Our class.

Apparently the whole reason for going to India was to volunteer and give back (while healing the deep emotional scars of cancer) which is a big job and one I also didn’t fully grasp.

After arriving in India and realizing that I had signed up for a lot more than I bargained for, I found out I would be spending the next few weeks in the local slums of New Delhi at make-shift school. The children would be between the ages of 3-7 and my primary responsibilities would be to help teach them basic English.

Sounded reasonable enough, but internally I loathed the thought of being placed with small kids. Yes, I read the list of possible placements but it was the last one I wanted to be selected for. To be honest, I would have much rather held the hands of the dying and destitute than forced in to a small room with screaming children for two solid weeks.

I don’t know what has happened to me over the years.

I used to love little kids, but now, I just don’t have the patience for them. Maybe it is the stress of cancer, always feeling like I am living on the edge of cliff, but the anxiety I feel after chasing little kids for any length of time is almost unbearable. I’ve spent 19 years raising kids and it hasn’t been an easy go. For half my life I have been responsible for taking care of the constant demands of others and I need a break. I thought India would give me at least that much and although I knew volunteering with children was an option, I figured it would be the last thing anyone would choose me for.

My skills speak more to compassionate caregiving don’t they? Maybe management, or organizing, or empowering women?
Surely, the people doing the placements would read past the ‘I am open to anything’ statement on my volunteer application and realize it was just the people pleaser in me coming out.
Surely, they would put me somewhere I would be useful and impactful and they would realize although volunteering was supposed to be a selfless act, I had limitations.

Nope.

I fake smiled as they handed me my assignment.

Shit.
Of course- the school with the little kids.

I get it.
This was all about that f’ing acceptance word again wasn’t it?
I was catching on quickly but internally I was also giving the universe the big fat middle finger. There would be no hand holding while watching someone cross over to the other side. There would be no peaceful contemplation of the cycle of life. No self-fulfilling prophecy that I was actually here to make a difference in someone else’s life.

No, this shit was all about me and it was becoming very obvious that I had a heck of a lot to learn about being a better human being. I wasn’t selfless. I was selfish.

I was willing to give, but only on my terms and that wasn’t how this was going to go down.

I signed up for this and said ‘open to anything’ when really what I meant was ‘EXCEPT for children.’
Lesson number 435 in India, be impeccable with your word.

Thankfully, I wasn’t going to be alone at the school because the 75 kids at Vidya Children’s Centre likely would have eaten me alive. I found out the hard way-they like to bite.

Our first day of volunteering started out something like this. It was an unseasonably hot and sunny clear morning in Delhi. We were on time and ready to go to our placement before the driver even pulled up, a rare occurrence, but apparently 3 out of 4 of us were super excited.
Our kurta’s were pressed, our hair perfectly coiffed, and our shoes clean. The bags we carried were full of coloured pencils and we looked fresh and ready for what the weeks had in store for us. We all smiled at the camera as Terri, our facilitator, took the customary ‘off to work’ picture, so proud of ourselves for the selfless acts we were about to preform-Gag.

First day. Eliel, Kristen, me and Sheila❤️

The commute to the school seemed short and when our jeep pulled up beside what looked like a garbage dump I almost had a heart attack.

Denial and shock flooded in. Was THIS really where we were going?
I paused, this couldn’t be right. It looked dangerous.
It couldn’t be possible that we actually had to walk down that long stretch of muddy road in shanty town all by ourselves every day, was it?
This had to be a mistake. Wasn’t there a different school closer to the road we could go to?

Eliel, a testicular cancer survivor and the only man in our group took the lead. Along with Kristen (my room mate) and Sheila from Chicago, I walked down the long road and into the trenches of the slums. It was in the middle of this little ‘town’ that we found the tiny school we would be teaching at.

Sheila looked at me. She could tell I was internally shitting my pants (and so was she I am sure) but instead of coddling me she tilted her head, threw me some of her trademark swagger and blurted out a few words of wisdom. “God is with us, girl.”

Sheila is ex military so everything about her is bad ass and strong including her faith. I like that about her and after spending a few days getting to know her, I decided that she must be on good terms with the man upstairs. You see, theoretically, her cancer is considered stage 4 but right now it is untraceable. I don’t know about you but to me that is a miracle and quite frankly if Sheila was connected to miracles than I was sticking close to her as we walked down the green mile every day.

When we arrived at the school that first morning we were greeted by teachers and the bright, dirty faces of 75 children. It was morning prayer. They lined up and like little angels listened to the headmaster beat his drum and instruct them to give thanks for their blessings.

It was almost too much to take.

Blessings?
What blessings?
“Hhhheeelllllooooo……has anyone looked around here? What are the heck could these kids be grateful for?”

They had to be asking for something didn’t they? They couldn’t ACTUALLY just be saying thank you for what they already had, because by our standards, they didn’t have anything at all.

I had just walked through some pretty unspeakable conditions to get to this school, if you could you even call this place a school. There was no limitless supply of paper, the chalkboards were crumbling and there were no desks or chairs for these kids to sit on. The little shanties I could see through the barbed wire fence down the street were, in fact, their homes and this was in fact their life.
They were dirty. They had lice and what seemed to be hookworms. Their noses were runny and only some had shoes. The ones who didn’t have shoes were also the ones who didn’t have lunches which meant they were hungry. How on earth was I going to teach these kids anything. It made no sense. I looked over and noticed the mats in the corner. One little girl began laying them out. They smelled like pee.

I started to panic.

What did the bathroom situation look like?
I peered around the corner and pointed to Sheila who again tilted her head at me.
Where the heck was God now, huh?

Yes those are the shitters!

I needed a plan. If I was going to be here day in and day out I was going to have to start storing my waste like a camel. There was no way in bloody hell I was using these toilets. This was too much. I wondered, could I relocate my services elsewhere? Was a transfer acceptable in the field of volunteering?
I felt like a total asshole for hating my placement especially when my counterparts looked happy and excited.

Prayer finished while I was still calculating my water intake. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Kids were pulling me in every direction.
“Didi Didi, Didi this way!!!!”

Kristen and I followed each other to the back of the building. It was filled with about a third of the kids.
Perfect, only 25 of them and we had a teacher. Maybe I could do this. I mean, I could bring myself to sit on those pissy mats to colour and play. They were pretty cute. I had already scoped out cleanest ones and decided I’d pair up with the kids who visibly didn’t have bugs in their hair.

Again, I looked over at my counterparts. They all seemed enamoured by these children. Kristen already decided who her favorite was. Anil, or as I named him ‘ The Fonz’ was the worst kid in the class but she didn’t care, she was in love.
Oh great-not only was I a volunteer failure, I was also a human being failure and it was only day one.

As that first day came to a close, I didn’t feel any better. Actually, I was in full blown trauma. We had learned that we weren’t there to lend a hand to the teacher. We would, in fact, be leading the entire class. The teacher kindly told us that she wanted us to bring photocopied worksheets for the kids each day and asked us to plan daily crafts and activities for the children.

I had no idea how or what skills I needed to instruct an entire class but to top it off the ‘teachers’ were now suddenly relying on us to teach them too?
They explained they wanted us to show them new ideas/approaches from the western world and handed us a book filled with the previous volunteers contributions. Each song we sang would need the words written down. Each craft we made, the teacher wanted a copy along with a detailed explanation of the process.
There were language barriers and so many frustrations with the rambunctious kids we taught and it didn’t take long for me to realize my self serving thoughts about all the good I thought I’d be doing by coming to India was complete bullshit.
I was not doing anyone any favours. The magnitude of the problems here and the needs of these kids was far beyond the scope of anything I could offer. It wasn’t my responsibly to change things. It also wasn’t possible. I felt helpless.

But I was judging it all, and I had no right.
It was not my place to judge what was going on here, how they were living or what they prayed for. It didn’t matter how I felt things ‘should’ be done. Instead, I had to accept what was and understand all I could do for the next couple weeks was simply show up and be present. Oh and bring new pencils.

A very loose rhythm to ‘teaching’ began to form in mine and Kristen’s class. Eliel and Sheila seemed to more in sync with their daily routines but that was in part because they spent an hour each morning doing flash cards with the kids and we refused to touch them because they smelled like poop.

Our approach was more about taking turns wrangling our kids. We would start each day confident it would go better than the last. We always had our photocopied sheets filled with letters or shapes just as the teacher asked. Each morning we would explain a certain word and the kids that could write would try to spell out the letters in english. It was somewhere during the process of bringing out the coloured pencils and crayons when we usually lost control.

In some ways it was just normal kid stuff, like they all wanted the purple crayon at the same time, but there were deeper issues too. Lack of motor skills, hunger, and a desire to steal the supplies for home meant chaos. The constant language barrier meant we couldn’t always settle them down and at times our classroom was more like a jungle gym than a learning facility.
I was tag-teamed by 3 of hardest to handle in the class. I took ‘The Fonz’s’ whistle away and he almost lost his mind and bit me. Then out of nowhere he called for back up and two of his buddies came Out of nowhere to take a chomp at me too.

“DIDI!!!!!” I screamed “OH MY GOD, DIDI, THEY BIT ME!!!” I needed my own back up but poor Kristen couldn’t do anything because she also had 6 hanging off her.

Mostly, that is how it went. We’d call in the headmaster, he would ramble off something in Hindi, the kids would settle down and then we’d start all over again.

We had to do better. We needed to be more organized and more in control so Kristen and I decided to teach them a few simple things in a daily routine. We started small. Kristen was in charge of arts and crafts because between us she is the most creative and I suggested we teach the little hooligans “Peace”.
I love it when little kids say peace and it seemed easy enough to show them that the number two also meant something else, plus, we really needed some peace in our class.

So, peace (which is shanti in Hindi) was the basis of most of our program and each day we greeted each of them with this gesture.
Peace meant they had to try to be nice to each other and us to them. Peace meant we couldn’t let the anger and frustration we all felt possess us. Peace meant we were in this together. We had colouring sheets with the peace sign, we showed them peaceful interactions and told them that peace means also meant love.

Then we showed them I love you, by simply pointing to their eyes, and then their heart and then to who ever they wanted to. Whenever they did something nice, we would tell them. “I- LOVE- YOU” and whenever they did something nasty we held them firmly and said “Peace”.

Peace Didi!

It didn’t always work, but after 2 weeks each kid would chant the words as soon as they saw us. From windows in shanty town, to as soon as we walked into the classroom, they lined up to say peace and I love you.

They also danced with us. It was a good plan. Instead of trying to keep them pinned down all day we decided the last hour of class was going to be dancing. ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams was the song of choice and thank God for Sheila and her wireless Bose speaker and willingness to lead the soul train passed the shitters.

By the middle of the second week something had started to shift. Being in the slums got easier. I found a way to look past everything that was wrong and everything I didn’t like or couldn’t accept and just love these little kids for who they were. Just like the grinch, I felt my heart had started to grow. The head lice didn’t matter anymore, I had grown accustomed to the dirty smells of their clothing and I began to see them for who they really were. Beautiful little souls.

These kids, who had nothing by our standards, were haywire and rambunctious because they were excited. They were excited about us. Sheila, Eliel, Kristen and myself were a gift to them. Singing and dancing and drawing with new people was simply fun. They didn’t have iPods or modern technology to distract them, they didn’t have anything better going on in their lives outside of these four wall and so the best part of their day was being with us.

Lucky to have shoes. Even if they don’t match and one is for the wrong foot.

When I realized this, it almost bulled me over with heartache. Never before had just being with someone or being somewhere felt like enough. I have always been someone who thought I had to do more and then do even more. I’ve always needed to buy more things, have more things, go more places, over-schedule, over-promise and over-extend. It is just what I have always been about. I have never been able to show up as my imperfect self and just ‘be’.
Suddenly I got it.
This whole experience wasn’t about changing anything. It wasn’t about going in and writing a better program for learning, it wasn’t about conjuring up ideas for better sanitation or a need to see tangible results for my efforts. It was simply about giving of myself and my time and being present and connected enough to really see these beautiful people and myself for who we really are.

It was about understanding, instead of being understood and it was about learning that each of us, as human beings, are more the same than we are different. The kids in slums of Delhi’s live in a daily struggle. As people affected by cancer we also live in daily struggle and it is because of our struggles that we can relate to each other. It is what makes us the same and breaks down the barrier of separation that exists simply because we live on different sides of the world.

Bingo- It hit me. Volunteering was amazing.

But volunteering in another country sometimes gets a bad rap. They call it voluntourism I think is the term, and during my first few days when I started at the school and was feeling very mixed up the universe was sending me a ton of articles on all the reasons why a person shouldn’t volunteer in a different country. It was weird timing but it also wasn’t lost on me why these articles were flowing in my direction. Of course, because I like to self-punish, I read them all. They had typical statements like-“Big organizations who run these programs are the only ones profiting. People’s lives shouldn’t be exploited and they shouldn’t be treated like animals in a zoo. We are taking jobs away from locals and it is an over privileged first world thing to do, selfish and self serving.” Blah, blah, blah.

Here is what I think.
There might be some truth to the statements above but, in life, there is always an opportunity to look at things in positive light or to focus on the negative. Now, having had the opportunity to experience volunteering in another country I choose to look at all the good it can offer. No, it’s not all perfect and of course no one person who only has two weeks to share can impact major change but I do believe the trickle effect of that person’s intention can be a catalyst to possibility and hope of progress.
Do I agree some of the wrong people might be making too much money and more could be done to help the poor long term? Yes, but I also don’t think we do not have all the answers either. We don’t live their lives thus there is no way for us to truly know what they really need.

While in India, I learned the story of a man who after volunteering in Africa felt the people in the village he visited needed better water. So he went home, fundraised a bunch of money, came back and built a well. Years later, he again visited only to discover that no one was using the well. When he asked why they didn’t use it the response shocked him. They told him that the well took away  social time and was causing a disconnect within the tribe. You see, getting water, washing, bathing and playing at the river was part of their daily ritual and it was something as a community they valued. It was sacred. The man had never thought about the needs of the people from this perspective and it struck him how far too often we assume what others needs are. For some reason we think we know better.
I guess unfortunately, being privileged can also sometimes result in righteousness.

Maybe though, people are being exploited….

I thought about this too and decided instead of using the word exploited what I felt was that they were being was open. Open to learning and being vulnerable. Open to sharing and having strangers come in and experience their lives. Open to help. Open to change and on top of being open they were also being very grateful.
Sadly, there is no real possibility for immediate change with children I spent time with India. The teachers know there is not suddenly going to be a budget surplus from the government and the resources will come flowing in. These kids will not likely get a better chance at life. It is this reality that I found heartbreaking and hard to move past. Despite this, it was not sadness or anger or pity that I felt as I walked away from the slums or the kids at The Vidya school. It was hope, that I too one day could find this level of acceptance, kindness and appreciation without judgement in my own life.

I never once got the feeling they didn’t want me there. Even though we hardly gave them anything, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for what we could offer. I certainly never like I was taking away any jobs, in fact, I felt more like we in some small way helped to make someone’s job easier.

Is it an over privileged thing to volunteer in a third world country? Yes maybe it is irrelevant because the one thing I learned is that no matter who you are going into something like this you aren’t going to be the same person coming out. Yes, I was oblivious to how self serving I really was but this experience made me humble.
So, although little was accomplished in the measure of progress by my volunteering if I was able to leave just a little bit of peace and a little bit of love behind and come home with more acceptance and grace than I only have three words left to say.

Thank you India.

India in a nutshell. The contrast between the ugliness and the beauty

It was an ongoing joke while I was in India that I purged.

I purged a whole lot of negative thoughts that have continuously consumed my mind for over 10 years and I let go of a whole lot of old ways of thinking. I said good bye to things and people that I have been holding on to for far too long and I burned (literally) ideas that were no longer serving me.
Then, in life’s perfect mockery of me, being the only person on the trip without cancer, I puked and I shit and I sweat like I was dying (good ole Dehli belly). I coughed, snorted and hoarked out all the thick grief I have around Logan’s cancer, as well as a few big black snot balls of Indian pollution, and somewhere along the way I also purged all of my blogs I wrote overseas.

True to apple’s promise of hardcore security, the only way to protect myself, from myself, and restore my disabled iPad was to purge it too. So all my notes, and thoughts and words written in the life altering experience that was India will forever stay there. Just as it was always meant to be I assume.

Now, you will only get the second-hand version of this incredible trip. I laugh as I type these words because I was so devastated about losing my blogs yet, it is clear, you were always getting the second- hand version. Today, all I can do is my best to share with you the version of India I suppose you were always to hear.

Here it goes. Chapter one- Arriving.

I stepped off the plane in India tired, anxious and ready for a shower. The long flight via Calgary and Frankfurt was uneventful and I arrived in Dehli grateful that I had a familiar face guiding me through the first few steps of this new country. Harj, a work colleague of Jared’s, was ironically spending a few weeks in India with his family at the same time I was and even though I didn’t know him before we left, I attached myself to him like a small child as soon we touched down in this foreign land.

World traveler/slash/chickenshit.

Saying goodbye to my own tribe at YVR

Harj and his family getting ready to leave me at the Delhi airport

As I followed Harj, who followed the herd of people through the arrivals corridor, I was in a daze. The Delhi airport is humongous and the arrivals process was long and confusing. My first introduction to India as I reflect, pretty much sums up all of India, long and confusing.
It was two o’clock in the morning and I was scared shitless, about to be alone, and feeling like I had made the biggest mistake of my life (why the hell did I ask for donations to fund?) when suddenly my passport was stamped and I was officially let in the country. I got the green light which meant no further searches were necessary, just a strict reminder that my visa was only valid for 30 days. “Get me the hell out of here” I thought. A 30 minute visa would have been fine.
My eyes were scanned and finger prints were taken and I did not crack a smile in what seemed like a very secure process but I wondered, “Was it even possible to track anyone down in a country of 1.26 billion people. What if I got lost in India? How would anyone find me?” And just as quickly as the thought entered my mind I was told I was free to go.
India or bust!
I was on my way about to walk all the way outside of the baggage claim to the Costa coffee shop at the main entrance….. all by myself.

Me alone with backpack on my way to meet my new tribe.

With my large back pack in tow I arrived at the spot where I was to meet the rest of my tribe. They too were touching down at god awful times in the middle of the night but I was reassured. I would know who they were by the matching T-shirts they would be wearing.

Shit!!! My T-shirt didn’t arrive in the mail.
I started to panic, couple that thought with the fact I suddenly remembered I was also the only one on this trip (facilitators included) that personally didn’t have/had cancer and I suddenly felt like the black sheep of a group I hadn’t even met yet.

I looked around suddenly feeling desperate. Yep, only one coffee shop just as the email stated. I couldn’t possibly get lost. Perfect, I thought, only one lonely coffee shop in the middle of this hallway and NO fucking lounge to get a glass of wine.  My anxiety flared up. This was already a long trip and I still had 17 days to go.

I sat at the coffee shop until around 4 am. Finally, 3 matching T-shirts caught my eye. Keeners.
It was time to go.
Our driver ushered us outside and immediately Delhi hit me like a ton of bricks. It was a total assault on my senses. Unexpectedly warm, with a faint smell of incense and urine. Dust so thick that the air I breathed immediately made my lungs tighten and SO many sounds my head started to spin. Horns, voices and a language I couldn’t understand made me feel very unsettled.

Still, I tried to be rational. Time was not on my side, that was all, I was just tired. I tried to reassure myself and quickly decided that instead of becoming completely unglued I just needed to put one foot in front of the other and follow the matching T-shirts to the large jeep parked outside the front doors. Once I could see things through a fresh set of eyes everything would be fine. Instead of making small talk, I intended to doze off on the way to the flat but as we drove through the streets of Delhi in the wee hours of morning I was immediately struck at how alive the city was. It baffled me to see how many cars were on the road. Traffic inched in a chaotic yet harmonious way and just like an organism, the process of six cars, 4 rickshaws and a garbage truck in three lanes of traffic made perfect sense. There were people literally EVERY WHERE. My head darted from side to side trying to catch a glimpse of all the sights. Everything was covered in dust, and it was almost like viewing a picture in sepia tone while at the same time colors popped and were vibrant and alive with beauty.  I felt awake and alert. I looked over at my new tribe members, their eyes as wide as saucers. A calm fell over me. Thank god they too were in shock. I was no longer alone.

Small Hindu temple close to our apartment

Our neighborhood

The rest of the group of 14 arrived throughout the following day and we spent the first few hours of our time in India in a small flat with a tiny kitchen. This tiny apartment/office/bed and breakfast would be the place we ate our meals and participated in volunteer and cultural activities throughout our stay but for now it was simply the meeting point before we moved to our own private guest house.

In years past we were told the flat is where all the fresh chapter groups have stayed. How on earth they survived I don’t know. The place is not only tiny, but really warm and has no windows. The overcrowded rooms consist of miniature bunk beds (which even my feet hung over) and bathrooms with toilets labeled slimeline that don’t flush properly. There is no personal space (which is pretty much India in a nutshell) and only two small torn love seats to unwind on. For any group, this confined space would be a challenge but for 14 people who had been through cancer the flat seemed like an  impossible place to live.

I mean, I get the whole point of this experience is about getting out of our comfort zones, connecting with each other and being vulnerable, but let me tell you- I did one heck of an internal happy dance when I heard that we would be the first group to ever be upgraded to much better accommodations.

World traveler/slash/chicken shit/slash/princess.

The new apartment was about a 10- 15 minute walk away from the dinner flat (depending on traffic) and once the entire group arrived, the fourteen of us, eleven women and three men were packed up and moved in to our new and improved quarters.

Communal living room at the guest house.

Upon arrival at home base we were assigned our rooms, and our roommates. This is new digs, just minutes down the road felt clean and fresh and although it was still quite small it was a definite improvement. Things were looking up. I could handle this. This place felt welcoming and although it didn’t happen immediately, the guest house quickly became a home and fourteen strangers who started out as a tribe also grew into a family.

In a tiny bedroom, with 2 twin beds and a cot I spent the next two weeks getting to know, and fall in love with, my roommates. My now obvious soul sisters Kristen and Katrina were the names of the gals I bunked with.

Kristen a lifelong New Yorker, with no accent, a love of wine, art, and everyone she meets, spent most of her life working at famous magazines and took the bed closest to the shitter (her first mistake).
She is likely one of the most kindhearted and beautiful people I have ever met. She is doing a great job living an amazing life and inspiring others albeit with stage 4 breast cancer which, I have to add, does NOT define her. Today in between chemo treatments she is taking time to finally rediscover herself all the while developing a pretty cool app, doing yoga, and traveling the world. I immediately identified with her uplifting spirit and her life motto that cancer was not a gift, but rather a reset button.

Katrina and I too had an instant connection. We both arrived in India from the west coast at the same time via different routes and from the very moment I met her it felt like I had connected with a long-lost relative. Our sense of humor is interchangeable and she is totally hilarious. In some ways I feel like we’ve lived parallel lives or as we decided we were the ‘Same, Same but different’ (common Asian quote). She is a single mom with two beautiful children. A lymphoma survivor who, now, only two years post treatment, is struggling with the reality that her ex-husband and the father of her kids is dying of stage 4 colon cancer. She is a stand up comedian from Vancouver and I am completely in awe of her. She doesn’t see herself as strong but she is tough as nails and has a gift of finding all the reasons to laugh at a time when most people with her life would just break down and cry.
She took the bed closest to the closet because she is also no dummy. Although she forgot to pack most of what she needed (blame it on chemo brain) her bed was placed perfectly so each morning she could just reach in and grab first dibs on my entire wardrobe.

And as for me, well, I took the cot underneath the TV at the feet of both of these beauties.

We lived on the main floor of the guest house with Terri and Pasha, the leaders of our program, while everyone else in the group occupied the top floor of the apartment.
It was probably very smart of Terri to separate us from the group, because basically, we never shut up.
Our nights were spent (until, I, always the first to pass out) acting like teenage girls, giggling, chatting, crying and of course talking about boys. We even snuck out (OK we were allowed out but given a strict 11pm curfew) to share a couple of glasses two hundred dollar wine.
I have no doubt after meeting each one of us personally, and hand picking this tribe, Terri knew that we’d do just fine bunking together. It was perfect. We were the three Amigos of India.

The two K’s and I had one bathroom, one towel each, and in the beginning we were very courteous by making sure we were always covered up, taking quick bucket showers and folding away all of our things. That hoopla lasted about 2 days.
Before long, we were planning who got the hot water, sharing our clothes, comparing the fullness of our natural and reconstructed breasts and of course throwing all of our shit around the entire room. For me personally, there were days I was literally throwing my shit (and puke) all over the room. Sick as a dog, poor Kristen forced to listened to my heaving in the bed beside the bathroom no doubt wishing she had chosen the cot.

They were great roommates and despite such cramped quarters, I never once felt like I wanted them out of my space. It was the first glimpse at acceptance that I would feel in India.

Kristen from New York

Katrina from Vancouver

The three amigos in a rickshaw

Instant friends for life.

Speaking of acceptance, upon arriving in India each of us were to choose a word that we wanted to leave with, acceptance was the word I chose and let me tell you, it is a big f’ing word.

If you have read any of my other blogs, or know me personally, I am sure you know that I have struggled with acceptance for a very long time, maybe even all my life.

I mean how on earth does one truly accept the reality that your child has brain cancer and it could flare up at any second? How do you accept the fear that now lingers just below your surface but consumes your entire life? How do you accept that you’ve had no choice but to give up your career, your identity, and ultimately your own self. And that despite this new direction life has taken, despite the friends and family you’ve lost this was always the path you were supposed to walk.

How do you accept that somewhere inside you, you are still ‘enough’ and that your life ‘according to’ (which you were perfectly happy with I might add) suddenly has to become a life ‘in search of’.
And to top it all off, how in the world do you even begin to wrap your head around and accept that your whole entire journey has now lead you to some tiny apartment in India with 14 strangers on some sort of self-imposed wake up call. Toss in fact that I was about to be thrown into extreme poverty, unspeakable injustice and filth while trying to find some resemblance of my former self or inner light, or whatever you want to call it.

It was almost too much.

Almost.

I could barely follow any of the chatter around me and to be honest the only words I could think about were the ones stuck on repeat in my head. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

“Who am I kidding?”

“Get me the hell out of here!”

I had no idea what to do. I had no wine to numb me, no comforts of home to hide away in. I had no friends to call so I could contemplate this insanity, and no family to cuddle me and tell me it was all going to be alright.

But, my biggest challenge was that I, personally, also knew I had no god damn idea how on earth I was going to find any bit of acceptance in this huge pile of bullshit I had piled up in front of me.

But it didn’t matter. Tomorrow morning would inevidently come and when I woke up I would be handed a  shovel -one I apparently asked for. The ‘shovel’ would come in the form of a bag full of crayons and colored paper and like it or not I’d be heading out into the slums to volunteer and give what little of myself I had to share.

Apparently, I was about to find out if I could somehow muster up the courage to look at things through a new set of eyes.
Then, at the end of each day I was going to report back to this group. Listen to their experiences and contemplate if I had any better luck with personal growth than they did. We would do this together, but we would also do it alone, and somehow, I was told, that if I found the very elusive acceptance it would be through spreading kindness and humanity. It would be because of a very basic understanding of human struggle that somehow my own life’s journey would like start to make sense. There would be a deep connection, with others, but more so with myself, and this is how my fresh chapter would begin.

Apparently, I just needed to get curious, I just needed to breathe, I just needed to honor, and I just needed trust the process.

Like a deer in headlights I listened. It all seemed like A LOT of unreasonable nonsense, to be honest.

I had no idea if it was possible, but I was going to try.

It was too early on in the program to cop-out or to say I didn’t buy in. Plus I had traveled all the way to India to do this. I asked for support, I wrote a big long sob story on how I truly wanted this experience, an opportunity just for me, and now here it was. I questioned myself. Was I really strong enough for this? Then I shook my head, “Shit, if these people can do it, despite their cancers, than I need to pull my head out of my ass and believe I can too.”

And just like that I decided to stop being a wimp. I chose the word acceptance and I knew deep down in my heart that now was my time to try and find it.

Terri hugged me, knowing I yearned for comfort.

She told me that India had a funny way of giving everyone what they needed, so I decided to go with it. Trust, be open, Thank you universe.

I nodded. Silently I was myself proud of my revelation and felt lighter as I stumbled to bed with my new kurta in hand

I even caught myself thinking one last time that I wish I’d picked a different word.

“You really need to stop trying to be such an overachiever.” I said quietly to myself as I closed my eyes.
It would be fine.  Thank god it was now after midnight and I only 16 days until I was back home where miraculously already everything seemed so much easier to accept.

I began to drift off…

And then…… NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!  just like that, the sound of a freight train.
WHAT??? My perfect roommate Kristen snores?

I sat up looking at Katrina who simply raised an eyebrow. She was wide awake and looked like some sort of nocturnal hamster.

I rolled over now fully aware.

Shit was about to get real.

EVERY SINGLE THING about this trip was going to be about leading me to my path to acceptance.

Oh Great.

There was no way I was getting off the hook easily. I asked for acceptance, and I now I knew, I had just over two weeks to cram my way through one hell of a crash course on the path to enlightenment.

Bring it on, India.

I was ready.

Boat off the coast of Koh Samu

Today is day 4 on the island of Koh Samui and I really don’t have much to tell you about this island.
The truth is we haven’t ventured out much from the totally isolated pool at our resort. Apparently the hotel is at full capacity yet for some unknown reason not one person frequents the pool we choose to sit at each day, which to be honest, is kind of awesome and totally weird all at the same time. Jared says that he feels like we are at our own summer home.

One with fresh towels and bar service- I wish.

We are staying at the Sheraton Koh Samui. It is everything you would expect from a Sheraton, clean, nice, good location and expensive as hell. If it weren’t for points we would never choose this resort for the sheer fact of how pricey things are. Breakfast each day for the 5 of us costs two hundred dollars, a couples massage is five hundred. A far cry from our six dollar massages in Cambodia. It pains me to think how little the workers are making and how much money we are we are wasting.

Insane.

We eat off the resort. Mainly at this cool little bar/restaurant owned by an Irish guy with a Thai wife. Apparently they just moved here. Threw the in towel on life and decided to do something totally new. Sean Og’s- is the name of the joint and they are doing a great job. Food is really good and cheap. They even made us a full Christmas dinner, brussel sprouts and all. We also found a great massage parlor down the street to indulge in- 9 dollars and no happy ending included.

The room is beautiful and it was free. Well, sort of, it is from Jared’s year of travel and our credit card charges so even though the amenities at the resort are expensive, being here is a good deal and we are enjoying it.

I always thought I was a hotel snob, but the more I travel the more I am starting to realize that all I appreciate is value. A nice property at a fair price, that is clean and has good food, cold beer and a pool is fine by me.
Finding a gem for a good price means more money to experience the fun things we want to do on our trips. It also usually means meeting cool people. Not to generalize but fancy hotels sometimes constitute snobby, pampered, entitled people.
The kind I am trying very hard to distance myself from.

Winding down has been nice. I am not sure the kids feel the same as I do but this feels like vacation. Reading, swimming, sunning, eating, drinking sleeping. Repeat. The beaches in Koh Samui are not great right now. There is large waves and sadly oil on the beaches from a recent spill. So our days are spent around the pool which is great. We are all totally relaxed.

Swimming with a sore finger after playing football in the pool

Rough waters in Koh Samui and this is what washed up on the beach. Makes me sad. We have to clean up our oceans.

At home our life feels crazy- all the time.
There just doesn’t seem time for relaxing like this.
Jared is in sales and is always stressed about making quotas. There is always a new month, a new quarter, a new year. Brody’s lacrosse schedule seems to dominate our calendar most weekends and helping Logan get through school, getting her to and from medical appointments, support groups, and managing medications seems overwhelming. There is just not enough down time so I’m soaking it all in.

It is amazing when I reflect on our life back in the ‘real world’ and how we are so anxious about everything we need to do. Pick up meds, order meds, email the doctor about meds, fill out disability forms, appeal disability decisions. Get audited, (there is no way in a country such as Canada that meds cost so much right?). Stress about money, hire a tutor, get a support worker, learn new software to help Logan learn. Meet with teachers, submit assignments, find places to volunteer. Drive.
Shit Lacrosse. What? Jared is away. Cyber school. No groceries. We need meds.
Ugh Didn’t we just get meds?

At home, life is overwhelming and I wonder why? I wonder how the pressure and stress of our reality can seem so different here than it does at home.

Maybe it is the just the Chang beer at noon?

Please don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining because I know our life is awesome. I know how lucky we are and I am grateful and positive but as awesome as our life is, there is one big white elephant in the room hanging over us and underneath the surface, we are frayed, frazzled, tired and broken from 10 years of cancer life and the small amounts of everyday stress compounds and sometimes then cancer, that is really only one part of our life, dominates it. It is what I despise most about this disease.

That is why we escape. We run away from our problems, we regroup and recharge. We put ourselves in precarious situations just so we can figure out the way and somehow we feel stronger and more connected, empowered and stronger when we return.

Traveling makes cancer a distant memory. It is like it happened in another life. It is like we hit the pause button and we get to be normal. We pretend that about our life is normal. No expectation, no reality, no worry, no schedule. No one knows- unless we tell them.
So there is just happy hour, and happy days, and filling the medication trays once a week. Even headaches and pain seems easier to manage.

Best Asian travel crew ever!

That or maybe it is the freedom to be blissfully tipsy- either way I love it.

I have always said that you can run away from your problems and I truly believe you should. Every chance you get.
Vacation, means to vacate- to check out- It is what we do.
We run.
We usually do it at Christmas, yes, because Christmas is hard. We are part of a normal family which means we all don’t get along and it makes the holidays upsetting. That is not what the holidays are supposed to be about.
We also don’t like all the obligation, the guilt, all the spending on more stuff we don’t need. There is a stress that comes along holidays and when it is over I find myself searching for what it was really all about and it is never found under the tree or by binging on copious amounts of turkey.

For a type A person like myself, Christmas is the worst time of the year. I can’t do anything half ass so if I stay home, the holidays are completely over the top and I in the end I am a total mess, depleted and disappointed and run down.
Vacation is a better plan- for us all.
Happy hour, happy days. It is not less expensive but the money is spent on experience instead of stuff. When we come home and we feel connected and ready to face the New Year. It works.

I get that it is my own stuff.
For some of you, you love the holidays. You love the traditions and all that comes along with the season and I think that is great, I admire it.
For our family it’s just a different can of worms. One day it may change, the kids might not want to come with us. We might crave turkey instead of tacos or pad thai and we might want to hunker down at home reading silent night. I am open to that.

But for now, the end of the year means going away, with my people. It means reflecting and basking in all the glory that vacation brings. It means ending the year with peaceful happiness and tropical sun.

I know this blog is deep, and you might be barfing by now but it brings me to my next point.
I know I need to find a better way of bringing this feeling of balance into my life back at home in my everyday life by not having running half way around the world to find it.

So, I think the best way to find is by not coming home yet.

Saying thank you and goodbye to the best husband ever.

I am not ready and I need to honor that.

I am on a quest to start this new year in a different way and I think my answers lie in Bali.

I know what you are thinking- “How Eat Pray Love of you…” And I guess it kind of is cliche but I truly do want to find ways to better manage my anxiety.
I have so much grief, fear and guilt buried down inside of me. Totally useless emotions that are so nagging. I need to put them in their place. I just don’t know how.

There is so much that I haven’t talked about in this blog and it stuff most would never understand. Somehow it doesn’t even feel right uttering my thoughts, but being truthful is a New Years resolution I plan to keep to myself.
There is a huge ‘cost to the cure’ as I call it and I have yet to learn to accept the reality of Logan’s stable yet forever brain tumor circumstances.

So why Bali? Well mostly because there is this thing called Soulshine that is calling my soul and it is decided that Brody and I will go. The idea of the two of us came from Jared. Brody has been my son for 11 years and we have never done anything alone together just the two of us.
Jared also thinks I could use someone to reign me in a bit and he is probably right.
So, Brody and I have registered for classes to learn meditation, breathe, relax, and do yoga. We are also going to Rock out to Micheal Franti. We are going to stay in a beautiful hotel and see monkeys and ride bikes in the rice fields -or at least that is the plan.
We are going to spend time together, and in that time we are going to learn a few new techniques to help us take better care of ourselves and each other in the new year.

I really wish we could all go, but the reality is, we don’t have enough meds, enough time or enough money. Reality sucks, and I hope this retreat offers up suggestions on how to change our current reality as well.

Jared has to go back to work, Logan has to start back at college.

To let them go back to Vancouver without me is so outside of my control freak character.
I manage everything about Logan’s life, but I know I need to do this for myself.

Even saying these words out loud feels wrong but after 10 years of caring for my child with cancer I can feel the fragile parts of me starting to unravel.

I can feel the brokenness and exhaustion getting the best of my emotions and it is happening more than I want it too. I need a new perspective.

I think Bali might give me one.

Am scared shitless to do this?
Hell yes.
To travel alone with Brody, to leave my family at the airport, navigate a new country, a new currency, meet new people and be all touchy feely ( and sober ha ha) is something I’ve never done.
It is totally outside of my comfort zone. Most who know me would say I am an extrovert. It is true, but I am also an introvert and I fear meeting new people and putting myself in unknown situations but I know I must.

This will be quite something. I still can’t believe I am actually going to do it- but I am- so wish me and Brody luck.

Here’s to hoping this will be all I hope it is.

Bali here we come!

And then there were two.

Cruising the beach in Koh Samui

I am struggling to find the words to explain Bangkok. It is a city that is totally awesome and at the same time it is complete madness.
Bangkok is home to almost 40% of the entire population of Canada (14 million with surrounding area). It also has more than 16 million tourists that visit each year. That alone is mind boggling especially since the area of the city is approximately half the size of Metro Vancouver.

Bangkok Subway

School kids in Bangkok

Street food- Bangkok

It is a Mecca that is bustling. There is beautiful cutting edge architecture and technology (digital signage everywhere) and so much western influence, yet amongst all the sky scrapers and new infrastructure there is still an old school way of living. Tiny tin shanties speckle areas under bridges, by the road side, along the river bank and in ditches. Older buildings are mixed in with newer ones and have laundry and personal items strung all over the outside of them. Jared noted that strata’s here must be much more lax then at home. We aren’t even allowed to hang a towel over the railing on a hot summer day to dry. There are tiny little carts everywhere selling things only locals would buy, cheap bus and lottery tickets, face masks, sticky rice. It is clear that as much as Bangkok is a Thai city it also seems to be a Chinese city. The history is rich with Chinese culture.

Despite the chaos, the people of Bangkok are incredibly passive.

Except for the Tuk Tuk drivers, my god….the Tuk Tuk drivers, they don’t miss a beat or take NO for an answer. They are relentless and they will try almost anything to rip you off- so beware, we almost spent an outrageous 400 baht for a ride that took us 10 minutes to walk. Good thing for us- I was in a bitchy mood and refusing to dicker, so I stormed off right in the direction of the Metro. You never know when the universe is working in your favor.

What is most crazy to me is that people don’t even seem to notice the 500 million cars on the road. I am the most impatient driver in our own Vancouver traffic but road rage doesn’t seem to exist here. Traffic is a part of life, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. There is no rush hour, in fact, rush hour never ends and It is a total free for all. Basically, if you can navigate your way through the mopeds, large trucks, busses, tuk tuks and cars you have the right of way. Red lights seem more of a suggestion than a rule and as a pedestrian you kind of feel like you are playing an all day game of frogger.
I can’t tell you how many times I yelled “Ok- GO or NO- STOP, SHIT GET BACK” in the 3 days in Bangkok. My nerves were shot.
On our way home from China town we were crossing to get to the subway. It seemed like an opportune time to make a move and then half way through street a string of cars came out of no where. Brody decided to run for it and luckily he made it to the other side. The rest of us were stuck on the center line, traffic swirling in both directions.
I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes me. Later on that night Jared woke up  sweating telling me he had a nightmare that Brody had been hit by a car.
Brody suggested we start looking for groups of people crossing the streets and join them. He thinks there we have better odds of not I getting killed-  strength in numbers. He also suggested very strongly that I think before I speak, the word ‘GO’ could only be used if I meant it.

You can’t be wishy washy in Bangkok.
Good advice B.

On one of the water taxis. This Monk asked to take a picture with Brody.

People also don’t seem to notice the pollution. Well most of them that is. It is not uncommon for someone to wear a face mask because it is literally SO hard to breathe. On the first day I had such a bad headache after breathing the air in all day. The second day I bought us all face masks.
I feel so ignorant about the level of pollution in this part of the world and seeing it first hand has actually made me quite sad. I can’t help but think of how many goods are produced over here simply for the first world’s over consumption and meanwhile here millions of people are living in toxicity.

Things can not go on this way.

Not only are the factories a problem but it is obvious that the poverty is also contributing factor as. People simply can’t afford the luxury of being more socially responsible. So they don’t recycle instead they burn their garbage, they cook outside over open fires, drive old cars that blow black smoke to high hell and as a result not only does the air suffer, the water does.

The magnitude of the problem is overwhelming and I can’t even begin to imagine where to start. To try to explain how it feels here is difficult and the only thing that comes to mind is the air quality is like when we are in the thick of a summer forest fire. It is hazy and the air is hot humid and heavy. When I ask how the locals feel about the pollution, I always get the same passive answer “It gets better after 6 o’clock”

Better is minimal. I wonder how they can accept this- but then again I wonder if they even question it. Global economy is the driving force and this is their way of life. Thailand, especially Bangkok seems to be the land of opportunity, but seeing it first hand, I have to question how high is the true cost of our cheap goods?

Despite the chaos that is Bangkok, Thai people are amazingly well balanced, peaceful and kind. There is a tolerance and ability to coexist in the madness that I really appreciate.

There is also a lot of nose picking and hoarking and public tweezing. Brace yourself and bring hand sanitizer.

One thing I admire about Thai people is their love of food. The food is fresh and fragrant and amazing and there is no exception as to where you buy it. Street carts are full of amazing fare and they are everywhere. Whatever you desire you can find. Full pig’s faces, noodle soup, and roasted duck just to name a few. Pad Thai is cheap and at only 40 baht a serving ($1.50) you can get it anywhere.
Roasted meat on a stick also seems to be a common food although we didn’t venture out and eat any after my possible cat meat encounter in Cambodia and Jared’s rumbly tummy we are being cautious.

But there is no need to eat something you don’t like, fresh vegetables, rice dishes, and noodles are everywhere.
Mostly we played it safe, fruit, pomegranate, Pad Thai, noodle soup, and Roti- which is one of the most delicious fried bread desserts I have ever had-were some of our favorites.
I follow a food vlogger (Girl Eat World) who recently did a short video on eating in Bangkok. We meandered our way though China town to Yaowarat Rd to eat at one of the road side stalls she suggested. It was well worth the trek to get there and a trek it was. We did what most people do when they get to Bangkok- we got lost in the streets.

Street food in Chinatown

We also did all the usual touristy things in Bangkok. We rode the BTS, we walked forever, we bought knock off’s in Chinatown, we took the local boat taxi’s (holy shitballs) to see Wat Pho the iconic Golden Buddha, we visited the Grand Palace and we went to Asiatique otherwise known as the riverfront night market.

Golden Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho

Golden Buddha- Valued at over 60 million dollars

One of the many golden doors at the Grand palace

Brody on guard- Grand Palace

Logan and I both had our palms and astrology number read by an elderly Thai man. Either we are both very much the same- or the guy was a bit of a scam.

Either way he had some good messages.

He told me that I had a good brain but I need to learn how to turn it off. CHECK
He said that I need to speak more from my heart than from my head. CHECK
He said I have a hot temper and too much worry. CHECK
He told me that I would be wealthy and good fortune was coming in the year and a half OK- CHECK
He told me it would be better for me to move around for the next couple years than to stay put. OK- CHECK- JARED YOU SHOULD QUIT YOUR JOB
He said I would never work in an office again. CHECK
I would only ever have one husband and one true love. CHECK
There would be no more babies CHECK-THANK GOD
He said I should drink less wine or I would need an operation when I was 59. I asked what kind of operation, he said it would be my knee, so I am good with that, my liver is going to hang on. CHECK
He didn’t like my sarcasm – he said if started to meditate, did yoga, didn’t smoke and quit drinking entirely, I would live to be 92. If I don’t I will die at 87.
87 sounds pretty good to me. CHECK

Logan wanted a more cut to the chase with her reading. Basically all she wanted to know was if she was going to die. He said yes. We all will die.
He told Logan she would be 81 when it happened.
She would have good health with ‘no problems’. He said she would have 2 children and he said she would marry an older man at 27 years of age. He also said older people will always help take care of her- so it’s a good thing I guess that I am going to be wealthy.
Who knows, maybe it was hokie but I liked the messages so I am going to go with it. Except for the wine thing….
And 87 with a bad knee sounds like a good compromise.

With the fortune teller

All in all Bangkok was good, it was squishy as hell, smelly, yummy and sticky but it was a good experience
Every time we complained and wished we were back on the island, Dani (Logan’s friend) kept telling us to take it all in- it was all part of the experience. She was right. If all I saw was palm trees and paradise I would have missed so much about Thai culture. Bangkok may be one of those cities, you get in, do your thing, have a few bites to eat, see a few temples and the hell out with a few things you bought for a cheap price of course.

Trust me, you’ll be better for going to Bangkok. When you leave with your plastic Birkenstocks and knock off T-shirts you will be much more appreciative,better dressed and ready some more island time.

OFF TO KOH SAMUI!!

Merry Christmas from Bangkok

Logan’s new T shirt. “Some were born to be lucky, Some were born to be fighters”

Med recharge before Koh Samui