Lawrence,
Hey! Great to hear from you, and greetings dear friend. I have included my dear brother Steven in this email. He is so far away from me. Further away than even Kitgum is to Kampala. But, further still is the distance that lies between me and you, and that wonderful energy that is Gulu. Is it now a city? I heard there is a new statue in the centre of town. How exciting that is. And to think that Upland Studio will have such a long standing history in a town/city that is now forming. Lawrence, you are a great man, a real friend with such a loving and fun heart. I hope that all is going OK for you. That you are finding what matters most in life- love, laughter and comfort. You are such a dear friend. I am here now in New York City. I am a very small fish, in a veerrry big pond. No one ever recognizes me as a Mzungu anymore. It is a wonderful city though, which once had its first photo studio in a small town on the edge of a forest. The forest is now gone, in a traditional sense. Trees of steel, concrete and glass stretch high into the sky. They do not grow by sunshine and rain, however by the brilliance and competitive spirit of man, always trying to build a bigger, taller and better monument that will sketch their names into history. History that we understand is only like fleeting sand on a river's edge. What matters most, I believe, are the intimate friendships that forge far deeper than ego-fueled monuments. You, good friend, are doing that. I hope we see each other again one day, and not too far ahead. I have no plans right now to fly. I only have money enough to get by in this crazy expensive city. Oh- how I miss the days of Malakwang lunches! Pizza substitutes this as the cheap, fast lunch item in New York City. 1500 shillings buys you a slice.
Talk to you soon brother from a different mother. Greet everyone for me. Apwoyo Matek! Apwoyo Dugo.
-Jamie
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hood Rat
I got chased by a small black dog last night late, as I was walking home from the subway at De Kalb to my new apartment. Already nervous about the area, I turned around after hearing what I still claim were audible footsteps. Behind me, it bounded in long scrappy strides to catch up. I started running to outpace it, in panic, gripping my chest. For I had realized, this was no small dog. No, it was a big black Brooklyn rat, running after me. It made its point perfectly clear, as it finally darted under a car on hydrolics. As if I didn't get the message the first time, a guy's t-shirt the next day reinforced the greeting of my new arrival to Bushwick- "Get tough or go home". Protein powder is on the shopping list.
Brazilian Ribbon
For nearly a year, I have worn a thin ribbon around my left wrist. My dad tied it with three knots in Rio’s airport. At the time, we had just finished a unique trip to Brasil, visiting my sister and enjoying the freedom that came with traveling together. It was the last day of the trip, we were boarding the airplane, and I wanted to bring Brasil’s old slave-trade tradition with me. Customarily, with each knot, a wish is made. I know this can be cheesy, but in reality I think for me, it was a profession of my largest life goals. I think most of us can agree that to proclaim ones goals seems risky, because greater than my motivation for seeing my goals come to fruition is my fear. Fear of landing short, but also, fear that my wildest dreams would actually come true. And so, I took that moment to take seriously the three-knotted goals, tied like my stomach inside, thinking about actually going for these goals and dreams.
Having just returned from 15 months in Uganda, I was enduring an internal battle. I couldn’t figure out if a life of service was greater than a life lived fulfilling one’s greatest aspirations. I had no idea where the line of selfishness existed. And so, even forging these goals was difficult. It is sometimes easier to think about others than oneself. Made even more extraordinary for me, was that my dad was tying these goals to my wrist. He was giving me the silent validation in this experiment. I did not believe that the dreams would come true after the ribbon fell off, as lore has it. At least I did not outwardly believe this, but inside, I was at least curious. Where will this bracelet fall off, and more importantly will these dreams, finally brought to surface, ever be actualized? That night in the departures terminal, I could have never predicted the place I would be sitting only nine months later.
Last night, in a cab with a girl I had only met hours prior, the ribbon fell off. It fell off quite dramatically, startled me, and made me instantly capture the moment with a deep conversation with this friend of a friend who had kindly asked me to share a cab back to Brooklyn. Seconds earlier, I had been playing with it on my wrist, as I have for countless days and nights. For nearly a year, it has symbiotically ridden my wrist; leaping into breaking surf in Australia and New Zealand, enduring tugs of anxiety in my first few weeks in New York, later slyly tucking behind dress shirts for job interviews to hide the inner hippie. It has seen, understands, has felt the joys, the anxiety, the stress, the fears, the moments of love, and thrills of dancing, thrown into the air. And finally last night, it boldly made its move. It decided, in most poignant timing, that it would not sit nicely on my wrist any longer. It had been there, firmly supportive, but secretly, slowly letting go. Through my move to New York, it has been with me, as I forged through recent months of apartment searching, friend forming and job-hunting. It has given me a connection to my family, so constantly far away, and introduced me to thousands of people along the way. As I sat, awe-struck by the timing of this ribbon’s detachment, I realized where I’ve come in the last nine months since it was first tied on. With cool breeze surging through the windows of the cab, a proclamation of a New York summer’s end, I was filled with wonder of the meaning of this moment. I have thought so many times of how the bracelet would fall off, where, when and with what purpose. Would the dreams come true that day, that week or that month? Holding it now in my hands as I did when I first handed it to my Dad, clueless of the ride it would endure, I realized that its timing signified a completely different concept of its prophecy. That night marked a clear chapter break. With a new job now becoming familiar, with new friends forged, an apartment lease signed, a successful audition for NYU’s musical completed, and the promise of an education beginning in just days, it detached. I sat in that taxi, telling this near-stranger these words, with the main theme falling on my extreme gratitude for the grace, support and luck I’d been given in this pursuit of my 3 knots. You see, for me, this ribbon’s dreams did not get released upon its detachment. Rather, in its gradual unravel, its power dissolved over the course of its stay, finally releasing after having exhausted its power. My dreams are not realized, but I am much closer than I was only one year ago. I have nothing but gratitude for the God that has allowed this wristband to come undone.
Having just returned from 15 months in Uganda, I was enduring an internal battle. I couldn’t figure out if a life of service was greater than a life lived fulfilling one’s greatest aspirations. I had no idea where the line of selfishness existed. And so, even forging these goals was difficult. It is sometimes easier to think about others than oneself. Made even more extraordinary for me, was that my dad was tying these goals to my wrist. He was giving me the silent validation in this experiment. I did not believe that the dreams would come true after the ribbon fell off, as lore has it. At least I did not outwardly believe this, but inside, I was at least curious. Where will this bracelet fall off, and more importantly will these dreams, finally brought to surface, ever be actualized? That night in the departures terminal, I could have never predicted the place I would be sitting only nine months later.
Last night, in a cab with a girl I had only met hours prior, the ribbon fell off. It fell off quite dramatically, startled me, and made me instantly capture the moment with a deep conversation with this friend of a friend who had kindly asked me to share a cab back to Brooklyn. Seconds earlier, I had been playing with it on my wrist, as I have for countless days and nights. For nearly a year, it has symbiotically ridden my wrist; leaping into breaking surf in Australia and New Zealand, enduring tugs of anxiety in my first few weeks in New York, later slyly tucking behind dress shirts for job interviews to hide the inner hippie. It has seen, understands, has felt the joys, the anxiety, the stress, the fears, the moments of love, and thrills of dancing, thrown into the air. And finally last night, it boldly made its move. It decided, in most poignant timing, that it would not sit nicely on my wrist any longer. It had been there, firmly supportive, but secretly, slowly letting go. Through my move to New York, it has been with me, as I forged through recent months of apartment searching, friend forming and job-hunting. It has given me a connection to my family, so constantly far away, and introduced me to thousands of people along the way. As I sat, awe-struck by the timing of this ribbon’s detachment, I realized where I’ve come in the last nine months since it was first tied on. With cool breeze surging through the windows of the cab, a proclamation of a New York summer’s end, I was filled with wonder of the meaning of this moment. I have thought so many times of how the bracelet would fall off, where, when and with what purpose. Would the dreams come true that day, that week or that month? Holding it now in my hands as I did when I first handed it to my Dad, clueless of the ride it would endure, I realized that its timing signified a completely different concept of its prophecy. That night marked a clear chapter break. With a new job now becoming familiar, with new friends forged, an apartment lease signed, a successful audition for NYU’s musical completed, and the promise of an education beginning in just days, it detached. I sat in that taxi, telling this near-stranger these words, with the main theme falling on my extreme gratitude for the grace, support and luck I’d been given in this pursuit of my 3 knots. You see, for me, this ribbon’s dreams did not get released upon its detachment. Rather, in its gradual unravel, its power dissolved over the course of its stay, finally releasing after having exhausted its power. My dreams are not realized, but I am much closer than I was only one year ago. I have nothing but gratitude for the God that has allowed this wristband to come undone.
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