lydia's ISP writing

Although it is only 1:30 pm, I have been awake for almost 12 hours, and I have experienced multitudes of emotions. The first of these is excitement. It is so pleasant to be able to hang out with my class away from the stresses of school, and it is very exciting to be going on a trip to Europe with them. In these 12 hours, I have learned so much about my friends that I never knew. During the first few hours of my day, my main emotion was irritation. It began with my brother waking me up at 2 am, continued with the annoyingly loud music he played in the car on our way to Pine Point, and concluded with the endless flashes of cameras on the bus while I was trying to sleep. People who have traveled with me may know that I can be extremely irritable when I am woken up too early, and this was definitely the case this morning. After all this, I am now feeling contentment. I am sitting next to one of my best friends, Scarlet, and I already have many memories from this plane ride. These people, being my fantastic classmates, are some of the best I know, and I feel honored to be able to share these experiences with them. I am looking forward to a magnificent trip with these remarkable people.

The sun is shining brightly as I sit with my back against the warm, moss-covered bricks. I can hear birds chirping from the treetops and a fountain is babbling happily. This fountain is very simple: just a spout of water coming from a small stone column. The tube that is dispensing the water is crooked and I can see the algae dripping from it, but in all its imperfections, it is beautiful.

There is something so simple and pure about
this painting. He is not wearing ridiculously
fancy clothing or standing among his
expensive possessions. He is sitting alone,
wearing a simple robe, and utter peace with
himself and with the world. The purity of this
painting is what makes it beautiful.

Yesterday, at the National Portrait Gallery, I
had a strange experience. I was planning on
walking over to the portrait I had already begun
to draw, sitting down, and finishing my sketch.
I expected to be able to work peacefully and
once again connect with the painting, but I was
greeted by a rude awakening. As I tried to
focus on the contours of Edward Alexander
Crowley’s robes, other people stopped to
stare at the painting. I was astounded. When
we first visited the Portrait Gallery, very few
people were there. This gave me the
mpression that the painting I was drawing
belonged to only me, but yesterday I
discovered this was not the case. I felt violated.
I wanted to ask them what they thought they
were doing and why they wanted to torture
me like this, but I didn’t. I just kept on drawing.

At this moment, I am sitting in a classroom at Eton. Though the room is filled with my classmates, we are all silent. I think we have all been affected by the age and history in such a place as this. I am always astounded when I visit a place as old as this, mainly because it makes me realize how young our country is. When I travel to a country like England, which has hundreds of years of history, it seems strange that it could last so long. It makes America seem bland, almost naïve, compared to this amazing amount of culture that has developed. Looking at the walls around me, I see names etched into the wood dating back to the 1930’s. These are among the fresher carvings, much more recent than the ones stretching through the hallways. Most of them don’t even have a year next to them, but it is obvious they have been there longer than living memory. There is an unfathomable amount of age here, and even though this city is quite modern, I can’t help but feel that so much of the old London is dwelling under the surface, waiting to be rediscovered.

Forgotten objects, all piled on the floor.
Forlorn chairs rest calmly, silently.
Cloudy air streams in through the open door
As she lies on her side, yearning to be free.

Things long forgotten, bleeding from their sores,
Cry out in the pain of neglect, slowly
Crumbling into nothing. They’ll be seen no more.
And still she weeps, wishing she could flee

From this worn out room, filled with the cold.
But try as she might, she’s condemned to lie
Here with her broken memories, all old.

All sad. So she waits, wishing she could fly.
Lying on the floor with no one to hold.
And so she waits, staring into the grey, cloudy sky.

The train ride yesterday was a pleasant
experience. I was sitting with my three best
friends, laughing, singing, joking, and talking.
We all got to have some alone time together,
something we haven’t had much of during
this trip. At first, we felt conscious of the
people around us, wondering if they perceived
us as loud Americans. However, after a while,
we became lost in our own world. I remember
gazing out the window, watching the fields and
houses go by, thinking about how lucky I am
to be with these fantastic people in this awe-
inspiring country. I know I will be sad when I
have to go home, but for now, I will spend my
time enjoying my friends’ company and exploring
this fascinating new place. Not many people are
able to experience something like this.

The performance we saw of “The Tempest” was unlike anything I have seen before. When I was watching it, I felt like I was no longer in the theater, but watching the events transpire on the island itself. This was because of the actors. Every one of them was so invested in their roles that it seemed like it was actually happening. I especially liked the actor who played Ariel because he wasn’t afraid to play his part. Many people would not dare to venture so far into their character, but he took on the challenge and somehow managed to portray every side of Ariel. The entire performance was incredible, and I will not soon forget it.

Outside the house of Charles Dickens, I leaned against a bike rack, scanning the buildings across the street. At first, they all looked the same, but on further inspection, I began to notice the slight differences. The doors were all different, as were many of the windows. When I looked at the scattered chimneys on the rooftops, it looked like something out of Mary Poppins. These chimneys struck me as unusual but beautiful. The way they sat so peacefully made me feel like I had been transported to another time.