Conversation (Fos)

The spelling of "fos" is most definitely wrong... But, to the point - I am grateful for many a conversation that I've had here in Chuuk. There is, however, one that I'm thinking of specifically as I post this tonight: Today in Current Issue my lesson plan fell apart a few minutes before class as the youtube video that I had planned on using STILL hadn't downloaded in the three hours I had allotted for the task. This is a class I inherited halfway through the semester, so I've had ample practice winging it as I attempted to pick up where another teacher left off; still, I was annoyed at the thought that the better part of an hours work was lost and the fact that I was now not prepared for class. So, I entered the classroom and explained what we WOULD have done, had the internet cooperated, and showed them the two-and-a-half minutes of the video that HAD loaded. A video about how to respect Chuuk by respecting the environment led to conversation about what they want the outside world to know about Chuuk, to the effects of WWII on Chuuk, to their own fears and concerns about cultural loss. It's so wonderful that there exists a mutual level of comfort between my students and I that allows for honest and interesting dialogue about Chuuk and about their experiences as young Chuukese men and women. I value deeply the insight I've gained from them.

Coconuts (nu)

Whatever stereotype you have of me drinking coconuts in the islands is probably true.

Coconuts and I have become good friends out here. Cold coconut water is one of the most refreshing liquids I've ever had the pleasure of imbibing; it's appeal heightened by drinking it straight out of the nut, preferably one I've opened myself. I'm not so good at husking the straight-off the tree coconut as it requires far too much upper body strength. I can hack my way into one with a machete, if I'm patient enough to ride out the 10 or so minutes it will take me to get into it by way of that method. However, if I'm handed a husked coconut and a decent knife I am fully capable of opening it from either side, generally in a minute or less.

Coconut meat is another delightful gift of the coconut tree. Personally, I like my coconuts young. When they're older the water gets fizzy tasting and the meat is too hard. When they're young, the meat is almost gelatinous and can be slurped out of the nut; it's delicious.

And, there are a myriad of uses for the coconut other than eating. Start a fire using the husks. Moisturize your hair with the oil. Squeeze out the milk to boil your fish or flavor your breadfruit. Weave a basket with it's branches (probably to carry the coconuts you've harvested). Weave a rope with its fibers.

At 50 cents a pop, or free in many cases, they are an abundant and affordable island delicacy. Another something to be grateful to the islands for.

To Kill A Mockingbird

I'm teaching TKAM for the second time this year, in Senior Lit. I don't know if it's the fact that this is my second time teaching it, or the fact that this is my second year teaching these students, but I am finding so much joy in rereading To Kill A Mockingbird.
The lessons are timeless, it satisfies my current thirst to discuss and contemplate issues of justice, I can exercise the lit major in me in performing close readings of the text. I adore the characters; nearly to the point of feeling emotionally connected to them.

It is an all around fantastic piece of literature, and I'm grateful to Chuuk for reminding me of that.

Cool, rainy nights (Patapat = cool)

There is a major difference between falling asleep in a room that is 87 degrees and one that is 82 degrees. And all the more difference is made if there is a cool breeze blowing in through the window. A breeze might bring the temperature all the way down to 80, or, if providence is smiling down on me, 79 degrees. And any temperature below 82 is sheet worthy, so breezy nights also occasion a rare opportunity to get "cozy" under the covers. It is truly bliss.

Thank you God for a cool breeze tonight.

Singing (Kéén)

People in Chuuk can SING. And when I say that I don't just mean that they do sing, I mean that they truly CAN sing, and they do it very well. You could easily stumble across a group of six and seven year olds sitting around singing together - each taking a different part and each harmonizing perfectly. Take just about any group of Chuukese people and they would likely be able to, at the very least, sing something nice sounding if not downright beautiful. I am often embarrassed to sing too loudly next to my students because I imagine that to them not being able to sing is akin to American kids not being able to ride a bike, or tie their own shoes - everybody learns how to do it so young that to not be able to must seem strange.

And it's not just the beauty of it, it's the frequency of it. Singing is an ingrained part of the culture and people sing for weddings, funerals, church services, to show allegiance to something, to represent their cultural backgrounds, because they're in love, because they're suffering, because they want to praise God, because they want to show thanks, because they're bored. In general, I suppose it's for the same reasons that people all around the world feel compelled to sing. But here there's a beautiful normalcy and publicness to singing. Singing isn't just for people who are "good" at it, it's a manner of expression for anyone. Although, as I mentioned above, nearly everybody is good at it...

Chuukese singing makes good use of electric keyboard accompaniment, and while that holds it's own uniquely Chuukese appeal, it's nothing compared to hearing acapella or ukelele accompanied singing. Listening to my students sing without any instrumental accompaniment (when they're really putting themselves into it) is almost other-wordly. It's spine tingling and tear-inducing. To my American ears, it's shocking that a group of young people who haven't been explicitly trained in singing can join together to create sounds that are absolutely perfect.

Singing is probably one of the things I'll miss most about Chuuk, however, it's also one of the things I'll be able to most easily bring back home with me to remind me of the islands.

A lot (chommong)

It's 11:00 pm on a school night, so to reflect my weekend, I"m going to write a quick list of things I'm grateful for that I will expand upon at a later time. Here you go:

- retreats
- THE CLASS OF 2012 (I heart them like mad)
- rainy days
- a culture that doesn't mind waiting (sometimes I am not grateful for this; this weekend, I was)
- Umm...I know I already said it but...my seniors ( I'm sure I"ll have more than one post about them in the future. They are just SO. GOOD).

Boat rides (Fiti mwota)

It goes without saying that, in an island nation, boats are ubiquitous. You'd be hard pressed to stand in one spot, spin in a circle and NOT see a Yamaha outboard motor on a fiberglass boat from most places on this island. As there are no beaches near where I live, the comforting sound of outboard motors often serves as a replacement to the comforting sound of crashing waves.

Stepping onto a boat brings a whole new color to life - there are few things in Chuuk more exhilarating or more breathtaking than a good boat ride. When the weather is good - the sun is shining, the water is calm - very few things rival the feeling of flying across the water surrounded by tropical islands and sparkling blue water. The moment that motor starts up and the boat sprints away from the island, cares, concerns, worries - all surrender to the unmatched beauty of the islands, the absolute freedom of wind in your face and the rhythm of a boat gently skimming across the waves. That rhythm has created some of the most peaceful moments I've experienced in Chuuk. Add a sunset, or a flying fish skimming the surface of the water, or a rainbow stretching in a full arc from one island to another and it could hardly be more perfect.

When the water is rough, the ride looses a bit of its idyllic beauty, but for whatever it lacks in scenery it generally makes up for in adventure. The roughest boat ride I've experienced during my time in Chuuk occurred last January on the way back from a neighboring island after administering my school's entrance exam. There is a point, when curving around neighboring island Fefan, when the protective forces of the land against rougher waves abruptly gives way to a patch of open waters between Weno, Fefan and Tonoas. On this particular day, the water was rough everywhere and I was soaked from the waves within minutes of setting off for Weno from Tonoas. That, however, was nothing compared to what we faced once we rounded that crucial point on the north end of Fefan. Immediately the boat was slammed up and down by huge rolling waves. We would catch one wave, ride it up, and remain airborn for a matter of seconds before slamming back onto the water - over and over for a good thirty minutes. These kind of boat rides induce roller-coaster style stomach dropping and require snowboarder-like reflexes. You must read the waves and brace yourself accordingly - if I'm sitting on the floor of the boat, I like to sit sideways on my legs, turning them into shock absorbers as the boat slams across the waves; if I'm sitting on the bench, it's best to brace myself along the side or with my arms, lifting the tailbone during that key moment when the boat slams back down onto the water. These rides, though they can be painful, always leave me feeling exhilarated and somewhat giddy. And, as everyone from toddlers to great-grandmothers have to weather the same conditions to get to and from their homes everyday, I, as a robust young 20 something, can certainly handle it as well.

I'm grateful for the transformative power of boat rides - no matter where I'm physically traveling, a good boat ride always manages to transport me to a state of peace and exhilaration.