Me and the Mighty Atlantic

Today makes exactly 3 weeks that I have been in Rabat, Morocco.  I’d venture to say I have adjusted to my new home for the year, as much as possible.  For example, I have adjusted to the fact I can not effectively communicate with anyone outside of the confines of my job as the local language is French (and I, like countless other Americans, took Spanish as my foreign language all through middle school, high school and university…a lot of good it’s doing me now).  Then again, there is another lingual option – Arabic, of which I have no knowledge…so as you can see, I  haven’t been doing much talking in this new town, lol.

Ironically enough, most Moroccans are, at the minimum, bi-lingual, speaking French and Arabic.  Some, in addition to that, speak Spanish, English, and/or the indigenous language Berber which is another beast in itself.  Despite my inability to really say anything save “bonjour”, “bon soir”, “bon nuit” or anything else with “bon”, I am pretty much screwed.  Thankfully, I am starting French classes this Saturday!  Additionally, I am going to try to learn some Arabic as well.  Having watched Spike Lee’s Malcolm X countless times since adolescence, I can at least manage “assalaam alaikum” to greet someone or “wa alaikum assalaam” to return a greeting.  New to me is “shukran” which I prefer more than the French “merci” for “thank you“.

Okay, so enough about me.  Let me divulge a bit about this place called Morocco.  If you look on a map, you will find Morocco in Northwest Africa, but this is not reminiscent of the Africa that we Americans typically think.  This place puts me in the mind of the setting described in Shakespeare’s Othello, the Moor.  If you can, try to imagine what a Spanish Islamic country might look like…that is Morocco!  If you are having trouble envisioning that, simply think about the scenes in Disney’s Aladdin – visions of toweresque mosques all around; vendors selling fresh bread, fruit, vegetables and spices; rows of shimmering, lush sheets draping the walls of fabric stores in unimaginable hues; and women covered in humble, and sometimes alluring, robes that hide even their ankles but expose their henna-covered hands.  I’ll definitely say that this place picks up and surpasses where Indonesia left off for painting a picture of Islam within a culture.  I walk around most times thinking I am in some sort of dream.  Being in Morocco is like being in Europe but on the African continent.

I’d certainly like to write more, but I tend to be a bit too verbose at times.  Instead, I’ll take the opportunity to post some pictures of some of things I have seen so far.

Sitting atop the Kasbah, Salé in the background

My first Moroccan cemetary. Unlike those I saw in Indonesia, this one wasn't overrun by goats, chickens and children. The dead may truly rest here. If you notice, all graves face east.

This is the fortress right off the Atlantic Ocean. It is cheap to live here and I bet it'd truly be an experience. Unfortunately, the homes here have no rooftops...don't know how that works though. lol.

Yeah, I settled for being "at" Atlanta since I can't be "in" Atlanta. Saw this sign while headed towards the ritzy part of town and had to take a pic!

In lieu of my absent husband, these people are my "family" here in Rabat.

My husband and I’ve been home from Jakarta since June 9, 2009, missing the subsequent bombings there (occuring not far from our old neighborhood) by nearly a month.  Since returning to the US, life has been anything but boring…more like thoroughly frustrating.  The recession situation here is quite real, something we simply observed from afar in our enormous tiled-floor Indonesian bedroom, compliments of many of local news networks there.  Now we are back in the thick of it.  Luckily, I’ve been able to find work, which, ironically enough, just ended yesterday.  Not even a month ago, I commenced round two of teaching for the same local ESL school in Atlanta as I did before moving to Indonesia nearly two years ago, this time at the Chamblee branch.  I had the opportunity to teach a bigger variety of students this time, including those from Ecuador, El Salvador, Mexico, Russia, Turkey, and, the one country I SO want to see and experience, Brazil.  After they finished taking their final exam last night, my students and I said our goodbyes, my Brazilian pupils giving me gifts of cards, money and Brazilian cuisine (if the food is any indication of what the country is like, I KNOW I have to get to this place at least once before I die).  Now that chapter is closed and I’m sitting here waiting…

Two weeks from today, I’ll be departing the US to commence yet another adventure abroad, this time in Africa.  Back in February, I was interviewed for and got a job in Rabat, the capital of Morocco.  Said job officially begins on October 1st, and I can’t believe the time has come to make this new move, so it’s time to say goodbye to Atlanta once more.

Admittedly, I’m nervous, but it’ll be more than interesting to see what this new assignment will bring.  I consider myself very lucky to have gotten this job.  The company for which I’ll be working, according to my research, is one of the most reputable schools in not only Rabat but Morocco as a whole.  I certainly hope it doesn’t disappoint.  More so, I’m wowed by the fact that I’ll be in Africa for nearly a year.  Morocco, I guess, isn’t quite the Africa that most people think of at the mention of the continent.  There are no lions, elephants and impalas there to boast.  It lies just south of Spain, positioned in Northwestern Africa.  The climate is Mediterrean.  Like Indonesia, it is a Muslim country (I seem to have an affinity to these sorts of locations).  While living in Indonesia, I learned some of the language but still managed to get by mostly with English.  Learning Arabic and French will be a must in Morocco as English is not (obviously) the top language.  More unlike Indonesia, Morocco also has more than two seasons; wearing a coat during the “winter” is now a concern once more.  There is so much to consider, in many ways, I’ve blocked everything out and am just waiting to see what happens.

In any event, this new experience will prove to be no less than enthralling.  I just hope I can handle it.

My Workplace Family )

Nearly 18 months ago, I disembarked my China Airlines flight from Taiwan at Soekarno-Hatta Airport and planted my feet on Indonesian soil for the first time and, now, in a matter of days, the experience of me living in Jakarta will be over.  I’ve finally come to the end of my second contract with my school and am preparing to return to the good ol’ US of A very soon.  The closer I get to coming home, I am filled with a sickening mix of feelings for, unlike when I came home for Christmas last year, I know that I won’t be returning to Jakarta this time.  The experiences I’ve had while teaching in Jakarta have surpassed all of my expectations for coming into this venture.  I’ve definitely grown as an individual and truly felt like I actually served some purpose with my work since I’ve been here.  While I’ve been mentally exhausted for the majority of my last months here, it’s spawned from a good source – serving my students.  I am anxious, however, to get a break from teaching for a bit, lol, so some time back home should do me some good.  Still, I definitely contend that my place is within the realm of education. 

Aside from teaching, I will miss Jakarta, itself.  This city is anything but boring, and I can definitely say that since I’ve been here, not ONCE have I EVER wished that I wish I were back in the US.  That’s not to say that I don’t like my home country or to even suggest that I never felt homesick.  It’s just that Jakarta, to me, is anything but uninteresting.  At any given time, I can see or experience something interesting here, even within the confines of the city alone, many things that remind me of home.  Case in point - while on the bus this past Sunday, hubby and I watched a man who was clearly high on something “ask” a random passenger if he could have some of the water he saw her drinking.  She responded with a look of disbelief, fear and disgust but ended up giving the bottle to him.  He drank all but a few drops and tried to give it back to her, while she motioned for him to keep it.  The entire time, there was a man sitting in between them, maybe her beau, who did nothing.  The other passengers on the bus carried on as if no one saw this man who, eventually, stood up and started hanging around in the open doorway, probably having gotten tired from sitting down, I guess.  I laughed to tears at the craziness of it all; this was a scene that I could easily see on MARTA, but it was made funnier as I saw it on an entirely different continent in a country where I can’t understand the language!  In Atlanta, I imagine such a thing could have progressed to a violent climax, but here, in a very non-violent culture, it merely made for a funny episode to a foreigner like me.

Atlanta will seem different, I’m expecting – cleaner, easier to navigate.  My dark skin will no longer afford me neighborhood celebrity status as I’ll be one of many.  I’ll even be able to understand compliments and insults that are thrown my way instead of just having to decipher the looks on people’s faces.  I’ll be able to breathe again without having to cover my face while walking down the street, and there won’t be tired, horny, irritated-looking cats infesting the streets.  No more Blue Bird taxis or Nasi Goreng carts, no more “Ojek” stands, racing Bajajs or 20-cent  Kopaja rides.  No more Happy-To’s and pisang manis for snacking.  No more tasty but deadly Indomie! 

It’s back to the world I knew before coming here, a world which I wonder if I’ll even really recognize or like anymore.  Thankfully, should I decide that I’m not fully ready to commit back to being an Atlantian just yet, I’ll be able to work through my issues while I’m working at my new job in Morocco, starting in October.  Until I venture back onto this side of the world, my adventures in Indonesia (and Asia) are officially done as my adventures in Africa are about to begin…

I’ve been incognito for a while, I’ll admit.  I’ve been trying to get my thoughts together.  I have had much going on here.  I’ve decided to extend my stay here for about 6 more months.  I’m elated that my country decided to do the right thing by electing Obama, but I’m still not ready to come back just yet, lol.  I have finally, though, committed to doing something I’ve always wanted to do.

I am finally going to write and publish a book.

This will be one of the most important things I’ve ever done in my life.  While I’ve always been interested in writing, I’ve never possessed the endurance or diligence to follow thru with completing any of my prose.  Over the last few weeks, though, something has lit a fire under me.  It’s unexplanable.  I simply feel that writing and publishing a book at this point in my life is not merely a fantasy – it is a necessity. 

Like so many other things in my life, I’ve started off, thoroughly impassioned about this undertaking.  For nearly the past two weeks, I’ve come home each night from work and stayed up until 2:30 or 3:00 am, writing a chapter at a time.  So far, I’ve gotten up to 17 pages in one sitting.  I have a lot to say.  Unfortunately, like so many other things in my life, my own fears are making me doubt myself about whether I can or even should be doing this. 

You see, I’m not writing fiction.  I’m writing about my own life.

My book shall be more than just a collection of my personal experiences.  By putting some of my most joyful, tragic, humiliating and private moments into print, I am forcing myself to confront those things I’m not proud of while embracing those things that I am.  I’ve never been able to do either successfully.  Even if I don’t sell one copy, it doesn’t matter.  I would never assume that my life is the most interesting to read about.  I must, however, learn that my voice does matter, even if I’m the only one who is listening to it.  I feel that Father Time himself has given me a deadline to get this all done.  Why exactly, I don’t know, but I do have a theory….

Anyway, Indonesia is the ideal place to complete such a task.  Having isolated myself from all family, friends, enemies and all outside influences from my previous life (save my husband), I’ve been forced to sit alone with my mind.  Being surrounded by people who don’t speak my language has prompted me to have constant talks with myself.  It’s been sort of a mental fasting, much like physical detoxification where the body begins to feed upon itself after being deprived of anything else.  My mind is purging itself of all that lurks there – memories of all people and experiences I’ve had in my life, good and bad.  I feel like any attempt to hold on to them or hold them back any longer might kill me, in more ways than one.

So, by the time I leave Indonesia in June, I plan to have completed this work about my life.  I can even publish it here for a dirt cheap price.  At best, I’d hope to even make it to the Oprah Winfrey show to talk about it, but I’m open to the possibility that this might never happen, lol.  Again, I’m doing this mostly for me and my own sanity.  Allowing strangers to judge the me of today and yesteryear has always been the motivation I needed to get comfortable with being me.

I’m finally rising to the challenge.

In ancient and medieval philosophy, the term “quintessential” was used to define the fifth essence or element, ether, which was supposed to be the constituent matter of the heavenly bodies, the others being air, fire, earth, and water.  After 5 years of marriage, I believed that my husband and I have reached this fifth level of being.  I also see that reaching the level of quintessence should be the goal of such a union.  However, it doesn’t come with out much work.

 We got married on September 27, 2003 at 11:00 am, and, thus, the adventure began.

The first year was like pure air – fresh, free-floating and nearly flawless.  My first year as a “wife” was a painless one.  Hubby and I lived apart, he in Atlanta and I in Pensacola and Milton, Florida.  He was still in culinary school, I still in flight school.  Even after the first year as an official couple, we still maintained a sort of lightness to our relationship.  We hardly ever saw each because of our obligations, so, when we finally could, we never wasted time being mad with one another.  We enjoyed each other.  After a year, when I finally decided that flight school wasn’t for me and quit, he was finishing culinary school at the same time.  It was then that we decided to finally build something that looked like a real family structure.  So, I moved back to Atlanta, and we set out to lay our foundation.

Our Wedding Day (VERY UNCONVENTIONAL!!!)

  Going into the second year, we’d just entered our earth phase.  We were trying to create something solid, unshakable, stable.  We got an apartment with our own official address (finally), got jobs that we could both come home and bitch about, and a bunch of bills that we were responsible for.  We even got a pet – our black cat, Reggie.  We took on more responsibility to draw us closer together.  Eventually, I decided I wanted something more and convinced hubby that it was time to get serious with our money – I wanted to buy a house.  It probably wasn’t the best time and it certainly wasn’t the best decision, but, not even having been in our apartment a full year, we bought our first house and moved out before the completion of our lease.  I thought we were doing big things.  We celebrated our 2nd year anniversary at Reb Lobster, just as we had done on our wedding night – partly in keeping with a tradition but mostly because the rest of our money was now tied up in our new mortgage.

The McBrides, 2003

Unbeknownst to him or me, there was an invisible danger looming behind the opulence of our new life.  There was a storm coming.  Rain clouds were forming, but neither of us really felt the drops or could smell the humidity in the air.  Our third year would be spent trying to keep our heads above water.  It was the year of water – the otherwise soothing element that would now surge through our lives and level all that we’d tried to build together in a manner of 12 months.  My family lived with us in our new house, causing a lot of strain.  Furthermore, I began to detest my job, especially since working there allowed me hardly any time to spend with my hubby or family.  Whatever free time I got I usually spent sleeping.  His job was giving him problems as well.  Even after my family finally moved out of our house, we still weren’t able to appreciate having the house to ourselves.  It suddenly seemed that nothing was as it should have been.  Everything was always a constant struggle.  There was no easy love in the house, no easy anything – only feelings of anger, resentment, and loneliness that set the stage for potential but unfulfilled infidelities.  This year was pure hell and every day was a strained one.  The storm had come into our home and flooded us out.  It was truly a shock to make it to the 3rd year anniversary without having killed one another.

Hubby and I, at the company Christmas party

The celebration of keeping our nuptials strong for 3 years was short-lived.  The same issues that had burdened us before – a mortgage payment that we could no longer afford due to a shady refinance venture, an inoperable car that we were still financing for another 2 years at $500 a month, a stack of maxed-out credit cards and mounds of other debt – now suddenly seemed amplified.  It wouldn’t be until we got to our 4th year anniversary that I would realized we’d been walking thru fire.  It was scorching, suffocating, and searing.  Most of all, though, it was transforming.  Hubby and I would eventually walk out of the flames as tried and true, having had our true substance tested.  Everything that remained after the storm of the year prior was now fuel for the fire, something that would be consumed in the impending blaze.  After the inferno would ravish everything that constructed our reality, we’d only be left with one another and a choice – a choice to stay together or to walk away

In the end, we decided to do both – we stayed together and walked away from our reality to create a new one.  Together, we’d become something of a new being.  We’d become able to move without reservation, to create a happy, stable home within the walls of each other’s hearts and not the physical ones of an apartment, to wash away the bad things in our lives and endure the heat of those things that would seek to destroy us.  We’d emerge as a new, unified creature. 

We were quintessence personified.

Instead of fighting each other in the midst of the storm around us, we worked together to survive it.  We let go of everything that had once mattered so much to us to see that these things actually burdened us more than benefitted us.  Once we abandoned everything that we used to put so much value in, we realized that we should have always been putting our love and energy into each other.  With our new found mind, body and soul, we decided to start over, to create a better existence for ourselves with only God and our love to sustain us.  We decided to do this by moving to a 3rd world country!

And, surprisingly, we’ve have never been happier.

I’m so utterly confused right now.  While my time in Jakarta is swiftly drawing to an end, I find myself afraid about what the future holds.  I currently have a desire to go to the Middle East for work, only to find that many of the jobs that I am actually qualified for there are only for male teachers.  Actually, that seems to be noted on 95% of the ads that I look at for that region.  I’m thinking that that dream might soon become a distant memory. 

Furthermore, in an attempt to change the pace of things, I recently applied for a job in Paris with the same company that I currently work for in Indonesia.  Unfortunately, I haven’t found anyone with anything to good to say about my European sister school, so even if I get offered that job, I might be dooming myself to take the position. 

More than anyting, I’d absolutely love to go to Brazil, as I’ve said in blogs past, but I just don’t see a feasible way of getting there and making it.

The discouragement that I’ve been feeling recently is so not a true reflection of my spirit.  I feel as if something has grabbed a hold of me and is sucking the optimism out of me.  When I was making arrangements to get here, I was willing to do it by hook or crook.  For some reason now, though, an uncharacteristic feeling of relucatance is keeping me from pushing myself.

I hope to get over that quickly because I’ve got only three months in this country…and counting.

Hubby and I at Ancol

We’ve met some truly wonderful people here.  Most of them have been students, but there are others that have walked into our lives as something a bit more – friends.  I just wanted to take this opportunity to showcase a few of the new people that I have met here that have truly contributed to my great experiences in this country.

Hubby and I

My contract will drawing to an end very soon, in December to be exact.  When I first agreed to take this job, I thought 12 months would drag by, but it has been just the opposite.  I am just beginning to feel the initial feelings of disbelief as I complete my 8th month here.  Honestly speaking, Jakarta has grown on me.  I thoroughly enjoy living here, and my complaints are few.  Aside from the incessant stares I receive EVERYWHERE I go, I really don’t have a problem living here.  I will greatly miss many things about this city.

It’s funny because I’ve met two teachers, both who have already come to Jakarta, taught and returned back to the States, that had some very trying times here.  They both decided they had had enough of this place and got out of here as soon as they possibly could.  I have to say that Jakarta-living isn’t for everyone, but it suits me just fine.  Aside from missing family and friends, I can honestly say that I don’t miss much about American life. 

Friends and family from back home are constantly telling me about America’a economic woes, aside from other things.  Who the hell would be rushing back to that?!  No matter how irritated I get by someone looking at me here, it’s never been to the point that I’ve said that I’m ready to leave.  I’ve honestly never felt an urge to flee this place.  There are too many opportunities to here for me to get better, to do better, and just to learn to be more appreciative (or even critical) of my previous life back home in Atlanta.  Jakarta has been a great spot to begin this journey of learning to live simplier and more sanely.  I’ve even began to adapt to some things I never thought I could, like:

• Wearing long-sleeved shirts, black pants, black socks and black shoes in climate that feels like 90+ degrees everyday.  My walk to the bus stop in the afternoons each day is about 10-15 minutes, alongside a pollution-ridden, smog-steeped street.  I just pop in my earphones, turn on the radio in my cell phone and begin my walk down the street to the bus, not breaking a sweat until I actually get ON the bus.  Yet, I feel fine after I get there.

• Sitting ass to ankles, literally.  On the kopajas, the spaces between the seats in the front of you AND the space from your seat to the floor is MINIMAL, so, quite often, I’m sitting in a “childbearing” position in one of the seats on the bus!  Doesn’t bother me though.

• Hopping out of a moving vehicle.  The kopajas never really stop.  They just slow down to a rolling stop, both to let you on and off.  It’s kind of cool to negotiate that jump off the bus, though…until you’ve got a taxi coming up behind you and you are trying to avoid getting hit!  That’s what makes living here so exciting though!

• Listening to, awakening to, and sleeping thru prayertime at the mosques.  Hearing Arabic at sunset, noon, and sunrise, all around the city, has become so commonplace to me, I hardly notice it anymore.

• Eating less.  Not because the country is poor or because I can’t get food, but because it’s just better for  me  It is far that you might see a fat person here, and, if you should see one, s/he probably is well off…or a foreigner!

• Walking the street at night.  It feels so damn safe here, I swear!  Many of my students claim that this is the most dangerous place they know, so I tell them to go to America.  That’ll help them to appreciate what they have here.  More so, we’ve found a place where black skin doesn’t automatically warrant the sudden presence of a police, lol!  Seriously!  Hubby and I have found that, more often than not, our skin deters us from getting a lot of the “common” harassment that other foreigners experience, although we’ve known some blacks here that get discriminated against a lot. We’ve been told to stay away from the kopajas because of pickpockets and gangs, but no one ever seems to bother us, whether we are alone or separated.  Besides, I’ve never felt harassed here…just mindly irritated.

• Sleeping well at night.  This goes back to feeling safe.  It feels nice to sleep thru the night and not have to worry about a home invasion!  Seriously!  In America, I could never sleep comfortably if my dog wasn’t in the room with me.  He usually slept on my side of the bed or under the bed.  If he ever heard anything, he was up and at it!  Here, it’s so safe that it feels like I’m sleeping with three dogs under my bed!

Anyway, we’ve got about 3 more months to go, and we’re already in the process of trying to get to the next place on the itinerary – Dubai!  Yep, the Middle East seems like an attractive spot after living here.  The culture is similar in many ways, and it just seems like a suitable spot after having lived here.  Hopefully we’ll be making our debut there in early to late January.  I only pray that our experiences in our future are as good to us as they have been here in Jakarta. 

But the fun in Jakarta isn’t over yet….

I know someone who is about to get married, a fellow American teacher here as well, counting down her days before she makes her exodus from Jakarta and into the covering of a new man and a new last name. 

Sister (and you know who you are), I am dedicating this entire blog to you.  All of these words come from my own mind and heart. I hope that each can help you to understand what you are really getting into.  I have likened marriage to winemaking and you, the future bride, to a grape.  Here is what nearly 5 years of marriage have taught me:

You begin as a grape.  A simple grape.  Think of how the grape looks on the vine:  it starts off sweet, whole, and plump with potential.  Depending on the route that this grape takes, it is destined to become something of greatness or something of mediocrity.

You are the grape, and marriage is the process that shall determine your potential.

You’ve decided to become wine, a process more arduous than others think it truly is.  In order to become the sweetest wine you’ve ever dreamed of being, you must first be plucked from the vine – the place that you have known your entire life, the place in which you’ve always been comfortable to flourish and grow freely.  To become something better in the future, you must leave this place with which you are now so familiar.  The grape is you, and the vine is singlehood. 

Sister, you must be prepared to be plucked, to be taken away from the inconsistencies afforded to you by a life you’ve been able to live up til now, only thinking of yourself.  You must understand that although you’ve always heard about what marriage is like, you will never really know until you get into it.  You must understand that you will have to allow a part of yourself to die once you leave the vine in order to bring life to the new place in which you are to venture.  You must understand that now the sun no longer shines only on your dark skin.  You are about to be crushed and changed into something different from what you’ve ever known. 

Something better.

You are on a journey to the barrel, on your way to be initially crushed by the feet of experienced winemakers.  You are the grape, the barrel is your new life, and the feet are all the fresh and new experiences you and your partner could hope to experience together.  The feet are the jealous friends, the excitement of a new car and house note, the opinions of your family, the first real fight you have as man and wife.  The feet are the first things to break you in when you are dropped into this deep barrel, and they will continue to break you down until you truly understand what you’ve really gotten into.  The feet shall stomp you until the point that you may begin questioning your decision about doing this, but they are only the beginning.

Understand, sister, that the feet aren’t the only things that shall test you – what you have inside and what you are capable of becoming.

Nor should you want them to be!

Once you think that you can’t take anymore, that you’ve made the wrong decision, that you should have opted for a life on the vineyard to grow as a fruit for great eating, not for wine…

You shall go thru the press.

You are the grape, and the press is everything that could happen to test what really lies in your center.  The feet break you, but the press will test your true worth, your true composition.  The press is a cheating spouse, a child diagnosed with cancer, a dying parent, a period of financial hardship, a home foreclosure, a sudden feeling of wanting to be free from the responsibilities of matrimony.  The press rolls quickly, but the effects of its squeeze continue to resonate long after its last revolution.  You’ll beg for a quick press, and although the pain will initially last for a few seconds, afterwards, you’ll be forced to look at the mess that remains.  You’ll be forced to reflect upon yourself, to really SEE what has been inside of you, lying before you in its true form.  You will be pushed, pulled and pounded, but, in the end of such a hard ordeal, you shall produce whatever has been in you all this time.  If you have love at your center, then words of understanding, patience and forgiveness will flow from you when your spouse disappoints you, hurts you, or doesn’t meet your expectation, perhaps because you see that he possesses the same.  Even when you are being broken down to your last form, you will still be able to produce this, as it’s all there is that’s left in you.  Likewise, should bitterness, deceit, hate and anger be the foes that dwell in your core, then that’s exactly what you shall ultimately spew upon your partner.

Understand and respect that the press doesn’t allow lip service because the press is operated by the hands of the Almighty.  The press forces your lips closed and only your heart to burst with what you’re really feeling.  The press of life will make more use of the virgin juice that fills you than anything else you’ve ever known ever could.

Once you go thru this process, you’ll be tired, bruised, nearly obliterated and ready to expire.  However, if you look up, you’ll see that you’ve actually grown in volume.  You’ve confronted what’s before you and learned how to work in and thru it.  The feet are gone and the press has stopped, and you are fresh juice – bright, deep-colored, rich and still, little bubbles popping on the surface even.  You are settling in your new form as your old skin settles to the bottom of the barrel.  You have emerged as something new, completely selfless and introspective.  You look at your partner, a former grape but now something new, and the both of you can appreciate the growth that you’ve both made together.  The challenges that you’ve just survived have actually strengthened you and you can celebrate how your life will be newer, fresher, better…all because you’ve shed the old you to become something better together.

You are ready to be bottled, ready for fermentation, ready for sitting.  You are the newly pressed juice and the bottle is the life you and you partner have begun to live for, with and alongside each other, void of impurities, void of selfishness, void of immature thinking.  You are ready to sit in the bottle and envelope and endure the smell of each, the taste of each, the feel of each other.  You are ready to encounter the little disturbances that may happen while you sit in the bottle together because you’ve learned how to work together.  You’ve learned that the strength of two solid grapes doesn’t compare to the strength of the waves and sprays you can produce if you liquefy into one being.   As you sit and ferment, you can begin to appreciate what it really means to become wine, to exist in something that is timeless, intentional, full of quality, body and richness.

You can appreciate being a part of something that many people are afraid of – dying to yourself to birth something beautiful between you and another. 

Sister, from my own eyes, ears and heart, this is what marriage is. 

You will have cold feet.  It’s okay.  You will have uncertainties.  It’s okay.  So long as you have love, you have enough now.  Marriage will provide you with the rest.  Marriage will test you like nothing else ever has.  Please understand that, much like making wine, the initial parts of the process will be the hardest.  Many brides like to fill their heads with images of themselves being dressed in a flowing white gown, surrounded by the people that they love (or even some that are jealous), meeting a groom at the altar who’s so astounded by the vision of her that he responds in tears. 

Sister, understand that this doesn’t last past that day.  Once you leave the altar, it’s you and him.  Many people will turn their backs on you, while others you never thought about will give you invaluable wisdom.  Remember that in all things, no one will be more appreciative of or permitted to analyze your situation more than you and your spouse.  Don’t let others sour your wine.  If it is destined to go bad, God will show you that.  God’s words should lie in your heart, in all things.  There is no one who should know be allowed to judge the quality of your wine but you and God.  Don’t expect to know this all at once.  These words are merely preparatory, an admonition at best for what is to come for you.

Congratulations on your upcoming new life, sister.  Becoming wine is a thing of diligence, beauty and divinity.  In the end, most people will judge your worth based on the year you go into the bottle.  They are foolish, though.  As a wise woman, though, you’ll know that the entire process has been a thing of magnificence. 

May God bless you and your future partner.

July 20th, 2008 

Today marks the first anniversary of the day I quit my job at the railroad.  I cannot believe that an entire year has passed already.  I have been feeling very reflective lately.  Recently, I’ve been thinking about where I was at this time last year, and I cannot believe how different my life is now. 

I’ve made many changes – all for the better.  I now embrace the mentality that all change is good because all change is challenging.  The only way we shall ever grow as individuals is to constantly change and challenge ourselves.

A year ago, I made the decision to try something different in a totally new place.  I have become stronger and wiser for it.  Living here has shown me just how much I am loved and blessed.  Along with deciding to relocate, last year I also made two decisions last year that have sweetened the quality of my marital relationship.  After living under the culmulative effects of stress, sadness and confusion within my marriage, I told my husband that I wanted a divorce, exactly one week before leaving my job.  I felt that I deserved more.  After careful consideration, though, I stayed.  Looking back, I’m happy that my husband didn’t give up on me.  Living in Jakarta, an environment void of many people around to trust (save my husband and a few others), I see that I nearly left a man that was giving me everything that I needed.  I was letting many outside influences sway my judgement, though.  I also realized that I am not the most perfect thing walking this side of the earth, either.  Each day, I am made aware of my husband’s love, patience, kindness and sacrifices for me.  I think now that he could have just as easily proposed to leave me for my behavior as well.  Thankfully, he didn’t give up on me.

Now, I am more than confident that I can face more challenges in my life.  I’ve never possessed this kind of confidence before.  After leaving Jakarta, I am thinking of trying a year in Australia or even the Middle East.  I’m not quite ready to come yet, but I do slightly miss the exaggeration of the Western lifestyle – mainly big food and 24-hour restaurants.  On the other hand, I’ve been curious to find out how I’d do in the Middle East, perhaps Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates.  I’ve felt like I’ve been walking in the palm of God’s hand since I got here, as nothing bad has happened to me or my husband.  Surely God wouldn’t abandon me in the Middle East! 

The decision to move to either place, though, remains to be made.