honeymooning grad school

These days are full of meeting new people, trying to remember names, figuring out exactly how many minutes it takes to bike to class, delving into subjects I've wanted to study for a long time (like ethnomusicology and photography), discovering places to dance!, and beginning to commit to a few things beyond the basics. Basically, I'm having a great time and am not nearly as overwhelmed as I anticipated (but maybe I'm speaking too soon? or maybe it's just the glorious fact that everything is in English and I understand what's going on?).

They say the first stage of cross-cultural adjustment is like a honeymoon--everything is great; there are some emotional highs and lows, but the sun is shining and life is good. Bloomington isn't exactly cross-cultural, but whatever you want to call it, I'll ride this honeymoon as long as I can. It will probably change with the weather, haha... check back here in about two months.

The Church talks a lot about a theology of suffering, a theology of going through the rough times. We memorize the Phil. 4:13 and Ps. 23 passages. But what about a theology of joy, even a theology of monotony, when everything is going along smoothly? I'm convinced that at the center of this theology must lay an outpouring of thanksgiving and appreciation. By my door, I have this verse posted:

Rejoice always
Pray without ceasing
In everything give thanks.

Then next to that, I've put up a sheet where I write things I'm thankful for. Some bits up there now: Baganda music in the archives, the smell of wet earth after long fall rains, tired green leaves ready to burst into color, blue skies, audio transformers, recognizing familiar faces at new places, bike brakes that work in the rain, and new friends over coffee. This kind of conscious daily thanksgiving helps, well, helps the honeymoon last. Of course I'm far from having this a 24/7 life attitude, but hey, it's a start right?

On another not-so-holy note, I got hit by a car the other day. Notice how I wrote that. I *got hit by* a car. It was clearly all the car's fault. Never mind that I was crossing a street during (the wrong direction's) green light, onto a one-way (the wrong way) street. Oh no, that $&#*@ car swiped my front tire and drove off. I didn't fall but the speed at which it happened certainly took me by surprise and I gave my best "what the hell?!" glare to the fading outline of the driver. Damn car. Ok, and stupid me. I really have got to let go of the aggressive riding style I adopted in Viet Nam. There are a lot of cars here and they go fast and stay in their lanes (imagine that!), leaving little space for bikers. I think it should be a requirement for drivers (and pedestrians, for that matter) to live for at least a month in a place like Viet Nam to understand the marvelous riverlike flow of traffic. In Viet Nam, when someone crosses a street, they just start walking and the traffic flows beautifully around them. But here, crossing pedestrians look at me speeding towards them and stop in their tracks, like "oa! that bike is headed right towards me." It's more like a cement wall than a river. See, one month in Hanoi would solve so many problems.

Ok, off my stump. Another week awaits me and I must begin it with sleep.

new horizons

After a whirl of traveling, seeing old friends and family, and packing or unpacking many times, I have learned that it's not natural for the body to travel over 16,000 miles in the span of a month. Someone once said that the body is not meant to travel faster than an oxcart, and I certainly see the wisdom of that now! But I've landed in Bloomington, Indiana and have permanently unpacked my boxes and bags, breathing a sigh of relief--"ah, now I can relax in grad school!"

Well, maybe not. I have registered for 12 credits, which I've heard is a dangerous amount. Oh, plus my job. The thing is, I'm really excited about everything I'm doing, so while I may burn up this semester, at least the fire will be a energizing, exciting one. I'm taking "The Study of Ethnomusicology" (lots of reading), "Intensive Reporting, Writing, and Editing" (lots of writing), "Photojournalism" (lots of visual work), and "Ghanaian Performance and Culture" (lots of singing and dancing!). So the hope is that the diversity of assignments will balance out the sheer mass of it all.

I'm working 15 hrs/week as a GA at the Archives of Traditional Music, mostly digitizing old analog field recordings. My introductory training included this defensive quote: "The field of audiovisual archiving rarely shares the glamour or profile of the industries whose output it protects. It is neither well funded nor well known, and is often very demanding of time and energy. It attracts and holds motivated individuals with a sense of vocation, for whom the achievements of their work are their own reward." Motivated--yes; sense of vocation--hmm? But I'm excited to get my hands back on audio equipment!

I would be remiss in this blog if I didn't give a shout out to my wonderful family for helping me move in and settle into my new house. Together we did in just one day what would have taken me over a month... unpacking, decorating, cleaning, shopping, etc etc. We even managed to squeeze in a picnic dinner and lots of good conversations. I should also note that my house has plenty of space for visitors, so my doors are open to you, my friends...

"Oh! Right..." -initial impressions and reactions-

I'm writing now from Akron, Pennsylvania, after traveling nearly 40 hours from Hanoi, through Hong Kong and LA, to Philadelphia. It's been 11 months since leaving this place I think I call "home," and I've been keeping a list of things that surprise me or that I've forgotten about:

• water fountains. Public water. For. Free. Too bads it tastes like chlorine.
• bottled water for $5. $5!!! That much would buy about 10 bottles in Hanoi...
• informality between officials, store clerks, and me. Maybe it's just because I can actually understand what they're saying now, but I'm taken back by how friendly and chatty people are here.
• cool, dry air that smells amazing. I was trying to figure out what it is that smells so wonderful and fresh, but I'm pretty sure it's just the lack of exhaust fumes and pollution. Whatever it is, it smells and feels like HOME.
• diversity. Standing in the "US-passport holders" line, I was amazed at the diversity of people standing with me.
• passing money with one hand. In Vietnam, it's polite to give money or other items with two hands. Not so here.
• overhearing conversations in English-! I was expecting this, but it really is an amazing thing to be waiting in a line (and LINES themselves are another blessed surprise) and understand the people around me. Too bad they're complaining.
• cheese. Gobs of it on my pizza.
• gallons of real skim milk rolling by in a cart (at the airport). Skim milk!
• I'm no longer a giant. Looking in a mirror, I'm not conspicuous. People are big here. This also means that I loose my birds-eye perspective in big crowds.

I'm sure more surprises will come. I've only been here a day, after all. But it feels real good. All the SALTers are together for a re-entry retreat, so we're doing lots of story-swapping, laughing, and sleeping. Good times...

motorbikes to the market!

Come to Vietnam and you will be astounded by what Vietnamese can fit on their motor scooters. When I first came I was continually surprised at the huge loads of vegetables on motos, a man driving and a woman crouched down in front of him with her head just barely visible; or nine bird cages (yes I counted) precariously hanging behind the driver, the birds twittering along in the traffic; or long metal poles five times the length of the moto being transported to some construction site; or a family of five crammed on one moto. These things amazed me.

But I've been here almost one year by now. Not much fazes me any more. I hardly look twice at the 3-foot stack of eggs breezing by me.

This morning, however, I nearly fell off my bike as a moto pulled past me with a full cow laid on the back, its skinned hide bright and white, its nose bouncing off the pavement on one side, its tail flying in the wind on the other, its legs flopping around with every bump, and its eyes staring...straight at me. I guess you have to get your goods to the market somehow and if all you have is a moto, well, moto it is.

...on entering the boundary waters...

"What do we leave behind when we cross a frontier? Each moment seems split in two: meloncholy for what is left behind, and the excitement of entering a new land." (Che Guevara, Motorcycle Diaries)

Exactly.

It is now July and I'm entering those boundary waters between Vietnam and USA. My calendar tells me the jump is on July 19th, when I embark on travels to PA, NH, UK, NY, and finally IN to begin grad school. Each moment indeed seems split in two...

Melancholy...

...For dear friends, coworkers, and host family that I have grown close to here. While this year has been challenging in some ways, these people are the ones who keep the laugh in my heart and joy in my steps.
...For a go-with-the-flow lifestyle. I often have no idea about the agenda of a given day, but have learned to take things as they come (or don't come). I eat what's put in my bowl. I go where the van takes me. I have few expectations so I'm not upset by changes.
...For fresh fruits and veggies, every day, year-round. When it's mango season, we eat mangos (and lots of them). When it's lychee season, we eat lychee every day. My food comes from the same country I eat it in, and probably just outside of town. As my fellow SALTer Rachel put it, eating local isn't a movement here, it's life.
...For rice. If it's true that you are what you eat, I may resemble a giant grain of rice when I return. Sticky rice for breakfast, rice for lunch, rice for dinner, and rice noodles thrown in for variation. I've grown so accustomed to it that a meal without rice just doesn't quite seem complete A rice cooker is at the top of my shopping list for grad school!
...For language. I've spent nearly a year working so hard on learning Vietnamese--language school, private study, working with my host sister, hours with friends over coffee (or mango smoothies)--and I've come to the point where I can understand quite a bit. I can strike a hard bargain in Vietnamese and make people laugh with simple stories. When I return, all that hard work will be complete jibberish to everyone I know. Fun sayings like "ơi giời ơi," and "ăn cơm chưa?" will be as void of meaning as they were for me a year ago. If I bow my head to you, consider that a greeting or a thank you. If I wave my fingers with my palm down, please come to closer. Work with me--I've lost track of what's Vietnamese, what's American, and what's Ugandan.

Excitement...

...For dear friends and family who I haven't seen in far too long. Big hugs and long chats coming your way... :)
...For fresh air and grass between my toes. These are both unattainable in Hanoi.
...For eavesdropping. To be able to understand fast, quiet conversations around me without any effort may leave me overstimulated for some weeks. Newspapers and radio in English. One-liners and language puns that used to be a large part of my joking around.
...For big family gatherings where I know everyone, everyone knows me, and I can understand and contribute to conversations without feeling dumb. It's the simple things in life.
...For libraries with shelves and shelves of books in English that I can borrow for free. Whoever invented this concept was a genius.
...For autonomy. Being able to make decisions about what to cook and cooking it myself without being told I'm peeling the wrong way or using not enough MSG, where to go, who to meet, etc. Being an adult, basically.
...For grad school--both terrifying and exciting. Mostly exciting, if I don't think of the stress of papers and long readings. Ethnomusicology and journalism is pretty much my dream degree.

Right-o, that's enough for now. As each moment is split in two, I grieve for what is left behind and push forward to what is ahead, fully embracing the contradictions and ironies as I navigate the boundary waters.