this path i walk

It's just funny.

2012-01-28T08:39:00.000-05:00

“It’s just funny”

That’s something those closest to me are accustomed tohearing, as it is often my excuse for bursting into a random fit ofgiggles. Caught up in the world solely visibleto me, replaying humorous events or envisioning possible interactions andencounters, out of my gut bubbles noises of delight. Of course, these bubblesovertake my being and entrance me to continuously laugh to the point at which Ican’t remember the original entrancement. When left to explain myself, I oftenend up with a lack of words, and wonderful ‘memories’ that never happened.

It’s just funny.

How is it that you can be somewhere, but feel like you’resomewhere else? Caught in the purgatory between darkness and dreamland, my mindcan take me to dozens and dozens of places, as rapid as film in a movie player.How is it that I can be laying in a bed in China, but feel my father shuffling down the hall? How is it that I can smellthe kitchen on Old Ivy, or feel the cool counter tops in the tips of my fingers while laying in a bed, 7,000 miles away?What does it mean when I can feel someones hand in mine who is on the other side of the world? It’s just funny what our memory allows us to remember, and what it makes usforget. I am continually surprised by the vividness that is created andexperienced, trapped behind my eyes, electronically firing through neurons.

It’s just funny.

My mind, when left to wander, will come up with completelyridiculous and unrealistic scenarios on its own. It is not a dog, it cannot betaken to Training School. It is notdiseased and Ritalin won’t do a thing. My mind quickly and efficiently creates itsown sagas and soap operas, most of which end in tears exploding from my face inneeding to say goodbye to one whom I hold dear. Some of which involve re-livinginstances of the past and changing a thing or six. Still yet some of theminvolve achieving, reaching for a particular goal which the figment of myimagination wanted, but not me. Once in a leap year, they end with a happily ever after.

It’s just ...funny.

A Little Hint

2012-01-18T11:45:00.002-05:00

Dear men who would like to date me,

If you’re looking for a way to steal my heart, let me giveyou a hint: take me to a place with water and lights. Preferably to a placewhere one could see the reflection of lights on the water. Deal=sealed.

Theres something purely magical about lights and water. Idon’t know if that’s something that years of Disney has installed in me, or itit’s actually something so beautiful that it makes us as humans want it andcrave it.

Our team found ourselves wandering the streets of Guangzhou and we cameacross lights and water and a skyline that made our jaws drop and makes cooingsounds escape from our mouths. Entranced would be the proper termto describe exactly what happened. We were captivated by the artistic andmystical atmosphere that was created by lush palm trees, pods of water thatsprouted lanterns and lights, illuminated greenery, and a warm and gentlebreeze. Together we joked that our hearts were stolen and never going back tothe frozen tundra that we came from.

…don’t worry, we will.

Memory 1

2011-12-30T13:33:00.000-05:00

There is an organization that was a huge part of my life inmy college days. That would be “Concert Choir.” At the time of my presidency,our choir took an international tour. Off to Ireland we went!

We had found ourselves at Kylemore Abbey. Have you beenthere before? I strongly suggest you go. A group of 50 people recuperating fromjetlag is…quite a sight to see. Some friends and I were meandering around thegardens, taking in the sights, the concept of being across an ocean, and thegreen. We were in the midst of posing for a picture when we were approached bya couple. “Would you like someone to takethe picture for you so you can all be together?” Their accent told us theywere from England.We graciously accepted the offer and took this picture…

…the couple struck up a conversation with us and told usabout their time in Ireland.We had a pleasant conversation about how they were simply on vacation and wereheading back to Londonin the morning, the things they loved most about the country, and what they haddone on their vacation. We told them that we were on day two of our journey, sothey gave us a few pointers and sights to see. We explained that we were a partof a choir and that we were going to have a casual concert in the chapel ofKylemore Abbey. The couple was more than interested and they followed us to thechapel, sat through our ‘dress rehearsal’, and then proceeded to sit throughour short 15-minute concert in the chapel. The man was taking pictures thewhole time, the woman simply basking in the atmosphere of music.

After we finished we thanked them for coming to hear ourmusic. They were truly blessed by what they had experienced. We explained tothem that we were having a full concert in Galway later that night {they toowere staying in Galway} and invited them tocome to our concert if they so happened to be free.

Our concert came. Upon getting into position, we spotted ournew English friends in the second row.

I don’t know if you’re a singer.

The little chapel at Kylemore Abbey. Trust me, it's little

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Europe.Let me tell you, they have some beautiful churches, cathedrals, and ancientthings. Every day people see these things and have their jaws drop at themajesty and beauty of it all. As a musician, factoring in the acoustical valueof these venues, you can’t help but shiver with happiness and bliss. Thatevening was the first time I was ever to sing in a venue such as that, it wassuper beautiful. The concert was lovely, the sounds were lovely, the Irishpeople were lovely, so much…loveliness.

After our concert, the English woman friend that we had madeapproached a small group of us with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much for letting us know about this. This is the greatestbirthday I’ve had in years.” I was super shocked. What a super blessing tobe able to meet this woman and assisting in the enjoyment of her birthday.

The power of music, people.

Memory 3

2011-12-29T20:11:00.003-05:00

My senior year of college I was dubbed with a new title. Theofficial title is “Senior Resident Assistant”, some call it ‘srah’, while others enjoy its full titleof ‘sexy RA’. Noweven though it has ‘senior’ in the official title doesn’t necessarily mean thatonly seniors are ‘SRA’s’…it just so happened that I was a senior, and an SRA.Okay, well what does an SRA do? Well, my rookie year of being an RA, I had afantabulous SRA paint this picture for me. “It’s like we’re all a soccer teamworking together. An SRA is like the captain of the team: still completely apart of the team, just with a little more responsibility.”

Anyways, the best part of anyone’s year [besides Christmas]was ResLife training, hands down. It was a glorious time of year to cometogether with strangers that you also called co-workers, begin to learn howridiculously crazy you are, do some crazy skits, learn and re-learn how to usea fire extinguisher, and simply prepare the halls and dorms for the incoming students.Glorious.

Even though training was a solid two weeks, it still didn’tgive us enough time to prepare. Every year things were rushed, schedules werecrazy, and someone somewhere pulled an all-nighter before the school year evenstarted. As an SRA, there was one thing that I wanted to be sure that we hadtime for as a staff: a prayer walk through our facilities.

I don’t know aboutyou, but the first time someone ever told me about a prayer walk, I thoughtthey were absolutely nuts, freaky, and super touchy-feely Holy-spirity kindastuff… but I went along with it and realized woah, they’re not so crazy afterall. A prayer walk is just that:you walk and you pray, at the same time, praying for whatever comes to mind asyou go, and physically putting yourself in the presence of the things/conceptsyou’re praying for.

I wanted to present this opportunity to my fellow workersand insisted that we, as a team, accomplish this task before students moved in.We made time for it. We gathered, and we walked. We prayed, we talked, weshared our hearts, we shared our fears, we encouraged one another, and we askedfor protection and growth among the halls that we would be working, and weasked for relationships to be built among the people that would reside in them.Why is this memory so important? It’sthe first memory of community being built between the Bittner-Mellinger Reslifestaff, and what is life, what is purpose without a community to be a part of inthe midst of it?

Memory 5

2011-12-27T08:44:00.001-05:00

When you’re a music education major at a small privatecollege, your graduating class is not going to be massive. Lucky for me, I gotto complete my education with 13 other talented, special, and giftedindividuals. By the time we had reached our senior year, we were with eachother all day, every day, as every one of our classes was a music class of somekind. In these music classes we would watch each other perform day after dayroutines of “my turn, your turn”, watching one another be put on the spot, andstruggling with those instruments that we had learned 6 semesters prior. It wasan incredible feeling of teamwork and support… all egos aside and realizingthat we were preparing ourselves for the fast approaching real world. It was a great era of life.

Students are students, no matter how old they may be. It wasannounced that there was a potential for class being canceled. These aredangerous words for any teacher to even think of uttering. They were uttered byone of my professors. The class was Elementary Methods and the dilemma was thatwe needed the class hours, but the teacher couldn’t be present. Now, I realizethat musicians receive a lot of flack for being dim-witted, egotistical, crazy,lunatic, and a whole bunch of other adjectives of negative nature that areright the majority of the time. However, this one special day we came up with abrilliant plan…

If you do not reside or know anything about the culture ofcentral Pennsylvania,let me tell you something important: dinersare not just a place to eat, they are a way of life. For as strange as thatsounded to this New York chick a whole 5 years ago, it was a part of thecentral Pennsylvanian culture that was quickly adapted into my lifestyle…and itwas oh,so good.

The plan was this: we were still going to hold class asneeded. We would just take class on a field trip. Our class was an 8am anyways,so we met in our classroom and piled in our cars and departed to Bakers, thelocal famous diner joint for all Messiah students. If you’re going to haveclass without a professor, you might as well have it with a plate of pancakesand bacon to keep you company and to make the learning process a little more pleasant.

And that’s exactly what happened.

We also spent that time remembering, reflecting, andlaughing over our journey together over the previous 4 years.

Oh glorious day.

Memory 7

2011-12-23T10:11:00.001-05:00

There was a precious area of my life entitled “ResLife”.When you work for ResLife, you work for a family. Simply, you don’t have achoice.

We worked for a Resident Director who was [simply] the creamof the crop, who was [and is] loved and adored by everyone and who played a[huge and significant] role in the people’s lives who worked for her. Andalthough tests have been run as to whether or not she was genetically mutatedto be SuperWoman, results have concluded that she is in fact, human. That meansthat she was also birthed into his world, just like everyone else. That meansthat one day a year we celebrate what is known as a “birthday” for her. Wewanted to make it special.

My co-workers and I were trying to put our heads together.Time was running short. As some of us were standing in a circle, it was as ifGod dropped down a scroll of “brilliant” between us. We piled in the car to theclosest Giant Supermarket. We picked up the most addictive snack in the world {party mix} and scoured the aisles forthe other crucial ingredient to make “Operation Birthday” a completesuccess. Unfortunately, Giant let usdown, not having the needed materials. So into the car we piled again to takethe longer trip to WalMart. We bought all the materials and gathered up therest of our staff in secret location #1. At this location we gave our lungs aworkout in blowing up approximately 200 balloons.

Quickly and quietly we piled these 200 balloons into garbagebags and transferred them to their final destination: the office. Now, one ofthe special things about being a resident director is that you get to live acrossthe hall from your office [meaning, we had to be as quiet and sneaky aspossible]. With several rounds of garbage bags and some miracle tape, we wereable to completely cover the office in balloons. In the middle of the sea ofcolor we placed the tub of addiction {party mix} along with some personalbirthday gifts. We took a quick few moments to pose for pictures, proof of thebrilliance, and then we scattered, as to not draw attention to ourselves.

We were happy. She was happy.

And the office smelled like latex for the next seven months.

The end.

Memory 10

2011-12-19T20:12:00.000-05:00

A whopping four years ago there was a group of musicstudents from Messiah College who ventured down to Oklahoma City for the annual ACDA conference.[American Choral Directors Association]. Of these students, there were fourgirls, and this trip would come to define their friendship over the reminder oftheir college careers. They did crazy things, played crazy games, and mostimportantly, were exposed to crazy awesome music.

I was one of these girls.

Throughout the following years we referred to ourselves as “OklahomaGirls” frankly because we were the only girls and because Oklahoma was an awesome state {who knew?}

There was then a time in 2010 in which I was able to take acourse from one of my favorite people ever birthed. Her name is Elaine. The coursewas vocal pedagogy, a class in which you learn about how to teach voicelessons. Mechanics, methodologies,muscles, and most importantly, your very own “trial student”. The course:spectacular, as I don’t know that I have ever laughed harder in any classroom(well…maybe…that music department…). Towards the end of the semester there wasextra time for chatter at which we talked about all sorts of things, of whichone topic was Harry Potter. It was expressed that some had seen the newestmovie at the time (HP7 Part 1), and some hadn’t. The Oklahoma girls were sitting on the side thathad not yet seen the movie. As was Elaine. As an avid Harry Potter fan, it wasbasically inexcusable that so much time had passed without seeing the movie,but that was soon to be rectified. Chatter continued to happen and from someone’sbrilliant mouth {it could have been mine, it could have been someone else’s, Idon’t remember} the idea was set forth that we as a class (10 people) go seeHarry Potter together during finals week. Did I mention brilliant?

Finals week came. Things came up, people had to work, tostudy to clean, but there was still a glimmer of hope in seeing Harry Potter.Movie times were scoped out, times were arranged, and on that day the OklahomaGirls & Elaine piled in one car andmade their adventure to the Camp Hill Movie Theatre.

…I mean really, how many people can say that they went tosee Harry Potter with their college professor?

I win!

Vacation

2011-12-18T10:12:00.001-05:00

Not going to lie, while living in China it's hard to remember whatliving “real life” is like. By “real life”, I mean life in America, thedays in college where it was easy to order a pizza or hop in the car to go pickup some Micky D’s (or even ground beef for that matter). We’ve hit a wall in China where everything is surreal.Yes, we’ve been living here for 5 months. We’ve been doing this for quite sometime, now we’re really doing it.We’re about to spend the holidays away form our families. We’ve finishedteaching an entire semester of college. What the…?

Despite the packing limitations I was able to squeeze in thejournal from my senior year of college. {yes, I’m a girl, I journal…quitefrequently} At the time I thought “it would be wise to bring this in case Ilose sight of why I’m in China.This journal tells the awesome story and clearly shows all the intricate piecesof my going, my journey." This is absolute truth. Recently when pouring through my own writtenwords I was astounded by the details, the foreshadowing, the beautiful flow ofhow everything perfectly came together {it must have been by some Majestic Design or something}. What I didn’t realize at the time isthat it would also serve as a reminder to many a forgotten memory, some sad,some difficult, but many wonderful and unfortunately misplaced in theintricacies of my brain. They serve as a reminder of the life that I havelived; that life is a crucial part of who I am. Over the course of these past 5months, that life that I have lived has been all too easily forgotten.

Luckily for me, I’m brilliant.

There was a time last January where I compiled a list of the“Top 10 Memories of 2010”. At the time, I had thought that these would bememories that would forever stick and freely flow out of me. As I looked uponthe list the other night, I found great joy and rediscovery in all of them asthey had [unfortunately] been forgotten.

My team and I are about to embark on a several week vacationtogether, but before we do so I think that I need to take a vacation of myown…a vacation from China, a vacation from analyzing and absorbing everythingaround me and spending time to reflect onwhere I was, who that was, and take joy in the memories and moments thatwere created then. I have been so absorbed in life here as every day is a newlesson or eye-opening experience, the learning curve is exponential. I need avacation.

Throughout the next several days I hope to share thesestories, these pieces of life to be elaborated by words. It’s like diggingthrough your closet and finding an entirely new outfit you forgot you owned…you know that feeling, right?

…it’s just a metaphor.

..I’m such a girl.

Assignments

2011-12-08T09:18:00.000-05:00

Just in case you needed some entertaining afternoon reading...

The assignment was to write a story using the following vocabulary words

sit ups, jumping jacks, running, jogging, aerobics, swimming

The following is what spewed forth from the imaginations of my students.

"Once upon a time there was a princess in a big palace, butthere was no one else in this palace

because the princess was very fat and shewas always angry with others. No one wanted to live with

her. She wanted to marry someone who is very talented and handsome. One day, a worm stretched

itself into the princesses garden. It was founded by the princess. She was soboring at the time so she

asked the worm to do some jumping jacks, sit ups,jogging. The worm cried at last “I suggest you set me

free!” The princess wasconfused. She said, “why?” It said, “I would help you become slim and find a

good guy!” She was so happy and she agreed it. The worm said “maybe you shouldtry some aerobics

like running and jogging every day?” The princess frowned but she do so, and she also swam every

day. At last, she became very slim and verybeautiful. One day, a prince passed by. He saw the

princess, he was so happyand asked the princess “have you thought about to have a boyfriend?” She

said,“yes of course!” Then they are a couple!"

"Once upon atime there was a fat rabbit who wanted to get in shape. She wanted to be the

most beautifulbride when marry Mr. Rabbit, so she set out to look for advice. She met

the elephantand asked “Mr. Elephant, can you give me some advice about getting in

shape?”

The elephantsaid “Yes. I suggest you do jumping jacks and sit ups”

The, she metMrs. Tiger and Mrs. Tiger told her “maybe you should try doing aerobics

and liftingweights” Finally, she met miss monkey and miss monkey answered “have you

thought aboutgoing swimming or going running?” The fat rabbit was so happy because

of these usefuladvice. She made efforts to get in shape according to these suggestions.

Fortunately,she was successful! There is no doubt she and Mr.

Rabbit livedhappily ever after."

"Long, Long agothere was a peaceful kingdom. A fat princess was living in there. The

princess wasvery lazy and she didn’t like to do exercise. One day she was going to her

grandmothershouse. On the was home, she found a handsome man was swimming in the

pool. The mansaw the fat princess, he laughed at her and said “what a fat girl!” The

princess wasvery angry. The man continued saying “Don’t be angry I will help you! I am

a strong man, Igo swim and do sit ups everyday, it is so great. I suppose you do exercise

with me andlose weight. Maybe you should try to do jumping jacks, running and so on.

Aerobics isvery helpful to lose weight. I often lift weights, it makes me so strong as you

can see!” Theprincess listened to the man’s advice even though she didn’t like to. After

doing exercise,the princess became a slim girl. The man came again, he was a prince! He

told to theprincess “have you thought about dancing with me?” The princess was

surprised andthey fell in love."

“Arthur's happy life” {written by Alan}

Many years ago, Arthur was a very fat boy and he walked soslowly. There is a very famous doctor in

the world. That is Alan. One day,Arthur went to Alan's office.

Arthur: “Doctor, I have a serious problem.”

Alan: “Whats the problem?”

Arthur:“I’m so fat. I want to lose weight. Could you help me?”

Alan:“Sure! I suggest you do some jumping jacks, sit up andaerobics every day. It may be helpful!”

Arthur followed Alan's suggestions, buthe get fatter than before. Then he came to Alan's office again.

Arthur: "Doctor, I think your suggestions are useless. I’m muchfatter."

Alan: "Maybe you should try to go swimming, go running and go jogging."

Arthur: "Are you sure?"

Alan: "I'm not sure. Have you thought about stretching?"

What a foolish patient! What a terrible doctor!

Holidays

2011-11-30T10:07:00.001-05:00

When you teach in a second language classroom and ask yourChinese students to make a skit that includes the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause,and the Thanksgiving turkey…you’re going to hear some pretty funny stuff.

Easter Bunny: “I am better than you. I can hop!”

Turkey:“I can hop higher than you, and hop on one foot. Watch!”

Santa Clause: “Don’t be so confident. You are animals. I ama person!”

Turkey:“On my holiday, people eat me. I think it is ok that they eat me. Eating makesthem happy and when they are happy they give thanks.”

Easter Bunny: “Oh you are so kind!”

Santa Clause: “But we will not see you again in the future.”

Morbidly cute, yes?

95+123

2011-11-18T20:51:00.001-05:00

Simply, I thought I was going to die.

I mean, who in their right and stable mind would volunteer to live on the 6th floor?

That's just the thing: I wasn't in my right and stable mindset. We had just gotten off a 9 hour train ride, after a month of training, on top of awaking at 4am to catch the 6am train. We hadn't a blessed clue as to where we were. We just knew that it was hot, and that we had approximately 130 pounds of our belongings that were itching to find a place called "home". To speed up the process, someone needed to volunteer.

What I didn't know is that there would be 95 stairs to climb in the process of getting 'here to there' [and two inches of dust waiting for me at my new abode]. Now, in all seriousness, I'm not ridiculously out of shape. Sure, exercise can be painful, but that's true for everyone. Lets do the math. Doing those stairs at least 3 (if not more) times a day to go places, get lunch, get dinner, visit friends. It's a lot.

and that was before the first week of school.

Once we started teaching classes we actually had to report to the office. That office is in the building across the street, also on the sixth floor. In the beginning, I found it funny that the trek to the office was much more miserable than the one back to my own apartment, so I quested to figure out why. Then I found the answer: the trek to the office includes 123 stairs. Not 95! What were they thinking?

Those on my team who live on the 6th and 7th floors joke that we travel more vertically than horizontally to get to work everyday. There's not many jobs out there where people can say that :). Now it's November, and I can't even tell you the thousands, yes, even tens of thousands of stairs that I have climbed since coming to China. Even though for a few weeks I was sure that those stairs would be the death of me, I'm still alive and well and kickin'! {bah. bad joke} Truly, through all of those stairs and enduring them every single day, I've learned endurance. I've learned that things that may be an inconvenience at one point can, over time, become a part of your routine. And needing to endure things can help you set goals. And over time, you can look back and say 'man remember how hard that was then? Look at me/us/you now!" Eventually, things get easier. Although I'm here to teach English, I have learned one fantastic and crucial math problem:

95+123= killer calfs

;)

Traffic

2011-11-06T03:06:00.000-05:00

How many muscles do you engage while riding a Chinese bus?

All of them.

Anyone will tell you that trying to get around takes a physical toll on ones body, whether that be walking, climbing stairs [China loves stairs, but that's a post for another day], or even taking the bus. Often I wondered "why am I so tired? I just sat on the bus for an hour!" Little did I realize how often every muscle of my being was engaged to keep me from flying into the people around me, to keep me upright. Riding the bus is the equivalent of a Richard Simmons workout video.

Chinese traffic definitely fits every stereotype we may ever imagine it to be. Lucky for us, the city of Harbin is in the process of constructing a subway system. What does this mean? First of all, it means that transporting oneself across the city will be much faster and efficient. Key words: will be, meaning that currently, it is not. Secondly, it means that you take every stereotypes of Chinese traffic and condense it down to only two lanes [instead of six]. Then, add some massive construction vehicles every so often. Oh, and huge pot holes and the occasional flying sparks that attack the bus. Welcome to Harbin!

Smiles Guarenteed

2011-10-30T22:22:00.001-04:00

Do you have a go-to smile button? You know, something that is guaranteed to make you smile no matter what kind of mood you are in?

I found my smile buttons. All 140 of them. I thought I'd share three with you.

"He" by Vicky

2011-10-26T07:16:00.001-04:00

I am telling their stories. They are stories of my students, stories that they write merely because it is a homework assignment. They have no idea how much their stories can touch the hearts of others. Even if they did, they have no venue to do so, to share.

On behalf of my students, I share this with you so that your heart can be touched, and a story can live on.

The assignment is this:

'Like a tree, some people simply take root in our lives and never let go.'

Write 12 or more sentences about a person in your life who will never 'let go.' Why do they mean so much to you? If they are kind, how do they show their kindness to you? If they are loving, in what ways do they show love?"

"Maybe this story have a little sad, but it is true. He--'like a tree simply take root in my heart and never let go.' He was my neighbor and we are the best friends! Though I was 5 years old than him but we played together until "that day". He had an accident. We were all worried about him. One night I dreamed him! In my dream, he didn't talk to me, only looked at me and smiled. When I waked up, my mother cried and said to me "He...passed away...". I was so sad and cried with my mom. I never believed I lost him. But to everybody's surprised, his parents agreed to donate their son's corneas to a two-year-old girl who had eyes disease. His parents said to the reporter "my son always help other at school. I think he must agree that we make this decision. And... I want to let my son can also see the beautiful world.

'Help others until the end of life.' A 15 year old boy leaves me this lesson. I will always help others like him. Just like the angel in heaven..."

Innie or Outie?

2011-10-20T10:01:00.002-04:00

Have you recently been wondering about whether or not yourouter appearance is more important than your internal appearance? I thought you were. If you’reever in doubt, ask this question to a second language learner. Or, better yet, ask any question to a second language learner.They’ll graceyou with some words of wisdom. In regards to outie appearance verses innie appearance I'll just let my students do the talking...

"We dress ourselves everyday at the same time we should dressup our heart and keep a good mood everyday." -Lourine

"Don’t let the bright appearance of your eyes covered. Openyour heart window with knowledge. With the talent to open up your brilliantpath to life." -Veronica

"Although a clothes can make you energetic and good looking,it’s not reality. A long time later, your personality can decide your destiny."-Allen

"When the early man invented clothes, he probably wanted tokeep warm. But I like to look beautiful sometimes." -Olivia

"There is no doubt that the out-looking is veryimportant for me. I am sure that I must be a handsome boy forever!" -Colby

Heart Strings

2011-10-15T03:04:00.000-04:00

I have a degree in music education. I have a TEFL certificate. Within a matter of years I will be certified to be a k-12 school counselor. I can teach music, teach english, and counsel. There is no reason why I shouldn't have a job somewhere in some school system. Yet, when I think about my life the thought of teaching in a school is slightly appalling. Sorry--the vision of me doing so just isn't there. Nothing about me has ever been easy, it's never been simple. Why would obtaining a degree and getting a job be any different?

With all these certifications, with all these different outlets, there is still a type of student that takes the prize.

Students with developmental disabilities have a natural capability to break me. During the fall of 2010 we had to observe some music classrooms for a class I was taking. My group was assigned to a local elementary school at which we observed a stellar music teacher with various classes. One of these classes was a special needs class. Eight students, seven adults. At the end of class we played a Bugaboo dance game and we [as the observers] were able to dance with them.

I honestly can't give you any more details about the observation, simply because I can't remember them. What do I remember? Dancing. Twirling. Giggling.

The video below sparked my memory. Then I decided to share.

Angel Hair

2011-09-16T07:52:00.002-04:00

I am a rather busy girl with a rather busy mind. Busier thanaverage, trust me. There is the comparison of guys having “waffle brains” whilegirls have "spaghetti brains". Some girls are ziti, some are thosepasta pinwheel things, while others are linguine. Me? Angel hair.

Now, I am a non-busy girl with still a rather busy mindwhich means something has to get released somewhere. It used to be that I couldjust burst out in song and that would be enough to suffice the grumbling beastof creative expression. But now my hands twitch for a sketch pad, an emptypage, a pencil, a piano—something to break the dam when words are not enough.

Maybe you’ll get to reap the fruit grown by the floodedriver.

The Notebook

2011-09-09T04:18:00.000-04:00

In this day of technology and all that there is to offer with our cell phones and computers, there are still some people who like kickin' it old school... with a pen and paper. There are those people {like me} who are always scattered, a million thoughts a minute, and who crave the feel of ink flowing from their hand, making an indentation, perhaps forever, on something else. Post its, notepads, loose-leaf, an appetite that is never truly satisfied {my apologies to all of my tree-hugging greenitized friends--it's just the way I am}. There are so many reasons why a person like me could be in love with China, but China's love of notebooks is a mutual love that we share. There are so many reasons why notebooks here in China are much more lovable than back in the states.

They have Chinglish [English with poorly written grammar, often not making any sense, or providing a wonderful sense of entertainment. Here, English is the 'cool' thing to have as long as it's English... doesn't matter what it says]
They are entertaining [Asian culture is obsessed with anything cute, cuddly, and fluffy]
They are random [We came across one that said nothing but "giraffe, giraffe, giraffe..." all across the front of it]
They are cheap [I'm talkin' fifty-cents. Of course, the more entertaining the Chinglish, the more expensive ;)]

Last night, we raided our team leaders room as he was cleaning out years upon years of "stuff" leftover from other teams {at the end of each year, teams traditionally leave decorations and anything else they can't fit in their suitcase for the upcoming team...wish I had known that coming in!} There were shelves of books (quickly grabbed by Lauren), picture frames (snatched by Laura), and some office supplies, (which the men dove for). There was also a notebook up for grabs. Guess who's it is?

So as I was just sitting on my couch about to stain the perfect off-white blanket some small writing in the corner of the page caught my eye. I flipped through and realized that it was printed on every page of the notebook. I began to read through and realized that

A.) this is actually really well translated and

B.) this is quite an inspirational 'poem'. So, I thought I would share...

It's a long long journey
And I don't know if I can believe
When shadows fall and block my eyes
I am lost and know that I must hide
It's a long long journey
Till I find my way home to you
Many days I've spent
Drifting on through empty shores
Wondering what's my purpose
Wondering how to make me strong
I know I will falter I know I will cry
I know you'll be standing by my side
It's a long long journey
And I need to be close to you
Sometimes it feels no one understands
I don't even know why
I do the things I do
When pride builds me up till I can't see my soul
Will you break down these walls and pull me through?
Cause It's a long long journey
Till I feel that I am worth the price
You paid for me on calvary
Beneath those stormy skies
When Satan mocks and friends turn to foes
It feels like everything is out to make me lose control
It's a long long journey
Till I find my way home to you

Now, please note that upon further investigation and simply typing line one into the Master of the Internet, Google informed me that these are in fact lyrics to a song called "Journey" by Angela Zhang [who is totes Chinese]. Although there was a momentary sigh of disappointment in realizing that these were in fact copied words {and not solely written for the purpose of this notebook} I realized that they were words, nonetheless, that were meant to tell a story, meant to be shared. In China.

Sunday Sketch

2011-09-04T05:52:00.001-04:00

Open Sea

2011-09-02T20:21:00.000-04:00

A single speck

of your eye in mine.

An obscure glimmer.

Reason unknown.

I’m curious.

Mystified, mesmerized.

I get lost in your eyes,

drawn to pools of unknown.

And when I return a shard is lodged in me.

Driftwood on an open sea.

Maybe, just maybe

a sliver of me is in you, too.

Eyes are a window to the soul,

so they say.

Your speck of soul, stead fast and secure,

a part of my identity.

Entwined, perhaps forever,

and I am ever so thankful.

Ruined

2011-08-22T07:37:00.000-04:00

If I say the word "bars", what automatically pops into your head? Most people my age think of a venue that involves loud music, alcohol, dimmed lighting, and dancing bodies. Fun place to be. Except that for the sake of this blogpost, I'm talking about a different set of bars. Some say "well, he set the bar pretty high", or the automatic mental picture that pops up is the "uneven bars", only televised in the gymnastics portion of the summer Olympics. {i always wanted to do those}

When you think about life, you don't often picture it as a bar. Often it's a path, or a road, or era of time. Bars are just awkward when you are measuring something of distance. But what about quality? What's the purpose of living for 120 years if your quality of life is miserable and depressing?

"Ruined for the ordinary"

A phrase that I have heard every day, often several times a day. I now live in China, and although some would argue that this is detrimental to my quality of health, it certainly is raising the bar as far as my "quality of life." There is something about living in China that just ruins you for an ordinary life. There is something about living abroad or living/partaking in another culture that "upps the annie". Many who have been abroad can agree that they can never be content with an ordinary life ever again. How could you? Then again there are millions of others who have had cross cultural experiences, and lived for long periods of time in many-a-culture and have had no impact on their lives from it whatsoever. Why the two extremes? In my drawing of conclusions {you know, with all of my years of extensive research and abounding doctoral degrees} I've come to the conclusion that one little word makes all the difference: perspective.

But us being who we are, were we ever called to live an ordinary life? Can a Follower ever be called to a truly ordinary life? Because as far as I'm concerned, having Hope makes life a little extraordinary.

Loose Terms

2011-08-17T07:45:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I get frustrated with the English language.

Maybe that's not completely true. Maybe it's the fact that I get frustrated with how people use the English language. You see there are all these words that we have, and we use them all the time. But so often people don't grasp the depth of what they truly mean or intend. They're loose terms.

Friend, love, thank-you, what is that?

What does it mean to truly be thankful and to express a deep and heartfelt gratitude? So many times we hear people say (often with tears in their eyes or a smile on their face) "oh, thank-you is not enough but it is all I can say." C'mon English, step up to the plate! Is it that our language truly fails us, or is it that we haven't mastered the use of the language we speak?.... I can't decide.

The other term that always bothers me is 'friend'. I'll just put that out there. Go check out facebook, apparently you have 500 {or more} friends. But if you were in a time of need, how many of those people would drop everything they were doing to come to your aid or to assist you? Those are the people I would call my friends, and I can guarantee you that you ain't gunna have 500 people rushin' to your side. I could name you five. But what does that make the other 495 people?...you tell me.

And then there's love, basically the meaning of life, but we throw it around so loosely that it has as little impact as "a", "and", & "the".

"I love this hat"

"I love that show"

"I love Ke$ha"

(ew...no)

I don't have the mental capacity to trace it back to the three Greek meanings of love (you know, like the root of the word and actual meaning of it from thousands of years ago). Go check it out on Google. I DO know that there was the ability to break up "love" so that when something was really and truly loved, such as a spouse or child that it wasn't deemed with the same word as fully appreciating pizza.

So now what do we do? Theres this built up anger and frusteration with the use of English, but it's simply not practical to make up new words. Or to learn another language. But when we actually want our words to mean something, how do we go about doing that when society is already mentally flooded with noise and words? How do we effectively convey to someone that we are genuine in what we mean and say without contributing to the flood of words and noises they are bombarded with every day?

I really don't have an answer. Sometimes I just think about these things.

Why

2011-08-09T04:53:00.000-04:00

I think it’s a fair question to ask…

“Why praytell am I in China?”

I’m white, our cultures are practically opposite in every way, and even though my odds are slim I could have certainly found some job at home that would pay me more than this gig.

Now, please note that this was not my attitude at all coming into this, although these were all certainly arguments brought against me by fellow Americans in opposition to this adventure. The point has been made: there will always and forevermore be the question of 'why'. We are no different than a curious child who continues to pursue answers with the same question repeatedly, trying to take the given answer to the next level, at which some point the parent/babysitter/guardian must simply respond with “I don’t know”.

Well, the other day one of our instructors, Sally, said something. She said something drastic that changed the question of ‘why’ altogether. She said…

“We become fully alive when our passions and purpose intersect.”

I don’t know about you, but I would love to be fully alive. Who wants to live half dead? So now we take this question of ‘why why why’ and calm it down a bit. After awhile we need to realize that it is not going to take us anywhere unless other questions are asked as well. I am in China, and I’m not going away any time soon. I’m here in China to be fully alive with my passion and purpose.

…excuse me, what?

Passion & purpose. What are those?? Our focus question has been changed from ‘why’ to ‘what’. What is my passion? What is my purpose? Is music one of them? None of them? What about teaching? If teaching is one and music is none then I am about to embark upon the biggest scavenger hunt of my life. If music is one and teaching is none then… well, I’m screwed.

This upcoming year will surely be the quest to discovering what those two ‘p’ words are for me and my life. And just maybe you will be taking some time as well to discover what they mean for you. How many 56 year olds are living without either, caught in the norm of life? The answers surely are not written in the clouds, or buried in a hidden treasure chest {although what great fun that would be}. It is encoded somewhere deep within, unreadable until the right combination clicks and the lock is opened.

California

2011-07-15T23:23:00.000-04:00

I don't mean for music to be a big part of my life. It just is.

I often find myself "praying" song lyrics. It's really not a bad thing, why reinvent the wheel? Music and lyrics often have this means of communicating things that are so much more deeper and raw than any conversation that can be had. What a better time to be raw than in prayer?

In fall semester I found myself praying a song a lot. It's a not-known song by a not-known band that laid it all out there for my heart to plea. I meditated on the bridge:

"why is 'comfortable' so uncomfortable right now? I was made for more"

It's a really good song, I encourage you to go check out the rest of it.

"California, far from me

across the desert to the sea

a million miles away from something I don't know.

Lift my feet from here I stand,

down the street to foreign land;

anywhere you lead me, I will go."

'California' by Attaboy

China it is.

Sometimes it's {funny, miraculous, paralyzing, amazing, weird, stunning, shocking} to see how God answers prayers.

Twice

2011-07-08T17:25:00.000-04:00

There's a saying that many live their life by. It goes something like this: "I'll try anything once."

That's all well and good, but it doesn't always work.

Believe it or not, there was a period of time when there was a female walking about the earth who did not like Pride and Prejudice."Who," you ask "would commit such a heinous crime?!" Well, truth be told that female was me. Jane Austen never did anything to me personally, I just didn't care for her, her work...or the movie. There was no particular reason, no broken-hearted past that made me a romance-hater, no fear of corsets, or even a fear of men with long hair. It simply wasn't my thing. Now, it might make you feel better inside to know that as it currently stands both Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen are gazing into each others eyes on my computer desktop, meaning that I am able to gaze upon the sight multiple times a day. What brought about the change of heart? I tried twice.

Being of positive nature, I like to think that friends positively influence us, and that's just what they did. Lazily sitting around, trying to decide on what movie would entertain us for the following hours, Pride and Prejudice was suggested and the "oohing and cooing" began...{vom}. I declined, suggesting other options but an explanation was desired. "Simply, I don't like it." The females dropped their jaws, but the response from a male friend of mine had me cornered: "I may have to stop liking you if you don't like Pride and Prejudice". Really? ok.

Turns out it's now my favorite. Why? Because I tried twice.

I had an English teacher my junior year of high school who I will never forget. Sure, I thought he was a bit "off" {turns out there was something about possession of marijuana...whatever}, but he was always super encouraging, every paper saying "Kayla, your voice, your style..."blah blah blah. He made us read more than any other English teacher I ever had, most of which I couldn't even tell you what it was, most of it in Olde English. My English teacher had a favorite book. It truely was his favorite book, I would hear him talk about it in the hallways to comrades, and even pry for secondary information from other members of the English department. The entire year he built up that we would finish with his favorite book. We the nerdy students were all excited; obviously the 'favorite book' of an English teacher had to be good--they read a lot! The book was The Metamorphasis, by Franz Kafka, and you bet your bippy that he made us read it in class.

...and it wasn't so good.

Any Worse

2011-06-16T21:36:00.000-04:00

That feeling when your stomach just vanishes. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears and feel the blood loss to all the extremities. You could be floating, but you can't; your mind is racing thoughts, and depending on how you cope with stress you may even begin to feel dizzy and see tiny stars. Remember that time when that happened? Wasn't it hilarious?

I swear to you, I'm not bragging, but my dad is the king of stories. As a child, every night my sister and I would beg him for his childhood stories. They were so entertaining, and they were coming from dad, our hero. Every night, he would oblige, dumbfounded that we would find the same story of last night still, if not more, entertaining than the night before. These stories often involved a baseball and a broken window, a dog biting a child, or somebody somewhere pooping their pants in public (those stories still get me every time). What child wouldn't want to hear a story like that?

I am in a current life situation, as you probably are too. To me, at this time it is not the least bit funny, entertaining, or even amusing. In fact, daily it is causing me great deals of stress, moments of panic, and feelings of dizziness. What gets me through the day? Knowing in my heart of hearts that one day, this is going to make a great story. My kids one day are going to beg and plead for me to tell this story over and over again, so much so that some day I will have to laugh. So, being in this predicament I began to instead try to cheer myself up with other traumatic times in my life that ended up being ok. Now that I actually think about them, I can do nothing by laugh at myself, at the scenarios, and chuckle at how God works all things...crazy as they may be...to His good. These are just the ones off the top of my head, all from recent years.

Scene One (August 2007)

Basically my face when I looked in the mirror.

Prepping for college, everything had to be just right. From the sheets, to the computer, to the posters that I would hang on my wall; so many details to take care of, save what I know was easiest for last. A day before the "big move" I went out with my mom to get my hair done. Being that college was a fresh start, my hair should obviously reflect my life, correct? New cut, sure. New color, why not? As often mom's do, talking ensued and there sat me in the chair, engulfed by the aroma of chemicals and humimng of fluorescent lights. Ding, time is up, and conversation still continues. Ding again, time is way up, but chatter presses on as I become distracted by a sparkle on the floor. Eventually the chemicals are washed out, and Kayla arises to find that her hair is in fact: purple. The color of Barney's outer shell, violets, and other non natural things.

Life couldn't get any worse.

Definitely panicked, but life continued...

Scene Two (August/September 2008)

So college started off a little special. Why not take a fresh start on sophomore year? Now, this story actually deserves a longer explanation than I am currently able to give; perhaps one day (someone remind me).The basics go something like this...One of my pride and joys during my college career was my time spent in Residence Life. This involved many activities and training before school actually started. This involved playing tag, in which a collision happened and I ended up on the ground, no big deal. Two weeks later the emergency room tells me that my leg is fractured. That means that for the next two months my leg would be bound by plaster, and my armpits would endure freakish amounts of pain. To compensate, the school health clinic provided a motorized scooter for me to scoot my butt around campus for two months. Of course, to all my friends this translated as "free rides", and to the rest of campus, I was the chick taking up the entire sidewalk, bellowing through lost little freshman, blaring the horn that the scooter came equipped with. Life couldn't get any worse.

Definitely humiliating, but life continued...

Scene Three (December 2010)

Still involved with ResLife, myself and partner-in-crime Kate found ourselves in leadership positions. ResLife found itself with free samples of tampons, deodorants, and laundry detergent that they wanted distributed to all of the student body. Being leaders, we were in charge of the tampons (deodorants and detergent). Our mission: to relocate approximately 20 awkwardly sized boxes from the north side of campus to the south side of campus, with only the use of Kayla's car, and the brute strength that bulges from our biceps. We soon learned that the task was much greater than originally anticipated, and by the first round of transportation, all strength and energy was lost. Perseverance showed up, so to load round two we went. Now of course, these boxes couldn't just be unloaded, they also had to be transported about 50 yards in 23 degree weather. At one point boxes were dropped, limbs were aching, and in front of South Complex for all the world to hear, a bellowing cry of "Damn the tampons! Damn all of the tampons!" was exclaimed. Not to mention loads 4, 5 and 6 were completed whilst the ladies were down-and-out. Life couldn't get any worse.

Definitely frustrating, but life continued...

Perhaps this sparks some other predicaments in your life that you now find amusing. I encourage you to share your own personal stories, and encourage you to find hope in the predicaments that you may currently find yourself in. Frustration, humiliation, panic? yes. But hear me when I say, your life will continue.

Lessons from Mulan

2011-06-04T22:41:00.000-04:00

Whether you are young or old, there is a Disney character just for you. I know that there is a lot of criticism out there of Disney movies, but really they are brilliant at creating these characters that just live in your heart. Like Mushu. He perhaps takes the cake for being one of my favorite Disney characters of all time. If you recall, Mushu is a lizard... I mean dragon ... and looks something like this.

It's quite coincidential, Mulan taking place in China, me going to China; it's like we're sisters or something. Not really, but here is the parallel. Upon cleaning out a portion of the basement today my dad handed me a folder. Inside this folder was a collection of writing samples that my school had taken from me between the ages of kindergarten and 12th grade. Now, I am a freak when it comes to tracking progress, improvements, and growth so I absolutely loved every minute of peeling through piece after piece. They began as very simple, one sentence writing samples of "I like to go swimming" (guess what grade that was taken from?). They eventually progressed towards more interisting things, one story about a magic hot dog, and a persuasion letter of why "Touched By An Angel" shouldn't be taken off the air (no, really, I should post it some time, it was absolutely hilarious).

Something happened between 8th and 9th grade. I pulled out my sample from my freshman year of high school and was dumbfounded at what was written in my very own handwriting. Four plain pieces of paper and a splotty blue pen; words of my own emotionally moving me eight years in the future. It was a moving experience for a variety of reasons, one being that I can barely remember who I was in high school. Two, realizing that all that was proposed, all that was discussed throughout the writing, I didn't have the courage to overcome until recently. A dream, put forth eight years ago that has finally come to be. I had written this sample thinking that there would be a change, but in no way was that change immediate. The sample touches on concepts that every teenage girl contemplates and struggles through; shoot, even some twenty-something girls are caught as well. I decided to take the time to share it with the world; my hope is that it has the ability to perhaps speak to you in some way. Isn't that what writing is all about, immersing ourselves in the experiences of others so that we can draw parallels to our own lives?

The task that was set forth is as follows: "Choose a song that best reflects your personality. Show how the song relates to events in your life and/or your hopes for the future. Use specific lines from the song that support what you write about yourself." A reminder, that this is coming from the voice of 9th-grade-Kayla. (all punctuation, wording, and grammar is copied straight from the page)

Reflection (from 2003)

" My life would be an amazing story if I ever gained the energy to write about it. It's so full of ups and downs, just in my short 14 years. What I'm trying to say is it would be impossible for me to find a song that fits my personality exactly because I'm always changing and learning new things. For now, I think the song "Reflection" from the movie Mulan works for me at this point in my life. It's very possible (and likely) that in five years I'll have a different "theme song". My personality could change, my outlook on life could change, and so could my priorities. All of these things factor in with my theme song. An example is when I was younger, my theme song would probably be the "Hokey Pokey" because I was wild, energetic, and didn't have a care in the world. For this step in my life, I believe that "Reflection" is a good song for me.

"Look at me

You may think you see

Who I really am

But you'll never know me"

Oh how these words are so true. It's as though today this world puts a label on you, whether it's true or not. I admit, I'm guilty myself. As much as I try to avoid it, the world wraps itself around me and pushes me into its way of thinking. We're all judged by our outward appearance, and if we 'pass' we'll be accepted in the in-crowd. People may look at me and already label me without getting to know me. They have no idea that maybe we share the same hobbies, like the same bands, or take the same class. That doesn't matter to them. They will only like me if they like my outer appearance.

"Every day

It's as if I play a part."

Who doesn't want to be accepted? So I might as well blend in with the crowd, right? Do the same things, talk the same lingo, buy the same clothes. I cover up to be someone I'm not. Acting is what I do best.

"Now I see

If I wear a mask

I can fool the world

But I cannot fool my heart"

Wow, they really are appreciating me now. And all I had to do was act like them, talk like them, and look like them? That's not so bad at all! But...if it's not so bad, why do I feel so guilty? Why does my heart beat faster every time they mock, or talk about someone who's not like them? Is it because that one lone person should be me?

"Who is that girl I see

Staring straight back at me?

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside?"

I look in the mirror. Who's that? That girl can't be me. That's someone I don't know. My reflection shows the outer me. Why that part? The inside is so much more interesting and colorful then the black and white outside.

"I am now

In a world where I

Have to hide my heart

And what I believe in"

Things just keep getting out of control. Why must my heart, so full of energy and passion, be hidden? Why am I so afraid to show it off? Because I'm scared? Of what? Rejection, maybe? What if I believe God is real and alive? Why does that have to hide? It shouldn't. Now things are more confusing than ever.

"But somehow

I will show the world

What's inside my heart

And be loved for who I am."

Something has to change. I have to unveil the truth, and become my own person. My heart no longer wants to hide, I know it doesn't. I can hear it inside me, calling to let it free, to let it soar away. Why won't I? Am I too afraid to let others see my real heart? Or am I afraid I'll lose it forever? Well, how about I let it loose so only a few people see it. Oh, but it longs for eternal freedom, to become a heart like none other. Why am I so ashamed of it? This can't go on much longer. What happens when people get tired of my act? Must I become true and pure? Well, what if they don't like that? What if they never liked my act in the fist place? I'd be living a lie! I must be loved for my heart, not my appearance, intelligence, or popularity.

"Who is that girl I see

Staring straight back at me?

Why is my reflection

Someone I don't know?

Must I pretend that I'm

Someone else for all time?

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside?"

I glance once more into the dreaded mirror, and once again question who's there. I check behind me, to make sure that I'm alone. Me, the mirror, and a stranger. Why is this person so unfamiliar? I mean, she kind of resembles me but... it must be me. I've gotten so good at faking and pretending that I can even fool myself. How long does this go on? Forever? Or is it a person that comes out of me only when I want her to? Once again I long for the inside of me to show.

"There's a heart that must be free to fly

That burns with a need to know the reason why"

My heart yearns to fly again, to be itself. After I free my heart it questions me why I cooped it up for so long. Why I was ashamed. Why, why, why. I have no answers.

"Why must we all conceal

What we think, how we feel?

Must there be a secret me

I'm forced to hide?"

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we not voice our opinions, but instead keep them quiet? Why must we all be the same instead of being original? Why do I coop up my emotions and thoughts when I could go out there and make a difference? Why do I hide it? Am I forced to, or do I have a choice?

"I won't pretend that I'm

Someone else for all time.

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside?"

I'm finally me at last. Unique, and free as a bird. I'll never take that road again. Who cares what I look like? Not me. It shouldn't matter. It may be awhile before my insides begin reflecting from my outside, but until them I'm gonna be me.

When I read this song, it hit me at home. I know that this song was for me, I'm glad I chose it. By writing this sample, I questioned myself, asking lots of why this...why that? Things for me are going to change; I'm going to be me."

Trains

2011-05-25T19:28:00.000-04:00

I have found myself working for the summer, which is truely a wonderful thing for my bank account. I'm putting my recently acquired knowledge and skills to use at a local factory. No, I am not teaching anyone there to sing. I am instead shipping boxes and boxes of contacts. Those plastic things that millions of people put in their eyes are made at a factory not too far from my house, at which I have found employment. The wonderful thing about a factory is that it is loud; meaning I can sing to myself all day and no one notices. Putting my skills to use for the entertainment of...myself.

This job is truely an eye opening experience (no pun intended) on a variety of levels. Ah yes, at times it can be monotonous, and you start to see things that aren't really there, but I'm sure that happens to everyone. To make the time pass, I've been trying to keep track of my trains of thought. Where does my mind wander to occupy the time? I kept a pen and paper nearby all day to jot down my trains, and as I read it back to myself in the car I realized...well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Work begins at 6:30am. One thing I learned through student-teaching is that early-morning-kayla is not as 'with it' as every-day-kayla (who is already deducted a few notches on the 'with-it' ladder). This equates that early-morning-kayla is significantly more scatterbrained and slow on the uptake than a normal functioning human being. Luckily for me, once the body and fingers are set to do the work, the mind is left to wander.

Trains of thought started with me singing through the majority of "Rent" (the musical) through my head. Three times. Sure, I skipped some of the songs that I didn't know as well, and then there were others (those defining Rent songs like "Seasons of Love" and "Take Me or Leave Me") that were on 'repeat' for a time on my mental playlist. This is Kayla at 6:30 in the morning. Kayla hasn't been a musical junkie since freshman year of college, furthering the theory that early-morning-kayla is a completely different persona all together. Needless to say I started thinking about what it would be like to become a character on a stage again, something I used to find pleasure in doing, now the thought appalls me {I'll have to write another blog as to why}. However, my persona this morning had no qualms with envisioning myself as Mimi Marquez, flailing over railings in sky blue hot pants and howling at the moon. Of course, I was also envisioning myself several skin tones darker, as anyone with a background with Rent would realize the impossibility of me ever performing as Mimi. But hey, that's what daydreams are for. Moving on...

I work at a desk that is next to conveyor belts. Truly, Henry Ford was a genius for that whole assembly line system of things. I'm at the desk and continually watch bins of contacts float past me, while I place the packages to be shipped on the conveyor belt beneath it. From the angle I sit at the bins of contacts turn a corner, kind of like a roller coaster... but for contacts. I started thinking about roller coasters, or what it would be like to shrink myself like Miss Frizzle did with her students on the Magic School Bus and hop in one of the bins with the contacts. I further progressed to write an entire episode of "the Magic School Bus", with the kids exploring what it would be like at my factory, of course with a ride on the contact-conveyor-belt-roller-coaster to finish the episode.Then if I got to do that?! I'd get to float around the entire factory, up and down, twisting and turning on these conveyor belts and that definitely would have been more fun that packing boxes. Literally these conveyor belts are at ground level in some places, and then only mere feet away from the ceiling at other points. We're talkin' one massive roller coaster.

I talk to the customers. In my head of course. I say "thank you" to those customers who purchase boxes of contacts as opposed to singlets (no, not wrestling singlets, singlet packages of contacts). You see, if someone buys just a box of contacts I can put it in yet anther box and go. But the singlets have to be wrapped in foam, and then taped and secured, and it basically throws off my groove. At 6:30 in the mornin', this girl don't like her groove to be thrown. This also progresses on to my game. Yes, I made a game for myself. The things the mind can do to keep itself occupied.

I ship contacts through UPS, meaning after I have packaged up the contacts all nice and pretty, I get to put the UPS label on it. Most of the label is just little black dots and lines and things I can't make sense of, except for two letters, indicating which state the package is going to. So far, California is winning with Kansas a close second. I've also found with each state that pops out, my mind automatically associates a memory or a person, or a person and memory. For example, every time New Jersey pops out I think of Rebecca, a dear friend who is from there and how her stories of being so close to NYC made me jealous. Or how Louisiana makes me think of Amber from 5th grade, our one student who moved to my elementary school from Louisiana and we all thought she was the coolest thing. Many of them make me smile, like Oklahoma, Maryland, Connecticut, Washington. As I print and stick the labels I shoot up a quick prayer for the memory and person that is called to mind. I'm actually even impressed with myself as there are very few states that I have no association with. Anyone out there have associations with Oregon, Mississippi, Montana, Wyoming, or the Dakotas?

The boxes and I occasionally get into scuffles. Luckily for me I have a height factor, but these little buggers (literally, 6x4 inch boxes) have some nasty tricks up their sleeve. I already have three fingers in rehab from cardboard cuts. As imagined, these are worse than paper cuts. Longer, redder, and more painful. What hurts the worst is that they're normally a blow to the self-esteem too. Just when you think you've tackled that box and have it pinned down, it comes back out and pops you one, slicing your skin on the way. Then you're left thinking "how did I let that scrawny little box get the best of me? How could I have let my guard down?" Within two minutes you move on to the next, self-esteem fully restored and the mind back to wandering.

I was observing the culture of "factory" today. It's this busy, yet chill culture, and it's exceedingly diverse too. My mental train took a detour as to what other factories might look like, not just contact factories. Mr. Rodgers used to do segments of how various products were made, and he would show footage of factories on his show. The one I will never forget is the clip from the crayola factory. As I was packing contacts, I began to think about the Crayola factory and what it would be like to work there. The first thing that popped in my head was unicorns and sparkles. Literally. Don't act surprised. I can't help these things, they just pop up! After I spent some time with the unicorns, I thought about walking around the crayola factory in white all day and having people color me all day long...I'd come home a different piece of art every day.

The final train that fills the missing pieces of track, the mortar that fills in all the empty spaces has to do with what I will be doing in two short months. Boy, are those thoughts exciting, exhilarating, energetic, and blissful. You can find out more here about what I will be doing. Feel free to follow along and keep updated.

As I said before, I'm allowing you to draw your own conclusions. You can bet your bippy that there will be more to come, too.

Living Death

2011-05-19T10:26:00.000-04:00

College was a time when I had a lot of conversations. College was a time when I had well, a lot of things. As far as conversations are concerned there was one time when I was surprised by a friend of mine who popped in my room just for a brief chat. This chat ended up being two hours long. Now, I had had many an extended conversation with this young {and beautiful} lady before, but for some reason this particular conversation is crystal clear in my memory. Our topic of conversation was death, good-byes, and faith... always something spiritual. I was going through a time of loss and mourning and was in some rut of trying to figure out life or something. For the time that I was going through I was disturbed that I still had found it harder to say "goodbye" than the final "goodbye". It was then that we proceeded to discuss goodbyes as living deaths. This is due to the fact that while you are still saying goodbye to a person, to a relationship, both you and they still have to live. You have to let go, living with the potential of what could be. Where death is involved, it' over, your time is up.

Sorry so morbid. This conversation has been replaying in my mind throughout the past few days as I close the era of college and now am forced to progress onto the real world. So many more conversations have been had about my inability to say goodbye, why it's so hard, etc. and I've come to the conclusion that it's just the way it is. If it's one thing I'm pessimistic about, let it be closure. Being the type of person I am, I wonder about potential, if things were lived up to, and if there was any way possible to make "what was" better. But it's still this crazy balance because I am so in love with the times that were had, trying to keep them fresh and alive is like a full-time job. I guess I'll be taking these next few months to figure all of that out.

I know I'm biased, but I really and truely have the greatest friends in the world. In only three years they have taught me how to live, shared happy life and broken life with me, and most importantly, still continue to love. There's so much more I could say about them but then that might get creepy. I'm sure by the end of the summer you'll be hearing some stories and memories.

Music is powerful and to finish out the year I compiled a mix CD with various suggestions of loved ones, representing things they had gone through throughout this past year, or that represent where they are in life right now. I too contributed to this, the song representing me being "The Call" by Regina Spektor<3. I feel obligated to share the below clip with you because not only is it the song, it's also being sung by the PS22 choir. I don't know if you know anything about PS22, but whatever this guy is doing with these kids--it's workin'. It's the beauty of music education, people. I don't know if I could have found a better clip to represent :)

A Creation

2011-04-30T20:09:00.000-04:00

Oh the thinks you can think, think and wonder and dream far and wide as you dare! When your thinks have run dry, in the blink of an eye, there's another think there!

Perhaps one of my favorite philosophers ever is Dr. Seuss. My favorite creations of all time are those that are timeless. Dr. Seuss is a master at creating these wonderful diddys that kids love and adore, yet they actually challenge and inspire an adult audience. I recently had a Dr. Seuss book read to me and I began to cry as I thought about how all of the language, full of odds and ends, real words and not-so-real-words communicated to every soul that was present.

It shouldn’t be a secret. I love to create things. I have art projects from sixth grade still hanging up in my bedroom at home. I still have crushed flowers from a walk I took in middle school in a dresser drawer, crushed under magazines, waiting to be used for the right ‘project’. Sometimes for fun I just wander through Michael's and A.C. Moore Craft stores just to feel the inspiration that is leaked into the air (usually these outings are not good for my wallet). We as humans are constantly creating. I know that for me I don’t feel fulfilled if I’m not creating, cooking, drawing, building, expressing something. We were meant to be expressive people, we were created this way, perhaps because we as people were created.

I myself am a creation; continually in the works, never to be fully completed or fully perfected until death. Weird, right? What kind of creation is never-finished? If I was an investment, I would be a terrible one because I would never become fully profitable.

Humans are the most complex things ever. Think about it. We got these genetics, personalities, neurons that connect things, and all these things like diseases and fire that can really screw us up {perhaps I have this fear of being burned alive…no biggie}. We are such high risks, us humans. Imagine now if you were given an assignment that entailed working on one project for your entire life; from the age of two until you die. It can be a canvas, a sculpture, a garden. What are the chances that some frustration would come along the way, some feelings of wanting to give up? Feelings of anxiety, of just wanting to be done? Now imagine that ‘project’ being you. A person, a human with all your complexities, risks, and the trickiest part of all…your free will and choice (there could be a whole nother blog post about free will vs. predestination and yadda yadda… I don’t have time for that today). For a large part of my life, this is how I viewed the world. I was a project, and I was my own project. I've spent a lot of time in trying to fix who I was, and as predicted there were many doubts, frustrations, and days of wanting to give up and quit along the way. I wanted to be this way, all the time and would hold these expectations that would continually allow me to fall under the category of “epic fail”. Newsflash: I realized that I am not my own creation. Yes, I have choices, but I didn’t make me. It takes quite a load off once the fullness of that statement is embodied. I have a Creator who is not going to get tired of me, tired of His projects. He's not giving up or ever walking away...something I continually did. We are each a canvas, project, each of a different style, color, and medium (some of us watercolors, oil paints, clay, fabrics). I can only imagine how overwhelmed I'm going to be when I get to see the Gallery.

To now live knowing and accepting that I am a process, not a masterpiece is a very different take on life. I will never be a masterpiece because a masterpiece involves a finished product. I can only be fitted for life where I am in the process. What's to live for when you're perfect?

As far as personalities are concerned, I am an INFJ (in-if-juh if you try to read it as a word), and a hardcore one at that. If you have no idea what I am talking about, that is absolutely ok. If you’re interested in knowing and being a part, I encourage you to take a Myers-Briggs personality test here. For those of you who know your Myers Briggs, what are you? Who have you been created to be?

{I know, it's kind of an oldie, and can be interpreted on several levels, but this song is exactly what I needed to hear when I needed it. Perhaps maybe you do too.}

Creation (noun)

1. the act of producing or causing to exist; the act of creating; engendering.

2. the fact of being created.

3. something that is or has been created.

A Daughter

2011-04-24T18:47:00.000-04:00

There is no handbook for being a good daughter. In school they tell you what to do and you progressively learn how to succeed. Similarly, you progressively learn how to be a good friend, and you actually receive a manual as to "how to be a sister". (If you've happened to misplaced your copy you always have a back-up encoded in your DNA). As I truely think about what it means to be a daughter, the only thing that comes to mind is that being a daughter means that you belong to someone. Being a daughter means that I came from somewhere.

I am a daughter. I have some of my mom and some of my dad genetically encoded into me. I have their characteristics developed in me, and I have their love and compassion shared in me. When I really get laughing I have this cackle laugh that sounds just like my mom. Every once and awhile I can hear some of my dad's jokes and sense of humor creep from my lips {then I try to quickly suck it back in, but usually by then the damage is done}. I can hear my dad's soothing tones and comfort exit my lips as I comfort friends and situations. Depending on the type of day that I've had, I can hear my moms sarcasm and sassiness through various things when I am quick to snap with my tongue. I have some of my mom and some of my dad genetically, developed, and shared in me. The good, the bad, the cute, and the ugly. {Mom would be quick to say that 'the ugly' is from my dad's side.}

I am the daughter of two wonderful people who have raised, cared, sacrificed, and every other verb you can possibly think of. They have done it all. They have done it with a heart that I can not know, and because it is so foreign I can't comprehend or even begin to appreciate them to the possible level that they deserve. That's not really fair, is it? Maybe, just maybe I will not be able to fully understand my role as a daughter until I have one of my own. Therefore, this blog post is not accurate or fully representative of what it means to be a daughter.

Looking at childhood art fascinates me. Kids naturally have a way of expressing themselves through their art classes and as I walk up and down five different elementary school hallways, I can't help but stop and admire the art that lines every hallway of every school. So much of my childhood creativity happened with crayons. These mish-mashes of imagination would end up on Daddy's desk for years, or decorate the refrigerator for quite a period of time. They were almost guaranteed to have a rainbow on them in some way shape or form. Always a rainbow in the sky, or a person in a rainbow dress, or even a rainbow colored soccer ball. The more color the better. {If that's not foreshadowing of my personality today, I don't know what is}
As a daughter of the King, I sometimes envision my twenty-something year old self running up to the Father figure with my accomplishments, my work of art, with the best that I have. When I really step back and look they are mere scribblings, masterpieces of finger-painting, abstract and colored out of the lines, nothing to be proud of. What does the Father do? They are proudly displayed on His refrigerator {and what a huge thing that would be... can you fathom all the different kinds of food goin' on up in there? Koshary, chow mein, chili con carne, hamburgers. There I go again, thinking about food...} No matter how old we are, or how much experience we have, anything we bring will be that of childish quality, for we will always be His children. And He will always be the Father who proudly displays these tokens of His children.

I have this student who talks. She talks a lot. She also talks at this incredibly slow pace and stutters over her words. Therefore, it takes her a solid 30 seconds to spit out two sentences. To top things off, the majority of the time the sentences which she speaks has absolutely nothing to do with music, the flute, or what we're talking about in any way. It is actually quite comical in a way. As I think about the patience and the level of listening that has to occur with this student, it is a perfect image of what the Father does for us. He is the one who always patiently listens to our babbeling (ranting, venting, begging, complaining, moaning, whining...admit it) that has nothing to do with the master plan. What a Dad.

I guess instead of deciphering what it means to be a daughter, to really get a better picture means analyzing where one comes from. See, if daughters come from somewhere, that means that they are somewhat defined by who they come from. It is also important for daughters to realize where they truely came from. They come from the One who will always provide this.

daughter (noun)

1. a female child or person in relation to her parents.

2. any female descendant.

3. a person related as if by the ties binding daughter to parent: daughter of the church.

4. anything personified as female and considered with respect to its origin: The United States is the daughter of the13 colonies.

5. an isotope formed by radioactive decay of another isotope.

A Sister

2011-04-17T23:14:00.000-04:00

"Annnnnd in the corner, we have the one, the only, Jaguar!" My brothers prepubescent voice chirped as he bounced on the couch. I stood in my corner, prowling low to the ground, allowing the spirit of the Jaguar to enter my body, adapting the ferociousness, I let a wimpy growl escape my teeth. "Annnnnd in the other corner we have Ballerina!"--there stood my sister, who raised both her arms above her head, forming a nice oval shape, and as gracefully as a six year old can twirl on their tippy toes, she spun around, presenting herself to the "crowd". Nick, still bouncing away on the couch at the meer age of four counted us down to the 'fight'. The go was given and it only took two quick steps before we faced off in the middle of the family room. Inches away from each other I tapped her shoulder and she grabbed my wrist. Now--I would like to preface that I've always been a lover, not a fighter, and even though the Power Rangers looked so incredibly cool fighting off those bad guys, when it came to combating my siblings, I didn't have the heart to do it. Within seconds my sister and I broke into our 'fighting ritual' which was simply just kicking each others knees like some awkward 1950's jive. Ah yes, the magic of imagination. For while I can envision myself in that yellow Power Ranger suit using my awesome blade blaster to ward off those creepy things in spandex, physically acting it out in my family room was not the wisest of ideas. Regardless, lots of imaginative times were had by all.

Perhaps I should introduce you to those wonderful beings whom I call my siblings. The boy is Nick. Nicholas William to be exact and he is currently a junior in high school. He is the baby of the family who currently lives at home with the parents. He is incredibly skilled at any sport and finds interests in playing the drums, eating food, and learning about food, eating protein bars, and shopping for food. He is also very skilled at imitating. As kids we would call it being a "copy cat" but as he has aged his skill has developed into some useful entertainment. Nick is an entertaining kid who can be pretty shy at school, but takes his main stage performance at the dinner table every night.

The girl is Erica. Erica Jo, who also goes by 'jo-jo', 'EJ', 'Eeej', or 'Beav' (short for beaver). She is the classic middle child who is currently a sophomore theater major at Liberty University. She is incredibly skilled at anything theater, particularly dancing, singing, acting, procrastinating, and being a social butterfly. She also is the main reason for a lot of the hilarity that ensues in our household. Her hobbies include staying up exceedingly late, texting, being social, doing stuff with friends, being crazy with friends, watching youtube videos with friends, and making youtube videos with her sister.

That's the general gist of us. I'll allow Erica to fill you in on the part that I play, frankly because I may be a bit biased. Plus, Nick doesn't read this.

Is this post about being a sister, or my sister? Perhaps a little of both, because there is no one who has taught me how to be a sister better than my sister. As I envision Erica reading this I can hear this ferocious laughter bubbling out of her belly. It's the deep, throaty laugh that fits like puzzle pieces between the two of us. Once she starts I follow suit and unconsciously mimic her. Together, we get on a role of chortling back and forth, each filling the space that the other needs to breathe. There is no one who can make me laugh quite like my sister. Besides, she is utterly hilarious.

Sometimes I get frusterated because all I can remember are the simple memories of childhood; the simple memories of Erica and I sprawled across the floor with a deck of cards between the two of us. Erica and I would often duel each other in our favorite card game "spit". Of course, myself often winning. There was one time that she was giving me a run for my money. I was in third grade, laying on the shaggy brown carpet. Slowly but surely, my pile was getting bigger and bigger while Erica's was dwindling away (the point of the game is to lose your cards). Before I knew it, I had actually lost, Erica gloating in her victory. In my shock, discontent, and immaturity I threw down the pile of cards in front of her. "Fine!" I grumbled, "I hope your damn happy." It was one of those moments where you had to blink twice to believe what just happened. Both of her hands flew up to her mouth, and Erica's big blue eyes widened. My eyes widened too and my pale face became even paler.

"Im gunna tell mom."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

"You just swore."

"No I didn't Erica, I hope you're happy, you won!"

We bickered back and forth, myself desperately trying to take my word back. I couldn't even believe that it had come out of my mouth. Eventually we settled it over another game of spit, by which point the simple slip had been forgotten. I must admit, it was not one of my proudest moments as a sister. Actually it's a moment that is vividly clear to me. I don't even know if Erica remembers (Erica--do you remember?). Sometimes, we sisters take secrets with us to the grave.

What I am finding with these identities and 'roles' is that there is a vast spectrum at which people can find themselves. Think about all the roles you posses in your life. Is there not a spectrum of the level of involvement and dedication you personally can bring to each one? Being a sister is a role that I will continue to have for the remainder of my life. I've heard of several people claiming that they have "non-existent siblings", or 'I have a brother who I haven't talked to in 5 years.' I am very aware that life sometimes has circumstances, but an estranged sibling is something that I never hope to be. Having siblings is this incredible blessing and opportunity in life for literally life-long relationships. In my case, we are each 2 years apart, meaning that I can barely remember life without my brother. As expected, there have certainly been harsh times amongst us Mini-kids, a dark ages of sorts. Between differences in development and academics, three separate eras of puberty, and the touchy personalities that each of us possesses, my parents have put up with a lot.

If people are to title themselves as 'sisters', I believe they must have shared experiences. I feel as though for true sisterhood, these must be experiences of every variety, not just the good ones. Certainly with Erica I have shared a variety of experiences, definitely not all positive experiences. I find it hard to call other people in my life 'sisters' merely because...well, I already have one. One of the things that I truely admire about the relationship between Erica and I is that we have had to go through thick and thin. It is truely in the nastiest and most negative of times that define our relationship as being 'sisters'. There are some experiences that you have with a sibling that you will never have with a friend. For as much as I love my bestest of friends, I wouldn't want to share with them the negative and hard times that my sister and I have had. That's just depressing. I am sure that as friendships grow there will be paralelles between friendship and sisterhood, but I have yet to experience that to the fullest capacity.

What does it mean to be a sister? First and foremost, I'm learning that you have to admit failure. Just as any role, it is impossible to be the perfect sister. Being a sister takes sacrificing. It is easy to dwell on the terrible actions and words that have occurred between siblings. Over the course of time and living with family, these things are bound to happen. However, just because they happen does not make one a bad sister or brother. It is a part of growing up and a part of childhood. To be a sister may mean to be bossy at times, but it also means significant educational moments. It means teaching the ways of high school and beyond, it means being that extra encouragement when they think they can't do something, and it sometimes means informing Nick about how to treat and deal with the crazy females. Being a sister means being a protector. This is not just true for the older sisters out there, middle and youngest children also have an equal responsibility of protection.

One of our family stories is that of my mom. The number of times we have heard this story is countless, yet it is still one that always comes up at the Thanksgiving dinner table. You see, as a child my mom and aunt would go to school together. They too were two years apart. Come fourth grade there came this beastly girl who would continually call my aunt "Peggy Piggy". As a protector, my mom told her to stop. Being a bully, the chick didn't. So instead my mom beat her up and broke her glasses. For any of you who know my mom, you know how atypical this is and actually what a hilarious visual this is. "Blood is thicker than water."

There was a point... more like a phase...in high school where Erica and I didn't get along so well. Young, immature high school drama often caused us to ignore each others existence in the hallways and do nothing but bicker at home. There was however one morning when Erica appeared at my band locker. She was visibly troubled. Shifty and with a crackly voice she explained to me that a fellow student had pinned her against the lockers with a message for me. (I'd love to share with you the bloody details, however this message was full of expletives and since I've already 'cursed' once in this entry, I'll refrain. Don't want you thinkin' I'm a poor role model or anything...) Immediately I responded to proper authorities full of angst and anxiety, not for the threat against me but for the sake of my sister who was caught in the thick of it. This inward loyalty came to full avail as I sat through meetings and interviews the remainder of the day sorting out the dilemma. Afterwards I was left puzzled, left alone to baffle the response of my 'fight or flight' tendency. Did I naturally protect my sister? Well, by gum, I did. In that phase of life did I want to love my sister? Heck no. Was there something inside of me that didn't allow me to give up on her? Heck yes. These are the times that I never wish to experience with my greatest of friends, because although the benefit is nothing but wonderful now, they were excruciatingly painful in the process.

Needless to say, as the months and years have progressed and as we have aged and actually had to live lives apart from each other, the relationship between Erica and I has changed (for the better as we would both admit).

Being in college away from the family, it is easy to forget what role you still play. What does it mean to be a sister when you don't live with the family? What does it feel like to have an older sibling go off to college? That feeling, I will never know. Apparently it was painful for all involved. Sorry guys! Things are going to continually change and I'm honestly and truely looking forward to seeing how my relationship with my siblings is going to be molded over the upcoming years. This is a role to embrace full-throttle, nothing to be held back. And in case you didn't catch on, I massively love my sister, for as different as we are, she completes me. Love you, EJ!

{there was a time when Kayla and Erica were bored. so they made a movie just talking about life and childhood. hope you enjoy this glimpse of our relationship. it is certainly something special. August 2009}

Sister (noun)

1.a female offspring having both parents in common with another offspring; female sibling.

2.a female friend or protector regarded as a sister.

3.a thing regarded as feminine and associated as if by kinship with something else: The ships are sisters.

4.a female fellow member, as of a church.

5. Informal . a form of address used to a woman or girl, especially jocularly or contemptuously: "Listen, sister, you've had enough."

A Friend

2011-04-09T14:33:00.002-04:00

Late June, 1997

It was my 8^th birthday and I ran to the car, sweaty, red-faced, and bearing my ‘purple people eaters’ uniform. What a better way to celebrate your birthday than to play soccer? Devouring our ‘treats’ myself and the rest of the team were kicking the extra soccer balls around while the parents chitchatted the night away. Sarah was on my team, and our parents were talking. We were begging, “pleeeeese, can we go swimming?” The parents, looking with mischievous looks on their faces gathered around the car. Sarah’s dad pulled out a backpack, a sleeping bag, and a pillow. Wait, what? A sleepover? A real live sleepover?! “You can go swimming at Kayla’s, and you can sleep there too” said Sarah’s dad. The two of us squealed, jumping, running, expounding any energy that we had left in us. Sarah and I were now officially best friends. We were going to have a sleepover, and sleepovers are what best friends do.

"Purple People Eaters" 1998

It was the biggest deal in the world. Our little minds had figured out that if I cut through my backyard and walked up the road behind us, I could get to Sarah’s house, all by myself. That means I wouldn’t have to rely on the parents for a drive over, I could just go. And what person wouldn’t want to spend an afternoon at Sarah’s house? Sarah was only the coolest girl in school, we could jump on the “tramp”(oline), play video games with her older brother, and it was almost a guarantee that I would come home with some new craft, sand art, or art project that I had made at her house. She was still my best friend. We had code names for each other (“kay-kay” and “sar-sar”, the crowning display of our creativity), we were equally matched academically and liked a lot of the same things. We both had brothers, we both played the clarinet, and we both struggled with our spelling. One day I went to one of Sarah’s soccer games. Over the years it became blatantly clear that Sarah had more athletic ability than I did. She was gliding across the field when all of a sudden, down she went. The entire sideline gasped, and Sarah didn’t get up. Memories, images. Sarah being carried off the field by her dad, Sarah hobbling around at school, Sarah at her house, hooked up to a machine. She had torn her ACL and needed to have surgery. My mom and I shopped throughout a variety of stores, looking for things to get her. I sat at Sarah’s house, on the couch. We were just talking, laughing, keeping company. That’s what best friends do.

A few weeks later I had a soccer game of my own. It had recently rained and the back of my calves were splattered with specks of mud and grass. The ball was right in front of me so I gathered speed and swung my leg. My momentum didn’t balance the huge puddle that I had found myself in, and down I went. Memories, images. Ref blows the whistle, leaving the game before it ends, my dad and I in the ER, my arm in a sling. We were three days away from fifth grade graduation and all of the really cool stuff was happening for fifth graders. Sarah had been on crutches for weeks, and now I too was banned from participating. Instead we sat along the sidelines of all the games, cheering on our classmates, dancing in our own corner when the DJ came, and giving advice to help our class cream the teachers at dodgeball. We self-titled ourselves “the cripples” and even had our picture taken with the school principal. We didn’t let each other go through a tough experience alone. That’s what best friends do.


Jae, Sarah, Kayla. High school friends all grown up.

Fast forward to high school. All sorts of changes have happened, including a shift in friends. Sarah and I were still both in band, but had academically grown apart as she played sports all year round and I found myself in choir and the musicals and every musical endeavor possible. Luckily for me, Jae also found herself in these activities too. We quickly clicked and bonded over our distaste for band, but both knowing we wanted to be in music education we stayed anyway, complaining and rolling our eyes every day. As part of being in band it was a requirement to play at the graduation. Pomp & Circumstance an average of 14 times as all of the seniors processed into the arena. The band of 120 was then required to sit in silence for 2 ½ hours while the ceremony took place. Whoever thought that was a good idea was sadly mistaken. Jae and I sat there year after year talking, giggling, and devouring large packs of sour gummy worms to make it go by faster. We made the best out of crappy situations. That’s what best friends do.

Friends change, and friendships change. The levels of relationship between your best friend in second grade and your best friend in college are vastly different (at least, I would hope that they would be). We all have these crazy memories of childhood friends, and if we’re lucky we’re still in contact with a quarter of them. I know for me, it is far less than a quarter of them.

I’ll just put this out there, I have really high expectations of myself. When I think of all that is entailed in entering into a friendship with someone, it’s seriously daunting to think of all the things that could go wrong. Perhaps China is a good place for me. The Chinese culture is serious about friendships. This past summer we were warned that if one of our students asked if we could be ‘friends’ to strongly consider what our answer would be. To accept and enter into a friendship with a Chinese person, you are binding yourself with them for life. That means that you are their resource if they are in need, you are their confidant, you are their lifeline. Although I absolutely love this demonstration and commitment, it makes one really think hard about what friendship actually is, and to how many we can actually be devoted to in this nature. We Americans are so casual in our friendships that we may go through our entire lives without ever having a relationship to this degree.

With the title of “friend” comes a large responsibility. In our society the term is used casually all the time. “Facebook friends”, church friend, this friend, that friend. I’ve spent a large amount of time over the past four years coming to the conclusion that being a friend is so much deeper than what many make it out to be. What does it mean to be an incredible friend? I am an idealist meaning that I have this idea in mind that is basically unattainable. For the time being we can still make strides in attempting to be the best friend that we can be. To be a real friend takes effort, it takes sacrificing yourself, yet knowing where to draw lines. It means being open. The type of friendship that I showed and shared with people in high school is far different than how I interact with my friends now. The role of being a friend is a process that is continually being molded by those who we surround ourselves with. I notice that each of those who I am in close relationship with bring out certain aspects of who I am, different personality glimmers and dimmers (ie the good and the bad).

Sidenote: I never understood how others could refer to six different people as their “best friend.” Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a best friend? The way that I roll in relationships is that I often have very few who are actually close to me, and then a wide variety of acquaintances. I think this would stand true for most people as well. Anyways... this whole friendship ordeal is rather complex and I had no idea where to throw that in...

Despite everything I just said, I have been blessed with the most incredible friends in the world. I mean, I may be a little biased, but I’m not joking when I say that I would do anything for these special people. I would love to take you through a variety of stories with my college friends, true demonstrations of love, devotion, and community, the way friendship was intended to be. That however would take months to complete and maybe catch the interest of like, 2 people. I guess this is a general shout out to all my friends whom I love and adore. I hope you know I love and adore you, and frankly I couldn't live life without you. {flash back to middle school. I'm ok with it.}

Everyone has the capacity to be a friend. The question is, to what degree of a friend does everyone choose to be? Are we willing to put forth the effort to be an incredible friend, or do you just mozy around all the live-long day, sucking up what you need to get by from this person and that person?

[These thoughts on friendships will drastically change as the next few weeks come around and major life changes take place. I just thought it would be a good idea to capture where I'm at in this moment. It's always fun to come back months and years later to see the changes that have taken place in 'you'.]

Friend (noun)

1. a person known well to another and regarded with liking, affection, and loyalty; an intimate

2. an acquaintance or associate

3. an ally in a fight or cause; supporter

4. a fellow member of a party, society, etc

5. a patron or supporter

A Student

2011-04-08T16:27:00.000-04:00

It was September something, 1995, and I stood in a black and red flowered dress, equipped with a chunky lace collar, engulfing the top half of my torso. I had a tag pinned to this collar, proclaiming my name and my bus number for all the world to see. From the front, my patterned dress was disturbed by two turquoise straps. These straps belonged to my backpack, which was only the coolest thing known to mankind. On the actual backpack was a screen print of Pocahontas and all of her friends. I was smothered in my Daddy’s arms, a horrendous 90’s caterpillar crinkling across his face, and glasses that enabled his eyes and cheeks to see better. Mommy, with her video camera and film camera, capturing every moment while two additional kids under the age of 3 crawled up and down her legs, weighting her down. This was the first day of kindergarten.

The lace that engulfs my torso.

“Kayla Marie, why do we go to school?”

“To have fun!!”

We all have those home videos, or old pictures, or ‘diaries’ that we kept when we were just learning to write. These are some of my favorite items ever. In fact, I sometimes have nightmares that my house burns down with all of our captured memories from childhood, inside. What would I share with my children when they have to do those crazy “family tree” projects?! What would I have to prove to the world that I too, once was a child? These home videos have brought about many family jokes, the one with me catching the brunt involves my simple philosophy of education. We go to school to have fun.

It is truly a blessing in this country that every child is entitled to an education. We have heard it time and time again how so many kids around the world are not allowed access to public schooling, how an education is a privilege for many kids. Here in this country we are so overwhelmingly blessed to have the accessibility to an education that we want and need. Now please, I’m not preaching that our system is flawless, I have plenty of qualms with our educational system even though I am soon to be a part of it. In fact, I saw a documentary Waiting for Superman that really hit home. I strongly encourage you to go watch it and leave comments as to what you think.

Since that day in 1995 I have played the role of ‘student’. Of course, being in education I believe that every experience is a learning experience, therefore I have been learning since day one, but my official title of ‘student’ didn’t come until that fateful day. Now here I stand almost 20 years later, still with the title of student, a title that I will not be keeping for much longer. This is a major shift in life. No more golden star stickers, ‘good job’ stamps, or ‘extra credit’ to get ahead. Being a ‘student’ is more than a title. It actually encompasses who you are. I’ve had many ‘titles’ in my life. I’ve been president of this, treasurer of that, leader for this… but none have the impact and the weight that the role of ‘student’ actually means. Being a ‘student’ has been defining over the decades, and to lose that role is like giving a part of yourself up. It’s the death of a life that you have lived.

High School graduate with Grandma and Pappy.

One of the trickiest things for me to grasp when my Pappy passed away was that I no longer was a granddaughter. I mean, yes, I still have living grandparents (whom I absolutely love and adore) but I was no longer his granddaughter. He was no longer in existence. I felt that in some twisted way, a part of me was no longer in existence too. I lost that role. I loved that role. I didn’t realize how much I loved it until I lost it. It absolutely sucks. I understand that the two are drastically different things, losing a loved one and completing an education, but they vastly parallel one another in a sick and twisted way.

My role of student has driven me to do all sorts of crazy things, try crazy projects, and learn all sorts of stuff. There were so many joys along the way, so many things that I absolutely loved doing naturally that made my role of ‘student’ just happen. Am I an overachiever? Not on purpose, I swear. However if a task or assignment involves something I am passionate about, I can’t help but get exceedingly wrapped up in it. For example, Mrs. Sexton was my 7^th and 8^th grade English teacher. Our monthly assignment was to read a book and to complete one of various projects that we could turn in. For these two years in my education, the week before the project was due, my entire life would be wrapped around completing the journals, posters, and text that was needed to complete the project. I saw these projects as a way of expressing my creativity, loving to write stories, drawing pictures, and the best part of all was that I had to read books. Your average student would not be into that, and probably see these things as a chore. Myself, they ended up being the highlight of my entire school year. I love projects, crayons, creative writing (can’t you tell?)

A part of being a student that often gets overlooked is the responsibility to find what fits you. Too many students get wrapped up placing blame for lack of learning on the teacher. In actual reality, the teacher and student share equal responsibility in the education of the student. If something is not processing or connecting correctly in the student’s mind, it is up to them to find a mode or way to make it work. The teacher is to provide the resources, and the student is to use them. If the resources are not provided, then it is up to the student to ensure that they obtain what they need.

I speak from experience. I am not a student where everything comes naturally to me. I’ve had to work very hard to reach the point of where I am. My evenings were spent on homework and after school activities. There were many a days spent after school, working one on one with Mrs. Steubing, Mr. Ressman, and Miss Abatta (coincidentally, all math teachers), Mr. Myslivecek, Mr. Swian and various others along the way. There were many tests that I bombed, many presentations that I gave that consumed my whole being with anxiety. Now, those tests and presentations basically mean nothing, but the time and effort that my teachers carved out for me means the world.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings as I reflect on my past life as a student. Maybe they’ll help you to think of where you are currently in a different way.

Student (noun)

1. a person formally engaged in learning, especially one enrolled in a school or college

2. any person who studies, investigates, or examines thoughtfully

big picture

2011-03-25T18:19:00.000-04:00

I am a lover of metaphors. I love pictures. Thinking in pictures, motion pictures, drawing pictures, photography. I believe that one of the greatest inventions ever "created" are those puzzles where every piece has a different picture on it, but when you put the whole thing together it creates a totally different picture. It is a process called photomosaics and it creates a big picture.

Sometimes, it's really fun for me to think about creation. Yea, to some degree of the "creation" and Garden of Eden stuff, but also about the creation of life, and the incorporation of the 6.2 billion lives that are currently being lived right now. I love thinking about time as a patchwork quilt...without the patches. You see, God has this beautiful quilt goin' on, and by now it's probably the size of a million football fields, also known as Russia. Sometimes, I envision God taking a day off and just sitting down in a rocking chair to just work on this quilt, to sew on a variety of colors, patch people, animals and stuff, and on this quilt the lives of the billions who are currently living on this earth. Adam and Eve? Oh yea, they're on there too, but they're somewhere by the Bering Sea (God started on the east coast of Russia.) Somehow, everyone's lives are intertwined and those who cross paths on the quilt cross paths in life. Sweet deal right? The thing that makes me really exited is that when we die, we get to actually see the quilt...oh, and God too.

I'm not trying to be sacrilegious. Sometimes having pictures or metaphors can speak to people on a different level. An image can be carried around with someone for the rest of their life, while a challenging lecture cannot. Just saying. And some people might have real issues with me incorporating one of our humanly tasks of 'sewing' and placing God into a box of our humanness. And yet others might have the dilemma of me incorporating such a 'womanly' task of sewing and using it to describe something God would do. That could make for some good debate points.

If you have no qualms with my metaphor, thanks for goin' with the flow.

I now find myself student-teaching in an elementary setting, surrounded all day by fifth graders, armed with a variety of instruments, attempting to blow out my ears. So far, the clarinets are winning. It pains me to say this, but thirteen years ago, I was in the same seat that they sit in only I was in a far less technologically advanced school. Some of our lessons were held in a closet, literally, with brooms and the whole nine yards (I am on a football kick today, aren't I?). These kids use a program called SmartMusic for their lessons, each of which I lead on a SmartBoard. Those of you who have been out of the education realm for awhile, I suggest you go Google that one.

Anyways...I sit through lesson after lesson watching different kids struggle with the same concepts, lesson after lesson. What note is that? Whats a half note? How do you finger a 'C' on the flute? For as annoying as it may seem to some, I am actually finding it to be quite the lesson to myself, a lesson of how we all struggle and only progress through baby steps day after day. With that perspective, it's hard to find them obnoxious. Especially because they're so gosh darn cute. After all this time that has passed, I cannot even recall the daily struggles that occured throughout my music career, or even life in general. How did I learn how to write? Or read? I know that they were both a bear, but I only know that because my mom has told me. I cannot actually recall the everyday frustrations of crossing my T's. (Although, somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear my mom saying "she makes her i's like lollipops, Bill, can you help her out?") I know that now my fingers fly as I type this on a keyboard, but heavens knows that at one point they were painfuly slow. Do I recall every step of that learning process? No way. Funny thing is, I can't even remember the beginning of that process when the task at hand couldn't be completed.

Being surrounded by kids all day can take your brain into limbo. On one level you relate to them, laugh with them. Life is simple, talking about anything and everything, commenting on the newest clothing that kids wear (some of it is actually really cool). Then, every once and awhile your mind has a whiplash and all of a sudden you're analyzing humanity, childhood and mankind, critiquing progress, learning, and the educational process of the kid.

I don't know if it can be proven, but there is a wise old saying that "an elephant never forgets". Although we have no proof of this {to my knowledge, I am anything but a scientist} it's slightly intimidating that a massive animal such as the elephant has an advantage over me physically and mentally. I have forgotten a lot of things, I have forgotten a lot of childhood. It seems that no matter how hard I try, there are always things that slip my mind, and others that I beg to leave that have certainly overstayed their welcome. I have tried time after time to keep a "laughing journal", when in one place all of your memories of laughter are compiled. Who wouldn't want to have a bank of their happiest memories? My idea never seems to work, or it works for about two weeks before life takes over again {is that a sign that I laugh too much?}. Then there are the visions of others being hurt, times when I've failed, or miserable memories that involve boys, family, friends, embarrassment, that won't go away. For as discouraging as that may be... well, I'm sitting here trying to think of a positive way to complete that thought, but I just can't. At least not at this current stage of life. Give me another week to reflect on it.

The point of this was to be about how we trap ourselves in the everyday cycle of life. There's this desperate need for routine in our daily life, and yet the thing that we need is the thing that can kill us. And although we may experience little pains by the day, when looking at the big picture, how much of it is really going to be remembered? It's times like these when I like to think about the quilt. Is God really going to sew on that test that I bombed in Music History? Or is every single one of my involvements in my over-scheduled life going to make it on there somewhere? Definitely not. But I am confident that my path will cross with thousands, perhaps even millions, and it makes me ever more excited to "get up there" to see and trace the lives of all those who crossed mine. It's the beauty of humanity, peeps. {what? it's springtime}

i told you so

2011-03-15T22:44:00.000-04:00

"You are what you eat", how many times have we all heard that? There is a new concept swimming about my mind today, and that is the concept of "we are what we teach". I'm in the middle of student-teaching and trying to encompass being a teacher in all that I do. Every living moment is a learning moment for someone, whether that be for me or the person that I am encountering. Even in the times of bliss with merely hanging out with others or in a social group, you are constantly taking in information about those around you, their reactions and personalities. We, being lazy peoples, often don't apply all that we have learned, or recall quickly enough that some are sensitive to certain topics or have experienced certain things. Therefore people get hurt. That's a whole different posting.

I think that one of the joys that I am finding as a teacher is the glimpse of childhood, and the glimpses of humanity that I get on a daily basis. I'm aware that as long as one has a job interacting with people, they are interacting with humanity, but students bring a different aspect of humanity than the adult world. Take time to just observe the world around you. Then, go back for an additional 5 minutes and observe the world around you as a ten year old. You see completely different worlds, don't you? I find it a privilege to get to immerse myself in a variety of worlds on an everyday basis. It's even more of a privilege to get to accompany some others between various worlds, as you watch them go from children to teens, from teens to young adults, and all the development that happens along the way. It's not something that can be captured on a canvas, through words... it has to be an experience.

In my previous posting, I spent a chunk of time talking about a particular woman who is very important to me, and who does amazing things for this world. She is my private voice teacher, a professor who I have studied with for 4 years now. She teaches many private lessons and very few classes, but one class that I have had the opportunity to take with her was entitled "Vocal Pedagogy", a class in which you learn how to teach voice. For this class we each had our own private student. Some were more memorable than others, but we would each come to class telling outrageous stories of the things that happened in our own private voice lessons. My particular student is what my mother would refer to as "a piece of work". She was your common middle school athletic chick who was like many her age, over committed and too cool for anything. *note: name has been changed due to privacy, and also because I enjoy making up fictional names.

Nikki June*: my pride, my joy, and (sometimes) biggest pain. I say that with love. I was forewarned that my student would have limited musical background, and I also knew that she was busy with other things. As I think of all there is to reflect upon, I can do nothing but smile as I think about the journey that teaching Nikki took me on. Making initial contact is part of the process, but I knew from the beginning that I was going to have a handful when I heard Nikki in the background say “I don’t want to sing ‘old-people’ stuff.” In fact, perhaps this posting will just be memorable quotes by Nikki. Or perhaps, using Nikki for segues. So that being said, segue #1…

Not wanting to sing ‘old-people’ stuff. Although at the time it made me a nervous wreck, it now makes me chuckle. I was so worried about pleasing this girl and keeping her engaged. I realized that in teaching, it all depends on how you sell it to the kids, and they’ll (sometimes) go with you. High school kids, not so much. They will just look at you and think you're crazy. Luckily for me, I'm completely at ease with them thinking that I am crazy. It's one of those "accept and move on" things and low and behold, you still get things done. Middle school is a fun age because you can usually get them to go along with whatever you're doing if you present your information in the correct way. Nikki’s attitude toward the old stuff sent me on a train of thought. I began to wonder at what point I’ll stop being the ‘cool-crazy-hip-young-chick’ and turn into the “experienced woman”, as far as teaching is concerned.

Segue #2

“Well, just to get to know your voice, can I have you sing this pattern?”

“How?”

“Well, you just sing it.

“How do I do that?”…

‘How’ is a really difficult question, particularly when it comes to singing, because hardly any of the mechanical processes can be seen on the outside. ‘How’ is also a difficult question when it comes to teaching. How does one continue to make the learning process interesting, keep it fresh, keep a student motivated, etc. How is a very important question. Thanks, Nikki.

The teaching process is a lot more natural than I thought that it would be. Yes preparation is required prior to each lesson, but there were very few, if any, times that I feel stuck or ‘unable’ to do my job. That’s a positive feeling. An even bigger benefit of this was that I had fun in the process. Teaching is fun, Nikki was fun, high school choir is the bomb, and no matter what teaching situation I find myself in, it is always possible to have some sort of laughter and craziness incorporated.

Segue #3

“Did you get to look at this song?”

“Yea, I learned both of ‘em”

“You learned both?”

“Girl, what-chew think I’ve been doin’, sittin’ on my butt all week?”

Sometimes, students will surprise us, and sometimes kids say the darndest things. Nikki kept me on my toes and I felt like I had to have every scenario prepared for, and ready to teach anything at hand due to her persistent and never-ending questions and resistance. Am I upset and bitter about this? Absolutely not. My experiences observing fellow teachers didn’t occur until after my final lesson with Nikki. I observed other teachers asking only once for a student to try something, with compliant students. Well, my name is Kayla and it just so happens that I like a challenge. I am so thankful for the complexities of Nikki. I felt like I was better prepared for the ‘real world’. Commonly, I’m a lover, not a fighter; I learned and experienced first hand to expect the unexpected, and learned how to fight back for the sake of the student, with a little love thrown in.
Teaching is not for those who are lazy. There is no room for laziness when being a role model and in being a life-long learner. I’ve also found that teaching has taught me to be young at heart again. I take on the job of putting myself in the mindset of my students, feeling and agonizing over their struggles, and returning to my reality with the knowledge that I have to fix/address and educate them toward the goal.

Segue #4

“We’re not gunna do ‘Someday’? That song is really pretty and I can sing it.”

There is a serious back-story to the quote above. You see, after hearing for weeks that the song was too hard, that the head voice wasn’t pretty, that Celtic Woman was old, and that she couldn’t do it, the final minute of the final lesson shed a whole new light on the teaching experience. Nikki, the stubborn-willed student, finally complied to see things my way. A slight taste of glory. Glory because yes, she could sing it, and no it was not too difficult for her. I'm not going to say "I told you so", but I'll just mildly gloat on the inside due to the victory that occurred in my favor. Perhaps another time she’ll find the motivation to learn it on her own. So for that, I would like to extend a ‘thank you’ to Nikki for the foundational stories of my teaching career.

Being that I am going back to China, I can guarantee that there will be plenty more to come. In the meantime (between now and then) there will hopefully be more stories and more insights through times of transition and "growing up".

all growed up

2011-03-02T20:29:00.000-05:00

So many cool things happen when you're a grown up. You get to stay up late, you can drive, and do cool things like reach the ice cream in the freezer without standing on your tippy toes. Your hands are big enough to actually shuffle a deck of cards without flinging them all over the place. When you're an adult you can wear whatever you want, get a job and have money to buy whatever you want, and you can tell other people what to do. Grown ups are so cool.

There are some things that are clearly visible. Over time you can visibly see your fingernails growing, your roots coming in, or your feet enlarging as your body sprouts upward (or outward). These are all physical things that you can see happen rapidly, even over night! It's not often you hear someone proclaiming "wow, I can see that you've really grown up this past week." I mean, really? How do you see someone grow up?

Sure, our faces change, we get to be bigger people than when we were five, but it is not like "growing up" is a badge to be put on display. It's not a skill that can be practiced for hours. It just happens when it happens. It's something that takes place internally, happening sometimes even when we think it's not. Sometimes life gives us circumstances that force us to change our ways, attitudes, and perspectives, and we then "grow up" through the changes and adjustments that we make to ourselves. Despite life's urges and (sometimes) nasty little schemes, growing up is still a choice, a choice that many are too scared to make.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Is this not a question that we ask every child in our society? Asking them this question provides them a chance to dream, to be who ever they want. It is not very often that an adult will respond negatively to a child's response. Truly if the child wants to be an astronaut who is the adult to deny or crush the dreams? It's funny how as a child you are never content in your childhood. Actually, it's really sad. Society pushes each child to 'grow up' faster, loading on stress factors, tests, extracurricular activities, all in pursuit to be the most "well-rounded" child. Not to mention the family dilemmas and social issues that can have a lifelong effect on a child. As adults the mentality and sensitivity of a child is often forgotten. Calloused and burdened, adults lay on expectations, mentalities and attitudes onto children, stifling them from the innocence and purity they were created to have.

So much of our childhood goes by without us realizing what we have. It is human nature, to rarely be content with where we are. We're kids, we want to grow up. We grow up, we want our childhood back. My past summer experience taught me how to re-embrace my childhood in a way that I never had before. Not only was I working with kids all day long, but there was a sense of freedom in being whoever I wanted to be. I experienced a joy and delight that I had never been able to attain in a normal every-day grown-up life. What's with that?! I made a challenge to myself that I would strive to embrace my childhood more in my everyday life. You can too!

I have been thinking a lot about "growing up" recently because of the crossroads that is soon to come. There was a time when people in college seemed to be in another planet. The idea of me ever being in college was so far away because I could never imagine myself as that old person. Old people go to college. Now I'm a person who is leaving college. I am a person who is going to start a life unscripted, who is going to live abroad for a year. What does that make me? I would love to go back in time and interview myself and see just what I would say. What would the seven-year-old version of me say if I told myself that I was going to China? If I majored in music-education? If I did all the things that I've done?

I can tell you this: I had most definitely throughout all of my life set my expectations too low for who I can and will be.

In relation to this I had the opportunity to teach private voice lessons last semester. Our "final" for the class was to merely write a reflection paper about the class and our experience in teaching... that would be a fun student to blog about some time. Regardless of the adventures I had with my voice student, I reflected heavily upon my concern for change. Of course, over time my style of teaching and teaching abilities are going to change (and hopefully improve), but I raised the question of "at what point will I stop being the 'cool-and-hip teacher' and turn into the 'that-old-teacher-lady'?" My brilliant professor Ms. Elaine Henderson answered with this: "You never have to reach that point. Look at me."

And by gum, she is absolutely right. We're talking about the woman who joined us on an excursion to see Harry Potter VII, who spent class time telling us how to make moonshine, and who allowed our final exam to take place at Panera.

To society I tell you this, I think that Peter Pan had it right when he proclaimed "I won't grow up" (I'm currently reading it right now, thus all the references). There is always going to be an inner child in me that will always be sure to peek its way out. I am a stubborn person, and the child child within me is just as stubborn. She's gunna be around for as long as I am. In fact, I'm pretty sure the girl in this picture is me when I was a kid...

Shadow

2011-02-21T20:12:00.000-05:00

Language is the beautiful, complex, and intricate gift that we've all acquired throughout our lives. Sometimes if we're lucky we'll become fluent in more than one, maybe even four. There are these simple words, and then by arranging them in proper and meaningful patterns, one can create images, emotions, and stories that can be told for decades and centuries. Some of us are naturally gifted with these things called words. We call it "being articulate" where these beautiful little diamonds and sparkles literally roll off our tongues and flitter throughout the air to tickle and sparkle up the minds of those who cross paths with you. That's nice. Then there are those of us who can do nothing but sputter grains of sand. They mean nothing and are combobbled because of the infinite number of grains of sand that are in existence. No matter how much sand we sputter out, diamonds never appear, there is no twinkle. Sometimes because of the mass quantity it allows us to be noticed. "Woah, look at that dude who is knee-deep in sand." "She's got her own personal sandbox". I've been known for having crazy metaphors, but sometimes I really envision these things coming out of peoples mouths. It's quite entertaining. That's what happens when we put words together.

Then, sometimes there are just words that stand alone and hold power in themselves. Think of the emotions, thoughts, and connotations with each of the following words:

grace.

holocaust.

justice.

death.

love.

Depending on how your day has gone so far, some of you might already be shedding tears. It can take just one word to spark an emotion, whether that be discontent, sorrow, or joy. I remember just one word that my mom spoke to me that ignited something within. "Cancer".

So my point of being on this little "word-kick" thing is because of what I discovered while I was in China. Being in China for July 2010 was my first time leaving the United States for a significant period of time (not that a month is a significant period of time...but it wasn't a day trip). Prior to ever leaving the country I had envisioned that the world was so incredibly different from what I had known and experienced for 20 years. I had imagined as if there was this magical barrier along both coastlines of the United States and as soon as your plane crosses through, you immediately become a different person. You become a "wold traveler", who is a totally different person than "lame-US-college-kid". It would be this majestical experience and your skin would tingle and sparkles would fly and maybe Tinkerbell would appear. My imagination bubble was soon popped as I found out that in fact absolutely none of the previously stated things occurred, including the appearance of Tinkerbell. I also realized that there is no 'feeling' that comes with being in another country. I thought it would be an overwhelming feeling that reminded you every second that you were in a foreign land. Not the case.

Throughout {prettymuch} all languages there is this verb "to be". In Spanish, it's "estar", and in other languages...it's something else. "To be" is so incredibly powerful when you really think about all that it entails. Think of the famous "to be or not to be" by...Shakespere? J.K. Rowling?...someone famous. It took me a few weeks to realize that while I was in China, I was still every bit Kayla. Of course, Kayla was learning things everyday and taking in new culture and environments, but the physicality and reality of "Kayla" was just the same. Contrary to my belief of living in a 'parallel universe' I realized that my reality traveled with me where ever I go. This reminds me of an image from J.M. Barry's "Peter Pan", where Peter is so distraught that he has lost his shadow. In reality, a shadow goes with you wherever you go and never leaves you, just as ones reality. Just as memories, experiences, and relationships. This China experience is always going to be incorporated in my shadow. The relationships that I made accross the world, and in my own bubble of Messiah College are going to remain with me as long as there is light to shine upon them. Everything that I have done, everyone who I have met I have incorporated into a part of myself and how I roll. Is it possible for me to leave myself? Ke$ha might actually be on to something when she says "we R who we R". Allow me to modify: "I am who I am", and that is the same person who is here, who is in China, who is in Ireland, who is lost at sea. Way to go Ke$ha, you have ever so slightly redeemed yourself. You have a long way to go.

Interesting. If we are to take the statement "I am who I am" and modify one word, we end up with "I Am that I Am." There's a really famous guy who said that (or girl, depending upon your theology). It's recorded in Exodus 3:14. Changing that one little word can change the entire conversation. Food for thought.

You are always going to be you no matter where you are. Physically, spiritually, mentally. The 'you' of different times and eras of life may be totally different to some degree, but there is always going to be a foundation that remains the same and composes us of the basics of who we are. This basic foundation that is never exactly clear. Sometimes we live our whole lives with qualities and characteristics we didn't know that we had until our deathbeds. The Great I Am knows how and with what we were created. It's our mission and responsibility how to figure out how to use it.

Miss Liu as Moses

In referencing back to "I Am that I Am", I will leave you with a memory. In our curriculum this past summer, we had particular lessons that incorporated "special guests". These special guests just so happened to correlate with what we were learning about. For instance, Mother Theresa just so happened to show up the day we were learning about India, Pele came the day we learned about Brazil. One of my favorite people of all time showed up one day in my classroom (literally and figuratively). We were learning about Egypt and the wonderful and beautiful history and importance of that country when out of nowhere Moses busted up all in my classroom. I was so surprised and happy to see Moses. In reality, it was really Miss Liu, whom I was still excited to see, however Moses was our very first "special guest" so the kids had absolutely no idea that anyone was coming. Miss Liu and I played up the experience that Moses had walked to LongDe from Egypt and needed to sit down and rest. The kids were so honored and excited to hear Moses's story about parting the Red Sea and "making a difference for the people" (we had to be careful with our language). They had so many questions, and didn't understand the concept of 'slavery', and thought that Miss Liu was so funny with her old voice. With that, I leave you with this challenge. Just like Moses, be a leader in what He calls you to do. For not all are called to be leaders, but all are called to lead by example.

Arise

2011-02-18T19:34:00.000-05:00

Teaching in America is different from teaching in China. Teaching music is way different than teaching English. That's not really a strong statement or argument to start a blog post on. I just can't seem to come up with a sentence that would overall connect everything that is running through my mind so I thought I would throw out some obvious facts out into the open.

Student teaching is a time of transition, a time of straddling two worlds, still a student and almost a full fledged adult. Working with and teaching kids who are only four years younger than you. Nothing gets past them. I talk to kids every day, celebrate with them as their acceptance letters to college roll in, as they rehearse endless hours for their musical, and as they look for distractions in class as opposed to working on music theory worksheets.

I had some free time at the piano today, as I had a free period and the choir room all to myself. It was truly a blissful thing. It was as if any composition that had ever sprouted from my fingertips was recanted to fill the choir room, everything just flowed with little thought or hesitation. While in this process a song that I had written my senior year of high school began, and my mind was sent on this train of thought between the similarities and differences between being a senior in high school and a senior in college. I was horrendously troubled about leaving high school. It was so much fun, I had friends and memories and I loved nearly every aspect about it. I can tell you that leaving college is going to be horrendously troubling as well. Times of transition and change are not my forte (musical pun!). Back in the day (all four years ago) in efforts to deal with all that was occurring I decided to express myself through a healthy outlet of composing and writing song after song. Today I was given a fresh wind of all that had settled.

Ever been moved by your own writing? It sounds really weird to say, but in reflecting upon the insight that I had four years ago, I realized today how moved I was by what I had written. That person was a different person, and yet I was still able to communicate to the me of today. And by no means am I saying this to 'pump myself up' or to say 'woah, I'm such an inspirational person'. Eww...never. I was just moved at the power of words and imagery that specifically radiates with what I'm experiencing at my current stage of life.

For as much as I am loving my current life in the day-to-day, I am (unhealthily) choosing to ignore the major transition that is quickly creeping up on me. A time of transition and making decisions, a time that I am not looking forward to in the least. We all have major places and turning points in life. I wanted to encourage you with the lyrics of the song that I wrote. Today, they provided for me a release and realization. Hopefully you'll be able to take something away from them, or at least temporarily dwell in the emotion of change.

Arise (May'07)

"Remembering yesterday, sadly watch it slip away.
Lost in the Memories of what has been,unsure of whats to come.

A part of me left behind as I replay those memories inside my mind.

Wishing for moments I cant get back as tears stream down.

As darkness falls the night prevails.

((chorus))
Im starting over.

Another dawn will soon arise and shine.

A new beginning, I gotta leave all my past behind.

It's time to move on.

Wondering who I will be, will I ever fulfill my destiny?

The past forever a part of my soul,
torn between two worlds.

And now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
May these memories never fade, I pray.
May they calm the night

Gray skies unveil the break of day.

My dreams are ready to ignite.
No turning back,
Pray to God I'll be allright.
No Mistakes,
I'm stronger than before.
Spread my wings and soar.

Im starting over.

Another dawn will soon arise (arise).

A new beginning, new adventures I can't wait to find.

Embracing the memories.

Learn from the past, it's time to move on.
A new beginning, new adventures I can't wait to find.

I'll find my new dawn."

Walking Rocks

2011-02-05T20:09:00.001-05:00

I find it interesting that every time I dip into a new blog post, I literally dip into a different mindset. I am well aware that I am behind the times a little as I just finished watching Inception for the first time (ever), and my mind already feels slightly trippy. Where am I now, in reality? It feels almost like a dream, writing these memories, blurring this past that occurred on the other side of the world. How many times has the world revolved, round and round, since that experience? I never was a numbers person...

First shot of Hong Kong

For my last and final semester of college I am student teaching at a nearby high school, a choir of around 200 kids, a couple music theory classes, sectionals, and kids just dying for someone to hear them sing. I'm realizing more and more how some kids have this natural way of 'sticking out' at you, as a teacher. There's a part of me that absolutely can't stand this because my mind so desperately wants to treat every student as equal, all as capable, competent, and well-mannered as the other. Unfortunately, that is not the way that it goes. It is a testament to our individuality and individualism. Odd, because I've always been happy to inform anyone that I am an individual, yet now as I transition to this adult world, there's this part of me that wants everyone to be the same, equality and justice for all. I know that that was not the case this past summer, and I'm even more aware that it is not possible in my current situation. I'll have to unpack that later I guess.

We all live experiences, and all of those experiences have a beginning somewhere. Sometimes we are lucky in that we have no idea how big or meaningful an experience will be before we begin. Therefore, we have limited expectations and just dive right in. Sometimes expectations get in the way and scary things must happen before an experience can be underway. Sometimes that means getting into the car and driving to the airport, sometimes it means facing our emotions and allowing them to be set free. Think about it, getting down on one knee, abort or keep the baby, taking the step onto the actual stage before the congregation. There is always a point of turning back, somewhere. Sometimes we pass that point with ease. Other times we have to stop and deliberate long and hard, mentally battling ourselves to either continue or turn around.

When I think of 'memories' I try to start at the beginning. It's not like I can account for every hour of flight across the Pacific, but I do remember watching "How to Train Your Dragon", and clips of "The Notebook" as I dozed in and out of consciousness. Upon arriving to Hong Kong, we were so very tired. We had an hour bus ride before we made it to the ferry, and we had an hour ferry ride before we made it to our island where we had training. I somehow remember assembling myself across a couple of seats. I also remember clear as day Danielle standing over my face, slapping my cheeks. I looked to see my limbs spread wide, a person gripping each, shaking. Apparently there was slight fear that I was dead.

I don't know if you know this, but there are a lot of stairs at the Great Wall of China. This may come as a shock, but climbing all of them makes one really tired. It's funny because there is a part of me that is like "Kayla, they are just stairs, suck it up." For all I know, that is what you're thinking too. Trust me when I say that it was one of the most physically demanding challenges of my life. I think about this because I recently listened to a song by Caedmon's Call, the lyrics proclaiming "...had to walk the rocks to see the mountain view. Looking back I see the lead of love."Let me tell you that the sight at the top was one of the most gorgeous things I have ever seen. Perspective is a beautiful thing because now when I think about that experience, despite being so tired, the first thing that pops in my mind isn't the thousands of stairs we climbed, it's the glorious big picture, the view from the top. Now, I have come to love that journey and I know that I have been on that journey because He loves me.

Sometimes, it's easy to hate the journey we are on. It can be hard, we can stumble, or even sometimes we may hate it for the fact that we do not feel challenged enough (one could argue that these are the scariest journeys). I'm not quite sure if this is my personal attitude thing, or a humanity thing, but I have come to find that perspective has brought me to love every journey that I have been on. Rocks can cut, inflict pain, and kill, but they also build and support a foundation.

Mary Beth & Danielle "warming up"

In thinking of mountains, the great Liupan Mountain comes to mind. The great Liupan Mountain was merely a half hours drive from LongDe, so of course we were taken to see it. It truely was a beautiful day as our van weaved up this mountain, bend after bend. We arrived to what seemed to be a national park of sorts. We realized that there was a building on the top of this mountain, housing a museum of the important historical role the Liupan Mountain played in Chairman Mao's progression to power (wish I could tell you more, but the entire museum was in Chinese... I saw a lot of pictures though and made up my own stories. They're probably not historically accurate.) Danielle and Mary Beth thought it would be fun to race up the stairs to the top (literally 200 stairs or so). They forgot to take in the altitude factor, so both were exceedingly winded upon arriving to the top. Quite entertaining.

That's our van in the bottom right hand corner!

While touring the museum, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion as I saw pictures of Chinese armies and photos from the Chinese Civil war. Living in America, we've seen photos of war our entire education, by the time fifth grade rolls around we've become numb to the sound of bullets and wasted bodies. Well, this wasn't the case at Liupan Mountain. I was so overwhelmed that so many lives had been lost. I was even more overwhelmed at the concept of "why?" I did not know a single soul in those pictures, they were taken decades before I was even born. At the time, I felt like a crazy over-emotional girl, but now I realize that it's the beauty and humanity within each of us. Realizing that harm was done to some, therefore harm is done to all really struck something within me, a light dizzy feeling and a complex that the mind is unable to comprehend on its own. In some crazy way, I now feel verified that I have a soul.

We stood at the top of Liupan Mountain for a long time, taking in the beauty, and awing the fact that we were actually at the mountain that everyone had been talking to us about. Literally...forty times. We took time for pictures, jumping pictures, team pictures, photoshoot pictures, and we also took some time to sit on some stairs and bust out our rendition of "Lean on Me". That's my memory for today.

Chairman Mao's famous poem, atop the Liupan Mountain.

我最喜欢的记忆 (My Favorite Memory)

2011-01-29T12:54:00.000-05:00

I'm a person who is all about the memories and melodies. Photo opportunities, crazy ideas, and (most likely) a song coming out of my mouth. I'm learning to cope, and so are the people around me. During our time in LongDe China, every second was an opportunity for a memory or photo. I was blessed to be on a team with nine other women. Nine wonderful women who I could (and would) consult as sisters in a heartbeat. It's been truely beautiful as our lives begin to take their form back here in the U.S. and we are still able to keep our experience alive amongst ourselves. Yay for beauty.

Team One : Stephanie, Danielle, Kayla, Kristina, Jane

Team Two: Alyssa, Lian, Tiffany, Mary Beth, Phiet

The rainbow that we drove through.

It quickly became a tradition of our teams to take 'jumping photos' anywhere that we went. They're fun, right? And unpredictable, and they make you stand out from the surroundings around you. That basically encompasses our entire experience in LongDe. (Looking past the fact that it made us scream out "Hey, we're crazy foreigners", it provided quite the wealth of entertainment for those who watched us. Our translators and posse thought that it was endearing and even tried to get in on the fun a few times.) I don't think that any of us can deny the fun that we had. Yes, even on the days that were to be for 'resting', that instead resulted in twelve hour trips, risking our lives on a car trip through the clouds and around corners with thousand foot drops. (You think I'm kidding?) God always has a way of being faithful. The sights that we saw were so exceptionally majestic that no photo device could ever capture them properly. We were so high in the clouds that we actually realized that we were driving through a rainbow. Allow me to repeat that again, we were driving through a rainbow. Through a rainbow! Who gets to do that ever?! I love rainbows. Besides being beautiful I think that they stand for so much hope and promise that is incomprehensible to our human minds. The amazing part was that it came at just the right time. Our van, quickly climbing up this mountain, raising hundreds and thousands of feet and we twist and turn around bend after boulder after bend. Oh, never mind the truck in the other lane, twice as big as the designated lane, coming the opposite way, missing our van by centimeters while rocks from underneath our wheels tumble off the ledge to a new home a couple thousands feet below. It's safe to say that chaos and panic were rising within that van. I recall sitting next to my [freakin' awesome] team leader, Kristina, trembling with excitement and fear inside. Luckily for me, I had a window seat that allowed me to see oncoming traffic and not the alternate universe below us. But trust me, I could hear screams and squeals, and yes, even tears. Kristina took the opportunity to capture a wonderful video, which now I would pay money to see. The end of the story is this: we eventually made it to our destination which ended up being the beautiful and serene "Dragon Lake." Those tales for another time...

Let's see, other crazy memories. Oh dear, so many to choose from. Well, I previously mentioned that 'jumping photos' are fun, unpredictable, and make you stand out. These were lessons we quickly learned when we entered LongDe. Even within the first hours.

When we arrived in the city we were immediately welcomed with a banquet. We were briefed during training in Hong Kong that we would most likely be attending Chinese banquets, and had to be coached on the proper manners. For example, you do not choose your seats, the hosts choose for you. Toasts are appropriate. There will be as many as 30 to 50 dishes of food sitting on the lazy susan in front of you, you must try them all to be polite (praise the Lord we were able to get away with this sometimes). The point of a Chinese banquet is not to finish your food. If you do, you insult the host. By them bringing the food and displaying it they are showing and representing themselves. To eat it all would make them lose face. It was also explained that we (as the guests) should have some mode of entertainment prepared, as entertainment would be an appropriate 'thank you' towards our hosts. There's a variety of other rules as well but I'm currently drawing a blank.

Dont be fooled: the beds were boards and the pillows sacks of oats. Our cozy home.

Anyways, we were then escorted to our place of stay, which was thankfully just behind where we ate. We moved our belongings into rooms on the first floor of the 'hotel'. After settling in, one of the school officials came back and scolded the hotel employers that the first floor is far too damp for the foreigners, so we were moved upstairs. We repacked our things and hauled them up the uneven stairs to new rooms. (Ok, I know people say that stairs are 'uneven' all the time, but trust me, it really messes with your psyche when you continue to trip over things that are there that shouldn't be. It's not like you could walk down these stairs and not look at them...you had to watch your step. That was just a side note--a little more detail in case you cared.)

Team LongDe with Mary (center)

That very night we were invited to our first official banquet. The room we entered had a round table the size of a swimming pool. We entered and the lazy susan was spinning with vegetables, breads, and various other things. The ten of us were terrified out of our minds. We did not want to screw this up. We were the first foreigners to ever be in LongDe, we had a lot riding on this. Then entered the school officials. I can't tell you who they are... they all kinda looked the same, but there were about ten men, then the governor of LongDe (a woman), and our soon favorite Mary. Mary, over the course of our time there, was more or less our tour guide. She taught English at LongDe Middle School #2 ( I taught at #1) and quickly became friends with all of us, moreso with LongDe team 2.

There was a lot of hesitation, but we all eventually found our places, Kristina and MaryBeth joined as one, knowing that they had to lead all of us through this, and even give a toast along the way. The governor of LongDe expressed her thanks and appreciation for us being there and then recited a Chinese Poem. This poem was particularly important because it was about the great, the famous Liupan Mountain. I realize that means nothing to most of you, and that's fine. There are so many stories about this mountain that I could sit here and type nonstop and still fear that graduation would come before I get to type them all out.

Our banquet consisted of dish after dish, toast after toast. They quickly realized that we didn't drink alcohol and so we toasted with orange juice. This however, did not stop them from alcohol consumption. After about the fifth toast we began to dread when someone would rise with a glass in hand. We would dread even more when they finished their speech with "bottoms up". Throughout the course of the evening there were nine toasts. Please, allow me to get across to you that consuming nine glasses of orange juice in one sitting is not good for anyones digestive system.

About one and a half hours into our banquet we as team LongDe arose together to entertain our hosts. We appropriately aligned and busted out a three part "lean on me" sequence along with side steps and snapping. If anything it was a testament to the true power of music because the look of joy and appreciation on the faces of the men in that room were as if they were little children getting to ride a ferris wheel for the first time. After our completion they quickly begged for more. Honored, we agreed to sing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." Eh, we forgot the words, and there was no choreography, but we made it work. Well, the power of music quickly spread because then a group of the school officials had a Chinese song that they wanted to sing for us. Mmmm, it was quite the experience. They were so proud of themselves as the song was completed, they quickly passed off that the next song should be sung by us. We soon realized that we had accepted participation in a sing off, America vs. China, all for the sake of entertainment. After an hour of Chinese songs and random American songs, I began to scathingly hate the power of music. Within that time I participated in a duet of "A Whole New World", and various other Disney songs. The sing off (and more toasting) continued another half hour, at which point our team leaders so graciously made it known that we were tired and needed to sleep. The school officials quickly agreed and escorted us out as we made our way back to our rooms. Damn you, power of music.

Summer Dream in trees with the "Class 3" flag.

I need you to know that when I say 'this is my favorite memory' I don't just mean that this is my favorite memory from China. I'm saying that this is perhaps my favorite memory from my whole life, one that I will tell my children, my husband, the world. I will say this, my favorite memory did in fact involve the power of music. For as much as I try to stop it, deny it, and keep it under control it's this thing that just flows out of me. I was able to incorporate this into my class on a daily basis. It was blatantly clear that class Summer Dream would be singing every day. I'm your teacher, therefore you sing. Inspired by the above story, the first song that I taught them was "lean on me", complete with hand motions and clapping. This of course, did not all happen in one day, it took time. Summer Dream quickly became my first practice choir. The language barrier proved for some difficulty, but they made it known that their favorite part of every class was when Miss Kayla would sing to them.
We learned a whole variety of songs. One of my favorites to teach them was "You Are My Sunshine". This song means so much to me personally just because of my childhood, and because I've taken on the nickname 'sunshine' throughout my college years. In class I explained to them that in America, you can substitute the word 'sunshine' for girlfriend or boyfriend. That got them giggling like no other. (That's another thing--it is very rare that you can get a crowd of Chinese students to erupt in laughter like students would here. All laughing is kept to giggles and hidden behind a hand or an arm that they put up to cover their face.) Me, being the culturally insensitive drill sargent that I am (I say that with sarcasam) told the boys that they had to perform this song for the ladies, using the word 'girlfriend' instead of sunshine. Of course, Mateo was all into it but the rest of the guys weren't. They girls had to do the same, perform for the boys. Barely any singing was done due to the high amount of giggling and flushed cheeks. Oops :)

Cindy & I

That was background information. Our final day as I have mentioned in previous posts was very interesting. For those of you just tuning in we had a closing ceremony at which we all bawled our eyes out. This was the last time we would ever be together as a group, to live the Summer Dream. I previously posted about Kristy and how she sobbed in my arms. I didn't tell you what happened next. You see, as she was being held by me, she began to drag me over to a section of the courtyard where the remainder of my class had gathered in a semi circle. Jaime stood in the middle, waving our pink "Class 3" flag loud and proud. My students heads were bowed, surround sound sniffles. I was approached by my student Cindy who quickly came to the middle of the semicircle. She led the class in the song "Njalo" which I taught them the day we learned about South Africa. I was touched. They were able to remember the songs that I had taught them, on their own, they didn't need me there to lead them. I knew in that moment that I had left a song in their heart and a way for them to always remember Summer Dream. "Njalo" ended and I graciously applauded them, so excited for their gift. The crowd somewhat disassembled and I assumed all was over, that is until I heard Cindy taking charge. It sounded like this: "chinese-chinese-chinese-chinese-SUNSHINE-chinese-chinese-KAYLA-chinese-SUNSHINEKAYLA" and my class instantly regrouped to perform as Summer Dream for one last time:

"You are my Kayla, My only Kayla

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You'll never know, dear how much I love you.

Please don't take my Kayla away."

Instant tears.

-康女

Alpha (fe)Male

2011-01-23T13:36:00.001-05:00

As life progresses, most humans become more self aware of who they are and who they're not. What gifts and talents they have and with what talents they have not. It is in the hopes of getting older that one becomes at peace with what is given to them and at peace with who they are, and then use that person to change the world with what they've been given. There is one person who I never was, and never will be. I was never that girl in high school. The cool one, leader of a pack, any pack, several packs. I was a serious academic goofball. Who giggled a lot. I'm realizing now that it's becoming incorporated in my teaching style, which seems to work for most people. But it didn't work for Kristy.

It's actually kind of ironic how sometimes a name totally fits the person that it's given to. Do we grow into these names, or is it just coincidence? I recall compiling a sheet of English names to allow my students to pick from. Coming up with 50 names is a lot harder than one might originally imagine it to be. Regardless, as I was compiling this list I was thinking to myself "Whitney--thats a name for a party girl." "Matt--thats a name for a heart breaker." "Bruno--thats a name form a beefy dude." "Kristy--thats a name for a really cool girl." Destiny, my friends. Destiny.

(ps, no offense to those of you named Whitney, Matt, or Bruno.)

Jenna and Kristy being crafty. Can you see her gray streaks?

Kristy was that girl. It became very clear even from the first day that Kristy played a huge role in the social realm of Summer Dream. She was always being clung to by other members of class, and always had a smile spread across her face, especially when the boys were around. Kristy had a "cool" factor. Just like the movies, she could be walking down the hallway at school and every head would turn and the boys would drop their books and this heavenly glow would follow her in a five foot bubble. I caught myself in my head (as the teacher) saying "wow, I want to be like Kristy."

Kristy was my secret girl crush, and my biggest struggle. Kristy was blatantly the lowest ability English speaker in my classroom. For the first few days while she would chit-chat away when I was teaching I tried all the tricks in the book. The "proximity factor" where you as the teacher move closer towards whatever distraction is in the room. The "staring", "Waiting game"...of course, I couldn't do these for too long, it made me feel mean inside. It wasn't until we took an afternoon to have "girl talk" and "boy talk". This opportunity was spawned after the heavens decided to open up and not allow us to play various outside activities. I brought a bag of Starburst and the kids were set to go (seriously... they went crazy over it). While having "girls talk", we allowed them to talk about hopes and dreams, more personal stuff than what one would say in front of a classroom of twenty. I recall going around the circle and asking each of my 9 girls various questions. As soon as I would ask Kristy a question she would immediately lean over to a friend and speak Chinese. Her answers would come, very slow, and in very poor English. It was then I realized that all of the side conversation was a translation. We were trained that there would be talking in our classrooms and students would ask each other questions, but Kristy was my only student who really struggled. All I received from Kristy were blank stares. Oh, she would laugh if I did something goofy (which was an every other minute occurrence). She would constantly have her phone out, translating from English to Chinese.

Yes, those are real mountains in the background.

Kristy was certainly not a star student, but she still had that 'it' factor. She didn't wear the school uniform like the other students. She had this flowing black hair, streaked with gray. She had the walk of a model, and the laugh of a child. I learned that she was my only student who actually lived there at the school full time (while others, like Jaime, would go home on the weekends). When there were boys, there was Kristy. And they listened to her. Our final day we spent the morning going on a photo scavenger hunt. Twenty pictures, two hours. One of the assigned tasks was to spell out your teachers name using your body. So together, Summer Dream assembled to spell "Kayla". I have never seen so much sheer chaos in my life. Kristy directing the way, twenty minutes later, my name was spelled on the field. All I could do was stand back and laugh...and take the picture for proof.

Kristy was oober crafty, just like many girls in China. Her favorite day of all time was when we learned about the American wedding. We brought in rolls upon rolls of toilet paper, and the classes were to dress up their teachers for a "bridal fashion show". Although we had planned for this to take like, a half an hour, our students got super into it. An hour later, they were still designing our dresses, adding on the most meticulous details with toilet paper and tape. Kristy, my fashionista, had to make sure that Miss Kayla looked all right. One of her fellow students placed the flower in not the right spot so she had to do it all over again. I have never felt so pampered in my life as to when my kids decorated me with toilet paper. We tried out several bouquets and colors to match my hair (mind you these were flowers that were stolen from the auditorium decorating). All of the students were so proud of what they had done, but not a face shone brighter in the room than Kristy's.

American brides? Miss Stephanie, Miss Jane, Miss Liu, and myself.

As a teacher, I quickly felt so disconnected from her because of the communication barrier. I often wondered if I had enlightened her life at all if all she was doing was getting translations day after day. It wasn't until the closing ceremony. We were originally told that the ceremony would be on Saturday morning, and then we would leave. However, as they often happen in Asia, plans change rather quickly and you just have to go for it. Our ceremony was moved to the previous day, cutting in on quality time with our students. As soon as the ceremony began, it was over. Huge 'to-do's are never very long, our closing ceremony lasting a matter of 15 minutes as we handed a certificate to each of our students. Jaime, stepping up to shake my hand "Miss Kayla, I'm so proud of you", and Kristy, already tears welling in her eyes.

We progressed outside to take pictures, say our final goodbyes and Kristy patiently stood in line to hug me. As she approached she collapsed on my chest, sobbing, wailing as if at a funeral. "Miss Kayla, don't go. Please don't go. Miss Kayla I love you, don't go." What does one say to that? I responded with tears and tighter squeezes. Perhaps I did make a difference after all.

There is no way Im finishing this post on that note. There still is one memory of Kristy left, a memory that leaves me joy and spurts giggles from my gut. You see, we progressed into the most extensive photoshoot I have ever been a part of, lasting an hour and a half in length. Every student wanted their own picture with the teachers, then every friend group wanted a picture with the teachers, then strangers off the street wanted pictures with the foreign teachers...lots of smiling to be so sad inside. At one point my Summer Dreamers gathered around, jabbering in Chinese, myself just nodding and smiling, as always. Out of nowhere Kristy's voice level raises. She begins shouting and jumping, pointing, a look on her face of determination and slight anger. She slaps Mateo across the arm and he begins to run across the street, dodging three wheeled cars and cyclists. The remainder of the class starts go giggle and laugh and Kristy comes over to embrace me. I inquired as to what just happened. "Mah-few go get ice cream. Your favorite." And minutes later, Mateo returned with five ice creams in hand, one for each of us foreign teachers. Thank you, Kristy, for being the leader of the pack.

-康妮

It says "Queen of Pop", not poop. I swear.

Class Clown

2011-01-19T11:02:00.003-05:00

If there is something in my life that I must have on a daily basis, it would have to be humor. I could live without the coffee, a shower, or socks but I know that a day is not complete if I haven't laughed or found something to be funny. Trust me, chocolate is pretty high up there too, but laughing causes the same effects. There is something special about laughing with a group of people who are different from you, laughing with a group of people when there is a huge communication barrier.

Every class has a "class clown". A show-off, a trouble-maker, a kid who likes to stir the pot. For class Summer Dream, Matthew played that role rather well. I can't tell you what his family is like, or about his childhood, but I can tell you about his lifelong ambition: to become a famous singer. Matthew was by far one of my most enthusiastic students, the most into the songs that we sang, and the most persistent when it came to carrying the Summer Dream banner. He's this kid that you just have to love.


There is a flower petal stuck to my head. Matthew put it there.

My earliest memory of Matthew would be on day four of teaching. I was starting to get into a routine in the classroom and beginning to feel confident in what I was doing. I developed this habit of "Teach Teacher" at the end of class that the kids absolutely adored. It allowed them the opportunity for them to teach me Chinese, to give back for the hours of English I was teaching them. I had learned all sorts of phrases (little did I realize the ridiculous accent that the people of LongDe spoke with---my little Chinese is pretty much worthless in all other places in China). I also developed a habit of allowing students to reflect on the day (in English) and allowed them an opportunity to pretty much say whatever they wanted (as long as it was in English). Day four came around and Matthew volunteered to speak. He stood at his desk, head down, reading a piece of paper on his desk. In front of the whole class, he proclaimed his love for Miss Kayla and for summer camp, spoke about how much he is learning and how he never wants it to end. To top it all off, Matthew finished his reflection with a tear. Ever not know what to do in a situation? I honestly can't remember how I reacted or what I said, but I do know that it was the talk of the teachers office that day after school.

Mateo leadin' the way with his cool moves and love for dancing.

From that point on Matthew (or as I had a habit of calling him Mateo) became quite the little bugger, in a good way. His energy was unreal and he was always trying to show off when we played sports in the afternoon. He was a leader in his own way, the cool kid. If Mateo gave it a try, everyone else would too. One of my favorite times in the classroom was when I got to play music. They had a cable that would allow me to connect and play my ipod through an ancient TV in the classroom. Every day, the kids received a 15 minute break to go play with Miss (Kristina) Bennett, and I would take that time to regroup, clean up the class, play a few tunes and dance around the classroom. Mind you, we were in China at the end of the World Cup 2010 so all the kids wanted to talk about was sports. I (in complete honesty) had lost all interest in the World Cup since all of the teams I wanted to win were eliminated in the first round. Nonetheless, I had been jammin away in my own classroom when Mathew came bursting through the door, sweaty and out of breath. He immediately flashed this ginormous smile and started dancin' on stools. As the rest of the class followed I realized that they too had positive reactions to the music that was being played. From that point on, I tried to incorporate "Wavin' Flag" into as many activities as I could.

Mateo was your average, aggressive boy. We would play games of "flyswatter" and somehow Mateo's competition would always end up on the ground. He was always the sweatiest kid at the end of the day, and always the one to be the center of attention. There was one class day when Mateo didn't show up. Though I thought it was odd, I knew that there was always a kid or two missing from class. Fifteen minutes into my lesson, Miss (Danielle) Liu bursts into my door and asks about the whereabouts of some of my boys because a handful of hers were missing. Ironically, seconds later Mateo and one other student came gliding into the classroom door, trying their best to sneak in. Covered in sweat, one carrying a basketball in his hand, there was no doubt why they had been late to class. Miss Liu ran to her class to grab her boys that had also joined in on the fun. "Miss Kayla, these boys are very late. What must we make them do so that they will never be late again? I think we should make them all perform 'happy birthday' for the classes." And that they did. Sheepishly and stumbling over the words (we had learned it the day before) the basketball boys performed Happy Birthday for class Summer Dream and class All-Star Monkeys (Miss Liu's class).

Summer Dream proud of their Christmas Tree. Of course Mateo is holding it.

In the curriculum that we were teaching a "secret word" game would sometimes be an option for class.This quickly became one of my favorite activities to teach because I could be as crazy as I wanted and the students would have to reciprocate. The gist is that every student would draw a piece of paper with a 'secret word' on it (there are maybe like, 10 words). They would then have to read the given passage and highlight/underline every time their word is used. I then, as the teacher would read the passage aloud and every time I read one of their secret words they would have to make a sound. Now, I'm not talking like a pipsqueak noise. I'm talking like a full belly gut grunt. Think Tim Allen in Home Improvement, and then double that. Anyways, the kids would have to identify all the words and then make a sentence out of all the secret words. I know, not as cool as the full belly gut grunt. The best part about it was that I, as the teacher, could stop and continue to repeat their word if their grunt wasn't up to par. On either the last or second to last day, we played this secret word game in my class. I don't think I have ever had so much fun in my life. The two paragraph reading passage took us a good half hour to get through because I kept pushing my students for better full belly gut grunts. I have never seen my kids laugh so much either. Right from the beginning their grunts were not what I expected, so i didn't move on until I was pleased. Oh the poor shy quiet ones, I made them come out of their shell that day. I might have been out of control, getting in a few of their faces like a drill sargent (only to the ones who I knew could take it. I'd end up getting two inches from their face and we'd both start cracking up). Anyways, there was many a time that the grunt wasn't satisfying, or that a person would miss their word (I obtain the answer key so I know these things. Ahhh, the power of teachers). There came a point nearing the end that the kids were really into it, my side was hurting from laughing so hard, and we were just having fun as a class. Matthew and Kristy (who I'll talk about next time) were paired together with the secret word "a". I, knowing that it was coming up, made eye contact with the two of them while reading the given passage. I watched as Matthew, in his oober excitement to please me with his full belly grunt, leaped up before it was time to speak. Only, half of him leaped up. His torso and upper body were so ready, but his legs must not have gotten the mental 'go' because they stayed put. This resulted in an unbalance of weight for his poor tiny stool, which quickly collapsed behind him, Mateos body soon following. Now mind you, I was the only one seeing this because Mateo was in the very back of the classroom. The following crash scared the tar-nation out of the rest of the class.

And this, my friends, poses a moral debate. Someone is potentially injured. Do you laugh? I can tell you this, I certainly did, after I realized that Matthew was laughing too.

There was one point where we held a "LongDe talent show" for all the students. We as the teachers put together a skit and performed. I guarantee they only understood half of what we were saying, but nonetheless I have never laughed so hard in assembling a skit. Great teamwork, LongDe teachers. The amount of students we got to participate in the LongDe talent show were slim to none. However, Mateo, destined to become a famous singer, got over his stage freight to perform for the school some Chinese pop song. Yea, it was pretty adorable.

LongDe was a small city. LongDe was a street. All the peoples within a 20 mile radius knew where we were living for our time there. Our final day, after our sob fest at the closing ceremony, a fair number of our students showed up at our place to say goodbye one last time and to help us pack our things (they were so sweet). There were two students from my class, one of whom was Mateo. Good 'ole Mateo who broke all cultural barriers to give me a goodbye hug and cry in my arms. I mean, I returned the favor too. The bus driver must have thought we were nuts because the first hour or so of that bus ride, all one could hear was wails and sobs and sniffles. We waved out the window what seemed like time in slow motion. Hearts torn in two for a passion for our students and a desire for a cheeseburger. I'd take the students any day. Mateo provided for me one final memory of LongDe. As the crowd of students and administrators clustered beside the bus, they too waved and shed tears as we began to pull away. In a movie-moment, one broke free and one followed us, chasing after the bus keeping up until we reached the city limits. He ran and waved and smiled and wiped away tears, all while managing to dodge traffic in efforts to keep up with us. Watching this made the tears burn even hotter. That boy was Mateo.

-康妮

The Artist

2011-01-10T22:30:00.002-05:00

There is some sort of art within each of us. Being a music major, I feel like it is my destiny to say this, however there is a deep part of me that truely believes that everyone has the capacity to truely be an artist. The wonderful thing about art is that it can be expressed in an infinite amount of ways. Art is a true testament to the individuality within each of us. Yet it can also be a tool to see universal humanity. To truely understand it, one must not have the skills to judge, but the skills to see.

Jenna is a girl with a vision. She tries at English very hard and plans on going to school to be a doctor. But Jenna also has a love of music, and a love of art. She was designated our class artist the very first day of camp through a series of activities and I learned very early on as a teacher that she would be a help to me in the classroom.

Allow me to fill you in on what was to happen the first day of class. English Language Institute (ELIC) set up a curriculum that would allow us the first day of class to determine the English capability of the students. We had a series of games and testing that we would use and the four of us teachers would work together to evaluate where the students were to be placed. After the division, we had a few introductory games and activities planned for only a half hour of time before lunch. Please do not be fooled, as this is what certainly did not happen our first day of class. LongDe Middle School #1 held an opening assembly for the arrival of the foreign teachers (...us) at which we were introduced to the student body as a whole. We got to sit in these huge leather chairs at a fine table before the students, making us feel like ambassadors for the UN. There was a constant hum of Chinese whispering among the student body, and a vast number of points and giggles as the students saw us for the first time. At the very end of the ten minute assembly, we were told by the school English teacher, Mr. Liu, that the students will be going to their classes. We explained to him that we had our own process for dividing up the classes. "Oh no, no, the students have classes of their own. They are already there."

"Mr. Liu, we have a process to divide students by their level of English"

"Oh. Well. The students have already been divided for you"

Testing process out the window, we now had 10 minutes to plan for a three hour lesson period, teaching students we didn't even recognize, none of us ever before running our own classroom. We didn't even have their textbooks for them. This was the first of may times that God taught us not to abide by our own plans.

As we walked down the hallways we could see the students sitting properly in their seats (mind you this was the only time...) and as we progressed Kristina, our team leader handed us random rosters to go with the classroom we were passing. Miss Jane, Class One. Miss Liu, Class Two. Miss Kayla, Class Three. Miss Stephanie, Class Four. As I and my fellow teammates entered our classroom,the kids broke out into a thunderous applause.

Only the Lord knows how we survived that first day. I barely remember giving each of my students a speech/writing sample. In fact, the only part about that day that is vividly clear is when I had them gather in a circle as we thought of a class mascot. It is so important for the Chinese to have a symbol to unite behind, to have something that brings them together. After minutes of looking at each other and audible whispers in Chinese, I thought it was a hopeless attempt. That is, until one girl, Zhang Jingjing (Jenna, as she later picked her English name to be), inquired about the name "Summer Dream." I was immediately stunned at the suggestion, my immediate response was to ask "why?"...so I did. In very broken English she explained that this camp over the summer was like a dream come true for them all, and it made them very happy. Really and truely, I kid you not, it was a movie moment, because as I looked around the classroom, a wave of smiles, head-nods and approvals slowly made it's way around every single one of their faces. And that, my friends is how Summer Dream came to be.

Jenna, as I previously mentioned, was my class artist. The second day of classes we had a combined lesson about the American holiday of Thanksgiving. While planning this lesson, we as the teachers, decided it would be fun to tell the story of Thanksgiving with actions and sound effects. "Pilgrims", "Native Americans", "Thanksgiving", and "Turkey" were the special words of the story that had sounds effects to accompany them. Guess who's class got the pleasure of being the gobbling turkeys? Yes, that would be the Crazy Miss Kayla class (trust me, I was so excited about gobbling up a storm. I have personally never gobbled so hard in my life). Of course, we had to have a turkey to represent us, so Jenna set to work. We also had a class banner that came with us everywhere. I thought it would be really representative of us if each of my students traced their hand, that way we could all be a part of the banner. I wish I could show you how proud the students were of their banner and what great respect they had for it, it was so endearing to watch every day.

Jenna was also my tomboy. Looking out at the courtyard she would be the only girl amongst the aggressive male 'futbol' game occurring. She was also my little keener. Now, in all complete honesty I had never heard of the term 'keener' before until my China experience. Simply, a keener is a student who is continually trying to impress the teacher and is the over involved student. Anything that I needed, Jenna was always there to supply it for me or to help me out.


The Summer Dream banner. We all had a "hand" in putting it together.

I was drawn to Jenna because of her unique personality. She definitely stood out in a crowd not only because she was one of the tallest girls with the purple glasses (woah--so similar to me), but also because of who she was, how she carried herself, and this confident smile and laughter that just radiated out of her. I sometimes like to think that God, when creating people, has these templates and then just tweaks them ever so slightly so that they can be adaptable anywhere world wide. With this thought, we all have 'twins' around the globe that are ridiculously similar to us by nature. Of course, we all are nurtured in different ways which also takes a toll into who we are, but the heart is made of the same foundation. I like to think that Jenna is my Chinese twin.

As she had tears in her eyes, I distinctly remember telling her before I left that when she is sad, she can simply look at the moon and know that I see the same moon she does. This cheered her up so much, knowing that she and I could continue to have in common that we see that same moon. Plus, when you think about the moon, we really aren't that far away from each other.

Dear Kayla

It is rain day, I really miss you. I remember It is a beautiful Summer that you came China time went by, It is Autumn.I think it is very quikly. How are you? It is a chance that I can write letter for.

Do you remenber you took so many photors in last day summer camp. I watch it everyday. I always talk it with Lily,Ned,Mandy,and so many classmates. We all like you. You are beauliful,funny ,and how much we love. You made us interested in English. We thanks you so much.

Time goes by.Our town is cool,I know Autumn will out. I still remenber the time when you leave.I was so sad,I want to play with you long time.I look at sky evernight .I remenber you told me if I miss you I can see star.Next year we will say bye for our middle shool.We have to study hard ,we are really bessy.

I really miss you ,I want to play with you next time.I really thanks for you giveing me a happy holiday.Kayla how about your time?Are you bessy?

It is teacher's day In Sept10th.So I want to give you my congratulation,because you are my teacher.But I also sad I can't see you and play with you again.

You are my sunshin my only sunshin, you make me happy. how much I love you .but ...

Miss Kayla we hope you happy happy happy.smile on you face in you life .We will miss you in our country.

see you next wensday.

Yous, Jenna

-康妮

Raising Helen

2011-01-04T18:49:00.000-05:00

I am currently in a series of posts that involve children I know. Children that, I believe, have the world deserve to know their story. The world deserves to know who they are, because the world would be changed by them. These are students in China, currently 16 and 17 years old. Students who have never left the mountain range in which they live. Children who have dreams and passionate hearts, just like the rest of us.

Helen is the student that I wish to highlight this time around. She wasn't the brightest student in the classroom, in fact her face was most often a rosy shade of pink because she frequently blushed when speaking English. I was even hesitant to call on her for the embarrassment she would seem to display (I got over that real quickly though. I soon found myself having the most fun embarrassing the quiet students). Helen was meek and mild, and not the most popular amongst her peers, Helen holds a special place for me. Helen was a passionate student, and passion was something that wasn't in the eyes of every student.She was a very lovable person and expressed love openly.

It is in Chinese culture to be very touchy with those of your same gender. Walking down the street holding hands or giving piggy back rides is very common among students. Touching is a sign of friendship. This is something that we were prepped about before arriving. I had come to my second week and found myself slightly discouraged that my students hadn't yet been comfortable in giving me a hug, or holding my hand. Helen was the first to "break the spell". I found myself engaged in a conversation with her, and before I knew it, both of my hands were clutched in hers and passion and excitement bubbled out of her eyes. From that point on, Helen was my hugger, most often attached at my hip, and looking at me with love in her eyes.

Perhaps one of my favorite days teaching was the day we taught about South Africa. Our curriculum was beautiful in that every day we focused on a different country and learned about customs, language and focused on "Our World: United". South Africa just so happens to be a country that I am also passionate about, so I took the opportunity to teach my students a song from the country, entitled Njalo. Little did I know that this song would soon be a favorite among my Chinese students, and we would find ourselves singing it as we walked across the courtyard, or as we walked to lunch. Helen was entranced by singing in class, and always an active participant for whatever crazy Miss Kayla was doing. During our day on South Africa, I saw it inevitable to teach about apartheid. Although this was not a part of the curriculum, I took some time to explain apartheid to my students. They were completely clueless in regards to this part of the nations history, many of them appalled that a nation would have such segregation and hatred. And, although they couldn't express themselves in English, it was clear by the looks on their faces that they had learned, and that they were impacted.

We spent another day discussing the nation of India and focused on the abundant population of poor people that are in that country. We had a "special guest" visit our room, and the students were able to meet Mother Theresa in person (aka, Miss Stephanie). During this lesson day we also had the opportunity to discuss what goals and ambitions were, and what our students wanted to be when they 'grew up'. I distinctly remember Helen rising to share with tears in her eyes, saying that when she grows up she is going to travel to India to help the poor people, just like Mother Theresa. Throughout the course of our China adventure, she would remind me of the poor people of India, and all the help that is needed there. This touched my heart hard core, knowing that these students themselves were all poverty stricken- yet they refused to see themselves that way. Instead some had a desire to help those who were in worse conditions than their own. That is compassion, and that is love, and that is something you don't see everyday.

I was able to pull a sample of Helen's writing to share. Being the collector that I am I have various stacks of memories from my past summer. Somewhere there are writing samples that I took the first day of camp, and I wish so terribly that I could find them. I wish that I could demonstrate the improvement that this summer camp provided for these students. Nonetheless, the following is a reflection done by Helen about her favorite memory of Summer Camp.

"Time goes by. I'm very happy during these days. I have learned a lot. So I'm grateful to all of you. I very like Miss Kayla's class and listening she sing songs. I love Miss Bennett's games. especially during the classes when we were tired. I like all dances Miss Bennett, Miss Stephanie, Miss Liu, and Miss Jane, and Miss Kayla taught us.I love all kinds of activities you taught us. I also like the American birthday and we learn lot of about it. If we had enough time, I wanted to stay with you all the time. Finally thank you for teaching us a lot. I best wishes you. Happy every day and all the best. I love all of you.

-Helen."

I hope with all my heart that I one day will turn on the CBS Evening news to find Helen in India, to find her helping others. I hope and pray that she follows her heart and loves the world with all the passion that's bundled up inside her.

-康女

Oh, Jaime...

2010-12-30T23:02:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was supposed to be an ordinary day. That didn't end up happening because I awoke to find an email in my inbox. Now, please be aware that I receive emails every day, however I received one from 风中烟云. I am well aware that hardly anyone I know is literate in Chinese, to many these look like just a bunch of "Chinese stuff". I learned very quickly that these Chinese characters are the name of one of my most beloved students, Jaime.

Growing up I was never a fan of "teachers pet" or having favorites in a classroom (even though on several occasions I was one of them ;)) . However, this summer having a classroom of my own, I realized that it is nearly impossible to not have a favorite or two... or five. There are just particular students that you are naturally drawn to as an educator. Jaime was most definitely a favorite. Perhaps I'll take a blog post to dedicate towards each one of my faves from this summer. The world should know their story. Jaime is something special.

Jaime, Jaime, Jaime, where to even begin. Jaime is a poor farm boy. His parents are farmers in a small town outside the small city to LongDe. He lives at LongDe #1 Middle School and takes the bus home on weekends. He lives away from his family and is the oldest of two. (The one-child rule is not as strongly in effect in the countryside of China. The term 'countryside' would be an understatement in describing where we were). Because Jaime lives at the school we had the occasion to eat lunch with him and a few other students who stayed at the schools cafeteria for lunch. He was always eating rice, his nose always dripping because of its ridiculous spice. He would tell me his dreams of becoming a soldier for his country when he grows up. He would look me in the eyes and say "I want to be a man of honest."

Oh, Jaime's eyes. Our team would have nicknames for various students as we discussed them every other hour of the day. We would refer to Jaime as "Jaime with the sparkling eyes". Not that there was another Jaime to distinguish him from, but Jaime's eyes just sparkled in this way...it would be a disgrace to not credit them in his title. I would get lost in Jaime's eyes (not that I sat there and stared at him all day) but he was one of very few male students who would actually look me in the eye, as I was A.) a female, and B.) a teacher in a higher status than them. Jaime had a tender spirit, he was quiet and not attention seeking, yet he was a leader, and I could see it in my classroom. He was nearly always the first one done with any assignment, and his puppy eyes would follow me around the room as I checked his classmates work. When I would arrive at his desk, he would gleam and hand me his work, so proud to show me what he had done. Although there were plenty of mistakes, he was most often correct or had the general gist of what was correct.

Jaime, like all the other boys, had a love for anything sports, and a knack for messin' around, the same way teenage boys do here in America. Our final day, us teachers wanted to celebrate so we brought three cakes to our final day of class. It is Chinese custom not to eat the cake, but to wear it. As teachers, we weren't thinking ahead and 5 of us verses 80 students turned out to be...messy. In my pursuit of my students, I was blindsided by a handful of frosting in the face by non other than, Jaime. He was so proud that he was able to get me and made faces at me the rest of the day, the same way a younger brother would tease an older sister.

One of our class projects was to make a banner of all the things that we had learned during English Camp. The kids were instructed to use one piece of paper, and only use one side so we could turn it into a collage. How many sheets did Jaime use? Two. Did he write on both sides? Yes. Did he stay on task? No. But at the end of the day, he approaced me, a beaming smile and sparkling eyes "Miss Kayla, I make this for you." Two pieces of construction paper were loosely taped together. On one side, two hearts overlapping, like a venn diagram. One labeled, China, the other, USA. Written below, "I learn English, I learn how to appreciate another culture." On the back, a letter addressed specifically to me:

"Dear Miss Kayla,

I'm very happy to attend summer camp and I'm very happy to meet you! To be honest.

You are a great teacher. I'm proud of you! especially your personality. Although. the time is not long.

Also, you are friendly to us. from you careful teach. i learned many.
I realized multiculture all over the world.

and i learned many English skills that how to study English.

I think you will be leave us in the days but I'll never forget the time that we get along with.

and I hope you can give you email for me we can talk each other in the future.

That's all. Thank you!

-Jaime"

This was one of the 'smile moments' we teachers shared in our office. Everyday after class we as a group would take about a half hour to gloat about our students and share the hilarious and heartwarming things that occurred in our classrooms. Jaime would continually tell me how proud he was of me. I don't think it quite sunk in that I was the one who was so proud of him.

One of our last days we had some free time in the building. I walked into the classroom to find Jaime and some fellow boys having fun on the chalkboard, writing Chinese characters. Upon requesting that I possibly learn one or two the boys immediately flocked to my learning aid. We were having fun "you very quick, very good", and they very much were enjoying the chance to 'teach teacher.' One boy (not a student of mine) then asked what my Chinese name was. I informed them that I had no Chinese name. At this, their eyes bulged and they immidiately begain babbling in Chinese, fingers pointing at different parts of me, fits of laughter, head nods and drawings on the chalkboard. I said "Jaime, what is going on?" "We give you name. We want it to be for you." They progressed to give me the name kang ni (康女). Kang means health, and ni is a common name given to a girl. "Health, for your energy and personality that is special," said Jaime.

Our final afternoon at LongDe #1 involved a lot of tears, a lot of hugs, and an hour long photoshoot with all the officials and half of the city. In the craziness of the paparazzi, gathering our things and exchange of gifts (note--gifts are HUGE in China) I lost the opportunity to say a final goodbye to some of my students. As we walked the long way back to our hotel, I silently noted to myself that Jaime was one of these students. It became something I was silently torn up about as we ate a final dinner with the school officials. Several courses, dice games, and cigarettes later, the school officials decided that we were tired and had to head back to our hotel (yes, I said that right--its the way things work in China, ask me about it sometime). Us teachers, walking down the street were taking in all of the maddness and beauty that was around us. We talked about how we didnt want to leave, our highlights of the day and whatnot. We were interrupted by a distant "Miss Kayla...". It came from accross the street. It was dark outside, anyone could have said it. I stopped to turn, and who was running towards me but Jaime. Through all the moments in China, this was one of my biggest God-moments. He was allowing me to say my final goodbye. Jaime and I hugged on the street. And we said our goodbye. And we both walked away with misty, sparkling eyes.

I don't know why I fell so in love with Jaime, but I hope to keep his memory and spirit alive in who I am, in the stories I share. I have no doubt that he will grow up to be an honest man.

-康女

where are you christmas...

2010-12-24T00:13:00.007-05:00

Have you ever been stuck in a thought? Stuck in a mindset that continues to remind you every other minute of a particular thing or concept? I think that it is safe to say that this has happened to most people, the human mind is a complexity that I can merely pretend to know about. It's one of those things that we'll never know every detail about, and therefore 'tis fun to simply imagine truths about it, just because no one can really prove them wrong.

Perhaps it is six months later that I am debriefing my China experience. Perhaps it is six months later that I am actually allowing it to change me the way that I know it has. I am a native of Rochester, New York. Yes, quite the snow country. Home of many people, home of Kodak, Susan B. Anthony, and the more modern day famous tidbit we take ownership for is the eastern coast phenomenon, "Wegmans." Now, if you have never been to a Wegmans allow me to inform you. It is a grocery store on crack. I grew up with Wegmans, it has always been down the street since I can remember. Little did I know that so many others did not live the life of which I took for granted.

When I arrived at college all the talk was of the newly opened Wegmans a few towns over. Luckily for me, it wasn't too far to get a taste of home. It was at one point during my sophomore year (oh my, 2 years ago) that I went to church alone. Being the introvert that I am and my peculiar means of entertainment, I decided to just take a drive after church. A nice Sunday drive, that's what they did decades ago. Of course I ended up getting myself lost at various points, yet I was always able to find a familiar road. Well, before I decided to call it quits I happened to drive past the newly built Wegmans. I decided to stop in and was unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion. I stood in line at the sub shop (ps-sidenote- a sub from Wegmans will change your life, you'll despise every Subway you look at for the mere shame it brings itself). At this sub shop I was invisibly struck with memories of myself and my family, much much younger squeezing and screaming, driving the woman behind the counter mad as we tried to order 5 subs at once. We had to order fast so that we could make it home in time for the Steelers game...that may or may not have been on TV due to the 3 channels we received, and for Rochester's proximity to the Buffalo Bills...nonetheless it was always a gamble whether or not we would actually get to watch the Steelers, but it still was a thrill every week.

While standing in line I was moved to tears. And for some odd reason I pulled out my phone and called my dad. I stepped out of line for fear of causing a scene. People in line would think that I had a severe reaction to the horseradish. My dad, always ecstatic to answer the phone joined in my emotion as I just stood before the sub shop, hustle and bustle around me, but in my own little world.

I recant this because today I had a similar experience in Wegmans. A similar experience in that I was experiencing memories and moved to tears. I was thinking of the orange lady on the corner in China, who we would buy our oranges and apples from. Only twice. Our ice cream lady, whom we would visit every day after school, and reward our teaching with Chinese ice cream, one kuai apiece. She was floored that foreigners would purchase her ice cream. Language barrier, yes, but we were able to connect with this woman, and we were ever so grateful for her ice cream...and such a variety!

Today, I was moved to tears because I was tormented. I was so overwhelmed with the hustle and bustle of this holiday season, seeing mountains upon mountains of tomatoes, lettuce, pineapples, and so many isles of box, after can, after package of stuff that will be thrown away. So that we for a day can stuff our faces a little bit more than usual and praise God for how blessed we are. I was thinking about how excited a starving child would be to have just one of the bagels that was sitting in the basket, or just one of the cheesesticks in the package of 24. I was so overwhelmed with how much consumption was going on around me I began to get dizzy and see stars. And then my eyes got hot, and my face became wet. This is what happens when thoughts recount over and over inside your mind. The question I ask myself is, 'what am I going to do about it?'

So I ask and challenge you this holiday season to think of our festivities a little bit differently. To a homeless child, Christmas is just another day to survive, another day to find food. There's nothing special about it. To me, knowing that someone out there must feel and experience that, makes me feel and experience that too.

"We have enough for everyone's need, but never enough for everyone's greed."--Gandhi

Team LongDe 1 with our "Ice Cream Lady".

China or Genetics

2010-12-21T23:46:00.008-05:00

Every day, we are bombarded with questions. We are bombarded with information. People like me tend to replay these questions over and over again internally, searching for an answer that is ambiguous. Of course, I know that I will never reach the answer, but that doesn't stop me from trying. We live in a society of "try everything", "do everything" and "be successful". But replaying these questions is more than just about finding answers to have an answer. It's about finding an answer that will help me discover who I am created to be, and by Whom I was created by.

This past summer I had a life changing experience in the poverty stricken city of LongDe, China. I taught English to a classroom of 20 high school aged Chinese students, none of whom had ever met a white person before in their life. As a team, we taught them songs, games, and childhood, as childhood is stripped away in Chinese society by the ever-pressing rigorous academics of the College Entrance Exam. Upon arriving we were talked to about the importance of these exams, and how students would be receiving their scores within the next few days. The suicide rate would be dramatically increasing while we were there. I envisioned in my head hundreds, thousands of Chinese students, years younger than I, taking their own life because of a score. Because a score deemed them not good enough for success. Because of the shame a score can bring to them, and their families.

At first it was easy to compartmentalize. What happened on that side of the world can stay on that side of the world, but that experience changed me, and that could not be contained for long. My issue was getting it out, having an outlet, having people around me who were willing to simply listen. Processing never happened, and people never came. But who I am still lives inside and is still forever changed, forever consumed with a love, passion, and concern for the hurting, the innocent, and the helpless.

I find coming back to this webpage which I have ignored for months completely spiritually hilarious in some regards. I say this because it's kind of like a prophesy as to what this summer has taught me and to who I am growing to be. Yes, I do indeed love people very much, and through months and months of difficulty, spiritual wrestling, questioning, and personal doubts and fights, lots has truely come together. The path that I walk is truely straight and narrow. I believe that as followers of Chirst, we are all called to this path. A very few take it, and that saddens me. We've lost the picture, the vision of what it means to be like Christ, and instead we fill our lives with traditions and acts, and half-hearted prayers that disillusion us into being followers of Christ. To truely love the poor, we must know the poor. We must attempt for some type of understanding and community that is beyond putting money in a basket. China is heavy on my heart.

So I ask, is family made up of who you are genetically related to, or those who share your heart? In China, I felt closer to many than I have ever felt before, even though I have spent years of life with those whom I call 'family'. Oh China, what am I to do with you?

Where do I belong? Where do I belong? Where do I belong? Where do I belong?

2009-11-29T12:31:00.005-05:00

Figured it would be a time for a two month update. So lets get this show on the road.
I knew that this semester would come with it's good times and it's bad, as do all semesters. So theres been some really high highs and really low lows. I'm immersed in the college student life and in the Messiah life. Busy with academics, president of Concert Choir, jazzsingers, work study, RA, and friends. Concert choir is going to Ireland which is oh, so exciting, and academics keep getting pushed further and further back on the list of priorities. There was a time in my life where the grade was everything, where I would base my self worth on whatever number or letter appeared at the top of a paper or on a report card. And now... I don't. At all. I'd much rather spend my time with people, and doing things with and for them.

So what has been some of the lows of the semester? Some, I'm not allowed to talk about, others have been internal battles. Funny thing-- if youre fighting yourself, part of you is going to have to lose. It's a 'no-way-out' or catch 22 ordeal. Totally me. But a lot of wonderful times have come from wonderful people. People whom I love, but as I mentioned in the previous posting, still make me very tired. It is SO possible for one of your strengths to wear you out. This I've experienced firsthand.

But lots of good has come out of everything, and I'm sure theres more to come. Keepin' faith. Mostly stable friendships which I'm hoping will continue even after college ends. And experiences that have impacted and shaped me for like, ever. I'm pretty sure its a mindset thing. Taking the positives out of every experience and using them to grow. Thats something not everyone can do, which I guess I take for granted. I take for granted the ability to ask questions. It was brought to my attention recently that perhaps people are scared to ask.... really?

Oh my goodness, so we went on staff retreat to Chad Frey's family cabin, way back in September, rode 4 wheelers and got to know each other so much better, and laughed so so so much. As is any time that the Mountain View staff gets together. Laughter is so good. And now Thanksgiving just passed, and that was quality time with family and more laughter.

As Ive said before, a picture is worth a thousand words, so these will have to suffice for my lacking of words at this time.Beautiful mountains, and four wheelers

Junior Concert choir skit at retreat: remix of Single Ladies. October '09

Beautiful concert choir officers at our beautiful retreat day. October '09Part of the Mountain View Staff at Chipoltle. Dress up like a burrito= FREE DINNER! October '09

Thanksgiving '09. The girl grandaughters with Grandma.

Full of Glee.

2009-09-23T20:19:00.006-04:00

This is almost funny. Actually, I'm kind of laughing right now. Contrary to whatever conceptions you may or may not have, please be aware that I don't have commitment issues. It seems as though every 2 months brings about the 'reflection time' in me. Alas, I guess here we go again.

Well, instead of 900 smelly soccer and basketball boys invading campus, its instead approximately 2,800 college students, and boy does it feel good... to have everyone back, that is. The whole concept of being a junior, being more than halfway done with my college career is far beyond daunting. And Im not even a senior. After this theres no more asking "what grade are you in, sweetie?". Instead it's "what are you doing with your life?" I know for a fact that Im far too immature to answer this question because I'm not even fully aware of who 'me' is yet. This time in life is, to many, the biggest highlight they'll ever achieve or experience. Here I am, and theres so much potential to go downhill. In many ways, it makes me sad, so I'm not going to think about it.

I'm involved in ResLife again which was a huge highlight of last year, and is again a major priority of life at this time. To say that I absolutely love it would be an understatement. Just to put things into prospective. I have wonderful residents, these girls are so fun and energetic and I love just getting to know them all day by day. I'm excited for what the year has in store, all the activities we'll get to do, living together (in community...thank you, Messiah), conversations to be held, etc. I love this stuff.

So first impressions of this semester. We're about 3 1/2 weeks in. And quite frankly, it's been weird. I was discussing with a dear friend, Sarah Timlin, about what the heck has been going on, and together we came to the scholarly agreement that this semester has just been weird. And it seems as though that is how it's going to progress. There have been so many unexpected twists and turns, scenarios, conversations, and happenings that I was totally not expecting. Not that they're bad things. At least not for me. It's come to my attention that there are a lot of hurting hearts here on Messiah's campus, and quite frankly, thats not ok with me. Lots of people struggling internally, and externally with major life issues and trust me, not just the health care debate. I'm really glad that God has granted me these opportunities to intervene in so many peoples lives, and that He's provided some legit people for me to begin building the relationships with that I've been craving for 2 years now.

I mentioned earlier about my 'major crisis'. It crossed my mind just yesterday again. Music Education. WHAT is THAT? I ask that as dramatically as I possibly can. I mean, I love music, I really and truely do. It is a passion of mine that I will carry with me for the remainder of my life. However, it by no means is a natural ability for me. I have to work really hard for... well, prettymuch everything. But, people come naturally. I like people. I find them fascinating. Watching, listening, observing, and interacting with them is something that I find a lot of enjoyment in. Oh-- one small detail, I'm an introvert. Is it possible for your natural ability to wear you out?

Academically, this semester is awesome. As far as favorite class, Choral Conducting takes the crown. I've always loved conducting. I'm really thankful for Mrs Merkel always forcing us to conduct with her along with any piece we were singing. I mean, it was the basics, but she was always so fun to watch, and I wanted to be like her in every way, hence the music education. But fond memories of senior year Jae and I taking over womens choir while Mrs. Merkel was out for weeks, leading rehearsals, conducting, and working at new music. THATS what I loved. Ok, maybe music ed. is where I'm supposed to be. I'm really good at picking debates with myself, if you havent noticed.
What's also awesome about this semester is that I have credits to spare, meaning that I'm taking 6 credits worth of HDFS courses, Foundations of Marriage and Family, as well as Families in America. Both forcing me to do a lot of thinking about my own family background and experiences, which honestly I dont have the time to even begin unpacking that box. But it's been quite the experience.

Life is full of experiences. These past 3 1/2 weeks have been full of many for me; unexpected and memorable to say the least. "Me" is a work in progress and I think that it's safe to say that perhaps small (and i mean very small) pieces are beginning to fall into place, 'break out of the ground' if you will. Like a plant. I'm terrible with metaphors. (Technically, I think it would be a similie because I used 'like or as'. Why does high school English feel like so long ago...?)

Theres a new love in my life. It's my Nikon D40 (Yea, some of you just got really excited and were thinking 'its about time'. Patience). Pictures are fantastic. So here's some beauties to share. Just giving you some 'snapshots' of my life these past two months, so you can see all the excitement you've been missing. A picture is worth 1,000 words, so I'll let them do the talking.

"Eventually". It helps us practice patience...

2009-07-27T17:43:00.006-04:00

In some regards, I consider this a fail blog. But please, by no means associate this fail-ness with my ability to commit to things. Really, I'm a commit-er. More like an over commit-er, and as we all know, there are just those things in life that always end up on the back burner. Try as we might to put them first, or to just get them done and out of the way, they always end up shoved to the back of the line, not unloved, by any means, just not a priority.

The last shall be first and the first shall be last...

That was a longer rant than I expected, all just to explain why I haven't really been keeping up with this. I have a journal to prove that I have been alive and living life over these past {almost} two months. In the meantime though, I've been looking at thousands of other blogs keeping myself occupied. Most of these internet findings are to amuse myself as I sit on the computer for approximately four or more hours a day. I never thought I'd say this... but facebook just gets boring after awhile. And somehow peering into the lives of strangers (only seeing as much as they allow me to see through blogging) is somewhat satisfying and fascinating. It is amazing how creative some people are through writing and how some people are able to do this for a living! I can't even imagine... well, maybe I could. But I'm out of practice.
And then I realize how much of their lives people put on these things and I get weirded out. My life is not a public display piece. So perhaps, subconsciously that's why I've been avoiding this thing.

I make a lot of excuses. Or perhaps their just chains of thought, cause and effect. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

Yesterday I experienced more excitement than I have in a very long time. I am the proud new owner of a Nikon D40, my first SLR camera. I've been looking at this purchase for almost 3 months now, so it was a very exciting day, indeed. Now I just need to practice, which I'm sure will be at Erica's graduation party coming up. Just what I need... a new hobby. At least I'll have good photos to prove it.

So Messiah College is currently invaded by about 900 smelly, high-energy, loud, soccer and basketball boys. I swear there is a green cloud hovering above campus, the odor is nauseating, and it's only day one. Lord knows that having them all bathe properly would be nothing short of a miracle. It's even more fun when we all eat in Lottie together at the same time, even better when they all decide to bring their trays up at the same time. Poor dish room dosen't have a chance. My good deed for the day involved cleaning up the trays that were just laying on the floor and on tables, left by impatient kids. I was in the dining hall for 25 minutes, in that time 5 broken plates. Must be a record...

I sit here and phone for 4 or more hours a day. I get to talk to the most awkward, fun, and mean people this country has to offer. I love the admissions office. I could totally work here. Someone remind me again why I am music education? Did I pick my major too soon? Aren't people supposed to have a 'major' crisis during their freshman year?!
I always was a late bloomer.

Song of My Heart

2009-06-07T18:38:00.004-04:00

A month ago today was duct tape wars, the ever popular (and one of the few) traditions of Messiah College. A whole month has gone by? Has time always flown that fast? I mean, it was reading day, and Amanda and I laid on my bed for nearly 3 hours just talking, laughing, and re-living some of our favorite moments from the past year. "Par-deeeee". I was frantically finishing my Music History I paper with Sarah and Alicia in the library. The night before my staff and i danced the rain after South Side Bash was rained out, jammin' away, getting soaked to the core, and not having a care in the world. It's the moments like that that will forever be crystal clear in my memory, while everything else may be a blur. I'm trying hard to remember the good moments, the ones that someday will really matter.

These past couple of days have been a little rough due to a spontaneous upper respitory infection that came from no where. Runny nose, hacking cough, and congestion is exactly what I wanted. The doctor said that we're apparently still not out of the 'cold season'. Seriously? It's June. It feels pretty warm to me.
But, I am a very blessed child of God. I'm well aware. And I am very thankful. I haven't been sick this entire academic year--not even a sniffle! (exclude the broken leg). So, I am thankful for this upper respitory infection, for bringing me a wonderful new symptom everyday. How curtious. Thank you.

Weekends at Messiah. Some would call them boring. I have thus far found them absolutely wonderful. Full of sunshine, reading, books, music, piano, and crafts. A good portion of my afternoon was spent in the Mountain View classroom, one of my favorite spots on campus. My music theory IV project involved the writing of a contempory piece. I may have taken it to the extreme, but it was so worth it. My piece was comprised of 8 parts, each part titled after one of my staff members, the music representing them, their personality, and our relationship. At one of our last gatherings I told them about it and told them that I'd be willing to play each of their songs. One of the hardest things I've ever done in my life... dont ask why, its an excruciatingly long story. However, they all seemed to appreciate it. I miss them all an aweful lot, especially recently. I mean, I'm rooming with Becca this summer, but we hardly get to see each other because of our crazy work schedules. I just want to be a group again. To see each and every one of them, give them a hug and see how they really are. It's been 3 long weeks.

Not a piano session goes by when I don't play every one of their songs. (thats like, every other day). All 8 of them. Well, now theres 9. I originally hadn't written a song for myelf because I think that I would have a really biased opinion of my personality, and my own relationship with myself. And plus, I had already gone above and beyond what the project required, why spend more time writing a song about me? lame. Well after I was playing everyones songs, out of nowhere, one just came to me. Never does that happen. And rarely do i write a song unless I have to. I worked it for awhile. But its a song that I just kept playing and playing, and i dont think that I can get sick of it. I realized on my way to dinner that it's my song. My song. God must have given it to me. I know He did. And it's something I'm passionate about, it moves me to tears.

So, thats something im excited about. I know that it's me. I wouldn't have been able to write it a month ago because I've come so far, I was a differnt person. I'm learning who I am. More importantly, I'm learning who I am in God, which is turning out to be a whole lot more than I originally expected. For really, the first time in my life, i'm excited about Him. Don't get me wrong, I still have my lousy days. But reading books that are actually challanging the way I think and put things of life into different perspectives has thus far proven to be beneficial. It's more than a 'summer fling' i hope. It's good.

I need Him. It's about love. And relationships. Thats what life's about. I get it.