A Non-Chick Flick.

VL asked me this week if I wanted to go see X-Men 3 in the theatre.  I was surprised by her choice, which really was a non-choice because they only really have one American film playing at any given period of time.  I had thought she'd go for some chick-flick, but then again VL did tell me that she doesn't really identify with too much of the girly.

As for me, I had just finished watching Pride and Prejudice a few days earlier.  I rather like the sublime, in which the protagonist (esp. a heroine) either comes to realize an unmet potential or has a coming of age.  And secretly I'm a sucker for those lines like Mr. Darcy's 'you've captured me body and soul...'  Haha.  That's as much as I'll admit to.

Anyhow, X-Men 3...I carefully combed the critics' reviews beforehand so that I knew what I was getting in to.  I have some memory of watching the first one, but of course I don't remember what happened.  I think just watching the movie yields its own entertainment value...but I happen to be of the variety that needs meaning for my satisfaction, so there I was sitting in our nice VIP plush La-Z-Boy-esque seats and searching for the sublime.  Came up with one that still sticks in my mind a few days later...that being submission.  There is a prevailing theme of control in the movie--the villains fighting against the loss of any such control over their lives.  This contrasted with my recent reading of the Ap. Paul whose life he lived in the body was not lived for himself but for Him who gave Himself up for him (note the caps).

I've known for awhile that I, too, am a mutant here.  My special powers?  I'm still getting to know them.  But submitted to the mutant Authority I'm realizing my potential.

Got my 50 RMB's worth out of that one.

School's In.

Picture #1: An empty, quiet classroom...a teacher's delight.
Picture #2: My teaching lectern (which I'm often not behind).  Note the platform steps to the blackboard.  A hazard for the clutz in me.  It's predictable I'll fall off at some point(s) during the semester. 
Picture #3: I don't get the whole exercise thing they do everyday massaging their eyes, ears, temples, etc.  Something about protecting-the eyes-health-shenmede.  We also have posters advising about the avian flu.  Good stuff to know.
 

Metaphorically Speaking.

When I first arrived here I biked faster than most locals, figuring it senseless to spend any longer in the craziness than one would absolutely have to.  Also at the start of my time here as a means of sheer survival I ingested all changes relating to life here without much thought to my emotions, suppressing them as not to feel too much. 

Then came a period where Father brought me to keen awareness of my brokenness, uncovering the hurried pace that I had been maintaining by ushering a season marked by loss (which, ironically, included the loss of my bike).  It was in this season that my tears returned, as I realized that my deepest need remains for Him.

I recently discovered that my biking pace had slowed, and that indeed most locals were now passing me up even though it seemed as if I was exerting the same amount of energy.  Frustrating.  Little did I realize that the patch on my back tire from the summer was only that--a patch.  I soon uncovered a much deeper problem--my whole inner tube was kaputt and needed to be replaced.  I had been riding clueless, straining myself unecessarily.

Divine revelation often comes through metaphors for me.  My Fixer certainly knows my bent for searching for meaning out the ordinary.  The recent lesson here being that I had announced myself fixed after a season of brokenness, not realizing that there is still more that needs to be dealt with.

Bike's fixed now, but still not completely without some lingering issues....sorta like me--but you knew I was going to say that.

1-Year.

Exactly one year ago yesterday I stepped foot into the mainland, kicking off one of the most signficant years I can remember.  I like to border the dramatic, yes...but give me a moment here...

Special thanks to my co-conspirator in this ongoing stint, AC.  She has applied grace to a life found to be less than perfect (without running away).  Props to you :)

Escape.

I recently came across a former student's thoughts on a class I previously taught in the States, referring to his need for addictive substances:

"i know you already know this but i'll answer
VICODIN for "sherise's class LA 55 "Liberal arts class"
and also VALIUM and half a water bottle of stoli with mango juice, i know it's a fatal combination but hey it's LA 55 with sherise."

He wrote anonymously and certainly wasn't intending that his instructor (me) would see this, but I did.  And no, I won't launch into a discussion of my delicate ego, or how I'm unreasonably vain and sensitive when anything critical is said of me.  I think we can all understand the the lingering pride that resides in each of us.

What I will make reference to is the denial that surfaces when we encounter conflict (defined here as anything that arises to thwart a certain plan or goal of ours--say something that doesn't go our way--in the form of a person, situation, etc).  This student of mine certainly wanted to escape the reality of my class.  And though it seems as if his measures were extreme, I wonder at my own escape plans that I've hatched over the years, remembering that as a young child I often threatened with the literal running away, but never got further than hiding out in the trunk of my family's station wagon in the basement.

I'm learning that I can't run far because I am ultimately kept.  And even more to run this race fair and square, resisting those easy shortcuts that seem to set me off course.

Currently Broken.

So far my roomie has scored 2 broken chairs in one week  The latest victim being the swivel chair that sits (now, sat) at my desk.  I had left AC in my room describing her recent accident over Skype to AK and CF when from the other room I heard a loud *THUD.*  I came in to find two of my chair legs dismembered and sprawled on the floor.  AC was okay, though peeling back with laughter, in disbelief over what had just happened (again).  

I'll take the blame here however for being the fatty, since I'm the one who sits there the most.  And I didn't help my cause any with my last entry, either.  Will this curb my snacking habits?  Nah. 

Currently Snacking.

I often get these terrible cravings to snack--I jokingly tell friends that I need regular 'feeding' hours (ie, every several hours I must eat). During college I was notorious for always craving a second dinner if I stayed up past midnight.  I never actually consumed another meal, but I had to in the least cram something in my mouth to get me to sleep.

My particular weakness is potato chips.  Ruffles to be exact. Ruffles aren't available here, but I've settled for the plentiful and intriguing selection of Lay's potato chips they have here (green tea chips, anyone?).  See other sample flavors on the left :)

Learning Anew.

There's a certain part of me that would much prefer to be a learner than an instructor.  As a learner you are responsible only for yourself, rather than the learning outcomes of an entire classroom, which is the plight that awaits each teacher.  (Though, I must say one of the greatest delights as an instructor is when your students get it--that is, that magical moment when the lightbulb turns on, or however that expression goes).

I have the opportunity to wear both hats this semester as both teacher and learner.  As a student I can be somewhat of a nerd if I want to, though I'm NOT one of those types whose never made below an A-.  That's just gross.  What I can't shake, though, is the sense of competitiveness that sometimes propels me to absurd expectations of myself.

I'm learning language if you haven't guessed already.  Learning language is different than say, learning other subjects.  Humbling is a good way to put it, though I know that there are more eloquent dissertations written on this whole language acquisition process.

For now, I'm laughing at myself as I'm learning to read characters.  Last week I had this moment of actually thinking about what I sound like as I try to read and it reminded me of the Sesame Street two-headed monster when they slowly sandwich two parts of a word to read as one complete word.  Oh the delight when the two parts read as one!

Elementary studies yield elementary joys .  

No Apology Necessary.

My mom confessed to me over the phone today that she had an apology to make.  Knowing my mom, I knew it couldn't be anything major, but certainly something random.  Anyhow, she explained that she had given away some of my clothes to a patient in her current caseload at the hospital.  She added that the clothes she chose weren't anything that was 'in style.'  Well, that's good...except I didn't think I had anything that was necessarily out of style.  Haha.

I wasn't mad, though I was curious as to which clothes she gave away.  I told her that after I get home next year I probably won't even know what clothes are missing anyways.  Besides, rumor has it that my wardrobe is already being put to good use by another certain good friend of mine.  And I've seen pictures with my sister wearing some of my clothes this past year.  Again, not a big deal (just don't stretch them out, mui mui!).   Besides, living here I find you grow less vain, and a same outfit can easily be worn 3+ days during the week.  In short, you can live on less.

This is not to say that contentment is easily found here (or that I don't buy new clothes =).  I'm often not content, and I'm not one who stays sugary-sweet when things get taken from me. 

But it is funny how much you change when you're away .

Reflections.

A few days ago someone asked me how my year has been.  Not knowing how to even start, I replied with 'good, bad, but mostly good.'  I should have clarified that the good has been because of the bad.  Certainly in the stripping away I have never been more confronted with the reality of the Almighty.  I was then further probed, 'so what has been the good?'  Caught a bit off guard by the question, my only reply was that He has been with me.  To which the person replied with an "amen, sister," or something along those lines.

I enter Year 2 with a bit of reluctance.  I fear the remainder of what I need to be broken in.  And gosh darn it, there's still that pride of mine.  I also fear that I grow out of touch with home, while still not understanding this as my home.  Perhaps it was having people from home here that reminded me that I'm not home.  I fear that I'm not who I'm supposed to be, and that I'm kidding myself by being out here.

After a busy summer, I'm resurfacing back to reality here.  I don't know what to expect, but I return to a previous favorite word of mine: huge.  This year is going to be huge, but I just don't know quite how yet.  The scary thing is that I don't know what qualifies that statement because at the moment I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow.