On-site School Resumes: A Week in Review

I came to this space tonight to tell you all the things about what it has been like to re-start school in the time of Covid-19, but I have been temporarily distracted by my small-batch, (artisanal ) ketchup. I have been cooking my way through Allison Day's Whole Bowls this year, and this week I decided to try a recipe I was rather skeptical of -- there wasn't even a photo on the page for Brunch Bowls with Chickpea Turnip Hash, Asparagus, Eggs, and Homemade Ketchup.

Turns out, cookbook pages without photos do note denote crappy recipes. Sometimes it's nice to live alone because there is no one to see me licking the last of the ketchup from my bowl tonight. I feel like Grandma and her porkchop bone -- let me set aside all manner of decorum and enjoy the shit out of this.

Before there was a small batch of homemade ketchup this week, there were four days of in-person instruction at Shekou International School for our grades 9, 10, and 11. I noted in my last post that I did not process the news of reopening with open arms -- at first. I was deeply skeptical about bringing students back into classrooms in the face of so many protocols that impede our ability to engage in what we know to be the best pedagogy. The week ended up turning out notably better than I had anticipated, but our new (ab)normal is interesting ...

We used to be greeted by our administrators when we entered the school; now we are greeted by the police force. This felt unsettling on the first day, but the officers were there to protect students from any too-curious passerby who wanted to take photos, or in the case that anyone would want to bar us from a smooth start. All went well as we got settled into the amphitheater on Monday.

We used to huddle close together in this space, and now we sit on our designated seat 1.5 meters apart. This was possible as each grade arrived separately for a 2-hour re-orientation Monday. A number of our students are still out of the country or have decided to continue distance learning from their homes in Shenzhen.

It used to be that when our students entered our classroom we offered them wide smiles. Now we smile with our eyes.

I used to have two classes of Grade 10 English at two different times of the day. Now I have two Grade 10 English classes at the same time. I stand in front of one class, beam myself through video into the classroom next door, and bring students outside of school into the classroom through a Microsoft Teams video. I expected this to be something of a mess; in reality, it worked quite smoothly.

I did miss the side-by-side writing conferences that I used to have. While the students worked on their writing in the classroom and in their homes, I had to maintain our physical distancing protocol, so now I offer feedback in OneNote.

Students used to play foosball and air hockey at lunch; now they talk across long tables, using chopsticks to exchange their pieces of sushi.

We have a wonderful music program led by Mr. Bob Krebs and Ms. Vanessa Coetzee. Students used to play their instruments in music class. Now they work on music theory as most are not allowed to practice their instruments because #masksallday.

At SIS, students used to play musical chairs throughout the day, generally sitting where they want in each class. Now students carry the same chair around to each class all day. This is not a joke. These chairs are disinfected each night by our diligent maintenance staff.

In a video storytelling class that I co-teach with Ms. Sophie Delaporte and Mr. Edward Bruce, we used to go Into the 'kou to gather footage from our community in order to elevate voices often unheard. Now students go into their computers, watching videos created by individuals rather than small groups. We are awfully proud of the stories these students have been telling this semester as they interviewed their own family members to tell the stories of A Day in the Life of Corona from around the world. You can watch some of these expertly crafted videos at our site Into the 'kou to hear more about the experiences of different families.

At the end of the day, when the students have all gone home, our maintenance crew used to tidy up the room. Now they place UV lamps in each room and sanitize each tabletop.

Seniors used to have all the pomp and circumstance in celebration of their hard-earned graduation. Now they are happy to have a photo together. We do not yet know if SIS will be able to hold any kind of ceremony, but I am beaming with pride as I look at these cool kids in this photo. Go to the limits of your longing, seniors. Your longing.

I used to take mindful moments to gaze out of the classroom window at the boats and the palm trees and the South China Sea. And now, I still do.

Life in the Time of Corona continues to be a wild ride for the world. Reflecting on the week from my quiet apartment now, what I feel in my body is contentment that I am here, in Shenzhen, with the opportunity to continue, and then close the year with my students, in person.  The feeler of all feels, gratitude for my entire SISrocks community, here and abroad, is filling my chest and my eyes.

We can do hard things. We got this.

School re-opens in the time of Covid-19

I am sitting at my kitchen table tonight, sipping San Pelegrino out of my blush pink cup that says, "Sisterhood is Powerful" on one side, and my nickname "SheWolf," on the other. I am also licking a spoon that I keep dipping into a huge wooden bowl of cupcake batter. The batter, unfortunately, tastes more like baking soda than it does rich chocolate. But I keep scooping into my mouth anyway.

I'm using poor tasting batter and bubbly water to try to assuage my melancholic feelings. I could look worse, I know, but I could also be in Vietnam with five of my best friends, as we had planned months ago. My friends at SIS and I were supposed to fly into Ho Chi Minh city tonight to meet up with Ceci as she now teaches at South Saigon International School. The tickets were purchased, the Airbnb was booked, the out-on-the-town outfits were imagined. And then there stayed Covid-19. The airline canceled the tickets, the owner of the Airbnb messaged regretfully, and we put our Rothy's and skinny jeans back in our closets. And then messaged each other throughout the entire day, working to reach across many miles to still hold one another in a warm space.

Just ... my heart ... as I look at our joy at being together.

Ceci's words on a photo of us on her Instagram today says what I want to say just the way I want to say it: "Tonight in some alternative timeline in the universe, these beauties are soon landing at HCMC airport and starting what will be an unforgettable weekend together. I’m jealous of those versions of us, the ones who will get to physically reconnect, laugh, cry, hold each other so tightly that it might even be felt on our side of the universe. I might not really know whether time bends this way or how, but I know for certain that in this timeline, we will be together again someday and it will be all the sweeter. I love you ladies."

Currently, three of us in this photo are in the Americas, two of us are in Shenzhen, and one of us is in Vietnam. When the borders re-open, three of us will be in Shenzhen, one of us will be in Portugal, one of us will be in South Korea, and one of us will be in Vietnam, as we all embark on another year of international teaching, but with more physical distance between us. We will plan another trip to see one another, but it's so hard not to be able to set a date.

I think, along with the rest of the world, my ability to flow with the uncertain and ambiguous continues to hit turbulent times. Last week, I felt consumed by anger. My anxiety was flowing. The centered spaces I know I am capable of creating were rocking. I walked into my therapy session and told Tracy I just wanted to throw things. She kindly asked if I chose to do so during our time together, that perhaps it could just be a pillow for now.

Part of what had me feeling so unsteady was the notification that we will be resuming (in-person) school on Monday, April 27th.

I want very much to see my students. Zoom classes with them have often been the light in my day, and bringing their brightness back into the classroom is something that we have all been waiting for -- but in our context of international teaching in Shenzhen, school will resemble little of what it did before.

As Covid-19 hit Guangdong province during Chinese New Year, many of us were traveling (though not me) during this holiday. When my colleagues learned that we would proceed after break with distance learning, and they began to process their fears about the virus, understandably many chose to stay outside the country. Many also chose to leave to return back to their passport countries, seeking solace in the places most familiar. Like all of us international wanderlusters, Covid traveled too. All around the world. And China closed its borders to foreigners, so my fellow teachers and friends are unable to return.

At present, we have 40% of our SIS staff in Shenzhen, while about 70% of our student population is present. Staffing is one of many of the challenging factors we are facing.

The SIS community is like a family. When my students came in today to get their testing for Covid-19 so they can be cleared to come to school Monday, some of them automatically came to hug me, and I leaned towards them to embrace them too. This breaks the rules, though, of physical distancing. It is not natural to keep such distance between ourselves and others, especially when those others are our good friends and colleagues and dear students.

My class is discussion based; I generally gather my students in a tight-knit circle on beanbags to discuss the texts that we have read. With the new Covid protocols, our classrooms feel a bit more sterile, which I guess is the point ... but it feels so strange.

Everyone will be required to wear the mandatory masks inside school walls. Except, perhaps, when you're taking a sip of your coffee.

There are signs everywhere around school that we are still living in the time of Covid-19. While Shenzhen has the virus under control, the wispy Covid ghost permeates the air.

This new wastebasket is for throwing away masks halfway through the day as a second mask must be donned after lunch. At lunch, students will not be able to sit facing one another, or near one another.

When staff and students walk into school each day, we will all get a fever check. If anyone has a fever, a room has been designated for isolation. The CDC will then come in to further inspect the individual and tell us what to do next.

It is due to all of these restrictions that I have sat with such a heaviness in the past week.

And then I had several conversations that helped me to slowly shift my perspective. In telling a friend how different the energy was in the building, he said, "Yeah, but you'll bring your awesome energy and the kids will feel that too." His words hit a chord in me; they caused me pause for reflection. The students will feed off of our energy; I have seen this play out countless ways in my classroom, for darker or lighter.

Isom's words also made me think of what I had heard in a recent episode of Brené Brown's podcast Unlocking Us. The episode, entitled "Permission to Feel," welcomed Yale professor Dr. Marc Brackett into a conversation on emotional literacy. In the episode, the two talked about the way we mirror one another's emotions. And so it went that I thought more and more about what this means for the energy and emotions that I bring into my classroom on Monday.

In meeting my students wherever they are at, I plan to be honest. To feel all the feels with them. I would also like to engage them in discussions that, rather than begin with "How are you doing right now," start with "What's something that you miss that surprises you? What's something you don't miss that you thought you would?" as well as "What's giving you hope right now?" and "What do you hope we learn to take away from this experience?" I want us to honor our shadowy emotions, while also giving voice to the strength that continues to exist in our SIS community.

In the midst of this scene, as students were lined up for their Covid-19 throat swab, my student Yijoo, a junior in my Language and Literature class, expressed how excited she was to be returning to school on Monday. While it was clear that school wasn't just how we left it in January, Yijoo was quite unfazed by the new protocols. The smile that I could detect beneath her mask because I saw it in her eyes ... it gave me life today.

It will feel different and awkward and frustrating to have to abide by all of these restrictions for the remainder of the year. And SIS will continue to be a space full of light and energy and caring individuals that walk through the entryway with smiles on our faces, that you'll see by the crinkles at our eyes.

So, I am, I'm really ready for you, kiddos. Let's get our learn on, together again.

Holding Space for Life's Groundlessness

The first time I went, the Chinese to English translation on the women's phone asked, "Are you a hunchback?" Today, after I had gotten myself ready in the same room as before, she spoke into her phone again, and when she showed it to me, I read, "...and then honey let me take a look at one of your breasts." To be clear, I was not at the doctor's office; I was about to get a facial. Life lived in translation can offer moments of levity into an otherwise blue day. After further translations, I realized that while I had asked for an exfoliation of my décolletage, the esthetician thought I was asking for other services.

I still have no idea what she had planned to do with my breast, but I was very happy with my 4.5 hours of skin services today. While a great series of communication was lost in translation during my time at the skin clinic, I am certain that the final translation came through just as it should have. "You're so hip. You look so young," she said as I dressed to leave. This lovely woman who first asked about my hunchback -- I am still curious to know what she was really asking about as I checked in full when I got home and I do not have a hunchback --does know how to spin some words that'll get me to come back in the door and spend my retirement fund on my skin.

I have been free to go to roam the city again -- indulging in not just facials, but pedicures and manicures and good food, too -- for the past 8 days. Quarantine here in Shenzhen was one of the harder things I have had to bare down and endure in some months. The day I was released, I first went for a hike with Katie. I nearly tackled her in an embrace when I first saw her. Humans are just not meant to go without physical touch for days on end. By the last of those 15 days in total, I felt quite energetically depleted; all of the cat cuddles just could not take the place of hugs from friends.

Gin and Tonics at La Maison. So crisp and fresh and sweet to sip with this dear friend.

On this first day of my newfound freedom, my SIS community really showed up to celebrate. Educators know how to happy hour better than any other profession, I would argue.

In Shenzhen, restaurants are open for dining in and families are meandering along the boardwalk in larger numbers. In these ways, parts of life resemble what we used to know as normal.

In other ways, life is heart-breakingly abnormal. As part of an international school community, my close friends and students are spread all over the globe right now. China's borders are still closed to foreigners, and so as I write tonight, a number of my best friends are in North America. Several of these friends will be moving to other countries in June, having signed contracts for the new school year with other great schools in Asia and Europe. Soo it is that our final months that were supposed to be lived with Sunday brunches and toasting friendship on The Strip with bubbly glasses of Prosecco are now spent in Zoom.

In reflecting on the many plans and hopes and expectations that feel laid to waste right now, I am reading and rereading words from Alicia Key's recently published memoir More Myself: A Journey.

Life's groundlessness. I keep rolling these two words over and over in my mind. They elicit both anxiety and awe. The seeker in me knows how to open up to and delight in the unpredictable nature of life; the anxiety in me keeps trying to will the Universe to offer shiftlessness. Inertia, though, is not the natural state of the world, so I am curled up tonight pondering How do I find my stillness in the presence of so many uncertainties? There is no life hack, no 600-word article to read, no easy answer in response to this question. I am conjuring a great deal of patience and grace and breathwork to create, if only fleetingly, moments of acceptance.

Ms. Keys is really getting to my heart and soul tonight, not just with the words from her memoir, but with the lyrics to her songs. When I walked into the house from my facial, I turned on Spotify. The first song to come on was Distance and Time from her 2009 album entitled The Element of Freedom. Keys dedicates the song to "all of the lovers who can't be together, separated by distance and time." Listen, I suppressed a sob as she started singing, "You are always on my mind. All I do is count the days. Where are you now?"

There was only one thing to do in this moment: go into the kitchen, take out candied ginger, chocolate, and almond butter, and mix and match until my heart was distracted by the sweetness now sitting in my stomach.

The heaviest part of the uncertainty of the coming months is connected to so many people that I love. Will I be able to return to the States for part of the summer? Will I be able to travel in Asia? When will I hug and kiss and love up on so many of my favorite people? My mind is rolling on and on with questions about what the future holds.

In the present, a candle flickers to my left. While I am typing in my large blue chair, my gaze falls onto the marble sitting Buddha in front of me. And I think of what my therapist has reminded me of recently as she has said, "Jamie, put your feet on the ground. Feel that you are grounded." When Tracy urges me to do something, I generally heed her advice. I have revisited the action of placing my feet on the floor, closing my eyes, simply being with my breath as I bring awareness to the way my body can feel strong and steady.

I do believe it is true, we can be grounded in ourselves in the midst of life's groundlessness. It is not without suffering. Tonight, it is not without an achy heart. But I am working to feel the roots that I have planted beneath the path so that even when that ground shakes, I believe in my ability to balance.

"What is fear? Non-acceptance of uncertainty. If we accept that uncertainty, it becomes an adventure." ~Rumi

Even when the physical distance between me and many of my loved ones feels tangible tonight, I am grateful that near or far, we are still also rooted in that love for one another. I hope you feel my love today. I am sending it out from Shenzhen to many corners of the world tonight.

XOXO

A Delivery and a Hospital Visit, and the Weekend I Want to Move Beyond

It could have turned out differently. The knock could have been for a different reason. I talked to a friend this weekend who got a knock, too, but her knock, it was less pleasant. She had to write an apology for speaking in the elevator. Talking in elevators is no longer allowed in the time of Covid-19. Her apology is now taped up in that elevator. At least the first part of my weekend story is not one of shaming or blaming or the shadow side of my host country.

On Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of a Zoom call with my seniors when I heard the rapping on my door. Confused, I muted the microphone on my computer and turned my door handle. When the man on the other side offered a smile while holding two large boxes, I shook my head in response. "Oh, no. No, that's not for me," I offered in haste, trying to return to my students. He put his hand out to stop me from shutting the door. "Yes, it's for you. To thank you," he kindly returned. "We want to thank you for your cooperation during this time," he continued in English.

A bit flustered and a bit embarrassed for what might have been a bit rude, I reached out to take the boxes and a large envelope. I smiled back and thanked the man profusely, setting the boxes on the floor and briskly returned to my students.

When I had time to further examine the delivery, I found a box of oranges and a box of apples.

Patacon does have to inspect everything that arrives in a box.

And this letter:

This letter is a keeper. My favorite line is about the "small home" and "big family." I do, I like the spirit of the letter, the sense of solidarity it inspires.

Friday, unfortunately, gave way to an experience which has led my warm feelings to dissipate, or really, to dissolve and give rise to feelings much darker in hue.

I have had a nagging health-related issue for the past week. My symptoms -- swollen glands, a sore body, and some notable tenderness -- have slowly gotten worse over the course of the last few days. Yesterday, I called a woman in HR at school to let her know I would need to see a doctor as soon as possible. I also knew that while I know my issue is unrelated to Covid-19, my context was going to make doctoring difficult. Difficult feels like an understatement now.

My only option was to go to Shekou People's Hospital as I am within my 14-day quarantine. I found this news unfavorable because I was aware enough that this community hospital was unlikely to have doctors who speak English. I pushed for someone to accompany me, to act as a translator and someone who could navigate a system that I knew from others' experiences was complex to a foreigner. At first, I was told to see if I could just call a friend to translate for me. And then I was told to quickly go outside as the ambulance was coming to pick me up.

Well, I can check ambulance ride in China off my bucket list now.

When I got to the hospital, there were a number of hoops to jump through. In the midst of my confusion and frustration and physical discomfort, I did eventually get a call saying that a nurse from my normal clinic would come to meet me. Catherine, a nurse somewhere around my age who spent many years working in Singapore, arrived about 30 minutes later. Without her, I would not have been able to even have made it to step 3 of 17.

After over an hour of waiting, we stepped into the "doctor's office."

These temporary rooms have been set up in the time of Covid-19.

I was not allowed in the regular interior of the hospital, again, because I have not completed the 14-day quarantine yet. The doctor informed us that I would have to take a swab test, blood test and have a CT scan to prove that I was clear of the virus.

Hour 4 at the hospital. Results: I have good lungs.

After spending all afternoon at the hospital, I was then told that while my blood test had already come back negative for the virus, I would still not be able to see an actual doctor until Sunday when all of the results were in.

I went home exhausted and defeated. I did not know that Saturday was simply a warm-up for the Battle of Sunday During the Time of Covid-19.

Catherine messaged me when I was home Saturday night to let me know that she would meet me back at the hospital on Sunday morning. I was so relieved that it would be her rather than someone new.

When I woke up this morning, I was at first told that I would not be able to leave my house yet because the results had not yet been reported. After a bit more time passed, I was then told I could get a taxi and meet Catherine at the entrance to the hospital. She had the results -- negative, of course -- when I arrived.

Catherine and I then got to wait for another hour for a doctor to dress in a hazmat suit and come down from inside the hospital to see me in the temporary space set up outside the hospital. While all of my results were negative for the virus, again, I am still within the 14-day quarantine period, and so I still was not allowed inside the actual hospital.

When the doctor finally arrived, she did not know where she could even see me as there were no beds set up in the rudimentary rooms. She did not have the equipment she needed to examine me. She did not even want to come within a meter of me.

After a make-shift bed was placed inside one of these rooms, I realized that the doctor expected me to disrobe with a large window open to the corridor right outside.

The windows of the room I was placed in opened right up to this space.

I insisted some kind of covering be put on the window. This took real negotiation. Eventually, a thin blue medical paper was put up on the window. By this point, I was shaky and feeling vulnerable and just so tired.

Catherine trying to negotiate with Dr. Hazmat.

The doctor would not touch me with her gloved hands. She used an ultrasound machine to tell me that I had swollen glands, and when I said that I knew that, but that was not my main concern, she simply said she didn't have the right medical tools to investigate further. I tried to show her where I was feeling pain and discomfort. She said she couldn't help further.

I erupted into sobs on that damn bed. Seven exhausting hours had led to a simple, "go home and return after your 14-days are done."

Catherine gently put her hand on me and said that we would get me to see a doctor at my normal clinic as soon as my quarantine period was over. This means I will wait until Thursday to see the doctor that I need.

After another hour of waiting, antibiotics were placed in my hand, and I left the hospital exponentially more upset than the day before.

Defeat, rage, disempowerment.

I am currently sitting in my living room in silence. When I arrived home, I lit incense and just watched the smoke rise while I focused on breathing.

I am reflecting on my anger and frustration. I am thinking about the shadows behind the rugged individualism which is part of the DNA of the American psyche, and I am thinking about the shadows behind the rule of absolutes which is part of Chinese governance. The passport I hold comes from a country where the rights of the individual arguably often trump those of the collective. My host country is the opposite: the collective bars individuals from getting their personal needs met at times. What does this all mean right now? I'm not even entirely sure, but it seems something needs to give in both contexts.

After a lot of deep breaths and some lunch, I have been sitting here looking back at photos I took two weeks ago. I was one happy woman.

Thailand, how I miss you.

I am remembering the words from my favorite poem, the one whose lines adorn my arm: "No feeling is final. Just keep going."

At the end of writing this post, my dear friend Katie and her daughter Lana stopped by to drop off cookies. I went to my balcony to find her below as she was not allowed into the building. She blew kisses. She danced. And I am feeling a little bit better.

I love you, friend.

Community is everything. I just cannot wait for actual physical embraces when these 14 days are done.

Now excuse me while I eat some homemade cookies.

Writing from Day 8 of Quarantine: A Toast to Paradox

After over a week of isolation, I now know something about what an animal in a zoo feels like. Sort of. In the sense that I’ve been taken out of my natural habitat. This is interesting, though, because as an introvert I would have argued my home is certainly my natural habitat. But 8 days into this solitude ... I’m over this shit.

Or at least the nearly absolute solitude of it. Other parts of this experience, like the ways that my community is continuing to reach me, just tickles my heart and soul. Since arriving back home on Friday night, I have been the recipient of a number of beautiful deliveries: a supply of dark chocolate, a bouquet of cat-safe flowers, two lunches of rooftop garden veggies, and ice and limes for my gin and tonics. I am ready to just be able to really give back now, and I know that the coming weeks will offer plenty of opportunities to pay it forward.

It seems that the new regulation now is that anyone returning from a country deemed a danger for importing the virus will have to do the full quarantine in a hotel room. The exception may be those with children. Hearing this news today made me ever-grateful that I returned from Thailand when I did.

I, like you, continue to work to establish a new normal and a new routine. I have let go of the notion that this time of quarantine and working from home is going to be my most productive time ever. I have learned that the mathematical equation that sums up my days is not time+energy=output; rather my days equate to time+space (minus) a-great-deal-of energy=grace to just be.

My days have still started with movement, but not long, high-intensity workouts. I hit my mat for 30-45 minutes of yoga, or a short weight workout. I thank myself for showing up.

My balcony has really become something of a haven. I move here, but I also eat here, sit and watch the world here, write here. Why haven't I been doing this all along?

During the afternoon, I connect with my students via Zoom.

Seniors who have just found out that their IB exams will be canceled.

I also use Zoom for my mid-day breaks; I meet my friends there for good laughs. I do wonder ... I wonder if Zoom and Tik Tok are in cahoots here ... just a conspiracy theory. The Tik Tok videos that come into my chats throughout my day give me so much life. In the midst of chaos, we are finding our creative outlets.

My nights are spent listening to 90s hip hop, laying on my yoga mat on the balcony, trying to get my cats to engage in photo shoots. Now, this is the real stuff of cat lady memoirs. Save me soon, please.

Being quite confined these past days has allowed me to sit in a place of awareness and this awareness has been a sensory experience. As I sit on my balcony in the morning, afternoon, and evening, I feel my senses awaken in deep ways. The sounds of the city, colors of the trees below, and textures of the yoga mat I am seated on all become palpable to me.

Indeed, there are parts of my day that I love. Watching the sun rise higher in the sky as I lay leisurely in bed in the morning and watching the sun set while I eat dinner each evening are new parts of my routine that offer a certain excitement to each day; I love enjoying the simplicity and beauty of these moments.

As in any temporal context, there are other parts of the day that are so tedious, predominantly the way I just feel so dang tired right now, the past weeks of uncertainty and ambiguity seemingly having compounded in my body. So it is that I, paradoxically, feel both exhausted and entirely alive simultaneously.

This evening I was reading from Adreanna Limbach's Tea and Cake with Demons: A Buddhist's Guide to Feeling Worthy. Chapter four begins with Tolstoy's words from Anna Karenina: "All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow." As Limbach recounts the story of the Buddha, she writes, "His origins are also a demon story, as most stories of transformation and triumph are, highlighting how we are made in the perpetual alchemy of falling apart and coming together." These words struck deep into me, for my own experience in the past year and a half; it also feels these words just ring so true for the Collective right now.

As individuals, as families, as communities, we are both falling apart and coming together on the path of novel and scary terrain. I talk to my best friend Jenn to hear about how her clinic does not have enough masks for doctors and patients, feeling like our healthcare system is ripping at the seams, to then hear and see the dozens of people I know who are making masks from fabrics and original patterns. I talk to my family and hear a certain anxiety in their messages when they consider the prospect of weeks of social distancing, to hear about them also opening up to new technology for virtual happy hours. I have felt separated from students who hit a hard place in the face of distance learning, to feel them return after so many of us have reached out with words and video conversations to embrace them in their confusion.

Sitting in an uncertain space with so many of my friends and family really beginning to process a new reality, I consider the power of how we frame that reality. As I was (again) scrolling Instagram today, I came across a post from Dr. Alexandra H Solomon. Rather than call keeping ourselves away from others "social-distancing" she coined it "cocooning." If we all enter our cocoons, we come out more beautiful than before. As with the Buddha, our transformation will happen after living in some dark spaces. After the dusk of each day is the dawn of a new morning.

To darkness, and to light.

Sending all my love,

Jame

Love in the Time of Corona

”The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.” —Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

As I opened up my Instagram at one point today, the first post that appeared was my friend Danielle’s. This spirited teacher friend of mine has been in Italy since Chinese New Year. Early in her trip, which has turned in to a temporary residency, she met Marco. Today, Marco proposed, and Danielle said yes. Love in the time of the novel coronavirus is real, indeed. I am toasting Danielle and Marco with my Chang beer from the Phi Phi Islands tonight. Yours, my friend, is quite the origin story.

In this time of great uncertainty, love is not the only thing that arises. As humans, we have all kinds of reactions to fear, some of them more shadowy than others. A number of my students have recently flown from South Korea back to China. One of my students has been sending regular updates to his teachers as his situation has impeded his ability to attend to his academics. In one recent email he wrote:

I hope you are all having a wonderful afternoon. While it was a really wild week, my mom and I were able to get into our residential area through the parking lot without much drama, most likely due to strong responses from the Shenzhen government to the residents. We are back home now, without much trouble. Thank you for your understanding this past week. Now, I can get back into working without any problems. 

(Also, the reason why we didn't get in on Thursday or Friday was because of the residents' reactions. Friday was especially wacky, as we basically had to stand in front of the gate while everyone was taking pictures of us and shouting "go back to quarantine virus!". A very wacky day, indeed.)

Go back to quarantine virus?! My goodness. My heart hurt when I read that. I know that Elliott is not the only one experiencing people uttering words that cause distress and acting in hurtful ways. Ignorance does not discriminate —- it enters all cultures; without deep awareness of ourselves, anyone is capable of letting their shadow cast darkness over others. It’s human nature. But so is it human nature to cast light, to shed rays of love and hope and support on others.

In addition to Danielle’s beautiful story, scrolling Instagram also led me down a reflective path, considering just some of the actions we can take to support one another and our communities right now, as Covid-19 makes it way around the globe. I love theconciouskid — this feed always has me thinking about leveling up my consciousness and seeing other perspectives. Especially now, it feels so important to consider how our decisions will financially impact others’ ability to pay their bills. .

I am reading what Jimmy wrote here, asking myself, “Who are the most vulnerable populations

in my part of Shenzhen? What can I do to support them?

GuanteSolo is one of my new fave humans. His podcast What’s Good, Man? is legit. So is his spirit of serving humanity.

As I am curled into bed for my last night on Phi Phi Island, I am continuing to consider what kind of light I am casting onto those around me. I have been living large for three weeks. I have been loving it. I also want to make sure that I am serving others and thinking of what the world around me needs. Right now, this in part means offering as much pastoral care to my students as possible. I am working to wrap my arms around them, figuratively, by reaching out through email and video chats. I think there is more, though. I am sure there is.

I am just thinking about the power we all have to bring Higher Love to our respective geographic spaces. (This dance video is still forthcoming, by the way!) It has been through the love extended to me in the past 8 weeks, by my friends, family, therapist, everyone that I have connected with at CC’s, that I have felt so sustained in this crazy, ambiguous world. So, let’s keep loving.

I am going to peace out here as beachside stays always bring on my narcolepsy. In closing, a number of photos to celebrate the beauty of this part of Thailand, a country of such kind people, and a country I am eternally grateful to have landed in.

This has been my morning view as I have walked out of my bungalow each day. I am arising early tomorrow for a sunrise swim.

The flora and fauna of Thailand will entreat you to pause time and again and just breathe in gratitude.

I could write from here for forever. And ever and ever. To hell with logic and reason. I’m buying real estate on this island.

Honestly, though. Thailand. XOXO

Reporting from China: Just Add Oil

This weekend saw Shekou, my little bubble of Shenzhen, tightening up on restrictions and protocols in order to continue to work to contain the virus. Published in the Shekou Daily, the new rules decreed that "Residents in residential buildings shall not visit other households in the same complex, and must strictly adhere to the requirements for wearing masks in public places." Having lived in China for four years and having been in Shenzhen since the coronavirus outbreak began, this kind of restriction does not feel to me now what it might have felt in years before. As it stands now, some buildings are not enforcing the rule as strictly as others, so a few of us did get to gather last night for some Exploding Kittens and Fishbowl shenanigans.

Charles appears quite tranquil in the midst of what Trey seems to be communicating as an epic ... something.

Katie, caught mid-gesture -- I think this was in describing ... newborn baby poop?

Which of those cards is going to save you from the exploding kitten, Alli?

Other members of the Shekou community who have decided to stay on in Shenzhen have put up tents for their children on their balconies, offering a new experience in the midst of masks and large periods indoors. This same primary teacher, the nature and bug loving Kevin O'Shea, has a vlog on YouTube that I highly recommend checking out -- you get daily insights into what the city really looks and feels like through his videos and narrations.

Before staying up until midnight (I felt young again), Alli, Ann, Charles and I started our day with a run at Talent Park, a lovely area with sculptures and a cushy running path that circles a small body of water.

New rules also say that while in open spaces, we do not have to wear a mask. The air quality on Saturday was perfection.

These three logged many more miles than I did -- 17 in total!

After running a 5k, I meandered along, taking time to stop and breathe into the balance of lovely art.

And this -- sending out Love to Wuhan, and to the whole wide world.

Today I got busy brunching with my fellow midwesterners. We dined at Gaga Garden. Again, we were the only ones, save for the employees who took a seat at a nearby table.

I am not entirely sure what the purpose of the red caution tape is -- and I cannot read the sign.

Craig and Ann and a cup of coffee. My kind of slow Sunday.

This is the state of my life right now. As I continue to feel safe in Shenzhen, I am also fortunate to be enjoying a slow, mindful pace, something I have not felt in many years. There is a part of me, the adventurous and very privileged part, that considers meeting up with my family in California or getting on a plane to Thailand. The seeker in me, though, has me staying put. My soul has been seeking this rhythm for so long, one that allows me to think more clearly, appreciate my sense of presence, and enjoy what is rather than wanting more.

Staying put in Shenzhen has also meant that I have had more opportunities to hear the stories of my immediate community. Tonight I was fortunate enough to cook for a new SIS friend, our primary school librarian, Megan, who also lives in my building. As a fellow cat woman, we shared stories of how our felines came to find us. We shared stories of living abroad ... and we shared a lot of vegetables.

Two whole bowls are better than one. This is the year of #wholebowls for me and my kitchen, and my gut biome (I am so that nerd right now) has been thanking me.

I feel blessed to be in Shenzhen, feeling settled in my high-rise apartment. I also feel especially blessed to have the option still to leave if that settled feeling changes. I know that during this outbreak, so many do not have the same options or sense of security.

One of our SIS administrators sent out a video this evening that returns our attention to the unsung heroes in Wuhan, the doctors, and medical staff that are bravely serving those who are sick.

The video is in English and has subtitles in English.

In closing, tonight, my friends and family all over the world, Jiāyóu加油

Add oil as the Chinese saying goes.