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27 December 2006 : doing, not being.
i am washing my hands in a dark bathroom, the only light coming from a tiny window near the ceiling. it smells institution in here, faintly powdery with a hint of lemon and a strong cleanser that hasn't been used in several months. like old ladies at church. the gray cold of the rainy day outside lets me see myself in faded blue. i am surprised at the detail i can make out in this tiny, cinderblock room: my mascara has started to run, filling the tiny lines under my eyes with enough black to make them stand out.
i look old.
i've just returned from several exhausting hours of errands; the emergency room, the pharmacy, the bank. in contrast to the girl i had spent my afternoon with, i am fading, my paint is chipping, the cat has spent so many years rubbing his sensitive cheekbones against my sharp edges that they are dulled and filmy with residue.
we communicated slowly, loudly, with too many gestures and too little meaning. she catches my drifts very quickly. she's the sharpest so far, two years my junior, shockingly tiny once out of her heavy cloth coat. i dial a million phone numbers, explain things to doctors and translators and nurses and caseworkers. she sits patiently on white paper, examining the contents of the room with one good eye, legs swinging idly and one foot thumpa-thumping against the footrest.
i am not prepared for this, which is not unusual: there is no preparation in this business, only a ready smile (i'm told mine is winning) and a willingness to compromise. i'll get things done somehow, it will just take a little bit of chutzpah and a lot of creativity. i dial the number for the translator again.
this is the costume i wear on thursday afternoons. i am brisk and businesslike, in my dress casual clothes and tasteful heels, i know all the catchwords which will impress the importance of my task upon the people whose help i need. this is about the girl in the tight basketball jersey, the one who won't make eye contact with anyone, but who needs us to understand what she cannot voice.
sitting in my car, she disarms me. squeezed against the passenger side door, making herself as small as possible, she says nothing. stares out the window as 86th street passes by, more slowly than it should. her skin hums, i can hear it. she is electric underneath her timidity, taking everything in for evaluation before dismissing it as unimportant or storing it away for future use.
in the pharmacy, i wait with my legs crossed making pleasant conversation with the attractive man in his 50s who wears a blue boot on his broken foot. i lose sight of her again and again as she walks the aisles, picking up anything that catches her interest and examining all the words on the packaging.
when she comes to sit down beside me, i gesture and smile what is essentially, "isn't this a pain in the ass? wouldn't you rather be at home where it's warm, watching mtv?" she nods, rocking back and for in her chair, unable to sit still.
her skin hums, i can hear it. she is tiny, shy, and the toughest i've encountered so far. nothing has phased her, she has giggled at the translator and rolled her eyes at my inept questioning, known everything about her surroundings through the entire time i've been with her. i wonder if this quality is innate, or if something happened to make her so conscious. what it could have been.
her hair, cropped clumsily short, belies the sharp of her jaw and the smooth of her face - in that heavy cloth jacket, i would have guessed her for a boy if i weren't carrying her casefile under my arm.
back at the office, i say, "i like her. she's feisty." i can't explain it, i still can't. but those words are the truest yet. i am drawn to dynamism like the dog to her frisbee; i can't seem to get enough. everyone agrees with me. she's the office favorite.
in the bathroom, i consider my still-young face in the twilit mirror. i am so tired, my back hurts, and all i have done is sit for the day. the soap foams and bubbles over my wrists, leaving behind a softness and a scent i will smell for hours. something gentle and pink, like old ladies at church, with a papery grit to it that reminds me that my skin won't be this smooth forever. an odor vaguely pallid, greasy, worn smooth from use.
how overwhelmingly appropriate.
posted by lindsay at 22:57 :: 2 comments
17 November 2006 : tiny whiny tightrope
i found myself yesterday on a rainy, cold, wild goose chase for two charming young burmese gentlemen who needed to be escorted downtown for social service issues. 16 miles, three apartments, twelve non-english speakers and one cup of coffee later, i found myself in the vestibule of a very large, very empty church, having been directed there mostly by luck and the phrase "english school!" said vehemently over and over again.
luckily right behind me came a congenial older fellow with a shock of silver hair and a super-cool name, who peppered me with questions about who i was and what my business was (while providing the answers i needed in a very kind manner).
the next thing i knew, i was exchanging handshakes and phone numbers with him, before calling the day a mostly-failure and heading to yats for some rice and beans (which was delightful).
note to self:
that giant flashing neon billboard that's been following you around proclaiming the words, "YOU HAVE TAKEN ON TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES THIS FALL," yeah, remember that?
well, just for the record, nowhere in that phrase are contained any of the words, "BUT GO AHEAD AND VOLUNTEER TO ORGANIZE AND TEACH ESL CLASSES IN NORA TWO NIGHTS A WEEK, CAUSE IT WILL BE KINDA COOL."
that's all.
posted by lindsay at 15:10 :: 0 comments
03 November 2006 : brought home.
i guess i was too busy with the business of filling out forms and hurdling the language barrier to really notice them. a family of small, dark people - mom, dad, two babies with enormous eyes. i had to show them how to use a car seat, a seatbelt. they huddled together in the backseat of the car, leaving me nervous and alone in the front. driving is one of the most frightening parts of this job. i have one car seat, but they have two babies. what if i get pulled over? who's going to recognize that getting this finished is more important than obeying child safety laws to the very letter?
they were going to leave without shoes. i pantomimed it being cold outside and they laughed at me before finding socks and tying laces.
the drive took 30 minutes. they didn't know where we were going. they had never met me before. all i had for credibility was my smile and the blue case folder that marked me as a member of a specific organization.
but they came anyway. in country for less than 24 hours, they followed me outside and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.
i guess at some point you hedge your bets, you assume that you've got to trust someone, even if it's the slightly timid white girl with the nose piercing and the scarf that sheds green hair all over everything.
like i said, i wasn't paying much attention to anything other than filling out forms and my hands at ten and two. the speed limit 55 on 465 east is so difficult to obey.
but sitting in the hot, crowded, airless office with all the screaming children it got to me. i saw their faces stoic and unbothered in the commotion. she breast fed the baby calmly and they listened intently when i asked them questions, but were not too concerned when i was unable to convey anything i meant.
we dialed the 800 number and i put them on the phone in turn; the translator told me their answers as best she could. neither of them could spell for her in english the names i needed, so we guessed phonetically - myself and a burmese woman located anywhere conspiring.
it was the birthdate that stopped me. the forms almost finished, just waiting for shaky (but legal) signatures. 12/2/82 - i wrote it down and then stopped. 12/2/82 - one day before my own date of origin. i looked at the man sitting next to me with the sleeping child.
they were so young. so incredibly young. and for once, impending 24 didn't seem like a crisis. how could it?
in 24 years, i've done a lot of whining, lost my father to heart disease, written about a zillion blog entries, and remained in school to put off the real world as long as possible.
in 24 years, he had married, fathered two children, fled his home to live in a refugee camp on the thai border, and then given up everything to come to the united states and find something better with his family.
his wife had sky-blue polish on her toenails.
i stopped with the business of being brisk and smiled at them with as much meaning as i could muster, since i wouldn't have the words. when we parted, he shook my hand and thanked me. i said, "i know you have no idea what i'm saying, but you two are my favorites so far."
and puppet show time again - they understood tomorrow and 8 (after i held up fingers), but i left having no idea whether they knew what the two had to do with each other.
and a feeling of calm assurance. everything is relative certainly, but it just means you do what you have to do.
posted by lindsay at 07:17 :: 2 comments
15 October 2006 : say this and say that: i haven't the words
things have been a little somber here recently, and i want to say a few things about that. first of all, the tone of my last few posts is in no way reflective of my mood - in fact, for the past week or so i've been particularly upbeat and calm about all my obligations and the ways of my life in general.
i've been getting plenty of sleep, finishing my homework on time, working hard when i'm at work, and i've said the phrase "man, i'm pretty" at least once a day since last monday. things feel easy and right, right now.
however, i am exploring themes of "home" in both my personal and academic life, pursuant to a senior thesis in which i will be examining the cultural differences between americans and the karen burmese which contribute to difficulties and misunderstanding in home and community building upon arrival in the united states (hence the working with refugees i've been so excited about). eventually i will develop an orientation program for the organization geared specifically toward the community of karen burmese which is being built in indianapolis.
in keeping with that, i'm looking at all the places i've lived in the last four years and all the ways in which they have not been home. and the reasons why. three posts so far and four to go; moving is one of my talents. i'm 23. i'm in the grey area. mom's house is no longer home, but as of yet i have neither the time, the means or the surroundings to build a home of my own. and the past four years, as most of you know, have been rocky at best, so the things i have to say about my various apartments are bound to be tainted with a little sadness. and believe me, i have a lot to say about this. bear with me while i get it all out; i'm preparing for what is going to be a very challenging (and rewarding) winter/spring.
and as far as that goes, i want to talk a little about friday, which was exhausting and amazing and long and quick and the weirdest day of my life.
have you ever felt brave and humble at the same time? it's a very strange sensation.
i felt brisk and professional, but i also managed to feel the weight of an incredible responsibility that had been placed on me. i was trusted without any reason - and i did deliver on that, i made no mistakes and everyone was returned home safely with all of their belongings and the mission set completed - and that terrified me.
i feel graced by the opportunity - it was such a small thing i did, and yet monumentally important for both myself and the other parties involved.
how much more excited can i be?
posted by lindsay at 18:27 :: 2 comments
i am washing my hands in a dark bathroom, the only light coming from a tiny window near the ceiling. it smells institution in here, faintly powdery with a hint of lemon and a strong cleanser that hasn't been used in several months. like old ladies at church. the gray cold of the rainy day outside lets me see myself in faded blue. i am surprised at the detail i can make out in this tiny, cinderblock room: my mascara has started to run, filling the tiny lines under my eyes with enough black to make them stand out.
i look old.
i've just returned from several exhausting hours of errands; the emergency room, the pharmacy, the bank. in contrast to the girl i had spent my afternoon with, i am fading, my paint is chipping, the cat has spent so many years rubbing his sensitive cheekbones against my sharp edges that they are dulled and filmy with residue.
we communicated slowly, loudly, with too many gestures and too little meaning. she catches my drifts very quickly. she's the sharpest so far, two years my junior, shockingly tiny once out of her heavy cloth coat. i dial a million phone numbers, explain things to doctors and translators and nurses and caseworkers. she sits patiently on white paper, examining the contents of the room with one good eye, legs swinging idly and one foot thumpa-thumping against the footrest.
i am not prepared for this, which is not unusual: there is no preparation in this business, only a ready smile (i'm told mine is winning) and a willingness to compromise. i'll get things done somehow, it will just take a little bit of chutzpah and a lot of creativity. i dial the number for the translator again.
this is the costume i wear on thursday afternoons. i am brisk and businesslike, in my dress casual clothes and tasteful heels, i know all the catchwords which will impress the importance of my task upon the people whose help i need. this is about the girl in the tight basketball jersey, the one who won't make eye contact with anyone, but who needs us to understand what she cannot voice.
sitting in my car, she disarms me. squeezed against the passenger side door, making herself as small as possible, she says nothing. stares out the window as 86th street passes by, more slowly than it should. her skin hums, i can hear it. she is electric underneath her timidity, taking everything in for evaluation before dismissing it as unimportant or storing it away for future use.
in the pharmacy, i wait with my legs crossed making pleasant conversation with the attractive man in his 50s who wears a blue boot on his broken foot. i lose sight of her again and again as she walks the aisles, picking up anything that catches her interest and examining all the words on the packaging.
when she comes to sit down beside me, i gesture and smile what is essentially, "isn't this a pain in the ass? wouldn't you rather be at home where it's warm, watching mtv?" she nods, rocking back and for in her chair, unable to sit still.
her skin hums, i can hear it. she is tiny, shy, and the toughest i've encountered so far. nothing has phased her, she has giggled at the translator and rolled her eyes at my inept questioning, known everything about her surroundings through the entire time i've been with her. i wonder if this quality is innate, or if something happened to make her so conscious. what it could have been.
her hair, cropped clumsily short, belies the sharp of her jaw and the smooth of her face - in that heavy cloth jacket, i would have guessed her for a boy if i weren't carrying her casefile under my arm.
back at the office, i say, "i like her. she's feisty." i can't explain it, i still can't. but those words are the truest yet. i am drawn to dynamism like the dog to her frisbee; i can't seem to get enough. everyone agrees with me. she's the office favorite.
in the bathroom, i consider my still-young face in the twilit mirror. i am so tired, my back hurts, and all i have done is sit for the day. the soap foams and bubbles over my wrists, leaving behind a softness and a scent i will smell for hours. something gentle and pink, like old ladies at church, with a papery grit to it that reminds me that my skin won't be this smooth forever. an odor vaguely pallid, greasy, worn smooth from use.
how overwhelmingly appropriate.
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 22:57 :: 2 comments
17 November 2006 : tiny whiny tightrope
i found myself yesterday on a rainy, cold, wild goose chase for two charming young burmese gentlemen who needed to be escorted downtown for social service issues. 16 miles, three apartments, twelve non-english speakers and one cup of coffee later, i found myself in the vestibule of a very large, very empty church, having been directed there mostly by luck and the phrase "english school!" said vehemently over and over again.
luckily right behind me came a congenial older fellow with a shock of silver hair and a super-cool name, who peppered me with questions about who i was and what my business was (while providing the answers i needed in a very kind manner).
the next thing i knew, i was exchanging handshakes and phone numbers with him, before calling the day a mostly-failure and heading to yats for some rice and beans (which was delightful).
note to self:
that giant flashing neon billboard that's been following you around proclaiming the words, "YOU HAVE TAKEN ON TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES THIS FALL," yeah, remember that?
well, just for the record, nowhere in that phrase are contained any of the words, "BUT GO AHEAD AND VOLUNTEER TO ORGANIZE AND TEACH ESL CLASSES IN NORA TWO NIGHTS A WEEK, CAUSE IT WILL BE KINDA COOL."
that's all.
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 15:10 :: 0 comments
03 November 2006 : brought home.
i guess i was too busy with the business of filling out forms and hurdling the language barrier to really notice them. a family of small, dark people - mom, dad, two babies with enormous eyes. i had to show them how to use a car seat, a seatbelt. they huddled together in the backseat of the car, leaving me nervous and alone in the front. driving is one of the most frightening parts of this job. i have one car seat, but they have two babies. what if i get pulled over? who's going to recognize that getting this finished is more important than obeying child safety laws to the very letter?
they were going to leave without shoes. i pantomimed it being cold outside and they laughed at me before finding socks and tying laces.
the drive took 30 minutes. they didn't know where we were going. they had never met me before. all i had for credibility was my smile and the blue case folder that marked me as a member of a specific organization.
but they came anyway. in country for less than 24 hours, they followed me outside and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.
i guess at some point you hedge your bets, you assume that you've got to trust someone, even if it's the slightly timid white girl with the nose piercing and the scarf that sheds green hair all over everything.
like i said, i wasn't paying much attention to anything other than filling out forms and my hands at ten and two. the speed limit 55 on 465 east is so difficult to obey.
but sitting in the hot, crowded, airless office with all the screaming children it got to me. i saw their faces stoic and unbothered in the commotion. she breast fed the baby calmly and they listened intently when i asked them questions, but were not too concerned when i was unable to convey anything i meant.
we dialed the 800 number and i put them on the phone in turn; the translator told me their answers as best she could. neither of them could spell for her in english the names i needed, so we guessed phonetically - myself and a burmese woman located anywhere conspiring.
it was the birthdate that stopped me. the forms almost finished, just waiting for shaky (but legal) signatures. 12/2/82 - i wrote it down and then stopped. 12/2/82 - one day before my own date of origin. i looked at the man sitting next to me with the sleeping child.
they were so young. so incredibly young. and for once, impending 24 didn't seem like a crisis. how could it?
in 24 years, i've done a lot of whining, lost my father to heart disease, written about a zillion blog entries, and remained in school to put off the real world as long as possible.
in 24 years, he had married, fathered two children, fled his home to live in a refugee camp on the thai border, and then given up everything to come to the united states and find something better with his family.
his wife had sky-blue polish on her toenails.
i stopped with the business of being brisk and smiled at them with as much meaning as i could muster, since i wouldn't have the words. when we parted, he shook my hand and thanked me. i said, "i know you have no idea what i'm saying, but you two are my favorites so far."
and puppet show time again - they understood tomorrow and 8 (after i held up fingers), but i left having no idea whether they knew what the two had to do with each other.
and a feeling of calm assurance. everything is relative certainly, but it just means you do what you have to do.
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 07:17 :: 2 comments
15 October 2006 : say this and say that: i haven't the words
things have been a little somber here recently, and i want to say a few things about that. first of all, the tone of my last few posts is in no way reflective of my mood - in fact, for the past week or so i've been particularly upbeat and calm about all my obligations and the ways of my life in general.
i've been getting plenty of sleep, finishing my homework on time, working hard when i'm at work, and i've said the phrase "man, i'm pretty" at least once a day since last monday. things feel easy and right, right now.
however, i am exploring themes of "home" in both my personal and academic life, pursuant to a senior thesis in which i will be examining the cultural differences between americans and the karen burmese which contribute to difficulties and misunderstanding in home and community building upon arrival in the united states (hence the working with refugees i've been so excited about). eventually i will develop an orientation program for the organization geared specifically toward the community of karen burmese which is being built in indianapolis.
in keeping with that, i'm looking at all the places i've lived in the last four years and all the ways in which they have not been home. and the reasons why. three posts so far and four to go; moving is one of my talents. i'm 23. i'm in the grey area. mom's house is no longer home, but as of yet i have neither the time, the means or the surroundings to build a home of my own. and the past four years, as most of you know, have been rocky at best, so the things i have to say about my various apartments are bound to be tainted with a little sadness. and believe me, i have a lot to say about this. bear with me while i get it all out; i'm preparing for what is going to be a very challenging (and rewarding) winter/spring.
and as far as that goes, i want to talk a little about friday, which was exhausting and amazing and long and quick and the weirdest day of my life.
have you ever felt brave and humble at the same time? it's a very strange sensation.
i felt brisk and professional, but i also managed to feel the weight of an incredible responsibility that had been placed on me. i was trusted without any reason - and i did deliver on that, i made no mistakes and everyone was returned home safely with all of their belongings and the mission set completed - and that terrified me.
i feel graced by the opportunity - it was such a small thing i did, and yet monumentally important for both myself and the other parties involved.
how much more excited can i be?
Labels: Refuge to spare
posted by lindsay at 18:27 :: 2 comments