Back Through the Wardrobe

I've got my memories
Always inside of me
But I can't go back
Back to how it was
I believe you now
I've come too far
No I can't go back
Back to how it was

This morning as I set out to finish filling up the two suitcases on my floor, shuffle gauged the mood of the room all on its own and decided to play the song “This is Home” from the soundtrack of the second movie of The Chronicles of Narnia.

I’ve heard this song many times. It was my mantra in high school whenever I was missing a time long gone or a friend far away. It was the soundtrack to my pining; an emotional “Yeah…” moment where I’d look longingly off into some perceived distance all dramatically like a clip from a movie remembering the ‘better days’. Why do we try so hard to hold onto things of the past? Why do we so desperately cling to what we know? Why are we stubbornly sentimental until the point of living in a world that doesn’t exist for us anymore?

But this morning as I stood before my life and tried to pack it into a suitcase, I heard this song very differently.

I’ve got memories, a lot of memories always inside of me - memories from 15 years ago, memories from 5 years ago, memories from last year. But I think when I heard the line “But I can’t go back” I always was fighting one past for another past or for a present that was soon to be a new past. I was picking and choosing what I wanted my reality to be based on various reasons. I didn’t want to go back to the way things were before, so I clung like a screaming baby to my present, afraid to let it go for fear it might all melt away and I be found “back”.

But, to all the people who have poured into my life these past 2 years, I believe you now. It’s all come too far and I can’t go back to how it and who I was before. There is no “back”.

Life goes on and the chorus rings:

This is home
Now I'm finally where I belong
Where I belong
Yeah, this is home
I've been searching for a place of my own
Now I've found it
Maybe this is home
This is home

And a thought struck me this morning as I heard the song anew. Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter still had to leave Narnia. They still had to go back to England, even though Narnia was their home now. Why did they have to go back to England? Didn’t the song just say they couldn’t go back? That they had found their home? My natural response would be “You found where you belong? Then hold on tight with all you’ve got and never ever let it go! You’re queens and kings in this land you love? Then obviously you should stay here forever.” But they didn’t. Aslan sent them to England. And they said goodbye and went. They were sad. But they went, knowing full well that they were just four ordinary children in Britain in the midst of a world war. They left the magical land they had come to love, the place they were made for and belonged in, and returned to the faded days of England. Because even though Narnia might be their home, it wasn’t where they were supposed to be right now. Caspian needed to learn take the throne on his own. Peter and Susan needed to grow up and decide for themselves if Narnia was really wanted they wanted (which if you’ve read the books you know what Susan decided). And Lucy and Edmund needed to meet Eustace and eventually introduce him to Narnia.

I kind of feel like the Pevensie kids right now. I’m not a queen here, but I’ve found my place of influence. I’ve found where I belong. And although I won’t be stepping through a magical wardrobe, tomorrow I will be getting on an airplane bound for America. I still have that natural instinct to want to hold onto the good thing I’ve got, to painstakingly pry it from my hands. But I still have some growing up to do, some decisions to make, some lessons to learn, some people to meet and some world introductions to do.

The song ends:

Belief over misery
I've seen the enemy
And I won't go back
Back to how it was
And I got my heart set on what happens next
I got my eyes wide it's not over yet
We are miracles and we're not alone

And now after all my searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
I've got a brand new mindset
I can finally see the sunset
I'm gonna call it home

I’ve found where I belong. And I’m still getting on the plane back to America in 28 hours. But I believe you now. 

A New Kind of Normal

We are raised with this concept of “normal” – an idea of what is regular, standard, and common. It is what we are comfortable with, what we are used to, and what we know life to consist of. Normal are the things that we cease to notice in life – because they just are there.

Often times I have said that I just wished my life was “normal”. About half way through my time in Asia I began to struggle with longing to be normal. I wasn’t actually sure what I meant by that, but I struggled with the reality of how unorthodox my life was. I yearned to be what I knew, to have a life like what I had seen before. But no, I wasn’t your average American young woman. I wasn’t living a life that my culture had said was the ideal. While all my friends were declaring majors at good colleges back in the US, I was working a full-time job in Asia trying to figure out who I am and what to do with my life. My lifestyle was exciting and adventurous, but some days I just wanted to not be stared out when I walked down the street. I wanted to shop in a regular grocery store. I wanted to be with people who were like me – my age, my stage in life, my way of life. “I just want to be normal!” I would mumble.

But last week I walked by a man who was carrying a live chicken and big knife out to the sidewalk. I looked twice but I didn’t think twice. Last night I sat on my friends’ couch listening to Tibetan music being played in the square outside as women danced to the music in a large circle. At four o’clock every day the call to prayer can be heard over loud speakers. I go to the office every day to work with amazing women who have come from backgrounds of exploitation. I am often stopped on the sidewalk and asked to take my photo with some random excited stranger who makes me feel like a movie star. I eat lamb (and one time rat by accident) on a stick for dinner which has been cooked over coals on the side of the road. I am highly under-trained and under-qualified for my job, but I learn, I make mistakes, and figure it out as I go. The other day I was in my friend’s car driving home and realized that out of the 5 people in the car, 5 different countries were represented. I sat with a British friend, a Canadian friend, a German friend, and a Dutch friend. And this kind of diversity is a common occurrence in my social interactions.

I see and experience a dozen things every day that 2 years ago would have made me either laugh, cry, or go “Huh?” But I hardly even notice them anymore. You know why? Because this life is my normal now.  I’m used to eating yogurt out of a bag, speaking Chinglish, and getting to know people from all over the world. I drink hot water now (something I swore I would never do when I first move to Asia). I have my favorite gaifan (a veggie dish over rice) delivery guy. I’m used to squatty-potties. I don’t think twice when I see a man riding a bicycle with a couch to strapped his back.

I’ve learned that this idea of “normal” I was conditioned to believe in, pressured to pursue, doesn’t really exist. Normal is just what you make life to be. And often times life changes and you have to adjust your perspective and adopt a new normal.

I am soon to leave my normal life in East Asia – the life I know, the life I’m used to, the life I love – for a new and foreign way of life in a strange place called the United States of America. I have come to love my current normal and I know the lessons I have learned and experiences I have had in this normal will equip me for the next normal too.

Vicarious Trauma

I recently ran across a link to this article about Vicarious Trauma which was posted by an individual who works in Southeast Asia with a similar project to the nonprofit I work with. I found it very helpful and interesting to read. After working in Asia for nearly two years with women who have come out of exploitation, I can really relate to what this article talks about. Day after day I see deep pain in women's eyes. I see the look of insecurity and confusion flash across their faces. Even just walking down the street or riding the bus, I am surrounded with people who carry hopelessness in their eyes and a posture that expresses how exhausted they are at trying to balance fulfilling their familial and/or cultural duty and wanting to attain the happiness culture has told them they can buy. 

The abuse, trauma, and lack of love the women I work with have experienced makes me want to weep. It does make me weep. The more time I spent with them, the better we got to know one another, the more each woman became a part of my world. I got to know each of their unique and beautiful personalities and senses of humor. I witnessed their struggles. I saw them grow and journey down the tough road of healing. 

I grew to love each woman deeply and uniquely, and that's why I could really relate to this sentence in the article, "When you identify with the pain of people who have endured terrible things, you bring their grief, fear, anger, and despair into your own awareness and experience." 
Vicarious Trauma is a form of trauma people can experience over time after witnessing other people's sufferings and needs. It is common among humanitarian and nonprofit workers. When you deeply care about someone, and that someone is deeply hurting, you will feel that hurt too. If you are faced with horrible injustices and abuse repeatedly, it is going to start to affect you. We have all at some point had to witness a loved one or a friend go through a tough time and it hurt us to see them in that place. Vicarious Trauma is build up of that experience. It is the result of continual and intense exposure to and interaction with the brokenness in people's souls. 

But as I sit here writing this, I can't help but think of someone I know who has experienced the ultimate exposure to the brokenness of this world. He bore it all so that pain, trauma, and hopelessness would no longer have to be our only reality. You see, even after the things I've seen and experience, even after walking the red light districts of Asia, after seeing little girls and women of all ages with eyes glazed over, after seeing the heartbreaking realities of the poor, the undervalued, the neglected people of this world, I still hold on to Hope. I think I have most likely experienced vicarious trauma. Sometimes the trauma and pain is too much to bear and I just want to run away from it all and shut out the pain. But I will never ever forget the look in a woman's eyes when she is starting to believe that she is loved and valued. 

Direct and indirect trauma is a very real thing. And it is extremely complicated and incredibly difficult. But I refuse to believe that's all there is for us.

The First of Many Goodbyes.

Last night I helped carry my dear friend's suitcase out to the street. I flagged down a taxi for her, secretly hoping no taxi would ever stop, would ever take her away. But one came. No matter how long you have to wait, one always eventually comes. I opened the door for her and turned around to hug her. I clung with all my might to my friend, so afraid of the moment ending. But it did end. We reluctantly release one another. She got into the taxi. I closed the door and watched it drive off down the street.

This is the first of the many heart wrenching goodbyes that await me in the next four weeks.

I wrote the following post a little over a year ago. As I watched the taxi drive away  last night and I walked slowly back to my apartment, me and my heart tried hard to remember to breathe and tried hard not to grow hard but to let myself feel the weight of the goodbye.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Bye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.


My heart wrung in between beats as if gasping for blood as lungs gasp for air when the physical struggles to keep up with the surging emotional. I held my breath afraid for what would escape if I let it out. My eyes pinched shut wishing, hoping, praying that the reality beyond my lids would melt away. Quivering my lips did all they could to contain the sobs that were building in my chest. My mind was a blank though a thousand thoughts rushed at me and blurred my vision. Thoughts of meeting, thoughts of parting, thoughts of the known, thoughts of the unknown, thoughts of love. I held on tight as did they. We embraced with committed arms and abandon reservations. Reluctantly we pulled back. Eye to eye, heart to heart, they spoke. Their words reached down inside of me and made another chip at the heart that is being carved. I felt another onslaught of tears building. Not even half did I let escape though it seemed as if I had joined in on the tropical storm’s display. The moment ended and we released one another. Our eyes shone and our faces wore a slight smile. We said, “Goodbye.”

It’s just the... (view the rest of the post)