Palmtree Contemplations

      When I was growing up in Brasil, there was one thing I always wanted that nearly every other Brasilian MK had: a tuberculosis shot scar. For years, I played soccer alongside these kids, swam in the river with them, and cooked sausage with them on our camping trips. Whenever I  brushed up against a sweaty body and saw the sun shining on that round indentation, or when I caught sight of a bared upper arm at swim time, or when the firelight lit us up with its flickering glow, whenever any of that happened I wished that I could look down and see a mirror image of the other person's scar. It was more than just a scar. It was a badge of honor in my mind. To be able to see someone else's scar, and then to look down and see an identical one on your body meant you fit somehow. You were one of the clan.        The reason I don't have one of those scars is besides the point. I still grew up there. The scents and sounds of that place are in my soul, and I do not believe they wil

A true phrase: "People are creatures of habit." I learned this one in my psychology class during my senior year. As soon as I heard it, I did what all psychology students do: I began analyzing all of my friends to see how true it was. After I grew bored with them, I started analyzing myself to see if I conformed to this statement. And of course, I did. There is one particular habit that I still maintain: flip-flop flinging. How do I fling my flip-flops? I pull my foot back, kick it and fling the flip-flop off. I'm always trying to fling them in such a way that they land right side up. It's harder than it sounds, believe me. At home, I always used to fling my flip-flops right after lunch, just before I walked home. On one particular day I came out into the bright sunshine, and did what I always did. I brought one foot back and kicked hard, sending the flip-flip end over end. The second one followed quickly after. They both went spiraling through the air in two pe

        When I was little I spent hours and hours pouring over a collection of fairy tales. It was a magical book, and by magical I don't mean full of unicorns, rainbows, and Disney pixies in bedazzled miniskirts. The book was an unimpressive dark blue on the outside, but the inside was a place of wonder where I lost myself for hours and hours. This was magic: something so seemingly plain could hold such beauty within.        One of my most favorite stories to read was The Princess and Pea. I used to read that story on stormy nights in the middle of rainy season, imagining how awful the princess must have felt being stuck in a downpour like the one outside my window. I was always disappointed, though, because I felt that I never knew enough about the princess or the prince.       Which is why I was very happy when I stumbled across Mark Swan's animated film The Princess and the Pea. Swan's rendition shows the Prince Rollo being a very idealistic prince when he is young. H