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Holding the world in a hand made of glass pieces. Jagged edges that catch the sun and send splintering light every which way. Reflections of a past I once belonged to and a future I am creating, glued together by the very presence of what is right now. Yes, let me breathe in warm sunshine and evaporated dew, blisters from walking on sidewalks toasted in the sun. Yes, let me breathe in starlight and the magic of the moon as it rises up from the horizon, sending the sun to sleep. Yes, let me breathe in courage and passion and everything else I need to stay alive. Yes, let me breathe in love. Let me breathe it in and exhale it out into clouds that float to different skies, hovering over different peoples and different places and different times, releasing the same energy that comes from holding in breaths of what is the same love. Let it rain the same in every country, washing away the stains from the day, washing away the glass pieces that broke once upon a time and made up some mosaic that sits on a window in a town I once knew. Hold the glass up to the light and see how it splinters-how the chaos and brokenness and jaggedness creates what makes it beautiful.

 

These are strange times.

 

In 2018 I visited a woman in India who had a Ph.D. in astrology to have my birth chart read. Essentially, this woman put my birthdate, time of birth, and place of birth into some program on her computer. The program took this information and produced a birth chart. The woman, technically a doctor, read my birth chart. She didn’t give me specifics, which actually made me more inclined to take her seriously (an Indian palm-reader once told me I’d meet my soulmate, a New Zealand man named Mark, on July 21, 2012….needless to say that specific event did not occur, despite all my attempts to force it to happen. But that’s another story). This woman told me I had a ‘difficult’ childhood. (If growing up vegetarian in Mississippi isn’t difficult, I don’t know what is). “But,” she said, “I have good news for you. Things are about to change.” And that’s when my Indian Doctor of Astrology told me that 2020 would be my year.

 

I think it’s too late to ask for a refund.

 

I’d been taking a break from social media, but some good friends passed on my favorite Instagrammer’s summary of the beginning of 2020:

 

 

So yeah. That is our collective 2020. Individually, my 2020 is all the above PLUS…..

 

I broke my arm. My right arm. My dominant arm.

 

You’d think breaking bones would be at least a little harder to do with social distancing measures in place and the world on lockdown. But the universe decided to highlight my clumsiness on a walk. Walking my dog, something grabbed her attention, I fell, landing on my outstretched hand.

 

My physical therapy background kicked into high gear. “FOOSH! FOOSH!” I cried. (Fall On Out-Stretched Hand). I looked down at my wrist. ‘Dinner fork deformity.’ My body went into shock. Only about thirty minutes later while driving to the hospital did all the pieces come together: Colles fracture! (We can deal with how delayed this response was later. You passed me, PT Boards!)

 

I studied this dang fracture two years ago when I was prepping for my Sports Certified Specialist Board exam. So, ha! I have sustained an injury of elite athletes!

 

A closer refresh revealed that most of the sports-related causes have to do with high-impact or collision sports, or falling from a great height. My mechanism of injury, on the other hand (no pun intended), fits more with the other common demographic: elderly women with osteoporosis.

 

So, here I am, a (not-elderly-woman-with-osteoporosis) typing in a cast, quarantined with my parents, in my old high school room. Wondering how in the world we became the world we find ourselves in today.

 

These are scary times.

 

But one thing I’ve learned over the past year or so, is that fear can be overcome by love. That I can choose love over fear. And so I choose to find the love in the midst of all this chaos:

 

I let go of my pride a little more easily, reach out to people I haven’t talked to in a while, and re-connect. I remember phases of my life that shaped me into who I am today, and the badass tribe that was part of that.

 

I collect sunshine. I take long walks and instead of looking at my phone, or thinking about what I have to do next, I listen to the way the wind lifts the leaves off their branches. I conspire with the wildflowers, tempting the bees with fresh pollen. I feel the weight of my foot on the ground, the way my heel lands first and how I roll onto my toes.

 

I read sentences from books I always meant to read, before time or life got in the way. I relish these words, I take my time with them. I let them mean something.

 

I listen to songs in ways I never listened before. I imagine the hands that wrote the lyrics, the stories behind the chords, the riffs that happened unexpectedly. I feel the music in my bones, coursing through my veins, filling my mind. It overtakes all the anxious thoughts that have lived in my brain for these past few weeks. It soothes my soul, it creates an aching to be a part of something like this.

 

And in those lapses of time, when I’m fully present and engaged and outside of myself while astutely in tune with my Self…..

 

that is when I breathe.

 

In the midst of all this pain, grief, loss, anxiety, fear, I pray that you find time to breathe. However you breathe, Breathe steadily. Breathe boldly.

Breathe love.

Today was a Jalapeno-on-my-face kind of day

 

Adulting 101: do not touch your face after de-seeding a jalapeno; you must wash your hands thoroughly first. How did I miss this important, somewhat common-sense lesson?

 

Today was the perfect day to make a Pinterest-worthy, “healthy” turkey taco soup. I mean, it’s the end of October, it’s raining, and by Mississippi standards, this 63-degree weather calls for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, ankle boots and none other than…. taco soup.

 

Let me be clear: my approach to life is kind of a throw in everything you got and see what happens approach. Needless to say, my cooking style is the same.

 

So, armed with mom’s credit card (yes, I am a thirty year old adult woman living at my parent’s house voluntarily), I headed to the grocery store and loaded my cart with “healthy” ingredients, everything ready-to-go, of course: “washed and ready” sweet potatoes, onion and kale mix; a jar of salsa; chopped, riced cauliflower; ground turkey; etc., etc. (I don’t want to give away this clearly 5-star worthy recipe) and one large jalapeno pepper. My half-Indian heritage makes me feel inclined to add a bit of spice to all my meals, and I’ve learned the hard-way to not blindly throw in ground cayenne pepper from a spice jar, so I figured I’d ration out a single jalapeno pepper and be totally fine.

 

Even better, I figured if I de-seeded the thing, I’d avoid the spice completely, but still get to brag that my soup came laden with hot peppers.

 

So, once I got home and unloaded the groceries, I started to cook. Sidebar: I always add unnecessary time to the task; intending to make the trip quick, I load 5 bags per arm, then reach a 5-bag heavy arm up to close my trunk, and inevitably a bag breaks and something spills and lo and behold, I’ve just added an extra five minutes to my unloading mission when it would have been so much easier and less time-consuming to just make two trips to unload my groceries instead of one. Does anyone else do this? But what can I say, you live and learn. Or in my case, just repeat the same thing over and over, expecting different results. I think some wise guy once called that “insanity.”

 

So anyway, I de-seeded the damn jalapeno, thinking I had it beat, and then went about my way. Somehow I missed the memo that you should wash your hands after handling jalapeno peppers or seeds or really any kind of hot pepper, and so I went to go scratch my face (or more likely, wipe off the chocolate I’d been scarfing down mid-soup making from our Halloween drawer).  Five seconds later, my face was ON FIRE.

 

My first instinct was to rub the place on my face that felt on fire, with my jalapeno-infested fingers. Then I stuck my face under the kitchen faucet, cleaning it with the handy dish soap and sponge nearby (oh yes, the sponge that I’d just used to clean off the same cutting board used to chop my jalapenos).

In the midst of all this, I received some advice: use milk and/or lime juice to take out the pepper sting. Well I’m never one to turn down a DIY spa day, and limes just happened to be one of my ingredients handy nearby, so I made myself a lime and milk face mask and attached it to my face with a single sheet of Bounty’s finest paper towel.

 

Eventually the sting wore out, and about five pimples later I sat down to a bowl of my hodgepodge taco soup.

 

But it got me thinking: my whole morning had been like that, stuck in that frazzled energy. When it rains, it pours, right? My dogs were little demons, I sank my foot in mud, spilled a cup of coffee in my car, lost my keys, I mean the list goes on and on. If I don’t take a moment to wash off the little things in life, they build and build until they take over.

 

So, in that moment, holding a milk and lime infused paper towel to my face while I ate my soup, I just decided to shift my energy. I just decided, hey, why don’t I do something about this?

 

I made a commitment that I didn’t want to feel that way. I didn’t want to feel worried or anxious or angry at the world. I didn’t want to lash out at myself or my mother for never teaching me not to wash my hands after de-seeding a jalapeno (which, to be fair, I’m sure she said a hundred times over and I just never listened). I didn’t want to stay stuck in that low energy that kept me feeling sorry for myself.

And y’all are about to ask me what’s in my fruit loops but I swear, after I just surrendered that to the universe and let go, when I said, please help me give all this crap over to you (because, yes, that’s how I talk to my higher power), I immediately felt a shift.

 

Something felt lighter inside when I let go of resisting what was. When I was playing fetch with our new puppy, he dropped the ball easier. He listened to me better. He did what he was supposed to do 5 times out of 10 instead of 1 time out of 10. I cleaned the dishes without scrubbing furiously because the soup debris wouldn’t come off. I took a walk in the rain and saw a deer run out and just like a little kid I laughed out loud (even though I see about five deer on average, a day). And yeah, maybe it was me, my energy, maybe just shifting my perspective. Maybe there’s nothing “magical” about it, but maybe, just maybe, it’s the natural way of things. Maybe surrendering doesn’t have to be as hard as we make it.

 

We just get bogged down by all the jalapenos in life that we forget to sit in the madness and listen. Instead of washing our hands of the problem, we let it grow by rubbing it all over ourselves. If instead we choose to surrender and listen, we get to receive, and whether we receive in goosebumps or pay stumps, we receive something when we let go of ourselves and get in line with something greater. At least, that’s what I’m finding out. And it’s a hell of a lot better to live that way, then letting one damn jalapeño ruin my day.

Wow. Talk about things not going as planned.

I had this idea of what this blog would look like. I had this idea of what my life would look like. Traveling the world, working as a sports physical therapist for Olympic athletes. And yet, I find myself back in Madison, Mississippi, surrendering to the fact that I am not in control of this life. And you know what, that is ok.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to listen to my inner wisdom–you know, that “gut feeling” that I’m learning is connected to something outside myself. And for many reasons, my gut told me that China wasn’t right, at least not right now.

My ego took a blow, that’s for sure. I won’t lie: pride is something I struggle with a lot of days. This need to validate myself with external things. I grew up thinking that my worth depended on accolades and achievements, letters behind my name. But I’m recognizing that pride is just another form of fear–fear and control and wanting things to go my way.

When I allow myself to surrender to that something outside myself, that gut feeling, that life force–when I give over my will and let something greater take charge, that’s when everything falls into place.

So I’m starting anew. My whole life, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to writing. Something about pen on paper, the way words can sift and change and make you feel. So, this blog is getting a makeover. Instead of its original purpose, to document my life abroad, I’m using it to share one of my passions: writing. I’m embracing vulnerability and doing something that speaks to me.

Today, I’m sharing a few poems. This blog is a work in progress, but I’m letting go and seeing what it turns into.

 

Things that remember me:

morning dew in between toes

and the way that road

was broken. The only thing

to make you cry,

even though I tried,

many times.

Have you forgotten

the race up-stairs

and mom’s straw-colored hair?

How she pulled it back

always reminded me of

timing. How it unfolds

in songs you heard

a time or two ago–

The times they are a-changing–

and wouldn’t it be nice

to catch what blew in the wind

when Dylan went and wrote

lines worth unwinding.

 

 

 

I Hate Poetry

I hate poetry

How when you’re twenty-one

It’s somehow wrong to rhyme

Even though every time I write of you

I think of Varsity Blues and how I said

“I love you” first.

 

I hate poetry

Because I can’t just say “I’m sad.”

That doesn’t mean as much

As saying, “The way you left

Makes me feel as empty as an Amarillo sky,”

Even though I’ve never been to Texas

(They’d never ask me why).

 

And I hate how I never know where to break

My lines just like

I never knew how to break

Our time.

Sometimes I just want to break the rules

Like I did with you

And say:

 

I remember the black and white nights when you parked

At the end of my driveway with your headlights off

Even though I couldn’t see because

Who keeps lights on at night in the middle of Mississippi?

And I remember that ring you bought me

How it made me think of staying here

And pints of beer on Saturday nights

And red-lipped blondes that define wives–

The kind I’d never be–

Because I wasn’t ever quite right

For Mississippi.

And sometimes I think of Yazoo clay

Beneath my feet as we climbed the top

Of a deer stand in camouflaged pants

Your father made me wear

Even though he knew I didn’t believe

In killing deer.

And the way you put your gun away

When he drove off in that truck

To find a better clearing

Where he didn’t have to talk to me

Or joke about my legs

And how they weren’t quite like Brittany’s.

 

But if I said all that the way I should

I don’t think anyone would see the good-

It’s all just words.

They’d tell me to write fiction instead

And cross my fingers that someone would pick it up.

 

But I hate poetry–didn’t you know?

I hate not knowing all the rules to break

Because without them I make my own.

And breaking your own rules

Is always worse

Than breaking ones

You didn’t make up.

 

 

Escape

They say you can’t catch fire

But tonight I caught it in a jar

With holes punched at the top

And as I stood bathed by stars

I thought it was a feat

That I captured fire

And yet it was I

Who could not escape.

Like that summer when I was caught

Between twenty and not too young

And managed to slip up just enough

To blur that perfect slate

Because you told me my hair was long enough

To get out of tickets only men gave anyway.

And how still the next morning

You pushed Jose Cuervo

Into a palm reflecting red

From an alarm that wouldn’t ring

For another hour.

How you told me it was ok

To drive slowly to the stadium

And park crooked in a spot they marked “reserved”

Because we were pretty girls.

I think of that Florida game

When you watched the team walk out

And threw your string of pearls

Forgetting they belonged to your grandmother

How we only thought to laugh

And stumble toward those tents

Where I pretended to care

When parents saw you flirt with all the fathers

To see who had enough whisky on his breath

That we could ask for sips from bottles

Tucked inside boots their wives had polished

Earlier that day.

You would pick out boys

You thought I should approach

But I would only shake my head

And point out how they stuck flasks

Between girls’ breasts

And how mine weren’t big enough.

You’d laugh that southern boys

Couldn’t be men until they’d dipped

Or held bloody antlers in both hands

Or bought their first Ford pickup truck.

You taught me everything I know

About Dixie and what it means to

Call this home.

And so last night I thought of you

And how your cheeks never burned

Even under an August sun

As we sat on bleachers singeing

Exposed thighs and eating

Barbecue just because we could,

You and I.

How you told me not to blot off grease

Because it was better this way:

Eating barbecue in dresses and drinking pitchers

Because, you told me,

Boys always like it

When you can’t escape.

 

 

 

 

Unfit.

He cuts like sand on broken skin

Or Kansas wind–sharp

And hard to keep.

His words, they bleed, and I can’t be

An ear for their hypocrisy.

He says the words, but they fall deaf,

As actions can’t confirm their depth.

He lacks the courage to admit

That we were never meant to fit.

 

 

2008.

Every time I hear that song I think of him

And summers when the road was ours

And cars could get us anywhere

I think of weathered hands on steering wheels

And stolen glances from cheap shades

And restless fingers reaching for my face

I feel the evening on my legs

Stretching out in country grass

The way he stops to look at me

And asks if I’m okay

His voice is soft but harsh

Under stars that seem so innocent

And when I pause to answer him

He silences me with a kiss.

 

 

The Road.

There is a road that I know well

Made up of broken sunlight and headlights from old

Boyfriends’ trucks. It’s pieced together haphazardly

And glued by memories and the mistakes that made you you.

This road is lined by remnants of honeysuckle

Dew from yesterday and rain from the skies

That were eaten up by the night.

It’s here I laid my faults, burying them in the reflections of the stars

So as not to disturb reality. You see, I’d buried all my history.

So now this road sees barefoot paths and scars from

Walking down with mason jars full of poisons we thought

Were only rites of passage. We used to catch fireflies

In the same glass and hold them up as lanterns

To light the path down that road to freedom. But once that road

Became a bridge from youth to seventeen something changed.

And suddenly its only right was to hide me from the moon’s spotlight

As I ran to meet him under midnight shadows.

We littered the road with cigarettes and smoke from arguments

That never lasted long. We picked up the debris with fingers

That stretched like the Pleiades and embers

From the butts of tobacco.

 

 

When everything changed.

When you looked at me and said you’d killed a man at twenty-three I only blinked

Then after weeks of muted calls and tempered talks, I pictured you–

Your car, a faded blue, and weathered leather cracked by Mississippi sun.

Your glasses hanging carelessly and rearview reflections of your immodesty

As you turned to push back your hair.

Your jeans and the way they hugged each curve

Of time long spent on dusty baseball fields

Your skin tanned unpurposefully with flecks of burns

You’d unexpectedly acquired.

I pictured this as you, moments before that afternoon

When everything changed.

 

 

 

One step away

Rain tastes like last Saturday

When you were away

And all I could think to play

Was my broken ukulele.

I wondered why our last mistake

Came before you thought to say hello

And suddenly I’m thinking

Isn’t it funny to see your name

And touch your face (by mistake)

And drive you back to my place

Where you thought those years could all be solved

By rain and guitar strings and the way

You looked at me. But think again–

Lately, those times have changed.

It seems to me we were just one step away,

One last break

One breathless name.

 

 

 

Opposite of goodbye

Remember how we ran

Across your dad’s land

To your truck, the way

I almost got stuck climbing

Out your window.

Remember the way we laughed

As we drank from tin cans

And awarded ourselves for

Being young then.

Remember, when it all changed?

When he said she said

Became a game

And who you laid with

And with whom you stayed

Became just more

Plays to make.

I remember that day.

It rained. And you-

You stained my lips

With all your “what-ifs”

And isn’t it time to let go

Of promises.

I counted the times

I replayed the lines

You told me,

The way you could hold me

The way you’d mold me

To make me fit

Inside your glove.

I’m tired of playing

But I can’t stop chasing

Whatever it was that made me

Crazy, cause all of that

Just reinforced the

Opposite of goodbye.

 

Shit is about to get real.

 

So if you aren’t ready for it, close your screen NOW.

 

There’s a reason my blog hasn’t been up to date, a reason why I haven’t been documenting all the amazing adventures of being a sports PT for Chinese Olympic athletes. Why? Because I realized it wasn’t right for me.

 

And y’all, let me tell you. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Admitting that reality did not meet my expectations when I had talked this thing up for almost a year….that took a serious blow to my ego.

 

I could have stayed. I could have pretended and posted images on social media to make you think it was everything I thought it would be. Exploring the world, meeting people from all walks of life, daring to put myself out there in a way I never had before. But that would have all been a big fat lie. Because the honest to goodness truth is that this opportunity just wasn’t right for me at this time in my life. And you know what, that is OK.

 

A year ago I would have seen this as me being a “quitter,” a “failure.” But I’ve learned so much about what I want my life to be, and what I deserve, that I don’t see it that way. Instead I see this as a learning experience (albeit a pretty pricey one). A chance to grow and to figure out who I am just a little bit more.

 

Or who I am not. Because I realized that I need connection. I need people that get me, I need the energy of other human beings and I need comradery. I don’t do well going off on my own, and I wish I was one of those free spirits that could tackle the world head on, but I prefer to tackle the world with some people at my side.

 

Don’t get me wrong. This was a pretty amazing opportunity that is probably a great fit for someone else. But I am proud of myself for being brave and courageous enough to realize early on that it wasn’t the right fit for me. Being able to admit I was wrong is one of the hardest things for me to do. But there is such relief in acknowledging my truth and owning it. And following my heart.

 

So….. now I’m back at a crossroads. I hopped on a plane with two oversized bags full of clothes and books and my vision board. The vision board with pictures of the Olympics and China and everything I thought this next year would be. But life has a funny way of reminding you that you’re not in charge. I’m not in control. And that’s probably for the best.

 

After endless bags of airplane pretzels and zoning out to the newest movies to try to distract myself from what my new reality is, I landed back in Jackson, Mississippi. When I left for college several years ago, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would be back here. But this is where I am. I’m chugging along to my third decade, living with my parents, unemployed and single, without a clue in the world of what I want to do. My background is in physical therapy, and I spent the last year pursuing a sports certification and became a certified strength and conditioning specialist and added some more letters behind my name, but I still feel like there is something missing.

 

So I’m on a journey to figure out what that is. And since I already paid the year fee for this website, I figure what the hell, I’ll document it while I’m at it. Maybe people will resonate with my struggles, maybe they will laugh behind my back, maybe they will send me an anonymous donation (DM me for my address!) to help me pay the bills. But regardless of how many people read this thing, my reasoning for continuing to blog is simple:

 

While I sat outside and meditated, looking out at my childhood backyard, wondering how the heck my life has turned out this way, I realized one thing: the universe is giving me an assignment. It’s asking me to be vulnerable, to be open, to finally break down the walls I’ve spent my whole life building up. It’s asking me to be braver than I’ve ever been, to recognize with gratitude the blessings I’ve been given, and to share myself whole-heartedly in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone will be able to find strength in my humility.

 

So, that being said, this blog is getting a makeover. I’m going to let it decide where it wants to go, and you are more than welcome to follow along with me. I hope you know that if things don’t turn out the way you planned or hoped, that there is always another path waiting to be traveled. We are not alone in our utter lack of control. Life has plans that are out of our hands. And if we can just sit back and surrender to what is in store, I think life gets a little more beautiful.

 

Stay tuned – it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

So this post goes out to the lady in the middle, because I make the rules on this website, and she deserves a shout out.

Mom, I will never know the sacrifices you took when you embarked on the crazy journey of raising me and Nina.

You’ve done it with such patience, such pizazz, and such strength. Even though I’m 29, you continue to do it today.

I don’t know the kind of human I would be without you and Papa. You both instill such hope in me, I am so glad that is my namesake (for those who don’t know, “Asha” means “hope”).

Today I wish you peace, because that is not something I have been able to provide you with lately. I wish you courage and strength and hope. That you may rest assured that my spirit is forever linked to yours.

I remember when I was young. I wanted to be an actress, or a singer. Someone in the spotlight. Someone known. I feel so known by you, and that’s all I could ask for.

Sending you love and hugs and I hope Dixie does a good job of licking you in the face!

Thank you for being my Mom. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Dear Friends,

It is about 2 o’clock over here in China. I am doing my best to find comfort in the connections I have made, but I thoroughly miss those back home.

Part of me believes I have been spoiled to the core, to grow up with a support system that I miss deeply and dearly. I have family in America and abroad, and to feel so loved is a blessing.

This challenge surpasses anything I have ever done. I feel weak at times, to be so far from those I love. I feel scared and challenged and pushed to my limits. I feel uncertain and unsure most of the time. What am I doing?!

I have been blessed with an opportunity I never thought possible. But often blessings are accompanied by fears and uncertainties.

Over the past year my spirituality has grown significantly. Thank God for the growth in this area prior to this experience. Sometimes you have to hit your knees and pray for something bigger than yourself to show you the way.

So that is what I am doing. Hitting my knees, praying for the wisdom to do the next right thing. Praying for guidance and support, for growth and strength.

 

Yesterday I ran laps around the track. It reminded me of home, of running in high school, of friends that sweated and cursed the heat with me. (Try cross country in Mississippi). It reminded me of challenges, of fighting, of my strength. It reminded me of the ability to conquer anything if I put my mind to it.

It reminded me of how to do life.

I am not one to give up. I am not one to bow down. I will see this thing through. But I will respect myself enough to do what is right. There is a world of opportunity at my fingertips, a hallway of new friends with kind spirits. I pray for you, friends, and I hope you pray for me too.

Peace, Namaste, Love.

So I’ve been stalling…

Because it’s never fun to admit when you’re struggling.

But here’s a fact: we all struggle, and why not share in the hardships as well as the beauty of life?

It has been an adventure, moving to a country where almost no one speaks English. Moving to an island where I appear to be the only foreigner (a guy legit videoed me while running the other day…)

Moving to a country where the chicken is served COMPLETE with a face, head, beak….

Yes, I’ve had to adapt. But there is something beautiful about being challenged beyond your expectations. Having to adapt to a world of difference. There is something beautiful about meeting new people and exploring a different world together. About mistakes and dreams and everything in between. There is much to be grateful for.

I have tons of videos and pictures, so I will update soon!

Thanks to everyone who keeps up with the blog.

I’m currently sitting in a Chinese Starbucks in Beijing. I feel like I may not be expanding my horizons quite as much as I should…

I have been in China for a full two days. Most of my time here has been spent eating, sleeping, and figuring out the ins and outs of living in a new country. I now have a Chinese phone, a Chinese bank account with $0 and a new appreciation for Google Translate.

I’ve gotten to meet performance coaches and physical therapists from all over the world. Australia, Wales, the U.K., Poland, Brazil, and the U.S. just to name a few. A melting pot of people with similar mindsets as my own, the desire to travel the world and experience different cultures. I have never felt so lucky.

There’s still a lot I don’t know: what team I’ll be working with, where I’ll be living, who I’ll be living with…. right now I’m living out of my $200 overweight suitcase in a hotel room with no in between water temperature and questionably stained carpet. The meals are free, Buffett style devoid of descriptions, so every food is an adventure (you never know quite what you’re eating).

I’m hungry for adventure, to travel, to meet people and form new relationships, to be immersed in a culture different from my own, to be challenged and pushed outside my comfort zone (the toilet situation is certainly a nod in that direction).

I’m excited to learn, to confirm what I already know to be true: that human connection is possible despite language or cultural barriers, that  we are all made from the same stuff, that our willingness to be open and vulnerable and tolerant will bless us beyond our wildest dreams.

Keep looking out for new posts as I get more settled and less jet lagged!

“Nĭ hăo” from the Chicago airport.

Three months of Rosetta Stone later, and “hello” is the only Chinese word I’ve been able to master.

My flight boards in approximately 30 minutes. So forgive any flaws of this blog post – it’s truly a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants post. Mostly to appease my mother, who, as far as I know, may be the only follower of this blog. From the moment my parents left me at the airport up until now, I’ve received no short of 22 text messages, complete with pictures and emojis. When I called just ten minutes ago, my mom’s first question was, “Will you call again before you leave?” (As mentioned above, flight boards in 30 min. Leaves in about an hour).

And people wonder why I’m single.

In all honesty, I’m glad to have the parents I do. I feel that, in a way, I’m following in my dad’s footsteps. When he was around my age, he left his home country of India to pursue a medical residency in the US. Little did he know he would fall in love with an American and his whole life would change. Of course, he always tells me how he came to the US with “only $8 in my pocket,” and I’m over here coughing up an extra $200 because I couldn’t manage to keep my bags under 50 pounds. (Girl’s gotta have her standards).

I’ll be sure to update with more videos, posts and pictures when I get to China. In the meantime, download WeChat to keep in touch with me: my user ID is ashamarieanand.

Until then, I’ve got about 20 minutes to load up on the best American food the Chicago airport has to offer. Come at me, grease soaked pretzels and jumbo sodas.

xoxo,

Asha