I just danced around my office.

Because I booked my flights for vacation in record time.

I'll be going to Vietnam to see my friend and fellow Orioles fan, Danielle.  It'll be great to see her, although it might be weird with no baseball around us.  The last time we did that, I think we were in high school...  Oh well.  It's clearly long overdue.

After Vietnam, I'll be heading to Indonesia, where I'll hang out in the capitol for a while, then head east, where there's, apparently  a volcano that's CONSTANTLY ERUPTING!  Volcano eruptions were my deepest fear as a child (one too many late night viewings of Volcano and Dante's Peak, I guess).  I had horrible nightmares about them, one of which I remember distinctly: I was trying to save my cousin from the volcano which had opened up into my church.  He was at the very top, and the volcano kept spraying lava everywhere... which was mac and cheese yellow with hairy tentacles.  (Aliens were my other big fear, also blamable on TV - you guessed it: Unsolved Mysteries.)  So, I'm putting my TV-crippled days behind me, and I'm actually very excited to go face this fear... maybe a little too excited.  Somebody should probably go with me to keep me from falling into the volcano... although, if you didn't, it would be a good way for me to prove once and for all that lava and aliens were different...

Additionally... Volcano-seeing may or may not be on my bucket list?  I don't remember... I'll have to check and add it if it's not.

But yes, I'm excited, and I'm going, and I'm (hopefully) returning to work afterward, when I will be happy, sunburnt, and maybe less jet-lagged than before.

Leave your Vietnam and Indonesia must-sees here.

Love you!

The American Dream

Do you know I have no idea what the American Dream is?  I mean, I know it used to be 2.2 kids, kept safely behind a white picket fence, but I'm not sure that still holds true.  But I firmly believe everything my textbooks taught me about how so many people immigrated to the States in order to pursue said ambiguous American Dream.

That is, I believed that until today.

Today, I was perusing a textbook at school, when I got to a section about how Korea is becoming more multi-cultural.  "Soon," I read, "Korea's population will be almost 5% foreign people who are living or working in Korea."  Don't get me started on the word "foreign."  I may be the only person who feels this way, but my hackles still go up when I hear it.  (Yes, I'm foreign, but the word itself makes me feel unwelcome.  Is "international" so much harder of a word?)  Anyway, the book provided a reason for this upswing in expats and internationals who have made Korea their permanent home.  Did it have anything to do with the failing economies in the US and EU?  No.  "Foreigners come to Korea to pursue the Korean Dream."

The Korean Dream?

I did what?

I mean, I came to Korea because I didn't want to be in America anymore.  I felt sure that I had felt G-d's nudges to go... Does that mean I was pursuing the Korean Dream?  I had been set on Korea for a while before going... so, maybe?  But, at this point, I'm pretty sure I just don't want to be in America.  Am I still pursing the Korean Dream?  Was I ever?

Then I started wondering.

Do international people living in the US feel the same way when they read about the American Dream?  I mean, some of those people come from some awful places.  But maybe it wasn't America that they specifically wanted.  Maybe they just wanted out.  Maybe it had nothing more to do with America than the fact that it's easy to get into.

I've been living here a year, and I'm still learning how egotistical being in the racial majority has made me.

These are lessons that I hope to keep with me, no matter where I end up in life.  I'd recommend the experience of living as a racial minority to anyone, even though it can be absolutely gut-wrenching sometimes, but that's the reason to do it.  People can be so horrible to each other and never realize they're doing it.  In fact, I know I used to say things because I thought I was being nice, when, in reality, I was dehumanizing an entire people group.

And it's not about being color-blind, because, then, we tend to act as if everyone were like us - the same customs, habits, and the like - but, the truth is, we're not all alike.  It's about being loving and accepting, no matter what the person brings to the table.  It's not our place to judge; it's our place to love.  There's a lot more I could add to define that, but, rather, I'll just leave you with this quote, which happens to be one of my favorites and inspired an entire term paper:

[W]e must at least return to what is for Descartes the first passion: wonder.  This passion has no opposite or contradiction and exists as though for the first time.  Thus man and woman, woman and man are always meeting as though for the first time because they cannot be [exchanged] one for the other…Whatever identifications are possible, one will never exactly occupy the place of the other – they are irreducible one to the other.  -Luce Irigaray

I like oatmeal cookies.

Why? Because they're nice to share with friends, especially when paired with hot chocolate.

Why else? Because my momma sent me an oatmeal cookie mix to enjoy.

Why else? Because since I can eat sugary oatmeal in mushy form, I think it's perfectly acceptable that I ate 8 oatmeal cookies and a slice of pepper jack cheese for dinner tonight. At least this way there's egg and dairy involved.

Judge all you want, but I bet my dinner made me happier than yours did.

Middle School Sports Day - Sneak Peek

I'm not ready to put all my Sports Day pictures up yet, but I wanted to give you a sneak peak at a couple of my favorites!

Everland!

The same Saturday that I went to the art museum, I also got to go to Everland, which is Korea's attempt at creating its own Disney World.  It reminded me of Disney in a few ways, but it mostly just made me want to go to Busch Gardens.  I rode a wooden coaster - the first one that didn't leave my whole body in pain, but my leg slid out of joint while on it, so that hurt all day, but it's better now, so the memory is slowly being cast into a different light. :)  So, now I'm calling on you to be the judge.  What theme park does this remind you of?

The whole group at the entrance

My traveling buddies.

The decorations at the entrance reminded us of Disney's HalloweenTown.

More Halloween decorations

Lee Ellen and me, waiting in line with our hair doodads, which aren't so ridiculous in the park.

There was a laser-light show at the end of the night!

Like I said, it was fun, but Busch Gardens, VA is still my favorite.  What about you?  What's your favorite theme park?

I'm getting the itch.

I'm getting the itch, and I get it about this time in every season of my life.  I just got comfortable with my second year in Korea.  I've got habits and patterns, and I'm feeling like I can handle pretty much whatever Korea throws at me (Note: That doesn't mean that I'd handle gracefully or well, that just means that I could handle it).  Therefore, my mind steadily wanders on to new adventures.  This always happens.  Two years and feeling confident about a place, and I want more, something new - The adventure of making new friends, maybe learning a new language, new challenges, and, most definitely, I'd like some new weather.

It doesn't really make sense why that would happen in my second year at a place.  The itch dulls over time, but it's always so strong in that second year in a place, when I'm putting the finishing touches on my newly improved comfort zone.  I've heard many sermons about how G-d calls us out of our comfort zones, and maybe that's what this is; maybe that's just really true.  But, I'm tempted to think that my comfort zone is starting to become leaving my comfort zone.  Is that possible?  I know it's a little paradoxical if read literally, so I ask you to read it with my intention in mind.

All this to say, I'm inching toward the moment when I'll have to make a decision about extending my contract in Korea.  It's certainly not here, but I can see pros and cons in each column.  I think, again think, I know the correct answer (that is, what G-d is leading me toward), but I'm not positive, and I could use some prayers on the subject.  At this point, advice is only going to confuse me, so, while I greatly appreciate your hearts and intentions, I ask you to redirect those simply to prayer.

There are so many options out there, and I'm incredibly excited to see where G-d leads me next (or has me stay, as the case may be).  Wherever it is, know that I love you all, I'm thinking of you all, and I'd always love to hear from you, email, comment, or snail mail!

Anne Nicole Royster 

SPECIAL DISTRICT OF INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION 

Korea Nazarene University (Attn. Jenny Kim) 

#115 Faith Hall (Miteumgwan) 

456 Ssangyong-Dong Seobukgu Cheonan City Choongnam 

331 718 South Korea 

Well, I've been brainwashed.

It's true, I have.  I went to a recital tonight, and, while I was there, I was overwhelmed with the urge to write a review of the event, as I had to do in college for my listening credit hours, which I generally tried to meld with my recital credits, when possible.  As a result, I have a couple of notebook pages worth of a paper, and no on to whom I should give it.  So, although you can't give me college credit for it, I'm going to share my "assignment" with you.

First, the program, which you need as proof of my attendance:

Then, my review (It may be a little disjointed, as, since none of you can give me any kind of grade for this that will affect my future, I'm only typing out for you what I wrote at the recital and not editing it much at all):

The program opened with an elegantly dressed violinist playing Vittorio Monti's "Csardas," which had me utterly captivated  by its haunting melody, that is, until we got to about the halfway part.  Upon hearing the change to a section done entirely in harmonics, I became quite convinced of his insanity.  The only question that was left for me to debate was whether or not the violinist could qualify as more insane than Monti, as she willingly selected and practiced this monster of a piece for hours on end, somehow conquering it, and making it through the piece with only the harmonic section giving her any grief, as it would anyone.

I must say, I was disappointed in Korea's apparent constant need for electronic "enhancements."  While the reverb added by the sound technicians was esthetically pleasing, for the hall was somewhat lacking by way of acoustics, the coast was found in blocking the faces of the performers with a microphone.  It is rare indeed that a classical performer actually needs one, and many of them were actually backing far away from it, so its presence was rather a frustration for me more than anything else.

The appropriate attire for accompanists seemed to be a matter on which Korean and American cultures also differ.  The many hot pink gowns that flowed over the piano bench often not so much as took away my attention from the performer at hand as they screamed for it, occasionally seeming to grab me bodily and turn me toward themselves.  Add to that sequins, multi-colored skirts, and yellow tule, and you have a sure-fire recipe for culture shock.  Luckily, G-d invented eyelids to be closed, and close mine did, allowing for my renewed focus on the upstaged performer.

And then came the Schubert, the hope of which had been sustaining me since the moment I heard of this event.  It brought with it, of course, another hot pink gown, but it was at least worn by the soprano, 신정헤, this time, so all attention was forcibly placed on the correct person, and, oh my, was it due.  This woman was the possessor of the single largest voice I have ever had the pleasure to hear live in my life.  She was obviously singing with only a fraction of what she could, making it look and sound as easy as if a child, fresh out of the womb could sing Schubert.  The only hint of nerves to be found showed itself only in her hands  which balled themselves into fists or stretched into other odd contortions when she was resting for long passages.

To my pleasure, the first half ended with a Baritone aria from Verdi's Attila.  While I have no great love for Italian (as I do for German), Verdi does hold a special place in my heart.  Furthermore, Baritones rarely fail to steal away my breath, and 박재명 was no exception.  His luscious tones filled the room in a nature most counterintuitive to his stiff mannerisms on stage. In spite of that, it was a satisfying end of half, and I felt somewhat warmed, a feat, as I'm almost positive the auditorium remained unheated tonight, thus proving the extreme welcome of the velvet blanket his tone and timbre cast over me, if only for a moment.

After the intermission, I began to wonder if I had  perhaps missed a theme, as, yet again, a hot pink dress walked across the stage, this time adorning the body of a solo pianist, 박유선.  She was no David Finney, my accompanist in college (nor will anyone ever be, is I allow my very biased opinion be known), but so far as I could tell, she was very good.  However, as my piano training ended in the seventh grade, I can't pretend that I'm a very good judge.  I can tell you, however, that she was both pleasing to listen to and watch, which is an accomplishment, as many musicians get carried away on the ocean waves of their music, consequently causing seasickness in their poor listeners/viewers.  Luckily, that was no the case in this instance.

I was disappointed in the omission of the promised "O mio babbino caro" from the program that was originally advertised, a disappointment further hightened by a severe lack of recital training of my fellow audience members.  Although I loathed the time we spent officially learning it in university, I'm now extremely grateful.

[As the cold set in still deeper, I found myself writing less (and what I did write got severely edited), as the cold tends to shorten my temper and sharpen my pen, so much of the second half is missing from my recounting, I did leave alone my commentary on the finale.]

Nothing less than cuteness shone though in the finale, Galop March for 1 Piano, 8 Hands by A.J. Lavignac, which was a little sad, or perhaps impressive, since there was an immense amount of talent on the stage as several of the evening's accompanists performed together.  They were truly charming, and would have left the evening feeling nothing more than adorable, had there not been another performance unmentioned in the program.  All of the evening's performers found their ways back on the stage to sing and ballroom dance their ways through one final piece eluding to days long past, and, somehow, convince the hear that we may not have come out entirely on top for their loss.

All in all, it was a delightful evening, and I would gladly attend any other put together by the lady and organizer of the event, 강성애, although, preferably, with a working heating system or heavier coat.

Me, the program, and my writing

If you're here on Alex and Vera's suggestion...

Let me guide you to my experiences in Bulgaria!

Our tour around Sofia

Walking around Pravets and Botevgrad

My (rather long) reflections on the goings-on at the orphanage

Photos of the school kids

A repost of something from Alex's blog

My suggestions of travel arrangements and other attempts at a non-emotional reflection (as if that's actually possible... haha)


If you are NOT here because of Alex and Vera's suggestion, let me recommend that you go visit their blogs on my suggestion.  They are two amazing missionaries, living in Bulgaria and working with an astonishing number of children, as they try to supplement the amount of love and care they receive each day, while exposing them to the Love of G-d through their actions and daily lives.

You can hear from Alex here.

You can hear from Vera here.

An art museum that would make Mary Lennox proud - Hoam Museum

On Saturday, we went to Hoam Art Museum as part of a cultural trip that KNU arranged for us.  There was an inside, too, I just didn't like it as much; I wasn't in a museum-y mood, especially after the outside was so invigorating.  So, I hope you enjoy what I did choose to capture. :)

Where did you go, Fall?

Apparently, Fall has decided to skip Korea this year.  Already, I'm waking up to near-freezing temperatures, and needing to turn on the heater at school.  Somehow, my allergies still haven't acted up too badly, which leads me to believe that Fall got bored of Korea and moved on.

Somehow, I mentally seem to be in the same place.  I was walking with some friends last night, and everything just felt like Christmas.  We stopped and got some 호떡, a favorite cold-weather treat of mine, and the impression of that glittery season just hit me.  I went home and put on the Christmas music (for the second time this Fall), and started doing some cooking.  It made me really want to do Christmas up right this year, so I think I may go all-out.  We'll see what the actual season brings with it, but, frankly, I'd be quite content to skip straight to December, at this point.

I know, I know, that desire means that I would have to skip over Thanksgiving, that favorite of favorites, but the thought of spending another one apart from my family brings a lump to my throat and stinging tears to my heater-dried eyes.  Whereas most of you would lament spending Christmas alone, I don't think that I will (although, that's just a conjecture, as I've yet to spend it without family).  It's always been Thanksgiving that's been cherished, although I never realized how much until last year.  The thought of not seeing the full extent of my mother's family at that time is gut-wrenching.  I'd much rather skip it all together than face it without them.

That's enough of that.  I'll not think on those thoughts any longer in this post.  I'll continue to focus on my desire to revive the Royster-family infamous Christmas party.  I made a most excellent cheese ball last night, and I have my mom's excellent cookie recipes to fall back on (although, there's a key ingredient in her chocolate-chip cookies that would probably be hard to find...), so, while I don't think it would be anywhere near the scale of what she did, even if I invited everyone I'd ever met in Korea, I think it will end up being entirely appropriate for my current level of Christmas Party mastery.

So, that's my plan:  December 22, 2012 (I know it's not the second Saturday of December, as per tradition, but I have to teach on every Saturday before then)... The Christmas Party will live again!

Want to Keep Ahead of the K-Pop Craze?

Okay, so, maybe I'm exaggerating.  This video probably isn't going to catch on in America like Psy's Gangnam Style did.  BUT, I do want to point out that musicians in Korea (like the rest of the world, really) are on the cutting edge and pushing the envelope.  Today, I want to bring you Miss A's "I Don't Need a Man."  In Korean culture, women are expected to live with their parents until they are about 30, spending all of their money on designer-label clothing and accessories, then get married to a man who has likewise been living with his parents, but saving his money in order to afford an apartment for him and his future wife.  The woman will then (most likely) quit her job and start having children, while the man works to provide for their designer-label habits.  It's an intense cycle, but so accepted that I created quite a stir when I told my Korean counterparts that I hadn't lived with my parents since I was 18.  That being said, I invite you to hear about this idea from the insiders, and their radical alternative option:

[ROMANIZATION]

[TRANSLATION]

This is for all the independent ladies  Let’s go naneun namja eobsi jal sara  geureoni jasini eobseu myeon  nae gyeote ojireul ma  naneun hamburo nal an para  waenya myeon nan  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jeongmal)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man  naneun namja eobsi jal jal sara nae doneuro bangse da nae  meoggo sipeun geo sa meoggo otdo sa ibgo  chung bun hajin anhjiman manjoghal jul ara  geuraeseo nan nareul saranghae (hey) bumo nimui yongdon nae don cheoreom  sseugo sipji anha naiga manha  son beolliji anhneun ge dang yeonhan geo anya  geureseo nan naega tteot tteotae (hey) Boy don’t say  naega chaeng gyeo julge naega akkyeo julge No No  Boy don’t play  jinji hage ol ge animyeon naneun namja eobsi jal sara  geureoni jasini eobseu myeon  nae gyeote ojireul ma  naneun hamburo nal an para  waenya myeon nan  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jeongmal)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man  naneun namja eobsi jal jal sara jalnan cheneun andwae ttan deseo neun  tonghalji mollado neo mankeum nado  jalnajin anhat jiman jasin gameun neomchyeo  geuraeseo nan nareul saranghae (hey) nae himeuro salge ttan ae cheoreom  bumonim jal manna namja jal manna  pyeon hage saneun geo gwansimi eobseo  geuraeseo nan naega tteot tteotae (hey) Boy don’t say  naega neoui mirae nareul midgo gidae No No  Boy don’t play  nareul jonjung hal ge animyeon naneun namja eobsi jal sara  geureoni jasini eobseu myeon  nae gyeote ojireul ma  naneun hamburo nal an para  waenya myeon nan  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jeongmal)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man  naneun namja eobsi jal jal sara maeil achim il jjig ireon aseo  haru jongil bappaseo  bab han kki jedaero mot meogeo  hajiman naega johaseo han iriya doniya  jag jiman da nae ttamiya  namja chinguga sa jun banji aniya  nae cha nae ot naega beoreoseo san geoya  jeoggeum neohgo bumonim yongdon  deurigo naseo san geoya  namja midgo nolda namja tteona myeon  eotteokal geoya  ireon naega bureowo?  bureou myeon jin geoya naneun namja eobsi jal sara  geureoni jasini eobseu myeon  nae gyeote ojireul ma  naneun hamburo nal an para  waenya myeon nan  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (What?)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jinjja)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (jeongmal)  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man  naneun namja eobsi jal jal sara

This is for all the independent ladies Let’s go I can be good without a man So don’t come by me  if you are not sure I don’t sell myself to anyone Because  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (what?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (really?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (truly) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man I can be good without a man I paid all the rent All the food and all the clothing with my money It’s not enough but I’m satisfied That’s why I love myself (hey) I don’t wanna spend my parents’ money As if it’s mine and I’m old enough I shouldn’t ask for it to them That’s why I feel honorable (hey) Boy don’t say I’ll take care of you I’ll care for you No No Boy don’t play If you’re not serious I can be good without a man So don’t come by me  if you are not sure I don’t sell myself to anyone Because  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (what?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (really?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (truly) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man I can be good without a man Don’t put on airs It might work Somewhere else but I’m full of confidence As much as you’re tough I’m not good enough That’s why I love myself (hey) I’m gonna live for myself I don’t care about living a good life Like other kids do with rich parents and a rich man Living a comfy life That’s why I feel honorable (hey) Boy don’t say I’m your future belive and rely on me No No Boy don’t play If you’re not gonna respect me I can be good without a man So don’t come by me  if you are not sure I don’t sell myself to anyone Because  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (what?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (really?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (truly) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man I can be good without a man I wake up every morning Have a busy day And don’t have time  to have one good meal But I started it because I liked it  It’s not a good pay but it’s all my sweat It’s not a ring my boyfriend gave to me My car, my clothe, all I paid for them I bought them after installment savings  and giving money to my parents What if the man leaves you when you trust him? Do you envy me? Then you lost I can be good without a man So don’t come by me  if you are not sure I don’t sell myself to anyone Because  I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (what?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (really?) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man (truly) I don’t need a man I don’t need a man I can be good without a man

---

Composition: J.Y. Park “The Asiansoul”

Lyrics: J.Y. Park “The Asiansoul”

Arrangement: 홍지상, J.Y. Park “The Asiansoul”

Korean: music.daum

Translation: miss A YouTube Channel

Romanization: KyungMi at kromanized

credit if you use!

So, what do you think?  Will they make a difference?  Should they even be trying to make a difference?  Is it right for Korean young people to be beginning to abandon Korean traditional culture in favor of a more Westernized one?  Miss A is not by far one of the most popular K-Pop bands, I feel confident in saying, as I teach middle school, and I'd never heard of them before my friend posted this song to Facebook, so I'm not sure that all this debate really matters but so much.  But, personally, I'm all for this move of theirs.

Until next time, my politics-plagued friends.

Love,

Anne

추석 Traveling: Overall Feelings

Overall, I loved my Bulgaria travels.  I loved seeing Alex and Vera.  I loved the break from continual business.  I loved a visit back to Western culture and the Western idea of the proper way to relate to each other.  I loved the stories of Bulgaria in World War II, how it protected its Jewish people and took advantage of Hitler's blind hate.  I loved the peace between religions and how they existed without fighting between themselves.

On a bit of the negative side, I am sorry to report that my experiences with the airlines left the trip with a bit of discomforted color.  While I've enjoyed my travels with Turkish Airlines, I've learned that that's only if you don't need to talk to any of the people who work for it, whether for compliment or complaint, and Heaven help you if you lose something.  As for the Sofia airport, I think I may like it the least of any airport in which I'd ever spent time.  In fact, I like it even less than I like the Bangor, Maine airport.  If it wasn't for the fact that the Sofia airport is the only way I can see Alex and Vera, I would avoid the country entirely in order to avoid the Sofia airport, which is much the same way I feel about the Bangor airport.  Somehow, it is always the tiny airports that feel the need to have the stringent security.  In Sofia, I was mocked for not having my Korean VISA up to date, even though it was updated electronically, as noted on my green card, which I pointed out to the woman, but she was unable to read the handwriting, I guess.  At any rate, she felt the need to hold up the line and bring others in on the joke, only one of whom managed to point out the legitimacy of my claim.  I could go on about the tardiness of the flight, causing the running of almost every passenger at our layover.  I could go on about the lack of hep within the airport.  I could go on about the lack of employees of the airport and the tardiness of the opening of the gates.  I could.  But I'm not one to write a long post of complaints.  I will merely suggest that you fly Singapore Airlines as much as possible while in Asia, and bring your patience with you when visiting the Sofia airport.

In spite of that, I still thoroughly enjoyed my trip, and I would still visit the country as long as I had a friend there to welcome me.  Without there presences, I don't know if I would return.  There's not much by way of tourism, there, and it's not a country to visit as a single woman traveler, for sure (as it is a major hub for human trafficking), so you see the need for a welcoming party, I trust.  Nonetheless, as long as Alex and Vera are there, I know the country will hold a draw for me, and maybe even after, as my heart is still tied to those little faces and hugging arms.

Soon, I'll start updating you on more recent goings-on.  Be sure to keep me appraised of yours! :)

I didn't write this.

Today, I read an update post from my dear, sweet Alex in Bulgaria.  I, of course, was thrilled, since an update blog post from Alex meant an update on life in Bulgaria.  What I saw, however, quenched my emotions a little, but, at the same time, made me incredibly grateful that G-d opened all the doors to put her where she is.  I called her today and asked if I could share it with you. I'm glad to say that she agreed.

*                    *                   *

Blood, Tears, and Hope

I have special powers.
Or at least I think I do.
I have this insane ability to take on the feelings of another person.
Even a complete stranger.
... not exactly what one wished for as a kid.

Yesterday, I arrived at the school where I volunteer at about mid-afternoon..
I hadn't had my lunch yet. I was eating it on my walk there.
And the first body I see is this little shirtless boy.
I recognize him at once.
My violent little troublemaker.
My sweetheart
My baby.

Why isn't he wearing a shirt?

He was all alone. So of course, I was going to go over there and check up on him. After all, he's pretty much my son. And my baby looked cold.

He was seated on a faded wooden bench, bending down low, and working on something. As I got closer to him, I saw what he was working on.

In his right hand, he gripped a quarter-sized shard of glass.
And his "work" was a 2 inch bloody gash carved into his ankle.
My baby was cutting himself.

I'd say he's about 12. Maybe.
All alone.
And forcing his body to visibly show the pain he was feeling.
Most likely the humiliation he endures from a certain heinous teacher at his school.
My poor little guy.
I just stared and the blood, and then at his face.. carved out in anger. 
My lungs stopped accepting oxygen.
And my heart was trying to make up for it by pumping out my blood too fast for my body to handle.
And my eyes began to burn as I fought the tears from showing themselves in front of my boy.

And I sat down beside him, not even thinking about what the "right" thing was for me to do.
I knew I had to get him to give me that piece of glass, but I knew I couldn't force him.

Because I know that force will lead to retaliation, just as oppression leads to revolt. I couldn't take away his freedom of choice, but I also couldn't let him hurt-- not on his own like that.

My voice took on a single form. A quiet form. A gentle form. A form that presents itself when I'm about to cry. And I said, "эащо?" -- "why?"
And he furrowed his eyebrows in his anger.. in his hurt. And he dug harder. And the blood dripped slowly down his ankle. And the only thing he would say was, "така..." which basically means "because." And I tried to give him a piece of toilet paper to wipe up some of the blood. Of course.. he refused it.

And then he got up and began to walk away from me.
I followed him.
I had to get that glass from him.
and he hated that he couldn't lose me.
I didn't chase him. I never made him run. But I wasn't going to let him suffer alone.

Finally he stopped. He turned around and looked me straight in the eyes. He held up the piece of glass. And he threw it as hard as he could. And he held up his empty hands in surrender. A bell began to ring, telling the kids on the other side of the school that it was time to come back inside. I looked toward the sound of the ringing, and then back to where he was standing, but he wasn't there anymore. He was already heading back inside. I stood there, looking around frantically for the piece of glass in the grass. I began to allow the tears to flow down. I had to find it. I had to bury it deep in the dirt. I didn't care if the blood got on my hands. His hurt is my hurt. And I didn't want it to be found ever again. But I never got the chance-- not 2 minutes after being called inside, he was being sent outside by one of the teachers. I wiped my eyes on my sleeves and walked toward him. He saw me, and kept walking away. He crossed the basketball court and I stopped following him. I dropped my jacket, my bags and my lunch on the ground, followed by my body. He was sitting directly on the opposite side of the courts. And I looked down at my lunch and began to eat. My thought process was if he wants my company, at least I'll be around where he can find me.  

And he did.

He crossed the expansive cement and sat down beside me. And he showed me his most recent "work."
 And then the evidence of his other works.
They were many.

I asked him "why" again. And this time, his face was downcast. And he just shrugged his shoulders. 
And I decided that since I didn't have the vocabulary to discuss it, that my best bet was to distract him, and cheer him up. So I showed him my homework. He was impressed that I was learning Bulgarian.
And I began to practice with him. Mostly my numbers. We had a lot of fun with that. I purposely messed up to show him that even "grown ups" mess up on their school work. Then I took out my new phone and handed it to him to see. Kids love technology these days. He asked me, "музика?" --"music?" Sadly, I shook my head, "No." But! I had my I-pod. And God bless that little thing. I made his day by letting him listen to it. I showed him some songs I thought he might like. And you wouldn't believe how his sweet little face shines when he smiles. His eyes! Oh his eyes. So vivid, so piercing, so expressive. They soften when he smiles. My heart began to swell. I slowly convinced him to share my lunch with me. He was very hesitant. I know this boy doesn't eat except at school. But he was so worried he would be taking away my lunch. He kept saying, "No, you eat it!" So I ate some, and left out some crackers for him to eat if he wanted, which progressed to some lunch meat and cheese And something happened in this moment. We sort of bonded. And suddenly, all day long, he went out of his way to protect me. I mean ALL DAY LONG. When it came time for snack time, he tried to give me his snack. I wasn't hungry, so I smiled and said "no thank you." He insisted, so I took a tiny piece. But still... it meant so much to me that he wanted to share what little he had. I know what it's like to be hungry. And hunger does something dreadful to you. It makes you angry. It keeps you from thinking rationally. And when you have food, you become sort of.. greedy with it. 

But he wasn't greedy. He was generous. It wasn't just that he didn't want to be "indebted" to me, but it was more like we were taking care of each other. He was just more insistent with me. My little sweetheart. 

I used to regret my so called "special powers." 
I thought I was overly sensitive...
overemotional... 
I thought I was weak.

But I'm not weak.
If it weren't for this anomaly in me that allows me to feel what another person feels.. I mean to truly feel it,

none of this would have happened. The blood would still be flowing. And he would still have been hungry. And that hunger would have kept him angry. And deep down, my baby would still be hurting.


I'm not so naive as to believe that I took away his pain. I know I don't have that power.  
But, if he was distracted from his hurt, even for just a little bit, then maybe that was just enough time for a little bit of healing to take place.. just enough time for a tiny flicker of light to shine in the darkness... just enough time for something to rise up inside him.... just enough time for Hope, to make her appearance.

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You can read more from Alex here, and her missionary partner, Vera, here.