Different Already

I knew that this time around, India would be different.  But I am already noting the vast ways in which these differences are extremely obvious.

Let’s start with my accommodations.  My first days are being spent in my boss’ building in an apartment that is owned by a professor who is in the United States 6 months and India 6 months.  It is two floors, multi-bedroom, living room, dining room, huge balcony.  I am alone in a palace.  And the places I am looking to live are so expensive (by Indian cost of living) that they make me nauseous.  Juxtapose this with my first days in 2010...my current bathroom is about the size of my living quarters last year.  There were cockroaches, moldy bathrooms, mosquito nets, a holey red tile roof.

Second, transportation.  We walked, took the bus, or took an auto.  Thus far, I have traveled only by air conditioned car, sometimes with a driver, sometimes driven by my boss. In this car, there is a remote control in the backseat so the passengers can control the volume/radio station on the stereo.  

Third: food.  I am eating solid, homemade Indian food in the mornings and evenings, and thankfully in smaller portions than I was fed last time around, but lunches are taken out or ordered in.  Yesterday the first question was, “Do you want to order pizza?”  We ended up going to Au Bon Pan (it was the only fastish place in walking distance that served something gluten-free...aka rice. in India!).  Today we ordered from an online menu and had Chinese delivered to the office.  Tonight I met up with some girls who are working at an international school in the area (both from England, but originally French-Zimbabwean and Colombiana)...we went to a cowboy-themed club where the mixed drinks cost as much as my tear-jerking steak last fall.  It was bumpin with the latest and greatest American music.  Pop/hiphop though, not country.  They clearly failed when it came to consistency with the theme.

And I just realized that, since getting here, I have been either in a car, in my office, or in an apartment building.  This is so different from the amount of time outside I had in 2010.  Scratch that, I was outside today...standing outside of the shopping mall trying to recruit students to serve as extras in our corporate video.

Deja Vu

As my plane landed in Bangalore last night, I felt a wave of nostalgia.

I remembered all the times I’ve been to this airport...

- arriving - scared and excited, I told Sid I was, “Fresh as a daisy” and he said, “welcome home”.  little did I know that it would soon become home.

- picking up the students - I felt like a local, and I was so excited for my kids.

- picking up my mom - nervous for my worlds to collide, but thrilled to share my life.

- flying to delhi - I was the “mom”, the guide, the leader.  and mom experienced white privilege firsthand for the first time the first encounter we had at the airport.

- returning from delhi - we hired a cab, probably the only driver in the city who spoke only hindi.  he got lost, and lost, and lost, and eventually we got out, walked to the rickshaw line, and hired an auto.  which was great, until the wheel fell off.  so we carried all our luggage to the bus depot and hired another auto to take us as far as a restaurant, and bribed another handsomely to finally take us home.

- dropping off my mom - she was so cute going through all the ticket lines, and after she made it through we went to find our driver only to realize he wasn’t answering his phone and we had no idea where he had parked...15 minutes of wandering the parking lot later, he finally answered.

- dropping off the kids - bittersweet.  this ended an era for them, for us. but i’m not going to lie, i was also excited to know i had my last weekend for me and only me to do with as i wished.

- leaving - terrible. cafe coffee day with Siddo and Roshen, laughs and jokes as we waited for goodbyes, even as I went through ticketing and signed with them through the window. but when I got to my gate...the waterworks began. and, minus naptimes, didn’t stop for a good 24 hours.

In December, Sid and Roshen said they gave me 6 months til I was back.

And here I am.

When I got off the plane, it was like deja vu...like I’d been here before. 

I'm back :)

I got to Delhi around 3:30 India time and had to gather my luggage, go through customs, and recheck my luggage before heading through security and to my gate.  My first thought as I entered the airport?  It smells like India.  When I was here before, I don’t think I recognized it because I lived in it.  But coming, back, the heavy mix of incense, sweat, spices, and people hangs in the air.  I smiled - I’m back.

While I was at the baggage claim, a couple other white men stood by me to wait for their bags.  One greeted me with a, “Well, you surely aren’t Indian.  Where are you from?”  I laughed and we went through the niceties - I am from Minnesota, he’s from Mississippi.  I asked what he’s doing here, he’s on business, and I couldn’t grasp from our conversation if it was short or long term.  He’d never been, but seemed to speak of his wife and home like it was so far away.  So I asked  “So are you here short term, then, or will you be here for awhile?”

His response: “Oh, well to me it seems pretty long term.”  I nod understandably, thinking maybe he’ll be here til Thanksgiving or Christmas like others I have spoken with.  

He continued: “I’ll be here until the 5th.”

I felt my eyebrows raise, and I asked, “of September?”

“Yes, I won’t go home until Labor Day.  What about you, how long are you here?”

I laughed and said, “Well, I’ll be here a little bit longer than Labor Day...”

Transitioning

One the way to Chicago, I did nothing but sip my grande nonfat chai latte and laugh.  Seriously.  Not too loudly, though, because I didn’t want the Laotian man next to me to think I was crazy.  Laugh because - hold on - I’m going back to India?  God is so funny.  I wonder what He was thinking back in December when I left Bangalore absolutely devastated.  He knew.  He knew that I had to leave to know how deeply I had loved, that I had to return home to identify what I had become, to remember His grace, to fully understand the meaning of home, and to not want to leave...again.  I was quite a piece of work for those 8 months, but I wouldn’t have given them up for anything.  I laughed because of the incredible sense of peace that I have, and as I meandered through Chicago O’Hare I heard a voice say, “He shall keep in perfect peace him whose heart is steadfast, because he trusts completely in Him”.  This is me, and I never want to leave this place.  And by place I don’t necessarily mean my geographic location; rather, this place of peace, of steadfastness, of trust.

Leaving

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again - leaving is the pits.  But sometimes, it’s the only way to get to where you’re going.  Become who you’re becoming.

My family has come to loathe airport goodbyes.  “Isn’t there some better way to do this?” we ask.  But alas, there is none.  I had a dry run last Sunday when we brought my sister to the airport so she could get to California for her senior year of college.  I held her hand the whole time, casting sideways glances down the ticketing counter towards the American Airlines, where I would be leaving in just one week...today.  Then, the sight of it made me want to throw up.  We cried, we prayed, and sent my little sister through security.  Watched her gather up her things, turn for one last wave goodbye, and then square her shoulders and walk confidently out into the great big world.  I used to love airports, they gave me butterflies of excitement in my stomach, but now they generally represent leaving, and the thought of leaving just makes me nauseous.

Today it was my turn.  JJ slept with me, but I only made it to bed for an hour before it was time to get up again.  And in that hour, he managed to steal all of my covers.  Thanks bro.  When  I woke up, the first thing I thought was, “I’m moving to India today.  What the heck am I doing?”  

The airport was hard.  I got all checked in by 6:40am, but didn’t need to head through security for at least an hour.  So Mom, Dad, and I sat with teary eyes watching the kiss and fly lane, holding each other, crying, and having the sendoff prayer.  We were quite the hot mess, that’s for sure.  But if it’s hard to leave something, it is because of the depth of your love for what you are leaving.  I am thankful that I can say that yes, I love Minnesota.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  You are my home, my community, my roots.  And I am so thankful that I stuck around long enough to be reminded of that.  Thank you for sticking by me, for loving me, and for reminding me of who I am when I forget.

My tears trickled off when it was time to go through security.  I gave Mom and Dad one last hug, heaved my carry-ons onto my shoulders, and headed through the line.  And as I did so, my sadness was replaced with peace, confidence, and anticipation.  I hate leaving, but I know that - for right now - this is right.  I waved once again, and with 12 minutes til boarding headed towards Starbucks to pick up one last treat.  9 minutes to boarding.  I left Starbucks and, as I passed the security line, had a feeling they were still there.  So I rambled by and sure enough, Mom and Dad were still holding each other, looking for one last glimpse.  

I smiled, waved, blew a final kiss, and turned to face the world.

Ode to JEN17

I sold my car yesterday.  But to me, she was so much more than a car.  She was kind of a person, a part of my family.  A part of many people's lives, and her teal green body brought many people joy everywhere she went.  Yes, I am almost 25.  But there was no way I would ever change her license plate, because she is, in all of our hearts, JEN17. We refer to her fondly as Jen, and talk about her as if she is a person.  My Dad pulled out of the driveway as I was preparing to clean her up for a prospective buyer, and his parting words were, "Be brave."

I needed that.  I cried several times throughout the day - I had been preparing for 3 years for Jen to die, but the idea of giving her away was something I hadn't considered...I wasn't ready.  I had been planning her funeral - we would all wear teal and come with a story, our favorite memory of JEN17.  JEN17 had many adventures :)  But none of this came to pass - the buyer came, took a look, pulled out the cash, I handed over the keys, and she was gone.  As I watched her drive away, I was filled with tidbits of advice that I wanted to shout after the new owner - "She runs better when you talk to her!"  "We sing happy birthday every time she turns 1,000 miles!"

But I refrained.  She isn't my JEN17 anymore.  After all, she was only a car.  When I had cleaned my life out of her (I wish I would have counted how many bobbie pins I found, and squealed with elation when I pulled out window markers used in high school pranks), I realized how true this was - that she was only a car.  As much as I wished she would turn "Herbie the Love Bug" on me and throw a fit when somebody else tried to drive her, she didn't know that she had a new driver, and she surely didn't care that we didn't have a going away party for her.

However, she was MY car.  My JEN17.  And, as ridiculous as it sounds, she was more than a car to me.

Words of Wisdom: To avoid becoming emotionally attached to your car, refrain from naming her after yourself.

This is Minnesota Summer

Summer is almost over, and it is almost time to move on.  Not into winter, but over to India.
Minnesota summer is my absolute favorite season of the year, and I hope that it is something that I will always be a part of.

If I had to sum it up in three photos, Minnesota summer would be best described by

 Sidewalk chalk.  This begins to appear in March, and it's a sure sign that summer is coming.
Creativity is uninhibited, and it continues in this fashion for the duration of the summer.
Games are created, memories are made, lemonade stands make bank.
This is Minnesota summer.

 Family week at the cabin.  It's a staple every summer, and without it my life wouldn't be complete.

Boating.  Game time.  Movie nights.  Photo shoots.
Laughing until your sides ache and tears are falling.
This is Minnesota summer.

Lake Calhoun.  I am here almost daily.  If you come to Minneapolis in the summer, come here.

Take a walk.  Read a book.  Meet a friend.  Make a friend.  Dog watch.  People watch.  

Ride a bike.  Rent a paddle board.  Walk into Uptown.  Take a nap.  

This is Minnesota summer.