I'll Do It.

I’m not sure how to even begin describing the myriad emotions I have felt over the past week. I’ve struggled with how to tell this story…with where to start. I suppose I’ll start at the beginning.

I hadn’t seen Jyrki since the notorious ‘gin and tonic’ night with the international crew. We’d been trying to connect for weeks, but missed each other every time I had an evening off. I was excited to have a culinary guide to a restaurant that serves food other than rice and vegetables. He had a hell of a time finding my place, as I don’t know where I am about 98% of the time, but we miraculously ended up in the same place at the same time and sped off to dinner. We went to a French/Japanese fusion restaurant with an open kitchen and waiters who knew English. It was like heaven. As we were shown to our seats, we walked by a table where two Western-looking men were talking over drinks. Jyrki greeted them warmly as they stood up to meet us. Gordon Styles is a local business owner, originally from England, who has a humble and friendly demeanor. He was entertaining Edgar, a client from Houston, TX. Peanut, his daughter’s Pomeranian, whined from her cage below Gordon’s chair as us humans exchanged formalities. After light conversation, Jyrki and I continued on to our table. The meal was fantastic: Caesar salad, red wine, and crab cakes. I started telling Jyrki about New Day and how it fills my ‘emotional cup’ as the waiter filled up my actual cup with another serving of wine. This sparked a conversation about the importance of human connection, and how there are some great people to meet in the area.

‘On that note, hold that thought.’ I said as I scooted my chair back (which seemed to be heavier after two glasses of wine). I walked across the room to where Gordon and Edgar sat and invited them over to our table for a cup of coffee. A while later, we five were the last people in the restaurant, and lost in conversation about the places we’ve been and the places we’re going (everybody except for Peanut, who was out of her carrier and lost somewhere in the restaurant).  Then we got on a subject that really caught my attention. Gordon told me a story about a man who works for his company, Jerry. Jerry and his friend Phil rode across China from east to west on bicycles. The idea sparked from Jerry’s need to lose weight, and Phil‘s (a professional photographer) want to photograph the essence of China. The men rode over 4,500 km, which took them 57 days. Jerry linked his trek to Helping Hands, a local organization that connects volunteers to individuals with disabilities in need of services. Gordon gave me Jerry’s Wechat, assuring me that Jerry would love to share his story.

The next day, Jerry and I exchanged a few messages before deciding to meet at Holiday Plaza, where there was an exhibit of the pictures from their trip. Jerry, also a Englishman, walked me through the exhibit and told stories of the trip with a sense of humility that I admired. The rain was coming down outside, so my lessons were cancelled. We decided to have lunch and coffee. For two hours, we sat at a Chinese fast-food restaurant and talked about life. Over rice and tea, I quizzed him about the ins and outs of the trip, and told him about my own philanthropic adventures with Hygiene for Haitians and New Day. As we spoke, a few people recognized him (he and Phil have become a bit of local celebrities, as they appeared on the local television network to talk about their journey) and came up to shake his hand. He joked about his 'celebrity status' and how thankful I should be that he was gracing me with his presence. I laughed along and playfully made a few counter-jabs at his pride. But underneath my wit, I really was thankful. When the clouds broke, we went downstairs to catch a taxi. Well, I caught a taxi; Jerry haggled with a scooter driver for a ride. These drivers sit outside of malls and heckle you to use their services instead of a taxi (I tried this once before and I was sure that was the last day of my life). We bid each other farewell and made loose plans to meet again.

When I went home, I felt a shift in my heart. I was uncomfortable. I felt…itchy. There was a thought in the back of my mind that I was fighting to keep there. I had recently put some thought into spending time at the larger New Day foster home in Beijing before I go home to America next year. And now that thought was nagging and expanding in my brain. There was a voice coming from the deepest part of my soul that carried a simple, yet life-altering command; ‘Go. Walk.’ Could it be that this voice was asking me to do what I thought it was? I felt passion, inspiration, and purpose flood my heart and soul. The immensity of the thought brought me to my knees. Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought the idea- the idea to walk to the New Day North foster home in Beijing. There was dialogue happening in my heart that went like this:

Sane me: ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you need to cut that shit out.’

Bat shit crazy passionate me: ‘I understand your reservations, but you don’t really have a choice. This idea has set up camp in your heart and it’s here to stay.’

Sane me: ‘To walk to Beijing?! There are more sane ways to help New Day. Let’s focus on those. Do you have any idea how fucking far that is? Do you have any idea how long that will take? Are you fucking nuts?’

Bat shit crazy passionate me: ‘Yes. It’s about 2,200 km, and it should take about two and a half months if you don’t drag your lazy ass.’

Sane me: ‘I don’t appreciate you calling my ass lazy. But, ok. I’ll do it. If it’s in my stars, I’ll do it. Just please, please, please keep me safe. Please.’

The second I agreed, I felt a sensation that I can only describe as an earthquake in my soul. It felt like a stomach grumble, except 10 times more intense, and it came from my heart. To make sure I got the point, it happened twice. With that, the weight was lifted. I got up off of my knees, wiped my tears, and went to bed.

The next morning as I rode in a taxi to New Day, I thought about the unreal experience I’d had the night before. I thought that maybe if I didn’t tell a soul, the whole crazy idea would just kind of dissolve. I soon discovered that isn’t how these things work. I helped Myra teach preschool like normal, then went to lunch with Adrian the Canadian and his son. I ran the plan by Adrian the Canadian, who encouraged me to tell Doug and Janice. I was nervous, and still considering backing out. But I couldn’t forget the idea any easier than I could stop being Navajo or stop loving mashed potatoes….it had weaved its way into my being.

Before I talked to Doug and Janice, we all gathered for Feng Ming’s memorial. Though I didn’t post it in the previous blog, the emotions that I experienced during Feng Ming’s memorial were what solidified my desire to follow through with this idea. I looked around and saw a room full of people who have all been called ‘crazy’ for uprooting their lives and moving to China to love on these precious children. There was Myra- the preschool teacher from North Carolina, Doug and Janice- the Alabama Saints who started the foster home in Zhongshan, and Adrian the Canadian- a loving father of 5, who……I’m still trying to figure out exactly what Adrian does….. Now, I was among them as a ‘crazy’ person. And I couldn’t be happier about it. Even if I have gone mad, I am in good company.

I nervously approached Doug after the service to drop the news. It went something like this:

‘Doug, Can you spare a minute? Well, ummm, I’ve been thinking of ways to help New Day and honor Feng Ming’s life….and, uh….I’ve been thinking about maybe going to work in Beijing to experience the foster home up north.’ Doug listened intently, but I knew his heart was still full of grief, having just finished the service. Mine was too, but my stomach was also full of butterflies. I continued. ‘….and as a means of doing both…..and raising money for the kids ….I’m thinking that I will…um..…..walk…..there…………’. The last two words seemed to hang in the air like the high-pitched ring of a bell. But I wasn’t sure if their sound would resonate with Doug. Then his eyes lit up. Life returned to his face as he raised his eyebrows so high that I thought they might take flight off of his forehead. The people left in the living room were soon in on the discussion. 15 minutes later, Doug and Janice the Saints, Adrian the Canadian, Myra the Preschool Teacher, and I were huddled around a map of China, excitedly talking about possible routes and places I might sleep. This plan was growing wings. My fear turned to excitement as the

plausibility of the plan grew and grew.

Now, it is still growing. I have only clues of where this idea will lead, and how far I will actually go to complete the purpose behind this mission that has been put on my heart. But I do know this feeling- this feeling of passion and purpose. And in my experience, once this feeling occupies my heart, nothing can stop me. Not even me. 

For Matthew

I came to China to teach and play tennis. Though, lately it is becoming apparent that I am here for that and so much more. Around the two-month mark of living here, I hit a rough spot. Upon returning from Hong Kong, I realized that things in Zhongshan had shifted while I was away. This shift sent me into a tailspin. I no longer felt at home- the comfort zone I had spent two months creating was demolished in one swoop. As a result, I went to a dark place in my mind where there is no perspective or appreciation. I was lacking love, passion, connection, and affection; this made me very tired. For days, I didn’t train or really move much at all. The rain came down and lessons were cancelled, so I stayed in my room, crying over Robin Williams’ movies, and eating oatmeal. When the clouds broke, I decided I needed a change. I needed new priorities. I needed more love. After being obnoxious to anyone who would listen for days, I finally found a volunteer opportunity with a local foster home. Through the parents of one of the children I teach, I was connected with Doug and Janice at the New Day Foster Home for children with special needs. I sent Doug an email, receiving one back about a week later. Doug and Janice are from Alabama, and moved to southern China to found New Day South after working at the New Day North foster home in Beijing. They are angels in human form. The day after Doug responded to my email, I found myself in a taxi on my way to New Day. Doug had informed me that they are functioning in two small apartments- one nursery and one for preschool aged children. Other than that, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The taxi driver got lost, so he dumped me in the general area of the address I showed him. I had to call Sukey, the volunteer coordinator, to come rescue me. As Sukey walked me back to the apartment complex I bombarded her with questions. I learned that New Day only employs locals to care for the children, and all Westerners are volunteers. There are usually about 15 children living at the home at any given time. New Day facilitates care and surgeries for babies with any special needs, ranging from heart defects to Down Syndrome, while they hopefully wait to be adopted.

When we arrived on the 5^th floor, I took off my shoes, sanitized my hands, and let Sukey lead me into the nursery. I picked up the first baby I saw, Feng Ming (English name Matthew), and my heart melted in my chest. He looked into my eyes to see a new, strange face and smiled, lighting up the room. I looked into his eyes and saw the world. I spent the next hour and a half holding and playing with babies, and talking to Doug and Janice who had found me to say hello. We all went downstairs to see the preschool kiddos, where we played for another hour before lunch. As I listened to Janice’s stories about each child, a little girl’s laughter interrupted us. Amy is a very bright and happy 9-year-old girl. She is able to walk only with support, but she is an excellent crawler. Actually, she doesn’t so much crawl, as she energetically vibrates across the floor like a toy that you wind up and set free. She likes to check out people’s shoes and play with them, causing her to laugh and laugh. She laughs so hard that it is impossible to be in the same room as her and not laugh uncontrollably also. That day, it became evident that Amy is happy at New Day. So am I.

Over rice and noodles, Doug, Janice, their daughter Sarah, and I talked about our respective journeys to Zhongshan and what we miss about America. Doug quizzed me about Native American culture, and we told stories of our roots. Their lives were uprooted when they decided to leave Alabama to move to China. They have three grown sons and a few grandchildren back in America whom they miss dearly.

‘We did it backwards.’ Janice joked. ‘Usually you’re supposed to run away to another country when you’re young and responsibility-free!’ But I knew they wouldn’t have it any other way. We walked out of the restaurant, and as we discussed how I would get home, my bus showed up; we exchanged rushed good-byes as I sprinted away to catch it. I didn’t feel bad for leaving so abruptly. I knew I’d be back.

And back I came. Since that day almost a month ago, I have been visiting New Day twice a week. I help their preschool teacher, Myra, with class before heading up to the 5^th floor to hold babies. The children are well behaved and well accustomed to their routine. It is easy to see that they are all happy kids. It is easy to feel the love that fills the apartments, seeping into the heart of each person who walks through the door. All you have to do is be present, and the children will open up your heart as they open their hands, inviting you to pick them up. It is also wonderful to see how the New Day staff approaches the adoption process. When a child is matched with a family, there is a buzz about the environment; everyone knows and openly speaks about the fact that a matched child has a new family and will be leaving soon. Even at two years old, the little girls and boys understand and celebrate this. There is no trauma, only smooth transition from one family to another. The preparation for change and good-byes is important for the children, the new families, and everyone else who cares for the child.

For this reason, it was difficult to hear that one child, Feng Ming, did not make it through a hospital stay. He was undergoing the last of three surgeries that he needed before adoption when he acquired an infection. His little body couldn’t fight it, and he died early in the morning after surgery.

There was a quiet about New Day after Feng Ming’s passing as everyone grappled with the unexpected news.  We held his memorial on a Thursday afternoon. Doug saved the couches in his small living room for the nannies- the women who spent the most time with Feng Ming – his mommas. They were beside themselves with grief, some sobbing loudly as Doug spoke. Doug fearlessly led the ceremony as a woman stood beside him, translating his words to Chinese for the nannies as tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘Feng Ming lived exactly 700 days on this earth’ he began, ‘and 696 of those were spent here at New Day. We were his family and we loved him.’

I felt for the nannies and prayed to someone or something that I could take some of their hurt away. I looked around to see about 20 people crammed into Doug and Janice’s tiny living room. There were Americans, Canadians, and Chinese people who gathered to mourn the passing of a precious child. Together, we all grieved deeply. Adrian, a volunteer from Canada, sang a song that went like this:

Never a smile more beautiful than yours,

Never a child more easy to love,

Never will you be forgotten.

Even in your times of pain, you brought us joy.

You left us all too quickly, now it is our turn to heal.

Fly on, little Feng Ming!

Find rest in the arms of your forever father.

As I listened to the song, I let myself feel the grief in my heart; it hit me like a bag of bricks. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I focused on breathing as hot, heavy tears rolled down my face. Still, in the midst of my grief, I found appreciation. I am so thankful that New Day exists because it means that so many people get to experience life and love that they might never find otherwise. For me, the existence of this organization means gaining perspective and feeling love. For the children it means living a life they weren’t ‘supposed to’ live. Feng Ming was the first baby I held when I walked into the New Day Foster Home. I only got to spend a few of his 696 days with him before he went in for surgery. But there is no doubt in my mind that every one of his days before that were filled with just as much love, laughter, play, and smiling as his last. At the bottom of the memorial program it noted that the ‘Feng’ in his name means ‘phoenix’, a bird known for rising from ashes, just as love and inspiration will rise from the sadness in our hearts. Fly on, little guy. Godspeed.

You might think that after feeling such grief, we would want some distance from the kids to protect ourselves from such deep hurt in the future. But I think everyone left that living room with the intention of hugging longer, holding tighter, and playing harder. I’m anxious to return to help teach preschool tomorrow and take extra time to hold babies upstairs.

I apologize for such a depressing post. My truth is that ‘a love story worth telling’ is not always a story of smiles and cheer. Sometimes, like today, it is a story of grief, loss, and hurt. But it is always a story of love, appreciation, and joy. All of the love that Feng Ming held in his little body has to go somewhere; I am sending it to you. Appreciate someone right now. Love yourself right now. Be thankful today. Don’t wait. Let yourself feel, and if there is hurt in your heart, feel it burn and watch love rise from the ashes like a Phoenix. 

for more of Matthew's story, click here

'Hong Kong Has Her Now' (part II)

After sleeping only two hours, I woke up with Big Buddha on my mind. It would have been impossible to sleep in, as the street noise found my 8^th floor window, impeding my sleep and beckoning me out of bed. Slowly, I coached myself to an upright position and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’d never looked better; with eye make-up smudged down the pillow side of my face, hair matted down and frizzed out by sweat and humidity, and dark circles under my tired eyes. I laughed at the abstract painting on the wall resembling myself, and then hurried across the hall, into the bathroom before anyone else could take its possession. I took a shower in the cramped shower-over-the-toilet hostel bathroom (whoever invented those is a sadist), then packed my belongings into my backpack and set out, ready for another adventure. I found breakfast at an organic market that carries American health foods-or as I like to call it- ‘Heaven’. As I scanned the shelves stacked with muesli, almond milk, whole food nutrition bars, and various cooking oils, I imagined them all in my pantry (right now the only thing in my pantry is a bag of almonds and dried ginger). Unfortunately, these imported items are sold for the monetary equivalent of your firstborn child (…unless it’s a girl).  I could have easily spent my paycheck, so I limited myself to a dragon fruit for breakfast and a bag of organic flax seeds for my pantry.

With Monty’s directions in my sleep-deprived head, I hopped on the MTR and went to the furthest stop, out by Chinese Disneyland and the airport. I was soon off of the subway and in line for a gondola to Lantau Island, where the Po Lin Monastery is located. This monastery was founded by three monks in the early 1900’s,

and is now is a major attraction visited by hundreds of thousands of people per year. The ‘Big Buddha’ was erected in 1993. He is 34 meters tall, made of 250 tons of bronze. He faces north, looking over the people of China, with his raised right hand delivering a blessing to all.  The gondola takes 25 minutes to travel the 5.7 km (3.5 miles) to the North Coast of

Lantau Island, where the Po Lin Monastery and the Big Buddha are located. When Monty told me about his visit to Lantau, I knew I had to go because the scenery looked beautiful and the culture, rich. The gondola ticket line was long; after an hour and a half of waiting, I was finally coasting high over the bay, along the airport grounds, and up the mountain. The view of the water below, the skyscrapers in the distance, and the mountain ahead was breathtaking. We arrived at the village, which is comparable to a ski resort village: over-priced restaurants, bullshit souvenirs,

teeming with tourists. I powered through the mob and up a long incline to get to the nectar of the place-the Buddha. He is beautiful. I walked around the courtyard at the base of him to take it in. The heat and humidity were intense. All at once, the heat and my exhaustion hit me. I saw a woman sitting down in the shade, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the view.

‘I want to do what you’re doing.’ I said as I approached her with a tired smile. We sat together at the base of the Buddha and talked about his creation as she chain-smoked. I wish I could remember this woman’s name, but her Australian accent was so thick that I honestly only understood every other word she said. Though, when she mentioned food, I understood immediately. She informed me that the monastery offers a cheap and delicious vegetarian meal. With that knowledge, I bid the woman farewell, stopped at the monastery to pay my respects to the Enlightened One, and found the vegetarian restaurant. A

woman with an ‘all-business’ attitude took my meal ticket and sat me down in one of hundreds of chairs surrounding round tables in a big, shabby banquet hall. Every table was full of people laughing, talking, and eating. An old man came by with a cart of covered dishes. He set my table with a large, covered soup bowl, a tea set, a spoon, and a bowl to eat out of. The soup was delicious- a kind of clear Chinese minestrone. As soon as I finished my soup, a woman came by with another cart. Three items were set on my table this time: a small pressure cooker full of rice, a mushroom/greens/garlic sauce dish, and a plate of sautéed vegetables. It was all delicious. Feeling well fed, I walked out of the restaurant, past

an incense shrine, and up the steep stairs to the Buddha. The front side was swarming with tourists, so I walked around back where it was quiet; I believe this was the most quiet place in all of Hong Kong-the busiest, most crowded city I’ve ever experienced.  The view from the Buddha was magnificent, as he sits on a mountain towering high above the coast, but below nearby peaks. I looked up at the Buddha towering above me- the giant protector- then out at the scenery. This was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. In the magnificence of the moment, I was filled with gratitude. I was thankful for everyone who had a part in leading me to this point in my life, namely my parents. I was thankful for Siddhartha, a man who sought out danger and discomfort for the sake of knowledge and enlightenment…..a man I can relate to. Also, I indulged in gratitude for myself for being brave enough to answer a call and come to China. Experiences such as my weekend in Hong Kong are why I do it. It’s nice to be reminded of this from time to time.

Once again, I came back down to earth. The MTR took me back to the ferry station where I bought a ticket back to Zhongshan. After I bought the ticket, the cashier used his sub-par English skills to explain to me that I would have to go to the other ferry terminal in Kowloon (across the bay) to board my ship home. I looked at my watch. I only had 40 minutes to get there. Over the next 45 minutes, there was a lot of running around in order to follow a string of bad directions given in broken English. The end result of this was me bawling on a random woman’s shoulder on the ferry dock (the wrong ferry dock) as people passed by and shot us uncomfortable looks…..(I was REALLY tired). I’ll spare you from the confusion of the whole story and tell you this; I missed my ferry home- a 300 HK dollar mistake. I had to buy a new ticket and wait two hours for the next ferry out to Zhongshan.

When I finally did board a boat, I reflected on the incredible journey that had played out over the previous 48 hours as we pulled away from the dock. I couldn’t believe how much life had been packed into those hours. I had met new friends, accomplished an important step to my future academic career, and seen a few of the best sights in a great city. With contentment in my heart, flax seeds in my backpack, and tearstains still on my cheeks, I drifted away from a beautiful city and off to sleep. Thank you, Hong Kong. See you soon.

 

'Hong Kong Has Her Now'

 I am in China chasing a dream. The dream is to travel, instill the love of tennis in people, and spread love like bed bugs. But on a larger scale, my mission is to help people by using my gifts, talents, and knowledge. The time has come to expand said knowledge. Thus, I am in the midst of the dizzying process of applying to grad schools. In order to do this, one needs a GRE score. For the past few months I have been studying tirelessly, and the time finally came for me to go into the big city to take the test. The plan was to spend Saturday night in Hong Kong, take the test on Sunday morning, and then go exploring on Sunday afternoon and Monday. I booked a hostel room in advance for Saturday and Sunday night and told Howard only to worry if I wasn’t back by Monday night. After giving a Saturday afternoon lesson in Zhongshan, I packed a bag, changed clothes, and jumped into a car with one of the children I teach and her parents, who generously offered to take me to the ferry building. Conveniently, there is a ferry that runs directly from Zhongshan to Hong Kong. I bought my ticket, boarded the ship, and found my seat. For the next 90 minutes I watched the coast speed by as I wondered what the next few days would bring. I only knew that I was excited to speak English and eat food other than rice and vegetables. I was also excited to get to the hostel where a care package from my mom was waiting for me. All of this considered, I had a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach; I was nervous and excited.

When I arrived in Hong Kong I didn’t have time to take in the beautiful view of the skyline because my hostel room could be rented out to someone else if I didn’t check in by 8pm. We landed at 7:30pm. With no way of communicating my tardiness to the hostel, I hopped into a cab and took a very expensive ride across the bridge to the Lee Garden Guesthouse in Kowloon, a district of Hong Kong that lies across the bay from the main island. A rectangular blue and white sign pointed me in the right direction, off the bustling street, down a hall, and up eight floors to the hostel. I stepped out of the coffin-like elevator and found my way to reception. A short Chinese woman with painted-on eyebrows and a ‘fuck-off’ demeanor checked me in to the hostel. She spoke just enough English to tell me there would be a $20 ‘handling fee’ for the

‘luggage’ (package) my mom had sent. The crafty woman showed me to my room- a hole in the wall containing a bed, a TV, a phone, and a mirror. She showed me the bathroom, which was surprisingly clean. After getting settled in my room I went out to find food, soon finding myself wandering around Kowloon, looking up. There were bright lights, loud city sounds, and smells ranging from feces to warm cinnamon. And people. SO MANY PEOPLE. I walked into a raw-organic skin care store that made products of natural ingredients. Looking at the oatmeal masks and dragon fruit cleanser, I was only reminded of how hungry I was.  I must have looked like a fish out of water because a kind worker, Adam,

greeted me and asked where I am from. We were soon lost in conversation about the Southwest. Adam graduated from Arizona State University three years ago. I told him about my intention to take the GRE the next morning and apply to ASU for grad school. He mentioned how interested he was in the Navajo reservation and we marveled at each other once I told him that I’m half Navajo. The conversation was interrupted by my hunger pangs. Adam pointed me in the direction of vegetarian food. I followed his directions up an escalator to an alley of international restaurants. I walked up and down the busy ‘street’ exploring my options, trying to decide between Chinese, French, Italian, or Vietnamese cuisine. People dined at tables outside of each restaurant. My sights were set on a salad, so I found a table at an Italian deli that was showing Wimbledon highlights on the outdoor television. Perfect. The salad was everything I had hoped for and more. I paid my bill and tried to find my bearings to head back to the hostel. As I tried to remember where I came in from, I heard a table of three men whispering about me.

‘Say it…Say it! Say hello!’ I heard one of the men say, nudging his friend. Bull’s eye. As I approached their table, their eyes went down to their drinks. They knew they’d been busted.

‘Excuse me, can you tell me which way Chatham road is?’ I asked, smugly. I spent the next hour with Billy, Dion, and Tony, who were in Hong Kong on business. Dion hails from South Africa, but now lives in Australia with his family. He works as a designer for a very popular SUV company. Tony and Billy are native to Hong Kong. They have all been doing business together for years, and it showed in the conversation.  The trio twisted my arm into letting them buy me a glass of wine, and I laughed as they told hilariously embarrassing work stories about each other.  The men invited me out with them to experience Saturday night in Hong Kong, but I declined with the GRE on my mind. I thanked them for the wine and conversation. Dion walked me out and showed me where the MTR station was that I would take to my testing site in the morning. I found my way back to the hostel, satiated with a good meal and English conversation.

When I woke up early the next morning, I was ready. I was ready to rock the GRE. I was even more ready to get it out of the way and go exploring afterward. After successfully navigating my way around the MTR (subway) lines and directing another non-English speaking taxi driver, I found the testing center. It was a shabby building in a dingy part of town. For the next five hours, I was so focused on the test that I literally forgot that I was in China. I received my scored immediately; I did very well. Let’s gooooooo! Charged with excitement, I flew down the stairs to the bus stop. I somehow managed to get on the correct bus back toward the hostel and took a guess at which stop was mine. Amazingly, I guessed right.  I changed clothes and geared up for the day, planning first to go to Victoria’s Peak, the highest point in Hong Kong. I walked a few blocks to the pier, bought a token, and hopped on the Star Ferry from Kowloon to the main island. The salty air blew my hair back as I soaked in the beautiful skyline and people-watched. I noticed a ‘foreign’ man with a big camera and a kind face three rows up from where I sat. I wondered if he was American, but soon became distracted from my thoughts when we docked at the pier. By the time I got off the ferry, a long line had already formed at the M15 bus stop to Victoria Peak and the man with the camera was in it. I boarded the bus and went straight for the open-air seating on top. There were plenty of seats, as it was a HOT day and the Chinese people generally avoid the sun like the plague (tans are for the working class).  Once we started driving, the breeze was cool and welcomed. The M15 took us to the tram where there was yet another very long line. I think half of the population of China was waiting in this line. I quickly became lost while trying to find the end of it. Just then, I saw the man with the camera from the ferry looking just as lost as I was. I asked him if he knew the procedure. He didn’t, but we decided to be lost together. We finally found the end of the line and talked as we waited. Monty was visiting Hong Kong from Houston, where he works and lives with his wife. He had always wanted to travel to Asia, but didn’t want to go anywhere he needed a visa. We made small talk about the best places to visit in Hong Kong, rumors we’d heard about the city, and we commiserated about the heat. An hour later we finally got on the tram, which took us on a VERY steep ride to the top of the world. The view at the peak was incredible. We towered south of the main island, above even the tallest skyscrapers, and looked across the bay to Kowloon. As beautiful as it was, we were too hungry to soak it all in. Monty and I navigated through the dense crowd to a restaurant with a great view. We inhaled our meals the second the plates hit the table. After dinner we took a maze of escalators up to the viewing deck, a rooftop far above the hustle and bustle of the big city. Monty took pictures of the city light reflecting

off of low-hanging clouds that were hovering just above the skyscrapers. As I stood on the south rim of a man-made Grand Canyon, I was in the moment, trying with all my will to soak in every bit: the multi-colored lights beaming from the towers, the cool breeze coming up from the city, the reflection of the lights on the bay, the feeling of awe at the size of the city. The view was breathtaking. 

Monty and I stood in another line for a bus back down to the city, back down to Earth. The Star Ferry took us back to Kowloon to

change clothes and gear up for a night in the nightclub district that we had both heard was worth seeing. I was excited to see a new part of the city, and to wear ‘going out’ clothes for the first time in two months. We found the nightclub district- a street of bars and clubs and people- (again) lots of people. Monty bought the first round as we watched a Chinese emo band play Beatles songs at the Hard Rock Café. We hopped to a few different bars, but soon grew tired of the bar scene.

So we grabbed two Tsing Tao tall boys from 7/11 and a cab back to the Kowloon side of the bay. For three hours we sat by the ferry building and looked over the bay at the skyline. The view was so, so, so beautiful. Monty and I talked for hours about life. We chatted about politics, our families, and relationships. I tried to follow as he explained to me the history of the conflict between the Jews and the people of Palestine. I quizzed him about the ins and outs of married life and he painted a picture for me of the difficulties of marriage, and the deep love he has for his family and his wife. We talked about the importance of truth and how essential it is in the cultivation of relationships worth having….the creation of love stories worth telling. Monty and I were two like-minded people in very different places in life, brought together by a passion for travel and beautiful views. As we talked, we sipped warm beer and watched barges float by on their way out to sea. Just before the sun came up, Monty and I said good-bye; he had a flight to catch back to America, and I needed rest for another full day of exploring.

‘I’m very thankful I met you. Keep being awesome, Darrah.’ he said.

‘Well, I’m very thankful I met you, too. I will. You do the same.’ I retorted. With that, he gave me a warm hug and we went our separate ways, fully knowing that we might never see each other again. I have never had such a meaningful goodbye with someone I have known for just over 12 hours. That’s how life goes sometimes; you never know what’s coming for you. I got back to my hostel as the sun was coming up. The city had gone silent overnight, and was just starting to stir as I collapsed on my bed, tipsy from exhaustion, Tsing Tao, and good conversation. As I drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep, I recalled the words of Natalie, my college roommate, who had sent me a simple but fitting message earlier that day while I was on my way to the city:

‘Hong Kong has her now’. 

Some Like it Hot

You can’t run away from your problems. And even if you try, your new location will present a whole new set of challenges for you to deal with. One of these challenges is best represented in a tale that I’ve debating putting onto the World Wide Web for weeks now. Some stories beg to be told, even at the expense of the author’s dignity. This is one of them:

Last week the toilet in my apartment broke. While I’m ever thankful that it’s a ‘real’ toilet and not one of those holes in the ground, I’ve been at war with this thing since I moved in. It won’t even flush the paper from me taking my makeup off at night. Usually I wait five minutes, send up a prayer to the toilet gods, flush again, and the problem fixes itself. But one day it didn’t.

‘Ok’ I thought. ‘I am woman. I can deal with this problem all on my own’. I put on my pink rubber gloves and reached for the plunger that was in the apartment when I moved in. When I picked it up I saw that the red rubber had a huge crack, rendering it completely useless. I went to work, came back, and tried to flush it again. Nothing. Still, I had faith that it would fix itself. For the next two days I showed up to work early and stayed late so I could use the hole-in the ground toilet at the courts. My boss probably thought I was really committing myself and stepping it up. Little did he know I just really had to pee. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking ‘Darrah, it’s no big deal. Just go out and buy another plunger’. You’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that? But it wasn’t that easy. First of all, I scouted out the store below the courts. They had all the cleaning supplies one could ever want, but no plungers. Secondly, I had this thought; I stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. I’m like the zoo animal that people stop to watch as I walk by. Men will almost break their necks taking a second look at the American girl (which is no different than the captivation every man feels towards me in America), children and old women shamelessly stare me down as I pass, and young women will pretend not to see me, then take a peek when they think I’m not looking. The guards at the gate of my apartment complex heckle me when I come and go. I really didn’t want to be seen walking down the street carrying a big red plunger.

But on day three I’d had enough. I benched my insecurities and set out to buy one. I double-checked the downstairs market. Nada. I walked up and down two blocks checking every store. There were no plungers for sale anywhere. I didn’t want to ask anyone because the thought of flipping through my lonely planet book on Mandarin and trying to mime a plunging motion made me cringe. I went to four stores…  five stores… six stores, all the while trying to look like I’m just casually shopping. But everyone knows. In my mind, everyone can tell what I’m looking for. These ‘stores’ are more like yard sales; a collection of lamps, snacks, bathmats, bottled water, and other random items that people may find a use for. Each store I walked in to was a lost bet. After an hour of searching for the elusive plunger in the summer heat, I finally I gave up and went into a shady convenience store for a bottle of water. I greeted the store worker, grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and browsed the strange yard sale items on the shelves. I looked up to a dusty corner to see buckets, a bouquet of toilet brushes, and one. blue. plastic. plunger. My immediate reaction was to climb the shelves to commandeer my prize. I wanted to grab the thing and protect it like a newborn baby, cradling it like Gollum did with the ring. ‘My Preciousssssss’.  But I could feel the clerk’s eyes on me, and I didn’t want to seem overly eager and excited to buy a toilet plunger. So I played it cool and took another lap around the store to peruse the drinks and snacks, all the while keeping one eye on the treasure on the shelf. I picked up a coke (I don’t drink coke, but it seemed like a legitimate, casual purchase), set it on the counter and gave the clerk the ‘one minute’ finger. I walked to the dark, dusty corner of the store and picked up what I believe to be the last plunger for sale in all of China. I set it on the counter with the water and Coke (‘Oh, you know, just coming to the corner store for a refreshing beverage and a plunger’).  It worked. The clerk was completely fooled my by casual facade. Sucker. (One could argue that the clerk didn’t give two shits about what I was buying, but ‘One’ should pipe down and stop ruining my story). The best part about this purchase was that the handle unscrewed, so it fit into a grocery bag. Double score. I held my head high and walked back to my apartment like one of my Navajo ancestors coming back to the village after a successful hunt. I am woman!

Yes, each new place we visit will stretch us in ways we never could have imagined. As I mentioned before, it sometimes seems that we can’t escape the problems of our past either. I was reminded of this fact while giving a lesson under the scorching Chinese sun yesterday. Usually, my schedule is nice in China. Weekends are busy, but weekdays involve a voluntary fitness and practice session in the mornings, a long lunch break, then giving lessons in the late afternoons and evenings. Yesterday I was disgruntled by an inconsistency in this schedule. After giving an 8:30am lesson, the weather was heating up to a temperature borderline unbearable. It was one of the hottest days since I’ve been here. After my morning lesson, I sought refuge in the clubhouse where Danimamma informed me that I was scheduled to give a 2pm lesson. I know my jaw dropped, but I quickly saved face so I’d at least appear as a team player. There is a back-story here:

 It was back in April when I was presented with the opportunity to come to China. I had been teaching at the tennis ranch in Texas for just over 8 months. As the weather got warmer, I felt pressure to decide whether or not I’d be staying on staff to be a summer camp counselor. I knew staying through the summer would be a fun learning experience. But working 24 hours a day, 6 days a week in the Texas Summer heat is not my idea of a good time, no matter how much I love my job. Thus, I decided to try something new and a little less demanding and give China a try. There is a strange but great connection between my past and present here; three years ago Howard took a group of kids from Zhongshan to the tennis ranch in Texas for summer camp. They loved it, and the kids who speak English well enough will talk to me about the ranch every time I see them. Their tennis bags are branded with the ranch logo and every once in a while they’ll sport their worn out ranch t-shits, bleached by sweat and sun. There’s something in the water in Texas that gives people a tennis bug (which is much better than the bugs you will get from the water in China). This is why it was difficult to leave.

I came back to the courts at 1:50 P.M. to meet Billy- the only kid crazy enough to schedule a lesson at 2 in the afternoon. It was HOT. I watched Billy sweat, hyperventilate, and all but collapse as he hit his first basket of forehands. Ten minutes in, I decided it was time for a much needed water break. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut; I had to ask.

‘So, Billy, why exactly do you want to play in the afternoon when it is so hot?!’

Billy is one of the kids who fell in love with his experience in Texas, which explains what he said next:

‘When we go to Texas we get up very early. We stay in a room…all Chinese men. It is always so hot. We play always. In the afternoon we exercise…play tennis. I play Turbo. What is it? No……Top Gun. I think now I should exercise in the hot like Texas.’

I had to make sure I was hearing what I thought I was hearing.

‘Wait. Billy. Are you telling me that you scheduled a lesson in the heat of the day so you would feel like you’re back in Texas?!’

‘Yes.’ Billy replied with a straight face, even though I was beside myself with exasperation mixed with laughter.

‘BILLY!!!!! I CAME TO CHINA TO GET AWAY FROM TEXAS!!!!!’

I don’t think he knew exactly why I was laughing so hard. But I was no longer upset about being out in the heat. After all, it was only an hour and a half….not a whole summer.

Try to run if you wish, but life is full of old problems and new challenges no matter where you go. Even when the heat is unbearable, let’s appreciate the sunshine. When we can laugh at ourselves and find a way to appreciate even the shitty parts of life (no pun intended), our world is a much happier place to live.