There is a pallet in my father's van. There is a lake in southwest Arkansas. What more does anyone need to know?
I've been sharing with some friends: coins I brought and munchie treats, but the real trick comes at my reunion. I've brought back a bottle of gaoliang to share with my classmates. If you know what gaoliang is, that's all you need to know. If not... c'mere, let me show you! It's so delicious! Really, you won't cry at all, I promise! Um, how much enamel do you need for the rest of your life?
I've been eating like a queen. Today we baked potatoes and took the leftover porterhouse and sliced up inside with blue cheese on top. Even our leftovers are magical.
I forgot to bring a swimsuit. What? Like I haven't been looking forward to Lake Ouachita since I left? Dad's loaning me some swimming shorts and I guess I'll wear a tank or something. Can't be bothered to spend the money I just brought over from Taiwan and deposited in my account for student loans. Felt really good to deposit that.
I've been sleeping a lot too. Lost a whole day when I got here. I wonder how much of it is due to what. Mental illness? Jet lag which I've never had a problem with before? The simple fact that I've returned to my childhood home, a place that has always represented healing and nurturing for me?
My perfect sweet baby doggie! Man his coat had not been touched since I left. First I tried to trim it down but it came out really patchy because it was so thick and even a little matted in some places in the under coat. As we trimmed him down we could see all the dandruff. Dad was helping me and I think he saw how much the coat really does need attention every few months. Brought Loki in and took him in to the bath where I scrubbed away with some gentle Aloe skin shampoo that we still had and he's a completely different dog today. His haircut is less than beautiful, but I'll touch him up before I go.
Well, it's time to pack and get in the van; I've got a haircut scheduled pretty soon I need to get to with my old hairdresser who understands curly frizzy Western hair!
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Synonyms for Pleasure
Synonyms for Pleasure:
BRIE.
My long arms and the way they reach so many things,
the way they move me through water,
water.
The sound of the ocean with its solid teeth, its
stoic feet, its cheekbones, its eternal change.
Rooftops.
The wild wind in my hair, the distance
between people, between places, the electric
geography of absense.
My dog when he snores.
The songs of crickets,
the syrup of memory,
the chlorine cologne of the hotel pool at
the birthday party, the family reunion. The year
you learn you can't possibly ever learn everything,
the smell of sun-soaked skin.
Wisteria, honeysuckle, magnolia, mimosa.
Your sleeping breath.
Avocados.
The smell of your scalp.
Mangoes.
Your loveless arms and the day
they pushed me away.
BRIE.
My long arms and the way they reach so many things,
the way they move me through water,
water.
The sound of the ocean with its solid teeth, its
stoic feet, its cheekbones, its eternal change.
Rooftops.
The wild wind in my hair, the distance
between people, between places, the electric
geography of absense.
My dog when he snores.
The songs of crickets,
the syrup of memory,
the chlorine cologne of the hotel pool at
the birthday party, the family reunion. The year
you learn you can't possibly ever learn everything,
the smell of sun-soaked skin.
Wisteria, honeysuckle, magnolia, mimosa.
Your sleeping breath.
Avocados.
The smell of your scalp.
Mangoes.
Your loveless arms and the day
they pushed me away.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Ode to the Scar on my Hip
(after a prompt by Jon Sands)
In these ways you are like myself: you are obstinate
and ornery, slow to heal and forget, a survivor,
victorious, particular about when and how
and by whom you like to be touched. You
are a beautiful testimony of survival, you,
so like a tiger, a dragon, a snake, your softness
and hardness, your teardrop shape, the way you perch
on my hip like a lover, as raw and pink
as a baby's first wail. Do not be afraid
of lasers, I would never threaten you with them. Do not
be afraid of reopening. You, so like a medal,
a ribbon, raised like a ridge, a mark
of exclamation. You talk shit on oceans
and riptides and rocks, your makers, you tell them
then will never take you down. You drink tequila,
neat, no salt, no lime, no
back, while you do ballet stretches in front
of a mirror. You paint. I remember
the days and days it took you to heal, as you lay
open, stayed open, shining like an overripe strawberry,
still pregnant with the ocean's salt. The world teaches us
we should hide our scars; instead, I framed you
with a tattoo, you deserve a frame, a parade, a star
on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a star
in the sky, maybe that one there, on Orion's belt,
just at the hip, a cake, defiant
with ten dozen candles.
In these ways you are like myself: you are obstinate
and ornery, slow to heal and forget, a survivor,
victorious, particular about when and how
and by whom you like to be touched. You
are a beautiful testimony of survival, you,
so like a tiger, a dragon, a snake, your softness
and hardness, your teardrop shape, the way you perch
on my hip like a lover, as raw and pink
as a baby's first wail. Do not be afraid
of lasers, I would never threaten you with them. Do not
be afraid of reopening. You, so like a medal,
a ribbon, raised like a ridge, a mark
of exclamation. You talk shit on oceans
and riptides and rocks, your makers, you tell them
then will never take you down. You drink tequila,
neat, no salt, no lime, no
back, while you do ballet stretches in front
of a mirror. You paint. I remember
the days and days it took you to heal, as you lay
open, stayed open, shining like an overripe strawberry,
still pregnant with the ocean's salt. The world teaches us
we should hide our scars; instead, I framed you
with a tattoo, you deserve a frame, a parade, a star
on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a star
in the sky, maybe that one there, on Orion's belt,
just at the hip, a cake, defiant
with ten dozen candles.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Beach!
When I was in Mexico, I wasn't updating because I was in a bad place. Here, things are a little too awesome to update often. I'm super busy all the time, so there's that. I had a homestay with a Hakka family, an old ethnicity that came over from China around 5-600 years ago, I'm told, and got along fine with the Aboriginals. They were so great - I felt the warmth and hospitality from the first minute I got into the car - a mother, a father, and triplet daughters sixth-grade age. I hope to post about that soon, but now I have to talk about the beach.
The last time I saw the ocean was pretty perilous. I was really cautious about getting back in the water again. This isn't the calm, clear Lake Ouachita water I know so well, this is tides and waves and currents trying to pull people away. I mean, that last experience was a Lesson Learned, and learned well. I desperately wanted to be in water but I was scared, too.
But the intoxicating beauty there... This island is so gorgeous - the Portuguese called it "Formosa," beautiful, and rightfully so. It reminds me of home, only MORE. More green, more mountains, more heat and humidity, and then of course there's the fact that there's ocean to be found everywhere. My study program had an excursion planned to take us to the southernmost beach on a Friday - I planned to stay as long as I could. Booked a room for 10 for Friday night, but everyone was full Saturday. I figured I'd play it by ear.
The school's tour took us first to a sort of museum about what-all could be found in the area. It was fun, but it wasn't beach. Then we were taken to the farthest-south tip of the whole island, which had a lighthouse, and lots of trees, and shops... but it wasn't beach. Then they took us to a spot where we had the single best vegetarian meal yet which was delicious but still not beach. Then we were given some time to stroll around and look in shops which were also not the beach and then they took us...
...TO THE BEACH! Oh...
I mean it was just lovely. A little bay, called "South Bay," and it had some silly music blaring like many beaches do but we went far enough away from it and I slathered up in sunscreen, and we negotiated an umbrella rental from some women who were covered head to toe like mummies because you have to stay white here or you aren't beautiful, and then I jumped in. Even though I was very careful I was caught in something of a weak current at first, but many others were as well, and we worked our way out of it right away. From there I would stand in a shallow part - there was something of a sandbar that went out a good ways - anywhere from knee to neck deep, letting the waves move me around. After a couple hours the buses left, and those of us staying... stayed!
Night markets are awesome here and every town has a few, so once the sun had long set we showered up and headed to drop our bags off in the hostel and check it out. It was great! I ate everything... Stinky tofu, big-sausage-with-little-sausage, fried mushrooms, some japanese gooey rice thing I don't even know what it was with black sugar on it, grilled corn, fried pineapple, mango ice, .... and more I'm struggling to remember. Went back to the awesome room and laughed with 9 friends well into the night, pillow fights, silly jokes, then passed out.
Woke up in time the next morning to check out, left our bags there and headed out for adventure. After breakfast we went to rent bicycles because there is a national forest park that sounded wicked awesome.
Yeah. The map was flat.
After I don't even know how long of biking it felt like an hour but was probably only 15 minutes at an angle that felt like straight up I backed out. I had been going slow because my roommate had too, and I didn't want to leave her behind. Then I realized I had actually been going slow because my back tire was dragging inside the wheel cover, and I was having to fight the friction to get anywhere! Of course this is Taiwan, so it was crazy hot and crazy humid and this was tougher than Monkey Mountain, the sweat was dripping off of me. Turned it around, took it back, turned it in, got my refund, and headed to the beach! I was pretty frustrated because the long version of this story involves a lot of awkwardness due to the size of the group, a lot of "What do you want to do" and "Well what about this" and "What if we" and "Well let's go" and "Are you ready" and "Where's so-and-so" and then even when I got to the beach we were waiting on people and it was getting on toward about 4PM and I had hoped to go snorkeling and I was starting to go crazy from all the waiting and not-doing-anything...
Finally the people we were waiting on showed up, but we'd been waiting to get on their scooters, and they'd gotten too few and didn't have helmets. So they headed off to another beach (Why? The one we were at was fine?) and we had to taxi to get there. More frustration! We started walking and finally caught one and finally got to the other beach and finally spotted our friends (easier than most places - just look for the tall white folk) and then FINALLY I was in the water and oh!
Just wonderful. Again.
That night most of the group that had stayed headed back. I couldn't go back yet. I felt like the day had been wasted and I still wanted to snorkel. We perused the night market again...
...oh! I forgot to say how the night before we met the princess of Taiwan! Yes! She told us so herself! Well, she told us in Mandarin, then a boy told us in English, but he also said, "But this is bullshit!" But then she pointed to a sign (presumably, that she had made) and chattered in Mandarin, and the boy told us that the sign said, Princess of Taiwan, and she laughed hysterically and then showed us that she had been sampling her own wares, which was flavors of millet wine and liquor that I bought a bottle of and she had been forcing us to take shots of. What a great lady! Of course I took a photo with her...
...and as I had failed to find a place to crash and as my friends had crashed on the beach the night before, the one boy who'd stayed behind and I headed to the beach. We had a tent someone had lent us, and we set it up, and promptly strolled around the beautiful night beach. What a drastic difference from the night market! The market was crowded, packed with people, you could hardly move - we stopped at one spot to inquire about foot massages (only to find there had been a price increase over the price our friends had paid the night before - weekend price hike I guess) and ended up just sitting at the table there to avoid the madness for a bit until we had enough energy (and our full bellies had relaxed a bit) to head to the beach and set up.
It was so quiet there, almost no people except for some random fishermen with ten foot long poles with lights on the end, and the occasional bunch of kids come to set off fireworks. Fireworks are pretty popular here; they go off all the time and due to some sort of language disconnect, whenever we ask why there are fireworks, we receive not an answer but another question: "Do you not like fireworks?" No, I think they're swell, I'm just wondering what the reason is. We found a mat someone had left behind and set it up as our front yard and laid upon it, laughing our butts off as we swapped stories about our experiences and interactions in Taiwan thus far. We decided it was just too damn nice sleeping under the stars to climb into the tent so we didn't. We just passed out on that mat under the stars.
While I woke up several times during the night because of how uncomfortable the sand was, I woke up at one point because I was freezing! I remember being crazy excited to feel cold for once. I crawled into the tent and passed back out. I woke up once because the sun was coming up, and we'd talked about watching the sunrise the night before, but having had such a crappy sleep, I couldn't move. Later I woke up again because I heard a pack of wild dogs talking trash outside the tent... and I still couldn't move.
Woke up later and felt tired, sore, and stinky... but then, when I woke up, my front yard was THE OCEAN, so yeah I didn't complain. I jumped in for a swim and a rinse and then we packed up the tent and headed up to the 7/11 for breakfast for three reasons. 1) Money's running out. 2) We had more than enough local cuisine at the night market the previous two nights and 3) They have air conditioning. Anyway, no matter what we get there, it ain't gonna be like home. We must have looked a sight, but we loaded up with a bottle of water, a bottle of Pocari Sweat (the local answer to gatorade), a slurpee, and a mess of food each, paid, and set up in the window seats. Oh how we laughed at our situation and the whole unlikeliness and wonder of it all.
At that moment, I felt perfect. I didn't need snorkeling. I told him so. I had discovered I had twice as much money as I thought I had the previous night so I said I'd like to try to go and find the things I wanted to buy at the night market the night before but didn't. We walked up the road but none of it was anywhere to be found. It's literally a completely different street at day and at night. So we turned around, found a random shop to go potty, and hitched a bus back to Kaohsiung so we could train it on into Pingtung. In the train station, we sat down on a bench next to a woman with a tiny precious dog... and promptly fell to cooing over the dog. She loved us, she kept taking pictures and texting them to her friends, so we took one with her on my camera, and then the train came, and we got back to campus and shook the sand out of our bags just as the rain was beginning to fall...
And that was just two and a half days! Can you imagine? So sorry I haven't been updating, but man it's awesome here! And there's still homestay weekend to talk about! This weekend I'm staying here. We're free, no excursions or plans or anything, but the program switches our study companions and roommates halfway through. That's a whole blog post itself there, the reason I think they do it, but at any rate I love my roommate so much and I will be crazy sad for her to go. We're going to spend the weekend having adventures here and next weekend I'm going to visit her in her hometown.
The last time I saw the ocean was pretty perilous. I was really cautious about getting back in the water again. This isn't the calm, clear Lake Ouachita water I know so well, this is tides and waves and currents trying to pull people away. I mean, that last experience was a Lesson Learned, and learned well. I desperately wanted to be in water but I was scared, too.
But the intoxicating beauty there... This island is so gorgeous - the Portuguese called it "Formosa," beautiful, and rightfully so. It reminds me of home, only MORE. More green, more mountains, more heat and humidity, and then of course there's the fact that there's ocean to be found everywhere. My study program had an excursion planned to take us to the southernmost beach on a Friday - I planned to stay as long as I could. Booked a room for 10 for Friday night, but everyone was full Saturday. I figured I'd play it by ear.
The school's tour took us first to a sort of museum about what-all could be found in the area. It was fun, but it wasn't beach. Then we were taken to the farthest-south tip of the whole island, which had a lighthouse, and lots of trees, and shops... but it wasn't beach. Then they took us to a spot where we had the single best vegetarian meal yet which was delicious but still not beach. Then we were given some time to stroll around and look in shops which were also not the beach and then they took us...
...TO THE BEACH! Oh...
I mean it was just lovely. A little bay, called "South Bay," and it had some silly music blaring like many beaches do but we went far enough away from it and I slathered up in sunscreen, and we negotiated an umbrella rental from some women who were covered head to toe like mummies because you have to stay white here or you aren't beautiful, and then I jumped in. Even though I was very careful I was caught in something of a weak current at first, but many others were as well, and we worked our way out of it right away. From there I would stand in a shallow part - there was something of a sandbar that went out a good ways - anywhere from knee to neck deep, letting the waves move me around. After a couple hours the buses left, and those of us staying... stayed!
Night markets are awesome here and every town has a few, so once the sun had long set we showered up and headed to drop our bags off in the hostel and check it out. It was great! I ate everything... Stinky tofu, big-sausage-with-little-sausage, fried mushrooms, some japanese gooey rice thing I don't even know what it was with black sugar on it, grilled corn, fried pineapple, mango ice, .... and more I'm struggling to remember. Went back to the awesome room and laughed with 9 friends well into the night, pillow fights, silly jokes, then passed out.
Woke up in time the next morning to check out, left our bags there and headed out for adventure. After breakfast we went to rent bicycles because there is a national forest park that sounded wicked awesome.
Yeah. The map was flat.
After I don't even know how long of biking it felt like an hour but was probably only 15 minutes at an angle that felt like straight up I backed out. I had been going slow because my roommate had too, and I didn't want to leave her behind. Then I realized I had actually been going slow because my back tire was dragging inside the wheel cover, and I was having to fight the friction to get anywhere! Of course this is Taiwan, so it was crazy hot and crazy humid and this was tougher than Monkey Mountain, the sweat was dripping off of me. Turned it around, took it back, turned it in, got my refund, and headed to the beach! I was pretty frustrated because the long version of this story involves a lot of awkwardness due to the size of the group, a lot of "What do you want to do" and "Well what about this" and "What if we" and "Well let's go" and "Are you ready" and "Where's so-and-so" and then even when I got to the beach we were waiting on people and it was getting on toward about 4PM and I had hoped to go snorkeling and I was starting to go crazy from all the waiting and not-doing-anything...
Finally the people we were waiting on showed up, but we'd been waiting to get on their scooters, and they'd gotten too few and didn't have helmets. So they headed off to another beach (Why? The one we were at was fine?) and we had to taxi to get there. More frustration! We started walking and finally caught one and finally got to the other beach and finally spotted our friends (easier than most places - just look for the tall white folk) and then FINALLY I was in the water and oh!
Just wonderful. Again.
That night most of the group that had stayed headed back. I couldn't go back yet. I felt like the day had been wasted and I still wanted to snorkel. We perused the night market again...
...oh! I forgot to say how the night before we met the princess of Taiwan! Yes! She told us so herself! Well, she told us in Mandarin, then a boy told us in English, but he also said, "But this is bullshit!" But then she pointed to a sign (presumably, that she had made) and chattered in Mandarin, and the boy told us that the sign said, Princess of Taiwan, and she laughed hysterically and then showed us that she had been sampling her own wares, which was flavors of millet wine and liquor that I bought a bottle of and she had been forcing us to take shots of. What a great lady! Of course I took a photo with her...
...and as I had failed to find a place to crash and as my friends had crashed on the beach the night before, the one boy who'd stayed behind and I headed to the beach. We had a tent someone had lent us, and we set it up, and promptly strolled around the beautiful night beach. What a drastic difference from the night market! The market was crowded, packed with people, you could hardly move - we stopped at one spot to inquire about foot massages (only to find there had been a price increase over the price our friends had paid the night before - weekend price hike I guess) and ended up just sitting at the table there to avoid the madness for a bit until we had enough energy (and our full bellies had relaxed a bit) to head to the beach and set up.
It was so quiet there, almost no people except for some random fishermen with ten foot long poles with lights on the end, and the occasional bunch of kids come to set off fireworks. Fireworks are pretty popular here; they go off all the time and due to some sort of language disconnect, whenever we ask why there are fireworks, we receive not an answer but another question: "Do you not like fireworks?" No, I think they're swell, I'm just wondering what the reason is. We found a mat someone had left behind and set it up as our front yard and laid upon it, laughing our butts off as we swapped stories about our experiences and interactions in Taiwan thus far. We decided it was just too damn nice sleeping under the stars to climb into the tent so we didn't. We just passed out on that mat under the stars.
While I woke up several times during the night because of how uncomfortable the sand was, I woke up at one point because I was freezing! I remember being crazy excited to feel cold for once. I crawled into the tent and passed back out. I woke up once because the sun was coming up, and we'd talked about watching the sunrise the night before, but having had such a crappy sleep, I couldn't move. Later I woke up again because I heard a pack of wild dogs talking trash outside the tent... and I still couldn't move.
Woke up later and felt tired, sore, and stinky... but then, when I woke up, my front yard was THE OCEAN, so yeah I didn't complain. I jumped in for a swim and a rinse and then we packed up the tent and headed up to the 7/11 for breakfast for three reasons. 1) Money's running out. 2) We had more than enough local cuisine at the night market the previous two nights and 3) They have air conditioning. Anyway, no matter what we get there, it ain't gonna be like home. We must have looked a sight, but we loaded up with a bottle of water, a bottle of Pocari Sweat (the local answer to gatorade), a slurpee, and a mess of food each, paid, and set up in the window seats. Oh how we laughed at our situation and the whole unlikeliness and wonder of it all.
At that moment, I felt perfect. I didn't need snorkeling. I told him so. I had discovered I had twice as much money as I thought I had the previous night so I said I'd like to try to go and find the things I wanted to buy at the night market the night before but didn't. We walked up the road but none of it was anywhere to be found. It's literally a completely different street at day and at night. So we turned around, found a random shop to go potty, and hitched a bus back to Kaohsiung so we could train it on into Pingtung. In the train station, we sat down on a bench next to a woman with a tiny precious dog... and promptly fell to cooing over the dog. She loved us, she kept taking pictures and texting them to her friends, so we took one with her on my camera, and then the train came, and we got back to campus and shook the sand out of our bags just as the rain was beginning to fall...
And that was just two and a half days! Can you imagine? So sorry I haven't been updating, but man it's awesome here! And there's still homestay weekend to talk about! This weekend I'm staying here. We're free, no excursions or plans or anything, but the program switches our study companions and roommates halfway through. That's a whole blog post itself there, the reason I think they do it, but at any rate I love my roommate so much and I will be crazy sad for her to go. We're going to spend the weekend having adventures here and next weekend I'm going to visit her in her hometown.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
On my personal experience as a minority.
Because it's just that: My personal experience. I cannot speak for all people who live/have lived as minorities, I cannot speak even to the general experience of all tall white girls in Taiwan. I can only speak about what I personally am experiencing. So this is not a manifesto, just a personal meditation.
When I last wrote about getting stares, I was still in Taipei. North of the island, biggest city in Taiwan, etc etc etc. I wrote that they were minimal, that they were more curious than lecherous, just interested passing glances. Now I'm in a small town in the south. Now the stares are unabashed and lingering. Now I feel like I'm in a zoo, except I'm the animal. And I'm the only one. And they're all here to see me. I wish they'd at least bring food.
I know I'm tall. I know I'm white. I know my eyes are blue. I know I have tattoos and curly hair. Most of these things have been a lifelong thing for me - even the tattoos started eleven years ago. None of this is new for me.
It's pretty new to most of the folks in Pingdong, apparently.
Today some friends were going to go swimming. They asked if I wanted to go. DUH YES. I mean... yeah, if you know me, you know how I feel about swimming. Just what I need, I thought. Especially after last night, drinking with other students in the program and getting into a pretty intense discussion about trans* people and how they aren't unnatural or gross with a bigot in the group.
The place was really magical. For a water-junkie like me, it was a literal heaven on earth. There was a 50-meter long pool for swimming (only one real lap lane that had several people in it, but laps were do-able), and next to it in the corner was this wall about hip-high. Climb over this wall and you find two big soaking pits, one is just warm with these three crazy jets shooting down from the short ceiling you can stand under for a massage, and the other is super hot for soaking, next to some small windows that open into this jungle-looking area with a nice breeze passing by.
And if that wasn't water-heaven enough, downstairs with the dressing rooms (which have both a sauna and a steam room) is this thing called the SPA. Walk down the hallway and you again have to climb over a short wall which puts you in another water pit. This one is kinda lukewarm too, and there are different jet-things everywhere. You can scoot back into a u-shaped cave area where jets will come at you from different angles, you can stand under more of the crazy shower-jets, you can scoot through a maze of little cube-posts that shoot jets out from different heights, you can lay back on the bed-chairs that have jets shooting up at you from underneath... water decadence! It was wonderful! It would have been perfect...
... if I hadn't been the zoo animal.
One girl came around the corner in the dressing room, and when she saw me, drew a sharp intake gasp of breath, her face went all shocked, and she literally jumped back. Yo, .... what? I'm just another human. I'm not some crazy devil monster who's going to attack you. I mean, ... except ...
...that we are literally referred to as "white ghost" here. We were taught this by the program director on a slide in her powerpoint presentation on Taiwanese culture. The slide was titled "How are Americans perceived?" There were bulletin points with racial slurs. White ghost is a little outdated, though. These days, apparently, the popular one is something to do with what freakishly long noses we have. How is that appropriate to teach as a class?
I go through this and I think about my friends of color back home. The thing is, I really don't have it that bad. Sure, I look over in the pool and realize that this old dude is going underwater so he can stare at my body underneath the water's surface, and that's really creepy and weird, but it's not like he's denying me any rights, or spitting on me or anything.
And that's my experience. That I am a novelty, a freak, something to be exoticised, and I don't like it, and I want to complain, and I stare right back now at those who stare at me. And when the little girl who keeps bumping into me in the pool to say, in English, "Oh sorry sorry" finally decides that she's tired of me ignoring her and actually grabs me while I'm swimming and pulls me under so that she can say "Oh sorry sorry" again and surely I'll respond this time, I do, and I look her right in the eyes, and I say, in Chinese, "What? What do you want? What would you like? What?" and she swims away but her friends keep staring and saying, in English, "HALLO HALLOOOO!" and Jesus Christ I just came here to swim people, to get my zen on, to knock out a thousand yards until my body feels completely exhausted and like a million bucks at the same time. I love how my body moves in the water, but I don't want some creepy old man going under to love it too.
And yet I can't have these experiences without thinking about how I really don't have it that bad as a minority here. Yeah, when I complain to a friend who went with me to the pool, he says, in English, "But it is because in Taiwan, we think foreigners are so beautiful!" And I realize he means it as a compliment, genuinely, and so does the creepy old man, but that doesn't make it not racist.
The other night I took a train with a few friends (two Taiwanese, one Vietnamese-American) to Kaohsiung, the second biggest city in Taiwan which is just a half hour up the road. When the conductor passed, he said something in Chinese, and the two locals started laughing. They explained it to the Vietnamese-American, whose Chinese is way better than mine, and he explained it to me. The guy said what he always says, but this time, he said it "like an American would say it." Once he saw me, he decided, I guess, he should do his best American accent. And they all thought it was hilarious and dissolved into laughter.
And I think, well, but I'm still allowed to ride the train. It's not like there's a "White Ghosts Only" car in the back or anything. But I can't help getting pissed.
This has really been a busy and interesting week. There was an opening ceremony, a few days of classes, and a school-led trip to Kaohsiung with a huge Buddhist monastery, a mountain climb with monkeys, and a harbor visit. It was all rad, and I know I should have written about it by now... but I've been kindof confused about how to write about those awesome things and also this prevailing weirdness. So here's this post dedicated to weirdness, and hopefully tomorrow I can write about awesome things only. In the meantime, hopefully, I will just learn and grow.
When I last wrote about getting stares, I was still in Taipei. North of the island, biggest city in Taiwan, etc etc etc. I wrote that they were minimal, that they were more curious than lecherous, just interested passing glances. Now I'm in a small town in the south. Now the stares are unabashed and lingering. Now I feel like I'm in a zoo, except I'm the animal. And I'm the only one. And they're all here to see me. I wish they'd at least bring food.
I know I'm tall. I know I'm white. I know my eyes are blue. I know I have tattoos and curly hair. Most of these things have been a lifelong thing for me - even the tattoos started eleven years ago. None of this is new for me.
It's pretty new to most of the folks in Pingdong, apparently.
Today some friends were going to go swimming. They asked if I wanted to go. DUH YES. I mean... yeah, if you know me, you know how I feel about swimming. Just what I need, I thought. Especially after last night, drinking with other students in the program and getting into a pretty intense discussion about trans* people and how they aren't unnatural or gross with a bigot in the group.
The place was really magical. For a water-junkie like me, it was a literal heaven on earth. There was a 50-meter long pool for swimming (only one real lap lane that had several people in it, but laps were do-able), and next to it in the corner was this wall about hip-high. Climb over this wall and you find two big soaking pits, one is just warm with these three crazy jets shooting down from the short ceiling you can stand under for a massage, and the other is super hot for soaking, next to some small windows that open into this jungle-looking area with a nice breeze passing by.
And if that wasn't water-heaven enough, downstairs with the dressing rooms (which have both a sauna and a steam room) is this thing called the SPA. Walk down the hallway and you again have to climb over a short wall which puts you in another water pit. This one is kinda lukewarm too, and there are different jet-things everywhere. You can scoot back into a u-shaped cave area where jets will come at you from different angles, you can stand under more of the crazy shower-jets, you can scoot through a maze of little cube-posts that shoot jets out from different heights, you can lay back on the bed-chairs that have jets shooting up at you from underneath... water decadence! It was wonderful! It would have been perfect...
... if I hadn't been the zoo animal.
One girl came around the corner in the dressing room, and when she saw me, drew a sharp intake gasp of breath, her face went all shocked, and she literally jumped back. Yo, .... what? I'm just another human. I'm not some crazy devil monster who's going to attack you. I mean, ... except ...
...that we are literally referred to as "white ghost" here. We were taught this by the program director on a slide in her powerpoint presentation on Taiwanese culture. The slide was titled "How are Americans perceived?" There were bulletin points with racial slurs. White ghost is a little outdated, though. These days, apparently, the popular one is something to do with what freakishly long noses we have. How is that appropriate to teach as a class?
I go through this and I think about my friends of color back home. The thing is, I really don't have it that bad. Sure, I look over in the pool and realize that this old dude is going underwater so he can stare at my body underneath the water's surface, and that's really creepy and weird, but it's not like he's denying me any rights, or spitting on me or anything.
And that's my experience. That I am a novelty, a freak, something to be exoticised, and I don't like it, and I want to complain, and I stare right back now at those who stare at me. And when the little girl who keeps bumping into me in the pool to say, in English, "Oh sorry sorry" finally decides that she's tired of me ignoring her and actually grabs me while I'm swimming and pulls me under so that she can say "Oh sorry sorry" again and surely I'll respond this time, I do, and I look her right in the eyes, and I say, in Chinese, "What? What do you want? What would you like? What?" and she swims away but her friends keep staring and saying, in English, "HALLO HALLOOOO!" and Jesus Christ I just came here to swim people, to get my zen on, to knock out a thousand yards until my body feels completely exhausted and like a million bucks at the same time. I love how my body moves in the water, but I don't want some creepy old man going under to love it too.
And yet I can't have these experiences without thinking about how I really don't have it that bad as a minority here. Yeah, when I complain to a friend who went with me to the pool, he says, in English, "But it is because in Taiwan, we think foreigners are so beautiful!" And I realize he means it as a compliment, genuinely, and so does the creepy old man, but that doesn't make it not racist.
The other night I took a train with a few friends (two Taiwanese, one Vietnamese-American) to Kaohsiung, the second biggest city in Taiwan which is just a half hour up the road. When the conductor passed, he said something in Chinese, and the two locals started laughing. They explained it to the Vietnamese-American, whose Chinese is way better than mine, and he explained it to me. The guy said what he always says, but this time, he said it "like an American would say it." Once he saw me, he decided, I guess, he should do his best American accent. And they all thought it was hilarious and dissolved into laughter.
And I think, well, but I'm still allowed to ride the train. It's not like there's a "White Ghosts Only" car in the back or anything. But I can't help getting pissed.
This has really been a busy and interesting week. There was an opening ceremony, a few days of classes, and a school-led trip to Kaohsiung with a huge Buddhist monastery, a mountain climb with monkeys, and a harbor visit. It was all rad, and I know I should have written about it by now... but I've been kindof confused about how to write about those awesome things and also this prevailing weirdness. So here's this post dedicated to weirdness, and hopefully tomorrow I can write about awesome things only. In the meantime, hopefully, I will just learn and grow.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
day 19 pome 17 arkansassy
This pome isn't late I swear. I wrote it on Day 19 at 10:30 PM. I ended up at this open mic and I wanted to read one I wrote earlier in the month but I don't has 'em saved to my computer, just here on the interweb. And I couldn't get access to the interwebs. So, I figured, let's go ahead and conjure up something for Day 19. And I did. But I was still 2 hours away from home then, and we weren't yet close to leaving, and I was tired when I got in and busy today so I'm not uploading it til now BUT... I swear I wrote it on day 19. After that mid-month slack-off I'm trying to stay on top of things. I know I still have some catching up to do. We'll see if I pull it off. Anyway, here you are:
I have no idea how to leave this place,
this green green place, this cool verdance,
this lush humidity, this mountainous state,
this flatland state. The only reason
I wasn't born in Arkansas is because my yankee mother,
in labor in West Memphis demanded my father
drive her to Tennessee to pop me out. Like, really?
As if Tennessee is any less country. And yes,
y'all, we're country. Yes, the struggle of the
queers, the women, the people of color in the south
idn't nuthin no Yankee could ever imagine, but folks
will look you in the eye and give you a nod
on the street. And that has to mean something.
People bitch about this humidity but I
swim in it. I mean, I breathe it, I love the days,
the July days in which you find yourself
marinating in your own sweat, I love it, but then,
I've always loved a challenge, aka opportunity,
which is why perhaps as a queer feminist anti-
racist this place may just have been made
for me. How can I leave the land of my father,
my beloved father, the man I have to thank
for teaching me respect, confidence, self-worth, and how not
to get treated like shit by my partner, the land
of his father, the land of Lake Ouachita,
of Mulberry River, Buffalo River, the land of the Ozarks,
this place is in
my blood, my breath, my skin, my eyes, and I
am moving to the desert but I hear
in Arizona some people think
it's alright to pass laws that permit pig harassment
based on how "foreign" you seem, did someone
say challenge?
I'm there. I hear
sometimes
it even rains.
I have no idea how to leave this place,
this green green place, this cool verdance,
this lush humidity, this mountainous state,
this flatland state. The only reason
I wasn't born in Arkansas is because my yankee mother,
in labor in West Memphis demanded my father
drive her to Tennessee to pop me out. Like, really?
As if Tennessee is any less country. And yes,
y'all, we're country. Yes, the struggle of the
queers, the women, the people of color in the south
idn't nuthin no Yankee could ever imagine, but folks
will look you in the eye and give you a nod
on the street. And that has to mean something.
People bitch about this humidity but I
swim in it. I mean, I breathe it, I love the days,
the July days in which you find yourself
marinating in your own sweat, I love it, but then,
I've always loved a challenge, aka opportunity,
which is why perhaps as a queer feminist anti-
racist this place may just have been made
for me. How can I leave the land of my father,
my beloved father, the man I have to thank
for teaching me respect, confidence, self-worth, and how not
to get treated like shit by my partner, the land
of his father, the land of Lake Ouachita,
of Mulberry River, Buffalo River, the land of the Ozarks,
this place is in
my blood, my breath, my skin, my eyes, and I
am moving to the desert but I hear
in Arizona some people think
it's alright to pass laws that permit pig harassment
based on how "foreign" you seem, did someone
say challenge?
I'm there. I hear
sometimes
it even rains.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
5/30: the day i cannot let go of
This poem is not for the sun that day,
the way it filtered through lace-thin clouds,
not for the breakfast, huevos con frijoles
y tortillas, made right before us, over fire, nor
the broad, smiling woman who made it, not
her hands covered in masa, not the apron
she wiped them upon. This is not for
the gentle rain that came and went and
came and went tapping on the thatched roof
over our heads, nor for the thatched roof
over our heads nor even the hammocks
that held us while we napped. This poem is not
in praise of those rocks, they way they towered
above us, each like their own cathedral,
their angles, their curves, the way they marched
proudly out into the sea, not for the wet sand
between our toes, the seashells we collected,
no, this is not that poem. It does not sing of
nor praise the moment the sun came boldly out,
pushing all clouds back, when Paulina came running,
demanding we go down to swim while we could,
no. And yet, this is still
a praise poem. I choose to praise those currents,
rip tides, the first one that pulled me out
like it owned me, praise the way it owned me. Praise
my three friends, tiny on the shore, unaware,
smiling, praise their ignorant smiles. Praise
the second tide, the one that pulled me sideways
rather than out, praise those tall rocks now, now
and not before, praise them out there in the ocean,
a stone church ready for my last mass, ready
for my absolution, praise the water turning
holy, praise the holy, churning waters, praise my fear
when I looked upon them. Praise that one
blessed fragment of a moment, that moment in which
a shard of my soul broke loose, praise that sparkling
splinter of soul and the moment in which it will
forever be trapped, praise the moment in which
I resigned myself to death and praise every single
stolen moment I’ve lived since I escaped it.
the way it filtered through lace-thin clouds,
not for the breakfast, huevos con frijoles
y tortillas, made right before us, over fire, nor
the broad, smiling woman who made it, not
her hands covered in masa, not the apron
she wiped them upon. This is not for
the gentle rain that came and went and
came and went tapping on the thatched roof
over our heads, nor for the thatched roof
over our heads nor even the hammocks
that held us while we napped. This poem is not
in praise of those rocks, they way they towered
above us, each like their own cathedral,
their angles, their curves, the way they marched
proudly out into the sea, not for the wet sand
between our toes, the seashells we collected,
no, this is not that poem. It does not sing of
nor praise the moment the sun came boldly out,
pushing all clouds back, when Paulina came running,
demanding we go down to swim while we could,
no. And yet, this is still
a praise poem. I choose to praise those currents,
rip tides, the first one that pulled me out
like it owned me, praise the way it owned me. Praise
my three friends, tiny on the shore, unaware,
smiling, praise their ignorant smiles. Praise
the second tide, the one that pulled me sideways
rather than out, praise those tall rocks now, now
and not before, praise them out there in the ocean,
a stone church ready for my last mass, ready
for my absolution, praise the water turning
holy, praise the holy, churning waters, praise my fear
when I looked upon them. Praise that one
blessed fragment of a moment, that moment in which
a shard of my soul broke loose, praise that sparkling
splinter of soul and the moment in which it will
forever be trapped, praise the moment in which
I resigned myself to death and praise every single
stolen moment I’ve lived since I escaped it.
Monday, December 7, 2009
How I almost died. Or worse.
The thing of this story is, I didn't do anything crazy. It's not like the time I went to Mexico City all by myself, and while I was there met this random guy who seemed sincere so I hopped on his motorcycle. Whoops, sorry, Dad. I'll tell you the whole story soon.
No, in this story I'm really responsible. I met three amazing kids here locally through a girl who's been my friend the whole four month stay. They're her neighbors. I was talking about how I wanted to go back to the beach before I left. One of them asked, Which beach? I said, I guess Vallarta. I've been there, I enjoyed it, I know the hostel... this kid says, No, Vallarta's the worst beach in Mexico. I know a beautiful one. We'll go. I say, if Vallarta's the worst beach in Mexico, I can't wait to see what you're gonna show me because Vallarta suited me just fine.
We left on "Mexican time." Which means, I was freaking out because they said we should leave midday and I got there at almost one. We left at two thirty. But it was a beautiful drive, just gorgeous. Amazing mountain ranges the whole way, and mountains on one side with dusty plains on the other with warning signs about dust storms and we could see the stuff flying through the air and huge bridges that went over enormous valleys in between two mountains and we got to look out on all sides and bridges that went over banana tree fields and then lookouts when we got to the coast, and I got to go through two real Mexican military checkpoints set up for narcotraficantes. Beautiful pueblos and nature and everything, man, just an epic drive.
We finally made it to the spot, after a stop off in the last market on the way there, all open air and kids with no shoes and stuff, and made it to La Llorona beach, so named because the sand is kinda magical. When you walk on it, because of how fine it is and the compression, it sounds like sneakers on a gym floor. Or, alternatively, someone crying if you really want to stretch your imagination. Hence, La Llorona, the crying woman. I guess looking back now that should have been ominous. Whoops.
It was pitch black because it's started getting dark by 7 here now. We set up the tent and the bedding and commenced to a-drinkin. Don't get nervous here, the bad part doesn't happen until I'm sober again. They had tequila and I had whiskey. They wanted to be all fancy and mix drinks, meanwhile I'm like, I'MA SHOW Y'ALL HOW WE DO IT DOWN SOUTH. We all laid around on the beach watching stars and clouds, picking out shapes, until the moon came out and chased all the clouds away and lit the whole place up like it was noon. Just gorgeous man. We're nestled in between these two big hills right on the edge of the water with this long beautiful beach... seriously. It was one of those moments where I think... in my past life, I was either a saint or a war hero or found some cure for some disease or...
Hung out and enjoyed life until it was just Time To Sleep, at which point I did. We woke up... to the sound of rain. Not hard rain, more of a sprinkling, but just enough to keep us from going out from under the palm-leaf roof thing they had set up for everyone to camp under. The lady who owned the place made us a mean breakfast of scrambled eggs with pico and some mashed black beans and fresh made tortillas and quesadillas oh my lord for thirty pesos god bless her. We got full, watched surfers trying to manage the crazy waves, laid around, started packing the car back up, got lazy and took naps. Woke up to Paulina going, the sun's out! Quick! We have to use this time while we have it!
Everyone got ready and Carlos said he had the perfect place for us to swim because it was just so beautiful we wouldn't believe it. He was right. There were several tall lumps of rock on the way there that looked more like art sculptures than nature (but isn't the best of either always kinda both?). When we got to "the spot," there was one particular tall lump of rock that jutted on out. It was actually quite beautiful to watch the water crash up against it and swirl around. We stood there just watching everything for a minute, then Carlos started to swim and I started getting jealous. If you know me at all you know how I love being in water. I jumped in.
Oh, and I just got ecstatic. Just being in the water, moving around, splashing. Letting the waves pick me up and move me around. I must have paddled away from shore no more than five or six good strokes. Then I turned around.
Fucking shore was gone man. I had ended up in some crazy current that was going nowhere but out to sea and taking me with it. I mean it was there, but it was far, and the people on it were quite tiny.
I got nervous. Not panicky, but concerned. I started trying to paddle back but was really only succeeding in staying put. Since then I have learned that when you're in what is called something like a "rip tide" or "rip current" or something like that, your best bet is to swim sideways until you're out of it and *then* go to shore. Which is funny, because it's what I instinctively tried to do when going back wasn't getting me anywhere. I started getting closer to the rocks. Oh great, I thought, that'll work fine. If I can get some footing over there I can just climb my way back to shore.
But I was getting closer and closer really friggin fast. And then I started noticing, now up close and personal, what exactly the water was doing when it got to those rocks. It was smashing and crashing and swirling around like it really just wanted a rag doll to seriously fuck with. And here I was coming, completely against my will.
I kinda had a little flash back. Once, when I was 7 years old, or thereabouts, my family went to Virginia Beach. We had a little floaty raft. I was small enough that I could stand on it and surf a little and I really enjoyed it. I had this great idea that if I went further out, I could catch the wave earlier and somehow it would be bigger when it got to shore. It made perfect sense at the time. But I got to this point where the waves weren't coming in anymore. They were going nowhere but out, and they were taking me with them. I got really calm, though, because the other option, which is to panick, wasn't going to get me anywhere. I tried paddling back, I tried to touch the bottom, I tried and tried but it wasn't working. So, I decided to save my strength because I would need it on my long trip across the ocean. I would have to eat fish on the way, even though I don't like them, and I'd have to eat them raw, but I'd heard people did that in other countries so I'd probably live. Hopefully a boat would find me but if not, when I landed, I'd just try to find the American Embassy to get home.
Then I looked back at shore and saw my father and a lifeguard running out to get me. And they did. And I got to go back home and eat real cooked food that I liked with my real family on land. It was pretty nice.
But here, in Mexico, at La Llorona, there is no daddy. There is no lifeguard. There's just me, the waves, and the rocks, and the three friends I came with who may or may not even have noticed what's going on. I looked at the waves as they did what they did on those rocks and I thought about what they were about to do to my body.
I got really calm. Because, once again, the only other option, which is to freak out, isn't going to help at all. I thought about how I could die. I was mostly sad about how I would be letting down my family and friends so bad, dying right before I was about to fly home. I thought about how bummed out they'd be, and how I'd never finish college like I thought I was finally about to. I thought about that, and then I thought about how I could live but end up paraplegic, which actually seemed worse. It was somehow calming to know that death wasn't the worst possible thing that could happen.
I tried to think about everything Lake Ouachita had taught me. I knew it wasn't worth it to try to keep my eyes open underwater. I'd just lose my contacts and be unable to see anyway, so I resolved to keep them closed. I knew that I was always more buoyant when I took in a big gulp of air, and since the water would probably have me swirling around underneath a bit I'd need it. I resolved to try and stay as horizontal as possible so maybe I could stay near the surface, and at all costs to try and keep my head up. I took a gulp just as the wave sucked me in to the rocks.
That's about all I know for a bit. I know I got swirled around and banged three good sessions in total, and I know at one point, in between swirl-bangs, I got to go back up for a much needed breath. As I gulped in air again, I took in some water, but I was immediately back underwater and had the presence of mind not to choke or gasp while I was underwater. I toughed it out. I really wanted to live.
Before I knew it, I felt sand under my feet. I pushed up and got air again. I was on the shore somehow! But I couldn't make it out just yet. I was super high from adrenaline and really hurt all over from the bashings. I tried to push toward land when the wave was going in, and to lose as little ground as possible when they were going back out. They were pretty strong waves. As I finally was able to stand, I watched the faces of the two kids on shore go shocked and their mouths drop open. I looked down.
I was covered in scratches and gashes and they were all leaking blood. I looked awful. What I just went through really started to set in as the adrenaline faded and I started getting weak. I got just far enough away from the waves and laid down. Paulina rushed over and asked did I want her to try and stop the bleeding. I said sure, grab my white shirt, it was free. I just laid there while she dabbed and blotted. She assessed which ones were actually deep and which were mostly superficial.
Then the boys came over. They said, does this mean you're done swimming? The salt water will help close the wounds.
I said, look, y'all swim all you want but I need to get back to camp and chill out for a minute.
Paulina walked me back, god bless her. Got there and went to the showers and washed all the wounds with soap and water. Remembered I had neosporin in my bag for lord knows what reason so I grabbed it and started covering myself. My whole left side is scratched from toe to tit, my right side has a little scratching on the foot and leg, and my right hand is really whacked. Typing's tough, we'll see how I do on the piano tomorrow.
The boys made it back eventually. Said they'd stood there for a minute watching the waves over the rocks and said I was actually really lucky. I said boy howdy do I ever know it. We ate lunch, tuna salad on tostadas, and eventually I felt good enough to walk back to the beach where we built a sandcastle and I sat in the waves for a minute, letting them wash my wounds. We strolled back to the scene of the crime and watched the waves go apeshit a little more. Went back and started our final packup and I realized there was just one shot left in my bottle of whiskey.
I took the bottle down to the shore. I walked out just enough for the waves to be washing over my feet and poured it out. I said to the ocean, Thank you so much for letting me live. Thank you so much for letting me make it out as intact as I am. I love you. I love you. Thank you.
The waves got stronger. They started pulling on me and before I knew it I was knee deep. Don't be so confident, young lady, the ocean said. I may be water but that doesn't mean you know me as well as you might think. I'm different everywhere. Be more careful.
Okay, I said. I'm sorry. Thank you. I respect you. I made my way back out of the water and back up to shore. Got in the car, still in my swim suit because I'm sorry clothes would hurt way too much. We made it back to Guadalajara, I took a shower and passed the fuck out. Spent all day in bed today because the real bone and muscle ache has set in but I'm so glad to be alive, to have all my limbs working. To not have let you all down this close to coming home. I swear, sometimes I think in a past life I must have been a saint or a war hero or something...
No, in this story I'm really responsible. I met three amazing kids here locally through a girl who's been my friend the whole four month stay. They're her neighbors. I was talking about how I wanted to go back to the beach before I left. One of them asked, Which beach? I said, I guess Vallarta. I've been there, I enjoyed it, I know the hostel... this kid says, No, Vallarta's the worst beach in Mexico. I know a beautiful one. We'll go. I say, if Vallarta's the worst beach in Mexico, I can't wait to see what you're gonna show me because Vallarta suited me just fine.
We left on "Mexican time." Which means, I was freaking out because they said we should leave midday and I got there at almost one. We left at two thirty. But it was a beautiful drive, just gorgeous. Amazing mountain ranges the whole way, and mountains on one side with dusty plains on the other with warning signs about dust storms and we could see the stuff flying through the air and huge bridges that went over enormous valleys in between two mountains and we got to look out on all sides and bridges that went over banana tree fields and then lookouts when we got to the coast, and I got to go through two real Mexican military checkpoints set up for narcotraficantes. Beautiful pueblos and nature and everything, man, just an epic drive.
We finally made it to the spot, after a stop off in the last market on the way there, all open air and kids with no shoes and stuff, and made it to La Llorona beach, so named because the sand is kinda magical. When you walk on it, because of how fine it is and the compression, it sounds like sneakers on a gym floor. Or, alternatively, someone crying if you really want to stretch your imagination. Hence, La Llorona, the crying woman. I guess looking back now that should have been ominous. Whoops.
It was pitch black because it's started getting dark by 7 here now. We set up the tent and the bedding and commenced to a-drinkin. Don't get nervous here, the bad part doesn't happen until I'm sober again. They had tequila and I had whiskey. They wanted to be all fancy and mix drinks, meanwhile I'm like, I'MA SHOW Y'ALL HOW WE DO IT DOWN SOUTH. We all laid around on the beach watching stars and clouds, picking out shapes, until the moon came out and chased all the clouds away and lit the whole place up like it was noon. Just gorgeous man. We're nestled in between these two big hills right on the edge of the water with this long beautiful beach... seriously. It was one of those moments where I think... in my past life, I was either a saint or a war hero or found some cure for some disease or...
Hung out and enjoyed life until it was just Time To Sleep, at which point I did. We woke up... to the sound of rain. Not hard rain, more of a sprinkling, but just enough to keep us from going out from under the palm-leaf roof thing they had set up for everyone to camp under. The lady who owned the place made us a mean breakfast of scrambled eggs with pico and some mashed black beans and fresh made tortillas and quesadillas oh my lord for thirty pesos god bless her. We got full, watched surfers trying to manage the crazy waves, laid around, started packing the car back up, got lazy and took naps. Woke up to Paulina going, the sun's out! Quick! We have to use this time while we have it!
Everyone got ready and Carlos said he had the perfect place for us to swim because it was just so beautiful we wouldn't believe it. He was right. There were several tall lumps of rock on the way there that looked more like art sculptures than nature (but isn't the best of either always kinda both?). When we got to "the spot," there was one particular tall lump of rock that jutted on out. It was actually quite beautiful to watch the water crash up against it and swirl around. We stood there just watching everything for a minute, then Carlos started to swim and I started getting jealous. If you know me at all you know how I love being in water. I jumped in.
Oh, and I just got ecstatic. Just being in the water, moving around, splashing. Letting the waves pick me up and move me around. I must have paddled away from shore no more than five or six good strokes. Then I turned around.
Fucking shore was gone man. I had ended up in some crazy current that was going nowhere but out to sea and taking me with it. I mean it was there, but it was far, and the people on it were quite tiny.
I got nervous. Not panicky, but concerned. I started trying to paddle back but was really only succeeding in staying put. Since then I have learned that when you're in what is called something like a "rip tide" or "rip current" or something like that, your best bet is to swim sideways until you're out of it and *then* go to shore. Which is funny, because it's what I instinctively tried to do when going back wasn't getting me anywhere. I started getting closer to the rocks. Oh great, I thought, that'll work fine. If I can get some footing over there I can just climb my way back to shore.
But I was getting closer and closer really friggin fast. And then I started noticing, now up close and personal, what exactly the water was doing when it got to those rocks. It was smashing and crashing and swirling around like it really just wanted a rag doll to seriously fuck with. And here I was coming, completely against my will.
I kinda had a little flash back. Once, when I was 7 years old, or thereabouts, my family went to Virginia Beach. We had a little floaty raft. I was small enough that I could stand on it and surf a little and I really enjoyed it. I had this great idea that if I went further out, I could catch the wave earlier and somehow it would be bigger when it got to shore. It made perfect sense at the time. But I got to this point where the waves weren't coming in anymore. They were going nowhere but out, and they were taking me with them. I got really calm, though, because the other option, which is to panick, wasn't going to get me anywhere. I tried paddling back, I tried to touch the bottom, I tried and tried but it wasn't working. So, I decided to save my strength because I would need it on my long trip across the ocean. I would have to eat fish on the way, even though I don't like them, and I'd have to eat them raw, but I'd heard people did that in other countries so I'd probably live. Hopefully a boat would find me but if not, when I landed, I'd just try to find the American Embassy to get home.
Then I looked back at shore and saw my father and a lifeguard running out to get me. And they did. And I got to go back home and eat real cooked food that I liked with my real family on land. It was pretty nice.
But here, in Mexico, at La Llorona, there is no daddy. There is no lifeguard. There's just me, the waves, and the rocks, and the three friends I came with who may or may not even have noticed what's going on. I looked at the waves as they did what they did on those rocks and I thought about what they were about to do to my body.
I got really calm. Because, once again, the only other option, which is to freak out, isn't going to help at all. I thought about how I could die. I was mostly sad about how I would be letting down my family and friends so bad, dying right before I was about to fly home. I thought about how bummed out they'd be, and how I'd never finish college like I thought I was finally about to. I thought about that, and then I thought about how I could live but end up paraplegic, which actually seemed worse. It was somehow calming to know that death wasn't the worst possible thing that could happen.
I tried to think about everything Lake Ouachita had taught me. I knew it wasn't worth it to try to keep my eyes open underwater. I'd just lose my contacts and be unable to see anyway, so I resolved to keep them closed. I knew that I was always more buoyant when I took in a big gulp of air, and since the water would probably have me swirling around underneath a bit I'd need it. I resolved to try and stay as horizontal as possible so maybe I could stay near the surface, and at all costs to try and keep my head up. I took a gulp just as the wave sucked me in to the rocks.
That's about all I know for a bit. I know I got swirled around and banged three good sessions in total, and I know at one point, in between swirl-bangs, I got to go back up for a much needed breath. As I gulped in air again, I took in some water, but I was immediately back underwater and had the presence of mind not to choke or gasp while I was underwater. I toughed it out. I really wanted to live.
Before I knew it, I felt sand under my feet. I pushed up and got air again. I was on the shore somehow! But I couldn't make it out just yet. I was super high from adrenaline and really hurt all over from the bashings. I tried to push toward land when the wave was going in, and to lose as little ground as possible when they were going back out. They were pretty strong waves. As I finally was able to stand, I watched the faces of the two kids on shore go shocked and their mouths drop open. I looked down.
I was covered in scratches and gashes and they were all leaking blood. I looked awful. What I just went through really started to set in as the adrenaline faded and I started getting weak. I got just far enough away from the waves and laid down. Paulina rushed over and asked did I want her to try and stop the bleeding. I said sure, grab my white shirt, it was free. I just laid there while she dabbed and blotted. She assessed which ones were actually deep and which were mostly superficial.
Then the boys came over. They said, does this mean you're done swimming? The salt water will help close the wounds.
I said, look, y'all swim all you want but I need to get back to camp and chill out for a minute.
Paulina walked me back, god bless her. Got there and went to the showers and washed all the wounds with soap and water. Remembered I had neosporin in my bag for lord knows what reason so I grabbed it and started covering myself. My whole left side is scratched from toe to tit, my right side has a little scratching on the foot and leg, and my right hand is really whacked. Typing's tough, we'll see how I do on the piano tomorrow.
The boys made it back eventually. Said they'd stood there for a minute watching the waves over the rocks and said I was actually really lucky. I said boy howdy do I ever know it. We ate lunch, tuna salad on tostadas, and eventually I felt good enough to walk back to the beach where we built a sandcastle and I sat in the waves for a minute, letting them wash my wounds. We strolled back to the scene of the crime and watched the waves go apeshit a little more. Went back and started our final packup and I realized there was just one shot left in my bottle of whiskey.
I took the bottle down to the shore. I walked out just enough for the waves to be washing over my feet and poured it out. I said to the ocean, Thank you so much for letting me live. Thank you so much for letting me make it out as intact as I am. I love you. I love you. Thank you.
The waves got stronger. They started pulling on me and before I knew it I was knee deep. Don't be so confident, young lady, the ocean said. I may be water but that doesn't mean you know me as well as you might think. I'm different everywhere. Be more careful.
Okay, I said. I'm sorry. Thank you. I respect you. I made my way back out of the water and back up to shore. Got in the car, still in my swim suit because I'm sorry clothes would hurt way too much. We made it back to Guadalajara, I took a shower and passed the fuck out. Spent all day in bed today because the real bone and muscle ache has set in but I'm so glad to be alive, to have all my limbs working. To not have let you all down this close to coming home. I swear, sometimes I think in a past life I must have been a saint or a war hero or something...
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
7/30: DEAD BOY'S MOM SAYS SHE KNEW OF BEATINGS
A Little Rock Air Force Base airman admitted
in Pulaski County court Monday that she knew
her husband had been beating her 2-year-old son for months
before the toddler died at the hands
of his stepfather — her husband — in 2007.
There are (at least) one hundred and fifty people
dead in Italy, just because the ground felt
like shaking. I don't understand it. Ten times
that many are wounded, and ten time *that* many
are homeless. I guess God just can't be
everywhere all the time.
In the meantime, some boys calling themselves
Tar Heels are blowing everyone in North Carolina's
minds, racking up points and winning games.
I know these things because I read the newspaper,
you see.
Not so long ago it was that I read a story about
orangutans, and how they're going extinct, probably
in my own lifetime. Read how there was a group of people
out in the wilderness working with the orangutans,
teaching them to fish, to use tools, to hunt. Did you know
orangutans don't know how to swim? I'd had no idea.
But these people were teaching them how so they could learn
to save their own lives.
And I wonder why nobody taught that little two-year-old
baby to swim.
in Pulaski County court Monday that she knew
her husband had been beating her 2-year-old son for months
before the toddler died at the hands
of his stepfather — her husband — in 2007.
There are (at least) one hundred and fifty people
dead in Italy, just because the ground felt
like shaking. I don't understand it. Ten times
that many are wounded, and ten time *that* many
are homeless. I guess God just can't be
everywhere all the time.
In the meantime, some boys calling themselves
Tar Heels are blowing everyone in North Carolina's
minds, racking up points and winning games.
I know these things because I read the newspaper,
you see.
Not so long ago it was that I read a story about
orangutans, and how they're going extinct, probably
in my own lifetime. Read how there was a group of people
out in the wilderness working with the orangutans,
teaching them to fish, to use tools, to hunt. Did you know
orangutans don't know how to swim? I'd had no idea.
But these people were teaching them how so they could learn
to save their own lives.
And I wonder why nobody taught that little two-year-old
baby to swim.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Challenging Fear
I am reminded of this blog I wrote after having read Montaigne’s “Of Practice.” As a preface to this, I have spent all summer for the past four summers swimming away issues and stress out at Lake Ouachita, the second cleanest lake in North America, swimming across and back as many times as possible without stopping. This is a first draft, never edited.
I think everyone has thoughts like these sometimes. I think this because I have to in order to stay sane. If I thought people didn't think like this, I'd think I was insane, and if I thought that I'd start to believe it and then I would be crazy and they'd lock me up.
I like things that make me feel close to death.
I'm not sure what this is about. Let's start with the fact that I have a substantial fear of heights. It's not debilitating or anything, but it does make me feel nervous, feel fear, and this problem with vertigo takes over if I get too close to the edge. So, naturally, I climb buildings. I hang out on rooftops; I go to the mountain tower; I ride roller-coasters and at the very top, while everyone's looking forward to see what comes next, I'm peering over the side at the ground below, positively ready to defecate in my britches. I think fear is the mindkiller (shout outs to those who read that and recognize) and I try to fight it at every chance I get.
And the only thing you should really be allowed to fear is death: it's the one thing you can't survive. Sure, I hate bugs - I'll kill a bug and put a cup over it and try and psych myself up to actually pick the dead thing up and throw it away but it takes days. Sometimes I think maybe my fear of bugs is the main motivator for my relationships with men - there's someone around to take care of it then. But a bug won't kill me, you see. Public performances? Oh I can't hold the paper without it shaking, can't even sign up on the open mic list without having to scout out the ladies toilet so I can hit it up seven times before they even get close to calling my name. But I'll live through it. And I do still kill bugs, and I do still perform publicly, because these things frighten me but I don't want them to control me - I want to control them.
Death, when you really break it down, isn't that scary either - not, at least, to me. I'm only twenty five, but I've been to eight countries. I'm bilingual. I've been to a couple of different higher-education-institutions. I've made friends all over the globe. I've ridden airplanes and trains and roadtripped. I've had a handful of really awesome lovers and can overlook the not-so-awesome. I really feel like if I died tomorrow, I'd have nothing to complain about. Sure, I'd have things I would have liked to have accomplished, but I honestly couldn't be sore over it. I've done more than my share already, and it's been freaking sweet.
I say all of this as preface to the thoughts I had this afternoon. I try to conquer my fears daily in my mind, and today while I was swimming, I thought about what would happen if I drowned one day. I've been swimming across this lake and back for four summers now, and I'm pretty good, so God willing it won't be an issue. But it's possible. And I think about being out there, swimming, on a Thursday afternoon when no one else is at the lake - no one on the shores, no boats - maybe one boat but far away. And I think about, as I swim across, what if... what if one of the times that water splashed in my mouth, I didn't spit it right out. What if I accidentally breathed in? What if a muscle seized up and I went under?
Well. I think a few days would pass before anyone knew. I wouldn't show up to work, but they'd chalk it up to a no-call no-show like any other job. Wouldn't worry until the second day, and who would they call? Maybe the girl I work with would call my roommate, but he wouldn't know where I'd gone. Some park ranger would come to the door of my apartment, or maybe even my father's house, who knows, knocking and asking why the car had been sitting on the side of the road for three days and somehow two and two would get put together.
And I'd be waterlogged at the bottom of the lake. I think about this while I swim and I keep swimming and keep swimming and keep swimming off the stress of the week, off the memories of travels, swim off all the past lovers, swim off everything, everything, swim off the fear. If I drowned at the bottom of Lake Ouachita, I'd say leave me there, put a stone near the shore saying Here She Dove and Did Not Rise; Here She Was Never More Happy.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Lake Ouachita is MY lake.
You can smell the lake before you can see it. I know just when to roll my windows down. First there's a mountain to climb which peaks and then the road goes down, turns, goes down again. That's when to roll the windows down, breathe deeply, let the bliss start to work its way under your skin. Then through the leaves you'll start to see the water's reflection. Come around a curve, ignore the first gravel patch but before you get to the second slow down and pull off the road. This is the sacred spot.
I feel the healing begin as soon as the key turns off. Gather up materials - towel, shoes, sunscreen? Oh guess not, bummer. No goggles today either, damnit. Alright, well, it's the first real swim of the year, it can't be perfect yet. Get out the car, bury the keys in a hidey-spot, and begin my trek through the woods. When I find myself at the edge of the water, if there are people around, I crouch down and shed my layers apologetically - if not, I'm brazen about it. I like to sit down and scoot into the water as the drop-off is quite steep. When I'm almost hip deep I'll take a huge breath and dive on in.
Oh my dear sweet lord. I'm home. I push and push and push myself under the water, trying to see how long I can make the breath last, how far out I can swim before I have to surface. I can feel the little things start to wash off - the fact that the grill man must have burnt seven orders today is gone. Hating the chemicals I have to clean with - gone. I push and push until I'm sure I'll die and only then allow myself to surface. I heave out the biggest sigh and immediately begin pumping legs, pumping arms - I have some distance to cover.
I was previously sure it was a quarter mile across the lake where I swim - Google maps tells me it's more like a tenth. It feels like a full mile. Hand over head, hand over hand, kick kick kick... and I like to switch it up. I'll swim forward, belly down, paddling, then start spinning like a top, swimming while I spin left left left, then right right right, then lay on my back and kick and throw my hands over my head and pull the water down my sides.
You'd never know I was an earth sign.
But apparently my Chinese astrology is full of water. And I love it. I love the feeling of being near weightlessness, the power, the strength I feel when I swim, the way my body moves in the water. Halfway across I forget the fact that I've just worked nearly seventy hours in five and a half days. Then I realize I'm not even halfway across yet and I get a little thrill. I won't let myself stop, won't take a break, have to swim the whole way without stopping. I get tired and I don't care. I keep swimming, keep spinning, swim front swim back swim sideways, just keep swimming and do not stop. Boats don't frighten me - I frighten boats. They can't figure out how I'm doing what they're doing without paying thousands to do it. I'm doing this myself. My own body does this by itself and it is a miracle.
When I finally get to the other side, it's interesting and hillarious watching myself try to pull my body back onto land, trying to remember how it works to be on land again. It takes a moment. This being the first swim of the year, I just collapsed until I remembered how to breathe again. Stood up and walked around to my favorite little spot where no one can see you sunning topless. Hung out until I got my breath back and then... back in, back across, without stopping once again. Gone is stress, gone is drama, gone are bills and unfulfilled obligations and chores, there is nothing but me, the sun, the water, and my breath...
Nothing but me, the sun, the water, and my breaths.
I'll get to the other side and touch rock, but usually cannot climb out just yet. Something about my body just isn't done with its water experience yet, doesn't want to do the land thing again just yet. I'll play games with my body in the water - try and float and see how long I can keep my toes above the water. Try to spin like a top without moving my arms. Try to swim with just my arms, or just my legs, try to turn somersaults without getting water in my ears.
I am wholly myself again, friends. Varsity Lake Crew tryouts begin now.
I feel the healing begin as soon as the key turns off. Gather up materials - towel, shoes, sunscreen? Oh guess not, bummer. No goggles today either, damnit. Alright, well, it's the first real swim of the year, it can't be perfect yet. Get out the car, bury the keys in a hidey-spot, and begin my trek through the woods. When I find myself at the edge of the water, if there are people around, I crouch down and shed my layers apologetically - if not, I'm brazen about it. I like to sit down and scoot into the water as the drop-off is quite steep. When I'm almost hip deep I'll take a huge breath and dive on in.
Oh my dear sweet lord. I'm home. I push and push and push myself under the water, trying to see how long I can make the breath last, how far out I can swim before I have to surface. I can feel the little things start to wash off - the fact that the grill man must have burnt seven orders today is gone. Hating the chemicals I have to clean with - gone. I push and push until I'm sure I'll die and only then allow myself to surface. I heave out the biggest sigh and immediately begin pumping legs, pumping arms - I have some distance to cover.
I was previously sure it was a quarter mile across the lake where I swim - Google maps tells me it's more like a tenth. It feels like a full mile. Hand over head, hand over hand, kick kick kick... and I like to switch it up. I'll swim forward, belly down, paddling, then start spinning like a top, swimming while I spin left left left, then right right right, then lay on my back and kick and throw my hands over my head and pull the water down my sides.
You'd never know I was an earth sign.
But apparently my Chinese astrology is full of water. And I love it. I love the feeling of being near weightlessness, the power, the strength I feel when I swim, the way my body moves in the water. Halfway across I forget the fact that I've just worked nearly seventy hours in five and a half days. Then I realize I'm not even halfway across yet and I get a little thrill. I won't let myself stop, won't take a break, have to swim the whole way without stopping. I get tired and I don't care. I keep swimming, keep spinning, swim front swim back swim sideways, just keep swimming and do not stop. Boats don't frighten me - I frighten boats. They can't figure out how I'm doing what they're doing without paying thousands to do it. I'm doing this myself. My own body does this by itself and it is a miracle.
When I finally get to the other side, it's interesting and hillarious watching myself try to pull my body back onto land, trying to remember how it works to be on land again. It takes a moment. This being the first swim of the year, I just collapsed until I remembered how to breathe again. Stood up and walked around to my favorite little spot where no one can see you sunning topless. Hung out until I got my breath back and then... back in, back across, without stopping once again. Gone is stress, gone is drama, gone are bills and unfulfilled obligations and chores, there is nothing but me, the sun, the water, and my breath...
Nothing but me, the sun, the water, and my breaths.
I'll get to the other side and touch rock, but usually cannot climb out just yet. Something about my body just isn't done with its water experience yet, doesn't want to do the land thing again just yet. I'll play games with my body in the water - try and float and see how long I can keep my toes above the water. Try to spin like a top without moving my arms. Try to swim with just my arms, or just my legs, try to turn somersaults without getting water in my ears.
I am wholly myself again, friends. Varsity Lake Crew tryouts begin now.
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