The Armenian Wanderer

I love Daunce- Travels of Sweden and Greece Part 1

2010-11-02T01:44:00.000-07:00

There are many things in this world that I love.
I love family and friends. Duh.
I love coffee and books and movies and boys with glasses. Double Duh.
Even more rare, I love the combination of coffee with banana, the way that water sounds you’re your ears are underwater, the way that Spaniards talk with a lisp, eating ice cream when I said I was going to go for a run, and oddly enough, I love writing.
But there is something that I realized in my travels to Sweden and Greece. Something I knew I loved but didn’t know to what extent, to what extreme.
Now I realize.
Now I know.
Thanks to my traveling buddy Raleigh, thanks to the clubs in Santorini, thanks to a French singer named Stromae, I now know, that among other things in this world, I love Daunce.

Not just dance. Not the typical hippity hoppity kind of dancing. Not the kind of swaying or side stepping- none of that. More of the soulful, deep-voiced, authentic body thrusting kind of DAUNCE where nothing is going through your mind except for the power of the music and how awesome you look in that moment even though you just look like a white girl stuck at a junior high dance with awkwardly closed eyes and even more awkwardly swaying hips. That is what I realized I loved to an extreme this summer.
Bus alas, that was only a part of the trip, for this was an epic two week trip rounding from Taiwan to Sweden to Greece and sadly back to Taiwan.
Going to Sweden to visit grandfather and grandmother was a whiff of something that had been utterly lacking in my life in Taiwan- family! Oh to be around family, around Armenian, around Armenian food, around loving and nurturing people, was such a drastic change from my daily life that I was able to soak in and truly appreciate my time there.
And you know there are those moments in life when you look back and say, man, those were the good times and I wish back then I knew how special that moment would be later in life. The day we went to my grandpa’s dacha was that kind of special moment. Well it was that kind of moment except for the fact that while I was experiencing it, I already knew it was that special moment. So in this way, I could live it enjoying it in the present, knowing how important it would be in the future when that moment would become the past. I think it was a glance of what eternity feels like- when the mix of past, present, and future coalesce into one moment, one meal, one hug.
We arrived at the dacha in the afternoon and spent the next few hours picking berries, digging up potatoes, and watching my grandpa barbecue juicy eggplant, tomatoes, pepper, and fresh beef. Oooo Gooood Lord. It was soo good to be around such good company, such fresh air, and such delicious food. After picking thousands and thousands of raspberries and linden berries,

Rals and I walked to the lake, had a sword fight, went to the bathroom next to each other on dual porter potty seats, and we just smiled knowing that we were partaking in a day that would last us a lifetime.

We came back from the lake just in time for the most amazing meal of my life- eggplant salad, fresh tomatoes with basil and onions, boiled and seasoned potatoes, and juicy steak, followed by fresh mint tea and coffee.

All grown and prepared on the little plot of land built and cared for by my grandparents.

Is there any need to continue with the rest of the trip? …….ok Yeahhhhh.

Don’t you want to know about Greece??? And why I love Daunce?
Stay tuned...

Hey Taiwan, I want an Umbrella for the Typhoon

2010-09-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

It’s funny to look out of my window in Taiwan and see that uneasy yellow upside down W. Funny that on a typhoon day in Asia, all I see is a sign for McDonalds. Funny that I am in Asia at all.
Today the government called a “Typhoon warning” which forced the schools and most businesses to be shut down for the day- AKA, a reason for me to stay home and eat and watch gluttonous amounts of The Office.
Well then,somehow I have ended up on the sixth floor of a fancy apartment building, listening to Wyclef, and observing the ruckus this Typhoon is causing. For this reason (the constant rain, not Wyclef), the country is green- a luscious green dare I say. But not like the luscious red lips you might automatically picture, but luscious like the jungle is in Tarzan, or like the Amazon, or like apple flavored Jolly Ranchers. But this is not entirely true because I live in the city and here in the city, McDonalds has stolen the greenery and added McLuscious to the menu (corny yet true), leaving this city balding. Tarzan would be very sad here.

But alas, let’s get back to my story. So here i am in Taiwan for about a year to teach English to little rotting-toothed witty Taiwanese kids. Let me tell you a few things about these kids who can be quite the little cheeky ones.
You know how when something is gross we say, “eewwwww”. Well here they don’t say ew, they say something like this, Hiiiyyuuuuu, with a really whiney voice.
Or sometimes when on a test, a six year old girl has to write, “He has a big duck”, but unintentionally writes, “he has a big dick”, you have to slap yourself and laugh and remember that this is an unusual life you have chosen and it should not be taken too seriously, especially if you have a big duck.

Sometimes when you go around to three year olds teaching them one key phrase, “May I go to the bathroom” and you repeat it over and over and go to each child saying, “may I go to the bathroom” and waiting for them to repeat and then kneeling in front of 3 and a half year old William, asking him to repeat “may I go to the bathroom”, and waiting in silence for him attempt his inquiry , when he looks at you with his sad thoughtful puppy eyes, discomfort from his diapers peeking through, and he replies in all seriousness, “yes.” Yes teacher, you may go to the bathroom, he is allowing me. Thanks little buddy.

And the most important lesson to survive in Taiwan with children is to learn that there is no such thing as Rock, Paper, Scissors here. Oh no, it is, prepare these items and choose wisely from: Paper, Scissors, and Stone. And this Confucian method is used to decide EVERYTHING- from who gets to roll the dice, to who hit whom in this acciden. You can also find pockets of little children standing in groups playing Paper, Scissor, Stone. And it is beyond me how you can play this probability game with a group- and yet, in Taiwan, they do.

In Taiwan, Things you never dreamed are possible. Things like meals for under $2, a gross misuse and waste of plastic bags, a family of six riding on a tiny scooter, girls dressed in clubbin skanky dresses with their hair done at a salon just to go Karaoke in a private room with their friends ( KTV as it is known here and is considered the hub for youngsters), and even things like shirts that break upon first wear yet apartments that outlast vicious tropical storms. This is Taiwan and oddly, it has somewhat become my Taiwan, my comforting little Asian fortress.

I have learned a lot about myself, a lot about Asian culture, yet sadly, very little of the Chinese language. My word, I have tried, but my Chinese gets me far enough to order food, say where I am going, that I am hot, and that "I want my iced American coffee to go- and that I don’t need a bag, but thank you very much". I sometimes wish I could speak Chinese so I could overhear conversations and get by easily but this grand communicating obstacle can be a source of patience, of learning, of using every other sense to act out and recreate my desire or need. I have become quite the actress.
Cue senses reenactment at the local 7-11:
Sound: “I would like an umbrella”.
Touch: Point and tap on counter.
Sight: Show a “hypothetical” girl who is caught in the rain holding a device in her hand to protect her from the torrents of water leaking from the sky.
Taste and Smell: These two sense are reserved for your imagination. Go wild.
So there it is. I went to buy an umbrella because the typhoon began yesterday while I was out buying mangos. They never can assume what I want- Taiwanese people can be kind of unimaginative when it comes to putting two and two together, sorry to say. It’s pouring, I’m wet with no obvious protection…”No, I don’t want cigarettes. Not an egg dipped in tea. Not a condom, but getting closer. Yes, Yes, umbrella! Bravo! Xie Xie.”
AAaaaand Time: 3 minutes and 24 seconds
For my next language exchange, I will try to memorize the word for umbrella, but it is highly unlikely I will get a chance to impose It into my mind deep enough to remember next time I need one. Plus, how many umbrellas can one girl have? Sheesh.

The not-so-silent Silent Retreat

2010-04-14T21:58:00.000-07:00

The most recent of my escapades.

Kaohsiungliving.com has been my saving grace while I have been here. It is the online key to finding out everything that is happening in our big city and around Taiwan including but most definitely not limited to: moving sales, festivals, swap meets, job opportunities, and best of all the silent retreat that was opened to all the foreigners living around this area.
The reason for the retreat was for ex-pats, teachers, and students to have a “getaway weekend” at the most peaceful and beautiful location, Fo Guang Shan, one of the biggest Buddhist monasteries in the world.
It rests on top of a mountain separated by the business of Taiwan, much as I would picture Tibet to be.
Running on its own resources, the place exudes a healthy lifestyle and discipline.

What I did learn in this peaceful environment was refreshing; it was the importance of silence- to release, to think about the present, not the past and not the future. I have forgotten to breathe. To be alive.
We spent time writing, walking, eating in silence with all the monks (which was a crazy experience because all of your needs for more food of less food are done by placement of your bowls and plate), we listened to a prominent monk speak about some of his experiences, and we relaxed, taking the time to just breathe.

Now do not be fooled, I was not fully able to be serious and contemplative the whole time. I am a talker, and apparently so were the two other girls in my room and we stayed up much of our “supposedly silent” night giggling and being very un-monastic. But, to me, laughter is part of meditation too, and especially when I laugh really hard because I tend to get really silent and my face distorts a bit, and I look like I am going into silent convulsions. Now that is what I call silent meditation.

Spring Scream and karl

2010-04-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

Southern Taiwan hosts one of the biggest music festivals EVER at this tiny beach town called Kenting. Normally, it is a pretty quiet beach town minus the one club that hogs all the attention by parading around their “stars”, a questionably buff man and an equally questionable woman who shoots fireworks out of her leather boobs.

So we drove about two hours south on our motorcycles with tents and sleeping bags safely secured atop them. I like to imagine that we looked much like a scene out of a really cool movie where these two girls ride around on their motorcycles, exploring the world and saving lives. Minus the exploring the world part...and saving lives.

For two days, we wandered around the festival, dancing, learning the greatness of Taiwanese Reggae, singing along in Chinese, and enjoying yet another strange and awesome Taiwanese festival.
I would say that the only thing I regret about that weekend was setting up our tent right next to a rooster. Baaaaad idea.

Then on our last morning before we headed back to life and work, we stopped by the beach and I met Karl. Everyone, I would like you to meet Karl.

He is from Sweden and it is 10:00 and he is just so Karl.
He sprawls out next to me and asks in his heavy accent,
“doz my chezt hair offend jou?”
“Not in the least.” I reply
“Great! So vat are you reading? Do jou read a lot? Good, good. (long pause) So, vill you marry me?”
“Yes of course.”
“Really? I have asked a lot of peoples and jou are ze first to say yes. Actually jou are ze only one I vould really vant to marry so it is quite perfect.”
I guess it really does happen when you least expect it...when you least expect HIM.

We planned our lives together and about an hour later after plans for 3 weddings and a place to live, he looked at me seriously and said,
“Now, I do have a very serious quvestion to ask jou. Please do not offend but it is very important that I know. Just prepare yourself for zis….Vat is your name?”
And we lived happily ever after.

Tutoring Catastrophe

2010-04-14T21:28:00.000-07:00

Oh man, forget every embarrassing story you have heard because have I got a story for you. Well, how do I even begin? And pictures in this post will not be necessary.

Ah yes, it is Friday morning 10AM, the normal time when I drive my little motorcycle half an hour south to a small company for a two hour tutoring session with a group of Taiwanese businesspeople. It is a pretty legit session as I sit at the head of a conference table, leading discussions, writing important things on a whiteboard as they copy it down in their little notebooks, believing everything I say.

This particular day, the boss finds out I drive a motorcycle and is saying how cool and rare it is to see girls driving them (he speaks too soon). I usually have about five or six regular students but this day, for fate would not have it any other way, people keep trickling in and soon the room is full of businesspeople asking me how to make fight someone and make good threats. I walk up to the board and write, “I’ll kick your ass.” I explain that if you want to have a comeback to someone mocking you, you can say that or even, “kiss” instead of “kick”. So discussing and having everyone practice the phrase, we delve into a pretty deep discussion.

This day, Friday, I am wearing jeans rolled up to my calf, some pretty decently heeled shoes that my mom bought from me from Macy's, and a nice top- professional clothes for the professional that I am. Ahem. That is when I sit down and feel something odd on my right leg. A few days earlier I had gotten a burn on my leg from the muffler on my motorcycle and had bandaged it up pretty recklessly, so I figure it must be the bandage having come apart and stuck to the side of my calf. But when I reach down to touch my calf that is not what I find, not in the least bit.

What I feel is something quite soft, yes, soft and lacy, soft and lacy like underwear. Holding my breath, l look down and sure enough I see yesterday’s dirty underwear sticking halfway out of my rolled up jeans, dangling like some kid sticking its tongue out at me. Oh the fear and humiliation that accumulates in me this second, as I realize I have been walking up and down the conference room with my dirty underwear sticking out of my leg! I guess when I had showered the night before I had just thrown my jeans on my chair and then put them on again this morning, not realizing that the underwear was still inside, traveling down from the zipper to the right leg. Blast! No time to panic, NO TIME TO PANIC!

I keep the pace of the conversation, reach down and extract the foul embarrassment from my leg, and settle it on my lap as I causally reach for my small purse, open it and try to make room for my underwear and my pride. I manage to discreetly do that, though I am sure everyone has already seen everything, and I continue the rest of the two hour session a bit more nervous and twitchy.

Well if they didn’t get a good look at my shame then, they sure see it when, now, at the end of the session I open my purse to put in the money and resting on top of my wallet are those unabashed panties, singing songs of mockery.
I have no shame anymore because I have no pride, it disappeared the day businesspeople saw my dirty underwear displayed artistically on my pitiful bare leg.

Running is Dangerous...

2010-04-14T21:26:00.000-07:00

I went on a run the other day to one of my favorite parks in Kaohsiung. It is pretty close to my house and has really cool and strange art including but not limited to: a tree house on the ground, a “pull my finger” statue, and other odd shapeless structures. So excited about exploring the cool park, I began my run back home and as I am running, alongside me wheeled an old barefooted man on a motorized cart going a little faster than my running speed.

He looked at me, passed me, and decided he didn’t get a good look the first time so began to turn his head to look again
However, due to instinct or synchronicity, his fingers followed the turn of his head and instead of just his head, he spun the whole wheelchair around at quite the backbreaking speed, sending him flying in the middle of the road, almost hitting a car. I stopped running, and started staring as he continued the spin and then stealthily pretended like he was making a left-hand turn at the intersection.

Of course I made sure he wasn’t hurt or frightened and that he was out of earshot, but I laughed so hard, seeing that “crap! be cool, be cool” look on his face as he squeaked onward.
A girl I met recently was talking about India and said that to experience it, you have to surrender yourself to the country. I think you have to surrender yourself to Taiwan, to the old man steering his cart into traffic trying to stare, to the strange occurrences that happen on a daily basis, and to life in general.

The Running of the Fireworks

2010-04-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

Of all the strange things in Taiwan (which I have checked and confirmed is a lot), this festival must have been one of the craziest. Almost like a running of the bulls but Taiwanese style, a running of the fireworks.
We coated ourselves with armor: boots, jeans, gloves, jackets, scarves, face masks, helmets, glasses, towels, and anything else we could throw on, and took a train to the war zone.

Imagine thousands of Taiwanese people in airtight costumes- duck taped towels, actual shields, and Mickey Mouse helmets, huddled together on a warm Winter night, hopping up and down, getting directly shot at by fireworks.

No joke, the festival is celebrated by having the fireworks shot on the people. I am sure it has a great and historical story about a war god, but it has turned into a sort of self-punishment adrenaline rush. Either way, it was really fun, exciting, and so oddly Taiwanese.

Then we went home on a two-story bus with reclining bed seats, personal TVs, and built in massagers. Oh Taiwan.

Adventures in the land of Thai

2010-04-14T20:51:00.000-07:00

I went and had many adventures but I don’t feel like writing about them because this way they can hold a special place in my memory…except for two. First, about an amazing three day Eco-trek through the mountains of Thailand, and second, about how I accidentally got fake hair. Intrigued?

(these are some of my traveling peeps from San Diego with whom i met up with)

So my most memorable time in Thailand started out in Chiang Mai, a small northern city in Thailand where we stayed at the most unique little hostel for the most amazing prices. For a private room for one night, I paid less than three dollar. Scandalous it was. So starting from Chiang Mei, my friend Melissa from San Diego and I embarked upon the most vivid tour I have ever been on.

Starting Here:

We began at the long neck village, which is somewhat of an enigma.

Wait, is enigma the right word? Well, I will tell you what it was like and you can help me out with the right word.

The history behind the villagers is that this small land holds refugees from Burma and Myanmar, however, without any rights as Thai citizens. They are essentially allowed to live freely and self-sufficiently as long as they do not leave their allotted plot of land, which is perhaps one side of a hill, nothing more. Their village is set up with about ten or so huts lined up along the main road leading to a church at the top. That is all. The tradition in this town is that once the girls hit a certain age, she is required to put on a copper ring around her neck, adding a ring each year, gradually stretching out their necks. The girls can normally get around 10 heavy rings wrapped around their necks, hence the name the Long Neck Village.

What tourists get to do is walk up the main dirt path, observing the villagers doing “daily activities” like weaving, chopping wood, and molding copper wires. The odd part is that it feels kind of like a show put on for outsiders, especially since they don’t speak Thai or English and you cannot talk to anyone, or ask them about their lives.

You just look, buy a scarf or two, smile, and take a picture. It must be strange to grow up doing your daily activity for people to come and observe and take pictures of you all the time- in your home, walking, doing work. I had so many mixed feelings, it feels even strange to describe. Enigma right?

Then came the elephants, which was scary and magical and quite hilarious. I sat on the baby elephant’s head and thank the good Lord I had bought elephant pants because their little heads are course and hairy and not fluffy like one might imagine.

So with no guide, and only the mama elephant to follow, I held on for dear life, hoping to not fall off. We trekked down hills, stopped by a river for a quick drink and splash around, went through a jungle where all the elephants stopped to scratch their butts on the same rock, and then we stopped for a quick lunch of bamboo, allowing the elephants to fight with the thick branches of the bamboo shoots.

It was quite the ride on these giant elephants whose saddles were secured down by a long hose wrapped around their tail. Odd, this country. Odd, this people. Just odd.

We started our real trek when we met our tour guide, this little man who looked like the weasely animal in Madagascar who sang “I like to move it move it.” Oh yeah, and he insisted we call him Johnny Walker.

So this little old man, Johnny, wearing sandals, army shorts, a tank, and a shirt wrapped around his head, led us through the vast and intricate jungles and mountains that Thailand conceals.

We began our trek going uphill for five hours, tough business, and then we finally reached this oasis of a little village resting on top of a hill, overlooking nothing but forest and sky.

Up there, I ran across some crazy little kids, running around sharing sandals, holding handmade sling shots, and caked with dirt and mud all over. With no adults watching over them, they had created their own hierarchy, with the boys playing certain roles as the pestering troublemakers and the girls as the collectors, and dreamers.

Sitting on a stump, letting the girls dress me up with petals of flowers and dirty water, I looked in their eyes and saw full concentration, full attention to their task, as if nothing else in the world mattered then putting “blush” on this stranger with a flower and sprinkles of water.

And again I thought, how strange it must be, to grow up with strange white people coming by all the time, playing with them, taking pictures, and then leaving the next morning, always leaving. It broke my heart that they allowed me into their little world, knowing that I would leave them so soon. But each encounter with a person, to me, is a something special, something that becomes a part of me, and I appreciate that I could be a part of their little circle for even that short of a time.

We sat outside our hut in a circle on the floor under the proud stars, and ate our dinner together, as a group, as a family. It was something else.

Then we built a bonfire in the hut, played spoons, chatted, and clapped for a group of the village kids who came to sing for us.

We went to sleep in our bamboo hut with pigs and chickens snorting and clucking around us. We woke up the next day, started hiking again and stopped this time at a waterfall where we automatically stripped down and jumped into the freezing water. Letting our muscles and minds relax in the cold water and under the hot sun, we realized that this trip, this experience, was something special, something different.

We stopped again at a two-hut village. One hut was for us to sleep in, another for the two women who lived there and our guide. We took turns taking cold showers in a little stand outside (which was not built very tightly and didn’t conceal much to the outside world). But it didn’t matter that the water was cold, that there was no privacy, no mirrors, no electricity, it really didn’t, for when we were immersed in such a pure atmosphere, certain things just ceased to matter.

At night we sat around our bonfire, silent for a while, in a trance from the fire, from the exhaustion, from the purity of the night and the stars in the sky. I talked to a boy from Korea for a long time, asking him about his travels, his country, what it is like to travel alone, to be Korean. I talked to the two Australian girls who were so funny and real and unconventional. I talked to Johnny Walker who in turn showed me a few magic tricks that I have already forgotten.

The next day was the last of our adventure. We woke up to hike again. Through the forest trees, rivers and rocks we hiked, stopped by a waterfall where only an older couple lived, widdling cups from bamboo, and watching over the falls. We continued to our “white water rafting” which seemed more like drifting down the calm river, but we didn’t mind, we sang and tried talking to our guide who had a lisp and talked like the brother in 50 First Dates.

When we got to the end of the “rapids”, we saw the long bamboo rafts we were to finish the tour with. “Sit two and two” he said, and just as I was beginning to relax and sit down as we drifted down, he looks at me and says,

“no, you, go to the front and stand up.”

Come again? But feeling ashamed for being singled out, I stood up at the front of the raft like he asked, trying really hard to balance on the swaying unevenly tied bamboo sticks. He came up to me, gave me a long pole and said,

“Ok, guide everyone down the river and I will meet you at the end.”

Come again? Doubting my bamboo rafting skills and unsure of what to do with a long stick and seven people on this oddly long raft, I miraculously steered everyone down the river, coming close to hitting a few rocks and going backwards a few times.

With my natural bambooing abilities (taking a bow), I brought everyone safely to shore, a bit sweaty, shaky, and full of adrenaline while everyone looked well relaxed and sleepy. Eating our last meal together of Pad Thai, we became seriously sad to part with our experience and with the people we had allowed into our personal world for those three days. Alas, we parted ways and said our goodbyes and now I can tell you my second story.

The one where I accidentally got fake hair:

It’s not really that big of a deal.

It could really happen to anyone, really. When you are in a foreign country, especially Asia, you can easily walk into a hair salon, ask to get cool dread-looking braids (which I had seen on this cool Korean girl named Annie on our hike), show them with hand motions what you want, sit down, watch Borat, and 3 hours later look in the mirror to find that you suddenly have hair down to your stomach and no braids.

See, no big deal. But the real problem was coming back and having to explain to people why I suddenly had really long hair, how it is perfectly natural to accidentally get fake hair. Go ahead and judge me, but next time you are in Asia and go to a salon for a haircut and walk out with extra long hair or a shaved head, I will look at you, smirk, and say, “Ha!”

I kind of like it now I do say, though I must confess that I do have one little, itty bitty problem: my hair naturally gets really curly when it is wet or humid out…and the fake hair gets very straight.

Taiwan is VERY humid.

But mullets are in these days so once again I say that it could happen to anyone.

Do you know who sings this? Adventures in Australia and New Zealand

2010-01-24T01:15:00.000-08:00

“Do you know who sings this?” asked our not so Australian balding taxi driver on our last night in Sydney. It was 2:30 AM, we were four Armenian girls with swollen feet and thumping heads from the terrible techno rave music that we had been listening to for the past 3 hours while 15 year old boys shimmied around us.

“Frank Sinatra?” I guessed, knowing I was right. I had heard the jazzy blues song before, before the stupid electronica unts unts unts had been beaten into my head and I couldn’t think as civilly as I would have liked. I was being nice to the poor taxi driver hauling our sad looking selves to our final destination, but all I really wanted was to get to the house and feel the sweet release of taking off the clogs I had been wearing all night, trying to impress God-knows who….or what. It was our last night in Australia and my mind was beginning to fade back to real life.

But then there was a pause.

“No!” He exclaimed, making my head spin for a moment, “It’s ME!” He said this in the excitement as if he had just found that out for the first time too. “It’s me singing. I am a singer. Here is my CD!”

At that instant, my grogginess and soreness disappeared as our vibrant Ukrainian taxi driver began to belt out “New York New York” out the window on that humid Australian summer night. The louder he got, the more awake we became, clapping, singing, and even attempting to cancan in the back seat.

He went on to explain how he was a grand singer back in the Ukraine and how difficult the transition had been to singing in English in Australia. “But I do have a show coming up soon, I am getting bigger. My name is Zachary…”

……

And this is why I travel.

Welcome to my life. The Armenian wanderer’s life.

This is my story. More specifically, this is my story about my travels to Australia and New Zealand. This is my story about falling in love, my story about adrenaline, about adventures that even I could never have made up myself.

Warning: This is a VERY long blog post and if you make it all the way through, BRAVO! If not, take a meander at the pics of my adventures and as always, write me a comment and maybe, just maybe, we can all be friends.

…………………….

Sydney, Australia December 26,2009

I arrived in Sydney the day after Christmas and was welcomed warmly by my cousin and three friends who had flown in earlier from LA, equipped with Santa hats, hugs, and of course the stormy weather that we seem to unintentionally pack on every trip we go on. We were welcomed into the home of a loving Armenian mother and daughter and after having been in Taiwan for six months, eating Armenian food and being surrounded by “my people” warmed my little Asian heart.

The five of us, Evelina, Karine, Jackie, Luiza, and I spent a few days in Sydney, exploring, getting lost, enjoying the Australian accent and the constant, “cheers mate” as a reply for pretty much anything. How do you respond to that? “You’re welcome? No problem? Checkmate?” Meh. I just smiled.

The next few days were, for me, a transitional culture shock period as I accustomed to seeing the “whyguo” what the Taiwanese call foreigners or literally translated “white people”. I was not used to seeing so many “foreigners” and hearing so much English and it kind of freaked me out for a while, trying not to stare at every white boy or eavesdrop on every conversation just because I could understand.

So frolicking through Sydney brought its own adventures, as many adventures as six Armenian girls can run into. We danced, we walked, we took jumping photos, and we waited for the sun to come out. It didn’t. So we went to Melbourne where we could test our weather luck again.

Melbourne, Australia December 28,2009....or 27th?...I'm confused

It's 5:00 in the morning. Flight is at 6:30. We arrive at the airport. Say our Goodbyes. Go to the self check-in counter. Hmmm? too early to check-in you say? OK. We will wait.6:00 AM, still to early to check in you say? How is that if our flight leaves in half an hour?....oh, wait what? We are too early? Yes, just a little bit, only 24 hours too early to be exact. At the airport on the wrong day, we contemplated sleeping in the airport, paying twice the amount of the original ticket to fly out at that moment, or getting a room for 3 at the cheap airport hotel next to the Krispy Kreams where our borrowed rainbow umbrella got thrashed and tattered in the storm we got stuck in, only having packed clothes for a sunny summer vacation....

Comprendes?

Either way, one of those days, we finally made it to Melbourne and this time the sun finally made a guest appearance.…but all too quickly. We, and when I say we, I mean, “I”, got crisped by the sun. I got Taiwan red, and immediately started peeling, so attractive I was. I made do with my new look as we ventured through their version of a night market (which is exactly the same as the ones here in Taiwan), ate delicious Greek food (go figure), and as we finally got to spend Christmas the Australian way, basking under the sun in our Santa hats.

Making the metro driver hold the train for us as we ran down the ramp, walking all over the city in high heels looking for a dance club that had been right next to our hotel, sipping champagne on black tattered leather couches at a rave club avoiding talking to a sweaty Latvian boy with his shirt tucked in his back pocket while my cousin twirled around the empty dance floor at 4 AM….well these are just the beginning of my adventures.

Sydney December 31, 2009

Zoo

Real Australian Kangaroo. They don't make em like that anymore.

I think they are being a little over dramatic.

Cutest little guy.

One of the largest crocodiles ever. He killed two of his previous mates and lives all alone now. Sad little guy.

Now on to New Year's Eve

OOOohh, New Year’s Eve 2009, Thank you for all the lifetime full of memories you have provided me with. I am forever indebted. Yours truly, Anna.

Now, there is much I cannot say about that night, but I can give you a glimpse. Picture this. It is my cousin’s birthday, so of course we are going to celebrate her and give her a bit extra to drink and be merry. Somehow when we got to the club that we had reserved months in advance, we were all a bit too merry.

Enjoying ourselves at the empty hub, we did what girls do best when they are together; we took pictures of ourselves, hugged and said, “I really do love you, so much”, and scanned the place for guys to talk to. In the midst of our scanning and mingling, the security at the club got suspicious of our merriness.

With a huge grin on my cousin’s face that spoke of a life thoroughly lived and a night already enjoyed, security escorted her out of the club. Not one to ever miss an adventure like this, Jackie and I went out with her and even at this point, I knew that what I had here was a story to tell her grandchildren. We decided to sober up a little by walking around and dancing in the streets and when the time felt right, we decided to try again at our previous location to rejoin our group of friends.

Security did not buy it. “Take another walk around the block,” he said.

That was enough to cause the sequel to this story, “The Revenge of the Evelina”. Sure we were a little wobbly, and our smiles couldn’t hide our true feelings, but it was her birthday and we were causing no sort of trouble. I thought it was pretty funny, but Eva for some reason did not. With tears over her face and anger over her eyes, I am sure the club will be shut down in a few months. I have always wanted to know what it feels like to be kicked out of a place, you know, maybe check off one of my “100 things to do before I die” list. But her story will have to do.

Finally meeting up with all the girls, we walked to the fireworks show, admired the spectacular spectacular (or what each of us saw), and Eva, Luisa, and Karine spent the rest of the night walking the city looking for a taxi while Jackie and I had our own adventures. All getting home at the same time, around 5 in the morning, we lay on one bed, laughing about our lives, about how somehow we had ended up being all together in Australia on New Year’s Eve 2009.

And that is how we brought in the New Year, uncomfortably sprawled on one bed in our fancy dresses, laughing. Perfect.

Auckland, New Zealand January 1, 2010

If this is love. If this is loooooveeeee.

What did we NOT experience in New Zealand?

So not to be rude, but while you were probably sitting at work counting numbers and the hours until lunch, or unintentionally watching American Idol (or whatever show is popular these days), or just sitting on the toilet contemplating your life….

I was:

Free Falling from 12,000 feet from a tiny airplane, looking like an egg head screaming for dear life;

Repelling down the side of a mountain along a waterfall, lowering myself down by one rope;

Strapping on white plastic shoes to be able to walk in the dark caves 600 ft. underground and inner tube underneath glowworms that appear to be the sweet touches of God’s lights (though it is their poop that glows);

Driving a giant ATV, guided in the jungles and breathtaking countryside by a native Mauri tribesman whose family has lived on the land for 800 years;

And finally, rolling down a hill in a ball with my cousin. No explanation needed there because all I remember is laughing until my throat was sore and my face distorted.

Basically I fell in love with the vast green hills, the peace that comes with the people that live in that kind of simplicity and the beauty of the whole country and everything it stands for. So here is my love letter to NZ, or to our mulleted tour guide in the Waitomo caves where he serenaded us while we drifted on our romantic inner tubes.

Dear country/mullet boy,

I had traveled and seen much of the world, but I never understood true living until I met you. Thank you for making my heart beat faster than anyone ever could, for making my adrenaline force bravery upon me, for allowing me to pee in the wet suites though we were specifically told not to, and for just being the peacefulness that you are.

You are quirky and for that and for all the adventures we had together, I will remember you and will one day come back to you as many lovers promise to one another.

So wait for me, as I will for you. Stay green, uninhabited, beautiful, and foxy. I love you. Yours Truly.

We had not much time to shed tears for departing from our new love because we left our hotel 3 in the morning, awaiting our flight back to Cairns, Australia, where we would get our last fill of adventure.

January 6, 2010 Cairns, Australia

One thing about Cairns before I get deep and lyrical… there are bats! And I don’t mean the cute ones (if there are such) but big juicy scary ones that hang from trees right above the sidewalk, ready to strike down on any defenseless foreigner ignorant enough to walk the streets at night.

Seriously. If you have been brave and patient enough to have read this whole blog post, take away this thing and this thing alone, NEVER walk the streets of Cairns at night because Dracula’s minions will inevitably squawk and attack with their vicious wings and moonless night black bodies.

I mean, we actually never got attacked by them, but one did chase Luiza and me down the street all the way back to our hotel as we ran in the middle of the street waving our hands about and screaming in a mix of English and Armenian, for fear that it might understand one language or the other and call for backup.

But other than the creepy inhabitants of the night, Cairns truly was amazing. We went to a night market which was again, nothing more than a small version of Taiwan, where I got to practice the little Chinese I know and where we sat on black leather recliners, taking swigs from a fruity wine, and getting our feet massaged by gawking Asian boys. That is called living the good life.

What else I did get to see of Cairns was another world completely, literally. We took the day snorkeling tour and saw a world that had a life of its own: spiraling colorful coral, eclectic sea anemones, jumping fish, and of course, the most exciting, a huge homey sea turtle that gently swam around and came up for air. Ahh! Such an amazing experience that made me realize how much this world sustains itself without our meddling, and there it was, right under my floating mass, easily disturbed by one wrong kick of my flipper. Incredible, the whole idea that this world is mostly water, mostly them, not me…not us.

Our bro SCUBA instructor graciously suggested a place for us ladies to go out at night and when later we got to the bar in the Great Barrier Reef capital of Australia, what we found was a country bar called the Woolshed where tables were set up for dancing atop. What a silly thing to find. But it worked for us and apparently it worked for our instructor and his compatriots as they began arriving FOB, literally, still smelling like fish and SCUBA gear. Characters they were and characters they will be, in flower swimming trunks and a black suit jacket. Classy. Needless to say, we enjoyed our night, dancing and laughing and even having a go at the tables, though my clumsiness allotted only a two minute dance before I got back on solid ground.

And that was our adventure in Cairns and almost the end of our adventure in the Great Down Under.

Sydney, Australia January 9, 2010

We went to a rave club, had a meh time. Little did we know our lives would never be the same as we walked out of the club with sore feet and bleeding nerves, as we hailed the first cab we saw, and sat in on the best cab ride ever….

“Do you know who sings this?”

Big Gulps huh?....Welp, see you later.

2009-11-03T04:11:00.000-08:00

Big Gulps Huh?
Sometimes life accumulates so quickly that I have not the realization that so much time has passed by.
This month will mark the four month anniversary of life in Taiwan and I can't imagine it otherwise. I don't know if "I'm happy" is the right emotion or sentiment to describe about living here. Of course I am happy and content being here, but it is so much more, oh so much more.

I have dared to live outside of my normal life and here are some of the adventures that have occurred recently so Come along.

There are so many ups in being so far away and in such a strange place, but don't mistake these adventure stories for a happily ever after story.
I have had my hard days and one such day was the passing of my beloved uncle. He was literally one of those people in life that can just laugh and pull out their clarinet and make the world a happy and innocent place once again.
After suffering much, he passed away and left such blessed memories of his beautiful life.

He was a special person, and noticed by all...by the people he tried to talk to in his verrrry broken English, the people he would sing to when he didn't know what else to say, even the nurses whom he swooned whilst being taken care of.
They would ask me on several occasions, "Is he your grandpa? Because he is one special person".
And yes, he was often confused for my grandpa, but no one ever doubted how special he was.
The only confusion I ever had was which to compare him more to: the Monopoly or the KFC man. He was just that kind of person.

Last year, before he got sick, he met some of my best friends from college and he showed off his amazing power to laugh and have a conversation without understanding a word my friends said.

And when all else failed, he went to his room and pulled out his clarinet that he hadn't tuned for ages, dusted off the mouthpiece, an prdoceeded to play for us such unfamiliar and stringy songs that we couldn't help but cheer him on and laugh and understand that this was no ordinary man.

Well one of my friends, Jess, after hearing about his passing away wrote me an email expressing her sorrow for such a loss. She also wrote this ode that seemed so befitting. It is real. It is beautiful. It is Lova.

Ode to Armenian Uncle
oh giggly, Armenian uncle
you will always be in my honorary, Armenian heart
i am delighted you are frolicking around on Mt. Ararat
on a mound of Akmak's and lavash,
spread with lebne aplenty
Armenian heaven rejoice.

Jess, it is lovely. Thanks.

After the pain of losing such a beloved uncle, something else quite crazy and out of control occurred.

After a long day of work and bowling until 2 am with my awesome Smokin Shoes team, I came home exhausted and ready to sleep so I could go to work at 8:30 for my kindergarten class. That was not how the night proceeded.

At 4 am, I shot out of my bed (much like I did that night in San Diego when the drunk girl crashed her car in front of my house), as I heard the doorbell ringing and ringing.
One emotion I felt, FEAR. Understandably right?
With my hair swooped over my face and my makeshift pajamas, i tiptoed to the door and ever so frightfully opened the door.
Is my building on fire? Should I grab my valuables? Do I have time to pee?
I didn't have time.
I had no time to react for when I opened the door, there was no little Taiwanese man standing there yelling and motioning me to run for my dear life, instead it was my mother, my very own blood mother who stood in front of me jumping up and down...if you know my mom, that is not an exaggeration. She was literally jumping and dancing and not allowing my mind to process the scene before me.
Hmmmm. Hmmmmm. I don't understand.
"Mooooom?" I said as if I needed to prove it to myself...."mooooom?.....what.....are you doing here???"
Was all I could produce.
Well she came and she cleaned and she cooked, and she mothered me for a few days and then left me alone to wonder if she was ever really here. But the chocolate in the fridge is proof enough that she was.
It was lovely having my mama here. No matter how old we are or how independent, we are reduced to babies when our mothers are around. Once again, if I had to sneeze, she asked if I was sick. If I was too tired, she would bring food to me and tell me how amazing I am and say things that only moms can get away with for saying. It was grand. We had much fun and random adventures together.

We went to a cultural boat burning festival. We stood till 5 am in the ocean next to this grand wooden million dollar boat, waiting for it to set sail and burn in the horizon against the rising sun,
.... but instead after all the waiting, we got smoked out and became part of the sacrifice as the boat was burned on the sand.... right in front of us....and 20,000 people...without ANY safety regulations. Sometimes the things that don't make sense here, just don't make ANY sense.

After surviving that together, we hiked, drove along the mountains, got massages, and spent some time with my students dancing and being the people we are best.

She said the best part of Taiwan was my group of friends. So cheers to them!

Plus i got this amazing "jumping" pic of my mom which I cry from laughing every time I look at her face!! It is out of control!
It looks like one of my students. She is Taiwanese. Her name is Mendy. She is two.

Moving on.
Went on a girl's camping trip to this beautiful island where we camped, hiked, swam, snorkeled and of course got attacked by a swarm of jellyfish in mating season. At least that is what it seemed like. Out of breath and having survived a jellyfish guerrilla attack, we met this man who let us roam around with starfish and sea slugs and all kinds of strange and colorful sea creatures, reminding us that Taiwan is some kind of special. It really is.

Camping in this amazing island has just been one of the many mini adventures that reminds me what my life if about. Sitting over the cliffs overlooking the most amazing sunset and eating squid on a stick that we had just barbecued, I smiled. Yes, that is it, I smiled. It was for real though, one of those deep smiles that is utterly necessary to feel alive.

In between weekends, I spend days playing Settlers of Catan with Sandra and my coworker Miranda and her boyrfriend, going to night markets, going to dinner with the crew, watching The Office, bowling, reading The Idiot by Master D himself, and going to yoga on monkey mountain every wednesday where i get to hike and swim after with the monkeys. Just kidding, the monkeys no swim. They afraid of water. But they do hike with me.

And then Halloween happened.
That is a different kind of story.
Halloween just came and went by. What more is there to say? Had a party at school that we had been preparing for months, where all my munchkins showed up as vampires....of all things.
Here are some of them in class while I am attempting to teach...attempting mind you.

Then afterward, we all got ready at the Babbaganoush. Sandra dressed everyone up and we ended up with a Newsie, a Soviet Union Spy (Svetlana Fyodorovna Barashnikov), Frida Kahlo, A dirty Mexican, and a gypsy.

Normally the gypsy is my easy outfit, but I decided to be a little more sly this time so I bought a gun, put the soviet flag on my fur hat and called myself a russian spy. Done and Done.

We went to a party at a place called "The Roof" which was not to be confused with actually being on the roof. I give it a little credit...it did have a balcony.

People had some incredible outfits ranging from little boy superheroes,

to bunnies in body tight outfits....boys in body tight bunny outfits,

a golden Buddha, which won the grand prize of $10,000 NT

H1N1, and the other seriously odd costumes and get ups.
this is our friend Trevor from Canada. He wears afros.

All to say, after dancing alllll night, we got home at 6 in the morning, rested our weary heads, and called the night a success!!

That brings us up to the present. The present of me sitting here, the weather getting cooler, nay, colder. The present where my classes are starting to feel normal and I know the kids' names and kill at least two cockroaches everyday. The present you know, when life seems to be settling in.

I miss my family dearly. I miss friends nearly and clearly and ever so merely.
To those who read this blog, thanks for connecting with me and for letting me know.
Emily M and Emily S, Ashley, Evelina (my sista from another mista) and all those who read it that I don't know of.
Knowing others read this somehow makes me feel not so far away, not so distant.

Sending enough love to barely cross the Pacific and make it around the world to you guys. Life is good. Love is good. Loving Life is really good.

Welp, see you later.

This story beats any other I have ever told....

2009-09-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

From a journal entry, and I quote myself:
"Today I decided to hike up Monkey Mountain. Now back home, climbing was always fun and an adventure but somehow those "adventures" seem so insignificant to the obscure situations I get myself into while hiking here in Taiwan.
So there I go hiking up and the beautiful and mystical thing about this mountain is that you can never take the same route up...even if you try. I decided to be really brave and adventurous this one time and reach the top of this endless mountain, which is not even visible from below. I asked a few fellow climbers to direct me to the top and there I began my trek.

Up and up, higher and higher I climbed and it began to get so rocky and rugged, I had to hold on and hoist myself up like a monkey over boulders and trees. I met up with two older people climbing upwards and being somewhat prideful, I regained my energy and quickly surpassed them. Nice Anna, way show them you got game. Proud of my superior hiking ability while passing 60 year old climbers, I reached the top of the broad pathway to where the path became really narrow, overlooked a cliff, and became a dense jungle. Only because the adrenaline was still pumping in my proud veins did I continue up this eerie path. I didn't get very far though.

It was not in my imagination that with each step I took, I heard more and more clicking and hissing and realized almost a little too late that I was surrounded by the native of this mountain...the monkeys. I am not one to easily panic so when the papa bear monkey started towards me slowly I just stepped away (almost falling off the mountain) and stared at him toughly as he walked towards me and then passed me, glaring at me the whole time.

I took another deep breath, feeling a little awesome and so scared at the same time, and decided to take another path to the left that might be clear of these native red-faces. I started my way up along the left path this time when I heard deeper and louder clicking and hissing. It was then that I came across the terminator of monkeys, the Hulk, the superior pure bred gorilla monkey and he looked absolutely pissed.
As I have previously portrayed myself, I like to think that I am a brave person, an adventurer of some sort...that is until I come to this point in the story. For at that terrifying moment, looking into the fierce eyes of death, I screamed and ran down that mountain as fast as my size six feet in my rip off name brand tennis shoes could take me....and gorilla monkey followed closely behind.
I can't imagine what level of crazy I must have looked like when I met up with the old man climbing towards the great path of doom. Still almost running and looking rugged, I almost fell on him as I looked bewildered and yelled, "NOOOO, big monkey, BIG. Scary!" Mind you this was done with words AND actions. My monkey impression WAS pretty convincing though, I must say.
He looked at me, then up, then at me, and calmly with nice simple English said, "OK."
"OK?" I replied.
...
"OK, follow me."
"Are you crazy old man? This monkey will eat you like a slow roasted turkey on Thanksgiving. And you want me to FOLLOW you up there? If you think I look crazy, you must be insane!!!" I thought to myself.
But out loud all I could muster was, "OK."
Ok, so I allowed this seventy year old man to lead me once more up gorilla mountain.

We got to the aforementioned spot where I had met the face of true hostility.
Now the Taiwanese might be afraid of the sun, and water, and H1N1, but they are lion tamers when it comes to business dealing with monkeys, dare I say monkey business.
This sunken little man went right up to the Hulk monkey and just stared him down, alpha male style! It was pure magic and this little wussy monkey scampered away in shame with his tail between his legs. I was so impressed! I knew I had chosen the rightful guide...or had he chosen me?
At his point we met up with the old couple who I had previously Rambo-ed past in my youthful pride. Oh ironic life, the turtle does always beat the hare.
So there we were, the four of us walking up and three of them chatting, probably about my naivete. The couple pointed to a clearing where a group of their friends were sitting and playing boardgames... in the middle of this dangerous mountain...like this was a freaking Starbucks!
The couple motioned me to go and sit with them, but I looked at my ruthless guide and said, "top?".
"Yes.Top." He replied.
"Me.Top." I confidently followed his statement.
This seemed like a ridiculous idea to the couple and the old man, as they shook their heads and could not understand why a young girl would want to do such a thing. They clicked their tongues and shrugged their shoulders, walking away to meet their friends. I looked at my old friend and motioned him to climb onward.
"ok," was all he said.

This fit old man put me to shame as I began huffing and puffing trying to keep up with his bony frame that calmly sauntered up the mountain like a fresh deer.
"Do you climb everyday?" I asked.
"Two hours," he replied not having a clue what I was asking.
"Uuuuhh, do you climb today, and tomorrow and next day?" I tried again.
"Oh yes. Yes. Break on Sunday."
Wowoweeewow. I was very impressed. This man climbs this treacherous mountain everyday and of course takes his rest just like God did, on the seventh day!

Higher and higher we climbed, and shimmied between rocks, and yanked ourselves up the climbing ropes until we finally reached the top.

"It's so beautiful." I commented, "So no monkeys here?"
"No, no monkeys."

Relaxing, a bit,I took a few photos of the view and was just in time to hear him calmly say, "No, no monkeys...just snakes."
"How bout we keep moving old man?" I suggested.
Monkeys might looks scary, but snakes? They can kill...and for fun!!
So we went onward up and around the mountain, no turning back now.

Going back down the other side of the mountain climbing over rocks and trees and looking like we would be lost forever, we came upon a wooden path and there at the top of Monkey Mountain we found ourselves a nice outdoor workout area.
My friend and I hung up our bags and exercised.
He went straight for the barbells and I went for the hula hoop in this literal sense of the word, "jungle gym".

Standing next to another old man who was hula hooping, I thought that life couldn't get more adventurous than that image right there. 23 year old Armenian girl,at a gym on top of Monkey Mountain with two strange old Taiwanese men, hula hooping. What have I done right in life?

Not one to stay at a gym for two long, I interrupted my friend's sit ups, said my farewell and continued on the wooden path down Monkey Mountain, exhausted from my day's adventure.

Little did I know that I wasn't home safe yet...

Taking fun pictures and patting myself on the back for surviving this adventure,
I froze mid pat when I realized that the path ahead of me was strewn with an array of monkeys. This was the cosmopolitan of monkeys, the New York, New York. Without my fearless leader, all I had was my wee little self and my fear. But then I thought if this frail old man who is afraid of the sun can conquer the monkey mind, why couldn't I?
So holding my bag tight, and my head high, I walked onward and was doing just fine until my heart stopped.
It stopped when I came upon an intimate mating session right in the middle of my path! How insensitive and positively scandalous to mate in such a manner right in front of me. Wanting to run out of that red light district but not wanting to threaten the male, I looked straight ahead, found the very edge of the path, and walked onward quivering. I must have looked like a deer trapped in a lion's den pretending that if it didn't make eye contact, then the lions wouldn't realize it was their dinner for the night. But I guess somehow it worked because I stepped over, around, and once accidentally on the monkeys and I made it out alive!
Applauding my bravery for overcoming such obstacles I stopped walking for one moment and in that moment, the rush of adrenaline gave way to my body's true terror and my legs began to shake like Beyonce in her "Single Ladies" music video. I realized that I needed to do something drastic or else my legs would give out.
So I ran.
As fast as I could down this mountain until I found this little hut that I am sitting in now getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Ironic, in the face of viscous territorial monkeys and deadly snakes, I get eaten alive by pesky little mosquitoes. I am counting 12 from the time I sat down and started writing this entry, including one on my thumb knuckle.

Well the birds are squawking above me I hear loud thunder which usually precedes a rainstorm, so I should probably pack up and find my way down. If I come out of this alive, in the most humble way, let me say that I rocked this adventure!"
September 18, 2009

Pot Lucks, Olympics and Bowling Leagues!

2009-09-14T19:54:00.000-07:00

There is much to fill you in on and I shall do my utmost to make everything clearly understood.

After training was over last week and I stopped working 12 hour days, I decided that it was time for my specialty dinner...a potluck. Before I tell you about that, let me tell you where this idea surfaced.

It has been cooling down a bit but for my California beach weathered body, it is still hot and sticky. After probing my co-workers about things to do in this city, they implanted a jewel of an idea that has recently been my favorite thing to do in this city. There is a place here that I could best compare to a water park for adults. It is a massive spa/pool/park where jets and jacuzzis massage your every need (take that as you may). Intense shots to your shoulders, a nice massage for you head, your buns, your back, hot, cold, mineral, normal....and it can all be done as long as you wear ...a swim cap. That's right. True story.Now I mean real business when I put on my water proof do rag. See photo below for a reference of a do rag.

So there we were, Sandra, my co-worker and I, relaxing under the jets next to a lovely group of old Taiwanese women, getting hungrier and hungrier when thoughts of food overtook every other sensation and we thought, what better way to get a lot of food for little money....ah yes, so it was then that we set a date for a real time Taiwanese pot luck at the Babbaganoush. We were to invite anyone and everyone we knew.
Here is the list and you judge our success rate for yourself on a level of 1-10
Here was the List:
Sandra: Spaghetti
Me: Sweet Potato fries and salad
My Chinese Co-teacher Ivy: Pea Soup
Courtney and Ben: Chips and Dip
Danielle: Drinks
Anthony:Drinks
Erin:Deviled eggs and Drinks
Sabrina:Drinks
Luke:Cheesecake and Drinks
Cecilia: Lemon Pie and Drinks.
Sandra's Co-worker Clint: Drinks and his own fold up chair

So....what do you think?
I think we sounded like we were pretty thirsty and then the personal fold-up chair just bumped it up a notch.

But all in all, everything turned out better than ever planned and we laughed and cried and passed out early to be well prepared for what lay ahead of us the next day! dun Dun Dun!!!

Please out your hands together to welcome for the first time ever, team Armenia to the 2009 Charity Olympics, Kaohsiung!!!

No one introduced us in such a manner, we just walked up to registration, however, we did get to see the lighting of the torch...or shall I say robot,nay, a man wearing aluminum being lit on fire in the 100 weather and 100% humidity in the middle of the park. It was pretty awesome.

Our competition games ranged from the Limbo (which Sandra and I rocked!)

...to twister, to the human ring toss (see photo in which I portray "human" and the ring is tossed upon me) and even a well organized pillow fight.

Who knew…who could ever know? But everyone had a pretty fantastic time and though we did not get beautiful medals around our neck with the Armenian national anthem in the background, we all got frozen yogurt gift certificates and the pride of knowing that we were the coolest team there! And that’s a fact!

Moving on...

I am not sure if it was some crazy dream or if it was real, but I am pretty sure on Monday, I joined a bowling league, in Taiwan, called the Smokin’ Shoes. Yep, I am pretty sure it was real. So real in fact, that I managed to bowl a 36 in the first game which included a strike. Don’t act like you’re not impressed. But don’t you worry, I came back in the second game with an astounding 80 and if I keep up this inflation rate, by next game, I should be in the 3 digits! But from now on, every Monday at 10:30 at night, I will suit up in my jersey uniform, put on some funky colored shoes, and bowl my heart out. And this is my life.
Thank you for tuning in.
Stay tuned for what is to come next….

Do You Believe in Life after Love

2009-08-23T22:21:00.000-07:00

It has been a month in Taiwan. That in itself is pretty crazy.
After the typhoon, the city is back to normal and normal life is starting for me...which means work, and having "the regular" at the tea shop across the street, and purchasing my own scooter dubbed "the beast", and experiencing the normalcy of life here in Kaohsiung.

The other day we also experienced an earthquake quite early in the morning and this was what it looked like:
My roommate Sandra runs into my room in the wee hours of the morning...like 8 AM and yells, "it's an earthquake" with her sexy Mexican accent and morning voice.
from my deep slumber and half-conscious, i grumble, "oh, i thought you were just shaking my bed"
"why would i do that?" she asks half-surprised.
"you know, i'm not too sure. not too sure at all."

And then, thanks to our intense elementary school training, we proceeded to stand in our doorways until the aftershock subsided. We also figured since we are on the top 15th floor, if anything happened, we could just surf down with no worry that others would fall on top of us. It's a win win situation. But alas, nothing happened and we are alive and well.

....

Recently I have also began playing basketball with my friends. I live right next to the world games arena and there are nice basketball courts that we go out and play on almost everyday. Now I might be 5'2 but my junior high basketball skills are slowly coming back to me, and as i am below everyone's line of vision, I just dribble right under them and that is how real sports should be played. Plus I have the whole trash talking down, "u.g.l.y. you aint got no..." which is probably the best part of sports anyways. It gets pretty heated.

Also this weekend a friend, cooper, from home came to visit and I, for the first time, got to play tour guide. I explained that there is a 7-11 on every block and that you can even pay your bills there, I explained the use of face masks as protection from smog and not from SARS, that there are karaoke bars everywhere and some are even karaoke strip clubs (hilarious AND true), the fact that we have an Ikea and a Costco, the monkeys, and even showed him how amazing the people of Taiwan are and how easy it is to live here.

He saw a small example of the kindness of people here after i had a small spill on my scooter when my breaks went out and I literally got ambushed by little Taiwanese women trying to heal me and clean me up. They were on their hands and knees pouring water into the wounds as a man on a scooter offered what I can only assume was antibacterial cream and as another man checked and miraculously fixed my breaks. All this before I could even say xiexie, thank you. It was such a perfect way to get hurt because by the time I even got to see the scrapes, they were all cleaned up and disinfected. What a country!

My little spill on the scooter. "The beast" as I have gently named it, thought I said go, but what I really meant was "Good God, stop for the love of all mankind!" Oh what a hilarious misunderstanding.

We also went exploring and climbed some pretty huge and spiky rocks by the ocean.
If you look really closely, that is me On top of that boulder, which might as well be the biggest boulder in all the world.

I have been exploring the night markets which stink of stinky tofu...that is the actual name, stinky tofu, I have played with the monkeys on monkey mountain which is a lot scarier than cute little monkeys you might think of, i have gotten lost driving around the city, I have climbed trees and rocks, been bitten by mosquitoes, climbed mountains, avoided cockroaches, and have begun living.

Teaching is a bit tougher than I thought because you have a classroom of 15 10-year olds who don't speak English and have ADD and yell, "Teacher teacher...uhfihi fueisfg" in Chinese as I explain to them for the twenty third time that I don't speak Chinese so I just assume that they always have to go pee. But I am getting used to it and they are fun and quirky and very smart so when I get a chance, I will post photos. I also start teaching a kindergarten class in a week, so that should be fun too! I also tutor a group of high schoolers and this week we are learning the lyrics to a song by Greenday, their choice not mine. Had it been my choice, I probably would have taught them something by Cher because how funny would a bunch of Taiwanese high schoolers singing "Do you believe in life after love?" look like! There will come day...I promise.

So there it is.
My life in Taiwan so far.
So far so good.
One month.
I do believe in life after love.
Much more to come....

I want to ride my scooter...i want to ride it now

2009-08-16T09:28:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRZn5wrktwA&feature=related

Typhoon Time!!

2009-08-08T02:37:00.001-07:00

So currently I am sitting around with Sandra, Courtney, Danielle, Anthony and Ben while a typhoon is throwing itself a VIP party outside...and we are NOT invited. These past few days we have been hibernating inside watching 24 with short spurts of trips to 7-11 to get refreshments. The typhoon is like no storm I have ever been in. Winds were reported about 89 miles an hour and reached 112 in teipei. Crazy it is. So we have all been here hanging out and anthony's landord just called and told them that their apartment was flooded so they left for a bit to dry their apartment and bring a change of clothes. Apparently the drain on their porch was clogged and the water from the storm seeped through into their place.

And I was talking to my friend Brian who lives up north in Taiwan and he said that they tried going out on a scooter yesterday and one of their friends got thrown off from the back of the scooter! he is ok, but what a crazy story!!

Anyways enough about the typhoon, its getting too much attention and i think it is growing because of all the attention we are feeding it.

Everything else is wonderful. I have acquired a few jobs and am deciding which jobs to take with the best schedules. I will tell more of the jobs when I have exact details. It is finally hitting me that I am living here, in Taiwan!! and though its a crazy thought, it's a reassuring one and it makes me feel good to know that I can feel home in such a place as this.

On My Run tonight

2009-08-03T06:02:00.000-07:00

I went running today in the humidity and the dark but never having felt safer in my life, let me tell you what it is like. Everyone stares. That is no shock to me anymore, neither it is as exciting as it was at first. But now I can appreciate the subtleties that Kaohsiung has to offer.
By our house there is a river and these bridges that intersect one another. I think it was built for the world games because it is new and beautiful and lit up with these beautiful white lights that give this area the Christmas glow. I began going on the bridge that overlooks the highway, and it might have been the humidity, or the beautiful Brazilian tango I was listening to, but in that moment, one word just hit me and I could not get it out of my head. For all the great things the hippies have done for our culture, I think the one setback is the cheapening of the meaning of the word harmony. And this is my own accusation, but I just don't want my story about Taiwan to sound like a peace and love fest...which it is. But the word harmony just sat there, on the river, the lights, the muffled sound of the scooters passing by underneath, the children running around, the sound of the humidity. It was simply serene.
thats it. i just wanted to share that word for today. harmony. think about it. use it. try to feel it. but if you simply cant, just come on down my way and i will take you that bridge at night with the lights and the heat, and the sounds of traffic with the haze of the city lights in the background, and you will somehow understand.

So I accidentally climbed a mountain today...

2009-07-28T02:37:00.000-07:00

Wanting to explore the city a little more by myself, I drove around Kaohsiung on my scooter and came upon this temple

So overtaken by its beauty I was that I decided to park my scooter and climb up to it....except that the stairs that I thought led to the temple, really led to the top of this beautiful mountain. And not being one to give up on such a challenge designed by a greater hand, I climbed on.

Caught off guard by the beauty, the heat, and the old people climbing, I continued my climb unaware of my unfit presence until an old man stopped by the shaded tree looked at me and said, "hello"
I said "Ni hao!"
He looked at me laughing, "you, just one?"
"yep, me, just one"
He then pointed to his shoes and then to mine and began laughing as if I had said or done the funniest thing in the world. I realize I was not wearing proper attire and that this mountain had never felt such heels as were on my shoes, but I did not consider myself to be so hilarious. He showed me on a map where we were and said, "this way, this way". I knew that I didnt know that map and he didnt know me, so who was i to judge his recommendation of going that way? Though looking back, I probably should have because though it led down through a beautiful and rocky pathway, it also led me down on the other side of the mountain. But such is life and the adventures we allow ourselves to get into.

I also realized that since the sun is no friend of the asians as white skin is revered as high society, all these senior citizens not only were climbing up this mountain in 100 degree weather and something like 100% humidity, but they were also doing it in pants, jackets, hats, and face masks. I gave all of them the "I am very impressed" nod when I walked by. They know what I meant.

So on my way down the wrong side of the mountain, I came across a few fun friends: an old chinese man that spoke to me for about 20 minutes...in chinese. I tried to laugh at the appropriate parts, like when he pointed up the mountain and then at me. I sometimes repeated what he was saying and this threw him into a frenzy, laughing and clapping his hands. I started thinking about becoming a comedian here in Taiwan because apparently I am just that funny.

Then I came upon a rooster playground and an old man giving a head massage. It's odd to me that these things dont seem so odd to me anymore...

Then once I was down the mountain, it took me about half an hour to find my way back to the scooter....realizing a little too late that the whole mountain is surrounded by oddly similar looking red temples.

.....I love this place.

Our New Home for the next year! The Babbaganoush!

2009-07-23T04:05:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5c-Vdw9M9Y

Scooter Story Time!

2009-07-18T08:55:00.001-07:00

Now everyone gather around and let me tell you a story that will surely delight you with its humor, scare you with its rising tension, and leave you aching for more stories of Taiwan, even to the point where you will want to come see for yourself!

So take a seat, grab some tea, and read on my friends!

Once upon a time an Armenian and her Mexican friend decided to venture off to a faaaarrrr away land where they spoke a foreign language, where they celebrated cats by greeting them, saying “hello kitty”, and where they drove these motorized seated vehicles. On the eve of last night, their dear friends Anthony and Danielle invited them to a tea party at their teacher friend’s house to celebrate being a foreigner in this strange land they called Taiwan. They had promised the Armenian and Mexican that there would be a certain prince charming awaiting them at this party, so much were they excited that they got their hopes up and even dressed up for this occasion.

They arrived at the festival and there was an array of English teachers from all around the world and they introduced themselves one by one and then they got to this boy, nay, a man. A kind of man you don’t see every day, you can’t find just anywhere, THAT kind of man; the kind of man that has a mullet, and is very intensely tall and skinny, and has a pierced nose. THAT kind. To their shock and a little dismay, he was not the prince they had been promised to be betrothed to though he had quite the sense of humor.

A bit tired and ready to go home at 2 past the midnight, the four youngsters and their two scooters headed out into the streets as the rain began beating down first softly then so roughly that a shower was no longer necessary.

Two minutes into the drive, the breaks started acting a bit edgy on their motorized cart and suddenly it stopped, nay it died.

And it was 2 in the morning.

And it was pouring.

And it was an Armenian and a Mexican in Taiwan.

And they were alone with no cell phone and no idea of where they were.

And this story is not ended yet….

Not reacting too rashly or strongly, the two damsels take in their situation and decide to get a taxi back to their abode but what they find odd is that no such vehicle will stop for them. None will stop to their arms waving madly, to their soaked clothing, to their whistling and yelling and obvious signs of “help wanted”.

“So my dear, shall we walk?” asked the Armenian to the Mexican.

“……..I guess…..”

So they walked.

Twenty minutes into their trek home, they realized that since they were not well acquainted with the geography of the city, they might have been going to wrong way so they stopped at a family mart and when the little Taiwanese man came out this is what happened next:

Looking like this, Sandra yells at him with powerful hand signing:

“SCOOTER BREAK. TAXI CALL”.

A bit scared and too unsure of what to do, he did what he was commanded.

Xie Xie. Thank you, we are very grateful.

Inside the taxi driving for about 20 minutes and watching a music video of some terribly cheesy Taiwanese lost lovers, the two travelers found themselves in familiar territory and arrived home safely to live happily….but not ever after….and without any princes because who needs them when you can get lost in the middle of the night in a foreign country in the rain and make it back decently alive?

ZE END!

FootPath to Taipei

2009-07-17T23:48:00.001-07:00

13 hours to the End of the Pacific

2009-07-17T23:35:00.000-07:00

We sat, we slept, we used the bathroom, watched "He's just not that into you" and we were in Taiwan. Ni hao, hello we say. A few things about Asia already as we step off the plane....it's hot. And not like Las Vegas Desert hot, like I am walking into a sauna hot, where the humidity makes my hair a wild beast perched atop my head with its own agenda....untamed and untamable. The upside to this humidity, yes the upside, is the green. and I mean GREEN. LUSH. TROPICAL. it is a beautiful country with kind kind people who turn into predators on when they get on scooters.

This country is a beautiful juxtaposition of the ancient world mixed in with modern civilization. There are Mcdonalds next to grand temples and 7-11s by peace ponds.

All in all, let me just introduce you to my life here for the next year...or so.....
I am in Taiwan. I am a new traveler here, a very touristy resident...and I am in love. This place is home. Please take off your shoes before you enter.....

So GoodBye America I Guess

2009-07-07T01:36:00.000-07:00

It is that time again in my life, the time to say goodbye to America and all that willfully belongs here including but not limited to: family, friends, salads, and the California burrito. I suck at goodbyes and honestly, I have a hard time missing people so do not take offense. Will you accept this as a general and yet very special and thought-out goodbye? I love you to the degree I have stated previously and if you are just a random reader, I guess you hold that potential for me to love you nonetheless. Goodbye to me means that things are about to change, and do so drastically. So as a part of acceptance, there is part of letting go. Here are some things I am letting go of:

Goodbye to the pronunciation of the letter r.
Goodbye to understanding (but not always hearing) everything spoken.
Goodbye to my room.
Goodbye beautiful family and friends.
Goodbye driving a car.
Goodbye Russians, though I am sure I might find some of you in Taiwan.
Goodbye people out in the sun.

Hello Hello Kitty.

Hello new life.

Ze End of this chapter in my life and goodbye America.

Best Day at work Ever

2009-04-03T15:22:00.000-07:00

Today as I sat on my lonely wooden stole and ate my lonely tuna salad, I looked up to find a wonderful shurpriza.
There was a man, a French man with tie dye and a Jamaican beanie with a large mole on his lip, who looked to me and said, Bonjour, I have resurvashon for tin peeple.
I said," ah wi?"
he said, "wi!"

Little did I know that I was checking in a wonderfully odd and eclectic French traveling grass band.
"Will you please play for us, wi?
"aahhh, wiiii!"

Oh what a day when they set up to play right in the parking spots in front of the hostel, trumpeting away and yelling in French and umpa lumpaing to the beat.
From their large red hats, to the old rusty Tuba covered in stickers, and the tie dye shirts, mine eyes did not know where to look. It was overwhelming in the most beautiful and odd way, the only way you really want to ever be overwhelmed by such people.
It was such lovely entertainment as we became the center of atencion all over Newport.
Very unorganized, very odd, very French.
And I loved it.

They laughed and played and danced and then dissappeared down Newport Ave. to eat some lunch....with all of their instruments.
YEs, I do love my job.

WHY NOT?

2009-03-19T13:57:00.000-07:00

Everyone and everything claims these same things, that they and their product is THE BEST, numero uno, better than ever! New and Improved! Money back if you are not fully impressed.

Well I am not fully impressed, not in the least bit.

So tired of the highly self-proclaimed #1 Energy Drink and Best Diet ever! and Numero Uno Burritos!,
I want to create a company.

Whether it is wine, coffee, a book, or whatever, it will claim to be just average. I am modest and honest and truthfully, I know that you have and will have better, but hey, just try it, why not?
So who want to invest in my new average company idea called Why Not? anyone? anyone?

As I walk to work each morning, I greet

2009-03-05T17:26:00.003-08:00

While I sat in the back of a police car...

2009-03-04T12:53:00.000-08:00

Whilst I sat in the back of a police car last night with my bare feet numb from the cold, I thought to myself with much more anger than written words can express, "this is what hell must feel like". Trapped, dark, no sound other than my scared heart hitting up against my jacket. He sits in the front seat, "what is your drivers license number?"
I don't know. I have no idea and even if I did, I was so scared that I would never have recalled.
I tell him, "look at me, I am wearing pajamas and no shoes, please officer, I am not with her, I just live here."
"What is your last name? And your first name??
He pulls up my record and I hope that he does not see the one speeding ticket I got last year for going 50 in a 45 zone.
I don't want to go to jail, not like this, not for THIS reason.
I try to practice the breathing practices we do in yoga but nothing helps the numbness and anger I feel the whole time I am sitting back there while i see them talk and "figure out the situation"
there is not much to figure out. serious. I will explain.

About 1:30 am I am asleep.
I hear the biggest crashing sound that I have ever heard in my life. The kind of crash that makes your realize instantly that you are not dreaming and you shoot out of bed and have to see what happened, if anyone is hurt, if the world has finally come to its end.
I run out, no shoes, no jacket, just crazy little Armenian in pajamas running outside.
It's bad.
There is a girl, very belligerently drunk.
There is a Scion perpendicular to the street, damaged beyond recognition, airbags out, car leaking.
She is scared and rambling and I ask her if she is ok.
She is, but that is not how she responds, "Please don't call the police, I'm drunk. My boyfriend is going to kill me. Do you have a phone so I can call him?"
Ok, so I run in to grab my phone and a jacket, knowing this will turn into a long night.
I come back out and the whole neighborhood is standing around watching.
I try to settle her down while the others move the car out of the middle of the street and into a driveway. She is so drunk she falls and cannot repeat the same phone number two times.
"I live right down the street and I have to go tell my boyfriend" she says as she starts stumbling towards her apartment. I grab her purse and her shoes and follow behind, trying to calm her down.
At this celestial moment of me holding her shoes and purse, the police surround us, start asking us questions, ask me if I was driving the car.
I look bewildered, me? Me? you talkin to me? No, I wasn't driving the car!
Unfortunately, that is the same answer that she gives the police so he grabs me and like I have so often seen in terrible police movies, he opens the door the the back of the police car guides my head and says, "get in".
Again, "ME?" REally? ME???

So now we are back to them talking and "figuring out the situation". There is not much to figure. She is drunk. She hit the car and started walking home. Now please let me out.
The younger cop opens the door and says he wants to ask some questions.
Now a little angry, I say, "look officer. This is simply a misunderstanding. I live here and I heard the crash and I came outside. Look at me, I am in my pajamas and have no shoes."

Wait for it....wait for it....

ooooo, so you just live here and came outside and was helping her with HER things??

um, yes, i believe that is what I was alluding to.

They are sorry. Well one of them is. Why didn't you tell us? he asks me.
Well I am just an idiot. Why didn't I tell them that the girl in the pajamas and no shoes who is saying, I live here and came out when i heard a crash, why didn't i tell them that I was not guilty?

The other cop, a lot less sympathetic, looks at me still questioningly and says,"Well, I just don't trust anyone."
I feel bad for him.
I feel bad for the mistrust that he has for people, for all of the horrible things that he deals with on a daily basis, seeing always the vileness of man.

For being a wanderer, I am also a wonderer. I wonder about his life, about the life that this drunk girl will go on to lead, even about the many wrongly accused people in jail who must have so much anger towards the world.

I tell the police that it will make me think twice before I help people out. It shouldn't be like that, but what if next time they take me to jail? No good deed goes unpunished. But then again, how can you be in such a situation and not do everything in your power to help?

I walk back home and see all the neighbors around the house talking. One comes up and says that another reliable neighbor said that they saw me jump out of the driver's seat of the car and run into my house. That I was responsible for the accident. What is wrong with people? How is that story in any way plausible? I was outside the whole time.

This world is a crazy place.
One day at a time.
I wander and I wonder and maybe I should keep more to myself, but then who would have carried her shoes?

2009-02-13T13:34:00.000-08:00

So I am thinking about leaving and this thought of stepping out again, of becoming uncomfortable again in my surroundings makes me giddy with excitement. I want to feel the anxiety of travel, to be dirty and exhausted from a long day's trek, to meet people everyday that are completely different than myself and that makes us laugh because we also cannot communicate our differences. I want to be in a place that has thousands of years of history and of spiritual insight. I want change. That beautiful interaction when a foreigner steps onto soil that is so unfamiliar that all she can do is say take in a deep breath and smile, because she has arrived. She has taken one more step in her journey and for that day, all she will do is smile.
Being in such a foreign land, whether it will be Japan or Taiwan, change will be inevitable and that change is what keeps my heart beating. It is as true as it is cheesy. My pulse has slowed down in San Diego because I am so comfortable, but I know that this place is maybe where one day I will be able to settle down. But for now, let me jump and see where I land and I will tell you along the way, how the journey is coming along.

Confused baby Ant

2009-01-26T15:52:00.000-08:00

why was the baby ant confused?

Because all of his uncles were ants.

Badabum Pshh.

My New Life Plan

2009-01-16T15:32:00.000-08:00

Taiwan.....

stay tuned

Little Things That Can go wrong in life and Did Today

2009-01-15T13:33:00.001-08:00

1. I wore a shirt that shows sweat marks on a sunny day. I now carry Niagara Falls with me.
2. My only bobby pin fell into the urinal

3. My friend that I have not seen in two years is coming to SD one month after I leave.
4. My coffee gift card ran out.
5. I realized that I forgot how to speak Spanish.
6. A terribly rude crazy guy made me threaten to call the cops on him.
7. My sinuses are blocking my hearing, making me deafer than I already am. Yes, deafer.
.......

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint- Exupery

2009-01-13T13:24:00.000-08:00

It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning," said the fox.

"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."

"I am a fox," the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:

"What does that mean--'tame'?"

"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"

"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"

"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."

"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."

"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."

"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.

"On another planet?"

"Yes."

"Are there hunters on that planet?"

"No."

"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"

"No."

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.

But he came back to his idea.

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:

"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

Officially... WELCOME TO AMERICA!! from Feb25

2008-12-19T13:27:00.001-08:00

President Bush told me he was proud of me today.

Well, not just me, it was me and the other 500 other people sitting in the auditorium, mixing their international body odors together, representing what America is really about.
We all sat there, 3:00 pm on February 21, 2008 with our nickel American flags provided for us and watched the president on the screen welcome us to America and tell us he is proud that we have become naturalized citizens, true Americans.

It was a proud moment for us all, especially the sophisticated and pungently smelling Indian woman next to me who didn’t speak English but began tearing at the realization that she had finally made it.
She kept looking at me as if asking, "can you explain what is going on?"
I don't think she understood that my language skills had not yet reached India.

I did however wonder how long it took her to get to that seat next to me- it took us 15 years. That is quite a long time because 15 years ago, I was six years old and running around in a t-shirt and tights and calling it an outfit.

After our president’s speech, the swearing in ceremony took a cheesy turn as they played “I’m proud to be an American” while the camera spanned the countryside of the United States and ended on the Statue of Liberty, the true symbol for what America stands for. Being the true Americans that we are, my brother and I chuckled to the awkward lyrics that appeared on the screen along with the corresponding verses, but when we looked over, we saw our mom not only tearing, but singing along to that song so proudly and shamelessly with her heavy accent.

After making fun of her for about a full hour or two, I realized that that moment, that moment that we became Americans, was something indescribable to someone who has not experienced it, it was something that my mom could only have dreamed of. I guess it is best like being in love with someone for 15 years and only then, when all the paperwork is done, you are allowed to be called husband and wife or even friends. Before you were just a permanent acquaintance. It was a freeing moment and I understood why she teared up, I get that (though she tears to almost anything, just ask her about an Extreme Home Makeover commercial…). What I still don’t get is why she sang along to that song and kept singing it all the way home, all through dinner that night and well into the night before we went to sleep.

To me, what hit me hardest, what made me realize what was going on, what I had gotten myself into, what true beauty this moment held was the moment they made us stand. One by one, they called our countries and we were to stand and wait until every country was represented and until everyone was standing. We were the second country after Argentina.
“Armenia” the loud and enthused speaker proclaimed and my family stood in unison, proud to be the only ones to represent our country.

After Armenia, countries such as Canada, Japan, India, and even the overwhelming Mexico followed. Some stood with loud cheering (the Mexicans) while others with silent power (the Chinese), but we all, all stood with pride. It was as if the United Nations called all of its leftover countries and vagabonds for potluck and we all showed up, in our best outfits, with our cameras rolling and our national and adopted pride. It was beautiful and if I was an emotional person, that would have been my moment- that moment that your eyes begin shining from the salty tears and you smile and look up and time kind of freezes and you realize that life is good.
It was that kind of moment.

An hour after we walked in and waved our flags in unison and did all of the true “American” things- say the pledge of Allegiance, sing the Star Spangled Banner, sing “I’m proud to be an American”, listen to the president and say our oaths- we received a simple paper with a stamp and a few copied signatures, and we officially became American Citizens.

We became officially official because, after all, it doesn’t get any more official in America than swearing in at court…unless it comes to marriage oaths…but I will save that for later.

As we walked out, we turned in our voter registration cards, permitting us to vote in this presidential election. I don’t think I can describe what that means to us- to vote, to be a part of the change that will occur in this country, this powerfully egotistic country.

So as the current president was welcoming me to this smörgåsbord of a country, I would have the power to change who would be the next president to welcome the many thousand immigrants to be naturalized in the future years.

Will Obama be the one to welcome us, saying, “I am so proud of you, you brave people that will join our great nation.”? Or will McCain say, in his explicit language, “Welcome you $#@! Foreigners, I am so glad you came…”? Or will Clinton, heaven forbid, try to say something clever and polite? We shall see.

Though I no longer have my excuse that “I am not an American” for those pesky curbside lurkers constantly asking me to sign up to save this endangered animal or that exotic plant, I can vote and I can have an American passport. Those two privileges in themselves are worth every struggle that we have endured- whether it was being held up in an airport in Belgium where they didn’t recognize my traveling documents or even getting stuck at the border in Mexico and having to pay a $200 fine for not carrying my green card with me.

I am an American but I will always jealously guard my pride for my country so in all my American-ness, I still want my friends to call me little Armenian, perhaps little Armenian-American, or something of that nature- because after all, I am still little, still Armenian, and now, I am definitely and officially an American.

US Citizenship and Grace

2008-12-19T13:23:00.000-08:00

To this day, I do not understand why my name means full of grace.

I would actually put gracefulness as one of my last characteristics. But I don't think that gracefulness has the same depth as the simple word grace. I think that grace means something so beautifully irrational and unscientific that only those who have experienced it can verify its existence. I don't claim myself as a guru of grace, not in the least bit, but I hope that my life is moving towards the point of grace, that point when eternity transcends and touches the soul and you realize that you are so much more than your damned body- that your identity on Earth is temporary.

Let me explain the "temporality" of our identities- of how we define ourselves.

Today, after 15 life-changing years in this country, I became a US citizen. Pause. True story.
I never got to scale a wall or run away from Border Patrol, but I can attest that this country does not welcome foreigners with open gates, Greencards, or even a nice Thanksgiving meal like they once did.
But after years and years of waiting and going through hell on a carousel chained to a bacteria-infested plastic horse and suffering trying to get a driver's license, a real job or attempting to travel- we made it to this day at the Immigration Center. Cheers.
All this after 15 years of waiting. 15!! That is the majority of my life at this point because to me, 15 years ago, I was wearing a long yellow T-shirt and tennis shoes and calling it an outfit. All to say that all these years led to today. January 11, 2008.

We waited in the oversized and eerily sterile room stuffed with the smell of anticipation (which I could easily be mistaking for percperation...I have not yet decided). So there we were, my family and I, laughing nervously as we watched one immigrant after another cringe at the butchering of their name and then stand and walk the walk. This "Walk" eminated in their faces a mix of anticipating a root canal and walking down the shadow of the valley of death. Well, they just looked scared and nervous. That's all.
It is quite a big deal and as I am pondering their ill-fated interview and the possibility of deportation that awaits them, a minion of the US Immigration Bureau opens the heavy door and beckons me to her layer.

Well, here we go.
I stand up. Brush off my foreignness. Salute the troops and walk towards her in what I can only hope looks like a cool and confident American stride.

To my surprise, and a little dismay, she smiles and greets me a good morning. "What is this minion up to?" I ponder. Is this one of her tricks to get me to crack at 7:30 in the morning so that the next thing I know is that it is 7:30 at night and I am on a boat halfway back to Armenia? Well Missy, two can play this game- Bring it on!!
"Good morning to you. Wow, I really like your earrings!" I smile and compliment.
But as life always throws you those unforeseen curve balls that the catcher has predestined with his chubby fingers, she actually turns out to be this goofy little Mexican lady that congratulates my singledom (which she reads from my 20-page application) and proceeds to tell me some of her dating stories from her past- how she went on a blind date and thinking that the guy expected her to pay for the movie ticket, pulled him aside and told him straightforward, "I don't think I am that ugly that I should be paying a guy to take me out."
I applauded.
I want to use that line someday but unlike her date who apologized and pursued her for the next two years, my guy would probably laugh and say, "You sure about that?"
Yes. Yes, I am sure....I think.
So we chatted for a long time, I read my oaths aloud with precision (something about being willing to take up arms for the US....rigggghhhtt), and I wrote "I drive a silver car" (to prove that I have the literacy rate of a 2nd grader...I guess that is all you need here). THen she smiled, stamped a paper, handed it to me and said, "congratulations."
That's it? Does this officially mean that.....oh geez. Does this mean that I am a flag-holding, couch-sitting, ya'll fast-fooding American? Does this mean that I can vote in the 2008 election? Holy Crap. I am scared....So, yes? That is all?
She smiles at me, assuring me that, yep, that's it, on your way now because I have about 20 more scared potentials to interview before lunch.

Oh the grace of such a euphoric moment!

She leads me out and bids me adieu and proceeds to butcher the next name on her list, "Sharooon Haleeeem....come on down!" Like the Price is Right, I felt that I had won the Sweepstakes. Bob would be proud. Him and his skinny little microphone.
I walk out and everyone stares at me. They know. Oh how they know! They know and they envy me. Your time will come I reassuringly nod to them.

So my family and I have passed this sacred rite of passage in this country....and in a matter of 15 minutes. In that time, the time it takes me to decide what I want to eat for lunch, my identity changed completely. I mean sure it took 15 years to get to this 15 minutes, but those few minutes of awkward chit chat gracefully welcomed me to my new home. It's like having a best friend for years and one day after signing a paper they turn to you and say, "ok, now you can call me friend!" "But what did I call you before", I would inquire."Ummm. A permanent acquaintance."
Ooo. I see.
So in about a month or two, I will swear in at court and THEN it will be officially official because it gets no more official than saying "I do" in a courtroom, unless it comes to American marriages.
So now I can have a real passport and not a temporary turquoise document that no one recognizes and now I can get the hell out and travel the rest of this world! All of it except for Cuba I guess. But I will get there too someday. I sure will.
My friends threw me a beautiful "Welcome to America" party and it was then that I realized that part of my identity really has changed. But I accept it and I love it and I see the hand of grace moving its way through my life.
So what I realized is that my name does not necessarily mean that I am the one full of grace, but that I am the one to whom grace is shown. Everyday when I wipe the dust and mascara away from my eyes, grace floods my vision, my life, my being. So maybe I am full of grace, but only because grace has gently bestowed itself upon me.
The irony of life yields to me once more on this subject of grace because as if I didn't already get the point-my little Mexican officer, the former minion of the underworld-well, her name was Officer Grace. Can you believe that bag of lavash? I mean wow, what are the odds?....

Ok, so maybe not that good because maybe that wasn't really her name, but it would definitely have helped out my story if it were. Oh well.

So I shifted my identity from Armenian to American. Sure they look quite similar-both start with a capital A and end with a lower-case n, but thousands of miles of land and water and drastically different histories and cultures say otherwise. My loyalties lie in between. Because we are temporary. We are just human and perhaps just acquaintances to this world and it is only grace and love that hold us down here for awhile until we figure things out. It will be a terribly grueling process and grace will take a few siestas as we struggle to figure things out, but so what.

Now my friends, allow me to leave and go sip my tall soy latte like only a true American can.
435 in the House of Representatives.
You pass.

Welcome....

Lullabies for a Wanderer

2008-12-16T16:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes before my roommate and I go to sleep, we talk and talk into the night and get carried away in our imaginations because it is so late and we are drowsy and tired. Some of these conversations tend to be the most out of place and yet articulate insights into each other and ourselves.
For instance, the other night I found out that her father is a hot shot for a health insurance company AND a pastor. What are the odds of those two careers crossing paths? I thought it was quite extraordinary and grand. After the background revelations, we got to the amazing fact that she has watched Beauty and the Beast so many times that she knows all of the words by heart.
"Prove it" I said.
And she did.
Starting two nights ago and finishing last night, she recited the whole movie, scene by scene, song by song, with sound affects and all.
My head began to wander, I got lost in the fairy tale of a beast and a beautiful French maiden so in love with books and characters and life that she wants more than this provincial life, and she gets it by falling in love with a beast.
It was the best lullaby that i have heard, a little better than the one time she told me the story of Beowulf.
When she was done she asked me if I could recite a movie, and I lullabied her to sleep with the sweet sweet words of Dumb and Dumber.
Goodnight fair maidens, beasts and dumb people all over the world.

One good pick-Up line

2008-12-12T13:18:00.000-08:00

Liz, and I walk into, let us say, a local hang out spot and this giant of a man, over six feet tall, comes up to miniature little Liz.
This was their conversation:

"Wow, you are tall."
"Yep."
"Do you play basketball."
Pause, rising tension.

"No, do you play miniature golf?"

I think Liz should have married him.

The Phone and the German

2008-12-11T15:39:00.000-08:00

As I was sitting at my desk at work, atop this wooden round stool that will eventually flatten out my butt, the guest phone rang. The guest phone is right across from me so I get to see everything that happens and then write about it.

So the phone is ringing and ringing and since it doesn't have an answering machine, the yellow handle keeps jingling and jingling for about a straight two minutes. Then out of nowhere my little German friend just appears from God knows where in front of it, looking at the phone, then at me, then back and forth. He is about five feet short, super skinny, long long hair that he has in a ponytail and a baseball cap, a long beard neatly shaved along his jawline, he is wearing a Spalding jacket, and these amazing circular glasses that seem more like goggles that not only helps improve his eyesight but have this amazing magnifying effect for me. So there is goggled little German between me and the ringing phone and this is the conversation that ensued when he asked:
"Can I pick it up"
"Of course, it is for guests"
"But who is it??"
"I don't know, maybe it is for you"

there is a long pause, he turns to me and maybe it was the goggles, but his eyes got huge and he yelled,
"Maybe it's a sherpriza!!" in such a heavy German accent and he started laughing and laughing and this in turn made me laugh and laugh and then he picks up the phone, continues laughing and then just hangs up.
Laughing still, he walks away.

Sometime I forget why I want to leave this place....

"Getting Ready for a Weenie Roast"

2008-12-10T14:37:00.000-08:00

says my boss passing by into the kitchen as the French girls walk out the door, letting the cold air slam into my face.
The Brazilian is on the phone wearing his green Hurley shirt. I think it is some sort of unspoken rule that Brazilians always wear green, the dominant cultural color. Even better is the fact that he is talking on a yellow phone. It must be some important conversation because he is hiding himself in the corner, guarding the words from seeping out into the open.

It has been about a year since I first began working here, this hostel, this zoo for humans, wandering through life. I came here with such excitement, honestly, wanting to meet some cute international boys. The flair of it all has died down, significantly, so much so that I have become indifferent. I hate being indifferent but when you go to a zoo, you admire the animals always knowing that there is this bullet-proof plastic between the two of you so that you dont get too close, close enough to get hurt. It is no different here, except that I have built my own plastic wall and I am now questioning if it is bullet-proof, man-proof.
My life has become a transition from one zoo to the next and though i see myself with this plastic barrier, perhaps I too am part of this zoo that I observe so keenly.

I have so often wanted to write about the experiences here, the crazy people that I have met, the nerve of some arrogant fools, and the humility of some pretty beautiful souls that stray here once in a while, not often enough. I have wanted to compare this place to so many things- a submarine, an amusement park, cactus garden, youth camp, and so on, but for now I will stick to the zoo. For maybe I am that one monkey that keeps getting transferred from one zoo to the next because it simply does not fully adopt its new environment, never fully fits in. It might next get transferred somewhere exotic and spicy, unforeseen that it is not the environment, it is her that will always be this foreigner monkey among the locals. She is a lost cause to a zoo keeper looking for a profit, because none of the visitors pay to watch her watching them. Dump her? Send her back to the wild? Yes, let us see how she fares in the wild. You have high hopes you say? Shall we place a bet on it because she seems too naive for me. Let's see. She sits in waiting, thinking about her life, awaiting her departure, always awaiting her departure. We will take her up north and set her free. She is too selfish to see life outside of herself. Yes, yes I am. I have not yet learned to trust fully, to let go, to breathe. I have become too consumed watching others, always observing so much so that I have lost sight of something grand and beautiful and I just can't figure out what that is.

Life is temporary and its temporality is best enforced here, with people on "vacation mode" always and forever. But to put aside my cynical attitude that I so easily adopt each time I see the usual coarse of events: the same pick up lines, the same look, the same brush on the arm, same exact complimenting..., I must say that from behind my bubble of a desk, I have learned a lot. I have learned a lot about myself, about how I react to certain people, about the fact that everyone wants so badly to be loved and desired and the only problem is that they find such different ways of showing it. I learned that I tend to see myself as more experienced and wiser because I do see it everyday and because I read and write a good phrase or two....but I am not, not in the least bit. I am still young and have much to learn about this world and about people.
I am learning to respect people again, though it is interesting in this place, this place where weenie roast is posted from the ceiling and people genuinely think that sex is "it". But still, I am learning, growing, trying my best to love.

But I do have to go now because my bubble can only protect me for so long, I have to look a little busy, I have the autobiography of Malcom X sitting next to me, and plus, I have to go help prepare for that weenie roast.

A letter to Liz on October 17, 2007

2008-12-09T13:01:00.000-08:00

and I quote myself:

Don't you know that I always have something to say? Always! I'm a blabber-mouth and I will only end when this page runs out, when I have finger cramps, or when a catastrophic meteorite extinguishes my existence. So there you have the pathetic blabbering of an unidentified and Lonely Soul. I like to capitalize Lonely Soul to make it more powerful, more of a vague identity, who perchance I am. Dorothy Parker said it best in her sarcastic and bitter attitude towards men when she wrote that, well, pretty much, they should burn in hell. I don't want to go quite that far, but I understand her frustrations because an unwanted human is the saddest thing you will ever find. Mind you, I don't feel like that so don't prepare to get excited...I am not going to cry. Boys don't merit a tear from mine eyes, my precious and selfish eyes- they don't spare tears for useless pity.

My wish for you is that you fill these pages with the gut of your pain and happiness with excessive exaggerations and bittersweet contradicting words. Because life is contradictory and why should we pretend that it is otherwise. Your beautiful heart needs to weep to your hands which will in turn pour out onto these pages- these organically printed pages that await your conscious awakening. Oh, that was beautiful. So now I think that I am some sort of a writer or something. Well, I am not. I am just a body like any other that has learned the art of phrasing and categorizing words so that they juxtapose and sound all smart and shit. Ha, it is fun to write that. Shit. I feel like it is stealing the 5 cent candy from Fast Break- you should not do it but it is only 5 cents and it tastes so good melting in your mouth! So worth it and so forbidden. Speaking of forbidden- I think that I in general, am bad for my health- so says the Surgeon General. I think I simply need a rising hill that echoes and I will climb that hill, take off my shoes, climb the tree that is strategically perched up there , and then with my hair down and my arms outstretched embracing the wind I will Yalp, yalp for all of the damned feelings, for all of the confusion, and the "lostness" we all feel, some more than others. For all of it. Then I will climb back down, sigh deeply and consciously, put on my shoes, and continue through this life, wide awake. Yep, that is precisely what I will do.
Ze END

I just called to say...

2008-12-08T13:15:00.000-08:00

That my cousin is having a baby. Yikes. A baby. After the excitement subsided, I realized that it's a baby. A whole human life about to enter our family. This little baby I pray for because it has no idea what awaits it. I hate calling the baby an it, but alas, for a few more months it will be an it, an unknown synthesis of egg and sperm. Oh poor baby that will enter this crazy and hectic world of ours, a world full of hunger, poverty, mechanical humans trained to not think for themselves, a world of materialism, globalization, communication, and what other big- worded catastrophe there is to name. I pray that this baby who will one day grow up will fight for freedom, question injustice, and cry for beauty and love. I guess that is a lot to hope for for a baby entering a wealthy family in Los Angeles but nevertheless, this is what I ask for and let that be all.

So as this baby begins to grow in my cousin's wife's belly, I send out this plea to all babies thinking about stepping onto this same earth that I walk upon:
A plea to not just live, but to be alive
To not be desensitized to the kind of love that is shown on tv
To open your hearts to pain and mistakes for they are sure to follow our humanness
Open your arms to relationships, to vulnerability and to people for as often as they will hurt you, they will also love you the most besides God.
Don't judge yourself too harshly and don't judge others, reserve judgment for those who get paid to do that.
I say all this because I have not yet learned to do them well, because these are my goals and I wish to pass them on to you.

Love
Listen.
Love.
Be patient to those around you.
Love.
Respect everyone.
Above all, love.
For that is the first thing that we are shown when we are born and should remain with us daily and eternally. We are created to live for ever. Our lives begin on this earth but that does not mean that they end here.
Welcome...

In the Life of a Spanish Tree

2008-12-03T13:51:00.000-08:00

My dear old friend Raleigh is living in Spain. She took a picture of a Spanish tree and now I want to be this tree that lives in Spain, changing with the Spanish seasons, watching and shading the Spanish people and guiding their lives with its silent beauty. In the life of a Spanish tree, I will learn to be silent and patient and most of all, gentle. I will call myself Yoana, as a tribute to my Spanish friend who is about to return to San Sebastian. I will weep when my other friends are torn down or are not strong enough to support themselves. I will laugh when others shed their leaves before me and look naked compared to my majestic coat of orange leaves. In the gloomy seasonal days, I will allow the gentle rainfall to hold onto their last moments on the tips of my branches, fearing that when they fall to the ground, they will lose their individual contribution to the world around. I will allow those pesky ants crawl around and feel comfortable and I will let eagles rest on my branches. Though there are no eagles in Spain that live on trees as such, those are the birds that I want to welcome- eagles, the only birds that fly to a storm, fly directly to it and then soar above it. I want to be a shelter to them so that when the storm comes I can watch them soaring above, guiding it with my eyes as a proud mother. Yes, that sounds lovely. I will be this tree and will live on.

Steppenwolf

2008-12-01T14:25:00.001-08:00

I am reading Hesse's Steppenwolf and as an opener he said he doesn't particularly like younger people reading his book because they misunderstand what the Steppenwolf really is and what it is really about. He was going through a sort of mid-life crisis as was the person who made the cover of this paper-back book that I got at the used book store in a very gay-friendly neighborhood. The cover looks like a mixture of a Michael Jackson Thriller and a science fiction Anastasia. It is just THAT good. Well Hesse was saying that people in the beginning stages of their lives (which I suppose I am still in ) will not truly be able to understand what the Steppenwolf was, what this wolf of the Steppes was, the half wolf half man that is never fully part of society and wanders around never feeling fully human, never fully wolf. He will always outcast himself out of society on his own accord because he loves his freedom but it is this freedom that leaves him all alone. I am 22 year-old girl, and somehow, I think I am my own Steppenwolf in my own world. Though Hesse would not like this, I do because it makes sense to me, more sense than much of what I write or say about myself. For I think that I am of another time and another place and fell into this place that I must now accustom myself to. I am trying...

"These persons all have two soul, two beings within them. There is God and the Devil in them; the mother's blood and the father's; the capacity for happiness and the capacity for suffering; and in just such a state of enmity and entanglement towards and within each other as were the wolf and the man in Harry.
And these men, for whom life has no repose, live at times in their rare moments of happiness with such strength and indescribable beauty, the spray of their moment's happiness is flung so high and dazzlingly over the wide sea of suffering, that the light of it, spreading its radiance, touches others too with its enchantment. Thus like a precious, fleeting foam over the sea of suffering arise all those works of art, in which a single individual lifts himself for an hour so high above his personal destiny that his happiness shines like a star and appears to all who see it as something eternals and as a happiness of their own."
Hesse

Alas the Journey Begins

2008-11-25T14:55:00.001-08:00

welp, it has begun...

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move. ~Robert Louis Stevenson