Snapshots of a Life [in China]

You're tearing up roots and breaking down walls,

and I don't stand a chance at all

against the way you move.

-Audrey Assad, "The Way You Move"

Where does one begin to sort the memories, experience, thoughts, and feelings associated with packing up and living in an unfamiliar country?  I was only in Shanghai for two months.  In some ways, it feels like it was longer, and in some ways, shorter.
Life in Shanghai was... something inexpressible in a word alone. Because of it's size, Shanghai is never quiet.  My 6 a.m runs were filled with the zooming of people on scooters on their way to work and the traditional chants sung by men and women doing tai-chi in the park and public square.  The walk to school was punctuated by carhorns and bicycle bells.  Street vendors haggled with customers for anything from DVDs to scarves to fruits and vegetables. Shanghai is a city of opposites.  Old and new mix together, one beside the other.  Neatly trimmed hedges and pagoda-style roofs next to 60 story sky-scrapers.  People playing the erhu (a traditional Chinese stringed instrument) accompanied by an electric piano.  Grandmothers playing in the park with their young grandchildren. Shanghai is also full of rich and poor.  Our school, a privately owned school that costs upwards of $30,000 a year for high school students, had government owned, temporary housing for construction workers right next to it. This was a common sight throughout Shanghai.

One of the things I miss about Shanghai is walking home and seeing groups of workers playing cards on the side of the road.  You knew the bets were getting serious when crowds began to linger around players.  And I miss the guards around the entrances to our compounds.  They always smiled and waved "Ni hao" when I walked by.
As for teaching, I loved my students.  One of my favorite things about teaching 6th grade is that they still have an innocence about them- they're still just kids who want to go play at recess.  They aren't afraid to tell you that, either.  An actual conversation between one of my kids and I went like this:

      Me: I'm a little concerned with what you still have to write before Friday.  I think it would help you a lot if you came in during recess.

      him: But, but... it's recess.  (tears welling in eyes)

      Me: I know you like recess; I know you like playing football with your friends, but this paper is really important.

      him: No... I can't miss recess.

But what I loved most about my students was their ability to ask questions.  We were studying ancient civilizations, and they asked so many questions about why civilizations failed and how empires began and why they lasted.  And when confronted with new ideas, they didn't just take them at face value.  Many of them know the story of Jesus and his life and death, but a lot of them don't understand why his life is significant.  I felt so blessed to share with them the Gospel!  They asked questions like "Why did Jesus have to die?  Why couldn't he have a different punishment?" and "Why didn't the disciples believe Jesus when he said he had to die?"  Such inquisitive minds!  

My students... what a bunch of silly goofballs! I love them.

More than their inquisitive attitudes, they were active in sharing the love of Christ through service projects and serving.  The school has many opportunities to spend mornings or afternoons at an orphanage, simply playing with and holding the kids there.  My students showed me that God is at work in China.
It seems that my thoughts are quickly becoming muddled in that post-experience mind.  As I walked to a farewell party for my friend and I on our last night in China, I found myself wandering how to say goodbye to people and places that have changed the way I see the world.  Perhaps, those memories mean I never have to say goodbye.

To Write, or not? That is the (Eternal) Question

As I write this, all I can think is "I should really get started on those essays I need to write for class."  I keep putting them off.  I check my facebook, play a game on my phone, check my email, sleep, go for a run, and... somehow, those essays remain on my "to do" list.  And that stresses me out.  Not to worry, I'll eventually get there... but first, I have to write a little.  On the topic of Essays. 
You see, I actually rather enjoy writing essays.  (Don't tell my professors.  I'd rather not have more to add to my pile.)  I know what you're thinking... "Hillary, you're insane.  Essays are straight from the devil."  Or maybe you're thinking, "Hey, Hillary, why don't you write my essay for me?"  I hate to break it to you, but I'm not going to be doing your homework for you.  But, hear me out.  Essays make me think about what I'm learning.  I have to reflect on all the things we've gone over in class.  I love revisiting the texts we've looked at and comparing them, sizing them up.  But what I love most is revisiting them and seeing myself reflected in the pages of Mrs. Dalloway or thinking about how my parents shaped me into the person I am and how I'll use that knowledge in my own classroom one day.  Maybe essays aren't the most fun (I could be spending time with my friends, or watching an episode of Friends or Doctor Who!) but they make everything I learn applicable to my own life, and that's engaging.
And so, without any further procrastination, I'll go write those essays... maybe after a run?  Just kidding.  Mostly.  

(A)Pathetic Way to Be

It's been a while.  You may not feel like it, but I sure do.  It's been at least a week, probably more since my last post.  And I'm not going to lie, there's a reason.  It began when I felt I had no words to write.  And then, when I finally did find myself in the mood to write, I couldn't bring myself to do so.
You know those moments when you find that the worst person to face is yourself?  I hate to admit it, but that was why I couldn't bring myself to write.  I have found that in writing, I allow myself time to think, and I didn't want to think.  I wanted to stay in this blissfully ignorant state of doing nothing.  But you know what?  I hated that state.  I hate feeling as if I've accomplished nothing, and apathy led me to that state.  I found myself writing in my head about what I was thinking because then, I wouldn't have to look at what I was thinking later.  I could remain ignorant.  Writing it down made whatever I was thinking real.  And that's not all bad.  In fact, most of the time, writing makes the memories stay with me.  It gives me a chance to preserve my own history.  But yesterday, I found myself loathing to see who I had become, and rather than face it, I ran.  No, really, when I realized how different I was from who I wanted to be, I went for a run.  And when I run, I really do think.  I think it was my brain's way of making up for not writing.  And as I ran, I felt wretched, in part because I hadn't run in a few days, but also because I found myself finally admitting all the things I'd tried to ignore.
A wise professor reminded me today that there is a very real difference between what seems to be and what is.  Yesterday, I think I found that difference.  And now, I'm finally writing about it.
You see, I am 100% ready to graduate.  Only, my problem is that it's March and I won't graduate for another nine months (thank God Summer break is in there, too).  I keep thinking about the future, about life after graduation, about hopefully finding a job teaching overseas.  But all this thinking has made me horribly unmotivated.  Falling behind in classes? Check.  Losing perspective? Check.  What seems to be a long ways off is only nine months away.  In comparison to the past 15 years of schooling, what's another half a year?  If only I could remember that.  Now... to that homework I lost the motivation for earlier.  As my housemate told me before leaving for the second half of her student teaching, "Finish strong!"  Finish Strong, Finish Strong, Finish Strong.  

Where Time (and Life) Goes

Life never seems to slow down.  I suppose this is okay, as long as I remember three things: friends, food, and writing.  This week, I had a chance to cook with a dear friend of mine.  We made a delicious stuffed chicken recipe (I suggest it... easy, cheesy, and cheap!  Check it out at cooking creation).  After eating, we rushed off in an attempt to get to my work on time.  Afterwards, my friend wanted the recipe, and in her email, she said, "Thankful for another Thursday of suppering with you, dear friend" and it reminded me of how thankful I am for times like that.  How wonderful it is to spend time connecting with friends!  And while "life" doesn't slow down while we eat, it doesn't speed up either, and I'm thankful for that. 
As we ate, we also chatted about books and poetry, a topic not uncommon with us.  And as I write tonight, I'm reminded yet again of why I read.  It isn't to gain knowledge, although I enjoy learning as I read; it isn't about studying every detail of a writer's style to pick from it what I like, although I continually do so;  I read because in it, I uncover new ways to see the world and new ways to live.  Reading breathes life into me, whether it's a poem, a book, scripture, or the directions for a new recipe I found on Pintrest.  And as a reminder for me tonight is this wonderful poem by Mary Oliver:

Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging ---

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray. 

 So as you venture forth this day, do so knowing that life may never slow down, it may never seem easy, but there is hope.  Life isn't lived in the burdens.  It's lived in the joy.

Maybe it's Called Ambition

"Last week found me living for nothing but deadlines,
With my dead beat sky but, this town doesn't look the same tonight
These dreams started singing to me out of nowhere
And in all my life I don't know that I ever felt so alive."

-Switchfoot, "Awakening"

I'm currently finishing up The Awakening by Kate Chopin.  Perhaps you've heard of it.  Perhaps you haven't.  As suggested by the title, the main character, Edna Pontillier, is gradually awakening to her self, finding her identity.  Though the ending is tragic, the theme of the novel is haunting me.  This idea of awakening.
In the past few days, I feel like I have been running on a treadmill while someone else pushes the button to speed up the belt.  I haven't had a chance to catch up, until now.  And as I do, as I reflect upon the past few days, I feel like I'm waking up, too.  Oh, I'm not talking about physically getting out of bed.  I'm talking about actually listening to my thoughts, to processing the past few days.  I've written a number of words which I've erased as I find myself awakening more, becoming more in tune with myself. 
One of the things that's been on my mind as of late is the future.  As a senior, people keep asking me if I'm graduating, and do I know what I'm going to do when I graduate?  I have one semester left after this, thanks to finding myself lost in the world of music theory as a freshman.  Student teaching.  A big one, and I should be excited about it, right?  I am, don't get me wrong.  But student teaching in the fall leaves a semester of _(Insert verb here).  Who knows what I'll find myself doing come graduation in December.  Do many schools hire in December? I'm not sure.  Furthermore, do I even want a position in the States?  As I delve deeper and deeper into the world of education, I find myself drawn to a position overseas, empowering students through English and reading.  I've been blessed to have professors and teachers who've awakened my love of language.  In the past few months, I have had other professors awaken me to the world around me.  I'm enrolled in a literacy course this semester, and my amazing professor gave us grim reports in the world of literacy.  She announced that an astonishing number of students read below grade level.  If this true in the U.S, I can only imagine how low literacy is in second and third world nations.  I have a passion for helping students overcome their past of illiteracy and finding a path to a brighter world through the ability to read and write.  I think every person should have the chance to continually be awakened to the world around them, and I believe it starts with literacy.  English in particular, in our increasingly connect world, is beneficial as a language of business and commerce.  This is what I to do.  This is the dream singing to me.  This is my awakening moment. 
As I find myself awakening to my passions for teaching and language more day by day, I become increasingly convinced that words, especially those written, give me a chance to form my identity, to find myself.  They empower me and, to some extent, allow me to find purpose. 
And today, as I write from a dining room with warm sunlight hinting at a world that's reawakening from a cold winter sleep, I can think of nothing but the idea of awakening.
Go empower yourself, whether you do so by reading words, writing words, or speaking words.  Find a way to be "awakened" to life.   

Mind the Gap

     It's been two weeks.  Seriously.  Two weeks ago, I boarded a plane and headed back to the United States from Europe.  Two weeks that feel as if they were both yesterday and months ago.  One of my absolute favorite Professors, indeed, the same professor who led me and twelve other students around Europe, says at the beginning of every semester, "If you've read this book, you absolutely must read it again.   Not a word of it has changed, but you have."  It may seem like an unlikely combination.  What does reading have to do with my confusion about how long ago I went to Europe?   His words echo the thoughts in my head.  I feel as though the person who boarded that first flight to London is not the person sitting here today.
     Before this trip, I had only been outside the United States once, and that was on a cruise, so I didn't spend that much time actually in another country, and that country was the Bahamas, where everyone spoke English, so I don't really feel as if it were another country.  When I stepped foot on the plane headed to London, it was the first time I'd been on an international flight.  I had no idea what it feels like to sit on a plane for 7 hours, and I had no idea flights could be affected by the jet stream.  As I left, though, excitement was the only feeling coursing through my veins.  My first international flight meant I was going somewhere new.  Somewhere I'd never dreamed I'd actually get to go.  I was going to Europe.  Europe!!!  So while most people slept on this overnight flight, I watched movies on the small screen on the seat back in front of me and checked the status of our journey between movies, tracking our progress as we drew closer and closer to the United Kingdom.  I needed no coffee, no caffeinated beverages.  I was waiting.
     As I stepped off the plane and into the airport, I only hoped it wouldn't take too long to go through customs and eagerly awaited the first stamp in my passport book.  I couldn't wait to see Big Ben, visit the British Museum, and see a "foggy day in London town," if only so I could sing the song.  I was a tourist, looking for the sights.  But I also wanted to experience more than the typical sights.  I was ready to be a traveler.  Luckily for me, my professor is a traveler.  As we walked across London and rode the tube, he encouraged us to notice the people, the sounds, and the feeling of being in another place. 
     As we journeyed from London to Prague and then on to Amsterdam and Brussels, I found myself realizing how small the world I once knew was.  Before we left, all I'd ever known was the United States and the culture of the United States- it's foods, smells, sounds, people, and ideas.  I knew Europe only as a place on the map and an enchanting area filled with other people.  My world consisted of an area the size of Kansas and Nebraska.  Sure, I'd been to other places in the United States and I kind of knew them, but for me, it was corn and wheat, farming, cows, agriculture.  Band.  American English.  A history of America.  The world's history, according to Americans.  The people who inhabited my world were family and friends and Americans (immigrants or not).  But as we journeyed, I realized the world is comprised of infinitely more than I ever imagined.  How could I come back and not be changed by all that I felt, saw, and heard?
     What does it mean to come back to this place I've known all my life and find it somehow different?  Though it has not changed, as my professor would say, I have changed.  The life I had before seems inconsequential in the light of the world.  I wouldn't characterize myself as self-absorbed, but the things that weighed on my mind just four weeks ago seem small in comparison to the world I see now.  I see so much more than than what's before me today.  As I read the paper each afternoon, I find myself noticing the news from the places we visited, articles I would have passed over had I not been to the places myself.  I always felt as if the entirety of my life would be spent in the comfort of the world I knew.  I had wanted to travel, and I'd known the world was out there, but now I feel I am a part of that world.  I realize my "role" in this world in a much broader sense.
     And while time will continue to pass and weaken my visual memories of the trip, it won't weaken the things I felt and the ways in which I changed as a result of the trip.  A typical saying on the London Underground is to "Mind the Gap" between the train and the platform, meaning be aware of the gap.  Instead of the train and the platform, I'm minding the gap between the person was and the person I am as a result of my travels.