Time Management

It’s been tough churning these blogs out! Lots has been going on, and I wish I had more time to write about it even if just for myself to have a nice chronology of the things I’ve been doing.

Of course one of the things I’ve been doing a lot of is going to the beach. When I went to my first orientation session for international students – a “welcome/arrival” talk that was given, the speaker asked how many of us had been to the Sydney beaches yet, and surprisingly only a very fair few raised their hands. Of course it’s handy to know some Australians who will take you around to the spots, but even if I didn’t I would think I would really try to make it out there especially in the really hot, humid weather we’ve been having recently. Despite the very small number of beach goers, there was still a talk given on beach and sun safety by a lifeguard which I thought was pretty interesting for a university to do. They are very big on swimming “between the flags” or only in designated safe spots along the currents.

I’d really like to see some beaches outside of Sydney, but for now I’m content with the huge amount there are just in a really short distance. I’ve been to Dee Why, Narrabeen, Manly, Curl Curl, Freshwater, and Balmoral (and Bondi, if you count my trip from two years ago). Manly is probably my favorite in terms of actual beach towns because there’s a lot of shopping and restaurants whereas the other ones are a little more residential. But Freshwater is probably my favorite in general. It’s the most scenic with the best surf, and it’s home to one of my favorite little cafés so far – Pilu, which is actually a really fancy restaurant, but they have an outdoor kiosk where you can buy paninis, espressos, and really amazing pastries while sitting and overlooking the cliffs and waves. Really stunning.

One of the best days of sightseeing I’ve had so far was my trip to Darling Harbor and Cockle Bay Wharf. I hadn’t gotten a chance to go there last time, and it was really beautiful. I think it’s pretty touristy with expensive and sometimes chintzy restaurants (Hard Rock Café), but the harbor itself is beautiful and the bridge walk underneath the monorail line is really nice. It’s also home to the Chinese Gardens and the Aquarium. It’s where I had my first Thai meal since arriving in Sydney, which I couldn’t believe since Thai food is everywhere! Afterwards, I saw the observatory, a beautiful old building home to some really cool space and nautical exhibitions located near the harbor bridge in the Rocks area… sort of. At least we started in the Rocks, and then walked up. It feels like no matter where you walk in Sydney, you’re going up hill, even on the way back from wherever you came from.

Of course it hasn’t all been beaches and thai iced teas and space museums. Every Saturday, Tom and I have had to wake up early and organize apartment inspections which is one of the most frustrating activities I’ve ever encountered. For some reason, all the inspections occur on Saturday from 10-2 and last for 15 minutes each, so we are rushing from Suburb to Suburb across the entire length of Sydney to make the next one on our list. Sometimes, agencies list the wrong address. Other times the buildings are just impossible to find, or the agents have listed wrong, somewhat integral information like there happens to be no kitchen, or they only want one tenant. Sometimes they don’t even tell us the information until after we have filled out the three page application, photocopied dozens of IDs, bank statements, payslips, etc. and submitted it, only to never hear a response and have to hassle the real estate company until we are finally met with “Oh, sorry – one tenant only.” Gdidsghgfojgiehgiovdrejg! Most places don’t include utilities, wardrobes, a fridge, and one place we went to was about $1300 a month and the floor was covered with roach carcasses. Finally, we caught on to the trick of organizing separate inspection times for places that were not open for public viewings, and this past week caught a lucky break. We saw a newish apartment in a nice building – clean, spacious, balcony… not furnished, but not overly expensive, and we were accepted the same day we applied for it. Thankfully it’s the best place we’ve seen and it’s in the same suburb as university, so it’s a good deal on all counts.

I’ve also had a lot of errands with university itself since classes start on Monday. From trying to work out my timetable (schedule), to hassling the international office about my loans, to attending “required” sessions on how to use a computer it’s been a busy week. I’m intrigued by the idea that they are trying to cram everything into this one final week before school, and that they feel so much has to be done. There are arrival sessions for internationals, for postgrads, welcomes for internationals, for postgrads, faculty inaugurations for your schools, different events, and so on and so on. You basically have to live at uni to be able to attend all these things and since there is really no uni housing, I don’t see how all these things are populated. I’ve been to a few arrival sessions for postgrads and internationals, but it’s mostly all the same information, and it seems mostly geared towards students who don’t speak English as a first language. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of a new place, but it seems a lot more disorganized than NYU ever did! It’s a lot different not living on campus though and having access to things constantly. One thing that bothers me about university here is that you are basically expected to pay for everything. Thankfully, for some reason, Public Health students are the only students that get free printing otherwise that itself would cost hundreds of dollars whereas at NYU it was always free. In order to join clubs and events, you also have to buy something called an access card for $100 which gives you “discounts” on things, but seems like the kind of thing where because you have a discount card you want to buy more in order to get the benefit of it. Unlike domestic students, we also don’t get concessions on public transportation, and we have to pay to park on campus. I feel like I’m being cynical, and I understand that domestic students have a different outlook on education since they are not paying for it up front so paying for these amenities doesn’t seem like an issue… but for someone that has always paid for education and expected to receive those amenities it’s difficult to cough up the money. Especially since I’m paying up front for this too.

I’ve also become really interested in the food culture here (could you guess?) One thing I love about Sydney is the coffee culture. It’s everywhere (and by “coffee” I mean espresso): boutiques, parks, school, car washes… you can go anywhere and expect to have a coffee. And it’s a nice coffee too, with a design drawn into the foam. It’s more expensive than in America; even by espresso standards, but it’s worth it to have all these little cafes around everywhere.
Bar and bistro food seems really popular; meats and really expensive specialty salads as well. You can find a panini anywhere, but it’s usually not made properly at ALL (except at Pilu!). I don’t think Italian food is popular in general – I’ve heard you can’t find penne ala vodka, which is my favorite, although I’ve seen lots of nice looking Italian restaurants so I don’t know what the deal is. Maybe like the panini they are not done correctly. Mexican is also out of course, sadly. The other thing I can’t find is vegan food. There a few really small “green grocers” as they call them that have a variety of organic breads and cereals and wheat pastas and weird things in bottles, but don’t have nondairy butters or vegan cheese or any of the things I’m used to eating at home… even veggie dogs or burgers I can’t really find! I’ve been to some organic cafes; one called Scrambled in Enmore is one of my favorites, but although it serves wheat breads and fresh juices, it also serves tons of meats and cheeses which takes it off the vegan list.
What you CAN find is tons and tons and tons of Asian food. Indian, Nepalese, Malaysian, Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai… anything in that regional area is par for the course. I’ve been to a million sushi trains, and had Indian a few times, and for Tom’s birthday we’ve booked a Vietnamese place. For our anniversary we went to a nice Thai place and had some awesome noodle and giant kind prawns in banana blossom and sweet coconut milk. I guess if I can’t find a burrito, I can deal with that.
I’m also surprised how little fish I see on menus. There’s flatfish, whitefish, and prawns (shrimps) a lot, but in terms of other shellfish there’s nothing. I rarely ever see crab or lobster – apparently really expensive – and the scallops at the market were EXTREMELY pricey. I was shocked seeing as Sydney is basically located IN the ocean, but meat seems a lot more popular, and a lot cheaper. I did drag Tom to the Sydney Fish Markets, which he hated. As expected it was crowded to the brim with Asian tourists, and we ordered a huge seafood platter, which was mostly fried and not really what any Australian would ever typically eat. I was pretty surprised to hear that no one knows how to properly eat crab, or goes crabbing, or orders lobsters. I did have to dehead and devein a couple dozen prawns for a barbecue which I had never done before and was quite the experience… but I am really starting to miss east coast seafood! Someone send me some chowder!

Well I will soon have some new contact info for everyone since we’ll be moving in to our new place on March 10th. I DO have a new mobile number as of… ages ago in case anyone is interested in that though I don’t really expect any international calls! It’s 0438891140… for all you Americans out there, you must dial 011-61 first.

Missing everyone back home! xo

All the Places We'll Go

Unlike in Micronesia where I had wide, vast expanses of time with which to do nothing, being in Australia has been a whirlwind even before school has started so I haven’t had much of a chance to write blogs. It’s partly a shame, because I like to write things as they happen and look back later and be able to tell chronologically exactly when events occurred and when things took place, but it feels as though since I’ve arrived I’ve just been gun rushed with sensations and experiences and newness. Writing also helped me cope with the strangeness of Micronesia, but Australia isn’t so strange, and even though I do get a little homesick from time to time, the staying busy part really helps.

Since I’ve last written, Tom took me on a cursory but efficient tour of the city of Sydney. Describing Sydney to someone from New York is really difficult, because as a New Yorker (from the city I mean), you would never really say that someone from an outside suburb – except someone from Brooklyn or Queens – was from New York City. But it seems here that no matter how far outside the “city” city we drive, whether it’s a few miles out across the harbor bridge to Tom’s suburb of Northbridge, or a half hour away to a beach town like Dee Why, we’re still somehow “in” Sydney. I guess in some senses in might be akin to the boroughs of New York, or the outward neighborhoods of Boston, but when I think of Sydney I really only picture the urban areas I guess because I am trying so hard to match it and map it out with what I know of New York.

Anyway, the bus we take goes to a stop called Wynard, which I remember from last time, and is directly across from a Starbucks! The drinks are not really the same as back home, though. The sizes are similar, but they’re still trying to push that strange little guy, flat white, and everything seemed really sweet. It was way more crowded than I expected it to be though, for something that is apparently not very popular here.

I really wanted to return to the Rocks, an area that I really liked last time, but we only walked through a small part before coming to an upscale shopping area called St. James, and then retreating into a David Jones (these department stores are everywhere) down to something called the Pete Street Market (I think?) It reminded me a little of the Fish Market from last time I was here; vendors selling things like a marketplace, but also cafes, bakeries, sushi train, etc. We were there a little too early for anything to be open, but we did find a baguette place for lunch.

We traveled to the Sydney barracks, and then to the Art Gallery of New South Wales. It’s a free museum with the exception of special exhibits, including one happening now featuring Picasso. There’s a lot of Byzantine and Victorian art, and a bunch of contemporary Australian artists. There was only a very, very small amount of Aboriginal art. Not surprisingly, more indigenous art was featured on postcards for purchase.

We also took a trip to the botanical gardens, which is pretty sizeable and situated right in the center of the city. Afterwards we walked the circumference of the opera house and ended up right where we had started. I’m still trying to work out how large Sydney is, at least the central urban piece. It’s difficult because it’s not laid out very logically. Hopefully I will be able to orient myself sooner or later.

Yesterday we went to another beach a little north of Dee Why called Narrabeen. There were less shops and cafes than at Dee Why, but as a result it looked a little more natural and there were less people even though the day was very bright and warm (unusual since its been so rainy). There were lots of people surfing and some fishing, and the water was a bit rougher than the last time we were at the beach. The waves break really far from shore, and come very quickly, so unless you are prepared to swim out far from land, you basically have to stand right where they’re breaking and dive into the crash. It was a little unnerving at first since my last few years at the beach have been so calm – the waveless beach vacations at Rehoboth and living in lagoon waters. I definitely have to get into it though. I love the ocean and it seems like everyone here is fearless of the waves.

One thing people are afraid of here is the sun. Tanning salons, or “solariums,” have been banned here… at least in New South Wales – though I did see one in a neighborhood called Leichhardt the other day. There are lots of campaigns against tanning and how there’s nothing healthy about wanting to be tan. Public schools here are issued uniforms, and hats seem to frequently be part of them. Skin cancer is evidently a very big issue here, probably because Australia has some sort of ozone issue, and is also a big beach culture. Still, there are young people, both girls and boys, with very deep and defined tans, just like there are a surprising amount of young people here who smoke, despite the insanely high price and general inaccessibility of cigarettes, and the very in-your-face anti smoking campaigns. Regardless, I don’t see much difference in the amount of people who tan or smoke versus the US. If anything, I think I see more young people here smoking, and not having anti smoking rules enforced (such as on the beach which really grosses me out for some reason).

We are still looking for apartments. It’s been the most frustrating part of my stay so far because it’s so much different and so much more of a process than finding one back home. I feel like real estate agents are conspiring against us not to let us rent. In the mean time, I’m fortunate to have a place to stay, but would really love to be settled before school.

Upon Arrival

It’s been just a little under a week since I’ve arrived in Sydney and it feels like I’ve already been here forever. Though I guess if one has been somewhere forever, they would know how to get around on their own. The good part about having contacts here is that I can rely on people for help. The bad part is that I don’t really have to force myself to figure out how to do things or get places for myself, so if I were really eventually to find myself on my own, I could really be in a pickle.

The past 6 days have been full of ups and downs. I’ll try to recap simply:

THINGS I HAVE ENJOYED:

1.Sightseeing.
I did plenty of this last time I was here, but I’m trying to branch out a little and see things that are a little more obscure. I’ve been back to Circular Quay, but only at night after visiting a place called Argyle, an upscale-ish bar located in an area of the city called the Rocks which I went to during the day last time to visit a street market. Tom also took me on a short hike through his neighborhood of Northbridge, and also to Lavender Bay/Blue Point, which is near a creepy looking amusement park called Luna Park and directly across the harbor from the Opera House. We were able to visit this very quiet and rather secretish site called Wendy Whiteley’s Garden. Wendy Whiteley is an artist, and the wife of a deceased artist and mother to a deceased actress, who built up this garden and surrounding neighborhood, and apparently the ashes of her family are located somewhere within it. It was a really beautiful and strangely hidden place.
I’ve also gone back to see the university – not really to sightsee, but because I had to set some things straight at the international office with my loans. Still, it was nice to walk around; the campus doesn’t seem super daunting, possibly because its mostly enclosed and I’m used to having to navigate through downtown NYC to find my classrooms. I have some welcome and orientation events to attend in the coming weeks so hopefully I’ll have all my bearings by then.

2. Eating.
Who doesn’t love this? Last time, I was finagled into eating something called a “meat pie” at a rugby game, which is arguably the most Australian scenario you could rustle up. I never got to eat kangaroo, which is probably for the best because the fact that it is the world’s only edible national emblem is not really the selling point I somehow feel its meant to be. I’ve eaten Indian food twice and something called sushi train…and I do NOT understand why this phenomenon doesn’t exist in New York. In a city where you can eat raw fish off a naked person, one would assume you could just as easily sit in front of a conveyor belt offering a neverending selection of raw fish and tempura-ed delights and not have anyone tell you that you can’t stack up any more plates. As Australian dining goes, its also one of the cheaper options. I actually intend to go back tonight.
I’ve also had barbecue, and this passion fruit yogurt, which I had last time and can’t really describe except to say that I really don’t like American yogurt but have been craving this stuff since I left. I’ve also continued my daily coffee ritual, only here there are no Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts, only smaller espresso cafes that serve expensive and delicately designed foamed cappuccinos in glass cups. You can’t order brewed coffee in any of these places – apparently no one would buy it – and I haven’t seen decaf listed anywhere either. “Coffee” really means espresso, and is basically listed as cappuccino, latte, mocha, and something called a flat white. The Australians think a cappuccino has something to do with whether or not chocolate is shaved on the foam, and a flat white either has more or less milk than a latte (I can never really remember which). It all tastes the same really. As far as I can tell, the only reason you’d need a course to become a barista is to make those fancy little designs in the foam.

3. The Beach
On Saturday, Tom took me to Dee Why, a beach about 30 minutes away from his house in Northbridge. It was different than any American beach I had been to – there were lots of small shops and nice cafes nearby, but nothing cheesy or chintzy. No surf shops and no boardwalk. There were no bars really or casino type places. Everything seemed really small-town. It was pretty crowded because it had been the first hot, sunny day in a while, but no more crowded than a typical day at any other beach town I’ve visited. The water was near the same bright blue I remember from the Pacific, but a LOT colder than I thought it would be! The waves were breaking a lot further from shore, and there was a pretty strong current, so I didn’t swim out that far. Mostly tried to get some color but ended up getting a splotchy burn.
I asked about the name – Tom said it might correspond to map coordinates, but no one is really sure.

THINGS I HAVE NOT ENJOYED AS MUCH:

1. The Weather.
It’s been downright weird since I arrived. Mostly overcast and rainy with only two days of uninterrupted sunshine. It can’t decide whether or not to be hot or cold, so it’s settled on just plain muggy which makes me sweat and my hair frizz out. It’s making me a little cranky for sure especially when we have outdoor things planned, and when I anticipated a sunny beach environment. I’m expecting March to be beautiful – after I’ve started my course.

2. The Traffic.
I think getting around Sydney is more a pain in the ass than New York despite the size difference. Disregarding the fact that the road rules are different, what with driving on opposite sides and such, people drive very aggressively and rushed and the traffic during certain “peak” hours is horrible. Peak hours, by the way, are not just typical rush hours like 9 am and 5pm, but 9 am, whenever kids might be going to school, whenever kids might have a lunch hour, whenever kids are getting out of school, 5pm, and whenever it’s raining. In addition, while cars are good about yielding to cross walks, pedestrians basically never have the right of way at any other point in time. Makes both driving and walking a harried experience. Better to catch the bus.

3. Renting an Apartment.
Possibly the most difficult experience yet. Prospective tenants have to search for open places (there aren’t many) online and make themselves available for the 15 minute span of time the apartments will be open for and inspection. Many inspections take place on Saturday afternoons. Last weekend, Tom and I shuttled all over the city trying to make it to six different inspections – we only succeeded in making three. The apartments in our price range our tiny and many of them have shared bathrooms, shared kitchens, half-kitchens, no laundry, etc. Renting doesn’t seem as popular here as it does back home especially for students, and when we went to drop off an application for a place, we were reamed out for not bringing enough proof that we could pay for it (i.e. my bank statements from the US listing my savings balance). It seems a very invasive process, but I’ve never rented before, so it’s hard to tell what’s typical. One would think my loan documentation would be sufficient, particularly since I can’t imagine many international students looking to rent off campus have employment 5 days after landing… but what do I know about real estate?

All in all, my days have mostly been filled with errands interspersed with the occasional fun runs about town. I haven’t yet seen a koala OR a kangaroo, or been to a museum or the Sydney aquarium. I think I’ve been to a good portion of the local cafes, and all the shopping centers this side of the harbor bridge...but not for any retail therapy (Sydney is unbelievably expensive), for stuff like a hair dryer with a proper plug and a sim card for my phone. Here’s hoping that in a few weeks we’ll have an apartment and be settled before school… but one thing I’ve noticed is despite the city living, attitudes are a lot more laid back here than in New York. Inexplicable since everyone is always drinking full-on espressos.

Beginnings

It has been a little over a year since I’ve written here, and a lot has changed! As you can see from my blog title and picture, I am no longer in Micronesia, but I AM continuing my travels in the Pacific. I’m not there yet, but if all goes according to plan, I will be leaving for Sydney, Australia on January 31.

It was hard to me to look back on this blog for a while. Pretty much directly after returning home last December, I received news that the dog I had written about as my parting post had been stolen – exactly the very thing I had feared. It was difficult to see pictures of him and to read my hopes that he would be looked after and cared for (anyone that’s an animal lover or even has just owned a dog will hopefully understand these sentiments). It still upsets me to think back on it now since I’m the last person who would ever abandon an animal – but I had to do it twice to ones I fostered in Micronesia – and I just have to accept it as a reality of the place I was inhabiting at the time.

Partially in response to the guilt I felt over this, I began volunteering for the Dutchess ASPCA while I was unemployed last winter. I only worked with the cats because I have always been more of a cat person and because even the “small dogs” at the shelter were terrifying and vicious (not that I blame them). I love dogs, but don’t have much experience caring for them, and cats have always seemed more therapeutic. This turned out to be sometimes true, and sometimes not so true as some of the cats were not that friendly either. After a few weeks of volunteerism, I was asked if I would like to be a foster parent for some baby animals. Pretty much nothing in the world would have pleased me more, and I agreed without asking anyone else in my house if it would be ok. About three days later, they called me stating they had four kittens up for fostering and asked if I would do it.
It definitely took a house full of people to care for them, but since I had the time on my hands, fostering four baby kittens was a lot of fun. We ended up keeping two of them (I wanted to keep all four, but that didn’t go over very well).

I had to stop volunteering, and basically all other activities, after getting a job last summer in Saugerties. For about six months I worked at the Boys and Girls Club as the Program Director which was an even more difficult job than teaching at Xavier, something I never thought would be possible. I had been promised that working in Chuuk would be the most trying thing I ever did, but someone was lying. Non profit work is harder. The specifics are unimportant, but I definitely feel like a stronger individual for sticking with that position as long as I did. I have to admire the people that make that a career. I do miss the kids I was working with, just like I miss the kids at Xavier. It’s always hard to create impact and then leave as quickly as you came.

In late fall I was admitted to Sydney University’s Medical School to undertake a Masters in International Public Health, which was part of the reason I left BGCA. I made the decision to go back to school pretty fast, and wanted to spend the last few months I had at home with my family and preparing to leave. And there are lots of preparations! Loan applications, visas, medical exams for visas, trying to get people to give you money to pay for your visas… the list is endless. Whicchhh pretty much brings this blog up to date in the quickest way possible! I’m leaving at the end of the month, and will (likely) return next December, hopefully with a Masters!

The uni system works differently in Australia. I’m doing a Masters by Coursework and it’s a year-long program, which surprises everyone because it seems so short. I’m unsure if I’ll pursue doctoral work or just try to get a job or travel or whatever afterwards… I have to see where this degree takes me. I’m really interested in the classes it offers (besides epidemiology and biostats). It focuses on public health in developing countries, which is sort of what I did working for Chuuk Women’s Council. I’m a little nervous about the work, but excited about living in a new place. I’m lucky that I have a support system there already, which wasn’t really the case when I first arrived in Chuuk.

Anyway, this is just a catch-up post – for now, I am still home in New York finishing up some last minute things and tackling the impossible task of figuring out which clothes to pack. I am unsure what my new address and phone number will be, but I’ll be sure to send them out to friends and family when I know them.

Thanks for reading!

Peace,
Lydia

A Word about Muffin, and Others.

I have been an animal lover since… forever. When I was little, I pined for a pet, but the best I got was a tankful of pretty fish that to my dismay usually lasted all of 48 hours. Once, when I was in kindergarten, I got to take home some baby chicks for some project or another. They all died in a few short days, stricken with some mysterious chicken disease. I was devastated. When I was a little older, I took to capturing salamanders and putting them in the same tank that once housed my fish. They usually escaped.

For whatever reason, my parents never got us an *actual* pet. Most of my friends had either a cat or dog, or both. Some had birds, rabbits, or lizards. Reptiles seemed lazy, rabbits seemed stupid, and I hated the idea of keeping birds in a cage. Nothing could possibly be more contrary to nature. I wanted a cat or a dog desperately. I couldn’t tell if my parents just never liked the idea of a pet because they had never had one themselves and didn’t understand the joy that animals invariably bring, or they didn’t want to spend the money and time taking care of something that would not get a college degree and go on to make lots of money to support them in their retirement. Somehow though, I knew there was a hole in their hearts that could only be filled with the sweet barks or meows of a loving critter. My suspicions grew more and more concrete when one Christmas I asked for a horrible little toy: a fake dog that came with so much “fur” and a set of salon tools with which to cut and groom it. My parents both expressed disgust at such a thing and told me with certainty I wouldn’t be getting it and I should ask for something else. To my delight, I received it on Christmas anyway; a gift from Santa. I inwardly cackled at my expertise at wrapping that fat old man around my finger once more, and receiving what my parents vowed they would never give me. Of course, when I stopped believing in Santa, I realized they had been the ones buying those toys all along, and that one in particular which they thought so distasteful. Something told me that deep down, they really wanted a pet.

Things progressed. We got a hamster named Esquire. He lived in a two-tiered golden cage like a king and had the best of the best. Because my father hated keeping anything locked up, the two of us would sit in my room for an hour every night while the hamster ran around all over the place, as free as could be. Sometimes he would sneak away, only to be found hours later sleeping in someone’s fuzzy slipper, or munching on nuts and grapes beneath a table. He had an adorable face, but a rather tedious disposition despite the various personalities and alter-egos my brother and I invented for him. I drew pictures of him everywhere, and talked about him constantly with my friends at school. He was a relatively boring animal in retrospect, but my brother and I loved nothing more. Once we had a visitor stay with us; a family friend’s sister. She asked us if we had a pet, and we both answered excitedly that we had a hamster. She guffawed and shouted, “No, a REAL pet!” My brother and I sat in silent shock. What was more real than our precious rodent? When he died, we had a “family meeting.” Our mother told us gently he had passed away in his sleep, and my brother and I burst out into violent tears. We could not even be consoled with offerings of Friendly’s Jim Dandy five scoop ice cream sundaes that we were usually never allowed to have.

I became more and more of an animal adorer. I’m not ashamed to say that I am often more affected by cruelty to animals than cruelty to other people. It sounds harsh and misguided, but that’s just where my feelings lie and I can’t change them. In trying to explain why I love animals so much and why I am so much more hurt and angered by the mistreatment, neglect, or abuse of animals than of people, my response is always because animals cannot understand their feelings the way humans can. Animals know feelings: loneliness, pain, abandonment, sadness… but unlike humans, cannot discern why they are hurting. If forsaken, animals do not know why, they only know they have been left behind. If abused, they cannot understand that some humans are sadistic and evil, and that a better life is waiting for them elsewhere, only that their life is painful. Unlike humans, animals have no ability to be malicious or vindictive. They have no sense of doing someone or something intentional harm. They act on instinct and loyalty. It makes me sad in a way I am never otherwise sad when I hear about stories of animal cruelty and abuse. It is difficult for me to imagine humans having the capacity to harm animals just out of sadistic pleasure, apathy, ignorance, or just a lack of kindness, but this is so often the case. Maybe this is why I have so much more compassion for animals than I do for most people.

I have talked before about the neglect and abuse of animals in FSM, so I won’t do that here. This post isn’t about my feelings regarding animal treatment in this country (which are not positive one), it is instead about the wonderful experiences I have had with animals here, despite the obstacles they must overcome. It shows the true resilience of all creatures, and not just human ones.

During my first month last year at Xavier, my mother informed me via email that my cat was ill. My cat had always been sickly, needing various medications for various problems. He had always been, though, the love of both my life and my brother’s. He made a cat-lover out of my father, whom never thought such a thing possible. We got him when I was about 11 or 12 years old, and despite our parents’ fear that we would grow tired of him, our love for him only grew exponentially. He was not always the most affectionate animal; very selective about when and where and with whom he wanted to cuddle, but I knew that he understood more than we usually gave him credit for. When I was sick, I could always look forward to him sitting by my side tirelessly, something he would never do otherwise, even consenting to be held and petted for extended periods of time. As difficult as this is for me to admit, he probably loved my brother most of all, taking to sleeping in his bed every morning before my brother woke up. Hearing that he was seriously ill was devastating for me, and I wanted nothing more than to be back with him, comforting him the way he always comforted me when I was sick. A few days later, my mom called me to tell me he was dying. I pleaded with her to wait to do anything until I came home in the summer, but she said that it was urgent. He was in pain, and the vet would need to put him down right away. The hurt and shock I felt was immeasurable. I cried endlessly, hating myself for being across the world while my beloved pet was dying, maybe wondering where I had gone. My brother told me later it was the first time in years he had cried. In retrospect, I am glad I was not home. I think it would have been so much more awful for me spending that last night with him, knowing what was coming while he remained so ignorant. I don’t think I could have gone to the vet with him and seen him go to sleep for the last time. I am so thankful that my father had the strength to do that so Twilight was not completely alone.

I have spoken countless times about my cat Oreo that came to me (not the other way around for once!) while I was at Xavier, and whom I raised from kittenhood, so I don’t need to elaborate on her here. Like all my pets, I love her and miss her with all my heart, and am always hoping for her safety and happiness.

The day I returned back to Pohnpei from Chuuk, I discovered a delightful surprise: we had a puppy! One of the Pohnpeians built him a cage in which he was resting fretfully. My uncle warned me that he was a mean, savage little thing and hated everyone. I walked up to the cage and hesitantly put my fingers out to touch him. He growled at me viciously. Because I had just recently been bitten by a dog, I did not want to tempt fate, and left him to stew in his emotions. He had just arrived that day, and my uncle was positive he was just scared of being in a new place, trapped in a cage, away from his mother. That night, I tried again. He let me lightly touch his head, but remained angry and sad. The next day, he was better still. I pet him and offered him a piece of sausage… but eventually, he growled again and this time, barked and snapped at me, trying to bite. I left him again, and again I came back later. He was in much better spirits, and was trusting me a little more. We let him out of his cage, and he explored his new domain reluctantly. By the third day, he was my new best friend. He leapt up excitedly when he saw me, and let me hold him. He put my hands in his mouth without biting. He stayed close by my side while we walked around the yard so he could sniff things. When he was scared he hid under my skirt or between my legs. By the fourth day, we created a new routine. When I came home from work, I sat outside under the roof, and let him playfully come up to me and gnaw on my hands. He sat in my lap and fell asleep while I sang quietly. After that, I taught him to come to me when I whistled, to fetch (sometimes), and to play rough, but not too rough. He became my protector, barking at people when they walked by if I happened to be outside with him, and chasing away the cats when they clawed at me for food. Last night during the feast we had for the bishop, he barked and ran around anxiously until he saw me and leapt straight into my lap, licking my mouth, never more content seeing a familiar face. While everyone was dissembling tables and hauling away chairs, he came in my room with me, sleeping on an old pillow and snuggling with one of my flip flops. It never ceases to sadden me watching his face when I have to drive away somewhere. I call him Muffin despite my uncle’s insistence that this should not be the name of a future guard dog. He’s just a baby though, and will be my baby until I leave.

I didn’t think I would really be upset to leave. I feel it’s time for me to go home, and I’m ready to go back to my friends and family. Muffin has put a whole new perspective on this, however. We just met, but have already formed such a close bond. It’s widely accepted here that he loves me more than anyone else in the house; he will follow me anywhere and is (relatively) obedient and good-natured. He has never peed indoors, and is already often barking at strangers who come on our property. He is complacent and loving and has so much emotion in his face it’s hard to bear sometimes. I cannot stand thinking about driving away that final time – seeing the dismay in his eyes that I’m leaving again, but the faith that I will return, as I always do. It’s incredibly difficult to imagine how abandoned he will feel once I’m gone. Not that anyone here mistreats or neglects him: people will still pet and play with him, will still feed him and change his water. But the bulk of the attention has undoubtedly come from me; and the bulk of the pampering and comforting when he has been hurt or afraid. I don’t want to think about his sadness; I don’t want to think about leaving him. The inability to explain the circumstance to him is what kills me the most: if only he could understand.
I am also afraid for his safety. It’s a somewhat popular trend for children to steal puppies if they think they are cute, and an even more popular trend for Pohnpeians to steal adult dogs to eat. Everyone else here is largely apathetic on these points, or even joke about it, but for me, it isn’t a joke. It rips me up inside to know this is the potential fate I leave him to. I have never cried so bitterly as I do when I am alone and thinking these terrifying thoughts. Even though it also hurts me to think this, some part of me hopes he will forget me completely so that if something does happen, he will not be wondering where I have gone and why I have left him. Of course, none of these things are certainties. I know that despite all the jokes he makes, my uncle loves him too and will watch over him. You can’t not love this dog, and it’s so hard to leave him. I can’t be there to make sure he is ok; the best I can do is ask after him, and hope that he remains happy and safe, guarding the house that once was mine.

The Waiting Game

This was my last weekend in Pohnpei, and a relatively quiet and anticlimactic one at that. Saturday morning I received a text message from some of my World Teach friends inviting me to go to Nahlap, a small “picnic” island off the coast of Kitti. I had never been, and figured I could use some fun in the sun before returning to a bleak, dismal NY winter. After running some errands and pick-ups, we finally reached the Nahlap dock around 2 in the afternoon. I was told a little late in the game to make such plans myself, but everyone else was banking on staying overnight. I was also told that it is only a 5 minute reliable boat ride to and from the island. I figured I would stay until about 6 or 7, giving me some good afternoon hours on the beach, and then leave after sunset to have a full night back on the main island.

As is too often the case here, we ended up waiting. And waiting. And waiting. We kept hearing and seeing boats, but none of them drifted our way. We called the owners of the island every half hour asking over and over again in broken Pohnpeian for them to send out a boat for us. They assured us, with growing impatience, that one was coming. And yet we waited. Not that it was a complete loss: we had some good conversation, shared some good gossip, and had a few good drinks. Still, I was itching to go. Waiting has never, ever been easy for me. Anyone who knows me well knows that despite my pipedreams of going to school in Hawaii or California, I am anything but a laid back, roll-with-the-punches kind of girl. I am a true New Yorker: always on the go, compulsively organized, persistently punctual, and planned out to the hilt. I am impatient because I value these qualities in myself, as inflexible as they often render me, and expect these qualities to be present in others. In Micronesia however, this is a tasteless recipe for disappointment. The Westerners that I’ve known, both here and in Chuuk, joke about “Micronesian time” (everything happens 2 hours late) and the carefree, come-you-are-whenever-you-want attitude. I’ve noticed that people here don’t like setting times or making concrete plans, preferring to let things crystallize at the very last possible moment. People don’t wait for invitations or abide by conventional formalities (for instance, at a feast we had last night for the arrival of the Bishop, tons of “uninvited” villagers came just for the food and left promptly after eating). To me, these characteristics indicate rudeness, and it’s hard to see them in any other light. Of course, locals here have their own ideas of what is rude, and I’m sure I’ve made many slip-ups in this regard during my stay here.

Finally, after 2 hours of waiting (perfectly on time for Micronesians), the boat arrived. By this time, it was a bit after 4pm, and I realized that I would have very little time to spend on this island. I was invited over and over by my friends to stay the night, welcomed to eat their food and use their soap, and I considered it. But I had been hoping to make it to the annual Bell Tower Christmas ceremony over by my house, and potentially go out for a few drinks afterwards. After much internal struggle, I decided to stick with my original plan: stay for the sunset, and leave shortly after that.

Nahlap was much different than I expected. I figured it would be something like Pisar, since that is really my only gauge for what constitutes a “resort island” in Micronesia. But Nahlap is much bigger, and unlike the bareness of Pisar, is overrun with mangroves. There is only a small portion of the island which is actually “beach,” leading out into very still, gray water. The owners stay on the island and operate a “front desk” where you have to sign in the members of your party and pay for the boatride. There is a small “café” where you can buy chips and water, a slide, and a few rope swings, making the island resemble a primitive version of Splash Down. When we arrived, there were a ton of people there. Pisar, Jeep, and other such islands in Chuuk are not at all popular with the locals, but at Nahlap, there were several Pohnpeian families spending the day picnicking. Small children drifted around the dock area in oversized floaties. Mother carried baskets of food, and strangely, huge Tupperware containers of extra clothing and thick, quilted blankets. Most people were leaving as we were arriving, however, and soon enough the island was quiet and largely empty. We took a walk to the other side of the island where we found a strange little out-of-place chapel, and a random stepladder in the middle of the water. We played a version of bocci with coconut husks (which I was terrible at! Surprising since I’m actually pretty good at regular bocci), swam around, and watched the sunset from a rocky part of the shoreline. We had our own nahs, and Will built a fire and cooked some hotdogs. It was pitch dark and I could hear some boats leaving. I decided to say my goodbyes and check out the ride situation, hoping there would be some available space on a departing boat.

It was about 7:30, and the owner told me there would be two boats leaving. Originally she said I could leave whenever I wanted, but perhaps now that it was growing later, somewhat changed her tune. She said I could take the earliest boat that came, but when it finally did arrive, told me instead to wait for the next one. My impatience began flaring up again. One thing that never ceases to aggravate me about living here is there are rarely any explanations offered for why things are or are not happening. When our electricity situation was bad and becoming less and less reliable, there were several different rumors about what was going on, but no formal clarification issued by the utilities company. Before leaving for Chuuk, I had to wait an extra hour for check-in to open for some reason still unbeknownst to me or any of the other visibly irritated travelers tapping their feet in the middle of a stuffy, unbearably hot airport. My project here at MicSem was cancelled. Why? Don’t ask me; no one thought it necessary to enlighten me as to the reasons despite my hours upon hours of dedicated work. It is more difficult to accept let-downs and unpleasant circumstances when you don’t know why you are being forced to endure them. Such was my situation waiting for a boat to come. Experience told me that regardless of this woman’s promise that I would get a ride, I somehow might not for a reason I would never know. I tried to ignore the bubbling aggravation within me as I sat on a narrow wooden bench in total darkness, listening to the owner and her family laugh over dinner inside their small house. I dutifully tried to convince myself I was not as frustrated as I felt, attempting instead to view this experience as another lesson to learn about myself. I tried to peer through the thatched roof I was sitting under and look up at the stars which were endless and inviting. Instead of thinking about everything I was missing (the bell tower ceremony), I tried to think about everything I was having: silence, peace, a spectacular view of the night. Finally, the woman came outside of her house and told me the boat was arriving. She pointed with her thick finger towards the long, shaky pier, “You wait for them there.”

I didn’t have a flashlight since I hadn’t been planning to stay so late, so I walked in darkness down the wobbly planks towards the dock. It felt like I was walking into a new dimension or some kind of strange eternity. I couldn’t see anything in front of me but shadows of shoddy structures and worlds and worlds of traveling stars. I walked slowly, unsure of my footing, along this narrow pathway towards an indiscernible blend of dark sky and dark water. The owner, finally realizing I had no light (and probably cursing my stupidity) followed me shortly after with hers, and waited with me at the open mouth at the edge of the dock. A few people departed off the boat, and I got in alone. I was accompanied only by the owner’s sons or nephews who were navigating with nothing but a small flashlight they periodically shone into the water to determine their route. As unfair as it probably is, I did not feel totally safe out in the water, in the dark, with two Pohnpeian men I didn’t know. I had my cell phone in one hand, and my pepper spray in the other. Perhaps another indicator of my New Yorkerness, I couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the slow ride and the magnificent view of the sky. Instead, I was wary and suspicious of the people alongside me, who were realistically doing me a big favor by driving all the way back just for me. Of course I arrived in safety, realizing to my embarrassment that they had even called me a taxi without asking me (though I had my own car). I thanked them, and drove home, relieved to be back safe and sound, but still housing that undercurrent of frustration that I had missed out on the rest of my night. I’m not sure when or if I will learn to accept things as they come. I have friends (one specifically comes to mind) who revel in spontaneity and are never satisfied with making plans or being on time because these systems are too rigid and do not allow for any outside influence to take them where they were perhaps meant to go all along. I can’t make value judgments on which behavior is better, but as much as I might want to, especially after a year and a half of living here, I’m not sure I can shake my need to have everything already decided, already organized because I want to be the one to plot my course. I’m not yet comfortable with anyone or anything else mapping out my roads.

Giving Thanks, Part 2 (i.e. the longest blog post in the history of blog posts)

After spending Canadian Thanksgiving here in Pohnpei, it seemed only fitting that I should go to Chuuk for American Thanksgiving (perhaps not as fitting as being in America, but I can’t be so picky out here with such limited time and funds). I was so excited to get back to my much more rugged “home island” Weno especially after feeling somewhat like a tourist/visitor most of my time here in Pohnpei. The week ended up speeding by, dutifully ignoring the painfully long and drawn out anticipatory weeks which preceded it. I know it’s unfair to enter any situation with expectations, but that’s exactly what I did. Some of them were met, some were exceeded, and some fell short. The only proper way to handle this is to go day by day and try to dissect my week one piece at a time:

TUESDAY: I was a wreck! Packing, compulsive showering, not eating… this is what excitement does to me. It’s bizarre and slightly depressing to think that it’s Tuesday again right now and that a week ago at this moment I was beginning my journey to Chuuk. The morning was slow, the plane ride slower. Once I landed however, my day went into fast forward mode – the kind where talking sounds only like high-pitched, fast-paced chipmunk dialogue and everything moves in blurs; the plot being lost and the meaning vague. Tom was there to meet me with the requisite mwar’mwars and as we bumbled and bumped down the “road” back up to Xavier I began to feel overwhelmed by the old sights and sounds – the shops, the dust, the construction vehicles in a permanent state of not doing much. We passed a busload of Xavier boys on the way to a basketball game, hooting and hollering, previously unaware of my arrival. It was only a taste of what was to come, though. Approaching the hill up to Xavier, I heard a loud shriek. It was one of my students, a current junior, running faster than I had ever seen anyone run ever, trying to chase down the truck. “MISS!!! MISS IS IT REALLY YOU??!” his shouts caught the attention of other students who gathered at the top of the hill yelling down and waving dramatically. Once the truck reached the campus, there was a veritable welcoming committee of male students screaming and grabbing at me, trying to hug me. As the truck pulled through to the front of the school, more students followed. Extracurricular activities ceased as I was met with an onslaught of former students pushing me, hugging me, grabbing at me, jumping on me. “MISS, YOU’RE BACK!” “MISS LYDIA YOU CAME BACK!” “MISS, DID YOU BRING ME ANY PRESENTS?!” I couldn’t even handle the ensuing chaos. I was sweaty and exhausted by the time the tide of teenagers finally ebbed. I sat with them for a moment, watching their track and field practice, but utterly overwhelmed and feeling the urgent need to say hello to everyone else and meet the new people. In retrospect, this moment did not last long enough. I regret leaving when I did, even though at the time I was physically and emotionally unable to keep up with what was happening. Looking back on it, this is one of the few moments of my week I want to relive and replay. I want to go back to that instant and make it even better, more vivid, more lasting than it was. I keep thinking to myself “next time, next time,” without realizing there won’t be a next time. I will most likely never make it back to Chuuk; I will most likely never see the majority of those students again. I said over and over to them “we’ll chat later; I’ll come find you and we’ll catch up,” but the week flew by so fast, and for a good part of the time I wasn’t even at Xavier, and those conversations, those reconnections, never happened.

For all of that, I can’t remember the rest of my day on Tuesday. I met a few new people, said hello to some old people. I attended Xavier’s famous Tuesday night “porch prayer” and ate pasta for dinner. I was tired and inundated with so many new and different things. I was meant to sleep in Daisy’s old room which for me only held one memory: the time Daisy picked nits out of my hair. It was strange not to go back to my old room; I didn’t even end up seeing the house I stayed in all last year. I kept checking my old mailbox by mistake, wondering why there were so many papers in it and who had removed my purple NYU mug. The computer room had been changed around, and the table where I always put my laptop and did work was no longer in the spot it had been. Rooms were painted different colors and there were new dishes and new decorations. Someone else’s name was on my office door. It’s funny how these small changes really structured such a world of difference for me, and it was even funnier how sad, angry, or intrigued they made me feel. But this was all just the beginning.

WEDNESDAY: I felt largely useless. It was strange seeing everyone rushing around, getting ready while I myself didn’t have to go to class. No one invited me to visit their classrooms and I didn’t want to be a disruption and take it upon myself to do so. Instead I sat on the porch, looking out at the captivating view that had been such a beacon of serenity and peacefulness for me last year. I was surprised that I felt bored, though it was probably just because I was so anxious and had been waiting so long and now felt completely unproductive and like I was still waiting for something exciting to happen. In the afternoon, Tom and I played scrabble, and once school ended I sat outside in the rec house talking to more students and watching them practice for Xavier Day. Everyone asked me if I was staying for that, and showed such incredible disappointment when I told them I wasn’t. Truthfully, I hadn’t considered that at all when making my travel plans, thinking only of Thanksgiving which did not seem as important to them. I wish now that I had extended my stay. Xavier Day would have been an awesome opportunity to spend time with each and every student and really see them in their element with their full spirits. Again I kept telling myself, mired in a strange denial or forgetfulness, “next time.”

Wednesday night Tom and I took the girls’ bus downtown to Blue Lagoon. I was a little upset and distracted because it seemed at the time that our plans to go to Pisar were not going to work out. Because I am impatient and a worrier by nature, trying to convince myself to have fun despite my frustration was very difficult. It was better once we arrived at the resort and settled into our air conditioned room. Eating my old favorite Blue Lagoon meal (prawn suruwa, coconuts, and buca - a hollowed-out coconut filled with fruit and ice cream) for dinner also helped assuage my aggravation. The outdoor bar closed early because of rain and lack of customers, so we were forced to call it a night around 9pm which is early, even for a grandma like me.

THURSDAY: We awoke in time for breakfast overlooking a fantastic view of the resort grounds and the lagoon. The day was clear and shaping up to be hot and humid. I ordered eggs benedict, which arrived sans English muffin, with spam instead of Canadian bacon, and five pieces of dry, thick toast instead of hash browns. Perhaps I have been spoiled by brunch at The Village here in Pohnpei, but it just wasn’t as delicious as I remembered it. From our room we tried calling Dickenson, the owner of Pisar, to try and solidify plans, only to realize that he had given us the wrong cell number. We attempted his office, which was closed for Thanksgiving. After paying for our room, we decided to virtually throw in the towel and inquire how much it would cost to camp out on Jeep instead, another small atoll managed by Blue Lagoon. It was pricier than Pisar, and it was too short notice. We felt defeated as we began our trek back to Xavier.

The “back hike” from Xavier to Blue Lagoon, or vice versa, has been somewhat of a tradition for me and Tom. The first time I ever did this hike was the first weekend of second semester with a few other volunteers. I loved it, especially the reward at the end of coconuts and lunch at the resort. When the new Australians arrived a few weeks in, I suggested we do it again. There was less enthusiasm this time around, and a few people took the bus down to meet us for dinner and a night at the bar, but I insisted that Tom experience the hike. So the two of us walked, and it became one of our most frequented pastimes on the weekends. While others fretted about not being able to catch a ride back to Xavier from Blue Lagoon after the hike was over (another three-four hour, somewhat exhausting walk) Tom and I chose not to think about this until we absolutely had to. We would often walk to Saram and hope for a bus or truck to pick us up there. Sometimes we set out with the intention of walking all the way, an intimidating ambition, but I don’t think there was ever a time when we had to make the entire trip on foot. Sometimes if we were lucky we would catch up with a random Xavier ride coming back from a shopping trip or sporting event. Most times we hitchhiked, picked up by random and not always the most savory characters. Sometimes the rides were exceptional: once a man and his young son picked us up in their shiny, brand new, black SUV. His name was Rick, and he said that it was getting late and two Xavier teachers shouldn’t be walking in the dark. The car was roomy and air conditioned and he drove us all the way up the impossible Sapuk hill right to the front of the school’s door. Other times, the rides were less comfortable. We were once picked up by drunk man who was spewing frightening nonsense and angry accusations at us. We didn’t feel safe until his large and imposing (and sober) wife got in the car and literally slapped some sense into him.

This time however was different. Since Tom and I had taken the bus down, we intended to walk the back hike home. I had never done the hike from Blue Lagoon to Xavier, only the other way around, so it seemed a fitting end to the tradition, and it proved to be the most eventful walk yet. As usual along the way, we met some cute Chuukese kids, enamored with us for no reason except that we were strangers. I had to reacclimatize myself to Chuuk’s interesting social nuances. In Pohnpei, locals couldn’t care less to see mehnwai walking down the street. In Chuuk, everyone wants a piece of you. They spot you from miles away: from deep in the jungle, to behind their windows and doors, to atop large hills and cliffs looking down at you. You hear shouts and screams and salutations from all corners of your path, and you reply, sometimes without ever seeing the person calling out to you. Chuuk is very odd in that way, and sometimes annoyingly so. Seeing a boy and girl walking together elicits certain responses and reactions, some of which are not too pleasant, others which are downright rude. It’s often difficult NOT to think to yourself “don’t you people have anything better to do? Stop staring at us, stop whistling at us, get off your asses and get a job!” It’s hard to understand the intrigue and the strangeness that surrounds you as outsiders; it’s something I *kind of* got used to, but disregarded as soon as I left. I appreciate anonymity more than ever before and can better understand celebrities’ hatred of the paparazzi. Sometimes I like it, such as when little kids run up to me and follow me and want to touch me and get their picture taken with me. Other times, I hate it and wish desperately for privacy and the feeling of being back in NYC where no one cares who you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with, or where you’re going.

Tom and I eventually came across a special spot of ours; a little opening in the jungle which signified the near end of the first half of the hike, and was where we always stopped for water and to admire the views. This time though, as we continued on from there, we quickly realized we had lost the path. There had been significant overgrowth, and we couldn’t find where we were supposed to go next. Tom left me to go search for an alternate path and after a while of waiting, I started worrying he had forgotten where I was. I started calling out to him, and to my surprise, there was a reply, but not from him. A Sapukian man below us, realizing we were lost, gave us directions of how to get down to him. He was a scraggly character, with wild hair and a giant machete with which he used to chop a path for us through the dense jungle. He made us stop for a few minutes while he adeptly scrambled up a tree and cut down four coconuts – two for us to drink then, and two to take home. Chuuk is probably one of the few places I would follow such a man with such a knife through an unfamiliar part of an overgrown jungle, but as with most Chuukese I’ve met, he was just friendly and eager to help us. He led us to a familiar place at the beginning of Sapuk and I thanked him copiously, mostly for the coconuts since I had been dying of thirst. A few minutes later, we found ourselves walking through someone’s property, which we have done a hundred times before. The people know us (somewhat) from all the times we have trekked through. One of them, a graduate from Xavier, once stopped us and made us drink coconuts with him for a while before we headed on. This time, though, as we made our way across the property and excused ourselves for doing so, we heard a woman screaming “STOP STOP STOP!” I had no idea what happened, but in a flash, I felt teeth sink into my leg and screamed in fright and shock. This was an unusual attack: most often, dogs will bark and snarl before biting. I didn’t see the animal before or even after it bit – it was there and gone in the blink of an eye. I looked down at my leg and saw nothing but the small indentation of teeth. Members of the family ran over to me. One of the men asked “It bite you?” I nodded, my whole body shaking. “Ifa?” he asked and I pointed to the wound in my calf which was quickly starting to bruise and from which blood was beginning to run steadily. “oohhhhh” was the collective response. One of the women brought over a bottle of kerosene which I declined, not feeling comfortable about having lighter fluid poured over my skin. Another man tied a towel around the wound like a tourniquet. They asked if I felt ok to go home. I was waiting for an apology. “Amusana…” I tried, looking embarrassed. “Noooo no! Amusana tipis… that dog, he’s crazy.” It wasn’t as genuine an apology as I would have expected, but I suppose it’s hard to apologize for a dog that’s realistically just doing its job, especially considering we were technically trespassing. We walked off (maybe “gimped” is a better word). My body was still shaking, mostly just out of shock. The bite itself didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. The dog bit into the muscle which just felt tense and strained. Tom poured coconut water over it which is supposed to be some kind of healing agent. The rest of the path back was surprisingly very flooded. I’m not sure what has changed about the island, but the water levels were very different and very difficult to bypass. We made it back though, in one piece, and I was more than ready for a Thanksgiving meal.

Interestingly, this day of togetherness was really what solidified my status as an outsider at Xavier. After showering and tending to my dog bite, I walked out into the kitchen where everyone was in a cooking frenzy. This was very different from last year’s preparation which was largely not done by the faculty. I kind of wanted to help, especially since I love cooking, but everyone already had their place and knew their role. Tom and I planned to make brownies, mostly for Pisar, but thought as long as people were cooking and the oven was on, we might as well make them early so they could be enjoyed for Thanksgiving. This offer was quickly met with frustration (“you’ll be in the kitchen too?” “… But we’re already making brownies!!!”) so we did it alone on the porch. Afterwards, while sitting outside watching the view and listening to the clanking and crashing of pots and pans, I realized that this was a perfect example for how I was feeling about this experience more broadly. Replaced, displaced, and in some ways re-created. My place here was no longer as a participant. Even though I was a veteran, I felt more like a newcomer, unacquainted with the new patterns, new routines, and new personalities. There were new jokes, new stories, new experiences that I was not a part of. Unlike last year where I was integral and essential to the group effort, this year I was just a bystander watching it all take place. As the week progressed, I began to feel more and more like my time and purpose there had passed, as though this was a new and completely separate era of Xavier. I belonged in that time and that space, and no amount of effort or money spent returning again and again would be able to restore that world. Maybe I thought my particular knowledge, perspective, and experience would be much more valued, or that I would somehow be able to return to my old roles, or at least be able to feel included and welcomed in the way that I had when I first arrived last August. But a whole new herd of people ushered in entirely new viewpoints and ways of doing things. I wondered if I had ever been like that: still relatively brand new, but with already completely formed ideas and opinions about my situation; still figuring it all out and yet so seemingly certain. I’m sure of it.

The meal itself was delicious, even though I took far too much food. There was turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, seafood pasta, stuffing, rice, coconuts, ice cream, cake, brownies (too many?), and cookies. Everyone was finished surprisingly fast. I remember last year we sat talking for hours. People were finished and leaving the table by 7:00 after starting at 6:30. The dynamic was so drastically different; the community so much more fragmented. It forced me to think about the drama at the end of last year and if I could have withstood that for the entirety of my time. I think the answer is decidedly no.

FRIDAY: I woke up early, anticipating our potential trip to Pisar. Later Thursday afternoon after sifting through some address books, Tom found the correct version of Dickenson’s cell number and we made concrete plans. Renting the island would only cost us $50. We asked the workers to buy us gas (a more expensive investment: $120 apiece) and planned to set out around 1pm. Tom and I spent the morning cooking: I brought taco spices, shredded cheese, and tortillas from Pohnpei, so we cooked some meat, and put it on ice to reheat later. We made pasta salad and tuna salad and set aside some wine, brownies, and chips. After all this, and collecting other necessary materials (a lantern, sheets, a machete, sun block, etc.) we waited. And waited. And waited. I was getting more and more visibly impatient with each passing hour. The driver did not arrive with our gas. The maintenance worker that was meant to take us out on the boat was occupied with fixing one of the buses. Paired with some nasty weather, I was beginning to feel like the trip would be hopeless. Finally, we were told that we would leave at 3:30. I felt more relieved, but still annoyed that we wouldn’t get to the island until a little before sunset. I settled down once I was finally seated in the boat, ready to go. I was ready, SO ready for a night on a quiet, beautiful, deserted island… and then…

The boat ride. I have never in my life experienced anything so horrendously unpleasant, and I hope I never have to again. The water was rough, probably too rough to safely navigate. Plus, the driver cut through the choppy waves like the leader of a drug cartel speeds across the border. There were no seats, only jagged wooden blanks on the floor of the boat which I sat on, my back propped up painfully against the side. I watched the two young boys that had come along to help steer. One stood at the front of the boat (stood?! Impossible...) and the other sat motionless and cross-legged behind me, showing no sign of pain or unease. Meanwhile, Tom and I were jostled to and fro, slamming against the sides of the boat. If you have never been on a boat ride like this, it isn’t just a rocky, wavy feeling. It isn’t just a problem of seasickness. It feels as though you are launching into the air and then slamming down on a massive rock with every wave the boat encounters. Each time, my head and chest felt like they were plummeting to the floor, my elbows and the bottom part of my spine smacking violently against the wall of the vessel. About half way in, I started to cry beneath my sunglasses. I could already see bruises forming all along both my arms. My fingers were white and sore and splintered from gripping the wooden planks beneath me for some kind of support. When I finally saw the crooked palm tree at the edge of Pisar over an hour later, I thought I had never witnessed such a beautiful sight in the whole of my life.

We got to the island around 5. I was so sore from the boat ride all I wanted to do was sit on the beach. The sun was setting, and for once I was fully able to take in my surroundings. Pisar is a breathtaking, but tiny island on the edge of Chuuk lagoon’s reef. It was such an amazing and surreal feeling to be completely alone (except for the “security guards” who mostly stayed in their small house on one side of the island). The sand is almost purely white, mostly made from pieces of bleached coral, and the water is a glassy, crystal blue. Hammocks hang from the various coconut trees that dot the island’s small landscape, and hermit crabs rule the shore. I found so many gorgeous shells, but they were all inhabited by some sleepy sea creature. I did not feel right displacing them from their little habitats for the simple prize of a pretty shell, and I was rewarded later by finding a really neat piece of black coral which I have never seen (despite the small island off the coast of Pohnpei aptly named “Black Coral”). I’ve described Pisar before I think, so just to quickly recap: there is a small house with a few rooms and an indoor toilet and bucket shower (more of a luxury than you might imagine). There is no electricity and no cell service and only a small, outdoor fireplace for cooking if you happen to be so ambitious. As soon as we got there, Tom climbed a tree and got some coconuts which we drank on the beach watching the sun set behind a storm cloud that thankfully missed our vulnerable, private island. We set out to make a fire with which to reheat our taco meat, and were surprisingly successful (by “we” I mean Tom – my contribution consisted of sitting nearby, avoiding the smoke and offering pointless, ignorant suggestions). The tacos were delicious and probably could have only been enhanced had we been able to find sour cream, or had the lettuce we took from the Xavier fridge actually been fresh. Since we had limited transport space, and since there were no wine glasses to begin with, we drank my cheap Charles Shaw white straight out of the bottle. After eating and washing our dishes in the ocean like the cavemen we were, Tom and I sat on the beach and looked up at the incredible stars. It was a tremendous sight, and I was thankful for it especially since the last time I had been on Pisar, it had been cloudy and rainy at night. It’s probably difficult for most people I know to imagine the kind of depth you can perceive in the night sky when there are no lights around for miles and miles and miles. It’s not even anything like I’ve witnessed in the far recesses of rural NY where there are still distant city lights and car beams polluting the clarity of the atmosphere. It made me feel quite small, especially on an island as tiny as Pisar, but also part of something far larger and more magnificent.

Sleep was not so easy. The mattresses had bed bugs, and the wind was cold and harsh. There was no rain thankfully, but it got so cold that eventually I had to move into one of the small, stuffy, roach-ridden bedrooms. I wanted to get up for sunrise, but because the room was dark and windowless, I had no way of waking up in time for it. I lugged myself out of bed around 8, and Tom and I sat on the beach watching the gray post-dawn skies recede into a sunny haze. The waves around the reef were strong and loud and the clouds burned off in the mid-morning heat. We ate breakfast (honey bunches of oats and boxed milk) and went for an early snorkel. I had actually never snorkeled far off the shore of Pisar, but today I felt unsatisfied with the seaweed and little sea flowers right off the beach, so I ventured a little farther. We saw some really beautiful, exotic-looking fish and outstandingly bright coral. We saw a couple huge, neon-blue starfish (that I always want to pick up but I’m afraid to) and a couple airy, listless jellies. We saw a long, thin flashy fish dart through a school of tiny peers and eat one in the blink of an eye. The current was quite strong, and after my recent run-in with fire coral on Ant, I was concerned about going any deeper because the coral expanded out into great forests of itself with nearly no open space to rest among it. Tom and I fought the wall of ocean to get back to our island. After roasting out in the sun a bit, we took a short water-walk to a nearby island (maybe too strong a word – it’s really just a tiny plot of land that could maybe house one coconut tree if its earth actually had the stamina). But on this miniscule piece of land, there are always really unique shells and stones (it is where I found my piece of black coral). We tried to cross over the island and make it to the reef, but it began to rain and the water was strong so we only got about half way. I love walking out to the reef. The water becomes shallow and all you can see are rocks and large slices of coral peeking out through the surface, shiny and pale as bone. The water is gray and calm, and the sun beats down on it making it look like an empty, wet wasteland. Partially what makes it so strange is that the waves in the distance crash back into the water rather than on a beach, so it really seems as though you have reached the edge of the earth. You can’t see much beyond the waves, and it feels like you are an ancient explorer finally deciding the world is indeed flat as you come to the very end of the ocean and the last corner of the world. We watched it for just a little bit, but turned back as storm clouds menacingly approached. They ended up passing over us without the slightest interruption, as we ended up back on Pisar eating our lunch of tuna salad.

Afterwards, the day was a blur of different, not-so-strenuous activities such as floating around in the strikingly clear water, sunbathing, and mostly resting in one of the many generously spacious hammocks, catching up on the sleep I didn’t have much of the previous night. We went on a coconut binge, and I played around with the hermit crabs and the big, whiny orange cat that oddly enough lives on the island. The worker and his young helpers came to pick us up around 4:30 in the afternoon. I sat in a different position in the boat, and it was a better, but still bumpy ride home.

That night some of the volunteers went downtown to say goodbye to one of the Peace Corps, but Tom and I weren’t back in time to make the ride. We showered, ate dinner, and hung out on the roof and porch with the remaining staff. It was nice to get to know some of the people better, but I was exhausted and called it a relatively early night (midnight). I was planning a rather big finish on my last day ever in Chuuk.

SUNDAY: Tom and I always made brunch together Sunday mornings, and he had planned a picnic for us to go up to the water tower. But I hadn’t yet gotten a chance to see the Saram volunteers, and I really wanted to do that before leaving on Monday. There were no rides going down (Sunday is usually a sparse day for them) so Tom and I did what we had so often done before when bored on the weekends at Xavier: attempt the long, hot, rocky walk downtown. It was nice to see familiar spots on foot, and run into some interesting characters, but the novelty soon wore off and we hoped for someone to give us a ride. Thankfully when we reached Tunuk, we saw a familiar face drive up in a flatbed – Rufina, who had been one of the people I really wanted to see at Xavier, had been at a funeral all week, but was now just by chance driving past. She picked us up and drove us down to Lei Side restaurant where we got some famous Chuuk pizza. Afterwards, we walked the rest of the way to Saram where I had a great time reconnecting with Caroline and Jessica and meeting the new JVIs. I had also been told that this is where my cat, Oreo, got exiled to at the beginning of the year. I searched for her tirelessly, calling her name and peering in tiny, hidden spots. Chuukese people stared at me curiously, wondering what the hell I was doing, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find her so badly and say a final goodbye to one of my closest friends. Sadly, she was nowhere to be found. I was told she was in the late stages of pregnancy and was probably resting lazily, and also that she found a very good home with the nuns who gave her a little pink collar and only feed her cooked fish. It was good to hear she is taking after her mother (a little spoiled brat!), but I was really most thankful that she has a good home. It hurt me that I couldn’t find her – I had maybe expected her to intuitively sense my arrival and bound up to Xavier looking for me – but I tried to remember that I should really just be grateful that in a place where animals are so often neglected and mistreated, my cat found a loving, warm home with people who care for her just as she cared for me.

We were thankfully able to catch a random Xavier ride back up, eliminating the need to walk most of the way. I spent my last night watching movies on my computer and eating leftover pizza. I knew I would have to get to sleep as early I could since Xavier’s vehicle policy has never been very conducive to the schedules of those who often need them most, and I would have to wake up at 4:30 am to catch the workers’ ride downtown for a 10:20 am flight. A brutal and unappealing notion at best, I begrudgingly accepted the fact that I wouldn’t get another morning at Xavier, and wouldn’t get to say goodbye to any students or many of the teachers. I wrote a little note on the communal white board instead, and hoped that my limited time and presence there would somehow be appreciated.

While the power was out, I went up to the Xavier roof for the last time. The stars were not as fantastic as they had been on Pisar, but they were still an incredible sight to behold. I saw a few shooting stars, one that moved slow and brightly across the entire span of my vision. I tried to condense the whole of my experiences in Micronesia into one solitary instance of thought, but it was nearly impossible. I could only vaguely pass by the tips of certain emotional icebergs: happiness, joy, peace, anger, sadness, sickness, betrayal, comfort, discomfort, hate, and love. They flashed before my eyes, scratched the surface of my brain, and then floated uncertainly onward into a new and distant ocean. Most of my memories have been twisted and expanded; idealized and vandalized, overly-exaggerated or densely concentrated. I don’t remember most things, events, or people as they really were, but rather how they affected me; how they made me feel and how they either inspired or deflated my spirit. As I looked up at the endless landscape of stars, I realized I was staring into the past: light that was generated hundreds or thousands of years before just now reaching my eyes. Maybe that’s how I will come to truly learn from my experiences here. Years later, maybe I will finally see the light and accept a more unadulterated version of the truth. It is only when all of these things have passed completely that I will be able to value their immense influence and worth. Staring up at these millions of little lights above me, I felt minute and insignificant. I am not one who sees such a grand portrait and thinks to myself how wonderful it is that in such a vast universe I should have some greater purpose that will last until the end of time. Instead I see it, and I feel the full affront of my purposelessness. I am just one small thing amidst countless big things. I am an infinitesimal particle within a microscopic atom constituting one single grain of sand on an endless and eternal shore. Sometimes, this realization bothers me, because as humans we have difficulty forgoing our egos and recognizing that we are not as important as we make ourselves out to be. Other times, like up there on the roof last Sunday night, it gives me a sense of true peace because I’m not so sure I want to have that kind of influence over the workings of the universe. I would rather simply just exist within it, taking and giving what I can, and creating my own purpose for the short and fleeting time I have been so graciously granted. Because regardless of my insignificance, I am still not insignificant. I feel as though I am my own universe, and as small as I am, still somehow infinite within myself. I am my own collection of stars, my own endless stretch of personal, private galaxies, and there are many worlds which turn within me.