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.

Teaching (Kait)

I'm no stellar teacher, and I don't think teaching will be my life's pursuit - but, I am so grateful for having had the chance to be a teacher these last two years.

It's been more of a challenge than I could have imagined - not only the workload, but (especially) trying to adjust my 16 years of Western education to fit a system that floats somewhere between Western and Chuukese.

When I have moments of connecting with my students, however, or I see those who really struggle finally starting to make improvements I can stifle the challenges with a smile. In my two freshmen sections of literature there are a good 10 students who struggle immensely to keep up. Although many of these students will still fail the class this quarter, it has been wonderful to watch them increase their efforts.

I love the moments, too, when I am able to capture my student's rapt attention. For the freshmen, this happens whenever I read/recite stories. Whether it's as simple as Little Red Riding Hood or various folktales from around the world, reading outloud causes disengaged students to perk up and obnoxious students to calm down.

For the seniors, this happens as we dive into different pieces of literature and they start to make connections for themselves, or understand connections through lecture. When we read Animal Farm at the beginning of the year, students would audibly groan and protest as we read about Napoleon's evil plots to manipulate the animals. They all hated the ending because Snowball doesn't come back to save the day. They still refer to each other as comrades, on occasion (be still my literature-loving heart!).

I especially love reading To Kill a Mockingbird, which we're reading now, with the seniors. When I brought out the 370-odd page book this year, many of them took it in wide-eyed, sure that they'd never make it through a a novel so thick. But much to their delight, and even more to mine, most found within a few chapters that they were captured by the story. Not only that, but they find they can cite similarities between the rhythms of life in Maycomb and the rhythms of life in Chuuk. They can feel incensed by issues of justice presented in the novel, enlightened by Atticus' wisdom, and find humor in the antics of Jem and Scout (which I believe to be universally funny). As a literature teacher, what could be more gratifying?!?

Teaching has offered me wonderful lessons in redemption, as I watch students who failed at the end of one quarter begin again in earnest the next, determined to bring their grades up. It has shown me that high school students are an awesome group of people, and that I (me!) can be a source of encouragement, advice, and wisdom for them. Teaching has impressed upon me the huge responsibility and wonderful blessing of having a group of young people place their full trust in you. I don't know how much I've actually been successful in teaching these last two years, but (as the cliché goes), I've certainly been taught by my experience.

Community (Aramas)

(Aramas actually means "people", but you get the idea).

JVC is a program built on four pillars - faith, simple living, social justice and community. Community, in the programatic sense, refers to the other volunteers with whom one shares two years of international JV service. I have been fortunate during both years of my experience to have been blessed with excellent community. I've heard stories of very trying living dynamics among other JV communities, and (knock on wood) I have yet to experience anything awful in my community living situation.

Last year in particular, my community served a pivotal role in helping me make sense of this experience as well as serving as a huge source of joy and sanity when I felt like nothing made sense. Whether it is through an hour long conversation about culture or an impromptu dance party, community has often been an outlet for all sorts of emotions, both good and bad.

And then, there's the both the extended JV community up at Xavier and the extended volunteer community of Peace Coprs...but I'll save those for later posts.

Community also stretches way beyond my immediate living situation into the very core of Chuukese culture. Being a communal society, nearly everything in Chuuk is community-oriented. Coming from an individualistic western culture, and being a rather individualistic, independent person myself, this hasn't always been an easy or comfortable transition. However, I very much value this aspect of Chuukese culture, and have certainly benefited from it as an outsider. There is next to nothing here in which I would not be welcome to participate here. Whether it is at my host family's house or on their island, at church, at school, or at a celebration - I am always welcome to be part of what's going simply by virtue of being present.

And furthermore, you don't see the kinds of problems in Chuuk that you might see in many other societies around the world that aren't as community-oriented. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone homeless or in desperate need of food. These problems don't exist (or only but rarely, if they do) because the community steps in before they have a chance to develop. In Chuuk, what's mine is yours and if I have food and shelter, then so do you.

To sum up, I'm grateful for the ways in which my JV community has supported me these last (nearly) 20 months, and for the example of community that Chuuk has provided.

Water (Konik)

Right now it's hot, and all I can think about is the cold shower that awaits me before bed. And thankfully, I know that I'll have enough water for that cold shower.

Right now we're in the midst of the dry season (which, admittedly, is not nearly as dry as many other places around the world). This doesn't affect my roommates and I terribly, since we pump our water from a deep well, but for the majority of people in Chuuk who rely on rainwater, days or weeks without rain can start to wreak havoc on daily life.

Prior to coming to Chuuk, I didn't have to think much about water. Turn on the faucet and out it poured - drinkable and cold or hot with a mere flick of my wrist. Here, we filter our water. We keep a bucket in the shower to collect run-off water to use to flush our toilet. If our tank runs out of water, we have to plug in a pump to fill it back up - and we don't always have the power to do that at a moments notice (there have been more than a few times in which a lack of water has coincided with a lack of power, leaving us to haul water up to our apartment in buckets from the spigot below and let the mellow yellow, if you get my drift). Hot water? Definitely not (not that I often crave a hot shower here).

And, can I conclude this post without mentioning the fact that I'm surrounded by water? Like, REALLY surrounded? I think not. The lagoon and open ocean waters of Chuuk and the FSM provide food and livelihood for many. The views make for some of the most spectacular sights available in nature - anywhere. The unarguable power of the open water in bad weather, or the uber-tranquility of the glassy lagoon waters in good weather testify to the awesomeness of a higher power.

In short, water creates and tempers the rhythm of life here in Chuuk. It is a blessing to be constantly thankful for and a necessity never to be taken for granted.

Three Months of Gratitude (Unugat Maramen Kinisou)

It's official. My date of departure for Chuuk is booked and only three months away - June 12th I will part ways with these islands for the foreseeable future. In an attempt to ACTUALLY use this blog as my time dwindles down, and in an attempt to leave Chuuk in a state of gratitude for what it has given me, I've devised a goal: post a daily reflection on something from this experience for which I am grateful (I will also, when I can, add a Chuukese version of the title).

I know. Considering my posting history, a post a day is a LOFTY goal. And frankly, it won't happen everyday. I can already tell you there are two five-day periods and a handful of weekends in the next three months during which I won't have internet access. But, the goal is everyday that I have internet access, to post a few sentences. And perhaps at the culmination of those prolonged periods without, offer something longer.

It's true that this experience has been filled with ups and downs and A LOT of critical self-reflection. It has been easy to circle downwards into and endless vortex of self-deprecating questions such as "Why am I this way when I should be that way?", "Why aren't I a better volunteer?", "Does my presence here matter at all?", and so on and so forth. And then it spirals away from me into the bigger questions of "Well, why are we here, anyway?", "Am I ultimately helping or hurting by being here?". When there's so little distraction and when one is a part of a program that encourages critical reflection all. the. time., these questions never cease to push at the back of one's mind. That being said, I am making a concerted effort to make these last three months less about the existential "What are we doing here" and self-pitying "Why me?"s and more about the "Thank you, God"s (of which there have been plenty).

So, with that, my inaugural gratitude post.

I am grateful for...

1. Living somewhere I never could have imagined living prior to this experience.

When I imagined doing service abroad prior to coming here I always, always placed myself in Africa. Not once did I picture myself on a (very) small island in the middle of the Pacific. However, in being here I have been blessed with the knowledge of a culture previously completely unknown to me. I have experienced all of the joys and confusions of entering a culture with zero context and I have been blessed with an adventure I never could have planned for myself.