I realize that I haven’t been the best at keeping up with my
blog. There are a handful of reasons,
the most likely/plausible of them all is that life gets busy and I get lazy
when I have time that could be used to write.
I have all of the time in the world this weekend, though, and so I
write.
I have lived in China now for almost a year. 356 days to be exact. For the past 356 days, I have called China
home. For 356 days I have said “Xie xie”
more often than “Thank you.” For 356
days I have learned to make due without a space bubble, especially when
standing in line. For 356 days I have driven a scooter more often than I have been in a car. For 356 days I have taken public
transportation regularly and confidentially in one of the world’s largest cities. 356 days.
Wow.
This weekend, in celebration of those 356 days, I am taking
a break from life as I know it here in Chengdu and have splurged a little: I’m
staying in the Sheraton. I can sit in my
room on the 30th floor and watch the city below me from a healthy
distance. The blaring car horns and
bustling streets are distance echoes from my perch. I can watch the rain and not worry about
being caught in it (I don’t intend to leave my hotel until check-out on Monday,
after all). I almost feel like Rapunzel
up in her tower, however I have absolutely no intention of letting down my hair
and letting someone into my little retreat.
As a part of my little retreat, I’ve been reading quite a
few of the books that I’ve been stockpiling on my Kindle for such a time as
this. I’m not sure whether it’s a good
thing or a bad thing, but many of those books happen to be about some aspect of
the TCK life. As I sit and peer through
the windows that these books are into the lives of other adults with childhoods
like mine, I can’t help but be so thankful for who I am, where I am, and where
I inevitably will some day go. Let’s
think about it for a minute together, shall we?
My first memories are of hiding under the baby-grand piano
in our living room with my brother, crafting little snakes and other sculptures
out of modeling clay and hiding them on the little ledge that lined that
musical masterpiece. A fairly normal
memory, right? Wrong. We lived in rural
Rwanda in the early 90’s, a land that was in turmoil and soon to be thrown into
an even more extreme state of disaster.
I was oblivious to the dangers, though, as I lived out an idyllic
childhood in my land of a thousand hills.
I seem to remember a little nook in the tree where we had a tire-swing
that was an equally marvelous hiding place.
Fast forward a few years and I found myself in my completely
unfamiliar homeland: Washington State.
The people were familiar and actually looked like me for a change, but
the culture was so backwards from my vantage point. They didn’t want you to climb the trees by
restaurants? What are the trees for
then? Why couldn’t we eat with our
hands? Where were the grasshuts? Why didn’t they have dolls that looked like
my friends (white dolls just didn’t do it for me)? While my seven years as a American living in
the United States were essential for my crooked sense of home, there were many
times that I felt like a bit of a cultural refugee. I wasn’t meant to be there. It wasn’t my home. My home had been torn apart by war, so I was
simply biding my time until my parents declared that we would be moving
back. How can you settle when that is
what your mind is telling you? You
can’t…you really can’t.
Finally, in August of 2000, we moved back home. Now this time home turned out to be Ethiopia
rather than our former central-African surroundings, but it was home all the
same. I quickly learned to love
macchiatos, injera, and shirro watt. I
learned how to read the language that first year and found myself with a new
code to use when writing down personal thoughts or ideas. I lived in a city of 4.5 million that was at
my fingertips. I always felt
safe. And I was different
again…blissfully different. Blending in
while living in the US always felt so foreign to me. Being at home meant being odd, and I was so
comfortable there.
After three years in Ethiopia followed by two-years in
boarding school in Kenya, I found myself at a terrifying crossroads: that
between high school and college. For any
17 or 18 year-old, this time is an adventure.
For me, it was an adventure that was coupled with the great loss of
everything that I had known. As I flew
out of the Nairobi airport in July of 2005, I felt my heart leave my body. I’m still not sure if it’s completely back,
although pieces of it have returned over the past 8 years. I left my homeland and knew that every time I
returned would not be the same as it was.
I was leaving a river that was going to keep flowing without me.
College had its string of ups and downs, followed by three
years of living back in Washington State and attempting to get back in touch
with my roots. I was thankful for many
friendships, new and old, that I was able to cultivate and the family members
that I was able to grow close to again, but something still felt off. I was becoming comfortable in a place that I
didn’t truly belong. I could blend in
most of the time, apart from those conversations when I let my true colors
shine through and everyone around me realized just what an odd duck I was.
And then came China.
It was an idea that I was completely opposed to at first, but eventually
the appeal of the adventure outweighed the fear of the unknown.
And here I am. A part
of my heart that was silent for 7 years in the US is back. I’m odd again. I don’t fit.
I can’t understand 99% of what is going around me. It is impossible to buy a DQ ice cream cake
or run out for Taco Bell. And yet, I’m
happy. Of course there are hard days, but everyone has those no matter where in
the world you are.
This is home.
Who knows if this is merely the first of two years in China
that I have completed and if I’ll jet set to another foreign location in a year
for another adventure. Or maybe this is
the first of twenty years. Either way, I’m
thrilled to be here and so thankful for each of you who are going through it
with me, near or far.
Happy 356 days!
Location: Chengdu, China
Local Time (CST -- GMT+8): 9:52 a.m. (7/28/2013)
Auburn Time (PST -- GMT-7): 6:52 p.m. (7/27/2012)
