Read Around the World

https://ayearofreadingtheworld.com/thelist/

https://taleaway.com/world-reading-challenge-books-around-globe/

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/52DU7X23VPP1?ref_=wl_share&fbclid=IwAR1lk3cNzxmDVAngcvpZJxC9G_NTXbHZ0JLzh226hAO1QlW0405NNKjHHmQ

AFRICA:

Algeria

 The Lovers of Algeria, by Anouar Benmalek

Angola

 Good Morning Comrades, by Ondjaki

Benin

Stories We Tell Each Other by Rashidah Ismaili Abubakr

Botswana

Saturday is for Funerals, by Unity Dow

Burkina Faso

The Parachute Drop by Norbert Zongo

Burundi
Cabo Verde
Cameroon
Central African Republic (CAR)
Chad
Comoros
Congo, Democratic Republic of the
Congo, Republic of the
Cote d'Ivoire
Djibouti
Egypt
Equatorial Guinea
Eritrea
Eswatini (formerly Swaziland)

 Weeding the Flowerbeds, by Sarah Mkhonza

Ethiopia
    Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese

Gabon
Gambia

Ghana
    Homegoing, by Yaa Gyasi

Guinea
Guinea-Bissau

Kenya
    The Dragonfly Sea, by Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor

Lesotho

Basali! Stories by and about women in Lesotho, Various

Liberia
Libya
Madagascar

Beyond the Rice Fields (Au-delà des rizières) by Naivo, translated from the French by Allison M. Charette

Voices from Madagascar ed. Jacques Bourgeacq and Liliane Ramarosoa 

Malawi

The Jive Talker: Or, How to Get a British Passport by Samson Kambalu

Mali
Mauritania

The Desert and the Drum, Mbarek Ould Beyrouk

Mauritius
Morocco
Mozambique

Ualalapi by Ungulani Ba Ka Khosa

The First Wife (Niketche) by Paulina Chiziane,

Namibia

The Purple Violet of Oshaantu by Neshani Andreas

Niger
    In Sorcery's Shadow: A Memoir of Apprenticeship among the Songhay of Niger, by Paul Stoller

Nigeria
    C N Adichie
    Akwaeke Emezi
    A Man of the People, by Chinua Achebe

Rwanda
Sao Tome and Principe

Senegal:
    So Long a Letter, by Mariama Ba

Seychelles

Sierra Leone
    A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, by Ishmael Beah

Somalia

South Africa:
    It's Trevor Noah: Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood, by Trevor Noah
    The Blessed Girl, by Angela Makholwa

South Sudan

Sudan
    Thirteen Months of Sunrise, by Rania Mamoun

Tanzania

Togo
    Do They Hear You When You Cry, by Fauziya Kassindja

Tunisia

A Tunisian Tale, Hassouna Mosbahi

Uganda
Zambia

A Cowrie of Hope by Binwell Sinyangwe

Zimbabwe

EUROPE

France:

Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo

Ireland:
    Peig: The Autobiography of Peig Sayers of the Great Basket Island, by Peig Sayers

Russia:
    The Master & Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

SOUTH AMERICA

Argentina:
    Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin


Belize:
    Zee Edgell
    Morte e Vida Severina
    Iracema

Colombia:
    Chronicle of a Death Foretold, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez


ASIA

Afghanistan:
    The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini
    A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini

China:
    Red China Blues: My Long March From Mao to Now, by Jan Wong

India:
    The Satanic Verses

Khazakstan:   
    The Day Lasts More Than a Hundred Years, by Chingiz Aitmatov   
    The Dead Wander in the Desert, by Rollan Seisenbayev

 
Japan:
    Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

Lebanon:
    The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran

Palestine:
    The Mural, by Mahmoud Darwish


NORTH AMERICA

Antigua:
    A Small Place, by Jamaica Kincaid

Home. Sick.

I'm trying really hard not to be homesick.

I really am.

I'm trying to accept my transition gracefully, to be thankful for this roof and for my family's providence.

But Tampa's weird ones call to me daily.  I catch whiffs of salty gulf ocean so ephemeral that I wonder if I just made it up (I did).

I miss it, y'all.  I don't want to raise my babies in bama.  The religion is FUCKING OPPRESSIVE here. The politics are terrible. And I have to seek out my weird ones instead of just stumbling upon them on Ybor's street corners. I want my children to be surrounded SURROUNDED by weird, to be free to be atheists or buddhists or whatever they feel called to be without fear of ostracization, to be within minutes of restaurants and houses of worship and places of business that are all owned, operated, and frequented by folks outside of that "white straight male" box.

Your babies drive you to make the changes that you should have made years ago.

The Transition

I spent the past fifteen years living in a blue county in a swing state.

I was born and raised in a red state. I moved from Alabama to Florida when I was 18 and didn't look back for a long time.  For, well, fifteen years.

I thought I was a progressive before I moved to Florida.  I prided myself on how I wasn't a racist and how I cared for the environment. But then Tampa slapped me in the face.  I got a job at University Mall, and I remember being irritated that the Latinx customers didn't speak English.  "They live America!"  I thought to myself.  "Shouldn't they learn the language here?"  I remember thinking it was so strange to see Muslim women wearing hijabs. "But... they live in America. They don't have to wear hijabs here. Why are they still doing it? They are free, now. They don't have to cover up."

I had a painful transition.  Thankfully I had the support and patience from many folks who helped me understand my latent, Alabama-bred racism.

And now, fifteen years later, I'm back in Alabama. I'm living in a blue county, but I'm not living in a swing state anymore.  I'm living in a state of folks who overwhelmingly voted for Trump and who firmly, deeply, truly, undoubtedly believe in the healing and redemptive power of Jesus' blood. I've never lived here as an adult; I've only visited.  And as a visitor, it's easy to just observe and not feel affected by the surrounding culture. But as a resident, it's not. It feels pretty stifling. And suddenly, I feel a little self-conscious when I talk about... well, most anything that I might normally talk about to folks in Tampa. It's like I have to constantly, constantly, constantly filter my thoughts and words so that I'm not saying or doing anything too "radical."

I'm not good at playing a part. I'm not good at acting like I'm okay with something when I'm really not. I see so many folks here playing the part they're expected to play because the surrounding cultural pressures are so great that they don't want to risk stirring the pot.  I can't blame them. I spent a really long time feeling shamed by my family after I told them I didn't go to church or believe in Jehovah God.  It sucks. So I can understand not stirring the pot to save a relationship. But I'm kind of over that, at this point?? I don't know, I just... I spent too long living an authentically expressed life that I find it oppressive to silence my own authenticity in order to make someone else feel comfortable.  And yet, that's what I'm doing.  Every. Single. Day.

People here are nice. I just don't really know how to navigate my interactions with them. Someone from my parents' church gave me several baby items that I needed, and she was so genuine and sincere and thoughtful, and now I'm included on her group texts for prayer warriors.  How do I navigate that? Do I politely text back and explain that I'm a dirty heathen? Do I engage in the text chain with an emphatic, "Praying!!!!"?  Do I ignore altogether? All those options are either disingenuous, brash, or just kind of rude.

I'll close by doing what I do everyday.  Making sure I don't look further into the future than about two weeks at a time.  Otherwise a panic attack starts to set in.

I have nothing to write on

and I have nothing to write with.

Is vinyl made of plastic?  Are you 55 and have never known Led Zeppelin?

I am patient. I am kind.  I will wait.

In vino veritas, and what I want is comfort, stability, familiarity.

I have had these experiences.  I am not here to win.  I am not here to trump. I am here to exist, to be. I am.  What I am.

I have had what I've had.  It is what it is.  It is past.  It is present.  It is future.

Provide me with patience.  Provide me with wisdom.

I am
Solid
Whole
One
Vagina

I can wait.

I would like to sleep without fear.

Biology does not matter in the love I have to give.

Patterns.

With great calm comes great divination.

I remember nothing of worth prior to 2008.  I spent that first quarter century of my life in a muffled fog, though in my twenty-fourth year, I found myself on The Edge of the Bed.  I retain mostly formative impressions from that time in my existence.

The years before 2008 were the years Before I Awoke.

The Break.
In the year 2008, I began The Break from my twenty-five year long fog.  In the month of May, I stepped away from security and familiarity.  Some may think I stepped bravely, but I know that I stepped ignorantly.  Such is the beauty of a naive one... ignorance allows for unknowing bravery.  I made The Break.

The Awakening.
The year 2009 brought to me The Awakening.  Under the stars of the Outback, under the canopy of the Daintree, in the waters of the Barrier Reef, I awoke.  From The Bed I Arose, I met God, I began to speak in tongues.  I learned the greatest lesson of all during the month of May in my twenty-sixth year, which was to stop searching and instead begin receiving. 

The Search.
I do not recall much of the year 2010 -- mostly because I found very little in that year; I just spent time searching wildly.  I remember realizing that my divinity was being stifled by my partner, and I remember breaking up with him in the month of May of that year. I remember nesting for a few months after that.  I remember the call of the West and my travels to Wyoming and Montana.  I remember sleeping with a lot of people.  The Awakening of 2009 drove me to The Search during my twenty-seventh year.  This, this search for God and Sex and The Call of the West... in spite of having learned not to search during the prior year.

The Epiphany.
The year 2011 was the year of The Epiphany, The Recognition. A five-thousand mile love affair, begun in May of that year, finally allowed me to recognize my deep fear of love and commitment.  Also in May,  I began to hit a low, soul-crushing point in my career, which ultimately allowed me to recognize that I truly valued community over money.  These epiphanies were the impetus for my local love affair -- both literally and figuratively.  They prompted my trepid search for a physically present partner, not one that required a plane flight to touch. They inspired the creation of free, local exchanges of knowledge and hammered the final nail in the coffin of my stint as a corporate whore.

The Compression.
The year 2012 proved to be... very loud. I became sensitive and winced whenever 2012 touched me.  I retracted. I shied away. I closed my bedroom door and crept back toward my bed during the party. I avoided daylight. I fell. My epiphanies of the prior year held no sway over the compression I underwent after I took the plunge to follow a pipe dream.  During the month of May of 2012, my world shifted into something unapproachable, unhealthy, and cowardly.  It was the year of The Darkness Before The Light.  The Agitation Before The Calm.  My twenty-ninth year was The Compression Before The Expansion. 

____________________

I had a session with Nyssa at Upward Spiral Therapy yesterday.  I came in full of anger and resentment.  I came in full of tired agitation.  I came in feeling like all of 2012 was lying acutely on my shoulders.  I came in, not wanting to talk about anything.

I opened my mouth and didn't stop talking for an hour. 

She had me lie down on the table.  We didn't do any muscle testing for essential oils yesterday; she simply went straight to lime and ylang ylang and suggested that those would be most beneficial for me at this time. 

Lime cultivates cultivate calmness out of agitation.  (I make the time for quiet reflection).

Ylang cultivates mindfulness out of anger.  (There is mindfulness in every step I take).

She sprinkled five drops of lime on a tissue, laid it over my eyes, and placed an herbal heating pack on top of that.  "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives," she quoted from Annie Dillard. She read from the Blossoming Heart book on aromatherapeutic healing.  Lime helps clear heated emotions in times of turmoil and returns you to a place of calm and ease. 

Then she placed two drops of ylang oil on another tissue and placed that over my eyes, as well, to create the blend I would breathe in during the therapy session.  "My religion is simple.  My religion is kindness," she quoted from the Dalai Lama. She read more from the Blossoming Heart book.  Ylang helps to soften attitudes and evokes flexibility during trying times.

Nyssa began our session for the afternoon.  She led me on a guided meditation.  With the lime and ylang blend, she placed her hands on my chest and took me through a Buddhist exercise in generating compassion and lovingkindness toward people in our lives. 

[I only feel anger because I do not have full understanding of others' lives.  I would choose to act in the same manner if I had experienced all their cumulative life experiences.  I can forgive, better yet, I can understand and experience compassion toward those who may anger me.  Forgiveness as the ultimate goal is not necessary -- Compassion as the ultimate goal is necessary, for forgiveness comes without effort when it is on the heels of true compassion].

She placed a warm salt stone on my chest and ended the session by applying the oil blend to pressure points on my feet, to help guide my steps everyday.

When I came out, all was calm.  All was forgiven. 

______________________

The Transformation.
The year 2013 is my year to come into the Light.  To obtain Calm. To reach Expansion.  To listen more and speak less.  To use all that I have learned, all that I have experienced, all that I have given and taken, and offer it for The Transformation.

How we spend our days, is, of course, how we spend our lives.  I will choose to spend my days calmly in 2013.

Still I Rise

"Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn't learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn't learn a little,
at least we didn't get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn't die;
so, let us all be thankful."

Someone who is kind
Someone who is compassionate
Someone who is patient
Someone who is thoughtful
Someone who speaks care-fully
Someone who listens with the intent of understanding, not with the intent of replying
Someone who touches tenderly
Someone who is interested in finding commonality, not difference
Someone who acts out of compassion, not out of self-glorification
Someone who values community over individuality, happiness over material, and the infinite over today.

2013 will be my year of calm.

Ohm.

Yule Blessings

Frigga photo credit:
http://goddessofthemonth.
mystaiofthemoon.com/frigga.html

Happy Winter Solstice, all! 

May the Great Mother gahdess Frigga provide us with blessings of comforting warmth in times of cold, rejuvenating rest in times of exhaustion, introspective and grounded thought in times of distress, and mostly importantly, may she birth for us a guiding light in times of dark winter evenings.

May our hope and faith in the rebirth of spring not falter along our wintry paths, and may we use this time of quiet darkness as a welcome opportunity to heal, grow gently, and restore ourselves in preparation of the upcoming season of new beginnings. May we care-fully cradle the seeds we plant in our time of hibernation, so that they provide us with healthy shade under Eostre's guiding hand when the vernal equinox turns.

May peace be with us all as we approach the upcoming shift, and may we experience the transition gently and with universal compassion for ourselves and for one another.  May our hearts guide our paths into the new age, for the benefit of all beings.

Cistus

"Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times.
Come, yet again, come, come.”

― Rumi

I spent last week in a state of total mess.

Monday I spent in a daze. Tuesday crying.  Wednesday angry. Thursday I spent madly bouncing between anger, sadness, guilt, and a deep despairing emptiness. Friday, I spent my last energy reserves confessing previously unspoken love, before I fell asleep, exhausted, for 11 hours.

-----------------
In a sudden twist, I JUST REALIZED THAT EVERYTHING ROBERT SMITH SAID HAS COME TRUE!

Monday, fell apart.
Tuesday, Wednesday, broken heart.
Thursday, didn't even start. Moped around all day.
Friday, in love.
------------------

I muscle tested for an essential oil called cistus in my session at Upward Spiral Therapy with Nyssa yesterday. I never cease to be amazed at how accurately my body is able to determine just what aroma I need to breathe in while Nyssa adjusts my mind.  Cistus (or Rose of Sharon), it turns out, helps facilitate a move from "shocked" to "restored."

Shocked is a good word for what I've been the past week.  Shocked at the experience of the first broken heart of my entire adult life. Shocked emotionally. Shocked physically.  A broken heart is he most shocking thing one could ever experience, and I suddenly get it.  I get the cliches, I get the melodrama... I get all of it. You can hear people talk about a broken heart all day, but until you experience it, all the talk in the world adds up to a big pile of empty jabber.

During the cranial session yesterday, Nyssa bent the left side of my brain and, simultaneously, I fell into the familiar swirling dark and rose up into a mindful expansion.  People pop in and out of my mind's eye when she works on me, but yesterday I mostly saw... myself.  I breathed in deeply from the tissue dotted with the warm and comforting aroma of cistus oil and I thought about these things:  

{Why would I choose to fall in love with someone completely inaccessible?  I chose to be my most vulnerable with the person who was least accessible. And my reward was a shattered heart. Thank you, spirit, for the pieces of my heart... for allowing me to experience the process of being tenderly ripped and brought, un-breathing, to my knees. For allowing me to know this, to cultivate empathy. To recognize that my greatest comfort is in my perpetual and final rejection.}

She finished her work and left the room with a "Take your time, darlin," and I laid on the table and vibrated for a few moments.  My arms had lost feeling in them and my legs were tense.  I opened my eyes and released, and I was done.

I left Upward Spiral and walked to my truck.  And suddenly everything seemed so silly. Being in love with the inaccessible seemed silly.  Maybe I've hit the "indifference" stage. Or maybe I'm just ready for something real. Maybe this was my greatest lesson in vulnerability... the lesson I tried so hard to learn with D.

Thank you, thank you, for this progressive restoration out of a shocked broken-ness.

Brew Yr Own

Sometimes I sit in my bed at 2 a.m. and have so much stuff
floating around in my head that I can't actually even write
it down.  So I scribble some disconnected, nonsensical
notes and post them here.
-M

D told me yesterday that I had been mean to him.

Am I mean?  That is so upsetting.

K's reply to this sentiment was that I wasn't mean -- I just know what I want, and whenever I make my mind up, it is really clear that my mind is made up.

I mean, of course I like K's explanation better.  I don't like to think I'm mean.  Maybe I'm mean and I don't always realize it.  Which might be worse than being intentionally mean, I don't know.  I'm too tired right now to decide which is worse. 

I actually bite my tongue a lot.  Like... a fucking lot. I guess I can either keep biting my tongue and be considered mean, or I can start calling people out on their shit all the time and, well, be considered mean.  (Hey P.S. this wouldn't actually be a concern if I had a dick).

On a somewhat related note -- Hey guys, when you make a sexist remark and then someone calls you out on it and your response is "It was a joke, take it easy!" then you look a lot like an asshole.  Mostly because it wasn't actually a joke. At least own your sexism instead of saying that you were just "making a joke."

And finally.  It's not that I'm planning on showing you up... but I'm totally going to show you up. *shrugs*

cleaning all the things

I remember...

When P.O. broke up with me when i was a senior in high school, and mom took me to Turtle's record store in Center Point to buy me the new Five For Fighting album, America Town.

When I watched S.K.I.P. perform for the first time at the Crowbar, when he opened for Sol.illaquists of Sound, and me and my husband watched with mouths agape.

When I talked about the sublime Sublime CD with my girlfriends in middle school, and how we fawned over Bradley.

When I watched Matt Butcher perform at New World Brewery and cried over it and bought a t-shirt and an album, and wanted to buy something else but he didn't have anything else, so instead I gave him cash and asked him to keep making music.

When B drove from the Wilderness Preserve to buy brewing supplies in Tampa and I took him to Vinyl Fever and spent $100 on a bazillion albums.  Courtyard Hounds, MIA, Passion Pit...

When I skipped work to go to Treasure Island with A and we stopped at the record store on the way home and I bought Jenny Lewis and Rolling Stones albums.

When Microgroove hosted a free skool on vinyl.  When I bought CDs afterward.  When I felt amazing that I had begun something that I was watching take its own form and shape.

When I took English II at Florida College with Mrs. Atherton. She showed a lot of cleavage and made us read the Yellow Wallpaper.  I remember her accusing me of plagiarism.  And I remember going to the Dean of the school and telling him that it was bullshit.  And I remember him telling me that Mrs. Atherton had been a devoted professor at Florida College for years and would never falsely accuse someone.   And I remember that being an incredibly pivotal point in my career as a Christian... what a terribly, terribly narrow mindset everyone maintained at that institution. 

When I enrolled at HCC, and everything fell into line.  Everything was organized.  Neatly written.  Labeled.  I could find the answer if I tried hard enough.  Everything made sense, everything was clear.  I can't find the answers, now.

When I enrolled at University of Florida.  My first semester at UF was the semester that K and I split up.  I remember my concentration breaking.  My notes faltering.  My logical, neat, organized, sensible system began to falter.  When Natural Resource Policies and learning about legislation to create drainage districts seemed interesting but not interesting enough because suddenly, a whole new world was opening to me, and so my enrollment at UF also began my enrollment in a life that was messy, and scary, and demanded me to press on into previously uncharted territories.

Adjust(ing)

Just kidding!  It actually means "I love beer."
-M

I got a bunch of ink across my chest at the end of September this year. It has taken me a minute to adjust to it. In fact, for the past month or two, I've done a mental (and sometimes physical) facepalm each time I've walked past a mirror.

Last night, I put on a shirt I haven't worn since I got the tattoo.  The collar of the shirt framed the ink really well, and for the first time in a couple of months, I found that the scales tipped in favor of feeling uber proud as opposed to uber surprised/overwhelmed that I tattooed the shit out of my chest.  Coincidentally, this morning, my roommate asked me how I was feeling about the chest piece.  I told her that as of last night, I seemed to have finally reached a point where I've adjusted to having it.  She replied that I seemed less stressed to be wearing it.

My ancestors are Scottish; my last name is McKenzie. The McKenzie clan has historically been a bunch of scoundrels that usurped kings and caused a lot of trouble. They like to fight. (I've been told that the first McKenzies came to America during the Civil War simply because they heard there was an opportunity to battle). ;-)  The chest piece is the first half of the McKenzie clan's motto.  Our entire motto is "Virtute et valare, luceo non uro" which means "With virtue and valor, I shine, not burn."

I've always been interested in McKenzie clan history and I've specifically been intrigued with such an interesting motto. The motto makes sense to me for what I want in my life.  As much as I talk about being a peaceloving hippie, I like to fight. I like to fight for big ideas, for my beliefs, to the ideologies that I stand for.  I am done subscribing to things I don't believe in.  It is time to pave my own way, to choose the reality I want, to raise my middle finger to those who stand in my way. But I want to do it virtuously (for the good of those around me), and with bravery (not out of fear). Only with virtue and valor can you shine... otherwise you simply burn up. Your actions don't matter if they aren't done with virtue and valor, no matter how passionate you are.

The second half (luceo non uro) will go on my back sometime next year.

A Reality of Extremes

I still believe in the sticks of fire,
M

On days like today I am reminded of my path.

I read a tiny zine one time. 

It told me that I would follow my path because I believed in it.  Along the path I would be rich, and I would also be destitute.  Along the path, I would be stuck for what seems to be ages in one city, and I would also travel to places I'd never dreamed of. Along the path, I would cry harder than I'd ever cried, and I would also experience joy deeper than I thought possible.  Along the path I would be hungry and I would be full.  I would be well-rested and sleep-deprived.

Three weeks ago, I broke up with D, and have been violently bouncing between feelings of [elation at my re-found creativity] and [thoughts of inadequacy].  Two days ago, I had a meeting with the owner of a prominent local brewery, who said that my partner and I could have access to $15K worth of his equipment in order to start a community brewpub, contingent upon us getting our licensing and certifications in place.  Today, my truck overheated and needs a radiator repair, and I have $100 to my name.  Also today, I was offered a trip to Costa Rica in April, to travel with the family I babysit for, with expenses paid.

I am so rich and so poor at the same time.  I can't repair my car but I have access to $15K of brewing equipment. I am exhausted at working three jobs, but I feel more alive, more creative, and more productive than I have in years.  I am stuck in Tampa, I am travelling richly.

I am also having regular deja vu.  When I make tea, when I brew beer. 

I am doing this right.