Said the caterpillar

"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.
Alice replied rather shyly, "I--I hardly know, sir, just at the present..."

********************************************

"Who are you?" Simon asked... and for a moment I had nothing to tell him.

It might have been only a moment but it might have been a lifetime and when I blinked in the fading sunlight and the little Sudanese boy was still standing before me looking curiously up into my vacant eyes, I realized that my mouth had gone completely dry.

"I'm Kelly." I said finally with an answer I wasn't sure would suffice.
"And I'm Simon," he said with a conviction that I was immediately jealous of.

********************************************

I ended up back in an frosty apartment flopped down on a too short couch confused about why such a question from such a questioner would be so difficult for me to answer.

Of course I'm Kelly.

"Are you content now?" said the Caterpillar
"Well I should like to be a little taller, sir, if you don't mind... three inches is such a wretched height to be," said Alice.

Well I should like to be a little....

And my mind immediately filled with all of the little things I'd rather be, jostling to be first in line, trampling weaker thoughts, shoving like a herd of rhinos in a china shop, wrestling like fish caught in a net...

Nah... Kelly, just Kelly, is alright.

"It is a very good height indeed," said the Caterpillar.

A city of cardboard signs

A city so clean, buildings so reflective, lake Michigan like a sky dotted with sailboats instead of clouds.

Trying to go back home and hungry

The fountains make faces and overflow with millions of gallons of water, the architecture dazzles with texture and quirks, the rusty train tracks criss cross like lace thrown over the city.

If you buy one I promise I'll go away.

An art fair spontaneously bursts on the scene and paintings and sculptures multiply on the street, ambulance sirens wail and car tires press over asphalt, delis and popcorn shops grow snaking lines of people for tails, and a girl hums a song which gets lost in the rhythm of cups rattling with change.

Please help me I have nothing please understand.

An elevator in the awe inspiring public library holds only two guests. A tall, bent man with fatigue for a cap, getting off at the non-fiction floor wearing odd colored clothes from another time and carrying a duffel bag out of which peeps a newspaper, a jacket, a tube of toothpaste... bing... his floor. Have a nice day sir. You too.

Just hungry.

A street bustling with shoppers, tourists, all manner of folk. People with money walk past shops beckoning them in, bewitching them into leaving all their money inside. A woman with no face. Head wrapped in a scarf betraying her faith, posture curled, seated on a bag. She has been in Chicago two years originally from Romania. Her four children don't have school today because it's Sunday. Her Spanish is better than her English for some reason. Her husband died in an accident. This city is beautiful but not as beautiful as her home. Her name is Teresa.

When Teresa speaks she can't look at me. When she finishes each phrase she risks a glance, turning her shame stricken face cautiously towards mine. Her expression makes the clouds well up and become heavy and dark with rain. You're so kind she says when my hand squeezes her arm. It's only a little, I hope you can find the rest you need. She rubs the small bill and slips it into her pocket. When she glances at me again, all she sees are tears: mine.

Shalom AlaeKum I lost my job need money for rent and food have four children.
That's Teresa's sign. It shakes in her hands and she covers her face with it.

An army of volunteers turn the streets into barricades. A wild haired elderly man seen twice in one day. A helicopter roars between buildings past burnt out cars and heaps of rubble. Four parachuters wobble in the air and land on the street. A sneak peek at Tranformers 3 out in theaters soon. My train pulls away from the station without me.

The birds of the air have nests foxes have holes in the ground but the son of man has no place to lay his head.

A city of cardboard signs with rough edges and finger marks. Black marker scrawls their autobiography. Everything they possess carried in bags with fraying straps. All their hope for a meal numbered among a few sticky coins.

Chicago: a city of three million people. 80,000 don't have homes.

Welcome to Spa America

Weary? Tired of listening to the World Cup in Chinese? Arms sore from lifting boxes? Clothes filthy? Look like a caveman?

You've come to the right place friends.

Welcome to Spa America where all your dreams can come true. We have friendly customs officials who can clear you from Vancouver, and imported Iranian hair dressers to give you an immediate hair cut better than you've ever had before. We have nature shows on blue ray and lightning fast internet that will make you dizzy from the speed, and if those entertainment outlets aren't enough, Toy Story 3 is out in theaters now for you to enjoy in 3D.

If you're hungry you can take a pick from the widest range of dining options on earth right in one room if you choose. Now, at Wheaton College cafeteria they are serving three meals a day with more clean fruit and vegetables as well as a wider selection of meat and dairy than you've seen all year guaranteed. Organic corn chips and black lentil salsa anyone? Bagels? Let's see how many types of meat you can eat in a day...

After so much eating and entertainment you might want to bathe. Hot water instantly and at a temperature and pressure so consistent you may begin to lose all sense of time. Our range of bath products will also have you shocked. That oily skin is no match for our shelves of face scrubs and your split ends will flee in terror before the might of our conditioners. Did we mention that you could drink the water? Go ahead and have a sip, it's all clean. And no need to throw that used toilet paper in the filthy bucket next to you, just flush it down our state of the art seated toilet.

Other accommodations include temperature controls for every room, with a flick of the switch you can be as hot or cold as you like, machines that will wash your clothes better than any set of hands in China and dry them to boot, and streets that are safe to cross with no garbage anywhere in sight. Don't believe it? We challenge you to take you shoes off and stretch your toes in the lush green grass as proof.

Because here at Spa America we pride ourselves on the odds that you'll never be uncomfortable again.

Can I make a reservation for 2 months please?

Mercy

Two days ago when the early morning sun crept over the mountains and scared away the cool gray clouds, with bleary eyes and fragmented soul, I heard the sound of cowbells on the dusty street outside my window. And I thanked my Father because I know that when His mercy comes here its sound will be the tinkling of cowbells. And I looked up to the now cloudless sky so blue that it makes you shiver and feel like your drowning. And I thanked my Father because I know that when His mercy comes here it will be that same blue.

****************************************************

A breakfast of soupy noodles on a hot morning with a student who I only have tea with about once a year turns into a chance to remember odd events that we have experienced together, remark on the remarkable amount of progress he's made, and sypathize with a family that has lost everything in a lawsuit over a car accident. An entire family's livelihood destroyed in a moment and debt like prison chains choke their future.

An official school dinner for a departing teammate leaves bellies full of assorted meats and a face so red it nearly blistered. Apparently the chairman of our school thinks I would make a great daughter-in-law. And goodness, his son is 1.8 meters tall! Don't worry, Mr. Boss is already planning my farewell dinner for next year.

A pizza party with no utensils or plates or cups to drink out of is the only kind of pizza party to have in a room stacked with boxes and cleared of everything but garbage. Three Chinese teachers and I laugh and chat and bemoan the fate our building during the lunch break. One inevitably spills pizza on her skirt and is suspicious turned salesperson of the random tide2go stick which didn't make it into the taped up boxes. They leave and I wash the pizza pans before sticking them in a box.

A tea with four freshmen girls is refreshing in its simplicity. My comfort turns to awe when they repeatedly beg me to have class one more time before I leave and get visibly angry when I mention that the possibility is high that I won't be their teacher again next year. The tea runs out and goes cold and nearly solid in our cups before I can convince them that its really way past my bed time. They walk me to my door and teach me the Tibetan word for star in an evening that I never could have dreamed of.

A friend comes to Lhasa to visit for a few days and in a swish of my hand I pull back a dingy curtain and an entire teahouse materializes before her eyes. We eat meat momos so juicy with fat that we can't wipe the spills off the table because they solidify immediately. A woman sits down across from us takes one look at me and remarks in Tibetan: I've seen you up at the nunnery tea house a few times. A small city made smaller. We leave and wander toward the Potala and I explain to my friend my afternoon plans, we sit together on a bench and in a moment that I can barely remember due to its severity a man walks up, punches me in the jaw, and walks away. Dizzy and sore with a reddening mark on my face, I am surrounded by Tibetan onlookers who are possibly even more shocked by the event than I.

In a monk's cell I sit with throbbing jaw and pounding headache and rejoice at the, allbeit slow, healing of a broken leg. In the quiet, through the dizziness, I hear him say: When I think about this question you ask me I grow so tired. So tired. It's like I am just searching in the darkness like a blind man. You say He loves me and I am sure of this... because I have a choice, because I know things about Him. I don't know what I will chose but I must only be myself. You are so strong, so strong, in belief, even I can't believe how you are, I will never be that way. Kelly, when you come back this summer bring me the key that will unlock these doors for me.

*****************************************************

Today I realized, with a clarity that nearly broke what remains of me in half and drew tears to my eyes that the punch in the jaw failed to draw, that.... in fact... there has been an uncannily inordinate amount of cowbells these days.

Mercy.

The split.

This week I am two people.

One of me is a basket case, filthy, lost, prone to extreme outbursts of emotion, shoulder slumped, jittery, and nauseous. Meanwhile the other me has not given up on taking showers, maintains self control when in public, is easy to laugh, fluid, calm, and hungry.

One of me finds packing tape attached to my elbow. The other me finds clothes that match.

One of me spends the spare moments in an exhausted broken daze. The other me plans teas and farewell parties in any remaining moment.

One of me can barely force the hot tears from spilling down over my face. The other me jokes with staff and students and grins for class pictures while squinting in the sun.

One of me has a running list of things to put in boxes. The other me sits with a nun in a crumbling room and chats in Tibetan and tries on her clothes.

One of me cannot see through my own shattered fragments. The other me goes out looking for the beggar children who have a tendency to hug my legs from behind as I buy milk for them.

One of me stoops to pack the kitchen things. The other me plans to host a pizza party.

One of me cannot choke food down and has a constantly upset stomach. The other me is starving and happily agrees to accompany anyone to meals.

One of me has hands that are black with dust and busy frantically scoring exams. The other me watches the World Cup with glee.

One of me has a ceaseless plea for mercy on my lips. The other me absentmindedly hums "standing on the promises".

One of me despairs. The other me hopes.

One of me cracks. The other me clings.

One of me loses. The other me wins.

The only thing the two mes have in common is that neither are getting enough sleep.

It's coming down.

I have never felt like this before.

Me: Mr. Wu I heard a rumor that our building was being destroyed soon. Do you know anything about that?
Mr. Wu: Yes. It's true.
Me: Really? When?
Mr. Wu: Two weeks.
Me: What?

Like trying to lift a greased bowling ball, like taking a dart to the small of your back, like watching the cage door you're climbing out of slam back in your face.

************************************************************

Friends, there is one week between me and a plane heading west. There is one week, one hundred and thirty one exams to give and grade, endless cups of tea to be had, one pizza party to throw, one monk to visit, some gift shopping to do, maybe four loads of laundry, and now one apartment to pack up and and two apartments to move completely.

Overwhelmed? Stressed? No. My response is total brokenness... I can literally feel myself coming apart at the seams, sanity fraying, and if I make it to the end of the week it will be in pieces held together by the leftover packing tape.

There are boxes everywhere, dust has somehow multiplied, I stopped caring that the floor was dirty and as a result the filth factor immediately increased exponentially. I can't even just throw out some of the garbage because it's sensitive and so I will have to find some time to burn it somewhere. My plants can sense that their in for a prolonged journey to who knows where and have started to wilt under the tension. I have bacon bits in the freezer and sweet pickle relish in the fridge and only a desperate hope that the restaurant across the street can keep them for me while I'm gone this summer. Some stuff, like my Sinbad DVD, I like too much to put in a box that I may never see again so it'll just have to take a little unplanned trip across the world and back.

Because the truth is, the worst part about all of this is the coming back. It's always the coming back.

There isn't anywhere to come back to.

The boxes and furniture, we've been told, will be moved into a currently empty office. Possibly never to return. We will be moved into the rough equivalent of a low end Chinese hotel room, indefinitely, if we're lucky... because as of now we don't even have that. One thing that's already been set, however, is our maxed out teaching schedules. The same schedule I survived this term as escaping through the fire, despite all of our pleas for mercy.

I guess it's fortunate that I asked about the rumor. Or else we wouldn't even have the boxes to come back to.

Picture me with a white flag thrown up. I'm finished here.

It's all coming down.

An antonym day

Blank was my schedule when I woke this morning to no alarm but the sun hot on my face refusing to be ignored. Brimming.

Clear was the brilliant blue sky when I stepped out of the apartment and groggily walked up the dusty, just waking up street to the steamy, filthy nunnery teahouse. Lavish.

Bare was the pitifully furnished room, a haven only for flies and sweet tea stains, where I clasped the nun's hand and stumbled over all the Tibetan I could muster. Teeming.

Unmarked was the newly bought notebook before the midget broke the pleasant intimacy and insisted I teach him and the two nuns the English alphabet. Again. Saturated.

Void was my mind after several hours of far from English conversation and various other greetings on the street. Gorged.

Vacant was my afternoon until a message from a student offered tea and a chance to listen once again to that which so frequently goes entirely unheard. Replete.

Hollow was the thermos by the time we had nearly overheated in the stuffy teahouse and the student-sided conversation had run dry. Overflowing.

Unfilled were the boiled egg halves, given to me by the nuns, while the insides waited to be mixed into a delicious morsel tasting of home with thanks to the gift of sweet pickle relish. Loaded.

Empty was my stomach, sloshing only with tea, when a dear friend suggested a meal of cold smashed cucumbers and soupy tofu at a literal hole in the wall near her house. Full.

Uncompleted was the evening until I had swung my bike back into the school gate as the clouds hung pink in a darkening sky and chatted laughed with a group of students milling around nearby. Finished.

Finished? I know better...