Flux

I decided that flux was a fun word and probably a good way to describe how I feel now so that's the title of this post. I'm home, but not really home. Things have changed. (Did I already blog about this. I think so. It's an ongoing theme). I have this still unsettled feeling. Maybe it's due to the fact that I'm pretty sure I'll not be leaving the United States for another two years. That seems like an eternity. Or maybe it's the fact that the familiar is no longer familiar. Time changes things. Or maybe it's because I just haven't found the niche I know I'm supposed to be in. Any work can be meaningful if I decide that it is going to be, but I still feel like there should be something more. Or maybe it's the lack of a church family.

I miss people my age. I didn't realize how much until I revisited the ol' stomping grounds near my alma mater. Seeing young adults, talking, singing and eating cookies together reminded me of much more stressful, but yet happier times. Times when life seemed simpler and I was full of grandiose ideas on ways to change the world. And I didn't have a church home for long then either, but I always felt like I was surrounded by a very large spiritual family. Now, that seems to be lacking. I miss being challenged. I feel like I've settled for something less than ideal. It seems as if I've suffocated my old dreams, but I don't want to let them die. There's a part of me that knows I will not survive fully if I allow myself to be lulled into complacency by my current lifestyle. I just really want to be home. But I don't know where home is anymore.

Remember the Good Times

Every one has up and down days. Some just fluctuate more than others. Usually, for the past few weeks, I could count on the fact that every good day would be followed by a bad day or every bad day would be followed by a good day. But this week was different. In fact, it was something I would've thought was impossible. There were three good days in a row, three!

The third day was probably a breakthrough. Sometimes, it can be hard to tell an 11-year-old control freak what to do and when. (She's not even a teenager yet and already thinks she knows everything). But the one morning she suggested a science experiment using foods. By smell and taste, I was to figure out whatever she concocted. The rules: (1) It had to be food and (2) it had to be given in small amounts.

So I sat at the kitchen table with a blindfold while she went around the house, opening drawers, slamming cupboard doors, twisting caps and mixing things in bowls. We started out simple with mashed bananas and paprika, but then she got the idea to combine things. I learned that mashed bananas with strawberry sauce and cocoa powder are pretty amazing. Unfortunately, I'm not a picky eater so I liked pretty much everything she put together. Paprika, cocoa powder and uncooked stuffing pieces are not as bad as they sound.

Then, things got serious. Chili powder was added to the mix. A little at first, but, as Cambodia had increased my tolerance, I wasn't really bothered by that. So then I think most of the can was dumped in on top of the bananas and stuffing and cocoa and nearly a tablespoonful was shoved in my mouth (a direct violation of rule 2). By that point, I really couldn't taste anything anymore and had to put an end to the experiment. Then she had to clean up since the entire mess was hers. I sat by and watched as she willingly and without complaint put away all the dishes and ingredients she had pulled out. She even said, "I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me!" I couldn't believe it either, a true miracle for her to clean up after herself.

Then the experiment switched and I blindfolded her, but kept to simple, unmixed ingredients and was much nicer to her than she was to me. The worst thing I made her try was grapefruit juice. After that simple experiment, I sent her upstairs to shower, and, as she was leaving the kitchen, she yelled behind her, "Thanks, Christa, for doing that with me." I almost fell over at that point. It was the third good day in a row and she had willingly cleaned up her own dishes. But, on top of all that, she actually thanked me for doing something with her. And she had remembered my name! I wasn't "Hey, um...." or "Keersta," I was myself, a person worthy of being thanked.

The next day was difficult again, but it was certainly worth it to have this one good day. It is the times that stick in my head and keep me going in the hope that it will happen again.

I learned it in Cambodia

My current job involves babysitting and homeschooling a 5th grader with chronic fatigue syndrome. Here are some useful things that I learned in Cambodia but can't really put on a resume.

1. Patience

• Learned by sitting on the floor of my house with nothing to do and no one around, I had to be patient.
• Applied if my charge doesn't want to do schoolwork, we can sit and stare at each other until she breaks. The longest so far has been 28 minutes.

2. Flexible Planning

• Learned when the vacation ended a week ago and students still haven't shown up and lesson plans get moved back yet another day.
• Applied if it's a bad day and the fatigue part really kicks in and she's too tired to work. Lesson plans get moved back to another day.

3. Flexible Eating

• Learned almost every mealtime. If I'm hungry, I'll eat it. My tolerance for hot, spicy food also increased.
• For the application, see the above post on the science experiment.

I Can't Get Away From It!

A few days ago, I received an email from a former student. It made me realize that some things never change. Each class has one of those students. You know, the kind that is a teacher's pet but also really gets on the teacher's nerves too. The "begging the question" type. Or the one who wants some totally unrelated information immediately or who thinks that class should be a private tutoring session. Unfortunately, those students never die either. They pop up in your email inbox and ask for recommendations so they can do a study abroad program in the state adjoining yours. I should've know this would happen. After briefly asking how I was, the student launched into a desperate plea for a recommendation. I forgot how oddly worded some of their sentences could be, including this one: "actually, i know that it may trouble you, but i sharply believe that you will always assist us whenever we confront any trouble, and need your help."

And of course, there's always the concern for one's welfare, just in a different way than in the USofA. The fourth line (I kid you not) was asking whether or not I was fatter than before.

Keys Are Important, Really

Long, long ago (okay, only a few months ago), I wrote a post about how I got locked out of my host family's house. Only I wasn't really locked out, I just thought I was. Well, this time it happened again. I got locked out of the house I should've been able to get in. Only this time, it was under different circumstances.

I arrived at the house for my routine babysitting job. Everyone one else left the house and all was quiet for a few minutes until the daughter came back inside and asked me to move my vehicle so she could leave. I grabbed my key and quickly ran out of the warm house into the cold air and promptly and kindly moved my vehicle. Like a well-trained daughter, she backed out, closed the garage door and waved as she drove away. I

pulled back in the driveway and then ran around the back of the house to enter the door I usually go in. Except it was locked and I had run out so quickly I didn't remember the house key I had been given (or my cell phone which sat on the table). I tried again. Yup, the door was still locked. So was the side door. And the front door. And the garage door which had a code. I remembered all the numbers for the code, but not the order they went in. So I tried a combination. And another. And another. And another. And so on until my fingers were cold. In between these attempts, I tried to pick the lock (I don't know why I even tried. I always fail at that), pry open a window, tell the dog to get the key, search for a hidden key, read the newspaper, and huddle in the truck to stay warm. Periodically I peered expectantly into the house, hoping my small charge would wake up and let me in so I could warm up was I hugged my shirt closer to me. The dog and I had staring contests as she wondered why she couldn't come out and I wondered why she hadn't been taught to open a locked door. Finally, I decided to clean the windows of my truck (yeah, I was desperate). Just as I started, I heard a door creak and the dog run out of the house. I ran around to the back and jumped into the door almost before it closed. Instead of a "Good morning!" I was greeted with a puzzled and careless "What were you doing?!"

This morning, she had finally slept in. A whole hour. A long, cold hour. Now, my cell phone stays in my pocket and the door code is emblazoned upon my mind. I certainly won't get locked out of the house again! (At least not this house. There's always bound to be a next time...)

Kidding Around

I never did much babysitting - except for my siblings. I did way too much babysitting of them, and they would agree. Kira was always much better with that. However, I have recently found myself titled "babysitter" once again. A strange title to use with an 11-year-old. After several months of tobacco tending, cutting and hanging and house painting, I am now safely inside in time for the cold weather. After acting like an adult with enough muscles to load tobacco lath and enough skill to do an excellent paint job, I've forgotten what it's like to be a kid.

Tired of TV watching, I naively suggested that we use sofa cushions to build forts. This is a great activity for anyone. The forts are fun for people who are under 5 feet and weigh less than 100 pounds. Unfortunately, I don't fit in that category. So I packed my large body into a tiny, narrow space. I would've tried for a fetal position except that an actual fetus has more room than I did in my "fort." And just when I thought I could finally breathe between the cushions (did I mention we had blankets over the top to black-out the fort), the household dog decided that I was the better lap to nap on. But I didn't really have a lap so the dog just snuggled with my face. How sweet! Moist doggie breath in a stuffy compartment! I was thrilled that the next step was getting out of our forts to play World War II. Wait?! Moral dilemma here. Freedom from the fort. But shooting the enemies. Huh, what's a pacifist to do? Quick, change the game! Let's play doctor. (You need lots of those for a war, right? But if both sides stopped shooting each other, the doctors wouldn't be needed to patch them up so they could go out and get killed for real the next time).

Apparently tumors are very common during war so that was the malady that afflicted my small charge. Dozens of head tumors, nearly 100 foot tumors and miniscule finger tumors that I, the trusty doctor, had to remove with my pencil. And then we switched. I was the patient and I had to be cut open, operated on, and stitched up again. Apparently I was a more difficult patient and required a pen for the operation, not a pencil. Of course, the cap had to be off too. Laying on my back, totally out from the "anesthesia," I wondered why my face felt wet..and my neck...and my hands...and my arms. When I had been healed and was "awake" again I race to a mirror only to discover that I resembled Frankenstein's monster more than myself. A bit perturbed I scrubbed my face and arms and was relieved to see the marks come off. And hearing small giggles which I had not heard all week, I decided that no harm was done but that was enough doctor for the day. Now I had an idea of how the dog feels when she gets forced into old baby clothes. How brave of me to save the dog from torture for that day!

Oh, I So Miss You

My goodbyes to people I spent my time with began at the university - RUA. During weeks of review and giving exams, my students repeatedly asked if I would teach next year or when I was leaving or if I would ever return. Many of them repeatedly implored me to visit them when I was in Cambodia again though the idea that I wouldn't be able to find them after graduation didn't seem to be much of an issue for them. I have one group of 4 very adorable girls in my first year class. When I finished their small group speaking exam, they all began to tear up and one cried out, "Teacher, I just want to hug you." Another agreed, "I do want to hold you." Therefore I found myself surrounded by hands from all sides as they all sniffled and wiped tears away before embracing me. Butt hugs, though slightly awkward in the USA, seem to be quite approriate in Cambodia. "Oh, I so miss you," my one student responded when I told them my leaving date. That seems to sum up my feelings as well. It is as if I am drawn in two directions and miss the US when I am in Cambodia but miss Cambodia when I am in the US.

Other, more formal rituals at RUA included a farewell ceremony for Karin and I. The vice rector gave an encouraging speech to the students attending before handing certificates and flowers to each of us. Then our language center director had some presents to give us - more scarves to add to the collection my students already began for me. There was also time for students to speak and afterward I talked for awhile with students, gave out my email address and really enjoyed relating to and appreciating them outside of the classroom. There are things about the university that I will not miss, but my students made it all worthwhile.
Dear students, I so miss you.