Statement of Purpose

I had to write a statement of purpose for a grad school application.  I was sitting in a Chinese restaurant, writing and crying. The other people in the restaurant shot me uncomfortable looks (a Chinese person would never cry in public). I figured that any piece of work that can make someone cry in public is worth sharing. Here is my statement of purpose:

My parents never let my brother and me know that we were poor. Going out to the Navajo reservation to pick up aluminum cans on the side of the highway was presented as a fun Saturday activity rather than something we needed to do to afford meat for the week. There was truth to the façade- I remember screaming with excitement when my older brother, Derrick, or I spotted a dull, crumpled can stuck in a tumbleweed. We would dance in celebration as we watched our dad spear the can with his stick and add it to the big black garbage bag full of cans that sounded like heavy rain as he lifted it over his shoulder. But we were lucky. We all jumped into our Ford truck and drove back into town, to our house on a safe street with nice neighbors. Derrick and I had no idea we were poor.

My dad did everything in his power to stay off of the reservation for good. He married a white woman from Wisconsin and had two children with her. He worked like a dog to give his children the life he never had- a vacation to Disneyland, enough food in the cupboard, and fatherly love. So much love. I knew I was fortunate.

I still know.

Even when we had more money- when I was getting ready to go to college- I knew I had nothing to worry about financially. That didn’t stop me from applying for every scholarship I was eligible for. It was clear to me that education was (and is) the most important thing in my life. The Chief Manuelito Scholarship funded a large part of my undergraduate education. Chief Manuelito was a brave and brilliant Navajo Chief who was once quoted as follows:

My grandchild, the whites have many things which we Navajos need. But we cannot get them. It is as though the whites were in a grassy canyon and there they have wagons, plows, and plenty of food. We Navajos are up on a dry mesa. We can hear them talking but we cannot get to them. My grandchild, education is the ladder. Tell our people to take it.

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But there are many kinds of education. After I graduated college, I moved to Texas to be a tennis professional. I spent nine months teaching at a ranch where people from all over the world came to learn the game of tennis. There, I cultivated interesting, important, and valuable relationships with people from all walks of life. All kinds of people play tennis; I met brilliant engineers, professors, psychologists, stockbrokers, teachers, authors, lawyers, business owners, and Grand Slam champions. I learned more in that nine months than I did in most college semesters. I can look back and see my mind opening during this time. The people who came to the ranch exposed me to bits and pieces of a world that was infinite. It was a world that I had suspicions about, but one I had never experienced for myself. I became obsessed with the idea of objectivity- the idea of being able to see the world from other people’s point of view. I loved each tennis guest and their view of the world, no matter how obscure. I spent my free time talking to guests for hours, deepening my understanding of their loves, passions, problems, and skills. Each Sunday and Friday we had a new crop of guests; new points of view. I loved this time. It was the beginning of something beautiful. It is difficult to set aside personal biases and opinions in order to truly comprehend a person. However, once this is achieved, empathy, grace, and admiration can rush in.

Even before the tennis ranch, I experienced this phenomenon with possibly the most difficult demographic to empathize with: patients at a psychiatric penitentiary for the ‘criminally insane’. I was not prepared or excited for the six weeks we spent there. I didn’t know what to expect. If I had known what to expect, I probably wouldn’t have gone. My partner and I were placed on a stabilization unit of 40 men (patients), a psychiatrist, a social worker, and a music therapist. We spent the first few days reading through their files- a book case full of binders holding the cold facts and grotesque details of the incidents leading up to each man’s incarceration.

‘OMG, Lex- this guy kept his wife’s body in the trunk of his car for three weeks.’

‘Fuck me. This guy tried to kill his family with a kitchen knife. He killed his dad but his mom and sister got away.’

‘Holy shit. This guy molested his infant daughter and tried to kill his mother.’

When we met the men, I knew what they had done and I wanted to hate them.

Then I got to know them.

We played bingo and dominoes with them and talked about ice cream and good movies. Lex and I sat in on group therapy sessions and heard the struggles in their hearts… their daily problems and their deepest pains. As a broken pot cannot hold water, my heart could no longer hold anger or hate. Once I humbled myself to see the world as they did, I saw stories of heartbreak, loneliness, struggle, pain, depression, and exhaustion. In came grace, empathy, and my own heartbreak. On our last day at the hospital, Lex and I made brownies and brought ice cream- our last chance and attempt to bring a bright spot of happiness into the lives of these broken people. We laughed, played games, and ate sweets. Then we walked out of the gates for the last time, knowing we’d never see those men again.

That was an education.

When I learned that only 11% of Native Americans graduate with a bachelor’s degree (less than half of the national ‘norm’), I had mixed feelings. I felt sick that the number is so low. I felt proud to be in that 11%, and I felt thankful for the forces pushing me forward. I do not know how to advance women and minorities into higher education. All I can say is that this minority…this woman will continue to a higher education. And this Navajo woman will do everything possible to inspire other minorities, other women, and other people to chase after their dreams, too.

In February, Ann (a Chinese woman- my walking partner) and I will walk 2,400 kilometers from Zhongshan to Beijing as a fundraiser for people with disabilities. Our motto is ‘ni keyi’, or ‘you can’. Currently, the best way that I can inspire people to educate themselves and to continue chasing their dreams is by educating myself and chasing after my own dreams. I can encourage other people to do the same by showing them that nothing is impossible.

Ni keyi. 

The Long Night Walk to Zhuhai- A Tale of Two Blisters

We all met at Yellow Submarine, a sandwich shop owned by an American man and his wife. Sonya from China, Elena from Singapore, Agnes from Ireland, ‘Captain Handsome’ (a direct translation of his name), Raymen, (both Chinese) and I sipped coffee and munched sandwiches as we made introductions and game planned. The night walk was to start at 7:30 pm so we hustled across the street to find our starting position outside the stadium. There was a huge stage with hundreds of people gathered, ready to walk. Just before 9 pm, we finally started walking. The energy was fantastic. Everyone was excited to be

moving. We were a lively sea of people rushing through the city.
Not long after we started, we were along the highway, spread thin. On one curve I could see the exodus spread half of a mile ahead of and behind me. After an hour and a half we reached the first checkpoint. Our team scanned our time cards, sipped water and kept on. We had walked 8 kilometers. Around midnight we lost track of each other. I carried on with Sonya and Agnes, walking quickly and sometimes running to pass roadblocks…swarms of people walking in tight groups. After midnight I hit our third checkpoint alone. I had gone ahead of the group, following the pace of a few nice Chinese men who were using me to practice their English. When I hit the checkpoint, I was tired but I didn’t want to stop to wait for the crew. I was in ‘go’ mode, sweaty, and

not wanting to cool down. Around 2 am I reached the 30km checkpoint where they had food for the walkers. In America, these energy tents offer Powerbars, gel packs, and Gatorade. But this is China. As I walked through the crowd, I was offered rice porridge, eggs boiled in tea, and meat and rice wrapped in lotus leaves. I respectfully declined and dug in my bag for a Snickers bar. I left the station just as it began to rain. A young Chinese man walked along side me for over an hour. We didn’t say a word to each other, but it was nice to have someone to pace with. My new best friend and I split up at the next station, and I started to lose steam. The 25 pounds in my backpack was starting to feel more like 50 pounds. By this point everyone was spread out, but every few minutes I would pass a group who would gasp, then chatter in Chinese about the foreigner with the huge pack. My phone was dead, severing my communication with my teammates. I was led through a small city, which transitioned into highway, which transitioned into a country back road. I was pleasantly reminded of the country roads in Texas- paved rural paths lined with trees, winding from one small town to the next. About every 300 meters there was a help station- a small group of volunteers bundled in jackets, blankets, and umbrellas with a generator powering a light shining the way. Their encouragement was amazing. 加油 (Jiayo!! Jiayo!), they would say. (Come on! Fight on! literally meaning to put gas in the tank) The rain started to come down heavily and steadily. I walked alone. After the 40 km checkpoint, I stopped for rest. I didn’t know if I could continue. My knees throbbed. My feet complained loudly each time I lifted them from the concrete. There were blisters forming on the bottoms of my feet, and I could feel the tendons and muscles in my hips and legs tightening up like twisted rubber bands. I made a mental note to do more yoga. It was 4 in the morning and I had already walked more than a marathon. To say I was tired is an understatement. I searched my soul for motivation…inspiration….any ‘ation’  I could find.
‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’ was the question. I was having trouble locating the answer. My knees were aching so much that I feared my ACL might snap from the pressure of my 1000-pound pack. When I thought I might give in, I hit the 49 km checkpoint. There, I rested, ate another Snickers bar, had some tea, and left with a bit more juice in my tank. I had six kilometers to go. I did anything to distract myself from the pain. I sang Bob Marley songs, calculated what percent of the walk I had finished with each step, and tried to recall the details of interesting psychology articles I read in college. I was on the outer edge of Zhuhai, walking along the beautiful bay. The sky was beginning to light up as a sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon. With 2km to go, I hit a wall. I stopped, unsure that I could take another step.

‘Just keep moving forward.’ I thought. ‘If you keep moving forward, you’ll finish sometime.’ 

Just keep moving forward.

A man wearing sandals passed me. Thankfully, I didn’t have the energy to murder him. I hated everyone and everything. I wanted to quit. I wanted to die. Just then, the heavens opened up and sent an angel down to me in the form of Captain Handsome. He came from nowhere. I didn’t realize it was The Captain at first. I was actually a bit annoyed at the man speaking to me in Chinese, asking me how I was, and if I was hungry. He gave me an external battery to charge my phone. I was reconnected with the rest of the team and their encouragement.

Just keep moving forward.

Then came the game changer. Out of his magic Mary Poppins backpack, The Captain pulled a bag of bread. He offered me one of the lightly browned , french toast-like squares. I took one bite and decided it was the best bite of food I have ever put in my mouth in my whole life. The bread was manna from heaven, made from grain ground by God himself and sweetened with honey from the promise land. I inhaled one piece, then another. With that tasty snack, I had the

energy to keep on. But even with the refreshment of my snack, I thought the last kilometer would never end. I kept looking for the finish line that didn’t appear. I couldn’t distract myself from the pain anymore. It came in full force. I limped along, trying to keep up with Captain Handsome. One tear rolled down my cheek. I held back more tears because I figured my body needed to keep the electrolytes. When we finally finished, I dropped my pack, documented the moment, and collapsed. I traded my hiking boots for moccasins, and limped to the car where The Captain’s friends were waiting. The next few days were filled with rest, mass amounts of fluids, and two of the most painful massages I’ve ever had. 
Contrary to everything I just said, this was a great experience. My favorite part was walking on the back roads of China with only the sound of my footsteps, my breath, and my beating heart. I also made new friends and strengthened existing relationships with my teammates. Many good things came from the experience of the walk to Zhuhai. I can honestly say it was well worth the pain….almost. 

'Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright'

There was a moment about three weeks ago in which I had no idea what I was going to do. I had just finished the final ‘negotiations’ with the man I had been teaching tennis under. He had screamed at me for costing him so much time, energy, and money, ‘all for nothing’. I returned his keys and walked down from the courts on the roof of the wet market for the last time. Shaking, I walked with Adrian the Canadian (my international support posse) to the nearest 7-11, where I purchased a German-brewed tallboy to calm my nerves. So there I was: homeless, unemployed, and drinking outside of a convenience store on a weekday before noon. How the mighty have fallen. At first glance, this may look like a dismal scene. But once the shock of such aggressive confrontation dissipated, I realized that I was happy. I didn’t know the details at the time, but this was the beginning of a new, beautiful life for me.

Staying with the Canadians was the storm after the storm- but a good storm this time. Adrian and Roberta have five children ranging from ages 5 to 15, two of which have been adopted from China. As Adrian puts it, ‘It was cheaper to move the whole family to China than to keep adopting kids from here’. Adrian, Roberta, Kole, Dawson, Gemma, Ping, and Lukai have welcomed me into their home like a sixth child. The Canadians moved to China earlier this year to help out at New Day. Adrian and Roberta made the decision to come to China after realizing that their life in Canada did not hold the kind of happiness they wanted for their family. They sold everything and made the move, following a higher calling. Adrian is working to build a database that will ideally connect all of the orphanages in China- a system that doesn’t yet exist over here. Roberta and the kids help at New Day in any way they can, mostly by playing with and loving on children. They are an amazing family. Check them out here. It felt good to be a part of a family’s rhythm. In their four-bedroom apartment, they made room for me the second I said I might need a place to stay. Each morning I would wake up to the sounds and smells of breakfast time: bowls clinking, nutty oatmeal wafting through the air, and quiet conversation. Exhausted from the stress of such drastic transition, I would finally roll out of bed in the mid-morning and greet the family before heading across the road to New Day. Spending time with the foster children at New Day fills my heart up, regardless of what’s happening in the rest of my life. I help the nannies feed the pre-school kids lunch, then play with or read to the children before naptime. Then I head upstairs to the nursery where my heart melts again for the beautiful babies that light up like Christmas trees when someone picks them up. I cannot even express how adorable these children are-I don’t possess the literary capabilities- so here is the link to see for yourself>

New Day Adorableness

For the first few days that I stayed with the Canadians, I simply walked around Kaiyin (the suburb of Zhongshan where I live now- where the Canadians live and New Day is located. Many foreigners live and play here…it’s almost not China…..almost…) and thought. I thought about what went wrong with teaching tennis, what part I played in it, what I could have done differently, and what I was going to do. For four days I walked for hours, pondering these questions. On the fifth day, the answer hit me. I am going to do whatever I want to do. It was that simple. I asked myself what it is I wanted to do. I wanted to serve at Jam Cafe. 

Jam is a café/bar in Kaiyin that I had eaten at a few times before moving to Kaiyin. It is owned by two lively Russian women, Masha and Jenya, who work HARD. It is a favorite place for locals to gather in Kaiyin, as the Western food and coffee is delicious. I thought Jam Café would be the perfect place for me because many people go there- people that I like- people I can learn from-people who will bring richness to my life. I walked to Jam and asked to speak to Masha or Jenya, but they were gone.

Later that night I was sitting outside of Myra’s apartment (an American who teaches pre-school at New Day) talking with her about life when Masha happened to walk by and mention that she was looking for help at Jam Café. I started at Jam the next day.

It has been great serving at Jam. I’ve taken over the evening shift, which is perfect for a night owl like me. They have given me free reign to plan events that bring people together and offer something fun to do during the week. Last week we had a good turnout for game night, and tomorrow night we are playing Beer Bingo, with 10% of the alcohol proceeds going to New Day Foster Home. It is great getting to know everyone around Kaiyin, too. Everyone here has an interesting story. All it takes is to sit down and ask, ‘So, how did you get to China?’ and a magical tale will present itself over the span of a few Carlsbergs. It is a beautiful use of my time and I am so happy to have the opportunity to meet some of these characters. There is Gordon from England (the business owner who first introduced me to Jerry and Ann), Len from Australia (a man who, upon learning that Facebook would be blocked in China, created his own version- ZS Renn), Elena from Singapore (a brilliant, vicious businesswoman who makes incredible plum Jam), Tom from Australia (he’s like a little piece of Newks in China), Francesco from Italy (I’m learning every Italian curse word by playing tennis with him), and many more. I love the relationships and conversations that unfold at the tables of our little café.

Now, life is perfect in its own way. I have moved out of the Canadian household and in with a German couple across the street that offered me their spare room. Thorston and Sonja are possibly the sweetest people in Kaiyin. They have a 5-month-old baby girl, Zina, who is absolutely adorable. It was difficult to move away from the Canadians because I have fallen in love with those stinkin’ kids. But, as I’m currently sitting on their deck writing this blog, eating a bowl of cereal from their kitchen and planning on playing freeze tag with the little Canadians on the playground later today, I would say that it has worked out for the best. Everything has worked out for the best.

The community is getting excited about our walk, too. Ann has been spreading the word to her circle of friends. This results in many people responding, ‘Oh, you’re the girl walking to Beijing with Ann!’ upon meeting me for the first time. Even though I have limited technology skills and aspirations (Last week I lost my phone and computer charger for three days and didn’t miss either), my next step is to take this project online. It’s a struggle that I’m looking forward to conquering. Ann and I have solidified our route, after many hours crawling over maps of China spread out on Ann and Jerry’s living room floor. Support is building, excitement is growing, and plans are being made.

When I got on the plane to come to China, I never could have imagined that my life would look like it does today. Between planning The Walk, playing with babies, cooking for Canadians, and serving foreigners beer, daily life is different than even my strangest dreams, and for that, I am so very thankful.  

My Truth- A Delightful Burden

I was depressed during my sophomore year of college. Looking back, my situation wasn’t so desperate; I was attending a great school, had a boyfriend who loved me, and didn’t have to worry much about money. But I was living in quiet desperation- playing the leading role in a life that didn’t belong to me. I remember feeling tired and anxious all at once….I felt as if I couldn’t take a deep breath….like there was a wet blanket wrapped tightly around me- not a soft comfortable one, but those scratchy, synthetic blankets used by search and rescue. If that’s not irony, I don’t know what is. When my depression became the scary kind, my loving boyfriend took me home to New Mexico. I remember crawling into my childhood bed with my mom the night we arrived, and sobbing for hours. My desperation was no longer quiet- it was as loud as my sobs. The next day I woke up with eyes so swollen that I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. Fitting, as I hadn’t recognized her for quite some time. I was embarrassed of how alien I looked with swollen eyes, so I avoided my boyfriend as my mom walked me to the car. I remember catching a glimpse of his face as we drove away…a portrait of confusion, anger, disappointment, and worry. I wanted to tell him I loved him. Instead, I just cried. We went to our family doctor, who put me on an anti-depressant that was supposed to fix everything. I went back to Texas with a pill bottle full of hope. The medication did help; it helped me dive deeper into the realms of depression. The antidepressants made me more tired than depression did. Everyday tasks like going to the grocery store or to class turned into exhausting, all-day productions that I didn’t have the will or energy for. I quit taking my ‘hope pills’ cold turkey after a month of this hell. When the semester ended, my parents suggested that I move home. Humbled, I packed my car and started the next semester at Fort Lewis College, an hour away from home. Two years later, I graduated from FLC with pride and joy in my heart.

I tell you this story not to bum you out, but to give a more valid representation of me. It is easy to use social media to present a false version of ourselves by showing people only the best parts of us- the highest moments, the weddings, the good hair days, the vacations and adventures…. It would be easy for me to use this blog as a platform to lead people to believe that my life always works out the way I want it to. But life doesn’t always hold good hair days. And that’s beautiful, too. Since my first experience with depression, I have always been aware of the danger of going back there. I thought about it when I moved to the tennis ranch in Texas last year. I discussed it with my parents before I moved to China. The fears of diving into the depths of depression always loom behind me, gentle reminders to take care of myself and stick to my truth no matter what. I am committed to this because I know the consequences of making choices that are not in line with my truth.

This is why I quit my job last week. I absolutely love teaching tennis, and I have found that this is not the ideal environment for me to do so. I spent about four days mourning this. I racked my brain to try to pinpoint what went wrong, what part I played in it, and what I could have done differently. I walked around the city, and walked the line between overwhelming humility and beating myself up. Humility won….usually. When it didn’t, I called someone. I had coffee with Jerry and Ann, dinner with Adrian the Canadian’s family, and held babies at New Day. On my last day of work, I finished my last lesson and went home. I walked through the door, tears streaming down my face. Once again, I found myself on my knees; face down, in excruciating limbo. ‘What am I going to do?’ ‘How did I get to this point?’ ‘What happened?’ ‘How can I go through with the walk to Beijing now?’…..and again, a resounding, ‘What am I going to do?’  Just

A 'hands-in' after P.E. class at a local school

then, my phone notified me of a message. I wiped my tears and picked it up to see a new email- subject, ‘draft letter of rec’ from Geno. I had asked him to write a letter of recommendation for my graduate school applications, and it came through. In my moment of darkness, self-doubt, and despair, it came through. With eyesight blurred by tears, I read the two-page letter highlighting exactly what makes me a phenomenal person, how bright my future is, and how I successfully strive to be an effective leader in everything I do in life. He talked of my humility and determination, stating, ‘This humility belies a sharp intellect and indomitable spirit that make you realize that once she sets her mind to accomplish something, she will do it.’ More tears. And then the voice. The voice came, not from behind me, not from inside of me, but from me. It was my voice.

‘Get up, Darrah’.

I took a deep breath, dried my tears again, and got up.

‘Ok. It’s time to make a plan.’

Even though parts of my life are crumbling, even though I am currently a homeless, unemployed vagabond, even though I have a headache from last night’s search for the answers to my problems (the answers are not at the bottom of a bottle of Tsing Tao), there are still wonderful things happening in my life. JB and I had an incredible trip to Yangshuo. We ate, drank, swam, biked, hiked, and met many great people from all over the world. When we returned to Zhongshan, we had a great time walking

JB in his element. Me, happy we've stopped riding

around the city, biking around the reservoir, and watching countless episodes of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. It was nice to have someone to do nothing with. We had a teary goodbye at the ferry building, (my tears, not his) and I sent him off to Malaysia on his next adventure.

The walk is blowing up, too. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have gained a walking partner, Ann. She is small in stature, but strong-willed, a Chinese woman with a heart of gold and fantastic English. She is married to Jerry, whom I first met at Holiday Plaza to see his exhibit of pictures from his and Phil’s bike ride across China. They are an incredible couple- kindred spirits in the belief that nothing is impossible. Ann and I have been busy finding sponsors, planning a route, and connecting with people who can help our walk to Beijing go smoothly. One man, a leader in the Youth Volunteers Association of China, has committed to help us find hosts in his network of volunteers along the way. He will also help us communicate with the government on our journey to partner with them in the safety of our travels. Ann and I have discussed the possibility of our walk being shut down

Ann and I

by the government, and we have decided to go straight to them and even ask for their help. It is a bold move that will hopefully pay off. Holiday Plaza has committed to handle our public relations. We are meeting with them soon to discuss the best way to reach out to sponsors and get the word out about our walk. We are very excited about the developments unfolding in front of us, and about the valuable relationships that are forming. This project is already bringing people together, and that gets me very excited.

This is a time in my life when everything seems to be unclear. I’m not sure what I am going to do. I am not sure if I’m falling or flying. I’m not really sure of anything right now. But I do know one thing- in this moment, I am being true to myself. And because of that, I am happy. 

Looking forward in Yangshuo

*Side Note: It has been brought to my attention that this post doesn't shed the best light on anti-depressant medication. In my experience working in the field of mental health with adolescents, adults and geriatrics from all walks of life, I have seen anti-depressants and other similar medications truly help some people. In my writings, I speak only from my personal experience, and in the case of anti-depressant medication, it was not a good one. I have found other ways of regulating my mood that work much better for ME i.e. meditation, exercise, therapy, and making life choices in line with my heart. Sometimes, your truth may be that anti-depressant medication helps you be the best version of yourself. I believe YOU must figure out what works for YOU (whatever that is!) and pursue it relentlessly. Thank you. (Steps off of soap box)

Booze and Bruise in Yangshuo

Traveling in China is a pain in the ass. The language barrier makes it difficult, there is endless haggling with taxi and scooter drivers, and the bus, train, and boat stations are unsanitary at best and unbearable at worst. But in Yangshuo, a small tourist town an hour south of Guilin, bicycles prevail as the main means of transportation. And as I sit on the back porch of the Cosy Garden guest house watching the sun go down, a pillow under my bum after a long day of riding, I can tell you that bikes cause pain in the ass, too. Here’s the story.

Life carried on as usual after deciding to walk to Beijing to raise money for New Day foster home. But it was also different. My mind became obsessed with the idea to the point where I couldn’t eat or sleep. I could hardly breathe, think, or speak without each word leading each conversation toward the walk. It was a feeling very similar to being in love- that sickeningly powerful drug that draws you to another, compulsively. Upon gaining the commitment of a walking partner, Ann (the wife of Jerry, one of the men who biked across China….go figure), I shifted my focus to a new project: entertaining JB.

When he got off the plane from San Francisco, JB seemed fresh as a daisy. It wasn’t until we arrived back home to Zhongshan that the jet lag caught up to him and he slept a full day. After a weekend of bumming around Zhongshan in-between my lesson schedule, we bought two bus tickets to Guilin and hit the road. This was no ordinary bus, but a sleeper bus. It had two aisles separating three rows of beds, one lining each side, and one row in the middle. To each row, there was a top and bottom bunk. We made our way to the back and found our bunks. Thankfully, the bus was not full, (as we were traveling on the holiday of the Chinese Moon Festival) so we were free to spread out. We talked and slept and arrived in Guilin 12 hours later, at 6 in the morning. We got off the bus, braved the disgusting bus station bathrooms, and haggled with a taxi driver to take us to our riverside hotel. Thankfully, the man at the front desk let us check into our room even though it was early in the morning and our reservation was for that night (the great thing about China is that people make their own rules; the awful thing about China is that people make their own rules). The second we got through the door, I flipped on the TV. On the other side of planet Earth, the US Open final was being played by Marin Clinic from Croatia and Kei Nishikori from Japan- the first ever Asian man to reach a Grand Slam final. The picture was terrible; through the static, I couldn’t see where the ball was, but had to guess, judging by which side of the screen the fuzzy players ran to and swung their racquets. I only caught the last two games of the short match before Clinic won in straight sets. I tried to listen to the players speak their minds during the press conference following the match, but I could hardly hear them over the obnoxious woman translating their words to Chinese. Frustrated, I gave up and went to find coffee.

Guilin was nice, but not what I was looking for in a vacation. It is a city more beautiful than Zhong Shan, but a city nonetheless. Our first day was a blur of US Open tennis, sleep, and watching old women do Tai Chi by the river. When we finally felt rested, we set out on a Guilin adventure. We decided to walk across the main bridge over the Li River, where we turned up an alley and found a street lined with bustling outdoor restaurants and street vendors. I tried a stir-fried snail from a food cart (I wouldn’t recommend it) and JB bought a bracelet from a Chinese woman who had her jewelry spread out on a large rug on the sidewalk. We decided on a restaurant by looking at the food on the plates of people already eating there, resulting in strange, uncomfortable glances from the patrons. My language skills were tested as I ordered three traditional Chinese dishes, two beers, and hot water to wash the dishes with (a Chinese normality). The meal was delicious and the conversation was scrumptious as well. Unfortunately, a large chunk of our time in Guilin was spent resolving minor financial issues, as the airhead that I am forgot my debit card on the bedside table at home. After a New Mexico bailout, we were back on track.

Getting to Yangshuo was a production, but I knew it would be worth it. After a half-day of traveling, we made it to the Cosy Garden guest house, which is a 10-minute bike ride out of town and is surrounded by fields and limestone mountains covered in foliage that make Yangshuo unique and beautiful. JB took a long nap and I took a long walk, exploring the area and the neighboring villages. I counted the flattened frogs on the concrete road as I walked, and moved to the side of the road so a woman holding a big stick and herding her three cows could pass by, staring me down all the while. That night, JB and I went out for dinner and drinks, meeting up with an American who we had met on our way into town. We found him at Demo bar, a favorite for the Westerners who have settled in Yangshuo. Many of them have the similar stories; they came to visit and decided to stay. I can see why. Yangshuo is a town kept alive by adventuresome tourists. There are many things to do, ranging from kayaking the Li River to rock climbing and bamboo rafting. The towering limestone mountains are like nothing I’ve ever seen, and remind us of landscape from the movie Jurassic Park. At Demo, we played bar trivia and lost (who knows or cares how many spikes the Statue of Liberty has?). After the game, we chatted with the Western crew for a while before navigating the streets back to our bikes and riding home. When we arrived back at the Cosy Garden, I immediately sprawled myself out on a picnic table out on the porch. I needed to be in nature after spending three months in the concrete jungle. I needed to see stars after seeing only city lights all summer. I needed to hydrate after drinking three gin and tonics. A few hours later, I made my way up to the room and crawled into bed.

The morning was beautiful. I slept too late and enjoyed my first cup of coffee in the shade on the back porch as the day heated up. JB was up and gone somewhere, but he returned and we discussed what to do with our day as caffeine entered my veins and I began to think clearly. I wanted to swim. He wanted to bike. We made a plan to bike across town to a swimming hole on the Yu Long River that one of our new friends had tipped us off to the night before. In my pocket I found a crumpled little map based on her directions that I had drawn on a small piece of paper torn off of the trivia answer sheet. With my makeshift map in hand, and an actual map that JB decided to grab, (some people have no faith) we set out on bikes.

Before you go ahead picturing a beautiful scene of JB and I cruising through peaceful rice fields, waving friendly ‘hellos’ to rice farmers and laughing the day away, you should know that I am not a biker. I will hike all over this world. I will run until I drop. I will walk to Beijing for heaven’s sake; but if you put me on a bike, the best I can do is try to keep up and not cry. JB, on the other hand, is a natural. On a bike, he is in his element- as skilled and comfortable as a Comanche warrior on a horse’s back. I watched enviously as he nimbly fishtailed in patches of dirt, hopped up curbs, and rode down stairs as if he was using his very own legs. Meanwhile, I pedaled heavily to catch up, nervously pulling off of the road every time a tour bus or dump truck whizzed by. My knuckles turned white as I held onto the handlebars tightly, steering to avoid the many potholes and oncoming scooters. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the efficiency of a bicycle. They are no doubt an earth-friendly, efficient, and reliable form of transportation. It’s just that every time I get on a bike, I feel that I might fall over or get hit by a car. On a level road I can manage fine, but take me off-road and the bicycle becomes a mere accessory that hinders my hiking. Plus, bikes HURT. I’ll spare you the details, but I believe it’s possible that Lance Armstrong got cancer because certain parts of his body were revolting against the abuse he put it through day in and day out. As I struggled through the ride, I somehow managed to breathe in and appreciate the scenery around us. We had made our way to the southern edge of town, along the Yu Long River. Well out of Yangshuo, we biked on dirt and paved roads that wound though small villages. Each village was similar, consisting of buildings that were falling apart that housed small convenience stores, and old men asleep in the shade. In one of these villages there was a collection of women selling various hand-made goods. JB bought a few scarves and hand-woven sandals made of dried reeds and re-purposed plastic cord. One sweet old woman convinced me to buy a flower head piece that she had made. I put it on my head, then gave it to a little girl- the daughter of the woman JB had bought a scarf from. JB bought me a new one that was even more beautiful than the first. We stopped to watch people ride down the river in bamboo rafts, then at a ‘restaurant’ that looked more like someone’s living room. There, we bought two local beers (think watered down PBR), then turned down a bumpy dirt trail toward the

riverbank. After pausing to watch a man lead his ox out of a stream, we finally reached the swimming hole. I couldn’t get off the bike and into the water fast enough. There I stayed for two hours. The water was the perfect temperature for such a hot day: cool, but not cold. I floated face-up and let the slow current take me down river as I took in the view of the sky, clouds, sun, and the surrounding mountains. I practiced mindful breathing techniques, letting myself rise and sink in the water as my abdomen filled and emptied of air. JB decided he’d had enough of the river and ventured off to take pictures. As I lay on a bamboo raft just off the shore and soaked in the sun, two boats floated into view. On them were two guides holding long bamboo poles and three Chinese tourists sitting in bamboo lounge chairs under umbrellas. When they neared, I greeted them with a friendly ‘Nihao’ and waved. They laughed and invited me onto their boat. I swam over to them, pulled myself onto the bamboo platform and took a position in the empty lounge chair under the umbrella. I stayed just long enough for the Chinese tourists to ask me where I am from (Wo shige MeiGuo ren- I am an America person) and snap a picture of the strange, funny American girl with flowers on her head before I cannonballed off of their boat and back into the river, much to the delight of my new friends. My chattering fan club disappeared downstream as I swam upstream to where JB was watching, shaking his head at my shameless performance.

After groaning, complaining, and pedaling my way back to the Cosy Garden, JB and I inhaled stir-fried vegetables from the local kitchen, popped the cap off of two Tsing-Tao beers, and let the sun go down as we played ping pong, trash talking our way through three sets. Currently, I find myself back on the porch, where I started the day, watching the last of the sun’s glow disappear from the horizon- the last bit of evidence that the sun has come and gone, creating this beautiful day. Though, my own evidence of a great day remains in the form of a sun-kissed nose, tired muscles, and a calm spirit. The first stars twinkle in the sky, the beginning of another beautiful night in Yangshuo. 

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