Marvelous Magical München:

Munich was our first stop on our ten-day scamper across Central Europe and it was easily my favorite city. It was all charming: the buildings were charming, the gardens were charming, the people were charming, the streets were charming, the cafes were charming, even the weather was charming. Part of it may be that it was our first city and so our spirits were high and our energy was yet to be waned from days of train rides and walking. I have the most pictures of Munich, the way parents have the most pictures of their first-born. But day-one-excitement is only part of the monumental magic of Munich. The place truly is magnificent. (Have I used enough M-adjectives yet?)

I began to lose my heart to Munich when I entered Hofgarten and gasped at its Renaissance beauty. There were couples scattered around the garden looking serene and pleasantly in love (as opposed to annoyingly in love à la all couples at BYU). In the center of the garden is a pavilion in honor of the goddess Diana. That afternoon, music was playing in the pavilion and a ballroom dance class was practicing (or perhaps performing) recently learned routines. We watched as middle-aged couples danced, some on beat, some off, but in obvious enjoyment of being with their loved one. It was a beautiful moment to watch.

We then walked a few blocks north to Englischer Garten. Englischer Garten is massive park, bigger than Central Park, and is more like a forest oasis amid the baroque urban splendor of the rest of Munich. The park isn't manicured like Hofgarten, it's overgrown and woodsy with rivers flowing through it. At the southern tip of the park, surfers surf artificial waves produced on the Eisbach River. Even on an overcast and moderately cool day, there were many people both surfing and watching in general amazement of the man-made swells.

We ended our perfect Saturday in the most perfect way. We walked back to the city center where we happened upon the annual outdoor classical music concert, called "Klassik am Odeonsplatz." The whole square was blocked off around the stage and entry fees were steep for a seat in the audience. So, we joined the crowds of young people laying down blankets, sheets, or coats on the lawns and opening bottles of wine in the gardens of the Residenz. As soon as the sun set, the performance began. And like the moment was scripted for us, we lay on the grass on a perfectly cool summer night and listened to the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra play some of the world's most famous classical movements.

I have no quality pictures from that night, so this stock photo of the Klassik am Odeonsplatz will have to do.

After the show, we meandered to Mariensplatz to see the Rathaus-Glockenspeil by night. On our way, we passed an outdoor club where a chandelier hung from a crane, obscure music played, and only handful of dancers danced strangely--more like hopped around like drunken deer. Granted, it wasn't even midnight and so it was still quite early for clubbing to begin. Anything before midnight is considered "evening" in these parts. Anyways, we left the eccentric behind and continued on to extravagant. Mariensplatz at night is one of the most stunning scenes I have ever seen. The crummy nighttime picture below hardly does it any justice.

The next day, we spent most of the morning and early afternoon touring the Residenz. The Residenz is the royal palace of the Bavarian kings and the seat of government for the old Bavarian state. Its construction began in 1385, but each generation of kings built a new section to the palace in the architecture and decor of the time. Thus, today the Residenz is a sprawling mansion with room after room of overwhelming glory. After hours of exploring, we still didn't get to see the entire thing. Excessive amount of photos following:

Whichever king ordered this tapestry has good taste in Biblical prophetesses.

Bavarian royals return.

Other city wanderings:

Mariensplatz' interior patio.

Red roofed and regal.

More Hofgarten.

Taking a break from too many amazing things.

If life dropped me here again, I can't say I would complain. Auf Wiedersehen, München.

All I want in life is this:

Thank you again, deshommesetdeschatons.tumblr.com.

To his Coy Mistress:

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.


But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.


Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

--Andrew Marvell

Thank God for the U.S.A. and for a healthy body:

For me, this fourth of July was steeped strongly in emotion and sentiment. For the first time I celebrated my country's independence abroad. Across an ocean and far on the eastern side of the European continent, I've felt American pride stronger than I ever have before--especially on this remarkably, historical day. I've heard about the extraordinary national pride one often accumulates when one goes overseas, but I didn't expect it to be so strong. I don't necessarily miss the United States, at least not yet, I miss my family, but necessarily the country. (I miss good food, but that's a Lithuanian problem, not a non-American problem.) However, I can see my country's virtues better when I view them from a distance. My country's weaknesses are just as apparent to me here as they are at home, but I am less critical of them. Perhaps it is because I understand better that every country has its corruption, hypocrisies, and problems. Or perhaps it is since, as a foreigner, I embody the name of America and so I feel obligated to love that which I represent. Either way, the pride is real. Don't get me wrong, I love Europe. It is beautiful and romantic and soul-cleansing. But the United States is exceptional for its foundation, resilience, and prosperity.

My unexpected national pride is only one small part of the emotions I felt on Friday. It was also a day of reflection. One year ago on this day, I watched fireworks explode over the Willamette from my hospital bed at OHSU. I was nauseous and in pain as I watched the fireworks. It was a beautiful view from the west hills of Portland, but it was a view I could not appreciate as my 85 pounds lay there peering out the window. I knew I should have been enjoying the sights, but I felt nothing but depression. After ten minutes or so, I turned away from the celebration, called the nurse to give me my nightly pills, and went to sleep. I think I awoke later that night retching up green bile. I didn't cry that night, that night I remember accepting my fate, irrationally accepting that this was my life and would be my life forever.

On Friday, I reflected on that day and I will inevitably do the same on every fourth of July to come. I will remember that day and that summer that seems so distant, as if it was on another plane and lived by another person, and yet so recent too. One year goes by quickly. Some days I look at my six-inch, red, bumpy scar and the despair I felt then comes searing back. I feel fragile and vulnerable. And other days, I look at it and I smile at what I've overcome. It is a painful memory, but I am thankful for it. Well, I don't know if thankful is that right word, but I don't wish it away. I guess I am thankful for the outcome. I am thankful that I don't have a pre-cancerous pancreatic tumor that could turn malignant any day and kill me. (I mean, duh.) I am thankful for the life experience. And I am thankful for the empathy I have gained. I know my situation is nothing compared to some, I feel silly when I dwell on it, but that summer changed me. It wrecked me in ways that I still trying to remedy via anti-depressants and therapy, but it also strengthened me. I am glad that the fourth of July will always be a day for me to remember the past, analyze the present, and look to the future.

To end on a happy note, here are some pictures of the little fourth of July party we threw for our Lithuanian/Russian English students:

My House of Cards Life in Washington, D.C.:

Just kidding, my life was nothing like House of Cards (original UK or copycat US versions, ahem hipster points--thanks), but it was still pretty great despite its lack of sex scandals, dirty politicians, murder, and Kevin Spacey.

My life in Washington was a dream. I lived in one of the best parts of town, I worked on Pennsylvania Avenue researching things I love, and I played with cool people all weekend. It's high time I posted some of these experiences. Mostly, I need to write them down for myself so my experiences won't blur into oblivion in my terrible memory.

A list of a bunch of my favorite things:

Meeting a Brazilian businessman on a layover from New York and showing him the city in snow and subfreezing temperatures. (Don't worry there were four of us cheery BYU students taking him around.)

Late night runs with Devin around the mall, up to embassy row, through Georgetown, or wherever our feet led us.

Walking home from work and passing the IMF, the World Bank, the Treasury, and the White House.

Lunches with Hannah at the Navy Memorial, Sculpture Garden, on the Mall, or at our favorite little cafe, Teaism.

Attending a forum on Women in Congress hosted at the National Archives with panelists Mary Bono, Carol Moseley Braun, Barbara Kennelly, Blanche Lincoln, and Constance Morella and closing remark by the goddess of politics, Nancy Pelosi.

Making friends with the security guard in Ronald Reagan complex.

Sneaking into a panel discussion on Russia and Ukraine hosted by Bob Schieffer at CSIS.

Our first warm spring night chatting with Michelle, Hilary, Hannah, and Sydnee on the waterfront.

Going to the Peacock Room at the Freer Gallery with Hannah, my art historian friend.

Jaunts to Georgetown whenever there was a spare moment for shopping and eating out. You're welcome Georgetown businesses for all my money.

Eating with Heather at a gorgeous Italian restaurant where an old man with a violin serenaded us until closing, told us about his time playing at the White House during the Johnson(?)/Nixon(?) administration, and then patted us both on the arm and kissed our heads.

BTS milkshakes err day.

Lunch with my dearest cousin and her wife in Friendship Heights.

Meeting people like the ambassador (sorry DPRK, "special envoy") to North Korea, Bob King, the Honorable Harry Reid, and kickass foreign policy guy, Jon Huntsman.

Briefings from lobbyists for hot topics: gay marriage, gun control, business law, campaign finance reform, etc.

A whirlwind weekend trip to Chicago.

A night out to a fancy club with Joe and Alex, wearing an expensive dress (that I unashamedly returned the next day) and drinking $7 coke at the W.

Steak dinner with Adam and the missionaries where he treated us to basically everything in the restaurant, minus the booze.

Going on a date with a stranger guy from Tajikistan. Just kidding, that was awful. Lesson learned in assertiveness: it's okay to say no to dates with guys who pick you up at the movie theater.

Hot chocolate and gluten-free cupcakes at Baked & Wired.

Joe dancing on.all.surfaces.

Trip to Philadelphia where Adam and I shared precious moments of secret love (seen below).

Snow days and therefore no work every other week.

Making a gigantic dish of deliciously fattening gruyere and cheddar macaroni and cheese and eating it all with Savannah and Ken while watching About Time. Oh, and carrot cake. Can't forget about the delectable carrot cake.

Watching About Time every weekend for the next month with Hannah, Michelle, Sydnee, and Heather.

Busboys and Poets open mic poetry nights with Hannah, Colin, Jenoa, Liz, Michelle, Guy, and Peter.

Guy Emmanuel Barnes. Enough said.

Documentary night at Savannah's.

Weekend in Baltimore with my six/seventh/eighth grade love and super smart Hopkins student. Luh u Dan.

Late nights with Michelle where we figured out all secrets of the universe, but then both slept in for work the next morning.

Asking a pertinent question during a Wilson Center lecture event and feeling smart.

Mom coming to visit and taking me to Williamsburg and Jamestown.

Seeing Pocahontas marry John Rolf.

Sri Lankan dance performance at the Kennedy Center.

Last day at work when my scholars took me out for dinner and we ate our weight in Indian food.

Love affair with well-dressed West Wing staffer and Rob Lowe lookalike. (ugh this one's not true unfortunately.)

Improv ipod dance party event on the mall.

And the cherry blossoms to tie the entire experience off in a perfect pink bow.

And now photos:

I worked here guyz, I know.

Obnoxiously large American flag at the Chamber of Commerce that took up an entire wall. Just in case we were unsure about their patriotism.

Berlin Wall at the Newseum

My favorite street in Georgetown

My sweet cousin, Teresa.

Korean War Memorial, fittingly in the snow.

Oh just a ten minute walk from my house, on my way to see B-rock.

These guys are the best friends to have in a wintery DC.

In case you forgot that this is America, here's a bajillion flags on the old post office.

Priesthood meeting with Senator Flake. (oh, and Ashley)

Because I couldn't post the typical view of the Bean. Come on ppl.

View from the women's bathroom on the top floor of the Hancock Tower.

Seen on the mall. Is this 2014... or?

Cute reenactors in their natural habitat outside Independence Hall in Philadelphia.

Then they caught me and posed. Still cute.

And so was he.

Having a fun time looking at the bones of cannibal victims at Jamestown.

Hannah, thanks for being my own personal historian.

Adam is less than enthused about my affection, but reluctantly accepting it.

Except here. I win.

Philly thugs wear aeropostale duh.

So tired just let me sleep here on this grass.

Georgetown nights where I look cute.

Oh hai Jefferson and paddle-boater.

Lunch break with Hannah in the sunlight and springtime air, feeling our bones thaw after weeks of Arctic winds and bitter snows.

Take me back okay.

Thoughts From a Gun-Lover's Daughter:

When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my dad’s lap and play the most violent shoot ‘em up computer games. My hand would be on the joystick and together we would shoot and kill hundreds of monsters that exploded into blood and gore and a pile of bones on the pixilated screen. I adored my dad and I adored those lazy Sundays playing Doom with him. When I was a bit older, he took me to the real shooting range. Before I entered fourth grade, I could hit the bull’s-eye of a gun target at 25 yards. I was a tiny girl, but I was a mean shot with a .22 handgun.

Thus, I was raised to be the gun-loving daughter of a vehement NRA member. And while my dad loves target shooting, he never hunts. He is harmless and even-tempered. But he loves guns. And I loved guns because they strengthened our bond.

Despite my childhood, I am a fervent supporter of gun control. The argument that “people who kill people, not guns” is plausible; but I would argue that guns make killing easier. The FBI reported that firearms executed two-thirds of homicides and one-half of suicides in 2011. A study by the Harvard School of Public Health reported statistical evidence that wherever there are more firearms there are more homicides. Violent crimes are often committed out of passion and opportunity. Thus, if guns are easily accessible, then crime is easily perpetrated. Building a cumbersome wall around dangerous opportunity is vital to reducing crime. The most determined criminal may resort to other means, but if violent crimes can only be accomplished through intricate planning, the average criminal will be deterred.

Moreover, the argument against gun control hinges on the Constitution. The Second Amendment—the right to bear arms—is the crutch on which the entire anti-gun control argument leans. But why? The Constitution is not canon and so it should not be treated as such. The Second Amendment was written in 1791; certainly times have changed since our forefathers drafted those words. Also, if there is consensual agreement that bearing arms is a human right, it must be noted that human rights are still subject to stipulations. Even our right to free speech comes with an asterisk on slander and libel. Gun control regulations, like mental health background checks and restrictions on the types of firearms, do not mutilate our founding fathers’ vision for a free country.

If we count the number of massacres in our country beginning with the tragedy at Columbine and end with the most recent at Sandy Hook Elementary, the numbers are astounding in relation to the rest of the developed world. When we compare the United States to countries that have similar cultures and comparable levels of security, like Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom, our murder rates are off the charts. The difference is their laws; it is either impossible or very difficult to own firearms in these countries. However, it took devastating shootings for these countries to institute gun laws. In Australia, a massacre in 1996 that killed 35 people was the final straw. Within weeks, its government passed gun reform laws that banned assault weapons and tightened licensing. And the laws worked. Firearm homicides in Australia have dropped by 59 percent from 1995 to 2006. I ask, what magnitude of massacre will induce the United States to reform its laws?

There is a plethora of studies and counter-studies and counter-counter-studies that argue statistics back and forth endlessly. However, instead of politicizing the argument, we need to take off our blinders and realize there is a problem. The United States has the highest rate of mass shootings in the developed world, a murder rate that is 15 times that of other wealthy countries, and 2012 saw the highest number of shooting causalities in decades. And in none of these cases was there a civilian who fired back.

If an infectious disease were ravaging our country’s children, the public and the government would do everything in their power to stop the epidemic. Even if extreme religious groups who believed only in faith healing were protesting modern medicine, the CDC and every top research university would disregard and scorn their protest and continue to look for a cure. The faith healers would have a right to their belief, but society always has a greater right to protect its people. A cure would be found and given to every child in the country. Should not it be the same case with gun control? Guns are killing children. The status quo is failing. We need further restrictions. We need it to be extremely hard to buy a gun so that sane, pacifist people like my dad can still enjoy his weekend clay pigeon shooting, but people like Adam Lanza never harm anyone again.

--- An article submitted and printed in the January issue of Brigham Young University's student run paper, the Political Review.

Landed a super cool internship for only super smart cool people like me:

It's time I publicly announced my upcoming internship in Washington D.C. for next semester (January-April). I have been hired as a research assistant at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. The Wilson Center is a prestigious research organization (rated among the top fifteen think tanks in the world) where permanent scholars and visiting scholars study various topics, mostly related to international relations. However, it has numerous departments varying in all different subject areas. Their mission, as noted by their website, is “to commemorate the ideals and concerns of Woodrow Wilson by: providing a link between the world of ideas and the world of policy; and fostering research, study, discussion, and collaboration among a full spectrum of individuals concerned with policy and scholarship in national and world affairs.”

See more here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/

I will be working as a personal research assistant to two visiting fellows. When they hired me, they gave me a list of five scholars to choose from and naturally I selected the two women. They are both intelligent, distinguished, ambitious women with top credentials.

Alison Brysk. She is a professor of global governance and international studies at UC Santa Barbara. Her research specialities include human rights, law, foreign policy, and female empowerment. Her project at the Wilson Center to which I will be contributing is titled: "Women's Rights as Human Rights: Constructing Political Will."

More here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/staff/alison-brysk


Erica Marat. She is an expert in security studies of Central Asia, with specific interests in military effectiveness, state-building, defense, nationalism and identity, and political Islam. She has traveled widely, attended graduate school in Central Asia, and currently teaches at Georgetown. Her projects is titled: "Reforming Police Forces in Postcommunist Countries: International Efforts, Domestic Heroes."

More here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/staff/erica-marat

Finally, the Wilson Center itself. It is part of the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center-- an impressive, expansive, stone complex near the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue. It's beautiful. Here are pictures:

More here: Google Plus Photos

Needless to say, but I'm excited. One step closer to being powerful and important. And one step closer to marrying my rich Senator of a husband.

My kind of man:

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing this. Watch.

Life Advice for a Budding Adult:

As I am a young adult in a stage of flux and decision-making, those older than me feel the need to bestow their sage words of life wisdom upon me. It's actually kind of nice, when it's not annoying. At school, I have attended numerous lectures on campus given by successful people who love to tell us youthful, inexperienced, ignorant college students how to "make it." Most of it goes in one ear and out the other because I am either already aware or because I am too overwhelmed.

However, recently one of my very favorite professors offered three things to do every day to be successful and happy in life. I love them. I am going to remember his words forever.

He said, every day to make sure to:

1. Engage the Lord.
2. Engage His children.
3. Engage your dreams.

I think that adequately sums up how to be happy and fulfilled. So thank you, Dr. Kirkham.

Dear You:

It was really hard to concentrate on your presentation about the disenfranchised West Papuans of Indonesia in class yesterday when there was 6'4" of perfectly formed man in front of me. Seriously. How have I not seen you before? Do you come to class? Or are you too beautiful for class? I would agree with the latter. Your flawless mocha brown skin, your dark illegal scruff, your impressive tribal tattoos, your straight, defined jawline, your well-muscled, but not bulky body... let's face it, you're perfect. And completely out of my league. It makes sense that you're on the football team. I mean, I wouldn't have known that except for my post-class facebook/internet stalking. I guess you're really good too. Not that I'm into sports or anything, but I could be. For you, I could be.

Thanks to God for making you.