afrontierlife

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Happiness is not the absence of problems, it’s the ability to deal with them.

Steve Maraboli  (via loveage-moondream)

[afrontierlife]

I crossed an ocean for love and I would do it again.

[afrontierlife]

I started today crying in bed over a boy who stopped loving me a long time ago. Crying for the life that I thought I was going to have. For the end of a dream, a hope, an illusion that I was sure was real. I had nightmares after randomly seeing a picture of him on Snapchat last night. Social media, man. It's not to be messed with. I dragged myself out of bed. I put on a sparkly jumper and my new Gap jeans. I grumbled the whole way to the restaurant, but was welcomed with warmth and laughter. My admission of the morning's angst was met with genuine kindness at brunch with a group of women I respect. I got texts from my best friends reminding me to love myself. And from a maudlin morning, my heart was filled with blessings. I felt my day improve infinitely. I was filled with a gratitude that I get to benefit day after day from women supporting and empowering other women. And then I went running. Five hard miles hitting all my favourite Edinburgh vistas. Because self-love is a scone, clotted cream and coffee tonics for brunch but self love is also fresh air and moving your body. It may not seem like that spectacular of a day to you. But more and more I realise that being a boss lady is not about being successful all the time. It's about picking yourself up, asking for help, treating yourself with love and kindness. It's that process, rising again and again, that makes me strong.

[afrontierlife]

A Love Letter to Berkeley and Gloria Anzaldúa

This is a piece of flash fiction I wrote for a class, which was meant to be about libraries but ended up being about a lot more.

One of the world’s largest academic libraries is submerged under a green grass hill, under concrete, under layers of engineering. There thousands of books rest patiently on thin metal shelves. Those metal shelves support years: years of hands writing, fingers typing, smudges. Years spent trying to make meaning, to make sense of human relationships, politics, and the very forces by which the books stay planted on the shelves.

On the ground above, her hair lies heavy on her neck, the sun warming it as she falls asleep. She’ll wake hours later with grass blades on her cheek, running late for class, running late for everything, running towards a future much bigger than her 18 years. Always running, but unable to resist the gentleness of the grassy slope and the illicit feeling of her eyes drooping closed.  

Above the library’s wrought iron doors, underneath black skies and washed out stars, she is perched between two imposing pillars. Her legs dangle, bare above the entrance. He turns to her with the wine bottle in hand. “Go on,” he urges, eyes shining. She wonders if he means the wine and knows he doesn’t. She goes on anyway.

Days later, she moves through the wrought iron doors, head dipped away from the brightness behind her. The stairs lead her down. Sixteen steps, thirty-two steps, forty-eight steps and it opens up. Stacks and stacks of metal shelving, rows and rows of books, and neat lines of heads bent over desks. As she settles into one, her dipped head blends in.

The sameness belies the heavy emptiness of her stomach. The evidence is barely hidden behind her hair: red rimmed eyes, heavy bags, down-turned lips. Because of course, the wine was just wine but it was also more and she wishes she hadn’t just gone on. Shaky hands open the cover of the book even as all she can see is his shining eyes, the torturous refrain of ‘go on’ in her brain. “The struggle has always been inner, and is played out in outer terrains,” she reads. “Nothing happens in the ‘real’ world unless it first happens in the images in our heads.” And slowly the invisible tears in her gut seem to contract towards one another. She envisions a thin veil lifting. Her uncertain hands slowly turn, then quickly turn, then confidently turn the pages.  Her uncertain hands slowly turn, then quickly turn, then confidently turn the pages.  

“One more, one more!” her mother begs. Even as they roll, the corners of her eyes turn up. “Okay, come on then.” In the picture, the columns glisten in the background, her feet dig into the grass, her hair flows back, and the black cap and gown dwarf her. Her hair will find new resting places and her fingers nicer bottles of wine. And still the books will wait, unfailingly patient, on thin metal shelves, under layers of engineering, under concrete, under that grassy knoll.

[afrontierlife]

Tonight (inspired by @babe.wear) I was journaling about how important it is as women to love ourselves, to correct the micro-aggressions we deal with everyday, to heal our bodies from the acts of violence all too commonly enacted upon them. So, with #noselfieshame, I love my fat cheeks and the way they look when I smile. #selflove #bodypositive #tbt

[afrontierlife]

Pictured: a framed picture from my grandparents' wedding day, hanging in my late grandfather's study.

As my PhD ratchets up (yes, I see you coming first year review board), the reality of doing something like this hits me. I get stressed, my friends get stressed, the topics are hard to grapple, and the criticism important but hard to deal with. I'm regularly faced with the question--was this the right choice? Will this pay off? Is this worth years of my life? To some extent, the study of politics is deeply disturbing. Politics is essentially about power and with power comes a fair amount of corruption, poor decisions and dramatically bad consequences for the powerless. This was something I discussed with my Opa, my grandfather, the last time I saw him. We talked about the recession. He was of the opinion that more should be done to rein in bankers and politicians alike and was deeply concerned with the effect of the crisis on society's least fortunate.

My Opa was concerned until the very end. He cared, whether it was for his students, his neighbourhood or society at large. The way he showed that care is very close to my heart. He engaged with knowledge--new and old--and thought deeply about the big questions. When I went into his (almost unchanged) study during my last visit to the Netherlands, I felt so close to him. Skimming my hands over the books, seeing his desk, seeing his annotations in books. I could feel that for him, as for me, books provided both a home and an adventure.

My Opa cared. He was political. The exemplar of a well-read man. A lover of long walks. Fond of the beach and Spain. A beautiful writer, whose birthday cards were unparalleled. These passions were passed on to me, and I often wish that he was alive so I could share them with him.

I remember excitedly telling him about my newfound love of Ernest Hemingway, and remember how easily he pulled out his Dutch copies, ready to discuss them. I remember how proud he was of my high school journalism, each copy stacked and saved proudly. He would discuss the issues I wrote about with the same regard he showed for much more serious writers.

And now, I often imagine how long we would talk about my PhD. How proud he would be. I think about how important it would be to him that I study the politics of learning and the politics of collaboration. Like my Opa, it is through knowledge and information that I understand the world around me. Perhaps even more importantly, it is through knowledge seeking that I show I care. My PhD is an attempt to engender a more caring, thoughtful politics. It is ultimately an act of faith in our politics, in our potential to become better. So does this all matter? Is it all worth it? When it all gets too stressful, I imagine my my grandfather and I'm no longer uncertain. Even in death, my Opa doesn't stop teaching.

[afrontierlife]

Today I am getting rid of these candles, which I started burning in the flat I shared with my ex. It doesn't feel cathartic or finished or final. It just feels good. I'm in the early days of a new chapter of my life, not rid of him, but finally, finally not centered on him. This chapter stars me as the main player. To say it feels really good to wish these candles goodbye is both a dramatic overstatement and a massive understatement of the work it took to get to this point in my life.

[afrontierlife]

Last night versus tonight.

The thing about travelling by yourself is that you never really have to be alone. I met the people in that picture on the left at my hostel here in Istanbul and ended up going on a night out in Taksim (after getting sucked into a game of kings cup/Jenga). That night out wasn’t life changing or unforgettable but it was a good one and an experience I’m happy to have had. I danced on a rooftop in Istanbul, head tipped back, staring at the stars in January. I stumbled home in heels past the Blue Mosque (with my trusty new pals to keep me safe, not to worry parents). I zoomed past the Bosphorus in a taxi as if that was a completely normal thing to do. I met some cool people, maybe not friends for life but genuinely nice and interesting people also seeking the adventurous, nomadic life for as long as they can manage.

But the other thing about travelling alone is that, while there is value in opening yourself up to others, you can choose not to. You can choose to do anything you like, the ultimate act of selfishness but also self awareness and responsibility. While I can choose to do anything I like, I also have to juggle my backpack, coat, bag, and rummage through the above to find whatever ticket or identification or directions I might need to make my travels possible. I have to keep myself company at dinner, to debate in my head about why I keep getting asked out on dates in Istanbul, to teach myself about the meaning of whatever landmark is close by, to keep the budget. I have to be all things to myself but the luxury in that is being able to choose, to control your own life. So tonight I choose to cuddle up in my hostel bed and read Year of Yes, content that my aloneness was a choice. Any loneliness is far outweighed by the ability to provide for myself what I want and need, even in a place as foreign to me as this.

[afrontierlife]

"I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing; when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing."

Tove Jansson, 

“Moominvalley in November”

  (via

thatkindofwoman

)

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Scenes from my Gorgie Dalry life, these everyday moments of beauty make all the hard work worth it.

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[afrontierlife]

“I’ve been shy for as long as I can remember. When I was in first grade, all the other kids would play sports during recess, but I’d sit alone and play with sand. I don’t think I was sad because I was a kid. I was probably having fun with my sand. Well, I was probably sad. I was probably sad all the time. But that’s how nerds are born. You spend a lot of time learning things on your own while everyone else is being social.”

[afrontierlife]

Baking Experiments: #WhiteGirlCurry Style

I love trying new things when cooking. It is so fun to me. In fact, it's probably the most relaxing thing I can do, spending a couple of hours in the kitchen with some Office or Gilmore Girls playing from Netflix in the background. I love baking especially because there is less of the time crush of dinner needing to be ready or things needing to be served perfectly hot. However, John loves curry and in an attempt to get the baking rush from our everyday meals, I decided to try my hand at curry and naan.

To prepare you for the level of amateur-ness coming, I would like to reiterate this is total #whitegirlcurry which is to say it will (1) not be spicy for anyone who loves heat (2) be totally attainable in your average houshold, using ingredients you will have (and find in your local Aldi/Safeway,etc.).

I won't give you detailed notes on the curry recipes as I barely folllowed the recipes and used whatever spices we had--mostly a generic brand curry powder, chilli flakes, cayenne, paprika, turmeric and ginger. However, I was inspired for the first curry by this recipe. It was one of the best curries I've ever cooked (not that I'm that experienced)...

The second was a more typical (at least in this household) Thai curry with coconut milk. Both were chicken curries, because for some reason, while I don't love chicken normally, it just seems right in curry. Also it's cheap and we always have a bag of frozen chicken breasts in the freezer. (Real talk, this is not a fancy food blog).

Now for the naan (drumrolllllll)...the first try/recipe was a bit of a letdown. John and I decided it tasted a whole lot more like pita bread and it had a kind of dense flavor one doesn't associate with naan at all. I think this just goes to show that trying to take a shortcut (baking powder) rarely works. I will show you a picture only to commemorate the inadequacy...

Tips for my fellow naan amateurs

Yeast is your friend, and so is letting it rise for an adequate time. If you really want it to be fast, just get it at the grocery store! BUT your patience will pay off...

Cook your naan in a dry pan on the stovetop and make sure the heat is really high. I had mine turned to 5/6 and preheated it (because I have a crappy electric stovetop) for 5-10 minutes before.

Roll your dough out quite thin and make sure its even. I made the mistake of allowing some of the edges to be thicker than the centers and John noted that there were patches of doughiness...Caught out by the expert!

.All in all, it was incredibly easy to make recipe and something that can be quite fun to have accomplished. I just like to know that everything on my table is fresh, avoids added weird preservatives, and comes from simple ingredients. These meals were definitely all of those things and they also pleased the curry-loving boyfriend. What's not to love?

[afrontierlife]

The Philips Museum (Eindhoven, The Netherlands)

Before the uni rush started back up John and I took a quick trip to the Netherlands to visit my family. While there, we took it to the streets with some beats…

Just kidding! We took it to The Philips Museum in Eindhoven to learn about the history of the company and electronics in general. I very much enjoyed myself and would heartily suggest it if you’re in Eindhoven, even if just for a few hours. The museum is within 10 minutes walk from the main train station, near loads of parking lots and lots of shops—you can make a day of it! We spent 1.5-2 hrs in the museum, but it really didn’t feel that long.

A lot of the fun of it was going back in time, seeing how people used to light their homes, listen to the radio, etc. Philips is an impressive company, which started in 1891 and grew from a small Dutch company to a worldwide brand. Further, it is so important to the history of the region. Philips built housing for its employees and so it has a place in a lot of the expansion of Eindhoven itself. There was also an interesting movie about the way Philips worked during the Nazi occupation. They had a “Philips group” working at a nearby concentration camp. The group received more food and generally had better survival rates. One member of the group who was interviewed explained, “Whether or not it was their intention, Philips probably saved my life.”  It’s a great example of how things aren’t black and white in the War and how companies dealt with occupation, something that often gets lost.

Other than the history side of things it was just so fun (especially for my mom and stepdad) to reminisce about old times and electronics. The new stuff was so cool as well. One of my favorite new technologies was the natural lift cycle they were introducing to hospital rooms. It keeps people from getting a kind of hospital "jet lag." There was also a light display you can control with your phone. It felt a little like we were living in the future.

I also had this feeling that the history of Philips was intricately tied to my own history. My dad worked for Philips for a long time, and we moved to the US for his Philips work. Without that move would I bet someone different? I suppose in this way we are all tied up into the minutiae of the world. If one thing was different, our whole story might have changed. Our life could mean something drastically different if it wasn't for the alignment of circumstances. The circumstances of my life were drastically altered because of my dad's work for Philips. So the history of Philips felt a lot like my own, which made this fun, interactive museum even more special to me.

[afrontierlife]

Airy Flourless Chocolate Cake

Tonight I wanted to bake, because there is nothing more satisfying than mixing butter and chocolate together to make something better than both components. I had a look through my cookbook collection and went back to an old favorite, the Smitten Kitchen cookbook. I highly suggest buying it if you are a home cook wanting some new ideas and fun combinations. I love the savory and sweet recipes; she does wonders for a broccoli salad.

I’ve paraphrased the recipe for the chocolate cake, which she rightly labels as tiny but intense. I also whipped up (literally) a chocolate whipped cream frosting.

Ingredients

6 Tablespoons of butter

4 ounces/115g of good quality chocolate (Aldi’s finest also worked fine)

3 eggs, separated

1/3 cup brown sugar (regular granulated/Caster sugar also works)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon of salt

pinch of ground cinnamon

Method

1. Pre-heat the oven to 350 F. Butter/parchment paper a cake pan. (She suggests a 6 inch one, but I used an 8 inch round).

2. Melt the butter in a pan until it browns slightly. Take off the heat and then mix in the chocolate until smooth.

3. Beat together egg yolks, sugar and vanilla until thick. Beat in chocolate/butter mixture until incorporated.

4. Beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form, then stir 1/3 of egg whites into chocolate mixture. Fold in remaining egg whites as gently as possible.

5. Bake for 20-25 minutes.

Notes/Observations

Although this may be down to my demon oven (bane of my existence), my cake cracked a bit on the top. Nonetheless I felt it was baked perfectly, light and soft but not raw tasting at all. The magic of whipped egg whites.

I included the pinch of cinnamon on top of the egg whites, but if you really want a cinnamon flavor then I would suggest doing a bit more than a pinch of cinnamon. I also think other flavors would be tasty, this cake is a nice chocolate-y blank slate.

Topping: Chocolate Frosting

I mixed a heaping spoonful of cocoa with a similar sized spoonful of granulated sugar and added a few tablespoons of double cream to mix it into a smooth(ish) paste. I added approximately 125 ml of cream and whipped until the frosting came together.

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Fife Coastal Path: Kingsbarns to St. Andrews

On Friday, I challenged the boyfriend to come up with an adventure for us to go on the next day. This is no small feat, because while I always say "I'm fine with everything," I am extremely picky. For Saturday, I wanted fresh air and the outdoors but also historical exploration. To satisfy both, we settled on hiking another part of the Fife Coastal Path, which we began last summer, and ending in St. Andrews, a beautiful town neither of us had been to before.

The day began with a 6:45 am wake up, some grumbles from the princess (yours truly) and a 7:30 kick off. This was all worth it to catch the sunrise peeking over the clouds as we set off on our 8.25 mile hike. For more details on the route check out the excellent walkhighlands site here.

My favorite part of the walk was actually an inland bit, where the route went along a river. We saw herons and I expounded for far too much about how the route looked like Rivendell in Lord of the Rings. Because really, it did. Very elvish vibes.

Towards the end of the walk, you start to get some beautiful coastal views, including a teeny St. Andrews in the distance. There is a tidal section--so beware. We were there about an hour before high tide and just made it across a tiny beach. I would time the walk so that you'll finish the walk at least 30 min to 1 hr before high tide. The last bit was essentially a cow path, with more mud than solid ground. The perils of hiking in wintry Scotland or charming rural touches? Either way, it didn't ruin the enjoyment of the gorgeous views, fresh air, or entertaining boyfriend.

We took the bus (95) back to Kingsbarns after a nice lunch of pizza and lemonade (classic combination right?). It was so warming, although our toes didn't get completely defrosted until we got back to our cozy cozy home.