I’m writing this from my dorm room, on the fourth floor – overlooking the city of Seattle. There’s snow capped mountains in the distance, there’s rotting food in the fridge beside me, I haven’t been able to feel my feet or hands for days and I’m here, in America. I’m here.
my dorm.
& my room.
I actually have to tell myself that a couple of times a day.
“I’m in America!”
I said it out loud in the hall on my first day. Someone looked at me funny. People always look at me funny. I’m weird here. Reasons being: I wear shorts, and singlets. And thongs of the flip-flop variety. I use an umbrella when it rains. I get up before 9am. I look to the right when I cross the road. I pass people on the left. I stand at the tap for 5 minutes trying to turn it on the wrong way. I don’t drink coffee. I take photos of squirrels. I wear my hair on top of my head. And many, many more.
just a few plugs.
First impressions are mostly all good. My flights weren’t terrible, and even though I was stuck next to a crazy lady on my 13 hour flight (she was SUPER protective of her 30cm square space and even slapped my leg at one point when, asleep, I apparently inched into her spacing), I made my connections in LA, I wasn’t charged for my over-sized bags, and the man at immigration even smiled at me! I wasn’t even questioned about my dozens of doxycycline tablets. Time wise, I arrived in America one hour after leaving Sydney, it was a long – but very bearable – 18 hour 1 hour.
America!!
Since arriving, people have been nice to me. Too nice, and overwhelmingly kind, and it has made my transition much easier. Picking me up from the airport, introducing me to people, lending me clothing, sending me a phone, taking me out to dinner, giving me directions, riding the bus with me, ordering Starbucks for me (tall is small, what?!) and just generally being understanding, patient and inclusive.
exhibit A.
But, let’s start big and work our way small. America so far. Accents are wonderful, and I love the little things that make it constantly feel like I’m living in a movie, the yellow school busses, the squirrels (8 so far! still no raccoons), the shops – like GAP, anthropology, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, i-Hop, Victoria’s Secret etc etc. I like the college spirit and the idea of a college town. I like hanging out with American’s, they’re loud and opinionated and say what they think.
Seattle so far, my new city – is stunning. I’ve mentioned the mountains but there are also the trees, green and brown and bare and beautiful. The transport system is good and there is this fantastic international element, there is a lot of good, cultural foods, and people. There’s also this great indie hippy element, with heaps of alternative people, old record stores, tattoo parlours and clothing exchange depot’s, I’m a fan.
incredible view from my dorm window.
The University of Washington blows me away. It is incredible and the grounds leave me speechless. Architecturally and environmentally, they have a lot to be proud of. The campus is huge, and I’ve spent a lot of my first few days wandering around it with an A3 sized map in my hands – looking lost and getting lost. I live in a mixed international dorm, as I mentioned, on the fourth floor. This means I have to take a lift (elevator) to get to my home! I find this awesome, and a little bit Gossip Girl. I use a shared bathroom, about 200 metres down the hall (which makes it fun walking back in my pyjamas at all hours of the night – again, getting some strange looks from some of the boys). I have a roommate, she is wonderful.
the quad.
cherry blossom trees!
"you dub" as they say.
the sky was blue for about 3 minutes, don't be decieved.
hogwarts library.
I’m frozen. I think this misunderstanding came about due to two factors, one – my own lack of research, and two – a slightly different definition of a “light jacket” and the season of Spring. I have never, ever been so cold – it’s colder then Winter, and my wardrobe especially is completely unsatisfactory. I can’t really be outside for more then 3 seconds before I feel like crawling into a hole and just generally giving up on life. I’ve been shopping a little bit, bought some essentials, like jeans and a sweater, but I still have a major shoe problem. The problem being I have none.
reppin it like a real American.
I’m taking three classes (one screenwriting and two epidemiology) which is a full load here, and it is exactly that – a full, full load. I’m a Senior apparently, which in my limited experience so far means that I’m supposed to have no life other then school. My classes have been great – a combination of American speaking lecturers, watching Contagion in class, and reading the screen play for Superbad – but the work load already borders on the ridiculous. Where at home a weeks reading would be a few academic articles and a few chapters from a textbook, here – I have to read a 300 page novel, about viral disease, by next Tuesday. Fun! But, for both my health classes my professors name is John Mayer – so that almost makes it all okay.
a few of the many.
The gym on campus is actually the best place in the entire world. Not only is it free, but it’s 6 stories of everything you could possibly want or imagine, huge weights rooms, hundreds of exercise bikes and treadmills, an indoor pool, a rock-climbing centre, tennis, basketball and squash courts, an indoor track, hockey fields, you name it – they have it. Including, a bar that just makes protein shakes. I plan to spend a lot of my time there, especially given my next point, on food.
my view at night.
I have a campus card, which like a credit card is charged with food money, which I can use anywhere on campus, and campus is huge. This means a whole heap of restaurants, cafés, cafeterias, supermarkets – the lot. It’s a little more then exciting. I’m talking rooms filled with $1 bagels, $2 bags of cashews, chocolates, smoothies, juice bars, subway, burger joints, pizza places, Mexican places, pretzel houses, bakeries, salad bars – it’s overwhelming. I’ve vowed to try everything at least once and so far I’m doing pretty well, with twizzlers, red vines and milk duds (all incredibly over-rated, and kind of plastic tasting) and reece’s, hershey’s, bubble tea, root beer and starbucks (all incredible). Determined not to get fat, but already edging toward the freshman 15.
starbucks & root beer & vietnamese & great old friends!
soooooo good!
yuck yuck yum.
POG bubble tea.
And so, all in all I’m doing good. My sleep patterns are almost back to normal, but because I have no routine I’m staying up much later, and getting up much earlier. Not homesick at all yet, and all I really miss is having both a printer and a kettle. I’m going to church this Sunday – Mars Hill, I have to find it first, and I’m slowly meeting more people and making this my home.
One week out and I’m feeling overwhelmed, surreal, numb. All at the same time.
In one week, I will be on a plane, and then away for four months. To the USA, to Africa.
Four months. In my mind I’m like, it’s not really that long – and it’s not, I’ve been away for much longer. And it’s certainly not enough time to justify the incredible going away parties I was thrown this week! I have great friends, did I mention that? Great ones!
how beautiful is this!
rocking the blindfold mullet.
Certainly does not make it easier to leave.
One week out and I’m freaking out about transition. About wedding – planes – new country – classes; all of which happens in a 48 hour period. (not my wedding by the way!)
And then USA – Africa, which happens without going home.
Next week I’m going to arrive no doubt, jetlagged, sleep deprived, emotional and very overwhelmed. Without any textbooks, no appropriate clothing – I only own shorts and tee shirts – and I’ll have no idea where to go, what’s on campus and who is who.
I plan on standing in public places and using my accent to coax people to help me. I have been watching this, on repeat – as training.
I’m excited about going. About travelling again. About re-visiting America, a new part – the land of wonderful things, like racoons for example, and Walmart.
I’m prepared. I’ve watched many back seasons of greys anatomy, I have a visa in my passport, I’m packed a week out, and I even have presents (wrapped) for all the friends I’m visiting.
read it.
pack me.
I’m scared, about leaving and missing people and not knowing anyone. About a new school, unfamiliar systems and studying again after so long. About cultural differences, culture shock, and struggling with food, and finances.
I’m leaving some friends for four months, and another – very special one – I won’t see again for two years. I’m missing 21sts and weddings, and significant others significant dates. This hurts.
I hope that the whole semester turns out exactly like the plot of Grease, that I somehow make the cheerleading squad and re-live Bring It On, and that the American population are so wowed by my talents that they skip the whole citizenship thing and allow me straight onto Survivor. If it happens, I will win.
One week out and I’m really appreciating my family, my friends, my home, my city and my country.
One week out.
my "thank you for leaving" card from my churchies. cute.
I’m a writer, but I never write poetry – ever. I don’t enjoy reading it, I hated studying it in High School and I don’t really understand it, it’s conventions, the types, the spoken and unspoken rules. Iambic Pentameter, WHAT ARE YOU. However, I took a writing class last semester and we had the option of writing poetry or prose – with a tiny word count, and being the wordiest person I know, I opted for poetry. The class was about stretching our boundaries as masters of the written word, and for me – poetry was galaxies away. Besides, my chosen topic – HIV – with all its complications, seemed to be easier to express without the convention of sentence structure, and the limitations of an actual plot. And so, world, here is my poem about HIV. It doesn’t make much sense to even me, so good luck with that. I’m not particularly proud of it, but there’s a little something about it that I like. And it got an HD, so apparently it at least passes as a poem. I'm nervous about sharing this one with you. Oh well, here goes!
This week has been a big one and I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty exhausted.
Monday and Tuesday morning I spent at University O week, plastering the place in Orange posters, and learning the subtle art of sneaky pegging. And not to brag but, I got pretty good at it. I’ve always thought that if I wasn’t a Christian I would make an excellent thief; my suspicions have only been confirmed these past two days.
But, it was encouraging – I was encouraged, I loved being a part of a team and we did our best to be noticed. And we were at one point - noticed by security, which was nothing I couldn’t fix with some wide teary eyes and a mention of HIV. I may have also unashamedly thrown the word 'orphan' into the argument as well. Needless to say, we were allowed to keep our posters up a few extra days. I was proud to champion Orange HOPE, be part of something bigger then myself, work in fellowship and partnership, and play a little part in something wonderful.
And then, in the latter half of the week, I took part in two full and wonderful days of cross-cultural missions training, in preparation for Africa and in many ways, for life.
It was wonderful. Not only because I got two precious days off work, but for so many other reasons. I learnt a lot. I was reflecting (probably instead of listening) at the end of day one, and looking around the table at the other people I had only met that very morning, and I thought; my goodness– I feel like I’ve known these people for years. It was the body of Christ at work in this space, bridging gaps between age and situation, abilities, gifts, interests and cultures; it was seamless and beautiful.
We talked about a lot, about airport security, malaria tablets, photography, culture shock, finances, spiritual warfare, paying ransoms, customs and my personal favourite; lament.
The trusty back of my Bible describes lament as a 'cry of grief'.
And that’s what it is. A beautiful, useful and misunderstood Biblical tool for expressing and righteously venting to God you sheer and deep unsatisfaction with the state of the broken world.And I can’t tell you how helpful this is to me, what freedom and release it brings.
If you need an example of lament check out Psalm 88. It’s a great example, it’s full of such raw passion and grief, and it isn’t watered down by any ‘praise the Lords’ or ‘Hallelujah’s’. It’s just awful. Wonderfully awful.
And I can’t tell you how often I feel like the writer of this very Psalm. I’m the kind of person who is both easily inspired, and easily devastated. I get defeated all the time by the state of the world. I sob at stories, or images, or situations of hurt, poverty, pain, slums, grief, death, torture, rape, abuse, neglect, slavery, disease, anything and everything that is simply unfair and not good. Almost 100% of the time I cry when other people cry, no matter what the situation is. I get so overwhelmed by statistics, and the sheer number of broken issues that I want to play a part in fixing; famine, war, disaster relief, malnutrition, homelessness, hunger, human trafficking, health care inequality, FGM, abortion, my own life, my own self, the lives of my loved ones; the list is literally endless and sometimes I just get so frustrated with the fact that I can’t do everything, or be everywhere, and there is just too much and it’s just too awful, and I feel lost in that place.
Thank you lament. Lament gives me the right to be upset with the world and righteously vent, to damn my enemies (of sin and Satan only) to awful places. It allows me to take my overwhelming grief and dissatisfaction to God, and process it in that way, at the foot of the cross – instead of trying to handle it by other means of unhelpful escape. It’s a means of being completely honest before my Creator, and having Him meet me, weep with me, teach me and comfort me in that place.
Lament.
And so this week, I’m exhausted, encouraged, excited and defeated.
