Twenty-five

There is another (I suppose one could call it a) chain letter going around facebook. The instructions are to write a note with twenty-five things about yourself in it, then to tag twenty-five of your friends. Those friends are then supposed to do the same.

I have a gut reaction against these sort of activities (I hate using the word thing. I have a reaction against these sort of things, and activities or any other word does not really express what I mean by that. grr), and I am not sure why. I never do them, on principle, but I realized lately that I have no idea what that principle is. There is not anything wrong with them. They are quick to do, and I have enjoyed reading the ones other people have written, but something keeps me from doing them myself. (is that a correct usage of myself? I get so paranoid about misusing that word that I end up never using it at all.)

This is a trend in my life not limited to facebook notes. I have never liked doing that which many other people are doing, even if there is nothing wrong with the activity. The earliest memory I have of this (though I am sure there are examples from earlier in my life that I do not remember) was in junior high when all the other girls were obsessed with makeup and boys. I never was, but not so much because I was not interested. I think it was more that I did not want to appear interested because everyone else was so very interested. I wanted to be different. I do not know how direct a correlation this has to the facebook notes, but it is surely related.

I am not opposed to telling people more about myself. I have a general policy that I will answer any question asked of me (within reason). As I read the notes that others have posted, I have thought of many more than twenty-five things that I could write/tell. But I still cringe at the thought of following this trend, becoming just another person who does the same note as everyone else. Part of me very much wants to write one, but part of me screams and recoils in horror, and I honestly do not know why.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Arise, Shine...

For your light has come,
And the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

My final convocation was this evening. I am officially a senior. I am not entirely sure how to handle that, honestly. The ceremony was more emotional that I had expected. I knew that I would probably cry; I had not anticipated the extent to which that ended up being true. For this to be coming to an end...it is really unfathomable. I do not know what my life will be like without this community: this, my family of four years.

So I cried.

I cried as we, the seniors, lit our candles. I cried as I watched the Juniors (especially the johnson housers) light theirs. And I cried as I looked on at the new freshmen, aware of how little I will ever get to know them as I have everyone else. I think I was the only one there (at least, the only student there) who cried. And right in front, at that, with all of the new freshmen and parents looking on.

Certainly, this week has been overly emotional for me, and were it not for that, I may not have broken down as much. But that is mere petty excuse.

Now my roommates, and most of my classmates, are out celebrating, as is tradition. Denny's for Olympia; Bonfire with s'mores for Augustine; Bread and cheese for Gregory. Then all together (by now, I am sure) at a house where some of our men live. I am glad that I chose to not go out this evening. My decision to stay in was influenced by several factors. The one that everyone who asked got to hear was that I am weary, and need to rest. This much is true, though, as always, there are certainly more. But as they were not related to people, neither shall they be related here. Suffice it to say that it is better for me to remain.

I sit on my couch, eating mashed potatoes (my comfort food) and listening to Simon and Garfunkel (though only the quiet songs), in the darkness except for my computer screen and the small, white Christmas lights strung in our living room. So peaceful, so restful.

I tell the Newmanites and Homerites that they are not allowed to be juniors. Not all lies and jest, I assure you, in that. If they are juniors, then they are no longer my freshmen. I am a senior now, and it is a terrifying thing. They claim they are ready, that I can let them go. Alas, it is not all for their sakes that I cling on so.

I look back (crying) on my freshman convocation. It seems so long ago, and yet, paradoxically, like it was yesterday. I was confused (as I imagine most freshmen generally are at that ceremony) and desperate to be liked - all alone here without knowing anyone, one wants to make a good initial impression. This preoccupied me, as things such as this are wont to do, and I really remember very little of the entire thing. But I remember the candles. The 'ring' went perhaps halfway up each side. This year, we could all barely fit in the full circle around the auditorium. I wonder how they will fit next year, when my class, the smallest class, is replaced in the ring by the new freshmen class, the largest class. I wonder if I will make it down for that. How I long for it, already. I am clinging to the past when I have not even yet left it behind - why is that?

A senior I am, whether or not I like the fact...and I suppose that I do, essentially.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

Preliminaries

Well, first things first.

Who? Me. Emily.
What? Creating a blog.
Where? On the internet. At blogger.com. In my room.
When? 28 October 2006.
How? A lovely little tutorial that blogger happens to have.
Why? Well, here is the important part, after all.

Why am I creating this blog?

Why the name Itsy-Bitsy Emu?

Why choose the pink template?
The first two of these questions I am prepared to answer. As for the third, I have no idea. A moment of temporary insanity, if you will.

I just came through three great days of the second annual GodBlogCon at Biola University, created and hosted by one of my programs here, the Torrey Honors Institute. Yay! Last year I only really found out about the conference after it had happened, which is strange considering how involved I am in Torrey. This year I managed to attend about two-thirds of the sessions. I have never had a serious blog before, just a semi-anonymous xanga where I occasionally post song-lyrics and emotional tirades. So, I have never properly blogged before. And participating in this conference made me feel like I ought to. So now I have it, for real this time. Now the challenge is will be to actually post every once in a while, as well as the whole "will people actually read this?" anxiety that one goes through.

Why did I name my site Itsy-Bitsy Emu? Well. This past summer, while in Europe with forty amazing wonderful people (on the Torrey Europe trip), Dr. Reynolds decided to nick-name me Emu. I don't know why. I probably never will. For a day or so he was debating between Emu and Aravis (lovely character from Lewis' book The Horse and his Boy) and I dearly wish Aravis had won out. But Dr. Reynolds is one of those people who gives nick-names to those whom he likes, so I will take it as a compliment and deal with it. As for the itsy-bitsy part, well...I'm short. And here is a wikipedia article. Emus are seven feet tall. I'm five feet tall. So...yes. That is all the explanation that I have for you. It's a fun name and relates to me, and now I have a paper to look after.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily