Barrier of Evil

To anyone who knew me prior to my semester abroad experience in college, I was quite an intense person. I didn't really have a sense of humor and I didn't talk or smile very often. I may have developed, in my first two years in school, somewhat of a reputation in our extremely small dorm (only 70 or so people) as a person not to be messed with.

When I spent the semester in Ireland, a lot changed for me. I opened up to people and learned how to laugh and smile. I learned to like people and began to embrace things that were out of my control.

But few people back in Indiana had a clue that I'd be different upon my return, and for the freshman who entered our dorm that semester, what they heard of me "put the fear" into them, as one of my friends told me. I don't necessarily know what stories were told, what tall tales the guys spun about me, but there was one freshman who was terrified of me.

I tend to be a bit sarcastic, and sometimes, even still, people can't tell if I'm joking or serious, but this guy, J., he could never tell.

Because of his reactions to me, it became a sort of game for me to see how long it took for me to scare him senseless, or at least to make him walk away or turn and run (which did happen). [Leslie, my experience with J. helped me understand why you tortured me in our younger years...it was fun for you. I see that now.]

Last week I was telling a colleague about J. and his fear of me, combined with a recent story about how unapproachable I can make myself, if I'm in an uncomfortable spot.

My colleague responded with a laugh, saying, "I guess I haven't mastered the Barrier of Evil that you've created around yourself, your aura."

Thus, it finally has a name, the image, the manner in which I conducted myself for so many years. My own bubble--the Barrier of Evil.

I'M HOME

Now it's time to reenter the world of the living. Not sure if I'm ready for that.

It's 1:52 in Indiana, where I am currently bouncing around the house. I'm still on Arizona time (11:52, then) and we've been staying up until the wee morning hours there.

I spent several hours tonight sitting on my former bedroom floor in my parents' house, going through stacks and stacks of folders, papers, and notepads. I've found poetry, journal entries on loose leaf paper, and quotations galore. I had forgotten I was once quite prolific, even if the quality of writing was indefinably horrendous.

I gawked at the depth of my passion back then, and wonder where it went. Is that something that simply dissipates with age? The toll of the years is sapped energy and strength for plunging head-long into life's big questions and dramas, and reeling from it's assaults?

I also came across mounds of college papers and stories and poetry by me and my classmates. I think I'll have it bound into readable booklets and set them out in my home. It would be fun to pick one up every now and then and remember the people with whom I shared these creative classes.

Here's to the end of an era. I start a real job on Monday!

Lost and Found

It's strange how "good" friends can disappear from your life without any grand farewell tour or at least a goodbye.

Several of my friends from college have thus disappeared from my life. Sometimes, I think we forget people on accident. And although it's sad that a relationship would mean that little, I think it's probably normal and perhaps how it should be. For if we forget, how can we miss? And if we're not missing them, then we aren't aware of the loss. Sometimes that is a blessing.

In the age of the Web, I am constantly aware of how easy it can be to locate these lost individuals. Tonight, I found the contact info for someone I'd been wondering about since graduation. I hope he writes me back.

Another friend, well, he is gone. He cannot be found on the Internet and I have no other means of locating him. I can't even come up with a mutual friend who might know what happened to him. I am convinced he's run away to a foreign country because of his passion for foreign cultures and his lack of web presence. It would benefit me to forget about him, so I wouldn't feel the loss of his friendship so much. But, alas, I can't.