All I had were facts. And who wants to hear those? Arrived September 1st, London Heathrow Airport. Stayed with lovely counsellors from Rotary Club of Harrow, Colin and Maureen. Moved in to Newman House Catholic Chaplaincy, Intercollegiate Housing. Started school. Blablabla. I just couldn't bring myself to blog the facts without giving it heart and reflection. And...I couldn't do it for the longest time.
London is hard to process and re-deliver. The important point is that it takes time. I can't tell you how irritated I get when people who have worked in Country X or Continent X claim "Oh, I know X, I worked there for 6 months." And then try to do economic or international policy thinking they "know" country and culture X. It takes time and humility to process a space, a community, a culture. You have to...let it interact with you... Let it bash against your whole self and your distinct personal narrative...and let it do its chemistry.
Today I hit the three month mark with a bang. In Harrow, appropriately enough, where I first landed and where my amazing counsellors live. :)
As soon as I got off on the Pinner stop I noticed the sharp difference in air quality. *inhale* Yeah--I take shallow breaths in London. I've really started to resent the pollution. And people inevitably ask "Isn't Los Angeles polluted?" "Ya, but I'm the pollution maker in LA, driving in my car. In London I have no choice but to walk and inhale all the junk." Public transport is one of those mind-bending concepts for my LA soul. A few serious thoughts:
1. It's the great equalizer. Doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, black or white, educated or not, everyone has to deal with it because driving is just so inconvenient. It's nice in that it forces you to somewhat interact with everyone...but not really...which brings me to...
2. Why doesn't anyone interact?!?! In Harrow, people will say "hello" (or "'ello!") as they pass by you because it's a small community. But you can be soooo unhealthily invisible in London, and it's epitomized by the anonymity of public transport. People have mastered the "keep a straight face on despite the skanky outfit/funny-looking piercings on the person sitting in front of you." I mean, it's not like I want to be best friends with everyone on the tube, but there's something freaky about walking through that many people and pretending they don't exist.
3. On a positive note, I've become more compassionate, considerate, and aware on public transport. Give up your seat for the old man/woman. Move along swiftly and don't cause traffic jams. Keep your stuff from falling on people. You don't quite get that in the individualized transport system of LA. Get out the WAY, dumb Kia, I need to get on the 10 East NOW.
4. But here's my irritation about public transport. You're so vulnerable. To the rain, the cold, and the scary--in LA, I could go to a party knowing I can leave safely at 10 or 2 AM assuming I can safely get from the door to my car/parking lot safely. I feel so dependent as a woman as you pretty much need a friend to walk you to the tube at unreasonable hours of the night. Which just reminds me that women are more susceptible to rape and violence, and hence should not be treated "equally" but rather with special consideration because it's not fair that I have to consider these things more than men do.
5. So these are my mixed feelings about public transport. It's dramatically changed the way I live. Sigh. I miss my car. But the most important reflection is this: I have so much more sympathy for people who don't have a choice in life but to walk and suffer from the pollution created by other people driving hummers. I mean that on a grand, metaphoric scale. Some people can afford to keep driving and living in their comfortable bubbles despite the cost of their luxury. Others...others just have to walk and get inhale the pollution. No choice.
It was so nice to get away from the chaos of London. Harrow, oddly enough, feels like home to me. At the end of the day, we're all kids, us 20something international students. Going home to my "English parents," getting fed a home cooked meal (thanks, Colin!), and getting sent home with leftovers, presents, and chocolate? The care every child needs. Which reminds me to be more pastoral in my career in social justice. Efficiency is important, but what's the point of making sure everyone is fed, clothed, and employed if they're still starved for human connection?
Do I miss home? Well that's a complicated question, isn't it? I miss feeling connected to Los Angeles. Being engaged made it home. I mean, the same 50 people run LA I think. At least the LA I know.
Home is an interesting concept my classmate Krysta and I explored. We were studying displacement and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the importance of home and the challenges refugees returning home face. Krysta and I have limited attachment to home. We both moved around quite a bit, me between Jakarta and Los Angeles, her between Guyana, Boston, and Switzerland. We learned not to become attached to any place or any person because we knew it was temporary. We are exceptionally well-adjusted and the term "home-sickness" just means reminiscing about the temporary past that was good while it lasted. We understand that whatever "home" was to us, whenever it was "home" to us will not be there if we go back. Homes was constrained by that particular time and context. Do I miss home? I am grateful for the 4 years of home LMU and Westchester gave me. I miss being able to serve a community the way I did in LA and Long Beach. But I don't necessarily wish I were back. There's just...nothing to go back to. I wouldn't be an undergrad anymore, a student activist, a resident advisor and mentor, a beauty queen, community servant... I flew back to Geneva last month (thanks for having me, Matt :)) and it felt as homey as ever. I took a train to home in Harrow and felt that I could let my hair down. Lucky are we who have people to miss in faraway places, but home is a concept that I've made work this way.
Funny, in 10 days I go "home" to Indonesia for Christmas. An Indonesian friend here said "You're 'going' to Indonesia, right? You're not 'going home' to Indonesia?" Yeah yeah, Benny, don't remind me. I'm trying to claim South East Asian roots, okay?? So I can tell the policy and development people "I know Indonesia! I lived there until I was 11!" Oh, but so much has changed, he says. And he's right. I'm slightly concerned that I'll look the challenges of democracy and development in the eye and want to run. Run to Geneva to work for an NGO where I can breath clean, Swiss air, and not have to breath the polluted Jakarta air. I suppose we shall see.
For now, home is Newman House in London. I love this place so, so much. Nicola knows it, she teases me. I just had evening prayer with Irma, my Indonesian mentor and language coach. It was so wholesome and peaceful. I regularly dance with Tash and Dave, teach Lyndon silly Americanisms, and talk politics with Pete. I'm looking around my room and thinking about how quickly this setting has become the backdrop of what's comfortable. I was so uncomfortable when I first got here. I had to buy polka dot wrapping paper with Sahil to cover the shoe rack because the color of the wood made me uncomfortable. I even bought knobs from IKEA because the gold knobs on the closet freaked me out. I've only changed one of those knobs. Never got around to it. Now knick knacks in the wrong drawer get yelled at as it seems so obvious that they have always lived in the third drawer rather than the second.
Well folks, thanks for tuning in. I hope it wasn't a disappointment. I'm alive, I'm thinking about how well LA and its people prepared me for this, and am enjoying this home before I have to leap to the next one. Who knows, could be Switzerland, could be Denmark, could be LA. For now, much love from Gower Street. Goodnight!
0 comments:
Post a Comment