heritage

Banket was left upon our microwave. Leah and I discussed whether it was intended for us to eat. 

"It's on top of the microwave."

"Is that where our free food is?"

"I think so."

"Who would leave banket out and NOT expect their West Michigan housemates to eat it?"

"Exactly."

We decided we should probably wait to ask if it was meant for us or not. 

And then a few hours later (one) I ate it anyway. 

Banket isn't even my favorite dessert. It has no chocolate, for instance. The only worthwhile part of almond puff pastry is the frosting, and banket doesn't even have that going for it. But there is something so home-y about it. It's not even like my mom made it every Christmas or anything-- though it's definitely a holiday treat (would you ever eat banket in July? NO.). 

So as I googled banket recipes to replace what I'd eaten, I started attempting a list of Dutch heritage I can claim. 

My grandmother said "zink" and "Dezember".

My mother would talk about floosies on your sweater. (Does "pills" seem a more rational word?? I think not.) 

The alphabet of last names was filled with 70% Vs in school. And I was always last, except for Billy Yff. And sometimes Katie Wilson. 

And that's about it. I have little sense of "culture". Maybe if I lived elsewhere, for longer, my sense of Midwesterness or even "Americaness" would be more defined. The USA is so broad -- and crazy-- that generalizing anything seems unwise. 

So. I ate the banket. Because I grew up in West Michigan. Because it was there. Because Christmas is in a week and everyone is wondering about family traditions and I wonder if I have any. 

on microbiology

This is not much more than a thought. I just finished my lab final. One of the questions was about the Acid Fast stain. Because of their thick cell wall, these bacteria are difficult to illuminate. Essentially, you get the cell to show up by staining around it. And I thought just now how most of what I know about my father is like that. I really only know little facts that others knew about him, which serve to create a shadowy outline. But I don't know who he was as a person. And then I wondered if maybe knowing people in general is like that. And then I wondered why I have to think all the time. 

what it was like

I remember during my ESL course we had an exercise in which we were to imagine teaching at “Island School”. At this school (on a remote island, supposedly) we were only allowed to choose one piece of teaching equipment. We had to debate amongst ourselves whether we would bring ESL books, a projector, a printer, a computer, etc. What a fun conceptual exercise! But I was going to Korea. I needn’t worry.

Then I went to Honduras. In order to have handouts (or tests, or quizzes, or a crossword activity to keep students subdued for fourteen seconds), I had to go to the office, kick the secretary out of her desk and print a copy of whatever material I wanted. The printer habitually jammed. No one knew how to fix it. Except perhaps the secretary, who was on the phone by this point. Then I would walk across the commons to the small printer / storage room where I would write down however many copies I wanted and leave behind the master copy. Eventually Javier, the school’s handyman, would get around to making the copies for me and track me down mid-class. I had no projector. My laptop speakers were far too weak to drown out lawnmowers/ saws/students/ flies/ cows/ dogs/ fans/ elementary kids “singing”, and the screen too small for class use anyway. The books? The ultra-conservative homeschool ones with old English bible verses? A wasteth of thine time, though for posterity’s sake the students and I attempted to muddle through. Whiteboard markers were always running out of ink, but to leave the classroom meant to leave the classroom, and I didn’t know how many students would be left by the time I returned. It was also questionable whether the student I sent to get markers would return, so one disappearance vs. the entire class was a continual calculation. 

None of these hurdles were impossible. Yet all the small frustrations managed to deplete whatever energy remained. It always felt like I was spinning around in octahedrons, desperate to find a rhythm. I never did. 

my own benediction (December 2015)

May your heaven

be here on earth

may your fortune

be yet untold

may your hope for the future

grow stronger with today’s gain

may your greatest fears be realized

and may you realize

your strength present all along.

May your heaven

be here on earth

may you witness beauty

be moved by misery

removed from apathy

incited to act

may your weep for others

more than yourself

may your heaven

be here on earth. 

hello, again

So glad to have these past words to reflect on (for example), for my current situation doesn’t seem all that different. Today, I dream of living, teaching and falling in love in Korea while avoiding my finals in microbiology. Other days I am a writer, a musician, an artist. Sometimes I travel the world, sometimes I live with my grandparents. And I wonder if this is to be the pattern of my life—always flitting from one idea to another, never completely satisfied with my current reality? I’ve always claimed to detest apathy, and maybe this trait accounts for it—but could it be that it’s only another form?

This guy left Korea and his post made me glad I’d stuck it out in Honduras.

Honduras wasn’t awful. I was unhappy with many things surrounding teaching, but I had an experience unlike any other. Though adjectives to qualify that experience are varied, I’m glad for once I muddled through. Leaving early wouldn’t have helped anyone, especially not myself.

And so I’m reminded that checking out on my life is never worthwhile. Thus, to the studies I return.  I’ve plotted a course and I intend to see it through.

안녕!