. In some ways I was just so pleased to have got to that point. Just a year before, I had gone through some of the most horrendous moments of my life, and there I was sitting there discussing them honestly. More than anything, I am proud to say that I have made sense of the difficulties I experienced at UNC. I feel that not having had the perfect study abroad experience has actually strengthened me for later life. It gives me confidence that I will be an observant and understanding teacher, that I will persevere through academic challenges, that I will stand up for my own needs and aspirations. I said something to this effect in my interview, though of course with about 23% of the eloquence.<br />
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Honestly, it was just nice to get to discuss all of my work and have three accomplished people be interested in what I had to say. Whether I had got it or not, I felt pleased with everything I had achieved, and very much geared up for my final semester at UEA. My parents and I celebrated our Keele roadtrip with coffee and cupcakes then drove back to St Albans. I spent a lonely hour in my room unable to talk to anyone or read anything because I was waiting for the phonecall. When it got to 5pm, I told myself sternly that I hadn't got it and that was that. Who needs academia when you can bake cupcakes and write about people sleeping with their housemate's girlfriend! (Watch out for my next short story, "Gooseberry Pie".) At 5.30pm I got a phonecall to tell me that they would like to offer me the position. I know that I said the word "wonderful" (I'm still British) and that it was difficult to listen to the rest because I was busy thinking <i>Is this real? IS THIS ACTUALLY REAL? </i>rather like whilst flying but altogether more pleasant. I nearly fell down the stairs, celebrated with champagne with my family (though we all paused to grimace after taking a sip; it was "matured" apparently), then called as many of my friends as I could to shriek and request that they come and visit me.<br />
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Finally I have had the perfect excuse to use my favourite Faulkner quote! I love it so much, because it perfectly sums up part of my personality and where it's lead me. In <i>Light in August</i>, Lena Groves pauses to consider how she has got all the way from Alabama to Mississippi and then on to Tennessee. Like Faulkner characters, I've always been obsessed with my own journey and past, mapping out where I started and how I got to this point in my life, imagining where I could go next. I mean it both literally and figuratively. I've always loved being abroad, though as a child it was usually Ireland or France. The best trips, obviously, were to America. We went to the East Coast when I was 8, and the West Coast when I was 12. I jumped at the chance to go to New York City at 16, and to travel several cities at 18. I lived there temporarily at 21, and will return again at 23. As I walked around San Francisco, a city I am completely in love with, I wondered if one day I would live there. Maybe. I still have 5 months of Norwich ahead of me, then 2 years of Oxford, Mississippi. Who knows where my reading and writing will take me next. My, my. A body <i>does</i> get around. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jamestown, Virginia, August 1997</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-32332041424990448782011-09-28T12:29:00.002+01:002013-08-12T20:45:57.645+01:00It’s a dream, but there’s a real world waiting<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Poor blog. I did sort of abandon you (again). In my defence, I also keep a regular journal and travel journal, then there’s my short stories to think about. And Facebook and Twitter and texting and emails… It’s easy to get distracted. I think back to when I used to write as a kid and it seems so much easier without all the technology. Don’t get me wrong, I still typed everything out (though thankfully my early stories, which read as something like a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Last of the Mohicans</i>-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Friends </i>hybrid – I know, hard to think how that would work, most likely because it didn’t – have long since disappeared into the ether) but I tended to just write for hours and nothing else. So I am blaming the internet for distracting me from my internet journal.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Since my last entry, I descended into finals madness, complete with dreadlocking hair, terrible outfits and the inability to eat and sleep regularly. It was NOT pretty. The effort that students put in at Carolina is inspiring, but honestly, I’m so happy to slump back to UEA and know I only have to go in two days a week. I like the independence of UK education. Fewer contact hours does feel like we’re getting cheated in some ways, but I much prefer getting to structure my own days, choosing what books I’m going to read, what topics I’m going to write about, when my deadlines are going to be. Sometimes at UEA it can feel like I’m drifting into empty space, nothing obstructing me but nothing guiding me. Carolina just felt like a circus. However, I jumped through the last set of hoops and packed up my things, then got on a plane headed to New Orleans.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where shit gets really crazy. I recommend taking up yoga before you go, so that you can practise your cleansing breath for the moment(s) you think you're about to die.</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB"> I would LOVE to bore you with every single great story from my travels, but I know that this is never fun for anyone else so I will restrain. Instead, have a list of everywhere that I went: New Orleans, LA; Austin, TX; Denver, CO; Park City, UT; San Francisco, CA; Los Angeles, CA; Laguna Niguel, CA; Washington D.C; New York City, NY; Nashville, TN; Memphis, TN; Oxford, MS; Wilmington, NC. If you plan to travel the US or are heading towards any of these places any time soon please feel free to get in touch. If you want to know where to go I’m going to give a big thumbs up to Austin and San Francisco in particular, but on a previous trip I fell in love with Boston, too. If you have lots of money you need to get rid of please take me with you. You would think that after three holidays, a month of travel on Amtrak, and a year of studying and travelling in the US I would never want to see it again, or at least want to go somewhere else. But what can I say? Despite all its craziness, America is a wonderful place to be. Actually, that’s probably BECAUSE of its craziness. (“If U do not pray God will B angry and U will go 2 Hell where U will burn”, for example. What an inviting sign to have outside a church. Snaps for Wilmington!)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It’s funny, during my year abroad I would constantly worry about how I could possibly respond to people’s questions once I returned home. I learned so much, had great experiences, made lifelong friends and was forced to truly stand on my own two mosquito-bitten feet. But it never felt as perfect or as easy as I thought it would. I don’t in any way regret my decisions, but to say that it was the best year of my life would be disingenuous. It was many things – eye-opening, inspiring, life-changing – but it was never easy, not for a single day. How do you explain all that when someone asks, “How was it?”? The truth is, I’ve not needed to. Other returning year abroad students have found the same; once you are home, people are really not massively interested in what you did whilst away from them. On the one hand it’s great, because I don’t need to attempt to explain things that others couldn’t possibly understand. (I don’t say this to be offensive, I just know that prior to my year abroad I could never have appreciated what these situations would be like.) </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">On the other hand, it is so difficult to be part of group conversations. I don’t want to bore people with year abroad stories, but how do you talk about yourself without ever mentioning the past YEAR of your life? If I talked purely about my life since returning home, it would be restricted purely to my new job at the Iron House restaurant, the millions of cupcakes I baked, and the fact that I’m nearly finished with Couch to 5k. This sounds like a lot, but… It’s not. If I want to mention being back at UEA, it feels a little strange right now because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ve been on a year abroad</i>. I’m working on my dissertation which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I started on my year abroad</i>. My friends Jess and Faye visited Norwich last weekend – I met them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">on my year abroad. </i>Also, now you mention it, I got a new job because I left Starbucks <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to go on my year abroad</i>, I started baking cupcakes because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I tried so many on my year abroad</i>, and Couch to 5k became highly necessarily after<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> I ate everything in sight on my year abroad</i>. So you see my predicament.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Aside from this, home is very good. The first couple of months were hard, as I tried to adjust to being back but with nothing being the same. Most of my UEA friends have graduated or left Norwich entirely, I live in a different house, and not to mention I am a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fourth </i>year. That sounds unbelievably old! But the positives do outweigh the negatives. After such an intensely difficult year at Carolina, I feel relieved to be somewhere familiar. And overall, I would say that I just feel… relaxed. When I left for Carolina about 13 months ago, I was a perfectionist to the end. I worried about everything, from my grades to my weight to other people’s opinions. Once you have failed a module, ceased to fit into your jeans and had everyone around you treat you like crap, a few slots down from perfect does not seem so bad. So long as I’m learning lots, am generally in good health and have a group of people around to eat my cupcakes I know I can and will be happy. Self-actualisation, all for the price of a plane ticket to America!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">All that remains for me to say now is… What shall I do with this blog? I’m home now, after all, no longer in the Land of the Free. But I do have a few things still to come, I think. I am, of course, still an American Studies student, and writing a dissertation about the South. I also feel as though my dealings with America are far from over. At this point, I have no idea whether I will pursue American Studies in a postgraduate context or not. I don’t know if I will be able to work or study out there again. I do know that I will keep in touch with the incredible Americans who made me a welcome guest in their country. I will continue to think fondly of my experiences travelling. And take many more trips there again and again. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-36120676783265788582011-04-20T17:40:00.001+01:002013-08-12T20:47:52.016+01:00"I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance."<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">During my first year at UEA I took a module called Introduction to American Studies, which covered a large range of topics such as race, gender, religion, youth, etc., applying this to many aspects of American culture ranging from Native Americans to congress to television shows. In short, it got us to consider America's ideologies and the ways in which they influence the country as a whole. America and ideology go hand in hand, evidenced by how easy it is to name its oft-quoted values. What values can I name quickly that I think of as “American”? Freedom. Prosperity. Opportunity. Many other pleasing words. How about “British”? Er, well... I'm struggling – are you?* It's obviously not that Britain is devoid of values, nor that we aren't proud of our culture and heritage. But patriotism isn't quite so encouraged; in fact, announcing that one is proud to be British must almost always be followed with, “But I don't read <i>The Daily Mail </i>or anything!” Britain is tiny, yet our identity isn't as cohesive as America's, at first glance, appears to be.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">(* Natasha Ross, UEA Community & Student Rights Officer-elect, via Facebook chat: “Hmm... British values... I have no idea.” I'm not alone!)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Let me first say this: America has always fascinated me, and I have an inexplicable love for a country that I never had an obvious connection to. Despite this, there are aspects of the culture I dislike. I have no idea who to blame for making me this way, but I hate Categories. Many of you have heard the real time, audio version of the rant that is about to appear so feel free to skip if you can't bear another go-round. We love to define other people's identities. We love to say, “That person is a theist/agnostic/atheist. That person is heterosexual/homosexual/bisexual/transsexual. That person is liberal/conservative.” I understand why this is obvious and in some circumstances, useful. But I get bothered by the extent to which people rely on these incredibly broad terms to skip out on appreciating individuality. I don't think it's out of line to suggest that some people look at the Categories before the person, and make judgements based on tick-boxes. Categories are more and more becoming a part of British culture (thanks, Prime Minister), but America is King of the “us/them” rhetoric.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Of course this is from a movie. Of course it is exaggerated. But I am constantly surprised at the degree to which this can translate to real life, and the way in which some people really and truly believe Categories are a beneficial way to look at others, whether in a comical way like <i>Means Girls </i>or in a way that has more serious repercussions. (Take a look at how Native Americans are still marginalised, particularly twentieth-century efforts towards assimilation. It’s heartbreaking.) At home I'm not sure all of my friends could tell you that I'm an agnostic, or what party I voted for in the last election. Here, I found that my religious/spiritual beliefs come up pretty quickly, and it's the first time I've ever been called “a liberal”. I'm obviously aware that my views can mostly be counted as liberal, but does this make me “a liberal”, an extension to my personality that I did not ask for or seek out? Obviously I can't avoid the association. But it feels like, for all my resistance of being categorised, of being part of a group, I can’t avoid being stereotyped either.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Growing up in England in a mostly white, middle-class town, I can’t say that I have ever been the subject of prejudice. I have never really had to deal with being stereotyped or judged for simply being who I am. (The only exception would be in telling someone I’m a feminist. Feminism is not misandry, it means believing in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">equal</i> rights, friends.) I think I’ve already hinted at this in my previous posts, but America has been something else. On the whole, Chapel Hill is a great place to visit, and to live, but I was unlucky in the way I was treated at times. Sometimes people were rude to me in class, such as insisting that they couldn’t understand my accent at all. This stung at the time, but I know I’m not alone in that, and other international students have dealt with the same. What’s worse is the fact that some people just cannot get over the fact that I’m foreign. To them, I will never just be a person, or a woman, or a UNC student like them, because I’m foreign and therefore different. I’m sitting on the other side of the “us/them” table.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I know that this is not just America: being an exchange student must be hard wherever you go, and I think people tend to be more dismissive of those that will only be there a short amount of time, and dismissive of those they deem more effort to understand. It takes a certain kind of person to be curious about people from other cultures, and a certain kind of person to see that they’re more similar to you than they are different. Here’s the best part about my hardships in America: my dissertation topic struck me like lightning. I am going to be exploring the idea of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empathy">empathy</a>. Of course, my actual dissertation will be tailoring this to William Faulkner and Southern culture specifically (anyone get the reference in the title? Just me?), but it’s got me thinking about it more generally, too.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So here are, thus far, some of my thoughts on how empathy functions and what that means for cultural encounters. We grow up with the “us/them” rhetoric, with varying degrees of subtlety. It may be simply that our media is obsessed with the problems of immigration, that our schools naturally form cliques according to religion/race/class, or that we’re never really exposed to people outside of our own sect. Many people grow up believing – or being told by guardians – that others in the world are fundamentally different, incompatible for friendship, and even harmful to be around. Take, for example, if you are someone who is raised as part of religious sect where any non-believers are considered the dangerous “other”. If or when you encounter someone of that sort, your sense of empathy for that person may well be small or non-existent. You can rationalise it that they are not deserving of your kindness or notice because they are different from you, living an immoral lifestyle, fundamentally wrong.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I’m pushing it to an extreme example, but hopefully this process is helpful in considering prejudice, whether for race, religion, sexual orientation, gender, etc. I’m not sure to what extent empathy is natural, and to what extent it is learned. I have always been an empathetic person – I would say uncontrollably so. I’ve grown up writing, which is an activity that demands of you to get inside other people’s heads. (Fun fact: far from being socially strange bookworms, those who read fiction are more likely to have close relationships. Reading develops your ability to empathise with others!) Even when I am angry at someone, I automatically start considering their viewpoint too, wondering how they see a situation differently to me. In some ways, being empathetic is a good thing; I’m probably more reasonable for it. In other ways, it sucks. I take on other people’s emotions as if they’re contagious, and I feel compelled to help people even when they’re not nice to me. Some people view this as a weakness. I agree that I would definitely make a rubbish soldier, but this wimpishness is beneficial for my writing, right?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I seem to have rambled more even than usual, so let’s movie trailer conclude: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Categories, assimilation, us/them rhetoric</i>… This forms a cohesive, mainstream identity for a country, which is both wonderful and harmful. You could argue that it brings people together, but it also makes those who do not measure up to the ideal feel inadequate.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> And as for empathy…</i> It also promotes the idea that there is a “right” way to be, when we’re actually all so individual that it’s impossible. It gives us the excuse to judge those who are different, to deem them unworthy of our empathy (if we are empathetic people in the first place – as far as I know so far, some people barely have the ability at all). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">As you can probably tell</i>… I’m struggling to write a decent conclusion, partly because all my final papers are on my mind! I may have to return to these ideas later, when my research is further along. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a much better writer than myself:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">“It's so important for us all to be ourselves, warts and all, even though you might be considered a bit odd. We're programmed to conform from a very early age, which restricts us and causes more tensions than it relieves. We're encouraged to suppress the subconscious and beware of imagination because it's destructive to the behaviour codes we've developed. So most people lead fairly boring, monotonous lives and a jester in society becomes quite a privileged figure. But there's a jester in all of us and it should be encouraged.” </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">(Probably my favourite non-conformist alive today. Michael Palin interview, Radio Times, 15-21 April 1995, pp 17-20.)</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You've got to think for yourselves! You're all individuals!"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> "... I'm not."</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-34720887517459486352011-02-18T21:07:00.001+00:002013-08-12T20:44:11.809+01:00Positive outcomes only!<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I thought my most recent entry required a follow up. I realise I sounded rather negative about being out here, and this could be off-putting for anyone planning to go travelling/planning to study abroad/planning to speak to me ever again. Therefore, I thought I would outline the main reasons some parts of the experience sucked, to demonstrate how freakish and unlikely these events were. (If they ever happen to YOU abroad, I will buy you a drink.) Then, hand on my heart and booming out the the Star-Spangled Banner, I will tell you just some of the things that I love.</div>
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<b>Things that Sucked At The Time but are Now Told As Party Anecdotes:</b></div>
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a) North Carolina has a lot of bloodthirsty insects. I am allergic to insect bites. Much of my first week here was spent in bed, having feverish nightmares; I was in no way calmed every time I woke up to see my ballooning limbs. I feel somewhat guilty listing this, since two of my family have actually had Malaria, but it was scary!</div>
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b) When I say bed, this is a rather loose term... My room came unfurnished, and whilst I waited for a bed to arrive, I slept on a “wafffer-theen” mattress on the floor. When the bed finally arrived two months in, some of the parts were broken. I sent away from more parts, which took another six weeks. These were broken too. Finally I abandoned this whole bed thing and bought a futon on Craigslist, which has been fine except... it's bent and slowly breaking. It's propped up with books and does me fine, but I will probably weep with happiness when I get to sleep in an actual bed again.</div>
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c) No one had really explained to me the differences between the American university system vs. the British one. So I picked a combination of classes that didn't work together at all. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say if I had wanted to actually do all of the reading in order to actually do all my assignments/tests with a hint of comprehension, I would have to have my head in books at least six hours a day. <i>Then</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> work on essays.</span> Needless to say, the whole semester was like those nightmares I used to have at the beginning of sixth form, where I had to sit my A-Level exams already. Tellingly, I did have quite a few bad dreams about A-Levels out here...</div>
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d) North Carolina law mandates that liquor can only be sold in licensed ABC stores, which are only reachable by car. You want to talk about illegal activity? HOW IS IT NOT A CRIMINAL OFFENSE TO DENY A BRITISH PERSON OF GIN & TONICS? I mean, I made up for it with beer and wine, but it's really not the same.</div>
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And now... <b>Things That I Like and Don't Want To Leave:</b></div>
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<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
UNC is <a href="http://www.storycorps.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/blogger/blogger/3450/1037/1600/IMG_4678.jpg">like a historical town</a>. It has so many <a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2712/4486179543_177c7ed85d.jpg">beautiful buildings</a>, <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3359/3416918786_d68f81ff88.jpg">stretches of green</a>, and <a href="http://pics4.city-data.com/cpicv/vfiles6774.jpg">random quotes and statues</a> to remind you to study so you will actually amount to something one day.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I can't be offended when people make comments about my accent, because <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJd37-rU2qY">I love Southern accents</a> so much it's probably weird. (“I love your acce-” “I LOVE YOUR ACCENT!”) It hasn't worn off even slightly as time has gone by.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Chapel Hill is <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/blogsandforums/blogs/bafoodist/durhamchapel-hill/"> considered to be one of the best places in the US for restaurants</a>. It is a bit of a challenge to stay a size 10, but <a href="http://www.weaverstreetmarket.coop/">Weaver Street Market</a> helps.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This admittedly does backfire at times, but it's nice not to have to do a whole lot to get anyone's attention. Simply being from England makes me memorable and interesting.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All of the professors I have had at UNC have been incredible academics, and incredible teachers. Not that I don't admire/borderline stalk the faculty of UEA as well, but attending another university has given me a wider perspective on teaching/learning methods. And made me even more sure that I want to be a professor myself.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://pics4.city-data.com/cpicc/cfiles20789.jpg">Carrboro</a>. Running through Carrboro, wandering around aimlessly in Carrboro, spotting raccoons in Carrboro.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mountains to the West + beaches to the East = surrounded by perfection. Also, this is the best weather I have experienced in my life.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After years of making excuses in order not to have to sit through football/cricket/rugby, I have finally found a sport I do like: basketball. Who would have guessed?</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have made friends out here that I hope never to lose, and that is no small thing.</div>
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</li>
<li><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everyone has heard of William Faulkner.</div>
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It is a balmy 24C outside right now; sadly I am stuck in the library alternating between my dissertation proposal, reading for my classes, studying for a midterm and working on a paper. But I have Rooney to look forward to tomorrow night, and Spring Break is just around the corner.</div>
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As always, let me know if you have any questions about what it's like out here and I'll be happy to cover it on this blog!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://0.tqn.com/d/tvdramas/1/0/9/o/thecw-hellcats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://0.tqn.com/d/tvdramas/1/0/9/o/thecw-hellcats.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hellcats, the TV show that this entry's title comes from. Another thing I will miss once I go back!</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-60558583672008318322011-02-17T06:48:00.000+00:002013-08-12T20:43:24.669+01:00The Living is (not so) Easy<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It may surprise you to know that, rather than just having forgotten about this blog due to having Super Happy Fun times at UNC, this is the fourth time that I've started an entry since I last posted. There are many topics I want to post about, but getting started has been an issue. I like to write entries that are at least somewhat cohesive and have a clear line of thought. In fact, that's how I like my life to be too. But America has been nothing if not baffling, so I suppose that's why whenever I sat down to write I ended up with a jumble of emotion and poor syntax.</div>
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I had a wonderful Winter Break, beginning in Washington DC in which I visited museums, procured new clothes and caught up with old friends. Then I went to Charlotte, NC to spend Christmas with a friend's family, then back to Chapel Hill for the remaining time with a stint in the mountains too. It was relaxing. Several moments brought me back to who I used to be, whether that was in a hostel in the capital, during long conversations about politics or whilst drinking cup after cup of tea. It's strange how I feel so far apart from who I was back in England. It's strange how it all happened. I have a stronger belief in the human capacity for change than most people – that is, I don't think our personalities are as static as most people seem to – and yet I was unprepared for the course my life took out here. I expected America to be fun, and any potential difficulties I simply glossed over in my mind as being things that would “make me stronger”, whatever that means.</div>
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It says a lot about our perception of America, I think. If I was going to study abroad somewhere that isn't a Western country, say Japan, or Kenya, everyone would be in agreement that there would be a big culture shock and that it would take some getting used to. Even in the case of another European country, especially if there was a language barrier it would seem like a tough move. America doesn't have those connotations. For all the criticisms Europeans seem to have of the states, we also take it for granted that it would be easy to fit in here, that cultural adjustment would be minor, and that every day would be filled with something outrageously fun. At least, that's what I picked up from my own expectations, and the expectations others have had of me.</div>
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I've been in contact with a lot of people from home whilst out here. What's struck me as interesting is that people are surprised when I say I've found it difficult. Logically, it makes sense. I came to a foreign country by myself, with absolutely no one I'd ever met previously in the near vicinity. The majority of people I come into contact with are already established here, not necessarily looking to make new friends. There are similarities in our cultures, of course, but to say it's not different would be just plain wrong. I have interests which can transcend whatever country I happen to be in – books, music, etc – but I have no idea about TV shows we don't get in England, the local sports teams, or anyone they went to high school with. America is so much about what is current, whereas – let's be honest – I am usually a step behind.</div>
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I have a theory that if we were to draw up a list of year abroad placements, America would be considered the “easiest” option. (Maybe Australia, too, but it is further away!) In some ways, that makes it much harder. If I was crying over culture shock/homesickness whilst on placement in Jordan, I doubt anyone would question my feelings. That's not to say that America <i>is</i> a more difficult option, because having only lived abroad here, I have no point of comparison. It is to say that it's hard to answer, “What's so hard about it?”</div>
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There is such a huge pressure to be loving the lifestyle abroad, but, like a year at home, unhappy times are inevitable. Some weeks I did nothing but study, only instead of feeling satisfied as I do at UEA, I would wish I could have spent the time travelling. I was also easily frustrated with the work I was doing, which doesn't count towards my degree and is completely different to everything I've learnt all my life. Having such a limited amount of time here played right into my tendency to consider (okay, obsess over) “the road not taken”. I thought a lot about what I should have done last semester to make more friends, exactly when and how I should have asked for more help, even right down to whether I should never have tried to do this in the first place. America was supposed to be the time and place in which I made a million new friends, went to a million great parties, aced all of my assignments to reaffirm my own cleverness, worked out all the time because the gyms are free, travelled to all these wonderful places, and in between all that developed the Zen that was lacking from my life at home.</div>
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Well... No. But, I will say this: the positive elements appeared much later, and in unexpected forms. I have some excruciating memories from being out here, unhappy and alone and feeling like a social leper. I've definitely had some of the worst experiences of my life. I mentioned earlier the idea that all of this would “make me stronger”; I certainly didn't believe it at first. I went from being someone who was motivated, friendly, creative and positive to the complete opposite: withdrawn, sad and socially uneasy. It wasn't that I thought I would never recover, but I was incredibly ashamed of how, in my eyes, I had failed to achieve anything out here. I couldn't even pat myself on the back that it would all make me a better person some day, because it didn't feel like that at all. It felt like I was ten times weaker.</div>
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Now, I wish I could “do a 180” and tell you that it's all changed dramatically since last semester, that I suddenly fit in here, love every day, never feel homesick. This isn't the case. But, it certainly isn't torture to be here any more, and the mystical “make me stronger” idea is actually true. It didn't happen in the way I expected, and it probably isn't outwardly obvious. Being here, against so many things I didn't enjoy, gave me many things in return. It gave me greater compassion towards others; after so much indifference, I know how important kindness is. It gave me the ability to laugh at things I would normally have worried about, because they're inconsequential now. It gave me perspective on my home country and my regular life. It gave me an appreciation for comfort and familiarity. It gave me patience. There are things that it took away from me, too – I definitely am more cautious about doing new things than I ever was before – but I feel sure I will get these back in time, too.</div>
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I don't believe bad things automatically make us stronger, but I do believe they change us. We can choose how, though, and I think when the experience has been difficult it can often shape us in a more lasting way. I guess it's the difference between improving your appearance by getting a haircut vs. having a nose job... Okay, bad analogy. But you see what I mean. It's taken me six months to get to this point, but no part of me worries that I shouldn't have done it. I'm more addicted than ever to Southern culture, and I'm sure I will return here again and again. I've had so many experiences I would never have had otherwise, and, whether bad or good at the time, they all make excellent stories. The story of my year abroad as a whole is far from over, so check back soon for the next chapter.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDFPnADW63NG2AOfLeJGx9s28JiKNkhaRKmuliTPToqkFtFz3fzGGunqmRjrjIY9mOYYu9HDhovF_n6bc4mW5qqw19GqWzszLESUT2JWJy5W6TuPnaJkWeynZTm5CvgsO3rvBaUEBsto5/s1600/128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDFPnADW63NG2AOfLeJGx9s28JiKNkhaRKmuliTPToqkFtFz3fzGGunqmRjrjIY9mOYYu9HDhovF_n6bc4mW5qqw19GqWzszLESUT2JWJy5W6TuPnaJkWeynZTm5CvgsO3rvBaUEBsto5/s320/128.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One very beautiful reason to be grateful for this experience. Also surreal, since I spent my youth imagining these mountains in 'Last of the Mohicans' and 'Rip Van Winkle'.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-87307363855067787612010-11-24T22:47:00.000+00:002013-08-12T20:42:43.100+01:00A little less conversation<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I started this blog in order to record and reflect upon my experiences with American culture, so it may surprise you how much I have been thinking about England. Occasionally people from home will try to fill me in on what public service the Conservatives have most recently done away with, since they personally can afford to go private and it's just tough luck for the rest of us. (We still have the NHS, right?) Or inform me that Prince William is now engaged to his girlfriend of an “ordinary middle-class family” who are worth millions. (I am sad to miss out on the bank holiday though.) As you can probably tell, I am a bit of a sensationalist media junkie, and though America may be in some ways a self-interested bubble, they have yet to block BBC News and the Guardian so I'm still keeping up! I especially enjoyed the news cycle of the Pope's visit – did he borrow George Bush's speechwriter for those comments? Anyway, aside from Have Your Say and Skype conversations, I have been thinking about English culture in general.</div>
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I think there is a lot that you can't know about your own country until you have lived elsewhere. Only once you have experienced an alternative culture can you make comparisons and draw (tentative) conclusions about what it means to be “British”. I know that there is a lot that I have picked up on about American culture that locals probably never question; there are also things about me which are strange here but perfectly normal at home. Obviously this is what my blog is all about: different expectations and customs that come from being raised with different values. I'd like to make some comparisons between my home and host countries regarding social attitudes, keeping in mind that a) this is based on personal experience alone and therefore somewhat anecdotal and b) I am really only talking about North Carolina vs. South East England. As Dumbledore would say, sometimes we have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. He was probably talking about taking down Voldemort, but I think it works for not making generalisations as well.</div>
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Along with religion, racism and deep fried food, the South is commonly thought of as having a friendly community spirit. At a glance, people here <i>are</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> more friendly than in England. Cashiers smile and ask you how you're doing, people standing in line (queuing) behind you will ask what you're cooking tonight. Sometimes I can find this overwhelming because I'm not used to be talked to by strangers so much. Other times, it is a nice pick-me-up in my day; for instance, the baristas at my local Caribou know my name and like to ask me questions about England when I go in. So why are we not like this at home? Are English people just grumpy? Well, some of us probably are but I don't think that's the whole truth. I worked at Starbucks for a year, and part of the company's appeal is its customer service; we are instructed to smile, make conversation and generally take an interest in the customers. I know that this is something I have always liked about Starbucks, and part of why I enjoyed working there so much. But some people just do not like to be bothered. English people are incredibly reserved and private in comparison to other cultures I've experienced, and I'd be interested to know how this compares across countries. My quick Googling tells me conflicting information about how culture relates to shyness, so maybe I'll dig into that another time.</span></div>
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We may be reserved, but I don't think Britain is commonly perceived as being an unfriendly place. We just express ourselves differently due to different values. Since we like to respect others' privacy, we won't start badgering people we don't know in public. We will talk in quieter voices on the bus or in restaurants because we don't wish to be overheard by strangers. There is also, I think, an aversion to superficiality. Of course this depends massively on you as an individual, but I personally despise fake behaviour and will avoid dishonest people. As you can imagine, in a culture where it is polite to be friendly to everyone regardless of whether you know or care about them, it is much more difficult to decipher what is genuine and what is not. Of course people are superficial at home, too, but it is not such a way of life, so it tends to be done with more deliberation and even malice. I am definitely an upfront person – in fact, I've often been told I'm blunt. To me, dishonesty breeds dishonesty, and the most comfortable way to form relationships is to at least know that there's something real. I don't put on a show or play games, and I know that this is something those who are close to me appreciate. Unfortunately, it's not such a revered quality here.</div>
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I mentioned community spirit, and together with all the friendliness, it stands to reason that another stereotype of people here is that they are always helping each other. Actually, I haven't entirely found that to be the case. Like at home, it's not something you can make a sweeping statement about. Personally, I think I am a helpful person; I like to take care of other people and make them happy. I've always been taught to think of others and I try hard to be a good friend, but admittedly I have been frustrated many times by people who are self-centred. There isn't a great discrepancy that I notice between home and here on that front, it just depends on the person. However, I do find that people at UNC keep to themselves more. People are happy to study by themselves, work out by themselves, eat by themselves – things I considered group activities. Perhaps students here are more independent than at UEA, but I find with that comes a “not my problem” mentality. I see less evidence of people taking the initiative to help one another, which for me, being alone in a foreign country, has been extraordinarily hard.</div>
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Another difficulty is simply that I am from somewhere else, which is sometimes intimidating to Americans who have never left the US or even the South. I grew up close to London, am half-Irish, and as far as I am aware always had friends of different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. I think in England we also tend to be exposed to other cultures more due to the fact that other European countries are so accessible. (So I guess I am also saying that English people have even less of an excuse for being racist morons, but that doesn't stop some.) I have found that some people have no idea about England beyond stereotypes, and aren't keen to have a conversation with me; whether this is due to disinterest or a fear of causing offence I couldn't say. On the other hand, there are people who have travelled or lived elsewhere, or at least have an interest in other places, who are absolutely fine and just want to ask questions. Most people ask if I am enjoying my time at Carolina. There is a tremendous pride in being a “Tar Heel” (which deserves an entry in itself, so I won't talk about the crazy amount of merchandise available just yet), which is obviously fun to be a part of... Except, I'm not really. A community isn't a community without exclusivity, after all, and here, I am definitely an outsider. So whilst that community spirit does exist, you have to be part of the community in order to benefit. </div>
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Another aspect of the “community spirit” mentality is popularity. Some highly unscientific poking around on Facebook leads me to believe that most other British people I'm friends with have around 400-500 Facebook friends, whereas the Americans have 800-1000. Again, might be a privacy issue. Since I am unpopular, with only 350 or so friends, we should move swiftly on... Popularity is one of those concepts that we are all endlessly hooked on; you can tell by our TV shows. I like to go against the grain, but I don't particularly believe in having as many friends as possible. Unless I know everyone or have one other person to stick with me, I am uncomfortable in a large group of people. I prefer to socialise in smalls groups, and I'm not friends with anyone I would hate to be alone with. I don't think this is as much of a consideration here. I've met people who hate to go out unless they're with a large group of people looking to get equally crazy, and others who strictly classify themselves as people who don't party. There must be plenty of people who sit, like me, somewhere in the middle, but the dichotomy feels sharper than at home.</div>
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So what does it mean to socialise in a “British” way? Many things, of course, but the most noticeable difference to here is the role of conversation. If I had to nail it down, I would say that Americans like to be perceived as fun, whereas British people like to be perceived as clever. We discuss, debate, explain and commiserate. You can engage almost anyone if you pick the right subject (to those who visit the UK, start complaining about the weather and you'll fit right in). Our social activities are geared towards talking to each other, whether it's over a cup of tea at home or clustered together in a pub. Even in large clubs, for instance the Waterfront or Mercy in Norwich, there are places you can sit and talk to each other if you're not dancing or watching a band. In the American bars I've experienced so far, there are some places to sit but that's not exactly the point of going out; you could conceive of going to the pub with someone for a chat but probably not to a bar. I definitely prefer socialisation that centres around talking since I am so well-practiced at it (!), and I know I am unusual for here in that respect. People have pointed out that when I am asked an off-hand question, I will actually think about it and give a proper answer. It's automatic to me, but unusual for here.</div>
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Obviously the lack of conversation here has made my chatterbox nature come out in my writing instead... As always, let me know if you have any suggestions for topics I should write about here. I'm intending to conduct a couple of interviews and get some material to discuss the North/South divide, Greek life on campus, and also about the very different attitude to fashion. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am going to my friend Kristina's for dinner. Sadly I am spending the rest of the holiday preparing for midterms and finals, but the semester is almost over and I'm so glad. It's been a difficult few months, and I will probably refer to this term as “the disaster show” forever after – for reasons I will share in due course! I've got some good things coming up over winter break and some plans to make next semester more enjoyable, so for now it is just waiting it out. And passing my time playing Geography games on Sporcle. Do YOU know where Azerbaijan, Suriname or Swaziland are? I do. Good conversation starter, no?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-86239677124276254472010-10-31T19:23:00.000+00:002013-08-12T20:41:42.393+01:00Welcome to “the land of big trucks and expanding guts.” (Cody Jones.)I'm sorry for the lack of regularity where this blog is concerned. I've never forgotten about it, of course, but as any university student can attest, sometimes your weeks are so busy they positively fly past. It's often like you're trying to write an essay whilst caught up in a tornado. Anyway, a lot has been going on and I have plenty to write about. I visited the mountains in a place called Asheville, went to the North Carolina State Fair in Raleigh, experienced my first UNC football game and today is Halloween. <br />
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I also found out that, with my combination of modules, it will never be possible to complete all of my assigned reading. In that spirit of things, I got a D on a midterm and my grades started to slip all round. It's been hard to deal with; at home I was often top of my class and it's hard to cope, self-esteem wise, with struggling so much. The one thing I've realised is that a year out here is completely different to a year at home, in terms of what I'm trying to get out of it. Here, I don't have to like everything I learn, but being exposed to so many new teaching styles is invaluable experience if I ever become a lecturer myself. It's not to say that I'm not getting anything out of the classes here – they're excellent. I just can't give them the focus they need, and the style is so different. I excel at long essays with room for creativity and originality, but short answer questions and exams, not so much. The majority of what I'm learning is out of the classroom, and that's how it should be.</div>
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On the upside, I feel more confident about my writing than I have done in years. I've never wavered from wanting to become a writer. But being out here has made me doubt myself in all kinds of ways – that I can probably explain in more detail when I have hindsight on my side – just not about writing. If anything, being so isolated has reinforced that need to write, to find escapism, that was probably the reason I began in the first place. I have found other forms of escapism over the years, typical ones which are followed by apologies and de-tagging photos on Facebook. I have found more healthy ones, too, like working out and cooking. Yet writing is still the most central, most fundamental part of who I am and how I live. What's difficult about being an artist at this age, is when we have to transition from escaping to crafting. We write for others, not just ourselves. When I reached the end of my teenage years, I became shy of my writing, constantly comparing myself to others, from friends in the Creative Writing Society to Hemingway. I've reached more of a happy medium now. Writing is like any other art: very little about natural talent, and largely about practice and diligence. Whilst I have given more energy to crafting and improving, I'm happy that it still remains my escape, and if I like, it can still be something that is just for me.</div>
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I feel that the title I've given this entry is relevant because it references several topics I've gone over: Cody Jones is a former member of the CWS, an American, and was commenting on a Facebook status I wrote about all the American food I've enjoyed. Which brings me – finally! - around to the subject I was originally intending to write about. Food, not so glorious food. As anyone who has ever been alive for more than two years is probably aware, food is a large part of American culture. The more grease, the better. For a girl whose diet is comprised mainly of wholegrain, fresh produce and hippy stuff like tofu and beans, this was intimidating. It was probably one of the debilitating parts of the experience, but I seem to have found some solutions at last.</div>
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At the international orientation back in August, our advisor told us that Southern food was amazing, but to be careful how much we had. Someone also referenced food when talking to us about homesickness, along the lines of: “Sometimes when a student is sad they just sit in their room eating lots of chips and pizza... or they don't eat anything at all.” I did both. In the early days, sometimes I would eat practically nothing at all, because it was so stressful trying to find something to eat that I knew I would like. When every day is filled with unfamiliarity, you just want to have a meal that you know you will like the taste of. Even things that seemed the same, like cereal, often had added sugar or used spices we don't have at home. Then sometimes, I would just eat anything because I was too disorientated to care. Fast food places are everywhere, even on campus. We may criticise Americans for the obesity crisis, but I can say from experience, we have it a lot easier at home. In Norwich for example, I could have lunch at Pizza Hut or Nando's, but I know it would be wiser to go to Tesco and buy salad and some fruit. In Chapel Hill, take Tesco out of the equation and what do you do? There is the odd shop that sells fresh apples and bananas, but not many, and that is literally all that they have.</div>
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I decided against getting a meal plan on campus because they are jaw-droppingly expensive and don't have a large variety of healthy options. Besides, I love to cook and I have a decent kitchen in my house. The only problem was getting food. Now, the thing to explain here is that people here rely very little on public transport or walking, so it follows that a lot of things aren't accessible that way. Two of my housemates have cars, and will kindly drive me to get groceries when I need to. However, this still wasn't entirely a solution for me because I'm used to being able to go weekly in order to eat fresh fruit every day, and besides I will admit that I am stubbornly independent. American supermarkets have yet to start doing home delivery, and as much as I asked around, no one was too confident I would be able to walk to get fresh produce regularly like I wanted to. So I had occasional healthy days when I had been shopping recently, but mostly watched in horror as my body proceeded to show me how unhappy it was. My skin was pubescent and painful. My hair was dry and not as shiny. I had sore eyes, couldn't sleep properly and always felt sluggish. I gained weight. I tried making the best of things: walking a lot, drinking plenty of water, having a vigilant skin care regime. But the fact of the matter is, what we eat is so so important. I suspect I have a particularly sensitive system, because you can tell within a couple of days whether I've been eating right or not.</div>
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I knew where a couple of supermarkets were from driving there, so one day I decided to go ahead and walk, just to see if it was doable or not. And this is where my two months of struggling becomes very funny. I walked down the road for, oh, fifteen minutes, and immediately came across a wonderland. Weaver Street Market sells mostly organic and local produce, has hardly any frozen food, and everything is free-range. I'll make my point this way: there was about five different varieties of tofu. I think you see what I'm getting at. I thought it would be drastically expensive, but it was actually quite reasonable. I eat very little meat – which helps the budget – but I did buy fresh chicken. I've eaten nothing but frozen chicken for two months and the difference is staggering. I know which I prefer! It has been goodbye peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, hello potato salads. Anyway, having good food again has made me so much happier. Cooking is a kind of therapy for me, and eating is a social activity; my housemates and I are trying to make time for a group meal once a week. I also feel even more qualified to write healthy eating articles for Concrete next year, an idea that's been bouncing around in my head whilst I panic about my lack of work experience.</div>
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There is probably a lot more to say about North Carolina food that will crop up in due course: corndogs, Southern barbecues, Krispy Kreme burgers, frozen yoghurt and ice cream places, (savoury) biscuits and sweet tea. Despite what may seem like a negative angle in this entry, some of their food is really good. Or I'll put it this way: their “bad” food, is really, really good. Just so long as it's not my entire diet I'm happy eating it occasionally. And to answer another question that I am asked a lot: I don't see a lot of fat people. Why? Exercise. UNC is a sports-oriented university, all the exercise facilities are totally free, and people here take pride in looking good. They don't gorge on food all day every day just because it's there. If you think about it, a lot of British university students are incredibly unhealthy but not necessarily fat, so it should come as no surprise that I'm not seeing a lot of large people in a college town. On the one hand I am, as ever, jealous that I am someone who gains weight immediately after a bad week. On the other, if I didn't freak out about diet and exercise so much, I would probably never have taken such an interest in it, and y'all would not have had this entry to read.</div>
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And now, I shall leave you with the very best part of American cuisine. If you are ever in the states, go there immediately. I first had it back in 2007 during mine and Katharine's Amtrak trail, and it has remained my favourite restaurant ever since. Behold:</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-67606560791008426142010-09-25T23:35:00.000+01:002013-08-12T20:39:35.119+01:00He was so learned that he could name a horse in nine languages; so ignorant that he bought a cow to ride on.<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So... Wow. It's been almost a month since I wrote my last post. Please accept my apologies, but the explanation can be easily found within this post – because I am going to be writing about UNC, the classes, and the avalanche of a workload. </div>
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But first, a little update on the homesickness situation. Moving abroad to somewhere as beautiful, interesting and friendly as Chapel Hill is comparable to an ill-advised rebound. You know, logically, that you have upgraded. Your days together are filled with sunshine, everything is new and exciting, and you know that this is an experience you will never forget. But it is also hard to forget your ex, who helped you become the person you are today. You try to focus on the bad stuff: that time it snowed constantly and you had to wait outside for 45 minutes because the stupid 22 bus apparently had more pressing things to do than show up. The fact that you never know where you stand, like when your timetables are held back until the first day of term. (What am I supposed to do, be up and ready at 8.30am just in case there's a seminar at 9?) Anything to do with Prince of Wales road. Despite all this, your rebound isn't your ex, and Chapel Hill isn't Norwich. There are an infinite number of things that, objectively speaking, make UNC a better university than UEA. But UEA had me first, and it has my heart. With all that said, Chapel Hill is shaping up to be a good second home. We don't have a history together, sure, but I think we have a good chance at a future.</div>
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I have many things that I want to write about – and if there's anything you'd like to hear about too, I'm open to suggestions! – but for now... Academia. Wait, don't stop reading! There's weird stuff ahead. I promise.</div>
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Firstly, I suppose I should give some background to the American college system in comparison to England's. (Or to cover myself, I should point out that there are probably many discrepancies from university-to-university in both countries, so really my comparison is just between UEA and UNC.) At UEA, we are told how many modules we are allowed to take per semester, and our choices are usually limited to subjects relevant to our degrees. In America, the system is much wider. You don't go in necessarily knowing what you want to specialise (Major) in, and have until the end of your second year to decide. (NB: American degrees are typically 4 years in duration as opposed to the average 3 years in England.) I have to say, I think this is a great system; you get a wider education for longer and it means there's less hassle if you don't end up liking your subject as much as you thought. You can also choose how many credits to take per semester, so you are more in control of how you structure your degree. At the beginning of each semester, you can sign up for many classes and attend the first ones, then drop whatever doesn't suit you. How much do I wish we had this at home? It would definitely have saved me from Shakespeare.</div>
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The minimum amount of classes I'm required to take per semester is 4, but I tried out 5. The first of these was the History of Southern Music, which was situated in a place called the Love House & Hutchins Forum, right on the edge of campus. It really was like a little house, with a table and chairs on the porch, and books stacked up around the room. The professor, William Ferris, is originally from Mississippi; I had trouble concentrating because I was entranced for awhile by his accent. Am I the only foreigner who loves Southern accents? Probably. At the end of the class, he got out his guitar and sang, amongst other things, 'Baby Please Don't Go' and something by Elvis Presley. This was actually the class that I decided to drop. I didn't feel that it was designed for someone without prior knowledge, and I knew I would spend the entire semester struggling. I was sad, of course, as I love Southern Music.</div>
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The next class that I had was Intermediate Fiction Writing, for which I had to submit prior work in order to get into. (There's nothing more fun than trying to write a short story whilst moving house.) According to my personal journal, it was in this class that I laughed and smiled more than I had done since arriving. The instructor, Randall Kenan, was just nuts. We didn't have to do much in the way of writing. We wrote a short bio and listed our favourite movies, books, authors and food. Then, one by one, we had to go up to the blackboard, hand our bio to him, and draw a picture of a horse whilst he questioned us on something in our bio. I'm not kidding. When someone asked why we were drawing horses, he would respond, "You're such an inquisitive bunch. Because I say so." At the end of the class, he told us it was a tradition started by Jessie Rehder, and that each class he had made to do it had been a good class. </div>
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For this class, we are all to write three short stories. We went in reverse alphabetical order, so I only just handed in my own story. We have to both give a hard copy to Mr Kenan, and post a copy online for the entire class to read and critique. Then we talk about it in the next class. Needless to say, I occasionally think about what's coming for me Tuesday and feel ill. I've had some glorious fantasies about just not going, and not reading the comments online. But this, unfortunately, is a big part of being a writer: acknowledging the effect it has on your readers, whether good or bad. I am thoroughly enjoying this class: it might be my favourite class I have ever taken in my entire educational career. Critiquing other people's works has been almost as beneficial as the writing practice itself. The other project we have is to write several papers on a published author, and present our work to the class.</div>
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My two literature modules are the American Novel, and Nineteenth Century British Literature. Both have reading lists which are ready to kill me, but they are full of books I either love already or have always wanted to read. I make it sound like I am actually keeping up with the reading. I'm really not. SparkNotes is as much my best friend now as it has been since GCSE. In fact, I'm pretty sure if I ever went as far as a PhD – hell, if I became a lecturer myself – I would still check out SparkNotes and Wikipedia first. The main form of assessment for these classes is exams. This of course, has lead to a number of freak outs on my part, but midterms are actually nothing like our exams at home. You're sometimes given the questions beforehand and can use the book for clarification; the main stipulation is sticking to the time limit (an hour or an hour and a half usually). More than anything, the midterms encourage you to keep up with your reading (or in my case, be diligent when it comes to SparkNotes). They're a less pressurised form of testing than our short essays at home. Finals, on the other hand, may be another matter entirely, but I'll let you know come December.</div>
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My last class has caused me a decent amount of stress. Native American Activism, whilst coming under American Studies, is also a history and politics module. How much do I know about history and politics? I know to ask Tash about it. Which, actually, is what I've spent a lot of time doing. Anyway, there is a ton of reading for this class, as well as short assignments every week on top of the bigger assessments, such as short essays, presentations and a research project. I spent the first month convinced I was doomed to failure. But what I lack in general knowledge, I more than make up for in sheer stubbornness. And my fail-safe tactic of turning up, a little hysterical, to the teacher's office. It turns out I'm doing okay anyway, as the two assignments I got back were graded at 90 and 95, and my tutor, Dr. Cobb, thinks my presentation and contributions in class were promising. Plus, this is such an interesting experience that I could never get at home. The way we learn about American Indians (if, indeed, we ever learn about them at all) is so backward, and tied in with this idea that their issues – and they themselves – belong in the past. In some ways the class is intimidating for me: a good portion of the class has at least some Native heritage, and there is a large population in North Carolina anyway. It's been a purely academic interest to me at home, but now it is reshaping itself into something more real.</div>
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It's really true that in order to get a better understanding of the country you're studying, you have to go and live there. I've learned so much in the space of 5.5 weeks here that I could never have learnt out of books at home. Like, for instance, about food – which incidentally will most likely be my next blog topic.</div>
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And now, entirely irrelevantly, I will leave you a song that regularly erupts in my head when I hear someone particularly Southern:</div>
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Take note.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-85766310433668726792010-08-31T22:40:00.001+01:002013-08-12T20:41:53.996+01:00And every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be, homeward bound...It's taken me longer than expected to find the time to write in here, and consequently I will have to do two separate posts just to catch up. This first one will be comprised of what we who suffered through UEA's Shakespeare module came to know as tragicomedy. In Shakespeare, it is the mix of tragical and comical elements in a play. In life, it is when bad things happen to you but you're so confused and overwhelmed that though you may want to cry, you laugh instead. And then write about it in your blog. <br />
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The beginning of my time here was a little awkward, owing to my lack of mobile phone, internet access, house key, furniture and reasonable sleeping pattern. I had expected to feel homesick at some point of course; “some point” being months down the line when I was missing Guy Fawkes or being away for Christmas or whatever. I had not expected to feel homesick on the very first night. You see, I was never the one that cried on the first day of school or couldn't handle sleepovers. I was never <i>that </i><span style="font-style: normal;">kid. I went on my travels at 18, then moved away from my hometown at 19 with relatively little angst. I had never really been homesick before. It is not this vague sadness where you miss hanging out with your friends, or really crave a packet of Maltesers. It's more like you have been abducted, and as much as you try to turn your thoughts around all you want to do is get on the next flight home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Luckily for me, quitting my year abroad would mean no degree and a large amount of legal troubles. So I had no choice but to stay put in this strange land of fried chicken (or more accurately, fried everything) and Carolina blue. On my second day here, I had my first experience of Super Target, where I amused my housemate Rachel with my excitement over the food. I am already addicted to Pretzel M&Ms, and so happy to be reunited with Hi-C juice. That evening, my housemates had people over and I got to meet lots of their friends. Because I know people at home are curious: yes I drank from a Red Plastic Cup, yes I played Beer Pong, no they did not imitate my accent and no people here are not obnoxious, but incredibly hospitable.</span></div>
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One of my housemates asked me if we had mosquitoes in England. My response was, “Yes we do, and they all come looking for me.” This is more than simply irritating, as I am actually allergic to insect bites. You may have witnessed my thigh doubling in size on the last day at Beaumont, or seen me attempt to play golf when my knee was so swollen I couldn't bend down. A couple of times I have had to take antibiotics for my reactions, but generally I remember to wear repellent on summer nights and don't get bitten much. Anyway, it turns out that my blood is even more popular to the insects of North Carolina. During a campus tour, I sat down in the grass and myself and another exchange student Sarah felt ourselves being bitten by something. After we moved away, I proclaimed that it couldn't have been a mosquito as I am allergic to their bites, and mine hadn't reacted at all. I didn't seem to have too many either. Oh, famous last words.</div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>By the next day, the bites had fully shown up along both legs and arms, enough for me to realise that I had over forty. I went to campus to eat bagels, sort out my OneCard (like our campus cards at home, except you can use it to pay for stuff) and binge on internet usage in the library. I took some allergy pills and rubbed some cream on my rapidly swelling bites, but by the time I got home I was in pain and my skin was starting to heat up and blister. That weekend new students of UNC were moving into their dorms, including my housemate Bri's brother, so her family were over at our house. Her mom is a nurse, and she took one look at my bites and said I needed to see a doctor. Being in a foreign country, this wasn't too simple. Rachel was kind enough to drive me to two places, but neither would accept my insurance. Not having a spare $170 to hand just to get seen, we went home and my parents got in touch with the insurance company to get the number for a local agent, who would be able to confirm my insurance.<br />
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Once this was all sorted, Rachel and I got back in the car and drove to the clinic. It was now closed. (This is when I laughed. Seriously.) The last option was ER, but since it can take hours and is apparently an unpleasant side to healthcare here, we opted to buy antihistamines and aloe vera instead. To put it concisely, my third night here in the states was far from restful. The antihistamines fairly knocked me out, but I woke up once or twice every hour, reaching hurriedly for the aloe vera to try to stop the burning sensation. Now, I realise that this tale sounds a little far-fetched. So I took a photo to prove it! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"During the night, old Perkins got his leg bitten sort of... off."</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Please note that this was actually pre-allergic reaction, so you're not really getting the whole effect. I would have taken a photo of the swelling and blistering too, but I pretty much always had aloe vera on my hands. Anyway, that was over a week ago now so they have mostly healed and hopefully the scarring will be minimal. I'm still getting bites now and again (in fact my right arm has a wrong-sided bulging bicep) but it's nowhere near as bad, and I'm avoiding grassy areas. I'm looking into all kinds of repellent, but it's a little difficult when it's just a day to day thing.</div>
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I realise I have mostly just complained to (and/or disgusted) you in this entry, but I did warn you. Well, sort of. Maybe I was just complaining about Shakespeare again. There are lots of good and interesting things about Chapel Hill, which I will talk about in the next entry. For now, I will mention that due to the extreme humidity I have had to abandon all thought of having straight hair, and embrace a new style that looks something like this:<br />
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I should be thankful, though, that with the access to free gyms and pools, I should at least be prevented from looking like this:<br />
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I hope you're all well. Thank you very much to everyone who has comforted me through the horror, the horror that is moving abroad. (But still not as bad as reading the book I've just referenced.) I know that when more time has passed I will be able to enjoy this more fully. At least I know that thanks to the laws of tragicomedy, when I'm happy, I laugh, and when I'm sad I laugh too – so really, it's a win-win situation!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795367082022804284.post-20695112825695637072010-08-22T22:01:00.000+01:002013-08-12T20:39:53.043+01:00Where are you going, where have you been?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mtTLa6rdqJal7s_u145Zpdt0iXLlVjOYdScj2ZiyK-5V1S2Zr_KgyLn7YTOX-tQu014h0mqX8cuFyuCj0JRZH5mnRFeBHz2DO1Cy-hMlZKQQExyXgRgIXlAudQ6ltCwcIU_uJXnzlmGA/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9mtTLa6rdqJal7s_u145Zpdt0iXLlVjOYdScj2ZiyK-5V1S2Zr_KgyLn7YTOX-tQu014h0mqX8cuFyuCj0JRZH5mnRFeBHz2DO1Cy-hMlZKQQExyXgRgIXlAudQ6ltCwcIU_uJXnzlmGA/s320/001.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A suitcase, a British passport, and a sleepy American Studies student.</td></tr>
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My original intention was to write a pre-departure entry about the various preparations to complete before I left - but said preparations were so overwhelming that I never found the time. Consequently, I'm writing at a half-way point: on the plane crossing the Atlantic, four hours from London and four to go until I reach New York.<br />
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I'm not sure where exactly my year abroad began. It may have been back in 2006, when I first started looking at university courses (and was probably inspired by my older brother's year abroad in Argentina). It may have been during my first year and a half at UEA, where my interests changed completely. Like 99% of American Studies students, it was only later that I learned to look past California and New York to see the other pieces of the jigsaw. Now, there is nowhere I would rather be headed than to the South. It is also interesting that I've not ended up at a liberal arts college like I expected, but I am grateful for this too; I've evolved from a purely academic focus to appreciate everything else that a university has to offer, so where better to go than somewhere as large and diverse as UNC?<br />
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The months in between finding out I'm going to Chapel Hill and this moment right now can be summed up easily in one word: forms. Between the visa application, university documents, student finance, housing lease and too many others to mention, I would be happy never to write my name, birthdate and nationality ever again. The only thing worse than filling in all those forms was packing. You would think that my (admittedly rather zealous at times) organisational side would kick in, make loads of lists and arrange items in the suitcases by category, but this was not so. It's not even that I have an unusual attachment to my clothes or stuff in general, but the act of actually packing and preparing to leave was one of the most emotionally draining things I had to do.<br />
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About a month ago someone said to me, "Soon it will really hit you that you're going." There is probably an image some people have of me getting on the plane and looking a little baffled. (Of if you are a Starbucks person, doing my <i>Vanilla? </i>face.) The truth is, it hit me that I was leaving much much earlier, and it followed me all through Spring. For something that I had wanted so badly and for so long, it caused me a lot of pain. I was questioning the choice I had made, worrying about all the oncoming changes, and feeling isolated by the whole experience. I loved my life in Norwich, and to leave such a wonderful situation seemed nothing short of crazy, and in turn made <i>me </i>feel crazy. (Milly, you wondered what I was doing every time I disappeared upstairs in the Waterfront - usually I was thinking about this. And befriending edgy girls in the bathroom.)<br />
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Of course, the negative feelings did pass, and I can say now that I'm finally on my way: this was definitely the right decision. I am a bit concerned that I have no furniture, no idea how to get around Chapel Hill - and no access to chocolate HobNobs. But aside from these obstacles, I'm excited to meet my new housemates at Raleigh/Durham airport in just 8 hours. I'm excited to be reunited with my favourite restaurant, The Cheesecake Factory. I'm excited to see my new home, new campus, new local Starbucks!<br />
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I'm sure it will be a crazy - and at times, stressful - ride, but I intend to make the most of it, and record as much as I can here. Before I finish this entry, I must say thank you to everyone for your encouragement and support. I had an amazing time prior to leaving, and I really appreciate the effort everyone made to see me and say goodbye. I must also thank those at UNC and my other American contacts for answering my never-ending questions - particularly Melissa, who recommended North Carolina to me in the first place.<br />
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Now that I have arrived in Chapel Hill, expect another blog post from me soon. Stay safe and stay in touch!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10102343052656766318noreply@blogger.com1