Why · I'm · Like · This...

I don't know how months of anticipation so rapidly collapsed into the final hours of my final day in the U.S., but for better or for worse, I leave for China tomorrow morning.
I'm not ready at all. How can you be? A family dinner involving champagne/cantaloupe-sherbet floats, a stunningly good 11th-hour dinner with an old friend whom I love even more for his fabulous taste in restaurants (With my apologies, ducks, your livers taste fabulous...) and finally, a family Karaoke session with the sis, the geeky little step brother, and cousin Carmen. Sis sang 'So Far Away', and made me cry publicly. Step-dad-to-be bought me a new backpack. Mom made me a quilt. I am so blessed to be loved by these people.
I don't think livejournal works in China (behind The Great Firewall, as they say), so this is probably it for a while. If you send me your real contact info at cricket on the loose at g mail dot com, I'll add you to my list. And if you'd like to follow my continued adventures, try this: the professional foreigner dot blogspot dot com (recent phishing drama prevents me from adding the actual URL).
I hope you'll keep reading!
I will think of my friends often, and wish each of you happiness and good health.
-Natalie

So this coming Sunday, the BF and I are flying into LAX in the wee hours of the morning, where we will then need to kill FIFTEEN hours before he gets on his connecting flight to Taipei, and leave me forever. Ok, a year.
But anyhow, you guys are almost all better at L.A. than I am. I was wondering if I could ask you for our thoughts about what to show a person who's never been to CA before. Should I try to be hip and take him to a restaurant with a one-word name? Cheesy and ride the ferris wheel in Santa Monica? Ultra cheesy and see hollywood stars? Be myself and take him downtown for bootleg Mexican pop albums?
In short, I know nothing about where the genuinely interesting stuff is, what museums, neighborhoods, etc are worth seeing, and what to avoid, in terms of traffic, etc. So I'd toooooootallly appreciate your advice! Thanks in advance.

My home-way-from-home-away-from-home, South Padre Island.




A patient at the SPI sea-turtle refuge. The island is a popular nesting place for several varieties of sea turtles, who swim up from the coast of southern Mexico. Some get attacked by sharks, others are mangled by boat propellers. After they recover, they are released whenever possible.




I didn't want to leave Kerrville. Ever. The Guadalupe river is crystal clear, and bathwater-warm. I decided to move here. Seriously.




Abandonded warehouse in Pecos, Texas, the saddest little town in the west.





Mainstreet in Pecos Texas. The creation of the interstate finished off what was left of small towns after the railroad died. All of the businesses listed in my four-year-old Texas guidebook were long gone by the time we got there. It's a contemporary ghost town.




Four Corners is more interesting as an un-varnished slice of American life than it is as a monument. A Navajo girl in a death-metal T-shirt sold us a piece of over-cooked fry bread, then went back to playing solitaire. We watched sunbewildered mid-westerners buying commemorative shot glasses and plastic tomahawks from Hopi vendors for a while, then got in the car and left.





Every time I drive through Utah I am astounded by both the incredible natural beauty of the landscape, and the incredible inanity (this may not be an actual word...) of the people who inhabit it.




No one can say the Mormons aren't resourceful.




The pictures, much like my enthusiasm, and my budget, and all edible food, ran out somewhere around Idaho. We decided that Idaho shoul changed its motto to "The Decomposing Barn State!", and Eastern Oregon should seceed, and then call itself the "At Least It's Not Idaho!" state.

All in all, a great trip. It's good to be back.

Ohmigosh.
It's been at least a month since I had time to sit down and read or post anything!
Basically: Computer crashes, quitting job, planning a move overseas, selling everything I own, saying countless goodbyes, driving across the country, catching up on sorely neglected friendships, getting re-acquainted with my family, helping B.F. move to Taiwan, planning trips. So. That pretty much brings us up to present.

It always takes me a while to get back into the swing of things in Portland. I think I've been irrevocably Texanized in many respects, and always feel a bit bewildered when I'm back here. Kind of like I'm moving underwater. It occurred to me the other day that probably what has happened is that I am speaking at rural Texas speed, and everyone else is speaking at Portland speed. Oops!

So I haven't really even hung out with anyone, but I swear that's coming up soon, or at least I hope. I really and truly want to re-connect with so many people. It's just been kind of overwhelming, and I'm seriously geeking out over getting, or rather, NOT getting a job. I really, really, really need to earn some money this summer, and just can't seem to get an in anywhere. So, if y'all know anybody that needs a cook/nanny/tutor/gardener/whatever, let me know!

I busied myself today by buying Noe's plane ticket to Taiwan today, and almost bust into tears when I finalized the sale. Now it seems real, and I feel sort of responsible, like I ought to call his momma and apologize for planting the seed of this idea in her son's head!

Made two lovely key-lime pies, and a wacky, decadent appetizer. One or the other will make it over to Brian's par-tay, if my family doesn't highjack them, but I can't make any promises. It's really hard to hide a key-lime pie inside my shirt.

Oh gosh, oh boy- it's over! Well, almost. I have to go in tomorrow morning to pack up and check out. It's funny how the tiniest little things signify seasons here. Driving home, I realized that you know it's the end of the school year when the sorghum is ripe, and the sky is filled with thunderheads, and the air feels like a wet wool blanket.
I pulled out the page today where they print a photo of every local graduate, and found my first class from my old school. I had about 160 sophomores. Seventeen of them made it to graduation, half from alternative schools. So, all told, about 8 kids from my six classes made it. Crushing. If you were a doctor, and your patients had that kind of survival rate, you'd either quit, or kill yourself. Don't hold our two months off against us, folks.
Saying goodbye to second graders is both better and worse than saying goodbye to tenth graders. They're every bit as wild and giddy, but when the end of the day comes, they ask if they can move in with you, beg you to come to school on Monday, and burst into tears. Of course, that made me burst into tears too.
I never get to the end of the year without wishing (for a minute) that I could start the whole thing over, and do it right this time.

After years of never getting any spam, I am suddenly getting 2-7 new spams a day on my g-mail account. G-mail does a good job of filtering them directly into the spam file, but it's SO annoying! Is there anything that can be done about this? I have noticed that a lot of them have an unsuscribe/opt-out feature, which requires me to enter my e-mail address.. If I opt out of one, are they just going to sell my info to another?

The Good

There's been a recent epidemic of mohawks in my class lately. Vincent came in one morning looking like Sonic the Hedgehog, and made history. A few days later, his best friend Logan swaggered in with his hair gelled into a crest. By lunch time, boys were asking to go to the restroom all over the place, and it didn't take long to realize that they were coming back from their bird-baths with dripping wet mohawks. By story time, my classroom looked liked a convention of the world's youngest Dead Kennedys' fans. This was particularly cute after the heat and humidity melted them, and they flopped over and splayed out all over their heads.

Today, Logan liberated one of my index cards, and using carefully executed spooky ghost letters, inscribed the following message, which he left on Vincent's desk:

YOU SHALL DIE TONIGHT. YOUR HAIR STINKS!


The Bad

Little did I know that when you put OTC flea-drops on a kitten, they don't actually kill the fleas, so much as repel them.
Right before bed last night, I doused Noe's kitten with Flea-B-Gone drops, then retired to bed, with the kitten curled up beside me, feeling productive. Not for long. It was only a matter of minutes before the fleas started bailing out of the cat's fur like rats from a sinking ship. Bazillions of them, who naturally jumped directly onto Noe and I. It was terrible.
I tried to push her off the bed, and she inadvertently sunk her claws into my arm on her way over the edge, and slid down the length of my wrist, leaving me bleeding. I finally fell into a fitful sleep, and had a dream in which Noe had determined to try smoking crack, come hell or high water.
As for the proper time to apply flea-drops, I stand itchy, exhausted, and very much corrected.

The Ugly

Oh. God. Telling a struggling single father that you are retaining his foster child (who he is about to lose) is the Worst. Feeling. On. Earth. We both cried. There are two things I can say about this.
First, for all the people who resent teachers for having summers off: If we had to do something this emotionally intensive fifty weeks a year, there would be no teachers, and a hell of lot more mental-hospital inmates.
Secondly, I think we forget how many good, humble men there are in the world, who get up every day and do the right thing by other people's children for little or no recognition, not because they have to, but because they can. They deserve so much more than they ever get.

Remember yesterday when I said I was going to eat a dangerous amount of bread and then swear off simple carbohydrates forever? I'm almost there, right after one more slice. No-Knead bread deserves all the press. Four ingredients. No special equipment. Ten minutes of hands-on time. Hot, Crusty,well-developed yeasty flavor, perfect.

Things are coming together- looks like my sister might be flying out around the 11th to help me drive back. One last big camping trip at the beach, and then a loooong road trip back across TX, NM, CO, UT, ID, and OR. Viva Mormon Country!

I'm equally torn between knowing how much I will miss my little small-town southern life, and being thrilled to see old friends, family, and BOOKSTORES, RIVERS, TREES, and NON-MEAT/PICKLE BASED FOODS.

Should be there around the 17th. And dudes.... I need a job! Got any ideas?

There's this thing that always happens about two weeks before school gets out, where I completely run out of steam, and lie around dedicating an obscene amount of time to nursing my malaise/ennui, and pondering really deep questions like this one:

Do vegan chicks feel guilty when they swallow?

I thought about googling that, but was too lazy to get up and plug in my computer, whose battery had died. It's not that I don't have things to do. Rather, my life as I know it is rapidly coming to an end, and even though I'm desperate for the transitional phase in general to be over, I find myself wanting to preserve each individual moment of valley-life indefinitely.

Naturally, since it's about 100 degrees and sixty percent humidity, I am making bread. ( The no-knead kind ), which I've timed to be ready breakfast-ish tomorrow. I'll get up and flop it over about six, wake up at eight and bake it, eat too many slices, and then vow to swear off simple carbohydrates for all of eternity.

I did go into my classroom to make sub-plan for Monday, and concluded that I have so much to do that it was better not to get started. Read a few hilarious essay's from ( Sloane Crosley's ) "I Was Told There'd Be Cake", and marveled at the fact that she was EXACTLY the type of upper-middle-class-suburban-New-Yorker I had learned to loathe while working as a camp counselor in CT so many years ago. But in her book? I love her.

Now, back to the kitchen to ponder the fate of a wilting bunch of Brocoli raab, a bottle of pomegranite molasses, ( a blob of salted white-chocolate-oatmeal cookie dough ) (better than it sounds), and a pitcher of sun tea.

Next up on my jam-packed procrastination list? Paint a mask, ( study Chinese ), and maybe find a suitable piece of creative non-ficiton for ( this National Geographic Foreign Correspondant thing I'm trying to get ).

Oh, the tortured life I lead...

Well, it seems like I am moving to China. The reactions of my co-workers have been surprisingly supportive- such a change from my job in La Joya, where people actively discouraged each other from taking any kind of risk! My boyfriend and family too, are pretty encouraging. This is especially surprising coming from Noe, given that going to China means leaving him.

Our ability to cope with it comes and goes. It feels fucking awful sometimes, and at other times, it feels natural. Neither one of us feels ready to get married, and we're both definitely burned out on the status quo. So I have moments of being OK with it, and other moments of mortal fear and regret.

I do sort of wake up thinking, "Why can't I just move to the hill country, or southern Oregon, and get a dog? That appeals to me too, but I would never be able to quell the persistent what-if-ing, my innate desire to know the ever-elusive other (I'm interviewing for a job as like, a critical theory prof. or something right now...)

In the mean time, plenty of travel absurdities and logistics to deal with, enough packing to give me a head ache, enough good byes I don't even want to begin to think about. Must close up class, pack up house, figure out how to get rid of basically EVERYTHING I've accumulated, and find a job in Oregon. Oh, boy...

Why can't I just be happy moving to the hill country and getting a dog?

It takes years, I think, to understand the seasons of a tropical climate. To the newcomer, the weather just seems like an unending gauntlet of increasingly cruel weather weather events, ranging from "Fucking Hot", to "I DARE you to survive this", culminating in hurricane season. But at the end of last school year, I started being able to divine patterns in the chaos of seemingly unconnected and senseless weather events, and by this year, I just suddenly understood that there would be a rainy season, and it should be starting soon. Over the last few days, the sky has made increasingly convincing efforts at rain, but they all blew away as quickly as they had come in.

This morning, I woke up to the sound of the leaves on the guava and fig trees rustling outside my window, and thought that I had better buy some wiper blades, stat. (They blew away in a windstorm a few weeks ago) Not a moment too soon, because rainy season officially started, fifteen minutes ago.

Now I am sitting in the dark of my living room, with the front door open to that deliciously southern soundscape of cackling birds and wind and rolling thunder, and church bells calling people to mass. Without northern seasons to mark the passing of time, I've often felt like Ichabod Crane; part of, but entirely apart from the actual living world.

It's taken me nearly until the month of my departure to understand the subtle language of tropical seasons, but now, the air is electric, the sky is violent with white lightning, and the wind is whipping through the agave and palms and massive sprays of orange bouganvillea, and I can't help thinking what a perfect moment it is to be alive.

Well. I can't remember if I posted this, but after a feeble attempt at haggling over my salary, I wrote back, and accepted a job in China at an IB high school, as an English teacher.
Jobs in Korea pay more. I could build my credibility and eventually get a big promotion if i stayed here, but in the meantime, the hours would kill me. In the end the only real choice was between a wish to be near my loved ones, and an increasingly desperate desire to fulfill my lifelong ambition of traveling and writing. It's a heart-wrenching decision, and the truth is that any option eliminates some other possible option. I am simply spread too thin; my boyfriend and family are spread across three of the biggest states in the union.
Furthermore, my gut just says "Go for it." After a year of wandering around in a fog of existential paralysis, things seem very clear to me now.
The hardest part is bringing my real, established life as a legitimate grown-up to a close. It's not over yet, but we both know it's going to end, and that's been kind of all-around devastating. I haven't told my boss, who invested a lot in me, yet. I'm definitely the bad-guy on this one, for the moment at least. It gives me an impetus to make this thing work, and hopefully redeem myself a little later on, but I can't focus on that too much now.
There's a definite delay between actual reality, and my understanding of it. It doesn't feel real yet, but I'm moving ahead. I'm still waiting for the moment when I wake up in tears and realize what I've done, but that'll certainly come later- after I've sold a car and bought a bike, gotten nine different ID cards and two different visas, and quit my 40K job for one that pays half that, but gives a two-hour lunch, and provides milk and cookies to its staff every afternoon.

I went ahead and accepted a job in China. In my mind, this doesn't entirely mean that I'm actually going. It seems too far-off and remote to feel real. But it probably is. Now I have to deal with the actual ramifications of having decided to move to another country. Yikes! I hope I did the right thing. I think I did. Only one way to find out...

Things I Have Cooked In the Last Three Days:
Fresh black-eyed peas
Braised mustard greens
Fried Catfish
Cornbread
Lemon-Blueberry yogurt cake
Curried carrot ginger soup.
Broiled Grapefruit

I came home early from work today. Weird stomach, bruised head (banged it on a chair over the weekend) spasming crazy arthritic shoulder, allergies. Basically, everything. Nothing alone was really bad enough to go home, but the combination seemed like a loud, clear signal from my body to go home and be alone, and sleep. So I did. Now I can't wake up, but it was nice.
I also ate saltines smeared with butter. I can't tell you how nice/evil that was.

So without really mentioning it to that many people, I went and applied for a job teaching English at an IB High School for rich kids in China. it's on the outskirts of Beijing, in Changping District, and I know of it because my friend ucpegasus and her boyfriend (fellow corps alums) have been working there this school year.
Yesterday, they e-mailed to offer me the job. So, now I have to actually decide if I am going to take it. I'm happy, but guarded- the possibility of any kind of travel or adventure thrills me, but the closer I get to actually committing to this, the more agonizing the choices seem to get. This has led me to confront a lot of almost-30-existential-crisis-type-shit that I'd normally roll my eyes at, and it's probably necessary, but really exhausting.
What follows is a bit of navel-gazing about the pros and cons, mostly because it helps me to see things in writing, but I'd definitely welcome your thoughts!
Pro
- Having friends there makes this more reliable, less scary, and less lonely. They've been pretty happy, and plan to stay another year.
-I've been working like a dog for the last three years. This job is almost part time - only 15 teaching hours a week, which would give me time to seriously study Chinese or write.
-The timing is as good as it's going to get - I own very little, owe fairly little, and I'll never be this young again. If I wait any longer, I'm going to be forced to choose between fulfilling my goal of travelling widely, and having a family.
-I may be able to save a good chunk (not sure yet), may be able to freelance or tutor for under the table cash.
-Nice apt, free meals, close to the country, cleaner air.
-Good subject, leisure time.
-I've always said I wanted to travel. A lot. And I haven't yet. And I want to.
-Makes it possible to achieve stated goal of not turning 30 on this continent
-If I want to meet others who love food/travel/adventure as much as I do, i should probably go find them.
-Time to figure out grad school, and I'll look broke on paper- better fin. aide!
-Chinese is the language of the future...

Cons
- I have a boyfriend. He's not portable. His reasons are good (law-school, hopefully), but this seems like a basic compatibility issue. I really truly love him, but I'm not sure we're forever. I don't think I'll know unless I leave, but I'm afraid I'll regret it. Plus, this decision-making "I might be leaving you" phase is wearing us both down. A lot.
-I have a nephew, sister, mother, etc. Several dearly beloved relatives may not live to see my return. Being in a foreign country, and not having the freedom to attend a loved-one's funeral is the worst feeling EVER. It happened while i was in Mexico.
-I don't really have any of the stuff I should have, like a 401K, house etc. I need to figure out how much this stuff actually matters to me, and how much of my attachment to it is just guilt/pressure. Can I make it up when I get back?
-Coming home a year or two from now, between cities, and as the 32-year old with no boyfriend/home/car/job/kid could be a drag, or it could be liberating. Who knows?
-I'll be wealthy by Chinese standards, but qualify for gov't cheese by U.S. standards.

-Noe's new kitten has an insatiable lust for human flesh, but I love her. She has adopted a strict zero-tolerance policy towards my tank top straps, bracelets,nose, and hair, all of which were viciously attacked in the early hours of this morning. I had forgotten how much like an actual baby a new kitten can be. Good thing she's cute. Otherwise, I would have mailed her to India by now.

-Savory french toast. Use that thick slices of that foofy grocery store french bread. Omit sweet stuff from the custard and replace with grated parmesan, black pepper, and a pinch of cayenne. Soak it a nice long time. Let the pan heat up over med-high, then turn down to medium. Use butter to fry it. Don't rush it so it comes out nice and custardy inside, crusty outside. It has the most amazing texture- crisp and light as air, and dense all at the same time. Still good cut into fingers and dipped in real maple syrup.

-Broiled ruby grapefruit (coat halves in brown sugar) also fabulous, with Greek Honey Yogurt.

-Six weeks of school left.

- Teach for America paid $9,450.00 towards my hairy compound interest unsubsidized loan, and now I owe less than I earn in a month! I could not stop staring at my balance on the screen and grinning from ear-to-ear for like, ten minutes. Now I remember why I spent two years in America's Worst High School EVAR. So frickin' happy about this folks...

-I put all my eggs in one basket, W.R.T. next year's plans. Tomorrow I'll probably find out whether that was a good idea or not. Eeek!

Some of you may have heard about a terrible accident that happened on the border Thursday morning, in which 3 illegal immigrants were killed, and 14 were injured. I learned last night that the SUV that hit them belonged to a friend of mine.

She and her 11 year-old son were driving to work early in the morning, when a truck came charging across the freeway out of nowhere. The cab of the truck held an estimated 6 or 7 people. The bed of the truck help 20 men and women, lying on their backs, and on top of each other, covered with a tarp. My friend, who had no warning, hit the end of the truck so hard that the wheel of the truck ripped off, and the truck slammed into a telephone pole. Her car was spun around 180 degrees. What the newspaper doesn't mention- and what the politicians never will- is that the truck full of mojados was being pursued by the Migra. The B.P. had their lights off, so they on paper, they don't have to acknowledge that it was a chase, but my friend saw them, and everybody knows, nothing else would have made the coyote charge into oncoming traffic.

When it stopped moving, there were quite literally bodies all over the road in front of her. About 12 people got away. Some of them were later captured a few miles north. Fourteen of the other immigrants were badly injured, and taken to hospitals. Incredibly enough, my friend and her son were uninjured. In the words of her best friend, "it's a Goddamned Miracle that they lived."

Physically they're fine. Emotionally they're devastated. The Coyote, of course, abandoned the scene, quite literally leaving a wake of human bodies behind him. It's a theme so common in the valley that it's become cliche. When I told my boyfriend, he said "I bet they didn't get the coyote, huh? The coyote always gets away."
At dinner last night, my friend Nyrma, who rushed to the scene to take her best friend to the hospital, told us the whole story, saying "The Coyote Always Gets Away."
When I read the newspaper this morning, they quoted the Migra spokesperson : "The Coyote Always Gets Away."

I can't stop thinking about it. I think about my friend, driving the road I drove every morning for two years, where at least three of our students, and one of the Coaches' sons died last year.
I think about my friend and her son surveying the wreckage in the moments after the accident, as it donned on them that without ever knowing what was happening, they had killed three people.
I think about the mothers and wives of those men, in villages in Mexico, already planning how they'll spend the Western Union check, wondering if their husbands and sons made it across this time.
And of course, I think about the Coyote creeping through a sorghum field with his pockets stuffed with dead men's money, waiting for the ambulances and Border Patrol and police to clean up and leave, so he can get away, just like he always does.

Teenage girls in skinny pants getting out of a convertible mini cooper to air-kiss their friends and order "un bubble tea con splenda", then going outside to chain-smoke, and take every make-up item they own out of their Chanel bags, and applying them one by one, taking only brief breaks to come in and yell at the girl behind the count for "Oooooooootra!"

Spring break! For once in my life, I am not booked solid. Dad and step-mom are coming for the first time in three years on Thursday, so I suppose I should be cleaning or grading or something, but I just cannot motivate myself to get off my bum and work!
It's lovely, having time to re-join the world of the living, and do things normal people do, like making snacks, reading, working on unfinished jewelry projects, and taking walks.

If I could just motivate myself to get up, I would go work on one of my countless projects, or pot my plants, or cook something, but I'm enjoying the opportunity to lie around way too much to ruin it with productivity.
Tomorrow, I'll work hard. Tomorrow, tomorrow...