Yes, it does mean you are a racist/misogynist/bigot, or, How You Have Placed Your Head in the Sand

I believe personal politics are private. Whom one votes for should never be required information or demanded from anyone. If one votes for a misogynistic and racist candidate, though, one must assume some sense of responsibility for that personal choice, I just don't need to know about it. Feel guilty? Advertising articles about minority women who made the same choice or articles entitled, 'No, I'm not a Racist,' then defending your vote for the representative of your nation who is a proven racist/misogynist does not get you off the hook. In fact, it only proves what is glaringly obvious to the rest of us: you have no ability to think for yourself or see what you have done. You are so busy defending your actions you haven't seen WHY other people have a problem with it.

Let's start with the most obvious part of why this election stank: the Electoral College. Most people who voted for the Republican candidate do not realize that their candidate lost the popular vote. Most people do not want this man to represent them. The majority of the country who did actually cast their ballot voted for HRC. He lost, even though the electoral college voted him in, the truth is that he isn't the person most voters believe represent them. Period. 

This is why your fellow citizens are protesting. It is the antiquated system they have a problem with first and foremost. Where more people can say, "no, we want her," and yet, a man that represents fewer of the population's choice can be elected into office, that's the main problem here.

Let's move onto racism. Why are you racist if you chose to vote for Donald Trump? Well, to start, he ran a campaign not centered on factual information, but on manufactured lies when he brought up any kind of statistical data. He used generalizations like, (paraphrasing) 'Mexicans are rapists and drug dealers,' which, if you aren't a racist, you know to be untrue. He wants to build a wall to keep Mexicans from crossing the border. I can only assume this is to keep drugs out of our country, but if one knows anything about drug cartels, they already have ways of getting over, around, under, and through walls. If it is to keep hard working Mexicans from attempting to find day laborer jobs or visiting their families, well, that seems like something better dealt with by reassessing our economy. If you are a nurse, a teacher, or even a factory worker, those jobs are most likely not being taken by Mexican illegal immigrants. As I tell my students here when they say something ignorant, "read a book!" Gain some knowledge about how Mexican illegal immigration actually affects our country. It provides cheap labor for jobs often unfilled by middle class and even lower class Americans. You would know this if you ever bothered to read up on the subject, but it is easier to just listen to rhetoric and hate people based on your economy that the Bush administration tanked, right? Don't blame the people actually responsible. Blame people who, like your ancestors, are simply looking to provide a better life for their families. Finders keepers, right? We found this land and slaughtered the indigenous population, so it's ours now.  I imagine these Trump supporters in a treehouse with a 'No Minorities Allowed' sign. They also have a 'No Girls Allowed,' sign, but that's next on my list.

So if you voted for Trump, you voted for a man who is a proven racist. Does this make you racist? No. It makes you willing and a participant in labeling all of America racists. Let me tell you something most people have forgotten about politics. The President is our highest representative. He is the face and the speech of all of us, every single one. That's why those of us with highly developed thought processes and educated reasoning behind our opinions are so pissed off that the rest of you voted a man in who thinks that all Mexicans are rapists and drug dealers. 

Then there is the issue of closing the borders to all refugees and labeling all Muslims. There are currently more Muslims in the world than any other religion. It is the fastest growing religion EVER. Christianity is passé. Buddhism is out. Atheists? Good luck, most Atheists are highly educated intellectuals and the majority of the world's population (and obviously America's) are not this type. So...you want to run our country based on good Christian values? You elected a businessman with low moral fiber to forge this bond to God? You think God will save you from the BILLIONS of Muslims on this planet? Seriously? You think creating more divides with the Middle East, distancing ourselves from allies like China (more on this later) and labeling all Muslims as terrorists doesn't make you a racist? Oh, okay, so you didn't label all Muslims as terrorists, just the candidate you voted for, right? Let me remind you: your candidate is an extension of you. He is your voice in the government. What he says DOES reflect you. If we could pick and choose what parts of a man or woman to represent us and what parts to silence, we would have a different world, but this is your voice. He is an extension of you. So yes, his opinions are your opinions, and that means that when he spouts racist rhetoric to get votes and you vote for him, that is you spouting that rhetoric. It's our entire country. So, if you voted for Donald Trump, part of you is Donald Trump. The part that is American. The part that chose him to represent all of our voices to our friends and our enemies, foreign and domestic.

Women. He grabs them by the pussy. This isn't something I expect the majority of the male Trump supporter group to understand, and the female group even less so. If a woman, in good conscious, voted for a man who has grabbed, fondled, kissed, etc. women without consent, those women haven't ever been taught that they have a voice. They haven't learned that there is an alternative to being less than a man, that equality doesn't mean abandoning traditional values or even Christian values if one wishes, it simply gives a woman an option to choose for herself. These women who voted for Trump have accepted that they are pieces of meat to him and most of the male society and they have accepted that this is okay and unchangeable. For someone like me, who is living overseas and spreading the message that Americans are caring, hardworking, and intelligent people, it has become difficult for me to answer my students' questions. 'Why doesn't your President care about protecting women?' 'Why do your people hate other people?' These questions commingled with questions about whether they will be shot if they visit America are the questions I answer more than any other. They truly believe that in America women are objects and that we all play a subservient role to all men. Even in Christianity this is not acceptable. One is subservient to one's father and then one's husband, but voting for Trump, whose "locker room talk," means admitting to sexual assault (a physical crime committed, not just "hurt feelings" like so many people on Facebook who use the word "libtard" freely like to say) means voting for a man who has repeatedly stated that women are only valuable if they are beautiful to look at. He's cheated on every one of his wives. He's been accused of sexual assault, rape, and sexual misconduct going back all the way to the early 80s. Contrary to what some (mostly male) Trump supporters state, these accusations have not been manufactured since he began running for president. They have been in existence for decades. 

The comparison to Bill Clinton's affairs is glaring. Bill Clinton is a philanderer, which is technically his business, but his acts were all (to current knowledge) consensual. Donald Trump has admitted to committing actual crimes by touching women without consent and whether they told him to stop or not. Also, whether they were married or not or attached or not. 

Why is this a problem? It normalizes sexual assault. It teaches our children that "locker room talk" is not only acceptable, but encouraged. But it goes a step further. This man didn't just talk about these acts. He did them. He also cheated on each of his three wives (assuming the third since the conversation had with Billy Bush was after his wedding to Melania Trump.) By voting for Trump, you said to your boys, "it's okay to touch girls when they don't want you to. It's okay because that's what they are there for. It is especially okay if you have money and/or power." Don't be surprised if your daughters realize early that their bodies aren't for them. They belong to the male population of the United States. You know, in some ancient cultures, the king was allowed to sleep with virgin brides on their wedding nights before the groom. This is a nice visual, right? A woman screaming and crying as she is raped by the king, a man supposed to be in a role to protect her and keep her safe? That's what you just elected into office. That's what you've enforced for your daughters and your sons. That if you are President, it's okay to grab women by the pussy...

Abortion will happen whether you make it illegal or not. Statistically, better access to education and birth control reduce the number of unwanted pregnancy, but the new administration will repeal these methods. They will erase the ability of women to get counseling in the event they have an unwanted pregnancy. They wish to repeal Roe v. Wade. They wish to leave your daughters with no choice in how to proceed with sex and pregnancy before, during, or after pregnancy. The message is clear: anyone who is of child bearing age who has sex should be punished with a child. Society should be punished with unwanted children. Women who have life threatening diseases should just die rather than terminate a pregnancy. The possibility for life is more important than life that already exists. Period.

The Bible states that Adam was created by the dust of the earth and lived only when God breathed life into him, meaning Adam was not alive until he took his first intake of breath, yet most Evangelical Christians believe life begins at conception. This is repudiated in Genesis. The first breath a body takes on its own, away from the mother's body, is the moment life begins. God in this instance was both father and mother, but the Bible is clear: first breath equals life. Take away standard medical science. Disregard that late term abortion is actually illegal in all but the most extreme health cases. The Bible, what so many people site as their reasoning for being pro-life, states that Adam did not live until he took his first breath. Breathing on one's own determines life by that definition, and taking away access to abortion will lead us back to back-room unsterile abortions and coat-hangers in bathtubs. Many more lives will be lost. How on earth can one believe that reducing access to birth control and abortions can possibly make this country great again? Roe v. Wade was a landmark case because it gave women the option of not having to feel dirty or be punished for a decision they AND A MAN made that is a perfectly natural urge. Like eating, sex is something we crave for survival. Punishing someone for life because of one decision, or a rape, is like putting someone to death for eating an apple. Even God simply banished Adam and Eve, he didn't destroy their lives, just made them move out of dad's house.

I live in China. I joined the United States Peace Corps because I love my country. I chose a different kind of service than my father who was US Army. I chose to serve in a way that spread peace and education around the world. I did this not because I don't respect the military or our veterans (I do) but because I knew my skills are in explaining and helping on a smaller scale of non-violent actions. I didn't choose my placement in China. It was chosen for me. Now, it's a scary place to be. We are here because this is the largest population in the world and the country is developed. This isn't what we used to call a "third world country," and these people are well educated. They have access to education publicly through college for very low cost. They have a much larger educated population than anywhere else on earth. Maybe not percentage wise, but on a pure numbers volume, China far surpasses the US. So why are we here? It should be obvious. To form good relations. To spread goodwill and to trade cultures. If you aren't afraid of Trump's plan for distancing the US from China, you should be. An economic powerhouse with more educated citizens and no religious rhetoric bogging down this mostly atheist nation, the US should be afraid of pissing China off. I know as a resident teacher here, I have selfish reasons for wanting trade and relations to remain stable, much like most Trump supporters had selfish reasons for voting for him. China and India and the Middle East know next to nothing about your "Great America," they don't care, and they have the ability to destroy you. You think you are a superpower, but when the majority of your people vote a man into office who promises global change that could tank economies worldwide, well, they don't look like a threat, they simply look stupid.

As for gay rights, I won't even go there, because it's clear that if you voted for the Trump/Pence ticket, you simply don't care about people who aren't exactly like you on that front. Anyone who loves their gay cousin/uncle/sibling could not possibly vote for anyone who put Mike Pence on their ticket with them. So I must assume you are indeed a bigot.

So you voted for Trump but you aren't any of these things? You chose a man who consistently cajoled and demeaned women, minorities, gays, the disabled, and even captured veterans (who you claim to respect so much) and you said, "yup, that man represents me and I want him to be the voice of this country," and you wonder why people like me think you are a racist misogynistic bigot? Really?

That brings me to my last point: I am so sorry. I am so sorry this country failed you. We failed to educate you on the American Government, on what it means to be President, in what it means to pick a representative. We failed to educate you on how to fact check and fact find and truly dig into the truth and think for yourself and make decisions based on research and understanding. We failed our women. We failed to show them that they aren't all required to be victims their entire lives and subservient and take abuse. We failed our children in showing them how to accept each other and learn from our differences. We failed. We failed them all. Swastikas spray painted on walls, trans people beaten, Middle School students chanting, "build a wall, build a wall," at their classmates. These are the reasons we have failed and these are the reasons we label you bigots and misogynists and racists. You have normalized this behavior. You have accepted it. You have made excuses for it. You have created it with something as simple as a vote. 

Maybe you love your gay neighbors, your black grocer, and your Mexican doctor, but you voted to keep them down. You voted to make it acceptable for others to attack and belittle and demean them. You stood on the sidelines and not only did you watch, you said, "this is okay." You made this happen. You want to know why you are these things? Because you said, "okay." 

Here's a secret: I don't like HRC. I think the DNC deserved to lose. They put a candidate into the running that they knew most people couldn't get behind. She has scandals and obvious ties to corruption. It was like voting for Francis Underwood. The DNC deserved to lose. But by electing Trump, the American people lose. Either way, we all lose, but that doesn't eliminate the fact that a vote for Trump did in fact make you a racist, misogynistic bigot. You can't run from that, sorry. 

Finding Oneself Through Service

As my newsfeed on FB begins to fill with my friends beginning their long trek across the US from their homes to Black Rock City, I'm reminded of a major life event I haven't undertaken: Burning Man. I've been to regional events and parties. I've volunteered and done ranging shifts. I've found some of my closest friends, yet I've never taken that step. I've never gone to the desert this last week in August to dance, experience art, and just find myself lost in the experience of BM.

Two years ago this week, I went to Utah the week before BM started. I got on a plane with hopes of counseling young minds in the Utah desert at a survival camp for at-risk youth. That dream didn't quite work out for me, but it lead me back home and back to my family and friends. Of course, a year later I applied to the Peace Corps, and now, here I am...in China. My group of trainees swear in today. We commit the next two years of our lives to service to our country and volunteering in our individually placed communities. I look back on the last few years and I am reminded that there are any number of ways to find oneself, to challenge oneself, and to commit oneself to the service of others.

I began my journey attempting to find a place I fit in this world at birth. I've never felt a sense of normalcy or "humanness," in my life. I've always felt like there was a chip missing or that I was somehow different from others. I've felt compelled to go just a little bit further and just a little bit farther. I love adrenaline and extreme sports, and I seek out-of-the-ordinary experiences to fill my life. When I was very little, I tried to fit in, to find that chip that so many other people have, and to find my "place," among the popular girls and the people wanting to get married or settle down. Five years ago, when I first went back to school, I was with a wonderful man who ended up leaving me, accusing me of needing "a big life," by this time, though, I knew something implicitly, "yeah, well, I only get one! I better make it count!" 

So here I am, five years later, no longer stumbling around looking for my place. I'm making it. I'm creating my own future. It doesn't look exactly like what I thought it would and it definitely doesn't look like most everyone else's. I made a different life for myself. I forged a different path. I am dedicating the next two years of my life to serving my country, the country I find myself in, and my students. I joined the Peace Corps because I wanted to give of myself. I wanted to experience a life that was dedicated to being a better person and never giving up on that dream. I made it happen. That's why I have so little sympathy for those who complain about their situations. Do something about it. This world is big and experiences are unlimited. The only limits you truly have are the ones you place on yourself.

I've found my place through service. What will you find when you stop making excuses?

Saying Goodbye to CDU

I woke up before the sun...as I always do, and I began reflecting on my PST so far at CDU. I have learned so much here both about China and about myself. My host family lives a very different life than my family back home. I've seen some wonderful things, some shocking things, and some valuable things. I've fallen in love with a puppy and he's fallen in love with me. I've eaten new foods, had to overcome language barriers, and studied for hours a day. I had one of the worst exams I've ever experienced, feeling like I was completely unprepared for what happened to me once I sat down. I've felt let down and propped up. I sang at KTV and danced in a classroom. Overall, it was a rewarding and significant experience that I will take with me always.

My host family lives at their store most of the time, but I slept in their three-bedroom apartment that they own a block away. It's always been my dream to be able to walk to work. Now I know why. The convenience of having your entire life in just a few city blocks is unparallelled. It's been a fantastic experience walking everywhere I need to go. Shopping in Chengdu is an interesting experience. There are many stores, including convenience stores, fruit sellers on the street, markets, clothing stores, and mini department/CVS stores everywhere, but they all carry the exact same items. Looking for a dress? You can go to your local shop and buy it there or you can go to a mall and buy it there for twice the price! Need a bottle of water? The store underneath your apartment sells them as does the street vendor sitting outside the bus station (be careful there, though, as that same vendor was rifling through the trash looking for empty bottles yesterday...) Would you like a vegetarian pancake wrap? Well, there is an entire line of vendors that set up shop in the evenings less than two blocks away! There are also restaurants everywhere, but only three real varieties: noodle restaurants (mian fanguanr), rice restaurants (mi fan fanguanr) with local dishes, and hot pot (huo guo). These are your options, folks!

Shopping on the weekends is a surreal experience. Stores set up huge stands in front of them and blare music on repeat (sometimes American, like yesterday when the clothing store next to my host family's store was blaring a song requesting all female listeners, "make that booty clap.") Sometimes they have games or prizes you can win. They can be quite elaborate in the system one must undertake to win the prizes, like the one I recently witnessed where one bought an item, won a chance to break a golden egg, and picked a prize based on the ticket inside.

The school itself is beautiful. The classrooms in some buildings are being redone right now. We had our model school in one of the older buildings. It was a fascinating and very hot experience, but it was lovely working with all these amazing kids. Stephen and I chose the younger kids to work with and I'm glad we did. It was nice to see where my future students probably came from and what they were like only a few short years ago.

The CDU campus is wide open with many trees and lily ponds. It's beautiful walking around it and seeing all there is to take in. We even had a PCT versus China Host Family basketball game where my host mama and I both played!

Speaking of my host mama, this morning she came into my room as I was writing this and told me I sneezed because the air conditioning was on. I told her it was just dust. She didn't understand that. Then I asked her for some space and quiet so I could finish writing this blog, so she sat down on my bed and started listening to her voice messages on WeChat on her speaker as loud as it would go. This is what China is like, very little personal space or understanding of needing space or quiet. Kids read out loud in class as a unit to memorize and study and people just don't get that your space or body is off limits for them to touch or comment on. I've been called "fat," "older than I look," and "too tall," many times since coming here. My friend's host mom makes fun of my laugh and screams in my face until I respond in English, laughing hysterically, then doing it all over again. These are the parts of China that have been a test in patience. 

Yet these people also took me around the lake I love to run at in the evenings and joked with me and tried to get to know me despite the language barrier. They fed me and clothed me and took me into their homes and made me a part of their families. That is why the barrier doesn't exist. It's why she opens my door and comes in and sits on my bed and pinches my elbow and tells me I'm getting thinner and that too much AC is bad for one's health. She cares. She cares that I get enough food and enough exercise and enough fresh air. 

Last night, Xiao Fu came over, dropped onto his side, and put his head directly on my foot. My host mama said, "tommorrow, Xiao Fu will be sad. He will miss Sūn Méi." This morning she said, "when Sūn Méi gets to CNU, she send email to mama." Yes, this family is overbearing and a little too in my business. It's not that different from my family back home really. I will definitely miss them and CDU. It's been a hell of an experience!

Hard or Soft Taozi

I've been having a debate with my host mama although I'm not sure she 100% knows it. Every time she gives me a peach to eat, I gently push on the flesh to see how hard/soft it is. If it is too hard (I like ripe peaches) I hand it back and say, "wo bu yao!" (I don't want) she then shoves the peach back at me saying, "hao chi! Hao chi!" (Delicious, delicious!) I stare at her, shaking my head, and repeat, "wo bu yao!" Sometimes I knock it with my knuckles and give her the side-eye like, 'how could you give me this rock to break my teeth on?!?!' I've told her I didn't want it because it wasn't ripe, but in China, it's simply a piece of fruit. There is no real word for "ripe." This concept is foreign to her. If you have a piece of fruit, you eat it. There is no waiting period for ripeness to develop. Yet for me, eating a hard crunchy peach is sacrilegious.

I posed this question to my Site Manager, Chloe, a Chinese woman who has experience overseas and she laughed and told me that this is an actual debate online here in China: Which is better? Hard or soft peaches? 

Let that sink in for a moment. In China, there is a debate on whether peaches are better crisp or juicy... They say that crisp like an apple or sweet and juicy and soft are the two types of ripeness for the fruit. This is an actual ongoing debate/conversation, yet they have no real word to describe ripeness that is understood the way Americans do. It's a linguistic lacking in my humble opinion.

Here, the Taoist teachings say fruit has two parts like yin and yang. I spoke to my Language teacher and she explained that there is an ancient Chinese tradition that says that eating the skin AND the flesh provides a person with balance. In China, people peel almost all fruit because they believe this prevents them from injesting pesticides. You would not believe the conversations I've had about pesticides, antioxidants, and organic farming methods since I got here. Chinese people are fascinated by the concept of systemic fruit. I had to explain that even most Americans don't understand how fruit actually grows and that systemic fruit has pesticides throughout the flesh.  Throwing away the peel only prevents one from injesting the part of the fruit with the highest concentration of antioxidants and doesn't prevent one from injesting pesticides basically at all. 

But back to the soft versus hard debate, if I could use a peach as a hammer, I don't want to try and put it anywhere near my mouth. Period. Sometimes I get a beautiful and magical ripe peach, perfect in its soft and juicy glory. Those are happy days indeed. Even my closest friend here has gotten in on this and sends me messages every time he gets a decently ripe peach. Sometimes the pictures he sends with the messages are downright pornographic. This is how we entertain ourselves in China. We send each other well lit pictures of the juicy ripe fruit our Zhongguo mamas give us. It's a hard life... 

Chengdu Sidewalks

To walk... You think you know but you have no idea. Have you ever walked out on a wet deck in flip-flops? The kind that is really new and has just been sealed? The slippery kind where you could basically just slide right across it? Where your flip-flop, because it has so little tread, just wants to slip out from under you and fly off your foot, leaving you hopping on this slip and slide of death in your flip-flop, hoping for the best but knowing your butt is about to land 'kerplunk,' right onto that slippery nightmare of pain? No? Okay, well I have, and as a sometimes clumsy person, it isn't fun. In fact, it's dangerous. Yet on a deck in the US there are usually railings or furniture pieces of some sort to grab a hold of for steadying.

Now imagine you are on that slippery deck, only is marble. Wet marble. You are in any type of shoe imaginable. It doesn't matter. Tread be damned. You are going to slide. You are going to slide until your foot hits the grooved ridges magically appearing in nine inch spaces from the slippery and ungrooved other nine inch space behind/flanking/in front of it. That is what it's like to walk on the sidewalk in China.

We call them 'Suicide Sidewalks,' because no matter how slowly or how carefully you place each step, the sliding from one grooved pavement piece to the next is inevitable at some point. Even worse, on most campuses, there are brick sidewalks worn down over time to a slick surface where in summer, moss and algae and mold grow, the Chengdu heat and humidity mixing in the perfect storm of slippery danger. Most Chinese people tell you to just, "walk in street. That safer."

Yes, walking in China can be hazardous and sometimes walking in the street can be safer than walking on the sidewalk. Mix in the fact that liability laws here are apparently nonexistent, so canals have no barriers, stairs often lack hand rails, and nobody is required to provide unslick walking surfaces, it can sometimes feel like an obstacle course in the rain. Yet this got me thinking. Without such strict liability laws, individuals are left with only one option when it comes to their own safety: pay attention. It is nobody's fault but your own if you can't walk properly. Nobody is responsible for salting ice that Mother Nature laid down on the ground. If you fall on someone else's property, get up, shake it off, and next time stay home if it's icy and order delivery instead of take-out.

As a former insurance agent, I've seen some interesting and ridiculous liability claims. Claims where people claim it is an establishment or business or individual's responsibility to basically combat Mother Nature and make an "inside" environment for their outside, essentially eliminating any natural elements just in case a person wants to walk in their door. Which has made our lawyers fat...and our personal responsibility nonexistent. It's always someone else's fault when we get hurt, not our own. We are not responsible for our fall by leaving our houses and entering the world. It's someone else's for not making that experience of leaving the house come with bumpers and handrails. Personal responsibility/culpability starts on this low level of simply being responsible for one's own safety while walking.

When Guiliani took over being Mayor in NYC he did one very small thing to combat crime. He ordered the local police force to start giving out jay walking tickets. I'm sure there was a more elaborate plan, but that was the basic source of crime reduction. Jay walking fines. If you can't even walk across a street at designated intersections at pre-determined times (it's blaringly obvious by the visual and audio aide) without getting a fine, what happens if you do something major? Basically, the idea is: personal responsibility starts small.

I realize that this is a little bit of a leap when it comes to hand rails and guard rails and slippery "slopes" if you will, but essentially, this is how I see Western China's "Suicide Sidewalks." You, as an individual, are responsible for being more careful when it rains. Step lightly. Pay attention. Follow the basic human rules for survival in the society in which you live. Don't pass the buck and don't escalate. It is so simple really. If you end up in a creek, it's your own fault.

Let's talk about...watermelon

I don't know about you, but I love watermelon. I'm not talking that, "oh, yeah, watermelon is a nice treat in the hot summer months at bbqs and evening soirées," type of love. I'm talking, when my parents know I'm coming to visit me, they buy a watermelon as a present for me. My dad brings me watermelon when he comes to my house to help me work on leaky pipes or electrical problems. My mother buys me watermelon juice from Costco because I like it even more than coconut water. This love goes deep.

My ex boyfriend once asked me what the strangest thing I ever got grounded from was. His was garlic bread, so the first time I made him dinner, guess what I made him? Pasta and garlic bread of course! My strangest grounding was from watermelon. Instead of throwing all my watermelon rinds in the compost heap, after consuming half and throwing those rinds in the compost, I threw the other half of them that I wasn't able to self-control myself from demolishing, in the trash. I wasn't allowed watermelon in my parent's house for years. Those were the worst years of my life! I tried to sneak it in to no avail. Finally, after some coaxing and prodding, "but I'm in my twenties now!" My mother submitted and on a visit to my parent's house on my birthday, I found myself face to face with my very own, personal sized, watermelon. It was the best day of my life.

I bet you are wondering why I'm even mentioning this love of watermelon in a blog dedicated to my Peace Corps service in China. Well, the answer is simple...I got placed here for a reason. The fates intervened and kept me from Moldovan Business Advisor status for a very distinct and specific reason...watermelon. Every single day here it is like a watermelon festival. There is fresh, cold, crisp, juicy watermelon on every street. The kind of watermelon that is sweet all the way to the rind and it dribbles down your chin at every bite. The juicy and crunchy kind of watermelon with seeds, so you don't get too full of yourself while eating it and always have to be careful so you don't get that annoying, "crack," when you bite down on a black seed. This watermelon is so good, that when I was very sick last week with a sore throat and sneezing, all I ate was watermelon. It's so good that when you go to a restaurant or something and they serve you an old, room temperature piece of watermelon, you look at the waiter like he just killed a kitten right in fronting you. This watermelon has spoiled me. It's made me invincible while I'm eating it. I could pluck bullets out of thin air just because of the super powers this delicious summer treat gives me.

I arrived here nearly two months ago, in June. It was already stiflingly hot. In two or three months, I'm sure the fruit stands will be filled with apples, pears, and beautiful autumn squashes. I learned recently on a trip to Wangcong Shrine, that the greatest Sichuan kings worked with the people to focus on crop rotation and using seasonal fruit and vegetable growing methods to avoid famine, which are still used today. This can only mean one thing, my watermelon will be disappearing soon. It will go the way of grapes and ramps, disappearing as the hot rainy season gives way to cold humidity. I can only hope that next year brings as sweet and lovely a crop of my favorite food.

Fulfilling a Dream

Doris loved teaching. That's why she got her PhD in teaching from Fordham. She worked hard for all her degrees and she didn't stop until she had that super coveted PhD. She dreamt of teaching teachers. She wanted to make a difference in the realm of education. She even wrote a textbook to help teachers teach English to non-native speakers.

As Doris's granddaughter, I remember what it was like to be taught how to read by that smiling and patient woman. It took two or three days of frustration on my part, but she always knew I could do it, and I never stopped reading once I learned. In fact, I loved it so much I ended up a writer so that I could contribute more into that realm of knowledge and books.

My grandmother (Nana to my brother and me and Grandma Doris to our cousins) never did teach teachers. She retired from Stamford Public Schools and moved south to Florida with my grandfather before later succumbing to dementia. Watching that once vibrant woman descend into the depths of forgetting herself and those she loved was absolute torture for my mother and the rest of our family. Even the knowledge of her own accomplishments disappeared. 

The other day, my mother and I were talking. My grandmother passed away before I graduated from college and well before I joined the Peace Corps, but I think she would be proud of me. And as I get ready for the start of my semester at this wonderful teacher's college, my mom reminded me quietly, "that was Nana's dream...to teach teachers." 

So this trip to China, this wonderfully challenging and sometimes frustrating endeavor that I decided to undertake at 33-years-old, I dedicate to her, my grandmother, who taught me how to read. I'm fulfilling this dream for both of us.

Pondering

Yesterday I attended a safety and security session where a US Consulate law enforcement officer told my PC team that China was low on the "crime, terrorism, assault," lists. I had to think to myself, "do I know what this feels like?" No...I don't. I do not know what it feels like to live in a country where the likelihood of being the victim of a phone snatching or possibly getting hit by a car is more likely a fear to have than being shot in cold blood at a mall/movie theater/school, or turning on the news and seeing yet another mass shooting or slaying of an innocent...this is the first time. This strange place where I don't speak the language and new things accost me everyday at every turn is safer and gives me more comfort right now than my home. I can't be with my family right now to discuss and the horrific events going on in the US and to tell them to be careful. I can't hold my boyfriend's hand before he goes to work to serve and protect. I can't sit with my black friends and weep with them, and I'm sorry for my absence, but I'm glad I get to see what life is like when these tragedies are not our reality. I am happy I am removed and get to bring back a little slice of something different, for tomorrow is a new day. I will be waking up here, removed and unable to physically comfort those I love, but I'll be thinking about it. I'll be contemplating and even chatting with those people here who question me about violence and the scary nature of my home country. I'll try to sort through it and understand it myself. I'll try...I'll keep trying, because that's all I can do.

I am shocked at what is happening in my country right now. The blatant lack of respect for life, the fighting amongst ourselves. Here, in a homogeneous group, I'm learning the meaning of unity and I wonder why we can't celebrate our differences as well as our similarities. The most shocking thing about living in China is not the culture differences. It's the similarities. The obsession with technology and being plugged in. The clothing stores blaring loud music and showing bright fabrics in the windows. The amazing food and camaraderie that comes with sharing a meal. The love of friends and family. These things are universal. So why isn't violent crime? Why isn't this horrible feeling of fear and distrust that sits in my gut in the United States when I go out in public present  here in China? Where I hold my bags tightly next to my body to prevent thieves from stealing my belongings, but I tune out and enjoy the color of the sky or the curve of a flower because I'm not afraid that the person down the street has a gun and is simply going to start shooting...why even though I date a police officer, in the US my immediate reaction when a police officer is driving behind me or passing me on the street is one of fear and anxiety? Why? When here, people still feel like if they are lost, they should find a police officer to ask for directions? Why the divide? When faced with so many similarities, why are these differences what I'm feeling? 

I am at a loss right now. I can't read anymore of these articles. I can't emotionally take it. I'm so far away it barely seems real...but because I don't want it to be real. I want it to be fake, some complex rouse set up by the media to play on me as I'm halfway around the world and ineffective at steamrolling change. I'll be here tomorrow and the next day, pondering.

Frustrations - PST

It's been raining for days...it's gloomy on non-rainy days. Add in the streets flooding with murky, dirty water, the dismal sky, and the insane exhaustion that comes with the rain and our crazy work-load/studying and it's easy to forget how lucky we are here. My friends and I are cranky, frustrated, and ready for some tension release. Living with a host family is wonderful but incredibly challenging.

My days start at 6 am. I wake up, drink water, write my blog or talk to my family and friends on a messenger service, and go over anything that still needs to be addressed from the day before. In China, showers are taken at night and we merely wash our faces in the morning. By 7:30 am I'm out the door and on my way to my host family's store to grab a quick bite and then walk the six or so blocks to school. Our classes start at 8:30 am. They vary between TEFL, (teaching English as a foreign language) Chinese, and safety and security courses. Some days we have five hours of Chinese, some days five hours of TEFL, but we have an hour of lunch halfway through the day and we finish around 5:30 pm. 

There is always work to be done at night as well as time to be spent with our host families. This is the most exhausting part of the day for me. As tiring as learning Chinese in a seat all day can be, trying to communicate what I have to communicate for homework with my host family, how I'm doing, whether I like the rabbit/pork dishes they made for dinner (I am not a big meat eater and am only not vegetarian/vegan because it's nearly impossible here) and explaining that I can't stay up until midnight again "talking" (miming) when I have homework and other work to do....is exhausting to the point of collapsing. 

I know most trainees feel this way during pre-service training. It's both an intensive course necessary for success in-country as well as a weed-out system for those who can't hack it. It feels like being back in High School. I can't leave my host family's house on weekends without one of them accompanying me, my host mother won't let me purchase anything for myself in her presence, (I tried to buy a parasol/umbrella and she wouldn't allow it, saying she had one I could use...I'm not sure if this is financially motivated or if it would be a cultural affront, so I always comply...I will simply get my own when I head to site) and "Chinese time" where you tell them you are tired and need to go to bed at 8:30 pm and you finally crawl into bed four hours later is really a thing. Sometimes, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open in class. Then I remember: it's only a little rain cloud, and rain makes the flowers grow.

My capacity to adapt is being tested. My ability to take a situation and learn and grow is being stretched. I'm taking in new language, culture, and teaching methods. This experience is making me stronger, better, and more resilient. These are the skills the Peace Corps picked me specifically for. The skills they felt were necessary for success here, and I have them. This is a honing process, a facilitated and manufactured procedure designed to force me to be ready for in-country obstacles. I came here for this challenge. I desired it. That's why I wake up and I write and I reflect and I just look out my window at the flooding streets and listen to the birds chirping outside my window. Really, when I get down to it, life here isn't all that different from home. I'm stressed, over fed, and enjoying the sound of birds chirping in the morning. It's just like Washington, DC!

Father's Day

I look out the window and I see lights everywhere. Neon signs and car horns honk constantly throughout the night. I finally have a few minutes (I woke up at 3:00 am after going to bed at 12:30 am) to sit and write a blog post with fully connected Internet. It was Father's Day yesterday. It still is in the US. Today is Monday for me though, because I am currently in my hotel room in China. I figure that I have some time to write this because I crossed the international date line (something my dad hasn't yet done, but will, because he and my mother will be coming to visit me here.) I wanted to post about my dad for a few reasons.

My dad, carrying me around on his back. Not much has changed...he still carries me when I falter.

The first reason I'm writing this is that my dad always instilled in me a sense of adventure. He helped me realize that there are two types of people in this world: those that do things they want to do and those who talk about things they want to do. When I was about 22 or 23-years-old, my dad and I had been talking about rock climbing for a few years. We both wanted to learn. We both thought it was a great idea. We hadn't DONE anything about it. So I signed us up for a class. We had a blast, the two of us learning how to set up rope systems, belay, and generally just enjoy the outdoors. My dad even let the tiny 5' tall girl with the skinny arms belay him because nobody else would. I stood by watching with sweat dripping down my face, realizing that he took a risk with his life just so that girl wouldn't feel left out or untrusted. It was that important to him that she feel a part of the group. He taught me that sometimes risks are worth taking to help someone else stay strong and feel confident. The teacher stayed close to her to catch him if he fell, but that girl held fast, never breaking her eyes off my dad. She knew he trusted her to keep him safe and she wasn't going to fail him! I learned a lot about love in that moment. I learned that love isn't something we say. It's something we do, even when it makes us a little uncomfortable.

My dad and I taking climbing classes

Of course, there is also the reason that my dad is always proud of me. Since birth, he's been telling me that I'm curious. The quintessential story from my mom after she gave birth to me that defines how my dad sees me goes like this: "Penny! (My mom's name) Guess what? I just went to the nursery and our baby is the only one propping herself up with her head up, and she's looking aaaaaaallllllllllllll around!" 

My dad holding me on my birthday.

Yes, I was born curious. Probably an inherited trait as I remember watching my dad read books on topics from engineering to medical science to car repair as a kid. My father read textbooks like most people read newspapers: diligently and quickly with their morning coffee (only my dad drinks tea.) There is a joke in my family. If you want to know where my dad has disappeared to in the grocery/book/convenient store, he's 90% most likely standing by the magazine rack, one foot crossed in front of the other, pulling on his mustache with his right fore and middle finger, reading some article in some science or cycling magazine. My dad is an information sponge. He is also killer at Jeopardy except that he never remembers to answer in the form of a question. This lust for learning is something he and my mother instilled in me as well, and even though my dad doesn't push me and has never made me do anything, telling me that my life is mine to live, I knew he was very proud of me when I finished college.  Now, as I embark on my journey into the Peace Corps, I know he is fascinated with my choice to do something so different and "cool." 

Yes, I did graduate...at 31!

My dad taught me to ride my bike, change a light fixture, tighten a loose water pipe, pull up flooring, read critically, think for myself, form a really bad pun but laugh hysterically at it, and to finish what home improvement projects I started, even if it's three years later. He's the most active and fun dude I've ever met, enjoying nature in a way that is unparalleled. He also enjoys bending nature to his will and can often be found in his backyard, cutting out paths and forming new sitting areas, completely and blissfully unaware that anything but trees and fresh air exist. He's had poison ivy about 72 times since I was a kid and always stops to point out the leaves and red hairs on the older vines. I know to NEVER burn them, because the smoke could cause an outbreak in my throat and lungs because he warned me about that.

Hiking with mom and dad.

When I was about three or four my dad found a snapping turtle outside our house in Connecticut and he showed it to me in my sun bleached orange sand pail from the sandbox. I wanted to touch it, but he slowly and carefully explained that it was dangerous and then told me about how many pounds of pressure their jaws come down on little fingers. He explained the science behind that too, and I looked at him like, 'you know I'm only three, right?' He didn't care. Even at three, the science was the most important part. Learning why something was dangerous or the way it worked, that was the fascinating part. He wanted to share that with me. He also wanted to share that with my brother once he came along. Sometimes Devin and I would sit in the back seat of our car, eyes glazed over, as my dad would explain some form of quantum mechanics or why the sky appears blue, not realizing it at the time, but our dad is the absolute nerdiest/coolest man on the planet. I think of him as a human encyclopedia who is going to be able to explain any theorem you may be able to throw at him, and if he can't, he will be able to soon. If you stump him, he will spend hours, days, and sometimes weeks researching and reading about something until he can fully explain it to you and to an expert on the subject. That's my dad. The researcher.

Check out that style!

Of course, my dad was in the Army and he always took care of his family. I attribute my dad finishing school to my mom, but my penchant for dating military men with decent jobs comes from him. He shakes every service member's hand as we walk through the airport and thanks them for their service. He also worked incredibly hard to keep us not just afloat, but to succeed in his career. I attribute his military experience, his education, and his love of his dependents to this, and I look for similar qualities in the men I date. My dad loves my mom more than anybody has ever loved another human being. Everybody can see that. He embraces her quirkiness, her weirdness, and her complete intelligent and sometimes frustrating nature. He fell in love with her and he adores her. He made a commitment and has stayed true to that. He is the reason I know what real love looks like. I want someone to love me like that. I want someone to provide for my kids like that. I want a man that can stand up to the stand up guy my dad is.

My parents at Luray Caverns after our family vacation last year.

My dad also encouraged me to do anything I wanted. I really don't think he sees me as a girl. He sees me as an incredibly complex person that happens to be a female. He loves that I've cultivated multiple aspects to my personality and have never shied away from things that aren't gender specific or gender neutral. When my grandfather once asked me why I didn't just get married and have kids because being a writer was a "tough job with a lot of competition," my dad looked at him and said, "don't you DARE tell my daughter what she can't do! Somebody has to! It may as well be her!" I had never seen my dad talk like that to my grandpa. Usually he was deeply respectful, but in that moment, my dad taught me something: nobody, not even your dad, can tell you what is right for you. It's your job to be it and to own it.

My Grandpa Joe, me, my dad, my brother, and our dog Beau

Of course, culture and the arts are deeply important in my father's family and he encourages that love I have for all forms of art. He dutifully came to the opera with me on my birthday and researched it beforehand so he could tell us the storyline, my mom enraptured by the music, my dad pointing and saying, "and that's the beginning of the downfall of the time period..." smiling and then pointing out the beauty of the sets. Watching them together is watching a swirling dance of science and reason and art and faith, a perfect blend of human interaction where they complement each other and their knowledge. My parents are best friends and they walk through life together.

Before the opera for my birthday a few years ago with my parents and my friend Ian.

My dad also taught me the love I have of reading, which in turn led me to being a writer. He acted out books for my brother and me, bringing Tolkein books and Dr. Seuss books alike alive for us with his voice and his animated facial expressions, teaching us early that reading is fun.

My dad reading to my cousin Tim and me as kids.

My dad comes from a pretty intelligent and somewhat stoic family. He was probably the most sensitive of them and got to form opinions on life that transend the normal within their ranks. It gave him the ability to marry a Jew and learn enough Hebrew to get through Passover and be accepted by his wife's community without converting. He wears a yarmulke with grace and follows along in spoken Hebrew like a pro.

My friend Sam and my parents at Passover dinner at my house

He also taught me that it's okay to enjoy the small things in life like a beer with your family and friends or just a pretty sunset. To sit around a fire pit after a good day with a box of vegan crackers and sip on an IPA. He has taken me on walks in the woods and on the beach and told me that happiness doesn't come from being the best at anything (although you should still try.)

At a bar with my dad and my uncle in Houston...it was a Guiness kind of evening.

At a wine festival with my friend Kat.

Essentially, my dad is my rock. He's the logical part of me, but also the half mellowed out half anxious side too. He's the part that picks out brush strokes when looking at a painting before and after admitting the beauty of the whole picture. He's the person who inspires me to learn more about topics than anyone would ever want to know and say, "did you know that...." at parties. He's my rock, my confidant, and my safe space to land. He's the truth teller without hurting your feelings and the one who will always turn around and go back if you forgot something. He is the tree trunk that holds up my family's tree house. He's our ground wire. He's the dad who always chased us that extra two minutes playing gizzard (tag) even when mom wanted to leave, and the guy you can always count on to help you with any task you throw out there. My dad taught me the value of being a good person without having to tell anybody about it, which is really why I'm writing this, so everybody knows. Because my dad is the best person.

I love you dad.

Arrival

The plane ride to Chengdu was a difficult one for me. The highlight was watching movies I had wanted to see but never had time to, How to Be Single made me laugh pretty hysterically. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was just as ridiculous as I had expected. Frozen put me to sleep for an hour, which was a blessing as I had an aisle seat and was extremely uncomfortable for most of the 14-hour flight. Because of our last names, I was sandwiched between Erin and Logan, already my best friends on this trip. The two of them are a godsend. I've been so fortunate to find people already that are kind, generous, funny, sarcastic, and just generally fun to be with.

I have found that a positive attitude in life makes everything easier to handle. Negativity really does breed more negativity, and although when I stepped on the plane I was nervous and scared and missing my family and friends, I was already surrounded by people who were fast becoming my new family. This process can be highly stressful. From day one, entering the Peace Corps is a highly bueracratic process with hoops and slow responses, but as Russ sent me in an email after I arrived, the people you work with, volunteers, staff, site teachers, and students are what make this experience worthwhile. Back home, in my other blogs, I write a lot about how the only way to change anther person's outlook is through education. The only way to make this world a more educated and logical place is also to educate the people. That is why I came to China. To make a difference by educating. It's why I want to be a professor. My TA experience taught me that I am a good, fair, diligent teacher. I am kind and laugh with my students, but I also make them learn. I want to see progress, not perfection. I am not judgmental of their failures, nor do I take it personally, but as a wonderful man once told me, "the best question you can ask yourself and others is, 'why?'" As in, 'why were you late?' Or even, 'why are you struggling?' The why is the most important part when assessing someone's ability and response. Assuming the worst only prevents you from seeing the best.

I kept that in mind when I stepped off the plane in China. We were signed into the country using our PC Passports with their visa stickers and then corralled around the baggage claim where PC Volunteers pulled bags off of the carousel and stacked them for each other. When I had all my bags, I headed to customs thinking it would be a three hour process like when I went to Israel with the US Swimming Team for the Maccabiah. Nope. It was painless. In fact, it was quicker than going through security to get on the plane in the United States. The Chinese were so efficient that everyone (all 80-something) were on the buses and on the way to the hotel in less than 25 minutes. It was incredible.

I sat next to Logan on the way and remarked on the buildings and landscape. It reminded me of Florida with the pink paint jobs and high heat and humidity. The streets were full at 7:00 pm. I watched buildings pass by and thought to myself, 'this is home. This is where I belong right now.' I felt at peace. I felt excitement. The nervousness of the flight was erased the moment that drive started. This is my life, and I'm truly living it, and I'm excited!

Staging

Getting to staging was probably the first time I felt both like a child and an adult going to a job. My parents dropped me off at the airport with my backpacks and my suitcases (two backpacks and two suitcases, a large and small of each) and helped me check my bags then waited by the security checkpoint. My mother had tears in her eyes as I walked through the line getting ready to go on the adventure of a lifetime, equal parts of pride, worry, and excitement crossed her face as I got closer and closer to the checkpoint. My bag was of course rifled through and my reason for traveling to San Francisco questioned. Once my Peace Corps journey was discovered, the bag was still rifled through, but a bit more carefully. I had a block of maple sugar for my host family's gift in their after all, and the man rifling was clearly intrigued by me. I may or may not have flirted with him a little, aka, made his day!

Of course, sitting down at the gate was rough. I called all my best friends and my honey and I either left messages or spoke to them, crying in the messages and managing to send love and light through the ether if they picked up my 7 am phone call. I cried for a while, a strange man hovering nearby until I stared at him with tear filled eyes. I think he wanted the seat next to me but didn't want to ask me to stop crying. There were plenty of other seats. Eventually we boarded and I was in the back of the plane next to a current military service woman. She told me I was serving my country and that so was she and then told me about her autistic son and her trip. Her presence made the flight easier. I slept for some of it and listened to bad 90s alternative to make it feel like I was fresh outbid college going on my first adult adventure. It was somewhere over the Rockies that I realized that was actually true. I am two years out of college and going on my first adult adventure. And I'm not backpacking across Europe or hiking the Appalachian Trail. I'm moving to China for two years to make the world better and serve my country. I'm forcing myself to become the type of person I've always wanted to be. Take that, insurance! 

Upon arrival to San Francisco I felt a little lost. My phone was dying and I needed to get to my hotel. I somehow managed to get to the shuttles where a wonderful flight attendant helped me get my bags into the shuttle and offered me websites that help translate English to over 100 languages. She was very sweet. Of course, Justin and Logan and Oscar were sitting around me and it was quickly revealed that we were all PC volunteers going to China. We became fast friends almost immediately and I'm pretty sure Logan was my misplaced youngest brother, a 23-year-old knitter who loves 60-year-old ladies and is very excited to go with me to karaoke...he's my spirit animal. Oscar, I would find out, would eventually be in my language classes for the next ten weeks, and Justin has the warmest smile of anyone I've ever met, is in his late twenties, and has had ups and downs in his career just like me. I knew as soon as I got onto that shuttle and met those men that I was in the right place surrounded by the right people.

We got to the hotel, checked in, settled in, and met for a beer and then went for dinner. We wandered down the bike path until it was clear there were no restaurants to be found, but there was a man fishing. I coyly asked him about restaurants in the area and he said there were some expensive options, but that the diner we had already dismissed was a good one. I asked him to catch me a fish and told him that he was standing in a patch of asparagus that would be a nice side dish if he were to make me dinner before we walked off to go to the diner. Oscar and Logan laughed at my flirtation. I told them that was nothing...

My roommate Erin texted me to tell me she was there and I headed back to meet her. She gave me a hug as I walked in the door...another affirmation of correct choices. We headed down at 4:00 to register and I, of course, asked Russel Evans about our chest x-rays as mine had become slightly crumpled during the flight. I said, "it's hard to see my beautiful......chest...." As I waved my hand around my chest, realizing the sexual nature but not completely registering the appropriate/inappropriate level...hey, it's me after all. Russ was speechless before laughing. My crumpled x-rays would be fine.

We all met in a conference room to hear Russ speak and welcome us to Staging where I became a group leader by default. The group leaders got together after learning our Staging itinerary to go over our additional duties. I took them very seriously.

A few people went into San Francisco that night, but most of us simply had dinner in groups and went to bed, eager to start our journey the next day. Erin and I got up early and took showers, called loved ones, and made our way down to the lobby to get breakfast and get ready to go. I had to collect funds for tips and give our ribbons to my group members. I once again acted like this was the most important job in the world. I like to get my duties done first and relax later. It's in my blood. A man, Michael, in my group had  family present to see him off and they sweetly talked to me and asked me to look out for him. I said that I certainly would. We became Facebook friends, he was mortified. I laughed. I believe my mom would have done the same thing.

I hugged our bus driver and told him he was awesome. He told me he wanted another hug at the airport. Russ said goodbye to us and stepped off the bus...and finally, we were off on our buses to go to the airport. 

The Precipice

It's 2:15 am. I went to bed around 9 pm. I've been working like a mad woman the past few days, getting things organized in my place and packing four bags for two years in China. I've repacked these bags over ten times, weighing, reorganizing, getting frustrated, doing it all again. I purchased the essentials: Old Bay, a charger adapter for China, and various matching accessories for my flight. I have switched the outfit I will wear four times and set my alarm for 4:30 am (I woke up at 1:30 am and haven't been able to fall back asleep). I've received text messages, phone calls, emails, visits, packing help, hugs, tears, love, and prideful encouragement. My phone keeps pinging from WeChat messages being received from other sleepless volunteers. We are already bonding as family although we have never met as we stand on the precipice of what is to probably become the greatest adventure we will ever embark upon. We are laughing, crying, and commiserating over the reality of our choice to do something many people would never even dream of doing.

My cousin and I found a "peace keeper's" fake tattoo in my stuff the other day and I boldly put it on, knowing my mother would say, "well that's ugly" (she did) but not caring, because doing something a little childish just felt fun and liberating in the moment. 

My mother is right, it is quite ugly...

Over the past few weeks, I've been forced to realize the gravity of my decisions. My mother, the closest person in the world to me, goes from being more proud of me than I ever thought possible, to being absolutely distraught. My brother, unable to visit from Florida before I leave, remains unable to process exactly what he feels, but always tells me how proud of his big sister he is and that when he goes to tables in the restaurant where he works, he tells complete strangers I'm going to China with the Peace Corps. My dad, well, he's my dad, and he just smiles and pretends like none of this affects him, but I can tell when he comes over and pats my shoulder, the mixture of pride and frustration over the knowledge that I will not be just a car ride away is weighing heavy upon him, as he tries to make the last few days easier for me by not showing how much he will miss me and worry. My family members have traveled to visit me from NYC, Asheville, and Houston and have told me how much they love/envy/are just so stinking proud of me. My friends have rallied behind me. I've been told how much I mean to these extended "chosen" family members. I've been hugged and cried on and loved. I have heard that I'm a "safe space" and that these wonderful people don't know what they will do without my solid and constant presence and listening ear. I can say with confidence: you will all be okay! You are all smart, funny, and perfectly capable of running your own lives! 

My anxiety has been an 11 on a scale of 1-10. I haven't meditated enough. I've been too busy. My schedule has forced a back seat to my immediate stress levels and mental health. I'm looking forward to just sitting at the departure gate at Reagan, way too early in the morning, crying by myself as I say to myself, "oh geez, what in the world have I gotten myself into?!?!"

Last night I spoke to a special person and they said to me, "you are leaving me for that side chick China," as if China was my mistress. I sort of liked that. I'm going to spend two years with my side chick, ya'll, and I'm going to have a relationship with her. I'm going to eat spicy noodles at dinner and pretend it's no problem to impress her, grinning as my eyes tear and I nod to the waiter to bring more water please, saying, 'no, don't stop refilling until it basically spills over the top....' with watery eyes. Nod....smile. I'm going to laugh at her jokes, even though I can't understand a word of Mandarin, smiling and nodding as I think, 'dafuq did she just say?' I'm going to mime "bathroom" when I have to pee, as her voice gets louder in her native tongue, frustrated that I don't just understand, and I'll just give up and look for international signs of female and male to blissfully empty my bladder within a private space. I'll probably stand against walls right inside my apartment and sigh, allowing them to prop me up after my first sunset and sunrise with her, and when she's a fickle bitch, I'll sit on the floor and cry, wishing I had brought that chocolate bar everybody told me was essential. Then I'll unpack my first love's memories like the Old Bay and brick of maple sugar I carefully wrapped and placed in my carry on luggage and look through pictures of the good old U.S. Of A. when things were super fly and I'll miss that original lover, crying over the "good times." Maybe I'll even wish they could meet, a polyamorous blend of the old love and the new love intersecting in a perfect blend of magical bliss. I'll caress articles of clothing from both relationships and when I unroll my travel yoga mat, I'll say, 'it was different this time, but still good, and no, the size doesn't matter...' And if I'm really lucky, I'll introduce her to some of my closest friends from home when they come for a visit, showing them the places we've built the solid foundation of love and trust upon, "oh, once we took a stroll across that bridge and fed the ducks, and see that restaurant? That was the first time we had spicy noodles and I CRIED! At the table! Oh! And that over there? That's where I fell down and instead of laughing at me, she sent a local to help me up, brushing me off and speaking to me unintelligibly, and that spot over there is where I realized that I Ioved her for the first time, no, not there....there, under that tree. I was sitting there meditating with my mala beads, repeating my mantra in my head, and it hit me....this is my home and I love her."

I am on the precipice. I am standing on the edge, looking into the abyss that is my future, and I'm ready to jump.

A 33-Year-Old Volunteer

Over the last few weeks I've come to realize that being a 33-year-old volunteer in the Peace Corps is a little different from being a younger or older volunteer. I'm at a point in my life where many of my peers are getting married, having children, or really taking off in their careers. I made a change a few years ago and left a career I was highly unhappy in to go back to school to study a topic that most people love studying, but avoid majoring in because there is very little financial benefit to doing so. Clearly from my choice to both major in that and then volunteer overseas for two years, I am not one of those people concerned with the financial benefit of my choices...

Of course, as I pack up my condo with (A LOT of) help from my friends and family, I began realizing the subtle differences of being a little older and a little younger than the average Peace Corps volunteer. For one, I have a completely stocked home. From my Kitchenaid mixer to my fine art, everything has a place, a use, and a value. I have organized my home, but as I rip through documents, clothing, and items used for crafting/hobbies/outdoor sports, I see just how much stuff I have accumulated over the years. Books are highly sentimental, yet I pack them into bins headed for Goodwill or the second-hand bookstore with childlike abandon, happy to see the "things" I own disappear into a new life. 

I am ready for it all to be gone. Short of a few books, clothing items, and sporting equipment, the only things I care about are my family heirlooms and my bedroom furniture. Yet I feel pressured to keep things that have little to no value other than sentimental. My teenage journals are on the chopping block, yet my cousin and aunt and best friends look horrified and gasp when I admit I have no further use for words I wrote fifteen to twenty years ago that hold nothing but the memory of difficult emotional years. Why would I keep them? To remind myself of dark times when my future is so bright? It makes little to no sense to me, yet I will dutifully pack them into clear plastic bins along with masks bought for masquerade balls and socks labeled with my favorite sports teams. Because maybe, just maybe, one day I will want to read those pain filled words and see the art I and others created within the pages. 

Younger volunteers who have a less established residence don't seem to share this hellacious ordeal. I see my fellow volunteers describing last-minute trips and basking in the glow of sun on hikes while I slowly toil away making trips to Goodwill and my parent's basement. I am both envious of these people and grateful that I'm doing this now and will have the experience to accumulate less stuff for the rest of my life. Those of them that come back and nest will only have to go through this process themselves in ten to fifteen years when they move residences, although they will have the ability to take it all with them, where I unceremoniously shove glasses and culottes alike into trash bags headed for the dump or a second-hand store. I do try to save as much as I can for a second life somewhere, hoping that someone else will get use out of these items I so often remember buying for specific purposes. When the item is out of site, does the memory fade? Possibly, but the most important ones are triggered so often by sights and smells of leaves blowing in the breeze or the scent of bread baking. The things don't hold the meaning. My synapses do, so item after item gets piled away, ready to go to a new home.

Older volunteers are often able to keep their stuff in their homes, simply turning off water and electricity, possibly laying big white sheets, like in old movies, over their precious furniture, and set up bank accounts to pay their mortgages and basic bills from retirement accounts, so they don't have to even touch the items of their past, leaving them encased within the walls of their home for inspection on a distant day, in the future, once their adventure with the Peace Corps is over.

I do not have that luxury. I cannot financially afford that at this stage in my life, so I am purging nearly all of the stuff I own to make way for a new and what I hope, better life. I did go to my former employer and set up a will and medical directive. I signed up for life insurance and set up a deposit and pay system for my existing bills. I spoke to family and friends and wrote letters to each of them. I said goodbye to some and so long to others. I had a big party thrown for me by my mother and father where over twenty people came to show their support and love for me, even telling me that I was their "safe space," and that they will miss me terribly. I said goodbye to two loves, one former, where we cried a little, hugged a little, and when our embrace broke, we knew it was probably for the last time ever. I watched my current love struggle with a family emergency a few days before my departure and have to cancel the very last night we would spend together to go to Alabama and be with his family. I saw the internal struggle cross through his features as he realized...'I need to go, but I want to stay here and hold you, because I won't be able to for two years and I need that too.' I heard him say, "I have to go...it's the right thing," and I agreed, even though my heart was breaking at the thought of not really being able to say goodbye, or saying the things that lovers say to each other when they part for long periods of time. Because as an adult, I realize that life throws curve balls at us and the true measure of our worth lies in the way we handle those situations. I would like my worth to measured by resilience and grace. 

Of course, I am not alone in this process. My parents have supported and helped me every single step of the way. My friends have walked through the process with me, packing, hauling off items, and generally just being the bubbly and upbeat personalities that I have come to know and love. I have been highly stressed the last few days and my aunt and cousin came to help me and see me before I leave. In my anxiety, I sat down, asked them both in an exasperated voice, "can I get you some water?" And my aunt, in true Cari fashion said, "can I get you some water?" We all laughed. The tension broke in me. I was able to keep packing. And where I am not as lucky to have a partner present holding my hand and directing traffic for me, I am so relieved to have family and friends that I do, helping me carry boxes and making me laugh every step of the way.

My Truth

Last night I got to drive out of Washington, DC and look at the monuments that have so clearly defined "home" for me the last over decade of my life. I drove away knowing that I may never see them again and probably not for at least two years. I drove away from a hotel where one of the most amazing people I have ever met is staying because she just HAD to see me one last time before I leave for China. I drove away knowing that I'm terrified of my next adventure.

I'm not scared in the traditional sense. I'm scared because I am about to find out who I really am. While I go on my journey in the Peace Corps, I'm going to face new challenges. Challenges involving language barriers, cultural differences, and isolation. I'm going to encounter things that I can't even imagine and I'm probably going to do that alone.

Up until this decision, most of my life has been dedicated to helping the people in my life feel better about themselves. At my going away party, after a relatively traumatic event occurred, my friends sat around a fire pit and told me what they knew about me, and almost every single one had the same thing to say, "Meredith is my safe space. The one who listens and doesn't judge and who I call when I just need someone to talk to." I'm amazed at this. It's not that I don't know it's true. It's that I didn't realize how far-reaching my ability to just be present really goes. How much it meant to these people. How much I meant to them. Hearing it out loud changed my view of my place in this world.

As I drove past monuments and buildings dedicated to my country tonight, I felt pride and joy that I'm becoming one of the many volunteers of the United Stares Peace Corps. Living in the DC metro area gives me a unique perspective on this country's culture, politics, and morals. I have been exposed to the best and the brightest. Being a Peace Corps volunteer is not actually that unique here, yet it is. Giving of oneself to one's country for two years, volunteering and growing internally in a foreign land, that is something special anywhere. It sticks out. 

For so much of my life I just wanted to blend in. In second grade I invited the cool girls to my birthday party instead of the girls who were my real friends. I did that because I so desperately wanted to be accepted. As I grew older, I began to realize that being different did not mean I wouldn't be accepted or find wonderful people in my life. In fact, I would argue that it helped me establish one of the kindest, gentlest, most intelligent friend groups I've ever encountered. My unique gifts allowed me to draw people of varying races, religions, and socio-economic backgrounds into my circle and hold them tight. I no longer think that being "normal" is something to strive for. It was that realization that has allowed me to write openly about things some people believe should be "kept private," because I don't care if some people judge me. If I help even one person with my truth, any negative consequence is worth it. I am proud of my journey. It has led me here. I am proud of my country and my family and friends. I hope to serve you well and always tell my truth.