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Friday, February 25, 2011
Nya capse supa yin
Yesterday and today we rolled out dough, cut it up, and made crazy designs. Making capse is so much fun. So much fun that we were late to class. The bread gets fried in a huge vat of oil. It is fab. There are fancy ones for the altar and simpler ones for eating. There are some you make by hand and others where you pour the batter directly into hot oil with a pastry bag. Those look like boardwalk food. The photo above is of Liz and our Tibetan teacher Tasha Sonam rolling dough. The good photos are still on Liz's camera, and I have to wait to jerryrig it onto the blog. (Many Things in India only work if you jerryrig them.)
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Thursday, February 24, 2011
This is not about India.
Except for the part where I ran out of rupees on my phone. And then had to borrow Nellie's phone. That's India.
It's about my roommate. My real roommate, the only person I have ever lived with and will ever live with on my own college campus.
When Bex and I lived in Phitown freshman year, we had to leave our door unlocked because she lost her key so often. She flipped her sleeping schedule and actually became nocturnal; Bex stayed up all night, went to 8 am class and then passed out afterwards until dinner. Inviting her to any meal added at least ten minutes to event, as she would have to search for her id card in the mess of things on her side of the room. She created a pile next to her bed of all the stuff she needed- clothes, shoes, computer-so that she never had to leave her comforter, and learned Morse code so she could talk to our neighbors through the walls. When we went home for winter break, she forgot to turn off her alarm clock, and it blared at seven in the morning for a week until the basketball players who lived next door broke in and shut it off. She left food in our fridge forever, and started leaving her key in the bathroom on nights we would go out so she didn't forget where it was. She would order Dominos at two in the morning, and I would wake up to the smell of msg and empty boxes of cheesy bread. She didn't have a password for her computer, so all of our friends hacked in to her email and facebook and tormented her. And she made me look neat, which is quite a feat. Can't you tell why I live with her?
Anyway, while I wasn't watching, Bex grew up and got chosen to be an RA. And I am so excited.
Many more congratulations are in order. Jenny, Turtles, mftdcp, Tay, Yesk (holding down our roots! Can't wait to terrorize the freshmen), young GZ- king of the wholf, for real!, Melia, Marky Mark -you all rock. Congratulations and you are awesome.
Bexy, I am so proud of you, and so happy to be living with you for my whole college career, and also half of campus heard me freak out this morning when you told me.
It's about my roommate. My real roommate, the only person I have ever lived with and will ever live with on my own college campus.
When Bex and I lived in Phitown freshman year, we had to leave our door unlocked because she lost her key so often. She flipped her sleeping schedule and actually became nocturnal; Bex stayed up all night, went to 8 am class and then passed out afterwards until dinner. Inviting her to any meal added at least ten minutes to event, as she would have to search for her id card in the mess of things on her side of the room. She created a pile next to her bed of all the stuff she needed- clothes, shoes, computer-so that she never had to leave her comforter, and learned Morse code so she could talk to our neighbors through the walls. When we went home for winter break, she forgot to turn off her alarm clock, and it blared at seven in the morning for a week until the basketball players who lived next door broke in and shut it off. She left food in our fridge forever, and started leaving her key in the bathroom on nights we would go out so she didn't forget where it was. She would order Dominos at two in the morning, and I would wake up to the smell of msg and empty boxes of cheesy bread. She didn't have a password for her computer, so all of our friends hacked in to her email and facebook and tormented her. And she made me look neat, which is quite a feat. Can't you tell why I live with her?
Anyway, while I wasn't watching, Bex grew up and got chosen to be an RA. And I am so excited.
Many more congratulations are in order. Jenny, Turtles, mftdcp, Tay, Yesk (holding down our roots! Can't wait to terrorize the freshmen), young GZ- king of the wholf, for real!, Melia, Marky Mark -you all rock. Congratulations and you are awesome.
Bexy, I am so proud of you, and so happy to be living with you for my whole college career, and also half of campus heard me freak out this morning when you told me.
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A Buddhist joke
Why do Buddhists always ruin their white boards?
Because they can't tell the difference between permanent markers and impermanent markers.
Because they can't tell the difference between permanent markers and impermanent markers.
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Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Eating animals
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Writing
Craig, our TA for culture class, just gave a talk on Tibetan biography and autobiography. Unlike in the west, where autobiography arose out of a sense of individualism (mostly around the time of the Renaissance) that remains everpresent in western thought, Tibetan autobiography emerged around the same time as doctrines like "no self" were introduced into Tibetan Buddhism. Writing about one's own life came about to reconcile day to day experiences with the idea that ultimately I am not distinct from my neighbor.
This is really interesting, especially in a modern context and a culture where I'm not really sure what I think about the self and individual experiences. For some people, keeping a journal makes experiences real. It doesn't happen for me, but sometimes things don't seem validated until I tell another person. In some way, maybe that's a form of writing it down, because I'm sharing my experience.
When you keep a journal, though, (and a blog is pretty much a journal), there's always the question of writing vs. Living. Right now, while I write, am I missing out on some experience? This was always my worry when I kept journals when I was younger, and is the reason why sometimes I wait a few days to post things here and then end up with four entries in span of twenty minutes.
Even if I don't miss out on anything while I'm writing this down, can I ever really relate what I'm seeing through words? Liz and I went on a walk to Gagal yesterday, and neither of us took our cameras. On the walk we talked about how a camera could never even capture the scene, and she wants to make her mom come visit (note to Liz's mom: hi! You should really come). We tried to describe it, and this is what we came up with:
We were walking along a concrete, dirt, and rock road that would count as a wide path in america suitable for walking one's dog. Here, it counts as paved. The road winds through bright green stalks of wheat and mustard seed, with colorful houses set into the fields every so often. There was a huge, neat pile of home fired red bricks next to the road, and you could see the white college buildings up on the hill with all different kinds of laundry fluttering from the balconies. In the background, the mountains were black and white and stood out in contrast to the sky blue sky. Breathing in smelled like dirt and manure and sunshine and the light was bright but not enough to make you squint. The bricks felt knobby but solid, and Liz fit some of the broken ones together.
Or this morning, on the roof:
The mountains are still black and white, and the sun's rays cut through the cloud cover to make it bright even as the sun remains hidden behind the mist. There are no clouds when you look towards the mountains, but behind them there is only white. It looks like the mountains represent the end of the earth, and only heaven is beyond. I talked about that with Liz too, and she thinks the ocean is also endless and it looks like there isn't anything beyond it. The difference for me is that I look at the ocean and imagine it goes on forever, but I look at the mountains and imagine that the world stops behind them.
So now you know what the mountains look like, and the road, but really you don't because maybe writing things down falsifies them automatically instead of making things real, which goes back to the Buddha's command to experience everything for yourself instead of taking anyone's word for it. Which might be difficult with some subjects, so pretty much the jury's still out on how I feel about writing.
This is really interesting, especially in a modern context and a culture where I'm not really sure what I think about the self and individual experiences. For some people, keeping a journal makes experiences real. It doesn't happen for me, but sometimes things don't seem validated until I tell another person. In some way, maybe that's a form of writing it down, because I'm sharing my experience.
When you keep a journal, though, (and a blog is pretty much a journal), there's always the question of writing vs. Living. Right now, while I write, am I missing out on some experience? This was always my worry when I kept journals when I was younger, and is the reason why sometimes I wait a few days to post things here and then end up with four entries in span of twenty minutes.
Even if I don't miss out on anything while I'm writing this down, can I ever really relate what I'm seeing through words? Liz and I went on a walk to Gagal yesterday, and neither of us took our cameras. On the walk we talked about how a camera could never even capture the scene, and she wants to make her mom come visit (note to Liz's mom: hi! You should really come). We tried to describe it, and this is what we came up with:
We were walking along a concrete, dirt, and rock road that would count as a wide path in america suitable for walking one's dog. Here, it counts as paved. The road winds through bright green stalks of wheat and mustard seed, with colorful houses set into the fields every so often. There was a huge, neat pile of home fired red bricks next to the road, and you could see the white college buildings up on the hill with all different kinds of laundry fluttering from the balconies. In the background, the mountains were black and white and stood out in contrast to the sky blue sky. Breathing in smelled like dirt and manure and sunshine and the light was bright but not enough to make you squint. The bricks felt knobby but solid, and Liz fit some of the broken ones together.
Or this morning, on the roof:
The mountains are still black and white, and the sun's rays cut through the cloud cover to make it bright even as the sun remains hidden behind the mist. There are no clouds when you look towards the mountains, but behind them there is only white. It looks like the mountains represent the end of the earth, and only heaven is beyond. I talked about that with Liz too, and she thinks the ocean is also endless and it looks like there isn't anything beyond it. The difference for me is that I look at the ocean and imagine it goes on forever, but I look at the mountains and imagine that the world stops behind them.
So now you know what the mountains look like, and the road, but really you don't because maybe writing things down falsifies them automatically instead of making things real, which goes back to the Buddha's command to experience everything for yourself instead of taking anyone's word for it. Which might be difficult with some subjects, so pretty much the jury's still out on how I feel about writing.
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Monday, February 21, 2011
What we do for fun
Anna, Hong Kong, Julia and I went on this great walk that allowed us to see sweeping views of the towns and fields below. Julia and I took Liz on the hike on Saturday morning, and then decided to fight our way down to the river. We made it through lots of briars and mud and Liz got the back of her sweats really dirty. This is significant because Liz did a great job packing and only has three pairs of pants and five shirts.
Once we got down to the river we went rock hopping, which is awesome. Surprisingly, we saw a cow carcass by the river. It had no meat left on it and probably fed a lot of the stray dogs around. We only saw three legs and are still wondering what happened to the fourth.
We made friends with an american named Sam. This allowed me to catch up on Glee, because he downloads them onto his computer. I love this season so far, and am stoked to be able to watch here.
I started reading midnight's children, a book about the formation of india intertwined with the story of a family. I really like it and recommend it because it depicts the feeling of the country really well.
Ed made the Karmapa a mix cd (one of my favorite parts of meeting the Karmapa was Ed handing him the disc with the Kata and whispering "it's a mix cd!" The Karmapa kind of looked at it and handed it to one of his aides. Apparently he listens to rap music, though, so maybe he'll like it) and gave me some of the music from his extensive library.
The difference between the US and here is that internet is really hard to come by, so people read and dye their hair and listen to music and don't spend a lot of time on facebook or even watching movies. We watched a movie tonight and I was fascinated, more fascinated than I remember being by a movie in a long time. I wonder if that's from lack of exposure to tv or because 500 days of summer is really that good.
I enjoy doing different things with my time, but it is really difficult to be connected to the world and know what's going on without any form of news or information. I have a lot more to say about this but it is bedtime.
Once we got down to the river we went rock hopping, which is awesome. Surprisingly, we saw a cow carcass by the river. It had no meat left on it and probably fed a lot of the stray dogs around. We only saw three legs and are still wondering what happened to the fourth.
We made friends with an american named Sam. This allowed me to catch up on Glee, because he downloads them onto his computer. I love this season so far, and am stoked to be able to watch here.
I started reading midnight's children, a book about the formation of india intertwined with the story of a family. I really like it and recommend it because it depicts the feeling of the country really well.
Ed made the Karmapa a mix cd (one of my favorite parts of meeting the Karmapa was Ed handing him the disc with the Kata and whispering "it's a mix cd!" The Karmapa kind of looked at it and handed it to one of his aides. Apparently he listens to rap music, though, so maybe he'll like it) and gave me some of the music from his extensive library.
The difference between the US and here is that internet is really hard to come by, so people read and dye their hair and listen to music and don't spend a lot of time on facebook or even watching movies. We watched a movie tonight and I was fascinated, more fascinated than I remember being by a movie in a long time. I wonder if that's from lack of exposure to tv or because 500 days of summer is really that good.
I enjoy doing different things with my time, but it is really difficult to be connected to the world and know what's going on without any form of news or information. I have a lot more to say about this but it is bedtime.
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