It's hard to believe that it's been 2 months since I started my new job. Even though it has been a huge culture shock going from the all Asian American, casual group house/dysfunctional family culture of OCA to working for an all white, corporate, Ivy League crowd, I know I made the right choice. I spend most of my time sitting in front of a laptop answering emails, scheduling meetings, and creating Excel sheets (with only occasional breaks to go to the post office or bank), living the gloriously undramatic life of an office manager/ops manager/executive assistant. Yes, sometimes I do miss being a full time advocate. I miss working with students and going to Hill briefings and being part of a tight knit community of other Asian American advocates. But the first time since I've been in DC, my paid work doesn't overlap with my organizing work, and it's been wonderful. It's renewed my appreciation for my organizing community and the communities of color that I'm a part of and not take them for granted. It's given me more balance and has helped me de-stress and reprioritize.
Having firm boundaries has its downsides though; namely, I can no longer spend hours at my job doing organizing work! On top of my already full schedule of things I do for self-care (including rock climbing and POC sangha) it's been very difficult to stay on top of my board duties, event-planning, SONG work, and staying in touch with friends and family. Often I'm only home long enough to shove some hastily heated frozen food in my mouth before I leave again, or I go from work to a meeting/event and don't come home until 9 or 10 PM.
Being busy and overcommitted has been a fact of my life here, and a fact of my life in general, for a very long time. A major reason why I'm always double-booked and feeling stretched is that I have a hard time saying "no". I have an over-developed sense of responsibility and a tendency to feel guilty about everything - a deadly combination when it comes to taking on extra commitments!
I know I take on all these commitments in the first place because they help me feel valued and needed. For example, I have an important leadership role on the board I serve on, which gives me a sense of validation. I like being respected as a "veteran" member of the board and serving as a mentor to newer members. But it also means that I tend to think that I have to get the agenda done or the logistics for the retreat finalized or else I'll be failing my board members and friends. That I am so important that it is my sole responsibility to fulfill everything that is asked of me, and that I shouldn't ask for help or extra time because that will mean letting people down. I'm terrified of disappointing others - not just my board members and colleagues, but my friends, family, and partner. So much of my self-worth is tied up in how well I am performing a role for others that saying "no" becomes much bigger than it really is. Instead of meaning, "No, I need to draw this boundary for myself because I need to prioritize something else right now", "no" feels like saying, "No, because I don't care about you or the cause and I'm a bad, selfish person! In fact, I'm such a bad person that you should sever all ties with me right now!"
Extreme, isn't it? The Bully can be pretty absurd. Yet I make a lot of decisions based on this warped sense of self and reality. Pushing myself to always take on more and excel at everything (or else!) is an exhausting way to live. I also find that there's a continuum in terms of what I'm willing to say no" to, and the more important the relationship is to me, the less likely I am to say "no" (and the more I agonize over it).
My new work schedule has forced me to confront my limited time and make some intentional decisions about what I'm going to do with it. It has given me good practice in saying "no". In just the last few weeks, I have said "no" to:
1. Being on the planning committee for a national conference next year.
2. Taking on a larger role in planning this year's OCA convention.
3. Facilitating leadership development workshops for an internship program (I felt particularly guilty about this one because I said I could do it but then realized I had double-booked myself).
4. Going on a beach trip with friends because it's my only free weekend to pack before I move.
In all of those instances, people have responded respectfully and graciously. No one has accused me of being selfish. No one has said, "But you said you'd do it! What's wrong with you?" No one has ended their relationship with me or thought less of me. One of them even thanked me for being transparent about my boundaries. The more I said "no", the easier it got, and I felt lighter and freer with each refusal. I like to think of the above as the "soft" no's that may one day lead up to the harder ones. They're good practice for when I have to draw a boundary with my board or my job, or even someday in a close personal relationship in which I have a lot of myself wrapped up in what the other person thinks of me.
As I'm preparing to move after living in the same apartment for almost 3 years, saying "no" feels a lot like de-cluttering. When I have to clear my life of all my extra stuff, I realize that there are only a few key things that are absolutely essential. And those are the things I want to say "yes" to: taking care of my mind, body, and spirit, sleeping in on the weekends, having enough time to read the paper, cooking dinner, staying grounded in the movement and the communities I've worked so hard to build here, and staying connected with my partner, friends and family. I'm learning that "no" is a way of acknowledging and protecting the things I am blessed enough to already have.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
I got a job!
[originally drafted on Sunday, May 1, before the first day of my new job. Interrupted by breaking news of Osama bin Laden's death, and lots of conflicted, heavy feelings about how people were responding. posted late, but still want to share]
Where did April go? These last few weeks have just flown by. I spent the first 2.5 weeks of April feverishly working on the Power Shift conference, the temp job that I wrote about in my last entry. It was really great to have structure again, to be part of a team, to feel important and valued, and to have a place to go every day. I worked under an amazing (if chronically stressed out person) who became a good friend. I got to know a passionate, dedicated team of folks who taught me a lot about environmental justice, clean energy, and stopping climate change. I saw Al Gore and Van Jones speak. I helped successfully organize a conference for almost 10,000 youth. I got to wear a headset! And I spent one very long weekend on my feet, moving boxes, answering an endless stream of inane questions from participants, running through the convention center, and trying to squeeze in some quiet moments with my partner whenever I had the chance. It was intense, thrilling, rewarding, and utterly exhausting.
After Power Shift ended I took a weekend trip to NJ to go to the Lady Gaga concert with my cousins, which was an epic adventure in and of itself and probably deserves its own blog entry. But it involved wearing matching outfits and wearing fake eyelashes and a long, frizzy blond wig that was a hot mess and made me look like (according to my partner), a cross between "Michelle Kwan and JonBenet Ramsey".
Returning from NJ after having a whole lot of fun and also much-needed down time with my family was difficult. It sort of reminded me of how I felt after I returned to DC from my trip to San Francisco, the cold realization that unemployment and my job search was now my real life. Back to the insecurity and the instability. Except now I had gone through an intense interview process with yet another organization, and was in the phase of the process where all I could do was wait. And oh the waiting. Last Monday and Tuesday felt interminable, waking up knowing that there was nothing for me to do except obsessively check my email to see if I had any updates (the organization had told me that I would know by Monday). Feeling jittery and on edge, knowing that I was close, but still mired in uncertainty. Not feeling like I could move forward because nothing was confirmed yet. I spent hours by myself in my apartment with the room full of people in my head, who were having a loud and obnoxious party, making it very hard to be still, grounded, patient. What if the wait meant that I didn't have the job? What if I had to start over again? I was on the verge of a panic attack thinking about what it would mean to start over. I felt like I had run out of contacts, run out of good opportunities and momentum.
And then very late on Tuesday night I was finally called by TMC and asked to come in for yet another interview on Weds. It went well, and I felt more certain. Thursday came, and that morning I woke up to a job offer from an organization that had interviewed me over a month ago and that I had pretty much dismissed. I was excited and relieved, but didn't take the offer and instead asked for more time so I could see if TMC offered. Later that afternoon, they did. I told them I had another offer, negotiated for a better salary and title, and told them I needed more time. After thinking about it and talking it over with family and friends, I accepted TMC's offer on Friday and will be starting tomorrow.
So in the span of a week I have gone from an epic concert in NJ to total meltdown and crushing anxiety in my apartment, to final interviews and two job offers, an acceptance, and now a new job. Whew! For all the volatility, I feel really good right now. I'm calm and grounded, and happy with my decision. I'm ready for this, and I'm looking forward to the new and exciting opportunities, and feel prepared for the challenges.
On Thursday after I got both offers and after the successful negotiation, I felt the badass in me come back to life. This is the cocky, confident, cavalier person that I know you're familiar with - the one that says, "Oh yeah, I got this, no problem" and "Yeah, I got these offers because I'm SO AWESOME." The badass was being drowned out by a lot of insecurity and anxiety, and it was nice to welcome her back, to feel powerful and sure again.
But I know that I don't want to dismiss all the angst I felt just because I now have the job. Though I'm tempted to brush off my shoulders, shrug, and say "well now that's over with", I want to acknowledge that the angst, insecurity, and vulnerability were inherently valuable. They taught me more about myself, reintroduced me to my Bully, forced me to feel everything from violently angry with myself to calm acceptance. As I make this next transition, I want to honor the 2 months of not-so-funemployment I've had. Thank you for being hard. Thank you for forcing me to live through a time in which I felt like I had little control. Thank you for making me work hard for something I wanted. Thank you for showing me more of myself, so I can be nicer and more forgiving the next time around.
Where did April go? These last few weeks have just flown by. I spent the first 2.5 weeks of April feverishly working on the Power Shift conference, the temp job that I wrote about in my last entry. It was really great to have structure again, to be part of a team, to feel important and valued, and to have a place to go every day. I worked under an amazing (if chronically stressed out person) who became a good friend. I got to know a passionate, dedicated team of folks who taught me a lot about environmental justice, clean energy, and stopping climate change. I saw Al Gore and Van Jones speak. I helped successfully organize a conference for almost 10,000 youth. I got to wear a headset! And I spent one very long weekend on my feet, moving boxes, answering an endless stream of inane questions from participants, running through the convention center, and trying to squeeze in some quiet moments with my partner whenever I had the chance. It was intense, thrilling, rewarding, and utterly exhausting.
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| Me with my headset and Power Shift gear, Jude (my supervisor/friend) on the left. |
After Power Shift ended I took a weekend trip to NJ to go to the Lady Gaga concert with my cousins, which was an epic adventure in and of itself and probably deserves its own blog entry. But it involved wearing matching outfits and wearing fake eyelashes and a long, frizzy blond wig that was a hot mess and made me look like (according to my partner), a cross between "Michelle Kwan and JonBenet Ramsey".
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| Aren't we just adorable Little Monsters? |
And then very late on Tuesday night I was finally called by TMC and asked to come in for yet another interview on Weds. It went well, and I felt more certain. Thursday came, and that morning I woke up to a job offer from an organization that had interviewed me over a month ago and that I had pretty much dismissed. I was excited and relieved, but didn't take the offer and instead asked for more time so I could see if TMC offered. Later that afternoon, they did. I told them I had another offer, negotiated for a better salary and title, and told them I needed more time. After thinking about it and talking it over with family and friends, I accepted TMC's offer on Friday and will be starting tomorrow.
So in the span of a week I have gone from an epic concert in NJ to total meltdown and crushing anxiety in my apartment, to final interviews and two job offers, an acceptance, and now a new job. Whew! For all the volatility, I feel really good right now. I'm calm and grounded, and happy with my decision. I'm ready for this, and I'm looking forward to the new and exciting opportunities, and feel prepared for the challenges.
On Thursday after I got both offers and after the successful negotiation, I felt the badass in me come back to life. This is the cocky, confident, cavalier person that I know you're familiar with - the one that says, "Oh yeah, I got this, no problem" and "Yeah, I got these offers because I'm SO AWESOME." The badass was being drowned out by a lot of insecurity and anxiety, and it was nice to welcome her back, to feel powerful and sure again.
But I know that I don't want to dismiss all the angst I felt just because I now have the job. Though I'm tempted to brush off my shoulders, shrug, and say "well now that's over with", I want to acknowledge that the angst, insecurity, and vulnerability were inherently valuable. They taught me more about myself, reintroduced me to my Bully, forced me to feel everything from violently angry with myself to calm acceptance. As I make this next transition, I want to honor the 2 months of not-so-funemployment I've had. Thank you for being hard. Thank you for forcing me to live through a time in which I felt like I had little control. Thank you for making me work hard for something I wanted. Thank you for showing me more of myself, so I can be nicer and more forgiving the next time around.
Friday, April 1, 2011
room full of people in my head
So I didn't get the job that I was so excited about interviewing for that I wrote about in my March 10th entry. In fact, I was rejected by that organization and another group I interviewed for on my birthday. It was really difficult and disconcerting to be getting so much love and affirmation on my birthday on one hand, and then experience crushing disappointment and rejection on the other. The rejections made the difficulties and trials of unemployment real. This no longer feels like a radical sabbatical, full of adventure and possibility. This feels like unemployment, grueling and harsh. I have the significant privilege of having a generous safety net in the form of my parents, and I know that I'm only experiencing a fraction of the hardship that most everyone else in my situation faces. But well, it still sucks.
As I've been in the thick of my job search, a particular song keeps coming to mind. I bought the new Cloud Cult album "Light Chasers" for my friend Allison for her birthday, and the band is generous enough to give a digital copy for every physical copy bought. I've been listening to the album on repeat. I love Cloud Cult and their rich, sweeping, affirming, poignant, truth-telling music. The song that really spoke to me is "Room Full of People In Your Head" and the lyrics are below:
Having all these people fighting at the party in my head is pretty tiring. On top of listening to all the squabbles, I find myself really disliking parts of myself. Instead of being compassionate to Self Pity and the Victim, listening to what they have to say, letting them wail and whine and then giving them a hug and some grounding perspective, I bully them. I tell them things like, "Look how sheltered you've been your whole life. Welcome to the real world. You're pathetic. Get a hold of yourself. It's really not that big of a deal." I would never say something like that to a friend of mine who was going through a difficult time or feeling insecure, and it's been stunning to me how ingrained the Bully is, how loud it is compared to the other "people". I am working to get to know the Bully better too, but it is hard to cozy up to a part of myself I find so ugly and cruel. Maybe the Bully is protective - being mean is easier than being vulnerable.
To me, the most powerful line of the Cloud Cult song is: "I've got each of these in me." Simple, unapologetic acceptance. Yes, self-pity and the victim and self-consciousness and the bully live in me. They aren't good or bad, wrong or right. Maybe I need to calmly tap them on the shoulder and draw some boundaries when they start being destructive and throwing around shit, but I want to stop shutting the door in their faces, stop exiling parts of myself.
I have a (very) temporary job right now, and some good leads for permanent positions. I know I'm not in the same place I was a few weeks ago, but I wanted to write and reflect on the turmoil. Thanks for sharing the experience with me.
As I've been in the thick of my job search, a particular song keeps coming to mind. I bought the new Cloud Cult album "Light Chasers" for my friend Allison for her birthday, and the band is generous enough to give a digital copy for every physical copy bought. I've been listening to the album on repeat. I love Cloud Cult and their rich, sweeping, affirming, poignant, truth-telling music. The song that really spoke to me is "Room Full of People In Your Head" and the lyrics are below:
There's a room full of people in your head, in your head.
Yeah, there's a room full of people in your head, in your head.
And every single one of them claims your name.
You lost control to the mood, my friend.
Whattcha gonna do if you lose it again?
"I'm sorry." Again. "I'm sorry." Again. "I'm sorry."
In the center stands Ego- looking for attention.
And over there's Self Pity, always crying, "Poor, poor me!"
Lock up the liquor, or they're gonna get juiced.
I've got each of these in me.
There's a fight, there's a fight at the party in your head.
Yeah, there's a fight for control at the party in your head.
I don't even know who's at the wheel.
Who wants to play? "Give it to me!"
Who wants to play? "Give it to me!"
"I'm sorry." Again. "I'm sorry." Again. "I'm sorry."
Part of me is the Hang Man, looking for a scape-goat.
And part of me is the victim, always crying, "Why you pickin' on me?"
Lock up the gun cabinet, or it's gonna get messy.
I've got each of these in me.
You've gotta follow the voice you wanna follow,
gotta kill off the thoughts that funk up your diddy-diddy.
"You'd be surprised to find how much was in your mind."
Cuz there's a room full of people in your head, in your head.
And they will fight for control of your head, of your head.
"You'd be surprised to find how much was in your mind."
There's Mr. Self Conscious, carrying too much baggage.
and over there's the Chameleon, always crying, "Who you want me to be?"
Let's end the charade. This game is over.
I've got each of these in me.
That's exactly what I feel like as I've been going through the roller coaster of getting interviews and rejections. My unemployment has forced me to deal what I'm usually too distracted or busy to face: my insecurity, the way I have been privileged enough to avoid rejection for most of my life, and how I crumble when I experience it, the unpredictability of the future when I am so future-oriented, dealing with uncertainty when I am someone who craves security and stability. Like the song says, my Ego has been looking for attention, Self Pity has taken up a lot of room crying "Poor, poor me", the Victim is crying "Why you pickin' on me?" and the Chameleon is shouting "Who you want me to be?" (I would also add that my version of Self Pity is mostly crying, "Why don't you want me?")
Having all these people fighting at the party in my head is pretty tiring. On top of listening to all the squabbles, I find myself really disliking parts of myself. Instead of being compassionate to Self Pity and the Victim, listening to what they have to say, letting them wail and whine and then giving them a hug and some grounding perspective, I bully them. I tell them things like, "Look how sheltered you've been your whole life. Welcome to the real world. You're pathetic. Get a hold of yourself. It's really not that big of a deal." I would never say something like that to a friend of mine who was going through a difficult time or feeling insecure, and it's been stunning to me how ingrained the Bully is, how loud it is compared to the other "people". I am working to get to know the Bully better too, but it is hard to cozy up to a part of myself I find so ugly and cruel. Maybe the Bully is protective - being mean is easier than being vulnerable.
To me, the most powerful line of the Cloud Cult song is: "I've got each of these in me." Simple, unapologetic acceptance. Yes, self-pity and the victim and self-consciousness and the bully live in me. They aren't good or bad, wrong or right. Maybe I need to calmly tap them on the shoulder and draw some boundaries when they start being destructive and throwing around shit, but I want to stop shutting the door in their faces, stop exiling parts of myself.
I have a (very) temporary job right now, and some good leads for permanent positions. I know I'm not in the same place I was a few weeks ago, but I wanted to write and reflect on the turmoil. Thanks for sharing the experience with me.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
the Taipei/Taroko/Hot springs chronicles
Before you start reading, please read this post first explaining why I am going back and posting entries about a trip I took 2 months go. :)
Jan 7, 2011
I made it! The flight actually went pretty smoothly. It was very cold on the plane and for some reason I didn't have a complimentary blanket during the first leg, so it was hard for me to sleep. After my 5 AM layover in Alaska though (that was a really bizarre experience. they have all these stuffed dead animals hanging around, like mountain goats and deer with huge antlers) I asked for a blanket and then passed out for about 5 hours. I then watched The Social Network (pretty good, actually, I recommend it) and a teen movie that's loosely based on The Scarlet Letter (also surprisingly good).
Jan 7, 2011
I made it! The flight actually went pretty smoothly. It was very cold on the plane and for some reason I didn't have a complimentary blanket during the first leg, so it was hard for me to sleep. After my 5 AM layover in Alaska though (that was a really bizarre experience. they have all these stuffed dead animals hanging around, like mountain goats and deer with huge antlers) I asked for a blanket and then passed out for about 5 hours. I then watched The Social Network (pretty good, actually, I recommend it) and a teen movie that's loosely based on The Scarlet Letter (also surprisingly good).
I felt like I got good rest on the plane and the food was decent too, so I was in okay shape by the time we arrived at 7 AM local time. I grabbed my luggage, got through customs with no problem, and my aunt and cousin were waiting for me! They had actually been there for an hour as I deplaned and went through all the processing. The first thing my aunt did was take a picture of me. :) She said I hadn't changed at all. She and my cousin looked much the same as I remembered them. They actually don't speak English as well as my uncle and cousin Tom, so it was slow going trying to communicate at first, but I think we're starting to settle in.
We took an hour long bus ride into the city, and as we were driving on the highway, past all the buildings and mountains, and then into the downtown with the scooters, taxis, streetside food stands, terrible driving, signs and stores everywhere, all my Asia memories came flooding back. It did feel like a homecoming. There were memories from my first trip to Taiwan that came back to me that I haven't thought about in years. I felt thrilled - I made it! I'm actually here! This is actually real! Walking up to my uncle's apartment, where I stayed for so long the first time I was here, was a surreal and wonderful moment.
I had breakfast at a food stand with my aunt and cousin and have been chilling in their apartment ever since, watching Taiwanese TV and finalizing some details of my travels. I feel like my body is going to crash in an hour or so but I wanted to fulfill my promise about internet access and send you an email first.
Jan 9, 2011 (AKA the Glasses experience)
Today I went to get new glasses! It was actually less scary than I thought it would be, and it was much easier to communicate with the people in the store than it was with the haircutters. My uncle loves taking pictures, and he basically took a photo of me with every pair of glasses I tried on, with some hilarious results. I really wanted square frame cool/hipstery glasses and there are definitely some I tried on that looked pretty wild (ex a white pair and a bright red pair). I've never worn square glasses and it took me awhile to get used to how they look on my face. In the end I settled on a pair that are dark purple (almost black) with beveled sides (what are those called? ear hooks?) and even some glitter on the inside. They're definitely the most glitzy glasses I've ever had but I like them a lot. :) I then got my eyes checked by a nice guy who was patient with my 30 second translation delay. The Taiwanese eye exam includes tests I've never seen before, and it was also the first eye exam I had where I didn't have to read rows of letters.
My aunt is a regular at the store and brought Casey there, so she kept playing the, "look, I bring you American customers!" card. I got a nice discount, and the whole thing, including the eye exam, the lens, and the frame will cost me about $115 USD. Not bad!
After that we took the very nice and high tech metro to Chiang Kai Shek's house to do something touristy for the rest of our day. There's a limited amount of tickets to tour the actual house and they had sold out by the time we arrived, so we walked around the gardens instead. With two shutterbugs there (my uncle, and my cousin who has a fancy Canon with a lens) it took quite awhile, but it was really beautiful and the weather was nice.
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| My cool new Taiwanese hipster glasses. |
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| At the gardens of the Chiang Kai Shek residence with my aunt. |
Jan 12, 2011 (Taroko)
Today we went to Taroko Gorge, and I am SO glad we included it in our Taiwan itinerary. It was absolutely breathtaking. Sheer cliff faces, a turquoise-colored river, caves and tunnels and Buddhist temples rising out of the mist - it was incredible. If I'm able to get some of my pictures uploaded I will definitely send you some. And one of my relatives took a day off from work just so she could drive us there and serve as our personal tour guide. It was ridiculously generous of her and she really made our day special. We spent about 4 hours there and then my cousin took us back to the city to get something to eat, and then dropped us off at the train station. Jason and I proceeded to conk out until we arrived here to Zhi Ben, where we had a female taxi driver (!) take us to the resort.
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| With my cousin YiQing at Taroko Gorge. |
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| Buddha statue at Taroko. |
Jan 14, 2011
I did get in another soak in the hot springs last night after dinner. Jason and I then watched "Drumline" on TV and some random National Geographic programs before going to sleep. This morning we hiked partway up the trail behind the hotel to enjoy the views and the weather. The clouds finally cleared this morning and we were able to see blue sky. It was also t-shirt weather, which felt wonderful! :) We caught a 11 AM train today down to Zuoying (a Southern coastal town), where we then transferred to the high speed rail. It was a lot more expensive than we anticipated (almost $45 USD, which is a lot of money here!) but we were able to take the express high speed rail (I didn't even know there was such a thing). It took us only 1.5 hours to get back to Taipei! It would've taken us 6-8 hours on a regular train. It was incredibly fast and smooth, high tech, luxurious, and a lot of fun. I wish the US would invest more in an up to date and efficient rail system, because it's definitely the way to go. I was able to travel around the entire country in 3 days by train!
I did get in another soak in the hot springs last night after dinner. Jason and I then watched "Drumline" on TV and some random National Geographic programs before going to sleep. This morning we hiked partway up the trail behind the hotel to enjoy the views and the weather. The clouds finally cleared this morning and we were able to see blue sky. It was also t-shirt weather, which felt wonderful! :) We caught a 11 AM train today down to Zuoying (a Southern coastal town), where we then transferred to the high speed rail. It was a lot more expensive than we anticipated (almost $45 USD, which is a lot of money here!) but we were able to take the express high speed rail (I didn't even know there was such a thing). It took us only 1.5 hours to get back to Taipei! It would've taken us 6-8 hours on a regular train. It was incredibly fast and smooth, high tech, luxurious, and a lot of fun. I wish the US would invest more in an up to date and efficient rail system, because it's definitely the way to go. I was able to travel around the entire country in 3 days by train!
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| Hot springs at Rainbow Resort (in background) |
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| My hot springs outfit. Swim cap required. |
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| Hiking trail |
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| On the high speed rail! |
transitions/honoring my travels
It was difficult to come off of my trip to San Francisco and readjust to being a full-time (unemployed) adult in DC. I suddenly had all this time on my hands to just be with myself, and live with my insecurities and neuroses. And oh the neuroses! The inner tape that constantly plays messages about how I'm not doing enough, but I'm also during too much, and crap my checks got lost in the mail, and I haven't sent out enough job applications, and my room is a mess, etc etc. But I think during these transition times some wailing and protesting from myself is to be expected, and I am trying to be compassionate and patient with myself. There are a lot of joys to be found in alone-ness too - sleeping in, enjoying leisurely breakfasts with hot tea and the paper, taking brisk walks to enjoy the sunshine when I feel like it, reading, practicing mindfulness. I've also spent the last week or so enjoying a visit with Kaitlyn, consulting for a few hours at my old office, going climbing, enjoying the UNC victory over Duke, honoring the memory of a friend, working with a grassroots community organization, and finally getting a VA license.
On Monday I heard back from an organization that I thought was going to be a long shot, and ended up getting an interview offer! I went through a pretty serious 2 hour long interview yesterday and was asked for my references today, so hopefully I'll get some good news. I felt calm and confident while I was there, and I met some great people who are doing work I believe in, and I feel excited and good about the experience. There's definitely a part of me that wants to play it down because it's still not a sure thing and I don't want to be disappointed, but for now I'm going to allow myself to be excited, and get my hopes up. :) Now that there's a chance that I'll be employed again soon, I wanted to take some time to revisit and process my trip to Asia. I realized today that part of me hasn't really wanted to upload all my photos and post my travel entries in this blog because it means having to really say goodbye to the experience, and to acknowledge that they are firmly in the past. It means I have to confront that all I have of that time now are the photos, and my words, and my memories, which are rich and vivid and full, but only an approximation of what it was like to actually be in Taipei, or at the ruins of Ayutthaya, or in the clear blue waters of Koh Chang. But it's important to remember the experiences again, honor them, thank them for what they taught me, and fully dedicate myself to being here now.
So I will start posting edited versions of the emails I sent to Megan telling her about the day-to-day experience of my trip. This is mostly for my benefit so I have a centralized place for all of them - you're definitely not obligated to read them (or really any of this!) if you don't want to. But if you're interested in the nitty gritty "here's what I saw and ate and felt and thought" of my trip, this is the best way of reliving it with me. :) You can also supplement the experience by checking out all my pictures on Flickr. Here we go.
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| Jason and I at Shi Lin Night Market in Taipei |
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| My aunt and uncle outside of their neighborhood metro stop. |
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| Buddha statues at a temple in Ayutthaya. |
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| Cambodian style temple in Ayutthaya. |
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| Enjoying a margarita on the beach in Koh Chang. |
Sunday, February 27, 2011
compassion and oppression
I have been in DC since Feb 7, reintegrating by dropping by my old office, attending Hill briefings, seeing friends, getting involved with community organizing, and facilitating board retreats. I've also fixed a leaky toilet, gone to the dentist, and continued my travel adventures by going to San Francisco for 6 days with my partner. My days have been full, and my doubts about whether or not I still belong here even when I'm not officially employed have faded. As I'm fond of telling people these days, even though I'm "organizationally unaffiliated" (read: unemployed) I am certainly still involved with a LOT of organizations. I'm working and not getting paid. I have a purpose for being here, and I feel much more relaxed here now than I did before I left.
I am trying to bring the sense of presence and joy I felt in Taiwan to my life here in DC. Part of how I stay grounded and fully embodied here is by attending People of Color Sangha at the Insight Meditation Community of Washington. "Sangha" is a Buddhist term that in the West commonly refers to a Buddhist community. I think of it as a meditation group. Every month the POC sangha meets for 2.5 hours and incorporates sitting meditation, a brief lecture called a "dharma", and group discussion. Today was my third time participating in sangha, and I am immensely grateful that I went. The meditations that I do at sangha are deep, and I feel fully present for those precious 30 minutes. I emerge from them feeling connected and grounded and cleansed, or as the Buddhists would say, "awake". The discussions are also interesting and thought-provoking, and the one today was particularly powerful.
It was based on Larry Yang's Precepts for Directing the Mind Towards Diversity. In short, these precepts call on us to refrain from forcing others to adopt our belief systems, to refrain from denying or invalidating other people's experiences, to not diminish the worth or happiness of any other human being, to not exclude or isolate others, to be aware of privilege, and to not participate in systems of oppression. Among others. A tall order, but it's meant to aspirational. Guidelines, if you will.
In all seriousness, as I heard these precepts being read out loud, I felt a very strong resistance. Here I was sitting in a room with all people of color, most of whom are black, most of whom are women, and many of whom self-identify as LGBTQ. Among us we represent some of the most marginalized and oppressed identity groups in the U.S. One after another people responded to these precepts with stories of painful, hurtful encounters they've had with racism. Others talked about how important it is to be open-minded, to accept ourselves so we can fully accept others, which I also found myself resisting. I felt my anger and impatience to speak boiling over, and instead of mindfully pausing after another woman's particularly painful story about a racist incident, I hurried to speak:
"Why should we strive so hard to love and understand and be open to those who hurt us? There are so many people who will not refrain from forcing us to adopt their belief systems, or regularly exclude, isolate, and treat people as inferior. Opening ourselves up to them means we're going to get hurt. Maybe it's okay to isolate ourselves with people from similar backgrounds, if that means we're going to be safe. Why should we, who have to carry so much weight, and deal with so much B.S., have to listen and try to understand worldviews that invalidate our humanity and existence? Why do we have to be mindful and open when they will not do the same for us? We, as individuals, can be compassionate and loving all we want, but that doesn't change the systems out there that have and will continue to hurt us."
I was relieved when my angry, defensive, decidedly NON-compassionate outburst was met with affirmation and validation from the rest of the group. It made me feel safe to know that other people felt and understood my frustration, that though many of us work in social justice and believe fundamentally in the inherent worth of all human beings, we have also been hurt by a lot of people. And that makes us angry.
I appreciated in particular the words of a black woman elder who was not afraid to talk about her movement work against white supremacy, and her own anger and exhaustion. But she also talked about what it means to see white folks as not just the "enemy" but as human beings. As the conversation went on, several themes came up. The vulnerability and mindfulness it takes to not immediately react from a place of hurt and defensiveness. How communities of faith like IMCW that are meant to be welcoming and inclusive often exclude and isolate people of color. How hard it can be honest about race with white people who believe so fervently in diversity and that they are being good people. The fiercely compassionate and radical act of claiming and loving ourselves, asserting that we belong. Not asking permission to belong or to be recognized as full human beings.
I left feeling seen and heard and loved, and am grateful for the sense of belonging I felt in the space. But the discussion we had has stayed with me, leaving my heart full and my head spinning and pushing me to do this midnight blogging. Reading the precepts again, one of them sticks out to me:
"Aware of the suffering caused to myself and others by fear and anger during conflict or disagreement, I undertake the training to refrain from reacting defensively, using harmful speech because I feel injured, or using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness. I commit to communicate and express myself mindfully, speaking truthfully from my heart with patience and compassion. I commit to practice genuine and deep listening to all sides of a dispute, and to remain in contact with my highest intentions of recognizing Buddha nature within all beings."
This quote really strikes me now because of how much fear and anger I felt when I was giving my outburst, and how much I see of it now when I read over my words. Was I reacting defensively? Check. Using harmful speech because I felt injured? Check. Using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness? Check. In fact, that's kind of my default response to any sort of experience of oppression, whether on the personal level (i.e. racist or sexist comment) or systematic level (i.e. the Tea Party taking over the House). It's not wrong or bad - it's a way of coping and surviving. But where is all that fear and anger coming from?
There's the fear of not being heard. The anger of people invalidating my experiences. The fear of isolation, of not being accepted. Of not being loved. I want to justify my rightness because I want to justify my truth, and my existence. I don't want to be erased or dismissed. I interpret agreeing with and validating my political beliefs and values as validating me. But I am starting to understand that maybe my sense of self doesn't need to be so threatened by conflict or disagreement. No, it's not okay when people or systems try to deny my lived reality, but their denial does not have to result in my own denial and self-minimization. I know my self, and I know my truth. I have dignity and worth as a human being. I have a spirit that cannot be erased. I do not have to convince anyone that I belong, because I am here, and that is enough.
I am trying to bring the sense of presence and joy I felt in Taiwan to my life here in DC. Part of how I stay grounded and fully embodied here is by attending People of Color Sangha at the Insight Meditation Community of Washington. "Sangha" is a Buddhist term that in the West commonly refers to a Buddhist community. I think of it as a meditation group. Every month the POC sangha meets for 2.5 hours and incorporates sitting meditation, a brief lecture called a "dharma", and group discussion. Today was my third time participating in sangha, and I am immensely grateful that I went. The meditations that I do at sangha are deep, and I feel fully present for those precious 30 minutes. I emerge from them feeling connected and grounded and cleansed, or as the Buddhists would say, "awake". The discussions are also interesting and thought-provoking, and the one today was particularly powerful.
It was based on Larry Yang's Precepts for Directing the Mind Towards Diversity. In short, these precepts call on us to refrain from forcing others to adopt our belief systems, to refrain from denying or invalidating other people's experiences, to not diminish the worth or happiness of any other human being, to not exclude or isolate others, to be aware of privilege, and to not participate in systems of oppression. Among others. A tall order, but it's meant to aspirational. Guidelines, if you will.
In all seriousness, as I heard these precepts being read out loud, I felt a very strong resistance. Here I was sitting in a room with all people of color, most of whom are black, most of whom are women, and many of whom self-identify as LGBTQ. Among us we represent some of the most marginalized and oppressed identity groups in the U.S. One after another people responded to these precepts with stories of painful, hurtful encounters they've had with racism. Others talked about how important it is to be open-minded, to accept ourselves so we can fully accept others, which I also found myself resisting. I felt my anger and impatience to speak boiling over, and instead of mindfully pausing after another woman's particularly painful story about a racist incident, I hurried to speak:
"Why should we strive so hard to love and understand and be open to those who hurt us? There are so many people who will not refrain from forcing us to adopt their belief systems, or regularly exclude, isolate, and treat people as inferior. Opening ourselves up to them means we're going to get hurt. Maybe it's okay to isolate ourselves with people from similar backgrounds, if that means we're going to be safe. Why should we, who have to carry so much weight, and deal with so much B.S., have to listen and try to understand worldviews that invalidate our humanity and existence? Why do we have to be mindful and open when they will not do the same for us? We, as individuals, can be compassionate and loving all we want, but that doesn't change the systems out there that have and will continue to hurt us."
I was relieved when my angry, defensive, decidedly NON-compassionate outburst was met with affirmation and validation from the rest of the group. It made me feel safe to know that other people felt and understood my frustration, that though many of us work in social justice and believe fundamentally in the inherent worth of all human beings, we have also been hurt by a lot of people. And that makes us angry.
I appreciated in particular the words of a black woman elder who was not afraid to talk about her movement work against white supremacy, and her own anger and exhaustion. But she also talked about what it means to see white folks as not just the "enemy" but as human beings. As the conversation went on, several themes came up. The vulnerability and mindfulness it takes to not immediately react from a place of hurt and defensiveness. How communities of faith like IMCW that are meant to be welcoming and inclusive often exclude and isolate people of color. How hard it can be honest about race with white people who believe so fervently in diversity and that they are being good people. The fiercely compassionate and radical act of claiming and loving ourselves, asserting that we belong. Not asking permission to belong or to be recognized as full human beings.
I left feeling seen and heard and loved, and am grateful for the sense of belonging I felt in the space. But the discussion we had has stayed with me, leaving my heart full and my head spinning and pushing me to do this midnight blogging. Reading the precepts again, one of them sticks out to me:
"Aware of the suffering caused to myself and others by fear and anger during conflict or disagreement, I undertake the training to refrain from reacting defensively, using harmful speech because I feel injured, or using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness. I commit to communicate and express myself mindfully, speaking truthfully from my heart with patience and compassion. I commit to practice genuine and deep listening to all sides of a dispute, and to remain in contact with my highest intentions of recognizing Buddha nature within all beings."
This quote really strikes me now because of how much fear and anger I felt when I was giving my outburst, and how much I see of it now when I read over my words. Was I reacting defensively? Check. Using harmful speech because I felt injured? Check. Using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness? Check. In fact, that's kind of my default response to any sort of experience of oppression, whether on the personal level (i.e. racist or sexist comment) or systematic level (i.e. the Tea Party taking over the House). It's not wrong or bad - it's a way of coping and surviving. But where is all that fear and anger coming from?
There's the fear of not being heard. The anger of people invalidating my experiences. The fear of isolation, of not being accepted. Of not being loved. I want to justify my rightness because I want to justify my truth, and my existence. I don't want to be erased or dismissed. I interpret agreeing with and validating my political beliefs and values as validating me. But I am starting to understand that maybe my sense of self doesn't need to be so threatened by conflict or disagreement. No, it's not okay when people or systems try to deny my lived reality, but their denial does not have to result in my own denial and self-minimization. I know my self, and I know my truth. I have dignity and worth as a human being. I have a spirit that cannot be erased. I do not have to convince anyone that I belong, because I am here, and that is enough.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
On homecomings
Well everyone, I'm back in the U.S. I apologize for falling off the blogging bandwagon during the last two weeks of my trip. Irregular Internet access and being too tired/busy from traveling are my main excuses, but I did manage to send regular updates about my day to my partner. I plan on editing some of these emails and posting them on my blog so y'all can get a sense of some of the adventures I had, but first a reflection post is in order.
I flew back to the U.S. on Monday, January 31 to Newark, NJ where my maternal grandmother and relatives live. Before I flew back to the U.S. I spent one night in Taipei after my 10 day trip to Thailand. Jason and I arrived in Taipei on Sunday evening and my (paternal) uncle and aunt picked us up from the airport. I was very, very glad to see them, and inordinately relieved to be back in Taipei in general. Although I had an amazing time in Thailand, my identity as a tourist there was inescapable, as were all of the European tourists everywhere and the daily sightings of older European men with very young, beautiful Thai women. (more on being a tourist in Thailand in another post)
I was so glad to be back in a country where I spoke the language, where there were actual Taiwanese residents surrounding me at all time, where there is no significant expat or Western tourist presence in the city, where there are mountains. I found comfort in narrow streets and buildings pressed on top of each other, instead of the sprawling, flat, expanse of concrete and super-highways of Bangkok. As I walked the streets of Taipei during my last night there, I felt this deep sense of belonging that I feel in very few places in the world. I used to feel like I belonged to Chapel Hill when I went to school there - I would be sitting in the quad, watching the dappled shadows under the oak trees and the controlled chaos of the class change, or on the front lawn of Weaver Street sitting at one of those weathered green picnic tables with my friends, sharing a bottle of wine, and feel like yes, this is my place. Compared to Chapel Hill or even DC, I have spent very little time in Taipei, and yet I felt that same rush of well-being and bone-deep certainty that I was home.
Maybe it was because I had been sick for a couple of days in a foreign country and was just grateful to be somewhere familiar with people around to take care of me. Maybe it was because it was my last night there and I was trying to hold on to every moment. I think mostly it is because Taipei is where my family is. I was so glad to have one last night to sit in my uncle and aunt's living room watching the season finale of Taiwanese Idol with them, just joining in on their quiet family ritual. The things I will remember about Taiwan will be the small, ordinary moments: watching TV with my aunt, climbing on the back of my uncle's scooter as he takes me home every night, sitting in the car as he names each street for me and tells me how they're connected to each other, going to the Carrefour with my aunt. These are the experiences that mark me as part of their family, part of their daily lived realities.
On Monday we dropped Jason off at the airport because he had an earlier flight than me (my flight didn't leave until 7:30 PM) and then went to get lunch with one of my relatives in Taipei. We then went back to their house where they have their own karaoke machine, and my aunt and uncle started to sing along with their relatives. Since I was sick and coughing violently, I refrained from participating. But as I sat eating cherries and drinking tea and watching my aunt and uncle sing old, classic Chinese songs together, my uncle singing in his tone-deaf, gravelly, good-natured voice that sounds so much like my father's (who I have never heard sing karaoke), I felt like I could stay there forever. I tried to preserve the moment in my memory, how unselfconscious everyone was, how much fun they were having, the feeling of love and good will.
My uncle and aunt drove me back to the airport and parked the car and sat with me outside of security. I had gotten there much earlier than I needed to and we had about 30 minutes to wait together. We talked about what I was going to do when I got back to DC, and how I could visit again when I eventually went to grad school. My uncle took pictures of me and my aunt, and of me in front of a model of an EVA Airlines airplane. The inevitable departure loomed over us, making us all antsy and subdued. Finally, I got up and said that it was time for me to go. They walked me to the security gate, and I started thanking them and saying my goodbyes, telling them how much their boundless generosity and hospitality meant to me and how they took such exceptional care of me. My uncle looked at me with moist eyes and said, "Of course. You're my father's youngest granddaughter."
My aunt, who I remembered tearing up when I left Taipei the first time, started crying in earnest. I rarely see my relatives of her age or generation cry. My uncle tried to smooth it over and joke through it (as usual) but I hugged her and told her I would see her again, that she needed to come visit me in the U.S., that it would be okay. She wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure as I turned to hand the guard my passport and plane ticket. As I passed by the guard, I turned one last time to look at my uncle and aunt, and they both smiled and waved at me. I felt an urge to run back to them, or to stay in my spot waving to them, but I turned away and kept walking, and they disappeared out of view.
I have never felt so heartbroken on an airplane, or so reluctant to go back the U.S. I thought of my mom's story about how she cried the entire way to the U.S. the first time she came here, to go to a school where she knew no one, unsure of when she would see her family again. I kept thinking of my aunt's tears, of my uncle's cavalier declarations that he "might not be here" the next time I go to Taiwan, of being ripped from a way of being in the world. I often think of my scattered family and of the consequences of immigration as a blessing - it means I have connections and relationships all over the world, that my family can help each other navigate being in vastly different places, that we have access to diverse experiences and resources. But on the airplane, I could only think of immigration as a tragedy, something caused by the legacies of war and instability, something that created a rift in our family forever. My uncle and aunt and cousins are never going to permanently move to the U.S., and I am never going to build my life in Taipei. We see each other once every 5 years if we are lucky. I grew up without them. Most of the time we don't get a chance to share Lunar New Year together, or family celebrations, or dinners, or just sitting around watching TV. And yet when I see them I feel so welcomed and unconditionally loved and taken care of. They treat me like their long lost youngest child. They don't really know me very well as an adult, or about my work or interests or friends or partner, but they love me.
Because over 30 years ago my father and his brothers and parents decided to make a calculated risk, decided that at least one son needed to be in America in case Taiwan went to war with China, our families are separated for good. I know that it is partly because of this reality that I am treated so well when I go to Taiwan, and that I am seen as so precious. I grew up with my mom's large extended family in NJ, and when I came back they folded me back into the family life with little fanfare or commentary. There was no one assigned to wait for me at the airport like in Taiwan, just the usual cell phone call and waiting for a ride. The routineness of my return, this kind of "oh, you're back" is precious in its own way - it means that I will keep coming back, that I belong here in the U.S., that I am expected. But it made my departure from Taiwan feel even more sharp and painful.
Now that I have been in NJ for almost a week, and am mostly over both my jet lag and my bronchitis, I feel more settled. I've spoken twice with my uncle and aunt over Skype to wish them a happy Lunar New Year, and have sent them emails and photos. They are busy with their own family obligations, and my aunt sounded okay when I last spoke to her. My mom, some of her brothers and sisters, and my grandma are planning a trip back to Taiwan in October, and my dad may join them (he has not gone to Taiwan in over 20 years), and this news cheered my aunt considerably. I still miss my family and their way of life in Taipei dreadfully, but as I am getting emails from my friends and colleagues in DC and reconnecting with my partner and my best friends, I feel like I am coming back to myself. My life is here, and I'm ready to start living it again
I flew back to the U.S. on Monday, January 31 to Newark, NJ where my maternal grandmother and relatives live. Before I flew back to the U.S. I spent one night in Taipei after my 10 day trip to Thailand. Jason and I arrived in Taipei on Sunday evening and my (paternal) uncle and aunt picked us up from the airport. I was very, very glad to see them, and inordinately relieved to be back in Taipei in general. Although I had an amazing time in Thailand, my identity as a tourist there was inescapable, as were all of the European tourists everywhere and the daily sightings of older European men with very young, beautiful Thai women. (more on being a tourist in Thailand in another post)
I was so glad to be back in a country where I spoke the language, where there were actual Taiwanese residents surrounding me at all time, where there is no significant expat or Western tourist presence in the city, where there are mountains. I found comfort in narrow streets and buildings pressed on top of each other, instead of the sprawling, flat, expanse of concrete and super-highways of Bangkok. As I walked the streets of Taipei during my last night there, I felt this deep sense of belonging that I feel in very few places in the world. I used to feel like I belonged to Chapel Hill when I went to school there - I would be sitting in the quad, watching the dappled shadows under the oak trees and the controlled chaos of the class change, or on the front lawn of Weaver Street sitting at one of those weathered green picnic tables with my friends, sharing a bottle of wine, and feel like yes, this is my place. Compared to Chapel Hill or even DC, I have spent very little time in Taipei, and yet I felt that same rush of well-being and bone-deep certainty that I was home.
Maybe it was because I had been sick for a couple of days in a foreign country and was just grateful to be somewhere familiar with people around to take care of me. Maybe it was because it was my last night there and I was trying to hold on to every moment. I think mostly it is because Taipei is where my family is. I was so glad to have one last night to sit in my uncle and aunt's living room watching the season finale of Taiwanese Idol with them, just joining in on their quiet family ritual. The things I will remember about Taiwan will be the small, ordinary moments: watching TV with my aunt, climbing on the back of my uncle's scooter as he takes me home every night, sitting in the car as he names each street for me and tells me how they're connected to each other, going to the Carrefour with my aunt. These are the experiences that mark me as part of their family, part of their daily lived realities.
On Monday we dropped Jason off at the airport because he had an earlier flight than me (my flight didn't leave until 7:30 PM) and then went to get lunch with one of my relatives in Taipei. We then went back to their house where they have their own karaoke machine, and my aunt and uncle started to sing along with their relatives. Since I was sick and coughing violently, I refrained from participating. But as I sat eating cherries and drinking tea and watching my aunt and uncle sing old, classic Chinese songs together, my uncle singing in his tone-deaf, gravelly, good-natured voice that sounds so much like my father's (who I have never heard sing karaoke), I felt like I could stay there forever. I tried to preserve the moment in my memory, how unselfconscious everyone was, how much fun they were having, the feeling of love and good will.
My uncle and aunt drove me back to the airport and parked the car and sat with me outside of security. I had gotten there much earlier than I needed to and we had about 30 minutes to wait together. We talked about what I was going to do when I got back to DC, and how I could visit again when I eventually went to grad school. My uncle took pictures of me and my aunt, and of me in front of a model of an EVA Airlines airplane. The inevitable departure loomed over us, making us all antsy and subdued. Finally, I got up and said that it was time for me to go. They walked me to the security gate, and I started thanking them and saying my goodbyes, telling them how much their boundless generosity and hospitality meant to me and how they took such exceptional care of me. My uncle looked at me with moist eyes and said, "Of course. You're my father's youngest granddaughter."
My aunt, who I remembered tearing up when I left Taipei the first time, started crying in earnest. I rarely see my relatives of her age or generation cry. My uncle tried to smooth it over and joke through it (as usual) but I hugged her and told her I would see her again, that she needed to come visit me in the U.S., that it would be okay. She wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure as I turned to hand the guard my passport and plane ticket. As I passed by the guard, I turned one last time to look at my uncle and aunt, and they both smiled and waved at me. I felt an urge to run back to them, or to stay in my spot waving to them, but I turned away and kept walking, and they disappeared out of view.
I have never felt so heartbroken on an airplane, or so reluctant to go back the U.S. I thought of my mom's story about how she cried the entire way to the U.S. the first time she came here, to go to a school where she knew no one, unsure of when she would see her family again. I kept thinking of my aunt's tears, of my uncle's cavalier declarations that he "might not be here" the next time I go to Taiwan, of being ripped from a way of being in the world. I often think of my scattered family and of the consequences of immigration as a blessing - it means I have connections and relationships all over the world, that my family can help each other navigate being in vastly different places, that we have access to diverse experiences and resources. But on the airplane, I could only think of immigration as a tragedy, something caused by the legacies of war and instability, something that created a rift in our family forever. My uncle and aunt and cousins are never going to permanently move to the U.S., and I am never going to build my life in Taipei. We see each other once every 5 years if we are lucky. I grew up without them. Most of the time we don't get a chance to share Lunar New Year together, or family celebrations, or dinners, or just sitting around watching TV. And yet when I see them I feel so welcomed and unconditionally loved and taken care of. They treat me like their long lost youngest child. They don't really know me very well as an adult, or about my work or interests or friends or partner, but they love me.
Because over 30 years ago my father and his brothers and parents decided to make a calculated risk, decided that at least one son needed to be in America in case Taiwan went to war with China, our families are separated for good. I know that it is partly because of this reality that I am treated so well when I go to Taiwan, and that I am seen as so precious. I grew up with my mom's large extended family in NJ, and when I came back they folded me back into the family life with little fanfare or commentary. There was no one assigned to wait for me at the airport like in Taiwan, just the usual cell phone call and waiting for a ride. The routineness of my return, this kind of "oh, you're back" is precious in its own way - it means that I will keep coming back, that I belong here in the U.S., that I am expected. But it made my departure from Taiwan feel even more sharp and painful.
Now that I have been in NJ for almost a week, and am mostly over both my jet lag and my bronchitis, I feel more settled. I've spoken twice with my uncle and aunt over Skype to wish them a happy Lunar New Year, and have sent them emails and photos. They are busy with their own family obligations, and my aunt sounded okay when I last spoke to her. My mom, some of her brothers and sisters, and my grandma are planning a trip back to Taiwan in October, and my dad may join them (he has not gone to Taiwan in over 20 years), and this news cheered my aunt considerably. I still miss my family and their way of life in Taipei dreadfully, but as I am getting emails from my friends and colleagues in DC and reconnecting with my partner and my best friends, I feel like I am coming back to myself. My life is here, and I'm ready to start living it again
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