En mi sinei fossun chuuk?

Release

2008-02-14T00:29:00.001+10:00

She cried. She needed to cry. There was too much inside her. Compressing into a pressurized vault with explosive potential….She wanted to empty herself. She cried as hard as she could. Rocking and rocking until she exhaled all of the breath she could. She wanted to turn her insides out and wring them dry. Wring out the bitterness, the loneliness, the sting, the confusion, the repression, the indecision, the apathy, the longing, the hurt. But inhalation made it impossible for anything other than temporary relief. She wanted to self-destruct. But she knew the source of her malady could not be tangibly located. She didn’t know exactly what to destroy. Her heart was nothing more than muscle fibers contracting in regular rhythmic intervals at the command of her brain which was nothing more than a complex interwoven network of neurons firing on cue thanks to her lungs – repositories for gaseous essentials. Her stomach – churning. Where was it coming from?

The Source

2008-02-14T00:25:00.000+10:00

It was a routine pop-in-the-mouth, over-the-tongue eating of the M&M that her dangerous sugar addiction had led her through so many times before. Things go down the wrong pipe. Solids go down the liquid pipe, liquids down the air pipe. It happens. But this time was different. This one in a million got stuck. She felt it lodge in her throat, triggering an instant gag reaction. Normally a bit of coughing would clear the way and life would continue as usual. She couldn’t breathe. She felt her air passages constricting and labored breathing became no breathing. She tried to inhale. Nothing. She coughed to exhale. She turned, bent over, towards her family who was by now confused and horrified by the unnatural sounds she was making. She didn’t even know how to gesture them to help. In the time it took for them to swallow their own fear and determine the best course of action, , she had somehow by the grace of God dislodged the wedged M&M and took a loud, raucous, grateful gasp of air as if she had just surfaced from an underwater contest trying to swim the length of the pool and back. She went right for the water in the fridge and leaned over the open door thanking God for the sweet gift of breath, and cursing him for how painfully scary it was to have it momentarily taken away. Hearing her breathing return to a comfortable normalcy, her frozen family realized what had happened and began to make sure she was okay. She laughed and coughed. She didn’t know why she laughed. She was terrified – still shaking. Maybe that was her nervous way of dealing with it – of hiding her fear. Maybe she thought it was funny because it would have been a humiliating way to go out – embarrassing in fact. Nothing heroic. Nothing even so far as to say tragic. More unfortunate. Choked on an M&M. Maybe she thought it was funny because it could have been that easy. Maybe she had found somewhere hidden in that M&M that life was the source of her hurt. Maybe she was laughing because this should have bothered her more than it did. Whatever conscious or subconscious took place in her twisted mind, she knew one thing for sure, she would not be eating M&M’s again in the near future.

Fragrant Touch

2008-02-14T00:21:00.001+10:00

The lady went through the line raving about the “experience.” Isn’t that what we’re all in it for? Trader Joe’s has just captured that yearning and put it in a store. It’s ingenious really. Why hasn’t anyone else thought of it? Making you feel like you’re important. Giving you the little reasons to enjoy life. Not the big ones – you can’t buy love, or happiness or fulfillment off the shelves – but if chocolate covered edamame gives you a sense of satisfaction – however temporary – we’ll carry it. The lady was bright and sunshiny and though it is typically her job as a mission-centered employee to spread her own cheer, some customers are just more prone to contagion than others.
“Carol?”
Her name wasn’t Carol. The voice must have been summoning the lady checking-out. In familiar female fashion, their voices got squeaky and nostalgic followed by embraces, a cocked head to the side and a genuine “How arrrrrrrrrrre you?” It has become….well not become…it’s always been just a formality. Something polite you are supposed to say to pretend you are interested. A rare few wait to hear the response. Most default to the cheap and easy “fine.howareyou?” intending to mask, encompass, account for and squeeze their human emotions of angst, anxiety, joy, dejection, despair and loneliness in one pre-recorded prevaricated response.

These two ladies had been broken by the experience. Nothing was falsified. It was so real it left her, the neutral uninvolved cashier feeling vulnerable. Carol asked how her caller friend was, and instead of lying through her teeth, her face suggested pain, and her eyes drifted toward the floor as she both with body language and words expressed that things were not as “fine” as they could be.

She didn’t want to get involved. She robotically scanned the items. Not-listening. Trying not to listen. Trying to remain Swiss. She was too close to them not to hear, and not to see the distraught caller start to crumble, caught in the arms of her long-lost friend Carol. She couldn’t determine the cause of her grief, but she knew it hurt. Her face was pressed to Carol’s shoulder, eyes scrunched, tears streaming.

She panicked for a second. She didn’t want to see a stranger cry. She couldn’t do anything to help this Eve she didn’t even know. She didn’t want to get involved, but by virtue of her proximity and her own very real feelings of empathy, she wanted to join the hug and cry too. She didn’t know the source, the root, the cause, but she knew the weight all too well. She knew what it felt like just to find someone in whom the slightest bit of trust invoked a somewhat involuntary dropping of the guard. The emotion – irrepressible. She felt like she owed Eve at the very least the reassurance of shared human experience.

Their embrace swept them into a world far removed from the counter, leaving her enough time to quickly finish the transaction and drop the receipts in the bag. She walked a way in a manner that suggested she was giving them space and privacy. She walked over to the flowers. Flowers, yes. It’s neutral. It’s compassionate. She scanned for a bouquet that simply said, “I don’t know what happened, but I know what it feels like. I hope that these make you smile.” Yes that one. The buds were bursting open. The smell fragrant to the touch. The colors. Yes this was the one.

She walked over to Eve and gently placing her hand just above her elbow, the cashier handed her the bouquet. Her brown jacket was soft. That made her easier to approach. She was still dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say. She hoped the gesture would speak louder than her silence.

Eve’s face dropped further than moments before and she started crying again. That was not the intent. No no no stop crying. Just take them and go. Take them and go. No no no hugs. Aw she hugged her.

She didn’t think flowers could dissolve the barriers of unfamiliarity. It wasn’t the flowers.

Eve hugged her. The cashier could tell she was making the same scrunched face into her shoulder. The one she had made when hugging Carol. She wanted to cry too. Someone had to be strong. She was tired of being strong. She wanted to cry into Eve’s shoulder.

She wanted someone to cry into. She was glad that she could be that someone for Miss Eve. Deeply grateful, Miss Carol also hugged the cashier, both thanking her profusely for what was a seemingly simple gesture. They both walked out of the store, not entirely consoled but profoundly touched, arm in arm.

She was left standing there, wondering why this affected her so much. She was overwhelmed by how trivial it was – what she did. She was overwhelmed by how closely the human thread is tied.

She wanted someone to walk arm in arm with. She needed her Savior. She wanted to feel her Savior in the form of a Carol. In the form of a cashier. In the form of fragrant touch.

Meet Johnny...

2007-06-22T12:07:00.001+10:00

Traveling with an Infant Form

Thank you for choosing Contintental Micronesia. If you intend to travel with an infant, please fill out the following form and return it to the attendant when you check-in for your flight. Thank you for your cooperation.

Circle either YES or NO for all that apply.

1. Are you traveling with an infant? YES or NO

2. Is your infant under 3 years of age? YES or NO

3. Does your infant: (circle all that apply)

Cry? YES or NO

Scream? YES or NO

Whine? YES or NO

Whimper? YES or NO

4. At what noise level does your infant have the

ability to perform any of the above?

Whisper ? YES or NO

Murmur ? YES or NO

Conversational ? YES or NO

Tonsil bearing ? YES or NO

Blood curdling ? YES or NO

Ear piercing ? YES or NO

5. How frequently does your infant perform the above?

Rarely ? YES or NO

When provoked? YES or NO

Often ? YES or NO

More often than not ? YES or NO

Non-stop – without coming up for air ? YES or NO

6. Does the small, enclosed size of a cabin exponentially

amplify the noise that your infant is capable of

producing? YES or NO

Please add up the number of YES boxes you circled. Scores totaling over 12 may qualify you for our special reserved courtesy infant seating in the very middle of the cabin, completely surrounded by adults looking for a peaceful ride to their destination. Thank you for your cooperation and again, thank you for flying Continental Micronesia.

Meet Johnny

There is at least one on every flight. Perhaps there is an application for this seating as well that I am unaware of. Inevitably, about 20 minutes or so after taking off, the flight attendants begin tending to the cabin, offering an assortment of complimentary beverages – sometimes peanuts, if you’re lucky honey roasted peanuts, sometimes pretzel wheels and if you’re really lucky, a sandwich and some raisins. In order to fit all of this goodness onto one cart, the dimensions of the cart tend to be such that it consumes the whole aisle, the armrest of seat C to the arm rest of seat D with maybe just a few spare inches on either side.

Meet Mr. Johnny Patient sitting up in seat 2A. He's one of the first to receive his Coke, coastered with a napkin. Impatient because they took his slurpee away from him at a security check point, he downs the Coke and with a satisfied smacking of the lips, pounds the empty plastic cup on the seat tray. He looks around for a moment out of boredom now that the excitement of a free drink has subsided. It doesn’t take long before he realizes that he now has to use the restroom and so his sole focus becomes relieving himself. Without hesitation, he climbs over Jimmy and Suzie, comfortably reading and sipping on their beverage of choice. With minimal spillage but maximum inconvenience due to not so small adults playing musical chairs in not so large airplane seats, he triumphantly makes it to the aisle. To his dismay, he looks up and sees the rear end of the stewardess, working fervently behind her precious cart. Surveying either side of the cart, he realizes that his load is too wide to shimmy past. The flight attendant has a good 27 rows left to serve, but he makes the decision to wait it out. Initially confident this is a good idea, he stands upright, watching her adroit, rehearsed movements – pop, pour, napkin, serve. This amuses him for a while until the liquid pouring sound reminds him of his need to get to the restroom. He thinks maybe if he looks again there may be an opening he missed the first time that would allow him to squeeze through. Alas, the cart is the same size.

The stewardess senses someone is behind her and notices the gentlemen, not seeking her attention, but still unusually close. She continues working, not losing her focus or breaking her routine, for if she stopped for every inconsiderate passenger she would never finish her job.

Though she pretends not to notice, other passengers, particularly in seats C and D, do, and are now feeling awkward with this gentlemen hovering over their personal space. Johnny senses the tension and tries to look away but slips for a moment to check if they are staring at him. They are. Johnny’s look says something to the effect of, “Soooo, this is pretty awkward….probably couldn’t get more awkward, well, unless of course if I were naked, then I would be in quite a pickle,” which warrants multiple looks that insinuate, “You’re not a very intelligent individual are you?”

One row at a time, the stewardess works diligently, still slightly uncomfortable with someone leaning over her shoulder. Johnny Patient thinks she’s going slower on purpose just to embarrass him even more, and he begins to get frustrated, huffing and puffing to indicate that he is still waiting to pass. Hearing, but not acknowledging his anger, she smiles. Even after all of the flights she has worked and all of the clowns who do the exact same thing, she is still amused by his stupidity.

After what has to have been about 7 minutes, Johnny takes note of the emergency exit row – his one chance to escape! She unlocks the wheel brakes and he nearly knocks her over to squeeze past her before she blocks the next row. Sensing that she had given him enough of a hard time, she courteously rolls the cart back to allow him to pass and he scurries off to the bathroom.

Vacancy light on – off – on. He struggles to exit through the sliver of a bathroom door, stumbles back into the aisle and starts heading back to his seat….that is until he looks up and notices the cart back downstream at row 16.

Palauan Status

2007-06-22T11:38:00.000+10:00

I was so excited to go to Palau, forgetting that this too would be a cultural immersion experience of its own. The Republic of Palau is a tiny group of islands in the farthest west point of Micronesia from which a small percentage of our Xavier students come. I guess I thought it would literally be all fun and games watching Xavierites and Palauan citizens play and run their hearts out in the 6^th annual Belau games, but I found it more reminiscent of past experiences of pure discomfort, such as Saipan, Uman and sponsor families – just tagging along as an outsider with no particular purpose other than to observe - always on the outside looking in, embarrassed by the burden I put on people to feel like they have to baby-sit the foreigner. I don’t know what made me think this experience would be any different.

It was a blessing to be able to visit, and looking back, it seems like my trip was more for selfish reasons such as getting to see and experience life in Palau. I suppose that I erred yet again in thinking it was some grand gesture to show how much I care and how important they have been in my life. As a thank you for that, I gave them a burden for about a week……….ME – YAYY!! (if you know me, you know the tone in which that is squealed)

I don’t yet know how I feel about Palau. It is definitely an island and there are definitely glimpses of island life. You sweat your tukus off, there are coconut trees and you are surrounded by crystal waters, but it is so different from Chuuk. There is a very obvious sense of modernity that has tiptoed in and made its presence known on what was used to be a pristine culture. I felt a nagging sense of resentment towards such progressiveness.

I suddenly found myself self-conscious of what I was wearing. It hadn’t dawned on me that this was a place where ripped t-shirts aren’t socially acceptable to wear in public. I forgot the existence of the understood social principle: matching clothes. I was only one of less than a handful sporting the long Chuukese skirt and though I’ve seen them before I was easily offended by girls with thighs showing. The cars drive fast. Stores line both sides of the roads that the cars barrel down. People who drive the cars become easily road raged and are clearly more confrontational as opposed to humbly submissive.

* * *

A few of our students happened to be on the same flight going to Palau for a Junior Statesman Preparatory Conference. Across the way, there was another boy in the airport immigration line staring at one of our Xavier boys. So our student, what I think was casually, approached the gawker to ask him if there was a problem. Naturally, our student wanted to know if he had done something that would cause him to keep staring.

Well, the mother of this awkward Palauan boy stepped in and started inquiring why our kid was getting in her son’s face. Coolly, the Xavier student rejoined that her son was staring at him and he simply wanted to know why - perhaps not the best logic when approaching an impolite gazer, but one that certainly did not warrant the inflated response that ensued.

The mother didn’t like our student’s defense and so she flipped out. F-bombs flew, voice was well above reasonable conversational level such that the rest of the immigration line had either turned to see what was happening or turned towards the wall so as not to get involved. Myself and the other Xavierites played it island (FSM) style and backed off, trying not to make eye contact and feigning invisibility hoping that the aroused and irritated once sleeping bear might find someone else on which to prey.

Instead of settling down, she proceeded to call for Papa bear, who was halfway across the terminal. So I now find myself standing in between a normally confident senior in High School who is built, but not too much taller than me, and a good 250 lb., irate, Palauan gentleman who I assumed would have attacked on the spot had he not wanted to tarnish the glow of his shiny head which seemed to have been recently shaved and waxed.

His blood was boiling as he began yelling at my student, informing him that when you’re different, people stare at you and you should just get used to it because there is nothing wrong with staring. Being the token white person in the immigration line, this point offered the perfect opportunity for some comic relief. I should have interjected “Well, I’m more different that he is. How about your son just stares at me.” However, judging by the look on Tonto’s face, he didn’t seem to be much in the mood for humor. He then started to step forward, leaving his kids in line. My heart nearly flat lined as I was trying desperately to figure out how little ole’ me is going to prevent this angry beast from pummeling my kid. Thank the good Lord’s providence, immigration called him to the window, effectively diffusing the kafuffle. Unless the person was drunk (which isn’t that uncommon) I am fairly certain the situation would have been handled much differently in the FSM.

* * *

The western ideas of opulence and mentalities that value status and monetary wealth have also crept into the water here, which believe it or not you can drink right from the tap. It is traditional at graduation, as in most places, to give money as a form of congratulations. But at the Palau public High School ceremony, relatives slipped a $10 bill into an envelope, no card, no substantial message, just a sawbuck in an envelope. People buy mwaramwar (lei) instead of making them. People drive everywhere along the 1 ½ mile main strip instead of walking. I was washing dishes and since there was no basin, I was turning the faucet on and off so as not to waste water. My sisters walk up behind me, flip both faucets on and say, “This isn’t Chuuk, you can waste water.” Not that I am in any way in a position to be making criticism, but I suppose that these differences have become more readily apparent having ventured away from my Chuukese nest.

I was blessed with the opportunity to tour the Palau Capitol Building along with 9 other Palauan Xavierites. Fortunately, one of my rising sophomores is the daughter of a current senator and, as is as equally valued in Chuuk, it pays to be family. What was initial excitement was surpassed by disillusionment upon pulling up to the palatial estate. I had seen it before. Yes, I had seen the building before. Oh, I don’t know somewhere in hmmm Washington D.C. It looked exactly like the U.S. Capitol Building, only it was off white and adorned with Palauan storyboard symbols. There were 3 separate, but connected edifices for the legislative, judicial and executive branches complete with…….an oval office. I think that was the kicker. The president governs Palau from an oval office.

It’s not the fact that they’re mimicking American style that bothers me, but that the U.S. has created this standard for which people strive and are willing to compromise their own culture to achieve. It was really interesting to talk with another Xavier student’s anti-progressive father who was giving me the down low on politics in Palau. Apparently, up until a year ago, the capitol used to be in Koror – the main city. Five years after ground breaking, the capitol was moved to this brand spanking new state of the art building atop a hill overlooking the Northeastern shore of Babeldoab. Babeldoab is a separate island from Koror connected only by a bridge, but distinguishable in it’s bucolic, peaceful, unadulterated countryside – quite the contrast from the bustling commercial “city” of Koror. The decision to move the capitol was passed down by predecessors who, according to legend, claimed that Melekeok (the legendary person) was the eldest son of the 4 heirs and that the capitol building rightfully belonged to Melekeok (the state). What is not as respectable is that Melekeok is about 30 miles away and gas is 3.50/gallon. The state is practically deserted with just a few homes along the coast. The location is not convenient for anyone nor is it economically practical. The electrical bill alone is about 68,000 per month, 1/3 of the national monthly budget excluding other maintenance expenses. Eventually the modernity that has transformed Koror will creep out into the undeveloped country side, gradually dissolving the bridge that separates the “new” from the “fine the way it is.” Is it preservation of culture, rolling with the times, or flaunting a $42 million dollar investment for the sake of asserting status?

I don’t have any pants, I’ve worn skirts or long “running” shorts for 2 years. So when I wasn’t at the track, (Yep, Palau has a track!) I was kicking around in my Chuukese skirts which I initially didn’t think anything of, especially given the oblivion to any sense of fashion that I have cultivated here (and lacked in the first place). People started asking me where I was from, clearly confused by the contrast of obviously Chuukese garb and ghostly white skin. Slowly I began to notice that no one wears skirts here, let alone bright, floral, embroidered, unique local skirts. In Chuuk, it is customary to walk somewhat crouched down when you enter a roomful of people who are sitting, out of respect for not being at a level higher than everyone else. People looked at me funny, and told me I should stand up straight. Chuukese often use local utensils to eat, more commonly known as the 10 digits protruding from your palms. When I sat down to eat chicken and rice, which out of all foods necessitates the use of local utensils, someone commented, “Did you learn how to eat with your fingers in Chuuk?” It became much clearer after sitting in on a conversation, translated to me, after Lu-A had just finished eating and inadvertently wiped her hands on her pants. Sitting right next to her, her father chided mockingly, “Chuukese style eh?”

A cousin sitting nearby giggled and then explained to me that often times Palauans tease Xavierites because they come back home with Chuukese habits, referring to table manners, hair styles and manner of dress. Unfortunately, it made sense then, how highly Palauans regard their own culture and look down on Micronesians as uncivilized. On many occasions, I was offended and became defensive of what has become home. People criticized the trash, the corruption, the living conditions, the roads etc…. But instead of making me love Chuuk any less, it instead caused me to deplore Palau even more. Some sort of organization, structure and accountability are things that we long for in Chuuk. They have it in Palau, but with it comes brand names, cable TV, department stores, commercialism and consumerism. They speak Palauan, wear their hair really long and chew betelnut like fiends but everything else appears Western. That’s not to say their culture is lost, but something organic has to be sacrificed for this state to look like a Guam Jr. Again, not that I am in a position to be judging culture, but it was disconcerting to see Mami Rita curing a Spam Ham for her brother’s birthday instead of glazing bananas with coconut milk, or to notice that the decorations in the grocery store were hallmark paper cut outs celebrating the start of spring. Palauans don’t even celebrate spring. There aren’t any seasons here.

Chuuk may not be what most would consider paradise, but it’s simple. Whether that simplicity is by deliberate choice or default, I find it beautiful, and I don’t think that westernization grants bragging rights or status to insult.

The Airport Goodbye

2007-06-07T21:39:00.000+10:00

Just like the airport hello, the airport goodbye is an art really - the art of bidding someone an adequate and expressive farewell in a public space while maintaining grace, class and composure. It starts with the awkward check-in send off, when they’re not quite leaving yet, but leaving your side long enough to check their bags, passport and ticket. By this point, they are standing at a non-conversational distance, but close enough to make eye-contact. You try to relish the finality of their physical presence in your life. You follow their movement through the line secretly hoping they’ll be hindered for having over-weight luggage, an over-booked flight or an error in the reservation – anything that might detain them longer. But they pass through with ease, and you feel yourself silently resenting the smile on their face, alluding to their excitement of reaching whatever lies at the end of their destination, also completely ignorant of the pain of your loss. They reluctantly saunter back to you to continue draining the emotional energy out of you. Leaving their carry-ons at your feet, they leave again to make the rounds. You observe years of collided paths summarized in firm handshakes and mutually understood nods, the donning of mwarmwar (Chuukese leis) and a limp hug, the hand-shake pull into a one armed hug, the male favorite bear hug with forceful slaps on the back that preserve masculinity, the “I want to shake your hand but I don’t want to let it go so I’ll devise stalling techniques such as ‘Good Luck. You have your ticket? You don’t want to forget that (awkward chuckle). You’re going to keep in touch right? Have a good flight. Enjoy the peanuts’” interface, the good luck pat on the shoulder that says “I want to, but I’m unsure whether hugging you is socially appropriate right now,” the lover’s ‘head buried in shoulder’ extended embrace, the look-away, “you mean to much to me and I can’t bring myself to say goodbye to you it’s too hard I’ll settle for a handshake” adieu, or the merciless ‘rattle your hand off’ grip.

One would think after so much keen observation and practice, you would have mastered the art. As you survey the scene, everyone else can handle the trauma of the airport good-bye with minimal permanent damage. Confident you can do it also, you stand up tall, chest inflated, shoulders back – all of the necessary steps to convince yourself this is going to be as easy and as classy as everyone makes it seem. They start walking towards you with that look in their eye that says “it’s our turn.” They get closer and closer, and instead of making a motion to reciprocate their embrace, you panic. Unable to shake the thought that this is most likely the last time you will see them again, the last time you will look at them with the motherly “you’re getting so big” gaze, the last time life in this space and time will exist like this. The pre-planned handshakes or back slaps fall to pieces as the tears well up and you crumble in their arms. You can’t think of anything constructive to say that would encapsulate what they mean to you and express your prayer for their future success. All that comes out is “sniffle….sniffle.” but somehow, that says enough. They try to let go, but you’re holding on too tight because it’s more comforting to cry into someone than to cry standing alone. Mustering up enough strength to pry your arms off their neck, they step back, pick up their bags, give you one last look and a sympathetic smile, and walk through the double doors.

The art in the airport goodbye is that, unlike most things in life, practice does not make perfect. It breaks you down little by little and makes you scrap for the strength to pull it together enough to do it again…

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

2007-05-01T12:47:00.000+10:00

(Xavier Marching in...)

“Listen up Xavier,” I said, quieting down the rambunctious mass of red sprawled out before me. “For any of you who are running relays this afternoon, do NOT do what that last relay team did or you WILL be disqualified. That last relay team was DQ’ed for 3 reasons…#1 – deliberately blocking other runners. #2 - obscenely lifting up your shirt as you ran by the team – yes you – you know exactly what you did and #3 – for arrogantly turning around to provoke the other runners and crossing the finish line backwards.”

While there are many cultural differences between track and field stateside and in Micronesia, in my mind, sportsmanship is something that is not bound by region. In the Pacific, there is often times more glory to be found in riling up the supporting crowd than actually winning a race itself. There is a thick, dark line however, between firing up your own team, and doing it at the expense of the competition.

(Hoo Hah)

Three times in one race, I put my head down in shame to be a Xavier coach. No amount of natural talent warrants the haughtiness that some feel, comes with the territory. Xavier took first in that relay alright and they were going to let everyone know about it.

I saw the officials congregating after the race and casually strolled over to see if I could overhear the conversation. It was no surprise that the group of irritated officials DQ’ed Xavier from the race they had just won because of their actions on the field. Agreeing completely with the call, I marched my infuriated tukus over to the Xavier tent with the intention of warning them before such behavior continued to subtract points from our score. Unfortunately, I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the onslaught to follow. The athletes were outraged with the call. One, in a most meretriciously innocent act, even tried to convince me that he was simply “turning around to see how close the next runners were.” And then, the head honcho - director of the school speaks up.

( DQ'ed)

The actual conversation:

“What was the call?”

“Unsportsmanlike conduct.” I replied.

“Unsportsmanlike conduct? That’s not in the rules! The other teams were just as physical during the race. That’s ridiculous!” he fumed.

“The officials are right over there if you would like to speak with them.” I responded, trying desperately to keep my cool. Appalled, I turned and walked back towards the infield to avoid the nasty comments and vicious glares I had already begun to receive for not contesting the call. Of course, if the director stands up and protests – one, and by one I mean all of the students and Xavier fans, would naturally assume he is right and I am wrong.

How I wished the conversation would have gone had I had more audacity and quicker thinking on my feet:

“What was the call?”

“Unsportsmanlike conduct.” I replied.

“Unsportsmanlike conduct? That’s not in the rules! The other teams were just as physical during the race. That’s ridiculous!” he fumed.

“Not in the rules? You’re a Jesuit, director of a Jesuit High School and you’re going to tell me that unsportsmanlike conduct is not in the rules? It is in every game you’ll play….and for you to stand up – with no support or regard for my efforts to promote Christian sportsmanship and condone that type of behavior in front of all of these students is atrocious. You are responsible for what Xavier does – not the other teams – just Xavier and if that’s how you want Xavier to play the game – here’s the clipboard, you coach. I don’t want to win by your rules.”

(Where did that Loyola uniform come from?)

(Our one legged runners....no that's not a true statement!)

(Vincia...she's laughing - she's having a good time!)

Though the day was a blast up until, and even after that point, it brought back all too familiar memories of a basketball trip to Pohnpei gone awry.

Xavier ended up taking 2^nd place to Chuuk High – a hard fought battle both athletically, on the field, and energetically, under the tents. The screaming, dancing, chanting and cheering intensified the sense of amiable competition that seethed under the surface of the obvious rivalry between athletes. When you think high-school track meet, I’m sure this is the farthest thing from the image currently being generated in your mind, but I guarantee it will be the best time you might ever have watching people run in circles and throw stuff!!!

(Mapa - rousing the crowd)

Fan Itom XHS - In Your Name Xavier....

2007-05-01T12:09:00.000+10:00

When I was a little girl, I used to love the holidays…Our celebration was usually small – Mom, Dad, Michael Edward, Grandpa, Nana and me…I loved it when Grandpa and Nana would come because the holidays were never just one day. They always came a few days early to help get ready and left a few days later to help recover. When they came, you knew it was special. The house felt a little warmer – with the fire glowing, more warm faces and more hugs to go around; smelled a little more delicious with krispies in the frier and renowned red peppers and relish in the fridge; and looked a little brighter. Mom and Dad tell me that I was infamous for, on several occasions, getting so excited for these days I would end up with a stomach ache!

After the leftovers were wrapped, gifts put away and decorations taken down, my excited anticipation was proportional to the disappointment of knowing the holidays were over. With tears rolling down my little cheeks, I used to stand at the glass window on the front door, watching as Grandpa and Nana’s car pulled out of the drive way and sounded two honks before turning down the street. I never wanted them to leave because I loved the way the house felt with them in it…

What I loved most about Nana was her innocence…Her ability to see the good in people was astounding. Everything she did – the way she walked, the way she spoke, the way she held my hand, or wrapped her arms around me, she did with a delicate innocence. Which is something I could never figure out – how someone so innocent and fragile could simultaneously be the strongest woman I have ever met. She may have needed help getting in and out of the car, or up and down stairs, but her strength dwarfed mine even in the strongest race of my life. Her ability to endure the negative with such grace and faith is a trait one can only hope is genetic, or inherited through careful observation and admiration…

While I can’t prove that I am any wiser, time can verify that I am much older…yet I’m still standing at the door – tears in my eyes, not wanting her to go…I love the way life feels with her in it. However, life isn’t and wasn’t always beautiful, particularly in these past few months. The beauty in pain and suffering was very hard to find. But when you’ve spent your life loving your husband, your children, your grandchildren and your family with the strength and passion that she did….it makes for a very beautiful ride.

I’m sorry I could not be there for you Nana and I’m sorry if I caused you to suffer more than you needed to, but I know how much you loved me - you would never let me forget it. And I pray that you know how much I love you. Now it is perhaps easier to tell you in person that I am and will always be your big doll.

May the Lord’s light shine perpetually upon your delicate face as you rest in peace.

January 24, 1922 – April 20, 2007

109?

2007-04-23T01:17:00.000+10:00

The white fabric was stretched across the counter-top beckoning for us to begin the daunting task that lay before us. Our stencils were hand-made and had been meticulously designed, laminated and cut. (And for the record, Cooper Black would not be my recommended font from which to cut numbers and size 45 type.) Several brands of permanent black markers were strewn across our workspace which had been lined with pencil drawn 6”X 8” grid blocks. It took several trial runs to get it right – finding the markers that bled the least, remembering to put scratch paper underneath so we didn’t leave a colorful graffiti gift on the counter – sure to incense the accountants, figuring out if we doubled up the fabric we could take advantage of the bleeding ink and work twice as fast, and determining the right configuration of bodies so that all three of us could work at the same time. We had it down to a science by the time it came to the 900’s and were perhaps a little high from the fumes to even joke about going in to business! By the end of the night we went from a blank sheet of fabric to a multi-colored array of 60 race bibs ready to soak up miles of sweat, dust and triumph.

For a few months now, Xavierites, and high-schoolers all over the island have been training for one day, one event – one moment in which to exhibit their athletic prowess – Track and Field Day. (Ironically, a competition spread across 3 days). For 6 of my runners, their opportunity presented itself in the wee morning hours of April 20^th. Just like the glory days, we had a team pasta party the night before and exploiting the resources we had available, we employed the efforts of the sophomore boys to climb trees and retrieve natural sources of hydrating perfection – coconuts! Even though the distance team runs farther, works harder, puts up with more orders from me and complains louder, for that night of luxury, it was all worth it. They were treated royally – dinner up in the faculty lounge, a rowdy pep rally in their honor and the girls were invited to stay in the female faculty house…

We sent them to bed smug and content, and anxiously awaiting their 3:30 am wake up call. I now know what my coaches must have felt – nights of nervous slumber filled with tossing, turning and dreams about the possibility of what might be and the fear of what might not. For about a month, the assistant coaches and I had been getting up at 5:15 to run with the girls before school, so waking up without the sun was nothing unfamiliar, though the reminiscent feeling of race day made this morning, or middle of the night, different.

We woke up the girls and I went up to the kitchen to pack water and bread in the hopes of avoiding the misery of last year’s mistakes. With a truck full of athletes and a flatbed full of fans, we made the descent down the hill towards the course.

(Pre-race jitters - Nikki, Sarah, Rose and Coach...click on photos to enlarge)

What seemed to be an unorganized mess at 5:15 somehow pulled itself together in time to have about 40 athletes on the starting line by 5:30, bearing their hand-crafted, individualized by school, race numbers. It was a beautiful sight…(if you’d like to see for yourself…) and a moment that couldn’t make a coach any prouder.

The race went well. Xavier took 8^th, 12^th and 13^th for the ladies and in an impressive finish on the guys side, one of Xavier’s seniors won the race, another took 10^th, and in a courageous effort to fill the spot of a last minute drop out, the Japanese ‘Beast from the East’ ran his heart out and took 15^th. When the runners had recovered, the course had been swept of any stragglers and the road cleared, the coaches met to discuss results.

(My lovely lady marathoners in recovery - Nikki, Nessa and Sarah)

(Nessa shows her Xavier Pride!)

(Texter leading the pace and his protege J4 a 14 year old unattached rising star)

(The referenced 'Beast from the East,' Toshiki and his infamous partner returning from some unfortunate mishaps in the '06 marathon to give it another go - Thaine)

The rules only allowed for 3 runners from each school to participate, and the bib numbers were designed in such a way to indicate school and gender. For example, Xavier was designated the 900’s, so male runners wore 901 – 903 and females wore 904-906. We thought it would expedite the scoring process which in the absence of electronic timing chips, is done by hand.

As I’m perusing the list of results, I notice 4 runners had been listed as finishing the boys race for Chuuk High. I turn to the coach, point out the mistake and ask why he ran 4 runners…102…101…103…and 109. Offended by the accusation, he claimed he didn’t. He double checked his records and said that #109 wasn’t his athlete.

“Wait, you’re right…109 isn’t even a legit number. The males are numbered 01-03. That’s impossible.”

We started double checking the names, asking the official who recorded the finishers…maybe it was 901? No, that’s the Xavier runner who won the race. Maybe 106? No, that’s a female athlete. Who was 109? Then a light bulb goes off and in a moment of detective genius I exclaim…

“The kid pinned his number on upside down! He was supposed to be 601! The runner is from SDA!”

Ngunupin

2007-04-22T00:12:00.000+10:00

Perhaps one of the greatest accomplishments in my altogether unaccomplished Chuukese language career would have to have been my blissfully ignorant consent and follow-through leading about 70 “serafou” (youth) on a Lenten retreat. Piis, perhaps the smallest an inhabited island can be before qualifying as a misplaced coral deposit, is located on the outer reef that protects the north face of the lagoon. After having been to and fallen in love with this haven several times over, Marcos asked me if I might accompany him to experience and share in his passion. With a little faith in God and a lot of trust in my fearless veteran, I jumped in the boat that carried us through the sunset and to a vantage point that reflected my life on Weno in a distant haze. Knowing full well that my subpar Chuukese skills were not going to get me very far, it did not take long to develop a sincere appreciation for Kathy, the bilingual native, and her efforts to merge our two languages. Inevitable frustrations furthered my insecurity – feeling the weight of the language barrier crippling my ability to reach any deeper faith connection. Idiotic or impressive, fumbling or fluid, cringing or confident, abashed or assured, Marcos and I tried our best. We prayed in Chuukese, sang in Chuukese, read from the Chuukese translated Bible and even offered impromptu speeches. In our most sincere attempts, we would write down the prayers that we wanted to share and Kathy, in her abounding patience would correct our translations. I put on my best “r” rolling, syllable slurring, authentic Chuukese accent and plowed through St. John’s version of the washing of the feet. I concentrated so hard to translate and then string words and phrases together in an unnaturally fast yet still miserably inadequate pace. In all honesty, I felt more like a retreatant than an effective leader with anything substantial to offer, but perhaps that was the weekend’s hidden purpose.

Early in the weekend, the retreatants paired up with someone to build a partnership that was used in several activities. Unfortunately, a darling teenager by the name of Antel “drew the short straw” and got stuck with the “fin Merika” who “ese sinei fossun Chuuk.” I floundered through a few activities, all along with the guilt of ruining this kid’s retreat experience weighing on my conscience. He certainly could have garnered so much more from a solid conversation with someone of a higher intellectual level than that of a 4 year old. Fortunately the reconciliation service that we did on Saturday night required little vocal communication. The activity involved taking a paper cross and a pen, and writing all of your “tipis” on the “irapenges.” Then, two at a time, each partner pair walked to the candle and the canister in the center of the room to symbolically light and burn the cross filled with sins. Though the activity seems like a retreat standard – it takes on new meaning when blessed by the fire of the Holy Spirit.

The physical properties of burning paper would ensure that a few square inches of your typical Xerox paper would burn for no more than a few seconds before the flames receded into the pile of smoldering ash. Couple by couple, the crosses were offered up to the Lord, and as would expect, the light in the can extinguished itself just as quickly as it flickered its warm glow. Antel and I were the last couple to approach the center to make our sacrifice. He bent down on his knee and I prayed over him as he placed his cross in the flame of the candle, just far enough to char the corner which proved unable to withstand the contagion of fire. After he placed his cross in the can to burn, I did just the same, left my “tipis” in the middle of the room and we both returned to our spots on the perimeter of the circle.

The pervading silence in the room drew our attention to the center canister, now leaping with flames. The light continued to blaze dim yellow and soft orange tongues of fire. Quiet murmurs indicated that Antel and myself were not the only ones who found the divine humor in the situation. At first I turned to him with a childish grin and said, “Kich, mei wor chommong tipis.” He giggled a little and we both turned our attention back to the glowing can. Minutes passed and the fire continued to light the room full of flabbergasted faces. Under normal circumstances, paper would not burn like that unless there was something else fueling it.

After our reconciliation service, the youth gathered for a closing prayer service in which the mic was open for personal reflection. Speeches are an important part of Chuukese culture. It is proper etiquette to express thanks, congratulations, apologies etc… Therefore, as someone they mistook for a leader, I was, in a way, obligated to stand before the congregation and offer my own words of broken wisdom. As people began to take the podium, I prayed their speeches would last all night, or they would talk so long we would run out of time, but of course time in Micronesian culture is practically nonexistent and thus running out is never a legitimate concern. I thought maybe they would be merciful and let me off the hook, or forget I was sitting there, but of course, good luck trying to inconspicuously blend a white girl into a crowd full of Micronesians. Among the “leaders,” Kathy got up first and spoke so eloquently about the time of preparation and the value of the weekend in making time to prepare. I was secretly hoping Marcos would be as chicken as I was feeling, but of course he jumped at the chance to address the audience, and in broken Chuukese nearly broke into tears trying to express how grateful he was to the people of Piis for giving him life, a desire to share his faith and a reason to learn their language. As he sat down, I could have closed my eyes and still heard the subtly obvious noise of a roomful of bodies turning to stare at their hopeful expectation for the next speaker. Reluctantly, I walked up - praying for assistance in getting through the next minute and a half and quite disappointed that the podium was much closer than I thought. “Tiro ami meinisin, Nepong annim. Kinisou Chapur ren letting me be here with all of you.” I thought sweeping hand gestures might have helped my cause, but I think ended up being interpreted more as a flailing cry for help. “…and for letting me share this weekend with you. Nepwinei, ewe Ngunupin mi nonnomw ikei.” I began trying to explain what I saw that night. I tried to tell them that the Holy Spirit was there that night. The Holy Spirit was present in that room. “Ami mi kuna ena ekkei….you know the fire – you saw the fire in the middle of the room? You all saw it?” Half of a nod would have sufficed, but I couldn’t turn around now, I had to finish. I tried to tell them how I turned to Antel, somewhat embarrassed because at first it looked like the both of us combined had enough sins to fuel a forest fire. “Ewin, ua takir. Nge esop tipis. Esop tipis – It wasn’t sins, it was the Holy Spirit. The Ngunupin.” I had successfully lost them, and lost myself – I didn’t know anymore words, I couldn’t further explain myself without further confusing them. Shaking, voice quivering I thanked them again, perhaps the one expression I’ve mastered, and sat down. I turned to Regina sitting next to me, and through her response to my question “Mi wewe? Did you understand?” was a mere “Ekis – a little.” Her warm smile was enough commendation for my pathetic efforts.

I gave what I could, and as is true in most situations I find myself in….sometimes words just get in the way. Some moments are better left to indescribable emotion. And even in this attempt to recount the details of that weekend in my native language, I am still convinced there is meaning lost in the weekend’s hidden purpose.

You Don't See This Everyday...

2007-03-22T11:50:00.000+10:00

I thought I had it rough taking on the open seas aboard the Caroline Voyager. I felt sorry for myself. I felt nauseous. I may have even squirted a few tears over my dismal state….That was until I met face to face with a few current navigators of the Hokule’a and the Alingano Maisu. Approximately 30 crew members under the direction of the legendary Mau Piailug left Hawai’i in January and en route to Japan, made a scheduled stop here in the Chuuk Lagoon in early March.

(Aw that happens every day - luxurious ocean cruise liners touring the Pacific. But it’s cute she’s so excited about it.)

The Hokule’a and the Alingano Maisu are traditional outrigger canoes.

(A canoe!? Impossible)

Impossible right? One would think. But I saw the crew in person. I saw the canoes. I heard their story. Possible.

(She’s full of crap)

I didn’t think most people would believe me, and to be perfectly honest I’m not sure I was completely sold when I first heard, but once I saw the red thuu and the few patches of golden dark skin peering out from behind thick dark navigational tattoos, I knew the canoe had arrived to refute my doubt. Due to geography, among other reasons, navigation has always been a hallmark of island culture. The wood for the canoes was cut and hand carved, the glue gleaned from sap of local trees and rope made from the husks of dried coconuts. Generations and generations of males have passed down the remarkable skill of entrusting their fate to nothing more than stars, water currents and wind patterns, resulting in “the exploration and settlement of islands in an area of over 10 million square miles during a period of over 1,000 years.” (PVS website) Perhaps you were not the only skeptic of this colossal endeavor. The doubt of fellow disbelievers is what actually spurred the construction of the Hokule’a in 1975 in an effort to prove that the Pacific islands were not in fact discovered and settled by accident.

The Hokule`a “can be loaded with about 11,000 pounds, or 5.5 tons, including the weight of a crew of 12-16 people and equipment and supplies. It can make up to 10-12 knots sailing on a reach in strong winds.” (PVS website) How does an 8-ton, 62’ 4’’ X 17’6’’ vessel navigate the Pacific? When questioned about whether or not the crew carried a compass with them, they thought the question ridiculous. They said a compass was not necessary, and almost an inconvenience when they traveled by much easier, and more reliable methods.

The crew stopped long enough to stroll around Weno, and a few came up to the Xavier Campus to tour the attraction. I was walking behind one of the female crew in the hallway, in sheer amazement at the broadness of her shoulders. When I picked up my jaw long enough to ask her about her experience so far, she told me of how the crew works in 4 hour shifts, navigating, paddling, watching, observing. Unless of course there was a bad storm – then all of the crew would be employed to help maneuver the swells. I got the feeling that she was making fun of me in her head at my fawning over something she considered quite ordinary.

Unfortunately, I had classes to teach and could not accompany the juniors as they got to actually board the docked canoes and see first hand the intricacies of life in the hand-crafted vessel. I’m still in disbelief at how a sea-craft so small and delicate can travel such vast expanses of ocean and withstand the fury of the ravaging seas…

(Yeah me too, you fibber)

But hopefully the pictures substantiate my claim and further expose the beauty of the island cultures, and the stories they conceal prove the impossible possible…

As if that wasn’t eventful enough for one week, no sooner had the canoes left, than the next efficient means of transportation dropped off yet another spectacle to the Chuuk Lagoon. Perhaps you might be familiar with the World Youth Movement initiated by Pope John Paul in 1983. The movement has made it’s way to Micronesia and on March 15, Continental Micronesia opened up the cargo door to reveal Pope John Paul’s gift to the “serafou” of the world – the World Youth Day Cross and Icon. Someone, somewhere felt that Chuuk was important enough to receive something that has been a symbol of unity that millions of eyes have gazed upon, fingers have grazed and lips have kissed. “It has been carried by commercial airline, light aircraft, dog sled, pick-up truck, tractor, sail boat, fishing boat and on shoulders. From parish churches to youth detention centres, prisons, schools, universities, national historic sites, shopping centres, nightclub districts and parks.” (WYD website)

Just to be a part of it made me feel connected to something greater. It is hard when you’ve been living on an island that you can run around in under 2 hours, an island whose entire lagoon barely appears as a speck on the map, and an island whose size is dwarfed by the enormity of ocean that surrounds it - to feel empowered…to feel as though your efforts are part of anything beyond the geographical limitations of the reef. But that day, Chuuk was the center of the world. Christ’s cross came here, and for the 48 hours that it circled the lagoon, this tiny speck of nothingness was visible from outer space.

Catholic faces pressed against the fence awaiting its arrival. As the gates opened for the cross bearers, the expectant believers reverently slipped into the growing procession of followers. Trailing behind a pickup truck holding speakers and the Chuukese lady whose repetition of about 562 rosary decades was the blessed mantra that guided our every step, was an endless line of waddling mu mus. I don’t think that we could have walked any slower, which was the perfect pace to simply exist in the moment. Time stopped. The island, Catholic or Protestant, paused - all eyes on the shoulders of the cross bearers.

The procession ended two miles further, two villages over and two hours later at the Cathedral in Tunuch with mass and nightlong veneration. It began it’s trek to the 5 other islands in the lagoon at 6 am the next day and completed it’s Chuukese tour with mass at Saraamen Chuuk before it was hauled onto the plane to be received by the Guaminians. It will continue to travel throughout the South Pacific until it finally returns home to Sydney in 2008 in preparation for World Youth Day.

When you think about it, it’s just wood and nails. It’s fascinating how something so seemingly plain can bring you to your knees, or how something so small can radiate so much passion.

www.wyd2008.org

JVI Retreat

2007-03-20T10:29:00.000+10:00

March 9, 10, and 11 marked our quadrennial JVI retreat. Instead of opting to go off-island, hiking or camping, we collectively decided to engage in a fast downtown at Saraamen Chuuk Academy, the other Catholic high-school that employs 2 of our fellow JV's. A much needed break, an embraced sense of hunger and intentionality, a welcomed time of recommitment during this Lenten season and when you put the 7 of us together in one apartment for the weekend, a heck of a lot of fun!!

(click on photos to enlarge)

AJ and Trunce making some fishy tuna salad sandwiches for the "Last Supper"

Special guest appearance from... Barack Obamba

The creative genius of Mr. Marcos Gonzalez

Believe it or not, this picture was not staged. Onlookers gaze over yonder at the arrival of the airplane making its daily stop in Chuuk.

The view from the roof atop Saraamen Chuuk Academy

Simplicity

And what retreat would be complete without a courtesy ride on the Police Jet Ski (Special Effects:Chris Dwyer)

The Hungry Crew (Trunce, Colleen, AJ, Lincoln, Marcos, Ellen, Dwyer)

All in a day's work...

Voter Registration

2007-03-12T09:20:00.000+10:00

We tend to get isolated in our own little world here at Xavier. It is up on a hill in the rural “countryside” of the island. Thus, we often find ourselves disconnected with the rest of society. Fortunately Lincoln (a Canadian who hails from the New England state of Vermont) and Marcos, (born and bred on the outskirts of LA but identifies more with his strong Mexican roots) the two JV teachers who work at Saraamen Chuuk Academy, (the other Catholic High School downtown) serve as liaisons between our sheltered existences and the life that we never knew existed beyond it…

This past week, while we were revolving in the cyclic routine that keeps us sane, the rest of Chuuk was steeped in voters’ ballots and campaign signs. Throughout the FSM (Federated States of Micronesia), this year marks the quadrennial election for district and national leaders. Now, I don’t claim to be a political scientist, but I do know that a democratic government is intended to provide its citizens the opportunity to offer their input in choosing a qualified leader. Candidates are supposed to campaign on platforms that promise of a brighter future, and voters either align with those whose promises sound most convincing, or those who best reflect their own political views. That’s how it works, right? It’s a political structure whose longevity has been substantiated by its effectiveness in placating the masses of people longing for a say in how the country is governed. Unfortunately, the comparative newness and ineffectualness of the Chuukese democracy is evident in the failure of the system to thrive in this familial oriented society.

Again, my naivety and philistinism leaves me with no room to draft and disseminate my own political theories, however a degree is not required to be able to recognize the inherent problems specific to the Chuukese branch of government. While the value Chuukese place on the family is the essence of what makes their culture so beautiful, it seems to contradict the intended purpose of a democracy. Thus, platforms that might offer ideas on concentrating efforts to improve the public school system, or conserving fuel consumption and finding alternative power sources are inutile because officials are not elected based on their qualifications so much as their familial affiliations. Election time breeds violent tension between families who are torn between two candidates, whose marriage relations oblige loyalty to one, but whose village demands loyalty to another…and the corruption cascades from there…Aside from the inevitable nepotism that occurs to reward dedicated supporters, there are no checks or balances to question the point at which someone might think depositing half of a 2 million dollar donation into a personal account and actually getting away with it was a good idea, or nothing to ensure family members pay for their electricity bills so that the power company can operate on anything other than 4 hour interval schedules, or nothing to protect funds allocated for paving projects from being used for extravagant inaugural celebrations.

What is frustrating for both locals and outsiders is that a glimpse of this ideal (only in the sense that it is marginally effective) form of government is not elusive. While no state puts on a flawless show, the states Palau, Yap, Pohnpei and Kosrae at least appear to have their acts together and don’t experience a fraction of the economic instability from which my home state, Chuuk, continues to suffer.

With any election comes a hope, however minute, that things will change for the better and in the past few months I have been privileged enough to witness baby steps in what seems to be a positive direction. The Chinese government just donated the money and man power to refurbish the once passé island airport so that it not only looks beautiful, but complies with international regulations. Surveyors have begun assessing what we like to call “roads,” and for the first time in about 5 years Chuuk has come as close to 24 hours of power as is possible without actually having it, thanks to the donation of two new fuel efficient generators.

I don’t have solutions, only complaints, which I realize is an equally large part of the problem here, but thanks to Marcos, who can represent our community of JVI’s (Jesuit Volunteers International) here, I feel that in some way, I have done something proactive. One of the Chuukese teachers took him along to the “voting precinct” for what was supposed to be an experience in observing how elections work here in Chuuk. It’s not that Marcos could easily be confused for a Micronesian, and it’s not that he went with the intent of trying to outsmart the system, but when he was handed a ballot, what else was he supposed to do? Aside from long history of corruption, there has already been controversy over the number of people not voting and the failure of absentee ballots to be counted, “but,” as A.J. so eloquently puts it, “at least they let the Mexican vote!”

Haikus

2007-02-21T12:17:00.000+10:00

(Courtesy of recent community nights and both freshman and sophomore literature classes studying poetry!)

Wandering settler

Calmly looking for a home.

Boys cheer, clouds beckon.

Heads down, hands write fast.

Faces of contemplation.

Growth is visible.

Unrest is hopeful.

Light is not the absence of dark.

Believe in what stirs.

Begin to prepare

A sacred space, focused heart.

Cleansing needed.

Hips lead matching steps

Passionate Latin dancing

Sensual rhythm.

Long John skin tight pants.

Who confuses shirt and slacks?

That’s Michael Patrick.

Kosapw akurang. (Don’t make noise)

En kopwe chok aussening. (Just listen)

Use tongeni. (I cannot)

Valentine's Day Reflection

2007-02-15T22:39:00.000+10:00

Homily

“And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, "Do you see anything?" And he looked up and said, "I see men, but they look like trees, walking." Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. And he sent him to his home, saying, "Do not even enter the village." (Mark 8:22-26)

So I was sitting in my office yesterday trying to think of what the Lord might want me to say in this reflection here today…when Vincia walked in….I didn’t doubt that it was the Lord’s way of inspiring me as she sat down and asked what I was doing… I had the Bible open and I told her I was trying to think up something for this morning…Something to do with Noah, the blind man and perhaps St. Valentine

She asked me….”who is this St. Valentine guy anyway??” and I was like “??? Maybe that would be a good place to start…”

So I go and look it up expecting to find this great, heart-warming story about this guy who really loved a lot of people…..and I search and search and search and find……nothing…..

There is literally NOTHING known about St. Valentine…..all that they can tell us is that he was an ancient Christian Martyr…and that “men respected his name but only God knew his actions.” They don’t know his birthdate, when he died or what he did to become canonized a Saint…..in fact the Church officially removed the feast day of St. Valentine from the calendar in 1969 because he was celebrated more as a legendary figure than an actual religious icon…..

So then how do we come to arrive at this world renowned holiday?? Interestingly enough – LITERATURE – and I’m not just saying that... cause I teach Lit – but legend has it that in the late 1300’s, Geoffrey Chaucer, in one of his writings made this SLIGHT mention of birds coupling off on the feast day of St. Valentine and from there it evolved into the way it is celebrated today….. It’s amazing right?? How Valentine’s day literally evolved from nothing ….it sounds ridiculous – but I think that Valentine’s day is the manifestation of this human need within us to make love tangible….to make love something we can see and touch…..to give love a color……..purple, pink, red…..to give love words – cards, poems, songs…..to give love an object we can hold on to – candy, teddy bears, flowers, valentine cards….

And I think that it was the same for the Blind man in this Gospel….It said that he reached out and touched Jesus – he needed to feel him standing before him …. And he needed to see – He needed his sight…..

What is so hard to understand - is that love is simply NOT something that can ever be seen – you can’t describe it, define it or hold it………..but you just know it’s there – you can feel it………and it’s the same with our faith…….you can’t see it or touch it – but it’s there – and you believe it…..

But God also knows that we’re human – he knows that it is not so easy to believe without seeing….and so that’s why He gives us days like this…….. to celebrate the tangibility of love………and that’s why he gives us Gospel readings like this – where Jesus physically takes mud and touches the man’s eyes……..puts his hands on Him and performs this miracle…………and that’s why God gave us Jesus – to be this living, real – see able, touchable embodiment of love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!! :)

Naked Hope

2007-02-13T13:13:00.000+10:00

“What continues to fascinate me is that those whose whole mind and heart were directed to God, had the greatest impact on other people, while those who tried very hard to be influential were quickly forgotten.”

Perhaps I am too stagnant to find my own original muse, but the words of Henri Nouwen find a way to continually inspire new thought patterns in my ever so narrow-minded perspectives. I know what you must be thinking – that even so much as pondering the above quote must have required some form of prior reading. Whether I should be ashamed or proud that I am actually reading an adult-reading level book with real words, no pictures and over 100 pages - I’m not sure, but a friend was generous enough to allow me into some of the personal reflections of Nouwen which touched him so deeply. I am grateful that my aversion to reading was not strong enough to deter me from finding beauty in the steps of his journey, which consequently, has profoundly affected mine.

As I feel the foundation beneath me preparing for yet another momentous shift, I find myself at a loss for feeling, passion, words and growth…Looking back in retrospect, I cannot recall the exact point where I slipped into spiritual oblivion, but I glance down now at my outstretched hands motioning the nonverbal frustration of unanswered questions… “Where is my center? Who is my center…do I have a center? Have I spent the last 18 months imprudently seeking influential status in the lives of those with whom I have come to live? Have I nourished a narcissistic desire to assimilate into the Chuukese community not for their benefit, but for mine? Have I secretly harbored an egocentric aspiration to be some sort of prominent teacher? Have I puerilely and selfishly wanted to make an impact beyond the realm of my comfort?”

Each shameful question pulling me farther and farther away from what should have been my center….a raw, genuine desire to follow the Lord.

***

In a recent reflection given by a few of Xavier’s most gifted seniors, one of the girls eloquently encapsulated and then flipped upside down the Genesis story by claiming that Adam and Eve did not fall from perfection because they ate the fruit…The fruit really had nothing to do with it. The Lord could have told them they could do anything they wanted in the garden with the exception of dancing the Macarena. But the serpent turns up the bass, they’re feeling the beat and before they know it they’re hands are behind their head and they’re shaking their hips – does the world still fall from grace? There were no magical powers in that fruit. Quite honestly, I doubt there exists an earthly repository of omniscient knowledge. What mattered was the fact that it was forbidden. God tested His trust in them. He put His faith in them and they let Him down.

Jesus trusted me with this calling. It wouldn’t have mattered where he sent me, or what He sent me to do, but He trusted me to always keep Him at the center of my life, my day, my actions, my motivations – to lead a life of blind, faithful service. He trusted me to live with His passion. I’m left with nothing more than the naked hope that He loves me and is proud of me in spite of my frequent inability to do so. “After all, everyone shares the handicap of mortality…It is in the confession of our brokenness that the real strength of new and everlasting life can be affirmed and made visible.”

The Daily Grind

2007-02-13T12:59:00.000+10:00

It is a routine…I look forward to the first two hours to get me through my day of bell. class. lecture. disinterest. bell. class. activity. lightbulbs. bell. class. inquisitiveness. bell. class. challenge. bell. lunch. bell. grade. bell. lesson plan. bell. track practice. bell. dinner. bell. incessant questions. bell. power. bed. breathe. 6:00am the alarm beckons the sun up and I roll over to catch the fading remnants of the sunrise that perfectly complement any tree-house view. Time only allows for a quick five miler, but it’s just enough to get the blood flowing. Stretch. Cold Shower in record time before the 1^st…2^nd bells ring for daily mass…

* * *

Sometimes I don’t know why I do it…to be able to run, I have to be in bed early, I have to wake up early, it’s the same out and back route every day, some days I’m just dragging and sometimes it is just monotonous…stumbling down the hill trying to keep my sleepy eyes open. “Nesor Annim” to everyone who lines the village roads. Laughing with kids who run alongside - mocking you because they think it’s funny that you do this every day….get to the turnaround and do it all again….But I need it…and God exists in that. He exists in whatever desire it is that possesses me to get up every day. “The only way I become aware of His presence is that remarkable desire to return without any real satisfaction.” ~Nouwen. Is there abundant fulfillment to be found each day somewhere between the turnaround and the Xavier Rec House? Not necessarily. And that is the beauty of it.

* * *

7:30am – give or take a minute due to human error and a manually tolled bell…mass begins…Again I prod myself for answers as to why I go. Is each day a new, exciting, spiritually enriching high? Is the pope Catholic? Wait wrong joke. (and such is the classic example of the naturally disjointed progression of my fleeting thoughts) Absolutely not….it’s the farthest thing from it. But my subconscious desire leads me there, religiously, everyday. I don’t think I have missed a day this school year. The very thought of not having it as part of the morning routine puts me on edge. Sometimes…no…often times my mind drifts from St. Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians or the Gospel of Matthew or even the body Jesus Christ being broken on the altar……to assignments to grade, lessons to plan, feelings, stray thoughts craving attention, distractions…but for some reason, they are not as random and extraneous if I am able to acknowledge them in the presence of the Lord… Perhaps it is a cop-out for my all-too frequent and irreverent state of mind, but I have come to find a very deep mindfulness to be found in mindlessness. To go to mass everyday not necessarily for the powerfully moving experience it provides, but to sit quietly in a prayerful peace alongside students and co-workers and not have to talk, or teach, but to simply be with Him in whatever state my heart is in... that is the beauty of it.

Nominee Question Form

2007-01-22T08:55:00.000+10:00

Gates Millenium Scholarship Program Application.

21. Briefly describe a situation in which you felt that you or others were treated unfairly or were not given an opportunity you felt you deserved. Why do you think this happened? How did you respond? Did the situation improve as a result of your response?

A situation in which I believe two people were treated unfairly took place during a basketball tournament. Two of our best players were not allowed to take part in the play-offs as a punishment for their crime. Our whole basketball team was aware that they had broken the rules, but we still insisted that our coach change the punishment. We all greatly desired to secure our slot in the championship games. Unfortunately, our coach did not alter the punishment because she was told not to do so by a superior, the director of our high school. Every one of the players on my team was infuriated by the final decision because we knew we would not be able to make it to the championship games without our two players. Complaints and more complaints were all that the coach received from us. What we did not realize was that our coach had no choice and that it was really our two players that owed the team an apology. Our two players were not ignorant of the rules and punishment. It was their responsibility as members of the team to make sure they did not do anything to jeopardize our chances of winning.

During the actual game, all of us were upset with the coach and some of us even spoke unfairly to her. Half the members of our team refused to play during the game and our coach had to ask people to play. I felt awful every time one of the players said, in a very audible tone, that it was our coach’s fault we were losing. After a terrible loss to our rival school, I decided to talk to the girls as their friend and as captain of our team because I would feel guilty if I didn’t’. To ease my guilt, I spoke with the girls and explained to them that our coach had no fault in this. I told them to put themselves in her shoes and realize that she had no choice because the director of our high school had made it very clear to them not to break school rules. After a few minutes of silence, a couple of them said that they thought that I was right and that they knew very well that our coach wanted us to win just as much as we did. One after another, the team began to communicate and share thoughts and feelings. Finally, just as I had predicted, the whole team realized that we had treated our coach unfairly because we had all forgotten the real purpose of the games. As a result of my response, our coaches received the apologies they deserved and the team learned never to forget that we should always just play for the fun of the game.

~#2 Senior Captain

The Caroline Voyager

2007-01-07T23:17:00.000+10:00

~December 18^th, 2006
“Hey, we heard the boat was coming tomorrow and leaving tomorrow.”

“WHAT? What the filth foul filth foul! Are you kidding? We have a day left of finals. The students haven’t studied. The teacher’s haven’t graded….We’re not going to be able to go if it comes tomorrow.”

“It’s just a rumor, but we wanted to let you know.”

~December 19^th, 2006 8:00am
“Hey, there’s no boat here yet, so don’t worry. It’s still leaving on schedule – December 20^th in the morning.”

~December 19^th, 2006 1:00pm
“Hey, the boat is leaving at 4:00pm today – be ready to go.”

~December 19^th, 2006 2:30pm
“Hey, the boat is now leaving at 6pm - be ready to go.”

~December 19^th, 2006 5:30 pm
“Hey, the boat isn’t leaving until tomorrow morning. Be there at 10:00am.”

~December 20^th, 2006 10:00am
Arrive. Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 12:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 2:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 4:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 5:00pm
Board.

~December 20^th, 2006 6:00pm
Depart.

We sailed off into the sunset as we began our journey towards Pohnpei – the state neighboring Chuuk on the eastern side. The scene was so picturesque that it makes any descriptive attempts sound cliché. A fairly large ocean liner (at least compared to your typical fiberglass motorboat) optimistically sailing towards the horizon, escorted by shades of rose, violet, fire and about a million and two stars competing for attention. Having a jejune understanding of transportation via the sea, the Xavier and the Saraamen Chuuk squads naively secured front row seats on the open deck of the bow of the boat. With childish anticipation we leaned over the railing to watch the docile waters carry Weno farther and farther away and we giddily awaited our chance to break through the threshold of the over-protective outer reef which tends to cradle our innocence inside the halcyon lagoon.

But there is a reason why you don’t go from rolling over to walking without first learning to crawl, you don’t go from diapers to toilets without training pants, you don’t go from breast milk to bbq chicken without baby food and there’s a reason roller coaster rides aren’t 3 days long. No sooner did we cross the barrier than the once imperturbable ocean grew incensed and left us at its mercy – lifting the bow until it vertically touched the sky and then nonchalantly releasing it to plunge back into the thrashing waters. For the 2 minutes that roller coasters are fun -that’s how long this was fun. It was even kind of fun when the entire front of the ship was soaked by what seemed to me at the time to be a massive tidal wave…. Yes, a lot of fun until I realized that any hope for changing into a dry pair of clothes was stowed away below the deck. With the color green washing over our faces, we knew it was going to be a long night.

Even after sledding, building snow forts and making snow angels until my extremities were numb, I really cannot recall a time that I have ever been colder. It was not the same type of icy chill brought on by the fury of winter, but rather the chill of being soaked to the bone for about 16 hours with no refuge from the constant ocean wind and occasional sea spray that re-saturated my clothes at regular intervals. As I laid down on my soaking wet orange towel, next to a stranger whose empathy made us instant friends, I prayed that it would not rain, I prayed that my shivering fits of frigid convulsion would not further agonize my new best friend, I prayed I would fall asleep to make the time go faster and I prayed I would not vomit over the side. It was truly an act of mind over body to stay focused enough keep my stomach settled and to keep my eyes closed so I wouldn’t notice the spinning sky above me. During one lapse of consciousness, I dreamt that we had arrived in Pohnpei. I had slept through the worst of it and we had made it safely. Even though I opened my eyes to the reality of the tantalizing illusion, I did notice the day beginning to break, meaning we had made it through the night.

From afar, we got to see the Mortlocks, four separate lagoons that compose the outer islands of Chuuk. Hoards of motor boats and outrigger canoes met the boat, which was anchored in the middle of the lagoon, (the shallow reef makes it impossible for boats that big to dock) in order to pick up or drop off passengers, food, coconuts, rebar and pool tables. After a day and a half of stop after stop after stop, we pulled up the anchor for the last time – not to be dropped again until the Pohnpei port. By now, since only few passengers were continuing on, as most had disembarked in the outer islands, and being the experienced and savvy navigators that we now were, we had claimed a prime spot under the green tarp on the deck. For the next 30 hours my butt did not move… because the very thought of getting up to stagger around a swaying boat made me sick. 30 hours of laying down, sleeping, or just staring into green nothingness. I got tired of sleeping, but it passed the time and made the turbulence easier to bear. 30 hours on hard wooden planks. My back ached from lying down. My hips hurt from lying on my sides. My arms were sore from using them as pillows. At night, bodies were just strewn across each other. In the middle of the night, I rolled over to find Riantho sharing half of my 1 square foot pillow, and I was about to get irritated until I looked down and saw my legs stretched across Dwyer’s stomach and resting comfortably on Jun’s head.

Though the experience of traversing the open seas by boat was absolutely amazing and equally gorgeous, never had we been so happy to spot land. Whether Pohnpeian or not, the faint outline of the landmark Sokehs Rock which welcomed us to the island was a glorious sight. It took all of us a few hours for the world to stop spinning once on solid ground, and it consequently took both teams the first few games of the tournament to get their land legs back…..

Team

Being part of a team has by far been among the most character building experiences of my entire life – the thrill of having a group of people sweating to achieve the same goal, living for the same passion, breathing the same sport, fighting together, rising together, falling together….It is an experience I wish for everyone to have but is perhaps an experience that is not for everyone…

Basketball here in the islands is different. Much more laid back. Your best is more often what it is, and not always what it could be. It is a difficult balance to find between having enough fun, but still being competitive…It was easy to do in Chuuk. The bar is not set very high. But playing to the level they play at in Pohnpei was a tough adjustment for the girls. There were all star teams who practice everyday, who work to perfect their game and who are committed to their team. After barely clinching the Chuuk High School Championship, the girls took a physical and mental break for about 2 ½ weeks to complacently celebrate, to study for finals and to finish the semester. Even so, I was hopeful that the excitement of going on a real travel trip, playing on a hardwood court with real scoreboards and real shot clocks would provide enough adrenaline to carry them through.

As part of me feared however, when they stepped out onto the court for their first game against Pohnpei Public High School (PICS), they were shell-shocked. It was like they forgot how to play. They were scared. They were nervous and perhaps still queasy from the boat, but when all was said and done, they got their butts kicked. People who had heard rumors of the indomitable Lady Navigators were left disappointed and did not hesitate to question, “What happened to your team?”

We sat down, regrouped and made a few adjustments. Maybe it was having Christmas day to relax or maybe they began to believe in themselves and their team, but Tuesday it was like a whole new team showed up to play. They went out and fought and battled and even though they were playing against the All-star team, they made a run for it and they played up to the Pohnpeian level of play instead of playing down to the level to which they had become accustomed. Game 2 of the day against Seventh Day Adventist School (SDA) was another battle that yielded more fruitful results – a little more positive reinforcement for their perseverance, ability to play under pressure and teamwork. For me, I got a glimpse of REAL coaching – depending on 5 starters, subbing, strategy, encouragement and most positively reinforcing for me was to see the measurable level of growth taking place.

Wednesday Night – Team meeting. I know I’ve mentioned it in earlier blogs, but substance abuse is a big problem out here, particularly in the form of what is called betel nut. Xavier strictly prohibits chewing betel nut and at this tournament, Fr. Arthur had made it very clear that if the athletes were wearing Xavier uniforms, they would abide by Xavier rules. Unfortunately a few athletes chose not to follow the rules and we found the evidence in the girls’ room.

My suspicions proved correct as I was not surprised when #3 came up to me and accepted responsibility for the spit-can found in her room. She was very apologetic, perhaps hoping that honesty would be enough to save her from her inevitable fate. She knew that she only had 1 more chance to screw up before she would be asked to leave and she had just used it up.

Looking back, her tongue and cheek apology was without remorse, as #3 and #1 (also skating on ice as thin as her cohort’s) were both caught sneaking around in the middle of the night with snuff when they thought everyone else was asleep and thus were too tired to make it to 7:30 practice the next morning… I was livid and I had a whole day to sit and brew. Unfortunately #1 and #3 were 2 of our strongest starting 5. At full strength we could definitely defeat SDA again, and with a little fire we could no doubt upset PICS to send us into the championship. The decision had been clear all along, but my question was whether or not I was strong enough to make it.

I tossed and turned all Friday morning and finally just got up and went for a run to clear my head. The last thing I wanted to do was go and play this next game. I didn’t know that my 40 most difficult minutes of my 2 years here would come in 4 - 10 minute quarters. I knew I was voluntarily standing before a firing squad and then being the one to give the lethal command….yet there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

The girls had heard rumors that #3 was not playing but I don’t think they believed I would do that to them…But out of tactical psychology or desperation, I didn’t tell them #1 wasn’t playing either….in fear that they would mentally check out before the game even started, or even worse, they would refuse to play at all.

I pulled the 2 girls into the locker room before the game and told them that I wanted to find any excuse that would make it morally right for them to compete, but I couldn’t come up with one. I told them that they owed their teammates a huge apology for letting them down though that suggestion was met with looks of confusion. In their minds – this wasn’t’ their fault, it was mine. I told them to suit up because they better cheer their faces off to make up for their absence on the court.

As only 10 players took the floor for warm-ups, they began looking around to find out why their lay-up lines were looking a little thinner. The referee’s whistle sent us into the opening huddle and the 2 girls apathetically wandered onto the bench, bringing looks of relief to their teammates – which quickly changed upon hearing the 5 starters. I heard the whispers. I heard the confused questions and I felt the team drag during the first few minutes. It was worse than the first game – way worse – like someone sucked the life out of them. Though we desperately needed a time out to regroup, I hesitated to call one because I didn’t want to face the girls. By the end of the first quarter, the questions had become more direct and the comments more obnoxiously rude. I explained that their teammates would not be playing not by my choice, but because of decisions that they made prior to the game. That explanation wasn’t satisfactory for any of them and I found myself in the middle of a near walk-out. 10 girls simply refused to play. Forget 2^nd string, plays, having a point guard to bring down the ball, or a forward to rebound – I had to ask girls to play. I had to ask them to put 5 bodies on the court and I had to wait patiently until 5 reluctant hands went up. There was no coaching involved at all, as they were too indignant to care what I had to say. The best I could do was support them and encourage them for whatever it was worth.

When they did straggle back to the bench, I couldn’t even look at their faces. They were filled with pure unadulterated hatred – as if the devil incarnate was asking for their soul….and I guess in a way I was – asking for some courage and passion in the face of adversity…but it was too far gone to be asking for such a favor. “1….thank you……2…thank you……3…..thank you…..I need two more…..I need two more……I NEED TWO MORE before I walk over to that table and tell them we don’t have enough girls to play.” There came a point in the 3^rd quarter where I thought I was going to have to go up to the scorers table and tell them that we couldn’t finish the game and would have to forfeit. Honestly, it would have been easier that way…but with a glare of death in their eyes two more girls raised their hands and took the floor. I had to thank them for volunteering to play.

With a little spark, more out of frustrated animosity towards me, they made a run in the 4^th quarter but ultimately lost 39-30. I wanted to find God in those 40 minutes and I know he was there challenging me, but I couldn’t see Him – or I didn’t want to see Him. He was there though – keeping me composed – preventing me from absolutely losing it or from breaking down. After the game, the coordinator of the tournament, Heinrich Palik, approached me as I was walking out and sort of caught me off guard. Heinrich is a diehard basketball fan and legend in Micronesia who has worked fervently to give the youth in Pohnpei a chance to excel in basketball. He coaches the boys and girls BCOPS teams (Basketball Club Of Pohnpei Stars) both of which dominated the tournament despite being stacked with 8^th grade rising stars. Heinrich is also one of the most competitive people you will meet, slaughtering teams by 50+ with the starters in a full court press. But off the court, he is the most gentle, generous man. He pulled me over, took my hand, looked me in the eye and said, “I heard what you did – disciplining your players…and I know it was so hard to swallow that loss…but I admire you for what you did.” His words were so simple but so poignant, and as I looked into his eyes and saw the eyes of Christ passionately staring back at me, my composure dissolved, I thanked him and excused myself.

It was a rough 2 days waiting for the closing ceremonies and the moment Dwyer and I could finally disperse and be relieved of our parental responsibilities. One girl out of the 12 apologized – the senior – who had maybe a few more months of maturity. Some still won’t speak to me and if they do, it’s with a look of icy contempt which I guess if you think about it is better than indifference, but it still cuts right through you. Some are civil. Some won’t even make eye contact – or maybe that’s just me deliberately avoiding their glance so as not give them the satisfaction of tearing me apart. Normally I hate endings and goodbyes, but this one was sweeter than Chuukese style coffee. Both Dwyer and myself were all smiles, and beyond ready to reclaim our freedom.

Though I’m well aware that the battle is far from over, the next week until school resumes will be spent in peaceful bliss until the imminent onslaught. I know I’m going to have to deal with the whole Junior Class again – the backlash of having 2 more of their classmates expelled. I’m not certain Lu-A will ever speak to me again – which hurts the most…..gossip spreads fast and students stick together and so if I’ve pissed off 1 student, it’s likely that I’ve pissed off the whole student body. I know the next 6 months are going to be difficult, but I also know in good conscience there was no other alternative. I’m certain that there is nothing I could have done worse, but frustrated not knowing what I could have done better. And so the best I can do is sit and pray that my heart can withstand the following weeks and months and that someday it will make sense to them. It will make sense that when you’re on a team, your actions affect more than just yourself and that a dream is not possible unless all 12 girls believe in it and sacrifice themselves for it. It will makes sense that as a team, you rise together and fall together and if you’re passionate enough , the harder you fall might also equate to the higher you will someday rise.

Brown Socks

2006-12-05T10:02:00.000+10:00

You’d think the novelty would have worn off. I was also nervous that it might have - as most things do the second time around. Nothing is new anymore and it becomes easy to adopt the “been there, done that” mentality. The center of the field boasted six lanes meticulously outlined in gravel waiting to be claimed. The mangrove branches that protruded from the ground had been arranged at fixed intervals to form the inner edge of the track. The speakers were blaring island beats from the rec house. The tarps were strung from nearby coconut trees to keep out the sun and the rain. The tents were assembled in the exact same spots as last year. It was complete déjà vu as I scanned the empty field. I already knew how the teams were going to process onto the field. I already knew that all of the island nations would sing their national anthems and the flag bearers who had spent three and a half years awaiting the opportunity would step to the ledge and flaunt their patriotism with grace and grandeur. While there is always viridity in being surprised for the first time, the beauty of the second time around is having something to look forward to.

Even with so much to look forward to during Xavier Day 2006, there were still events that succeeded in turning over 200 people of varying ages into toddlers no older than 5. Hot Ramen and Ice Cream Eating contests, dizzy races, wheelbarrow races and my personal favorites….a moderator race that pleased the crowd as the female moderators “pantsed” (I’ve never had to formally spell that word) the two male moderators and proceeded to laugh hysterically as they tore off for the finish line with the guys struggling to overcome the handicap of running 100M with pants around their ankles, and the coin biting race where “athletes” had to (without their hands) find a coin that had been buried in a pile of flour, complete the lap around the field and then at the finish line be the first to whistle – it’s a lot harder and funnier than it sounds!

As the mounting tension was released in the final heats of the relays, I found myself eagerly looking forward to the closing ceremonies, the hug fest that marks the desegregation of both the Tigerz and the Tritorianz teams, the emotion of those who have just realized the finality of the event, and the circular chorus of Amazing Grace that spans the entire field. I thought I had learned a valuable lesson about expectation, but found myself again disappointed that I missed the former events while tending to an injured Tiger who needed to be immobilized and lifted into the back of the pick-up truck to be transported to the hospital (She’s fine! No worries) Just as we are about to get her into the truck, the clouds open up and wreak what most would consider havoc on anyone standing below. But as the truck pulls away I notice the rain did not dampen but rather enlivened the conjoined circle of 150. As the song finished, all who were brave enough released the grasp of the person next to them to make a head first charge into the puddle that had become the middle of the field.

The festivities that followed the conclusion of the competition could have been out of a dream…. Even though it seemed foreboding as we watched students, cooks and even the director take hard falls on the icy slope, muddy behinds and 2 overturned containers of food couldn’t stifle the buoyant mood. That slope only minutes later turned into a hopping dance floor – if you wanted to call it a floor – more a thick layer of mud dissolving the few remaining blades of grass. The lack of island power and sporadic passing showers weren’t even enough to clear the dance floor of its brown knee-socked party-goers. Teachers, Directors, Students – sloshing around without a care in the world.

After the mess had been cleaned up and the girls had departed for the evening, the faculty had a chance to kick back in our refuge – the faculty porch. A relaxed game of Yahtzee wasn’t enough to hold the interest of everyone – only a select few who you could imagine after a while started to get the late night munchies. While we had the strength to stay up past our typical 10 pm bedtimes, we could not muster up the same might to resist the pristine cake just sitting idly on the kitchen counter. For reasons unknown, (but a hypothesis that it was being saved for a special dinner the next day) it had not been cut and served and on numerous occasions that evening we could hear it whisper secrets of tantalizing indulgence. Finally, someone among the 6 of us made the executive decision to cut it….though after a good 20 minutes of discussion, we had decided on attempting the unthinkable….Yes we were going to cut the cake without anyone noticing. How you ask? Well, I thought horizontally would be best, but it seemed as though vertical was our best bet for a clean getaway with minimal injury to the writing on top. We decided we were going to try and cut the cake in such a way that we could slide the pieces together to make it look whole again. Brilliant- I KNOW!!! What first started out as a joke turned into an hour long surgical procedure...first we marked the cake in the icing -exactly where we wanted to slice- certain that our lines were parallel so they could match up again.

Then using boiling water to clean the knife of any colored icing contamination and residual crumbs, we made the incisions carefully sidestepping the iced roses in the corners. Small piece by small piece we lifted out what we had cut for ourselves to enjoy post-op. With only one minor mishap – dropping a foreign object onto the cake which after a good laugh required an immediate reconstructive ice job, the procedure went well. It was then time for the risky part – the suture. First we were going to try and lift the whole right side of the cake and move it, but it was too dangerous given that the cake had been iced to the bottom sheet of cardboard – it would have been a disaster. Instead one of my esteemed colleagues thought of the ingenious plan – to cut the foil upon which the cake had been decorated. So we cut through the foil and in our defining moments of glory, slid the extraneous piece ever so slightly to the left until it matched up perfectly. With a little touch up work on the icing and a missing “y” in anniversary (a mistake that could have happened to any good baker when spelling such a long and complex word), the damage was virtually unrecognizable. I’m quite certain that I have never eaten a piece of cake that tasted better – and though I realize how ridiculous the previously described scene must sound, I can assure you it was perhaps the most fun that I’ve had at Xavier on a Friday night!!

Saraam

2006-12-05T09:46:00.000+10:00

Three more minutes. 8 more tests to grade. 35 to record in the book. 1 lesson to plan for tomorrow. Power out. No moon tonight. Pitch black. I don’t like being told when I have to go to bed. Even when I was a little girl, I would sneak downstairs to ask why people die, or where babies come from in the hopes that it might spark a lengthy conversation so as to avoid having to be put to bed prematurely. But here – lights out – 10 pm, which in my opinion is much too early. I sit behind my desk in the complete dark for at least a minute or two waiting for my eyes to adjust and optimistically hoping that it might just be the generator turning over to island power. I haven’t yet determined if it is because I’m too lazy to get a flashlight, or because I love the challenge of it, but as it becomes apparent that power will not be returning, I decide to head back to my room – an extraordinary feat that has become routine. I put my pen down and leave the papers exactly as they are. I swing my hand around my desk about six inches above the piles of books that are strewn across it to locate my Nalgene which is never farther than an arms length away and is the only thing protruding from the surface of my desk. With my left hand I swing open the door of my desk and I identify my ukulele by the awkward sound it makes when my right hand goes to grab it. Standing up, I try to maintain balance as I grope my way over to the fan to shut it off so that it doesn’t waste energy when the power comes back on. Nearly knocking it over, but still proud of myself for remembering, I reach for the base – 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, no - 4^th button shuts it off. I shuffle step back to my desk which appears to have moved from where I remember it last, but with minimal disorientation I slide my hand along the edge until I find the door frame. I reach behind me and after a few tries make it to the doorknob and close the door behind me. The teacher’s hallway really isn’t very long, but in the dark can be treacherous. Switch from the right side (where my office is located) to the left side because there are shelves that line the right side of the hall which can be painful when you take one of those to the ribs. Lightly tapping my hand against the wall I walk at a relatively normal pace – straight forward - which is safe so long as there are no stray zorries (flip-flops) lurking about – they tend to throw off your gait. Oh geez, I forgot to turn out the light. Turn around. Go back. Nicky’s office. Dwyer’s office. Mine. Find the doorknob. Crack the door. Reach my hand in. Up. Up. Little more. Flick the switch. Close the door. Switch walls. Walk. Walk. Walk. Teacher’s Resource Room Door. Walk. Walk. Walk. Alright it should be right about here. Corner. Turn to the left. With my arms flailing in front of me, I’m careful not to walk into the doors that lead to the teacher’s hallway, which may or may not be closed. There it is. Tonight – one door open, one closed. I shake my water bottle to determine whether or not I need water, and I figure I should refill just to be safe. Hands still flailing I try to locate the door that leads to the kitchen – normally open. Oops the wall. Left. Left. Okay. I’ve got some breathing room, but still keep the limbs flailing to locate the door to the dining room. That one is always open unless the wind blows it shut. There’s the frame. Turn to the left, but avoid clipping my hip on the table and avoid…….Damnit face first into the concrete pillar. Regroup. Walk. Walk. Walk. Locate the water jug. I can tell the water bottle is under the spout because there is no longer the sound of water spilling on the floor and the bottle is getting heavier. Screw on the lid. Walk. Walk. Walk. DAMNIT concrete pillar AGAIN. Door Frame. I swing my feet around the floor trying to find my zorries. I find one. Nope too big. I step on another pair. They feel pink. Slide them on. Disoriented again. Arms out. Bulletin board. Walk straight. Walk back through the open door to the kitchen. Display case on the right. Touch. Touch. Touch. Edge. Now walk forward and you’ll hit the concrete railing. There it is. Slide right and you’ll feel it start to slope. That’s the start of the stairs. Down. Down. Down. Just at the last step the railing levels off so you don’t over step. Flat. Flat. Flat. Down the 2^nd set of stairs. Down. Down. Down. Alright now I need to walk out far enough to walk exactly down the middle of the hallway. If I walk too far to either side, I’ll kick the potted plants, or one will brush up against my leg which is terrifying in the dark. Arms out just in case. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. I can smell fresh air. I made it outside. Oh bother - I always forget that step there. One more. Big step to avoid the puddle that is always at the door. Shuffling along I zig-zag in the direction of my room which is faintly outlined by the light of the stars. I’ve become accustomed to where the puddles are and where I need to step to avoid them. A little more to the right. Careful of the rocks – no stubbed toes tonight. Oops wet feet- it must have rained. That puddle was a little bigger than I thought. Walk. Walk. Walk. Coming down the home stretch. If I walk to the right it is a little more gradual, a few more rocks for traction and a little safer. Baby steps down the little hill. Baby steps. Baby steps. Almost there. One little hop and I made it to the concrete walk. Up the stairs. No problem. Around back of the top landing. Fumble for keys. Get in the lock. Try again. Get in the lock. Try again. Click. Turn. Place my water bottle in the designated spot on my dresser inches to the right of my door. Identify the box of matches always on the very corner. Pull one out. Strike it. Light.

Satisfaction

2006-12-05T09:31:00.000+10:00

Journal Entry November 4^th 2006

“Satisfaction. It feels wonderful. It feels like you’ve accomplished something – you’ve worked towards a goal and achieved it and can now revel in the success. So then lack of satisfaction = failure? Who doesn’t want the selfish satisfaction of being a skilled, revered, renowned teacher, mentor and coach?… I admit it. I have an unhealthy desire to be perfect and among countless others, the main problems with that are two-fold: #1 I foolishly think this is something that I do on my own…as in God gave me all of these gifts and it’s my job to perfectly return them to Him. #2 He doesn’t expect perfection from me. Yes, He has given me these gifts, but somehow I am oblivious to the fact that He doesn’t just drop the package, ring the doorbell and run…It is through Him that they come to fruition…Somehow I have this twisted notion that passion = perfection and that I’m not living passionately if I’m not perfect and if I’m not perfect I’m not succeeding and if I’m not succeeding then I am failing….

“The goal is to realize deeply the faith vision of all reality as the dynamic movement of God’s creative love toward the fulfillment of His external purpose (Eph 1-10). Through this realization, I am graced with a profound sense of the reality and majesty of God and of His personal love for me in creating me. I recognize His personal call to me to open myself to Him to perceive His unending fidelity to me. Consequently, I seek total spiritual freedom expressed by Ignatius in the words ‘make ourselves indifferent in order to surrender all of my desires to His concrete call to me, known or yet to be discovered, so that in all ways I shall always praise, reverence and serve God our Lord.’ Thus, all of my desires and choices and uses of creatures will become ordered to my own profound ruling desire – to move more and more to God as I discover every new call to me…[23 First Principle and Foundation – Spiritual Exercises]

And I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that – being indifferent so as to live with passion. It sounds ridiculous but it’s so true – emptying yourself of your own desires and wants – being completely indifferent to the world in the sense that you are free to let God decide and direct you where he chooses instead of me taking the liberty of doing it myself. It’s a fantastic concept and I guess that’s why they paid Loyola the big bucks!

The fact of the matter is that there is no ME in this, and it’s a truly humbling epiphany – that there is absolutely no I in this endeavor and I need to be indifferent to whatever part of ME demands attention. It’s not about what I desire or what I aspire to be. In all honesty, there is nothing skilled, revered or renowed about what I do everyday, and when all is said and done, I will become nothing more than an idea or maybe not even that….

but I’ll exist in each one of them. I trust that just as every impression of them has now become a part of me, each one ever so slightly changing the way I view the world, so too have I been absorbed into part of their being. I have to be content knowing that my effect is small, not trivial, just small. Whenever they hear the word passion, they may never associate it with me. I will never physically see the lightbulb go off. But in some miniscule way, they might view the world a little differently having known the definition of that word…

It’s something that requires an extraordinary amount of patience and trust because it’s a matter of giving without expecting anything. I won’t see the results. I won’t thrive off of the results. All I receive is the satisfaction of knowing there are results somewhere at the end of the process. Perhaps the most amazing part about all of this is that this is not just about teaching…of course it’s more directly applicable because I get to see and interact with the same 175 people everyday, but doesn’t this hold true with every single person with whom our paths have crossed??

Hasn’t every person that I have ever come into contact with left some mark on me that has affected the person that I am? It seems absurd but it only further proves my point that while I don’t consciously think about it, they are there in some form absorbed into the essence of who I am. Most of the time I don’t realize it or care to notice….but it’s there. I myself, am simply a composite accumulation of the number of people who have touched me and the final result is the way I put all of them together and present myself to the world.

Honestly, it’s terrifying when I really think about it. How many people in this world have I touched directly or indirectly? Whether it’s the person I didn’t wave to on my morning run and never thought twice about, or the person I stay up and talk with until the first glows of sunrise grace the horizon. The numbers are upwards of thousands……….and how many of those are mindless interactions? Indifferent interactions? If I would have known at that time I was altering someone’s life, I think…I know my behavior would have been drastically different…..

But see that’s the best part – I can’t just walk around with this chip on my shoulders thinking I have this special power to touch the lives indelibly of every person I come into contact with – talk about absurd – the truth in that only leads to arrogance. But the fact that we truly do belong to each other paradoxically cannot be something that you consciously think about not just because it’s overwhelming but because it negates the beauty of it. This idea, this concept needs to be ingrained into my very being….not infused artificially but absorbed into my spirit and my flesh.”

Broken

2006-12-05T09:21:00.000+10:00

25 Minutes Too Late - by Michael Learns to Rock (Remixed!)

After some time
I finally made up my mind
He is my Lord
And I really want to make Him mine.

I’ve traveled everywhere
To find Him again
Tell Him I love Him
And I’m sorry for the ways that I’ve sinned

I find Him standing in front of the church,
The only place that I was too scared to search.
He looks so helpless in that tattered dress,
But He’s smiling as He’s saying this…

Girl I’ve waited so long
Now you know just how strong
You are when your faith lies in me.
Child I know your broken,
I’ve got plans unspoken
You’ll know when I reveal them to you….

Into the wind,
I’m coming home again
He’s pulling me back
To His arms where I feel safe and secure

I still see Him standing in front of the church,
The only place that I was too scared to search.
He looks so helpless in that tattered dress,
But He’s smiling as He’s saying this…

Girl I’ve waited so long
Now you know just how strong
You are when your faith lies in me.
Child I know your broken,
I’ve got plans unspoken
You’ll know when I reveal them to you….

Bone Dry

2006-10-24T11:30:00.000+10:00

Shades of tattered blue. Azure bandanas. Cerulean sweats. Turquoise tank tops. Carolina spray paint up and down legs and arms. Cobalt shorts saved especially for the one day of the year that the exception is made for showing skin above the knees. While for most teams, the concept of a uniform is nothing more than varying hues of a designated primary color, Ichkumi stormed the field with a more unified front. Though it bore no meaning for any of the hundreds of athletes or onlookers, I couldn’t help but notice the smile escaping from my lips - born of nothing more than the pride of seeing that glorious combination of 6 letters screen printed on the chest. Racer back singlets with LOYOLA scripted across the front. Loyola T-shirts that boast of the foreign school’s athletic prowess, and old spikes whose holes and battered laces now hold bilingual secrets of battles fought and races won.

The inner edge of the track was outlined by the remains of freshly whacked bushes and the outer edge of the dirt oval was subjectively created by the crowds of multi-colored clad fans. Grown men barreling around what may or may not have been a 200 meter track, so fast that they turn the corners running sideways because of the way the momentum propels them. The rhythm of pounding feet guided by the chorus of encouragement from the sidelines. Young women, whose field consisted of no one older than 14, circling the ring with rosaries around the neck, cross in the mouth. Noisemakers created by the raucous melody of hundreds of hands banging empty water bottles together. Stems of coconut leaves became official relay batons. Speaking of official, while the day was filled with heated competition, it was all as official as the idea of me officiating the finish line!

The weekend away at Fefan, especially in the midst of turmoil going on at Xavier was wonderful, but perhaps even more exciting than the day itself was the trek from the “kuranto” or the dirt ring the Chuukese like to call a field, to the church to stay with my host family. The track meet ended around 5:30 with the arrest, restraint and removal of a drunk guy who had wandered onto the field. In typical Chuukese style, we waited….waited…waited at the dock until about 7:30 when the motor boat finally came back to take a few of us part of the 5 miles stretch back to the church before taking the rest of the boatful back to Weno. Squished in between two ideally round Chuukese ladies, neither of whom I knew, I found myself comfortably enjoying the tranquility of the evening on the water and the contemplation such peacefulness evokes. Gradually however, the gentle splash of saltwater started tasting less and less salty until the once forgiving night sky turned angry and deluged a passionate fury. My behind, which was so comfortable just seconds earlier, now sat in a pool of water up to my waist, and as my clothes soaked through, I think for the first time since I’ve been here, I heard my teeth chatter. As we docked, the boat operator handed me my bags – one with my remaining supply of dry clothes and the other containing the stacks of grading that I had to do – neither of which I could really afford to get wet. Though I had taken the precaution of wrapping them in garbage bags, I was certain that they were just as, if not more soaked than I currently was.

So about 8:30, we began to make the 2 mile journey home, and I don’t think that the situation would have been quite as bad if it hadn’t been pouring rain, or if we had a flashlight to navigate the pitch black. Fortunately, the feeling of each of the steps that followed was a more than perfect metaphorical representation of the reality of these past 2 weeks, and though at the time it was terrifying, I suppose it was worth it to be able to encapsulate and articulate my sentiments.

There was definitely a path we were following, but by path I mean what my feet identified as broken concrete which became slick as ice when the sheer layer of moss covering it got wet, jagged rocks, deep puddles, slippery leaves, downed branches, flash flood streams, sink holes that sneak up on you and water pipes fit for hurdling. If I wanted to make it “home”, I had to keep moving forward – I didn’t have a choice. The best I could do was pray that wherever I put my next step was secure. One blind step at a time, and a good hour and a half later, we made it and believe it or not, when I changed out of my drenched clothing and opened up my endless pile of grading, I found the contents of both bags were bone dry.

I returned home to Xavier the next day to learn the heartbreaking news that two of the major offenders of the incident on the previously blogged CSP had been expelled, and had packed and left before I even got to say goodbye. When I speak of the Xavier community, I am referring to a group of incredibly diverse people who have gotten so close to each other that the mood Sunday night and all day Monday was like that of a funeral. The Orions had lost two of it’s finest, the school lost two of it’s loudest and most loved…

You would think that a 4 day week with a faculty retreat awaiting us at the end of the road would be a breeze to get through. The aftermath of the aforementioned situation served to create for all of us, the longest 4 days we had yet to spend at Xavier. Tuesday morning I found myself amidst a student staged mutiny, wondering where we went wrong and what I could possibly do to amend the situation. Perhaps the hardest part was as a mother-like figure to all of them – wanting and working for what I thought was best, but in the end losing that status, and questioning if there was any point where I did anything right through the whole mess. The bonds I thought we had created seemed to dissolve in the face of adversity and instead of finding purpose in my struggles, I found the stark realization that I am nothing more than an expendable volunteer.

The whole faculty, whether affected or not by the actions of the Junior class were all dealing with internal battles of their own and were in desperate need of the relaxation, hiatus and reflection of the upcoming weekend…a weekend whose perfection far surpassed everyone’s expectations. Hospitality is a word that insults the way the Tolese people treated us…Before we had even dropped our bags, the little girls picked up our hands and clutched them for all of the 4 miles around their home that we walked…only to return to an unreasonably elaborate spread of food and a catechist apologizing for not being able to give us more. While our days were spent swimming, snorkeling and sipping coconuts, our evenings were spend singing, dancing and playing adult-only games of duck-duck goose. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. I haven’t smiled that big in a long time. I haven’t felt that peacefully at ease in a long time, and though I’ve spend the past few weeks questioning my true purpose here – for one night – I felt as though I was supposed to sit and laugh and smile and dance so that this village would have someone to absorb their light as they simply let it shine. As one of the deacons there so eloquently put it “All of you people coming here from Australia, America, Indonesia, Japan, Weno, Yap & Pohnpei – you have shown us that there are so many good people all over the world….there are Christians all over the world who believe the same things that we do, and strive to live lives of love as we do.” And as Dali so beautifully summarized, “If Jesus came to this island today, what he found here would make him very happy…”

As hard as the past few weeks have been on all of us, and as hard as it is going to be to step back into the fire, the beauty and radiance of this weekend made it worth it. There is really no feeling that parallels laughing so hard you cry and crying so hard your tear wells become bone dry.

2006-10-13T13:22:00.000+10:00

The “1….2…3…” countdown began in my head and slowly escaped through my feet as “6…7…8…” signaled me to make my move. I walked up behind her and a slight graze of the hand was enough to amuse her attention. Rejection. But I wasn’t giving up that easily…and with the next round of “4…5…6…” I was back for another chance and this time was determined not to concede to mere disdain. She would have to try a little harder to refuse my forwardness. I had her next to me for a moment until a series of flailing arms and spinning heels whirled her away from my all too eager hands. Rejection. And then she kicks me while I’m down. Jealous of her time spent elsewhere, I ever so carefully reel her back in, certain not to lose her this time. With her hesitant hands in mine, we walk and I show her off – her delicate manner, the way she moves, the way she smiles. I’d like to say I had a little something to do with it, but all I’m responsible for is making her dizzy and as she falls, I cradle her on her way down and gracefully lift her back to her feet.

…and the crowd goes crazy, as they’ve never seen anything like it. Eight Orions couples give an ecstatic curtsy and run off stage right to triumph in their success at having learned, practiced and deftly performed 3 minutes and 46 seconds of a somewhat traditional merengue. A merengue on a Pacific island is an anomaly in the midst of hula and native cultural dances. Every year the upperclassmen practice dances and skits in preparation for an annual entertainment show for all of the new students. While the thrill of dancing, teaching, moving, counting, choreographing, twirling, grooving, hip-shaking and two-stepping sent my spirit reeling for about two weeks it was only after I flipped my point of view from that of Steve, my precious little “Micronesian-Latino” heartthrob, to a more metaphorical partner, that I gained a little perspective.

“Imagine you and the Lord Jesus are walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord’s footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace. But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnaround, circles, departures and returns. For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord’s, soon paralleling His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends. This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus’ are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones - you and Jesus are becoming one. This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger. Eventually they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one. This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse! Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints. You are amazed and shocked. Your dream ends. Now you pray:

“Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits. I was a new Christian; I was just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You.”

“That is correct.”

“And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely.”

“Very good…You have understood everything so far.”

“When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like you in every way.”

“Precisely.”

“So, Lord, was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first!”

There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice…

“You didn’t know? It was then that we danced….”

(*Cute eh? Contributed by our lovely accountant Lily!!)

* * *

Though I suppose with every consolation comes desolation…This past weekend I accompanied my Orions Junior class on their Community Service Project (CSP)– a weekend in which the original Footprints story was perhaps more appropriate. Two and half days where I could do nothing more than trust that the weight of my heart and the dead weight of my body wasn’t too much for one Savior to carry…

Purpose. It’s something we strive to find or fulfill. It’s what drives our days, opens our eyes in the morning and give us breath. Belief in the fact that there is purpose in what we do, where we go and who we are. Do we ever really find the answer? Can we really ever be certain of His purpose for us? Certainly it is elusive, but it is comforting to think if we look hard enough we might gain some insight. I naively thought that maybe my purpose here was more than just to fill a role that needed to be filled – doesn’t matter by who – just another body – I thought maybe I could help some of these students find, brighten or uncover the light that exists within them…Who am I to think and honestly believe I can do that?

Each class embarks on a weekend long trip to a neighboring island in the lagoon in the hopes of stepping beyond the comforts of Xavier. They venture out into a culture of people, all of whom are not much different, yet still somehow shock Xavierites with the realization that the sun also rises and sets in places besides our isolated hill. Clearly the purpose of the weekend is for Xavier students to reach out to the community and incorporate this Jesuit ideal of service into their vernacular. But as with all high-school aged teenagers, trying to keep them focused on heaven and not hormones is an insurmountable feat. Perhaps even more challenging is to convince high-schoolers of the value of optimism and purpose when things don’t quite work out as expected. It has been traditional for classes to go out on CSP’s and work and stay together to foster unity. On this particular weekend it worked out that solidarity became a more important priority as there were sponsors who took groups of 5 or 6 to stay with and work for them. When you’re staring at 37 irate juniors, all of whom expected to spend the weekend as a class, one can only pray that there must be a reason.

Personally I felt that the set-up was more conducive to fulfilling the supposed purpose – to spend a weekend being more concerned about another besides ones own self – a purpose that often gets mangled amidst the ever popular, you know you’ve played it, spin the bottle and truth or dare. I don’t quite remember if I was mature enough at 16 to be able to genuinely look for the positives in a seemingly negative situation, or understand that life doesn’t always work out as I expect it to, but more often than not it works out as I need it to, or realize the value in living for another human being besides myself and so, I suppose that it is not fair to expect them to either. But I found myself constantly reminding my heart to trust and to relinquish control perhaps to the detriment of my awareness of the reality of what was taking place around me.

Perhaps I was so worried about them still benefiting from the weekend, or maybe it was just an over confident, unwarranted trust, but upon returning back to the homestead, it was discovered that a good majority of the class had used betelnut while away. To fill in the gaps of this cultural practice, betelnut is a naturally grown plant that is rampantly used as a drug by anyone from 10 to 84 years old. Once cracked open, most usually break off a cigarette, place it inside and chew it for the buzz, for the release, for the rebelliousness, for the addiction or for the hell of it. While it is outlawed at Xavier, the problem is never going to be eradicated as it is a cultural practiced reinforced by parents, chiefs, elders, and even Micronesian teachers here at Xavier.

It makes no sense to scold them. I would if I thought it would do any good, but perhaps I need to suck it up and swallow some of my own medicine. I expected a lot out of them. I trusted them - I mean come on - they’re amazing. It honestly never even crossed my mind that they would pull something like this. I know it’s pessimistic, but it feels AWFUL when you think so highly of someone, or a group of people and one thing changes your whole impression. Maybe it’s just this unresolved tension within me because I refuse to believe that is actually them. I want to believe that their true selves exist within them – their light, their beauty, the kingdom of God already exists with them – they just haven’t found it, don’t know or can’t see it when enslaved to addiction. Who am I to think my purpose is to make them realize it? And if it is…there is a part of me that still wants to believe that it is… the desolation in that is I’m failing miserably at it.

As I sat at my desk trying to get by one moment to the next – using 3^rd period to plan for 4^th and using 5^th period to plan for 6^th & 7^th , (clearly still not caught up on work or sleep from a “busy” weekend) the Lord inspired me with the lesson plan for Junior college counseling class today. I’ve felt such a burden on my shoulders this week trying to wrestle with my own emotions, trying to confront and move past my disappointment all the while trying not to wear my heart on the sleeve of my mumu (traditional Chuukese dress). Being that today is the first time that I’ll face the Juniors as an entire class since the weekend, I’m not even sure if I am composed or strong enough to look them in the eye and speak from my heart. If it is not already obvious by the fact that you’re back again….reading this blog and walking with me on my journey – writing is my preferred means of escape. The thought of making copies of 37 letters was vetoed right away – interestingly enough - not my more practical side, but by the fact that we currently have no working printer for large jobs…..or Xerox machine! We do have a small printer whose black cartridge has run out and is only useful for printing in blue. And so I sat down last night and hammered out what I hope is comparable to an ETS quality practice reading comprehension exam….

The passage below is followed by questions based on its content. Answer the questions based on what is stated or implied in the passage and in any introductory material that may be provided.

Questions #1- 9 are based on the following passage:

This passage was an original writing composed by someone who cares very much about you to express something in the only way she knows how…

There is absolutely no one who looks at life the same way you do. It is a beautiful thought. Your experiences are truly your own because there exists nobody who has traveled the exact same path, walked in your exact same shoes, or looked at the world through your exact same eyes. It is through this, your own personally unique experiences that you have acquired wisdom. In all your years of life, you have gained wisdom from those times that made you most happy, those moments that made you cry, those fights that made you angry, those loves that made you jealous and those smiles that made you feel welcome. It would be wonderful if all of the time you spent furthering this wisdom were of some greater benefit to someone else than simply to help you as you grow, but because every individual must experience life for him or herself, wisdom is something that cannot be handed down. As pessimistic as it sounds, it is a gift that can be neither given nor received - only experienced. It would also be wonderful if some of life’s hardest lessons could just be learned from a conversation, or just by observing someone else make the mistake. Unfortunately, even the most difficult lessons must be experienced in order to grow.

Perhaps one of the most crucial lessons to learn, but also the most challenging lessons to accept is what can be summarized so eloquently in the phrase, “If you want to hear God laugh tell him your plans.” It is only natural to create expectations about the way things are supposed to be based on the way you want things to be. You expect to have good food at lunch because you want to satisfy your hunger. You expect to find love because you want to be happy. You expect your friends will listen to you or help you, because you want to consider them your closest companions. You expected to stay together on your CSP because you wanted to bond as a class.

Often times, God sits on his throne in the clouds and laughs at us, as we get frustrated, angry, exasperated and rebellious because things don’t go our way, because we are too stubborn to realize that what we want, is not always what we need, because we are too arrogant to realize that we don’t always know what is best for us. I expected a lot out of 37 Orions who are some of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I trusted 37 Orions enough to expect the best out of them. I expected 37 Orions to find value in spending one weekend in service of another instead of themselves. I expected 37 Orions to respect themselves, their honor and their integrity. I expected 37 Orions to be mature enough to handle things responsibly when they didn’t go the way they wanted. I expected 37 Orions to realize that the ripples of their actions affect an entire school community and not just themselves. I expected 37 Orions to realize the number of underclassmen who admire them and look to them as role models and examples. It is a lesson I will not soon forget, that sometimes when you set your standards too high, you only set yourself up for disappointment.

It is a type of wisdom that you have to truly experience to understand. You can’t communicate the hurt of having underclassmen approach you and ask why the Orions don’t care that there are so many people at this school who revere them and look up to them as the perfect class. You can’t communicate the pain of looking them in the eye and not having an answer. You can’t communicate the ache of what it feels like to have your trust breached, and made a mockery of through indifference. You can’t communicate the fury of witnessing the hypocrisy of expecting to be showered with privilege because of the uniqueness and individuality of each class, but ruining experiences for classes behind you. You can’t communicate the frustration of knowing and believing so strongly in the spirit, the light, the passion, the goodness, and the pure beauty that exists within each one of you but not understanding why you choose to hide it. But I suppose that’s just God laughing at me for not trusting His plan.

While I pray you never have to experience the adversity of disappointment, it is an inevitable part of life and perhaps this all will make sense when you get there. Thus, I would be foolish to even think this essay was for the purpose of bequeathing wisdom, a gift I desperately wish I could give you. But fortunately, I can attribute its greater purpose to preparing you for your practice SAT test tomorrow. Good Luck.

1. The words “made a mockery of through indifference” in line 54 primarily emphasize:
a. the humor of the situation
b. the way this situation is different from others
c. how many people don't care about the seriousness of this situation
d. why people trust you
e. the anger invoked

2. In line 34, “exasperated” most nearly means:
a. shocked
b. maddened
c. hurt
d. disappointed
e. stubborn

3. which of the following is the main underlying conflict of this passage?
a. selfishness
b. betelnut
c. disobedience
d. overcoming challenges
e. trust that was broken and trust that needs to be earned back

4. in line 43, the phrase "ripples of their actions" is a metaphor for:
a. the reasons for their actions being faulty and rippling in the wind
b. the little tears they have made in the community
c. the strength and courage it takes to make a decision to act
d. how the effects of their actions are like droplets of water in a pond. One small seemingly insignificant action can affect people in ways they are not even aware of
e. the meaning of their actions being influential and powerful

5. the primary purpose of the sentence in lines 55-57, ("the hypocrisy of...for classes behind you." ) is to suggest
a. hypocrisy is not respected
b. uniqueness and individuality should not be recognized
c. that people should not expect to shower
d. it is disrespectful to be careless of upcoming classes
e. that when you demand that decisions be made not on the failings or carelessness of classes that have gone before you because you are different, but you don't find a problem with tainting the experience of future CSPs

6. the author's intention of the passage is most likely to:
a. make you feel guilty
b. scold you
c. make you change
d. be honest with you even though the truth is not always what you want to hear
e. make you angry

7. the main idea of this passage is:
a. the most difficult lessons must be experienced in order to grow (lines 22-23)
b. it is only natural to create expectations (lines 26-27)
c. if you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans
d. experience is the adversity of disappointment (lines 62-63)
e. wisdom is something that cannot be handed down (lines 17-18)

8. the word "inevitable" in line 63 most nearly means:
a. necessary
b. unavoidable
c. difficult
d. hopeless
e. purposeful

9. one of the basis of the information provided in the rest of the passage, "revere" in line 51 most nearly means:
a. envy
b. love
c. like being around
d. genuinely admire and respect
e. despise

You asked for proof…

2006-09-30T22:22:00.000+10:00

My darling Lu-A never ceases to amaze me…..

You Say:	God Says:	Proof:
"It's impossible"	All things are possible	(Luke 18:27)
"Nobody really loves me"	I love you	(John 3:16 & John 13:34)
"I can't go on"	My grace is sufficient	(II Corinthians 12:9 & Psalm 91:15)
"I can't figure things out"	I will direct your steps	(Proverbs 3:5-6)
"I can't do it"	You can do all things	(Philippians 4:13)
"I'm not able"	I am able	(II Corinthians 9:8)
"It's not worth it"	It will be worth it	(Roman 8:28)
"I can't forgive myself"	I FORGIVE YOU	(I John 1:9 & Romans 8:1)
"I can't manage"	I will supply all your needs	(Philippians 4:19)
"I'm afraid"	I have not given you a spirit of fear	(II Timothy1:7)
"I'm always worried and frustrated"	Cast all your cares on ME	(I Peter 5:7)
"I don't have enough faith"	I've given everyone a measure of faith	(Romans 12:3)
"I'm not smart enough"	I give you wisdom	(I Corinthians 1:30)
"I feel all alone"	I will never leave you or forsake you	(Hebrews13:5)

My lifelong aspiration…..

2006-09-30T22:18:00.000+10:00

By conservative estimates, Mata Amritanandamayi, known simply as “Amma,” has given more than 26 million hugs. This may not seem so unusual to Angelenos accustomed to greeting with an embrace, but in Amma’s native India, there is no precedent for a single woman—even a holy woman—embracing multitudes of strangers. Defying traditional Indian mores, Amma’s long, tender motherly enfoldment has become her trademark gesture of compassion.

Born to a poor fishing family in Kerala, Amma witnessed deep pain and poverty while growing up. While still very young, she concluded that the world’s problems were rooted in a “shortage of love.” Her solution to this disturbing condition was to pledge her life as an offering.

Over the past 35 years, Amma’s reputation has grown as a result of her charitable work. She has been compared to Mother Teresa and Gandhi for her devotion to the poor—providing food, shelter, hospitals and schools. Sleeping merely a couple of hours each day, she teaches by the constant example of her own life, emphasizing selfless social service. Amma is considered a living saint in her homeland.

On May 2, the Interfaith Center of New York bestowed the Annual James Parks Morton Interfaith Award on Amma, India’s “Hugging Saint” and five other global humanitarians including Noble Peace Prize Laureate Dr. Mohammed Elbaradei; Supreme Court Justice Stephen G. Breyer; actor and Healing the Divide Director Richard Gere; Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf and Daisy Khan, Executive Director of the American Society for Muslim Advancement.

Despite the prestige attached to the award, for Amma, the most important prize is “the happiness of people.”

WLT met with Amma for a rare interview on the day after the award ceremonies. She spoke in her native Malayalam dialect and her responses were translated into English.

After the awards ceremony, New York’s elegantly dressed elite lined up to receive your blessing. Why do so many people seek your embrace?
Whether it is in India, Europe or America, people are searching for the same thing—true love. Love and peace are universal. Wherever you taste honey, it is sweet. Similarly, fire is always hot.

People are born to be loved. They live for love. Yet, a famine of love plagues the world. When Amma embraces people, it is not just physical contact that is taking place. The love I feel for all of creation flows towards each person who comes to me. That pure vibration of love purifies people, and this helps them in their inner awakening and spiritual growth. It helps both men and women awaken to the qualities associated with motherhood, which are severely lacking in today’s world.

This year, in India, the crowds seeking your blessing seemed to have leaped from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands, with reportedly 300,000 coming to one program. How is this manageable? Isn’t it exhausting for you?
I am used to big crowds. Everyone who is patient enough to wait will get darshan. Sometimes I will give darshan to around 40,000 people, sitting for 24 hours straight. Even what is considered a big crowd in America is like a vacation for me. I am able to do this because I realize that I am one with the Supreme Self—the main current supply, and therefore I’m not like a battery that needs to be constantly recharged.

As long as I can continue to reach out to those who come to me, as long as I have the strength to caress people, console them and wipe away their tears, I will continue to do so. One day, everyone’s body will die. This is inevitable. Therefore, rather than allowing our bodies to rust from lack of use, it is better to wear them out in service to the world. Where there is true love, there is no feeling of burden. For example, a maid finds the task of looking after another’s child burdensome, but for the mother of the child, it is not so. The love for the child is natural.

You often say, “Compassion to the poor is our duty to God.” What do you mean by this statement?
Just as the sun doesn’t need a candle’s light, so too God doesn’t need anything from us. But we should come down to the level of the poor and needy, try to understand their pain and serve them in any way we can. For me, there is no such thing as a God living up on some throne in heaven. God is the all-pervading Consciousness that throbs in everyone and everything. My God is each and every one of you—all the people, plants, animals, trees, mountains, rivers…. This is Amma’s God.

In Sanatana Dharma [Hinduism], the Creator and Creation are not two. The ocean and its waves are not two. There is water in both the ocean and its waves. Gold, the golden earring and the golden necklace are not different. Likewise, we worship everything in nature, seeing God in everything. Our prayer is Lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu (“May all beings in all the worlds be happy”). When we see the entire world as a manifestation of God, will we allow anyone to go without food, shelter, medicine or clothing? No, of course not. This is how we should serve the world—seeing all as embodiments of God.

We human beings seem so selfish. Can we overcome that through meditation?
Our true nature is not one of selfishness, but one of love and compassion. We just need to realize this and awaken to that truth. The problem is that people are not really asleep, but only pretending to be asleep. If they were truly asleep, it would be easy to wake them up. But it is nearly impossible to wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep.

Our selfishness and the resulting selfish actions that spring from it are due to our identification with the ego, the sense of “I” and “mine.” Thinking of ourselves as limited, incomplete individuals, we naturally struggle to gain and maintain the things we feel we need to be happy. In reality, we are the eternal, ever-blissful Self, full and complete. But currently, our minds are not pure enough to imbibe this truth. Divinity is everyone, but it is expressed more in people with pure hearts. Electricity is the same, but it manifests differently depending on the capacity of the medium. There are 1000-watt, 50-watt and zero-watt bulbs. Similarly, the more pure your mind, the more divinity manifests within you.

Spiritual practices such as meditation and selfless service are essential to purify your mind. It’s like cleaning the vessel before you pour in the milk. If the vessel is not clean, the milk will spoil.

It is not possible for everyone to meditate with one-pointed concentration all the time. Therefore, I recommend that people spend their extra time trying to do something beneficial for the world. This way, everyone benefits. The goal of spiritual life is to understand our fundamental oneness—with one another and with God. Only when this realization takes place will we be truly content and happy. But this philosophy should not be limited to mere words. It should reflect in our actions. It must be brought into the heart and practiced. If we truly believe everyone to be one with our own self, then we should reach out to caress the suffering as quickly as we would apply a bandage to our own injured hand.

There is no precedent for an individual expressing compassion the way you do—embracing upwards of 26 million times. Do you think the world is more accepting of this from a female?
First, God is neither male nor female. If anything, God can only be referred to as “That.” God is the Consciousness that throbs in all objects and beings. But if you really want to give a gender to God then God is more of a She than a He because “She” contains “He.” The need today is for the awakening of qualities associated with motherhood—love, compassion, acceptance and patience. I want to awaken such qualities in humanity. Only a true mother who can love everyone as her own children can be a true humanitarian and serve the world selflessly.

Between global warming and terrorism, there could be an endless succession of disasters. Are you concerned about the future?
We should never fall victim to pessimism. Patience, optimistic faith and enthusiasm are essential in life, and we must always strive to cultivate these qualities and keep them alive in our hearts. In many ways, people are becoming more and more aware of the need for a spiritual way of living. Spirituality is the very essence of all religions and, in its essence, it is the path of love and compassion.

If there is a one-word solution for all the problems in today’s world, it is compassion. Only love and compassion can solve the problem of terrorism and bloodshed.

Most people today are blinded by ego. There are two types of ego. One is the ego of power and money, but the second type is more destructive. That is the ego that says, “My religion and viewpoint alone are correct. All others are wrong. I will not tolerate anything else.” This is like saying, “My mother is good; yours is a whore!” Unless we eradicate these two types of ego, it will be difficult to bring about peace in the world.
The willingness to listen to others, the ability to understand them and the broad-mindedness to accept even those who disagree with us—these are the signs of true spiritual culture. Unfortunately, these qualities are exactly what are missing from the world today.

The greatest enemy the world faces is poverty. Prostitution, terrorism and much of the other violence are, to a great extent, caused by poverty. There are two types of poverty: the lack of food, clothing and shelter, and the lack of love and compassion. If we can eliminate the later, the former will automatically be taken care of. For when people have love and compassion in their hearts, they will spontaneously and wholeheartedly reach out to help those without food, clothing and shelter.

Taken from: http://wholelifetimes.com/2006/06/amma0606.html

Imagine if this was your purpose in life. The reason you were created was to hug people. A gesture that seems so simple yet one people can throw around carelessly. The simple, the precious – hug…..could there be a more beautiful calling?

The Everyday...

2006-09-09T15:12:00.000+10:00

I cannot take credit for this one, as it was written by one of our new JV’s Ellen and some of her thoughts on the everyday here on Weno…

One month has flown by. One year has flown by. Here we sit, the seven of us in Chuuk, Micronesia and look at the island paradise around us and realize that there are aspects of life here that are not so idyllic. There are moments of greatness, top of the hill moments, where we sit back and prop open a book only to be distracted by the dozens of different shades of blue in the lagoon waters that peek out from behind the book cover. AJ, Chris, and Jackie have been here a full year; they've survived teaching at Xavier High School, numerous jolty boat rides, humid weather, learning the local language, and living in a culture so different from Connecticut, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania, respectively. Colleen, Ellen, Lincoln, and Marcos arrived about a month ago. Despite a six inch wide, 2 inch deep "scratch", sixty mosquito bites, infected poison ivy, and lack of tortillas, respectively, the new JVs have managed to stay grounded in soaking in all Chuuk has to offer.

Although Lincoln and Marcos live a few miles away and teach at a different high school, we all get together on Wednesday evenings for some JV bonding. Recently, we decided to check in with each other in the form of a roses/thorns question. In other words, what's been going well and not so well. The following with give you a little rundown of how we're all doing.

AJ is the moderator for the Student Senate at Xavier. There are about thirty members and there were twelve boys who were removed from their positions due to a disciplinary violation at the end of last school year. AJ was responsible for telling them that they were fired. This was his recent "thorn" because he was not sure how they would react- or what the upcoming years' Senate was going to do to replace these young gentlemen. However, his "rose" was that after relaying this news, the boys handled it very well and maturely. They were aware that they had chosen to break the rules, and recognized that they should be punished accordingly. A teacher's best happy: a lessoned learned.

Chris's "thorn" was having lots of time to get work prepared for the past few weeks and no deadlines to actually force him to get that work completed. A few hours of meetings a day, reading a bit about upcoming courses, going swimming, repairing guitars, and cleaning his office have not made him focus on the beginning of school. However, his "rose" was realizing that his relationship with AJ was more brother-like now. They laugh, they fight, they joke around, but still remain family.

Colleen's "thorn" was that a Jesuit priest who had spent his retreat at Xavier for a week had just left to return to Pohnpei. He was a great man who livened up any conversation. Her "rose" was that after feeling overwhelmed by creating syllabi and lesson plans and being here in general, she read a bible quote that made her feel at peace. In essence it said that the battles are not ours, but God's. With that, she had a great night sleep the night before.

Ellen's "thorn" was struggling to find a place within the Xavier community- amongst a staff of twenty or so. The familiarities of home are no longer around; the ways to relax are different; the stress level is different. She described it as a daily struggle to handle the rush of everything unfamiliar. The "rose" was bonding with people over silly things- like hanging out in the kitchen with the ladies who cook our meals and pretending to toss cocoa puffs into their mouths.

Jackie's "thorn" was leaving her pillow out on the balcony to air out- but hours later it was soaked by the island torrential rains. The "happy" was getting excited that the students were arriving back on campus. It is different this year to actually know most of them as they move back into the dormitory and into the homes' of their host families. Additionally, Jackie was happy about the general optimism amongst the staff and general willingness to foster the greater staff community.

Lincoln's "thorn" was having trouble in the Spirituality class that he teaches. He has discovered over the past three weeks that Spirituality is one of the most (if not, THE most) broad words in the English language. He is trying to find topics that would interest the students. On the upside of teaching though, his "rose" was that no one fell asleep in his class that day.

Marcos's "thorn" also had to do with teaching. He is trying to find material for the Theology class that he teaches and is dealing with the general drain of teaching many classes and coaching basketball at the same time. However, his "rose" had to do with the Music class that he teaches. He continues to be amazed by the natural talent these students have- they have no formal training but they can pick up a song quickly and sound incredible.

Although this only gives you a glimpse of what's been going on in Chuuk, it may show you that although we are all here immersed in one culture, our experiences are vastly different. Xavier started school today so things are certainly picking up speed. We are in two high schools, in three houses, in different staff communities but still united by the fact that we're JVs.

Lost in Translation

2006-08-03T12:55:00.000+10:00

*What you are about to read is dreadfully long, and while there is not many things in life I will say this about, there is no shame in not finishing!!

When discerning my post-college plans, I was lured to JVI by the intrigue of what a new culture had to offer – food, landscape, dress, language. It sounds beautiful….a whole new world to explore….a romantic ideal that is anything but idyllic. When I set out for Chuuk, I was determined to learn the language and I think a year ago, if I knew what lay ahead of me, I might have just thrown in the towel at the start. After hours worth of flashcards, tape recorders, memorization, word lists, dictionaries, bible translations, questions galore, tutors, Chuukese class with Freshman, listening and unnatural conversation my language skills are still abysmal and reveal very little of how much I really do care, how hard I have worked just to be able to say the little that I do know, how much I want to be able to know them, how much I want them to know me for who I am, and not just the next white person passing through, how much I love them and how grateful I truly am for their acceptance.

Perhaps it’s not even so much knowing the language itself, as it is the principle of the matter…the fact that I can survive in Chuuk for a year, and JV’s have survived in Chuuk for countless years without ever learning to speak the language, means that someone – and by someone I mean nearly an entire state of people have gone out of their way to learn our language. Out of respect, sensitivity and gratitude, I feel as though I owe it to them to learn theirs… I feel as though in doing so, I can only hope to show them that I genuinely want to be a part of their lives as much as they have become a part of mine.

As hard as the struggle is, perhaps the (I’m going to steal a quote from the beautiful Murphdawg for this one) “Yay God!” in all of this is that I have not given up finding joy and value in the struggle…Even though I was frustrated to tears in Saipan, even though I make a complete fool out of myself multiple times a day, even though I often times want to put my head through a wall in hopes that the hole left by the impact might expedite the flow of information into my head, even though so many times I just want to stop where I am because it’s easier…. I know that this is the Lord’s way of pushing me and if this is the heaviest of my burdens during my two years out here, then I should not complain because I got off easy. Finding beauty in the process has allowed me to appreciate the baby steps and the tiny accomplishments of the day that to anyone else would be imperceptible, instead of measuring success by palpable satisfaction. It has been an even greater reminder of the beauty of the human spirit, who in spite of arrogance, cultural differences, assumptions and naivety continues to love unconditionally. The desultory journey has led me down perhaps what has been the most humbling road I’ve ever traversed, ultimately blurring the line between privileged and poor such that I am in no position to look upon anyone with condescension. In fact, I almost expect them to look at ME disdainfully as I make a mockery of the language in my weak attempts to fumble through a few sentences…..And the “Yay God!” in that, is that they don’t. In spite of my mistakes, my disgrace and my inadequacy they don’t. My frustration and disappointment in myself more often than not comes from within and is compounded by the need to repay their generosity, patience and love in the only way I know how. Unfortunately, it is a gift that I cannot requite with the grace and abundance with which it is bestowed.

Untitled

2006-08-03T12:54:00.000+10:00

After being counseled by several people who convinced me that staying at Xavier was not the way to learn Chuukese – that I had to spend time with people in an environment where I was forced to listen and speak, I heeded their advice and opted to venture beyond these cozy walls. Antonia, our secretary, my tutor, and perhaps one of the most patient ladies I know arranged so that I could stay with one of her relatives for two weeks on the island of Uman – about a 45 min boat ride from the main island Weno. Antonia, three of her daughters, and a few of us who have been staying here at Xavier for the summer went out and stayed for the weekend. Mama Lucy and Papa Alex put all of us up in their ocean front home located literally on the water such that you look down out of the back windows and there is the Pacific ocean beneath you. As my English speaking lifelines sailed away that Sunday afternoon, I looked down and felt like the land had been swept out from under me and I was just trying to stay afloat.

Day 1 - Sunday

2006-08-03T12:52:00.000+10:00

I look around and there is just (I apologize for the profanity, but there is really no other alternative, more appropriate word) shit everywhere. The ocean is just a public disposal service that doesn’t charge tax and as I watched the boat dissolve into a speck and disappear behind the surrounding islands, I am beginning to feel the reality of my decision set in – intrusive thoughts that if I would have given credence to before I left might have been compelling enough to dissuade me from coming. I have to be Chuukese. While I realize the paradox in that statement - that I can never actually be Chuukese - for this week, I don’t have a choice – and in the midst of this daunting challenge is where I find my “metaphorical (again I apologize) shit” everywhere – those things that jade my outlook for the next two weeks.

I’m already harboring a heated battle within my conscience between the voice that says “You’re almost there don’t give up now” and “DAMNIT Trunce you are never going to get this.” I’m going to be perfectly honest – it sucks…it is so hard and I know the next 2 weeks are going to require breathing in and breathing out numerous times a day… However, I’m beginning to realize that what I thought would be the greatest challenge – language – seems minute. When I put it all in perspective, I have a personal, spunky 12-year-old tutor (Nanar – Antonia’s daughter stayed behind with me) who is at the perfect age where she’s not afraid to correct me, but smart enough to know she needs to speak slow and repeat. There are children dangling from every tree in the village who really need no standard language for communication, and there are babies who can silently, mindlessly grip your pinkie finger with such passion while grown adults can barely muster enough strength to offer a firm handshake – communication seems to be the least of my problems….

I can’t decide if it’s frustration or gaining a new appreciation for patience. It is one of THE hardest things for me to do – just be. Just sit around. Even for me sitting around is not just sitting around because I’m either listening, speaking or thinking in Chuukese. But for those who already know Chuukese, which is everyone – sitting around seems to be the favorite pastime here and while it in some respects is beautiful, it is absolutely impossible for me– accepting the fact that there is truly nothing else that I need to be doing right now. I don’t know if I can ever say I had a moment like that never mind a lifetime of moments.

The Chuukese lifestyle – simple – different – that is a little harder to adopt – a lifestyle where water is a precious commodity, never mind running water. Refrigerator? Don’t have. Trashcan? Just toss it in the ocean, instead of diapers, babies just pee on the floor, barefoot is the preferred means of transportation – Cars? Don’t have. Hot dogs for breakfast, fingerprints in the breadfruit, outdoor showerhouse – bucket shower, washing dishes with laundry detergent. Soap? Don’t have. Lice cleanings are a family event. Expectorating, flatulating and whatever euphemism there is for nose-picking are not socially taboo. Brush you teeth? I’m embarrassed I have toothpaste – the teeth are rotting out of these kids mouths. Electricity? Don’t have – except for the generator. But really what do you need it for except the daily evening viewing of pirated Jet Li films? First bell for 9:00 mass rings at 9:28 and mass proceeds to start at 10:45…but really what else do you have to do today – the taro will grow itself and the porch will clean itself if it rains.

Comfortable? The comfort in all that is that this is one of the nicest places on Uman. Furthermore, this is not about comfort, but solidarity and this by far is the most “solidified” (I think I just made that word up for the context it is intended to be used) I have ever been. Even with that in mind, this morning when my mind first entered into the consciousness of where I was, I couldn’t help but beg the Lord for just another 5 minutes – I was not ready to get out there and face the day yet. I was not ready to speak Chuukese, be stared at, and pretend I know how to assimilate. In my search for joy in the struggle, I’ve clearly stumbled upon an insolence in myself that I’m not too pleased with….to be bothered by such things so much that I care to complain about them…..

Day 2 of the Helen Keller Experiment - Monday

2006-08-03T12:51:00.000+10:00

Not to make a mockery of such a legendary figure – but perhaps more to make a mockery of myself – being cut off from all previous ways of life as a sole means of learning. ….After a night of restless sleep due to cockroaches, heat and mosquitoes who I swear know that buzzing right in my hear is perhaps my greatest pet peeve, I woke up with Nanar to prepare breakfast to find that the larvae that had been multiplying in the pig slop bucket on the counter had escaped and were not mobilizing forces throughout the kitchen. I was relieved when Nanar was also grossed out, though it took her much longer to make the discovery. We ate breakfast together and by the time we were finished, cleaned up and took care of the chores it was time to start preparing lunch. It is amazing how much of the day is consumed by cooking and eating.

We ate lunch with Mama Lucy, who allowed me into a corner of her soul when she began to break down as she related her fondest memories of her mother…and how when growing up with ten siblings there was not always enough resources to go around….which was especially surprising to hear that in a place where nobody goes hungry, often times there was no food on the table. She told of how even though she has plenty now – food for the table and a beautiful house – she always remembers how hard her mother and father worked for her…

Trying to fend off tears myself – I felt horrible for feeling so sorry for myself….wondering how I was going to make it through 2 weeks living in a place that she took so much pride in. Even though I would never express my frustrations, the fact that I had even entertained such thoughts is an embarrassment to my character.

After a candlelit dinner of salt fish, canned fish and rice, I never though I could have so much fun with three little girls, hanging our feet off the deck, singing in Chuukese and admiring the small specks of night sky that poked through the blanket of stars. Peksina and Kipsina are two of the most darling little girls who live next-door, about two steps from Mama Lucy and their precious voices are still ringing in my ears. It bodes well for me that most of my days center around children no older than 12. Not only am I a little kid trapped inside a 23 year old body, I think it’s perhaps the most effective way of learning Chuukese, because they don’t know any other way. They talk at me in Chuukese – sometimes I understand, sometimes I don’t but somehow we still understand each other. If I wasn’t around these kids all day – I don’t think I would learn a blessed thing! Well, I would but it would be like pulling teeth!! They are always talking, always laughing and sometimes they really don’t even need “you” to have a conversation – they just talk talk talk till they’re blue in the face. I often feel like I take the easy way out by playing with them instead of attempting to engage in adult conversation!

While I went to sleep feeling like I knew so much more at the end of the day than I did at the beginning, I still think of myself as quite blind, even more deaf and very dumb…blind in the sense that I had no idea what was before me when I agreed to this two week immersion. I knew that if I ever wanted to learn I needed to be physically removed from my routine, though I was quite oblivious to anything else – maybe a blessing in disguise. Deaf in the sense that even after a whole day of “progress” learning the language, my prayers still end in “Please, please, please help me help me help me help me,” and dumb in the sense that it is still so uncomfortable and I don’t feel at home at all. In spite of everyone’s more than generous hospitality I feel as though I’m overly concerned with the border between accepting hospitality as a gracious guest and taking on responsibilities as an honorary member of the family…I am perfectly independent enough to cook for myself, but Chuukese don’t’ eat spaghetti – they eat ramen. And chores that seem easy such as dish washing become a process when someone needs to show me how to fetch water from the catchment, fill the wash bins and rinse dishes in the proper order. Six year old girls are showing me how to do chores – I’m helplessly pathetic.

Day 4 – Wednesday

2006-08-03T12:50:00.000+10:00

Minute by minute, the time passes and though I can almost hear through the frivolity and boredom each second ticking by – my absorption of Chuukese is exponential – though what I consider exponential is still nothing I deserve a medal for…..still inadequate, still shy of perfection (ha ha perfection) still blind, still deaf, still dumb. But the desire has not waned. (This is beginning to sound like a page out of Dances With Wolves – now there is a character I can relate to!!)
Even in spite of the moments where the brain shuts off and nothing enters or leaves, the desire has not diminished. I love just hearing Chuukese – just being around it is wonderful – of course often times it feels more like eavesdropping…and I try quickly avoid their glance when they catch me! I am beginning to understand words – they are no longer just a string of sounds in rapid succession – but words – most of whose meaning I can understand. Now garnering meaning from various combinations of these words…that is my next task.

That – while still maintaining sanity – the sedentary lifestyle in all honesty is driving me crazy. I’m trying to enjoy what it feels like to do nothing – to have nothing to do but all I want to do is run around, run around the island, play basketball, but Nanar is “chipwang” and I’m not yet confident enough or brave enough to take on the island alone – nor is it the safest idea.

Day 6 – Friday 1:00 PM

2006-08-03T12:48:00.000+10:00

Just when I was getting comfortable, He had to go and test me…We left the comforts of Uman to go back to Weno for a family party. While I live on Weno, nothing was familiar, anything that used to be familiar seemed so distant as we rode a taxi up to Mama Lucy’s Aunty’s house….and I’m plunged back into this world where I allow myself not to exist and desperately listen to indistinguishable noises flying back and forth identifying nothing more than the very general gist of the conversation if I’m lucky. I feel like I should know so much more than I do. Am I just an idiot or is it really this hard??? Quite honestly this sucks! It’s hours of work, memorization, looking like a FOOL and magnified because I’m doing it the hard way….worth it? I’m having my doubts.

(I’m just going to preface this by saying I realize the following is quite cavalier but I simply need an outlet to vent.)
Sitting around…kukknou… how I loathe the word. I’m really not sure how much more I can take of this. All I want to do is go run around, do some sort of project – I don’t know watch paint dry or grass grow. All we do is eat and eating – don’t even get me started…I feel like I’ve eaten so much salt that my brain is now iodized. Eat and sit…eat and sit….oh eat now? I can’t eat I’m busy sitting….oh we better hurry up and finish eating because that’s cutting into our DOING NOTHING. Rest – here lay down if you want to take a rest….take a rest? You’ve got to be kidding – take a rest from what? I haven’t done anything that warrants taking a rest…I woke up from a luxurious 8+ hours of rest, ate, sat in a boat, sat on a bus, and now I’m sitting on you couch and I should be tied? You know what – my ass is a little tired!! I realize they don’t see a problem with this and it is a cultural phenomenon but I guess my mind is too dangerous to be left idle that long.

I feel like the Chuukese are kind of stuck in no man’s land. In a previous life, everything was simple. The only real education a person needed was the know-how to climb a coconut tree, skin a fish, grate tapioca, weave a skirt, tie a thuu and build a hut. It was a world where the clan you are born into determines you status and the size of your land, and medicine grows in the wild. With the introduction of western culture inexorably comes a need for money to buy and along with that the possibility to achieve…and so the citizens of Chuuk are now stuck in the middle deciding between enjoying the easy going, not a care in the world lifestyle and desiring the luxuries acquired though a good-paying job…and so the culture clash leaves behind a collective work ethic where things get done when I get to them, it really doesn’t matter if I show up for work today, I need to rest, someone else will take care of it if I don’t and that’s just the way things are – there’s really nothing I can do about it. A work ethic that we as Americans would label as lazy and unmotivated….While I think it’s utterly shameful to stereotype and entire people especially so negatively….I feel as though (and I realize it is an audacious statement to make) if they want to adopt the western lifestyle, they have to swallow it all….I don’t think there is anything wrong with sitting around enjoying life if your future consists of cutting down banana trees and cracking coconuts. You don’t need an education and perhaps it is better not to corrupt a free spirit with one. But succeeding in a western way of life is inextricably tied up with education, hard work and the motivation to better oneself. I cannot help but want them to receive the opportunities and education to do so… and become easily frustrated when I cannot “force” them to stay in school, stop using drugs, or convince administrators to take an interest in students. And what’s even more frustrating is that even if the opportunities where available, maybe a handful would take advantage of them. When I was on summer break my mother had me reading, memorizing multiplication tables, studying vocabulary and practicing SAT tests – every minute was another chance to get ahead. And as I look around at a street lined with kids of varying ages squatting idly staring off into an unattainable horizon, I cannot help but want something better for them….and perhaps I’ve just been in Chuuk long enough for some of the Chuukese work ethic to seep in – but how much can I really do? How ardently should I campaign for these western ideals?

I think Nanar is tired of being patient with me and quite honestly I’m tired of being patient with myself. While I’ve never been one to wish my life away, there’s a small part of me counting down the days until I can STOP! Till I can stop feeling awkward and be comfortable. I’m tired of being completely dependent, having people telling me what to do because basic commands are easy to understand. I’m tired of having people knowing when I’m showering, what I’m eating, what I’m doing – I want my independence back. I want my personality back. I can’t even be myself. Nobody knows the true me. I wanted so badly to say something – say anything to Kimenta (one of my athletes who I saw in the store downtown) to show her I care and was beyond excited to see her darling face and nothing came out but awkward silence and a look that I pray spoke louder than words, or lack thereof. I’m tired of being called PisCor, fefin, sense Xavier, fin Merika, Chon Merika, and sometimes just Merika. I have a name. I’m tired of having people ask a fin-Chuuk what it is and asking them if I speak Chuukese. Ask me. And I know it is just out of courtesy but people just assume that because I’m white I don’t know how to speak - even if I ask them kindly to please speak to me in Chuukese. I know they have every reason to assume that because it’s not often that anyone cares to learn their language. But I know a little and how am I supposed to learn if you won’t help me?? I’m tired of accepting hospitality and not having anything to give in return – and even worse not being able to express even a fraction of my gratitude. They welcome you in, shower you with food till you pass out, hand made skits, a place to stay, shower, amenities and nothing…..absolutely nothing…

Day 6 – Friday 10:00 PM

2006-08-03T12:47:00.000+10:00

Moments of joy and moments of desperation – an endless cycle. I got to witness in all it’s glory the slaughtering of a pig – from the binding, to the suffocating, to the skinning to the dismembering to the gutting – the whole grand process. While I thought I would cringe in disgust, it actually turned out to be a really beautiful family event with everyone crowded around a bulb generating light through a wire hooked up to a car battery, blood being washed off the pavement, the smell of freshly severed limbs boiling on the fire, puppies rolling around bickering, mom’s sharpening the knives, dad, son and cousin are skinning and slicing, daughter is fetching water, onlookers enjoy the view, hyperactive child wielding a machete just wants to help, Chuukese flying every which way – and there’s me – as life is very real around me, what makes the experience surreal is that I just don’t exist – I’m watching, listening, thinking and reflecting…they don’t need me there – I don’t know the first thing about pig slaughter – I am of no use – of no help yet they let me in….they let me in anyway.

I don’t know how He does it….but He always finds a way to leave me breathless and this time in a shared affinity for John Michael Montgomery…

“Life’s a dance you learn as you go,
Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow,
Don’t worry about what you don’t know,
Life’s a dance you learn as you go….”

Day 9 - Monday

2006-08-03T12:45:00.000+10:00

Perhaps my cries for help did not go unanswered as my time out on Uman was cut short. While I know that there are reasons, my reaction of genuine disappointment that I could not stay longer was proof of my progress and attachment. Just as the moments of “I get this” outnumber the moments where “I hate this,” I’m forced to leave and regress back to where I was before I left Xavier…

But Mama Lucy did invite me back anytime I wanted to come – perhaps for Christmas and New Year’s…. hopefully I’ll be able to bring something with me this time…as I was leaving, I asked what I could bring or do and was answered with Chuukese words for little girls hair clips, shampoo, lotion, perfume, a little basketball and a stuffed mouse….

Perhaps there is something about the boat ride that evokes reflection…maybe being surrounded by massive slopes that are not even specks on a map remind you of how small you truly are….but returning to Xavier sheds such different light on my experience. While I am in no place to comment on the accuracy of my Chuukese, if nothing else, my confidence has improved. Maybe confidence isn’t the right word. Maybe I’m just not as embarrassed to make a fool out of myself like I used to be. And now all I want to do is speak Chuukese. My first instinct is to translate my thoughts into Chuukese regardless of who I am speaking to – not to show off by any means but to practice. Now all I want to do is leave Xavier and be in a place where they only speak Chuukese. As I look back over this and eventually conclude this epic saga ( I swear only a few lines more!) - even though I cannot say it was all positive, the “Yay God!” is that my desire to endeavor has not led me to crash and burn but has left me at the point where I just want to know more……and the cycle continues.

New E-Mail!!

2006-07-17T20:54:00.000+10:00

So I was just informed today, that this past Friday they terminated our xhs-jvi@mail.fm e-mail account!! So any future correspondence can be directed to jtrunce@gmail.com. I WOULD LOVE to hear from you - even if it's to say that you are alive and smiling!!! Kinisou Chapur!!

Saipan

2006-07-12T18:42:00.000+10:00

In spite of unreliable government funding, improperly produced passports, strained relations with Continental Micronesia, little games we like to call politics and last minute cancellations (as in the entire Chuuk State Volleyball team), 64 athletes boarded the plane that escorted them from the confines of the lagoon they embrace as home to the beautiful island of Saipan (just north of Guam) to compete bearing the flag of their island nation in the 2006 Micro Games. Even though I was officially on the roster as Assistant Coach - even though I logged the hours in miles – even though I attended the meetings - even though I ran the 5 miles to and from practice every day when rides were not available and washed cars to raise money and procured uniforms… I am still left questioning what I could have possibly done to deserve an experience like this. While I can honestly say that it was one of the most difficult experiences that I have faced here, it was simultaneously the most amazing.

If it is possible to collect the previously described intensity of Xavier Day, Track and Field Day and Cultural Day, you still might only scratch the surface of the electrical current surging through the athletes, the flags they carried, the streets they paraded down, the national anthems they processed in to and the honor they felt representing their country during the opening ceremonies. Sweltering in green warm-ups that bore the name CHUUK across the back, I tried to blend in amidst the sea of green surrounding me, however I could not help but deliberately remove myself from the moment to acknowledge how the pride I felt as an American masquerading as a Chuukese must wane in comparison to what these native Chuukese must feel. They are Olympians - idolized by everyone down to the little boy in the crowd of people lining the streets of the parade procession, who has stars in his eyes as his dream of following in the footsteps of these imminent legends begins to take shape. In a never-ending swarm of colors, the teams made their way to the track for an introductory lap and assembled themselves on the infield. As the colors split off to create individual delegations, it was not with a sense of cutthroat competitiveness, but with an unspoken sense of camaraderie that would pervade nearly every competition in the following 8 days. (That is with the exception of Guam, who from their boredom with the opening ceremonies, to their noticeable individualism on the playing field seemed to embody values much different than the delegations they stood beside.) After the lighting of the torch, and the fireworks display the 2006 Micro Games were officially underway. When the field had finally cleared out, I brought my athletes back to the track to run their legs out before they began competition the next day. While “track Chuukese” is something I can understand, words were not necessary to describe how excited each of them were to lace up a pair of “new” spikes (THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO DONATED SPIKES FOR THEM TO RUN IN!!) and stride out across a real rubber surface under the lights. Of course being the track nerd that I am, I mooched off of their energy and stuck around to release a little excitement of my own – to be able to stain my fingers red by simply touching the surface of a track again never mind hossing out a few laps was an ecstasy in and of itself.

Saturday marked the beginning of the track events, and while we qualified finalists in the 100M sprints, my true interests lay in the 10,000M run. Though it took nearly every ounce of my energy to refrain from jumping into the race, I managed to save some to encourage Puna and Juda through their laps. While I cannot remember the lap number, as 25 laps tend to blend together somewhere after lap 4, I remember the moment distinctly when the passion, the energy, the excitement, the electricity and the sheer elation dissolved into confusion, frustration and isolation. Juda mentally checked out of the race from the start, but Puna had been right on the tail of 2 respectable runners from Guam. Through about 4 miles he had hung on the back of them with ease and had easily become the crowd’s favorite, as is the case when any underdog steps up to challenge Guam. As he began to slip off the pace, he came around the backstretch where our tent, and cheering section was located, he turned to us, and said in Chuukese which I had to have translated, “I’m just going to take third.”

I’ve analyzed, re-analyzed and over analyzed this moment in my head in the hopes of finding some explanation for my reaction and have settled on a cultural conflict that I am unable to reconcile. Perhaps I am in no position to criticize the Guaminians all that much. The only venue in which I have ever competed is one that values accomplishment, and the natural high born of pushing myself to meet my potential - And when I watched Puna just about walk 2 miles and then come the last 100M morph into a world class sprinter, I know that with a little effort, 2nd place was within reach. While I wanted desperately to hide my frustration and be content with the results as they stood, I know that the disappointment on my face was more than transparent. But perhaps even worse was being locked up in this world of frustration all alone. Not only could I not communicate my frustration with the evening, but any form of communication with the team was becoming more difficult and increasingly awkward. The few expressions that I did know had become trite, and while I wanted to at least try and listen in the hopes of understanding something, I either felt like a poor eavesdropper who made no attempts at being discreet, or out of pity people translated conversations into English for me. As I looked down, the line between challenging myself with an uncomfortable situation, and just being a plain annoyance was growing thinner. Even worse, I wanted to speak Chuukese so badly, but did not know the proper grammar, or could not formulate sentences fast enough, and so instead of at least saying something – by default, nothing came out. In a culture where everything is done together, if I wasn’t an outcast already, I think I pretty much sealed the deal when I would disappear by myself for hours just so I wouldn’t be a lingering annoyance.

The next day, Sunday, I strolled down to the 9:00 AM mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Cathedral. The building itself was simply gorgeous and the mass – beautiful, but I think that the real answer to my prayers was delivered in the Gospel and the Homily that, while it sounds selfish, I’m quite certain was written and delivered specifically for me. It was taken from Mark’s gospel, where two disciples go sailing with Jesus when a storm kicks up and the disciples begin to panic: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

The priest then began to explain the Gospel based on the idea that a very wise person once told me, but perhaps took on new meaning this particular day, “The LORD comforts the afflicted, and afflicts the comfortable.” While I still did not feel comforted, I was able to take steps towards being comfortable with the opportunity born of affliction. Although the experience thus far had been nothing but humbling, humility is not a state, but a constant decision – to be at His mercy, to accept the fact that to these Chuukese I am basically a child, so completely dependent on them for learning, for a sense of belonging, for reinforcement.

Perhaps He knew that even after all of this internal contemplation, I still needed some sort of balance between surrendering independence and self-sufficiency. After attending one of the guys basketball games, (I’m pretty sure – by myself) I was approached by two Peace Corps. members working in Yap and Pohnpei who happened to live in Lancaster, Pa. and North Jersey. Even after bonding over our East coast origins, we stood outside the gym for quite some time – which for me seemed like an eternity of English, emotions and bottled up frustrations that given this outlet, came spilling out. To be able to talk, and have someone respond, to be able to divulge and have someone relate, to be able to be honest and have someone listen….face to face… was a luxury and an intimacy that I had longed for…

While I still have doubts about simply resorting to the easy way out – an environment that was more comfortable to escape to, I’m not certain I would have made it through another 8 days similar to the way I felt throughout the first 2!! And I think finding some sort of comfort helped me to appreciate the uncomfortable that much more – taking each moment in stride and reveling in the little victories…….and the more significant victories...

The last night on the track drew quite a crowd as people came out of the woodworks to watch the relays….the thrilling conclusion to any track meet. On the girls 4X100, the anchor leg was a silver medal winner in the 200M and a 100M finalist and led the ladies to a bronze. The gentlemen’s 4X100 relay showcased Chuuk’s very own gold medalist in the 100M – Jack Howard – one of two lightning fast Howard’s that have become legendary throughout Micronesia. And in the 4X400 the ladies took home a silver, and again Jack Howard along with another infamous runner Donis Rudolf, hurdler Steve and rising legend Tete captured yet another gold for Chuuk. Of course the Chuuk tent erupted in shouting, cheering and dancing numerous times in celebration of our victories!! But perhaps the greatest moment of glory…..sending chills up and down my spine was to remove my hat and sing along to the Chuuk National Anthem as they raised the flag above our 4 athletes. That moment, being the closest I will ever get to standing on an Olympic medal stand will forever be one of my proudest….

As I’m fairly certain this blog entry is of novella length, I will begin my descent back to reality….Looking back on this trip I’ve come to realize that to learn what I’ve learned, there was only one way – and that was the hard way. While I haven’t given up on my Chuukese, I still am not quite sure how to say the following:

Thank you for being patient with me. I know it is frustrating. Thank you for repeating yourself six times and then breaking down the sentence word by word I just want to learn to speak to you in your language. Thank you for your blank stares – indication that what I just said made no sense - it is a constant reminder of the humility I must maintain. Thank you for accepting me in spite of my ignorance, and for treating me as your own – even though to you I am hardly a child. Thank you for the times you gave up on me – it forces me to work harder.

Pink clouds

2006-05-27T11:09:00.000+10:00

So I have reached the halfway point, and to celebrate, JVI flew our community and the Pohnpeian community to join the JVI community on Majuro in the Marshall Islands where we had our ReOrientation(for the 1st years)/DisOrientation (for the 2nd years). Most people erroneously assume that one island out here is just like the next, however upon leaving the state of Chuuk after a year of limited mobility I was able to appreciate the subtle similarities born of vast differences. Majuro is a 33 mile long strip that bends in the shape of a horseshoe – and by strip I mean the width of the island is such that you could stand in the ocean on one side, and with a modicum of effort throw a rock into the ocean on the other side. I thought I would have suffered from a serious bout of claustrophobia, but having miles of endless straight-aways and new territory to run up and down made the island seem much larger than it actually was. We were wisked away to the luxurious Ajeltake retreat house on the more rural side of the island where the 14 of us (5 Chuukese, 2 Pohnpeian, 5 Marshallese and 2 JVI Program directors) spent 5 days in fruitful reflection, discussion and silence. Being physically removed from life here at Xavier, or Pohnpei Catholic School or Assumption allowed us all the opportunity to gain the perspective we needed on our purpose, our mission here and our JVI experience.
First it was so wonderful to get to meet/see again our fellow JV’s and hear about there lives in their respective countries. Questions were flying back and forth, catching up, comparing, contrasting our lives since we’ve left, and discussing where our lives are headed. It was also amazing to see how my community when transplanted among all of these other people transformed. I think often times we get so caught up in the everyday that we forget how much beauty pervades the people we are surrounded by. We harp on their flaws, become easily frustrated by their imperfections and dwell on their inability to meet our expectations. There were so many times when I could sit back and marvel at the presence of God so alive in the room, and appreciate the way the dynamic of communities change when fresh faces are thrown into the mix!
As peaceful as it was to sit by the ocean side, caressed by the island breeze and awed by the exhibition of nature’s artistic prowess everyday at dusk, the retreat aroused feelings of frustration, doubt and discomfort. A careful review of the year shed incriminating light on those areas where I have failed to meet even the minimal standards set for myself. Particularly the day of silence stirred within me a sense of annoyance with myself for all of the times that I settled. Given the nature of Xavier, it is often times so much easier to settle into what is comfortable – to watch a movie with the American gang rather than diversifying the crowd, or to retreat to solitude instead of having a stilted conversation, or staying on the hill during weekends instead of venturing off to my sponsor’s home, or to get lost in lesson planning instead of studying the language (which I still am awful at!). Furthermore, even at those moments when I did realize my tendency to remain in the comfortable, I did nothing, nor did I call out and challenge anyone else who fell into similar patterns. I think it is one think to live in another country, but it is a completely different thing to LIVE in another culture and live with a mindset of immersion and an attitude of sensitivity so as to soak up as much as is humanly possible rather than just skirting by with a superficial understanding. And so I return to Xavier with a renewed sense of determination to learn the language and to shed the American safety net that has sheltered me for the past year so that I do not return to ReO/DisO with this same feeling of discontent.
I think that being committed to the relationships formed here as opposed to any attachment to the place itself also minimally helps to justify my actual purpose here. We read a fantastic article by Ivan Illyich http://www.altruists.org/f451 that flew in the face of all of my reasoning for joining JVI in the first place. Our culture looks at generosity as an admirable quality in people – their ability to give – a virtue that I truly wanted to cultivate….all the while failing to realize that I have the opportunity to cultivate that quality because I am in a position to. I have the resources and the means to do so, and the very act of me offering to help, as altruistic as it may seem, in a way automatically assumes a sense of condescension in that I am presuming others need my help. That they are in a position that necessitates someone to come in and make things better. I was forced to question – am I making things better, or is my being here more of a detriment than a benefit to the Chuukese, or my students? In other words, I come to Micronesia thinking that these kids need a better education, one that meets the U.S. standards – obviously making the arrogant assumption that U.S. standards of education are superior – and I stroll into the classroom subconsciously bringing with me my American ways of teaching that reward the individual, and push for perfection because whether I realize it or not – it’s the only way I’ve ever known. Is that truly what is best – to instinctually force this rugged individualism on a culture that values a communal way of life? For example, we hold an awards ceremony at the end of the year to honor those students who have achieved academic success. First, it typically tends to embarrass a lot of students who would prefer to work hard and go unnoticed and blend in with their classmates rather than stand up in front of the school as a model of success. Second – what is success? For most of these students, success is “trying your best” and so we are sending this message that because they didn’t receive an award for trying their best – they are failures? Who are we to determine this standard? Am I socializing these kids to become students fit to graduate and enroll in mainland institutions or to value the culture in which they have been raised and to perpetuate their family name and way of life – AND which one is more correct? For most of us, we equate more western with better. We think “Well, democracy works for us here in America and look at us – we’re the most affluent countries in the world.” And so we, with all good intentions, through compacts and exorbitant amounts of fiscal support try and introduce this democratic, capitalistic structure of government into other countries thinking that we are helping them adopt a similar infrastructure to “get back on their feet.” The fact of the matter is, you cannot transplant this western ideal into a heritage of familial ties and hierarchies without consequences. Now Chuuk is left with a government who cannot manage finances well enough to pave roads, or maintain continuous electricity for 24 hour intervals because governing officials are elected based on who has the larger family instead of sheer competence and the power company typically doles out electricity to family members at minimal costs and thus does not have enough income to operate consistently.
I apologize if I have only further confused you, but perhaps Illych’s link will help contextualize the preceding ramblings.

Though I did spend much time in internal discussion and turmoil, one seemingly unrelated, resolution I was able to make in my serene observation of a typical Monday sunset was that most clouds are really pink. God really does make pink clouds.

Cultural Day 2006

2006-05-27T11:03:00.000+10:00

I’m not really sure that pictures can capture it, but you can try if you want….(AJ uploaded several on his blog site if you want to check them out – go to the top of the page and click on his link) Words still fall short of capturing it and thus I apologize that the following is nothing more than a string of incoherent thoughts……Micronesian culture at its finest. Micronesian National Anthem…. “Across all Micronesia join hands on every side..” Dances that transform a student who has yet to utter a complete sentence in my class into a belligerent war general. Bare asses minimally covered by a radiant red thuu with two sinewy legs poking out from either side of the loin cloth – whose horsepower is not to be underestimated when shaking the concrete walls of Calligan Hall. Poorly tied thuus. Barefeet. The glow of coconut oil on glistening bodies artificially tinted yellow. 19 diverse faculty members ungracefully, yet proudly pay tribute to the Chuukese culture. Authentic foods. Authentic handicrafts that make the average person marvel at the infinite number of uses for a single coconut leaf. Pride. Native tongue. Unity. Inclusion. War paint. Headdress. Coconut bras. Status. History. Long hair. Flowers. Kimonos. Fertility dances. Mosquito dances. Banging. Shouting. Chanting. Singing. Slapping. Whistling. Thrusting. Stomping. Drumming. Wooden trashcans. Sticks. Ceremony. Family. Sakau pounding. Breadfruit pounding. Leadership. Absorbing. Appreciating. Showing off. Flags. Deference. Submission. Aggression. Passion. Thunderous applause.

Sensé

2006-05-16T23:19:00.000+10:00

468 exam essays graded. 180 days (questionable) completed successfully (questionable). 148 students. 35 seniors walking. 4 days till graduation…and counting.

School is nearly out for the summer and even though Chuukese time would suggest life things becoming even more relaxed than they already are, Xavier has become even more chaotic in the past few days. To occupy the idle time no longer spent in classes, Fr. Arthur has contracted the students to decorate, clean, move chairs, construct the stage, and make final preparation for the upcoming events. Parents have slowly been arriving on island just in time for the cultural day celebrations which begin tomorrow. Grass skirts, coconut bras, thus (loin cloths) and local handicrafts are arriving in boxfuls. Even as I write this, three ladies sit next to me creating flyers essentially inviting the entire island of Weno to join in the festivities tomorrow! While I could sit for hours and write about my expectations for the splendor of what is to come……..I think I must save that for an entry all of its own…

Aside from all of commotion up here at Xavier, I’ve been privileged with the opportunity to assistant coach the Chuuk State Track and Field team slated to make their appearance at the Micro Games in Saipan in late June!!!! Of course the job presents its challenges as most of the athletes do not speak English, but sweating together, busting ass, running – all transcend the language barrier. Even so, it’s still frustrating at times wanting to say SOO much – to coach, to teach, to learn – to ask how much it hurts when running 7 miles on gravel and coral – barefoot, to challenge them when they slack off, to listen when they complain of standard aches – all of which culminates in “Fokkun och” (very good).

But every day, even if only a little at a time, I get to vicariously live out a little bit of my passion though them - especially in those focused moments, running side by side with a tiny 26 year old Micronesian named Puna. A car pulls up beside us and in Chuukese, from what I understand, asks “Who is that freakshow (ad-libbed) running with you!?” And slightly fatigued he responds with a simple “sensé.”

Unfortunately, as hard as the athletes are working, we are still uncertain as to whether they will be allowed to participate. It seems as though the Chuuk recreation Office, who originally guaranteed assistance in sending athletes to Saipan, cannot make good on their promise and the team needs to seek alternative means of getting to Saipan. The athletes, as of right now, show up everyday and work their faces off unaware of the possibility that they may never get to exhibition their hard work. Hopefully in the next few days we should find out whether or not the trip will be a go!!!

If you might be interested in helping financially, if you have any fundraising ideas, if you have any suggestions, if you have any connections that might help us get these athletes to Saipan, PLEASE PLEASE contact me. Your support and your creativity is GREATLY appreciated.

My Contact Info:

xhs-jvi@mail.fm
just put jtrunce(or any variation) in the subject line!!

Or if you write within the next two few weeks -hit me up at jtruncellito1@loyola.edu because we are headed to Majuro in just a few hours!!!!!

Thank you for your continued love and encouragement. If you are graduating, transitioning or maintaining your daily routine in the upcoming weeks I pray that the Lord is with you through every moment of it.

Always Thinkn'

2006-04-11T21:46:00.000+10:00

Question of the year:

Asked by freshman Vincent “Delz” Neth:

If all of the disciples fell asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane, how does anyone know what really happened?

When the Saints go Marching In.

2006-04-11T21:42:00.000+10:00

Track and Field Day has come and gone in a flurry of excitement. Tuesday was the “marathon” and by marathon I mean a 10 mile run up and down the streets downtown for the gentlemen and about a 6 mile run for the ladies – which for a high-schooler is a considerable distance. So Monday night the coaches threw a pasta and Gatorade party for the distance squad up in the faculty lounge, and the rest of the boys threw a rowdy pep rally to get the athletes psyched up. The ladies stayed up on campus for the evening for the sake of convenience since we all had to be awake at 3:30 AM to head down to the race.
It is only my first experience in coaching, so I suppose I can consider it a rookie mistake – but in order to be able to watch the race and get split times, I decided to ride a bike down and follow the runners. Riding in the headlights of the pickup behind me, I met the team down at the field. Needless to say I was not in the truck with the runners as they drove down and took for granted that they knew how to prepare for the upcoming race…..
So we warm up, stretch and I take a look at the starting line. T-shirts, spray-painted colors, shorts to the knees, flip-flops, bare feet – whistle. I take off for about 2 miles down the road and stop to cheer them on as they go by – 2 of them pass by looking strong - but my 3rd runner was uncharacteristically way behind and isn’t running like himself but says he’s fine…..the race goes on….and one of my runners punks and drops out – which I should have expected (yeah still bitter!) and my other runner finishes the race in 7th place – oh but not before he runs up along side my bike and hands me the socks that he’s been wearing for about 9 miles. If you know me than you might know how uncomfortable “feet” or anything pertaining to feet makes me…………if that is not an indication of how much I love these kids – I’m not quite sure what is – because I would not just put out my hand in that situation for anyone!!
Joshua (7th) crosses the line grabs some water and disappears while we wait for Thaine who comes chugging along a few minutes later. They say hindsight is 20/20 and unfortunately it was not until the race was over that I could look back and put all the pieces of my errors together to complete the picture. Perhaps the story is more elegantly told my the runners themselves who returned to school and shared it very candidly with the rest of their sophomore classmates:

Thaine: “Well it was a lot of fun, but as soon as I started the race I really had to waste. Really badly. So I ran all the way to Blue Lagoon and back (about 6 miles) and then I saw Deacon (our Dean of Students) and he found a banana leaf for me. So I stopped on the side of the road and wasted. And that was my experience.”
<>>>

Joshua: “My experience was pretty much the same as Thaine. As soon as the race started I really had to waste, but I ran anyway. There’s a saying in Yap ‘you haven’t done your best until you shit in your pants’ and that’s just about what I did. I ran the whole race and as soon as I finished I had to run and find a bathroom.”

Joshua is one of the most intelligent, and quietest students in the class – and believe me I was JUST as shocked…. So it turns out that on the truckride down, all three of the gentlemen had indulged in some expired mango juice. I stupidly forgot to grab some bread or something for them, and so they resorted to the only alternative. If you’re ever run straight after drinking juice you can empathize – and now multiply that by the number of days expired your juice is and you get the picture!! Lesson learned - and a mistake to fix for next year!!

The team scores after the Marathon were Southern Namorias – 53; Chuuk High- 20 and Xavier- 17 most of those 17 points came from the ladies who did very well and took 3rd, 8th and 9th!! However the marathon was not the only place where the ladies sparkled!!
I recruited two of my basketball girls from the the Saints – class of ’09 - to run the 8 lap run. After a looooott of coaxing they finally agreed to do it and trained sporadically throughout the past few months. Friday - you have to picture an open grass field – which in the middle of the day with no coconut trees or any shade for that matter can be blistering!! It’s less than 200 meters around and the corners are near 90 degree angles. The race begins and I see two red basketball uniforms tearing off around the field - one bearing the name Yamase and the other Trunce!! J They jump out to an early lead, and while most were a little concerned that they were unaware of exactly how many laps they had to run….. they looked strong so I pushed them….they maintained the lead for about 6 laps until green and orange shirts start to close in on them. The footsteps behind them only incites further determination and neither yield to the pressure. I turn at this point to the Xavier crowd behind me who is glued to the race and I tell them that they need to help their girls get through this race. “When they come around again – you get your butt off the ground and cheer your face off!!!”

As the girls head into the last lap, a red mass has vacated their comfortable shade of the tent and has flooded the field. Feeling the electricity from their classmates, Nikki and Sarah begin their final kick. Nikki opens stride and gains a few steps while Sarah still struggles behind green and orange. Nikki flies around the last turn and Sarah close behind in a moment of insanity, or of pure mental toughness refuses to take 2nd to anyone other than her teammate. She pushes her body until the green recedes from her peripheral vision and collapses across the line.

………….Perhaps the only 1......2 finish of the day. I couldn’t have been more proud!! I walk the girls off the field and back to the tent escorted by the melodious chants “Oh when the Saints….go marching in…….”

Stoned

2006-03-30T15:23:00.000+10:00

Stoned
We have just finished up with a visit from the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC)….This has required months of preparation, meetings and discussions. The school invites and finances a team of three to come to Chuuk, observe every detail of the school and provide insight on how to improve our status as an accredited institution. While it has been wonderful to have visitors ogle over how amazing this school truly is, it has been difficult to watch them pick apart our school and critique what we do. I suppose I am aware of it more so because they are examining our school through American eyes. They suggest implementing a fine arts program – which sounds like a fantastic plan with the exception of two problems – our students already have phenomenal artistic and musical talent because they pretty much start singing and playing the ukulele in utero – organized instruction seems almost to be an infringement on their culture…….AND it doesn’t really seem practical to invest in musical instruments and art supplies when we have students sharing 3 to a textbook – at best! They suggest implementing more deliberate fire safety plans and taking more precautionary steps to ensure the safety of our students……While we as Americans have what one might call “street smarts” these kids have an admirable sense of “island smarts.” In the event of an injury – they would be giving US the local cure rather than vice versa……and in the event of a fire (which actually happened in the boys dormitory last year) a typical procedure might be to clear the building and wait until the fire department to arrive……here in Chuuk – the fire department is hit or miss – and the procedure instead entailed a mass storming of the dorm in order to be the hero of the day! It has also been difficult find the balance between glamorizing the school, and simply telling it like it is. During one of our questioning sessions, our girls moderator began speaking about how we take measures to ensure the safety of the girls on the way up to school every day. She told the WASC team how sometimes she will ride on the buses/flatbed trucks with them, and how there are rules in place to make sure their feet are not hanging over the outside, and that they are quiet etc….. “There have been some cases where the girls have been stoned, but for the most part they are safe on the ride up.” Needless to say, the WASC team’s jaws kind of dropped, and all of us kind of looked around to see who was going to try make amends to the situation. Of course the typical understanding of “stoned” is something relating to getting high. Here in Chuuk, (though marijuana is still very accessible) the use of “stoned” here refers to throwing stones, or sling-shotting stones at people passing by (I know – not much better!). People are very protective of their property, and often times the girls can get very loud on the way up to school – and unfortunately, that is the Chuukese way of showing their discontent for a disruption of the peace! Even after clarification, I’m sure it did not bode well for us – during those few seconds in which the team thought that our female students often come to school high as kites!!!!!

Weakness leaving the body....

2006-03-30T15:16:00.001+10:00

I apologize that it has been so long since I have last made contact here, as the last few weeks have been quite a blur! At the beginning of February we began training for Track and Field Day. (Yes I realize that Track and Field is not a day – it’s a SEASON, it’s a WAY OF LIFE – but hey – I’ll take whatever I can get!!) I was worried that I would be unable to run and would have to coach from the sidelines, as I have been plagued by a wicked case of plantar fascitis for the better part of 4 months. Fortunately, with a little determination and some help from home, I was able to hit the roads with the team. Distance girls are very hard to come by due to the combination of lack of motivation and lack of athletic opportunities – so the ladies team has been very challenging to coach. But coaching the gentleman’s team has given me a new runner’s high – something I haven’t felt for MONTHS. Being stripped of the opportunity to compete has been among the hardest of adjustments coming here to Chuuk. Even in spite of the temperamental internet connection, I often found myself soaking up every e-mail from my hounds just to live in some way vicariously through their practices and meets. Ever since February however, I have been able to find an alternative source of the euphoria I once received from the thrill of the race. I think I’ve always known that part of me longed to coach someday, but little did I know that I had to travel half way around the world to find my opportunity.
The kids are like little untapped balls of talent. None of them have had any formal training in running and it has been exhilarating to just see the potential pour out of them!! It took a few weeks to establish a routine, but they have now become accustomed to the habit of warm-up, stretch, run, stride, stretch, crunch. They do often need a swift kick in the behind to get them moving though. The majority of the first days of practice were spent fending off the onslaught of excuses and complaints. We were in the middle of crunches and MT pipes up from the back, “Where did you come from – the army!?” “Yes,” I said, “Welcome to boot camp!”
They also enjoy just knowing some of the technicals of running, things as simple as stretching and learning the different parts of the legs. They have appropriately re-named muscle groups and stretches to titles more suitable to their liking. Calves are now called taxis, (Calves=cabs=taxis) glutes are simply referred to as “my maximus,” and the stretch where you cross your legs and bend towards the ground has been deemed “leftover rice.” (left over right) Precious Isidore (or EZ-Door as we affectionately call him) came running up only a few days into the season on a day after we had gone through stretching in great detail, “Jackie, I forget – can you tell me again how to stretch my pigstrings?” I tried unsuccessfully to stifle my laugh – he caught me grinning and very seriously corrected himself, “errrrr uhh I mean my porkstrings.”
Even in just 2 months of running, their times have plummeted. They used to think the 4 mile roundtrip run to the bridge (if you want to call it a bridge – crumbling concrete that leaves no room for error when driving across) and back was just shy of a marathon, and anything under a 7 minute mile was of Olympic caliber. Now running to the bridge is considered an easy run, and one of my runners PR’ed at a 5:46 round a roughly 200m grass oval. When we huddle up at the end of practice to cheer, the cries that can be heard is a faint "what is pain?" following by a resounding "WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY!!!!!"
Track and Field day is quickly approaching – April 4th, 6th & 7th. All of the high-schools on the island come together in heated competition to battle for the title of champion. Xavier will return to defend their title from last year.
In addition to running with the boys in the afternoon, I’ve been trying to maintain sanity by getting up to run in the mornings as well. The kids ask me why I run twice a day and I ask them why they eat 3 times a day……it’s just something I have to do to survive! Just today my community mate – Joe and I set out to actually run around the island!! There are about 11 miles of road/crumbling road/dirt paths, and then another 3-4 miles of nice hiking trails that wander through the shacks hidden amidst the jungle.

Culture and Love

2006-02-01T23:01:00.000+10:00

Culture and Love

One glance from you takes my breath away
One smile will bring me to my grave, I must honestly say.
God must be so intelligent to create the person you are
Because your existence brings me comfort near and far.
Culture has been effectively strong, that no one could ever forget
For all girls to have affairs,
It should be kept a secret.
Respect is all that counts
In a unique culture like mine
To show it to brothers and elders so our love can shine.
This culture has been keeping us apart
Yet, so strong like a stone is what lies in your heart
You’re the most unique person I’ve ever met
And loving you is something I’ll never regret
Days coming by and I still don’t believe
That in just a few months it’s time for you to leave
Saying goodbye is the hardest thing
Nature morns even birds won’t sing
Crying of pain because you won’t be here
For only brightness shines when you are near
So look back on the memories we could share
Deep inside you’ll see my smile and how much I care.

We just completed the poetry unit in my sophomore literature class and the above is one of my student’s final projects. Between Colette’s poem, and a conversation with one of the Micronesians on staff - Eleanor, I am slowly gaining more insight into the culture here in Chuuk, though I’m certain I’ll never reach the point of comprehension.
Eleanor has been dating her boyfriend for about 9 years. They went to and graduated from Xavier in 1999, and have both come back to work here for the year. She is half Pohnpeiian and he is Chuukese. In the Chuukese culture, men and women are not allowed to be seen together alone. Thus, there is always a lot of segregation at any function or event – with women together in one group, and men fraternizing in another. Irregardless of whether the two people are friends or more than friends, it is a disgrace to the females’ family for a male to be seen alone with her. For example, there is a senior Chuukese female at Xavier now who in her freshman year was dating a Pohnpeiian senior. Often times they were found sneaking off together to different corners of the campus or to the huts behind the classrooms – typical teenage behavior – you know you’ve done it at some point!! Though I’m sure you’ve never encountered the wrath of irate male family members because of it. The male relatives of the females are extremely “protective” in the sense that they would resort to violence should a male disrespect their family by being found alone together. Because a lot of the students here at Xavier are related to each other, as in this case, many a fistfight has broken out as a result of ignorant violation of this custom.
Eleanor was explaining how she cannot go into town alone with her boyfriend because of her male relatives that live on island. Even though their relationship is very public in the sense that they have made all of their relatives aware – it is still “taboo” (and that in itself is an understatement) for them to be together without being married and should her Chuukese uncles see them together, they would most likely beat up her boyfriend. Eleanor made it seem as though the reasoning behind this mentality is that it makes the women seem like tramps if they are alone with gentlemen without being committed – ring on the finger. If a couple wants to see each other, it must be in a group setting – with other people around. She was also explaining how if they were in Pohnpei, it would not be as big of a deal and they could come and go as they pleased, but trying to maintain a relationship here in Chuuk is unbelievably difficult.
Collette’s poem, turned in only a few days after this conversation, expressed so many of the same feelings Eleanor had been speaking of as far as being a female in Chuuk.
Culture has been effectively strong, that no one could ever forget
For all girls to have affairs,
It should be kept a secret.
Respect is all that counts
In a unique culture like mine
To show it to brothers and elders so our love can shine.

These lines though so simple, are so powerful in that I can see firsthand – and feel through her poetry the frustration of being kept apart from the one you love – not because of distance but because of a cultural standard that dictates what the heart must feel. I’m sure it is difficult for the gentlemen as well, but the double standard lies in the fact that it is not as though a gentleman’s family would go and attack the female for being alone with a male. It is as if girls are in need of protection and are not entitled to make their own, or publicly affirm their decisions regarding their personal affairs. She is constantly forced to make this choice between her heart, and her attempt to appease her family. Listening to Elle talk was intriguing but almost surreal – I could hear the words she was saying, but there was and still is this inability within me to process them properly and understand - and I feel almost ignorant for my incredulity.
* * *
My schedule has also left me fortunate enough to attend the Freshman Chuukese class two days per cycle – a very humbling experience. Try taking a class with kids just over half your age – who know multitudes more than you –they’re all bilingual!! It’s so funny because I have these freshmen in lit class, but during Chuukese I’m copying their notes and asking them questions galore!! First semester was primarily language, but the curriculum has since moved on to more exposure to the numerous facets of Chuukese life. The other day we had coconut retrieval and husking lessons. (Coconuts are perhaps the most fascinating fruit to ever spring forth from God’s green earth!!!!) The Chuukese guys were the first ones up the coconut trees and as they started tossing them down, we gathered them up and started husking. As we were watching the process – I asked one of the Marshallese ladies if they knew how to climb and husk. Her response: “Girls aren’t allowed to climb.” Upon further questioning, she explained that especially in Marshallese and Chuukese culture, women are never allowed to be at a higher level than men – so a woman climbing a tree would put her at a higher level – and thus disrespect any males in the vicinity. For another example, if everyone is congregated in mass and a woman enters late, she cannot simply walk to her seat, but rather walks across the floor on her knees so as not to be at a higher level/taller than the males in the room. I feel as though I’ve unknowingly disrespected many males along the way as I gradually learn more about this ingrained mentality!

Coming from a culture that demands an equality of genders – particularly coming from a single sex high school that promotes the empowerment of women, and being raised by parents who have always ensured that my gender was never an obstacle to opportunity, it is very difficult to juxtapose my beliefs with the way of life here. I apologize because my words are not intended to be judgmental though I don’t know how they could be construed any other way….

Injustice

2006-01-15T23:11:00.000+10:00

The blue sky feels the threat of the encroaching night.
The sun cries a trembling violet in hopes the darkness will retreat.
Innocent bystanders arrested by the spectacle do nothing to intervene.
They justify their indifference with feigned meakness.
In a fit of indignance the sun explodes orange,
protecting the what remains of the western stronghold.
Pink obstinance scatters across the remainder of daylight -
a refusal to succumb to arrogance.
Clinging to the remnants of a false hope,
the last breaths of wispy clouds dissapate.
The stars emerge without remorse in triumphant victory at yet another defeat.

Merry Christmas!

2005-12-29T21:46:00.000+10:00

Twas two nights before Christmas and as we all gathered in the student kitchen, the spirit of Christmas worked its magic and before my very eyes 30 high-school students warped into little elves all named Martha. The little bakers were hard at work (some even with nothing but an apron) eating snickerdoodles, oatmeal and peanut butter cookies just about as fast as they made them. I thought one Christmas miracle was enough for a lifetime, but as the last cookies were baking and the colossal mess of flour, eggs and sugar was being cleaned up, the Martha’s then transformed into mini Eminems and the night ended with everyone crowded around a keyboard for an impressive free-style rap session. - a way in which I have never before celebrated Christmas.

On the night of Christmas Eve I found myself on the Xavier roof for the Christmas Vigil. A dank concrete roof had been elegantly transformed into a haven of worship and celebration with lights, plants, decorative fabrics and the Eucharist . Students, villagers and faculty all came together under the stars before a baby cradled in a manger dressed in palm leaves. Words merely dilute the beauty of this night, and the photographs only mute the passion of how the Chuukese welcome the birth of Christ…. another way in which I have never before celebrated Christmas.

On Christmas morning, the senior boys that had stayed on campus prepared a brunch for all of us – eggs, bacon, rice, spam, cereal and apples - a far cry from a quiet breakfast of Grandpa’s & Nana’s infamous pita fritas – gathered around the table with my parents, grandparents and Michael Edward in the comforts of home…. quite the contrast from a room and porch full of about 45 people - a way in which I have never before celebrated Christmas.

After brunch we loaded up the bus and flatbed truck and headed into town to sing Christmas carols at the local hospital and prison. Christmas has always been comfortable – a time to kick back, eat so much food and spend q.t. with the family. Instead, I found myself serenading the bedridden, and looking in the eyes and shaking the hands of people who have taken the life of another. That is powerful – and a way in which I have never before celebrated Christmas.

The day after Christmas, the faculty, and our visitors (my community mate’s parents and 2 JVI’s from Pohnpeii) boarded three motor boats and took a surreal trip across the lagoon to the outer reef. The boats dropped us off, turned around and headed back to Weno, effectively leaving us stranded for 2 days. If ever there was a deserted island to be stranded on – this IS the place to be. We landed ashore and our jaws just dropped. Our acclimation process did not take long – as we explored the island no larger than the size of a standard track - we found 2 little houses with beds, 2 bathroom huts, a dining hut and a cook hut. By any standards – Chuukese or American Pisar is a RESORT! Our lazy days were filled with lounging around in the hammocks, snorkeling, exploring the outer reef, navigating the 3 surrounding (also deserted) islands, learning to play the ukelele, enjoying some island cocktails and spear fishing – oh man we were so spoiled! Mmmm Pisar – amazing – something I’ve never done before period never mind a way I’ve never celebrated Christmas.

It’s been a beautiful week and a much needed break (and break from the students – who have currently been shipped out to Pisar for New Year’s with the thought in mind that they cannot get themselves in too much trouble!! I’m interested to hear how Father Arthur (our director) has handled 18 boys all alone on one island!!) And it’s been a most memorable Christmas in so many ways that I would have never expected. Of course it’s so hard calling home and hearing the family celebrate without you, but this Christmas carried with it profound meaning that has tested my strength, my comfort zones and my faith.

I pray that you and your family had a blessed Christmas and may the Lord continue to bless you and carry you into 2006. May there be peace in your hearts and may the light of the Lord continue to illuminate the path before your feet. My Love and Prayers are with you during the holiday season. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Look at me

2005-12-12T22:09:00.000+10:00

One might think that the excitement I felt after my ladies won the championship would at least double after the gentlemen’s team brought home the gold just two days later. However, I unfortunately found myself bound by a resentment that not only marred my experience of the game, but continues to corrode a small part of who I am as a female in this culture.

The only differences between the ladies championship game and a ladies regular season game were the heightened number of and enthusiasm from the fans, and the eruption of celebration that ensued after the victory bucket. I figured that given the less individualistic nature of these cultures, the atmosphere of a championship game would naturally defy the level of intensity that I was expecting. Hence, my reaction was a quick paragraph of muted emotion, careful not to show a pride disproportionate to the importance Micronesians placed on the game. But I was sadly disillusioned when I stepped back into the Chuuk High, freshly painted, pristine and absolutely packed gym on Friday afternoon. My excitement and anticipation for watching the game as a fan in the crowd, instead of as a coach or scorekeeper were gradually drained out of me as I let the acrimony, and irritation simmer. The Xavier corner of the gym was packed with so many fans including the Director of the school, the principal, the cooks, the dean, the secretary and the treasurer, that they were practically spilling out onto the court. (This is even in spite of the fact that none of the freshman class was there due to their Community Service Project weekend.) The opposite wall was lined, rows deep with Chuuk High fans and locals that came out of the woodwork to see what all the hype was about. Before the game started, the referee announced the individual player names of both teams and had them line up and shake hands at mid-court and for the next 40 minutes, the gym, being acoustically unfit to support so many screaming supporters, shook with deafening noise.

Perhaps the most painful sites were those in which grown women put themselves on display, dancing, screaming and laughing hysterically. I realize the paradox in that statement, and the thing is, it’s wonderful to see women enjoying themselves. However, I was already seething from the blatant discrimination against the ladies teams, and then to make the direct connection between how countless offenses like this build up and explode into such a visible manifestation of the desire for expression, was agonizing. Knowing that their borderline immature behavior was a direct result of the roles they are forced to fill has made it very hard to watch and share in their pleasure.

This bitterness came full circle once I sat down to read my sophomore exam essays. One of the questions dealt with the treatment of women in the novels we have studied, and asked the students to additionally comment on how this compares to the way women are treated in their culture. Perhaps it was a selfishly asked question, as I was more interested in their comments as opposed to their reflection on the novels, but I should not have been surprised by the answers. Granted the answers did vary (some students feeling that women were treated equally, or even superior to men), but there were several that contained a commonly repeated theme. I received answers such as:

“Women just cook, wash clothes, and sweep. But if they didn’t men would starve, stink and be filthy. Women are not glorified but they do play an important role in life.” (Pohnpeian male)
“In some cultures like mine, I-Kiribati, the women are last. They are equal, but during feasts, traditions and assemblies they don’t’ have power over anything.” (Marshallese male)
“Women are inferior to men.” (Chuukese female)
“Women are expected to obey and respect men willingly. They aren’t suppose to do anything that offends men (ex: wear shorts, pants, answer back, walk around.) Husbands can also fool around while the wives are at home being faithful. Women aren’t also expected to take higher positions than their male relatives. In everything we do, males are supposed to be superior.” (Chuukese female)
“In my culture, [ladies] have more privilege. Women today in my culture cannot walk by when there is a brother of theirs sitting. As a sign of respect they kneel and walk on the knees. But unlike the men, ladies do more chores in the house then men. Ladies would have to wait for the men to finish eating, than she could eat.” (Chuukese male)

It is so obvious how the gender roles here in the FSM and throughout the Pacific are so rigidly defined. Americans can make jokes about women belonging in the kitchen, or cleaning up after them, but here – there is nothing funny about it – that’s how it is. I’m used to jumping in and helping out because there is work to be done, but lifting something heavy is a man’s job, and someone will promptly remove it from my hand saying “You don’t know how it’s done around here.” Likewise you would never see a man preparing food unless he’s out by the barbeque, because that is a women’s job. I think this is why women seize the opportunity to let loose and act the way they do at events like this because they are constrained by the way Micronesians define gender. It is not so much the pure expression of excitement, but a disguised expression of pent-up frustration – anything to make the statement that says “Look at me – I’m more than what I cook, what I clean, who I take care of and who I respect.”

Part of me wants to make excuses for the way thing worked out with the game. It was partly my fault for not seeing to it that the men’s and women’s championship games were handled comparably – now I know for next year. There was no school on Friday so it was easier for more people to come down and watch. The men’s game was actually against Chuuk High, where as the ladies played Saramen Chuuk, so it would make sense they would spruce up their own gym and draw a larger crowd. But there is another part of me that can attribute this difference to none other than the double standard to which women are held. They are not expected to be athletes. They are not expected to be aggressive. They are not expected to be on display.

WOO WOO WOO WOOO!!!

2005-12-07T20:03:00.002+10:00

I apologize for the spotanaeity of this post - BUT WE JUST WON THE CHAMPIONSHIPPPPPP!!!!! MY LADY NAVIGATORS TOOK THE TITLE!!!!!! i'm working on putting a few new pics up - but you can see my little champions all suited up!!!! IT WAS A NAIL BITER - they took it 29-27 against rivals Saramen Chuuk - of course that scoreboard shot is in there!! HA HA - oh man i'm soo proud!!!! :-)

Amazing Grace

2005-12-07T19:38:00.000+10:00

Exams are now underway which effectively marks the end of the first semester. It cannot be possible that it has been four months that I’ve been here already, nor can it be possible that I have survived half a year as a teacher!!!!! Mmm don’t be fooled – I hope that you are not as gullible as my students!

This past Friday I was reviewing for exams with my freshman class. The bulk of the exam was essays on themes we had covered in the novels that we read, in addition to one of my own personal favorites – ah you know me to well!! Of course I’ve found a way to sneak Living with Passion into the curriculum, and in reviewing I find myself in up on my soapbox going off on this tirade trying to impress upon them the importance of living their lives as a gift to God, and using every ounce of this opportunity that they have to be here at Xavier……so I finally finish my diatribe and it was the sweetest thing – too cute not to share….but so there’s dead silence right? not the blank stare – I have no idea what you’re talking about silence…. but the kind where it takes a minute to sit and absorb before the formation of verbal acknowledgement is possible….. and somewhere in between the seconds it took for me to identify the type of silence, and for them to process….from the back of the classroom comes a lone applause that infectiously sweeps through the room, and the whole class erupts…..ha ha – it was absolutely adorable. Now I have yet to look over the exams to determine whether it was a confirmation of comprehension, or just a seized opportunity to get rowdy, but it was an unforgettable moment nonetheless.

The latter could have been a very reasonable explanation as this past weekend was spent celebrating the Xavier Day festivities, so the last thing the students wanted to focus on was exams. Every year around this time the school celebrates the feast day of St. Francis Xavier with alumni, food and heated competitions. 2005-2006 gives special cause for celebration as it is a year of the Jesuit Jubilee – the 500 anniversary of the birth of Blessed Pierre Favre and St. Francis Xavier, and the 450 anniversary of the death of St. Ignatius Loyola. Now to try and explain this day to you would do a great disservice to the energy, the spirit and simply indescribable beauty. The best I can do is to steal the image depicted by Dwyer – my community mate. He said that the feeling that he got from this Saturday was such that if you looked at the world from outer space, Xavier High School, Chuuk, Micronesia, Mabuchi hill could have been spotted. It was radiating so much light, so much fire – that the iridescence would have been very obviously visible, even from that far away. The Kingdom of God was here.

Impossible? Not if you were here. You start the day with mass – in which students transform a dusty, dimly lit rec house into a glorious dwelling place of the Lord. From there you watch all the teams, (My sophomore Orionz class and the Junior class teamed up (team Loyola), and the Senior & Freshman classes team up (Xavier) – and for the first time, the faculty jumped in as team Faber) parade onto the field. Now let me preface this next part by saying that you were woken up earlier today around 6 in the morning by the sound of students chopping down the bamboo just behind your house, and suddenly in this moment as the swarm settles into teams of red, white and Carolina blue you realize why. As three Palauan students step up the mic and begin singing the national anthem of their island nation, the tip of the bamboo stick slowly reveals a Palauan flag being draped from the roof of the building overlooking those gathered for the opening ceremony. As you realize what is going on, you identify the flag bearer, and the senior Palauan assumes his position on the roof securing the lone flag. Next the Marshallese step up and sing their national anthem as their senior Marshallese rep brings his flag forward. Lastly reps from each of the four federated states sing of their allegiance and five other flag bearers step forward, all shirtless with Xavier being spelled out across their chests. You can feel the chills cascade down your back as the poignancy of this image settles in.

The moment escapes you just as quickly as it entered your consciousness, and with that, the games begin. Hours of intense rivalry, trash-talking, faculty humiliation and serious intra-scholastic competition fill the better part of the morning and afternoon. Though you are in your glory with the quasi-track meet type atmosphere, you are equally enthralled by the hot-ramen eating contest, palm leaf basket-weaving contest and dizzy race that provides levity amidst the tension of sparring sides. Even more humorous, but in the cutest way possible is the fact that the faculty, maintenance & repair, and the cooks still don’t number more than 25 – thus relying on the alumni & fans that have come to watch makes for some of the most adorable relay races you’ve ever seen - Older ladies in a dress down past their knees shuffling around the field to pass the stick off to the anchor leg - an older gentleman whose tucked in shirt accentuates his protruding beer belly, but whose smile indicates that he is not phased by the sizable margin he needs to make up to place second to last. You try as best you can to look and act normal, but you can not suppress the pulsating feeling of being very consciously aware of the fact that you are ALIVE –a feeling that spills out through the expression on your face and makes it appear as though you are walking around with a hanger in your mouth! But as you scan the crowd - as you step back for a minute to absorb the glory of the moment, you draw two possible conclusions: either someone is supplying hangers, or the water has been spiked.

As the final events are completed and points tallied, the day closes much the same way it opened – with a crowd gathering around the “podium.” But this time there is no segregation by color. As excited as your Orionz are to have defeated the seniors, it seems inconsequential to the more important ritual underway. If you listen close enough, you can hear bricks caving in, mortar melting, and the fragments crumbling underfoot even as “The World’s Greatest” streams from the speakers.

You know how after a basketball game, two teams of about 12 players each line up for a congratulatory handshake? Ok so instead of a line it’s an enormous mass of people, and instead of twenty four athletes, it’s 150, and instead of a handshake, it’s hugs and tears. For the first time since you’ve been here you are given this outlet for expressing how much these students and these co-workers have affected your life and so you seize the opportunity and follow their lead. It was almost as if you spoke volumes within a span of 7 minutes. To make eye contact with someone, to see the look on their face reciprocating your sentiments, to invite them in by stretching out your arms, and then in a moment of vulnerability collapse into an endless narrative of how beautiful they are by smothering with a very simple, and speechless gesture. There is no need to question motives, not even the slightest motion to second-guess – absolutely nothing inappropriate but the amount of time allotted to “congratulate” an inordinate number of people.

Sitting down does nothing to settle the rush and the words coming from the mic are nothing more than distracting noises in your serene moment. You look at the faces - some of the eyes red from tears. You can relate to the emotion. You wonder what they are thinking. Are they savoring it? Are they trying their best to hold on to what the ephemeral nature of moments this powerful try to steal away. Do they know? How much do they understand? What will they do with it? Where will it take them? Look how gorgeous they are….
The closing speech ends, and as the SBA president gives the instructions, a circle begins to form that spans the entire field. Then in a moment of weakness, you feel the tears start to flood your eyes but you cannot wipe them off your face because your hands are tightly grasped by the two students on either side of you. You recognize the first notes of Amazing Grace and consider chiming in. However, arrested by the pure glimpse of heaven before you resolve to listen, and take it all in.

Falling

2005-11-06T09:24:00.000+10:00

Falling
I’ve been told to be careful. I’ve been told not to go looking for it. I’ve been told that it will come when I least expect it. I’ve been told that if it happens to you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. I’ve been told it only comes once in a lifetime. I trusted it would happen sooner or later…I have fallen in love. I was careful, but I suppose I did go looking for it. It is a love I’ve never felt before but I hope and pray that it is not limited to just this once….Beautiful brown eyes, that as dark as they are do not come close to masking the fire within them. They exude an irrepressible passion. A personality so alive and willing to make manifest all that lies within. A humility still teetering the line between modesty and confidence. A multitude of talents each complemented by the desire to pursue and cultivate. Smile like the sun. 5’4. Her name is Lu-A.

For our JVI retreat this year, we decided to hike up to the top of Wetipon – the 2nd tallest mountain (if you want to call it that) on Weno…camp out for the night and then the next day do a walking stations of the cross around the island. We were supposed to leave around 4:30 on Friday to try and get up there before dark. On this particular Friday, right after school let out around 3:00 – my precious Lu-A stepped into my office and we began chatting. For those of you who haven’t met Lu-A yet, she is one of the smartest, most athletically talented and beautiful Palauan freshman at Xavier. She’s the top in her class, co-captain of the basketball team, and one of the stars not to mention one of the most articulate and genuine kids here.

So this afternoon, the conversation just came out of left field and brought me to my knees. We started just talking about basketball I think, and it spiraled into this heartfelt conversation about her family, her parents, how she came here to Xavier – what it was like to say goodbye to her niece…. how her father was crying as he let her go….. then she started crying – and I started crying (as unsuccessfully as I tried not to) – but it was absolutely beautiful….just to see and feel that raw emotion – and to be able to relate to it. It was not just the leaving – I mean obviously – all of us here have gone through that in some way – leaving all that is familiar – leaving part of our identity for the sake of becoming part of this new community here at Xavier. I have no room to complain about that – or even praise myself …..these kids are doing it at 14 – I should be able to handle it at 22!! But I could empathize with her in knowing what it’s like to have parents, to have people at home who are soo proud of you…and who don’t just tell you…..but who show you they love you in every way they know how…….

After trying desperately to pick up the pieces of my melted heart off the floor, I was rushing around throwing stuff in a bag for the night……we left around 5:00…and timed our hike perfectly such that we crested the mountain in time to see the sun setting. We claimed our ground at this rocky clearing and just soaked it in…….my words fail me here……….we could look out over the island – we could see Xavier down below. We could see nothing but horizon out ahead. We could see nothing but vastness speckled with millions of nascent stars overhead.

A hearty dinner of spaghettio’s cooked on our hard-earned fire satisfied us enough to gaze out on the lagoon in reflection for the rest of the evening. One of my community mates led reflection, and after he was finished, he pulled out this envelope filled with letters. Apparently, he had gone around and asked the students to write if they wanted to say a few words to us on our retreat. If I wasn’t floored already, I hit a new all time low (and by low I mean ultimate HIGH) It was absolutely amazing – for him to think of that, and for so many students to cooperate with him. A whole school of high school students showing me the Lord’s face. I thought I was supposed to be their source of guidance, their teacher, their mentor. I seriously underestimated the Lord and his vessels.

Hi Jacky! How are you? I hope you really enjoy your retreat. Remember to open and share to those people that come with you, an also trust them. Please remember all of the Orionz (My sophomore class!) in your prayers especially me to that God may help us to improve our grades next quarter. Anyways, thanks for everything that you have done for us during the first quarter. And to be honest, the Orionz really consider you as our mom and we really love you. Okay bye love always Bireen Francis #22 God Bless You!!

* * *

We fell asleep under the stars. From where we were laying, even the STARS reflected in the water. Now I’ve seen moonbeams bouncing off the water, but never stars….. yes – EVEN the stars!!!!! I’ll admit I’ve slept on softer ground – I woke up periodically trying to find the best way to fit my back comfortable into the groove of the rocks. But it wasn’t an annoying disturbance, because each time I woke up – I looked up, and looked out and was gently reminded of where I was. Once it started getting light out, I went around and woke everyone else up to let them know the sun was rising…..groggily we all sat at the edge of the mountain and watched it rise together…….. ha ha – yeah I know……where am I?

No seriously, where am I? How is it that I was chosen to be here? I left trying to escape the status and the privilege that only a small minority of this world enjoy. While I’ll never completely be able to disentangle myself from it, I’ve somehow found myself more deeply steeped in it… to be surrounded by the amazing people here – to be able to live in and explore a natural paradise…. I’m even more privileged being here… So much so that I often question how it is that I am working for social justice. It doesn’t feel like service – is that because there eventually becomes an every dayness about it??? Or is that because in actuality, it’s really not service at all?? I came here thinking it would be service – fulfilling my devotion to the Lord – serving his people. That was the draw of JVI, but once I got here – to my dismay, I find out it’s all just a ploy – for the Lord to get me out here so that He can bless me with even more. That frustrates me – being tricked.

* * *

I once went to Fries, Va. with a very wise man - Dr. Dickie Flerg his name. Months….even years later he continues to touch my life… Greg Mellor sent me a beautiful letter a few weeks ago just before we left for our faculty retreat. (oh yeah so our faculty retreat 2 weeks earlier– the best way I could describe it:
You are on a private secluded beach looking out at the crystal blue water speckled with tiny distant islands on the horizon. The only obstruction - the coconut trees that frame your panorama. They not only drape into your peripheral vision, but they surround you on all sides forming this protective layer between you and the intrusive sun. The breeze sweeps over you, rinsing your soul – becoming one with your breath. The sun’s rays mercilessly seize control of the defenseless clouds who surrender to shades of lavender and rose. You dig your feet into the sand in preparation for the spectacle that is about to take place. A voice gently lures you back to the reality at hand, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” And mass begins. mmm yeah kind of like that!!)
On a double sided sheet of blue paper he sent a lovely poem written by one of the prisoners he worked with in Sacramento. Through God’s providence, I did not flip the paper over to see the contents of the other side until a moment when it would touch me most deeply. Thank you Greg, for your forethought, and your ability to let God use you to show others His face!!
The paper spilled out of my journal and it was 2 weeks later – after this JVI retreat weekend that I saw there was another side to the paper, and read these words….

Trust the Slow Work of God
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Above all, trust in the slow work of God,
We are, quite naturally,
impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being
on the way to something unknown,
something new,
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability
And that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually
let them grow,
let them shape themselves,
without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today
what time (that is to say, grace and
circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
an accept the anxiety of
feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

I know its much easier said than done. What I expected, and wanted to happen quickly and instantly has taken over three months to come to fruition, and it’s still only a fraction of a tip of the iceburg. The road is so long, and so often there is no end in sight, with no tangible consolation or reassurance. But TRUST the process. Give God the time He needs to work within you. Of course I have so much ahead of me, the hardest I’m sure I’ve yet to face, however these moments, this weekend has inspired a renewed patience, a revived belief, an invigorated trust in His slow work.

Whatnot

2005-10-12T22:51:00.000+10:00

I know that given the irony of my situation - fooling these unsuspecting freshman and sophomores into actually believing my convincing performance as a literature teacher - one would assume that embarrassing/funny stories would inevitably come with the territory. Besides who am I to object to a little levity in the classroom?

So my sophomores (and myself only a few steps ahead!) have been wandering through the trials and triumphs of the legendary Odysseus in his epic tale of The Odyssey. One can never be sure just HOW much the students are absorbing, especially since very few like to step up and ask questions. The English skills teacher and I had decided to team up in using some themes from The Odyssey for a graded writing assignment in his class. Now you have to understand that high schoolers at any age have an uncanny ability not so much to always absorb the information you are giving them, but to absorb little things about the way you talk, the words you use or quirky mannerisms. So the English skills teacher was talking with the sophomores about this assignment and inquired into what the word “Whatnot” meant. Apparently this is a word I use quite frequently without even knowing it – I suppose like a stall word. So they were like “Yeah Jaclyn uses it all the time and we’re not quite sure what it means.” So Chris responded, “well it means the same thing as saying etc. – do you know what that means?”
“Yeah. Ok. Now that makes sense – for a while I thought Whatnot was another character in the story!!!” J

“It is not an abundance of knowledge that fills and satisfies the soul but rather an interior understanding and savoring of things.” ~St. Ignatius Loyola (given to me by the one and only Trent Pomplun!!THANK YOUU!!) Mmmmm how true!

Lucent Obstruction

2005-10-12T22:42:00.000+10:00

Perhaps the idea was delusional - coming to Chuuk and instantly being welcomed into the community, falling in love with the land - the people and living in solidarity with the Chuukese natives, all the while approaching the day when I could say I had finally begun to fit in. The more I learn about the culture here in Chuuk, the harder the realization is to accept that there is simply no such thing as fitting in. Of course I can wear the traditional dress – long, beautifully ornate skirts and dresses that flow well below the knee so as to conceal the sexually suggestive part of the female anatomy; I can gradually acquire a taste for the breadfruit, coconuts, tarot, tapioca and bananas that grow in abundance; I can even learn how to brandish their “local utensils” (your fingers!); I can allow my body to acclimate itself to the perpetual summer humidity; I can accept the ostentatious display in the heavens – the means by which the Lord closes the day as part of the standard routine; I can act naturally while riding in the bed of a pickup truck like I’ve been doing it for years; I can hone the skill of scaling palm trees, and within minutes be on the ground enjoying the succulence of a fresh coconut; I can deal with the scarcity of paper products (ie: paper towels, toilet paper etc…) and I can become indifferent to sudden or prolonged losses of power; I can embrace the crater size divots that hinder any trips by vehicle into town. I can enjoy the beauty of a star-studded sky complete with neighboring planets and a lucid glimpse of the Milky Way. I can be taught to skin sea cucumbers, search for octopus and spear fish in order to prepare a special off-island picnic. I can allow my feet to become calloused from walking around barefoot. I can get used to the “island time” where time is not so much a constraining factor, but rather something found in limitless quantities – not to be rushed or defined by inflexibility and deadlines. I can appreciate the sounds of island percussion produced synthetically on an electronic keyboard - inextricably connected to Chuukese music. I can devise innovative ways of handling my fear of bugs, spiders and cockroaches. I can practice patience on the nights that are too hot to enjoy a peaceful slumber. I can readjust my sorely limited color spectrum to now include vibrant greens and cool blues in shades Crayola won’t market for decades. I can cultivate and even greater sense of creativity to compensate for lack of resources and lack of visual stimulation (ie: TV, media). I can force myself to adapt to the roles that demand my willingness to fill – such as posing as a literature teacher. I can humble myself to eat off the floor at my sponsor family’s home. I can quell my intense fear of dogs and learn how to fend them off by making an offensive motion and throwing rocks at them. I can revel in the fact that the island of Weno never sees a cloudless blue sky – in the event that I would need something to grab hold of to drift away. I can internalize the impoverished surroundings – one room shanties with tin, rusted roves situated right on the water to make for a convenient sanitation system, a cooking area a few steps away from the house – not far from the pig pen; clothes – tattered men’s XL shirts all the way down to the toddler’s tighty whities strung across the line, with the extras draped over the tin fence serving as somewhat of a buffer between the road and the property. I can master the art of the bucket shower so as to conserve water when it hasn’t rained in quite some time….I can find the time to listen. I can continue to challenge myself. I can ask questions. I can stare into the eyes of the people here and long to understand their story….

and even after all that, I still won’t fit in…….

I will never be able to completely master all of the intricacies of this complex language. I will never be able to entirely understand the difference between the language men are entitled to use to talk to each other, and the common language that includes women. I will never be able to completely reject my tendency to gravitate towards the comfortable. I will never be able to completely adopt their ability to share under the unspoken code that “what’s mine is ours.” I will never be able to run through town without children stopping mid-sentence, mid-game, mid-reverie and staring with mouths agape as I pass by. I will never be able to entirely dissipate my ingrained hierarchy that exists between the community and the individual. I will never be able to look at a pile of 68 rubber bands and string them together in a way only a Chuukese child could so as to fashion a bar over which children can jump – providing hours of entertainment. I will never be able to successfully navigate the numerous cultural taboos that exist between genders. I will never be able to “blend in” as the only white person in a room full of natively tanned Chuukese. I will never be able to escape the system in which the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, for as a teacher in the most prominent High School in Micronesia, situated on the pedestal the locals call Mabuchi Hill – I find myself facing the same dilemma that motivated my departure from the U.S. I will never be able to understand what it is like to never venture beyond the confines of 20 square miles. I will never be able to accept the fact that by virtue of the location and economic situation, Chuuk is a place that renders college degrees more trouble than their worth. I will never be able to empathize with the feelings of hopelessness and despair that leave the inhabitants of Chuuk earning the distinction of posting the world’s highest suicide rate.

I suppose that fitting in was never a legitimate goal to begin with. But that leaves me asking the question – where do I fit in? I recognize that impossibility is not an excuse for apathy, but what is it that I am trying for? If I will forever be on the outside looking through this glass pane, what good am I doing other than posing as the threat that could shatter their protective encasement? Can I truly touch someone’s life through this lucent obstruction?

“I have nothing to do today but smile” ~Garden State Soundtrack

Dilluchei

2005-10-12T22:32:00.000+10:00

Her name is Dilluchei Kikuo and she goes by LuA. She nearly brought me to tears. Every Wednesday morning is a sponsored mass. One week by the seniors, next by the juniors and so on. This week was the Freshman sponsored mass. This girl is absolutely beautiful - one of my athletes on the basketball team, one of the brightest in my class....we even share a common bond - our love of Winnie the Pooh.....Sometimes God works through people when we least expect it. She delivered a message this particular Wednesday that I so desperately needed to hear. If she can do it at 14, there is no reason that I can't do it at 22.

Wednesday September 28, 2005

The Gospel of Luke 9: 57-62

As Jesus and his disciples were making their way along, someone said to Jesus, “I will be your follower wherever you go.” Jesus said to him, “Te foxes have lairs, the birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Come after me.” The man replied, “Let me bury my father first.” Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their dead; come away and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Yet another said to him, “ I will be your follower, Lord, but first let me take leave of my people at home.” Jesus answered him, “Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God.”

LuA’s Homily

Upon reflecting on the Gospel, the only thing that comes to my mind is leaving things behind. I consider us who are here right now courageous, ambitious and brave people. Why? It’s because we lefts our homes and everything and we all came to this one place for the same purpose. That is to continue our journey of learning and to further our education. It is not easy, that I know. But still, we mustered up enough courage to come. We left our loved ones and families who we love so much and enjoy being in their presence. We left our friends, whom some of us have known since our younger years and who have been our companions through the obstacles we’ve faced in our lives. We left the good things that can only be found back home. I don’t know about you, but in my case, I miss the food back at home. I bet the Palauans here are already tired of me saying, I really want to go back home because I really miss eating Bemermii, pizza, chicken nuggets and ice cream. Bemermii are these cheeseburger and fried back home that taste so incredibly good. When I was departing from Palau with my cousin, Kendall, he brought Bemermii with him. It was a midnight flight, so everybody was sleeping. But Kendall and I were really busy eating and enjoying. Then I kind of thought, “Man I cant believe this is going to be the last time for me to eat Bemermii this year.” I grew worried, but still I came, and I’m glad I did. I feel privileged to have come to this school. Anyway, not only food and families, we also had to leave behind our bad attitudes and behaviors that are of no use here. All we bring is our true selves. We bring the qualities that best define and show who we really are. on top of that, we also bring fond memories of home. Not to make us feel homesick, but to encourage us to do well and succeed in everything we do. So like Bryant said last week, Hang Loose. Don’t hold on too tight to your tree. For if you do, you may not hear God’s voice in your life. Hang Loose and let go of your tree, so you may answer God’s calling and carry out His will.

Thank You

2?

2005-09-25T12:46:00.000+10:00

Ask any person and they’ll tell you five. The average individual has five fairly functional senses. While I am not going to dispute this statement, I’ve come to realize that for all these years, I’ve skirted by on two. This is not to sound ungrateful for my ability to see the finish line before me, to take note of the inflection in my favorite country song, to feel the shoulder of the person next to me beneath my hand, to smell the sweet fragrance of gingersnaps and goodness knows I do not take for granted my ability to taste them. However, since I have been here, I have become acutely aware of my “handicap” and consequential hindered ability to interpret my surroundings.
I knew it all along, but perhaps could not completely understand the extent to which I relied on the sense of human touch, and the sense of emotive expression until they were in short supply. There are few things that can parallel being wrapped up within the personal space between someone’s two arms. It is such a perfectly genuine expression of love. Not that this place isn’t full of love, but to feel comfortable enough to invade another’s boundary of security, and to let them in turn break through yours requires a mutual sense of love and trust that I think I have yet to find. These things take time. Relationships don’t just happen, but require cultivation and devotion. Creating a comfort zone demands an extensive amount of patience and discomfort. Of all the things that I miss here, being deprived of the human touch that came so abundantly and naturally at home is perhaps what I crave the most. Being able to hug someone because it’s the only way you know how to show them how beautiful they are….not having to think twice about a cultural taboo before or after shaking someone’s hand…..not having to determine whether someone else’s touch is inseparable from some ulterior motive….deriving strength from the blatant defiance of all biological principles – an immediate transference no simpler than through a point of contact….
And at those moments of pure vulnerability, or even ecstasy, I know no other outlet than through my emotions. However, Chuukese culture does not find the same gratification in the expression of emotion. That is not to say stoicism is the norm, as they are very animated, but when it comes to the manifestation of grief, or joy, I feel as though there is a discrepancy between they way they experience the world, and the extremes through which I have been accustomed to absorbing life. Thus, I often find myself suppressing tears, hiding stares of amazement, or stifling outbursts of excitement. I know that in time, I will find a medium through which to release all that is pent up within, but to be honest, I don’t want to compromise.

Life is the Only Wealth

2005-09-25T12:40:00.000+10:00

The question was “What do YOU THINK is meant by the phrase Apollo says to Midas Life is the only wealth? What values would make you wealthy?”

The one response that stood out from the rest…..

In the story, Apollo told Midas that life is the only wealth, meaning there is nothing greater or more wonderful than life itself. You don’t need gold or riches to have a great life, for life itself is the only wealth. You can find your own wealth, riches and treasures in the life that you live every-day. In the story, Midas considered gold as his only wealth. To him, having a lot of gold made him wealthy. He didn’t know that his life was a wealth. Without life, he was nothing. His life is what made him rich and wealthy. Midas thought that gold should only be given to the rich and important people.
When I read the story of “Midas” and finished, I knew that I had really learned something valuable. It is true that life itself is the only wealth. To some other people, they might value and consider other things as their wealth in life. To me, my life was a gift given to me by God and what I do with my life is my gift to God. At this age, I might consider other things as my wealth in life, but so far I only have one thing that I consider as my most greatest wealth in life. That wealth is God. To me, knowing God and knowing that he died to save me is like having all the riches in the world. To me I don’t need gold or riches to keep me full of gold and an empty heart is nothing but a worthless life. We should all know that we were brought into this world with a purpose. We each have our lives to live to the fullest. We have to make use of the short time that we are given to live our lives. Accomplish all that we need to accomplish in life and know that life is a gift and a wealth that can only been seen as it if you look at it as a gift from above. Put God first in your life. Let him show you the way. And in that way, you can see that life is the only wealth in just a blink of an eye.

~Teresita Laarwon

My response….

Teresita ~ you are wise beyond your years. What you have so beautifully written about at the age of 15, most people don’t learn in a lifetime. You have a very special gift. I look at you and all I see is “wealth”… and because you are so filled with His wealth, you in turn make others “wealthy” by showing them His face…. “The Kingdom of God is within YOU”… This was the best essay that I have read. AWESOME doesn’t begin to describe it. I hope you continue to write with this passion and I hope you don’t mind if I share it with the class….

I wish that I could take credit….I wish I could say that I spent a whole lesson on teaching my freshman how life is truly the only wealth and that these words are the combined result of my articulate presentation and their captivated absorption. However, their thoughts and ideas come from none other than their mature interpretation. I simply extracted one line of a Greek myth and posed the question. What this girl has so beautifully articulated at the age of 15, some people never learn, never appreciate and never devote themselves to discovering, or reciprocating. These kids are amazing. There is so much beauty, so much talent and so much life within them. Whether it is a passion for life, an incredible aptitude for music or a magnetic personality, they are so filled with an abundance of gifts. Where do I fit in the process of reciprocity?

Was Prometheus Right or Wrong?

2005-09-10T09:34:00.000+10:00

With week #3 of teaching well underway, I am gradually learning what this teaching this is all about. I’m definitely making many mistakes along the way, but learning from them has helped me in navigating this new “profession.” It still amazes me that Xavier High School is one of the most prestigious high schools in Micronesia, yet it simply could not function if not for the volunteer teachers. Whether from JVI, the Jesuit community, an Australian exchange program or the Japanese Peace Corps, very few of us are actually qualified to teach - yet we are all willing to take on this responsibility of being entrusted with the education of Micronesia’s best and brightest future leaders.
The adage “You don’t know how tall you truly are until you are called to rise” has taken on new meaning for me. I was quite uncertain about how I would fare as a literature teacher, though teaching has since evolved from a job into this idea of a challenge or puzzle that I, if I am willing, get to figure out a little bit more of every day.
My latest task started out as a simple lesson plan – something to push the sophomores to think outside the box. “Does innocence/ignorance equal happiness….?” A simple question. The lesson revolves around a discussion of Pandora’s Box – remember the story? So picture for me what YOU think the world was like before Prometheus gave humans fire…(I know it is a rudimentary lesson for a sophomore class, but hear me out) The story the students read talked about how “races of man had been living on earth free from all evils, and free from laborious work and free from all wearing sickness.” The poem does not provide many details, so close your eyes, and fill in the gaps. What do you envision this “Golden Age” to be like? What do people do? How do they interact? You paint the picture. Remember this.
So Prometheus thinks the world needs the fire Zeus is hiding, and decides to steal it in order to give it to humans. The punishment – a woman destined to release every evil imaginable into the “pristine” bubble in which mankind had been sheltered. The result - the world we live in today – filled with hate, death, greed, arrogance, poverty, sickness, war…..you get the point? Was Prometheus right or wrong in giving man fire?
Alright so everything that I’ve just said – shelve it for the time being.
What this version of Pandora’s box does not relate is the following:
“One day Prometheus looked down upon the earth and did not like what he saw. Men and women crouched in dark caves, cold, almost naked. They used tools chipped out of stone and ate their meat raw. They were dulled, brutish, speaking to each other in grunts. Prometheus went to Zeus and said:
‘Why do you keep the race of man in ignorance and darkness?’
‘What you call ignorance is innocence. Man is happy now, and will remain happy until someone persuades him he is unhappy. Do not meddle further with my designs.’ said Zeus…
But Prometheus was still not satisfied. The next morning he stood tiptoe on the mountaintop and stole some fire from the sunrise. Zeus looking down later could not believe what he saw. Everything was changed. Man had come out of his cave. Zeus saw huts, farmhouses, walled towns, a castle. He saw men cooking their food, carrying torches to light their way at night. They were raising white wings of sails and daring to use the fury of the winds for their voyages.”
Does this change your handcrafted picture of a Golden Age? So I ask you, does innocence/ignorance equal happiness? Does not knowing what might be…not knowing that there are greater things out there allow you to be happy with the moment you are in? Is the splendor of the moment we are in worth all of the evils Pandora unleashed on the world? One could argue that Prometheus didn’t just give us the tangible gift of fire, but fire in a metaphorical sense – a desire to work towards something – a PASSION, a spark between people. Was Prometheus right or wrong in giving us fire?
If you have read this far, I promise I’ll get to a point!!! I realize that your education level is far beyond that of a tenth grader, however this idea – a question merely posed to provoke discussion has far greater implications that even the wisest have yet to figure out.
This question is something that is becoming a greater struggle for me with each passing day. I have realized that this question is not something simply to be asked of fictitious mythical characters, but asked of my purpose here.
This question first started to rear its controversial head when wrestling with my own tendencies to push and to challenge my students, or my athletes (I am the ladies basketball coach here!!). Unlike the more individualistic values propagated by the American culture, being part of a community entails a strong desire to blend in. These kids have so much potential, so much beauty and talent if they would only devote the time and effort needed to allow them to blossom….. But they do not want to stand out amidst their peers – something I cannot fathom. I keep having to remind myself of this cultural incongruity. Am I really here to change their way of life and who they are? I think it would be utterly presumptuous to think I am. But do they find happiness in their innocence? Are they content with who they are, never catching a glimpse of even the shadow they could be with a little fire? At what point does my role as an educator and coach overstep my boundaries? Was Prometheus right or wrong in giving us fire?
My cogitation did not end there as I began to reflect not just on my job here, but on my purpose in being here at all. I often find myself complaining to the wind, “ ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier if they paved their pothole riddled roads so that it wouldn’t take longer to run than it does to drive?’ or ‘Wouldn’t it just be more comfortable if the power would stay on all the time instead of flickering on and off at whim?’ or ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to invest in a better quality copier so that it doesn’t take an hour to make 40 double sided copies?’” Such is my mentality because I come from a place where dirt roads are only for those adventurous enough to take their SUV’s off-roading, where we really only notice our reliance on power during a thunderstorm, and where people xerox body parts for entertainment. I come from a place where bigger, better, and faster is the normal course of human progression. Perhaps the Chuukese are perfectly content with the way things are here because they have no conception of what else is out there. They are content in their innocence, and who am I to think that it is my assignment to corrupt that? Am I here with the intent of changing their lifestyle for the better because I know a better way? I think it would be utterly presumptuous to think that I am. Under my regime, children playing in the streets would be injured daily because of cars driving too fast, uninhibited by natural speed “bumps,” and schools and businesses would not have enough money to operate because the combination of the electricity bill the paper/toner bill would drain the account each month. Is growth, expansion and development worth the evils released on the world? Was Prometheus right or wrong in giving us fire?

Remember, we belong to each other......

2005-08-26T20:41:00.000+10:00

I am NOT an avid reader. Those closest to me know I cringe at the very thought of reading. It is not something I’m proud of, because there is so much to be gained from it – a whole world I am closed off to, but I’ve always been an active person, and to me, reading is so sedentary. It requires you being in one place for an extended period of time – focusing. And unless you are discussing it with someone – you have to be by yourself – isolated from the world around you – supplanted somewhere in a secret world of words. Maybe I’m just contriving excuses, but I’m trying for the sake of my students to find a love for it. I have to.
So on this particular Sunday morning, I was moved to pick up a book I ha actually read before in High School I woke up around quarter to 9 and spontaneously decided to pass up running and breakfast to read….2 ½ hours later, a tear soaked pillow and a drained heart, I finished it. If you have never read Tuesday’s With Morrie, I strongly suggest it. If you have, read it again. Although I’ve read it before (originally recommended by Mrs. P – thank you!!!!!) there was something about it this time around that penetrated so much more deeply perhaps because of what I am on the verge of beginning….

It is about a teacher – a teacher that I can only hope to become…the textbooks are irrelevant – but the lessons, the tests are among those that the memory finds a way to permanently ingrain. The book raised many questions and challenges that I had considered, but hadn’t offered adequate deliberation. You can call it a problem – maybe a contradiction – an attempt to reconcile this dichotomy of teaching that exists within my conception of my role. I know the value of an education – expanding your min. These students have been given the blessing of receiving a prestigious education and the talent, ability an potential to maximize all it has to offer…I have been blessed with the opportunity to share in it. But I’m torn by this inherent inclination to want to teach them not so much about literature, but about the world. To warn them about its evils. To push them to discover its meaning. To teach them to think counter-culturally. To uncover a passion – obscured only by fear. To teach them of love, emotion, human touch, confidence, empowerment…

I’ve come to believe that my greatest problem is ignorance in the sense that I only learn and internalize what I can feel. Not what I can see or hear – but something that I can tangibly feel from the inside. I’m not sure where that falls on the visual, auditory and kinesthetic learning styles chart…but words, books, tests, entire courses, movies – you name it….unless it resonate – unless it evokes something within – an emotion preferably – it typically just passes through one ear… and out the other – am I crazy??? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel as though I have this (soon to be classified in the DSM) emotive disorder to blame for my ignorance (though sometimes blissful!!) but if you follow my train of thought…. (and I don’t blame you if you don’t..)

I feel that just as it is the only way I know how to learn, it is also the only way I know how to teach. Perhaps it is presumptuous – but I assume that I am teaching a room full of students who think and react just as I do – and need to learn in the same way. I need to teacah in such a way that the fundamentals can and will in some way strike a chord. But how do I find that balance between masquerading as a literature instructor and teaching them the very little that I do know – what my experiences have provedn to be true…while at the same time teaching them the plots, themes, characters, ironies and symbolism that this Jesuit education promises them…al of whose true meanings I have only begun to graze the surface – as in very littls as seeped in. Perhaps balance is the wrong question to ask – maybe I should ask how to merge this disconnect???

“A teacher affect eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” ~Henry Adams

Aside from forcing me to face the daunting, yet inevitable task of standing before four classes of students on the first day, Morrie’s words on love and life soaked through me and provoked emotions so beautifully debilitating…leaving me with no other faculty but to feel (hence, I absorbed every word!!).

In the words of the one and only (and wise) Wilcard, “leaving really helps you to identify what your home is. How do you know what home is if you’ve never really left??” (Thanks love!!) and it’s soo true – in just a few weeks I’ve gained such a better perspective of what home is and has been for 22 years of my life. I’ve gained such a better appreciation for just HOW much I love people and just how much I am loved. Sometimes I just want to BURST at the amount of love I can still feel from so far away – an in a way…absence truly does make the heart grow fonder. Being so far away, I am forced to express myself more honestly….letters have been such an outlet for sharing, for allowing people (for one of the first times in my life) to hear my inner thoughts & feelings. Communication is no longer fluff- small talk. Such infrequent contact requires raw candor – no facades. I trust that some of my most cherished relationships will perhaps grow stronger thanks to the blessed gift of the pen (and blog!)

And a final – loosely associated thought –

“The greatest commandment is this..You shall love the Lord your Go with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, with all your strength…the second – you shall love your neighbor as yourself…” Matthew 22:37-40
In the words taken from Fr. Bill’s homily this week, “we foolishly think that we know how to love because we crave it so much – it is the one thing in this world that we desire more than anything…we want to be loved – thus, the Lord gave us the 2nd commandment to teach us how to o the first…In doing the second, it is the Lord’s hope that we might fulfill the first.”

“Be compassionate…and take responsibility for each other…as long as we can love each other, an remember the feeling of love that we had, we can [leave] without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. You live on in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here…” ~Tuesday’s with Morrie

Again, to steal words – this time of a former JV at orientation – “how beautiful is it to be ablet o say and understand the implication behind ‘Remember, we belong to each other.’” I think that the bottom line of this book is that we do truly belong to each toher. We are beings who inherently seek comfort, security, acceptance, touch and love….The only way to find it is through each other. It is only in giving yourself completely to that which you belong that you may find in all its splendor, that one gift you crave so fervently.

…and so now – I leave you to teach my first class!! OH MY GOONESS GRACIOUS!!!!

Acceptance

2005-08-16T19:44:00.000+10:00

Running used to be liberating. I am SO grateful that I can run here, however I feel as though a run has become something altogether restricting. I used to run in a sports bra & “booty shorts.” Here, it is customary to run in mesh shorts down to my knees and a t-shirt, (I know my Hounds can empathize with a shared hatred of the cotton T) bogged down by the extra weight of sweat soaked material. I used to be able to run for miles – letting my legs fly from underneath me as they pleased. Here, I can only run so far before I must turn around for fear that the sweltering heat and unyielding sun that gradually sucks the life out of my perpetually dehydrated body will prevent me from making it back to Xavier on my own willpower. People line the streets as I run through, which one could easily mistake for a personal cheering squat, but I cannot say anything but an impish “Nesor Annim (Good Morning).” Little budding runners match my stride – two of theirs to every one of mine, but I cannot cheer them on – I can’t say anything encouraging but smile and wave as their breath grows short and their steps trail off.

Adjusting has also been much harder that I could have imagined as physically manifested in upset stomachs and migraines. You would think - new world…so much to explore and take in…..and there IS… oh my goodness gracious there is! But adjusting to life away from home has in all honesty been so tough. The power goes on and off at whim and the internet works sporadically so it is very hard to get online and check e-mails. Even when I can get online, I can’t even begin to respond sufficiently with everything that I want to say! Thus, I do feel so cut off and isolated…I just don’t want those people who I care about so much – I don’t want YOU to foget how much I love you. When I can’t be there in person and I could never fully convey it in an e-mail, the best I can do is pray that you don’t forget…Pray that God wraps His arms around you everyday. You send such lovely e-mails and support and I just pray in some small way you can understand and can feel my love reciprocated. There is no way I could ever thank you enough – but trust that I have some monster hugs waiting for you when I return – and I do mean MONSTER. (in case you weren’t aware – Hugs accrue interest in the form of intensity….thus – you can only imagine how INTENSE these hugs are going to be after 22 months of interest!!!)

I think part of what has been so difficult is my shifting roles – to go from a Senior, an RA, a mentor, a captain, a friend, a leader and a runner - to starting back at the bottom is quite a shock to my system. I suppose I didn’t fully realize just how deeply those roles had become ingrained in who I was and how I had learned to fill them out. But so much of the loss I am feeling comes from knowing that I no longer play those roles in the same capacity. I am starting from scratch – as a student – earning my respect very slowly – learning, being an observer – re-identifying myself and determining where exactly I fit in. We had a whole talk at orientation on grief and loss – but there is no true way to prepare yourself for when it actually hits you…

as I’m sitting here writing, 2 new students walked by – wandering through the halls (the boarders are starting to return) Sonny and Amaroy….and so it begins – building that relationship – earning their trust. Unfortunately they are Juniors, so I will not have them in class, but they are both runners – so thought I struggle to pursue my own passions – perhaps part of me will be able to live vicariously through them…..

Though I entered JVI intentionally for the community and support I thought I’d find – it seems as though I am encountering more support from the people here who I’ve come to know personally – from pushing myself beyond the luxuries of comfortable conversation – and to sit in the sometimes awkward silence – struggling to mesh Americanism and Chuukese. Rutón, one of the Xavier workers and our “certified” Chuukese instructor has been a wonderful blessing – helping me to bridge the expansive gap between these two drastically different cultures. The other day, we left the island of Weno with the Xavier workers to picnic on a remote island out on one of the outer atolls. Rutón and some of the women showed me how to skin sea cucumbers and search for octopus. He helped me to translate the conversation whirling around us and even just sat and raced hermit crabs with me… By the end of our conversation I learned that he graduated from UH Hilo in 1998 and is considering pursuing a graduate degree in business (or law!) I told him that I would help him look into Grad schools on the US mainland – so perhaps you will get to meet him one day if he follows his dream!!

Perhaps what I need is more a feeling of acceptance than necessarily being supported?? The town is preparing for an inter-village track competition – so there are people running around EVERYWHERE –(It’s GREATTTTT let me tell you!!!) But today we were asked to help out timing as the runners circled the 200 meter grass field marked off by sticks arranged in an oval pattern right?? so afterwards I was trying to speak to the coach who knew broken English….and as he told me his name and shook my hand – then ENTIRE crowd – filled with runners, children, mothers – (yeah the ENTIRE village of Sapuk shows up even for these practice runs) ERUPTS with laughter, OOOOHHHHHHHHH’s, clapping, heckling and what not……by that point I’m thoroughly embarrassed –with no place to hide in a wide open field…not knowing what is going on…..but apparently, as I was later told, there exists a strong cultural barrier between men & women – and the fact that he had deliberately – in front of everyone broken that barrier and shook my hand – then patted me on the back – sent the crowd into hysterics…….

To walk through the neighborhood unable to distinguish whether the children are giggling because the white girl just said “Hi” to them, or laughing because there is a white girl walking by makes you feel so helpless….but coming home to a worker asking if I’ll just sit and talk is a feeling of acceptance that I long for…..

Home Sweet Home?

2005-08-08T21:02:00.000+10:00

I’m here!! I made it to Chuuk!!!!!!! We touched down on Saturday (we loose a day in transit when crossing the international date line) and have been acquainting ourselves with the lay of the land since then. I’m still in disbelief that this is actually happening and am still desperately trying to figure out what to think and how to process it all. I’m in awe. I’m uncomfortable. I’m searching. I’m happy. I’m lonely……

I’m in awe because this place is ascetically gorgeous!!! Xavier High School is nestled in a hilltop that overlooks the lagoon on both sides. The school itself is built around remnants of a WWII Japanese communication tower. Thus, the walls are about a foot thick of concrete – and you can actually see the place on the roof where the building was bombed during an American ambush that left the entire Chuuk lagoon a diver’s haven. Being that we can see out across the water for miles – we’ve watched many a sunset already, we’ve stargazed like you wouldn’t believe and have just sat & watched rainstorms roll in from miles away. Last night we took out the telescope & a book of constellations and assumed nighttime jobs as little astronomers!! Seriously – there are more stars in this sky than you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!
A few days ago we went snorkeling – you’d think that we were swimming in some sort of artificially constructed tank in at the aquarium. The reef was like something out of Fining Nemo – and the fish – don’t even get me started……even cartoons couldn’t duplicate these colors!!! Yesterday we went hiking to the top of an old Japanese Lighthouse – that pretty much overlooked the entire island of Weno. The view was spectacular!!! It is so lush that you couldn’t even see houses down below – they were tucked away in the green…..the island would have seemed uninhabited if not for the voices, cries, songs and shouts of the people below. There was a little island boy who followed us up to the lighthouse -no shoes – and we ended up playing with him for hours…..we could not communicate with language – but it is simply beautiful how the word “play” seems to be universally understood.
The people here are amazing…..soo beautiful….when we go running in the mornings (YES – I am able to run here!!!!! A few of my community mates are runners – or aspire to be – so hopefully we’ll have a whole fleet running in the mornings!!!) everyone is up & about – waving – saying hello….soo friendly!! But their laughter – oh my goodness gracious – they are always laughing…and you know that there is so much beneath the surface – so much of their life’s tale that laughter does not even begin to accomplish – but they laugh like you wouldn’t believe.
I’m uncomfortable because it’s different – it’s a whole new world – everything is unfamiliar and requires an extensive amount of patience. As beautiful as this place is – it is equally as destitute. There is trash everywhere. The unemployment rate is something like 80%.....it’s just these two conflicting worlds that I can’t seem to reconcile just yet. The heat is something else that takes some getting used to – dripping sweat all of the time!! Oh it’s lovely!! And the typical dress is long skirts, or shorts down to the knee – and shirts – no shoulders showing….sooo it will require some getting used to!! The bugs are ha ha WONDERFUL!!! Flies, cockroaches, spiders, mosquitoes – geco’s!! And if you know how much I enjoy creepy crawling insects – you knowwww how much patience is being exerted daily!!!
I’m searching for comfort – for pieces of home – for something that will begin to make this place feel like home. I’m searching for a new identity – not knowing anyone or anything about this place – it’s like starting all over again – I need to find out who I am in light of where I am.
I am happy knowing this is exactly where I am supposed to be. I am happy knowing that my boundaries are being tested in ways I could never have imagined. I am happy that I have people around me like my community – AJ, Chris, Joe & Adrianne – and the wonderful staff here at Xavier to be a solid system of support and encouragement.
I am lonely in a world so far from all that is familiar. The language is a huge barrier. I want to get to know the culture & the people – but my inability to communicate poses a huge obstacle to doing so. I will admit that being a lil’ homesick makes it tougher as well – just missing people who know me – who understand who I am….. I know that will come if I give it time – but it is hard being in that space in between.

So we have a few more weeks of orientation/hanging out etc… we don’t start school until the 23rd and as of right now I’m still teaching freshman & sophomore lit – desperately trying to rekindle my love of reading and literature!!! I know there is sooo much more I want to write and say – but I’m just on sensory overload – there is so much to take in!! But know that I think of YOU often and your prayers and support is with me!!!

My Love

“I believe in Christ like I believe in the sun, not just because I can see Him, but because of Him, I can see everything else.” ~C.S. Lewis

Foiled again!!

2005-08-08T20:45:00.000+10:00

So These two days in Hawai'i - simply amazing - of course there were obvious challenges such as only having a shirt, skirt, 1 pair of unerwear and sneakers - no toiletries - but nothing a book on the Chuukese alphabet won't help! All that was in my bookbag was some food, and books, journals etc...my other 2 bags (and Chris & Aj's) all went to Chuuk & sat there & waited for us until we arrived. so we had to improvise. We stopped at the discount store to pick up some necessities - and picutre Chris, AJ & myself wandering around the international flea market picking out boar shores long enough to cover my knees (keep in min ladies hips don't quite fit in males' shorts in quite the same way) and some sort of bathing suit tip to swim in. It was a sight to see! Not even so much the three of us trying to find these clothes that would appropriate to wear in Chuuk(so as not to waste $$ & clothes I couldn't wear for 2 years) - but the final product!!! Walking around Hawai'i in a tied up bikini top - knee length board shorts that didn't quite match exactly & pink flips - I looked like a clown! Simple living test #1!!! Our first extra day was spent sorting out the meal vouchers Continental gave us & napping. we were WIPED!! We set out the next day to leave Waikiki beach & venture towards teh more lush, less populated borders of the North shore. We took the city bus all the way up & met some very interesting & friendly local folk & got on an off as we pleased. You'll have to check out the pictures (when i'm able to get them up online) to have some idea of waht we saw as we steppe off the bus....and even the pics dont' do it justice. As soon as we stepped off - all i hear is "Shutup..." "No Freak'n Way" AJ & Chris both in disbelief of this paraise we had stumbled into. Before us was a mountain range - cliffs rape in sheers of salient green - almost fake. The panorama witnessed a duel of majesty as the towering height of the surreal cliffs challenged the vast expanse of tranquility buffere only by the eference of a sandy shoreline..... a battle paradoxically imperceptible to the nake eye. To see it wasnt' enoguh - to feel it was not enough - you had to breathe it in - let it sonsume, let it overwhelm - let it seep through your porous exterior and even that fell short.

My Lord was present in all we did - the wonder, the streaming rays of the setting sun, the wave that occupied us for hours and the creativity that turned 3 near adults into children on the verge of kindergarten. If yesterday was the only reason for our extended stay, it was reason enough....just to be in the company of such beautiful people - they continue to amaze me - just to watch the way they experience the world - they see it with such a beautifully different perspective - it's a boyish woner - it's an attention to minute details, it's a witness to the Christ in all forms of life that has challenge me beyond words. Even better is that they bring out the best in those they meet. Just watching them interact with each other - with the locals - I am so blessed to be in their company and I wish you coul meet them & see what I see.