Baci Abroad Blog
Black Lives Matter
I went to Anoka High School where, I think, in a school of 3,000 9th - 12th graders, there were maybe 10 black students. I also remember there was a group called The All American Boys. I remember believing that this was a bad group, formed on the notion of white supremacy. Beyond this thought, I do not remember engaging in dialogue on the subject of race at this time in my life.
I have a cousin, not by blood, but by heart, who is black. Her name is Analuisa. She lived the school years with my aunt and uncle from the time I was in third grade until I was in college, save for the year Ana was not granted a visa to return from Ecuador, where she had returned to her family for the summer. Still, we did not talk about her blackness or my whiteness. Some time ago, I would have thought this was "a good sign." I would have thought this meant there was no real difference in our experiences based on race that would lead us to bring up such topics.
I can now call this notion, that we could live the same in this world with different skins, ignorance.
After high school, I went to Gustavus Adolphus College. Gustavus was smaller than my high school, and again, filled with white faces. I ran track at Gustavus, and I ran workouts alongside Jerry Washington and Ryan Hoag. These were the only two black peers in my social sphere.
I moved to Denver, Colorado, after I had finished my student teaching at 23 years old. I taught at Aurora Central High School. At this time, for the first time in my life, I was a minority. A minority who still had the majority of the privilege. That year, my students taught me 1000 times more than I taught them. They continue to teach me as I see the paths they pave for themselves through our connection on social media. I still reflect back to moments with my students at Central, those moments when I just couldn't understand why I wasn't being heard. Why I wasn't getting through to them. Why they wouldn't just listen to me.
To be heard. To be seen. To be known. It is what we all desire and seek as humans. But listening, seeing, and knowing is not always what we offer others.
Some years ago I was in a vehicle with someone who was criticizing the Black Lives Matters movement. Who hasn't heard someone else say "All lives matter" at this point? And yes, of course, all lives matter. The movement never arose out of any intent to say black lives matter over white lives or blue lives or any other lives. It arose because black lives are lost, be it the loss of the breath or the loss of freedom as black men are put behind bars at disproportionate rates to any other race in the US, at the hands of structural racism. every. damn. day.
Black lives matter.
When I was living in Ecuador, some 9 years after I taught in Colorado, many years after I was wondering why the heck I couldn't make the difference I wanted to with my students at Aurora Central, I read Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me.
I read and reread:
"But all our phrasing—race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy—serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth. You must never look away from this. You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics, the graphs, the charts, the regressions all land, with great violence, upon the body.”
And still, I could not really understand why Coates kept talking about the black body like it was so different from any other body.
And then I brought up the book to one of my best friends, Charles. Charles is black. He did not owe me a conversation to help me understand Coates. It is not his job, or any other non-white person's job, to educate any of the white folks about what it is to live in their non-white bodies. But over cigars, Charles did engage with me. Over the course of that afternoon, I finally began to grasp what Coates said again and again to his son through the words of his book: you must protect your black body because society will not. The families of Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, Philando Castile, Tamir Rice, Jordan Davis, Atatiana Jefferson, The Charleston Nine, Breona Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery have lost their son, daughter, sister, brother, and friend to the lack of protection that society offers the black body.
Black bodies matter.
When I was in high school, I learned about things like the Underground Railroad, and the Jim Crow Laws, and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Civil Rights Movement. I learned about these people and events through text books written, largely, through a white lens. I did not learn about Malcom X, or the true power of the underground railroad, or The New Jim Crow, or much at all about black inventors and innovators.
Someday, when I have children, I will fill the family library with The Undefeated, Little Leaders, Henry's Freedom Box: A True Story From the Underground Railroad, Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans, What Color is My World? The Lost History of African-American Inventors, and The Watson's Go to Birmingham -- 1963.
Black history matters.
In the last couple of years, one of my favorite authors has become Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I watch her TedTalk entitled The Danger of a Single Story each year with my students. She opens up the talk by recounting her life as a young writer:
I was also an early writer, and when I began to write, at about the age of seven, stories in pencil with crayon illustrations that my poor mother was obligated to read, I wrote exactly the kinds of stories I was reading: All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played in the snow, they ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather, how lovely it was that the sun had come out. "
The audience chuckles, along with Adichie, at this anecdote. Adichie, though, is using the story to illustrate the significance of seeing yourself represented in the texts and world around you. Adichie has made me reflect and consider which books I have in my classroom, which books I choose to include in my curriculum, and which books I recommend to my students.
At the end of her TedTalk, she concludes:
"Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity."
I think this is an important time to consider the books on our nightstands, on our bookshelves, and in our hands. Are you reading books that represent a multiplicity of perspectives and backgrounds?
As a bookworm, in addition to the books from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Ta-Nehisi Coates, I love, savor, delight in, and learn from the works of Roxane Gay, Jesmyn Ward, Nayyirah Waheed, and Trevor Noah.
On my next read list: Me and White Supremacy, Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, and Stamped: Racism, Anti-racism, and You.
Because it is my own job to educate myself on what it is to walk through this world with what is defined as black skin, and what it is to "do the work" to understand my own privilege, I follow many important Instagram accounts: Austin Channing Brown, The Conscious Kid, Shifting the Culture, Rachel Ricketts, thelovelandfoundation, Layla F Saad, Jason Reynolds, and Color of Change, to begin.
Black voices matter.
For the past months, in the midst of this pandemic, around the world we have been wishing to re-establish "normal" life again, wondering when or if that day will ever arrive. In an opinion piece for the New York Times, Roxane Gay writes,
"Eventually, doctors will find a coronavirus vaccine, but black people will continue to wait, despite the futility of hope, for a cure for racism. We will live with the knowledge that a hashtag is not a vaccine for white supremacy. We live with the knowledge that, still, no one is coming to save us. The rest of the world yearns to get back to normal. For black people, normal is the very thing from which we yearn to be free."
In so many ways, we do not need to re-establish the old normal. We need a new normal. We need a new normal where there is justice for all, without hypocrisy. We need a new normal where white folks are examining their contributions to the current, racist status quo. We need a new normal where we engage in collective healing.
I think one of the most important questions to be asking ourselves right now is " Does the way that I vote, the things that I say, the actions that I take show that I believe that Black Lives Matter?"
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
Writing from Phuket, this Side of Paradise
I feel like I have lived a lifetime since I last wrote an update in the Life and Times of the Coronavirus. Some days, it has felt that an entire Universe has existed inside of that one day. Two weeks and three days ago, I left Shenzhen for Phuket, Thailand. I was hesitant to leave at first, actually. I had settled into such a routine in Shenzhen, and I felt safe and secure in this routine; changing locales felt a bit riskier, at least that was my perception. Originally, for spring break, I was supposed to go to Taiwan for a yoga retreat. When Covid-19 hit, Taiwan closed their borders to China, so Plan A was foiled. I was disappointed, but I decided I would make my own personal yoga retreat in Shenzhen, until I came out a discussion with my therapist having decided to take a chance on a retreat in Thailand, one of the last countries to keep their borders open.
As I reflect on this decision, it feels like the Universe had conspired to make it so from the beginning. The past two weeks have offered space for my heart to open and expand and sigh into beautiful spaces. Before I left Shenzhen, I was worried that I would lose my writer’s flow, and while writing has not been a priority in Phuket, being in a flow state sure has persisted.
The first days in Phuket were spent on the beach. The woman in this photo did not yet know the trajectory of the trip. I have extended my stay twice so far, finding just what I have needed here in Thailand.
My days have been spent practicing yoga in the morning and evening, and in between, spending time with some of the best souls and living in the moments. If you find yourself seeking a place of solace in Southeast Asia, I must highly recommend CC’s Hideaway. The curry is delicious, the smoothies are divine, the yoga is transcendent, and the staff is so, so warm.
For me, what has also been extraordinary about this time is that my anxiety has been kept in check. For anyone, a time of such uncertainty can cause a great deal of stress and anxiety, and understandably so. Somehow, I have leaned into the uncertainty, and it feels that my spirit has used the life I am living at a slower pace to level up. I have seen and felt a great deal of fear around me, and yet I have continued to maintain a state of wellness for myself.
Thailand has been liberating. And that liberation, and the centered feeling I continue to be in touch with, looks a bit like this ...
Slow afternoons have sometimes given way to nights of dancing, followed by swimming in the middle of the night under the light of a full moon.
These folks are such good energy. Looking at this photo, I consider how special it is when you cross paths with the right people at the right time.
I watched a shooting star streak across a corner of the sky as I turned my attention away from the moon for a moment during our moonlit swim. It seems that some of the world has gone daft with the current viral state of affairs; my world, though, floats in a sea of just right moments. I have deep gratitude for what this time and space is allowing me to explore.
This morning, I am preparing for the first yoga practice of the day, and then I will get online to connect with my students. Teaching from Thailand is a bit harder than teaching from Shenzhen, but I will not complain about teaching from paradise. I have been meditating on words that I heard from my first yoga instructor here: More open heart, More happy life.
One of my favorite poets, Rumi, once wrote,
“There’s a morning when presence comes
over your soul. You sing like a rooster
in your earth-colored shape. Your heart
hears and, no longer frantic, begins
to dance.”
Wherever you are, I hope that you find space for deep movement, for peace, and for presence.
Sending lots of love from Thailand,
Jame
10 Thinks I Love About You
As an English teacher, I am working with 10th-grade learners to write analytical essays about various books that they have been reading. In the spirit of some of their essays, I will begin with a quote. Like some of my budding writers are doing, I will place it here, without context, and then walk away. You decide what it means to you, or to me, after reading today's post.
“I know you can be underwhelmed, and you can be overwhelmed, but can you ever just be, like, whelmed?” ~10 Things I Hate About You
10. I love you, Patacon, for your cuddles and company. But I have like one rule in this house, and I hate it when you break it. Please take your paws off of my pillow.
9. I love you, Sun, for rising in the east. And I love you, Shenzhen, for keeping so many factories closed so that we can see the hills of Hong Kong through a clear sky, rather than through the smog.
8. I love you, Hobbs Household, for bringing the fun.
7. I love you, Ann, for being the friend and collaborator that you are. Thank you for recording audio for "The Handsomest Drowned Man" -- I think that our SIS students are fortunate to have teachers sending all the love with all sorts of gestures. Craig, thank you in advance for understanding this office is more ours than yours. The future is female. The present is the future.
6. I love you, Brother Tom, for sending me the Vitamix. This is my first creation. I'm sorry that I couldn't have you over for dessert.
5. I love you, Cass, for cutting and coloring my hair. Getting my haircut was a little scary today, and I wished that I could have been sitting in your chair. The stylist did say, "Highlights very good!"
4. I love you, self-quarantiners, for choosing to stay inside. I am an introvert living in a city of over 13 million people, and now I feel like Goldilocks when she sleeps in brother's bed.
3. I love you, Silvie, for believing that you should come to the beach with me. While you are currently barred from leaving China, I am not, and so I must go, and you must stay.
2. I love you, Beck and Stone, for taking in my screaming orange and white cat. She does not realize that I have not sent her to get more teeth pulled, but rather that she will be at the kitty spa. She'll settle in after some time. Or maybe she won't.
1. I love you, Shenzhen, for putting all sorts of restrictions in place. I cannot see my friends much since we cannot enter one another's homes (unless we sneak). We cannot eat inside of most restaurants. But we can celebrate that in the past three days, the city has not reported any new cases of COVID-19.
So, as you can see, there is underwhelming stuff, overwhelming stuff, and then just the whelming. And that's my essay. I mean my blog post. K, ttys.