Last Month, last post?

Hi friends, or whoever looks at this! I've been home over a week, and remembered it's been a really long time since I thought to update this blog. I focused more on responding to personal emails and letters, since those are what I like best. Maybe there's something to be said for the blog thing too, though, so sorry (to who?) that I've been lax in keeping it up.
The last month in Imugan was kind of a whirlwind of last visits, trips, and surprises. I finally felt completely adjusted, able to go out visiting friends without hesitation or self-doubt. My language learning kind of evened out after 3 or 4 months in, but I was still learning a lot even up until the end. Because I probably was at some sort of conversational level, I felt confident to invite myself to lunch with a friend, or drop by a granny's house in the afternoon, or stop and chat on the street. So there was a lot of chatting going on the last two months. My friend, the high school librarian, offered to show me her birthplace up north in a place called Kabayan, so we went up there the first week of December. Suddenly, there were a lot more friends interested in seeing the place, so all 8 or 9 of us rented a jeepney (the KEF vehicle) and drove the 4 hours to her home. Auntie Aida and Mona, who work in Imugan Food Processing, Manang Enita, who is Mona and my Scrabble buddy, her young son Joshua, Uncle Doroteo, my host dad, and Agosto, our driver joined the excursion. We didn't stop at a single restaurant for those 2 days - different relatives of hers hosted us and provided all our needs. Near the area are huge caves where the ancient Filipinos stored hanging coffins of their dead. We saw a museum that housed one of these old mummies, preserved over a thousand years ago. It was great fun. Below, you can see me, my friend Mona, and Joshua trying to look like mummies in one of the rock caves open to tourists... "Ooooooo! Mummmmmiiess!" we said to scare Joshua.



One of the best surprises of December was the news that my dad found time in his schedule to come out and visit before taking me home! It was good to have him there, since words aren't enough to communicate the hospitality and love of my family in Imugan. He got to experience it himself, and ate at the tables of some of my best friends, an honor for them and him. Below is a picture of us during a big family get-together dinner and singing time with my host mom's family.



The day before I left, the school where I taught put on a "Bon Voyage" program in which the students made fun of me in hilarious ways - spoofs of my teaching style (all the boys wore long skirts like I always do) and skits acting out my future (wouldn't you know it - I return in 5 years to get married to an Ikalahan man :). It was totally unexpected, and I was glad to see that they were as fond of me as I was of them. I did feel guilty for those times I lost my temper with them though... Being a teacher really made me respect the profession, and convinced me I don't want to do it again! In the evening, my dad and I helped here and there with the good-bye service preparations - pansit - stir-fry noodles - and tambotambong of course, a must-have dessert treat. I was really exhausted that last day because of all the good-byes, packing, and getting ready to leave, but the service was a wonderful coming-together of my friends from all different areas of the town. Pastors Albert and Norma wanted another pastor to conduct the service in English for my dad, but I insisted that Ikalahan was what I wanted. So they had me translate, and I think it was better that everyone understood rather than just two Americans.
I didn't really know how to convey what those people and that place had meant to me. My host dad gave me some good words - to carry on what I learned here in the U.S., so that the memories don't become stale but live on in who I am.

It's been strange slipping back into home and home-self, and I'm praying that the changes will be manifest here too. I'm trying to remember and live out the community that made me a part of them, that took ownership over my life. Last year, I used to write "the Lord's" on my palm so as to know that I'm not my own, but I think this year it was written on my heart. Learning in a strong Christian community in the Philippines helped me to know better that our lives are hidden in Christ, but I know it doesn't take time abroad for someone to realize that we don't belong to ourselves.

Okay. That's all for now. Maybe this blog needs to shut down for a while, because I feel weird communicating this way. Write me, or call sometime. Otherwise I'll see you soon, especially if you're a part of the Wheaton bunch.

Love, Kat(y)

A prayer for adjusted eyes

Upon reading other interns’ assessments and reflecting on HNGR readings and the purposes of HNGR, I often feel that my experience in Imugan is almost too good to be true. One of my assumptions before HNGR was that joy is not complete or true without suffering. Yet in Imugan, I found myself caught in a joy that seemed incomplete – I had not yet experienced much injustice here or perhaps the vulnerability in relationships that would allow me to identify with a person’s suffering. My prayers for the place felt shallow. I found myself questioning my willingness to see pain: Have I remained at an easy surface level in my relationships, fearful of truly entering into the heavier side of Imugan’s life? Am I blinding myself in the brightness of joy instead of training my eyes also to the dark? I had a vision of myself sitting on a sparkling white beach, facing the sea’s shiny waves. My back was purposefully turned to the dark unknown jungle bordering the sand behind me. So I prayed last week that God would adjust my eyes to hardship, that I would not only see joy but that I would understand Imugan more compassionately by allowing my face to be turned to see the darker forest. Then last week, Manang D, a young mother whom I often sit next to at Bible Study, sought me out as a confidante. Though I have usually been the initiator in friendships since people here are generally shy, she sought me out and told me about her alcoholic husband, who tears her apart by becoming verbally abusive when drunk. Along with the sadness that I feel at her revelation, I thank God for this direct answer to prayer, an opportunity to help hold a friend’s frustration and pain in my heart and prayers.

In many ways, I understand myself better through getting to know Imugan. We’re a lot alike. God has gifted her with insuppressible joy and has written hope all over her face. It’s a true joy that can’t help but rise and overflow to all around. There’s something deeper, though, pains buried in dark corners that require much prayerful determination and intentional vulnerability before she trusts others to see these things. Yet these darker corners are nearer to the source of welling joy than some would think. I think the closer I get to the darker pains of Imugan, the closer I’ll get to truer joy and life.

My Beauty Queen Sister

My little host sister starred in the "Little Miss Santa Fe" beauty pageant for young girls. I could hardly recognize her beneath all that makeup that the baklas (wikipedia "bakla", it's a Filipino thang) put on! We were proud of her for being brave on stage, though, and she even won "Most Photogenic." Behind us is one of the motorbike tricycles that they decorated for the contestants to ride in. It was quite an affair. Aunti Noemi lent me her tapis, the indigenous skirt, for the occasion.

Aunti Noemi and I pound rice at her cousin's house. Notice - she only uses one hand to lift that ~5 lb. pestle of wood. She's one of the strongest women I know. I told her I could chuck a softball pretty far, so I was considered a strong girl in the U.S., but her muscles top mine, hands down (literally, we had an arm-wrestling contest to prove it! haha).