Tick Tock

Similar to U of M’s “Michigan Time”, Filipinos have their own differential concept of time. For those unfamiliar with “Michigan Time”, at Michigan every class, most meetings and events, begin ten minutes after they say they will. If you’re class is at 9 (that sucks), then it’s really begins at 9:10…if you arrive before that there’s a good chance that the professor will not be there at that time.

But here in the Philippines, time isn’t even that regimented. Things start when they start, regardless of a pre-determined ‘start’ time. The lack of time control is not due to an ignorance towards time management or a concept of time, but rather a more glass half-full approach. An event will start when its participants are ready, simple as that. If you’re supposed to meet a friend at 2, but something comes up, oh well, you’ll meet eventually. There are more important things to worry about, if at all. Obsessing about time management can be seen as an unnecessary worry here. As long as whats supposed to get done gets done, that’s all that matters.

At the construction site I work at two days a week, the building is really coming along, but if you had witnessed our daily progress, you might doubt that it would ever be completed. Breaks occur when someone gets tired or needs a rest, not when the boss says so. If something comes up and you have to leave for half the day, so be it, just return tomorrow. But if you really need something done, people will make sure it gets done.

Not to mention the fact that almost no one here has the same time on their watch or cellphone. Within a group of five ask for the time and you’ll get five different answers without a doubt. And usually the time difference two people have is substantial…there’s always at least one person who has a watch a half an hour early or vice virsa. So basically, time is always flexible in the Philippines.

Yet again I believe we all have something to learn from Filipinos…time only matters when we say it matters. As long as something gets done in the end, why does it matter how long it took or when it gets done? Isn’t the end result the more important factor? Added stress and anxiety over time seems irrelevant now. I myself used to be guilty of time-obsessiveness, without a doubt. I hated being late to a party or a meeting, and couldn’t stand when others made me late as well. Looking back, obsessing about promptness only made the situation worse, moods would lower and tempers began to flare, all because of a silly thing called time.

Halfway There...ish

“Whooooaaaa we’re halfway there, ohhh livin’ on a prayer” (I never thought I’d quote Bon Jovi…ever.)

The time has come for a progress report, so here it goes:

I’ve already been here for five weeks and I can’t believe it! While I feel completely at home here, comfortable in my environment and settled in, at the same time I feel like I’ve just arrived. Although not what I expected or planned for, my time here in the Philippines has been well used and most enjoyed. Upon arrival I began working at the SPED Santo Nino Elementary School in downtown Tacloban, but I quickly realized that working with elementary-aged children was not my forte…nor was the oral oriented education, something that has always struck me as wrong. My students were taught to use their voices, taught by a teacher who barely knew sign language or how to effectively communicate, and she wanted me to do the same. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t, and I will never practice oral based education with the Deaf. All around the world the Deaf have their own unique language, so why not use it?

Luckily, the mindset of many, is flexible and easy-going, and I received a transfer to another volunteer placement. I am now currently working at Leyte National High School, which is also in downtown Tacloban. Downtown is about 4 km away from Bliss (my home) and I walk everyday. Along the way I’ve made friends who I talk to daily. People seem to remember the lone white girl who walks along Real Street twice a day, everyday, and that doesn’t bother me. I have the privildge of meeting and conversing with great minds whom you might never give a second look.

At Leyte High, my work is both fulfilling and frustrating. Mondays through Wednesdays I interpret for third year hearing impaired high school students. But ‘interpret’ also means teach in my case. Often times my students do not understand what their teachers are saying, the words they use, or the formulas they expect the students to already know. Therefore, I spend a majority of my time re-teaching my students what their teachers have said and I tend to spend more time explaining words and ideas, something their teachers won’t do. I’ve noticed a trend within the class and not just with my students, cheating is ‘allowed’ and passing is almost a given. A majority of my class cheats blatantly and the teachers do nothing. After a quiz or test the teacher may sometimes read out all of the students scores (which I think could be a bit humiliating) and having a student get more than a 50% is rare and almost never happens. Yet, most of the students move on to the next grade…the public education system here needs work. My task becomes more difficult when there is a lack of books or studying material. When a student here goes to public school, it means anything besides the school building is not a given. Families pay for uniforms, shoes, paper, pens, teacher fees, transportation to and from school, and xerox copies of the books they should have. School is expensive and a privilege here, not a right, like it should be.

Despite the disadvantages with the given environment/system, I love my placement. To see students get excited to learn is so fulfilling. When they figure something out, its like Christmas, and I’m one of Santa’s elves. My students and I have even become friends, allowing me access to the Deaf world here in Leyte, which is more than I could have asked for. As something I’ll reflect on later, the Deaf community here is not much different than my own back in the US. I’ve found a place here and I know I’m ready to visit again, God willing.

However, my time here in the Philippines is not just spent at my placement, I also have the privilege of living within the Filipino community, in a homestay within a neighborhood called Bliss. And blissful it is. I love my family and I love my neighbors. I’ve become close with my family here as well as the extended family and all of the friends I’ve made. Having such comfort like that makes living halfway around the world that much easier. Life here is different, but not in a bad way. I’ve learned that what we consider ‘necesities’ in the US are actually just wants, machines and inventions we use to make our lives easier but are not necessary. Something else I’ve learned already is that having money here is only important for survival, and for nothing else. When money is sparse, friends and family are bountiful, and that’s all that one needs. People here have taken care of me like I am one of their own. The world could learn a lot from Filipino people.

Family Matters

A family is not just who you have to live with or visit on holidays or feel obliged to say you “love them” in a birthday card or even face to face, it’s more than that. One’s family shouldn’t be limited to who they are related to by blood or by marriage; family is who loves you and who you surround yourself with, physically or mentally. Family helps one another, no matter what, through thick and thin, your family is there for you. A family goes through tragedy together and comes out even stronger, ready to face the next challenge. It is only the person themselves who decides who is their family, not anyone else…at least that’s how it is in the Philippines. Bayanihan, which means the notion to help others, drives the Filipino people daily. If you ask, you shall receive, and if you don’t ask, someone is still going to help you.

I’ve encountered many examples of this never-ending family ideal everywhere I’ve gone here, it may not always be perfect, but it works. A family can be made up simply neighbors who help each other with things like meals, house repairs, or watching each other’s children. Never is one expected to receive some sort of payment, whether that be money or something otherwise. When you help your family, you do it because they need your help and you’re there, so why not? Even mere strangers can be adopted into one’s family, especially if they don’t have their own.

Of course families have quarrels and moments of bitterness, but here, it seems like families get over everything much quicker. There’s no time to waste fighting and holding grudges, life is too short. Living here for the past month and observing family life in its rawest form has made me realize that my own perceptions of family have been distorted in the past. I’ve spent far too much time obsessing about why my family (extended and all) wasn’t perfect or just plain crazy, or complaining when my family wouldn’t meet my expectations. There are times when I’ve felt unloved, disregarded or just plain ignored by my family, but I was wrong. At the same time as my “blood family” wasn’t there for me, my close friends who I love, were. Especially my housemates who I consider my family away from family have been there for me no matter what. And if I have that, then what more do I need? Just because a family tree says persons A, B and C are my family doesn’t mean that I can’t add to the tree, or even construct my own tree (with a tree house of course).

Filipinos continue to teach me new things every day, which is one of the things I am most grateful for. It’s amazing how much one can learn from others when all other grasps on reality are taken away.

"Celebrating the faith that binds {them}"

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santo_Niño_de_Cebu

Every year during the last week of June, Tacloban City (including the rest of Leyte and most of Samar) celebrates Fiesta. Fiesta is composed of multiple parades (like Pintados and Sangyaw), dancing competitions, mass, and plenty other activities as well. Although it is mostly a fun event, its purpose is not solely entertainment, but rather faith. All over the city banners proudly proclaim fiesta is for "celebrating the faith that binds us"... a phrase that has stuck with me for the past couple of weeks. Tacloban and all its' barangays are bound by the Catholic faith and their devotion to Santo Nino, a saint known for saving the province. The bond between the people is not the stereotypical, Hollywood cult-like, religious bond you may be thinking of, it’s actually a bond that is beautiful and deserves to be admired, perhaps even followed.

Normally strong religious influence over a group of people scares me. The idea of people coming together to worship a similar deity, who follow the same routine practices, who appear to be almost possessed by their "god(s)" and claim to have more or less perfect, ideal morals is what I would call, a certified nightmare. It just creeps me out. All over the US and parts of Europe I've seen people transfixed by their religious routines and so-called faith. They listen dutifully to a higher human power in charge of their church, standing and sitting, singing and praying, and of course donating when told to. These are what I called possessed sacrosanct robots bound not by faith but by practice. This is not to say all church or temple or mosque go-ers in the West are blinded by practice, but many are, and that’s what scares me. It’s almost like summer bible camp 1984 style.

But here, in the Philippines, I have yet to be bothered by my Western religiosity phobia...it’s actually the opposite. It’s been a month since I landed in Tacloban, a month where I've been surrounded by Catholicism, church go-ers who proudly display their faith, and familial practices grounded in religiosity. Yet, I sense not a drop of fear in my body, only comfort. People outwardly reveal their faith without shoving it on you. It’s not the religious practices mandated by the Catholic church that guide these people, it’s their belief in god, family and honesty that exposes their faith. They care more about respecting God and their family more than what the Catholic church says about this rule or that rule. They live their lives how they want, not how the pope wants. Yet they are still some of the most religious people I've seen. A day does not go by without the mention of faith.

"Celebrating the faith that binds us"...Filipinos are unified, on the same level, different yet the same, together as a group and separate as individuals...because of faith, because of their belief in a higher power which translates into how they live their lives, how they treat others and care for each other. It is not until this moment that I have discovered the power of faith and the beauty it can have on a group of people. And Fiesta is a culmination of that beauty. Residents spend all year preparing for the Fiesta activities; learning dances, making costumes, preparing travel plans and of course menus, all for a few days dedicated to Santo Nino and "the faith that binds" them.

Perhaps my experience here will lessen my fear of American churches and the Sunday madness down Washtenaw, but there’s no guarantee. Remember, the above statement is just one opinion out of millions and it by no means should be taken by anything more than a grain of salt, or sugar, whatever floats your boat.

You Got A Friend In Me

Envision yourself in a foreign country where the native tongue is a mystery and your location is undetermined and you're lost. Then some random stranger who is overly kind and helpful, leads you to your destination purely out of the kindness of their heart...not to receive money or to harm you, they help just because they want to help. Or perchance you and your neighbors live an impoverished life when a natural disaster strikes...the neighbor's situation is just bad as yours, but instead of taking care of their own house first, they help you and your family first. And in turn, the community all helps each other until normal life is restored. That, is what Filipinos do. Kindness and soft-hearts are consistent and well-known traits of the Filipino people.

In fact, ever since I've been in the Philippines there hasn't been a day thats passed where I've haven't been assisted in some way by a Filipino I know, or just some random stranger. Similar to the Thai and Cambodian people, Filipinos are there to help, but even more so. In the other countries I've visited during this trip (besides Vietnam), I've felt relatively safe; but here, I feel the safest and the most welcome. During a trip this weekend to Biliran Island, my fellow volunteers and I were showered with unexpected (kindness). After eating a delicious meal of lechon manok (roasted chicken), the owner of the restaurant began talking to us. Shortly after he learned of our hopes for visiting the nearby waterfalls and caves, he quickly formulated a plan for us to do just that. He let us use his pickup truck, driver, and even his nephew offered to act as our guide for the day, all for half the price we were quoted earlier by someone else. The day was perfect, and it was all a result of pure kindness, plain and simple.

Not only do Filipinos help each other regardless of what their own life is like, they also treat guests as their number one priority. Its important to them to make sure their guest has plenty of food and drink, is comfortable, and has their needs attended to. It can even be a bit awkward at times. I'm not used to the treatment I get here sometimes. As nice as it is, I long for the day where I am no longer a guest, but just a friend. But then I wonder, even then would the overt kindness end? Probably not.

The Bucket Challenge

Do you ever think about how much water we waste by simply taking showers? Not to mention those long hot showers taken either after a cold day outside, practice, or just cause; pleasure showers especially, waste a lot of water. And we can’t forget about how much water is wasted while allowing the shower to warm up to a suitable temperature. Basically, showers are a (waste). I’m not saying that we should all abandon the shower-taking practice and just go “natural”, I like to smell good just as much as the next person. And pungent body odors aren’t necessarily my favorite form of perfume. But what I am proposing is that we think about how much water we really are wasting and if its really necessary.

Here in the Philippines a large percentage of the population doesn’t have a shower or even running water. How then, do we bathe, you ask. Simple. The bucket method. In my neighborhood running water is a luxury. Instead we have to retreive water via a local water pump, bucket by bucket. Sometimes if we’re lucky, the water may occasionally trickle out of an ancient faucet in the CR (bathroom). Carrying buckets of water isn’t too difficult (its actually a pretty good workout) but when its a family of 5 plus two volunteers and fresh water is needed for cooking, cleaning, the toilet and the shower, that’s a lot of trips to the pump.

Back to the shower: Imagine a regular sized bucket, you know, the bucket you may use to mop the floors, wash your car with or even vomit in, that kind of bucket. Now fill it with water and don’t forget to acquire a little pale to use for dumping the cold water on your body. What? You didn’t think there was hot or even warm water available, did you? Once you’ve got your bucket and pale you are set, bathe! You’ll soon find out that carelessly dumping water on your body will result in an empty bucket before you are completely clean. It takes strategic pours of the pale to achieve the desired results. Can you do it? Now imagine using even less water, that’s a challenge.

The next time you preheat your shower, hop in, and have a leisurely bathing session, think twice, okay? The water you’re wasting could go a long long way in a place not your own.

"Education"

Many people assume that a person who goes to school, learns. Some more than others, but in an overall sense, all students are learners to some degree. But can a student really learn when their teacher doesn't even speak a language they can understand? Sometimes we run into this problem when we have a GSI or a professor who speaks limited English, but what I'm referring to is worse. Or what if you, yourself, barely knew your own language because it required lots of money and extra-effort by those around you to learn?

During my first week here I was assigned to work at the SPED center at the Santo Nino elementary school in Tacloban City. After a frustrating first day of chasing little Deaf kids around the yard instead of actually teaching, I figured things would get better. They didn't. I soon discovered that my class of first and second graders weren't in school, but rather daycare. The teacher in charge hardly knows any sign and basically shouts at the students when they don't listen...well no shit lady, they're Deaf. Banging on the podium isn't going to get their attention. The entire process is just one giant miscommunication. The teacher doesn't know sign language and the little sign that my students know made my attempts at communicating near ineffective. The parents of these students are paying a lot of money for a babysitter. Sure, the teacher goes about her lesson teaching basic math skills and English rules, but the absorption rate with the students has to be slim to none. What are these kids supposed to do?

The entire week last week I felt nothing but frustration and sadness. After speaking with several volunteer coordinators in the area, I discovered that this is just how it is here. Some of the wealthy kids can get tutors to enhance their learning, but the percentage of wealth here is very small. School isn't cheap. The families have to pay for the teacher, school supplies, uniforms and any other fees that may arise. Suffice it to say that I am now working at a high school with Deaf students that somehow made it past the rough elementary education I am sure they had to face. I found out that most of the Deaf population here have received no education at all, preventing them from fulfilling their potential.

Be grateful for the education you have received.

Chubby Pineapple

To be honest, I always thought it was a bit odd when people ordered "hawaiian pizzas", putting pineapple on pizza?! Are you out of your mind??? That was the past and this is the present, although I may not agree to pineapple on pizza, I do agree with the pineapple and pork combination. An even better combination is actually pineapple (or I'm sure most sweeter fruits would work) and *pure pork fat. Talk about turning pineapple dangerous. Here in the Philippines, people like their food fried; it doesn't matter what it is, it'll probably be fried. Now, they really are on to something...have you ever eaten something fried that wasn't delicious? Okay, fried crickets aren't my favorite, I'll admit it, but still...

For dinner tonight we had thinly sliced fried pork with every ounce of fat left on it. There was no meticulous trimming involved...why waste part of the animal? Oh no, when the Filipinos eat meat, they eat it all, ESPECIALLY the fat. The two pieces I was served were about 60% meat and 40% pure fat. I must admit, at first I strayed away from the fatty sides, but my host father insisted that I eat them. In an attempt to be respectful, I did. MMMMMMMM DELICIOUS! I was in pork heaven. Succulent strips of white fatty fried goodness awaited my trembling chews. But little did I know my next move would surprise my taste buds even more. Out of pure instinct I decided to add some of the pork fat to my slices of pineapple meant for dessert. Now THAT is the way to eat. There's something about the sugary and acidic pineapple mixed with the succulent fried to perfection fat that should be in every cookbook. It was like eating the most sweet AND savory dessert I've ever had. Don't knock it till you try it, or you'll be sorry.

To whomever invented the "Hawaiian" pizza, I commend you in your efforts, however you were close, but no cigar.

Up until now I always though that the American South had the only true knack for making fried chicken. Crispy yet airy, just the right amount of grease, and of course a well-raised chicken who's diet consisted of natural seed and grass, not that chemical stuff. Sure the English have had their attempts at perfecting one of America's all-time favorite foods, but they can never get it just right. BUT, as I am *almost embarrassed to say, the Filipinos got us beat. And they don't even use buttermilk! I dont know what their secret ingredient(s) is, but I'm determined to find out! The fried chicken here is OUT OF THIS WORLD. I don't even usually indulge in the cardiac arrest bird, but here, you have to. Fried chicken stands are everywhere you turn. There is no commercial giant controlling the fried chicken trade, but rather tiny little pop-up stands manned by one person serving out the best chicken you can get your hands on. What may have to do with it is that all of the chickens here are locally raised. Not to mention they're organic, like more than USDA organic, they're Tacloban organic (Portlandia anyone?). Now normally I'm a big crust fan, the more crispy outside the better. But here such crust doesn't exist, but its still very good!

Filipina Style

Here in the Philippines, things are different. That probably sounds redundant, but it bears repeating. The culture varies all throughout the Philippines with different dialects, ways of life and specific foods. But there are a plethora of things that remain the same; Filipino time (Filipinos move at their own pace, regardless of what the meeting time may be, they arrive when they want to arrive and they leave whenever they see fit), eating (Filipinos eat at least 5 times a day without fail, every aspect of their culture involves eating and drinking in some way, now what's wrong with that?), bluntness (they say whats on their mind or what they see, its not meant to be rude, but just the way they are. The other day the family and I talked about the virginity of all their family members, so openly like we were discussing the weather) and most importantly (there are plenty more), the love for music (karaoke is their jam, always singing and playing music) their open hearts and minds. It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, the Filipino people are willing to help you in any way and are more than willing to open their hearts and homes to you as well.

While walking down the street the other day, nearly every person I passed said hello and most of them wanted to engage in a conversation. I was greeted by smiles everywhere. What a nice feeling that is, to be instantly welcome, without prejudice or judgement. Keep in mind I've only just arrived here a few days ago but already the extended family of my home stay treats me like one of their own. Last night there was a birthday party for "baby boy" and despite my lack of Waray Waray (their dialect here), it was like I fit right in. They kept offering me food and drink, I've been invited to the family farm, and next week we're going to the beach! I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome. I was quickly informed though, that this is how it is everywhere in the Philippines. It doesn't matter how much or how little money a family has, they'll give you what they have regardless. Which I must admit is a bit awkward feeling at times. Every time I'm given something, I want to give it back, or give something in return. The people in my Barangay (village) have nothing but they're the happiest people alive.

Agent Orange

I'm not sure how to begin this post other than to say it is in no way intended to be a political post of sorts, but rather a collection of thoughts on a highly political topic. Although in the US we as citizens tend to have the ability to make anything and everything political. If you haven't guessed yet, the picture above was taken during the Vietnam War...the picture itself is actually quite famous. Multiple books have been written about "the girl in the picture". What she's running from one of the frequent Napalm bombings in Southern Vietnam. Napalm is a thickening agent that sticks to the victims skin, burning them and making it near impossible to get off.

Saigon is home to the War Remnants Museum; a museum dedicated to Vietnam War and what its left behind. A top priority on the "must-see" lists of Saigon, the museum is actually quite cheap (about 75 cents to enter) and contains a significant amount of artifacts and information. Prior to visiting the museum I had been warned by several people that the information inside would be quite one-sided, and it was. Let me preface again by saying as of yet I do not have a strong stance on the events of the Vietnam War. I do not know enough to make any bold statements, so I wont. But regardless of what one's opinion is of the War, it is quite apparent that the Museum whole-heartedly points a finger at the US and only the US for everything that occurred during and after those 15 years of US involvement.

However that's not what I want to talk about...what affected me the most was the evidence presented concerning the after effects, mostly the exhibit dedicated to Agent Orange. "Agent Orange is the code name for one of the herbicides and defoliants used by the U.S. military as part of its herbicidal warfare program, Operation Ranch Hand, during the Vietnam War from 1961 to 1971. Vietnam estimates 400,000 people being killed or maimed, and 500,000 children born with birth defects.^{[1]" (}http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agent_Orange) The entire exhibit was filled with pictures and stories of victims affected by Agent Orange during the war and even as recent as 2001. The stories and pictures really got to me...I couldn't handle it. Cruelty at its finest. Why was that necessary? To maim and created "defected" children who have no chance at life even to this day? Why?

There were even preserved defected fetuses as well...the exhibit had everything, everything to make me feel incredibly difficult. I'm not sure why I felt so guilty. I wasn't there, I didn't make those executive decisions, yet I still felt responsible and just plain horrible. I kept apologizing in my head and even out loud sometimes, I couldn't help it.

The images and stories hurt so bad I had to leave. I'm not a person who usually gets shaken up, but today did it.

Rain Rain, Go Away

Shortly before leaving for my trip I found out that it was going to be MONSOON season in Southeast Asia during the exact time of my stay, awesome. Up until now I have yet to really experience the rain. But alas, it begins. Rain rain go away? Not a chance. In Saigon it rains everyday (starting about a few days ago and until September) from about 4 or 5pm until 10 or 11pm. Granted it doesn’t usually rain nonstop during that time, but it still seems like its always raining. Usually there will be two or three separate hours of downright downpour intermittenly through the evening.

I’ve learned that if you want to do something during the day, its best to get it done asap. I noticed something really funny today as well…as the rain picks up speed and transforms from a drizzle to a pour, at about the same time most of the motorbikes on the road will pull over onto the sidewalk and do one of two things: cover themselves, part of the bike, and a passenger if they have one, with this uniform sized poncho of sorts that everyone seems to have OR they pullover to a store location that has a decent awning to keep themselves and their bike, dry. Its almost like everyone just knows when its going to rain harder and when they need to make a move. They actually do it in shifts it seems like, one group pulls over, another leaves, weaving seamlessly back into hectic traffic.

Name that movie....anyone? anyone? Should be pretty easy since that phrase is the title of the film starring none other than funny man Robin Williams. If you haven't seen it I recommend you check it out from your local library and/or pirate the DVD, ya know, whatevers easiest for you. So far I've spent about 4 days here in Vietnam, one in Chao Doc and now Ho Chi Minh City, also known as Saigon. Things are a bit different here...the food has more of a Chinese influence, the pace in Saigon is rapido, and although nice, some of the people seem a bit dodgy at times. Outside of Saigon the people are great, but here, for the first time ever, I just don't feel as safe.

"Good Morning Vietnam" is a movie loosely based around the Vietnam War in the 1960's concerning the US and the Vietcong. Today I was lucky enough to see some of the remnants of the war firsthand at the infamous Cu Chi tunnels. If you're ever in Saigon or Vietnam for that matter, you have to go here. Not only did I get to shoot an AK47 (so cool! and I don't even care for guns) and physically crawl through some of the original tunnels built by the guerrilla Vietcong, but I got to witness firsthand one of the sites of the world that has caused so much controversy. I had so many thoughts running through my head while I was there...what was my uncle going through? How the hell did he survive? Why don't the Vietnamese hate us? They were so smart, underground tunnels, genius!, would I myself been a war protester? (probably), and just, wow.

And then I quickly realized that I don't actually know that much about the Vietnam war. Which then I thought was quite silly...I know more about the world wars and even the war of 1812 than I do about a war that happened in America's relatively recent past...why is that? The only thing I really remember learning about the Vietnam war is that it was highly protested (insert lovely smelling hippies here) and our soldiers fought against the quick and agile Vietcong after previously giving them weapons, etc. That's really about it. How could I know more about a war that happened almost 200 years ago than a war that has affected my friends and family directly?

It's times like these that reaffirm my belief that we can't always rely on the education system in the US to teach us what we really need to know or at least want to know. It's like that everywhere. Where you're taught affects what you're taught. Not to mention the amount of time teachers are allotted to teach certain subjects, etc.

I'm on a mission to learn the ins and outs of the Vietnam war via a reasonably priced book found around here, or maybe the internet, who knows. If you've got time, read a wikipedia page or something like that, at least its a start.

How would you like your beef, too skinny or unnaturally "plump"

VS.

All throughout Southeast Asia (and India) I’ve noticed a fair amount of shall we say, skinny cows. Now a skinny cow comes in a different varieties; theres, way too FUCKING scary skinny, that cow should eat a few more fields of grass, and hmm, it that cow looks a bit off. But the question is, do I really know what or how a cow should look? Most of the cows in A-murrrr-ica are factory cows that are injected with so many hormones, their own feces and fed an unnatural diet of grain, that my perception of a standard cow might be a bit off. To be fair (I guess), most of the cows I’ve seen here aren’t dairy cows really, but are used mostly for meat…I’m blindly assuming there’s some sort of difference. Regardless, the cows here are mostly nowhere near the size of our cows. They really tend to be a bit skinner, and often times seeing their ribs isn’t terribly difficult either.

Passing by either by bus or train, most of the cows seem to be grazing on grass…go figure? You mean people here allot the cows to eat their natural entrée of choice? Crazy. However, I have also seen my fair share of cows eating trash or eating something right near trash.

I’ve had these thoughts multiple times while traveling across a country or just walking to the market. But then I was struck with a conundrum of sorts…which would I rather eat, a very skinny cow who might have eaten grass or trash, or both, OR a cow that has been injected with every hormone known to man and isnt given the right to roam and graze? I honestly dont know at this point…I think I might choose the skinny cow just because theres a good chance it ate some grass and definitely got exercise…

WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE?

Siem Reap

As much as I loved Thailand, I already LOVE Cambodia! Well, I think I’m just infatuated with all of Southeast Asia haha. The last two days in Siem Reap have been something else. Upon arrival we were escorted—I guess you could say—to a village in the countryside of Siem Reap. It was there that I have had one of the most eye-opening and fufilling experiences yet.

To get to this village we basically went off-roading in tuk tuks about a half an hour away from the center of Siem Reap…all dirt, well, clay roads really. The journey itself was already impressed me. We passed families going about their day, chickens and antelope roaming in the yards, little kids playing and people just being people, which is what I love. As we were taken around the village by Pilla (our countryside host), she shared with us the many secrets of living in the countryside. The people there live within nature and use what mother nature has to offer, there is no waste in this cycle of life. The people depend on nature and nature depends on the people for farming and the use of animals for fertilization. For example, the lotus plant, although we know is already beautiful, serves multiple purposes. It can be a flower to look at, its fruit to be eaten, its stems used for basket weaving, and its leaves as rain repellent. Amazing. Everyone we met that day was so kind and genuinely interested in meeting us as weryll. The dinner was served outside in a kind-of dining room gazebo type deal, where the place settings were on the ground in a family style type set-up. Everything served was traditional Cambodian/Khmer food, which btw, is one of my new favs. There needs to be Khmer restaurant in the Deuce…we have almost every other nationality represented, so why not Cambodian?

The most spectacular thing about that night was being able to really see how Cambodians in the village live. It is from that view point that we can truly learn about a people and their culture.

"Same Same But Different"

THAT, is a key phrase in Thailand (and Cambodia)...whenever walking around literally any street, you're bound to find a market of sorts. And there, you will be able to purchase almost any knockoff good or material you can imagine. When asking the seller if the item is real or not, they always reply "same same but different" bahahha l LOVE IT! Its sooooo hard not to buy everything I see...most things are ridiculously cheap.

Although I am currently in Cambodia (which is the bomb btw), Thailand was also fantastic. You the reader, must promise me that at some point in your life, you'll go to Thailand/Cambodia/all of southeast Asia, its unlike any other place in the world. The people are so unbelievably friendly and are willing to do whatever it is you need. When they ask how you are doing, they mean it; they're not asking just to get you to buy something. And as beautiful as the people are, the landscape is even more beautiful!

Bangkok itself is quite busy, a very metropolitan area, but in a Thai style. Its not really too comparable to say Chicago or NYC, but it is technically a city. Interwoven with skyscrapers you'll find ancient relics and temples of a time long long ago. Buddah is everywhere. While wandering around the city by myself for hours on the first day I accidentally walked into a monestary, whoops. But the monks were totally cool. Most of them in the Bangkok area have given up speaking, but they were still able to help me out. And the food.....IS AMAZING. No Thai! aint got nothing on this! Fresh fresh fresh ingredients that are super cheap! One of the days I got pad thai (0f course) for about 50 cents....50 cents! No Thai! just seems too expensive now haha.

One more thing about Thailand....everyone I've met seems to instantly give respect. Its as if the air here is of a calming and respectful wave, seducing everyone in its' path. I am coming back. There's no doubting it, I want to and I will...and so should you.

• Reflecting back to my earlier posts, it was only until yesterday that I realized my post about the symphonic melody of India's traffic patterns, was in itself, withholding. How could I write two sequential posts that contradict each other so much? Walking through Chandri Chowk I thought (out of nowhere), "wait, if drivers rely on honking for driving, then how would the Deaf drive?" The shame and humiliation I felt at the moment was strong. I talk so much about fighting for the Deaf, my Deaf pride, and how we all need equal rights; yet the Deaf community did not instantly affect my thoughts concerning driving in India. I wonder why that is...perhaps its being removed from the community? I don't know, but I don't like it. For crying out loud, the drivers take off their side mirrors here because of all the sly shifting and weaving in and out of traffic that they do. How on earth would a Deaf or hard of hearing person be able to transport themselves? I mean, of course its possible, and I'm sure some do, but its probably one of the least safe things they could do. So as I rave about the sounds and magical behavior of India's traffic, I ask myself, would it be worth it to give that up so that everyone had the equal opportunity to drive? Hell yes. But, its a part of their culture, their way of life...something I'm very keen on preserving for any and all cultures. And to input actual traffic regulations here would be damn near impossible, do-able, but pretty damn difficult.

Buddah Buddah Buddah

At a younger age (basically anytime in my life before these last two weeks), I always thought of Buddhism as some silly joke, a thing only Asians did (ahh childhood ignorance), that it wasn't really a religion but rather this strange way of life. Buddhists were always novelties in movies, usually portrayed as dutiful monks who sometimes turned into karate crime fighting machines. But could you really blame me? Who was I to know that what was portrayed on the TV and in Hollywood wasn't actually true? That, was not one of one of the many rules our elementary school teachers taught us. Or if they did, its pretty much guaranteed that I was NOT paying attention.

As I've said before many times, ignorance is not bliss, it is unnecessary and unfortunate. How quickly I've learned that Buddhism is not what I once thought it was. Rather, it is a vast collection of knowledge, spirituality and humility, a land left uncharted for this writer. While in Delhi I had the privilege of visiting Akshardham, a Hindu temple located in a desert-type location on the outskirts of the city. Although it was a Hindu temple, a fraction of the writings surrounding the temple were of Buddah and some of his mantras. Whilst reading an inscription on the wall, "the world has plenty for every man's needs, but nothing for his greed," I got goosebumps. As I continued to read the other inscriptions, the goosebumps intensified, and I just got this feeling that I can't really describe. I hate to sound so cliche, but its true. It was at that moment that I knew that Buddhism or at least some humble form of spirituality, might be the path for me. Not to mention I am SO doing yoga at school when I get back, I don't care how trendy it makes me look.

Throughout my trip I've been having smaller moments of profound thought, spiritual in a sense. We'll see where this journey takes me, but I have a feeling I'm headed in a positive direction.

So far I've been struggling internally with the rampant poverty and my inability to help. Not to mention the confusion of where to begin. India is such a beautiful country, rich with variant culture, colors, lifestyles, religions, and of course, food. The people here are something else, it as if western life has affected them, but only in the slightest. Materialistic trends run profusely in the middle to upper classes, while the entire caste system still has a genuine familial groove.

CODA, its whats for breakfast

As many people may know, I am extremely proud to be a CODA (child of deaf adults). It has made who I am today and the person I will continue to grow into. Living partially in the Deaf world has afforded me many life opportunities and experiences not many people are fortunate enough to have. Today, being a CODA and fluent in sign language saved my life...well, not exactly that dramatic, that was just fun to say.

Originally the owner of my hostel was supposed to arrange a ride for me from the airport to the hostel, which didnt exactly work out. After being instructed to take a police taxi, which does not mean a police car, but rather a toy car that's on its last life. And considering I only know 5 words in Hindi and most of them are swear words, communicating with a driver that didn't speak English was going to be a bit tricky. Once I was at the metro station the owner promised to come pick me up...so I waited....and waited...oh, and waited some more....no show. Just as this creepy old man was giving me the eye while moving towards me blowing a balloon, I saw two men speaking sign language!

BINGO BANGO! They were speaking Indian sign language, but by the grace of Buddha, we were able to communicate. I got access to a phone and a ride to the hostel. See kids, moral of the story, either get Deaf parents or learn sign language...or both! It might just save your life.

Music to My Ears

Prior to leaving, many had told me that the traffic and roadways in India, is for lack of a better word, nuts. "Dont look at the road!" "Its crazy mad!" "The drivers are nuts!"-people said. And upon my first arrival to the city of Calcutta, I might've believed them. However, after a few short days I have come to realize that what others call madness is really quite beautiful. The roads here are like a symphony, a well constructed melancholy of sounds that provide an atmosphere full of suspense. Here, instead of following the "rules" of the road, the people drive or bike or pull others with their own rules and rythym. In fact, the street signs and speed limits mean almost nothing. There are no lanes, no incessant traffic cops or anyone or thing trying to control the traffic. Although seemingly dangerous, such tools of control are not necessary. I would be slightly saddened if the traffic were to change. People (mostly men) use their horns as a way to communicate. The drivers have dialogue with horns, hey sir move over, you there I'm on the left, turn!, get out of the way pedestrians, and so forth. It really is quite amazing how it works here. Once a person learns these things, they can become a skilled driver in Calcutta. Mirrors become unnecessary, thats what honks and beeps are for; even people on bicycles and rickshaws follow the communication between the cars and motorbikes. And not once did I see or hear of any road accidents. Thank you Calcutta for showing me a new art form, something beautiful and unique to the rest of the world.

Today we saw one of Calcutta's greatest monuments, the Queen Victoria Memorial. It was built in Brittish times to welcome the queen and to offer her a place to stay while visiting. The thing is HUGE. If someone built that for me upon visiting, I would never leave. That or I would visit every country to have such a monument in my name all over the world...jokes! It truly is a sight to see. Yet, what might have been more entertaining was the attention I myself was getting. I'm not use to any attention, and while I was expecting it, it was a bit shocking to deal with at first. Without even entering the grounds I was already a spectacle. The starring I expected, but the videotaping and photography I did not. I couldnt walk more than 10 feet without being photographed. Now, I really I have no problems with it, its actually quite funny. I have complex feelings about the adoration of white skin. I know that its something I will face everywhere I go here, but it still makes me uneasy. We are all human beings, regardless of what color we are, what religion we practice or who we love, let us not forget that. Human beings whom deserve a set of basic rights, despite any so-called difference one may point out.

Peace

Who Knew There Was A Such Thing As Nor'Westerners?

I continue to be almost shocked by what I see in the streets. Today as we were driving to the Mother Teresa center, my eyes were opened even more. I saw men and little boys bathing in the streets either via a broken water pipe or a water access center that had been opened for such a purpose. The poor of India literally live in the streets. Everyone I saw in the streets of Calcutta was literally skin and bones, just starving. When we were walking through New Market there were beggars everywhere of all ages and gender, no matter what. The little kids hurt my heart the most. I just wanted to help them all, but I couldn't. How are we to solve this problem? Where does someone begin with this? I just have no idea...perhaps it comes with cleaning up the trash first. Then at least the people living in the streets would have a cleaner environment to live in.

I love this heat. My friend can't quite understand why haha, but I do. It just feels good, even with the humidity and everything. Perhaps its due to living in Michigan with its not-so-hot weather that makes me appreciate any chance of sunshine and warmth. We attempted to go to the Mother Teresa Center (it has a name I cannot remember) but it was closed :( but we still got to talk to some little girls on the street and give them candy. Saw more rickshaws today...still blows me away that I'm sitting in an air conditioned car while someone else is pulling two other people in the sweltering heat. But its not as if my friend and I were the only ones in cars, many, many others were, they're just used to the contrast.

Went to an outdoor/indoor market called New Market. They were selling almost everything; fruits, flowers, clothes, shoes, food, tobacco, silver and gold, fabrics, handicrafts galore and anything one could think of buying. I just love walking around markets like that. It kind of reminded me of Europe in places like Florence. In these places a person can gain a full taste or experience of what an area has to offer. All walks of life go to the markets, high caste, low caste, men and women, children, everyone. Once we got to the indoor section of the market the first thing I noticed was the smell, kinda like old urine, but it wasn't really that bad, you get used to it after like five minutes. Not a big deal. Once we were inside, there was just a bombardment of shops...fabrics, jewelry, clothes, sweet shops, all in one space. There was this guy that kept following us around telling us where to go, even after tipping him he wouldn't leave.

It was at New Market where I finally got a taste of the infamous roll. We both had chicken rolls...a roll is a sandwich type deal that is a typical street food of Calcutta. It is composed of a fried naan called p-something, which is wrapped around chicken, fried onions, raw onions and smothered in spices aka delicious. Although what I have noticed already is that all of the food is piping HOT. Everyone says you're not supposed to eat street food, but I don't think I'm really going to listen to that mantra. In fact, I'm going to follow Anthony Bourdain's style and eat EVERYTHING I can get my hands on. The most important aspect of learning about a new area and its people is through the food served locally. A area's food can give a person a real sneak peak into the area's lifestyle and culture.

Calcutta (at least) is a melting pot of religion. I have seen just as many Hindi temples as Muslim mosques as catholic churches everywhere. As I sit in a Hindi household worshiping the God Ganesh, I can hear prayers being shout out via the mosque close-by. I feel as if my ignorance has made this discovery such a surprise. I think the strong presence of Christianity here is what caught me off guard the most, I guess I just wasn't expecting such a thing. I really like the diversity of religions in this area. It may seem small and you the reader may doubt such diversity, but I can assure you there is more religious diversity and acceptance here than in my own town. Where are the Jewish temples and synagogues or the Muslim mosques in Crystal Lake? Granted there is tolerance for practicing other religions besides Hindi here, but, there is still a small although growing tolerance for mixed marriage. That, I believe, will come with time, as well as the acceptance for other deviant behaviors.

Per normal Calcutta weather, we experienced a Nor’Westerner today…definitely more epic than the usual storm. The wind was crazy strong, at least 30mph, sporadic rain, and intense lightning. After the storm cooled down we went and got more typical street food which they call “chats”. We ate something that was mushed up aloo (potato), chickpeas, masala, and other spices, all put into this tiny fried shell that resembles a cream puff, very tasty. Although I did limit myself because it was made with water and I didn’t want to risk getting sick before I left for Delhi. Oh! And for dinner we had this Burmese dish that was out of this world! Basically it was noodles covered in this liquid coconut chile gravy thing with chicken, and then you put as much onion, chili sauce, coriander, fried noodles, or lemon as you like. I feel as if that isn't doing the dish justice, but trust me, its fricken good. But alas, my love for spicy food has bitten me in the arse. Right now my stomach is ON FIRE. I’m sweating bullets and am quite uncomfortable. However, would I take back eating all of that delicious food? I think not.

My new fascination? Buddha. How have I not discovered this before? I find myself completely enraptured by Buddhism…its like the faith for those who believe in equal human rights and that suffering is not necessary when we don’t want it to be. Of course that’s a really brash definition, but I cant wait to explore it some more on my trip.

Peace

Mumbai/Calcutta day 1

After a fail of epic proportions (misreading my confirmation email and missing my flight out of London-not fun) Ive finally reached India...what a sight. We tend to have thoughts or misconceptions about an area or a group of people in the world but we can never know about a place without visiting it and experiencing it. THAT is most certainly the case with India. I myself tried to keep an open-mind and limit my expectations, but what others have said prior to my arrival did taint my views somewhat. India is and is not what I expected...the posh and the impoverished literally live next to each other and co-exist in the same space.

Just as I was driving on the road with my friend her driver, the people next to us were being pulled in a rickshaw pulled by another man...we ate chinese in a more expensive restaurant while just outside men who were just skin and bones were living in a slum with their cow...things are different here. At the same time I am drawn to such a culture but it also saddens me a bit. I am not sure how to react to it all, other than to absorb it and build something from what I have learned and seen.

I am lucky to be staying with a friend that doesnt live such a difficult life I guess...I'm not sure if I would instantly be able to live in the slums, but I could definitely work up to it. Ayesha's penthouse is modest but wonderful. Her mother is Bengali and will be making us Bengali food. She has already made us two fabulous indian food, extra spicy. Tomorrow we will going exploring in the city and we will also be visiting one of Mother Teresa's schools.

Peace

LONDON

Made it to London!!!! Its beautiful here! Exhaustion has reached an all time high, alert the media. And no, I haven't seen the newly married couple. I keep asking myself, am I ready for India? And I just don't know...maybe? yes? no? I guess we'll see.

Pre-Trip Post!

I can't believe the time is already here...I'm actually leaving. I feel as if I have been planning for this trip forever (which if you think about it, it has been about 9 months..)! Although, I don't think it will really hit me until I leave London for Mumbai....don't get me wrong, London will be great. I can't to spend time with Ilana, but its just different.