poops, giggles and huh?

Yesterday I was cleaning my room. It was absolutely amazing!

The smell was terrible. There was junk flying around everywhere. I found some dead animals that probably had their first communions and funerals in a corner of my room (of course I missed their lives because I didn’t know that corner of my room existed). I found 2 more of my 4 journals. There was a dust bunny the size of Shaq under my armchair! It pulled me under and tried to strangle me. I found school supplies that I bought at the beginning of last year in the back of one of my drawers. There was food in my room only considered edible by insects and large rodents.

Anyway, as I sat on my bed after most of the battle had been fought, I looked at the stuff I was throwing away. It was, for the most part, sitting in a bunch of plastic bags over by my trash can. Then I looked at the stuff I was putting my suitcases and realized that I was throwing away more than I was keeping! How does that happen? How is it possible to actually have more trash than valuables in a single room unless that room is part of the local dump? Then it hit me…I DO live at the dump!!!

Today is my last Sunday as a resident of Qingdao. I went to church this morning. After our little service ended, we all sat around and pigged out on taco salad, fruit, and dessert. With our mouths full, we chatted with each other, took pictures, said how much we’d miss each other, and promised to keep in touch and visit each other next year. A few people shed some tears. And then we left. That was it.

In a few days I’ll be home in California. I’ll unpack. I’ll look at a few of the pictures we took. I’ll remember what this person sounded like when she laughed. I’ll remember how a couple of us joked about starting a fan club in honor of one of our friends. I’ll remember how much of a kick a few of us got out of pretending that the hand signal for “W.C.” was actually a gang symbol. No one at home will really get it. To them, it’ll just be a collection of people in a different part of the world.

“You and that girl used to hate each other?” they’ll ask.

Yeah, we did. But we’re cool now. It just took a little time to adjust.

“Who’s that guy?”

He was our team leader. He was a nice guy but sometimes we’d have to tell him something a few times in order for him to remember it.

They nod.

“So hey, what do you feel like eating for dinner? Did you catch the last game of the NBA finals?”

And then I’ll be back in reality. Different time, different place. They don’t really get it. I really can’t expect them to. The things that, to me, were so real during the past year will be confined to a few snapshots and a whole bunch of memories.

But isn’t it always like that? You go somewhere. You have a life there. You go back to the one you knew, you feel like you’re a changed person. These experiences have shaped you. Anyone can see that!

But nobody can. And that’s ok. The memories and the things we did and the people we knew are real. It only has to matter to the people involved. Right? At least, that’s what I tell myself sometimes.

Living life on two levels.