Whispers From China

Something strange happened tonight...

While at work here in the States, I heard someone call my name.  And the voice was oh, so familiar.  It was the voice of a friend.  And there was a bit of excitement in the way they called to me.  It was the voice of someone I knew in China – a neighbor of mine.

I turned to see who was there, knowing deep down that my friend wouldn't be (but wishing so badly they were).  But there was no one.  In fact, no one had called out to me at all.  And I just stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened.  I felt disappointed and a little sad.  I tried my best to suppress my feelings and continue on with work.  But I couldn’t (not completely).  Longing had already settled in and I was left wondering if I had made the right decision to leave China in the first place.

What followed was a flood of memories and questions and doubts.  Some of my best years were spent in that place and with some of my truest friends.  It’s difficult to imagine my life without them.  China was so much more than just a fun time and it felt as if I was being drawn back in to it all again.  And it felt good.  It felt right.

It was as if I was connected again.  As if, somehow, I was back in China and all that I knew had not yet come to an end.  But it had and I was no longer there.  And neither was my friend.

If you haven’t yet had the chance, please read the story of my moving to China.  It's one of the most intriguing stories from my life!  Click here to do so.

My time in China was full of laughter, exploration, friendship, and purpose.  It was full of new foods and writing and my favorite sports.  There existed both the familiar and the unfamiliar.  There were sad goodbyes and happy hellos.  There were long hours of teaching and treasured moments spent with students outside of class.

On a weekly basis, I found myself enjoying everything from volleyball and motorcycle excursions to culture shock and hilarious misunderstandings…. from missing home and broken Internet connections to exploring abandoned buildings and rooftop conversations high above the university campus…. from food street and Hot Pot to performing before large audiences and messing it up because you can’t dance…

... from “Coffee Mornings” with Van and “The Finer Things Club” with next door neighbors to making music and writing stories… from orphanage work and travel to strolls down the old railroad and lighting off fireworks for the whole university to see… from late night walks through the park to running from park security with my closest Chinese friends because we weren't sure what the penalty was for joyriding around on some random bicycle-wagon thing we'd found.

 These are those friends

It was all there.  And it didn’t take long to realize that we had begun to build something beautiful together, little by little and bit by bit.  There was purpose because there was connection.  There was meaning because there was intention.

We had so much freedom in our schedule to spend time doing the things we actually wanted to do.  We’d teach for a bit and then it was off to whatever you so desired (and as you may have noticed, I desired a lot).  But none of it would’ve been worth it without the people I shared it all with.  And really, that's why it was so special.  My experience of China was spent within a community of wonderful people, journeying together.  And that’s why there was meaning and purpose.

As each year passed, I found myself thinking, “How will I ever leave this place?  That will truly be a sad day.” The thought had sadden me even though I hadn't left yet.  But then I’d jump right back into all the craziness and things were okay.  That day did finally come, though.  And you know what?  For whatever reason, I was ready to go.  It wasn't that it was any less sad, but my time there felt complete.

But when the voice of my friend had called out to me, and when it said my name, I questioned my departing from such a place.

And I just hope with all hope that I made the right decision.

But Life Didn't End There...
Click Here To See What Else I've Been Up To!

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When This Hand Writes: A Winter Piece

This creative writing piece will conclude my poetry series, although it in itself is not a poem.  It is, however, the most dear to my heart of any of them...

W I N T E R S  O F  L O N G  A G O

I remember spending mornings by a window, huddled over a vent.  Upon a stair I’d sit with outstretched arms and socks as hot as logs.  The ground outside was covered in white and so were the towering pines.  I recall admiring the color green that shown through them and the contrast thereof.

Our home was special as my father had also spent formidable years there.  It was as if, long before my arrival, this quaint, little resting place had been designed especially for me.  And so there I’d sit, gazing into winter’s grand display of timeless beauty.  It was all so perfect that I find it difficult to recount a flaw… unless, I suppose, that we were usually off to school moments later.  But with humor aside, it was there at the window that I'd been befriended by Captivation, and there we'd join together.

 When the blizzards blew in, flurrying with whistles like they do, our land really did become a wonderland.  And such feelings of enchantment would arise as I peered, curiously, into what seemed like new territory to explore.  Out there, anything could happen!  There was no telling what adventures awaited your discovery.

There was sledding to be had, beauties to be rescued, and igloos to be built.  There were lands to traverse, snowballs to gather, and fierce icicles to fight.  It was snowfalls great invitation into a scene of the most wonderful kind – a world filled with mystery, danger, and passion.

But as you can imagine, not all my time was spent in dreams there at the vent.  You could say that’s where they were formed, though, and then longed for.  It was a magical time for a boy like me to be alive.  And to this day, I still find myself visiting that window through a longing that thrills my soul.

For there I was with the cold just beyond and my very own flame below, enjoying what would one day be a young boy’s winter of long ago.

<Poetry (e.)

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