Accidental Personal Statement?

Much of the romance about exploration and connection relies on stripping away layers (like those of an Onion, mayhaps) to reveal mysteries beyond. What happens once those mysteries lose their undisclosed quality through revealing? What happens to the layers that have been stripped?

For a few years running, I have prided myself on adamantly believing in the power of human connection: connection with others, connection with environment, and connection with the self. Part of my ethos and part of my passions are to connect as much as possible; thus, I explore  and adventure with intent of learning more about others and their places--geographically and with regards to their sense of identity.

Environment onions:
As we delve deeper into new locales and societies, any past layers are not discarded as much as integrated into our knowledge and experience. What is the specialty of Sichuan province (i.e. food)? One of them is Sichuan greenbeans. With this revelation, I lose the mystery of the question but gain the knowledge of what to order in Chengdu. This is a minor example. This concept, though, is acted out on greater scales with regards to learning about hidden alleys with wonderful street vendors that become integrated into routine after being frequented. Once we start peeling away the layers of our environment and how it functions, we continue to add to a cumulative knowledge. There is no loss but the loss of mystery. I would venture so far as to say truly connecting with one's environment is a spiritual fulfillment. One creates a bond to something that is constantly shifting within certain solid structural (or natural) confines; in the past, I have found that this sort of connection with location is conducive to self-affirmation--in chicken-egg fashion, perhaps the latter facilitates the former. Regardless, peeling away an environmental onion reveals an essence of location, of time, and even of self onions.

Caught-up in "Maybe's"

Maybe I feel lighter.

In lieu of the recent slew of necessary questioning and searching I have conducted, I have spent some [also necessary] time contemplating the Chinese "maybe." Anyone who has held a conversation with a non-Native-English-speaking-Chinese-person knows that their individual uses of the word "maybe" are confounding, seemingly incorrect, and easily mocked. Here are some examples:

Me: There is no-one supervising that classroom and a boy just bit another boy.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they are disobedient.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe you should come to the flag ceremony at 6 a.m.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe the school van will be there at 4:30 p.m. to retrieve you and your friends.
Me: Wait. But they are supposed to be.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they will be.
Me: But they are contractually obligated to be there.
Chinese Colleague: Maybe they are obligated by contract. Yes.
Me: But...Um...Maybe.

***

What is to be expected? What is to be expected.

Fish don't tread water.

I would be the first to profess how foolish it is to begin a journey or even to begin most tasks with set expectations of how the journey and/or task will unfold and/or culminate. Without a certain amount of flexibility to the whims and uncontrollable forces of the world (especially in China), failure is a constant potential; disappointment, a guaranteed outcome. I know this.

Unfortunately, I am bearing witness, these days, to how knowing something and experiencing it may be stark differences that leave one questioning one's own ilk. As detailed to many of you at various points, I am enduring some trying times. Whether I am at school and facing indifferent students or abusive colleagues, or whether I am at home and elsewhere attempting to distract myself as methods of licking my recently opened wounds. There is no need to detail these trials any further, but my kind readership should be aware that I experience insecurity and stress no matter where I go and nearly no matter what I do. The stress in my life is inescapable because of how profound it is. I wish I could, as I say to myself, "Take it one thing and/or day at a time."

Birthday Break

Faithful and Kind Readers,

Today marks the 24th year that I have walked the Earth. (Get it? Like dinosaurs walked the Earth?)

I am taking the day off from writing, though I want to stay committed to my blogging regularity. So, I am leaving you, my faithful and kind readership, with this.

Taking It To Heart

Serenity now!

In the wake of my National Day vacation to emei shan (Mt. Emei, the holiest of Taoist mountains and located two hours southwest of Chengdu, China) and Leshan (home of the world's tallest seated buddha with toenails bigger than me) I am left reflecting on the balance of life. This seems appropriate and obvious (perhaps appropriately obvious) given the spiritually Buddhist sights I visited. Emei shan rejuvenated me with how it challenged me, with its beauty, with its spiritual essence that enveloped each of its hiking pilgrims much like the low-lying clouds that wrapped and permeated the mountain's sloping and sub-tropical forest; I returned lightened and having come to terms with pressing questions in my life--more on these questions later--only to encounter a burdening pain.

That is waterfall fresh laundry

I know I would fail in describing the climb up the mountain; I know as much because of how complexly beautiful Emei is. Since I feel like this excuse is more a cop-out disguising laziness, I will not use this lame reasoning to withhold  details of my experience on Emei. Instead, I will ask for your understanding given my struggle to find words while my thoughts are so helplessly scattered in the face of some personal and heavy-hearted trials.

A few stray descriptions and reflections will, I hope, suffice.

Battling thousands of Chinese people for a seat on a bus from Chengdu to Emei redefines "holiday travel." Imagine going to O'Hare airport on the busiest travel days surrounding Thanksgiving or Christmas; now, imagine that your airline has issued you a ticket to a destination but has not specified the time of your flight, the number of your flight, or your seat on the flight. The airline just sells tickets to passengers, thus allowing them to do whatever they feel is necessary to make sure that they get to their destinations in a timely manner.

I waited five hours with other sardines in Chengdu's bus station; it took me four hours to move twenty feet. I was elated that I did not have to use the restroom at any time during this experience. I was not elated that many Chinese people firmly believe that body odor is a "western problem."