HAPPY NEW YEAR, FOLKS!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM OVER THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY!!! (From the future!) 2011 is shaping up to be a good year. I hope you and yours will be happy, healthy and surrounded by peace in the coming year(s).

Here's a song I've been listening to and loving:

Go Outside by Cults

2011!! What!?! Have a GREAT one!!

All About Eve

Although Bette Davis was brilliant - as always - and Marilyn Monroe was as beautiful as ever, this post has nothing to do with Joseph L. Mankiewicz's classic 1950 film.

I'm talking about the 6-10pm waterpark shift, otherwise known as 'Eve.' It's a dreaded shift; as great as it is to pick up the hours, the pools are usually dead, and with the pool music cut due to the water park's proximity to the Island Dinner Show, boredom quickly begins to nag like a child begging for that latest Tickle Me iPad craze; eyes glaze over, mouth hangs open with drool pooling at your feet as you stare hazily into the shimmering yellow orb-lit aqua abyss. Alphabet lists have played a huge role in keeping the insanity of the Eve shift at bay. Though I still can't come up with an instrument for "I", "N" or "Q" - I was going to use "ice pick," "needles" and "quills," but I thought that was pushing it. Turns out I'm pretty awful with flowers, trees and birds, too - at least in alphabetical order, but yeah, still pretty bad; need to study up! (Countries, authors, books, movies, musicians, song and album titles, and I'm your lady - some other ones too, but I don't want to brag. -- super sidenote: I wish I could insert something that when you hovered your mouse over certain parts of my text you'd see the faces I was making as I wrote. That'd be way more interactive and awesome, right? Sadly my lack of technological skills prevents you from enjoying yourself further. My bad!) There have been many a night - after spending all day in the hot sun, possibly with some or even all of it at the water park - where I've found myself putting my whistle completely in my mouth, wondering if I swallowed it would I sound like that silly gopher on Winnie the Pooh with it lodged in my esophagus, or would it just be my throat, is there a more doctoral term for it, is it even connected to the voice, it must be because when you're choking you can't speak, or breathe. Windpipe? I apparently really need to study up on my anatomy, too. Then I decide I have too much to live for and spit the whistle out.

"This is what happens when you swallow a whistle, kids. They cut out your voice box."
"Well, then how can we hear you, mister?"
"You can't; you're reading my mind. You've all been watching too much 'True Blood'!"

Some nights I practice the water walk, and while I made it to the end about two weeks ago I still haven't mastered the turning around part. Most nights I find myself doing anything and everything to avoid getting in the water - that's good to hear from a lifeguard, right? - but then there's the night where the lure of the pool is too strong to deny and I end up soaked and shivering on chair for the rest of my shift.

Tonight me and my big mouth got me sent to the Racquet Center (solo shift; no rotations) which is a small 16 x 9.5 (of my feet) room with two large stainless steel counters in the front and on the side, where reservations for courts and equipment is dealt out, and the locker keys are handed over, respectively. It's pretty awesome in that there's no one to boss you and I spent the first hour - between six and seven is always slow because of dinnertime yum-yum - practicing my hand/eye coordination by bouncing a ping pong ball on its paddle (I stopped counting after 147*) and talking to co-workers. Then I had to pee. Then some people wanted to rent stuff, more co-workers came by, then more renters, I started the first draft of this, and on and on the night went. (That was actually how I got "in trouble" and sent there, after calling the Main 2 chair, the "soup" - that's short for supervisor - asked who wanted to get stuck at the RC and I said, "Darnit! I meant to bring my Korean to stud- I mean, what? I wouldn't do that... you watch the counter... at the Racquet Center..." but it was too late to retract my outburst and so to the Racquet Center I went, head hung low. All in all it was a pretty good night - aside from probably giving myself bladder control issues when I'm 45 for waiting until the last possible moment to call the WP for someone to watch counter.

So, that's the Eve shift, the wet and dry of it. Awesome, right? It actually isn't so bad, but sometimes I just get so sleepy when the sun goes down. And now it's getting late in the night, and Benjamin Franklin said, "Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." and I want to swim or run or something before the restaurant gets mobbed with guests. DAY OFF TOMORROW!! Hiking Mt. Lam Lam with my friend, Bobby and then hopefully talking some people into going to the White Lady place, but I might wet myself before we even get there, especially with all the waiting I did tonight.

Enjoy your Sunday, America! It was lovely here.
*that's a lie, 999.

Mr. Lennon

A radio scan from the night of December 8, 1980.
Happy Christmas (War is Over) is quite possibly my favorite Christmas tune. Man, I love all those Beatles.

Rolling Stone also released his last interview (given days before his death) in their latest issue which hits newsstands tomorrow for you Statesiders. (Cough, cough, cough. I don't have a subscription anymore and I don't like reading magazines online. Cough, cough, cough. Wink. - What?)

I hope I'm not turning into the Stinky Girl (feigned worried face)

So many new posts because I was scheduled to work right now, but the training finished early and I didn't plan on doing laps until 5pm and yoga isn't until 6:30p so I have time to write, swim, play in the sea and sun, stretch with friends and then who knows what other kinds of fun the night will hold (ooh! I'm going to read! and play my guitar! and maybe even fall asleep writing letters! but probably end up scratching all that and hanging out with folks and laughing... we'll see.)

I was oh-so happy to read this article ("The Great Unwashed") a few days ago and feel validated in my lack of showering in the past 20+ days (I'm in the water all the time, people! Chlorine and sea, no need to kill a bunch of whales by washing with soap). The article brings up some pretty good points, and even if it was full of "blah blah blah, people in power don't always shower and neither should you, blah blah blah" I probably still would've been like, "Yeah! That's right. That's good. I don't need to shower every day." because it's the New York Times, and I'll blindly believe anything I read from them because of their excellent street cred and super-duper hard crossword puzzles - they have to be smart to make Wednesday+ up. Right?

Today it started getting to the point where I thought, "Wait. I didn't shower yesterday... or the day before... when did I shower?" and that answer is Saturday... morning, maybe... so I probably should today. I should. Seriously. But then I jump in the water again, and it's like, "What day is today?" all over. But tonight, really. I wash my face and brush my teeth on the daily, okay. Deodorant? No. Again, the water. I get away with it here. Granted if I was still in Korea, or Chicago, or wherever else not on Water World I would use deodorant (although this aluminium or whatever that is supposed to be in it is awful and toxic, but what isn't these days, right? All the companies are in cahoots with the doctors and the health insurance people and we're all being shepherded into the apocalypse, I know. Whoa) and take daily showers given my level of activity: running, biking and the like. It's just really cool and fun and reminiscent of childhood to not have to be the cleanest person - hygienically speaking. Don't be grossed out. And no, Mom, I haven't started dreading my hair... yet (kidding, kidding! it took me long enough to grow it out after Locks of Love lopped it all off; I'm not doing that again for a while).

In all seriousness, the article brings up a lot of valid points in what we think of as the holiness of being "clean". I ate dirt as a kid and I'm not allergic to anything; I wear clothes until I spill something on 'em or they twinge the tips of my nostrils; I don't shower as much as I used to. In India, and most of Asia for that matter, they bathe using buckets rather than running the water constantly. Maybe that's too much for you, but you could at least turn off the faucet while you brush your teeth or wash your face (or your dishes), or while you shave your legs - that's all mainly a matter of conservation if you're too icked out by the not washing. Maybe you already do all of those things and more, and you're now saying to yourself, "Thanks for finally joining us, Kate. Took you long enough, you wasteful washer, you!" shaking your fist at your computer screen. I'm just saying, it's something to try as we waste a lot on our world, and we really don't need to. Just think about it, or dismiss it. Do what you will. I put it out there for you, and I won't love you any less for killing the polar bears, but you'll be in a sorry pickle when they feel your fear when you meet them on the melting arctic tundra.

A SNAAAAAAAAKE!!

Dear Gournal,
(and I tried to find a clip where Andy says this in "Wet Hot American Summer" but I couldn't. I did find this instead and it makes me laugh, too.)
Lindsay: What 'cha doing?
Andy: Writing in my gournal. I write my thoughts in it every day.
Lindsay: Oh, you mean a journal?
Andy: Yeah, whatever. I guess I'm not all smart like you. 
There was a GIANT (okay, not really. It was semi-long and pretty skinny) snake in Amanda's room the other night. A SNAKE!! As in a slimy strangler without hands. I was already in bed when I heard a squeal followed by a next door knock and a ruckus going down in the hall. I stirred thinking perhaps Santa Claus came early, but upon my arrival to the light I see a freaked out Amanda running away from my next door neighbor, Alex who had a snake on a string (lasso'ed just below its head) being held up by a broom handle. I was thinking that wasn't a very nice thing for him to do when he lowered it into a big bucket that magically appeared in the middle and Amanda cried with hands clasped, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! EWWWWWW!!" as she peered to see that the snake was secure and lidded in. Bucket! Snake in a bucket! Snake!

It was long and green-brown (a tree snake as you can see below - which are apparently a big problem on Guam, and you can read about that here) and it came in through Amanda's AC vent. She said she heard crinkling of some plastic that was in the vent, but didn't think anything of it as she had looked around for the source a couple of times without any luck, but on the last time she found Mr. Snake half-way outside of the vent and she bolted for the door in hopes it wouldn't slither away while she was searching for a rescue. That's where Alex the Snake Hunter came in and saved the day.

How about that, eh? Pretty wild! Now Sarah and I are nervous about leaving our balcony door open. Fingers crossed no critters come in thinking this is home. (I found out that A has some sort of hole in her wall that she needs patched and some plants on her balcony. This isn't the first time some creepy crawly came in her room - she's had a couple of furry eight-legged guests which vomitrociously I included a picture of one who only has seven legs - strange - with the snake below. Hurl!)

Love,
Kate

(girl's had some bad luck, right? PS - she said the you could hear the spider walk. that's how big it was.)

It's all uphill from here...

[Updated: hopefully not as mopey this time around. Also, this is by no means a version of me waving my hands saying, "Hey! Here I am - where are you?!" just me dealing with my own issues of "Whoa. What am I doing? Where am I? Who took my water bottle?" This too shall pass. I'm just overly emotional sometimes. Hah. Sometimes. That's silly. --Why is it so hard to do things that should seemingly come so easily like being nice to people even if you don't like them, or smiling and being cheery when it's in your job description? Life could be worse, and I'm in a pretty wonderful place - geographically - right now so I need to focus on that. I sang and whistled at work this morning so things are back to normal.]

Yesterday was by far the most emotionally draining day I've had since I've been here - that I've had in a while. I think I would've been okay had it not been for the Christmas music they have playing on repeat in the dining hall. Everything is "I'll be home for Christmas" this and "I'll have a blue Christmas without you" that. I've been away from home 15 months now, and I'm not going back for another five to six. My heart breaks a little each time I think of it like that. I cried a little on chair yesterday - and what do you know, I broke into tears and whimpers recalling that - awesome. I know, I know. I chose this for myself, and it's more than wonderful here - paradise, even! - and the work (if you can even call it that) is fun, although it can be so draining to be "on" all the time (especially working an 11-hour shift, but we’ll get to how I make it through the 6-10p in another post).

"WATER AEROBICS!" "BEACH VOLLEYBALL!" "LET'S GO WINDSURFING, EVERYBODY!!" or “HOW’R’BOUT SNORKELING, PEOPLE?!” Those sound awful, right? So I know I shouldn't be sad (I shouldn’t!), but I blame it on the 'tis the season nonsense and being a mopeyface in my darkened dorm room (sunshine is magic!). Anyway, after worrying that I'm fading from peoples' thoughts and memories back home I shook myself out of it and reminded myself that family will always be there, and so will the people who truly matter, and those people that do disappear, well, it was more than wonderful to have them in my life for a time, however short it may have been, and I’m thankful for the things I learned from them and the person they helped me become. I straightened myself up in my chair (by the way, no one was in my pool at the time - a few were off to the side - we're slow this week) and started thinking about all the people that I love and care about and I went through each person and sent peace and love out to them. Did you feel it? It made me so happy to go through people from all the different places I’ve been in my life, and feel so grateful to have so many people that mean a lot to me. Afterwards I remembered I should give some of that peace and loving to myself, too, and I felt much better after that. It actually ate up a lot of time, so that was another plus because watching an empty pool can be a bit mind-numbing.

In yoga, when you're doing strenuous poses or holding one for a longer breath count, you're to focus on the breath to get you through the difficulty and that in turn helps you breathe through difficult situations in life. In addition, one of my favorite podcasts to do is www.yogadownload.com's Metta Yoga (or "Loving Kindness" Power Yoga #4 -- FYI: do the podcasts because they're free, unless you want to pay - then hey, more power to you) where the instructor has you inventory all the people in your life in those that you have positive, negative and neutral feelings towards, and you send peace and love to them.

Basically, right now is really hard because I miss everyone so so so much (so much) and I have to hug myself because sometimes long hugs just aren't the same from strangers (they get weirded out when you try to nuzzle into their armpit), but it will get easier; I’m just having a harder time adjusting to this new change than I thought. I will find the balance between being the crazy Clubmate who makes guests' experiences here more enjoyable and the soul who can find quiet and calm time in solitude by the sea. I just need to focus on taking everything moment by moment, and when I miss someone send a little love their way. It's difficult right now, but I feel like I'm at the hump of it and it will only get easier from here. (Granted I'll probably cry a little bit every day, especially when Christmas songs about loved ones dancing around the tree come on, or as I watch "It's A Wonderful Life!," but six months is a short time in the scheme of things – and a lot of friends want to come visit now that I live on a tropical island! - I hope, and nothing worth doing is ever easy.)

Something for everyone to try and always remember:

(PS - the post's title is from "Due Date" and if you haven't seen it, you should. Very funny. Zach Galifianakis is a tour de force.)

But seriously, who took my water bottle? I wrote my name on it...

A Crystal Ball (of sorts)

I know I've said this before, but sometimes you need to get lost in order to find yourself. Today's been another weird day here on Guam with me trying to wrap my head around my new surroundings. I don't know what exactly drew me to it, but I felt the urge to look back on a previous me, and this is what I found... my five year plan that I wrote for my super senior semester's capstone class at the University of Missouri (December 2007). It overwhelmed me to see that I am in process of actually realizing my dreams (granted they get a little crazy towards the end, but we'll work on that when we get there), and surprised me that the now me is impressed by what the then me wrote. Sometimes getting to the place you want to go can be so difficult, but nothing worth doing or having is ever easy.

Maybe I do know what I want after all...

Oh, to be Young!

by Kate Schriner

            When I was nine, I believed I would be in Hollywood, seriously dating Jonathan Taylor Thomas and driving a red convertible - it didn't matter what kind - by the age of sixteen. At 22, none of these dreams have been realized. I’ve been writing and interested in theatre as far back as I can remember. I’ve also been in school for as long as I can remember. Now the formalized educational part of my life is coming to a close, and I am at a loss of what to do with myself. I have many plans; oh, I have plans that could fuel 1,000 dreams, but the reality of these plans coming to fruition is terrifying. People tell me that I control my own destiny, that with drive and determination I can do anything; that the world is my oyster, and the pearl is waiting. I feel I’m too young to be cynical, but I know that I am skeptical of what the future holds. I want to change the world, but I also realize that I am but one person on this populated planet and I’m seemingly going to have to stand in line wherever I go.

            It’s kind of sad that I didn’t realize the American Dream was a hoax until well into my sophomore year of college. Switching to a state university after attending a private school was a dramatic change that I took a while to accept. Throughout my years of education, my significance has paled to the numbers surrounding me; elementary, I was one of 50, middle school, one of 150, high school, one of 300, college, one of 35,000, and now the world, one in a billion, trillion, gazillion. I don’t even know. At the same time, I did accept the change, and I made it work for me so that my education fit my needs. Against all advice of my family members, I ecstatically became a Theatre major with an emphasis in playwriting, and happily, for Mom and Dad and Step-Dad and Step-Mom and Brother, a Sociology minor – at least I’ll have something to fall back on?

            Now the question: Where do I see myself in five years? What? Where do I see myself in one year, maybe, but I can barely think ahead to next week, let alone five years down the road. So much can change within a day, an hour, a minute, a second; a moment. I have no definitive answer as to what I will do, but I know what I would like to do; my ridiculous post-graduation plans included staying in Columbia, Missouri, because I have a lease on an apartment that runs until May.

While residing in a college town, no longer being a college student, I planned on holding two or more minimum wage positions at local establishments; I already work at Flat Branch, and maybe I’d pick up part-time at Starbuck’s so I can qualify for their health insurance, and then one other little thing on the side. When May rolls around, I would have already applied for multiple positions in theatre companies around the country, and maybe even outside the borders, for apprenticeships, or lower-level entry work – and maybe I’d even have some interviews by then, too.

I talked to my Dad last week (last week! I am guided to this realization) and he told me it was unacceptable for a college graduate to be working 2-3 minimum wage jobs at 60+ hours a week, barely scraping by and not making enough to cover student loan payments. It’s true. Why didn’t I think of that before? I didn’t expensively test my potential for 4+ years just to serve someone coffee and French fries; it’s not satisfying, and I don’t enjoy it. But, I also didn’t think I would have to establish myself at a well-paying, salaried, desk job just to foot the bills and find the means to do what I want to do. I’m scared of that desk job, because what if it’s so enticing, like waitress’ money, that the money’s too good to leave? Because I want to be an artist does that mean I have to be unhappy and/or struggling for a good portion of my adult life? I don’t know, maybe it will develop my work in ways I never thought possible.

Self-confidence: therein lies the problem, I think. I don’t think I know what I’m capable of, and I know I won’t know until I try. It’s just everything has been planned out for me up until the point of college graduation, and then, it’s a push out the door and “You’re on your own now, kiddo!” What? Wait! I’m not ready. I don’t know where to go; what if I choose the wrong path? Can I ever go back? Is there a right path? This is the rest of my life? It terrifies me, because I could seriously let myself down. Somehow, I have to make that my driving force; Russ Tutterow at Chicago Dramatists told me that if I don’t do something for myself, no one else will, it has to be me.

My horizons need to be expanded, I know that much. The bubble of Columbia has kept me sheltered long enough. I want to see the world, I’ve wanted to since I was a kid and found out that giant pyramids stand in an empty Egyptian desert, buildings and technology in China close out the forests and the Bamboo-eating Panda Bears that inhabit them, Roman cathedrals scrape the sky and touch God’s hand. And the people! There are so many people in this world, living so many different types of lives, and I want to experience them and I want to understand them, and tell their story, because if I don’t, who will?

            I think I can be an English teacher, for non-English speaking students. It would give me the chance to travel and have a stable income to help alleviate student loan debt, and not only travel, but have the ability to immerse myself in another culture. I never got the chance to study abroad during my undergraduate studies, and I feel like if I don’t go overseas now, I might never get the chance. Working and living abroad is one thing I know I would horribly regret if I don’t take advantage of it while I am young and able to make the move without being tied down by a family, or another job. Another thing I would like to do in my travels is explore the theatre cultures of other countries. Many artists were influenced and inspired by things they experienced in traveling outside of their cultural comfort zones, and who’s to deny me that same privilege? I sure won’t do it to myself.

               Looking into the five-year future of my crystal ball, I see myself alive and happy. I have a second language under my belt, whether it is Spanish, Chinese, or some country I didn’t even think about while writing this. I had a two-year overseas experience after graduating from the University of Missouri after taking four months prior to get my travel plans and finances in order. Upon my return to America, I used my knowledge and skills gained from my life abroad to acquire a salaried job at Leo Burnett, a leading marketing firm in Chicago. During the nights and weekends, I spent my time taking improv classes at The Second City (or iO) and volunteering at local theatre companies to help pay for my membership and repay their services in getting my scripts produced. I stayed in Chicago for another two years until I got an invitation to attend the Julliard School for all things theatre, performing and writing. And that’s where I am now. It took a long time, but with hard-work and perseverance, I made it back to the Big Apple, and once I graduate, I’m going to take the West Coast by storm and rip Hollywood a new one. And no one ever saw it coming, but it happened.
 --------------------------
OKay, so I'm re-reading this on September 12, 2011, making a few minor changes and thinking to myself, "My, I'm a rambler." And also, perhaps ESL Round Two, how do you do? There's more to be said, in less words, of course.

I'm Floating....

As silly as it may seem, I miss myself. I remember before I left for my solo travels, how everyone would tell me, "Oh! You're going to have such an amazing time, learning about yourself in a whole new context." and how much that frightened me. I didn't think I could handle me all to myself all the time. Of course it turned out to be wonderful, and as corny/weird as it may sound, I fell in love with myself. I don't think that has ever happened before, and I certainly didn't think it was possible. There were moments where I surprised myself in how excellently I dealt with a scary/frustrating situation, and there were equal and opposite moments where I didn't want to have anything to do with myself and couldn't believe my obnoxious/unnecessary behavior - I had some serious Sally Field moments sprinkled in the mix, which was good because it just reinforced the notion that you have to take/love the good with the bad, and [hopefully] they balance each other out.

[me in a hotel room in Delhi - I think this was the day that I met the Austrian artist at the breakfast cafe, and after having a conversation over art and India and chai, she asked me how I was so peaceful. I was stunned. Me? Peaceful. Are you serious, lady? I didn't say that of course, but looking back, I think that was just India. Peace. In my mind it was good, and easy to forgive - both myself and others.]

I think the most important thing that I learned is that you are the only person you will ever have in life - and I don't mean this to be morbid or depressing. People come and go all the time, family, friends, lovers, co-workers, neighbors, people you always seem to share the train car with, but you're the only one who remains - duh, right? But if you really think about it, it's kind of an emboldening (and daunting) thought: you'll never be alone, even if you might feel it physically; you have to be your mother, father, sister, brother, best friend, and lover all rolled into one. As nice as it is to have people who support you, they won't always be around, and you can't ever really depend on anybody but yourself - people are flawed (me/you included).

There were so many times I wanted someone to share all the experiences with while I was bouncing around Asia, but even if there was someone there, we weren't having the same thoughts or feelings, so can you ever really share an experience? You can share an event, but the things taken away are always different. A setting sun might be simply that to one person, while it means a whole slew of things for another.

I kind of feel like I'm floating aimlessly right now, not really sure what's happening. Since I got to Guam it's been a lot of go-go-go! and hardly (if any) time to myself (hence the me missing me thing) - it's so weird sharing a room, though, again I must say that I'm sooooooo lucky to have Sarah as a roomie as she's super-duper. Being with yourself is just like any other relationship that you have to make time for and put in an effort - and sometimes that's easier said than done - so I'm working on that. It's weird trying to understand myself in this new context of Guam... so pardon the scatter-brained-ness of this post.

I'm trying to forge my own path out here in this world as it's exciting, and most days I am excited about it, but some days I think "What the heck am I doing?! How is this going to help me in the long run?" I don't know what I want, and right now my Sybil selves aren't helping me out much, either. But then I have to take a breath and think about it, and deal with everything as it comes, because if I go back to two months ago, I was terrified about the traveling I did, but three weeks ago, when I was flying to Delhi from Mumbai, the man sitting next to me commented on how brave I was, and I thought, "Well, that's strange. I don't feel brave at all, I just did it because I wanted to." So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes the looming horizon looks scary, but you just have to take a breath, hold your hand and walk towards it, because when you get there it's usually more than you ever could've expected.


[Incubus' "Aqueous Transmission" off their Morning View album from 2001 - I used to love that band, and still have a great fondness for them as it's music from my younger youth. This song used to be my favorite of favorites, and I hadn't heard it in such a long time until I moved here and one of the yoga instructors had it on her class playlist. It brought me back, and I also feel like it's fitting at this time in my life - quite a lovely surprise, so I felt like sharing.]

Ghosties.

Oooh! Another thing I've been meaning to tell you. Guamanians... I was just going to ask if that was right, but I guess it is because there's no red squiggle underneath - weird. The people of Guam are very spiritual/superstitious - though I feel like this falls into the spiritual category - they believe that the souls/spirits/energies/ghosts of their ancestors inhabit the trees (Banyan, especially) on the island, so you have to be respectful and ask permission if you're going into the jungle, or if you need to relieve yourself out there by a tree, otherwise something bad will happen to you/you'll get sick. Apparently if they like you, they pinch you to let you know. Granted this is all hearsay and I've never experienced it myself, but I'm not dismissing it. Ghosts, spirits, energies... whatever you want to call them, I believe in them. When I was a kid, after my first dog, Jock died, I swore that I saw him chilling out on the stairs and it scared the crap out of me. Vivid imagination or actual sighting, who knows. Spirits, sharks and tornadoes are all something I want to experience in real life at safe distance, so maybe we'll check two of those off during this tour. I don't really like being pinched though. I also don't like being sick... so I guess I'll take getting pinched instead. I hope these spirits can't/don't read minds or read over shoulders, because I was a little iffy of their existence at first. My friend, Liz (used to work here; introduced me to the place; my yoga instructor back in the Chi) told me a story about how one night she saw a blue orb-like thing that started materializing into a man...

I don't really want to type about this before bed - I always get goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes when I hear creepy/scary stories. There was one that a bus counselor told me and my brother and the other bus kids on the ride to day camp when I was a kid... I can't remember all the details of the story. It was something pretty standard, like a group of campers and their 2 counselors went out of camp to spend the night in the surrounding woods. They had heard stories about the woods being haunted, or something, but ignored them and set up shop anyway. Throughout the night weird things kept happening, like chickens bawking or cats meowing, or dinosaurs or something, I don't know. Maybe one of the counselors went to go inspect, and then he didn't come back, and then they maybe went to sleep, but they woke up to noises and there was a gutted cat strung from one of the trees near their tent? I think they still had one counselor, and they ran back to their bunks only to feel like they were being chased and then when they got inside there was - let it be known that I'm having a hard time typing this out as I'm still visualizing this thing after at least 18 years - this gold-glowing horrifying face/mask thing floating in the window with black, gaping eyes that burned red and dagger-like teeth stained with blood - there were probably horns, too, and I think it killed/hung the gutted counselor rather than the cat, or maybe there was a cat and the counselor. Then the monster/ghoul probably killed everyone in the cabin... Like I said, I can't remember all the details, but I used to imagine that I would find this monster floating outside of my dad's 17th floor bathroom window (condo in JC, NJ), and I had a real hard time getting up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night because I was convinced this monster also lived under my bed. This story was like the Blair Witch Project before the Blair Witch Project was the Blair Witch Project. Scary. Woods. Now I live pretty much in a haunted jungle, on a haunted island. I look forward to bringing positive energy to this place though, so I'm not so worried about it right now. I really disliked that bus counselor, by the by; he always told scary stories that were fun at first, but gave me nightmares months on end. Years. (When I was a camp counselor in Maine, I had to sleep on the top bunk - in the corner, surrounded by windows - first session, and right next to where the door opened second session. I fell asleep to Coldplay's "X&Y" album every night, with eyes shut tight before I was woken up by crying homesick children or the little girl who wet her bed pretty much nightly, and she cried, too, and groggily I would change her sheets before any of the campers got wise - counselors took turns, but that's a whole 'nother story.) I also remember being afraid of werewolves around that same time... I don't know if it's because of said counselor or because I was watching a lot of "Thriller."

With all that being written it's time to say g'night! Cross your fingers that no ghosty-faced monsters infiltrate my dreams, and I'll do the same for you and yours. Peace and love.

MAN! I just read the first page of this article and I'm really creeped out and Sarah's already asleep. GAAAAAAAH!! It's fine. It's fine. GAAAAH!!

Hafa Adai!!

"Hafa Adai" = "half-a-day" (I get so excited when I say it because it reminds me of having half days at school as a kid, and those were the best. Oh, it's a half'aday!! Wouldn't usually throw the 'a' in there, but I did so it related better to the comparison... which I might've just ruined by explaining, like when you have to explain a joke, or over-explain an explanation...)
-------------------------------------------------------
That's Guam's way of saying "Hello!" and I find myself saying it in upwards of 127 times a day. There's a 20 to 5 rule here - at 20 feet you make eye contact with the guest(s) and smile, and at five feet you give a greeting whether it be "Hafa adai" or if you know which country they're from, that greeting (do not under any circumstances assume where a guest is from, because you're probably wrong and it will offend them - I haven't done it, and I won't, but it's just something to know). Speaking of, I really need to brush up on my Korean questions/phrases.

This place is unreal; magically beautiful. I feel like I'm living in a dream. I'm getting paid to smile and sit/play/swim in the sun. Currently training and being overwhelmed with a bevy of information from each different area of the resort: waterpark (comprised of three different pools: slide; games - with a tug of war, roller log thing, bball and volleyball nets; and main - there's a water walk that's insanely hard for adults, you have these hardish foam pieces stringed together across the length of the pool and you have to run back and forth without falling off), racquet center (indoor racquetball and squash courts, indoor/outdoor tennis, indoor badminton, outdoor volleyball and bball courts, an archery range - I taught a lesson to a group of Taiwanese guests today, "Oh, xie xie!" and a ropes course), marine center (the beach: snorkeling, windsurfing, outrigger, sailing, sea kayaking, swimming...), scuba center (swim-thru aquarium, lap pool, and 20ft deep pool to get instructions on scuba diving), Kids' Club, and some other stuff I'm probably forgetting... there's also putt-putt golf and a trampoline that you get harnessed into and you can do flips and jump oh-so high that you touch the sky-sky-sky. Basically, it's awesome.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I haven't had that much time to myself. It's so strange to be sharing a room again, though I feel insanely lucky with my roommate, Sarah - she's super chill and really fun and easy to get along with, and she's 26 which is great because I feel like there are a lot of younger kids here who like to party all the time, and I'm just too old for that on the daily. A basic day is waking up around 6:30 or 7a to get a run in, or just get to bfast early and/or have time to catch people on chat/Skype (I'm 16 hours ahead of Chicago - 16!! That's insane. Is that right? 16!?!? And then 18 in front of my Cali friend - ooosh!!!), and then starting work and after work there's yoga and then dinner and maybe some game with the other people (last night we played an intense game of Walley Ball - like volleyball but it's in the racquetball court and you use the walls: awesome!) or talking/hanging out and then bed and then do it again. Although today I didn't start until 1pm and I went to yoga and did a tiny bit of Skyping and emailing before lunch and work. All in all, I'm still adjusting.

Swimming in the ocean is awesome because it's that crystal clear blue pool water, and it's really relaxing and waveless - because of being in a bay, the waves break really far out... I think because of all the coral, too? The only bad thing is that there are these giant sea slugs all over the floor. They're not murderously alien or anything, but they're just creepy to come down on after doing somersaults or coming into a handstand, or something.

I'm glad I have a calendar on my desk, otherwise I wouldn't know what day it is as they're already melting into one another. I need to do a better job of managing my own time and finding respite from this place, but I figure that will come in time, especially once training is through and I have my own schedule, but you can't really go through life saying, "Oh, I'll find time for this once that is finished." As the wise John once said, "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." So I really need to work on making each day its very best.

This has nothing to do with anything, I just like it quite a lot, and maybe you'll think it's pretty neat, too:

A Continuation...

(...in terms of expanding on themes of the last post, and in the sense of continuing onward in this crazy life's journey.)

This past year and a few months has made me begin to wonder if I'm bound to wander for the rest of my days. From place to place I'll go, mainly avoiding the rain and snow. I've never been one to stay in a place for too long. I blame/credit (it depends on how you look at things... in this context, let's credit) my childhood split between two parents on opposing sides of the mighty Mississippi. During the school year I spent my days running through the cornfields of the Midwest, while summertime saw me shanking people in dark alleyways of the gritty Tri-State area. Every other Christmas usually found me on either coast, panicking and pizzaing my way down windy mountain passes while singing a strained version of The Beatles' "Help!" or picking oranges in my paternal grandmother's backyard for breakfast before a day at the bowling alley (in getting there, I remember as she got older she sat on a phone book to drive - or maybe she didn't, and I'm recreating my memory with someone else's story - and the sun would lighten the maroon interior to more of a pink, and I would stare in wide-eyed terror at the upward jutting bones in her wrists and worry that mine were going to grow and grow and grow just the same and I would have to have an operation to shave them down when I got older... Where were we?). It wasn't until college that I actually stayed in a state for a good majority of the year. Even freshman year didn't keep me in Chicago long as I moved back to Missouri in June. Let's just say it's in my blood (along with my great dislike of packing - despising it, even - and I think that goes under the 'blame' part of my childhood, though getting there was always half the fun... just the packing and unpacking process, because you knew a big change was about to happen, and it was such a pain, and I always over-packed or forgot something and both of those things are pains in themselves, and I really had a cohesive theme running in my mind for this post - I swear! Plans change.).

At the same time, I'm looking forward to settling down somewhere for (at least) a year or so when I get back to the States; working on getting established as some sort of paid writer (whether my name's in the byline or not) and saving up for my next journey abroad.

I'm enjoying the people I'm meeting in these places. Summer of 2005 I was a camp counselor in Maine, and I remember thinking how never had I ever been in a place with such a high concentration of cool/interesting people (outside of my family and homegrown friends - duh!). I felt the same in Korea, and I'm beginning to feel that way again here. Everybody is young and attractive and friendly and funny, and I think it's going to be a great 6ish (no, no, no - I won't re-sign for more! I need to go home one day... gotta let this life food digest) months. It's always nice to meet people that have things in common with you, right? The love of adventure and travel and an extraordinary opportunity, who won't settle for anything less than the best out of life = my kind of people. And so I am reminded, as I usually am many times a day in people watching/social interactions:

...they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after them as I've been doing all my life after the people who interest me, because the only ones for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" (Mr. Jack Kerouac's On the Road.)

Highlights of today: eating a CHEESE sandwich!!! (cheese is a bit scarce in Korea, but they have plates piled high here!! Buffet every day - whoamygosh!) and sea kayaking in the crystal clear calm waters. I'd think of more to ramble on about, but I need to get some gee-tar playing in before yoga at 6:30.

Training starts Friday!!

It's hot here. Like sweatstache hot - I've never been a sweatstache kind of person, so that's how you know it's hot hot. Yeah.

Guh-guh-GUAM!!

I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.

I made it! Safe and sound, and not really sleepy even though it's almost 4am here and I have to be up and cheery for a breakfast meeting. So much excitement! So much confusion! I'm happy to be here because it means that I get to quit moving from place to place. Oy! A bit tired, but completely wired... obviously - seeing as how I'm typing like a Leprechaun (proper noun?).

When I first arrived in Guam's dirty airport, circa 1987 (polar opposite of ICN's sleek terminals filled with duty frees of Gucci, Ferragamo, Swarovski, Cartier and the like, all in extra splendor from the G20 Summit) one of the customs guys asked me what I was doing here, and when I replied that I was working at this resort, he said "I hope you like swimming." And I DO! So that's good news.

My head is in a whirlwind trying to place myself on this planet. Like I said, it's good to be settled, even if the settling takes place in the staff quarters (read: dorm-like, service elevator entry) which is a hotel room. HOTELS!! There's a balcony, TV, fridge (though no cups, and I ran out of room, so I drank some water out of a coffee filter... WHAT!?), and a bed - which I am going to go toss and turn in until the sun comes up.

Here's a song that parts of remind me of what's happening right now


It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most.

PS - it smells a bit weird in here, so we're going to have to do something to remedy that. An IcyHot sort of smell - mixed with mold, and I know it's not from my stuff. Good thing I bought all that incense in India!! And I always wanted to live in a hotel... granted this isn't exactly the Park Ave. penthouse that I had in mind, but it being on a tropical island when the rest of my former worlds have descended into a bitter winter, I think I'll manage.

Seriously - I think they cleaned the carpets with IcyHot. I wish I was joking. I really do.

Namaste, India.

India,

I'm leaving you. Our month together was [too] short, sweet, and anything but simple. You made me frustrated more times than I can count, and many times you made me want to cry out of lost in translation transportation confusion, but you were also kind and caring, and helped me grow in more ways than I thought possible.

The growing - that's what Seb said was the most important thing anyone can do for their partner in a relationship, and India, I think you're the same way; you pushed me places I never dreamed of going (at least at this stage in my life). You were there for me when I needed you. Yes, sometimes you were pushy beyond belief, and I don't know why you can't queue in line like everybody else. But more often than not you opened my eyes to new sights and experiences, and for that I am eternally grateful.

India. I'd like to see you again; to spend more time together, but one can never know what tomorrow will bring, so until then I can hope and I can pray, and wish and think about the sweet things we'll do together next time... but until then, know that you'll always hold a special place in my heart (and in my head wobble).

Love,
Kate


(the internet cafe I'm at isn't keen on video watching, but this one looks pretty awesome with the two John Denver's in one frame.)

Sidenote

I've been listening to this song an awful lot lately - a good four times/day on average (eeee!). I like the progression of it, and it seems like how it would feel to ride a rainbow out of a rainbow cloud. Just after a spring shower. (Revision: I prefer this version as opposed to the previous live version I had up earlier.)



("What Would I Want? Sky" from Animal Collective's November 2009 EP: Fall Be Kind)

EARTHQUAKE BUS!! (and others)

I arrived in McLeod Ganj (AKA Upper Dharamsala) and I'm gonna go see the Dalai Lama! Or maybe at least see the place that he resides when home? We'll see. I only have 4-5 days here then back to Delhi, hop a day train to Agra, come on back and then (GASP!), fly to Korea next Thursday!! LESS THAN A WEEK! I can't believe it... so we're going to pack it in every day!

I am becoming [in certain situations] a very patient person. Last night I sped walked (pack in tow) down the dusty Main Bazaar street in the Paharganj area of Delhi behind my bus ticket arranger for what seemed like a mile, then I crammed into a rickshaw with two Israeli girls (who just arrived in India that morning) and the ride was so long that I started to wonder whether or not the bus man failed to mention that we'd be taking that the whole way. Once at the bus... oh, that bus! I don't even know where to begin.

The stains on the seats were nothing compared to the broken ones - some didn't recline at all, some reclined all the way; some didn't have covers, some didn't have armrests. I picked a seat and sat down as you do on a bus, but the invisible seat numbers indicated by the frantic gesturing of the bus guys meant I needed to move not once, but twice and all the way to the back of the bus. Back of the bus? Fun! Not so much... (Note: I'm not upset about this journey in the slightest, in fact it was probably the best mode of transportation thus far given the stories it provided - close second is the roach-infested sleeper car from Mumbai to Udipi where I spooned my backpack.) The bench in the back didn't recline - it was a full on "L" - and the people in front didn't care so much and so they reclined comfortably. The thin foam pad we sat on flaked off on everything and the window didn't close all the way, which was good until we started getting further up north and further into the night. Dimly lit and slightly mildewy in smell, but that's nothing new.

The fun started when there were five of us already crammed onto the bench (TWO - that's right! not one, but TWO Americans did I meet!! We'll get to them in a minute) and because one of the seats was broken into an unsittable state the bus men wanted to put the broken chair man on the bench with the rest of us (the three Americans, the Nepalese engineer, the older Korean lady who wanted to sit with her mother but was pushed to the bench). We protested; we fought; we said, "NO WAY, Jose!" The Nepalese guy to the left of us suggested finding a strong branch or metal rod to keep the broken seat semi-attached to the good one. 15-20 minutes later they tied a handkerchief around the seat back handles. Wow. (The seat broke a little more every minute, and by the morning time it was hanging on by a wire and laying in the person behind it's lap.)

Once we started rolling it was the usual bumpy, dusty, exhaust-filled, horn blaring ride. (India's roads are actually louder and bumpier than any I've experienced, and granted that experience is limited to North America and Asia, I think it's safe to say that these roads are the loudest in the whole world.) The funky horn tune was fun the first four times, but then it just started feeling like I was on a runaway circus bus. (Note: The bump-jumps(!) on the road - full on out of your seat, so much so that in describing landing back on his seat, John said the only word for it was "anus stretcher": that's what I'm talking about when I say the back was a bit uncomfortable - and the rocking back and forth through the mountain lead to the title 'earthquake bus'.)

Another per usual, (so it seems) we stopped and picked up a few errands - which would be oh-so fun to drop off later - outside of Delhi. Midnight came and went with little sleep being had from rocking my sleeping head against any number of objects within head-fall range and trying to reason/push with/against the ajumma in front of me who kept trying to recline her seat further and further.

At 3:30 we made another unexpected stop. There was a red Goods Carrier truck tilted from being stuck in a huge pothole in the middle of the road (broken axle?). Our bus driver tried to go around it a few times after the bus in front of us didn't topple to its side. On the first try we didn't get enough gas. On the second try we ripped the red truck's side mirror off. On the third try two upper windows broke on the bus**! All the while this is happening, the bus riders being sleepy and confused are "WHOA"ing and "EEE"ing in a somewhat delighted horror (we all knew this was going to make an excellent story if we made it to M.G. in one piece). After the glass broke everyone thought it best to get out. We walked out into the shiver-inducing crisp mountain air and looked on as the other truck and bus drivers that had been spectators only moments before began digging out the hill around the side of the G.C. truck. After about 10 minutes of digging and a few unsuccessful (read: more glass shattering - all the while I'm just thinking about how cold it's going to be on the bus now, and also how glad I am that I'm sitting on that bench in the back after all) tries to get through, the driver makes it around the truck!! ...And then he keeps driving for some distance causing us to look at each other, "Is he not going to stop?" and then start running after him and shouting "Wait! Come back! You forgot about us!" in our respective languages. (I could just imagine the driver sitting up there in his chair, looking out his side mirror - still intact due to the low height and degree of GC slant - laughing and wondering how far he can make us go.)

The morning brought misty mountains in the dawning day and windy mountain passes that our driver insisted on taking on like a mad man. The older French men said that this wasn't the road they've been on before and all the villagers watched in confused interest as our giant, rickety bus clambered through their sleepy states blasting its "Come join the circus!" continuous horn.

Long story short: we were supposed to leave at 5:30p, but didn't pull out of the parking lot until a little after 7p. That should have put us in M.G. by 7am, but we got in just after 11a instead. Lovely way to start the day! A chai and a nap in my 150rs/night (ASAH!!!) room followed by a "hot" shower and frozen toes are all the in between things from now and then.

Since I just started walking around this place I don't know much, but I do know I like it, and already feel myself wanting to spend more time than I'm able to. Let's enjoy it while we can!

OH! And the Americans!! Beth and John from CO, both 39. Really cool people. They quit their jobs (medical ethnologist and aerospace engineer, respectively - impressive, right?) so they could travel the world for a year! So cool! They are the only unplanned Americans (as I saw friends from Korea in Mumbai, and my buddy Lauren and a few of her friends in Goa) I've encountered in India, and since the Vietnam-Cambodia bus. It's really great to meet fellow countrymen, I think all travelers can agree to that, because it's so nice to share something abroad with someone from your homeland - this is true for anybody, not just countrymen, even though shared homeland and language are really nice to find. All the Americans I've met on this trip have been pretty awesome - aside from one chick in Pai who had been traveling for just over 2 years and she was acting all holier than thou and being a braggart, but she was from Chicago's suburbs so what can you expect? (Zing!) Just kidding. I know a lot of genuinely wonderful quality people from the suburbs of Chicago.

Totally unrelated (but do you expect anything less from me?) when I was staying in Goa, the first couple days the shop ladies kept asking me if I was English and then telling me that they loved my white skin (I'm not that white. I thought), then they would say that I looked like I was 20, and I knew they were lying through our whole conversation. It's almost as if they knew the moment that I was figuring them out that they sprung. "You look at my shop?" And the anklets, bracelets and necklaces start appearing on your lap or the blanket they stealthily spread out while you blinked. Wait! I said I wasn't going to buy anything. "It's okay. You just have look for good luck." Whose good luck, lady?

INDIA! I love you.

**All the crunching reminded me of the time when I moved myself up to Chicago in 2008 via U-Haul with my friend Lauren (same one who I saw in Goa!). After mastering the highways with a white-knuckled grip I thought I was more than ready to tackle the city streets of Chi City - and(!) parallel parking. I told Lauren that she didn't need to get out of the car; I could handle the task. As I'm reversing into the spot I hear a crunch-crunch-crunch, look over at a worried face Lauren who says, "I think you just hit a car."
Me: No, no. That's just ice. (It being the first of March and there's still winter on the ground.)
(Continue reversing.)
crunch-crunch-crunch
L: I don't think that's ice.
M: It's okay!
L: (oh shit/yeah right face)
(Continue reversing.)
crunch-crunch-crunch
M: (head in my hands) I don't think it is either.
L: Do you want me to get out and check?
M: Yeah...
L: (exits and shouts) Yep! You scraped it up pretty good.

So it was the truck behind me, but it was all the fault of a twisted metal bumper on the U-Haul so I left a note after L directed me perfectly, and insurance took care of everything. Phew!

"What are you looking for?"

"What are you looking for?" Seb called as I was searching the dewy grass over with my flashlight. Looking for whatever insect was shining like a beacon. But it (the question) speaks true for my journey here, and elsewhere. And to answer it... I haven't the slightest. What am I looking for? An answer? What kind of answer am I hoping for?

The farm proved to be so much more useful in life application then I ever could've imagined. I thought I was going to learn a little bit about how to work the land (truth be told, I've always wanted to live on a commune... and now even more I want to work, if not volunteer, but mostly work on a ranch in Montana! MONTANA! I've never been. The BIG Sky state. I can't imagine the stars there at night. Breath-taking, I imagine.), but I ended up learning a whole lot about myself, and it was really overwhelming - both in a good and bad way.

The last night that Seb was there (he ended up leaving early because he needed to go meet his gf in another area, and boy! I really did not like living in the woods by myself. Paranoia took over at night, especially after reading this book about how human bones that date back to over 100 million years ago have been discovered, and how Harry and the Hendersons Neanderthals are actually still around today, but we call them "Sasquatch" and "Yeti" and other things of that nature. I was thinking about them when I heard branches break, and yes, because I couldn't lock the doors of the house and my room I put barriers up between them and me as an alarm. Okay, so I'm 25, but you try living in the basically wilderness by yourself and see if you don't behave the same way. Okay?) we had a big discussion - well, really he just talked a lot about society's problems and how we can't really change anything but ourselves (and it's basically true) and the world's ideologies and not having attachment to things and family (but I can't not attach to my family, I love them, and he said it wasn't about love, but they're just people... oh! I can't even comprehend most of the things he talked about, I'm not ready for it yet. As you might be able to tell from my ramblings.) and after I found myself gritting my teeth thinking that he'd never stop lecturing - in a sense - he asked me how I was doing, how I felt about everything, or something along those lines, and before I knew it, I was spilling my guts out to him. From everything we had talked about from my own views to family life, relationships, to fears and dreams, things I had only thought about and written about for who knows how long - to have someone actually listen to them - with genuine interest and non-judgement - and to respond, it was like a huge weight was lifted off my chest and I could actually breathe! "Huh! So this is how I really do feel!" It was quite a marvelous thing, and I really appreciate meeting Seb because he was truly a wonderful human being; I asked him what his dream was, and he said, "To see all the people of the world love each other." and it might seem a bit corny, but I guess it really shouldn't, because why can't we? As the Indian man who I met in the Krishna temple in Udipi (or Udupi, either is correct) yesterday said, "We're worse than the animals." in terms of our behavior towards each other and the world, too, I suppose. Then Seb asked me what my dream was, and sheepishly I responded that I wanted to share other people's stories. It didn't seem as grand on the human scale of things, pretty selfish actually, but it's true. That is my dream. I know I have a lot of work to do before I get there, but there's a Louisa May Alcott quote that I really love (and I'm going to paraphrase here) where she talks about how up in the stars that's where her dreams lie, and while she may not reach them, she always knows they're there and she can see them and long for them. And who knows if that's really relevant to what I'm typing or not. I'm just throwing out a whole bunch of thoughts right now because the keyboard is at my fingertips.

And going back to my fears, I think my main one is about change. Because after this whole experience abroad, how can I not change? How will I change? Or what if I don't, and I stay the same? I don't think I was that terrible a person before I left? Maybe I was even good? I'm not sure? But, I just feel, after seeing the way that other people live (and how we're all pretty much the same) that I should be a bit different. Will I still be able to relate? I don't know. I honestly and truly don't know. And that's terrifying to me, but also exciting. I just - sigh - don't know. According to the Buddha, that's a good place to be, and I remember in talking to an older gentleman at a Chicago Dramatists' function way back when in 2008(?) that he said that no one really knows anything from what's going on to what they want to be, they just get better at pretending as they get older.

So, rambly, bambly, boo. That's - I guess - all I have to say to you. Goodnight, and adieu, plus, most likely, I love you.

A Jewel on the Ground

I'm back at the base camp of the organic farm where I'm volunteering. I've been here a week, and I have another week to go before GOA!!! Gahhhhhh!! Exciting India.

This week has been a wild one. Wild, I tell you!

I'm learning so much about myself in talking with others and finding this place of solitude. I think this farm and work will be good for me. A nice respite from the chaos and stress that I've created for myself.


I'm reminded of this song when I get all crazy/worked up:


In choosing to do one thing we choose not to do another. To travel I choose to not live at home, to not work, to be on my own. Sacrifice of a thing must always be made in decision-making. No matter how much one wants, one can never have it all. For shame. For shame. And so, Mick Jagger & co. spring to mind from time to time:


When I got off the bus, Sattvic (an older Italian gentleman) was at the crossroads to drive me the rest of the way to the farm on the bumpiest, windiest road - ever. In describing the farm to me, he said, "this place is like a jewel on the ground." I clasped my hands together in anticipated delight. It's true; birdsong 24/7; there's a stream just below where I'm living and I bathe and do my laundry there; dragonflies dance above every surface from the rice paddies to the palm trees; mountains surround the as far as the eye can see. Pure magnificence all around, and when you turn the corner, just when you thought you saw it all, there is more to behold which makes your heart cry with joy of the beauty beyond anything you could imagine.

Given that it is a farm, there is work to do, and since the rainy season is coming to an end there is a lot of weeding and general farm maintenance to be done. WEEDING!! (My mother would be so proud to know that I do it without complaint!! And actually enjoy it!! Ah-wha?!) One day we (me and Sebastian - I'll get to him) had to dig holes for a fence because a neighbor's bull kept leaping over this stone wall and would eat the rice - I actually had to chase this bull, but he was too quick for me. Punk! But it's mostly been weeding. And weeding. And guess what? More weeding. My hands are covered in scratches and stained with mud and clay that might never come off. Ever. And I'm pretty certain I now have either Carpeltunnel's or arthritis in my right hand (and unrelated to weeding, but I think I broke my left knee because I tried to force myself into full lotus position - you don't do that. Crap!) from all the work. Seriously. But not really.

And since it's nature, there are a wide variety of the creepy crawlies as well as the awe-inspiring beautiful creatures (and the mischievous monkeys!!! They stole our bananas!!). LEECHES!! There are leeches here. Not like the big, fat ones from "Stand By Me" but like murderous little inchworms standing up on the leaves, sniffing for your blood (Sebastian said, "What can you do? They are made to suck our blood." Word). I was happy yesterday because I didn't have a-one on me, and while I was writing a letter (old school! you know with a pen and paper and you put it in an envelope and you go to the post office and you buy a stamp and you put it in the mail, and then some 5-7 days later someone is really happy when they open up their mailbox and see something other than a bill - oOOH!) I had a sinking feeling, so I reached down and felt on my foot, and BLAM! on the bottom, in between my toes was the fattest, greediest leech I've encountered. And since your blood apparently doesn't want to clot after, I was bleeding for at least 30 minutes while Seb and I played an intense few games of YAHTZEE! and 10,000. So, yeah, I jinxed myself. They don't hurt, they're just creepy and annoying. And I've seen the BIGGEST spiders in real life here (alive, not dead like the tarantulas they fry up at the bus stops in Cambodia - vomit) with their egg sacks under their bellies - all in preparation for Guam - they're as big as a baby's head. And jungle rats!! A cross between "Lady and the Tramp" and "The Princess Bride"'s ROUS's they're big enough to steal/eat a baby. (What's with me and baby measurements?!) And yesterday, Seb showed me a SEVEN FOOT LONG snakeskin he found walking back from the base camp. SEVEN FOOT!! I do NOT want to meet that mister in the forest on my walk home!! No no!

The food is mind-blowingly delicious! And I love eating with my hands! It's like every meal is Medieval Times, except there aren't any jousting shows to accompany.

There's so much more to write. I've been writing a lot in my journal every day, making discoveries, and writing letters, but now that I'm on the computer I'm overwhelmed with the sheer volume of what I've written. It's not that I don't want to share it with you, I do, it's just I need to finish another letter and then go to the post office and head back up the mountain.

One more thing before I go though (ooh! I haven't even told you about the people here yet [they're all Krishna devotees, but they don't push their beliefs on you which is a marvelous thing], but that will have to be a post in itself. Sheesh!), on the way down the mountain, Amrit (a 57-year old Jew from Connecticut) asked me what I want to do, and I answered that I have no clue other than to write. I'm confused right now, as to what I should be doing and where I should be doing it, and how I should do it... oy. Anyway, he said that that was a wonderful thing because it reminded him of this thing that Deepak Chopra said about how it's good to be at a crossroads with no clear direction because only then will you be open to new opportunities that are coming your way and that you hadn't thought of before. I think that's pretty nice, and hopefully that's the place where I am these days... hopefully.

As always, peace and love, people. Until next time...

Southern India

I saw Mumbai flash by from a Fiat window. Zipped through the Victoria Central Trian station, Hanging Gardens and Gandhi's house/museum before crawling through the traffic to the LTT (I can't remember the spelling, but it was like Lokimatiyak...?) train station.

(I think I'll write out more details on my adventures once I get to Guam, but right now, not having regular internet access and not wanting to rewrite things I've just written in my journal all the time - but sometimes - keeps some of the stories from you... waiting for more!)

So I took a 17-ish hour train from Mumbai to Udupi (in the southern state of Karnataka) - probably should've gotten off in Kundapur(a) but from the looks of it there wasn't a bus stop there (there was though) - and then a I don't know how long bus ride... maybe only an hour, and now I'm at the base camp for the Eco Village where I'm to volunteer for the next two weeks - I'm thinking no internet after this until I get to Goa, or I'd really like to go to Hampi, and maybe they have internet there?

The train ride was fantastic, minus the cockroaches (fine! journal time, too much to recall in too short of time) GARUNGA!! I can't help but notice the shiny copper backs glinting in the afternoon sun, scurrying across seats and along walls. Just don't crawl on me, please!! I was in a sleeper car with 6 beds on one side of the aisle, and two on the other - I think there were about 8-9 of these little pods through the whole car, and it was a very long train. Very basic, and the bed was quite dirty - I slept on the top one because an older woman had it and I offered to change with her - and a bit small after I hooked myself into my backpack and shared the space (it's like what I imagine sleeping next to a stocky little person would be like... or an Ewok - not saying that those two things are relateable at all, except height-wise...) with all of my possessions; purse and shoes, additionally. Maybe they're only beetles... really small, fast, scary beetles. I'll never know. I'm on a TRAIN!!
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As the train shook and clammered through the darkness (after the sky was painted pink then fading quickly with the setting sun) the lights and shadows from the people inside the train shone on the passing dark green scenery; flashes of light and silver, making it look at once like a waving sea being crossed by boat.
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She tried to squeeze her eyes shut to block out the sounds of scuttling cockroaches - she swore she could hear them getting nearer, and she became increasingly paranoid that she would involuntarily feast on hundreds, if not thousands, of them as the train rocked her into an uneasy sleep.
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Being on this train reminds me of the opening scene from "The Music Man" except we're not singing.

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The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me. From the old woman in the train who got tears in her eyes when I told her I wanted to have my book (Stay Alive, My Son by Pin Yathay, a more detailed - though no less horrifying - story about Cambodia during the time of the Khmer Rouge) and made me write my name in it after I told her that she had to pass it on after she finished it. I think she told me that her daughter in Boston told her about it... then she told me that she was going to tell her daughter about me; she beamed.

This morning a family took me in a rickshaw from the train to the bus station, but before we went to the bus station, they treated me to breakfast and chai, and it was delicious, and so hard to eat without utensils, but I will learn because this food is heavenly delicious.

Peace and love, all. To tend the farm and other things I must go.

Oh! I'm covered in dirt right now (cleaning a little temple-like monument of a passed yogi...? this morning when I arrived) and paint flecks, but that didn't stop a group of four teenaged Indian boys from asking me to pose in a photo with them. "Seriously?" I said. "I'm flithy." They just smiled and wobbled their heads. "Okay. If that's what you want."

One of the dudes running this place is from Chicago!! Whoa! Granted he's lived here for 30 years, but still. My first unknown American (cause I know my friends in Mumbai...) in India.

More to say, but not enough time!

IN INDIA!!!

I made it! I'm here, and I'm hungry so I'm going to get some food to eat with my right hand, awkwardly...

A couple cats from my Korean days are staying at the same hotel that I'm at, by some crazy Lonely Planet coincidence.

The sky was pink when I came out of the Mumbai airport. Pink, probably because of the pollution, but it was quite beautiful still. Then I hopped in my Fiat taxi and zipping through the lanes we went... more like rattled along, but still.

INDIA!! I'm in it. Excellent.

Onward to the farmin' times tomorrow!!

Southeast Asia is for Lovers

The feelings haven't subsided:


I met a few cool cats tonight, but it hasn't helped the situation all together (in the wholeness of it)... I still feel like it'd be better to have someone entertain you throughout the day and dinner, and whisper things about people passing, and laugh about the weird ones or the conned ones (when it's not you). The ladies tonight helped me out in that they took a photo of me in my penguin, but the one girl, Lisa (named after my best friend, but not nearly as awesome) said she'd go to the Ping Pong show, that she wanted to see it too, but then we got there and she got "freaked out" by the people in line behind us. Man, I really wanted to go! Although I could almost feel the creepiness of the arena as the men started flooding in line behind us, but aren't we just as creepy because we wanted to go in the first place? Yesssssss. She got scared and wanted to leave; I wasn't going to stay by myself.

Southeast Asia, I love you. Next time I'm going to stay longer and bring a friend, or a lover - since that's the type of people you seem to be for. Couples everywhere! George John Paul Ringo made the same comment at the Full Moon party (is that a proper noun, all of it? I was a teacher of English. I should know... but yet I don't - they were babies, we don't do grammar.) about how Thailand was full of couples, and as single people we were best friends together, though he was 22 and running through the madness (like the fire jump rope) with wildness in his eyes, and all the while I kept saying, "I'm too old for this shit" and touching his beard when he came back to safety (those Scots! handsome fellows).We'll get to that, but mainly I'm just saying it'd be way more awesome to talk to someone about the awesome things that you were doing while you were doing them.

Like the other day in Vietnam when I tried on my penguin costume in my hotel room in Vung Tau just to make me laugh, and I decided to keep it on while I walked to the beach. I laughed about it. But then it was too hot to keep the head on while I walked to the beach, and I bet people were thinking, "Hey! Why's that girl wearing a tuxedo? And how did she tie her bowtie so nicely?" I bet that's what they said, or I was just thinking, "Hey. They're going to stare at me anyway." It was good. I got a photo on the beach from a guy trying to sell me a chair, but a cone-hat lady ran out of the frame when I said, "Hey! Let's take a photo together." No good. What can you do?

I'll try to message you from India. I'm going to vomit. India. I'm excited, but nervous. Like on the first day of 8th grade when I vomitted up my cereal (Cheeri-os, Honey Nut?) and orange juice... 8th grade? Lame! But a similar thing happened today when a woman was roasting up tarantulas to eat. I'll explain later. I retched. I didn't mean to, but seriously? I imagined trying it and having the spider come to life in my mouth. Too much.

I have to wake up at 5am tomorrow. Wish on me your spirit animals as I try to wake and you get to end your day. Oh. I miss you America, and you silly people who I haven't seen in so long (met my first American in over 2 weeks on the night bus to Phnom Penh).

[Back] In Phnom Penh

(From whatever day September 27th was. Written in Saigon/HCM, Vietnam on 2/10/10 until * and that's from 3/10/10)
I'm nervous, but I feel like it's important to go to the Killing Fields tomorrow. I couldn't go the first time I was in Phnom Penh, and I was sitting in my windowless room the first night trying to think of why. S-21 (Tuol Sleng) a Security Prison in Phnom Penh was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

It's both amazing and horrifying the things people are capable of.

I just came from Tuol Sleng Museum which used to be a big prison during the Khmer Rouge's reign. S-21. A place for intellectuals (long-haired, glasses wearing) subversives, and spies (read: innocent men, women and children).

Blood is still splattered on the ceilings of the once school turned prison's torture rooms. Torture and death by common tools or farm equipment was preferred to wasting the Khmer Rouge's "precious" bullets.

Photos of the solid soldiers didn't vary that much from photos of the prisoners in that they both had seen terrible things. The prisoners were different in that their stares were fearful, blank, pleading, shocked into the terrible realization that this is the last image they will leave behind on this planet. If there was a smile on a victim's face, then it was because a guard ordered a smile or forced a tickle (you could see a finger poking into a man). *Their faces wore fear, resignation, pride, disgust, betrayal, exhaustion, hunger, disappointment and anger. 


Admission was $2. I paid a tour guide $6 and all the while wondered what role she played during this horrific time in her people's life. At the end, she explained to me; forced out of Phnom Peng with her parents in 1975, along with everyone else, sent to work in the fields, orphaned at age 14. Praying day after day to stay alive. Hungry, being told she was lazy and that Angkar first, and then Pol Pot, has no use for lazy people. She broke down into tears.

"Lazy girl! Lazy girl! But me so tired. Always me so hungry and tired. Two hours to sleep only. Work so hard. Never fast enough. Always say 'lazy girl' and then hit." She showed me the scars on her calf as she wiped away her tears. "1983 I go back to Phnom Penh. Alone. No family to take care of me."I can't imagine living through that and having to be the sole survivor of your family, and then to see the faces of the lost day after day. It must be so painful, especially with so many of the Khmer Rouge in high position with Cambodia's People Party. Reading First They Killed My Father gave me some insight, but it's still hard to face the place and the people first-hand. I can't imagine Phnom Penh evacuated in a day. Khmer Rouge greeted with cheers, then fled from in tears. This hustling bustling city with its streets full of cars, trucks, motos, cyclos, tuk tuks and smiling faces - gone. Deserted. Destroyed. By Cambodia's own.

I forgot to say, on my way crossing the street to S-21 I was accosted by a man with no face (like Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao)... okay, so not really... he just wanted help, and he did have a face, it had just been severely disfigured. It looked like he was wearing a no-nosed mask with acid burns and a milky white right eye. He laughed as I caught my breath and refused him. It surprised me, and as frightened as I was, I felt terrible for reacting in such a shocked manner.

October 3, 2010
I made it to the Killing Fields at Choeung Ek today (that's the one where they took most of the prisoners from S-21 to execute them)... a few hassles, and not thinking resulted in me having to pay $25 for a second Cambodian visa. I should've taken the bus from BKK to Siem Reap after taking the 12-hour long ferry from Koh Phangan, but then I wouldn't have seen the Portuguese pair from Pai on the way to the airport, or seen the dudes from Dubai again in the terminal. I wouldn't have stayed in a rose-covered ceilined tomb-like room, I wouldn't have met my friend's doppelgangers (yeah, two replicas!) in Vietnam, and you just can't regret the life you didn't lead. It comes down to that (more Oscar Wao stuff for you). It was good, and so I digress and get back to the topic at hand.

In the Democratic Kampuchea days (reign of terror that lasted from 1975-1979, officially), there were 189 prisons, 380 killing fields, and 19,403 mass graves.

The fields at Choeung Ek were found shortly after Cambodia was liberated on January 7, 1979. It was a Buddhist belief that remains needed to be preserved in a place of memorial and therefore a small wooden hut stored the remains of the victims at Choeung Ek until 1988 when major construction for a permanent memorial took place. The concrete stupa (mausoleum) was finished in 1989 and 8,000 victims' remains were moved to their final resting place. Each type of bone on a different level.

Duch, former KR chief of S-21 broke down while confessing to having ordered soldiers to kill babies and small children by holding their legs and swinging their heads into the trunks.

It's raining which seems fitting for this place. These fields aren't really what I imagined. A scene similar to death with bare land scarcely spotted with palm trees would feel more real than this beautiful place, lush with life. In the rainy season the fields and the graves flood; little pools everywhere with a sign Please don't walk through the mass graves!

Willows and lily pads, ferns and leaves.

As we were approaching with the storm clouds matching our speed on the horizon, a cool breeze felt like the souls rushing out.

(Some type of carnival Spanish-like music is playing in the distance with hooting and hollering. ) The music playing is a bit distracting with the "Hello... Hello... Hello. Hello. ... Hello." mic checks. (But at the same time it was the celebration of life, that music. And it served as a reminder that although there is death in a place, life can fill the sorrow with joy over time.) I hope it wasn't customary to have music play... there was a tree - Magic Tree - that was used as a place to hang a loud speaker to "make sound louder" over the victims' moans. Awful. I wonder if the sound covered up the splash of a fall during the rainy season. 300 people massacred in one day?! It doesn't make sense! Inhumane! Brutal. How did they do it - how could they? Day after day. Did they take shifts? Did they ever know the people they were killing? Did they become haunted first at night then all the time, or were they all completely numb and heartless, acting as a machine. No more, no less.

Duch (the baby killer) apologized and became a Christian; crying at his trial. Is he to be forgiven?

Well, what's done is done, but there shall be no more "eye for an eye." God, how I wish we could live in a world of peace, leaving violence in the past. Let us evolve. Coexist. Let's put the past of our parents in their past and act anew. Doesn't seem like it would really be that hard...

V-V-V-V-V-VIETNAM!

I was a bit stressed out when I first got into Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon, if you prefer). I blogged saying that I couldn't wait to get out. It was a little difficult arriving in that the people in Chau Doc ("chowdah") just gave me a paper with instructions of where I needed to go to show to the "bus waiter." No one spoke English; I don't speak Vietnamese. It's always so strange being the only person like yourself - also kind of fun, but mostly strange.

When I got to Pham Ngo Lao (the backpackers' district) the first hotel I wanted to stay at was torn down, as was the second one. I journeyed to a couple others before I found one with a good price. "It's on the third floor." Third in Vietnamese means fourth anywhere else I've ever been. Which was awesome when I stayed in Vung Tau and I was on the fourth floor. Tall stories. Oh, but the thing about this cheap room in HCMC was that there was no window. I thought it would be great for sleeping, but it turns out I don't like feeling like a rat in a cage, and believe you me I sang that song as I bounced off the walls, looking at the rose-covered ceiling and wishing I had a window. The next night I changed to a window room - cost me an extra $4. Four dollars for a window. That's what I'll think of when I think of Vietnam. And $2 for a beach chair. I know how they say nothing's free... particulary to Vietnam.

After dinner on the first night... Wednesday night... I went back to my room to watch 'Species.' (I know. I know!) The whole reason why I'm not exploring HCMC right now is cause I'm solo and not stupid to be struttin' around the city single @ night. One more CON. Sonouva! I'm adventurous, not stupid. I want to see. I don't want to die, and I'm not going to risk it given my chances of survival are severely slimmed just from traffic alone. So the needing someone thing plays mostly into part at sunset and after. Company-wise it's better than yourself - no matter how awesome you are [at getting 'turned around' in back alleyways - thanks, long-haired mole man for pointing me in the right direction]. Two pairs of eyes are better than one. And to be the voice of reason sometimes!!

Southeast Asia is totally for lovers. Especially Vietnam. Sheesh! Everything seems made for two 'round here. It was particularly bad in Vung Tau - romantic beach time.

On Thursday I went to the Cu Chi Tunnels, and while it was all well and good, it's really weird to see Anti-American slogans. We watched a video at the end that was pro-VC and talking about this or that soldier being awarded medals because the number of American dogs they killed. Very interesting/tricky things. We got to crawl around in some and I don't think I would've liked to do that very much. Afterwards I went to the War Museum, and again the place where we shouldn't have been we were... the agent orange pictures, the senseless killing, the details of this that and the other... it made my head spin. Then I went to the Reunification Palace, and it was pretty neat to see all the old control/situation rooms... that was about it.

Thursday night, I walked around on a busy road, through a park, and was flanked by this group of kids who wanted to practice speaking English with me. So, for twenty minutes I sat and answered their questions (one of the girls is moving to Washington State "Seattle City" for a month) about mountains, and gun control. Then one girl asked me who my idol is... stumped. I couldn't understand who she told me hers was... some band from what I could gather. One of the dudes from it went to Hanoi but not Saigon, and she was so sad she was so far away... They were just little babies 19s and 20s, and what trouble-makers, eh? Scouting the parks at night looking to practice English with unsuspecting strangers.

Mouth breating on the moto back to the hotel. I probably could've walked, but one experience on a moto in HCMC seemed necessary.

Crossing the street is mental! There never seems to be a lull in traffice and crosswalks are few and far between in some areas. (Trash cans are everywhere, though!) You just walk out there; disappear into the seas of woors and exhaust. Like George playing Human Frogger, but with a better ending.

Vung Tau was great, and I met some crazy people on the beach... I'll write on it... give me some time.