Mindfulness.
(As I scarf down another granola bar because all I know is I'm hungry. Therefore, I eat)
I'm feeling more and more strongly about the significance of mindfulness. Living a mindful life. Eating a mindful meal. Speaking in mindful sentences. Choosing mindfully.
I've noticed a lot living in the land of convenience and now being in a place of unpredictability. In Amurrrica (and plenty of other places, I'm sure) we get hungry and then we eat (...although I guess hunger doesn't always precede this eating habit... but that's another topic). What's usually the tongue's preference is not that which has been skillfully prepared or labored over, but something pre-packaged, pre-determined, and probabl bought form the store in a mindless jaunt down the aisles in the closest market to our homes.
We wear clothes because they were on sale. Priced high. Logo here. Rip (pre-determined) there. We buy what we like because it will make us look better. Taller. Shorter. Thinner. Curvier. That's all we care about.
I think there is so much that goes into every bite we take, sip we slurp, shoe we tie, errands we run. We hardly think or partake of the process, we just buy. Eat. Drink. Drive. Repeat.
I'm guilty of this just as much as the next guy. That doesn't mean I like it. I only want to think more deeply about everything I do. I want to be aware of where it came from, how and by what means it arrived here, and choose to understand to the best of my abilities. Should I not be able to truly understand, relate or cope with the reality of the things I have or do, then I probably shouldn't own or do them.
I want to be able to understand the heat of the kitchen as I attempt cullinary creations of the foods I eat. I want to go to bed with an ache in my back from spending so many hours in tedious movements of the hands and eyes as I construct and create the linens I wear or clothe my house in.
And I want to share. I want to be free to open my library of books, textbooks, tutorials to anyone who needs them or desires their information more than the dust desires a home.
Why aren't my possessions up to spreading? Are others'? I want to rely more on my own abilites for the worldly possessions, than the money in my pocket.
Just sayin'.
8.23.2010
Thursday, July 22; Andi's Air-Conditioned, Cozy Room
So we're better now, mostly. Josiah was having adverse effects from the Metronidazole (turns out it's a bit of a rampant colon cleanser. Who knew?), but we're both safely on Cipro and resting our eyes out.
We slept all/most/majority of yesterday, which I feel bad for, but was unable to really do anything about it. It's much easier to collapse in a bed full of cozies than lose myself in a sweaty city. I guess it was our day off and I recall fun talks of gardens and pb&j picnics before sickness set in. Oh well.
Today we awoke all the same, a bit more rested, harnessing a bit more strength. We set out early for some salty comfort snacks and strong antibiotics. We dressed in our finest (Josiah wearing jeans, belt, t-shirt, SHOES and SOCKS!), setting off around 7:30 in high hopes, high spirits. We walked to Civil Lines, crossed over to the exit for the other side of the street only to find the Exchange Store closed. The doritos and coke would have to wait. And if they weren't open, neither was the chemist. So we walked back, thoroughly exhausted and ready for bed, ridding ourselves of thick clothing and regaining homeostasis.. choosing not to be awake and out the door until almost 1pm. This time, we braved Kashmere Gate for the beloved California Burgers and coke. It was nice to sit. Watch. Eat.
(I just watched Josiah kill Jiminy Cricket with an empty water bottle.....after succeeding, he returned once again to playing Vice City and singing Outkast to himself)
Now it's off to bed again. Dirty feet. Tired eyes.
We slept all/most/majority of yesterday, which I feel bad for, but was unable to really do anything about it. It's much easier to collapse in a bed full of cozies than lose myself in a sweaty city. I guess it was our day off and I recall fun talks of gardens and pb&j picnics before sickness set in. Oh well.
Today we awoke all the same, a bit more rested, harnessing a bit more strength. We set out early for some salty comfort snacks and strong antibiotics. We dressed in our finest (Josiah wearing jeans, belt, t-shirt, SHOES and SOCKS!), setting off around 7:30 in high hopes, high spirits. We walked to Civil Lines, crossed over to the exit for the other side of the street only to find the Exchange Store closed. The doritos and coke would have to wait. And if they weren't open, neither was the chemist. So we walked back, thoroughly exhausted and ready for bed, ridding ourselves of thick clothing and regaining homeostasis.. choosing not to be awake and out the door until almost 1pm. This time, we braved Kashmere Gate for the beloved California Burgers and coke. It was nice to sit. Watch. Eat.
(I just watched Josiah kill Jiminy Cricket with an empty water bottle.....after succeeding, he returned once again to playing Vice City and singing Outkast to himself)
Now it's off to bed again. Dirty feet. Tired eyes.
8.01.2010
Wednesday, July 21; Andi's Room; 4:21pm
Yesterday started as a terribly wonderful day. We woke up nicely, ate a fun breakfast with the boys, and we got ready for Mukesh's. It was also raining. The day was grey and scattered with puddles. We questioned whether I should go, as we didn't know how safe a motorcycle ride in the drenched slums would go.. but I tagged along anyway.
We were met at the Metro station by one of the boys from the classroom we'd be in. He negotiated with the rickshaw wallah and we set off down the road. On the way there we passed a big tree in the middle of the road...paved around rather than chopped down. It added to the wonderful-ness.
We reached the immediate area and got out. Most of the road was puddled over. We danced our way through the narrow paths through all of the homes.
I just realized I'm reiterating what I wrote yesterday...I must be a little out of it still.
ANYWAYS, I enjoyed Wazzipur. The two eldest, aged 14, were very helpful in walking us back out. The girl took my hand as we tried our dare-devilish hands at jumping over and around unavoidable puddles. I liked it a lot. They were all so sweet.
So after our shopping, we came back home, gathered our things and rested. Six o'clock came around and the whole mood of the day changed.
We were all sitting around, talking and getting ready to help the boys with their homework. I had just eaten a few handfulls of that crunchy mix stuff and began burping. It tasted like eggs...not the most pleasant after-taste to associate with any food. Including eggs. I laughed it off, joking about taste adversions with Josiah. Then I started feeling something, a small pain in the bottomest pit of my stomach. I assumed that too would pass. As the time to leave was right upon us, I knew something wasn't right and told everyone I should opt out of homework help for the night. I didn't expect anything, but I could tell some things were not right.
They left downstairs and I went over to the bathroom, only to exel what I thought was everything my bowels could contain...little did I know how incorrect I was. While in there, I heard Josiah and Andi's voices in full force and was relieved to know they were close again ((Side Note from the future: Turns out they came back up because a few kids were sick and one had thrown up in the hallway in front of them. Must have been the filter)).
I came out, disclosed my recent bathroom adventure and proceeded to lie down in Josiah's pile of a bed. But it didn't stop there. The pain grew more intensely and I found myself unable to speak full sentences or look either of them in the face as we tried talking. It was decided somewhere in that time that the filter was to blame and Josiah set out for water as Andi began dumping our supply.
I rushed to the bathroom again, this time to plop myself on an upside-down bucket, arms shaking as I put up my hair and held my face over the toilet in anticipation. Funny thing about that moment was that I found myself singing in my head one of the boys' favorite songs from chapel.
And during the next hour or two, I found myself very thankful. I could very well say that I don't know why, but I really feel that I do. A few hours before I wrote about how I was very unsure about what good it was to have me here. I prayd for understanding. I asked to be put in a place where I could be 'down in the dumps' so to speak, and truly gain an understanding of a lot of things. I wanted to be sure I wasn't just on a vacation, only to return home with a few knick-knacks to show for my stay. And then I found myself face-to-face with a toilet that hadn't fully flushed previous diarrhea, in a bathroom that almost always smells of chow mein, in an apartment located near a home of a ragtag group of boys, sharing all sorts of religions and more personal woes than anyone of their ages should, on a street where people come and people (literally) go, walk down to the Metro just to cool their bones under the closest air-coditioned building that can't kick them out because they're technically not inside, in a city where the beauty and extent of poverty astounds and frustrates me at the same time. And I continue to sing praise in my own way. Silly how that works.
So after the barfing trip, I came back out, squirmed on the floor, unable to talk back when spoken to, hearing threats of being rushed to a hospital if things persist (not actual threats..they were very kind hehe), and trying to figure out which pill would be best to take.
We chose the Metronidazole for the time being and I fought to swallow it. Having half in my system, no more did five minutes pass before I was confronted with an awkward butt-on-toilet-face-in-bucket position, continuing on like I had a full system or something
((We've all been there. Be human with me))
I stumbled back into the living room, slightly more coherent. I had to fight again to get the other half of the pill swallowed. Andi brought some mango nectar and we made a dilluted juice with a dissolved pill. I was then thankful for mango burps rather than egg.
Things slowly became better. Josiah spoke of intermittent queasiness that struck upon standing or walking out of Andi's "too cool for school" room. I asked him to help move his bed/mat into that room, and from there I slept.
-Forgot to say, after all the barfind and I could peacefully lie down, I called my mom. Oh, how I wish she were here for this. I didn't question Andi for a second... actually, she was really incredible. She has a certain way about her that oozes comfortability and I am forever thankful for ALL she has done.
So I told my mom all about it and assured her it wasn't anything to worry about. She went on for a while about things to do should it happen all over again, should I get dehydrated, or should I have to go to the hospital. But all was well and I had to go because exhaustion had me.
The next I awoke, Andi asked about breakfast and honestly, the thought of anything remotely Indian was too much to stomach. Had I not just recognized all the components of our earlier lunch, I would have gladly eaten. But as of now, even rice repulses me.
Turns out Josiah became ill as well, very late into the night.. experiencing the same eagerness for the toilet. It sounds like the same thing, and I feel just terrible. I really don't like that he had to go through it. I also don't like that we had to do this to Andi. I feel awful for having her worry over us. She's been extremely helpful, motherly, and comforting, and, I will say it again, that I will be forever grateful to her.
We've since spent our time resting, reading, computering. Diarrhea has subsided and I at least have an appetite.
I am so very grateful for the flood of prayers we have received. Considering all the time differences, I can assume we've been prayed for all day. And look at us now.
..Actually, it's quite cute. Josiah's wearing the plush black eye rest as I use the light to read and write. He's adorable. I'm so happy he's here, in existence.
A few hours ago, I had a weird little experience. I had wokep up and found myself at my bed again, deciding upon listening to my little music player. It's the first time I decided to listen to it, aside from the time where I played some things for Josiah. The first song that came on was Yann Tiersen's "Pas si Simple" and it blew me away. It's so upbeat, introspective yet entirely outgoing.. and altogether perfect. Then Sufjan's "To Be Alone With You" was up. I absorbed the words and started crying. I still don't really know why. Maybe because it's a beautiful song. Maybe because it reminded me of home and made me miss things. Or maybe yet I was taken aback by the quiet significance of:
1. Having music
2. Having a music player
3. Choosing to listen to it, and
4. Listeing to the music as if I had not done so in years.
I lie here, soaking in and paying attentiont o all of the words. Every song had new meaning and relevance. I equate this new significance to having gone so long without and then deciding to indulge in it. I have the option and I usually always have something playing at home. Always. In my room. In the bathroom. Driving.
I grew too far from appreciation and too close to living with too many choices. I always have the choice at home and I usually always take it. Here, I have a limited choice (with a dying battery) and have learned to live without.
I cried for a few more songs.
Oren Lavie "Dance 'Round the Memory Tree"
Iron and Wine "The Trapeze Swinger"
I listened until I had no ear to appreciate any more. I became aware of the strength of music and when that music loses it's touch.
So yeah. Here I am, a full day after the sickness struck, about two weeks into the trip. We've been in India for two weeks. We've been away from home for two weeks. I haven't seen my family or friends in two weeks (Side note: I found it funny as I scrolled through friends' new photos on fb and made a note of how everyone looks different. I really don't know how to explain that one. Do we really change in appearance in a matter of weeks... Ooooor, are my eyes fixed to facial structures of SouthEast Asians? Ionno)
I think I've written enough today. This is possibly the most, since and to come. It's going to be quite a chore typing this up ((Note from the future: Word. It's been almost a month))
We were met at the Metro station by one of the boys from the classroom we'd be in. He negotiated with the rickshaw wallah and we set off down the road. On the way there we passed a big tree in the middle of the road...paved around rather than chopped down. It added to the wonderful-ness.
We reached the immediate area and got out. Most of the road was puddled over. We danced our way through the narrow paths through all of the homes.
I just realized I'm reiterating what I wrote yesterday...I must be a little out of it still.
ANYWAYS, I enjoyed Wazzipur. The two eldest, aged 14, were very helpful in walking us back out. The girl took my hand as we tried our dare-devilish hands at jumping over and around unavoidable puddles. I liked it a lot. They were all so sweet.
So after our shopping, we came back home, gathered our things and rested. Six o'clock came around and the whole mood of the day changed.
We were all sitting around, talking and getting ready to help the boys with their homework. I had just eaten a few handfulls of that crunchy mix stuff and began burping. It tasted like eggs...not the most pleasant after-taste to associate with any food. Including eggs. I laughed it off, joking about taste adversions with Josiah. Then I started feeling something, a small pain in the bottomest pit of my stomach. I assumed that too would pass. As the time to leave was right upon us, I knew something wasn't right and told everyone I should opt out of homework help for the night. I didn't expect anything, but I could tell some things were not right.
They left downstairs and I went over to the bathroom, only to exel what I thought was everything my bowels could contain...little did I know how incorrect I was. While in there, I heard Josiah and Andi's voices in full force and was relieved to know they were close again ((Side Note from the future: Turns out they came back up because a few kids were sick and one had thrown up in the hallway in front of them. Must have been the filter)).
I came out, disclosed my recent bathroom adventure and proceeded to lie down in Josiah's pile of a bed. But it didn't stop there. The pain grew more intensely and I found myself unable to speak full sentences or look either of them in the face as we tried talking. It was decided somewhere in that time that the filter was to blame and Josiah set out for water as Andi began dumping our supply.
I rushed to the bathroom again, this time to plop myself on an upside-down bucket, arms shaking as I put up my hair and held my face over the toilet in anticipation. Funny thing about that moment was that I found myself singing in my head one of the boys' favorite songs from chapel.
And during the next hour or two, I found myself very thankful. I could very well say that I don't know why, but I really feel that I do. A few hours before I wrote about how I was very unsure about what good it was to have me here. I prayd for understanding. I asked to be put in a place where I could be 'down in the dumps' so to speak, and truly gain an understanding of a lot of things. I wanted to be sure I wasn't just on a vacation, only to return home with a few knick-knacks to show for my stay. And then I found myself face-to-face with a toilet that hadn't fully flushed previous diarrhea, in a bathroom that almost always smells of chow mein, in an apartment located near a home of a ragtag group of boys, sharing all sorts of religions and more personal woes than anyone of their ages should, on a street where people come and people (literally) go, walk down to the Metro just to cool their bones under the closest air-coditioned building that can't kick them out because they're technically not inside, in a city where the beauty and extent of poverty astounds and frustrates me at the same time. And I continue to sing praise in my own way. Silly how that works.
So after the barfing trip, I came back out, squirmed on the floor, unable to talk back when spoken to, hearing threats of being rushed to a hospital if things persist (not actual threats..they were very kind hehe), and trying to figure out which pill would be best to take.
We chose the Metronidazole for the time being and I fought to swallow it. Having half in my system, no more did five minutes pass before I was confronted with an awkward butt-on-toilet-face-in-bucket position, continuing on like I had a full system or something
((We've all been there. Be human with me))
I stumbled back into the living room, slightly more coherent. I had to fight again to get the other half of the pill swallowed. Andi brought some mango nectar and we made a dilluted juice with a dissolved pill. I was then thankful for mango burps rather than egg.
Things slowly became better. Josiah spoke of intermittent queasiness that struck upon standing or walking out of Andi's "too cool for school" room. I asked him to help move his bed/mat into that room, and from there I slept.
-Forgot to say, after all the barfind and I could peacefully lie down, I called my mom. Oh, how I wish she were here for this. I didn't question Andi for a second... actually, she was really incredible. She has a certain way about her that oozes comfortability and I am forever thankful for ALL she has done.
So I told my mom all about it and assured her it wasn't anything to worry about. She went on for a while about things to do should it happen all over again, should I get dehydrated, or should I have to go to the hospital. But all was well and I had to go because exhaustion had me.
The next I awoke, Andi asked about breakfast and honestly, the thought of anything remotely Indian was too much to stomach. Had I not just recognized all the components of our earlier lunch, I would have gladly eaten. But as of now, even rice repulses me.
Turns out Josiah became ill as well, very late into the night.. experiencing the same eagerness for the toilet. It sounds like the same thing, and I feel just terrible. I really don't like that he had to go through it. I also don't like that we had to do this to Andi. I feel awful for having her worry over us. She's been extremely helpful, motherly, and comforting, and, I will say it again, that I will be forever grateful to her.
We've since spent our time resting, reading, computering. Diarrhea has subsided and I at least have an appetite.
I am so very grateful for the flood of prayers we have received. Considering all the time differences, I can assume we've been prayed for all day. And look at us now.
..Actually, it's quite cute. Josiah's wearing the plush black eye rest as I use the light to read and write. He's adorable. I'm so happy he's here, in existence.
A few hours ago, I had a weird little experience. I had wokep up and found myself at my bed again, deciding upon listening to my little music player. It's the first time I decided to listen to it, aside from the time where I played some things for Josiah. The first song that came on was Yann Tiersen's "Pas si Simple" and it blew me away. It's so upbeat, introspective yet entirely outgoing.. and altogether perfect. Then Sufjan's "To Be Alone With You" was up. I absorbed the words and started crying. I still don't really know why. Maybe because it's a beautiful song. Maybe because it reminded me of home and made me miss things. Or maybe yet I was taken aback by the quiet significance of:
1. Having music
2. Having a music player
3. Choosing to listen to it, and
4. Listeing to the music as if I had not done so in years.
I lie here, soaking in and paying attentiont o all of the words. Every song had new meaning and relevance. I equate this new significance to having gone so long without and then deciding to indulge in it. I have the option and I usually always have something playing at home. Always. In my room. In the bathroom. Driving.
I grew too far from appreciation and too close to living with too many choices. I always have the choice at home and I usually always take it. Here, I have a limited choice (with a dying battery) and have learned to live without.
I cried for a few more songs.
Oren Lavie "Dance 'Round the Memory Tree"
Iron and Wine "The Trapeze Swinger"
I listened until I had no ear to appreciate any more. I became aware of the strength of music and when that music loses it's touch.
So yeah. Here I am, a full day after the sickness struck, about two weeks into the trip. We've been in India for two weeks. We've been away from home for two weeks. I haven't seen my family or friends in two weeks (Side note: I found it funny as I scrolled through friends' new photos on fb and made a note of how everyone looks different. I really don't know how to explain that one. Do we really change in appearance in a matter of weeks... Ooooor, are my eyes fixed to facial structures of SouthEast Asians? Ionno)
I think I've written enough today. This is possibly the most, since and to come. It's going to be quite a chore typing this up ((Note from the future: Word. It's been almost a month))
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