words shall channel through me…

It’s my last night in Stokenchurch for a while… and as I sit here, I really cannot help but be frightened by how close to losing my mind I’ve come in the last 24 hours.

To back track a little, a really good friend (and all around great guy), Ric Ruiz, has been battling his health pretty fiercely for the last few years. I found out in the early Monday hours that he had been admitted to the hospital, couldn’t speak, and most likely wouldn’t make it even a week or two. Knowing full well that my plane lands back in the US on Thursday, I had started to make plans to visit him in the hospital during his last days with us; plans that, quite quickly, were ripped from my very grip at 01:13 GMT. In an IM conversation with another close friend, I mentioned my plans to see Ric in the coming days - a statement that was quickly greeted with, “I’m so, so sorry. Ric passed away today.”

Thirty-five minutes went by. Thirty-five minutes that, even now, I don’t have a single memory of. I jolted back to awareness and realized that I hadn’t moved an inch, spoken a word, typed a letter or passed a single thought through my head in half an hour’s time; I was completely catatonic.

In all honesty, I think I just shut down. Four deaths in four and a half months; three of which were people I was close to and cared for a great deal. All of them being people that I was too late to say goodbye to. Even now, with 24 hours having passed to place in  retrospect… I have no idea what to say about all of this. That being said, instead of trying to figure out my current psychological state, I will list off the first memories I have of this most recent trip home.

• I helped 3 strangers (two girls, one guy) carry their drunken, limp friend back to their flat in central London. his name is Pablo, I believe.
• I saw Duplicity. I enjoyed it a lot, but (even as involved as it was) something felt empty about it.
• I buried my loving, wonderful aunt Tracy; I also took part in re-writing and editing her eulogy.
• bought a remarkably comfy and remarkably well priced (£15) spring  jacket, as I don’t have one
• met a guy who was 100% identical to my friend Aaron Trentadue. they looked so much alike that it was genuinely creepy. his name is Scott.
• realized, once more, that nothing is as beautiful as the view of a clear, starry sky from the English countryside.
• got to see my beautiful little cousins, Helena and Safiyyah.
• met some new family members from my grandfather’s side that I never knew existed.
• ate some of the most amazing Japanese and Indian food ever. EVER.
• went people watching like crazy.
• missed saying goodbye to Ric Ruiz before he passed away. I’m going to miss him and his dirty jokes so very much.
• stressed out daily about how much work @ Threadless I’ve missed.
• drank a fair amount of alcohol (mostly snake bites) the day of my aunt’s funeral; it was the first time I’ve been drunk since December.
• felt lazy not working out every day.
• found out that Sprint will be releasing their first GSM phone later this year and it’s the exact phone that I was looking to get upon it’s release. it will be nice to use my phone while visiting home from now on.
• realized that, for some reason, I seem to find attractive English women more appealing than attractive American women.
• had a long, half intoxicated conversation with an old man about Jeeves & Wooster. Also, he had many questions pertaining to whether or not America had such an over-abundance of CSI agents, since he sees so many shows about it.
• found out that England is apparently nuts for Dexter. good job, everyone. =]
• decided, once again, that not having a “best friend” is a really lonely and awkward thing when you have so much to share and need to pour yourself out to someone.
• spent days upon days getting angry/laughing hysterically with family and friends about how remarkably dysfunctional my family is.
• discovered the wonders of lychee sorbet.
• reminisced with my cousins James and Tara about our childhood times together.
• watched all three Bourne films on what was a very, very lazy day for us all.
• managed to stay healthy, regardless of the fact that mum and Tara were coughing up their insides.
• got to hear mum exclaim, “oh no! I sat on something hard!”
• wizards in London still try to fight trees.

that’s all for now.

xoxo,
- Tristan -

I’m currently sitting on a plane about 2 hours away from Heathrow Int’l Airport. I’m listening to From Monument To Masses and desperately seeking for the thoughts that will eventually lead to words I must inevitably deliver to my family upon arrival in Stokenchurch. For someone who unintentionally talks a lot, I find myself at an inexplicable loss for words; something, I’m assuming, that can only be attributed to being simply overwhelmed.

I’m 0:2, it feels like, in being there for people I love when it really mattered.

The night before the funeral proved to be more full of thought than I believed possible. Sleep is already an issue for me at night, but this particular evening proved to be more overwhelming than I had previously predicted it would be. Sleep finally took the place of exhaustion around 8am and held me to it’s bosom for about an hour.

I awoke, suddenly, to a feeling of blankness; we’d soon be leaving and I still had no sense of closure. After getting ready, we proceeded out the door to Falcon Court (my uncle Justin’s home), where the funeral procession to the church was to originate from. Upon our arrival, our ears fell into the news that my great-aunt Enid had passed away this morning. I admire not my poor great-aunt Dorothy on the day when she has to mourn the passing of her two sisters.

I find it strange that after the passing of my grandfather, Derek, Nan (once she fell ill) would claim to see Derek visiting her late at night in the living room of Bangalore House. Stranger yet, is the completely unrelated claim (after the passing of Nan) by Enid that she had been visited by Nan.

Yesterday was a day of celebrating, mourning, grieving… and drinking. After a beautiful funeral and hours of reconnecting with family I haven’t seen in ages, mum and I joined Tara, James, aunt Tracy and a few of Tara’s friends at the pub across the way from Nan’s house. At one point I wandered out and made my way to the grave site of Betty Edith Giles… Nan. I stood over her in the dark of night, the feeling of regret squeezing me tighter with every failed attempt at thought or speech… until, finally, it all came out. I confessed to her all of the things that I wish she would have gotten to hear from me in life. I let her know how much she was loved by all of her children and grandchildren; that nothing she ever did for anyone was ever forgotten or under-appreciated. I whispered that I saw who she really was inside, even if she had forgotten about that person many years ago; that I understood her fright of people’s ability to use her and how, in turn, she used her money to control other people - to stay at a safe distance. I spilled out that, although the majority of the time she made you want to tear out all of your hair, I understood the path that lead her to such a place… and that it didn’t matter to me - I still loved her for the person she truly was on the inside.

I made my peace. I did in Nan’s death what I never had the opportunity to do in her life; be it out of fear, financial inability, or complete ignorance.

I’ll miss you, Nan. The waves of your actions in life will forever make ripples in the lives of generations to come.

xoxo,
- Tristan -

I have a really bad habit of spacing these out; by the time I finally get around to writing, I’ve got way too much to think and say.
…I really should stop that.

So I’m currently in England. Nan passed away last week and I had to jump through flaming hoops to be here for the funeral. I have roughly 5 hours until I’m sharing a room with the remaining shell of my grandmother, Betty Giles. I dare say that this moment, this week, is purely overwhelming.

You see, I grew up bouncing back and forth between two countries - my heart was torn in half. 90%+ of my family is here in England and for the last 16 years I’ve struggled to even remotely stay in touch with them. It’s not something that I talked about a lot until a few years ago when I realized that I barely even knew my family anymore. Earlier this year I came home and visited for the first time in a VERY long time. I felt reconnected to my roots again. I saw uncles, aunts, cousins and Nan; I saw countryside that I spent 25 years painting daily pictures of in my brain; I saw a part of me revived - a forgotten life force rematerialized inside of me. But there was still something missing…

There’s one thing you need to understand about my family’s history, and it’s that there’s only one word that could accurately describe it: secretive. Everyone in my family has their deep, dark secrets… and we’re not talking little ones. I’m talking about the stuff that 40 year feuds are built upon; I’m talking about the things that would make someone an alcoholic or ____ addict just to cope with the shit they’ve seen or done. But if you look past all of the bullshit that has haunted this family for 4 generations, you will see people that (at some point) stepped foot on the wrong path and simply may or may not have known how to make the necessary corrections.

Anyone that knows me, knows my stubborn nature; my drive to fix things. I’m left with a pit in my stomach on this trip home… I’m left feeling as if I ignored the force pulling me here for so many years and I’ve actually reached a point where I truly am helpless. I can’t bring sects of my family closer no matter how hard I may try and I’ll never get to truly understand who Nan was before passing. The years changed her so; they changed her mentality, her behaviour, her very nature. I want nothing more than to have spent more time with her and learnt about her life. I want to hear her stories. I want her to get mad and yell at me because she doesn’t think anyone understands her. I want to use my stubborn nature to hug her and tell her that no matter what she says or does to anyone in the family, I still know that there’s a person lurking inside of her that wants to be understood on a level that doesn’t involve dollar signs. I want to go back in time and be there when my little cousins were born. I want to watch them grow into the fascinating and hilarious young children that they currently stand as. I want to be there for my cousins by continuing the sibling-like relationship we had as children. I want to understand at a much earlier age that the feud between one generation of family should NOT be spread down to future generations; that sometimes you need to take your own stand because parents don’t always know everything.

But I can’t do any of these things. And it’s bringing me closer to tears than I’ve felt myself come in a very, very long time.

Closure was what I thought I was seeking when I came home… but now that I’m here, I realize that I wanted to come back just to continue to feel closer to a family that I had no active role in driving apart.

The secrets will continue, their nature having followed mum to the States a great many years ago. It is, unfortunately, instilled within me as well.

I only pray that it’s something I do not pass on to my children someday.

Rest safe, Nan. you’ve lived a long, strange, exhausting life full of things that I hope I never have to experience in my time on Earth. May I someday forgive myself for never trying to look past the bitter bickering of this family and understand you better, face-to-face.

xoxo,
- Tristan -

My journey to Paris, France began at 4:30am. I “woke up” (ie - stood up. I hadn’t been to sleep yet), put some decent clothes on, packed some remaining items and said my goodbyes to Krispy. I caught the first tube of the day - 5am on the dot. Once on the Eurostar, I dragged myself to the food/drink car and ordered some orange juice and a croissant; the taste told me one thing for certain about my impending trip to France - food was going to be good.

2 hours and 40 minutes later, I was in Paris.

I began my visit with a nice, long, welcoming hug as Chelsea and I made our way to the metro. Our mission: to drop off my luggage and get some food in our bellies. After poking around and checking out our options, we agreed on a Japanese place where lunch consisted of some tastey morsels - I had salmon teriyaki - and a brief lesson in how to say “check, please!” in French [l’addition, s’il vous plaît!]. Also, I’d just like to point out that Paris houses the coolest metro stop name ever - “Les Gobelins”.

After lunch, we made our way back to Chelsea’s apt, where I was introduced to her incredibly nice roomate, Jackie, and their equally as nice friend Natalie. Tonight was going to be a night for drinking; it was their friend Ashley’s birthday and what better way for him to spend it than with his friends, right? Right. We all headed out to walk around for a bit so they could show me around town a little, and so we could pick up some beer/wine for later. We stopped at a crêpe stand and the four of us indulged in crêpes filled with Nutella and sliced bananas; oh my God, you’ve never had anything so damned delicious.

After a small nap on everyone else’s part (and a re-read of “The Dark Knight Returns” on my end), we all got ready and headed out for the evening. To be honest, I can’t accurately capture the events of the evening into text. There was drinking. There was laughing. Ashley and I didn’t speak the same language, but through a few words here and there and lots of over-exaggerated gestures, we got along amazingly. Oh, also, Chelsea and her friends taught Ashley how to say “boobs” a few days prior… he went to painstaking lengths to make sure he said it at just the right time (translation - whenever he wanted to, he yelled it in the most animated way possible) and it was fucking hilarious. After hours of drinking, conversing, laughing, accidentally breaking the tops off of glass beer bottles, peeing and eating candy from the store accross the street… we made our way [drunkenly] home.

My last night in London I bought myself an umbrella. Smart move, as it rained quite a few times during my stay in Paris. Quite honestly, it wasn’t a bother. Nothing could have ruined my time spent with one of the most genuine, welcoming and lovely people I know.

The rest of my time in Paris was spent doing many various things with Chelsea and all of her wonderful friends that I had the pleasure of meeting while I was there. We visited Notre Dame de Paris, the Eiffel Tower, ate more lovely food, perused through a fruit/veggie/meat/everything market, and God knows what else.

Paris is actually a little dirtier than I had always imagined, but (to be quite honest) I don’t think it would be as charming without it… if that makes any sense at all. I couldn’t have asked for a better time, and I want to thank each and every one of the people that I met while I was there.
I want to thank you all for your hospitality and kindness. I want to thank you for letting a complete stranger into your circle of friends - it meant the world to me.

So, here I am… back in the States. My mind, heart and soul are all still stuck; spread throughout various locations in Europe, while my body drones on with some sort of life back here in America. I truly can’t wait for my return, and am counting down the days until it’s possible to be reunited with where my heart truly lies.

I miss you, England.

PS - while in England I discovered a candybar called Fruitasia.
EAT ONE OF THESE!

I’m currently in London with sis #2 and it’s raining outside. [mind you, this isn’t a bad thing at all]

If this trip has served any purpose at all, it’s to return me to some state of normalcy that I’ve only dreamt possible for quite some time. I’ve seen family that used to be as close as any brother or sister [most notably, my cousin Tara]. I’ve been introduced to new family, some of which i never knew I had. I’ve had the delight of meeting a little boy who’s middle name was given to him in homage to me [Adrian Tristan Giles].

I’ve been re-invigorated, recharged and rejuvenated by the English countryside; the well-kept, fresher smelling air; the niceness and politeness of the everyman/woman; the smiles of complete strangers; the stone walkways of London and the hilly fields that surround villages like Marlow, Stokenchurch, Burghfield Common and Thame [to name a few].

I came here seeking piece of mind, and will be leaving shortly [for Paris] with something I never imagined possible: a newly found piece of my heart. I regret not making the journey here sooner, as the discovery of all that I’ve missed has made me realize that I’ve only been living half a life in a half a home; now that the other half has been revisited, I intend on frequenting it as often as possible. For my family, for myself and for any new friends I may make in this - the newest chapter of my life.
…welcome back, Cotter.

While in Burghfield Common, Reading, I had the chance to take a short taxi ride up to Sonning Common and see mum’s Aunt Dorothy - the sweetest woman alive, I’m sure.
Aunt Dorothy visited the states about 6 years ago with mum’s cousin Jimmy, his wife [Allison], and her mum. I need you to keep something pictured in your mind: a 75+ traditional English woman with a sun bonnet, flower dress and sweet-as-pie attitude meeting [for the first time] an 18 year old boy with a neon green mohawk.
why?
because that’s exactly what happened the first time I met Aunt Dorothy.
She is, without question, the sweetest woman you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. Since our last visit, she’s taken up painting [something she impressed me with being rather wonderful at], learning to speak French, and the decided task of learning one new trade skill every year for the rest of her life in an effort to keep her mind as sharp as possible.
With a visit shorter than we would have both preferred, we had just enough time to knock back some tea, enjoy a few chocolate covered biscuits and play a game of catch-up with each other.
Being one of the key people I hoped to see while home, I felt a sense of accomplishment, but also a sense of sadness as we were called to part ways once again. I assured her of my hasty return and we said our loving goodbyes.

Upon my return to Burghfield Common, I rejoined the ranks at the house of Giles.
My cousin Tara recently purchased a home for herself, her 3 children (Safiyya, Helena & Adrian Tristan) and their dog [Cyrus] just outside of Reading.
When I was younger, Tara was always viewed as another sister by me. We hardly ever got to see each other, but we always got along well and I loved seeing my sis have someone that she connected with so well. I must say - any doubts that may have ever surfaced as to whether or not we’d all still get along have surely been put to rest. Tara and I had a blast cooking, watching movies and playing catch-up with the two of us, her boyfriend Xavier, and her 3 children… who, I might add, are some of the loveliest 9 and 2 year olds I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. My ears already long for the sound of Adrian asking [in his adorable little English accent] to watch Thomas the train.

oh yeah, chalk that up to the best thing in the world, by the way:
little kids with English accents.

In returning here, I expected to have troubles adjusting to the way life is led… the differences in driving, speaking, eating and living. in reality, it rushed back to me as naturally as any other day i’ve taken a breath in America.
I remember being a child here. I remember places I played in the yard; I remember fields I explored with my cousins; I remember trees, shops and certain chunks of road. I remember because it’s truly a big part of my past.
My only regrets are that I wish I had more time to spend here and that I had my siblings here to share this with me.

With this trip and the reanimated heart it has given me, it’s also given me a greater sense of possibility, faith and hope.
While on the tube this evening, I found myself sitting across from what was one of the most attractive girls I’ve seen since I arrived in England [which is saying a lot]. She had something about her that seemed to tell tales of taking care and pride in who and what she was, while not being full of herself. She wore her beauty naturally, seemingly discarding the use of much make-up, while still having a sense of what it means to dress well and take care of one’s self. It’s not that often that I “check out” a girl, but hey… it happens. deal with it.
Anyway, while sitting on the Jubilee line and staring at an advert above those sitting across from me, I glanced [from left to right] at the faces of my peers. As I got to hers [last on the right] I found that she’d been staring inquisitively at me. I quickly looked away in panic, but [of course] looked back in typical fashion. when I looked back, I noted that she was still looking at me and we both sort of fixed on one another. with a playful smile from each of us, both our eyes danced for a moment while we thought about God-knows-what. After a few moments, she looked away and blushed, our train came to a halt at her station and we two strangers parted ways.
Without a single word, this girl managed to rekindle my faith in the human ability to bring simple joy to someone else that you don’t even know. I’ve lost a great deal of myself to the pains of knowing selfish, inconsiderate and unbearably confused people at points in my life, and this complete stranger found a way to show me that there are still such things as politeness, genuine attraction and hope left in the world.

…now if only I could find a way to birth the feeling of confidence that I’ve never possessed; maybe then I’d have at least a new friend.

updated checklist of family:
Cousin Tara
Safiyya Giles
Helena Giles
Adrian Tristan Giles
Aunt Dorothy

I depart for Paris, France in 25 hours.
Ice cream will be delivered in full [don’t worry about it].

xoxo,
- Tristan -

PS - Be Kind, Rewind is heart-warming, funny and definitely recommended by me. see it. now.

Things I’ve missed while away from this place:

• the differences in names for all the little things
• the countryside
• the architecture
• the fact that this place has always been seemingly freer than the states
• the pure politeness of complete strangers absolutely everywhere
• mint kit-kat bars
• the word “rubbish”
• getting real televised news
• my family
• English white cheddar cheese
• Christmas pudding
• the fact that all plant life seems to remain some shade of green, nevermind the season
• the way the air smells
• the planned walls/shrubbery along the village roads
• the general open-mindedness of mostly everyone
• the care that seems to go into things that get over-looked & taken for granted in the states.

However, I didn’t miss slowly slipping into a bit of an accent [thanks to my family].
I feel a bit ridiculous… which seems a shame, seeing as it now feels slightly awkward and forced to pronounce certain things American…ly. haha.

I currently sound like an idiot.

Update on family I’ve gotten to see:
Aunt Jayne
Uncle Rowen
Cousin Josh
Cousin Nate

PS - I’ve just watched Jeff Bridges throw a full pineapple at someone.
I like whatever movie this is.

I’ve officially just spent time with some of the other 85% of my family for the first time in [what I quite recently realized has been] roughly 16 years.

I couldn’t be happier right now.

I already don’t want to go back.

My memories of the village of Stokenchurch have been anything but misleading; Bangalore House, Falcon Court and Pigeon Farm are all exactly as a I remember them on the outside… The insides, however, are another story.

Nan has since moved from Falcon Court and into Bangalore. My uncle Justin and his wife, Rose, have moved into Falcon Court and completely modernized the inside. The stove near the door where the milkman used to leave milk and white cheddar cheese has been replaced by a new fridge - complete with built-in coffee maker. The larger of two living rooms where I used to spend childhood hours watching reruns of Banana Man, Super Ted, Fawlty Towers, Black Adder and Monty Python has been re-carpeted and re-furnished; the old TV has since been gotten rid of.

The gardens of both Falcon Court and Bangalore are absolutely gorgeous; complete with ponds that contain fish the size of my carry-on bag - all courtesy of the 85 year old, suit-wearing gardener named Harry, who has been working for Nan the past 20 years; post retirement.

I got to meet my little cousins Jack, Jasper and India today.
Jack, my aunt Tracy’s 12 year old son, is quite the fellow video game nerd. Unbeknownst to me, there are sometimes differences in video games over here. Nothing really significant either… It’s strange.
According to his mum, he’s quite picky. I also noticed that he’s shy, yet very outgoing and talkative once he’s comfy around someone; sound familiar, friends?

Jasper, 8, entered the scene fresh off school for the day, dressed in full Roman Empire garb. Apparently there was a play at school and he was very much a willing participant. His costume was awesome! My uncle Justin [his dad] had made him a metallic shield and wooden sword in his workshop the night before - scorpion emblem and all.
My favourite quote from an 8 year old boy?
“Cousin Tristan, may I ask you something?”
“of course!” I responded.
“Why is an ancient Roman playing xbox360?”
Followed by a good chuckle from all occupants of the room.

Last, but certainly not least, is India - Justin and Rose’s absolutely adorable daughter. Donning a white and light pink wool coat and pajama pants, she was probably the shyest of all 3 for a little while. Once we headed over to Falcon Court so her and Jasper could show me their rooms, she soon opened up to me by asking if i’d help her beat up her older brother “out of family love”.
I politely declared my position as a spectator and watched as they battled; Jasper armed with a collapsable tent (yes, really) and India armed with a hand-held fan and a small beanbag chair.
I won’t ruin the ending and will, instead, let you play out the possible scenarios in your mind.

I was greeted upon arrival to Stokenchurch with a cry of “duuuuuuude!” from aunt Tracy, followed by one of the longest, warmest hugs ever.

Everything is absolutely lovely so far, and I can only imagine it will get better.

This evening I watched “the 50 funniest television characters from around the world” on the BBC. Lary David (Seinfield, Curb Your Enthusiasm) and Ali G were among some of the top ten, with Basil Fawlty (played by John Cleese) ranking at #1. I’m going to have to say: I don’t disagree.

Oh, also, I forgot what it was like to hear “fuck” on cable.

Reunited with:
Cousin James
Aunt Tracy
Nan
Uncle Justin

Finally met:
Cousin Jasper
Cousin India
Cousin Jack
Aunt Rose
Donna

Yet to reunite with:
Cousin Tara
Aunt Jayne
Mum’s aunt Dorothy
Uncle Rowen
Cousin John
Cousin Josh
Cousin Nate
My buddy Krispy
Chelsea

Seriously… I don’t want to go back.

My last morning in America was today. I woke to a feeling that can only be described as “almost dead” as my headache, congestion and sore throat must have peaked at that moment. Once fully awake, I journeyed to the airport [accompanied by Mr. Nabeel Krafowts], arriving with little time to spare before my window of time for baggage check was closed. Luckily, the lines in international were short as hell, so I quickly made my way to the check-in machine.

This machine decided to wait nearly 10 minutes before informing me that it couldn’t find my itinerary and to try another machine further up in international.
Attempt #1: failed.

Nabeel & I quickly made our way to another check-in machine - my window of time was nearly closed. Of course, the machine I got to wasn’t reading my finger taps on the screen. Through lots of [what I can only imagine was] verbally proclaimed frustration, it was apparently made clear to the airline worker that I was in need of assistance. He suggested that I try using two fingers to press the elusive buttons on the screen. To my dismay, no difference was made. After 10-15 minutes of dicking around, he pointed me in the direction of another machine that had just opened.
Attempt #2: failed

Now, anyone who knows me well at all knows the direction in which this story is heading:
After 5 minutes on this last machine, added to the 10-15 on the previous and the 10 on the first, I had now spent 30 minutes just trying to check my baggage. And by the time this one got to the final process, I got a polite little piece of paper printed out telling me that I had missed the luggage check-in window. I looked at my phone for the time - I was one minute tardy.

Slightly perturbed, I went up to the desk to talk to the non-eticket employees and explained that I had just spent 30 minutes at the 5 minute check-in machines and they made me miss my luggage check-in time. Seeming quite annoyed, the woman behind the counter told me I was supposed to check my luggage 40 minutes prior to my departure time. I, once more, explained that I had attempted checking my luggage plenty of time before my 40 minutes were up, but after 30 minutes between the uncooperative machines I was late; it was the fault of faulty machines. She failed to grasp the concept that I didn’t choose to spend 30 minutes on broken machines and insisted that it wasn’t the airline’s fault that it took me so long to use them.

At this point I was offered two options:
1) leave the country without my luggage
2) purchase a new 1-way ticket to London for $940.

I offered her a third option:
Admitting fault and helping me out somehow instead of being ridiculous.
With the reluctant help of her supervisor, I was booked on a different flight to London.
Attempt #3: success

I’m sitting in terminal K16 @ O’Hare; my plane boards in 5 minutes.

I’m finally going to my other home.