Date Line

I'm hours away. Less than an hour until I leave for the airport. My bags are most likely overweight. I've acquired a few things, unfortunately.

There's no time to blog. It's 4:05am. I leave around 6a and I arrive at 5a. How does that work?

Time travel.

I can't really expand on this story, but I'm convinced I'm going to cross over into the Twilight Zone when I cross the date line. Like John Lithgow with gremlin on the wing. A dark and stormy night as soon as I cross over. Of course I'm the only one who notices said gremlin, and then when I try to tell the others their ears will be sealed with skin and their eyes will be sewn shut, deaf and blind to my panic. I'll then try to click my heels and Dorothy my way "There's no place like home," but it won't work. Looking down I'll see that I have no feet, therefore no heels to click. All of a sudden I wake up in my bed and it's August 2009 and I never even left.

It was all a dream.

I hear the sky is different back home. It makes sense; won't mirror the ocean. There's no ocean in the midwest. No mountains, either. I'm not so sure how this is going to work.

I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm confused.

What just happened? Where am I?

I think I might read Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" sometime soon. Willa Cather quoted it in "Death in the Desert":

For ever and for ever, farewell, Cassius; 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; 
If not, why then, this parting was well made.


Guam was good to me. Korea too. And every place in between.

I can't help but feel like this isn't the end, but only the beginning, and I look forward to what will happen next despite my fear of the uncertain future.


I'm excited to see my friends. My family, too! (but that's just a given)

I still need to shower and paint my nails and pile on the layers, just in case.

Don't Call

Whether it be to a lover or a brother, don't just call to say "I love you." It's not as good of an idea as Mr. Wonder makes it out to be.

Case in point. A couple of months ago I was really missing my brother and wanting to talk to him, but I was getting ready to meet friends and run off into some adventure so I didn't have a lot of time. Screw it! I thought as I dialed his number, I'll make it quick.

Ringring! Ringring!

Hello?
Hey, brother!
Hi.
I love you.
Okay... [pause]
I just wanted to call and tell you. That's all.
Is everything okay?
Yeah! I just miss you, and I wanted you to know.
Alright... Thanks? ...Are you sure everything is okay?
Yeah. But I have to go right now, so we can talk later.
Be careful.
I love you!
...I love you, too...

What a big brother, huh? I mean that in the best way. Also, in retrospect, it is probably very strange to receive a call from a loved one who has nothing more to say than "I love you." Stevie Wonder is a bad man for setting those wheels in motion, confusing and frightening loved ones across the world.

So it Begins...

It seems like only yesterday that I walked into my moldy hotel room home wondering where the ocean was and why I couldn't hear it (quiet lake-like bay), and now, here I am: heart-racing, palms sweating, drawers open and clothes strewn across the corners of my room (a floor up from where I started) some six months later.

I just got a lovely - wonderful, really - email from one of my oldest and dearest friends, Lisa who is in a similar situation of readying herself to move halfway across the world into the great unknown. She's going to be an intern at the Economist in London, England! I'm so unbelievably proud and in awe of her - she's always been the smart one, and I love her enormously for that. And I so wish you could hear how I'm saying "London, England." A mix of mid-west, a pinch of island, and a dash of valley girl chewing bubble gum. (I'm gonna fit right in at home. I still say "fur" instead of "for" and Americanize everything that crosses my vocal path.) Anyway, she was able to write so eloquently what's been swirling around in my head these past six months. I've felt like I'm in Limbo, not ready or willing to settle here because I knew there was something next, someplace else and I didn't want to get attached, but then I grew to love it more than I imagined; met wonderful people who turned into surprising friends, unintentionally fell into routine, and now it's time to go (such is life). It's not that I don't appreciate where I am, quite the opposite, I can't get over the fact that this is what I've turned into my life. And it's awesome and it's scary and it's wonderful and it's lonely, but I've been out here loving every minute of it, even when I was crying or fuming, because I was learning. And now, as I whimper at my roommate's computer (mine crashed, restored and apparently doesn't have the components for the internet!! Technology hates me), looking around the wonderful, colorful mess I've created, and the palm fronds swaying in the tropical breeze, I can't help but be grateful for this moment and every moment that's preceded it in helping me get here, no matter how hard or heart-breaking the journey has been.

While there's a part of me that's been clawing at the walls, trying to get out of this place months ago, there's also a part of me that's clinging to the doorframe and shouting, "Let me stay! If only for one more day! Let me stay!" and perhaps that's why I extended two weeks after my contract end date. I first remember the feeling of time fleeing when I returned to Chicago in May 2007. I had an internship with Chicago Dramatists, and as the summer drew to a close and I was preparing to return to Columbia, MO to finish my super senior semester, I imagined myself walking the giant dog of time (like Tock on the cover of the Phantom Tollbooth), and while I was trying to stroll along and enjoy the scenery, he was running down the street, chasing after a squirrel, and no matter how hard I tried to restrain him, he just pulled me along with my heels dragging on the pavement. It's happening again, and no matter how hard I fight it, we're rushing forward, Tock and I.

I want to share some of Lisa's email (Lis, I hope you don't mind): If done well, this move will be liberating and self-actualizing-- that's what I have to keep in mind. Not the stress of getting rid of things, but the glorious feeling of starting over. (We don't get indefinite chances to do it.) Not the worry about how I'll possibly manage X when I'm in a strange place and thousands of miles from home, but the excitement of being able to experience a whole new side of me. And knowing that I'll land with my feet under me, always with my feet under me. Isn't she great? And even though I'm heading back, instead of out into the world, I also look forward to being able to experience a whole new side of me in the places I used to call home after having my eyes opened abroad.

So it begins that I will continue to try to go with the flow, and take life moment by moment and not for granted, because regardless of the plans I make, life always seems to throw me for some sort of unexpected loop and everything changes. Here! In reading a fascinating article on space and stuff in a December 2009 National Geographic issue, I fell in love with this sentence: As the biologist Jacques Monod once put it, life evolves not only through necessity - the universal working of natural law - but also through chance, the unpredictable intervention of countless accidents. And as I've been reminded by countless friends and family members, we don't get indefinite chances for brand new starts and must take them full-on as they come. I'm excitedly terrified for whatever will happen next, but whatever is thrown at me, may I always land on my feet. Just call me "Kate the Cat."

Island Driving

You always hear the stereotype that women and Asians are the worst drivers ever. Being a woman and a self-proclaimed amazing driver (those two accidents in high school were not my fault, and that other woman's break lights were out, so yeah... again, not my fault, and it ended in a wiping of the scratch on her car and putting back of my right headlight), I resent that patriarchal part of the statement. But from what I've seen in Asia, they are probably the world's worst drivers. Some how it works for them though; I didn't see many accidents when I was in Korea - in fact, I don't think I saw any - but there were many occasions where I had to jump back from the curb to avoid being run over, and I did hear a lot of screeching tires. Stoplights-schmoplights. (Remember that one time I was trying to teach my four-year-olds how to play 'Red Light Green Light' in Korea and little Eric was so confused by the concept because, "my mommy doesn't stop at red lights, Kate Teacher"? Yeah.) Mainly I mean dangerous, and so many people on the road, when I say "worst drivers." The Fast and the Furious movies all take place in Asia, right? That's not a coincidence.

Island drivers aren't much better from what I've come to discover. They, too, play the 'red light GO!' game, and there are a lot of accidents, which is unfortunate and frightening, but they take it one step further in disregarding emergency vehicles on the road.

(Again, please understand that this is all from my viewpoint as an American driver, and I base all my claims on having only experienced American and Asian driving. It is not my intention to offend anyone. Now that that's out of the way...)

Speed limits are merely a suggestion on Guam, so it seems. 25 means 40. 35 turns into 50+ and 40 gives the right to go close to 70, if not faster. I like driving, but sometimes I feel like Dee from Clueless, clutching the steering wheel, screaming as a giant truck is bearing down on me, before I pull over and cry. (I'm kind of joking.)

So, the other day (which was actually about two months ago) I was sitting shotgun while my girl, Ryann, was driving us (plus some friends from Saipan PIC) home from Asan ("ass'n" like, "Hey, you ass'n me a question?") Beach. We're about halfway home when an ambulance starts whirring behind us as we're driving through an intersection. Ryann instinctively starts to go faster, and I say, "Hey! Ryann! What are you doing?" grabbing onto the door like a parent teaching their teenager how to drive for the first time.

There was a lot of shouting, "What do I do? What do I do?!" and "Pull over! Pull over!", "Get off the road!", "Calm down!", "IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY! But get off the road!" and, "Why isn't anyone else pulling over? What do I do?!"

Eventually we made it off the road. Ryann actually parked us for a minute, and everyone caught their breath as we watched the rest of the cars on the road continue zooming on their merry way like nothing was the matter. There were actually cars in the lane of the ambulance, in front of the ambulance, not making any move to get out of the way. Crazy, right?

Taryn, one of the Saipan girls, mentioned that in listening to the radio in Saipan there will be special question ads from the Driving Bureau.

"Hafa Adai, Saipan Drivers. Please take a moment to carefully listen to the question and choose the correct answer. You are driving when you notice there is an emergency vehicle behind you, do you:

A. get behind and follow?
B. stop and pull over?
C. honk and speed up?
D. pull over and stop?

If you answered D, you are correct. When there is an emergency vehicle on the road, please pull over and stop so it can pass through traffic. Remember to drive safely, and always wear your seatbelt. Brought to you by your friendly Saipan Driving Bureau."

So now you know. When on the island, buckle up and watch out for those around you; they're maniacs behind the wheel.