A bowl of water for a safe return

For a couple of years, I was an avid reader of, and was continually checking updates from, a heart-breaking and powerfully written blog by a young Iraqi woman who kept her identity tightly guarded. She wrote at the height of the American occupation in Iraq when soldiers were breaking down doors and "collecting" anyone who might be considered a threat to the West or to the post-Saddam government that was being installed in her home country. The voice in which she wrote these posts was so clear and rang so true that I couldn't stop myself from reading. She wrote until the spring of 2007 where she wrote about her escape from Baghdad in Syria. Then the posts stopped.

At one point, I'd actually written to her, hoping that this stranger who I'd never met (and who I'd never meet in reality) was safe. Seems like such a strange notion... worrying about a blogging stranger from the other side of the world while I sat in Canada, insulated from war and everything that was Iraq at the time. I lived the charmed life of a middle-class kid from the prairies who never had to worry about any of the things she or her family or her countrymen experienced. But I felt compelled nonetheless. I never heard back and she has posted nothing after that final April entry. Since then, her blog has been translated and published in multiple volumes around the world, has won numerous awards, and continues to have an effect on me. I silently hope for her safety and that these people know where she is so she can reap the benefits of the words that made such an impact on me and many others. Her words always reminded me (and continue to do so) that there's always something bigger than the dramas of my life happening.

There was one moment that I continue to recall often, especially when I know my friends or family are traveling, whether it be a short jaunt around Canada or on a cross-continental adventure. It's the moment where she finally stepped into the car that would take her to her new life awaiting in Syria (whatever that would be), and was one of the final images she shared before disappearing from the blogosphere. She wrote the following...

"I cried as we left- in spite of promises not to. The aunt cried… the uncle cried. My parents tried to be stoic but there were tears in their voices as they said their goodbyes. The worst part is saying goodbye and wondering if you're ever going to see these people again. My uncle tightened the shawl I'd thrown over my hair and advised me firmly to 'keep it on until you get to the border'. The aunt rushed out behind us as the car pulled out of the garage and dumped a bowl of water on the ground, which is a tradition- its to wish the travelers a safe return… eventually."

As I speak to my friends and family throughout the world who are embarking on new plans to see this amazing planet (or even to see something they've already experienced), I can't avoid silently thinking that I'd like to metaphorically pour out a similar bowl of water behind them as they took steps toward a new place, new home, new adventure. Seeing as how my life has changed in the past decade, it's hard to know where it is I'll be returning to.

To my friend DVP... safe travels as you depart from the Himalayas on your way to Israel and everywhere afterward.

And to the rest of you, safe travels as well, wherever you are.

T

(To check out Riverbend's Blog, Go Here. To read more about her and her story, Go Here.)

Funny China moment...

I'm in the process of registering for the marathon taking place in the city I'm living in, and this is what the race website states...

"VI. Physical Requirements:

1. Participant must be healthy, receiving professional training or keeping regular exercises.
2. Participant with the certain diseases should not participate in the race (list follows)
3. The normal participants who have following conditions in physical examination are not allowed to participate in the race.
3.1. Resting heart rate is above 85 beats / min; blood pressure is above 140/90 mm Hg;
3.2. Quiet breathing is up to 24 times / min; body temperature is above 37 degrees Celsius;
3.3. Gastrointestinal disease; severe insomnia; liver dysfunction;
3.4. Have a cold or fever within one week before the race; chest stuffiness and labored breathing; palpitations symptoms for more than three consecutive days;
3.5. Too fat and too old.

Yes. This is copied and pasted. Don't be fat and old. Only awesome.

T

Wǒ shì yīgè Bīng Lóng

The sun is slowly dropping down over the rolling landscape of southern Liaoning as the bus makes it's way up the Shenda Expressway, bound for home. The Dalian Ice Dragons (the best hockey team in China without a rink) are returning from Shenyang, the provincial capital, after a weekend of hockey and hijinx to kick off the change in seasons, from the bitterly cold Siberian-wind-filled winter to a spring that everyone's been looking forward to. As a perfect contrast, my family is sending text messages from Alberta telling me about a monster April storm that rolled through my hometown last night. It's not spring in Alberta without a ridiculous dump of snow. I'm so happy spring has sprung here.

I tagged along this weekend on another of the Ice Dragons' trips. A group of guys from the school have been getting together to play hockey and make roadtrips around northern and central China for more than 10 years now, and I've been able to act as unofficial "coach" for a few of the occasions. I typically wear a ridiculous jacket, yell too much, and sometimes make runs to the store for water and other necessities. One of my first weekends in China was actually a trip with DS and the Dragons to this same city in central Liaoning and was where I met many of the guys I now know as friends here in China.

Every time I've tagged along on the trips, I've been invited to strap on skates and gear and take part. However, I'm not exactly what you'd call a "skater". I played endless hours of road hockey as a kid with my older bro, my dad, and a group of the neighbor kids in my old cul-de-sac in Lethy. But after spending my skating lessons as a kid smacking my head on the ice, I really hated skating and everything that came along with it. My feet would blister, my ankles would burn, I'd wheeze like a sick jalopy, and the crack of helmet hitting ice was all too familiar. Thus, I pretty much said that I'd never skate again.

There was one or two exceptions in the past. I remember being in 4^th or 5^th grade and making a trip across the road to the tiny lake near my elementary school to go skating with my class. But after about 10 minutes of hating my life and being totally unable to stay on my feet, I sat on the shoreline watching the more adept skaters enjoy an activity that's more Canadian than even Tim Horton's.

Then I think I recall lacing up some skates that were the wrong size for something in Grade 8. I don't really recall the event, just the general time. And the lack of love. Skating sucks.

For being totally useless on ice, I'd actually spent a fair amount of time in rinks as a kid. Part of growing up in semi-rural Canada, I guess. Whether it was for my own lessons, or for junior hockey games, or while waiting for my little sister's figure skating lessons to be done, the musty scent of the rink remains familiar.

So this weekend, I hopped on the bus after school for another foolish weekend of fun. And I did something I've pretty much swore I'd never do: lace 'em up.

I put on some borrowed gear, donned a Dragons jersey, laced up some too-big skates and stepped on the ice for the first time in about 15 years. I'd never worn hockey gear in my life. And it was pretty awesome. I played three shifts on right wing for the Dalian Bing Long (Ice Dragons in Chinese) and survived without a concussion (and even without falling!). And also got over one of the oldest hang-ups I've had nearly my entire life. Funny enough, it only took these three shifts to make myself a real part of a tradition that's nearly as long as my phobia. No longer just a tag-along (and as the title of this post reads)… I am an Ice Dragon.

T

April arrives with a leeeetle joke...

So, I'm not moving to Madagascar. :)

Although I AM looking into more tropical destinations for teaching after one more year in China, I'm not moving to a place so random as Madagascar. Not yet, anyway. Sorry to the family for totally hooking them into the joke, but I always believe that gags have to have a semblance of potential truth to really get everyone really believing the gag.

For now, I'm exhausted from a weekend trip to Shenyang but I'll post a story about that sometime tonight. Much love, all...

T