tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26394772523272120712024-03-02T00:52:44.113-08:00the farlang lady."the foreigner lady" experiencing life from Hong Kong.Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-34671685059340008782020-03-20T10:00:00.000-07:002020-03-22T14:19:47.408-07:00World Tour in the time of Covid-19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was all perfectly planned — my very own “take a break and discover yourself” moment that was due to be just the right mix of visiting friends and having solo time to happily melt in Southeast Asia sunsets. Designed to decompress, reassess, and chill the hell out before repatriating in the US, I arranged a 100-day itinerary that was primarily tropical and had only four destinations. I had been plotting and saving up for this move for more than a year. And after an exceptionally high-stress year in Hong Kong with the protests and lots of changes and travel with my job, I “needed a minute” — and gave myself permission to do so with this ‘round the world trip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then the coronavirus happened, or COVID-19, which will be called “Covid” in this piece to ditch some of the Sci-fi vibes of the all caps official term. Since the end of January, Covid and I have been playing a little game of “tag — you’re it!” Around the globe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Before I go any further, I want to add a necessary disclaimer: all of the travel I did was voluntary. The story I’m about to share is simply a result of managing risk and dodging quarantines in foreign places without having to have just bowed out and head to the bone-chilling North Dakota winter).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The itinerary started out in Australia in January, as planned. After a brilliant, mostly smoke-free stay in Melbourne and Byron Bay, my friends in Hong Kong advised I should pick up some masks before flying back as the virus was spreading and there was a lot unknown about who / how / where one could catch it. After a few attempts of searching around, I found a couple of N95 masks and a small pack of surgical masks in Melbourne before flying back to Hong Kong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I landed in Hong Kong January 28, the city was palpably bracing itself for a possible outbreak. My old door guard sprayed my hands with aerosol antiseptic when I walked into my building, and antibacterial wipes and gel were all sold out. Toilet paper and rice, however, were still lining shelves and companies hadn’t yet asked employees to work from home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As February started, the cases and hysteria started spreading throughout Asia. I had gone off to Sri Lanka with some friends, and a day or two into the trip I started to question whether I should cancel my upcoming next stop of Siargao in the Philippines. After all, the island is remote (also, paradise) and there wasn’t much known about the virus at the time other than it was starting to spread outside of China — it wasn’t a place I wanted to fall ill. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cue the emptying grocery store shelves in Hong Kong, school closures, and mandatory working from home, just a few days into February: Covid was not to be fooled around with. Sound familiar now, US and Europe?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I decided to cancel my stay in Siargao and two days later, the Philippines announced Hong Kong as one of the places which required a 14-day quarantine upon arrival, and flights were significantly cut back or canceled outright. I had made the right call and dodged quarantine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time for a new plan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I messaged my best friend in London and asked if I could arrive a month earlier than planned (!) in early February. She was about to leave for a work trip, which meant I could stay in her apartment while she was gone. London it was!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bear with me here as I indulge in a little bit of a planet hopscotch. My plan was to return to Hong Kong from Sri Lanka, attend a friend’s farewell party on February 9, pick up my winter clothes I had left there, and then fly to London on February 11.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not so fast</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, said Covid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The virus was spreading and Hong Kong was continuing to shut down to minimize the potential impact. With companies, schools and the government extending closures and work from home requirements, I didn’t want to risk a quarantine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I canceled the leg to Hong Kong and decided to fly directly to London on February 9. I was poorly outfitted for the winter weather and relieved that I wasn’t going back into the sufficiently-panicked Hong Kong, where there was no rice or toilet paper to be found on shelves. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the flight from Colombo to London, I became very sick and somewhere too close to Tehran, I was heaving (thankfully I knew that wasn’t a Covid symptom). At the time I was worried I had caught the flu, and even more worried that I would develop a fever on the seven-hour flight. I put on a mask, antibac’d the shit out of my surroundings, and did my best to curl up into a ball in economy class, gingerly sipping on ginger ale for the remaining hours on the flight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was preparing myself for an awkward immigration session upon arrival to the UK with a temperature gun and a confession of my complicated two-week travel history that included five countries on three continents. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At that point in February, the UK didn’t have any special announcements related to the outbreak. Covid was, at that time, still confined mostly to Asia. I made it through immigration without so much as having to look anyone in the eye. And it turned out that I only had food poisoning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That little 8-hr time frame was (and remains) the only time I felt sick with anything on this whole journey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I camped out in Europe for more than a month: getting to know London, driving around the UK and playing in castles and pastures, and one magical week in Portugal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On March 11 the US announced travel restrictions with the EU, with the UK being exempt. Well-practiced at swapping tickets and highly skeptical that the UK would remain an exception, I acted fast and got a ticket from London to North Dakota, via Minneapolis, on Saturday, March 14. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Per usual habits by that point, I was careful to frequently wash or sanitize my hands all throughout the airport check in and security process. The gate agent interviewed me about my travel history and I had been back in the UK from Portugal for 18 days — just over the 14-day requirement that would have limited which airports I could fly into the US. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My plane was spotless, but I wiped down the seat anyway. A few people were wearing masks, but not many. It was such a different scene to the flights I took in Asia in late January in which you got a glare if you weren’t masked up. Aside from some very rough air by Greenland, I had a smooth journey home, relative to a lot of other travelers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On arrival to North Dakota, I didn’t give my dad a hug, which was very weird. We got home pretty late, but still took the time to thoroughly clean things down as we started our quarantine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Evolving Cleaning Habits</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Prior to Covid, my antibac habits were very (and I mean, very) relaxed, and were honed, ironically, during my year in mainland China in 2010 out of sheer laziness and an unsubstantiated internal claim that, “it’ll be good for my immune system.” Time has thankfully given that claim some muscle throughout lots of healthy traveling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a month of practice and several dozen crowded public toilets, I have perfected a new habit of singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” at the sink and have found a modicum of sensuality whilst mindfully washing up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I’ve worked on my own habits, I started observing others and noticed that universally people are terrible at washing their hands. Terrible: soap on the palm washed off as the automatic sink roars to life, a quick little self handshake, and done. Usually it’s all over within five seconds. Maximum 10.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I did notice hand-washing marginally improving in public bathrooms during the first couple of weeks of March. And I’m sure this has improved tremendously as March has gone ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now at home, my parents and I are hand-washing all the time. We’re disinfecting any communal areas where I’ve been and keeping my “spot” open on one of our sofas. It’s very strange to be distanced under the same roof, but we’re keeping one another safe until we know for certain that I’m not a carrier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Spread to the West</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The game of tag continues with Covid and I’m writing this from day 8 of a quarantine with my parents. I’ve been writing this since the end of January, and like my travel itinerary, I’ve changed the ending each time I come into edit it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Having the distinction of “what’s happening” versus “what I thought I had wanted to happen” has been a beautiful surrender to discovering things I didn’t know I should discover while on this trip. And now during this quarantine, I’m going to assert that much of the planet is coming to terms with that for themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have changed my mind and changed my “big plans” every single week of 2020 thus far, and it feels really empowering. This trip has reinforced that </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">anything</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is possible: A global outbreak is possible. New hygiene habits are possible. New adventures are most definitely possible. And when we emerge from this current cloud, new ways of taking care of one another and doing business will be possible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching the US and Europe right now is like watching Asia from six weeks ago. Today grocery stores are bare in the US and parts of Europe, with household basics hard to find. Meanwhile in Asia, stores are reopening, shelves are well-stocked, and people have been working at their new normal and getting out and about for a few weeks now, albeit bracing for [and ready] to handle freshly imported cases. The panic will pass and the shelves will be restocked, but we have to be responsible and act collectively to limit the length of the storm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ll be sharing more light-hearted, non-Covid related stories over the coming days in the hopes of brining a little levity to the world. Take care, xx. </span></div>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-9942538660235928582018-06-17T03:36:00.002-07:002018-06-17T03:36:31.650-07:00xo, HK Outdoor Yoga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The forecast promised scattered thunderstorms, gusty winds, and steadily dropping temperatures. Yet still, 30 people traveled up to an hour to the beach for a yoga class this March.<br />
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Some weeks, folks willingly climb 200 steps and a giant hill. Other times, it's outrageously hot and sunny and still, people show up to practice. </div>
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Two years ago, I taught my first yoga class in Hong Kong. It was made up of nearly every person I knew in Hong Kong. Looking at the photo now, these same people are now some of my closest friends here.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5epddL9KgmE/WtNA2sGcIeI/AAAAAAABb48/hOAw77dpnx0foRxpBj0byQ7KgFTWbMpUgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5epddL9KgmE/WtNA2sGcIeI/AAAAAAABb48/hOAw77dpnx0foRxpBj0byQ7KgFTWbMpUgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3285.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first class!</td></tr>
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I started the classes initially as a way to keep the teaching muscle fresh. It was a rocky start, I was nervous and didn't know if people would show up. It was easier to just cancel class than dedicate half of my Sunday to jitters in the park.<br />
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Luckily I had encouragement by a few friends and kept at it. Soon friends of friends started showing up. And then eventually folks I had never met started coming.<br />
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It's been equal parts exciting and uncomfortable as the group has grown into itself. The first time more than 100 people RSVP'd to a class, I anxiously checked the growing "yes" and "maybe's" each day and with every new "yes" came a grain of self doubt. Thankfully that anxiety was smacked upside its head by the excitement and encouragement of my loved ones.<br />
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Once the number of RSVP's exceeded 150, I panicked and went to the electronics market to buy a microphone and a sky blue hip-pack speaker that cost $60US -- a lot of cash for what I thought would be a one-time use.<br />
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By the time class started, nearly 400 people had responded with some indication they might show up. Incredibly -- and I mean that without an ounce of sarcasm -- approximately 50 people turned up.<br />
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I had never been more thankful for flakiness. Or more humbled by the turnout. Never ever had I ever guided more than two dozen people through a class.<br />
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After that, "I" became "we" by welcoming more instructors who offered more classes. Today, the group has more than 2,000 members on Facebook and we have a team of volunteer teachers who generously offer classes when their schedules allow. Over time, the RSVP's got less intimidating and more predictable.<br />
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It became easier to estimate class size:<br />
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<li>Good weather, central location, accessible time and more than 150 "yes" RSVPs? Call for backup, 100 people will probably show.</li>
<li>So-so weather, and ~100 RSVPs? Likely 30-40 people will turn up.</li>
<li>Tricky class location? Early in the morning? Safe bet that the class size will be smaller.</li>
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And that hip-pack mic set? Worth its weight in gold, despite its dodgy sound quality. Also, it makes me feel like Tony from P90X.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KySMTL0Sh5U/WyY0kCHK6iI/AAAAAAABg0c/k5XRjuhX6toOMCMZd4k_ECDsm5JdEn92wCLcBGAs/s1600/HK%2BOutdoor%2BYoga%2B20170522-50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KySMTL0Sh5U/WyY0kCHK6iI/AAAAAAABg0c/k5XRjuhX6toOMCMZd4k_ECDsm5JdEn92wCLcBGAs/s400/HK%2BOutdoor%2BYoga%2B20170522-50.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mic pack in action</td></tr>
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This "yoga thing" has become a passion project, a side hustle, that "thing I do outside of my job" that feels like I have a point and a purpose here beyond my corporate gig.<br />
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We're all craving that space where we feel like we matter and belong, and this group is something I never anticipated would be my unlock here.<br />
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This community was a happy accident and has become a big contributor to my well-being in Hong Kong. The group is wonderfully diverse, spanning all ages and races. Each class has at least one brand-new-to-yoga student, some of whom have blossomed into the can't-miss-a-class regulars. Sunday classes feel a whole lot like the atmosphere of the pot lucks after church that I haven't experienced since leaving the Midwest. Everyone brings something wonderful to the table.<br />
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The driving philosophy of the group is to be friendly and welcoming. It's such a simple thing that has carried the group--and me--to place I couldn't have possibly dreamed up.<br />
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Find us on Facebook or Insta at HK Outdoor Yoga. (Big thanks to pal Stu for the high-quality professional shots in this post).<br />
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-46613372145802815562018-04-08T02:17:00.001-07:002018-04-08T02:17:34.841-07:00Meeting Farlang<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I wrote my last post, I had been in Hong Kong shy of one yeare. An now, it's been 19 months since I last posted.<br />
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It's not that I've forgotten, I've thought often of this blog; nor is it for lack of content to write about. I think it's more of a general settling in, a lack of newness, and a slight clinging to the mediocrity I've now found.<br />
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Since the last post, I discovered the origins of "farlang" and have had the opportunity to visit many places, including all but one of the cities that have inspired the blog. Rome is the one holdout, but I'll be back on her streets in a month. (The DC blog is a regrettable one that ranks right up there with my dismal twitter feed. I can only hope the internet has forgotten).<br />
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The return to meaningful places is what has inspired me to get back to this blog and to get comfy with sharing stories, beyond well-filtered vignettes of my life on Instagram.<br />
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The day I started this blog was oddly familiar to the setting in which I'm now writing: parked on a beige sofa next to a window in my apartment, catching late afternoon sun and dreaming about the summer. Only then, I was a senior in college in Fargo, very much ready to graduate and live out my hopelessly idealistic dream of a life, while trying not to reply too quickly to my crush on BBM (that's blackberry messenger for those folks over 40 and younger than 25).<br />
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I had been reading a travel magazine that day and there was an article about a couple who had been backpacking in SE Asia. The article described a sushi restaurant that served up a "farlang roll" with peanut butter, honey and bananas to foreigners in the area. Thus, <i>the farlang lady</i> was born.<br />
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It's funny now, nearly every time I go to the Hong Kong airport, I feel as though I meet that couple who wrote the story: they're slightly sunburned, wearing baggy elephant pants, a backpack and likely carrying a rattan bag. I've totally been that couple, as have most expats in Asia. I just haven't been in a magazine.<br />
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Since 2010, I've been a <i>laowai, gaijin, </i>and my current status <i>gweilo -- </i>all meaning a foreigner. Last June was the first time I became <i>farlang. </i>It was in Chiang Mai, Thailand, my good friend invited me to her hometown and I was privileged to experience homestyle Thai hospitality. It was in the fruit market, where I dared to toss watermelons and bought exotic rambutan and Thai mangoes, that I heard that word "farang" tap me on the shoulder.<br />
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The locals in northern Thailand say it "farang" -- without an "l" -- which seems legit enough. I've learned over time that English spelling of non-English words is a subjective thing. It could even be that the magazine, and therefore I, have been spelling it wrong the whole time.<br />
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When I was on the plane to Hangzhou last weekend, I thought about whether we have developed too much of a blase attitude about traversing the planet. In the last three weeks, I've covered 25,000 miles (more or less), seen cherry blossoms on two continents, shoveled snow off of the driveway, and been burned from a sun-drenched beach.<br />
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It's no wonder why my digestion is out of whack and I'm sleeping as though it's going out of style this weekend.<br />
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Being comfortable as a foreigner in a new place is a great privilege and takes practice. While standing outside of my old apartment building in Hangzhou, I was overcome with a feeling of wanting to give 2010-me a big, comforting hug. Seeing my old building brought on visceral pangs of loneliness, of which I didn't feel elsewhere in the city.<br />
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In 2010 I was far from comfortable with owning my foreigner status -- I was downright terrified. But things get easier with practice, as they have in Hong Kong. I'm no longer fussed with the daily grind, but I have a great appreciation for the effort it took to figure out groceries, bills, transportation and medical care. Let alone build meaningful relationships.<br />
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At this point, I've been <i>farlang</i> so long that I'm never really a foreigner in spirit anywhere, but yet I'm also a little bit foreigner everywhere. Stay tuned for more stories of that ever-evolving journey.<br />
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-14595748163245520262016-09-12T06:36:00.004-07:002016-09-12T06:36:53.894-07:00The Fortuneteller, Careful Dragon and Big BossReading horoscopes is about as close as I've tinkered with learning what lies ahead in my future, but given my recent birthday, I wanted to give Hong Kong's famous fortunetelling scene a shot. With my local pals as guides, we went to Wong Tai Sin Temple in Kowloon, which is renowned for its accurate fortunetelling.<br />
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My Hong Kong experience has been either really hot or cold over the past few months and I'm eager to be done with my adjustment phase. So having a fortuneteller either a) reassure me or b) tell me I will live a brief and lonely life seemed appealing. (Spoiler alert: I'm not necessarily destined to Option B).<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bHeLDnqvl2s/V9ane7DNu4I/AAAAAAABFLM/nhJgg3ukB04wHjI5FiphZWWc5mzCsYYMACKgB/s1600/IMG_4604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bHeLDnqvl2s/V9ane7DNu4I/AAAAAAABFLM/nhJgg3ukB04wHjI5FiphZWWc5mzCsYYMACKgB/s400/IMG_4604.JPG" width="347" /></a>Chinese temples are beautiful but confusing. I am not familiar with the prayers and practices within the Taoist temples and don't know any of the stories behind the symbols and shrines. It was key to have my friends with me to guide through the temple. </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LWVcYp6Uqh0/V9ane_7rrkI/AAAAAAABFLM/DjL9IOBTd4o4SgFyBUIJBvXs7RnirQc3ACKgB/s1600/IMG_4598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LWVcYp6Uqh0/V9ane_7rrkI/AAAAAAABFLM/DjL9IOBTd4o4SgFyBUIJBvXs7RnirQc3ACKgB/s320/IMG_4598.JPG" width="320" /></a>I started by practicing <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kau_cim" target="_blank">kau cim</a>. </i>Kneeling down on the ground, facing the temple, I held a cup full of small, bamboo popsicle sticks and silently introduced myself to the gods. Then I started to ask a question in my mind as I gently shook the cup. Somehow within a few seconds, a stick rose to the top and fell out of the can. </div>
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Each stick has a number on it and can only be associated with one question. I asked a second question and a different stick rose up and fell from the cup. We wrote down the numbers and went to find a master who spoke English and who could tell me my fate.</div>
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There were two levels of fortunetellers, each with a small stall reminiscent of a farmers market. Unsurprisingly, there were some aggressive English-speaking soothsayers at the entrance promising a great price and extra discount. But suddenly I got really anxious about choosing one--I was about to open up my soul to a stranger and wanted that person to be wise and kind.</div>
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After a few laps, I settled on a woman named Priscilla who had some photos with local Hong Kong celebrities hanging in her office and #2 pencil-inked eyebrows. I sat down, introduced myself and got straight to it handing her the numbers from the bamboo sticks. She went to a large cubby on her desk and pulled out a small story in Chinese associated with each number.</div>
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Each question can only be asked for the 12 months ahead and I wanted to first know if I'm supposed to stay in Hong Kong and secondly, if I'll find true love. (I've since learned every good, single Hong Kong girl who's my age goes there to plead for a husband).<br />
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"The birds are happy because it is Autumn and there are no storms, so they are flying carefree in the meadow. Then they spot a hunter. The birds were quick enough to fly away and continue to be happy in the Autumn."</div>
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"Right. Ok," I said. "What does that have to do with me staying in Hong Kong?"</div>
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"You are the bird," she said. "You are smart, you see the hunter before he sees you, so you fly away and continue to be happy. Especially in Autumn, you are happy."</div>
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"Great, glad to hear you think I'm smart... but I'm not smart enough to understand this story."</div>
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"Avoid conflict and you will be happy," she said. "Hong Kong is good, don't leave."</div>
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It felt like a bit of a leap of assumptions she was making between that story and my situation, but I credit that to the language barrier. I'm sure it makes perfect sense in Chinese.</div>
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Then came the love question and an equally obscure answer:</div>
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"There is an Officer and a King. You are the Officer and you give the King a lot of advice. You always talk. Sometimes the King is annoyed. Are you single or in a relationship?"</div>
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"I'm not sure I follow, are the Officer and the King a couple?"</div>
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"Yes; so you have a Big Boss coming. He has many ideas and many resources and is probably very wealthy. But he doesn't like how much you talk. So the King one day sends the Officer on a train to somewhere far away."</div>
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<i>This relationship sounds terrible,</i> I thought. </div>
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"I still don't get it -- is Big Boss a good guy? Is this a healthy relationship or no?"</div>
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"It is your choice. Just don't boss him around and you will be happy."</div>
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Done with the outrageous legends, I decided to invest in a birth sign reading and a palm reading.<br />
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For both readings, she touched on the same key themes: career, love, fortune, family, health, etc.<br />
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The birth sign reading is based upon your date, time and location of your birth and is influenced by your present location. There are five elements that also influence the reading: water, fire, earth, metal and wood.<br />
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"Ah! You are fire! And this year and next year are fire years. These are very good years for you. However, your fire is small. Where do you live?"<br />
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"Wan Chai."<br />
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"Where do you work?"<br />
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"Wan Chai."<br />
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"I can't help you. This is no good. Wan Chai is a water sign and you are fire. Water kills fire. You need to live somewhere else, like Stanley. Yes, move there and your fire will grow. Or Australia, that would be good, your fire will be very strong there."<br />
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She was referencing other areas of Hong Kong where I should go in order to maximize my fire strength. She said that I have a tired fire and it could be at risk of burning out, especially if I have cold food or drink. I'm only allowed ice cream immediately after a meal, when my body is warm, she said.<br />
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After a solid 10 minutes of hearing about how terrible my neighborhood is, she finally moved on to other key areas:<br />
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<b>Career: </b>marketing is my sweet spot, #ChaChing<br />
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<b>Health: </b>I'm set for a long life but will have bad circulation. Hello, compression socks for all those long-haul trans-Pacific flights.<br />
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<b>Family: </b>Kiddos are in the cards... at some point. Rest easy, mom.<br />
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<b>Love: </b>Again, the theme of the Big Boss emerged. This time, instead of simply being from the #39 cubby slot, it was written in my star sign.<br />
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"He'll have strong opinions and you should let him fret with the small decisions. He is older than you, but not younger and not six years older. You will always have work in your life, but waste no time in the next two years to find the Big Boss. If you don't find him by then, you wait 10 years."<br />
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<i>Good grief, Priscilla, chill out, my grandma doesn't even pressure me that much! </i>I thought.<br />
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"Don't worry, you are a true person and you have an open mind. Yes, true person. But sometimes too proud, don't be too proud and don't try to influence every decision and you will be fine."<br />
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Noted, Priscilla.<br />
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So Big Boss, if you're out there and reading this, my main lady Priscilla has offered me some brilliant material for Tinder, whose logo is--you guessed it--a flame:<br />
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Careful dragon with an open mind and a small fire, seeking a Big Boss who is not six years older than me. I'm a fire sign living in a water neighborhood. Don't worry, my<i> feng shui</i> is most likely still positive because my address' cross streets are derived from fire. If I could read Chinese, I could probably even find "fire" in their respective characters. Rest assured that I'm a low risk for being extinguished. C'mon baby, light my...well, you know the rest.</blockquote>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-13797822161581326442016-08-14T07:28:00.001-07:002016-08-14T07:51:17.144-07:00The Electric Current of Living in Asia<h3>
<i> Where Eating Questionable Lettuce can Lead to Remarkable Discoveries</i></h3>
When I was back in the US last month, one of the most glorious feelings I had was an undercurrent sense of peace because I just understood how things work. All signs and labels were in my language, my mom's cupboards were organized as I knew them at 8-years old (except for the silverware drawer), and Cafe Solstice still had (re: HAS) my favorite oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the menu. It all just made sense.<br />
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It took me all of four days back in Asia for that feeling to completely dissipate and be replaced with its polar opposite. The ice-bucket-to-your-head jolt of constant little surprises wrapped up in packages of tiny, ancient ladies at the fruit stand or the middle-aged chain smoker with a beer belly and a rolled up tank top who gives ZERO shits about blocking the sidewalk during rush hour when it's 100 degrees. Every. Single. Weekday.</div>
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In my non-scientific opinion, I'm convinced that this current, this electricity, that I feel when I'm out of my element is a direct cousin to adrenaline. It's what drives people to travel and throw themselves into unfamiliar things, all for the buzz and rush of that elevated thought process, giving off enough endorphin's to carry you through the stories you tell when you go home.</div>
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I have been hooked on that high since I was like 16.</div>
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Blame it on old[er] age, cynicism, or both... but last month when I was back home in the US, got hypnotized by that security, the quietness of my brain, the symphony of just "getting it." It was freeing and fun and made even the simplest of things, like driving my dad's F-150, as refreshing as a cool glass of water.</div>
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Alas, I'm back and the electric current is strong once again.</div>
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Five days after landing in HK from the US, I jetted off again to Da Nang, Vietnam, to support some friends running a marathon in the steam-basket of SE Asia's August. It was a quick trip and my girlfriends and I had amazing accommodations, so we were feeling fancy and planned to treat ourselves to a cocktail at the "the most beautiful resort on the planet," according to someone who ought to know such things.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Carved into cliffs on what felt like a private peninsula, the resort was a 30-minute drive from where we were staying. After what felt like ages of meandering through the jungle on a curvy, deserted road, we arrived. </span></div>
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The security guards promptly turned us away. Their English was poor and my friends and I could tell they were giving us some porous story about the restaurant being full. Never ones to take no for an answer, we got out of the taxi and looked at the stars while we plotted a way in. Instead of being wooed by our sweet talk, the blushing and nervous security guards shut a gate on us and we were sent back in the taxi. Clearly Taylor Swift and her new main squeeze were staying there, otherwise we would've been let in.</div>
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Just kidding. I have no idea if Taylor or one of her squad ladies were there, but thinking about it makes me feel better about being turned away.</div>
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Disgruntled and tired of being in a car, my friend persuaded us to pull over once we finally got into the city and eat in one of Da Nang's seafood halls.The restaurants are essentially huge pole barns without walls, set up side by side for more or less a mile. </div>
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Every single restaurant was brimming with Vietnamese families perched on plastic stools and folding chairs. The front part of the building had mopeds and motorcycles crammed and tangled into any spare spot. The seafood halls are the perfect opposite of the fancy resort's photos I saw on Trip Advisor, but wasn't allowed to see in real life.</div>
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Through one lens, I felt the buzz and high of the absurdity and vibrancy of the evening's events. But on the other hand, I was also feeling that heavy weight of just wanting a good, expected and understandable meal.</div>
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I swear the waiter could sense my unease and he directed me away from our table to look at a menu. We shimmied through tightly packed long rows of metal and plastic tables, dodged crab legs and beer cans on the floor and finally made it to giant blue tubs of living sea creatures and a big sign on the wall with a list of fish.</div>
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<i>"For goodness' sake, waiter, I grew up on the prairie and in adult life, picked out shellfish only when offered to me on a happy hour menu with full descriptions of flavor, origin, etc. How the hell am I supposed to a) pick things out and b) explain to you how I want to eat them."</i> I<br />
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My friend thankfully swooped in and soon we were wheelin' and dealin' ourselves quite a meal. </div>
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The electric current was back.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best scallops on Earth</td></tr>
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The food was amazing. We had grilled scallops and prawns and a stingray served with rice paper wraps and fresh herbs and lettuce. We washed it all down with Tiger beers, served warm in plastic cups with chunks of ice that were from a five-gallon bucket. </div>
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Ice, greens, and shellfish are three of the most notorious <i>caveat emptor</i> foods for the traveler not keen on diarrhea. We ate and drank anyway.</div>
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My friends and I broke the rules and were absolutely no worse for the wear the next morning. I'm grateful for my Iron Stomach (not invincible, but certainly sturdy). </div>
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The evening ended up giving me enough of a high to enthusiastically relay the story to friends and one week on I still find it amusing enough to write about on here.</div>
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Everyday there is some strange little something that reminds me that electric current is inside of me. But now I find myself seeking the opposite feeling: the calming, spacious sense of understanding. I haven't quite found it yet in Hong Kong, but day by day, I'm beginning to see more glimpses. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vrjPAcwhKbs/V7B-8VE6ZQI/AAAAAAABD_M/6ibAgqiyChA1dNDJFYoYcwZ3Mj0g61JywCKgB/s1600/IMG_4319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vrjPAcwhKbs/V7B-8VE6ZQI/AAAAAAABD_M/6ibAgqiyChA1dNDJFYoYcwZ3Mj0g61JywCKgB/s320/IMG_4319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CdkDGDDF1sc/V7B-8Yhbc6I/AAAAAAABD_M/F8vwGOV8X4kl0qBUojxWtWqC--_jfE0-QCKgB/s1600/IMG_4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CdkDGDDF1sc/V7B-8Yhbc6I/AAAAAAABD_M/F8vwGOV8X4kl0qBUojxWtWqC--_jfE0-QCKgB/s320/IMG_4291.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The aftermath</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-36540015906420166792016-08-03T06:39:00.001-07:002016-08-03T06:44:23.118-07:00Typhoon Nida: My First TyphoonSomehow it's been three months since I posted... There's no great reason why that's the case, other than I spent May and June grappling for inspiration in my new "normal" of a life and then in July found myself talking about funny and frustrating bits about my Hong Kong life while visiting the US and was re-inspired.<br />
<br />
Alas, I'm back and was ushered into town with quite a wave.<br />
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Within 18 hours of landing in Hong Kong, the office was shut early to allow employees to prepare for Typhoon Nida, with a Typhoon Signal 8 (T8) expected by 6 p.m. The T8 signal is the level where the city shuts down: no buses, no restaurants, no services except for the essentials, like 7-Eleven and movie theaters.<br />
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Jet lagged and with an apartment well-stocked with dirty laundry but seriously lacking in food, I left the office determined to make myself a fine T8 dinner from the shelter of my kitchen.<br />
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Walking to the market, my brain became its own typhoon trying to adjust to day/night while missing America yet feeling really happy to be back in my little home, and panicking as to just what the hell this big, scary T8 signal means.<br />
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"Typhoon" was not a word in my vocabulary as a kid, unless it happened to be in the name of an amusement park ride or limited edition Gusher fruit snack flavor. As an adult I see typhoon and hurricane as the same.<br />
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Also having never been in a hurricane, I assume that everyone puts plywood over windows and rushes to Walmart to stock up on bottled water and breakfast cereal. After which families hunker down, switch on the TV, and watch the poor reporters on the beach trying not to get swept away while they explain that <i>"the storm has really picked up in the last few minutes!"</i><br />
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The air right before the storm was atmospheric vomit. It hung absolutely still with temps pushing into the 30s (or 90s for my Fahrenheit friends). If a humidity level greater than 100% is possible, the air achieved it.<br />
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The hot, stagnant swamp was ripe for particulates and the pollution levels were actually truly off the chart. The app I use to track air quality measures HK air based on scales from a handful of nations and agencies, such as the World Health Organization (WHO), the US, EU, and Hong Kong.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_8oT7ycrZ0E/V6HyznRmZ1I/AAAAAAABDu0/mzAAB0feuWo7Gy0wCZh4OggseQ5-3uf6wCKgB/s1600/IMG_4227.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_8oT7ycrZ0E/V6HyznRmZ1I/AAAAAAABDu0/mzAAB0feuWo7Gy0wCZh4OggseQ5-3uf6wCKgB/s400/IMG_4227.PNG" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Air quality just before the typhoon arrived</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Each measuring agency has varying levels of qualitative vs. quantitative data. For example, at this very moment the Australia measurement model indicates the air is good enough to "enjoy activities" and the Hong Kong tab gives a resounding endorsement that the air is clean enough such that "no response action is required." By contrast, instead of life advice like the others, the WHO doles out only metered readings on various air quality metrics.<br />
<br />
Immediately before the typhoon set in, every agency more or less said "<i>Go outside at your own risk. Worst case scenario, you'll die. Best case scenario, you're now signed up for throat and/or lung cancer within the next 20 years."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
That evening while two friends and I were cooking a whole fish, bought and killed in the market, along with rice and veggies, we kept a close eye on CNN. Just like in the US with hurricanes, the news promised great destruction.<br />
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The rain started before I fell asleep, and between typhoon anxiety and jet lag-fueled nightmares, I barely slept. Although sleep should have come easy. All I could hear was the steady falling of raindrops. My building is well-protected from wind, so I didn't even experience any gusts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xe1LaALWKKU/V6HyeftYmSI/AAAAAAABDuw/5Z12_1MXnwsMaAM3-2tcWc-Us8BguuVSgCKgB/s1600/AA4DFF27-8D16-499A-85F8-727E0A5D8810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xe1LaALWKKU/V6HyeftYmSI/AAAAAAABDuw/5Z12_1MXnwsMaAM3-2tcWc-Us8BguuVSgCKgB/s320/AA4DFF27-8D16-499A-85F8-727E0A5D8810.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duct tape barricade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
T8 was still "hoisted" and "in force" (bless the HK Observatory weather copywriters) in the morning, which meant a day to work from home. Midday I went out for a walk and the city was silent: no cars on main thoroughfares, closed up shops with "X" tape jobs on windows for storm protection, and empty sidewalks. Honestly, it was a treat.<br />
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Just before 2 p.m. the T8 signal was dropped and by 2:30, the city was in full operation and back to its unmistakable buzz.<br />
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The storm was a big deal on outlying islands and in the countryside. And it had whipped up quite a force in the Philippines before heading to Hong Kong. Today, the morning after the storm, Victoria Harbour was still churning and there were small bits of debris along the sea wall, but the city is back and the air quality is clean once again.Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-2514895100146675242016-05-02T06:03:00.002-07:002016-05-02T06:06:52.838-07:00Brown Bag Lunch: HK StyleHong Kong is one of the greatest food cities in the world. It's also one of the most humid cities. Together, those two factors have ganged up against me in my pursuit for packed lunches. And I haven't yet cracked the code.<br />
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<div>
Back in Seattle, I was a lunch-packing queen, making large quinoa and veggie salads or big pots of soup on Sunday nights that would last the whole week through. In Hong Kong, I haven't quite averaged one homemade lunch per week just yet. I'm trying to change that so I have healthier lunches.</div>
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In the US, packed lunches also equated to saving money. Here? Not so much since I'm not cooking for a family and am not quite as savvy with the wet market as fierce Cantonese mamas. </div>
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This week, I decided to just go for it. Aside from grains that I bought at a small organics store, all of my groceries for the week came from produce stalls in the market. Beets, snap peas, passion fruit, baby Filipino mangoes, sweet potatoes, pomegranate, and strange green things that look like scallions but smell like sour oniony-feet all made it into my fridge. </div>
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<div>
Determined to pull off a week-long salad worthy of a high-five from the farmers market crowd in Seattle, I started prepping ingredients. The beets went into my oven, yes the amazing gas oven that I'm fortunate to have, and I chopped up cucumbers and the strange scallion thing. My kitchen smelled awful, sour and pungent, but I opted to toss the green bits into the salad bowl.</div>
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<div>
Then I went to grab a potato to bake for dinner while the beets and quinoa were cooking. </div>
<div>
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rw13XI68McY/VydN_7bMhdI/AAAAAAABAD0/1839E2owd9wKxuap7FVe_3gm4GWzZUK3gCKgB/s1600/IMG_3138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rw13XI68McY/VydN_7bMhdI/AAAAAAABAD0/1839E2owd9wKxuap7FVe_3gm4GWzZUK3gCKgB/s320/IMG_3138.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
Stored in an closed yet breathable tin in my cupboard was a beautiful sweet potato that I bought three weeks ago. I kept it in a dark, cool spot, yet when I opened the tin I was met with a horrible metallic soil smell. The potato had blown up like a wrinkly balloon. </div>
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Now my kitchen was really smelly.</div>
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<i>Alright, one potato to waste, not ideal but I'll cut my losses,</i> I thought.</div>
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The beets were done roasting soon enough and I added them in with the stinky scallions and cucumbers then stirred in quinoa and pomegranate seeds. The scallion things were overpowering, so I took my very Seattle salad and made it a little more Asia by adding citrus, fish oil, soy sauce and maggi seasoning. </div>
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To finish it off, I went to the fridge for the feta cheese I picked up the same day that I purchased the potato. Cheese is like gold in Hong Kong. Until I strike it rich with a two-income life here, cheese is just not something that fits into my grocery budget. But a couple of weeks ago, I splurged and bought a small brick of feta that cost ~$10. </div>
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I had the privilege of enjoying said cheese just once, as this evening when I pulled it out of its fine glass storage container, the damn thing had grown fur.<br />
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<div>
My relationship with feeding myself in Hong Kong is an analogy for me building my life here. Many things work quite well--like my job, apartment, hobbies and my mother's homemade brownie recipe. But most everything has an unexpected consequence, like a crowded pedestrian commute on my way to work, relentless swollen, itchy gnat bites I get from hiking or yoga outside, and failed root veggie storage.</div>
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<div>
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6w6K0OnYK88/VydO4qMw1LI/AAAAAAABAEA/1eqn6scoQUMh_HP_URSv6oIbrMDNpHifQCKgB/s1600/IMG_3281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6w6K0OnYK88/VydO4qMw1LI/AAAAAAABAEA/1eqn6scoQUMh_HP_URSv6oIbrMDNpHifQCKgB/s200/IMG_3281.JPG" width="187" /></a>This dichotomy is both the charm and misery of life abroad. Nine times out of 10 one can't help but to laugh at the situation. But that one time--those 10% of incidents where laughs just cannot be generated-- is absolutely devastating. </div>
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One day soon, hopefully in the coming month or two, I will crack the code on food in Hong Kong and find a happier balance of all of absurd moments.</div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-38464166640691730672016-04-03T07:05:00.002-07:002016-04-03T07:05:44.621-07:00March: Three Key ThemesMarch was here and gone and easily summed up in three key themes: doctors, mold, guests.<br />
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<br /></div>
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Along with a fair chunk of Hong Kong (and from what I've gathered, large swathes of the US), I spend most of the month sick. After a nonstop work schedule culminated with a conference at the very end of February, myself along with most of my colleagues caught a vicious flu bug. So much so that the first working day after the conference only two of the normally 20 or so people in my office area came to work. I was not one of the two.</div>
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<b>Doctors</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9EXjvq08lkk/VwEIF8iwUMI/AAAAAAAA-54/pwDwyXsqu8IbhGeIrAPuiTZKzAsiOtt0A/s1600/IMG_2706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9EXjvq08lkk/VwEIF8iwUMI/AAAAAAAA-54/pwDwyXsqu8IbhGeIrAPuiTZKzAsiOtt0A/s320/IMG_2706.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">The waiting room of the doctor's office</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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This month meant I had to figure out how the health system worked in Hong Kong. My company's health insurance offers an app service that lets me search doctors by specialties and location. Any doctor featured in the app is completely free to visit (yes!) </div>
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Like Tinder with dating, this app is a big game of roulette with the knowledge and personality of the people. I should've swiped left and said no, but was too easily tempted by the doctor located closest to my house. The waiting room was packed and crowded and I noticed a lot of Botox signs around... not exactly encouraging when I needed something to tame my fever and sinuses.</div>
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When I got called into the doctor's office, it was actually his office. It was another tiny room where the doctor sat at his desk and I on a chair as if I were at a job interview. In all of 30 seconds, he wrote a prescription and I went back to reception to pick up six tiny packets of yellow, pink and white pills. It was unclear what the drugs were or what I was diagnosed with.</div>
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I went home, took what I thought was one dose and wound up feeling drunk and nauseated.</div>
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When I went to work the next day, my colleague graciously made me an appointment at her family's doctor which was also conveniently close to my home. This doctor was much kinder, his office less chaotic, and was marginally more clear on what the medicine was as well as expected dosages. </div>
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All in, I went to the doc three times this month -- more than I had in all of the years I lived in Seattle. I blame the humidity and the mold. </div>
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<b>Mold</b></div>
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As the fog settled in last month, the temperature remained cool but the humidity was consistently flirting with 100%. All of a sudden, the walls along the border of the windows bloomed into green and grey spots, looking a bit like blackheads on a nose. Not knowing what to do, I let it be until the color grew more pronounced.</div>
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One Sunday morning, while sniffling and running a low-grade fever, I finally pulled out the bleach and a sponge. While I started scrubbing off the blooms of blackheads, my old roommate from Seattle was thankfully in town and started researching mold in Hong Kong. </div>
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Apparently it's common and it's a never-ending battle. </div>
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She pulled up blog posts describing moldy shoes, moldy sofas and completely wrecked wardrobes from people who left town on a vacation and came back to dank, disgusting clothes. I continued working my way around the windowsills, increasingly horrified by her reports and by what I was seeing. </div>
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As I cleaned around the window by my bed, I took a peek behind the headboard and screamed. My roommate thought I had found a gigantic spider. Instead, the wall was covered in fur: black, green and grey fur. </div>
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Immediately I knew the source of my sinus woes. I scrubbed once and scrubbed again and promptly turned on my dehumidifier. No doubt by electric bill this month will be triple what I have been paying because my dehumidifier has hardly been turned off.</div>
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In addition to seeping into the walls, the moisture has seeped into my bones. While my skin is fabulous, the air feels so thick that it seems to stick inside your lungs along with all of the glorious particulate matter from pollution. Another colleague thought that my never-ending cold was due to the humidity, so she made me some homemade dehumidifying soup with Chinese barley, red beans and a little sugar. It tasted great and the next day my coworkers proclaimed that my hair looked less humidified. Success?</div>
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<b>Guests</b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pG25oRc1Oz4/VwEIhqdtbUI/AAAAAAAA-7c/wq-mp5517HMrP1nR9ERodSRK6uTemtP6Q/s1600/IMG_2483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pG25oRc1Oz4/VwEIhqdtbUI/AAAAAAAA-7c/wq-mp5517HMrP1nR9ERodSRK6uTemtP6Q/s320/IMG_2483.JPG" width="240" /></a>The highlight of the month was my old roommate visiting from Seattle. I can't express how nice it was spending a lot of time with someone who actually knows me. It felt good getting re-centered.</div>
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In the next 10 days alone, I have five guests all from the US coming through town or staying with me. It'll be nice to show off my city. </div>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-17356361706612971392016-02-21T06:37:00.000-08:002016-02-21T06:37:14.069-08:00100 DaysToday marks 100 days in Hong Kong, 100 days!<br />
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<br />
So, here is my list of 100 things that define this experience so far:<br />
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<ol>
<li>I adore my neighborhood</li>
<li>My apartment actually feels like home</li>
<li>But rent it stupid expensive.</li>
<li>The city still blows my mind..</li>
<li>...and sometimes makes me crazy. </li>
<li>So I escape to the jungle.</li>
<li>Or I hop on a ferry to the beautiful surrounding islands (my favorite!)</li>
<li>Hong Kong really is an adult playground</li>
<li>Money will buy anything here</li>
<li>But it's totally ok and reasonable to get by without an excess of it.</li>
<li>The markets are bizarre and wonderful,</li>
<li>yes it's true that the crowds drive me nuts there,</li>
<li>but nowhere else in the world can I buy legos, underwear and ultra-fresh SE Asian fruit all within 100 steps</li>
<li>And it's all a five-minute walk from home.</li>
<li>This city's hills make Seattle's hills look quaint, </li>
<li>Many streets here are just straight up (or down) steps.</li>
<li>Ahh, Seattle... I miss that city more than I thought I would,</li>
<li>it's only now that I can finally think about it and only have it gently pull on my heart strings -- the places, routes, shitty weather, the smell of the ocean...I've been gone long enough now to let myself actually think about the city. Up until now, I blocked it from my mind. </li>
<li>Of course I miss my friends, a lot.</li>
<li>But I have visitors! At least one each month since November and continuing through May :)</li>
<li>I've now been in Hong Kong long enough to identify other silly American things I miss:</li>
<li>La Croix bubbly water, affordable kombucha, takeout from Annapurna and understandable grocery stores.</li>
<li>Ok, pity party over. This city has way too many great things that keep me distracted:</li>
<li> Like food.</li>
<li>You can eat everything in Hong Kong. </li>
<li>I love the local noodles and eggy waffles,</li>
<li>And I've taken a masochistic adoration to Sichuan meals. </li>
<li>It numbs your mouth in a firey, citrusy feeling totally unique to Sichuanese food. </li>
<li>I don't cook as often as I should here; it's expensive cooking for one. </li>
<li>However, I really want to learn how to cook Cantonese food.</li>
<li>I'm currently accepting donations for my wok and knife set fund. (Kidding about the donations part, but those are two critical items I still need to purchase for my place).</li>
<li>So are plants. I really need some living things in my home space.</li>
<li>Good thing there is an ENTIRE market just for plants in Prince Edward, just a few stops away.</li>
<li>Foot massages are my weekly indulgence. </li>
<li>Sometimes I go twice a week. </li>
<li>Visit me in Hong Kong and at least one foot massage is guaranteed to be on the list. </li>
<li>Living far from home is an inexplicable learning experience, it's far from glamorous.</li>
<li>It took me 2.5 months to finally be fine to admit that this move was difficult.</li>
<li>Moving here has forced me to let down my guard and open up to any bizarre connection the universe presents.</li>
<li>Some of my favorite connections have been with fellow Seattlites having only found one another after arriving in Hong Kong. Sometimes the universe is funny like that.</li>
<li>The common tie of the "former life" and "current life" has been an appreciated factor with the fellow jet fresh imports from the US West Coast. </li>
<li>Cantonese is a really difficult language.</li>
<li>My Mandarin needs *a lot* of work, but not as much work as my Cantonese.</li>
<li>Three months in and I know how to say my address and a handful of words, like: hello, annoying, and three forms of "thank you."</li>
<li>Hong Kong is cold in the winter. It's humid and there isn't much for insulation.</li>
<li>I can't wait for the hot, sticky summer.</li>
<li>The pollution here is a real thing, but it's not that bad.</li>
<li>An air purifier is the best investment I've made for my apartment.</li>
<li>It still amazes me that I can be in the jungle in 10 minutes from my front door.</li>
<li>Did you know that 70% of Hong Kong is undeveloped land?</li>
<li>That's why the bits that are developed are so dense. </li>
<li>(And a part of the reason the air pollution is in check).</li>
<li>The Asia travel bug hasn't yet hit me fully yet, there's too much to explore here. For example:</li>
<li>Lantau Island: its beaches, feral cows and Disneyworld! (still need to go to Disney..)</li>
<li>Lamma Island: for that laid back feel </li>
<li>Sai Kung: I've hardly even touched the area yet, but I like what I see in the New Territories</li>
<li>Cheung Chau Island: for that biking fix</li>
<li>Hong Kong Island: This is where I live and I've got a grasp of maybe 10% of all the good stuff on this island</li>
<li>Best way to get around the city in HK island? A wooden street car that runs east to west. It's my favorite view of the city.</li>
<li>Kowloon: it's where I feel like I'm 100% in Hong Kong</li>
<li>Mong Kok: one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in the world. Somehow I've wound up there more weekends than not in the last few months.</li>
<li>The wet market down the street: where things are sold that I did not know could be eaten.</li>
<li>I'm realizing there is still a lot here that I need to figure out,</li>
<li>Like the "adult" things one avoids until necessary, like figuring out where to go to the doctor,</li>
<li>Or what to do if a fire alarm goes off in your building</li>
<li>Or if a fuse blows in the apartment (at least I have finally located the fuse box).</li>
<li>And then there are taxes. Uff da. I actually can't even....</li>
<li>Time for another foot massage.</li>
<li>I also want to try cupping and acupuncture, but medicine is one area where the language barrier is real. </li>
<li>Tai chi is also on high on my list of things to try. I plan to crash the party of grandmas who climb up the mountain each morning at 7 a.m. for the energy work in the park.</li>
<li>The second the weather gets warmer, I plan to start teaching yoga in parks, on beaches... pretty much anywhere that gets people barefoot on something other than concrete.</li>
<li>I don't talk about my work on my blog, but my job has been the easiest and best part about adjusting to living in Hong Kong.</li>
<li>My colleagues are the BEST and have lovingly answered all of my silly questions about Hong Kong, such as, "How do I treat itchy bug bites?"</li>
<li>Answer: this amazing MoPiDick (yes, like Moby Dick) ointment from Japan, found at any drugstore. It's amazing!</li>
<li>Also amazing are the Korean sheet face masks. They are single cotton sheets with holes cut out for your eyes, nose and mouth. They're soaked in serum for any sort of skin improvement, such as moisture, soothing, anti-aging, and whitening (I stay away from the whitening ones).</li>
<li>The most entertaining masks are the ones with animal patterns, like monkeys and puppies.</li>
<li>Plan a visit to Hong Kong and Korean face masks will also certainly be on the itinerary.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for how similar Hong Kong feels to home. Aside from moving alone, which is hard to do even domestically, I have all of the comforts I had in the US.</li>
<li>Thank goodness I have a yoga studio. It's clean and <i>spacious</i>.</li>
<li>It's easy, albeit a bit expensive, to eat really healthy here.</li>
<li>My step count has shot up to a daily average of 3.9 miles.</li>
<li>And I climb an average of 20 flights of stairs each day.</li>
<li>(Hong Kong hills do NOT mess around).</li>
<li>I'm learning how to use umbrellas again. No one in Seattle uses umbrellas. Here they are key.</li>
<li>So are rainboots. These streets rip up shoes like crazy.</li>
<li>Speaking of rain, I love how I can hear it raining from my apartment.</li>
<li>In fact, I can't hear much of anything other than rain and the occasional dog bark. There is zero traffic by my apartment.</li>
<li>My address sounds straight from a scifi novel (if you got my New Year card, you'll understand that). </li>
<li>Commuting, even on foot, can require the same keen attentiveness as driving in a lot of traffic.</li>
<li>You don't ever want to be that distracted walker who is texting and walking, that's how head on collisions happen.</li>
<li>Sometimes those crowded human highways are infuriating, other times I find the zen and flow in it. I need to consciously work towards making it as calming as possible.</li>
<li>(If you've made it this far, bless your heart. Only nine more to go).</li>
<li>I'll be here a while, quite a long while. I'm getting through the post-honeymoon lull and wholeheartedly believe I can build a good life here.</li>
<li>I am committed to building a community out of this behemoth of a city,</li>
<li>the starting point for that is building my home, which is 75% there. I've given myself a deadline of May to get it to where I want it to be.</li>
<li>Technology is the saving grace of this move. I am so grateful I can video chat with family and friends for free on a moment's notice.</li>
<li>Willing that I live to be an old dragon lady, I can't wait to see this move in retrospect and what role it actually plays in my life story.</li>
<li>Yes, it's hard doing the Google Earth zoom-out of where I am on the planet in relation to my loved ones. But it's also pretty damn amazing,</li>
<li>This move, more than others, has reinforced that this world is small,</li>
<li>and that people everywhere are capable of connecting and relating well to one another.</li>
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Thank you, Hong Kong, for a brilliant and challenging first 100 days. </div>
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<br />Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-8229382530400012172016-02-21T01:48:00.002-08:002016-02-21T01:48:21.242-08:00Welcome, Year of the Monkey<div>
Happy Year of the Monkey! Kung Hei Fat Choy! Xin nian kuai le!</div>
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The Chinese New Year, or Lunar New Year (or LNY) is one of the biggest holidays on earth. It celebrates the new year beginning on the lunar calendar and results in an <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2016/02/03/travel/china-baidu-chunyun-map-2016/" target="_blank">insanely huge annual migration of humans </a> who are heading back to their hometowns for the holiday.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Park LNY Market</td></tr>
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For me, it meant three days off from work and a good chance to start learning bits and pieces about the rituals behind it. LNY markets appeared all throughout the city, selling stunning flowers and holiday decor.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impossibly busy crowd in Mong Kok</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orchid shopping at Victoria Park </td></tr>
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<b>The Decorations</b><br />
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Orange bushes adorn every single entryway. Even in the far reaches of temples outside of fishing villages, one can find an orange bush. The Chinese word for mandarin oranges sounds like "good luck" when spoken and uses the character for "gold" when written. The bushes represent a good luck and fortune in the year ahead.<br />
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The bushes are perfectly symmetrical and dripping with so much fruit it's almost unnatural. Thankfully my colleague had courage to ask the question all of the new gwailo's have been wondering: could the oranges be eaten? Absolutely not. The local who answered her said that the bushes are sprayed with all sorts of chemicals to keep those oranges looking just right.<br />
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Aside from orange bushes, families also purchase pots of narcissus flowers, indicating the arrival of spring along with "five generation fruit" pyramids, which look like stacks of lemons with some extra nubbins growing out of them. The fruit are a symbol of generations within a family.</div>
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Door frames are adorned with poetry on long red scrips of paper, wishing good health, fortune, and happiness. From what I gather, the poems have quite a bit of crafty wordplay that I can only sense by the generally awkward translations.</div>
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The biggest and most interesting surprise of all of it to me was that I received <i>lai see</i>, or red pocket money. Bosses and married people hand out red envelopes of money to ward off evil spirits for the year ahead.The envelopes are filled with crisp bills of varying denominations, but most commonly in HK it's a $20 or $10 HKD, which is $2-3 US.</div>
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In some parts of Asia, my old age would disqualify me for the red packets, but in Hong Kong, anyone who isn't married may receive red packet from married friends or colleagues. The packets are also given out by managers to their teams. I gave to my cleaning lady and my door guards. It's amazing how nice some of the door guards have been since I gave them lucky money. </div>
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Nothing says "single in Hong Kong," quite like paying for meals--while dining alone--in brand new, fresh $20 bills. </div>
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Many Chinese are quick to say that the LNY is a lot like Christmas in the US, and up until this year I didn't quite understand the connection. But it's really true--both holidays are spent primarily with family, there are a several traditional decorations and foods involved, little kids anxiously a await gifts from grownups, and there is a palpable sense of festive excitement around. I'm happy to have spent my first LNY in Asia right here in Hong Kong. </div>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-79451125240729659692016-02-10T01:45:00.002-08:002016-02-10T01:45:20.844-08:00When Hong Kong Gets ColdHello! It's been a couple of weeks since the last post, I'll blame it on my perpetually chilled fingertips... they haven't been too eager to type anything that wasn't work-related.<br />
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This last month has been one of the coldest that Hong Kong has had on record. Two weeks ago <a href="https://www.hongkongfp.com/2016/01/24/fire-dept-urges-frost-tourists-to-stay-home-after-85-rescued-from-hks-highest-peak/" target="_blank">"frost chasers"</a> scurried up the tallest peaks in the country parks in the hopes of catching a single snowflake or shimmering icicles on the underbrush.<br />
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Despite injuries, thankfully no one was killed in the cold weather pursuits, but I dare say spraying cold ground with cold water wasn't the most brilliant move by the rescuers, who are more accustomed to extreme heat than cold. (I'm not joking, scroll to the bottom to see the genius in action).<br />
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While I wasn't chasing frost (I grew up with enough of it to last a lifetime), I was planning to go camping and sleep outside that weekend. Thankfully we decided against the sleeping outside bit and rented a beachside apartment on a nearby Hong Kong island.<br />
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Despite all of the blizzards and wind storms I experienced on the prairie, it was nothing compared to the 30-hour gale on the beach. We attempted a hike, but gave in after a half hour of being sand-blasted on the beach. That night, the wind was relentless--even shaking the apartment with some gusts. Potted plants on the patio tipped over and cracked, some awnings were torn, and loads of branches fell from the trees.<br />
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The actual-freezing temperature was brief, but the wet chill in the air has persisted. The slate tiles of my apartment floor and the less-than-radiant heat from my radiator heater make it next to impossible to crawl out of my flannel sheets (best Christmas gift EVER) in the morning.<br />
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Outside, the temperatures aren't so bad. With a jacket and scarf, it's totally manageable. The challenge comes with warming up as the insides of buildings are either the same temperature or colder than outside. Suddenly sunny and 55 feels like a refrigerator.<br />
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People walk around in gigantic parkas, usually reserved for legitimate sub-zero temps. I manage in a fall jacket, but indoors I'm running out of appropriate winter clothing to wear to work. Most of my bulky sweaters I left back in the US.<br />
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I'm going on the record and saying that I can't wait for summer. Steamy, hot, raining, mildewy summer. In my inexperienced mind, summer is setup to be one nonstop hot yoga class. Anytime I say that out loud, I'm warned to be careful what I wish for. Apparently summers here are brutal, but at this point, I'm ready for the fridge chill to leave my apartment.<br />
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<br />Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-77084264151833915862016-01-16T19:52:00.000-08:002016-01-24T01:18:22.070-08:00The Gwailo Goes to the Market<div>
"This gre-ee-n leaf-ah, is it good for cooking, lah?" I slowly said to the vegetable vendor, doing my very best interpretation of Canto-English with strategic "ah, lah, and oh's" to make it sound like I meant business.</div>
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"This is watercress and that's bamboo," the vendor replied to me in perfect English.</div>
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Embarrassed, I quickly dropped my poor, obnoxious accent and tried to recover by asking him a dozen questions about different vegetables I didn't recognize. Ultimately I purchased only familiar things: broccoli, onion, ginger, and zucchini. But now I've got a new friend in the wet market...I think.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wan Chai wet market</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new favorite English-speaking veggie hawker</td></tr>
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The wet market is a series of stalls--both indoor and outdoor--that sell fresh produce, meat and fish. It's open from 8-8 each day and the produce and meat are fresh and a fraction of the price of a typical grocery store. I'm still working out the origin of most of the produce, namely the vegetables, as it's hard to tell where they were grown. Fruits are more straightforward and there is amazing fruit that comes from all over SE Asia. </div>
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I went to the market shortly after it opened on Sunday morning and at that time was the only <i>gwailo </i>(foreigner) there. Market shopping is a personal benchmark for getting on well in a new place. I've been lucky to live within a five minute walk of fresh markets for the great majority of the last eight years. </div>
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It's amazing that my first shopping trip in each market--be in in Rome, Hangzhou, Capitol Hill in Seattle, and now in Hong Kong--felt the same. In each place, armed with a shopping bag and a clear calculation of what was in my wallet, I felt nervous, unsure, and absolutely clueless as to what to buy and where. </div>
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In all instances (save for Hong Kong), the market slowly transformed from an intimidating amount of produce to manageable stands where I had my hawker for eggs, tomatoes, mangoes...you name it, and I knew where to get it and they knew me. I'll get there one day in Hong Kong, it's just a matter of setting up the routine of it.</div>
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I've hit the two month mark now and I'm happy to report that I do have a sense of routine, at least a tiny bit. Anyone who knows me well knows that I adore a good routine--I'm the classic case of early to bed, early to rise, neat-freak, follow-a-schedule gal. There's nothing quite like a move around the world to shake out any dust settled from established habits.<br />
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At this point I maybe have 10% of Hong Kong figured out, but it's a solid 10%. My job is going great, I'm loving all of the food, I'm learning more about my neighborhood and the city, and I have a lovely home. Food, water, shelter, safety: all of my basic needs are more than met. However, the bus system here is still hit-or-miss for me, I have no sense of a budget, and anytime I attempt to say something in Cantonese it comes out in Mandarin. </div>
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It's all ok though, I'm embracing my new home and shamelessly wearing my <i>gwailo</i> heart on my sleeve.</div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-59496541930667155922016-01-10T04:45:00.003-08:002016-01-10T04:45:50.667-08:00The Helper SituationThis week I hired a helper.<br />
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She (of course, <i>she</i>) will come to my place once a week to clean, take care of laundry, do my dishes, and run any errands that I may require. All for a fraction of the cost of a typical trip to Target.<br />
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Ok Americans, pick your jaw up from the floor.<br />
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Helpers are everywhere in Hong Kong, nearly everyone with a disposable income has one and anyone with children has <i>at least</i> one, if not one per child. Families have live-in helpers, providing them with room and board in exchange for them maintaining the household and taking care of the kids. A live-in helper costs more or less the same as a full-time daycare provider in the US. <br />
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Part-time help, like what I now have, is technically illegal but it's a win-win for both me and my gal: she earns some easy extra income, and my inner neat freak enjoys coming home to a spotless apartment.<br />
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The whole idea of having someone tend to my basic chores feels a little extravagant; especially since I know that I am fully capable of it all myself. However, it's kind of the way things seem to work here.<br />
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The majority of helpers are from Indonesia or Philippines. As far as I know, they're all women and they work six days a week. Sundays and public holidays are their days off. It's incredible how the city transforms on Sundays when all of the helpers socialize. Despite denser-than-usual crowds, it's my favorite day of the week to walk around and people watch.<br />
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Every public open space becomes a picnic. Each above-ground walkway, under every overpass, and on and around each public bench are good friends chatting and eating their favorite foods from home... or KFC. Each group sets down cardboard and blankets, some who are extra protective of their space even build cardboard walls.<br />
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They crochet, make crafts, or play games on their phones and loudly discuss the hot gossip. In larger spaces, they might group into large choruses and sing or dance. After dusk, guitars come out and it turns into more of a party.<br />
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For the helpers, it's the one day of the week where they can let loose and be part of their community.<br />
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On the one hand, the idea of it makes me cringe--elements of it certainly are reminiscent of the Victorian era--and the modern, independent feminist that I am feels a bit upset about the whole setup. As a society, we should be past this master-servant relationship dynamic.<br />
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But I also see the other side as well. Hong Kong is not setup for working parents and a full-time helper job isn't a bad gig, especially when with the right family. While there isn't "daycare" per say, kids start attending school well before their first birthday. As infants, someone must tag along with the child to school, thus a helper is required. As children grow, the school hours change but like the US, never really align to the hours of a full-time job. <br />
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In many cases, the helpers become part of the family because they're so well integrated with the kids. Sure there are some horrifying cases I've heard of mistreatment of helpers from employers or malice acts from the helpers themselves, but for the most part things work out quite well.<br />
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Part-time helpers are usually moonlighting in addition to working full-time for a family. The extra money earned from picking up a handful of extra apartments each week is a nice bonus to the monthly salary paid by the full-time family.<br />
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It's probably going to take me quite some time to feel ok about someone tending to my most basic needs, but I'm going to do my best to embrace it and be kind. After all, my helper could teach me a thing or two about figuring out laundry and scoring a top-notch deal in the wet market.Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-6269757178260435592016-01-02T19:48:00.003-08:002016-01-02T19:49:34.720-08:00High Contrast Holiday SeasonHong Kong doesn't do anything halfway. It shamelessly goes all in--from the tallest, biggest, shiniest skyscrapers to the stalls that sell only one variety of eggy waffles. There are entire streets lined with what looks like the exact same shop, one selling linoleum, one with pipes, one with paint. There are clothing streets, pet streets, furniture streets, coffee streets... it's overwhelming.<br />
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When you're in the city here, you are in. the. city. Crowded, loud, traffic, people everywhere. But in just minutes, you can be in the jungle or on a boat bound for a quiet island. Like mainland China, there is no in between here. Mediocrity is something that can only exist within the confines of one's home.</div>
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True to the nature of this city, ringing in the New Year was absolutely filled with amazing contrasts. The last week of 2015 was spent at home in North Dakota, on the snow-covered, frigid prairie with my family. A quick 25-hour jaunt across the Pacific landed me back in balmy Hong Kong at 11 p.m. on a Monday. I was at work by 9 a.m. on Tuesday. Not my most productive day... but a sharp move to get over jet lag as quickly as possible. </div>
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<b>Contrast 1: night and day. </b>The 13-hour time difference from North Dakota makes for a perfectly opposite day-to-night schedule. This time around, the jet lag subsided after three nights (both in the US and when I returned to Hong Kong). Coffee and electrolyte drinks in the morning, exercise in the day, and melatonin at night for the first few days is my jet lag recovery cocktail. </div>
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<b>Contrast 2: North Dakota vs. Hong Kong (essentially, night and day). </b>This photo says it all. Two absolutely completely different worlds. I quite like them both.</div>
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<b>Contrast 3: New Year's Eve.</b> Since this was my first New Year's in Hong Kong, I wanted to go out and experience the city. While my scope of reference is small, it seems as though on New Year's, you either go out-- sequins, suits, champagne-crowded decadence--or you stay in, dinner with friends and a quiet countdown at home. If there's an in-between, I didn't hear about it. </div>
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Somewhere around the corner from Armani and a few floors above Gucci was the club where I landed. Everyone was pretty--everyone! All were dressed to the nines and drinking top shelf gin and tonics or vodka sodas from the open bar. It was a grown up Neverland and a far cry from the Teacher's Lounge in Fortuna, N.D. where I was just days before. My inner farm kid always feels a bit self-conscious in that environment, but as I get older, I'm finding more amusement in the whole showcase of it.</div>
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Don't worry mom and grandma, I didn't do anything that night that would make you cringe.</div>
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<b>Contrast 4: Remote island on Jan. 1. </b>I was absolutely part of the global hangover and woke up with a splitting headache on New Year's Day. It was quickly remedied by a foot massage and piping hot bowl of ramen (no, not the $0.25 packet from the grocery store).</div>
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Since moving to Seattle, I started a tradition of finding a beach on New Year's Day. On the west coast, that meant dressing in several layers and biking miles to Golden Gardens. In Hong Kong, it meant hopping on a ferry, somewhat unsure of what was awaiting at the other side.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SChQ78KRxrY/VoiYjCexeXI/AAAAAAAA7lk/RO00SwxZF8Q/s1600/IMG_0986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SChQ78KRxrY/VoiYjCexeXI/AAAAAAAA7lk/RO00SwxZF8Q/s320/IMG_0986.JPG" width="240" /></a>A friend and I went to Lamma Island, which is ~45 boat ride from Central in Hong Kong. Prior to going, the only thing I knew about it was that hippies, farmers and fisherman live there--a bit like Vashon Island in the Puget Sound. </div>
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There are no cars on the island, the air is fresh[ish], and the birds sing songs of absolute joy to have gotten out of the city and found the place. We arrived at a small fishing village that was ~200 yards of seafood restaurants. I'm not sure if people actually even live in the village, or if it's just restaurants waiting to catch hungry ferry-goers. </div>
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A short 20 minute walk through jungle and small garden plots of veggies led us to a sugar sand beach. The sun was shining, it was 72, and the beach was relatively empty. The raucous of the night before evaporated and was a world away from the serene shore. </div>
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That evening, I once again found myself thrust through a 180 change, going from small fishing boats on Vashon Island to a big wooden junk boat in Victoria Harbor to see the skyline. </div>
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Here's to 2016--a year that's bound to be a good shake up of experiences. I hope that in the new year you too can find experiences that defy mediocrity. </div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-11827986081989727802015-12-14T06:21:00.000-08:002015-12-14T06:31:09.765-08:00IKEA on Sundays<div class="MsoNormal">
Think back to Black Friday 2006, the peak of the madness
just before the economy tanked and Amazon roared to life. Remember the camp outs
in front of Best Buy and Walmart? And the nervous excitement of the crowd which
quickly turned to rage and exhaustion just 30 short minutes after the store
doors opened at 5 a.m.?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well my friend, that very scene is repeated every Saturday
and Sunday at IKEA in Hong Kong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was ready for it, I had my list and was bracing for the
onslaught of the crowd. Space is hard to come by in Hong Kong, so to fit a
behemoth of a store like IKEA into an ultra-crowded city center requires it to
go underground.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The store design was brilliant (save for one spot) and I
cruised through the first two areas that didn’t have anything on my list. It
was crowded, but manageable. By the time I reached the living room section, it
was a different story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a saying that “IKEA is where relationships go to
die,” but on Sundays in Hong Kong, the living room area of IKEA becomes he
place where friendships are forged and young love could very well blossom, if
you happen to speak the same Indonesian dialect as the hottie sitting on the
Norsborg sofa. Again, space is a premium in Hong Kong, so why not hang out in a
relatively open warehouse on a comfy sofa and gossip while braiding your best
friend’s hair?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The store slowly strangled me, and after two hours it was
time to escape. There was only one fatal flaw of the store design: the
escalator going up out of the store rose up to ground level literally right
below the lunch counter at IKEA. Gazing up as I rose on the escalator, all I
saw were people gnawing on entire turkey legs, and the slimy suction cup sound
of juicy meat being ripped from the bone was deafening. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was at that moment my senses admitted defeat and I was
officially fried. But I had to get home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Loaded down with two big blue bags, I needed a taxi. I
learned the hard way that 3 p.m. is shift change time for taxis in Hong Kong. Alas,
it was just another notch in the belt of <a href="http://www.thefarlanglady.com/2010/10/up-downs.html" target="_blank">my long, ugly history with taxis in Asia.</a> Somehow I managed not to cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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IKEA in Hong Kong on a Sunday was enough to make me never
ever want to return. The busyness of the store led me to buy weird things, like
a single wooden spoon, an impractically small cutting board and the
always-needed colander…not exactly a winning combination of necessities to put
together an apartment. So the prospects of a return trip to IKEA seemed
inevitable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet somehow, one week on, I’ve managed to not return. Local
shops like the “King Tak Han Porcelain Co., Ltd.,” which among porcelain, also sells every kind
of container, utensil, shelf and basket imaginable; and the lovable Japan Home
Center store, where low-cost home goods are sold and a poppy 10-second chorus
of “Jingle Bells” plays on repeat, have been a godsend. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The local online forums to buy and sell furniture have been
the true goldmine. I was fortunate to
meet a couple who was leaving Hong Kong who sold me pretty much their entire
kitchen along with several household items, like an iron, for less than
$100USD. I found a new “used” TV for a similar price and, to avoid another
arduous taxi experience, called an Uber
and waited 20 minutes for the Tesla (yes, Tesla) to arrive. With a 32” TV in my
lap, I enjoyed my first Tesla ride that netted out to just under $8USD. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes you win, you learn, or you just throw your hands
up and hope that a luxury sedan comes to pick you up. I’ve done all of the above in an
effort to set up my home.<o:p></o:p></div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-40238716421547396422015-12-01T07:00:00.000-08:002015-12-01T07:00:01.927-08:00Local Knowledge"In Hong Kong, you can do anything for a little bit of money, it's very convenient" my consultant reminded me yesterday.<br />
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We were sitting in the most efficient 15'x15' office, on the single tiny meeting table somehow arranged among six desks, a refrigerator, copier, and wall of counter space. I've quickly learned the office is a very standard real estate office and there are several thousand sprinkled throughout the city (honest, they're on practically every single street corner).</div>
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My consultant was hustling his contacts to find me a good deal on a paint job and deep clean of my new apartment. I told him I could paint myself, but when I went back to the apartment yesterday and actually gauged the garishness of the Fisher Price Fire Truck Toy red kitchen, I decided maybe a dozen coats still wouldn't fully cover up that red.</div>
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Somehow, he negotiated a $150US discount on the paint work and snagged a great deal on a cleaner. Afterwards, he helped me buy paint at a store where I no doubt would have spent 3x the money just trying to figure out what/how much to buy. </div>
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Of the dozens of people for whom I am very grateful were involved in orchestrating my relocation, my consultant--the last man in the process, which at times was tricky to navigate--has been the most above-and-beyond, practical helper imaginable. </div>
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The move to China a few years ago was very much "figure it out," aside from visa assistance and a quick 1/2 day tour of the nearest grocery store. I'm incredibly lucky and grateful to have the help I do now from the consultant, two local friends and colleagues.</div>
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Hong Kong is friendly enough to expats that I would've figured things out eventually, like negotiated home internet or where to find a mattress for my special "HK-sized" bed, but the consultant has completely cut out the time required to do so. I've asked the poor man every single question I never actually figured out when living in China.</div>
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Thanks to him, I've learned how to properly tend to my trash/recycling, cross the street like a local and navigate a good chunk of the city center through tunnels or above-ground walkways. He has one son who is about my age who has spent time living in the US, so he knows what it's like having a child far from home. "You are like my daughter, I'm happy to help," he told me today.<br />
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My local friends and coworkers have also shown me dozens of little quirks about the way things work here, helping me to feel more like I have a grasp on things. For example, I have a washer/dryer combo in my temp apartment, which is absolutely too good to be true. The washer works great, save for a weak final spin cycle, so when it moves into the "dryer" mode, the machine simply adds heat to the sopping clothes making them a steaming pile of, well you get the point.<br />
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Conversations during meals have brought insight to knowing how to properly manage cockroaches (still unsure if I can handle those..) and where to snag a deal on a sofa. Acutely listening and observing has taught me about restaurant decorum and a new acquaintance shared the context around <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yum_cha#Customs_and_etiquette">why people quickly tap two or three knuckles</a> twice on the table when a waiter brings more tea.<br />
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While there's beauty in learning how to figure things out on your own, there is also a lot of hassle. Quite frankly, moving here alone has been difficult enough, so I'm leveraging any of the help and advice I can get. The locals' knowledge and "make it through the day" tidbits are absolutely priceless and definitely convenient.</div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-63375029664013483392015-11-24T15:02:00.001-08:002015-11-24T15:02:56.451-08:00People EverywhereTwelve days into Hong Kong and the stages of adjustment are playing out more or less as anticipated, but living-breathing-moving-functioning through them iss o much more simultaneously exhilarating and exhausting than I had expected.<br />
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Of the many stages one goes through when moving to a new country, I'm only at stage 1.2--the adrenaline of landing here and sussing out basic needs is complete and now my body is craving routine and normalcy, which I now savor in the tiniest of doses.</div>
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I'm building little routines: waking up early to practice a bit of yoga at my temporary apartment, after which I take the exact same route each day walking to work. Then in the office I try to strike a nice balance between being a total newbie and picking up where I left off in Seattle.</div>
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All of these things sound familiar and simple enough, but they look and feel like nothing I'm used to.</div>
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Take the commute, for example. I'm staying a convenient 15-minute walk from work, which is made even easier by the above-ground human freeway that snakes one story above the cars, shops and sidewalk below.</div>
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The mass of people in Hong Kong is incredible. During commuting time, it doesn't really matter if you don't know exactly where you're headed, because you very literally just go with the flow of traffic. </div>
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Human feet far exceed the intelligence of cars in a traffic jam, there's something intuitive about people walking with one another despite the variance in speed and cadence of steps. It's only when some poor human tries swimming upstream that near collisions occur. I've unfortunately been said human a few times this week.</div>
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Among the mass of bodies, it's fun trying to make some sort of interpersonal connection, even if only for a split second--catching a "yep, we're in this mass together," glance. Though it's more difficult than one would think, it seems the majority of folks I join on the great walk every morning have been hypnotized into complacency after taking it day after day.</div>
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There are few cities in the world that command energy like Hong Kong. It's like New York, Shanghai, and I imagine maybe Tokyo and Mumbai, in that the city is like it's own creature living, pulsing and feeling the collective highs and lows of its inhabitants. </div>
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It's only when a place achieves a certain mass of people that it can force you out of your individual self and into the collective beat of a population. This is something I have never experienced on a daily basis for any length of time, and is something to work on growing accustomed. I am simply a cell in Hong Kong, fortunate to have the chance to pulse through her veins.</div>
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-51937064365764942452015-11-16T19:09:00.000-08:002015-11-16T19:09:29.402-08:00Dr. Chao and his magic medicineI've been in Hong Kong now for five days, and each day I work towards convincing myself that I actually <i>live</i> here and that I'm not on vacation. Every day there are moments of "WOW, this is my city now!" followed rather quickly by "Holy cow, why did I think moving here was a good idea?" It's safe to say my heart and head aren't fully in sync with the move quite yet.<div>
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Five days in, I can't say I've had any monumental adventures, but I have started carving out pockets that feel a bit more familiar. The side streets in Wan Chai, the neighborhood where I am staying, are packed with little shops, stalls and restaurants.</div>
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Each morning I set out in a different direction to find a noodle soup breakfast at a <i>dai pai dong</i> style cafe, which is more or less a small old-style restaurant. Breakfast is simple and inexpensive, a bowl of macaroni with ham and broth and a cup of milk tea (dark-brewed breakfast tea with evaporated milk and a bit of sugar) costs less than $4 USD. </div>
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The morning has been the time I've felt the best, so that's when I've done most of my exploring. I arrived in Hong Kong with a nasty cold that began in my nose in Seattle and settled into a nice chest cough by the time I landed in Hong Kong. As such, a good chunk of my time has been spent in my temporary apartment watching survivalist documentaries on Discovery Channel or reruns of NHL or NFL games. No joke, I saw the second period of the Philadelphia Flyers vs. Montreal hockey game three times on two different days.</div>
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However, I am very fortunate that my good friend's father is a Chinese medicine doctor in Hong Kong. My friend is a former coworker from Seattle and she moved home to Hong Kong a few years ago. We met up on Sunday to check out a vintage market in Mong Kok then went back to her home. She gave me some medicine her dad recommended to calm my cough. </div>
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The medicine came in a tiny plastic bag that contained approximately a teaspoon of reddish-brown powder, she mixed it with a bit of water and told me to drink it. The mix was gritty, thick and bitter, but no worse than a shot of cheap vodka. </div>
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Her father, Dr. Chao, arrived home an hour later.He had been in Taiwan for a week and walked in the door tired with his hands full of luggage. He immediately set down the luggage and walked over to me to take my pulse.</div>
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Then he walked away and quickly came back with a face mask on and a stethoscope. He listened to me breathing and took my temp. Meanwhile my friend and her brother were on Google Translate trying to figure out the English words for what he was describing.</div>
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Google's answer from Chinese-English was something like "hyperactive respiratory tract," which didn't really help. So then I pulled out Google Translate and keyed in "bronchitis." The English-Chinese translation was exactly what he had been describing to my friend.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TCM herbal pill packets</td></tr>
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"Not quite yet bronchitis," he said. Best diagnosis ever.</div>
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He then gave me sets of herbal medicine to take three times a day. Each packet of medicine contained ~10 pills to help with my symptoms, six of which were the nasty reddish-brown powder in pill form.</div>
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Happy to report that now, two days later, I am feeling much better. My cough is still a bit pesky, but I more or less feel like myself. All in, my first experience with Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) was a big success. </div>
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Most of all, I feel very fortunate for my friend and her father who were able to help me out so quickly. Their generosity and kindness have been early seeds in the start of my yet-to-be-formed Hong Kong community. </div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-14633261685900834802015-11-07T19:41:00.000-08:002015-11-07T19:41:12.255-08:00Asia Part II: Hong KongHi there, the farlang lady is back! This time I'm off to Hong Kong, specifically on I'm moving to Hong Kong on Wednesday. That's four days from right now.<br />
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This blog started out a whopping five years ago when I moved to China fresh out of college. If you dig around in the 2010-2011 archives, you'll find some hilarious gems of me discovering China in the <a href="http://www.thefarlanglady.com/2010/10/scavenging-in-restaurants.html">most awkward,</a> beautiful, and entertaining manner.<br />
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I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and had zero expectations of what China should or shouldn't be, which is what it made it so damn difficult and comedic. It was the first time in my life I was in a place where I didn't understand the language or culture yet I had never felt so curious.<br />
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Now, five years later, I'm going back to the city that <a href="http://www.thefarlanglady.com/2010/12/escape-to-hong-kong.html">captivated my attention</a> from the moment I crossed the bridge from Shenzhen into Hong Kong. After being in the city for only one day, I was determined to live there at some point.<br />
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China never actually left me. Somehow she was in the back of my mind when I decided to pack up my car and <a href="http://www.thefarlanglady.com/2011/08/my-dadthe-hipster.html">drive to the west coast</a> with my dad in 2011. China was the linchpin that landed my first job in Seattle at an ad agency and was a motivator when I took a chance on a contract that bloomed into the amazing job that I have now. Hong Kong kept calling and I kept listening.<br />
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It turns out listening to and acting upon a dream are really difficult. My roots in Seattle are far deeper than I realized, even though I always knew in the back of my mind that I wouldn't be here forever. Willingly walking away from an incredible home and community feels totally ridiculous and sad.<br />
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The logistics are also a small horror. Yet, I know that I have it easy: no kids, no dogs, no man and no couch to complicate the move. But it still feels decidedly un-adult of me to start from scratch after just getting up on my feet and figuring out nifty grown-up things like health insurance deductibles.<br />
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Further deepening my feeling of regression is that I'm once again living out of a suitcase, sleeping on the floor of my living room. It's both strange and comfortable being a guest in the apartment where I've lived for three years. The movers came to take away the majority of the artifacts that make me feel like me. The next time I see them again, will be in my own high-rise flat on the other shore of the Pacific.<br />
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If I strip away the move logistics, goodbyes, and crumpled sleeping bag on the floor, the real gold of the story is quite simple: The bizarre and wonderful journey of following a dream requires relentless patience and enough of a degree of illogical gutsiness such that your mind doesn't scare you out of giving it a shot. Above all, the work has to come from a genuine place so that you don't have to go it alone.<br />
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"When you want something, all of the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it," -- <i>The Alchemist</i>.<br />
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Broadcasting next post from Hong Kong--Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-14714715001413060522014-03-29T21:13:00.004-07:002014-03-29T23:42:18.731-07:00Expectations in Yoga Pants and Life<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This morning broke a six week stint of wearing exclusively stretchy yoga pants outside of working hours. The spell was broken when I squeezed into a pair of jeans that had been stiffly folded in my drawer for a month in order to dress for a volunteer project. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone has a standard-issue after work comfy pants / t-shirt look, and I’ve been extra dependent on my stretchy pant uniform since beginning a yoga teacher training program early in February.</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-08f30662-112b-b4b4-0dbc-6d93df4d87dd" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With jeans on and hiking boots laced up, my crew of fellow yogis and I trudged out in the pouring spring rain to clear ivy with an Earth Corps group in the wild woodlands of Mercer Island (Seattlites, this surprisingly does exist, if only in a half-acre spread). We’re in week six of the teacher training program and today was our turn to generate some good karma for the world. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As only one portion of a larger volunteer group, our crew had decidedly intense conversation topics. It was the first time we’ve had an opportunity to spend time together outside of the studio, so we not-so-casually chatted about chakras, stress, mental blockers--obviously regular conversation topics during manual labor. The general tone of conversation went a bit like this:</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“How’ve you been feeling after Wednesday’s chakra lesson?”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’ve been an emotional wreck! I’m intensely sad, I woke up crying and I have no idea why.”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You, too? Man, I cried like a baby Thursday night and I don’t know why, I couldn’t help it!” </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Unsurprisingly, the other volunteers gave us looks as though we were a troupe of esoteric spirit guides. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Earlier in the week, we had a lesson on chakras, the seven centers of energy inside of the body, and practiced a series of poses that ignited all of the chakras. Apparently it unlocked a flurry of pent up somethin’ in all of us and has left the majority of our class in shock and awe since mid-week. It felt good to know that I wasn’t the only one who felt crazy for having spontaneous breakdowns since Wednesday. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We all joined the teacher training program for different reasons and we’ll all graduate with the same foundation of skills to successfully guide a flow-style class. The program is two months or so long, with plenty of classroom time, large binders, and yoga workout requirements. It’s a huge time commitment and ripe for expectation-setting. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had expected a time commitment, what I didn’t anticipate was having to bid temporary farewell to almost all of my friends, especially those living outside of the pacific coast time zone. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had also expected a big physical demand, but surprisingly I find myself strapped for opportunities to get to class. When I am able to make it, my movements are slow and calculated, leading to perma-bruised triceps from twists and wacky arm balances.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had naively expected a total life transformation, which in retrospect was a bit like Oprah convincing us all that we can live our best lives by following 10 simple rules and one easy diet. I mean, really?</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yoga is about non-judgement, being present, compassion, and opening up, among other things. Currently, I don’t have enough mental energy to devote to judging anything from what would be good to cook for dinner to critiquing someone's approach or philosophy. The grueling training schedule combined with a busy season at work has shoved presentness down my throat, as I think on an hour-by-hour schedule to stay on top of my game.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As far as compassion and opening-up? Well, I mean my shoulders and hips are super open and I have even more compassion for parents raising kids, who have a schedule a million times more intense than my own. That counts for something, right?</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In a few weeks, I’ll have plenty of free time again. Time to plan, judge, and analyze the minutia of a decision; time to happy hour and time to pick out nice outfits from my closet that aren’t 100% Lycra. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While it’s true I’m not nearly as enlightened as I had expected to be at this point (I’m half-joking), ultimately we all know the beauty of experiences is in what we don’t anticipate. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">However, it’s safe to expect the common thread linking today to tomorrow will be my gloriously stretchy and colorful pants.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Namaste.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Improve.</span></span></div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-73761794160896560932013-12-31T17:25:00.003-08:002013-12-31T17:25:56.513-08:00Unintended Consequences of Achieving a New Year's Resolution<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last January, I set out to write something
everyday. I bought a beautiful pack of Moleskin journals—one of each month, one
page dedicated to each of the year’s 365 days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The resolution was mostly to get back into the
habit of daily writing, but I also had the intentions of using the daily recaps
as a way to observe and reflect on my current state of affairs. With the
exception of four days in June, I achieved my resolution and have a thorough
record of how every single day of 2013 was spent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Early in December, I read through every single
day of the year. I read about each day that was sunny in Seattle (more than you
would think), recapped each happy hour, dinner with friends, and any extra
meaningful conversations. Each job interview, every awkward/semi-terrible date
(the handful of goodies, too), and a daily account of a love story grace the
smooth ivory pages in my messy, loopy script. Broad threads of cliché seasonal
transitions knit the months together into what appear as a dozen neat chapters.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have all of this—all of this reminiscence and
nostalgia—and with only a couple of hours left in the year, all that I really
want to do it rip up and throw away the notebooks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wish I could say I found some grand insights
into myself and the direction I’ve taken/am going, but really I just have a lot
of words on record that maybe weren’t meant to live on past the moment in which
they occurred.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">It’s the cumulative dinners, happy hours and
conversations that lead to friendships. It’s the pattern of feelings (good or
bad) that, over time, prompt you to act.</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">The little moments in between that fully capture
the greater meaning are the moments we tuck into memory. The ones which are
easy to draw from when one of our senses is reengaged to provoke the memory.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But all of the others--the day to day highs and
lows—I’m not convinced they’re designed to be remembered with such clarity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">This is the time of year when nostalgia is
practically shoved down our throats. The pressure to live up to traditions of
yesteryear and create monumental moments during the holiday season is incredibly
high.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">Juxtapose that with the
promise of a new start with the New Year – your chance to “press the reset
button,” to swear that this year you’ll do better and challenge yourself in new
ways.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The combination of nostalgia and future-forward
introspection lends to making it nearly impossible to just be in the present.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Social media doesn’t help either. Facebook
encourages me to “Remember the best parts of 2013” or to list the “Top things
you want to remember” in my About Me section. Not unlike the goal of writing
something down everyday, Facebook has successfully recorded our lives in as
much detail as the day-to-day minutia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The idea of scrolling through my seven years of
Facebook records is horrifying, it seems like the ultimate exercise of
narcissism and borderline self-deprecating. Yet it’s right there for all of us
to mindlessly scroll through and look at our lives any time we’d like.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My pride got in the way of simply throwing away
December’s notebook, I was too close not to just finish it. Instead, this
month’s pages are filled with no more than 10 words per page. Many days just
have a single word written on them: a mantra, a statement of gratitude. Nothing
resembling a daily rundown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">The writing during the year became secondary to
the recap. It instead became end of day reminder of what had already transpired
that I had no way of undoing.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">In 2014 I will do the opposite. I won’t live in
perpetual nostalgia, nor will I live in perpetual planning. It’s going to be a
day-by-day thing and it most likely won’t be documented anywhere.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">Sorry, future grandkids, no juicy goodies to
discover in the pages that might make up bits of my 2014.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;">Wishing
you all a transformative and spontaneous 2014. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> think. improve.</span></o:p></div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-83222584496796762932013-07-15T21:48:00.003-07:002013-07-15T21:49:08.896-07:00The Neighborhood Hangover<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Neighborhood observations made my me, a shameless morning person, over months of early morning outings for fitness, food, or general exploration.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">--</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This neighborhood is not an early riser, not even on Monday
mornings. Not even when it’s an 8:00 a.m.-required day at the office. To be
fair though, it’s nearly impossible to function the morning after a heavy night
of drinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Except that almost every night is a heavy night of drinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Capitol Hill groggily blinks open an eye around
5:30 a.m.—about the time baristas arrive for their morning shift and when
cleaning crews begin clearing out liquor bottles by the bag-full, tokens of the
excess indulgences left from the night before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sure, there are the rogue joggers and small handful of
morning fitness fiends, but each vignette of life at that time of day is
contrasted with another instance of the neighborhood clumsily hitting the
snooze button. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Buns and bits of fried onion and hotdogs are smeared on the
corner of 10<sup>th</sup> Ave and Pike Street just like the stagnant moss that
grows overnight in your mouth from the whiskey cokes and 2 a.m. pizza metabolizing in your gut. The crows and seagulls are as uncertain about nibbling on the
street corner grub as you are about the decisions made in a drunken stupor the
night before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6w5b8wne5VY/UeTP9rzprXI/AAAAAAAAeOY/sa3eSbyAQ84/s1600/20130607_074218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6w5b8wne5VY/UeTP9rzprXI/AAAAAAAAeOY/sa3eSbyAQ84/s400/20130607_074218.jpg" width="300" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Despite the grime, hopefulness for a quick hangover cure
slowly starts creeping in around 6 a.m. The air is the best indicator of this—the
universal morning smell of energized oxygen bits created from several hours
without sunlight (take a whiff tomorrow morning, you know the scent) is mixed
with this neighborhood’s special marinade of the tangy aroma from the dumpsters
outside of Julia's or the Comet Tavern, hints of salty sea air, and general damp from the
excess of vegetation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If the night was warm-ish and dry, the park is speckled with
bodies and mini camps of homeless or vagabonds. With the sun shining bright shortly
after 6 a.m., a few stir to find shade and relative darkness, but many people
lay, oblivious to the day unfolding above them, perhaps hoping to extend
whatever trip they started the night before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By 7:30, the city has usually rolled out of bed, at least on
weekdays. By that time, the middle-age Hispanic man, short and strong like my
dad, is usually sweeping the last few cigarette butts off the sidewalk outside
a concert venue that had a sold out show hours earlier, as his adorable
four-year old granddaughter dances around, antsy to go off to preschool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Buses are buzzing with more frequent stops at that point, delivery
trucks have finished up most of their rounds, and the sidewalks are starting to
fill with bleary-eyed 20-somethings dressed in anything from a three-piece suit
to scrubs or gender-neutral skinnies with a crop top and chunky boots. The common accessory among them all is the steaming latte in their hand.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The hangover is gone around lunchtime. Cured by coffee, a
Bloody Mary and eggs benedict, the neighborhood is back to its bizarre, all
accepting yet still cliquey, “super hip” self. When the sun starts to sink
later on, Capitol Hill is again ready to wear its party pants into the wee hours. The bright summer sunrise inevitably arrives too quickly, and the neighborhood whispers a wish for the cozy blanket of the omnipresent
grey winter sky.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">explore.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com1Capitol Hill, Seattle, WA, USA47.625305 -122.322183547.5824995 -122.40286449999999 47.6681105 -122.2415025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-68568106912067799072013-05-09T08:30:00.001-07:002013-05-09T08:37:50.315-07:00Pro Tips From Our Grandparents: Using Generational Lessons to Shape the US Future<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Despite the overwhelming barrage of terrible things happening in our world, I have always maintained the belief there is enough compassion and brilliance among the human race that can out-maneuver the most egregious atrocities.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ok, ok... so that might be a bit idealistic, but if I didn't think there was an ounce or two of legitimacy towards that belief, I would have let it go years ago. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every generation is born into different circumstances, each of which have provided moments of trial and poignancy. My grandparents' generation is frequently referred to as "the greatest generation" in the US -- having come of age during the Great Depression only having to immediately fight in World War II afterwards. Though the Baby Boomers were blessed with being born into America's golden age, they were the generation who cried out for civil rights, gender equality, and protested against the Vietnam war. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Generation X rose during the Clinton years and pre-internet and housing bubbles and watched as environmental and new international crises emerged. As a Millenial, my generation is old enough to remember September 11 and its implications, but were young enough to acquire a different perspective on how the events and crisis that followed impacted our country and culture. Certain character traits start to emerge once you remove the events and begin to understand how generations respond and grow from the circumstances. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last month, I attended Creative Mornings in Seattle. It's a monthly lecture series with a single topic unifying chapters around the globe, each with a different speaker and perspective. April's topic was The Future and <a href="http://www.xmedialab.com/mentor/august-de-los-reyes">August de los Reyes</a> gave a fascinating talk on how understanding the future can lead to smarter design decisions today. What better way to understand the future, he argued, than to have a strong understanding of patterns from the past. (Have 35 minutes? <a href="http://vimeo.com/63934434">I strongly recommend watching it).</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From the American perspective, it's easy to recognize a pattern of four distinct life cycles that make up an entire lifetime, there has even been a theory developed around the it. According to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strauss%E2%80%93Howe_generational_theory">Strauss-Howe generational theory, </a>the four cycles are:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. High</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. Awakening</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3. Unraveling</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">4. Crisis</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Since the high in the 1950s, American society has traveled through an awakening period where institutions and cultural norms were questioned (1960s-70s), followed by unraveling driven by extraordinary economic booms/busts, new environmental concerns and international turmoil (1980s-90s), and crisis (post 9/11 - now). At this rate, my generation is set to hit the high and prime of our nation's prosperity in the middle of our lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Each of the cycles contain personality profiles that are most often associated as a result of a society's circumstances.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">De los Reyes commented that the Millenial generation places a high value on community and social space, whereas the Generation X-ers place a strong focus on preserving the individual. Neither is better or worse than the other, it's just a matter of understanding how the two can work together to mitigate long term impacts of the crisis.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As Claire Thompson puts it in <a href="http://grist.org/living/millennial-medium-chill/">an article</a> shared by one of my [brilliant] friends, </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;">We’re already the harbingers of a </span><a href="http://apps.npr.org/codeswitch-changing-races/?src=longreads" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #9d9d9d; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">profound demographic shift</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;"> in this country; our children will be the ones who fully flesh out this new, diverse, interconnected America (in 2011, for the first time, children born to people of color made up more than half of U.S. births). Included in our necessarily more pluralistic, progressive, tolerant worldview is an acute awareness of sustainability and the need to find a place for it in a political system that increasingly does not reflect our changing values."</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our society is at an interesting threshold right now, the recession has crippled the job market. The majority of the freshly-trained and educated Millenial generation is now thrilled to land a low-skill minmum wage job in order to slowly hack away at their (re: our) massive load of student debt. Meanwhile, many in Generation X are figuring out how to support aging parents while trying not to drown in mortgage woes. The retiring Baby Boomers who were once depending on decent pensions are now looking at the reality of not being able to afford retirement while relying on a social security check too small to stretch very far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We are evidently in a crisis phase, but looking in the past, we've been here before. Sure the details were a little different in the 1930s compared to today, but the general themes remain consistent: environmental concerns, alarmingly low bank account balances, international upheaval and a general lack of confidence in many of our country's institutions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course I'm selfishly looking forward to the day when my fellow 20-somethings and I can have a legitimate savings account. But I can't help but be encouraged by subtle societal shifts that are placing stronger emphasis on community, health and wellness, minimizing environmental impact, and a new international dialogue.**</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Again, Ms. Thompson: </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;">That’s why it looks like we’re [Millenials] flailing (and make no mistake: We are flailing, when it comes to achieving any semblance of financial security). We have huge potential and desire to innovate</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;">, but we also recognize that we can’t fulfill that potential without same basic safety nets. Things like health insurance. Some level of student debt forgiveness. Infrastructure that supports the kind of smaller-footprint, sustainable lifestyles we’re already creating for ourselves: compact h</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;">ousing in vibrant, walkable</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;"> communities; functioning public transportation; streetscapes that prioritize cyclist and pedestrians over cars, urban gardens and farmers markets; regulatory room for sharing economies to thrive. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.796875px;">-(Seriously, <a href="http://grist.org/living/millennial-medium-chill/">read this article</a>. Especially if you're a flailing 20-something).</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've been in crisis before, yes. And we've made it out ok. We'll make it out just fine again. Our country won't look the same, but I'm confident the changes will be for the best.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">**Admittedly, the trends I notice living in Seattle are more widespread and encouraged... America is a massive country, and it's going to take a lot more collective energy to see tangible changes.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">think.</span>Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-87790523567688750122013-05-01T22:41:00.003-07:002015-11-07T19:49:16.002-08:00Quenching the Neighbor's Thirst<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After a week of sun, the typical Seattle grey returned to usher in the weekend. The cool weather didn't stop a group of friends and I from celebrating Neighbor Day by setting up a free lemonade stand on the corner of Broadway and John St. in Capitol Hill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Neighbor Day is designed to do exactly what the name implies -- connect with the people who live the closest to where you live. The Neighbor Day campaign was spearheaded by <a href="http://www.good.is/about">GOOD.is</a>, a magazine and online community inspired by good things worldwide whose mission is to "convene, empower and connect all of those who give a damn." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Offered complete freedom to concept and plan the event, I was easily charmed by the sunshine and warmth of the prior week, so a free lemonade stand seemed like the best way to celebrate spring and meet some neighbors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My neighbors are made up of a menagerie of hipsters, potheads, yuppies, drag kings and queens, homeless people, international students, musicians, vagabonds and plenty of us who don't quite fit into any single stereotype. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle has always had character. The wealthiest pioneers built grand mansions on the very top of the hill more than a century ago that is now a delightfully antique residential area for modern-day upper-middle class families. For the past 50 years or so, the gay community has found the neighborhood welcoming, and it was home to the first ever pride parade. Nowadays, Forbes Magazine (clearly the most accredited judge of "cool") has ranked the neighborhood as one of</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the <a href="http://www.forbes.com/pictures/mhj45jmeh/8-capitol-hill-seattle-wa-2/" target="_blank">hippest in the country</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FFXT4njxZpw/UYH73QX8t4I/AAAAAAAAcDA/wp11SYH_ous/s1600/20130427_150409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FFXT4njxZpw/UYH73QX8t4I/AAAAAAAAcDA/wp11SYH_ous/s200/20130427_150409.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9eYGxPeZVvQ/UYH73Qbn3jI/AAAAAAAAcDA/RIdhb7Tc-Ss/s1600/20130427_135309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9eYGxPeZVvQ/UYH73Qbn3jI/AAAAAAAAcDA/RIdhb7Tc-Ss/s200/20130427_135309.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday's lemonade stand provided a conduit to actually </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">talk</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> to people walking past. Rather than the usual habit of avoiding eye contact, the lemonade stand was an in-your-face "</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Did you just say free lemonade!?" </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">way to grab people's attention.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"This is awesome! We need to have more things like this," was the resounding sentiment from most of the people. They wanted to get involved and learn how Seattle can become better connected through a <a href="http://www.good.is/local" target="_blank">GOOD Local</a> chapter. Soon the sidewalk was decorated with hop scotch boards, doodles, and colorful praises for the neighborhood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I'm here visiting and things like this make me really wish my city was more like Seattle," one lady said as she stopped by. "This is such a neat community."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Driy6JsRXrc/UYH73QgtMXI/AAAAAAAAcDA/vwNAyedRf9M/s1600/IMG_20130427_133156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Driy6JsRXrc/UYH73QgtMXI/AAAAAAAAcDA/vwNAyedRf9M/s200/IMG_20130427_133156.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Those three hours on the busy corner also brought attention to glaring contradictions we have in our society. Some homeless people tried to give us donations of spare change, while several couples going to or from brunch skeptically stared at us as they walked by -- almost certain there had to be some sort of strings attached to our free offer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">However, several dozen neighbors stopped to grab a glass and talk about their Capitol Hill experience and how they would like to connect with their neighbors. It's evident there is a strong desire among people to genuinely engage as a more cohesive community. Saturday's lemonade stand was a baby step to start capturing some of that spirit and applying it towards good neighboring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">explore. think.</span><br />
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Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639477252327212071.post-40519837593364756032013-01-24T19:02:00.001-08:002013-01-24T19:36:39.232-08:00The Never-ending Lessons from 'The Eternal City'<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was an hour’s drive from the airport to the apartment in
the city. The van driver was whistling an opera, making noises with his lips that were better
suited for an orchestra than a mouth. The day was overcast, but 70 degrees (f)
warmer than the -20 temperature I left on the plains. Nothing looked as I expected
it to; the cars were so small and squeezed two or three to a lane designed for
only one, the trees were new shapes and the architecture unfamiliar. A hectic
menagerie of horns honked and beeped along with an increased ferocity as we got
closer to our destination in Rome’s heart. The streets made no sense. For the
first time in my life I had absolutely no idea which way was North. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The entire concept of foreign was completely unbeknownst to
me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was 19, fresh off the farm, and three semesters into a university located in a town best known from a film by <i>i fratelli Cohen</i> (the Cohen brothers). The reality of people
speaking a language other than English was something I had never truly
experienced, each strange word making my mind flinch. It had never occurred to
me that not everyone in the US grew up on a farm or went to a state
school in a small city. I was baffled by the attitudes and insights of everyone
who seemed to know some secret I had missed out on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our apartment was spacious with tall, plastered ceilings and
large windows. It had the loveliest dining room table and a kitchen that barely
fit two bodies. My roommates included a sweet southern belle, two bold and
sassy best friends from Boston, an edgy girl from South Jersey, and a
heartbroken adventurer from Rhode Island. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Within a week, my first impressions evaporated. Two months
in, those girls became my best friends. Five years on, nothing much has changed
with our relationship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Studying abroad in one of the world’s most legendary cities
inherently provoked plenty of clichés before I left North Dakota. Rome, after
all, was where I was going to fall in love; where I was going to lose myself
until I found out who I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In some way or another those clichés came true. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I did fall in love in Rome, with Rome. I adored its dog shit covered
cobblestones and its stubbornness to straddle a millennium of history, with one
hand in Caesar’s era and the other hand Instagramming ancient wonders. It’s a
city dripping with passion – every <i>trattoria</i>, SPQR-stamped cornerstone, and piazza is in a perpetual lovers’ embrace. <i> </i>The Italian language is as graceful leaving your tongue
as it is slipping into your ear. Every sensation in the city lends itself
towards love and adoration.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I also got lost in Rome; almost daily and usually on
accident. But I always managed to find my way back to my apartment. It was not
the romanticized type of losing oneself, oh no. Up to that point, I had never
been anywhere where I could legitimately lose my way. My dad engrained in me an
internal compass so that I instinctually knew cardinal directions, but that compass
was askew for quite some time. It was a huge accomplishment when I finally
became ok with losing my way, knowing I’d always make it back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At 19 I could to go into a bar, travel to other countries,
and generally act however I felt without the knowing eyes of family and
lifelong friends present. I drank screwdrivers and Sex on the Beach because I
didn’t know what else was good whilst attempting to seduce Italian men with my
devastatingly amazing language skills.
I danced until dawn, studied like crazy to pull off straight A’s, and
threw myself into discussions on topics I had never bothered to express my
opinion on prior. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Rome didn’t change me, it exposed me. In six short months, I
discovered it was ok if I didn’t aspire to the same societal norms as many of
my friends back home. The fear of the unknown transformed into a fascination
with new experiences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In some ways, these discoveries were kind of a curse. Had
their existence remained a mystery, the future would have unfolded very differently.
But they have engrained within me an insatiable curiosity to see and do more
than what might be possible. Consequently, the idea of staying in one place for too
long feels like settling rather than striving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I crave more of those long drives from the airport to the
city when the new air hits your face, the unfamiliar language lingers in your
ears, and an expectedly unexpected landscape unfolds before your eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you, Rome, for introducing me to the rest of the
world. </span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Janaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09081859180410205928noreply@blogger.com0