A Fragile Normal

I've had the opportunity to chat with a lot of people lately, which has been interesting.  My network is slowly expanding and my time is more open.  Annika and I have had playdates.  I've been to meetings at the school.

Someone asked me recently whether Indonesia was very different from Venezuela.  I immediately said yes, very different.  But when asked to quantify, I stopped short.  Simply, the things I find difficult in Indonesia, were simple in Caracas.  And the hard things in Caracas I find refreshingly simple here.  Which means that being in Venezuela has done very little to make me feel comfortable living in Indonesia. 

Living in China, however, has helped me recognize Asia.  I know some of the brands on the shelves, and some of the stores in the mall.  In another conversation, a friend expressed that every decision and action requires thought.  At this point, it is difficult to make any decision based on prior experience or gut.  I have no basis for the relative cost of certain foods, a good restaurant for lunch or the safest place to walk.  Every decision requires effort, making life exhausting.  Exhilarating sometimes, but also exhausting.  This is even harder for those who are new to Asia.

Today I felt the best I have in a long time.  Physically, I felt like myself.  I awoke a few minutes before the alarm, feeling as if I had a good night's sleep.  Indulge me here, and allow me to remind you that wake up is at 5:30 in the morning.  I woke up, readied the kids, and headed to the gym.  Earlier this week, I was a little overzealous with my leg workout and have been feeling my quads for the last few days.  And by feeling them, I mean I could hardly move my legs.  By the time I left the gym, I had stretched my muscles out well enough to feel normal and energetic again.  I ate breakfast with Annika, checked in with Lilly's teacher about muffins for her birthday, and felt generally in control of my life.

So in control that I was ready to expand my circles.  Rather than having our driver take me to the grocery store, today I would walk.  I dressed in my outside clothes.  The weather here is surprisingly pleasant, and indoors always have the air conditioning on high, so I frequently wear jeans or even light sweaters.  But for a walk, I wore my tank top and shorts.  I hitched on my backpack and set out, past the garbage-filled canal, passed the antique street, and across a road streaming with cars.  I was now walking further than I had before, on entirely new streets.  I was in explorer mode and enjoyed the walk. 

The local grocery store has good produce, but its dry goods shelves still feel very foreign to me.  I loaded up on fruit for the weekend, but became discouraged trying to navigate the spices and searching for beans.  I loaded up my bag with my purchase, zipped it up, took a deep breathe and put my explorer attitude back in place.

I took a new route home, following the raised train tracks.  The road was smaller, with less traffic, and so more comfortable for walking.  People smiled and waved.  They were running small food stands or cigarette stalls.  There were clusters of tables gathered near a kitchen, with lights strung around the perimeter giving off a festive and gritty ambiance.  People frequently talked to me, but usually with smiles and just a few words.  But then someone talked at me with a lot more words, and a much less friendly tone, which made me nervous.  And then I noticed how many children were under the train tracks, and it made me wonder - are they working there?  do they live there?  do they not go to school?

I passed an elementary school, just letting out before the Friday prayers.  Parents were picking their kids up on foot, or on their motorbikes.  They were speaking in the same tone I speak to my kids at pick-up.  Have you got everything?  Quick, lets go.  You can have a snack at home.  Did you have a good day?  And then I was walking past the mosque.  Groups were walking toward it along with me, and mats were laid out and neatly swept all over the sidewalk.  Men were beginning to gather, so the sidewalk surrounding the mats was crowded.  A man with one eye reached his hand toward me.  He wanted money.  He was very close to me, and he looked like my brother, and he had cotton in place of his eye and his hand followed me for quite a while, and it wasn't really a fun walk anymore.

And then I was at our gate, and walked past the guards and through the gardens and into the chill of the air conditioning and the quiet of the elevator and the marble floors of our apartment.

Sometimes I wanted to cry.  Sometimes I felt how beautiful this city is, if only it weren't so buried in garbage and crumbling walls.  When I walked inside our building, I felt wildly privileged.  And then the girls came home and we went out to the pool with a few friends, and I felt like myself again.  These fragile moments of normal are becoming more frequent, and provide a foundation beneath those crashing moments of unfamiliarity.

It was a good day.  I'm beginning to feel like myself again.