Prose Before Bros

December 16, 2015April 3, 2018 / karaknick / 11 Comments

Yes, I said it.

I thought I was in love when I kissed my first crush, Seth, on the cheek when I was seven. We were behind a tree during a family camping retreat for the Boy Scouts, which both he and my brother were part of. (Smart girl-learning to break hearts at a young age.)

…But it wasn’t exactly a fairy tale ending. He immediately straightened his glasses, gave me a weird look, and ran away. We didn’t speak after that. But that’s okay, because I learned a different love- escaping with a book instead of chasing boys.

Since then, writers from Sylvia Plath to J.K. Rowling paved the way for my love of literature. Teachers from elementary school to college classes taught me to create my own by nurturing and guiding my craft. I couldn’t ever explain it, but words empowered me. I mean, who needs a man when you’ve got countless characters to fall in love with? There was nothing quite like losing myself entirely in a story, or better yet, discovering myself between its pages in the process. And when I wrote? Indescribable. It was like I held the power. Let’s get real here- The last lines of Sylvia Plath’s Lady Lazarus are a perfect example.

“Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.”

Come onnnnn. It still gives me chills! But somewhere between that first kiss to writing poetry in my bedroom to getting my first apartment, I lost touch with the paper and pen. When I wrote in college, it was only for an assignment. I stopped reading for pleasure altogether. In fact, I stopped reading. I skimmed, or would use Google. And I definitely couldn’t remember the last time I sat down to write for me. I was caught up in relationships and social life, and then just trying to get a job like most college grads. Then I got a job and an apartment, and was trying to figure out happiness and paying the bills but still traveling, and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. (Spoiler alert: I still don’t know.) When I finally wrote again, it was hard. It sucked. I wasted years not reading and writing, and all I could see was how far behind I was.

Which brings me to the here and now. I created this blog to keep writing, and as a place to bring my stories of travel. I joined a writing class. I’ve been submitting my work.

I delayed posting until this week because I was waiting to hear whether or not I got accepted to the 2016 Sigma Tau Delta’s International Convention, and I am THRILLED to announce that I received the e-mail last night.

So hold on. What exactly is Sigma Tau Delta, you may ask? First off, it is not a sorority. It also isn’t a sexually transmitted disease. Although that is, in fact, what the acronym implies. Ha. STD is an International English Honor Society. (And yes, believe me, we tried to get “Prose Before Bros” or “STD: Gotta read ’em all!” as our T-shirt sayings, but it didn’t stand a chance against administration.)

I joined Sigma Tau Delta in 2010, and, in my junior year of college, presented at the 2011 Convention March 23-26th in Pittsburgh, PA (shown below). The convention theme was “Beyond Words.”

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With friends Samantha and Laura, exploring the ‘burgh and attending presentations (below).

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Practice makes perfect!

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I presented an original poem, “Discoloration” which I wrote about my father.

A year later in 2012, I had the time of my life at the convention, which was held in New Orleans, LA from February 29-March 3. The convention theme that year was “Reawaken.” New Orleans was a beautiful city, and I heard such beautiful writing in the sessions I attended. I was a senior in college then, and even now I am amazed by the memories I made there, from Bourbon Street to friendships I stumbled into. I hope to go back someday. I’m still craving beignets from Café du Monde…

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Some classmates/fellow STD members with our professor, Dr. Andrew Ade (above) and below at the Red & Black Gala Dinner and Convention Awards.

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I told you I take eating seriously.

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Presenting poetry from my collection “The Art of Baptizing.”

Now, it has been over three years since I graduated college. I rediscovered Sigma Tau Delta recently and joined the Alumni Epsilon Chapter. Shortly thereafter, I realized I could still submit, and if accepted, present at the convention. Naturally, I was stoked and submitted as soon as I could pull something together. I have been racking my brain waiting these past couple months to see whether or not I would be accepted. Seriously. Not knowing was brutal, and so was trying to prepare myself for rejection.

But, this has a fairy tale ending after all. I am so happy to announce that this year, I am one of 24 Sigma Tau Delta alumni that will present at the convention in Minneapolis, MN from March 2-5, 2016. The convention theme is “Finding Home.” I will be reading ten poems from my collection “From This Side of the Sun.”

Are there any other Sigma Tau Delta members out there? Would love to connect with you!

Stay classy readers,

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P.S. I went to Minnesota when I was younger and all I remember is the Mall of America. What is at the top of your list for things to see & do in the City of Lakes?
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Discovering Spafrica

December 3, 2015December 3, 2015 / karaknick / 8 Comments

August 15, 2013

“Why would you want to go there?”

“You’re going by yourself?!”

“That isn’t safe.”

These were all comments I was immediately hit with when I first informed my friends and family that I was planning a trip to Morocco alone.

After unsuccessfully trying to make plans with some friends who were studying abroad in other countries, I knew that if I continued to wait until I found a companion to travel with me, I would be waiting forever. And I knew that, similar to my decision to go to Europe in the first place, missing the opportunity to go because I was waiting until it was “convenient” to go was a risk I could not take. I’d be damned if I let this chance pass me by. So I sucked it up and made the decision to go solo.

A day in the life.

Now, I am ashamed to admit that I didn’t treat this country the same as others…I was apprehensive, and so instead of going off the beaten path alone, I booked the trip with a tour group (I know, I know- something most self-proclaimed travelers are completely against) but maybe the comments eventually got into my head, or I had a fear of the unknown. Either way, because I knew NOTHING about this country or the continent it was on, I wanted to ensure I was safe, and there’s safety in numbers, right? Plus, these people knew where to go and could guide me.

So I booked it. I traveled from Blanes –> Barcelona –> Sevilla, where I would stay for a night, then leave for Morocco the next day.

Thursday, August 15– I got off at Sants station. It was hectic and I peed three times (maybe from nerves) but just stayed in the station and ate the two Nutella sandwiches I brought. I was terrified about getting on the wrong train so I arrived extra early. Typical Kara.

Let me tell you- I have never seen anything quite like southern Spain. Even at 300 km/hr.

The train shook something fierce and I couldn’t help but think just two weeks ago over 80 people lost their lives on a train like this that derailed in the northwestern part of Spain. But I couldn’t think like that. Many people die in car accidents every day, but that can’t hold you back from getting in a car…as long as I can somehow remember NOT to drink the water in Morocco I will be okay, I tell myself.

There was another single woman that signed up for the tour, I was told, so we would be put together. I was excited to meet her, and wondered if she spoke English or was near my age…

I slept in bits and pieces on the train, in series of about 20 minutes that completely shook my sense of time. We arrived in Sevilla and I had the hardest time locating the hostel…nobody knew, or everyone was also tourists, so I got no answer until finally a waiter pointed out that I was “very far, maybe an hour away” which I knew had to be a joke because I was at least SOMEWHERE in the vicinity…I saw a beautiful cathedral and horse drawn carriages and again, more tourist shops. And then, I rounded the corner and stumbled upon the hostel. *Sigh of relief.* That night, the hostel had sangria on the rooftop patio and I was able to meet some people from Germany and Turkey. I climbed into bed exhausted, but so excited to wake up early to explore this adorable city.

Friday August 16– I woke up, rushed to breakfast, skipped showering, Skyped with JJ, ate like four Nutella sandwiches, and then checked out. Left my bag and walked to see Plaza de España***, which brought me to tears. I literally wanted to sit down and kiss the architecture, so beautiful and blessed. Saw Torre del Oro and got lost on the way back. Bought tampons, said bye to my new friend Fabian, and met up with tour, where I was introduced to the single woman that would be paired with me. Wouldn’t you know- she could speak English, and she was close to my age! Her name was Kayla Andrews, from Boston and 17. Thank the Lord for her. We took a bus two hours to meet up to take the ferry. The ferry was huge! I bought a quick sandwich and fries, then fell asleep because I was so beat. We got off the ferry and were so confused because we didn’t have to go through customs… there was no border control. After some discovery, we found out we were still in Spain! The city, Ceuta, is a Spanish city in northern Africa, and shares a border with Morocco. We laughed so hard! We felt like such idiots.

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Kayla & I.

After getting through the border and arriving in Tetuan, we went to our hotels. They didn’t have enough room for us in the one hotel, Dreams Hotel, and ended up having to split the group in half between the two hotels. Kayla and I were put in the other one- Hotel Golden Beach- so upon checking in, we ate dinner after a long wait. Bread and soup (can’t recall if it was harira or lentil soup) and then chicken with lemon rinds and olives, and for dessert, we thought some sort of custard…NOPE. Surprise! I later discovered it’s name: Kalinti, a chickpea flour and egg tart. We drank our own bottled water.

From our hotel window, we could see the ocean and really wanted to go down to the water’s edge. However, it was dark, and upon asking a worker at the hotel where the path was that led down to the shore, we ended up getting a private escort to the ocean just so we could put our feet in. I couldn’t explain how it felt… we received stares because although we tried to cover up with scarves, our legs still showed. We were dressed properly for the weather, but not for where we were. Puts things into perspective when you have to understand another’s culture, and I am grateful for the experience.

Views from the balcony:

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Funny moments:

Halfrica/Spafrica– Rejoicing too soon when we weren’t even across the border yet. These were the new names we came up with.

Freaking out I would be split from Kayla when were getting room assignments.

M’Diq was the name of the coastal town where we staying. So naturally, with our immature/raunchy sense of humor, we yelled, “There’s not enough room in M’Diq!” when we were told the group had to be split into two hotels.

Guy trying to take my soup at the restaurant when I wasn’t done.

Eating ALL of the bread. Because carbs are delicious in every country.

“You’re from Africa? But you’re white.” (Mean Girls, anyone?)

Kayla trying to unlock the wrong hotel door and getting pissed.

We actually ended up staying up late into the night because we were laughing so hard and talking about everything under the sun.

Saturday, August 17– In the morning, we had yogurt and pastries and coffee and OJ for breakfast. Then to our horror- looked up to see our tour bus loading without us! Hurried to get on, so didn’t exchange any money at the hotel, we just got on the road. Driving through the countryside on the way there I saw a lot of trash covered fields and women selling fruits by the road, or pottery, and children walking donkeys.

Garbage covering part of the countryside.

But Chefchaouen, ohmygosh, was a gorgeous bright blue and white colored place. Chefchaouen served as a Moorish fortress for Spanish exiles, and later welcomed both Jews and Christians alike. Blue represented sky and heaven, and today and still stands for peace and love of their city now. It is said that they paint everything the color blue to keep it cooler and ward off mosquitoes, but also as a reminder of God’s power. The color is everywhere, from walls to clothing. Tekhelel (an ancient natural dye) is often used for these.

Beautiful colored dyes on display for sale.

We met our tiny guide, Ahmed Achtot, who proudly told us he was on Lonely Planet and that he was friends with our “American President, Obama.” We instantly loved him. He was such an excellent guide- a short, old man, with kind light blue eyes and so so sweet. He loved talking with all of us and would take pictures both with us and for us, and pointed out some fascinating parts of the city. He was also funny. He could speak five languages and said he learned them just by listening.

Our guide, Ahmed Achtot.

Ahmed taught us to enter a house with the right foot first, as well as exiting, typical manners in some Islamic countries. There were also small kittens and cats everywhere around the city. Literally- a gazillion.

The tiniest kittens in the universe could be found on every street.

In Chefchaouen, if I recall correctly, the houses were able to fit five to ten families and it’s true- they were cool to the touch! I was awestruck by how beautiful it was.

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We were taken to “the best weaving shop in the city”- no doubt a tourist trap, encouraging you to buy rugs and scarves but I didn’t get anything. Kayla got two for 25 Euro but because I’m going to be overseas for several more months, I have to make my money last. But the weaver made us both bracelets 🙂 I really wanted to find a dress or long shirt like they traditionally wear, but again, had doubts about buying- because did I need it? Would I still wear it months later?

Left: The weaver putting on my bracelet. Right: Trying on a hijab.

In the medina (city section), they had the most interesting shoes and exquisite leather purses. Jewelry, silver plates, and painted pictures- you name it. Yet nobody was overly pushy.

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Traditional shoes in Morocco- “babouche”

We had lunch at la Casa Hassan, and it was AWESOME. Salad to start, with tons of olive oil and vinegar, then tagine for main course. Then for dessert was a cup of cut fresh fruit. All in all, a delicious meal.

After we left, I took a nap on the bus.

We went to the Grottes d’Hercule (Cave of Hercules), which was filled with entirely too many people, and I just couldn’t handle it. It was dark and I felt claustrophobic. However, it was still a cool attraction. There are two entrances, one facing land (the one we entered) and one facing sea. The incredible part of the cave is what you can see in the picture below: the part that looks to the ocean is the shape of Africa. There was a lot of history inside the cave as well. We didn’t spend too much time there. The driving and parking was madness, as were the many people trying to sell stuff, which is to be expected.

Cave of Hercules.

Next, we stopped to ride camels! NUTS. We were supposed to do it on Sunday, but obviously the tour group doesn’t stick to schedule, if you’ve figured that out. So because I was wearing a dress, I had to sidesaddle that thing like it was my job. You know, since I couldn’t straddle it normally. It was so much fun! But really scary. You get on the camel when it is sitting/lying down, and when it got up I swear I almost shit myself. It felt like I was back and forth on a roller coaster- the ride was a little bumpy. Again, tourist trap, but come on. It’s a camel! I’m sold.

(I’m actually terrified here.)

The bus stopped for a break at the overlook, at Cape Spartel. It was quite the view. I bought my mom a silver spoon for her collection, which I am certain I got ripped off on, and also a small camel, to give to Adrià. My friend, Matt, (see The Day I Quit My Job) had lent me his backpack on the one condition that I get sew-on flags of each country I visit. So I bought some of the patches for him, but still want to pick up souvenirs for the rest of my family.

Cape Spartel.

Drove to Tangier, which I wasn’t as fond of, it is crowded and touristy, there isn’t much to see. Also, stopped at another rest stop where the bathrooms had squat toilets (just holes that look like sinks in the ground). Kayla thought it was a shower so she came right back out, but I had to explain they were, in fact, toilets. I had used them before in Italy. Don’t care- if you gotta go, you gotta go! I just think it is much easier for a man to use. Speaking of which, an older man came up to us while we were speaking with our guide to ask if he could have a photo with us because of our blue eyes and how “handsome” we were…weird.

I wonder a lot about the culture here and how the women feel and are treated. I feel privileged but also inappropriate, less modest and holy than them, somehow. I know the culture is changing…but I wonder how it is received. The taxis here fit SO many people and pictures of their king- Mohamed VI- are everywhere. We saw the outside of his palace and it is insane. If you go to Morocco, you will see his face plastered nearly every place you go. But in case you don’t, here it is:

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Mohammed VI

After we checked into our hotel, Hotel Tanjah Flandria, we got dinner which was salad and then fish, rice. And French fries. The dessert was the best part, different types of fancy cake. I think mine was cherry vanilla. I missed the paints and colors of Chefchaouen. Our hotel had a rooftop pool. It looked so inviting, so we dipped our feet in before dinner and then returned to swim after, but it was so cold and I was tired and just felt a little disconnected from the rest of the world somehow. Kayla swam and I sat by the side of the pool and we had a deep conversation about traveling and friendships and relationships, which was great. There were other people up on the roof and guys across the way in another hotel carrying on and looking over, which made us uncomfortable.

That night, the music and voices in the street were very loud, I had trouble sleeping. I showered late and wished JJ good luck on his show. Kayla and I have sort of befriended two Spanish couples that are younger, I think they’re beautiful! They thought Kayla and I were longtime friends, and were surprised to learn that we just met one another! Between the six of us, we usually take pictures for one another and stick together at dinners.

I also think the culture is neat because its like- when do you know where to draw the line at exposing your body and embracing it? Modesty is an interesting concept here…

I was told by our tour guide that the new king says it is okay if the man wants to have more than one wife, but the wife has to come to the court and say it is okay also. And he said for the Islam banks- they don’t let you buy a house. You say, okay I want that house, and they buy it for you all furnished and all, although you spend your life paying it off probably.

He also said women used to get dressed up if they left their house to visit their friends or go shopping, putting makeup on, etc, but now people say that you have to do that only for your husband, when he comes home you have to meet them at the door with something sexy on. It also used to be that women could only meet at each other’s houses, not in a cafe or out and about, but that is also changing. *****

Royal Palace

Sunday August 18– Today is my mother’s birthday and I miss her a lot. After little sleep, we woke and had breakfast: coffee, OJ and poor baguettes. Hopping on the bus to head to Tetuan for a panoramic view. I have a lot of travel time in front of me for today and tomorrow.

We ended up having a 3 hour delay on our trip because one older couple lost/had their cell phone taken…so they insisted on going to the police. The police said they couldn’t help…so they insisted on going to the other inner city police. We got gelato in the meantime because we had to wait for them. It was a bit of a pain in the ass to do because we had to pay in dirhams- which felt like just a million coins, simply because we were still understanding the currency. Then we noticed that same man from earlier taking pictures of us from afar while we were eating…and pretended not to when we caught him! It was sooo creepy and uncomfortable. Then he came up and asked for another photo with us, and said its because he wanted to remember the trip. Um, no. He also showed us a picture that the guides had taken where he is walking behind us. HE BOUGHT IT. Officially freaked out and over this part of the trip.

Back on the bus, we arrived to Tetuan some time later and were shuffled through some of the dirtiest fish markets I have ever seen, they were selling vegetables and fruit and chickens that I will never be able to look at the same. Kayla and I were both in flip flops (a huge mistake) and our feet were so dirty. We were exhausted too, and hungry. We shuffled through and looked at a hotel, and then through a castle in the square, saw how traditional the women dress, and hit the markets. I didn’t buy anything although, again, there was jewelry, leather sandals and purses, and silver tea sets everywhere!

Markets in Tetuan.

Bargaining is a huge thing here. It’s half the fun- you never buy anything for full price. We went to a pharmacy/spice shop…it was interesting, but nobody bought anything. A man who had been trying to get me to buy a blue dress kept following me around. We went to lunch next, and it was nice, in this huge old palace, we had soup and bread and salad of course, then tagine. After there was the hospitality mint tea served and a cookie.

Dinner at the Arabic Palace with new friends.

After lunch, as we were getting back on the bus, we turned to the window and there that same man was, waving the blue dress at me and running my way. Never have I been more creeped out. Things went from bad to worse fast. We took forever to leave the border and get the ferry. Got through and once back in Spain, took the bus- which thank goodness wasn’t the shuttle because it was larger- but there were so many loud elderly foreign people…they just were walking about the bus or hollering at one another when they could’ve easily sat next to each other. Next, we dropped some of them off at a different town, which was about an hour and a half away. When we got closer to Sevilla, half the people wanted off at Torre del Oro and the other half wanted their hotel which was far away. The bickering was a nightmare. Kayla was livid and was going to get out and take a taxi because the cab driver didn’t really know his way but luckily one of the Spanish passengers helped. Kayla and I said our goodbyes in a rush, not really processing that it might be the last time we see each other. She hopped out closer to where her apartment was. I got off at Torre del Oro feeling like the different world I had just come from was still spinning around me, and how it made me feel grateful and sad and curious all at once.

Those feelings were quickly replaced with exhaustion and annoyance, because I knew the checkout for my hostel was going to come so fast. As I was walking near the main street, I heard a fantastic band playing Jack Johnson and fell in love so as much as it killed me to know I was losing precious minutes of sleep by the minute, I followed the sound.***

***See previous posts: The Night Five Strangers Fell In Love and Speechless in Sevilla

***** Because I have not done research on the culture in Morocco, I cannot say much on the subject, nor confirm what the guides have said. I am, however, always interested and open to learn. Feel free to comment below- I would love to hear from you and learn more about your travels or experience!

Shukraan- “Thank you”

For reading, for new friendships, for the gift of adventure.

God, Good Hair Days & Gravy

November 26, 2015February 4, 2020 / karaknick / 2 Comments

All things I am thankful for.

Corny title, I know. Hope it had you rolling. Okay, I butter stop.

That was terrible, I’m sorry. Please (pretty please, with sugar on top) keep reading…

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I read somewhere that a way to turn our attitudes around and find happiness is to focus on having a heart full of gratitude- thinking about all the things that we have, instead of what we don’t.

I know (in light of this holiday) you’ve probably seen enough of this on your social media outlets today, but it’s important for me to write this list, and it serves as a reminder for me to look at when I’m feeling crappy.

So, in no particular order, here are 30 things I am thankful for:

1. To be alive. In light of recent events in the world, I’ve seen how quick life can be taken away, and it is unfortunately what many of us take for granted the most. Remember, life only sucks some of the time.

2. My parents. I was blessed with two hardworking, supporting parents who have always put me first and sacrificed so much just so I could have the things they didn’t. They have always believed in me. I will always be indebted to them, and will always love them more than anything.

3. Friendships, whether past or present. The past couple years I have focused so much on the friendships that have dissolved or people that have shown their true selves, but it caused me to 1. Forget that those people came into my life and left for a reason, and 2. neglect the friends that had been there all along. To have one true friend is better than ten fake ones. Whether they are cities, states, or countries away, they have helped shape me into who I am today. (Thank you all, and I know I need to call more often!)

4. Sounds funny- but me- this slow journey of self- love that I’m on. Being able to rely on myself, get to know myself, reinvent myself and how I see the reflection in the mirror.

5. My health. This past year I’ve had two surgeries that made me rethink how fortunate I am to have the ability to do simple things like eating or walking without pain or discomfort. Your health is really everything.

6. Running. Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are. But it has been the driving force behind becoming the stronger version of myself this past year. I have pushed past the limits I set on myself, and came to understand I have none.

7. This blog. It has forced me to be vulnerable and transparent with my life, my feelings, and my words, and held me accountable for actively writing and relaying experiences of my life. I know it has been a big step in the right direction for me.

8. Discovering a community of writers in the Madwomen in the Attic classes.

9. My niece. Because she is so sweet and chubby and the only baby I’ve ever really liked. Because she is a new family member to love. And of course, my brother and sister-in-law are in this category as well 🙂

10. My job. I work at a wonderful university where I am surrounded by brilliant individuals, and it also gives me a paycheck and benefits. Really can’t complain.

11. My apartment. Sure, it blows coughing up that much $$$ every month, but I have a roof over my head (though it sometimes leaks) and a little corner of the universe to decorate and be as pantsless as I like.

12. Traveling. This is no secret. ‘Nuff said.

13. My education. I will admit that 75% of the stuff I studied for I have already forgotten, but at least I had the opportunity to sit in a classroom and learn.

14. My hometown. Everyone has some sort of love/hate relationship with where they grew up, but for me, it gave me the comfort of community and the peace from driving down back roads.

15. Public transportation (weird, I know) for letting me not demonstrate to the world what a terrible driver I am- especially when it is winter, and when it is not. I don’t worry about getting myself to & from work safely, or parking, or, paying for parking, etc.

16. Wearing my heart on my sleeve. Because it means I am like my mother, and she is warm but can rage with fire, and I love that- regardless if I am labeled emotional or too sensitive because of it.

17. Chocolate, because without it I would be a miserable bitch.

18. Technology, so I can Skype or call my friends/relatives whenever I am not near them.

19. Community, whether it be other students, coworkers, friends, extended family, even kind strangers- from small acts of service to taking me in as their own, and always making sure I am well fed…(as if I’d pass up on any food, ever.)

20. My grandparents, because they’re so cute and have shown me what true love is. (Or just that it is possible to put up with someone 60+ years of your life.)

21. Music, for getting me through my teenage years. Literally.

22. Books, for letting me lose myself in their pages and revealing my love for reading and writing.

23. CHAPSTICK. I own over 300 tubes of lip gloss, probably. No, really, someone should count them all.

24. My teachers, other adults (friends, coaches, employers, coworkers, etc.) in my life who have significantly shaped and guided me through whatever rough waters I was facing. Often, we don’t realize it until we’ve moved on.

25. My setbacks. I’ve felt heartbreak, but it lead me to someone better. I faced rejection letters from literary magazines, but it fueled my desire to try harder. Everything- friendships that fell apart, prayers that weren’t answered, “WHY ME??” moments in my life- were all preparing me for something greater.

26. Carbohydrates. Do I really need to elaborate?

27. Humor, without it life would be so dull.

28. Blankets, fuzzy socks, oversize sweaters- things that are cozy and soft.

29. Warm weather, because then I can be barefoot and sun kissed and in a better mood.

30. Sheetz, because it was love at first bite and it’s always welcoming me no matter what the hour.

P.S. I really tried to refrain from listing all foods. It was much harder than I thought.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

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Lesson of the Weak

November 23, 2015January 6, 2017 / karaknick / 8 Comments

These past couple weeks, I am struggling with self-love. I am learning to set boundaries, and what I can and cannot accept. Learning that it is all part of the struggle…

Struggling to feel beautiful, when a surgery on my mouth has left my face swollen and bruised.

Struggling to keep healthy, when the pain killers are causing waves of nausea that leave me doubled over on the bathroom floor.

Struggling to deal with ghosts, people and things that I cannot continue to keep in the past.

Struggling with homesickness, knowing that when I go home, it isn’t the same as it once was.

Struggling with distance, and the many spaces it puts between my family.

Struggling with money, knowing that it is the cause of so many problems, and how it shouldn’t be.

Struggling with time, wishing it away for the next big thing, and in the same breath, wanting it to slow down.

Struggling with standing up for myself, when I can’t do so without apologizing or explaining.

Struggling with friendships, to let go of those that have dissolved or no longer serve me.

Struggling with the definition of womanhood, with the looks I receive when I say I do not desire children.

Struggling with balance, of always being present but planning for the future.

Struggling with work, of paving the way to my dreams, or letting them pass me by.

Struggling with saying no, because it would mean admitting defeat and weakness.

Struggling with saying yes, because it could bring the unknown.

Struggling with death, what to take from it when it takes so much from us.

Struggling with change, how to channel the energy into the things I can control.

Struggling with worry, that robs my days and nights of happiness.

Struggling with peace, and how we will have to create it out of nothing if we cannot find it in this world.

Struggling with my mind, to put anxiety to sleep when it is the culprit of my lack thereof.

Struggling with acceptance, realizing that not everyone will see your heart the way you do.

These struggles, among others, will continue to be there the next 25 years of my life and more, in a larger capacity, with deeper cuts, and in more complex ways.

I believe that the most difficult struggle is not these things against me, but myself. For me to convince myself these small battles mean nothing on the war I’m waging. That to believe feeling everything so deeply does not mean I am weak, or insecure. That I do not have to apologize for my thoughts, or anchor my heart where it is not meant to be. And to stay true to who I am, when I am sometimes not sure who that even is. None of us have

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On a Connecting Flight from Philadelphia to Frankfurt

November 20, 2015November 20, 2015 / karaknick / 10 Comments

I make my home for the next eight hours in seat 22C, separated by an aisle from two French girls with honey woven hair, their words bubbling over the soft cries of a child behind me.
To my right- a blonde, straight-faced younger man. He copies my dinner order on our overnight flight, and I exchange names for time to kill.
Ryan from Indiana, graduate from Nashville, selling engineering equipment on a business trip.
I tell him I am Kara, almost 23, a bird fleeing from the suffocating nest of corporate worlds
And how I will travel.

He said I inspired him to do something spontaneous
But he is not yet ready to canyon jump in Interlaken
Or abandon ship from the security of a 9-5 office,
That 35,000 feet in the air is more than enough risk.
I laugh as we talk of past education, and our families back home
He is 27. No kids or wife, he says.
Conversation is a coffee-carrying flight attendant still meandering
As we touch down in Frankfurt, our throats scratched from conversation.
He jokes that he better be in my book when it is published
And my eyes smile as if to say, “You will.”

Air-plane

Weeks later, I will remember this journal entry and look up Ryan from Indiana
To find two blonde toddlers and a wife plastered in his pictures
And will need to steady myself from the turbulence.
Why did you have to invent a story to a woman you just met, leaving out the woman you wrote it with?
And stash oxygen masks from your children as you suffocate them with your silence?
Why lie at all?
Maybe you needed to feel the desire of fresh attraction,
Or try on a shade of single to cover up what you left behind.
But hiding your wedding ring, in a foreign country, telling your wife you love her when you’re flying white lies fast out of Germany…you make me wish I could think up a plane crash for men like you.

P.S. Here you go, Ryan. I wrote about you.

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Something to Sacrifice

November 11, 2015February 4, 2020 / karaknick / 3 Comments

My brother, Ryan, never made it to my high school or college graduation. He’s missed several birthdays, countless holidays, and important moments in my life where I needed him most, or just wanted him to be there.

Now in their sixties, my parents have had an empty room upstairs in their home for nearly the past ten years. There are not really any Mother’s Day or Father’s Day celebrations, let alone birthdays, or Christmas mornings with the four of us gathered together by the tree. In fact, I have felt like a family of three for quite some time now.

Now that my parents are grandparents, they can count the number of times they have seen their granddaughter on one hand since she has been born. And, as a first time aunt, I am realizing how much distance robs me of the simple things: discovering what gross things she may try to put in her mouth, learning to crawl, what color her ever-curious eyes are, and the way her laughter sounds. I only know by the videos that are sent to me.

Sure, a lot of this can be chalked up to “growing up.” Things change- I get it. People get older, move away, get married, and start their own families. There is no denying that it is simply a part of life, and sometimes it sucks.

However, our lives are different for another reason: the military. My brother joined the Air Force right out of high school. He became engaged to the love of his life, Alesha, at age 19, and they were married at just 21. Since then, they have lived in England and Italy, and traveled all over the world. My brother has slept in countries I probably couldn’t even find on a map. Despite the deployments and distance, Alesha has remained a pillar of strength for my brother and supported all of his endeavors, even if it means a rough road ahead for her. She has endured the difficult adjustments of living in foreign countries and being separated from her family back in the States. I can only imagine the many nights she has slept alone, struggling to keep the house in order, while working full time, just keeping her mind busy until my brother’s safe return. Ryan and Alesha have shown me what it means not only to sacrifice, but to love, honor, trust, and support your spouse unconditionally. They have fully put their faith in one another, and I admire that more than I have ever told them. In June, after 5 years of marriage, they welcomed their first child, Cora Rae. Now, they are thankfully back in the States, but still a 10 hour drive away.

It is hard for me to admit that Ryan and I did not have the best relationship growing up. I was (as he would say) the annoying little sister, grappling at every chance to spend with him. In the end, all it did was smother him and push him further away. Yet, during my years in college, and his overseas, our relationship stabilized significantly. Though the calls were few and far between, we grew closer. I finally visited him in England in the winter of 2010. It was there that my desire to travel ignited, and could not be ignored. In a sense, he is the reason behind what I have been able to accomplish, whether he knows it or not.

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Every year during this time, similar to Memorial Day, 4th of July, etc., I see countless posts on social media about thanking our armed forces for the sacrifices they make. But I also see those people at barbecues with their families, and significant others. I see them photographed with their siblings on family vacations. I see them partying with friends, at fancy Valentines Day dinners with their spouse, or together around the table for Easter dinner.

I am not denying anyone’s right to celebrate, or comparing sacrifices, or condemning those people. I cannot (and do not intend or wish to) sit here, innocent, because I too have taken far too much for granted, and we all have lost or sacrificed something- there is no need to measure the size of those scars.

But I would be lying to you all if I didn’t sometimes get upset over how I do not have the luxury of having annual family vacations, or weekly dinners, or even Thanksgiving with my brother. I know that the time together we have missed is something I can never get back, and will always be looking forward to- especially now that my brother and sister-in-law have a family of their own.

I would also be lying to you if I didn’t admit how frustrated I can get sometimes with the unreliable schedules with ever-changing shifts, or the months he is gone for training. Having him not be there for certain things, or be unable to plan trips together (you all know I LOVE to travel) can still be upsetting, even though I understand fully and respect why they can’t happen, and feel selfish in confessing these feelings.

Because I certainly cannot complain.

For all of these things, I am lucky.

I may not have a brother (and consequently, a sister-in-law & niece) who are close by to visit. But I have a brother.

Some people don’t get their loved ones back. Some women lose husbands DAYS before they are supposed to return from deployment. Daughters and sons lose fathers, just like they do mothers, while they are serving our country- sometimes before they even get to meet them. Parents have had to bury their children without ever even saying goodbye.

I cannot imagine surviving the unthinkable. I do not even know the half of it, nor will I pretend to. I do not know what private wars still rage on in their minds when they return home, or the horror of the sights they have seen. I don’t know what they eat, or where they sleep, or the extent of everything they sacrifice, and from my brother’s silence, sometimes I don’t think I want to.

So yes, I am very lucky. And I am thankful. And all I know is that they deserve to hear this more than just on today.

A Year of Races

October 25, 2015October 26, 2015 / karaknick / 11 Comments

One year ago, in the early fall of 2014, I laced up my Nikes determined to prove something to myself- that I could do it. I never set out to become a runner.

It all started when I saw a Facebook post from one of my friends, saying how they had a great 5 mile run that morning. FIVE miles? That was crazy, I thought. Or was I just jealous?

Shortly thereafter, I saw the EQT 10 Miler race advertised, and wished I could be someone who could run 10 miles. Then, I realized, there is no reason why I couldn’t.

So, I signed up on a whim. I still can’t believe that one split decision is where everything changed for me. There was no turning back now! I slowly increased my mileage week by week, until November 9th, 2014, I ran further than I ever had before and completed my first race.

The feeling I got crossing that finish line is something, to this day, that I still cannot put into words. But my addiction was now full-blown, and there was no stopping it. I signed up for my first half marathon, which I completed in Pittsburgh in May 2014.

After a minor surgery and being out for a month, I finally got back into it, and this time, helped my boyfriend train for his first half marathon- Presque Isle in Erie, PA.

My third half marathon of the year (seriously, I was hooked!) was back in my hometown on Ernst Trail. I got my best time ever- 13.1 miles in 1 hour and 52 minutes.

Today, October 25, 2015, was the EQT 10 miler. It was the same 10 mile race that was my first race ever in 2014, and this time it was my last of the season. Everything came full circle.

Almost a full year of racing in, and it is incredible what it has done for my body and my mind, and surprisingly enough, my soul. Pounding my feet into pavement gave me release. Pushing myself past limits I thought I had showed me that the body can achieve anything, it’s the mind you have to convince. And that I’m a hell of a lot tougher than I thought.

Here it is, my year in races:

1. EQT 10 Miler November 9, 2014

2. Strong Women Strong Girls 5k, March 22, 2015

3. UPMC Health Plan 5k May 2, 2015

*3rd place in Age Division

4. Pittsburgh Half Marathon May 3, 2015

5. Presque Isle Half Marathon July 19, 2015

6. Ernst Trail Half Marathon September 13, 2015

*4th place in Age Division

7. Pittsburgh Great Race September 27, 2015

8. Shadyside 5k October 3, 2015

9. Donut Dash October 4, 2015

10. Joggin For Frogmen 5k October 17, 2015

*3rd place in Age Division

11. EQT 10 Miler October 25, 2015

Thankfully my boyfriend & my parents put up with my love of the sport. They’ve driven many miles, and dealt with the freezing cold or unbearably hot temperatures just to be there to cheer me on. And they listen (or pretend to) even though I NEVER shut up about my shin splints or my PR’s or anything related to running.

So here’s to this past year- accomplishments that have challenged and changed me completely. And to 2016, I’m ready to crush more goals. Bring it! 👊

But first…cake. And my couch.

Traveller.

October 22, 2015January 6, 2017 / karaknick / 2 Comments

Couldn’t have said this better myself.

The Speaking PAw 🙂

I am just going to say some things here. It’s a tiny rant. I hear people boasting about travelling when all they did was take selfies at some touristy spots and that irks me. Here goes…

Travelling is a lot more than just going to places. It is about being adventurous, spontaneous and being open to new experiences. It is not about going to Delhi to shop. It is not about going to Switzerland to eat chocolates. It is about going on the metro trains at Delhi and pushing through the crowds, it is about walking around in Lucerne and asking random strangers about the lion monument there. It is everything you do when you are not being a typical tourist.

I want everyone to see the world. As a traveller. And here’s why…

I want people to travel so they see how beautiful the world is. I want people to travel so they get inspired…

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One Lovely Blog Award

October 20, 2015February 4, 2020 / karaknick / Leave a comment

I feel so, so honored that Annie has nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Her blog contains captivating stories, poetry, and other exciting features- please check her out here at What the Woman Wrote.

The Rules

Thank the person who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
List the rules and display the award.
Add 7 facts about yourself.
Nominate 10 – 15 bloggers for the award, and comment on one of their posts to let them know.

7 Facts About Me

I miss the way I knew myself when I was traveling, and I can’t wait for my next adventure.
Although poetry is my first love, I am taking a Creative Nonfiction writing workshop- Madwomen in the Attic, at Carlow University. It is proving to be tough, but it pushes me to become a better writer daily.
My mother is my best friend, and without a doubt my biggest supporter in all things I do.
I work as an Administrative Coordinator at a university, but am still trying to figure out a career.
I have a love/hate relationship with running. I have completed three half marathons, and am set to finish the full Pittsburgh Marathon in the spring.
I’ve lost a lot of friendships, and though it was depressing letting go of those people & the memories that came with them, I have realized they are out of my life for a reason.
Two addictions: Chapstick and chocolate.

My Nominees

The individuals listed below have inspired me, whether it be with their travels, their poetry, or just their thoughts alone. So I’d like to let them know how wonderful and inspirational their blogs are, even if they decide not to participate.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you have a lovely week!

Unbreakable Bonds

October 14, 2015October 14, 2015 / karaknick / 2 Comments

During the past two years since I lived with them in Spain, Jordi (my “host father”) and I had stayed in touch here and there, enough to learn that he finally quit his demanding job at the restaurant, and that he and Roser had separated not even six months after I left. The news hit me hard. I was shocked, as I had seen no sign of it coming, and it was personal, as if they were my own parents. My heart broke for the children. Fortunately, my real parents are still together after many, many years of marriage, so I never had to deal with divorce. I tried to find the words to say, but faltered.

So, after entirely too much time, I finally created a photobook for the kids and shipped it to them in Blanes. I was hoping to preserve our memories together into something tangible, and perhaps provide a joyful distraction.

Here is the picture Jordi sent me of them last week upon getting it in the mail:

I can’t explain what this means to me. Look at how big they are! I had hoped they even remembered me, with Adrià being 3 and Mar, 5, when I was with them.

There is a bond that love creates, and ties us together, and once you’ve felt that connection, you are never the same. Today, I am thankful for these unbreakable bonds of friendship and family. And, cue the tears.