The 30 year streak is over...

Today was not a normal day.

The start of it should have tipped me off.  I struggled getting out of bed, puttered around the apartment longer than usual doing nothing of consequence, and left my apartment later than I usually try to.  I grabbed the first Mobike that I saw when I got out of my complex, already running late and not wanting to be picky about which bike to ride for a change.

I wasn’t speeding along, but I was going to a brisk pace. I never worry about my surroundings when I’m biking to school (except for traffic, of course…don’t worry dad!). I try not to stop too much and keep a good pace. On a good day, it takes me about 6 minutes to get to school…yesterday it was 4. Today, not so much.

Anyways, I rode along and at one point thought “Hm, that scooter is awfully close to me.  I should yell at him to back off.” But then I thought “You sure do yell at people on scooters a lot. Give him a break…”

I should have yelled.

A minute or so later, a van comes honking up to me yelling out the window. I wanted to ignore him, but he cut me off.  My Chinese is not so good, but what I caught of what he was saying was “Back there…two men…your phone…two men…back there.”

Oh crap.

Sure enough, my phone wasn’t in my backpack pocket anymore.

And it wasn’t on the ground on the corner…

…or along the road…

…or where I got the mobike in the first place.

Turns out I should have yelled at that scooter.  The one time I had a right to be angry.  The one time I could let go and let them have it…and I didn’t even know.

(And right next to that anger that I could have let out, I’m honestly a bit impressed that they took it while I was moving along quickly without me realizing it.  That takes skill.  Skill used for evil, but still skill…)

My day may have started on a sour note, but it ended with dinner at a fish hotpot restaurant with two dear Chinese friends, talking about life and family and schooling and hope.

And so I’m ticked because I have no phone…and I just sold off the last of my electronics that the phone replaced…

And I’m a bit put off because this is my first experience of being pick-pocketed in 30 years of living and doing life in random corners of the world…

And I’m annoyed because I don’t have the money in reserves to replace the iPhone that I was so excited to finally own earlier this year…

But despite frustration and irritation at the circumstances of a day that had a rough start, there is hope. Tomorrow is a new day. The sky this morning was a perfect blue. I can afford to go out with friends for a meal, and I have friends to go out with.

I’m sure there are many lessons that the Father is going to be teaching me in the next few weeks of frustration with the world not quite at my fingertips, but I’m excited to use my eyes and ears to learn them.

Today was not normal day, but at least it ended well. J 

A Forever Foreigner

(For "A Forever Foreigner" post by a good friend of mine, check out http://millerbrian.com/stories-n-stuff/a-forever-foreigner)

Ferengi.

Mzungu.

Waiguoren.

It’s interesting the words we almost understand as synonymous with our names after a while in a place that we call home.

Traveling in the Bible-belt of the US this past summer, I got very used to being called ma’am.  I didn’t necessarily like it (I mean, come on…my mother is ma’am…), but I got used to it.  There is a level of respect that comes with it.  A level of courtesy and kindness.  But not every cultural phrase has that same connotation.

I still remember the kids running up to the car in the countryside of Ethiopia when I was in middle and high school, pounding on the windows of the car chanting ferengi and money in the hopes of getting a little something from the out-of-towners.  (Oddly enough, now when I am in Ethiopia they call me China…if only they knew…)

Or in Kenya, riding on the roof of the Land Cruiser while kids playfully said mzungu and pointed from the side of the road.  I don’t know why, but in Kenya it always felt a bit more loving, being pointed out as an outsider.

Or who can forget that one time in my complex here in Chengdu, when a biker gang (multiple ten year olds on bikes…the title fits…) circled around me chanting wei-guo-ren, wei-guo-ren. It has a ring to it, sure.

But isn’t it obvious?

Of course I’m a foreigner.  Of course I don’t fit. Of course I will always be an outsider.

I get it, I do.  I understand the tendency to focus on the differences.  But it still cuts a little…

Just a little, though.

What cuts deepest is when I’m back in the United States and I blend in.  I’m merely a face in an eclectic sea of faces that don’t at all look the same and yet all seem to be at home. People have their routines, their plans, their lives…and they belong.

And when I’m there, there is something inside me that is screaming YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!  YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE!!!  And I smile, sometimes through grated teeth, because that voice can get very, very loud inside my head.

It gets loud when I think I’ve finally figured out a cultural custom (after four years in college and 3 year working Stateside I certainly should have a few customs down) and then realize that I am more foreign than ever. 

It gets loud when I’ve just had a conversation with someone from a different place and a friend wonders why they don’t head back ‘home’ if they’re having such a hard time in their new surroundings. 

It gets loud when someone asks why I haven’t moved back ‘home’ yet. 

It gets loud when I’m in my current home and have a not-so-great-China day.

So why is it that the loud voice in my head on those occasions is the voice that I so often am tempted to listen to, but the loud voices of reality in so many places barely scrape the surface?

Sure, the names get annoying. And, of course, I’d rather have all of my people in one place.

But I am at home.

I am comfortable in the discomfort. I’m at peace in the chaos.

This being a foreigner is, in some strange way, home.  Being a foreigner is simply who I am.

A forever foreigner.  Always a waiguoren. Forever a mzungu.  Permanently a ferengi.

Wherever I am, I’m likely to stick out just a bit, whether it’s because of how I look or the sometimes quirky things that I say or think.

And yet, somehow, there is always at least one person who understands me, in all of my foreign uniqueness.  It’s taken a lifetime to become the tapestry of cultures and ideas and places that I am.

And, believe it or not, even on the worst of days, I really wouldn’t change a thing.

“This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through…”

Avocados and Wonderings

I used to love buying avocados.  Whenever I went to the grocery store in the States (before my China days), I would check the price and if they were around a dollar a piece, I would buy a handful and have a dinner that revolved around something guacamole based.  Chips and guac, guac sandwiches, guac on crackers...anything would do.

In China, I haven't indulged in avocados quite so much.  I've had a few good experiences, sure, but the bad generally outweigh the positive outcomes.  I've spent over $10 on a few avocados before and had only one be edible.  Pretty heartbreaking.

The other day, I took a chance.  I went shopping and decided to check the avocado prices.  I paid a little over $8 for three seemingly ripe pieces, but fretted a little on the way home that my senses were wrong and I'd be bitterly disappointed.

But I wasn't.  They were perfect and my stomach is oh so happy.

My mind automatically goes from that place of bliss to fretting over next time.  I have I used up my avocado luck?  Will next time not turn out so well?  Should I just give up all together?

I worry too much.

The past few weeks I've gotten into a podcast on personality and the enneagram, which of course has be analyzing myself and those closest to me.  With every episode, I relate fully and thing that that might actually be the box that I belong in.  Let's face it, though, one box isn't going to fit all of my crazy.

With all of the worry about avocados and personality, you'd think my brain couldn't take on another layer, but of course I find a way to fit in a bit more.  I'll spare you the details (you're welcome, friend)...but my worries are something it's time to work through.

So, as I finish up my latte and not so wonderful sandwich at a coffee shop I don't enjoy but isn't crowded, I'm determined to buy another avocado and take the leap.

Vacations leave entirely too much time to wonder...