what the boston marathon means to me.

I remember the plane ride like it was yesterday.

I was in highschool and my dad had been trying to qualify for the Boston marathon for the first time. We were flying home from a race, I forget where it was, and we thought that my dad had missed the race qualifying time by 40-something seconds.

Dad was quiet. Pensive. Upset, but not wanting to show his disappointment while we were traveling home. He had worked so hard for this goal and missing it by mere seconds must have been heartbreaking.

Then, during the plane ride, dad chatted with the dude next to him who was a race official of some sort. "No," he assured my dad as my dad related his story, "the qualifying times include the whole minute."

I remember the wave of relief over my dad and our family. Dad had done it. He had qualified for the elite Boston Marathon, a dream of serious runners across the country. I'll never forget his face on that plane. My dad had held himself together so well in the face of personal disappointment, and then his hope that this stranger's promise was true took over for the sadness.

We checked online as soon as we got home and confirmed the man's words. Dad would be heading to Boston.

It didn't only mean a lot to my dad, it meant a lot to us. In his qualifying, we also qualified. My sister and I were shown an example of what it means to choose a goal and work for it.

In the years that followed, my father's running passion and ability skyrocketed and he would face the Boston Marathon starting line 7 consecutive times. What had once been a distant goal, a barely scraped by achievement became expected and tradition. Sometimes my sister and I went, sometimes we stayed home. Two years ago I flew home from China and did the Boston Marathon 5k with my mom. Last year my Mamaw and Gramps went to Boston with my parents and my Mamaw did the 5k. It's tradition, it's family time, it's part of who we are - runners, cheerleaders, sign-makers, and picture-takers.

This year was the first year my dad failed to qualify. He never has shown his disappointment, and he has accepted his knees that have faced the surgical knife and hips that scream from the repetition of years of running with grace and poise. My parents made the decision to journey to the beautiful Big Sur Marathon in California next weekend, meaning that they would not be spending Patriots Day Monday in Boston for the first time since 2006. The streak was over.

This morning I was awoken by a text from my little sister. "Have you seen the news about Boston?"

"No," I replied, not expecting her answer.

"Bombs?" I didn't understand. Maybe a crazy shooter, but bombs? It took a few moments to process.

Bombs exploded across the blue and yellow finish line? Bombs exploded across from the stands where I had sat year after year cheering on runners? Bombs exploded where my parent's friends were running? Bombs exploded where my mother would have stood if they went back this year? Bombs exploded outside the running store we always visited after the race? Bombs? In Boston? 

Thank God Mom and Dad aren't there. 

I am saddened and disgusted along with the rest of the country. I am sorry for the victims and those who are hurting. But closer to my core, I am utterly grateful. I am so happy my sister and I were not texting trying to get news about our parents on the East Coast while she is on the West Coast and I am on the other side of the world. I can't imagine if they were there. I am eternally thankful that my dad's knees are achy and he did not qualify. I am thankful for a dream deferred.

After the news sunk-in, I began to think selfish and defensive thoughts. "Now I am going to have to answer about this to all the Chin.ese people who will tell me how dangerous America is." Bah. Having to be the voice of America to random Ch.inese people I encounter on a daily basis is exhausting. Luckily, only one random person approached me on the street. "Why do so many people attack in America?" he said, wearing elastic waist pants and a smug smile. I replied, "I don't know, it's so dangerous, never go there." (I have been snarky/sarcastic lately.)

I love the Boston Marathon. I love the Boston Marathon because I love my dad. I love that we have created traditions around the race, that we have "favorite spots" in the city, and that I have memories of cheering at that finish line that will last my lifetime. I have learned the value of hard work, the resilience of the human spirit, and the limitlessness of the human body. I have witnessed the comraderie of the running community at the early morning bus drop off for runners, on the "T" with family members of runners chasing their runners around the city for photo-ops, and at the finish line. Feet from where the blasts went off.

If there is one thing I know in all this, it is that the running community is strong, united, and will not be broken by this tragedy. Any group of people who push their bodies to the limit for 26.2 miles surely will not be sidelined by an act of hate. Nor will their families who support them. The Boston Marathon is an elite family, though not a pretentious one. And I am proud that my family has been a part of it all thanks to my dad's own dream.

For every casualty of this crime, there are thousands more who were there whether in person or in spirit who are praying for them and thinking about them. For every act of terror there are millions more acts of love.

I hope my dad goes back to Boston one day. He has been pin-pointing "fast-races" to use to qualify for next year. Boston is still on the horizon and still a possibility for my dad's speedy legs and crazy-in-shape heart.

No matter if he qualifies again or not, the Boston Marathon will always be a part of our family. Where we watched our dad achieve a dream and carry us along with him.

No bomb can take that away from us.

Let's pray for the victims and their families. For those injured and those involved in every which way.

And let's be grateful for our families. Mine are in safe in Florida. Thank God. Oh, thank God.





walk slow. xoxo. 

our story.

I don't really believe anything is, "over sharing."

If you spend more than 10 minutes with me on a given day, you know the status of my bladder, my feelings about my students, work, school issues, what I ate all day, how I'm feeling, and what I think about what you are wearing. I don't hesitate to put personal things on my blog because I have the, "everybody poops," perspective that we are humans having a human experience. We can relate to each others short comings, joys, mishaps, and adventures. If we can't laugh with/at each other, what do we have?

Except when it comes to my relationship. This junk is private.

If you haven't guessed, I am back with the boy that was the dramatic focal point of my heart-break post in October. It's true, he broke my heart by returning to Chi.na and then choosing not to jump back into a relationship with me after I had broken up with him (twice) previously. 

Our story is so complicated. So interesting. So personal. The only people who know the whole extent of it are us. And it's good that way. But in the spirit of sharing life, I want to catch my blog up to date on my relationship status. I've asked him how much he is comfortable being discussed on the blog and he answer is, "not a lot." Homeboy is a private soul, and thus teaches me to be more discretionary as well. But he also said that our story deserves some air time. Even if only to encourage others that perseverance and faith can reap great rewards.

We think we are a miracle. And we routinely congratulate ourselves for working for our relationship and not giving up.

We met in the wee hours of Valentine's Day 2012 on a dance floor. He called me the next day and asked me to dinner. We were both smitten and intrigued. We dated. I freaked out and broke up with him. He took me back. I freaked out again and broke up with him again. He returned to Ethiopia. I investigated my heart and my ideas of cultural faith. We missed each other. He started calling me. I found out about our age difference. I forgave him for hiding it from me. I asked him not to see other people. He returned to China for me. He freaked out on me because of our age difference and left me a week after returning to China. I hunted him down and begged him back. He said yes because he loves me. And I love him. We recently celebrated our 13 month anniversary. 

See...a miracle! We are inter-racial, inter-cultural, inter-religious (Greek Orthodox/Protestant Christian), and have a large age gap. (I'm older.) Yet somehow it completely makes sense. It's like this is how my relationship was meant to be. 

I have found the person who loves me unconditionally. I want to be the person that he sees when he looks at me. We make each other better. It turns out the fluffy Hallmark card crap is true...being a pair rather than a solo rider can be amazing. I had no idea! ha.

He loves that I have lived several years of adult life alone and that I know exactly who I am and what I want. He loves that I have opinions and ideas and big dreams. He keeps me from being destructive and provides insight when I am being dramatic. He laughs with me, believes in me, and loves me more than I think I deserve. I love that he is a listener, a thinker, a peace-maker, and a leader. He provides my life with adventure, exploration of a new culture, and discovery. We both think we are the lucky one. What a dream. 

We both agree that we'd rather have an unknown future and be together than be apart because of "rational" reasons and be miserable. I don't want to live safe. I want to be with the person who makes me ridiculously happy and then answer the big questions when we get there. There will always be big questions in life. And through this experience I have learned to let go, allow the unknowns of life to remain unknowns, and take risks, especially in the name of love.

So that's the basic story of my, "little relationship that could".

Blog update - complete.

Isn't he a gem? :)

(And aren't our babies going to be the CUTEST THINGS YOU'VE EVER SEEN????!!!) Wait - I get ahead of myself sometimes. haha. JK.

And that's the story of how I became a, "we."



walk slow. xoxo.

State of JG Address.

Whoohooooo! I'm back in action! I feel like I have an old friend back! (you!)

After some intense google-action, I figured out that if I install a different browser (Firefox rather than my trusty friend, Safari), than pictures will most likely load around the Chi.na fire wall. And golly-gee it worked! Yay! Thank you, Google and Firefox!

Here is a long over-due state of the union address so that I can get back to telling stories about the random crap that happens while living as a student/teacher/redhead in Chi.na.

A few nights ago a dear, dear friend of mine and I were chatting on the phone. Our conversation had taken a turn toward deep-ville and we were reminiscing on our "journey's" in Chi.na. Somewhere inside the conversation she said to me, "Jessica, you are the happiest I have ever known you... I like stable, contemplative Jessica." I replied with a pause, a reflective moment, and then a, "Honey, the crazy is still there, just under a layer of contentment."

And it's true.

I find myself in a great stage of life these days and I'm in no rush for things to change. (As all things must, alas.)

I have a decent job, a full scholarship to school with an awesome PhD advisor, I am able to study a language I love for free, I have a cat who is my pride and joy and calms my biological clock, and I have a man who is sweeter and kinder and more patient and thoughtful than I ever thought I would find. Between work, school, the cat, and my man, there is really nothing lacking in my life. I feel fulfilled, challenged, cared-for, validated, and peaceful.

Of course, the crazy is still there. But what I have found is that if there is contentment, if I am looking for my blessings and acknowledging them, then the crazy is allowed to co-exist. I think this is called "growing up," but I'm not sure.

This semester is a great reprieve from last semester. You are probably happy that I wasn't really blogging last semester. I had bitten off more than i could chew with taking on 30 students. I was a mad woman. But somehow it all got done. And my cat didn't die. And my relationship grew strong. And my friends didn't forget about me. (I think). This semester is a billion times more calm. I now only have 17 students. Hallelujah. I have decided that, "manageable," is a key word for the rest of my career. This semester is manageable. Work has been busy with a dinner meeting in Shanghai last week with the provost and several all-day meetings with university partners in Hangzhou. It's going well.

The weather in Hangzhou has gone from freezing, wet snow to semi-cold, wet Spring. It is our rainy season and I am determined not to let the rain affect my over-all mood like it can. Seasonal affective disorder is real, people! Luckily, there have been some gorgeous sunny days in the mix for outings and hikes in this gorgeous city. This time of year always replenishes my belief that I am lucky to live here. The winter drags on and makes me want to buy a one-way ticket to Bali and never look back, then Spring arrives in all its glory and I'm like, "Oh, ya! I love this place!" ha.

Well, I guess that is enough for a, "state of life address." I'm so excited to blog again and keep this e-journal of hilarious and sometimes serious happenings.

I'm so happy that you can join me here.

Have some eye-candy...

Spring is here! And so are the imported tulips and windmills. Oh China.

My darling angel boo boo butt.

weekly, free, and mandatory Mandarin class.

morning hike by West Lake.

all official and stuff.

walk slow. xoxo.

The Chinese Internet Hates Me.

It does.

I can't upload any pics.

But I can write. So, here's a special story from today.


I visited the little dumpling shop across the street from my dorm before joining a friend for a blind massage. (One of the most fabulous ways to spend a Friday evening and a "Pro" for wanting to stay in C.hina longer.) One of the dumpling shop workers is a formidable woman who is taller and larger than me with slicked back hair and a huge smile whenever I visit. A few years ago I found myself back to back with this giant to see who was taller (her - by a smidge). Finding a 5'11" woman in China is like finding Bigfoot. Needless to say, this woman and I have some sort of unspoken comraderie. We are both existing in a world that is built for people 5'1"-5'7", males included. Although, I consider myself to be the lucky one because everyone just attributes my height and stature to being Russian. Which I am not.

Anyways, I had not visited the shop in quite a few months and I passed by the tall lady dumpling maker on my way to the cash register.

She nudged my elbow. I turned to look her in the eye.

"You have gotten fatter. But you must dance really well," she said.

"Um, thanks," I replied after pausing to make sure I heard her Chin.ese correctly.

So there you have it, folks. I may not be writing as much, but the natives are in full-force awesomness as usual.

And she's right. I've gotten "fatter." And I'm one heck of a dancer after a few glasses of wine.

Dumpling ladies know everything. Especially the large ones.






walk slow. xoxo.

Why Chinese is Easy.

(Post was written yesterday, but because of crappppp internet, is being uploaded today. Thanks, Chinatown censors!)

People don't believe me when I tell them that Chin.ese really is not a difficult language to learn. It's really not. If you can wipe all Western logic from your brain and speak from a new reference point - one that involved putting words together to form literal meanings, then you can totally speak Chin.ese easily.

I'm always finding holes in my language arsenal that make me think I'll be here forever if fluency is my goal, (it's not). For example, today I realized I don't know the word for "solution," i.e. "contact solution." I know how to say, "contacts," 隐形眼镜 （yinxing yanjing - 'invisible glasses'). But had no idea how to say contact solution.

Nevertheless, I marched myself across the street to the glasses store (the only place you can get contact solution, they don't sell it at Walmart - go figure), and announced that I needed, "隐形眼镜水“ （yinxing yanjing shui - 'invisible contacts water.") It was just a guess.

"MMMhhh," the worker dude grunted in typical Chi.nese fashion, "Inside." And he led me to the back to gaze at the glass case of contact solution formulas and pick out my favorite, "invisible glasses water."

My hunch was correct. Invisible glasses water = contact solution.

It makes so much sense.

Ch.inese is so easy. Trust me.




walk slow. xoxo.

My friend has flown.

I never expected to find a guardian angel in Chi.na.

At least not a living, breathing one. 

Sure, I landed here 4.5 years ago with idealism in my heart and a hope that I could make friends with locals. But friend-making in Ch.ina turned out to be harder than I had imagined. The "us/them" mentality is hard to overcome and it takes a progressive, modern Chi.nese person to really be able to view a foreigner as anything but that - foreign. 

So as the first few months of my graduate year in Chi.na flew by, I found myself wondering just how to meet these people that would be windows into the strange world around me? Who would be my friend? 

And then I met a pediatric heart surgeon named Dr. Xu, known to the english world as, "Michael." 

I was tricked into knowing him, actually. A lady from the international church told me we were going to meet a doctor to talk about orphan initiatives. But actually, I was his new english teacher. I just didn't know it yet. 

I felt sort of conned at the time, a feeling I have grown to expect after years of business dealings in Chinatown, but after time, I was thankful for the lack of communication because I liked Michael. I had made a Chin.ese friend. 

And he introduced me to his friends. And soon I was meeting once a week with 3 Chin.ese doctors at the corner Starbucks. I couldn't believe my luck. 

Those Starbucks classes turned to friendship over years of hard work. That is one lesson I have learned abroad - intercultural friendship takes work. Investment, sacrifice, patience, time, and humor. 

Over four years have gone by and Michael is one of my best friends. An older brother figure. He's literally saved my life on more than one occasion. He's taught me about Chi.nese culture and talked me through business situations. He got me the job at the hospital, and took over the orphan ministry when I felt it was time for it to be Chin.ese-led. He's been my rock since my second month here when I could never have dreamed that I would be speaking Ch.inese, studying Chin.ese philosophy on a government scholarship, and still here after all these years. I can't imagine a life in Hangzhou without him because I never have had to try. 

But now I guess I have to. Because today at 1pm Michael boarded a plane destined for the promised land...LAX airport. 

My guardian angel flew the nest. 

We always knew he would eventually leave. I just didn't think I'd still be around. But now he's gone and I'm still here, thinking to myself, "Crap, I need to make a best friend - FAST," and also, "Why do all my Chi.nese friends leave me for America? I am not getting the memo!" 

I'm selfishly ridiculously sad and at the same time overwhelmingly happy for him. I only wish I could be there for him like he was here for me. Oh well. I'm praying he finds a guardian angel. Anyone in Orange County up for the job? :)

We met one last time at the cafe where we hang out often. It's ridiculously over-priced, just the way Michael likes things, and we went over a few last minute tips about life in America. We had a money lesson where I laid out all my left over coins from my trip home and didn't know the answer to, "Why is the nickel bigger in size than the dime but smaller in value?" Anybody know? I also had to explain that no one would use, "A Monticello," to describe a nickel, once he decided that was what he would call it because of the picture on the coin's face. 

We also went over his welcome packet from the hospital where he will be working. I explained what a, "load," of laundry is (just a measure word), and pointed out the two quarters that would be charged for each, "load." Also written in the manual was that hanging clothes outside of the window is not acceptable. This threw him for a loop! "What will I do with my bed blanket?!" (Comforter's are hung outside and laid on bushes on sunny days here in Chinatown). "You will get a duvet cover and wash it - or have it dry cleaned. There is no reason to hang it outside," I tried to answer patiently while stifling a giggle at my mental image of a bunch of Ch.inese people hanging their unmentionables out to dry in Southern California. 

Another shocker for him was that there are no private cell phones allowed in patient areas. It is common for him to show me pictures of his surgeries. But because of patient privacy laws in America, this is not allowed. After this last-ditch effort to make his transition to America as non-confusing as possible, we just sat and stared at each other. After 4.5 years of friendship there was no more time to teach each other. No more cultural quips to memorize or idioms to explain. 

We've had a blast being friends, and will remain so wherever we live. I am just so thankful that my hope for a true, deep Chi.nese friendship was answered so many years ago. I can't help but feel kind of alone now. A season of Western migration is about to begin amongst my closest friends as many people graduate and move on. This is the first of many goodbyes, it is also one of the hardest. 

2008 at the hospital

2009 with orphans and my mom and sis

2010 - when he kept vials of my blood in his desk when I was sick

2011 - his wedding

2012 - my mom's summer visit

last time together, 2013

don't leave me alone in this crazy place!

I miss my friend already. :(

walk slow. xoxo.

Oh, hey!

Hello? Is anyone there? 

:)

Have you forgotten about me, dear friends in blogworld?

I assure you that I have not forgotten you! Since November 5th I have been struggling against the Great  FireWall that exists as online censorship within Mainland Chi.na. 

Without waxing poetic on the annoyances of living without freedom, I'll just tell you that I have missed my blog and hope to switch to a non-blocked server during my upcoming MONTH in AMERICA. 

Wow. Accessing the internet without plugging in crazy numbers or goingto clandestine places will be amazing. 

So will Chik-fil-A and puppy hugs and being with my family. Oh dear. So many good things await. 

I am so censored while living on a school campus(censored harder than the "outside world", that I cannot accessmy work email or online class. I am currently in a quaint coffee shop with the "best internet in town," and discovered I could access my bloggy! But no photos will load...oh well, you don't need to see my pink, wind-burned face anyways! Winter has arrived and my skin is ready to run to Florida! :) 

Other than internet woes and work stresses, life has been wonderful during this changing of the seasons. I wish I could have shared all the stories with you. 

I hope you have been well, also. Thank you for thinking of me, neighbors, friends, and family. My mom shares with me when you ask her about my life status duringmy blog silence. For that, I am humbled and thankful. Don't worry about me over here in Chinatown. Life is hard and mysterious and yet overflowing with good. I am really lucky to be here now. I hope you feel the same wherever you are. 

Walk slow, til we meet again in a few weeks from the wonder world that is America. xoxo.