Hang A Shining Star Upon the Highest Bow

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas,

Let your heart be light.

Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas,

Make the yuletide gay.

Next year all our troubles will be miles away.

Once again, as in olden days,

Happy golden days of yore.

Faithful friends who were near to us,

Will be dear to us, once more.

Someday soon we all will be together,

If the fates allow.

Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.

So have yourself a Merry little Christmas now.

When I was 15, I took pictures of the sky.

Not Quite So Eloquent

Tonight, as I sit behind the big desk I cannot claim as my own, I am realizing things.

First of all, I mostly blog at work. If I had any readers, they’d probably be thinking “Why do you bother calling it work? You just blog all night.” This, however, is not true. Before I pulled this site up, I put out the order of 50 Cd’s that just came in. There was a lot of time spent with the label maker. Then I finished my book, which I’ve decided was very good, but not amazing. The best part was the end, (I don’t mean because it was over), which redeemed the whole book for any iffy spots. Not that it really had any, I just wasn’t sure if I liked it. I am now sure.

Secondly, there’s probably no point to my blogging at all. I started this hoping I could convince my friend to blog as well. I was trying to prove a point, if I can blog, then you definitely can, and you’ll probably end up with readers, as your life, your thoughts, they are interesting. I am not sure if I was successful, but it worked out anyway. I discovered how much I liked it. I have always loved writing, and though I prefer pen to keyboard, this is now something I thoroughly enjoy.

Third, I have always loved writing. Yes, I just said that, and I’m saying it again. I have kept diaries on and off for years. (Though I am now officially “on”. Yay for no more snooping big brothers who read your diary and then tell your scary friend about how you wrote that you hate them! Also, yay for quick-thinking so said scary friend didn’t… you know, eat you or something). But even in my writing I can’t seem to let myself go. With diaries it was understandable, because Ali, the dear, would always find them and read them, as I just said. He even broke locks when I got desperate enough to buy journals that had them. But now there is no excuse.

You see, I love words. It all ties in with the writing (and reading) that I do in excessive amounts. Sometimes I pick up the dictionary just to find pretty words, or even ugly words with pretty meanings. If I read something with a word I don’t know, it’s dictionary.com for me. Big words, small words, words from other languages, I love them. But I hardly use the ones I want to.

It’s hard to use big words in casual conversation, because people assume you’re showing off, or trying to sound smarter, so I don’t. I even throw in more “like”s than usual when I talk to certain people. I don’t know why I do it, but I always have. (I spent months making myself not say “like” all the time. I’m quite good at in on paper, or in my thoughts, but when I speak out loud, I tend to get nervous).

I don’t even write words I like in my diary. Take “lackadaisical” for example. I love that word. There’s something lovely about the way it feels when you say it. But I have only said it to myself.

I am always afraid of sounding stupid, but it seems I am also afraid of just sounding like myself.

Fourth, I am a liar. Right before she moved last month, one of my friends told me that I was her best friend, her first real best friend. And I smiled and hugged her goodbye, and told her she was one of my best friends as well, and how much I was going to miss her. All the while my mind was shouting, “But you don’t even know me, I wasn’t being myself. You wouldn’t like me if you really knew me! I am a liar!”

And that was true, I had made myself into a quieter, calmer version of who I usually am. Not because I didn’t think the real me was good enough, but because I knew she wouldn’t. Her family was so conservative, and her views on the world were so much different than my own. I think at first we both knew that if we had more options, we wouldn’t have ended up friends, but then I became what she was comfortable with and suddenly we’re best friends.

I lie a lot, but I don’t think I mean to. It’s never big things, but it’s enough. I just don’t know how to be truthful about some things.

Fifth, I am lost.

Clueless is more like it. I have no idea what the future holds for me. I know that when my dad retires next year, I’ll go wherever they go. And as much I as hate to say it, we will probably end up in America. Don’t get me wrong, I love America, I am half American and very proud of it. I just… I have never felt comfortable living there. Most of my life has been spent in Europe, and I feel that this is where I belong.

If we do end there, it will more than likely be East Coast. I will eventually move out, hopefully having a full-time job doing something I at least enjoy, but I will stay near. I’m sure I’ll take some classes at whatever local community college is there, but I am not sure what classes. More than likely they will have to do with writing, and books.

If I am lucky, I will still travel. Maybe I’ll become a DoDDs librarian of sorts. Get a GS job, or whatever it is you have to do. This way I can go back to Europe. Though, I could just join the military to do that, and my argument was, and still is, not wanting to be too far from family.

Maybe I’ll finally start writing that book I have wanted to write for years. I would probably have to learn Turkish to do so, but that’s already part of the agenda. Of course, I should have been speaking Turkish my whole life. But then, if I had already spoken the language, what would I be doing with all my free time now?

I suppose you realize things about yourself everyday. A mystery even to yourself. Maybe this is part of the beauty of life.

The Librarian Diaries

My wonderful little brother is having a wonderful friend stay over tonight, so my wonderful father took them to wonderful Burger King and then brought me back a wonderful whopper meal at my wonderful place of work.

As wonderful as this all was, it took me an hour and a half to eat my (cold) whopper thanks to the people sitting at the table in my direct line of site. I have to be discreet, as I may have angrily mentioned in the past, and it’s hard to munch on a burger with them occasionally looking my way in curiosity. (I’m a bit of a messy eater).

In all honesty I have no problem with these two guys. They come here often, but they usually go about their way and leave me alone. Most of the time they don’t look at me once… unless I do something strange that might catch their eye, but I forgive them for it.

One of them has a strangely high-pitched voice, I mean, even for a women there would be some eyebrows-raised. But he’s very nice and used to always say “Hello” when he left. He has now moved on to “Bye”.

Next to him is his strangely Asian-looking friend. I mean, I’m not saying this is a bad thing,  just confusing. It’s the same situation for my older brother. He’s half Turkish, half American, but he looks Asian. (Unless he has a beard, then people think he’s Mexican).

When my big brother was toddler-sized and being taken everywhere with my mom, ladies would stop and pinch his cheeks and go “aww” and all that jazz, but then they’d ask my mom if her husband was Asian.

When you really think about it… as I just did, this is a strange thing to ask.

“Aww, your son is so cute! What’s his name? Is your husband Asian?”

And she’d say no, he’s American, he gets that from her side of the family, Asia Minor and those Chinese-Turkish people and stuff. Well, really she’d just say the American part, we all pretty much just assumed the rest of it.

The point is, my fries, which I’ve just begun to work on, are not only cold, but kind of soggy. I am however, that hungry.

Also, as I look up at my new header, it seems kind of emo. It was not meant to be. It’s from a haiku I wrote in the sixth grade. That part seemed like the best to put up.

“It’s quiet out here” and “With the bamboo standing tall” seemed like they’d be kind of… strange as one-liners. So I stuck with the last line. I am not emo.

Hmmm, I seem to be saying this a lot. Maybe I am emo.

Ahh well.

I’m kind of sad (emo) because I wasn’t originally supposed to work tonight, but I took a bunch of days for the other night-shift girl so she’d take some for me last week. This is normally fine, but tonight is the children’s Christmas party where they’re bringing the Spanish kids from an Orphanage to get presents from Santa.

They had names hanging on a tree in the NEXmart, and I picked an 8 year old girl named Yaiza. I got her a pair of pink, Snow White rain-boots, and then a pair of pants, and cute little outfit that my mom picked out for me while I was working. I wanted to see what she looked like, and if she liked the gifts.

My mom chose two little boys, one is 5 and the other is 3. There were a lot more boys left on the tree than girls. I would have picked a boy too, but for some reason I had to pick this Yaiza girl. I’m not sure why, it was just one of my “go-with-your-gut” things.

It would have been nice to see, but then, I’m just glad I was part of it. I paid for everything myself, too, which made me feel even better.

You know, looking over my last post, I may actually be emo. This is disappointment. I thought I was just weird. What is an emo, anyway? I mean, if you’re sad, people automatically call you emo, but it’s just short for “emotional”, right? Le sigh. At least I can blame my ovary disease for my screwed-up emotions. Yay for valid excuses!

I’d say I should get back to work, but there is literally none. So I’ll get back to reading my book. You know, I’m almost done, and I still haven’t decided if it’s good or not.

Have you ever felt…

Useless? Worthless? Maybe just a little too ignored?

Has this ever happened on the same day that you had to get an EKG because you made the mistake of mentioning small heart pains to your mother, who then made you promise to tell the doctor about it during your appointment about the strange exhaustion that said doctor never really got around to?

Did it also happen that you didn’t know what an EKG was, and then suddenly you’re wearing only a blue hospital robe from the waist up, and the tall blonde Swedish girl tells you it’s only her second one so this’ll be good practice? (Clearly she was raised in America, but you don’t know if she grew up military, like you).

Then your mom’s good friend leaves this very same day, making you slightly relieved, (I mean, you slept on a couch for 45 days, of course you’re slightly relieved) but still very sad?

Sure, the EKG was fine, and the Swedish girl was very nice about your nudity, and you got your blood drawn by another nice lady who didn’t even make you cry. Sure, you see that all your friends are very happy, though they have clearly moved on from you. Sure, all this is good and well. Your day still sucked.

I just love living at a base with no hospital. Having to drive an hour and a half for 9:30 A.M. appointments is like a party.

I also just love when someone asks me a question, and then, when I’m mid-answer, turns and starts talking to someone else. Nice. Really. And people wonder why I’m so quiet these days.

Oh… that’s right, I’m not. You’re just ignoring me.

Today was not my day. But at least I found our copy of Rush Hour 2 in my room earlier. Three cheers for insomnia!!!

Off to watch Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker… do things.

The Librarian Diaries

I like books. I’m sure I’ve made this clear.

But mostly, when I say I like books, I’m referring to the stories inside them.

I also just like books.

I like the ones with thick, leather covers. And pages so thin, almost like tracing paper.

I like weathered and torn edges, but only when they’re real, and not made to be like that.

I like seeing page after page of paper, folded over to save someones place. Or finding a bookmark someone left in, and imagining they did it on purpose, to show someone their favourite part.

I like books.

I also like green olives. Spanish green olives to be exact. Mother likes to make them spicy, or pour olive oil over them for more flavour. Both of these things are delicious, but I like them best plain.

I don’t like them soft, and it drives me crazy when the seed is so big that you hardly get any olive, but I like green olives.

I had 19 green olives at breakfast the other day. That was a good day. And when I come to work again on Friday, I think I’ll bring some. So what if patrons see me spitting out seeds into the trashcan?

I like green olives…. who am I kidding? I love green olives.

I’m pretty much obsessed with Jackie Chan.

Drunken Master to Rush Hour, anything he’s in really.

Martial Arts and comedy make for Dilara’s favourite movies.

I’ve been to work for two hours, and just now discovered two Jackie Chan movies I have not seen, so of course, I checked them out.

I love my job.

In conclusion, books don’t leave you, and olives feed you, and Jackie Chan films never get old. And I really, really, love my job.

Tis the Season…

To spend all my money on crap for other people.

And boy, did I ever.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much money at one time before. Hundreds of dollars… which was probably mostly shipping and handling, but that’s not the point.

I went to Sevilla yesterday, with my mom and some of her friends. We left at 10 A.M. and came home around 10 P.M. I kid you not. I thought I was going to die of boredom. They looked at tablecloths for 45 minutes. TABLECLOTHS.

I bought some clothes though, which made my mom happy. Not because I paid for it myself, she was willing to pay, but because I saw clothing I liked and bought it. We found this clothing store that had a lot of one-of-a-kind stuff. I got a dress, and a really nice, long, sweater-jacket thing.

Then we ate Italian. For me, this means Pizza Margherita. Because it’s the best pizza in the world. You may think it’s plain, and boring, but it’s all kinds of yummy-ness. So blamity.

I love Sevilla. I mean, I’m not really one for cities, but there’s something really nice about it. I’ll miss it when we move.

The Librarian Diaries

Flickering lights are not my style.

The one above my desk won’t leave me alone. Flicker, flicker, flicker. Erg.

Today I came into work  to see the Christmas decorations up. This, of course, made me extremely happy. We have the tree up at my house too. I figured I deserved it this year, since last year we moved onto base in December and I didn’t get to decorate until the 15th. That’s hardly any tree time. And then my dad left about a week after Christmas for Iraq. So yeah, I think since I’m the one who does all the work anyway, I deserve it.

I’m really jealous of the children’s room. They put up a snow scene in wallpaper. Two snowmen are just chilling (ha) across from those tiny cardboard books.

I put out the Christmas DVD’s and Christmas books, and tomorrow there will be more to do. I do not mind. I finished all my work for the night, and now I’m just waiting for people to return and check out things. I could really go for a sandwich, though.

I’m thinking I’ll drag little brother along to midnight chow.

That’s where we went on Thanksgiving, the chow hall. I had Turkey breast slices and mashed potatoes. Then a funky chocolate cake I only picked up because of some weird noodle-like thing on top of it. It’s was pretty gross. The meal, not the noodle thing. Well, that was gross too, but I barely took a bite just to see if it was edible. I don’t think it was… so it doesn’t really count.

I can’t complain though. My mom didn’t have to cook. I didn’t have to do dishes. And bonus(!) I won’t get yelled at for not eating leftovers. Because there aren’t any. Woot!

This light is seriously annoying me.

 

I’m contemplating getting a Christmas movie, though I don’t want to mess up my carefully filed DVD’s. Oh, library woes.

 

Hmmm, I’m actually at home for once.

Tonight I started and completed two poems, (yays!) but then made the mistake of letting my little brother read one.

In his defense, it is a bit creepy, and if you didn’t know me, you’d think I was either extremely emo, or had some issues of the… crazy sort. However, little brother does know me, so instead he just made fun of it, (though probably thinking I had become extremely emo since the few hours he had left the house).

I have not. I just wrote something. I was really happy about it too. It’s not written from my point of view, it’s written from someone else’s. Not to sound like there are voices in my head, (just mine, I promise, mentally saying things before I say them aloud and stuff), but I wrote it as someone else. It had nothing to do with me. And to be honest, I actually thought it was good, which is a rare thing. But then little brother had to start singing the words in a deep opera-like voice, and it seems kind of cheap now.

But I wrote it. And then I wrote another. I’m writing poems again.

The thing is, I never show people my poems. Just my best friend (and number 1 [only] reader!), and that’s pretty much it. I never show my family because that’d be weird, and I never show my other friends because, well, then they’d see my poems. I’ve had plenty of years of crappy friendship experience to know that I am not up for that kind of vulnerability.

It’s about 3:20 in the morning, my brain is frying. But I wrote two poems tonight.

Two.

The Librarian Diaries

I’m hungry like a hippo.

Get it? Hungry, hungry, hippos?

Nobody ever gets that. They just get mad and tell me to shut up. I think I need to start hanging out with cooler people.

Work is boring tonight, but only because I have to do something in the children’s room. I love children’s books, no lie there. But these aren’t the good kind. This is a room filled with those children’s book that have about 50 pages and 8 words. And do I mean filled. It takes me forever to put 3 books away, trying to sort through all of it, and I have 2 boxes full.

And I’m hungry, as I may have mentioned. I currently have an irrational hatred for the man on his laptop, as he is preventing me from eating my tiny bag of extra cheesy goldfish crackers. I mean, obviously I’m allowed to eat, as it’s a 5 hour shift, (I’m the only person working, so no real lunch breaks or anything), but I have to be subtle about it. Erg. Oh, how I could go for a burger right about now.

2 1/2 more hours to go.