A Day At Sea

The winds seemed to be picking up on our way to the marina.  A worried look on my husband’s face.  Choppy waters would spoil our plans.  Fortunately, with no substantial white caps in sight we loaded the boat and headed out.  As we pulled away from the main island, over a dozen smaller islands occupied the view.  Our destination straight-ahead; depending on the waters we should arrive in about forty minutes.  Each group of islands passed was replaced with endless others.  Varying sizes, some grouped, some standing alone in the beautifully pristine waters.  Sun blazing and a steady cool breeze.  I leaned back; I closed my eyes, my son’s head on my chest.  A cold mist of salty overspray every now and then kept me awake, despite the sun’s relaxing warmth.  We slowed to a stop near a small sandbar.  Without hesitation my husband leapt off the boat.  Splash!  “Grab my snorkel.”   Next in the water, my daughter.  Excitement was overcoming me.  Genuine excitement that kind that doesn’t come along as often as it used to.  I couldn’t get my mask on fast enough.  I put my face under the water.  Silence.  The world I was in seconds ago vanished and was replaced by another.  Hundreds of fish.  So close I was sure I could catch one with my hands.  I dove a little deeper, the ocean filling my snorkel.  I shot up, coughing at the surface.  I hurried back.  Neon blues, yellows and purples dart around me.  Pure exhilaration.  I try to calm my breathing.  A section of the reef breaks out from under me. Hanging over a small crevasse, a strange sensation came over me.  I almost felt a little scared looking into the depths below.  Adrenaline maybe.  Fantastically striped fish, florescent colors, sea anemone, starfish; there was an entire world before me.  A life-sized salt-water aquarium.  I popped up to check on the kids.  I tried to convince my daughter to try the mask.  Desperately wanting to share that moment with her.  She refused and proceeded to enthusiastically explain that she could now swim, unaware of the help from her life-jacket.  I escaped back into the realm below.  I didn’t want it to end.  So many things I thought I would never see were right before my eyes.  I bobbed at the surface.  “What do you think?”  My husband says with a smile on his face.  My words didn’t seem adequate.  Everyone returned to the boat.  As we pressed on I looked out at the water feeling almost drugged.  That was terrific.  Shallow waters as we approached the island, the boat slowed.  We were unsure we would make it through.  Finally docked the view is gorgeous.  The nearby waters littered with boats.  Our trip was short; the island was closed to the public due to renovations.  Fuel tanks full, we head out again.  Our next stop isn’t far.  Our friends point out the island where the movie Castaway was filmed.  Skin raging red, clearly not enough sunscreen.  Hungry and exhausted from the sun we tie off the boat and hitch a ride in from one owned by the island resort.  White beaches, blues waters, palm trees.  Wooden stairs lead us to the restaurant.  We enjoyed a meal and some laughter and decided to head back before sunset.  I watch the sky as we make our way back to the main island.  Jets coming in for a landing at the airport.  A bright full moon hung above us.  Unfamiliar cloud formations seemed to hang just above the water and erupt into the sky.  Oranges, pinks and yellows took over right before dark.  We docked after seven hours at sea and our amazing day filled with color and experiences finally came to an end.

A Positive Change

Sometimes it is the simplest things in life that we enjoy that are also the things we so easily take for granted.  Many of you that are reading this have shared some of the adventures we had in India.  People have been asking, how is Fiji similar or dissimilar to your time spent in India and the USA? Do you miss anything?  Which place do you enjoy most?  There are many things I have missed about all the places I have lived, but few of them truly amounted to much importance.  I am realizing that now.  During my time in India there were things I missed.  Hot water from the tap and the ability to communicate without frequent misunderstandings.  Driving, and the independence that it provides. Juicy cheeseburgers.  On demand drinking water.  Pulling hot laundry from a dryer.  Sharing a sense of humor and a set of values with those around me.  I missed the freedom to wear certain clothes without judgment.  Autumn leaves and summer barbeques with friends.  My mom’s fresh baked bread.  Late walks through decorated neighborhoods at Christmas.  Common conveniences, fresh air.  Sunsets on the lake.  Mountains.  Freeways.  American style customer service.  Quality art supplies.  Going for a walk.  Regular phone calls from friends.  Running in a field with my children.  Mind-blowing variety and selection.  Most of all I missed my family back home.

When I came back to America at first I couldn’t believe how much everyone had changed.  My friends seemed different, everyone did.  I felt out of place in a familiar environment.  Then as time passed, I realized I had changed.  I wasn’t the same person anymore.  I had daydreamed about returning to the United States too many times to count and I think I formed an unrealistic image of what my homecoming would be.  Once we returned I started reminiscing about our time abroad, how easily we sometimes forget hard times and recall only the good.  I missed simplicity, my neighbors at Aparna Towers, my daughter’s best friend who came to play each morning.  I missed plane rides, and passport stamps.  Sharing profound experiences and making lifelong friends.  The adventure.  The excitement.  Being on vacation in the United States.  The value of a dollar. Seeing poverty everyday that reminded me to be more grateful.  Seeing the world.  I missed our family being together, I missed my husband and sharing experiences with him that brought us closer with each passing day.  I also realized out all the things that I thought I missed in India only about two of them truly mattered, real friends and family.

Coming to Fiji was a tough decision.  When we told people we were leaving some of the first questions were: Have you been there?  Where will you live?  Do they speak English?  What are you going to do with your house?  The only real question of importance to me was could I handle the reality of being separated from those I love again?  Family is very important to me and my parents have built a beautiful relationship with my children since we returned.  Guilty feeling overwhelm me at times.  I know they support our decisions despite their own heartbreak.  Thank you.  This move is allowing our family to be together.  It is allowing us to slow down and bring priority back to the things that really matter to us.  We didn’t come here for the beaches or the beautiful waters.  We didn’t come here for the money or career advancement.  We came here to be a family and to raise our children and to let them see a different view of the world.  To let them see their mother and father together in a successful marriage.  To sit down as a family for dinner.  I came here to wake up next to my husband in the morning and say goodnight to him before bed.  I came here to make a positive change in my life.  I appreciated different aspects of all the places I have lived but for now I think this is where our family needs to be.  I hope this new life is the positive change we hoped for.

Holiday At Home

After a forty-minute drive out of town, it happened; white sand beaches and crystal cerulean waters.  The color seemed almost unnatural, surreal even.  Only a few clouds in the sky and a generous amount of sun.   Sunscreen, sunglasses and water wings.  I could see my neighbor holding my daughter’s hand up ahead.  My son holding mine.  Following footprints on a white coral beach.  Beautifully decorated and exotic shells cluttered the shore.  Black and white striped fish shared the shallow waters as we made our way down the oceanfront.  Low winds, manageable waves and the water like a warm bath.  I catch up.  Smiles on the face of everyone I see.  We find a shallow spot, the kids laugh and search for treasures in the sand.  “This one looks like a K mom.”  She shouts while holding a broken piece of coral.  The hunt to spell our names.  Then a moment of calm, I stop and look out at the aqua blue before me.  I am here.  This place is real.  I live here.  A flash of images.  The buses unloading at the resort, navigating around scattered luggage, families posing for photos.  The bartender hard at work.  This is a place that many people may never see. Some of those that do are staying here at these resorts.  Room rates, tips, followed by a flight back from where they came.  I realized that moment.  This is a blessing.  It was one of those moments where you feel thankful.  We head back, more sunscreen and a fruit smoothie.  The bill.  “Which room are you staying?”  I felt like an imposter mixed in with all the vacationers.  Enjoying the same five-star hotel amenities, the same beautiful beach, the same gorgeous view for free.  “Not too bad.”  Our neighbor says, feet kicked up on a lounge chair.  A stop at one of the hotel pools and then a bite to eat.  Mahi-Mahi fish and chips, fire roasted pizza and lemon cheesecake.  Plates nearly licked clean.  Children covered in sauce, eyes drooping. The day wrapping up.  We reach the car; I look back, “Come on, Sweetie.”  My daughter running to catch up, hands full of freshly picked hibiscus flowers.  

Childhood Wonder

As we age, our opportunity to experience exciting novel moments somehow diminishes.  Popping bubble wrap, riding a bike in a circle and rolling in autumn leaves can’t always be what it once was.  I love being a mother.  Children have a contagious enchantment that allows me to see life through new eyes again.  My daughter loves slimy things; worms, slugs, fish, and frogs and to her pure delight, she has caught at least one frog each day since we arrived.   Yet, her enthusiasm has not diminished whatsoever.  Always fresh and exhilarating.  As an adult living in a foreign environment I am given a chance to revive those moments of childhood wonder.  New flavors to taste, new faces to read, new plants and animals.  Constantly adapting, learning again, being uncomfortable, and forced to be more present.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the ability to get forty things done in one day while living in a first world country.  The problem was finding it fulfilling. The promise of relaxation after a productive day never seemed to happen and was only chased by another jam-packed day and endless tasks.  I wanted something to stop me in my tracks and make me see, not just look.  I wanted to hear something that made me listen, and taste something that made me curious.  Here I find myself in situations where I am not quite sure what to do, or simply how to act.  I have to make a decision and run with it.  Then when it’s all over a wave of accomplishment comes over me and like a child proudly holding a finished coloring book page; I think to myself, I did it.  I understand that I may not view the world the same way as others and that two people can experience the same event and end up with two profoundly different viewpoints.  But for me, feeling a little out of sorts throughout the day is worth the reward of feeling like a child while hunting frogs after sunset. 

A Typical Day

At first light birds start sweet songs of complicated melodies.  Outside still wet from a passing rain.  The electric teakettle clicks off, a teaspoon of instant coffee, and little milk.  A door squeaks open, out run two hungry children ready to play outside in pajamas.  My husband and I chat over coffee on the front porch.  A white stonewall forms the perimeter of our property.  Next door a church; some mornings you can hear the strumming of a guitar in preparation for that evening’s service.  Neighbors come down to say good morning.  Tummies now full; I make the two-minute walk to the local farmers market.  Rows of tables covered in fresh produce; a full spectrum of colors.  I recognize a large percentage of the items, but not all.  Walking down the aisles, merchants call out to entice me to their goods.  Prices are low, no bartering necessary.  It is the weekend so the fish market is open.  My daughter plugs her nose.  Our neighbor has the man put one of the fish in a bag to take home.  Plastic grocery bags filled with bananas, tomatoes, lettuce, mangoes, and more line my arms as we walk back.  At home; I mop pint-sized muddy footprints off the front porch.  Out back to refill the red bucket.  Almost noon, it will rain soon.  I take the laundry off the clothespins.  I fold them, still warm from the sun.  I sweep the floor with a broom make of sticks.  My son sleeping and my daughter playing with the neighbor I check emails and sketch ideas for new paintings.  Husband studying on the couch.  I wash vegetables in the sink.  I can overhear conversations spoken in another language through the open kitchen window.  We visit upstairs with our neighbors and go for a ride around town.  As darkness covers the sky fireworks shoot up with a bang.  Some celebrate Diwali here, a holiday I remember well from my time spent in India.  My children stare up at the lights in awe.  Mosquitoes, it’s time to come in.  Bedtime stories and sweet dreams, I turn off the light to my children’s room.  A quick shower, contacts out and air conditioning on, I settle in under a light blanket and close my eyes.