The Landing Party

I looked out the window making our approach into Lewiston. The hills were the same dry-brown they were last summer before I left. It figured in my heart that it couldn't have been more than a week since I'd left. Over the Clarkston Heights and I could see the Snake River wading through the middle of the city, and then the Horizon Airlines Bombardier double prop stumbled onto the run way.

Walking from the plane to the one-room airport, I couldn't see through the tinted windows. I expected my parents to be waiting for me, but as I walked through the door I was surprised by my niece who jumped me. Then I heard a loud sound like a swarm of bees –– kazoos. The family had come in full force to welcome me with signs, songs, smiles and hugs.

It made me feel like a conquering hero returning from the field, not because I felt like I'd fought anything in Asia, and I definitely hadn't conquered anything, but I felt accomplished just having such a fun and loving group of people in my family. 

Packing

It's 2:00am and I'm feeling packed enough to write this. Alban, a good friend from college, has been visiting this week, so most of our time has been dedicated to scurrying about the greater Hong Kong metropolitan region, not packing. But there's no more delaying things. We wake up in two hours to get Alban on a bus for his flight to Japan. I leave a few hours after him to catch my flight to Korea where I have a ten day layover on my way home. Five days will be spent in Japan, then five days in Korea.

It's been nice having Alban here this week. It's helped me keep moving, pushing back packing until now. Not moving slow enough to look much at the fact that eleven months have passed since I was packing in a similar way. Eleven months of unsure expectations haunted my last packing, and eleven months of memories haunt this one.

Today was graduation. After the program was finished, there was no mingling or messing around. The gym was packed up within thirty minutes –– people out, chairs stacked, banners down, floor swept.  Because Hong Kong's a busy place, and we all had places to be, and goodbyes aren't easy, and there's still more packing to do. 

Rice: A Complex Carbohydrate

Rice, you simple grain, 

you gift from God,

you source of life

you fresh white

universal compliment.

Sumptuously dressed whether fried, 

steamed, stirred, mixed, sauced, 

salty, or sweet. The life of the 

party of every plate –– family friend. 

__

Rice, you basic seed, 

you uninventive pill, 

you bland brown

mushy mass.

Commonly dressed, plain, 

homely, warm, moist. 

The dripping faucet of every 

feed –– house chores. 

__

__

Rice, you dirty specks, 

you pale poison, 

you teaming heap 

of maggot larvae. 

Tastelessly dressed in every 

seasoning. 

The compost pile on every

dish –– fingernail clippings.  

__

__

__

Rice, you familiar stock, 

you natural fuel, 

you shrewd package of

working food. 

Undressed in the raw, naked, 

bare minimum. The compulsory 

piece of every meal  –– the Dao. 

Twenty Somethings

"We didn't need a story

We didn't need a real world

We just had to keep walking, and

We became the stories 

We became the places 

We were the lights, the deserts, the faraway worlds

We were you before you even existed"

Enzo

All Creatures Great and Small

Spring is the wet season in Hong Kong. That means if it's not raining when I walk outside then it feels like I'm walking into an exhale––hot and heavy.* It also means lots of new life.

The trees outside are getting greener and occasionally explode into Skittle-colored blossoms, the campus lawn needs a haircut, the birds and cicadas are double forte, and the frogs at night chirp in the drains where it all goes down. The wet season brings all kinds of new life outside, and inside too.

My apartment has its own ecosystem. I've dealt with the ants all year, and by "dealt with" I mean, "lived with."The ants feed off crumbs and bits of detritus and spend most of their time on the floor. They're small, tasteless, harmless and have yet to ruin any food source in my cupboards. I have seen a couple of bigger ants recently though. They're grey gnarly looking suckers, warrior ants. Three or four times the size of the little browns, and much faster. Along with the ants are the lizards. They're small, half the length of a pen and about an inch wide toe to toe. I'm not sure what they eat, but they spend most of their time on canopy of the high walls. Besides the lizards, the most recent visitor brought in by the wet season are cockroaches. The first one I saw was lying on his back in the middle of my living room. I thought he was dead, until I touched him. They're the size of a quarter, squeezed on the sides. For a while, I kept finding one at a time. I'd scoop the quick-witted little scraper into a tupperware and throw him outside into the bushes––catch and release. About the third time, I began suspecting I had a repeat offender on my hands. The next time, I decided to not release him. My plan was to keep him in his plastic prison for a week, putting punitive punishment to the test. Well, he didn't make it. Not even a week. What kind of a cockroach can't live a week? One morning I found him on his back. Maybe he fell over and decided to call it quits. In the meantime, another one of his cohorts showed up in my trash can, so my theory that there was only one didn't hold up.

Of all the creatures great and small living in my apartment, the one I hate the most is mold. Nothing is safe. Clothes, pillows, walls, coats, computer cases, basketballs, and food have all fallen victim to this silent grower. We'll see who gets the last laugh after I recruit a few Chinese chemicals to my side.



* The exhale idea was introduced to me by the History teacher.

The Making Of

We started at 7:00 Saturday night. After an hour of trouble shooting, the computer was recording sound through the board. It was full tilt from there. We finished around 4:00 Sunday morning.

The small recording room, is the sound closet at the back of the multi-purpose room in the dorm. It was stuffy, but produced a relatively good sound. We cleared out several boxes of unused Sabbath School quarterlies to make space for our gear.

Eddie, the percussionist, teaches gym and coordinates student activities here at the school.

Jeriel, the ukulele champion, is a graphic designer in Hong Kong; his parents work at the school.

The song is a younger brother of "Hooky Chookie Too." It flows from the watersheds of aggressive discourse and hope. An underlying pulse to the song itself is the belief that, "It's not about revenge, it's about redemption."

The production name, Sow My Low, plays with the sound of the noun in Cantonese: 收買佬 (sau mai lou). It means collector, and refers to men who are something like pawn shop owners in the States, collecting old stuff and selling it. It's also the name of a game known in English as "junk scramble." 

Into The Woods

Over the last two nights the school performed it's annual spring musical. This year, the students performed "Into the Woods Junior." Since I have been teaching drama this year, I was automatically elected to Assistant Director for the production. I've never been a part of a musical before, but thankfully the director Arlene was a veteran, and knew how to handle the project. Her leadership, and a boat-load of work from the cast, delivered a top-notch school musical that made Glee look like ... well, Glee. 


Here is a brief introduction to the show that was read to the audience at the beginning of the program by the Assistant Director:

Good evening and welcome to Hong Kong Adventist College. Before we begin, I’d like to say a few things about this year’s musical production. 

This evening’s performance is the result of thousands of hours of work. This work includes the time put into each actor’s performance, the set design, the lighting and sound, and even the neatly organized chairs you’re sitting on. Since auditions in late January, students have been memorizing, practicing, painting, paper macheting, practicing, prepping costumes, preparing pamphlets, and practicing some more. This year’s exquisite set design was creatively crafted by several members of the cast. As you will soon see, it is authentic, and ecologically minded, constructed with the right amount of vision and a lot of recycled newspaper. The students here at our school, from primary, through secondary, to college, have rallied behind this production to create something fresh, funny, and inspiring for you this evening. 

The musical our students will be preforming tonight is “Into the Woods Junior,” a shortened version of the award winning Broadway musical “Into the Woods,” written by James Lapine and Stephen Sondheim. The story carefully, and at times playfully, examines what it really means to live “Happy Ever After.” Using notable characters from famous Western fairytales such as Jack, from Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapanzul, Cinderalla, and of course, a crusty old witch, the musical invites us to consider what we really need in order to be happy: a child, family, youth, beauty, money, friends, honor? 

Wishing for these things and more, our characters soon realize that the only path to their ‘happy ever after’ takes them on “a dangerous endeavor” into the woods. That dark uncertain place where “witches wolves and ghosts appear,” where trees are more than just wood and the boundaries between life and death are blurred. 

Some of the elements of this production involve spirits and ghosts, which are not in exact harmony with what Seventh-day Adventist Christians believe and teach. Although these things don’t accurately represent our understanding of reality, they act as important plot devices within the musical. And even though some of the elements are not in agreement with our beliefs, there is a strong underlying principle of faith throughout the musical. Even when the wolf is on the prowl, and the obstacles seem impassible, our characters continue on their journey with the trust that somehow, working together, in the end, all things will be ‘happy ever after.’ 

It is this faith that carries the cast, and us, into a life and death adventure. So without further ado, I ask you to turn off, or silence, any electronic devices and toddlers you have with you, ready yourself in your chair and join us as we venture Into the Woods. 

____________________

To see the students work together in order to produce something magical was really exciting, like watching Paddy McCoy get ordained, but with more singing and dancing.

After the show everyone scrambles to take photographs.

The set, stage right. 

"I want a picture too,"she said as she ran up the risers.

Be Thou My Coloring

Even when the daily fade

Appears like mold and

Covers every color

Ocean Park

We rolled in like we owned it. We three, us three: Lance, Ryan and I. Three teachers on spring break stoked to hit up the most popular theme park in Hong Kong: Ocean Park. Lance was most stoked, and Ryan and I charged off him.

It was just us and our ...  girlfriends, family, students, nieces and nephews  ...  just us. (Well, there were also a few thousand of our closest Asian brothers and sisters who also happened to be on spring break as well). But we stood out as three men determined to make the phrase "Roaring Twenties" more than just a period in history; we aimed to make it real, right then and there. And we were, I mean, we did and we are.

In line somewhere.

Lines and I are like North Korea and the rest of the world; we don't get along. So when I saw the first line of the day winding like a Hong Kong fire dragon, I was worried about what it might be like inside the park. The line slithered steadily though, and we got our entrance tickets in about an hour; thankfully that was the longest line of the day. From there, things only got wetter and better as the day progressed.

We took the 15 minute cable car out to the peninsula where most of the roller coasters and other rides reside. The park boasts a stunning location. Imagine a castle on a jungle peak overlooking the ocean, now imagine a theme park instead of a castle. That's the idea.

The cable-car to the fun side.

After 40 minutes in  line we did our first roller coaster. It was called the "HAIR RAISER!!!," but an equally descriptive name could have been the "NECK WORKER OUTER ROLLER COASTER AT OCEAN PARK." Either way it certainly raised our hair and worked our necks as we travelled first row with our feet dangling.

We alighted from the ride, still pumped from the last 35 seconds of reckless ecstasy when something magical happened: a thunderstorm. The rain was soft at first, then it got emotional (as my friend Alban would say).  The rides shut down. The cable-car to the other side shut down. We were stranded in wonderland. And although now I realize we shouldn't have been, at the moment, we were bummed.

Weathering the storm. 

After a few minutes, we made like many of our fellow patrons and headed for one of the cafeterias. It was packed like most places in Hong Kong, except even more packed given the circumstances. We eventually got a table, sat down, ate some stuff, and then Lance had to use the bathroom. The whole process burned a few hours, and the timing was perfect because just before we stepped out of the restaurant, it stopped raining.

Within a few minutes the rides began opening, and the rain had scattered all but the die hards. Now we were able to roam around the park as if we really did own it. No lines, no worries.

While Ryan was distracted on his phone, Tommy & Lance convinced
 him to ride shotgun on "The Raging River." The sign, that Ryan
didn't see, warned that patrons of this ride will likely get
wet and might even get soaked. 

Ryan realizes it's a set up. 

Tommy and Lance revel in their sneakery. 

Ryan gets the last laugh as Lance and Tommy
ride shotgun while he guards the gear in the back. 

As the sun began to set I remembered the Asotin County Fair that used to roll into town every spring back home in eastern Washington. And as Ocean Park put on her neon nightwear, with the lights dancing and refracting off the the weatherswept walkways, I remembered my love for these places.

The sunset gave way to the night lights. 

The amusement park has seasons like we do. It starts with our parents, and we're too short to go on all the rides. Then it moves to the stage where we can go with our buddies, and the parent-leashes come off, we have freedom. Then, a little later, it becomes a glowing love garden for teenage romance -- the ferris wheel is where it all started.... After that I guess it starts to regress, or come full circle: back to the buddy stage, and next is the parent stage where we become the parents.

Smoke Signals

The Hong Kong smog-line. For more recent pictures from
around HK, check out The Tickle Closet. 

THE HONG KONG JUNGLE [3 of 3]

The Hong Kong Jungle

THE HONG KONG JUNGLE [2 of 3]

The Grey Jungle

Follow the narrow sidewalk past the un-

clear 

metal-air and see the 

trees 

of steel and progress –– the 

glass-

leaved branches of the concrete canopy 

Here, the animals pulse like traffic on

shallow

foot-paths where elevated, escalated, 

metal-

souled idols wear lingerie and gold

chains

in the name of "G.O.D."

The wildlife drink diesel and 

smoke

cigarettes, tamed by years of 

reckless 

propriety and education, 

existing 

in an eco-system of air-

conditioned 

heart beats and synthetic blood 

All the while, asphalt bleeds in rivers of 

black 

fingernails gripping the reclaimed 

earth

and burying her secrets under his 

streets 

for the bottoms of our 

souls

to walk on

THE HONG KONG JUNGLE [1 of 3]

Editor's Note: We at The Year of the Dragon have decided to post a poem written by the young author Tommy Poole. The poem titled The Hong Kong Jungle is a three piece poem with two written parts and one audio. These pieces were originally submitted last autumn to the independent publication "Swivelchair," and will be posted on this blog in three consecutive posts with pictures to accommodate the visual learners in our readership. 
____

The Green Jungle

Follow the rain-stained clay

past 

the curbside concert of concrete noise 

where

one can still hear trees tell 

secrets 

in Chinese characters 

Where the monkeys still hustle and 

cuss 

at the flying kites who look 

down

hoping for some careless

business

in the trees below 

All the while, the jungle 

breathes 

in a steady green rhythm of falling 

leaves, 

and the wind whispers to 

no one 

but the ants and the undergrowth 

Here, everything is 

eaten 

by the thin vine that 

slithers

like a python toward the 

concrete

like unstoppable consumption

Her victims go down quietly,

swallowed

in stones and leafy scales, for 

hikers 

to walk on

Soul

A broken building on campus near the church. There's a law in Hong Kong
that protects oldbuildings from demolition,  but not from decay. 

Written in graffiti on a bridge in the park
'Do you ever get the feeling that you're missing the mark'
...

Written up in marker on a factory sign
'I struggle with the feeling that my life isn't mine'
...

So on a concrete canvas under cover of dark
Concrete canvas, I'll go making my mark
Armed with a spray can soul
I'll be armed with a spray can soul

Ooh...

COLDPLAY, "Hurts Like Heaven"

Some Lines

Sometimes lines get stuck. They get trapped in our brain and bounce around like a golf ball in a brick oven.

Sometimes lines resonate. They hit our soul like a wind that shakes the whole tree from its roots to its hands.

Sometimes lines refract. When held to the light they prism-cast several shades of meaning and insight.

Sometimes lines breathe. They have a pulse that takes us by the wrist into slower paces of thinking.

__

Haven Films has begun pre-production for their next film project. While brain storming and dream casting, a line got stuck. I'm sure it's been used somewhere. I even googled it to see if it's been used. I'm worried I saw it in a movie or read it in a book or something but forgot when and where and now think it's original. I might come across it some time, we'll see. But for now it's in the vault –– SIV 2012 Storm Pad.

Camp Ida-Haven August 6, 2011. Saturday night final edit, crunch time.
Phillip and Jon are two of the most creative and genius people I know. 

Contents copyright © 2012 by Haven Films

Little Dragons on Grace

"Nooooooooo. Mr. Tommmmyyyyyyyyeeeee. But we cannot act!" 

"You won't even need to act." 

"But we cannot sinnnnggggg!" 

"Yes you can. Everyone can sing, some people just sound a little better than others. And it's just for fun, c'mon." 

"Ayyyaaahhhhh." 

"Trust me. You guys will enjoy it, when you see the finished product ... and it's all over." 

"Yes of course, we'll be happy when it's over!" 

Crossroads

Crossroads is a nonprofit linking resources and needs. It was started by accident by an expatriate couple in Hong Kong back in the 1990s. Well, it may not have been an accident, but they happened into it, and Crossroads has been growing ever since.

The location has a uniquely redemptive vibe. The foundation lives on an old army barracks –– about three acres and several buildings. On the grounds are apartments for dozens of international and local volunteers, warehouses for donated goods, a free-trade coffee shop and gift store, and a team of interactive "Global Xperiences." These experiences put the 'in' in 'innovative.' They educate people in the 'Developed World,' about struggles of the 'Developing World' by immersing them in real time scenarios (poverty, HIV/AIDs, refugee camps, and more).  For example, in the poverty scenario, students are divided into groups, camped in a rundown section of the barracks, given a certain amount of money, and a way of income – such as collecting newspapers for recycling ($2 a day).  Whichever group gets out of poverty first, wins. Before long, an actor comes along – the landlord – and he demands his monthly rent, which the students can't afford. Other crises come up as well while the students frantically work at the papers.

I wasn't actually a part of this scenario, but our school did it last year. Some of the students got frustrated and started thinking of ways they could get out faster. They're solution was simple:  'borrow money' from the other team, and 'flirt' with the landlord to get a lower rent. I think it's telling that they're immediate 'go to' plan was theft and prostitution.

Our school has four community service days each year, and this year we've been to Crossroads for three of them. We haven't done any of the 'Global Xperiences,' but the students have had multiple possibilities to help out. One of the more valuable opportunities afforded by Crossroads is the chance to mingle with the volunteer staff. Everyone working there is a volunteer, some are sponsored by churches or organizations, but none are paid by the foundation. Several of them come from countries littered with poverty and aids and refugee camps. Their diverse stories and spirit of service embody Crossroad's mission.

Doni does the snake while Crossroads' vc, Mandy, gives instructions.  

Plans for expansion are posted around the grounds. In the back are a couple of laymen's wheelchairs. 

A crate ready to be shipped to our central Asian neighbors. 

The girls can't believe it!

The crews bag ground and move it around. 

Eric makes friends with the refugee camp garuds. 

The Philippines

EDITORIAL NOTE: Over Chinese New Year break – end of January – Mr. Tom met up with a couple friends in the Palawan. Below are a few of his chronicles. 

DAY 1 (Arrival)

The Busuanga runway landed us like when my brother and I slid down stairs on cardboard sheets, except our stairs had a wall at the end and the runway didn’t. It was a fitting ending to my first time on Cebu Pacific, a Philippine budget airline. Cebu embodied a kind of Filipino amiability. Checking in at Hong Kong international, the clerk gave me a sticker, the Cebu logo. 

“Okay sir. Wear this.” 

I didn’t ask questions, I just put it on. 

The sticker is the first step in Cebu’s conscious effort to loosen serious travelers so that by the time they land in the islands, the culture shock isn’t so drastic. The next step was our inflight Cebu Pacific game and giveaway. “It’s not a Cebu flight without it,” our attendants chirped. The game was a simple, “first person to show me a ...” wins a reusable shopping bag with giant smiling cartoon airplane on the side, the Cebu logo. The heads went up, “A game? A game? What?” People started shuffling in their gray-blue seats, prepping their purses and personal items just in case they might have the lucky thing that gets called. We were stocked. 

“Okay, the first item,” the attendant began, “starts with a ‘P’ and ends in and ‘E,’” ... (shuffle, shuffle, shuffle). “I mean a ‘T.’ Starts with a ‘P’ and ends with a ‘T.’” 

“Oh,” we all said, pretending it made a difference ... (shuffle, shuffle)

“A passport. Does anyone have a passport?” Before I could think, I heard, “Oh, and here’s one on the front row, congratulations.” 

If I thought I was a contender I was only fooling myself. I couldn’t compete with Filipinos at their own game. The next two items were cigarettes and lipstick.

The sticker, the game, the runway, were ingenious planning in prepping passengers for island life. And the final step, was a audacious mix of club music and 80s rock ballads that started playing while we taxied to our gate. Cebu knew we needed to get loose if we were going to enjoy ourselves in the second largest archipelago in the world. 

Shaun and Phil, a couple buddies also teaching in Asia, had already perched a place with concrete walls painted like wood and vine. It had electricity for a few hours in the evening.

The sticker. 

The post-flight feeling. *photo by Shaun.

DAY NEXT (rented scooters)

The roads rode faster at night. The world just wide enough to see the dry-jungle growth on both sides of the road, the world confined to a weak-watt scooter headlight. I was doing 40kph on my Honda 150cc scooter, I was doing 90mph on my batmobike. I was getting pumped as my tires bumped over the road laid open like a skinned carcass of blonde clay. The tires hit and spit through the mud puddles and across the gravel ruts and clay veins pargeting our sandal covered feet in road grit. The temperature dropped with the sun, and our tank-tops and shorts let the cool air whisper to our sunburned skin. The jungle was a tunnel, unless we dared look up at Abraham’s vision stretched over us, hoping an unexpected rock didn’t send our tires looking the same direction. The sound of wind and high engine vrum was all we could here as we boogied back to Coron. 

Bridges were the biggest danger. They crept out of the desaturated jungle-dark like monitor lizards threatening our eight-wheeled entourage. Bigger bridges were concrete and metal, smaller ones were wood. Tracking our wheels on rough-weathered 3x10s laid adjacent about a foot wide was tricky in daylight, and risky in nightlight. We became more proficient at crossing as the day progressed, but some bridges were out completely with no signs or warnings, and the only cross was a side route. Our goal was  to NOT do a surprise launch across one of the missing bridges in the dark. 

We knew the road some since we’d drove the same road out, something like 60 kilometers, in the lightime. Our pace got faster as the day went on, after learning what kinds of rock puddle ruts could be taken at what speed, after becoming one with our mechanical animals. 

Frequently, the pack paused to make sure no one got left or lost. At one stop, Pierre was missing. Pierre, or Peter, was a late twenties computer-science Phd. with a skinny build and a ridge-line nose over his black-coffee beard. We met him in the Philippines; he fit right in with our group, a pioneer with a thirst for San Miguel and adventure. Already, he had dropped his bike two times; once in town just after renting, another just after a bridge. We waited in the dark while the low sound of our idling bikes were swallowed by the surrounding vines and open sky. We waited. After roughly ten minutes, a light appeared on the road, and we could hear the high vrum. Three drops for Peter that day. 

The bridges. 

Shaun is ready for the road. 

Phillip is feeling it.

Pierre/Peter strikes a foreign pose. *photo by Shaun.

DAY BEFORE & SAME DAY (Foods)

Mangos and blenders were made for one another, probably in The Garden of Eden, but Asia and cheese happened after The Fall. 

“What is that?” Phil questioned. 

“It’s a Lapu Lapu,” Peter offered. (Lapu Lapu is a local Filipino fish favorite). 

“Yeah, but what’s this on it?” Phil questioned further. 

“Cheese.” Peter answered. 

Phil doesn’t like eating chicken with eggs, and he doesn’t like eating fish with cheese. 

...

The town gets dark at night, darker then Hong Kong. There are only a couple street lights, and the power is usually out anyway. The town shadows buzz with people and the motorcycle taxis and generators buzz too. We walked through the dark to a restaurant run by teenagers. 

Our vegetarian orders arrived after a couple rounds of cards. And our vegetarian meals were full of meat, except for the fries. The fries were a strange gift to humanity, the kind of gift no one wants. The fries had cheese, powdered cheese. A white plate, with pale potato fries, and bright orange powdered cheese. Imagine Kraft powdered cheese, beaten, shamed, and brainwashed until it had lost all sense of identity. It tasted like ground cardboard, with less flavor. The fries also came with ketchup and mayo in a cup, not mixed. Two squirts of red and white in a pale porcelain tea cup.  

...

We discovered mango smoothies. Palawan mangoes are perfectly sweet and their flesh is less stringy than many mangoes around the world. Dried, they are unbeatable, the only possible contender is when they’re blended with ice and milk. They mixed with the unairconditioned humid air like a man and a woman made of the same bone and flesh. And the best part was, they didn’t have any cheese. 

Lapu Lapu on the right. 

Mingling at sunset on Coron peak.