Playlist of Life

It should come as no surprise that I enjoy music. I mean, it’s special stuff. But if theres something I love more than music, it would have to include building playlists, or combining music to make/sing/explain the perfect messages. I emphatically believe that creating a mix CD for someone is like, the most personal gift you could ever give them.

I recently had a professor who was super gung-ho about using and interpreting song lyrics as representations for the process of human development (a little too overkill for my liking). It was the final question on the final exam that led me to an epic idea. The idea was to create a “mantra playlist”. You know, like songs that basically defined your life and/or presented solid philosophies to live by or discussed consistent struggles that occur in the listeners life. It's going to be an epic playlist. It's a playlist that is so individual and unique that if one of my friends was mandated to listen straight through it [without knowing what it was], and asked to identify who that entire set list is describing they would be able to say “ooh that’s totes Kayla”. Now given the great dynamic of the project, it’s going to take some time to put the entirety of it together. There's only a certain amount of space that can be put on a CD, and it's an average of 19 songs. What 19 songs are going to make the cut? Call it my new years resolution to figure out that epic question.  

This one song, however, definitely makes the cut. I end up crying every time I hear it.  EVERY TIME. Even since the first time I heard it in a company headquarters in Beijing over a year ago, the tears sparked and haven’t stopped yet. If this isn't the ultimate definition of life, I don't know what is.

Adult Content

Welcome to the world of an introvert. A lot happens inside an introvert that the public eye is unaware of. The public eye is practically blind, as our culture and society only cater towards extroverts, but alas I digress. You can pick that fight with my Human Development professor, I have too many other things to write about. Have you read those Flashback posts yet [parts one and two]? Yea...this happened in the midst of that. I started writing this, and then found that the whole China-thing was much more heart touching so I decided to post that first. Yet, I still realized the emotional and life-era importance of these events as well, so I wish to give them their time to shine.

"Wow, Kayla, you're an adult"

It started with the fact that we had a little party at work, due to the fact that our property earned a prestigeous gold award for being in the top 10% of the company. As with any celebration no matter from which culture you hail from, we ate food. Lots of food.  I was particulay drawn to the sausage-pepper-onion combo in red sauce because, well with parents who work full time, dinner was often from the crock pot, and this was a family favorite. But there was something special about this sausage. It was rich. It was Dee-licious. Another coworker of mine picked up on this as well and asked Chef Rick what he did.

"I soaked it in beer"

Upon hearing his answer, it made perfect sense. I chuckled to myself and said "wow, Kayla, you have such an adult taste." As I progressed through the rest of the days work I began day dreaming about what other things I could cook with beer. [If you haven't been able to pick up on it yet, I've been trying to make up for my year-abroad-without-cooking by ravenously cooking anything I can concoct.] This is a kitchen endeavour I have never personally tried, but it intrigued me.

Now, I live in Pennsylvania. I grew up in New York. I'm still growing accustomed to the variety of differences in the laws regarding alcohol between these two states (and absentee voting, but that's a rant for another day). It still baffles me that I simply can't go to a grocery store and buy alcohol. One could easily do that in New York. But here, in Pennsylvania, you have to go to a special store. Oh. And there's differences between beer and liquor stores. Luckily for me, the closest beer and liquor outlets are 6 miles away from me, each in opposite directions. I have to work really hard if I want to be an alcoholic.
I have been to the liquor store, but never have I been to a beer outlet. I walked in and was first shocked by the sticker prices [I'm cheap]. I then realized that if I was going to buy some beer, I was going to have to buy in bulk. As I picked out a decent brand that was reasonably priced I chuckled to myself as I carried the 24 count box of beer out to my car. I live with two roommates, one who cant consume any gluten (wheat) products, and one who doesn't like beer. Never, in all my life have I felt more like an alcoholic. They're still sitting in the trunk of my car.

After the beer store, I made the next most reasonable stop: the library. Mind you, the week I moved in I stopped at the library to register for a library card. Apparently to obtain this pass to goodness, one must posses a  valid PA drivers license. Most unfortunately, the lady across the desk wasn't taking my batting eyelashes and adorable dimples.  In case you've never gone through the process of moving from one state to another let me tell you a little bit about the process: it's madness. It's like officials somewhere with nothing to do sat around one day and thought of the most difficult process that they could to inconvience the most citizens they could possibly muster. So, at the time, I did not have my new drivers liscense.
Well, yesterday I walked into the library, valid drivers liscence in hand and before I knew it I added a country library card to the stack that is growing in my wallet. I was amazed at the options that my library had. Seasons upon seasons of every TV show you could think of [thats going to be dangerous...]. Levels upon levels of books and books on CD and all around literary goodness. It may become a new haven.

I walked in the door with books, movies, and beer [a few individual bottles for the nights movie marathon] and crashed on the couch under a heaping pile of blankets. This adult life has potential to be just swell.

Flashback [Part 2]

The China-ness continued with the return of my roommate. A woman of equal working craziness, she was also feeling the desperate need to vej out on the couch. We opted to pop in a movie, one that she had never seen before, and one of my all-time personal favorites: How To Train Your Dragon. 

Together the sofa ate our bodies, and we were drizzled in blankets. As the movie played I floated back to another time, the last time I had seen the movie. I felt like Harry Potter floating and falling into the pensieve potion. One large classroom, 80 curious faces, me and my movie and a projector. It was like having one eye on this side of the planet, the other far far away.

As images played on the screen before me, my roommates laugh echoed back 80 fold in my mind, as I remembered the students giggles and outcries and gasps at the dragon scenes before them. Me, being a lover of the movie, would chuckle along by my lonesome, only to be joined 7 seconds later as the English sunk and registered in the minds of my companions in the room.

I thought about ClubMOVIE some more. Every Sunday night, two classes would gather and watch a movie of my choosing. Of course, the movies were themed, planned, and previewed for content and appropriateness. They would follow along with English subtitles, and for once, I would have the complete attention of all individuals in the room...at least the screen behind me did. Together we would laugh, gasp, and I [knowing what was to come in the movie] would scan their faces for delight, surprise and content that I knew the film would stir inside of them.

"Thanks for nothing, you useless reptile."

Back in America, the following night was no different. The roommate and I decided to watch, yet another movie that had been crucial in our English curriculum a year ago. Tangled. I managed to rummage through a few emails. I thought I would share something I pulled from an explanation I was trying to give to friends and family exactly a year ago: 

"The following statement is going to sound incredibly bizarre, I know, but it’s true: watching a movie in class with my students gave me a wonderful glimpse of what being a parent is like. Now, please note, I know that I don’t physically know what being a parent is like…but man oh man I have never experienced anything closer. There is so much joy and greatness in watching your students find joy and happiness in something you present to them. When you watch them draw conclusions from the movie, or get excited, or pull out there tissues [as 5 of my women did], you cant help but to be excited with them, laugh (or even cry) along with them. This is not just confined to the movie aspects of class. When you can watch their faces illuminate when they understand a concept, or when they run to you so proud of something they have achieved you can’t help but to feel like a parent in some way."

As we were watching Tangled I was reminded of all the headaches Laura and I went through to show this movie and justify it's educational significance. I don't ever, for a second regret showing a movie in class. Tangled became a platform for the remainder of the school year. It was a constant example that everyone could draw from and relate to, and assisted in creating the heart-warming and traditional adieu between teacher and classroom.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

Security Blanket.

Sorry guys, this is going to be one of those posts that gushes about some really important people in my life: my siblings. I'm thinking about them hard core as my roommates and I and the remainder of the northeast prepare for this Hurricane Sandy [which I truly believe is going to amount to nothing, at least for our area]. Earlier tonight, as we were closing storm windows and gathering flashlights, batteries, candles, water and other essential supplies, I jokingly commented about how we were kind of 'camping out'. Mind you, I am no where near an outdoorsy, woodsy person. I slept outside twice in my entire life: once on my front lawn, once on a beach in Delaware that just so happened to be in record heat. Notsomuch my cup of tea.

All of this hurricane preparation got me thinking about how I would lead my siblings in camp outs. We would cover the entire family room with blankets and pull up my brothers "football tent" from the basement. It was a kiddie tent with every NFL team logo on it. We would stay up late [10 pm] and huddle together inside the tent [yes, all three of us would fit]  under layers and layers of more blankets, just giggling, being in each others presence. One of us was bound to twitch, which would spur on more giggles and maybe even tickling. Occasionally we would talk some nonsense or show some type of affection for one another, a goodnight hug or forehead kisses, and eventually we would all cozily and comfortably fall asleep.

Camping out was much different than just sharing a room with the sister. Sharing a room was sterile. We each had our own side, our own stuff, and our brother was all the way down the hall. Camping out, being surrounded by blankets and siblings [and knowing that mom and dad were upstairs to ward off any monsters] felt safe. It was secure. It felt like nothing in the world could harm us. 

What I wouldn't give for another one of those camp outs. To hear my brother giggle again in his little-boy voice, not his deep manly grunt.

Hurricane Sandy is coming, and although I feel safe, and although I love my roommates, there is a depth of security that is void in me: and it's not just because the hurricane is coming. It's a void that I walk around with everyday. It's times of trouble that draw attention to it; it's the lack of these two precious beings in my everyday life. And for some strange reason, I think I just figured out what a deeper sense of family is.

My spuradic memories jostled me to check out the depths of my external hard drive. This is what I was able to find. I'm laying here now, cuddled up under three blankets. Though none of the images I could find really capture the age range I'm specifically remembering (I'm talking when I was about 8 and the bro was 4), simply looking at these pictures brings me a warmth as this cold front is moving in, colliding with Sandy. It's a deeper warmth than just the blankets could provide; it's a heart warmth.

2004

2009

2011

2011...a better representation.

Flashback [Part 1]

There are things for me that I think will forever be 'ruined' because of China. There will always be things that I associate with China, now and forevermore. Some are simple, like any combination of red and yellow, any type of plumbing problem I may ever encounter, and of course, any of the seven outfits that I rotated with for an entire year (I'm pretty sure they will always and forevermore have a funky China smell attached with them as well). Others, I think, will end up striking me at odd random times, blindsiding me when I least expect it. Although I can't say that it's happened yet, I know that it will, and chances are it's not going to be pretty.

Yesterday, feeling ultra introverted, I came home from work and errands and plopped on the couch to indulge myself with mindless television [circa DVD's due to the fact that me and my household refuse to pay for TV]. Though I usually don't endorse this kind of behavior, it is something that had to happen for my own mental health, coming after a solid two weeks of no alone time, no down time, deadlines, raging customers, and educational endeavors.  A night of mindless TV and just "being" was desperately needed.

Sorry, that has nothing to do with China. This next part does though. For dinner, I made myself some homemade dumplings, complete with soy sauce, vinegar, and la jiao jiang (辣椒醬) as a dipping sauce. In case you don't know, la jiao jiang is a traditional Chinese paste/spice that usually accompanies a variety of foods, most notably dumplings or soups. It's sheer goodness. I promise. I may or may not have developed an addiction to the spice/paste and consume it with everyday foods.

Dumplings, dipping sauce, chopsticks, and pomelo. I know some of you are like "pomelo? What the heck?" I had never even heard of pomelo until I went to China. The street vendors were selling these bowling ball sized fruits at the stands.  My teammates and I bought one out of sheer curiosity. Within two bites, I was hooked. Let me give you the basics. It's a fruit native to South and Southeast Asia, kind of like a cousin of grapefruit, similarly sour, but you can eat it like an orange. It's made up of particles like a pomegranate  I explained it to my curious roommates as such: "Pomegranates are made up of eggs. Pomelos are made up of sperm. They're both great on their own, but together they'd make a happy fruit baby."

Last week as I was perusing the fruit section of the grocery store I came across the giant yellow things. I just about did a cartwheel [as they're not always in season and therefore not always available at the local grocery store]! Granted, in China pomelos were about 75 cents on the street, and here I'm paying about $2.50 per fruit, but it's so worth it. I was that girl on team who always had a pomelo in her fridge. My students would buy them for me for gifts. It's a perfect midnight snack. There is something about me and acidic fruits. I love them.

Anyways, curled up on my couch I sat under a blanket, eating away at my dumplings and fruit. I thought was struck by how much "China" was on my mind while consuming the food. As I pulled the skin off of my pomelo, I flashed back to breaking apart the same fruit on the other side of the world with three other wonderful women as we sat up late and giggled, swapping stories, opinions, and encouragement. I flashed back to my classroom as I walked up and down the aisles between the students, them handing me the food from their desks, sometimes a sliver of pomelo. Other times, I wasn't so lucky. As I ate my dumplings, I thought of Lauren's first encounter eating dumplings, ruining her shirt with the dipping sauce as she struggled to hold the slimy bundles with her chopsticks. I flashed back to our school cafeteria and the "Dumpling Man" who was always trying to strike up a conversation with the foreigners who ordered dumplings, as he advised us not to put in too much 辣椒醬. I flashed back to my favorite restaurant, a hun dun place (混沌), with a student named Haily who had decided to confide in me about her new boyfriend and all the excitement that she felt in her new relationship. Memories, so vividly clear, yet so far away. 

They're from the other side of the world, but they're not removed.

Judgement Day

I think I've already confessed this on here but for the sake of today's story I'll restate the facts.  As a child I would slowly make my way up and down every isle of the school library, judging books by their cover. Oh the shame! But it's true! It had to have a lot of color to capture my attention. Usually the protagonist had to be a girl (but boys were sometimes acceptable...sometimes). The text couldn't be too big, as I was an avid reader and didn't want to be considered a cheater. Chapter books were best. If it had anything to do with abandoned children or someone getting kidnapped that also earned the book some points [weird criteria, I know]. Any swirls or funky writing would seal the deal and that puppy would be in my backpack to be read at home.

As I've grown older this lesson has come to be more inclusive than just books. 

• Don't judge an outfit by how it looks on a hanger. 
• Don't judge the taste of the food by how it looks or smells.
• Don't judge a house until you've seen the inside.
• Don't judge a couch until you sit on it.
• Don't judge a device just by the name brands (or lack there of).
• Don't judge a guy by...well... I'm still learning that one. I'll get back to you.

Today, another one hit me in the face. More so, it scalded my taste buds.  You see, upon my arrival to America I was astonished that there were other flavors of tea. China has green tea, and more green tea, so seeing the vast array of berries and spices and teas of the rainbow before me in the grocery isle I was a very happy camper and decided to try a few boxes for my sampling. As the temperatures have decided to take a turn for the worse, I decided to wrap myself up in a few sweatshirts and blankets [no joke, we haven't turned on the heat yet] and make myself a cup of tea. I busted out the box that sounded as though it was going to be the most satisfying. Madagascar Vanilla: come on, does that not just sound delightful? It even had a royal lion perusing the box. The title is adventurous, bold, and leads one down exciting mental trails of happiness to come.

I opened the box, and a great aroma filled the surrounding area. I boiled the water and let the tea soak through the hot liquid and I used the mug to warm my hands. Everything was perfect until I tasted it. Yea... not so good.

Just so you know, there is no resolution to this story. It just wasn't good. I mean, I'll drink it anyway because I spent three dollars on the box of tea (or was it two-fifty?) but I thought I would just tell you as a public service announcement. 

Good friends don't let friends drink bad tea.