Crashes

Yesterday the walls came crashing down. Literally.

One of the cabinet doors in my kitchen broke away from the wall as I attempted to put away my freshly washed french press.

At the time I thought it was funny. The external, literal falling down of things around me. Lately it's felt like I've been driving in Mumbai again; trying to dodge collisions and this one I couldn't avoid.

Yesterday though, I shrugged it off, put in my School Dude request to have it repaired (Yes, I know I'm spoiled by only completing a brief online form to have a handyman come to my apartment and make the repair for free) and went about the remainder of my day.

About 11:30 this morning, though there was a pile up. This crash came in the form of a doorbell and a table.

My friend's movers arrived to pick up the table she bought from me.

The movers slide off their sandals, picked up the table and were out in again in moments. This move was perfect. A green light. After closing the door, I sat back down to work. My eyes glanced back to the lesson plan and suddenly, I started to cry. The collision A full on, noise making, eye squinting, boogery cry. I'd been hit.

Also when you move furniture you also realize just how dirty your walls are.

While washing my face, I realized this crash had nothing to do teaching but was all about my space. I'm a nester. My home space is important to me. It's sacred. This new emptiness made me feel as though the end had arrived.

The longer I live abroad though, I realize this is part of transitioning. It comes in waves. Today hit me. It wasn't so much about the thing. The table. It was about the people I'm saying goodbye to for a while.

Rather than wallowing in my sorrows in my emptier nest, I reached out to my friends who in an instant were there with understanding and support.

Friends quickly offered to move up our afternoon date. They arrived earlier. After lunch, manis and pedis and just some good talks and quality time with some of my girls; I'm no longer suffering from transition whiplash.

While I hope no more literal things come tumbling down around me, I do know that these collisions will be a part of the next few months ahead.

End note 1: In case you wondered, the French press was also a casualty. Shattered and not quite as shrug-off-able as the cabinet door.

End note 2: Yes we are riding in a rickshaw with a lampshade above our heads. All you need to know is that it made me feel better. 

A Prescription for Skies

A disease I've contracted from living in Mumbai blue sky-itis. It's main symptom is intense cravings for skies. For any shade of blue. Royal. Cobalt. Powder.

There are some days where I get my fix riding along in my commute home or occasionally from a walk along Arabian Sea. Most of the time though, I suffer without.

When I’m outside Mumbai I really notice the indigo. The azure. The midnight. 

Outside the city the blues are completely accessible. No partial view. No apartment high rises blocking them. Outside the city the blues are in their purest forms. No city lights interfering in their depth. 

When I escape the sky desert of Mumbai, I find ways to get a fix.

Lounging on the Koh Lanta's beaches and watching sky blues bleed into the sea.

Tilting my head back so far my neck starts to hurt in the salt flats of Gujarat.

 Filling up my memory card with photo after photo of the simple sky blues of Kashmir.

Admiring the brilliant sapphire skies that make the visible even in your photos in Istanbul.

I've become that girl, the annoying one, who notices the skies and interrupts conversations to share my noticing. I crave for the people I'm with to pause and marvel in their beauty. Most people oblige, nod in agreement and quickly the conversation continues. Some pause and support my silent appreciation. One even suggest a hashtag for my Instagram posts.

I linger longer in the blues and reap their curing powers.

Transitions Suck

Transitions suck.

They’re hard. I know what’s ahead. 

Packing. Saying goodbye.

Waiting. Sitting in between moments.

Being the new girl. Seeking possibilities.

I’ve done this before. I’ve watched family and friends navigate them.

New countries and cities. Jobs and marriages. Babies being born while loved ones grow older.

Sometimes we RSVP’d change and sometimes they’ve crashed our party.

I invited them. I invited change.

But right now it feels; I feel sad.  

Because I feel right here is right.

And that’s okay because it's just all part of this.

Ahoy! Language Lessons

Learning a foreign language has never come easy for me. I tried, with a bit of effort, to learn Spanish and Portuguese. When I actually put effort into studying them, my reading and writing abilities were average. My listening abilities were pretty mediocre too.

First Portuguese class at EAB. Moro no India.

A photo posted by Megan Looney (@meganlooney05) on Jun 22, 2012 at 9:24am PDT

Oh and my speaking proficiency? That fell into a completely different category. It was awful. Why? Easy answer. Mostly because I loathe speaking another language.

Whether in the past or in the present, my perfectionistic side speaks loudly and criticizes my abilities when I make an attempt to utter a word or phrase.

I'm transported back to my freshman year in college. My Spanish professor only spoke Spanish. Shocker I know; but from what I recall he refused to speak any English. I'd use the most strategic means I could think of to evade answering his questions. Avoid any and all eye contact with him. Shockingly, that strategy didn't work and he'd call on me. Even when I would ask in Spanish for help with a particular word or phrase, "¿Cómo se dice____?" He'd refuse. Now I'm not saying having high expectations aren't appropriate for students or that I disagree with the belief that "we learn best when we're outside our comfort zone" but I was in agony. I wanted to slide down off my navy blue college desk/chair combo onto the floor and cower under my desk until this moment in the spotlight vanished. Needless to say my frustration and anxiety caused me to drop that class and Spanish.

Moving to the Czech Republic, I know I need to learn Czech for a few reasons.

First the practical. I've read it's helpful. As in most countries, some people speak English and others don't. Also, as in most countries, people there appreciate it when someone puts forth an effort to try and speak the local language. Both of these are shocking statements I know. Please sense the sarcasm.

The second reason? It's personal. No more excuses. No more hiding behind sweaty palms and a frozen tongue. I'm determine to learn Czech.

Since I was bound and stupid determined, I began to research some options. I wanted to find something that would play to my strengths, by choosing a program that included visuals while at the same time providing me the needed listening and speaking practice I loathed needed.

So this week, as I rode in the car to and from school, I started studying.  This morning while out to breakfast with a friend, she asked me what phrases I knew. This impromptu quiz brought out those feelings of not being good enough or smart enough (insert Stuart Smalley mirror image here) but I told her the phrases I did remember. They were fewer than yesterday but still some stuck. And much more importantly, I said them aloud to someone other than my driver, who doesn't speak English, who hears me practicing all the time.

So "Ahoy" or "hello" to this new learning and starting to let go of the past.

My commute today has some new Czech stats: 2 lessons, 5 (maybe 6) confident phrases. Long way to go but I'm starting. #Czech #india #language #prague #megscode

A photo posted by Megan Looney (@meganlooney05) on Feb 12, 2015 at 3:34am PST

India's Coming Full Circle

The day I left for India

Life is coming full circle for me in India.

When I arrived about 3 and a half years ago, my right leg landed encased inside a boot. An ankle sprain caused by stepping into a tiny hole while wearing cute red patent leather wedges on an after dinner walk in Chicago with my family.

My arrival to India is held in my mind like hands wrapped around warm cup of tea. Many of the memories warm me mentally on cooler Mumbai mornings. Around the inside walls of the teacup though, there are ankle sprain stains. Memories of being "trapped" inside during monsoon season. Avoiding slippery sidewalks. Avoiding puddles. Memories of frustration caused by trying to be patient with my healing body while my soul wanted to go out and explore.

Flash forward to a week ago, Friday. Change the setting to school and a quick bathroom stop on my way to a classroom A combination of a wet floor and lack of signage warning me of said wet floor caused a new sprain. This time, my left ankle.

Friday on my way to school, ankle brace and all

As I sat nursing my ankle with an ice pack, a colleague I'm close to said, "India's come full circle. You're going out how you came in." I laughed. It was true but this was not in the way I'd hoped. 

I want to spent my last months in India exploring and embracing and being trapped inside my apartment again wouldn't allow for this. After this sprain, I again shut myself in and was a "good girl" who rested at home and didn't go out for a friend's birthday or errands or exploring. Those stains from 3.5 years ago came back. I had friends who came over and others who checked on me which helped as well as lots of reminders that I was "doing the right thing" from friends and family and a physical therapist.

Late last week though, I was reminded less of the stains and more of warmth. 

I was reminded that when the sun did emerge during monsoon when I first moved here, so did I. I explored my new neighborhood by leaning out of rickshaws. I met friends for Bollywood movies and even visited the Gateway of India on Independence Day. I was able to get out. Just not as often and frequently or necessarily when I wanted. 

Gateway, me and my boot

This time, small things like a visit to the framer, running several errands and a weekend where I wrapped my hands around a cup of tea while talking with friends brought the feelings of freedom. Despite the annoyances that come along with physical injury, I was reminded that in the grand scheme, it's going to be okay.

There will be more days of soreness. There will be days I feel trapped.There will be days that physical therapy will take priority over a dinner with friends. These won't be my only memories though. The circle's not quite closed and there's still lots of time and ways to keep filling up my cup.

Cracking the Code

I’ve had two personal blogs. Brazil and Bombay. This one makes three.

Blondie in Bombay’s been post-less for months. Brasil? Years. 

I’m missing the blogsphere. Craving it.

Why haven’t I posted on either one? Well, for one blog, that was an easy question to answer. Geography. I don't live in Brasil anymore. 

Bombay though? Finally I figured out the obvious. When I chose geographic specific titles for my blogs, I thought I needed to share insights into those places. Into Brazil. Into Mumbai. Into how life was "different." Both blogs confined my writing and stifled my words so much I abandoned blogging. 

But why? Maybe it was because at times people in the U.S. have said, “But your life is so different,” and I allowed the internalization of those words to shape my ideas. To limit them.

In reality, life isn’t all that different living overseas. I teach. I run errands. I decorate a Christmas tree and I post a picture of my tree on Instagram just like everybody else.

Coming home to this makes my heart happy. #xmas

A photo posted by Megan Looney (@meganlooney05) on Dec 8, 2014 at 3:08am PST

When people in the U.S. talk about the police officer's dash cam karaoke of "Shake it Off" or the State of the Union address, I probably am talking about those same things too. Just like at home, some of those topics are more of the lunchroom banter than others. 

Sometimes it is different but for the most part, it’s the same. It’s about the people and experiences and ideas I have. That we all have wherever we are. The zip code or as they say in India pin code, shouldn’t dictate what I share.

Took me a while to sort that out. 

So cheers to a fresh blog. My blog. My words about what I want to say. One without a zip or pin (Hence the name of this post and also blog).

* For some reason this new blog makes me feel a little vulnerable. Understanding why that is has unintentionally delayed me to publicly share my first post. Not asking for anything, just putting those exposed feelings out there.

** All of my Brazil and Bombay posts will have this as their home. Eventually.