Universal Language

I am in in love again.  I am in love with a culture and a country in the epicenter of humanity, even though we have just met.  I am in love with the linguistics and اللغة of The Middle East.  I sense something so familiar even though I couldn't be farther from home.

The tip of my tongue has tasted the sweetness of the sounds of which my ears hear when the words stutter off.  Those who know me well can confirm my love for sweets.

I don't even know how it happened so quickly.  One month is barely long enough for some mail to land in a loved one's hands, yet I've managed to fall like an autumn leaf and land on top of a city made of mounds of buildings instead.

Not many will find the beauty in concrete and even I had my doubts, yet when each single room lights up at night like a spec of glitter in the sky, and the sounds of the city include calls to prayer and traveling propane salesmen alike, the alluring distance from home is as clear as the stark blue sky.

There is always something more.  Sometimes feelings of diffidence and humility overcome feelings of love and familiarity... Who am I to dip my toes into the Sea of Galilee?  Who am I to taste the treats and the sweets belonging to a land so ancient,  foreign and grand? Who am I to choose to partake in a civilization too many are forced to forsake; and what's more, even seek to explore my very own "freedom land" soil.

Who are we to wish to test our buoyancy in the deepest depth on Earth, the Dead Sea, when too many families are forced to flee.  It is the inequity and absence of basic rights and human needs; the inequality which sickens me.

I am only slightly sure about what to do and what to say in order to make the world today operate in a better way.

All I know is that making friends on opposite ends of the entire world may spread peace, evoke happiness,  teach a moral,  share a morsel of food for thought, and at the end of the day, translate into a universal language- even if all you can speak is a smile. :)

انا طالبة I am a student

There is a green light glowing in through the window of my apartment overlooking the city of Amman; a city which I now call home, although I've only just arrived.

This green glow emits from a mosque that calls out a prayer to Allah five times during each day and the city lights of homes and shops scatter the hills like low-horizon stars.  Even though I may be alone, in this middle of the east, I experience peace.

I arrived in Jordan three weeks ago to sample a taste of a language I already knew I loved.  Teaching English as a second language for a year and a half to native Arabic speaking students left an alluring flavor on my pallet.  How on Earth were they forming all those tones in theirs?  Furthermore, what did the translations scribbled in the margins of homework stand for?

Aqaba and the Red Sea

As an artist who was already experimenting with writing and typing the English language backwards as a result of coping with the difficulties of learning technical English grammar, exposing myself to the Arabic alphabet instantly became somewhat of a perfect combination of art and linguistics and it was only a matter of time until I became fixated on everything Arabic.

But that isn't even the whole story.  When one of my co-workers returned from teaching English in the Middle East, I was convinced that I would do the same.

Almost one year ago I enrolled myself in a hands on TOEFL/TEFL/TESOL course in order to enhance my skills as an English language instructor and the only place in the entire world I wanted to teach and live was the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.  After all, what western woman wouldn't want to live in a Kingdom??  It didn't take long before I had secured a job in Al-Ahsa, Saudi Arabia.  At that moment I became serious about wanting to begin decoding the language.

I remember sitting in my kitchen on a January snow day in Oklahoma watching online videos like this one over and over and over again.  I began asking my students at school common greetings and soon I was meeting weekly with one or two of the generous Saudi's at school who were kind enough to tolerate my awful pronunciation and correct my handwriting mistakes.  If I were going to teach in Saudi, I needed to know the very basics.

Wadi-Rum and the desert

However, sometimes things don't work out exactly the way you plan them.  After further researching my visa arrangements in Saudi and receiving mixed messages from family and friends I soon became disheartened by the idea of committing myself to a full year in near isolation and I ultimately declined the offer.

I felt so deflated for the period of time surrounding my decision.  Things usually worked out smoothly and I suddenly found myself at what felt like an intersection without any prominent road signs, but too many road blocks. I took the opportunity to spend time with friends, meet my new nephew and work towards resuming plans to experience the Middle East. 

I set out to find an Arabic language school where I could study for a short time and test out the living arrangements before committing myself to an extended period.  I felt optimistic and fortunate when I stumbled upon Ahlan-World and my questions were answered promptly and professionally.  I took the plunge and signed up for 7 weeks of classes and accommodation in Amman.  With a population of over 4 million people, many of whom are refugees from war torn surrounding countries such as Palestine, Syria and Iraq, Amman can offer a stable economy and slightly more westernized style of living in comparison to neighboring Islamic countries.

For these reasons, the city built on seven hills in 13th Century BC by the Ammonites, attracts tourists and expats (like myself) who seek to study or work in the Middle East as well as provides a "home" away from home for those who were forced out of their own countries, seeking safety and asylum (like some of my friends and teachers at the school).

Rubbed with dirt as red as Oklahoma's

When I was 24 years old, I moved to West Africa, where the culture was rich, yet the living conditions were stark opposite.  Exposure to Islam and the Arabic prayer calls every day for over two years, in addition to living in one of the poorest and least educated parts of the world gave me the compassion, empathy and patience to branch outside of the comfort zone in which many choose to stay.

Sometimes you feel most like an outsider when you are closest to your home.

My life here in Amman is simple, yet rich.  I have language classes Sunday-Thursday for three hours a day.  I spend the rest of the day studying or sight seeing and visiting with my roommates, students from the school or meeting friends of friends.  The weekends have been busy seeing ancient places like Petra, Wadi-Rum and Aqaba.  I am fortunate to live in a nice and artsy-district called Jabal Al-Weibdeh that is a five minute walk from school, cafes, shops and anything I could possibly need.

Arabic is hard.  It's beautiful and complicated and I have only skimmed the surface of something like the buoyant Dead Sea.  It will take years to master and I know my departure date of December 20th will come too soon.

Setting sun in the desert

In the mean time, I feel safe and happy and couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the whole wide world; a student once again, at Ahlan-World.

Write Timing

Timing is everything.

Today it is time to write.  I haven't written on this page for nearly a year.  It's an ebb and flow of introversion and extroversion and putting thoughts out into the world via spoken or written language, music, theater, artistic expression or stark silence.  Living life in the present is the best present one can give to oneself.

At times, life simply makes decisions for you, no matter how many decisions you attempt to make on your own.

After many months of searching, I finally feel like life and I are making mutual decisions again.

Beginning this November, I'm off to formally study Arabic in Amman, Jordan for two months.  I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship with this beautiful country I have only read about.

I am re-vamping the writing so that I may share bits and pieces of a Middle East that we don't see or hear about enough in the news today.  There is still peaceful and educational life happening outside of bombings and beheadings and blitzes blown up all over our news feeds, although it's undeniable that those are existing too.

Thank you to all those who can support my decision to journey to non-traditional locations and engage in cultural and educational excursions.  The decision to study in the Middle East has been a long time coming and it's something that can't just be shrugged off.

There is more to this story, but for now here are some stock photos until I can post some of my own:

Dead Sea

Petra

Amman

Nahautl Navidad

The savanna stood vast and stoic as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon,

Stoic, like a bronze Miguel Hidalgo standing straight and tall,

Vast, like the millions of Mexicans remembering and revering their Father for raising fight and feat of the conquistadors de Espana.

El sol: sinking slow and deep into the tierra creates anvil clouds and a sky like a pastel picture of Christmas.

This is the solstice.  This is the solstice of in a un campo de Mexico.  This is the memory of Mexico.

The sound of the solstice is crickets and cuetas and brass booming beyond the vastness-
Celebrations, fiestas, festvities and felizidad-
Posadas y parades-

La Navidad de Mexico

Now for something Nahautl:

Nahautl is la lingua that about 1.5 Nahua natives know; la idioma indigenous to Mexico and Mesoamerica.  It gained prestige when the Michoacan Empire expanded into what is current day Mexico City, became a literary language when the Latin alphabet was introduced and in the 16th and 17th centuries, works including poetry and even codices were written in what was stated as being one of the most well-documented and studied languages of the Americas according to this.  

If it weren't for Nahautl, we might have been stuck handing out brussel sprout bunnies on Easter.
 
Can you imagine what kind of world we'd be living in if everyone went around claiming they were addicted to brussel sprouts?

I navigate your attention towards Nahautl not because we'd cry without avocados and tomatoes and coyotes (all also derivatives), but because we'd cry if we didn't have a language with which to express ourselves as humans.  That's what we do.  We relish in self expression and the verbal language.  Babies cry and laugh and smile and drop things because they have yet to develop the skills to communicate through the expression of language that the rest of us can comprehend.  Slowly they begin filling their beautifully woven basket of brains with vocabulary they remember from their surrounding environment.  Finally, after about a year or year and a half, they retain and recall an expansive vocabulary of six whole words on average, according to this.

From the moment I stumbled upon teaching English as a second language about one year ago, clouds muddled the clear blue sky but created an image of a long, narrow tunnel with tracks built for the language locomotive.  Although it was pacing upwards of 200 mph, I hopped aboard and held on for dear life because from the moment the clouds muddled into a tunnel of tracks for the language locomotive- from the moment I felt the fresh wind on my face and comb my hair with its teeth, there appeared an illuminating lading leading the way.  It was as much of a light at the end of a tunnel as I needed to recognize an unrecognized rapture of the profession of teaching.

Fascination holds no comparison to "calling" and if everyone is patient, in time, they will find their true name.

Spoken language is truly a fascinating commodity even though it is quite obvious from the very get go if it is English or if it is Greek.  Why is it then that it is so difficult for us to say what we're really thinking?  I mean really really?  What are we thinking about at the same time we're thinking about that elephant in the room?  Then again why is it so easy for us to say and do everything else?  Why do we want to declare everything that makes up the one thing we're really thinking but leave out that one thought?  Fortunately, this social worker knows the answer.  Thank goodness I didn't have to say what I was really thinking...

The last couple of weeks have been spent learning and a lot has been learned.  The incredible thing about traveling to a different country and experiencing a different culture from your own is that proverbs exist in every single language.  Here is another one in ours: there is more than one way to skin a cat.  This means that there are multiple ways of doing a single one thing.  I traveled to Mexico with one of my Oklahoma roommates to take a break from teaching and visit other Okies who relocated to a country who has a history and colonization countries away from ours. 

Mexico is amazing.  It's a country with a history as rich and delicious as its food and I can't wait to return.

Finally, this Christmas granted the gracious gift of Grandpa recounting Ave Maria on the clarinet by Chopin and Bach.

Next up: a new year!

Holidaze 101

I forgot how hard college was.  I must have blocked it out of my mind.  Or maybe my mind stayed filled with all the stuff I learned from those days, and there wasn't room in my remote memory to even remember.

Q 1: Why hasn't the writer posted since September?

A 1: a. The writer had writers block.
     b. The writer was teaching down the block.
     c. The writer was blocked from the Internet.
     d. The Jolly Green Giant walked down the writer's block.
     e. All of the above.

 What did they used to say?  When in shear doubt, go with C?  Yet E is so tempting and I dreamt about D last night in my dream.  Where did this text anxiety come from??  Blocked that out too, I suppose.

I discovered the secret to time travel.  Become a teacher and time will disappear faster than you can call roll.  Live with a household full and instruct at the University and you may be transported back into your past.

For the past four months, I've been instructing at the Anne and Henry Zarrow School of Social Work at the University of Oklahoma.  I attended the professional program from 2003-2005 for my bachelors and 2005-2006 for my masters, when it was housed out of Rhyne Hall, a hacienda style, asbestos-filled building on the that used to be Alpha Tau Omega fraternity house back in the day.  It was actually kind of cute and fun to learn in, if you weren't distracted by the thought of your lungs crystallizing.  Then one day, the wife of President Boren, Mrs. Molly Shi, showed up as our key-note speaker at the Phi Alpha National Social Work Honor Society induction.  Once she set foot in our "charming" school, it was only a mere five years later that lectures went from being held in this:





...to being led in this:

To say it was an "experience" to be on the other side of the desk, helping guide 45 juniors through the first of many lectures, would be, well...elementary.  Every week, I prepared a three hour lecture over one and most times two chapters progressing from the principle life stage of human development.  We covered content from the womb to the tomb, analyzing cognitive and physical development as well as social and emotional development. 

How does one keep forty-five minds engaged for three hours while covering content like ethological theory of attachment (an evolved survival technique involving the emotional tie an infant has to its caregiver), Piaget's conservation theory (not until middle childhood does one understand that two different-shaped glasses may hold the same amount of liquid), Erickson's theory of Intimacy vs. Isolation (conflict in early adulthood reflecting thoughts about committing permanently to an intimate partner), fluid intelligence (basically a combination of detecting relationships between visual stimuli and speed of analyzing information), "presbycusis" (old ears) and "presbyopia" (old eyes), and finally,  The Right to Die?

Since it was my very first time teaching at the college level, I just went with my instinct.  I did it by reading the chapters religiously, every week, and then, supplementing the Power Points with things like this:

     

...and also this:












...other great finds include:

...and finally, for the exams!

Basically, I found even more information.  But the information I found was meant for supplemental entertainment.









I always find it hard to sum up months' worth of time, energy and experience.  But I'll just say this:

Teaching a class for the first time will always be "the most difficult thing I'll have ever done"; nobody likes a know-it-all who isn't open to being open; Pen Pals, poetry and pot lucks are all still a thing, and students and teachers aren't that different.

In conclusion, being a teacher is like being a student- you get all the breaks, but you also get paid. ;)  I think I may have found my "day job."

P.S. I may have found my "night job" too.  If you need your house to look like a cartoon, I'm your gal.

Boyd House- Norman, Oklahoma

P.P.S.
Next up? Mexicooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! 
(Stay tuned for a pivotal post card project!)

A Wise Old Man Once Said...

Once upon a time, there was a wise old man.  One day, our paths crossed and he told me his story.  He talked about meditation, mental floss and the spiritual and physical aspects of yoga.  These are some things that takes a lifetime to comprehend.  We discussed relinquishing the past and forgetting about the future.  How can one forget about something that has yet to happen??  Instead, focusing on the present tasks at hand is the very purpose of this life.  We are the change.  We are the here.  We are the now.  "It is nice to feel something different."

The next day, the wise old man morphed into another familiar father figure.  This time, he spoke about devastation and atrocity, but most notably community.  If there was a Great Spirit, they had finally met.  Each shared a piece of mind, and in return, they had made their peace.  He had emerged from a natural disaster and was welcomed home in open arms.  "It is nice to feel something normal."

It had only been twenty-four hours since the transformation.  Yet it had been decades of process.

Experiences and perspectives lend to individualistic approaches to life.  However, sharing those experiences with fellow individuals help create a more cohesive and community driven existence.  We do not have to do this alone.  We can be in this together.

We can help each other feel normal, while achieving something different.

A Morsel of Food for Thought

Have you ever stopped to think about how fortunate you are?  Just take a moment.  Chances are, if you are reading this, you are ahead of the game.  You are, after all, reading English...on the Internet.  You probably have electricity.  Perhaps you are taking a break at work.  (Congratulations!  You have a job!)  Or maybe you're reading this while drinking fair trade coffee or herbal tea, or an adult beverage, in the comfort of your own home, while children are sleeping (or crawling all over you). 

If you're lucky, you finally have a second to catch your breath and answer emails, make phone calls, research your interests and passions, or watch a video.  Whatever you find yourself engaged with right this moment, take a minute and pause.

Seriously.  Just stop.  Look outside the window.  What do you see?  Close your eyes. Now connect with your senses. Let go of the weight on your shoulders and take a deep breath.  You deserve it.  What the heck, take two.  What do you smell?  What do you hear?

Feel better?  You should!  We live in a world where demands are high and stress collects as quickly as the dust upon the tables at which we set our cutlery day after day.

It is easy at times to feel like we're moving at the pace of a sprinter from Jamaica.  However, even Jamaican sprinters sit down for meals...

The Stress Address

I woke up one morning and couldn't find my stress.
It was Tuesday.  It had just rained.
It felt like a Tuesday morning in Africa.  Surely I hadn't left my stress there.  It had been almost five years.
Surely it was bunched up in a ball under my covers, at the foot of my bed, in the time-centered country of the U.S.A.
But I make my bed every day.
And the stress wasn't there.
Maybe I had stuck it between the pages of the dense and didactic text book I diligently and fervently read, for fear of fallacy and failure of 47 minds.  


Until I found my place marked with a better understanding of what my responsibilities were not, and noticed the stress wasn't there.
I opened my fridge.  I can recall times when I used to lose it there.  I closed the door and continued my search.
As I got ready to leave for work, I noticed the weight of my bag was light.
Uh oh.  Had I really forgotten my stress at work?
Had I really left it at school?
I suppose I'll find out, after my ten minute, stress-less bike commute.
And if it's not there, I won't even care...

The Complications of Communication

Once upon a time, I was surrounded by changes, until all of the changes made changes feel like no change at all.

It's as if we're speaking a language of similes like smiles turning upside down.  And if we do the 'hokie pokie' and 'turn it upside down' 180 degrees again, that's actually what it's all about.  Smiles.  Miles and miles and miles of smiles, stamped on faces and stamped on tiles upon which we stomp, for miles and miles.

And then, one day, we awake from our revere and recognize, full of  surprise, that we are still healthy and alive.  With friends and family right by our sides.  We are lucky, if not for the first time.  The sun shines.  The birds fly.  Flowers bloom and then they die.  Colors fade.  Nothing remains the same forever, except the word forever.  And ever.  And ever.  And never.  But not ever never.  It must be 'never ever'.  Forever.

If we make believe you are King and I am Queen, then that would change everything.  You see, I forgot what it was like to remember what it was like to fall from the skies and into your arms and out of the blue, fall deeply and madly in love with you.

But then the winds began to blow and the rains began to fall and then the weather changed once again and I remembered the dream where I was not in love with you at all.  At all.

Change at a Snail's Pace

Each day is remarkably different than the next, no matter how much our perception is skewed and we are deceived in the thought that the same song is sung, day after day.  Perhaps there is a new verse with the addition of yet another chorus stanza?  Routine is one thing, but time is all the music in the whole, wide, world.

Over the years, it is easier to take note of the drastic changes of our ever evolving existence.  Think about the generations who came before us.  Think about the exponential increase of advances that they have experienced in the mere eighty years which they have lived.  From communicating via hand-written letters, to rooms full of telephone operators and a room full of a single computer, with advances in the audio and television networked-world, ground and air transportation to space travel and infinite information literally fits in the palm of our hands. 

Where, then, exactly, does that hand-written one fit in?  Surely by evolutionary standards, our palms are large enough to hold them, too.

So why, then, are we single handedly sabotaging the service that pioneered interpersonal communication?  Generations upon generations put pen to paper to keep in touch.  In this 21st century, letter writing has become a dying art form.  Advances in information technology have done wonders for our society, which is why a movement to increase the circulation of sending letters and letter-writing, could be so successful.  Perhaps it is a matter of sentimental and emotional connection, which suggests the need and desire to communicate this way.  Whatever it is, and whatever your thoughts, write them down and mail them in.  

Snail mail CAN prevail. 

_______________________________________________________

The other day, I was handed an asinine editorial article about the failing United States Postal Service.  My opinion aside, the author of the article just failed to present a solid argument.  However, as saving the USPS is one of my life pursuits, I couldn't help but write a response:

Mr. Black could be applauded for his attempt of appropriate use of "massive anachronism."  Unfortunately, his applause ends there.  Anyone who has traveled to a lesser developed country has likely experienced a failing mail delivery system.  The United States Postal Service was initially created for a transference of information and like most advances, has evolved to an extremely efficient service.  The USPS has one of the best hand delivered mail and parcel services in the entire world.

Let's take a look at economics and practicality.  Mr. Black states, "...like the humble penny, [it] is a leftover waste of a bygone era."  His complaints seem to stem from an economic standpoint of contributing to national debt as well as "a horrible business model."  [Save talk of military operations and national debt for another post.]

As a human being in the 21st century, it is important to take advantage of ecologically friendly and  cost minimizing services such as paying bills online, thus reducing paper trails.  Mr. Black, however, has seem to forgotten (or worse, never known), the primary purpose of the US Postal Service: personal correspondence.  It is extremely disheartening and unfortunate to recognize that those of Mr. Black's generation are missing out on such a unique and interpersonal experience, as writing and receiving hand-written parcels.

With today's capabilities and desire for instantaneous communication, interpersonal communication like that of the dying art of the hand-written note, has taken a back seat to instant gratification, even though a long road of patience still lies ahead.

The hand-written letter, unlike computerized communication such as emails and texts and automated operators (think about how it feels to navigate through a computerized tele-operator), evokes emotions and stimulates brain activity which might possibly be boxed up and stored away in an attic, encased in cobwebs, unless otherwise occupied.  Think of the shame future generations would discover, upon uncovering segments of the brain once used for writing. 

Sending and receiving letters through the USPS is not only about thoughtful communication, as it takes time and energy to sit down and correspond with pen and paper and postage, but also encourages the use of artistic expression.   Think about the variety of stamps world-wide, not to mention the choice of stationary and the endless opportunities of creating one's own.  In addition, mailing letters links and unifies cultures in the inaccessible and most remote parts of the wold.  It is still possible that the Internet has still yet to reach these deep crevasses.

The fact of the matter is that the USPS provides jobs for over 8 million people and pulls in nearly $1 trillion annually, to the economy, according to this recent New York Times article.  And although the numbers of annual economic loss do not lie, it is unfortunate that citizens would choose alternative delivery systems to transport their packages, than utilize an over 200 year old reliable method that could clearly use their assistance.  Humans will never stop shipping and receiving items and if a heightened awareness and increased recognition were paid, perhaps so would some of its debt.

Of course, there is always the option of trading one "anachronism" for another, Mr. Black.  According to an article in Time (February 4th, 2013), eliminating the copper penny from US circulation would save the economy $730 million annually, and likely wouldn't compromise the employment of as many citizens.

Broadcasting major, Mr. Black, the invitation is officially extended to join the Norman Pen Pal Club, to experience the tangible and emotion-evoking written letter, help resurrect the ailing Postal Service and trade 46 pennies for a tiny piece of art, creating a colossal stamp on his generation.

Norman Pen Pal Club
1124 W. Comanche Street
Norman, OK  73069

Save vanishing Snail Mail!

Commitment is the Key to Unlocking Transience

Finally, a minute to breath...

To Think of Time

1

To think of time-of all that retrospection,
To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward.

Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
Have you dreaded these earth-beetles?
Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you?

Is to-day nothing? is the beginningless past nothing?
If the future is nothing they are just as surely nothing.

To think that the sun rose in the east-that men and women 
  were flexible, real, alive-that every thing was alive,
To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear our     
 part,
To think that we are now here and bear our past.

--Walt Whitman

-------------------------------------------------------------

Special things happen when we decide to make a commitment.  For people who like to fly, committing to things is not often easy.  We tend to get distracted by the "greener grass" syndrome, or simply, wanderlust or ignorance.  

The idea of commitment can take many shapes and sail many seas and trek across rocky terrain and travel to the moon and back before committing itself to the planet Earth.

In this 2013 year, I told myself I would commit to something. Anything could do.  Gradually, I found out the commitment would take shape in the form of a location.  And that location would be Norman, Oklahoma.  On the outside, I guess it doesn't seem like much of a commitment, but as soon as I made that decision, the world opened up, wider than traveling all around it ever could.

When I was offered a job to teach English as a second language at the University of Oklahoma, I didn't think twice about taking it. I know it had everything to do with the commitment resolution I had made a couple of weeks prior.  And it felt really good.  For the first time, in a very long time, I don't feel like my feet are hanging out with my head, up in the clouds.  The ground feels firm and cushy and flexible, beneath my feet and the clouds are fluffy and like thought bubbles around my head.  I think there could be something to this teaching profession...

I'm no stranger to being thrown into something new and expected to figure things out, with only a little help and a little guidance, along the way.  Basically, enough to make you feel like the pool you're swimming in is big and deep and wide, but on the other hand, you have to learn how not to drown, by listening to the voices on the pool's perimeters.  Two weeks into classes, I finally figured out the best way to keep your head above water, is simply, to float on top of it.

My students mainly come from the East, where oil is cheaper than water and their country's population takes up ten spaces on piece of paper.  It is a different experience to be among the majority, until you are among the minority, once you cross the classroom threshold. I have been an outsider many times in my life but this is a completely new experience- to be "noticed" the way one is "noticed" while traveling overseas, but you haven't even left your backyard. 

And yet, therein lies the beauty.

There is something about the Oklahoma winter and the dormancy of nature, which adds to the comfort of my new found commitment. Sparseness surrounds us these days, making it easy to want to shed ourselves from material possessions, or helping allow us a better acceptance of loss (whatever form it may take).  We can reconnect with our simplicity, while anticipating the new growth of the spring.

Right now, it is a good time to be back in Oklahoma.
Perhaps this simple sense of self realization is just the thing to help keep me from becoming...committed.

The Convenience of Travel

Last night I had this dream:  

I was in a foreign country and I was a foreigner.  We were amidst an Olympic game of sorts, where the children, myself included, were fighting, but play.  It was boys against girls and the boys had rubber suction arrows which they'd sling at the girls, with a bow.  If they stuck to the girl's skin, however many number of times, the girl would be out.  The girls on the other hand, had puffy jackets to cover their skin, with only their neck showing.  The target area was very small.  That was the only advantage.  They did not have any way of getting the boys out.  All they could do was work towards was defending themselves and not getting arrowed.

At one point, I tired of the game and I took off my puffy jacket to take a shower.  I was not sure how many times I had been pelted, but it didn't matter.  I had removed my armor and was washing myself clean of the game.

Or was I??  I began taking a shower, only to realize that I had an enormous audience watching, as the showers were on a stage down below, in an auditorium that seated at least one hundred people.  Yet I wasn't aware I was being watched, until I noticed people in the audience who I hadn't seen for years and years and wanted to get their attention to say hello.  Once I was successful at that, I realized the vulnerable position I was in and quickly wished I hadn't gotten them to notice me.

And then something very strange happened.  I saw a woman selling things, in a booth, at the bottom of the auditorium.  She was a native of the country, which by now it appeared was somewhere in the Middle East.  She had this amazing display of goods, but no business name, no logo and no brand.

At this point I had finished my shower and proceeded to ask her what her brand was, for her goods.  She had yet to learn a translation for the word "brand", so I began attempting to explain what it meant, buy using an example of a Christmas light decorating company I had seen being used around the neighborhoods.  I asked her if she knew of the company, and she did.  I asked her if she had seen their signs staked down into yards around the neighborhood, and she had.  I further explained that the company had a name and a logo and that they used a certain "brand" of light bulbs which they promoted, on their signs.  

It was at that point, a light bulb went off in her head, and success eventually followed...

_____________________________________________________________

When I was 21 years old, I began dating a man.  Even at age 25, he was more man than I have ever, dated today, in the sense that he was good at so many things and made those things so appealing and interesting about which to learn because he was so confident and trustworthy and took care of himself and let me take care of myself, while giving a few pointers along the way (No offense to those I've subsequently dated.  I am happy we did and wouldn't have changed anything, please know that).  But I took it for granted, having found someone who loved me and supported me, unconditionally, when I was so incredibly young.

Yet that was just the problem.  We had found each other when I was too young, and I forced separation  and heartbreak by uprooting myself and moving to Africa, convincing myself there was more to explore. 

Explore, I did.  I don't regret that decision but from time to time, I think about that man and I wish him well.

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As we grow older, it's hard not to look back and think about the past and where it might have gone, had we made a different decision.  Should we have moved across the country to take that job?  Marry that man?  Watch our parents age?

What are we looking for out of a partner?  I thought I had exhausted asking that question to myself, but as it turns out, I had never really put it into words.

For some of us, we are a world of lists.  Words written down help us stay focused on our tasks and recognize the need for order and organization in our lives.  Grocery lists, lists to do around the house, taking back lists, travel destination lists, work lists, the lists go on and on.  So why, after all these years of working off of lists, had I not made a list of what I'm looking for in a partner?  Maybe because it seemed slightly narcissistic and egotistic to me.  Why should I rule out getting to know someone because they don't have  quality on my "list"?  I feel like each and every one of us should have the opportunity to get to know someone for themselves, in order to find out if we are truly compatible, whether as a friend or, ultimately, intimate relationship.  Like I've talked about before, I believe we have ability to manifest our own destiny and happiness.

So with the start of the new year, I decided not only to make a list of resolutions for myself, to work towards and hopefully help me become a better person, I have added a partnership list to my list. 

I list you the best of luck in 2013!

Snow White's Prince(ipals)

The window seat was taken but
I took over
           staring out the window

Lights,
a speckled glowing grid
growing farther away and
wider than the memories I've made
          over the past several months

And the soil changes
from sand to silt
to sludge
           to dirt as red

As the stockings hung on
the absent chimneys
waiting
           to be shimmied down

By the jolly old man
who
knows exactly where
           the key is living

And with that he
unlocks
           the imagination.
****************************************************************************

I had been up for approximately 48 hours.  Maybe if didn't go to bed, the next morning would never come and I wouldn't have to leave my "family" I'd come to love, over the past four months.  The people I had seen nearly every day and the places I had frequented and the streets down which I rode (and wondered how I would adjust to riding on the right side again) would all still be there.  Yet I would not. 

And then, after over twelve hours of travel, I hear a voice as familiar, yet haunting, as Will Rogers' himself and I turn around to see my father's face in the body of a fellow traveler.   How did you get though security?  To which he replied, "I never left".  

And so began the next 36 hours of a whirlwind...fast track:  father flew in unexpectedly but expected to be taken care of, sleeping an entire day and waking up thinking that I only slept for mere hours, as the sun slowly set.  I was in Norman, in my own home, in my own bed, but only for mere hours, before heading down to Dallas for the Famidays.

On the first day of Famiday, my mother said to me, Tonight we'll see the faces in the places we will be.

On the second day of Famiday, I said to my mother, It's snowing, can it be??  Come press your nose on the window and see!!!!  

It all happened so fast.  Christmas and family and snow, oh my.  I'm happy to have spent my first week back in Dallas, with family and attempting to settle into a life on which I pressed pause.  Yet it's strange to be back.  It's almost as if I never left.  And then I look at the photos and read back through my journal and look at the faces of my new friends whom I have made over the past short months of my favorite season, which was completely absent and I realize it wasn't the season, but me who was gone.  And now I'm back but gone from the place absent of seasons and I'm almost even more absent-minded.

One door closes and one opens, in the very same building which people use the revolving door.

What will I do now?  Everyone is interested to know, including me.  It is a good time to ask that question, to yourself, as we become just as close to the end as we are to the beginning.

One thing is for sure....do right and do it good, alright?

Procrastination Post

I should be wrapping things up neatly, like a present under the Evergreen Christmas tree, which I've come to see, everywhere I turn, from Church's Chicken, to the neighbor's front porch, to the Peace Corps Office.  My friend, Matt, pondered aloud why Palms weren't decorated instead and I thought to myself that he had a good point.  I have yet to see an Evergreen growing in the trenches.

The trees are as ornate as the businessmen and women who work in Georgetown, and as my days dwindle down to the very end, my to-do list grows infinitely.

When I reflect on my four short months here, in Guyana, I wonder why it snuck up on me so quickly.  I feel sad to be leaving.  I feel like this chapter was too short and it needs some editing, to be longer.  I feel like I wonder what it's like to be told you have a terminal illness and you only have four months to live.  Looking back, feel like I would have made a good patient.  I did a lot of things, contributing to Guyana in many many ways.  I grew a lot as a person.  I made a lot of new friends.  Friends to whom I will give my things away, because I am leaving them and going to another place, far far away.  We both will feel as since of loss and we will both grieve in our own ways.

There are times in our life when we feel like we're back in summer camp.  Peace Corps often feels that way.  You make strong bonds with people you may or may not ever see again, not just in the Peace Corps, but in the country in which you've served.  This time around, though, it reminds me of a combination of Lord of the Flies and Dead Poet's Society.  Even though we are out of our elements, we still manage to make serious and meaningful contributions to the Guyanese society, and make an impact on those whose paths we cross.

When we travel, we not only learn more about the world around us, but we also learn more about ourselves.  We learn more about our friends and family, too.  We learn more about the people with whom we became friends with who remained at home and we learn more about the people who we become friends with, who will remain when we once again, return to those friends whom we've left behind.  Moving to a completely new and unfamiliar place, and integrating into a new community is one of the hardest things for people to do.  But to me, saying goodbye is even harder.

For some reason, this time around, it feels even harder.  I'm not sure if it is because I don't know what lies around the next corner (or in the next chapter), or if it is because I have this gut feeling my work here isn't quite finished.  Whatever the reason is, I am trying to remain positive.  If it were not for all of my friends and family I left behind, who are happily awaiting my return, I know I would be feeling even more sad about leaving.  I am grateful for all the people in my life who have kept in touch, throughout all my traveling.  It gives the hard times a softer landing.  I feel like I have been spoiled here.  There are some people (you know who you are) who have just truly and absolutely gone above and beyond to contribute to my happiness as a PCV in Guyana.  I am so honored and grateful to you all and you are the people who are making it the hardest to say goodbye.  But perhaps it's only so-long-for-now.  At any rate, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

For now, though, I'll look forward to connecting with friends and family from back home, and enjoying the holidays and maybe even the cold weather.  We shall see about the last one...

Here's to wishing everyone health and happiness, wherever they are in the whole wide world.