The Big Easy

Rooftop of St. Michael Special School for Exceptional Children (no joke, look it up) on a blazing hot day, Chippewa Street, New Orleans. (You are with me everywhere.)

One thing that intrigues and previously disturbed me is how much I like putting lots of effort into effective portrayal. On a person-to-person level that’s hardly terrible; I mean I think grabbing difficult and painful situations by the horns and twisting them is the best way to turn things around and make people hopeful. At least that’s what I wish to achieve. I used to think that on a creative level it is impossible not to manipulate the truth. This is an old debate and why I sometimes just want to put my camera in storage.
So maybe I need to limit the time I spend on each blog entry, in order for me to say what there is to say without thinking too much about organizing things, especially when there is altogether too much to share about a new place.

I can feel many important and lovely things coming upon me, and am learning in a big way about knowing yourself well enough to be specific in prayers and plans, while expecting and embracing the obstacles of the unfamiliar (wow it’s been a while since I’ve been the entirely new person in groups of already-friends). That’s why though everything’s settling into place so well I don’t want to forget those bewildering first few days of braving the sun to go on foot everywhere for hours at a time due to the very questionable bus system. Also, feeling extremely wary about moving around on my own and being practically the only Asian face (not that I have any problems with being a minority, but rather how a distinctive physical appearance could draw unwanted attention – the streets here are shady in the best terms).
My fear started its downward ebb when I took the bus to Gretna in search of my workplace; one passenger sat by the door placidly giving away quarters to anyone who had trouble finding change for bus fare. This man – alongside the first person who came up to greet me in church (who just happened to be a UVA alum!) when I went on my own last Sunday – represent the force of this city’s personality. New Orleans is in no small shambles; it’s widely recognized as the lowest performing school district in Louisiana, roads that run parallel in some places cross at others, and several key street signs are still missing after Katrina. Yet there’s something ridiculously determined about New Orleans that belies its so-laid-back-you’re-horizontal exterior (according to my fellow intern Cole, who just happens to talk exactly like Trent Lane cranked a few decibels higher, Loyola University is a “little hippie school” – and he seems pretty proud of it).

Many of my friends say they hold on to having something to look forward to. I read what might be a perfect counter-argument in, of all things, a Narnia book. So two kids are hiking through the mountains in search of a lost prince. They come upon a beautiful lady (who’s actually a witch and the villain of the story) who tells them they need not suffer hardship much longer because they are coming soon to the castle of gentle giants who will take them in and give them good food and clothes and a fire. But the anticipation of rest doesn’t have the effect of making the children work harder. Rather, they spend so much time thinking about the rich things ahead that they fail to be as focused in their hard journey as they should be, becoming snappy and impatient with each other, making the whole process even more difficult. (She knew it would weaken them.)
Eight weeks is a good length of time to focus on.

Here’s one of this city’s many wonders: Brett, distracted father of a number of bouncy blonde kids and the man running the B&B where I currently reside, owns two beautiful cats. This is Sookie napping in the sunshine. If you look a little closer you can see this lady has one green eye and one blue one.