New State, New Apologies

It’s been a while, I know.

Quick recap of life over the past year: graduated university, moved from Indiana to Washington with the help of my amazing partner, and stumbled into a life I never would have imagined.

After graduating and moving, I realized that I haven’t written or read anything in a long time. And I find myself wanting to apologize.

An apology isn’t needed, I know. This blog and the writing I put into it has always really been for my own self purpose. Yet, I keep typing then immediately erasing words of regret.

“What are you ready to stop apologizing for?” This question, outlined in Sonya Renee Taylor’s The Body is Not An Apology spurred me to write. Growing up, apologies were as common place as the Midwestern “Ope!” uttered after bumping into someone.

I think back over this past year and all the apologies I have issued:

• I’m sorry that I can’t take all this work on.
• I’m sorry that I have to say “no.”
• I’m sorry for being fat and taking up space.
• I’m sorry for pronouns, my gender that confuses you so utterly that you choose to ignore it.
• I’m sorry for eating too much, too little, too slowly, too quickly.
• I’m sorry for being too little and too much.
• I’m sorry that I don’t want to talk about my assaulter. Or hear their name, for that matter.
• I’m sorry but I cannot take on your emotional trauma.
• I’m sorry x, y, and z.

I think about my binder, laying in my dresser. I haven’t worn it in months, even though it makes me more comfortable in my skin on my more masculine days. I imagine the feminine clothes that I rarely wear, not because I hate them, but because I know my pronouns will be less respected if I were to wear them.

These actions reflect the apologies I feel like I have to make. Apologies not through words, but through my lack of comfort in my own body. I use my body and it’s characteristics to apologize to the world for simply existing. I apologize by not asking for what I need. I apologize by staying silent when someone continuously misgenders me.

Sonya Renee Taylor has made me think about my apologies. In one simple question, she has made me interrogate myself. As I consider all of my apologies, I have to ask, “Am I able to stop apologizing for existing?”

I don’t know if I can answer that. Not yet anyway.

Snapshots of Humanity

Recently, I have found that I am obsessing with the idea of snapshots of other’s lives. Nowadays, people get their snapshots in the very literal sense of browsing through social media and seeing the selfies and pictures that depict life, warmed by filters and touch-ups. I prefer the old fashion way of obtaining my snapshots: catching the rogue ends of conversations, seeing how a stranger reacts when a smile is thrown their way, simple words parceled out between a pair of lips that you have never seen before. As I sit in the middle of a quiet coffee shop, I realize that snapshots of someone’s life are perhaps one of the greatest things of this human existence. One person will never be able to remember all the faces that pass them by. Even less likely would be the ability of that person to collect enough snapshots of those they run across in order to know every person on some sinew-deep level. All conversations are snapshots of another human that happens to inhabit this same breathing piece of rock that we all walk on every day. Yet, the ability of anyone to absorb all these snapshots calls the person to pick and choose.

I remember some of the snapshots of my closest friends yet also of complete strangers. They may not even be aware of my thievery of their snapshots. Stolen glances, secret smiles, broken conversations, hidden tears. They all run together in my mind. I remember one day, when rushing to get to class, I passed by a young man who was curled into himself in a rarely used doorway. Tears darkened the sidewalk beneath him. I recall thinking that I should stop and console this stranger. I didn’t. This makes me wonder endlessly what was beneath that snapshot. Why did those tears have to score tracks down his face? And why didn’t I stop?

This is the crux of it, I think. Maybe one day I will understand the difference between being the thief of moments that I am and the active participant in coloring these snapshots of life. I know others must have captured some of my snapshots, especially given my perchance for loudly and boldly speaking my mind. In fact, someone once confirmed this for me. I had been in an extreme state of upset and screamed something along the lines of “It’s not trendy to be gay!” while walking with my frazzled friend. Some random individual snapped for my anger-spewed words. (Yes, snapped. College seems to do that to some. Myself included.) Days later, I found that same nameless person stopping me in a dinning court and telling me they were the person to snap. It’s odd. I never learned her name. She never learned mine. Yet we are somehow connected by that exchange of snapshots.

It’s these little moments that connect us as a species. I have realized that now. Stolen or shared, we connect with others through moments that pass in streaks of blinding light or splatters of darkness. When we forget that these moments are what makes us human, we become less. So I continue to collect these instants of humanity, broken or otherwise, and live. 

I Wish I Never Learned To Say Goodbye In Chinese

It turns out that realizations come when you’re dancing around your room singing music from The Hobbit during your scheduled naptime. At least for me. In the middle of singing Song of The Lonely Mountain, I found myself having to come to terms with the fact that in less than three days I will be saying goodbye to China. And isn’t that something? For a country that I never thought I would spend any time in, much less two months, I’ve become strangely attached. Now sure, it has come with its share of difficulties. Mainly in the form of language barriers and learning how to use a squat toilet. Regardless, it’s been my home. The graduate students in Room 408 have become my family.

This, as odd as it may seem, has become my everyday life. From chopsticks to red tea, it’s all become normal for me. Performing PCR and PAGE experiments is now second nature. Saying thank you in Chinese takes no thought. And of course there is the desire for a bed that is actually soft and internet where I don’t need a VPN to update my blog, but somehow it seems paltry compared to what I’m leaving behind. It strikes me that I will most likely never see these people again. That our goodbyes will be final. Sure modern technology allows things like email and Skype for communication but it isn’t the same as living everyday life with these people.

I find myself choking back tears at the thought of saying goodbye. Which means I will probably make everyone extremely uncomfortable when I actually do I cry (because we all know that will happen, let’s be honest here folks). Tomorrow I give a presentation over my research and then have a going away party. By party I mean we will all sit around a table full of food and attack it with a vicious appetite then go sing our hearts out at karaoke. Friday will probably consist of packing, holding back tears, and one last game of volleyball.

Saturday has me boarding a 7:25 AM flight and traveling over 30 hours before I’m back in my hometown. It’s always hard to leave somewhere I’ve traveled to. This time is intrinsically different though. I was on my own this time around and somehow it made it feel more real. Everywhere else I have traveled, I’ve been surrounded by others who I knew or at the very least shared the same culture and language. Here? It was just me. It made it seem less like bringing the United States to China and more like becoming a part of China. For once, I wasn’t surrounded by others who shared my culture but instead I had to adapt to the culture surrounding me.

And now? Now I feel like I am about to leave behind a part of myself in China. Of course I will have my memories and a ridiculous amount of souvenirs (mostly gifts that people kept buying for me), but it’s different somehow. I have to accept that the culture shock of this adventure will be difficult. But first I have to accept that I have to say goodbye. I’ve never been good at goodbyes. I always want to hold on with both hands and never let go. So when life pries my fingers loose, well I can’t help but feel the separation like a hole in my chest. Maybe this is life’s way of teaching me how to utter that farewell but I can’t help seeing it as a dreadful duty. Even if I learned how to say it in Chinese, I find that a foreign language doesn’t make it hurt less. I suppose it helps that every time you have to say goodbye to one thing, you end up saying hello to something else. I suppose if I focus the hello instead, the goodbye may not be as bad. 

Finding The Courage Of Life On A Bicycle

As the wind rushed by me and the lake’s waters lapped at the shore, I couldn’t help but think that this was the last possible thing I thought would happen to me in China. Learning how to ride a bike has always been something I wanted to do but never had the courage to. As a little kid, I remember being terrified every time someone tried to teach me. Their patient, if not pitying, looks as I tried and failed over and over again to summon the courage to pedal and steer. I had always been so afraid of falling and failing. I was afraid that I would never learn no matter how hard I tried, so I just gave up. But something was different this time.

When Dr. Bai looked at me and said we were going to rent bikes and ride them around the lake, I immediately felt that oh so familiar flush of shame that came with admitting I had never really learned how to. The look I received back was not one I was completely expecting. Sure, the surprise and shock of finding out someone my age has never successfully ridden a bike was there. But there was also this sort of determination. Some odd determination to give me the chance to learn if I wanted to. So I found myself agreeing to try to learn.

Turns out, it was surprisingly easy. (I won’t talk about the poor plant life that will never been the same after suffering the tires of my bike.) As I was finally doing something that I had feared and longed for throughout my life, I has a sort of revelation. Everyone always says life is too short. Now, I think it has finally sunk in for me: the reality of that statement. Life is too short to live in fear of scrapped knees and broken bones. It’s too short to ponder all the what if’s and could be’s. Life is, well, what you make it.

And now I realize I have been so afraid of failing or of getting hurt that my life was something safe. I knew the dangers of life and I avoided them. I didn’t want to experience any of the pain life could bring. But by doing that, I have missed out on so much of elation that life offers. Fear controlled me: my words, my actions, my choices. Courage was a foreign concept. And while all this might seem like an odd revelation to get after learning something that most elementary children have the ability to do, it was a long time coming for me. Now, I realize that I have a lot of lost opportunities to make up for and hopefully enough life left to do so. After so long, I finally understand that fear isn’t going to go away. The payout of overcoming that fear may hurt more than life itself but it also may provide you the ability to experience life to its fullest capacity. And that’s what I plan to do with how many days I have left on this world. Because we never know when our days are up and our number will be called, but we do know that every morning we wake up is another chance to live life. Live a life where we may get hurt but the endless possibilities before us dull the pain and bring forth a experience that has no limit. Sure, the ending of ever person’s book may look pretty much the same, but it’s what we choose those pages with, whether it be riding in bikes in China or hiding away from pain in fear, that will really define our lives.   

Turns Out Chinese Aren’t From Another Planet

When you are this little child pondering the ways of the world, it always seems so massive. People from other countries seem to be from entirely different planets. When do we grow out of that belief? For me, it’s now. I came into China with all these preconceived notions about the people and the culture. Some of these beliefs I had never even consciously recognized. I had these ideas that Chinese people were emotionally closed-off, somber, and quiet. I saw them as oppressed people controlled by a Communist government. It doesn’t really make sense why I thought those things. I have friends from China and they were never anything but warm and friendly towards me. I think I separated them from the people in China. In my mind, there was two types: Chinese in China and Chinese not in China. They were practically two different races to me.

Now I can honestly say I have never been gladder to be proven wrong. It turns out that Chinese people aren’t from some other world. They’re human, just like you and me. I think that’s easy to forget amongst the media reports and entertainment and off-handed comments in the United States. I didn’t really sink in until I was playing volleyball with a bunch of my coworkers. When someone (normally me to be honest) did something ridiculous, they laughed. When they screwed up serving the ball, they cursed. (Granted for that one I had to be told what the English equivalent was. My education here is very extensive I assure you.) They played just like you would in the US. When we eat lunch in the cafeteria, they chat and make small talk. At least I assume they do since most of the time it’s in Chinese. They joke with each other in the office and call each other affectionate names. Heck, I’ve had conversations about everything from religion to transgenic foods to autism to movies. My acquired Chinese brother and mentor, Bai Bin, often chats with me about music and movies. We share a lot of the same tastes. Forrest Gump and Shawshank Redemption? Yeah, apparently they are popular movies in China. Heck, I’ve even somehow become Bai Bin’s “sister” because my Chinese name is “Bai Lin” (a play of Bohlin, pretty clever).

All of this has accumulated to one startling and wonderful realization: Chinese aren’t really that different from Americans. Sure they may make a lot of toasts during their meals. And maybe they have to boil their water before drinking it. But they laugh and joke and play volleyball just like I do. (Ok, so they play volleyball better than me but that’s beside the point.) It’s easy to get wrapped up into a mindset of “These people are so different than me.” Yet when I take the time to stop and really look, I find that they really aren’t. The people of China took all my expectations and pre-conceived notions and threw them out of the window. Even though I’ve had some amazing adventures here, I think that is the best thing that has happened to me in China.

This Is A Lot Of Self-Discovery For Just One Week

I’m sitting at my desk in the office trying to figure out how to put into words my first days working here. It’s been a lot of information; I can tell you that right now. In between learning some Chinese, I’ve been instructed on DNA extraction, PCR, electrophoresis, agarose gel formation and, of course, volleyball. All of this while still learning just how to effectively communicate just what I want to say in a way that everyone will understand. Turns out China has already started teaching more than these things though and right now I’m finding it a little hard to grapple with. My normally impatient self has been forced to slow down and wait. Conversations often take twice as long as normal due to the necessity to speak slowly and clearly as well as various pauses by the people I work with to look up words in English. At first, it was frustrating. I’ll be honest, it still is. Normally I get my energy from being around others but I find that interaction here tends to be more draining than anything. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love it here and the people are so amazing and kind! But I suppose that is just another thing China is teaching me: Embrace introversion. Ever since I came to terms with being an extrovert, I had started to push aside my introverted times. Now I’m forced to accept them, especially since I live in a dorm by myself. And especially since we get nap time. Seriously. It took me six days to figure out that we have a scheduled nap time. That is six days of wasted napping potential down the drain. Figures. Then there’s those three words. Three words I hate to say. “I don’t know.” I’ve come to say it a lot here. I hate not knowing. Always have. I like to be the person who understands the first time something is explained. I like to read or hear a word and completely understand the meaning. I like knowing the answer to a question that has been asked with any doubt in my mind. Yet here I find that my go-to phrase has become “I don’t know.” At first, it was hard to say. Still is. But it comes easier now. I am prideful and I know that. I take pride in my intelligence and live in fear of not being seen as such. But China is teaching me how to let go of that. I’m learning that I don’t always have to know, and that’s ok. I ask more questions here than I ever have in my life. I want to know, to understand. But this search for knowledge is different somehow. It’s less about gaining knowledge so that I prove how smart I am. Now it’s more about learning for the fun of it. For the rush that I get after an extensive conversation filled with English and Chinese that finally results in understanding. I don’t think that I have learned for the joy of learning in a long time. And it feels amazing. Freeing. I started this blog post thinking I would write about my first days on the job. I suppose I have. But in a different light than I was expecting. But maybe that’s just it. China is starting to provide me a new outlook on the world that I never saw before. And it’s only been a week. 

This is the End (of Freshman Year)

College. I expected studying, griping about grades and professors, and sleepless nights. Did it live up to those wonderful expectations? Of course. But it did so much more. It became midnight runs to Famous Franks, a food truck only open on the weekends after 11 at night. It became making a nest of blankets in a dorm room and waking up with a sore back and all the blankets stolen from me. It became moonlight pancakes and stargazing among the solar system model in Discovery Park. College was more than college.  College was friendships and adventures and self-discovery. I have never before been as comfortable with who I am. What have I learned my freshman year? That it’s perfectly acceptable to dance and nap in public. That life is too short not to embrace the silly and ridiculous situations that we find ourselves in. Now it hasn’t all been rainbows and sugar plumb fairies. I received my first C on a test ever. Yet I found I didn’t care nearly as much as I should have. I had a falling out with someone who claimed to care so much for me. Yet I learned that I didn’t have to be in harmful friendships where I gave and gave without anything being given back. I struggled with the monster that is my depression. Yet I found God when my world turned dark and the walls were closing in. Freshman year has taught me a truth that I had never before embraced: I am worth more. I can respect and love myself. So often I get caught up in this “I am nothing” mentality. But when I embrace that I am pretty darn awesome? Well I realize something. We call people who see themselves as great as prideful and arrogant. But what if we were all to love ourselves? This past year has been the happiness of my life because I finally decided to see myself as I am. Am I perfect? Goodness no. And I never will be. This isn’t about perfection or arrogance. It’s about finally saying “I am worth it. I am not worthless. I am not a failure. I am greater.” Of course I still don’t think this all the time, especially when the darkness of my depression comes creeping towards me. But I find that the darkness is not so terrifying anymore. I look into it and I can see the light at the end. In the past, it had just been a wall of black. Today, I can stand before the dark with a smile on my face and a laugh in my lungs knowing that I will be alright. Why? Because I’m a freshman. I’m an Aggie. I’m a Boilermaker. I’m a Christian. I’m a feminist. I’m a liberal. I’m a victor. I’m a friend. I’m an idiot. (Only on a rare occasion I assure you.) I’m more than what this world tries to label me as. I may be carry my labels with me, but I carry them with pride. I also swell with pride when I prove perceptions wrong because my label doesn’t just define my life. It took my 19 years but I think I finally found true happiness. They say college is the best time of your life. As my associate dean once said, “Make it the best time of your life… so far.” Freshman year taught me a lot about myself, but it also showed me that I cannot wait to go into the world with everything I am learning and do something amazing. I didn’t just learn to love myself but also my major, my department, and my college. Incoming freshman? If you are reading this, get ready for the best time of your life. But it will only be the best time of your life if you make it so. Go out of your comfort zone and into the learning zone. Also take advantage of all the free stuff you get. No really I’m not kidding here. It’s pretty great. But really, take advantage of the next four years of your life. Explore. Wonder. Live. Life’s too short. The night is still young but not for long. So goodbye Freshman year. You were an adventure, and a great one at that.

This Wall of Mine

I’m realizing just how horrible I’ve been at updating my blog lately. Life got in the way. Or did it? It seems like this a go-to excuse. But why? “Life got in the way.” Isn’t that exactly what life isn’t supposed to do? Life isn’t supposed to be some wall that you try to find your way around. Yet so often I feel like it is. I feel like I’m bashing my head up against the metaphorical wall that life is and just trying to find out what’s on the other side. The thing is, before this week, I never really considered that maybe that wall isn’t really life. What if it’s just something everyone has labeled as life but no one realizes the truth? What if life is what’s beyond that wall? What if we have gotten so wrapped up in the presence of this wall that we’ve forgotten all the space behind us? What if we never noticed that the wall has a gaping hole in it just a few feet from where we’ve been standing all this time? Recently, I’ve been forced to accept a few hard truths. One of which is the very true fact that we don’t live forever. Life is short. Exceptionally short. Yet I’ve wasted so much time worrying about this stupid wall in front of me that I dubbed “life” that I’ve ignored all the beauty and wonder around me. I forgot just how amazing living, truly living, could be. I was too wrapped up reading the writing on every brick in the wall that blocked the path I wanted to walk. What did they say? Failure, regret, guilt, inadequate, weak, lost, stupid, too much… The list goes on and on. And maybe that’s the crux of it. This wall? It’s something I built. I constructed it out of my fears and doubts. And then I thought, “I will never get beyond this.” I stopped myself. But why? Why did I choose to focus on my weakness rather on the world living and breathing around me? Perhaps it’s because I’m only human. Maybe it’s the perfectionist side of me. But in the end, maybe the why doesn’t matter so much. Maybe it’s the fear of the prospect of moving forward that is the true focus here. Walking away from my wall means I’m giving those up and letting them go. It means finally admitting that I am not defined by those self-loathing bricks. No more excuses. No more “I can’t because I’m not good enough.” It’s funny. All this time I felt like I was running away from my problems, but in reality I’ve been standing in the midst of them. I’ve been holding onto the chains that were unlocked from around my wrists and still claiming to be enslaved. Freedom, true freedom from all that holds me back from being who I want to be, is one of the most terrifying prospects I have ever faced. But its there, waiting. The wings to fly above and be free are just sitting there. I’ll never completely forget everything that tries to drag me down. And I shouldn’t. Maybe learning from it rather than letting it dictate my life is a step in the right direction though. I think it’s finally time I traded my wall and chains in for some wings.

Falling into Darkness

I know it’s been a while. Fourteen days to be exact. I had wanted to write this post about the 500 word a day challenge and what I learned from that. Somehow that really doesn’t feel right though. I suppose I could speak about my absence from writing. Ironically, it’s really hard to put into words. I’m being completely honest here. Life just decided for me that my writing needed a break. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. Often, I would sit in front of my laptop screen gazing at a page as blank as my mind. I couldn’t do it. How could I write about everything going on in my life when I myself did not fully comprehend it? Recently, it’s just been one big journey of self-discovery and God-discovery. You wouldn’t believe how much those two go hand in hand. There was a week where every day I cried. Did I know why? Not really. My heart just felt so broken and my mind felt overwhelmed. Every day I felt like I was slipping away. Questions about who I am and what is the point arose in my mind frequently. I wanted to hold so tight to everything that I felt like was me and not let go. Some great chasm of unknowns and what ifs laid before me. My feet were poised to jump but I kept looking behind me at my perceived safety. Everything that I had learned thus far. But the darkness below beckoned me. The what ifs were so vast that my heart screamed out to at least try. And every moment I hesitated, I felt my heart break a little bit more. There’s this quote by Elizabeth Dias that I love to reflect on: “If we turn away from darkness on principle, doing everything we can to avoid it because there is simply no telling what it contains, isn’t there a chance we are running away from God?” Regardless of your religion or faith, this statement rings true. We run away from the dark by nature. But what if the dark contains something worth risking it for? That’s where I found myself. Not running. But not moving forward either. Just staring into the big dark void before me and wondering if it was even worth it. Just behind me was solid ground, the light, the knowns. What should I do? Sure the darkness was terrifying but nothing said that there was no light at the end. So why not try? Fear continued to grip me. The blank page on the screen mocked me. Life jeered me. My tears burned me. It felt like I was being suffocated and freed all at once. And guess what happened? Did I jump? Did I finally propel myself forward with a mighty war cry into the unknown darkness stretched before me? Goodness no. Of course not. That is more dignity than I could ever muster. In fact, I kind of just slipped. While turning my head to gaze back on all that I was, I felt myself suddenly falling forward. Like some slow motion fall in the Matrix. Time stopped. All I could see was my comfortable version of myself slipping away while the darkness reached up to embrace me. The fear wasn’t there anymore though. It stayed there with my comforts and knowns. The darkness reached up to embrace me. So I fell laughing. So what’s in the darkness you ask? To be honest, I cannot really say. I’m still in the process of falling. My darkness is so different than yours. You might not even need to fall into yours. Maybe you just open a door. Maybe you just stride right into the thick of it. Or maybe you just sit next to it and have a chat. I don’t know. But you do. So maybe it’s time you give your darkness a shot and see if you can’t find the words for the blank page, laughter in the tears, healing for your heart, or even God. 

The Walls Came Crashing Down

I feel like I’m drowning. My chest aches and my heart feels as if it cannot contain the feelings that are trying to escape. I’m surrounded by people yet I cannot help but feel lonely. I want to cry. I want to curl into a ball and forget the world and my troubles. I want to cry out to God. I want to stop just for a minute and remember how to breathe. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I know no one has their life all put together but mine especially feels like its crumbling apart. For a minute I can ignore it. For a moment I can find solace in the company of others. But then it will hit me. In the quiet moments of the night I wonder just what I am doing. Why am I here? What is the point of me? Suddenly someone says something kind. Or sends me an inspiration text. And I remember I am not alone. I remember that I don’t have to fight by myself. Because even when the world feels like its falling through the spaces in between my fingers, someone’s hands are beneath mine helping to catch everything I cannot hold. I will be perfectly honest with all of you. I suffer from depression. It isn’t something that just goes away and ceases to exist. No. It’s always waiting there for you to let your guard down. Here’s the funny thing about letting your guard down though: Others can guard you where your walls once stood. I forget that sometimes. I forgot this week. My walls came crumbling down when I felt over-stressed and under-appreciated. When I couldn’t sleep at night and my mind wouldn’t stop running. The walls I built around my heart shattered like thin glass. For a bit I gave up. I sat among the fragments and I wallowed in my failure to protect myself from the darkness. I hated who I had become. I couldn’t even recognize myself. Smiling became a chore. Laughter became nails on a chalkboard. I didn’t think to cry for help. Who would want to show love towards you? The darkness would whisper these thoughts at me from the rubble around my feet. I started to accept it. Then days become centuries. And now that I have survived centuries I have found what I had forgotten. Friendship. Love. Hope. God. It is funny how just a few days can feel like a war has been waged. Now that I look back I realize that the signs were there. The dark had been skittering around the edges of my walls for weeks. Finding the weaknesses. Destroying my defenses. Now as a friend describes plushie infectious diseases available in a campus store, I find myself remembering that life isn’t about the walls I’ve built and lost. Life is about the foundation. My foundation of friends and faith and love and memories and opportunities. That is what I forgot. And that is what I found.