That Awkward Silence When You've Run Out of Things to Say to...Yourself.

I drove down Winnetka Street. I switched off the radio. There’s nothing good playing these days.

The silence in my car made me feel uncomfortable. I was alone with my own thoughts. And that scared me.

Since moving back to the US a month and half ago after living in East Asia for two years, silence is not something I have experienced. At first I didn’t hear it because I felt so overwhelmed and bombarded with culture shock all up in my face constantly. At some point I had to stop processing at the same rate I was experiencing in order to stay sane. I was going through a kind of shock and I switched to survival mode. One day at a time. One day at a time, I would tell myself. Then I didn’t experience silence because all I could hear was my own voice and the voices of everyone around me. People wanted answers and I wanted them too. I talked a lot because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I’m not sure what I talked about but talking about Asia gave me a moment’s relief from not knowing how to handle my current reality of not being in Asia.  Silence and processing got delayed again when my plans for this next year and this coming semester fell through. I was sent into a scramble trying to sort out my life, where I’d live, what I’d do, and how to pay for it all. Silence only exacerbated the loneliness I was feeling; the loneliness that we all experience when we’re walking through something that we alone simply must walk through. Then silence was postponed because I was afraid of it. I was so afraid I’d discover that I was falling apart. I was so emotionally, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that I just couldn’t handle sitting down and looking myself in the eye. I tried a few times to sit down and intentionally process the transition I’m in the middle of, but every time I’d try to let myself feel something I would instantly become intensely sleepy. Just the thought of thinking through things actually physically made my eyelids heavy and my head get fuzzy. And I really would fall asleep – a confused, escapist kind of sleep. I couldn’t figure out how to express or define how I was doing and where I was at. I couldn’t process, not because I didn’t want to but because I simply had no energy. And honestly, I was afraid. I was afraid to face the pain, struggle, and stress. I just wanted to be okay.

But there was nothing good on the radio. So I switched it off. And I suddenly found myself trapped in silence. My hand reached to turn the radio back on but I paused. No, I thought, I will not run. It was just me in my car with no voice to be distracted by, only the one inside to listen to. For a while I just drove in the quiet. Then all of a sudden, tears began to pour down my cheeks. And I let them. I realized I was crying not because I was falling apart, not because I was sad, not because I was stressed out, not because I was overwhelmed. I was crying simply because I just didn’t have any words (which as an extremely verbose person is a rarity). I wasn’t crying sad tears. I wasn’t crying happy tears. I was just crying because out of all the ways to express how I was doing and where I was at, tears seemed like the only thing that would hold and express it all. I just didn’t and still don’t have any words. No words to try to describe what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, who I’ve been these past two years in Asia. No words to capture the lessons I’ve learned in transitioning to life back in America. No words. I’m sure there are words out there. I just don’t know how to say them right now. The joy I know deep down, the pain I’m breathing through, the experiences that are changing me, the lessons I’ve hashed out and am currently hashing out – it’s all I can do.

A few months ago I wrote about how I wasn’t coming back to the US. I said, “I shall do my best to cherish each and everyday, to remember that stress never saved the world, and to laugh and cry everytime I get the chance. What my future holds I do not know. I do not even know all of what my past holds, to be honest. But this I know for sure, I am grateful for yesterday, thankful for today, and welcoming of tomorrow because discovering the adventures of surrender is the kind of life I love living.”

And after driving in silence for a few minutes down the street in Los Angeles, all I can say is that I shall continue to do my best to be fully here where I am today, to laugh and cry every chance I get, to let myself be overwhelmed with gratitude more regularly, and to switch off the radio more often. 

That's Okay

“How is it being back?”

I’ve been asked this question a million times it feels like over the past 13 days. And I never know how to answer. Are they just asking to be polite? Or do they really want to know? I always wonder. Should I tell them what it feels like today or what it feels like in general? Should I just answer with a joke? Can I pretend I heard someone call my name from the other room? Can I pretend I don’t speak English anymore?

The short answer is: Hard.

It is hard being back in the States for an undefined amount of time. Yes, that’s right. I just said it is hard to be in one of the most developed, wealthiest, secure countries on the earth. But I’m not talking about lifestyle hard. I’m talking about feeling lost. I’m talking about leaving my home, community and life in Asia that I love and belong in. I’m talking about reverse culture shock. And what I’m really talking about it is being in the middle of a big fat time of massive transition. A transition that although is good and right is still majorly life-altering, messy, awkward and hard.

Some moments it is harder than others. But that’s just how life goes, I suppose. I’m taking one day at a time. Relishing the little things I took for granted for so many years – like air, a blue sky, a full fridge, a real mattress, carpet, water pressure, and a car.

There are just so many thoughts, so many feelings and I just can’t organize them. I can’t sort them out by color and put them into boxes. I can’t give people the synopsis they want. I’m in the middle of a muddle; wadding neck deep in a thick mix of decisions, changes, deadlines, and questions.

And I’m having a hard time. But you know what? That’s okay. 

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.