Chapter 5

 I've always liked the idea of making your own conclusions and interpretations because three people can look at a wooden pencil and come up with three very different opinions about it and I bet it's pretty much the same with this exchange student program.  In the beginning, there were 49 students having the same destination - the US of A.  But in three weeks or less, we shall return to our homeland and have successfully reached our destination.  Nevertheless, along our climb, all of us saw, heard, smelt, tasted, and felt many different things.  And that, I can simply say, is the beauty of it all.

May 5th 2011, Thursday

It's always comforting to know that however far you've went, you should never forget home and more importantly, the people.

THE WIND

 The angelic voice of the choir filled the air of the old village house.  The frail armchair stood in a corner beside the glass cabinet filled with black and white photographs of a happy family.  In one of the frames, it displayed a portrait of a serious-looking man with wrinkles – signs of the breadwinner of the family and not forgetting that slight twinkle in his beady eyes as he stared back at you.  In that same room, in an open coffin, lay the very same man.  Perhaps with a peaceful look on his face and if you looked long enough, you might have presumed that he was smiling.  Amidst the sorrow and smell of death, was a little girl having a pillow fight in the adjacent room.

 Andrea was probably 5 years old when her grandfather died and perhaps because she was so young, she didn’t really comprehend the sadness in everyone’s faces.

 “Brothers and sisters, as we remember Francis Wong as a loving son, brother, father, uncle and grandfather…” Andrea heard the faint voice of the priest from the other room.  She blinked vigorously and wondered if she could recall the last time she spent with her grandpa.

*

 She put her arms above her head and did a little twirl as graceful as she was able to move.  In the small space of the village house where her grandparents stayed, Andrea treated it as her canvas to paint any picture she wanted.  Currently, she was pretending to be a ballerina – treating the rattan-made armchair as her bar and made big dramatic gestures with her arms.  Beside her, Cavin, her cousin charges away with a plastic sword and fights bravely as the world depended on it.

 “Okay, so I am a ballerina that is caught by someone and you have to save me,” the little girl said with a slightly bossy tone.

 Cavin nodded and the two little toddlers went into their little battle as they discreetly rolled under the chairs to stay unnoticed.  Just as they were past their enemy’s fortress, a plump old lady walked slowly into the room with a bottle of vitamin Cs in hand.  Her eyes were tired but kind, her walk had a slight limp beneath the sarong wrapped around her waist, and a huge pair of spectacles sat on her small nose.

 “Ann! Vin!” the kids’ grandma echoed oblivious of the battle scene taking place.  Obediently, the kids halt their great escape and open their mouths as the frail lady pops a tablet in.

 The creaking sound of the front door drew their attention to the right as an old but strong built man entered the house.  “Kung Kung!” the kids shouted in delight as their grandfather moved slowly toward them with a smile on his face and lifted each one up on his lap.

 He took them to the beach that day in his old yet trustworthy grey car.  Andrea couldn’t remember exactly everything that took place that day but what she could remember was how much fun she and her cousin had.  They built sandcastles, played in the water, and she somehow recalled an image that would be forever imprinted in her mind – a picture of a strong built man holding the hand of a little girl.  As they soaked their feet in the water, the man was ever ready to protect the girl from strong waves hitting the shore.

*

 The waves crash into the shore as the foam bubbles into the sand.  The sun sets at a distance creating the end of a beautiful summer day.  Her hair whips behind her and her dress billows in the wind but her feet are rooted into the sand.  As she makes her way to the water, she realizes that twelve years has passed and so much has happened but she smiles knowing that despite the waves that might come, her grandfather will always be holding her hand.

May 6th 2011, Thursday

 OF CHEESE, SAND AND A LITTLE BIT OF SUN

“Are we there yet?”

I could feel the restlessness building as my siblings continue to ask for the fifth time that day.  It is a Thursday afternoon and my whole family is on the road to the Oregon Coast for the Easter break.  Amidst the excitement of seeing the sun, feeling the sand, and hearing the ocean, a 10-hour drive across four states drains our energy.  We take a pit stop at the Tillamook Cheese Factory and sample their heavenly ice cream and squeaky cheese.  The chocolate factory had an extensive range of chocolate and it would not have been a vacation at the beach without us stopping at a seafood joint.  The next thing we know, we arrive at our stay for the night – Skapoose, Oregon!

 It is 8 a.m. on a Friday morning and the chirping birds arouse me from bed.  Along with my dad and sister, we take a walk along the interesting residence of floating boathouses and are amazed at how they stay afloat.  We notice trivial details of how the houses don’t have much of a garden and how close the power circuits are to their homes.  Gleneden Beach – we see the sign and heave a sigh of relief.  It is 6 p.m. and we end the day by spending some time at the beach – just in time to catch the beautiful sunset.

 It is the eve of Easter Sunday and we start off the day with pancakes and bacon!  My siblings are at the beach even before my mom and I get there.  All of a sudden the heaps of sand are their trenches, the shovel becomes their sword, and the beach is their battle ground.  I smile at how precious a kid’s imagination can be.  We walk along the whole stretch of the beach, daring each other to scurry across the ice cold stream of water barefoot.  We fool around as we scribble in the sand, collect ‘hidden treasures’ of the seas, and make mermaid tails out of sand.  After a quick shopping spree for knick knacks, we get home just in time to dye eggs for the Easter bunny.

 I awake the next morning to the thumping sounds of the miniature drum that Uncle Johnny brought over for the trip.  The whole morning is spent with hunting for Easter eggs and some of us just lazing around and embracing the feeling of being on vacation.  In the evening, we decide to drive down to Newport and end up looking around cool toy shops and buying a toy helicopter for Nathan, my little brother.  Despite the odd Oregon weather of rain every 15 minutes, we decide to brave it out and make a bonfire as well as wave our glow sticks in the dark.  S’mores – my new all-time favorite snack!

 It is Monday and the level of excitement has gone down as the prospect of our Oregon vacation ending and a long drive home creeps at the back of our minds.  Nonetheless, we take a quick tour to the Lighthouse and coincidentally meet a guy from Libby, Montana!  My eyes widen in awe as we explore the sea life while visiting tidal pools.  The recording studio of the Christian music band, Sons of Day – our last pit stop of our vacation!

 We start out early on our journey back to Charlo, Montana as I silently bid farewell to all the sights, smells, and sounds of Oregon.  At 9 p.m., my family arrives home safely as fatigue hung distinctively in the air.  I look at my room and see Calculus homework waiting for me, an overdue Spanish quiz to be studied for, and the thought of going to school tomorrow doesn’t seem to make it any better.  Nonetheless, I shrug and smile a little thinking that maybe, just maybe… I can do this.

May 19th 2011, Thursday

First impressions also amuse me because sometimes, it's funny to look back and talk about what you thought about the person before you knew them well.

FIRST DAY

The whirring sounds of the airplane startle me from my sleep.  My friend Jake shoves the window cover up and an endless row of snow-capped mountains come to view.  I look at the majestic mountains as an image of a powdered chocolate cake comes to mind.  It is so vivid that I am almost sure I can taste it in my mouth.
 “Andrea, look at that – there’s nothing here,” Jake’s comment gets me in giggles as I wonder if he meant it in a joking manner.

 I feel the plane pick up speed beneath my feet as the sight of land dances into view.  The seatbelt sign blinks and a soft chime is heard.  My seat vibrates beneath me as we cruise through the runway.  I look around me and smile; Jake has gone back to sleep and is snoozing as peacefully as a baby, an old lady sits calmly but clenches her seat – the only sign of dishevelment, and a couple anxiously studies a travel guide as if their life depended on it.

 I step onto American soil and take a deep breath.  The smell of fresh Montana air is all I need to get my heart racing again.  Who is my host family? How do they look like? I went through the motions in a blur until I am a stone’s throw away from the arrival hall.  Immediately, I step behind Jake - afraid of what is to come.
 Almost instantly, the view of a blond-haired lady with kind eyes is all I can see as she extends her hand, “Hi, are you Andrea?” I nod sheepishly and fell her warm hand close in to mine, “My name is Marilyn Murchie and I’m your local coordinator.”  I almost don’t hear her as my curiosity of where my new family is overwhelms me.

 Then, out of nowhere, she turns her back and uncovers the faces of five eager-looking people.  An eight-year-old boy holds a tissue flower in one hand.  Beside him, two girls grinning like Cheshire cats – one with a bejeweled cap and the other clad in a mini cardigan.  At the end, I see a very young couple smiling back at me.

*

 I didn’t know if it was the twinkle in their smile, the jet lag creeping in my body or just the mere excitement of the day but at that very moment, I had a gut feeling that I had come to the right place.  And, what do you know?

I was right.

May 24th 2011, Tuesday

This is me showing you how much I like to think about the little things that come along in my life. A little cheesy but who cares? :)

 AFTER SCHOOL ESSAY

The bell rings with a deafening screech as I heave a sigh of relief.  I feel the fatigue which has built up from the events that took place throughout the day upon my shoulders as I feel a slight ache nagging my right shoulder.  With all my might, I pull my locker door open oblivious of the clanging noise and head out to the bus.  The sea of students move like one body around me; all of whom are going to their own destinations – home to feed the cows, McDonalds to get that extra cash to pay for the car, grandma’s to stay for the weekend, and the gym for track practice.

The bus door opens and a whole new world is set free.  The smell of sweat hangs in the air as I cross my fingers for an empty seat.  As I walk along the aisle that has sweet wrappers and empty bottles scattered around, I look around and find it surprisingly easy to find the similarities a school bus has to a day at the zoo – a blond-haired girl who is wearing bright pink tights that are completely soiled at the knees lies upside down in her seat, my brother, Nathan, has a lollipop hanging from his mouth as he wrestles his friend to the ground and a bespectacled boy is banging his head on the window while singing, “H-E-R-O. God is my hero!”

It is my lucky day as I find an empty seat to myself.  Plugging my earphones in immediately, my senses are numbed.  I cannot hear the screaming voices of little kids in front of me nor do I hear the bus driver’s futile attempts to get the kids to sit still.  Bruno Mars is on.

Today I don’t feel like doing anything.

“Want a Swedish fish?” my sister Kalista shoves a red sweet up my face and smiles from ear to ear.  I nod and pop it in my mouth, “Thanks”.

I just wanna lay in my bed.

I taste a piece of melted sugar – sweet, sour and maybe even a little plastic.

Don’t feel like picking up my phone so leave a message at the tone.

I hear the pitter-patter of rain dashing on the window pane and smile.  My sister, Suzanah moves her index finger gracefully over the fogged window.  With a few twirls of the finger, she writes my name in loopy handwriting and I laugh.

I step onto the rocky road heading to my driveway as my three siblings trail along behind me.  The rain has stopped.  The blades of grass billow in the wind making a soft rustling noise as I walk toward the door.  Its path has dust hovering over it.  I land my backpack with a thud on my bedroom floor as a hint of raspberry vanilla perfume I used for school still hangs in the air.  My soft bed looks so inviting for me to just give in to the temptations of sleep but I know better.  I move robotically to the bathroom with my clothes in one hand knowing well enough that I should take a shower.  They say a hot shower does the trick and sometimes, maybe they are right because nothing feels better than a hot shower.  15 minutes later, the floor creaks beneath me as I tiptoe back into my room. 

Quiet.  Too quiet.  Something is wrong. My eyes search the room and find one of my sisters engrossed with her Nintendo DS. I see two small ant-sized figures from the window – one riding a bike and the other a four wheeler, chasing each other around the field. I shake my head – it amazes me how much energy kids have.
The opened page of my Calculus book stares at me as I stare back at it.  We are playing a game.  The first person to fall asleep loses.  I shrug it off and decide to take a breather.  I motion to the piano and flip the book to Star-Spangled Banner as if I know the page by heart.  It is a simple piece and nothing two years of childhood piano lessons can’t pull off having practiced it a couple of times before.  I go with the flow and soon am lost in the realm of music – feeling my fingers around the keys and proud to have regained a rusty old skill I thought I’d never rekindle.  The national anthem becomes Silent Night and moves on to On Top of Old Smoky.  The door opens and slams as my mom stumbles through the fleet of shoes spread across the floor and kicks her sports shoes off.  She comes just in time to hear me play the last four bars of Oh! Susanna.
“So, how was your day?” she has a NAPA sweatshirt, which soon, even its bagginess won’t be able to hide her little baby bump.

I pause for a millisecond and try to recall what I did since I got on the bus home.  I laugh to myself – astounded at how MUCH had happened in just a short span of time.

“Oh, today? Today was just perfect.”