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[personal profile] yaramaz
 I've been a prodigal daughter since 1994, when I first packed my bags and went off to Dresden to see Conny. I was 19. We drank beers in sawdust-floored bars with Russian graffiti on the tables and hung out in buildings that had whole sides blown off during the war and were now used as art galleries.  I carried on after a month with her first in Dresden then at her flat in (then, noticeably- wall still partly up) East Berlin, then on to Amsterdam and Paris and eventually to Ireland where I weathered out the autumn and winter with perpetual asthma and a huge welling love of that particular era of Galway.  When I think of Dresden now, I can only see it as it was in 1994, which is really anachronistic. It's the same with Ireland- although I've been back many times (friends, exes, escapes from London), it's always 1994-95 in my head WHICH IS TOTALLY WRONG.  Same with London, which hovers between 1994-2000 in my brain, and Cape Town which has been reduced to the sum of my knowledge, infantalized at 1999-2000. I could make a huge long list of the places I've known and the people I have been and the layers of people I've been surrounded by for very specific, defined periods of time and present it as a hugely confusing, abstract, unconnected collage that I've started to realize (slowly) is my life. Nothing really fits together and nothing really flows. It's like a whole bunch of boxes full of stuff, shoved together and collectively named MaryAnne's Shit.

Why am I noting all this? 

Having come home and had heaps of time to stop and think too much, I've started looking at old photo albums from back in the day before everything I did ended up in jpg format in my Facebook photo albums or pasted in blogs.  I'm trying to connect the 20 year old with super-long hippy hair in a dark pub in Ireland with the the 22 year old in the black Clara Bow bob and dark red lipstick in Paris; with the 24 year old blond pixie cut and platform sneakers, buzzing in London; with the 28 year old butch purple buzz cut and ankle-length pencil skirts in Kayseri, trying to tune out the menfolk;  with the 33 year old in the flaming red Marianne Faithfull haircut (1967) and black eyeliner and stripey socks in Istanbul. These all seem to be totally separate people leading totally separate lives and I can't seem to connect my current incarnation/location with my forty million previous ones. I'm trying to figure out if it's because I move around so much and so have very little history or continuity or if I'm really as dislocated as I feel. 

All of my locations seem frozen in time, with certain eras in certain places, certain versions of me glued to specific locales and languages. It's all herky jerky and I'm trying to connect the dots to feel a little bit more whole. 

On a side note, I got heaps of totally rocking new footwear to take back- a combination of Goodwill, cousin and actual shoe store.  Happy! And also really really loving having access to corn tortillas and habanero salsa with fresh cilantro and pickled banana peppers and many, many cheeses.  Yum.
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yaramaz

March 2010

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