ICScribbles

Hot Ammonia: The Smell of Public Transit

icscribbles — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 13:01:00 GMT

It’s a long rocky ride

From the far north side

To one hundred and third and Oak Park.

Where the rumble of rails

And intercom squeals

Make handwriting an illegible chore.

Between dust and dead skin

Hot ammonia grasps metal

Its stench hiding remnants of piss.

I’m probably better not knowing

What disease keeps rubbing

On my palms when I cling to the rail.

When the subway arrives,

It’s no big surprise that

All hands shuffle in pockets for iPods.

But a bum screams enough

Into a red thermos cup

That passengers remark, all appalled.

With Lady Soverign blaring

Two kids keep on nagging

When we’re all better not knowing why.

With no cars or concrete

Passing the window at speed

Daddy next door is having some trouble.

“If the tram is a square

Why are those walls curved?”

He remarks like an unsung superhero.

The kids sit stumped.

My legs lie crossed, ‘till

Joints graze with a deaf one seat over.

Speaking without saying,

Am I better for not knowing

The exciting topic his torso flails for?

Rising up from the depths

Gray sky plasters wet

Splashes on tin topped pagoda roofs.

As a single girl out

To conquer the heart

Of Chicago, I don’t mind heading downtown.

For the thrill of the ride

I’ll document this stride

Until I roll into bed back at home.

Photos: Yasawa Islands, Fiji

icscribbles — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 14:57:00 GMT

Please visit www.ramencartel.deviantart.com for more photos!

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food: Backpacking through the Yasawas

icscribbles — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 14:00:00 GMT

On our last night on Naviti Island, Diana and I played Kings, a popular Aussie drinking game with Ben, Elle, and 2 Swiss-German girls at the teachers’ private Tiki hut. It was late. The bar was closed and the island’s generator had shut down. A torch in Elle’s hand revealed two loveseats, a coffee table, and a tall stretch of drywall supporting a palm thatched roof. As Diana and I shook the sand from our sandals, the Swiss girl with blonde hair offered up a bottle of vodka from the airport’s duty free.

Around the fourth turn, one of the Swiss girls picked a card which gave them the power to add any rule they wished to the game. After some hushed deliberation with her friend, they created the ingenious ‘YES’ rule. If you verbally affirm anything, you had to 'take a drink.' These girls were cheeky. They would tease the four of us with questions about our trip so we would unwittingly break the rule. Ben became a total mess as the night rolled on, always reassuring the girls that they pronounced Melbourne, magpies, and rugby correctly.

When we all grew fed up, half the group went out for a smoke while Diana and I sat on the porch looking out at the milky way hanging over the ocean. Without a lamp on for miles around, I realized how remote Naviti was… until Diana snatched away my moment in wonderland.

“Do ya think Aussie guys express their feelings well?”

she said, too tired to tame her drawl. Immediately thinking of my housemate’s pick-up artist shenanigans, I said “Sometimes”.

Suddenly, Elle jumped over us. She had snatched a basket Ben made with the natives that afternoon and stomped all over it. He picked it up and sarcastically proclaimed,

“You know, I wove a basket and put all these pretty flowers and @#$% in it! How much girlier can I be??

Girls don’t appreciate anything.”

He ripped it up in front of us before chasing Elle and the Swiss girls around the bungalow and out to the bonfire at the edge of the beach.

Now, when I look at my basket resting against the bedpost, I can’t help remembering my days backpacking through Fiji and giggling a bit.