My very first day in Beijing I spent crying. Literally. I can now walk the streets of wudoakou and almost chuckle... cause over a year ago I was walking in the same place, literally lost and sobbing. The second day was church. And I very meticulously put together my outfit to make a good, yet appropriate statement of who I was. I noted exactly what I was gonna wear in my journal. My journal by the way... was so much a drug to me those first two weeks. I wrote every waking moment on the 15 hour plane ride and once in China... I wrote walking, eating, talking, and on the ching gui. It was constant. It got to a point where I knew it wasn't in fact healthy for me. Because I was completely soaked into my world of writing that I could scarcely think without writing it out in my mind. But that day at church happened to be the day where the youth played worship for the church. So I got to sit down and observe my new youth group basically. Haha. Sounds creepy, eh? At that point I was really excited to meet everyone... but once the time came I was so much ready to just go home and cry. I wanted to my old youth group and friends back. So badly. But it just.. amazes me to look back at this moment. I had the choice to either go with these strange people and meet them... or go home. And in myself I was so inclined to go home, just shut myself in and never come out. Or find internet quick (which we didn't have which challenged my happiness further). But it was the personality and the exact words of my best friend that pushed me on... At that moment all I was thinking was I want my friends back. And that if only I had Debbie or Joanna or Corey with me I would be totally fine. But it dawned on me that I knew exactly what Debbie would say to me if she were there. And how she would encourage me, how she would reason it out and also that she would throw in some sort of random and ridiculous reason that had nothing to do with the actual situation, something like performing chimmey chonga's or teaching boys the real meaning or valentines day. It just.. astounds me that a girl whom has been my best friend through my worst times and brought me out to my best, has rubbed off on my and affected me so much that my decisions were affected by her even when she wasn't there to say anything. In fact she was millions of miles away. But her character, perseverance and optimism stuck with me.. enabling me to set out to meet these China people. And it's something... that to this day I thank her for.
But anyways.... I'm equally amazed at the few spotlights of hope I find in my first journal here. Most of my writing is complaining about Chinese people, or how the youth group here was so much less cool than mine back home, or just how I plain missed people even though it had only been a week since I saw them. But once in a while... I'd write about the beauty of a woman's heart. Like when my mom and I worked very hard together to buy, prepare and display a masterpiece of something as home-like as spaghetti. I like thinking back to that night... I was never in a good mood those days and was quite bitchy actually, but that time with my mom where our womanly desires to prepare and serve a meal that was both beautiful and comforting... was a good one. One of the few, outside of talking to friends online. It's moments like those where we both came so alive in something so simple as creating a piece of warmth outside of all the loneliness we all felt in being there, without a home, without friends or family and without American food. I think.. it was just really beautiful. And increased my pride in being a woman.
Other times a sign of life could be seen in my writings when I'd mention a revelation on who God is that wasn't angry or bitter. Like talking about how I yearned for God to restore my life and give my hearts passions, hopes and comforts. These times were few considering I was angry and no where near ready to open my heart to Him... but He still found me.
I don't really know what possessed me to write all that... but it's just a glimpse of my past year. That's two weeks out of the past 13 months. I have to admit the past year has been the most rocky, challenging and honestly the crappiest 13 months of my life. And though it's easier now it's not always better, to be honest. But hey... like the times where I got to write about cooking with my mom or finding God... there's always glimpses of hope.
