Where Are You From?

We are celebrating UWC day this Friday and as part of the celebrations we are having a wear a National Dress Day. It is meant to be a low key way to showcase our diversity and give kids a chance to revel in the rainbow pageantry that is our community.


Kids can wear flag colors, national costumes or even sports jerseys of any country to show their internationalism. I get it as a concept, but I have never really been a fan of things like UN day or National Dress Day, because I see these events more as a way to focus on national pride that international diversity. As a third culture kid, I don’t really identify with any one culture or flag or dress and that is the way I think it should be.


Where are you from?


That questions gets harder and harder to answer every year. Is it where I was born? The country that issues my passport? Where my parents are from? My first language? The place where I have lived the longest? The place that changed me the most? Taught me the most? Where I went to High School? Got my degree? Is it the sport team I cheer for in the Olympics? World cup? The place I visit in the summer?


You see it is not easy. To answer for me. My Kiwi fiends don't seem to have any trouble being proud of the country and let's face it, it is a Canadian pastime to be proud of Canada.


But it has never been simple for me. Here is where I am from. You make the call. Then tell me what national dress or costume I should wear?


I was born in Tehran, Iran to two Iranian parents. Farsi was my first language and Iranian culture was a big part of my life growing up. The music, the food, the knowledge of history, geography and cultural norms like Tarohf.


We moved to San Rafael California in 1979 when I was five years old. I went to elementary, middle and high school in Marin county. English quickly became my go-to language, and while I tried to hold onto what it meant to be Iranian, and much to my parents distress, I quickly became an average American kid. Played football. Drank at keggers. Had a girlfriend. You know the drill.


After high school, I moved to San Diego for a short stint at university life at SDSU, because that is where all my friends wanted to go. Decided quickly that frat life wasn’t for me and returned “home” to San Rafael where I lived for a short time before I moved to Novato. I sat in hospitals and I went to a Rainbow gatherings. I found out that girls might actually like me for me. I explored those avenues. I lived on and off there for a few years, occasionally making it back to San Diego, before I finally moved to The City.


San Francisco is where I learned to be an adult. I worked. I went to school. I learned I wanted to write. I learned to stop being homophobic. I got a BA from SFSU and lived my early twenties with a certain self-destructive aplomb. I traveled across the USA twice. Camping in Montana, a week in The Big Easy, Eastern Arizona. Upon graduating, I moved to Mozambique.


Where I lived for two years, teaching English in a beautiful Indian Ocean side village, where I learned to be alone, until I met my future wife Mairin. Mozambique taught me to be empathetic and see the world beyond myself. I learned to be patient and bored. I learned to travel and scuba dive and read for twelve hour sessions. I found the parts of myself that I had lost in SF. I learned how to love and compromise. Well, I started to learn those things. Still working on it. I learned to really travel- Zimbabwe, Malawi, Mauritius, South Africa. I rode trains and flat bed trucks. I saw poverty like I had never seen before, but also joy and song and dance.


After Africa, we were off to NYC where I learned to dream. I taught in the Bronx whilst getting a master degree from Columbia. I lived with Mairin and Ari and we worked hard at living. Study. Teach. Party. Soak up NYC. I learned to love and hate the snow. I commuted and explored. Eyes wide open, I walked the streets with more confidence than I had ever had. I was thirty now and had a finance. I became a socialist and sold newspapers on the streets. I protested wars and went to Paris and the Dominican Republic. I visited friends at Yale and Harvard. I took trains to DC and ate at diners in Adam’s Morgan.


We were ready to be truly international. We moved to Kuala Lumpur. We made friends with adults and had kids. I traveled to lakes and islands and Thailand. I learned to be a dad, sitting up late into the night with the quiet voice of Ben Harper and Kaia’s gentle breath. I stopped drinking because it felt necessary. I owned a scooter and played poker.


Then off to Qatar. Biggest mistake of my life. I felt anguish and pain. I became slightly racist and mostly hated myself. Skyelar was born there. I subdued my hatred and thew out my back.


Next Jakarta. New home. New school. New job. Performing monkeys wearing doll masks and begging children. Trains packed with people and traffic like you wouldn’t believe. Bali and Lombok right next door. By this point we had explored Vietnam, Laos, China, Japan, Thailand, and Tunisia. I had been to Kenya several times and connected with Daraja. A summer workshop in Ireland, layovers in London and Amsterdam.


Finally Singapore. Stability. Doing what I love. Safe. Great friends. Lovely school. Perfect match. Traveling home to California and Wisconsin. Middle age and marathons. Started drinking again. White hair and sore joints. Wisdom of sorts.


So where am I from? What T-shirt or costume could possibly come close to reflecting my identity. I do not believe in flags or anthems or cultures. I am a citizen of the world and no grouping of colors or special hats will ever come close to representing me.


And honestly, I find it slightly disrespectful to try and limit myself to one place. What about all those other places? To finish the phrase, "I am from...." with one place feels like cheating.


I was born in one place, while I learned from so many others. I have fathered children in different countries and have been to nearly every continent. Damn you South America! I have family in Sweden and friends in countless countries. I feel more comfortable roaming the streets of an unknown country than strolling 4th street in my home town.


So come Friday, I will not wear an American flag or an Iranian one, while those two nations are my hyphenated birthright. I will not wear anything from Kenya although I think my heart will always sleep in Africa. Honestly I don’t know what to wear.


I am still thinking about it. I was going to wear a borrowed Raider jersey and claim Raider Nation, but I do not have that jersey. I do have a Pat Tillman jersey that I have worn in the past. And although he was the typical All-American on the surface, he was a much more complicated citizen of the world underneath. A man I can relate. One who I admire.


But if, you have any other suggestions, I am all ears.

Jet Lag Immune

Back home. Back on track. Well sort of. I survived today and never felt like I was going to lose the plot. Taught the kids. Got myself organised for the rest of the week and stayed awake until, well- it’s dark so I am getting ready for an 8 O’clock bedtime.

Things are a bit fuzzy around the periphery, but all-in-all I think I survived. Don’t want to speak too soon, but I might be immune to jet lag. No jet-lag at the start of summer. No jet-lag upon returning to Singapore after summer. No jet-lag when I got home to SF a few days ago, and no jet-lat as of yet upon coming back home today. There is a slight chance that I might wake up in the middle of the night and curse myself for being so smug and pompous, but that’s a risk I am willing to take.

Not much else to say at this time. Good to be home. I am giving myself until next week to get the running thing sorted. But I am gonna get down to the skatepark with Kaia tomorrow night for a little skatepark time. Three day weekend coming up and it’s already Wednesday.

For now, good ni..........zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 

Back At It

It’s 10:00pm and I am in Shanghai on the tail-end of my six hour layover. I’ve watched two movies, had coffee, juice, a muffin and some fruit. The Pudong airport is an embarrassment as large city airports go. There is nothing to do here. Nowhere to get a decent meal or a drink. The lighting is hard and fluorescent and there is a quiet dreary fog that lingers over everything and everyone. I am a short five hour flight from home and I’m already excited about landing in Singapore, heading home, taking a shower and starting my teaching day….on Tuesday. Wow. Tuesday already.


Too soon to predict what that is going to look like, but I’m sure it will be fine. It is crazy what our minds and bodies can do when we put them to the test. All this travel reminds me of the double shifts and night classes back in my college restaurant days. I would work twelve hour days and party and study and run my life like it didn’t have a purpose, but in the end, no matter how late I stayed up or how early I had to wake, I made it work, so this little jaunt across the Pacific will be no different. Sure I am twenty years older and the body handles abuse in different ways, but I will survive.


The difference these days, I guess, is that there is a purpose, or at least a direction. The school year has just begun and it is time to get back to it. I miss my own kids and the brief Skype chat earlier reminded me how vivacious and full of life they are. Looking forward to a skate session this week. Signing up for the half-marathon in December and finally getting back into my routine of running. It has been too long and my body is in for a rude reminder.


After a death and a celebration of life, we owe it to those who have passed to live even more fully. Take advantage of each day as it passes. No matter how cliche it might seem, we are here if for no other reason, than to enjoy life and live it with tenacity and purpose. Even though, I currently feel like a flat tire, I am looking forward to pumping myself up, after a few solid 10 hour sleep sessions, and moving forward to whatever uncertain future will have me.


I cannot post this update right now because I am in China and the Internet is blocked, but I’ll get it up on the webz before I head off to work in a few hours. The daily writing doesn’t stop because of air travel or blocked Internet.


The words are blurry and screen is bright The mood is low and the air filled with fatigued, but we are here and alive, breathing, so the show must go on.


Author's note- 6:07 am at home, getting ready for breakfast, showers and school. Here goes nothing.

Next Stop Home

It hasn’t really hit me. What’s about to happen. After a fourteen hour day, I am about to get on a 27 hour flight. I am most looking forward to my time at Shanghai airport for six hours somewhere around dawn. I suppose in a way I am looking forward to getting a taste of what insanity might looks like. But really, at the end of the day, every experience is really just another good story. So in a bizarre way I am looking forward to the pain and misery of what is about to happen.


I will make my way through it and be in San Francisco. I will be with people I love, in a home I love. I am slowly shutting down my work brain, although it is flying at 100mph right now, and trying to unwind. Focus back on myself and my thoughts and my needs.


Thank you everyone who has ben so kind and thoughtful and supportive. I am not trying to martyr myself and it feels strange to live so openly with these post and then see people everyday at work, but thanks for reading and listening and being there.It means a lot.


Next stop. Home.

Jet Lag Fringe

Brain feels a bit mushy.

Landed last night, this morning, at 3am. We were home and a sleep shortly after. Woke up around 8 feeling pretty good. Went to Wild Honey for brunch, had a Bloody Mary. Then did some quick shopping and I got my haircut. Came home to unpack a bit and dinner at East Coast Park with Steven and Katy.

Nice to have a quick catch up, but it is 8:05pm- it is pitch black outside and I am fading fast. No time or energy left for anything meaningful to say tonight.

I am a bit nervous for the amount of things that have to be done to be ready for work next week, but I will assume that it will get done. I hope to pop by school tomorrow to get a sense of how my classroom is looking, seeing that I had to move, and start getting a few things in order.

I am very much looking forward to sometime away from my own kids and catching up with the rest of our friends here in Singapore.

And now sleep, hopefully till the morning. 

Last Night

So much to say, but so little energy. I have a “leaving-America” write up, but it might have to wait until we actually touch down in Singapore. I am looking forward too being home and doing more substantial writing. We fly out tomorrow and will be home after our 20 hour journey.

All I can muster these days are brief daily summaries.

Today was pretty amazing. Took Skye to San Francisco, where we enjoyed a perfect day in playgrounds, lunch and at the MOMA. At one point she informed me that the two jobs she never wants to do are being a bull fighter and a person who fights in a war. I can live with that. She was on best behaviour and we had a great time on the ferry enjoying my old home. It felt so weird being in The City with her, but my write-up of San Francisco will have to wait too.

All I can say tonight is that we had an amazing summer and I am rested and looking forward to seeing friends in Singapore and starting another amazing school year.

We will lose a day in transit, so see you all on the other side. 

Shut Eye

Today marked the end of my 16th year of teaching. 2 years in Mozambique. 2 years in The Bronx. 3 years in Kuala Lumpur. 3 years in Doha. 2 years in Jakarta and now 4 years in Singapore. It felt good and comfortable and easy, but I was also kind of numb all day. I was excited to be done but sad to see friends go. I felt tired when I needed to pack my room, but overall I didn’t feel much of anything.


Had a few drinks after school. Tried to stay out of Mairin’s way while she packed. I asked how I could help, but really I ended up taking a pretty long nap. Then we had a few friends over for some wine and the final unwind before we all get on airplanes and head to our summer homes. Most of us will be back next year, but we are saying goodbye to Mike and Rose. Which is weird because they have become like family to us. After nine years and three countries, it feels weird that they are moving so far away.


Sure Facebook and social media make distances feel smaller, and I am sure we will cross paths again in the not too distant feature, at least I am hopeful that we will- but it feels strange to watch them leave our place knowing we will not see then again in August.


We are packed and ready to go. Next stop San Rafael. Home. California. I am looking forward to getting my hands on a burrito first thing, seeing old friends, my moms both biological and Karen Doherty. We will drive and hike and swim and rest and eat and drink and play.


Not sure where I will be in 24 hours, so I hope to write my daily post somewhere in transit. Next time I touch base in this space we will be stateside.


Have a wonderful holiday to all my teacher friends near and far. While my emotions are a bit tepid at the moment, I am looking forward to a more robust sharing of joy in the coming days.


Time for some shut eye. Early flight tomorrow.

Travel Day

Today was a travel day for the most part. We finished the summit with a later start and an early ending. After grabbing yet another Falafel sandwich we headed for the airport. Lucky I had downloaded a few movies so that was my day. Watching movies and drinking cokes. I watched Daddy’s Home at the airport, which might be the warmest airport I have ever been to, and it was laugh out loud funny at times. The airport was so crowded, I had to sit on the floor near the window. Not one cafe or bar to get a coffee or a beer. Weird.


On the plane I watched the Hateful Eight. I was on the edge of my seat from start to finish. Loved the story telling, direction and dialogue. This is one of Tarantino’s best. I can’t believe this is his eighth film; as I was recapping them in my head, I realised I really like his films.


Quick run through Changi, the best airport in the world, and I was home buried in hugs by my exhausted children. Poor Mairin is writing reports, so I watched a 45 min interview with Amy Schumer, yes, I am obsessed and now getting ready for sleep in my own bed.


The teeth are still aching and I am still hoping it just gets better, I don’t have time for health this week. I wish I had more to report, more to say, more to share, but these are the days of the passing mundane. Are these posts getting boring? Are those random readers flipping passed these words on their phones as they want for buses, planes or trains? Am I less interesting? Am I tried of myself? Probably.


On days like this I didn’t even have tweet length thoughts. Just zoned out and walking through lines and sweating and watching and eating and now the being awake part is almost done.


Maybe this is it? Maybe this is what everyone can relate to? Everyone is always complaining about how people only post their Facebook lives in staged photo ops. Well, the opposite of that are posts like this one. No photos, just words of fatigue and tooth aches. Nights in pyjamas watching youtube while your tired wife taps out reports. This might not be the Saturday night you plaster all over Instagram, no filter will make these nights enticing, but they are the nights you are living.


burning bloodshot eyes
take each day one at a time
life unfolds at its own pace


Scraped out a Haiku just for you.


Good night.

Like Starting Over

I don’t remember the last time I ran or worked on my novel. None of this is good. I have a list of excuses: it was the holidays, I was in Thailand, I had lots of marking to do, I needed a break, I am off to Manila tomorrow, first day back at school…will get started again on Monday. Next Monday. I will I promise. I have to.

It will be like starting over. My muscles have already forgotten the joy of it and my characters have been left abandon in dark closets like ignored puppets tangled in their strings. There’s guilt for sure, but it is not too nagging yet. I will start again on Monday. Next Monday. I promise.

So yeah. Back to work today after a two week break. Things were good. Kids were alert. I started a few new units and just finished all six classes worth of marking I had lingering over my head. And just as we get into the swing of things for the last term and the final ten weeks…I am off to a conference in the Philippines tomorrow night. The timing is not the best, but I am always excited to go to a city/country I have never been to. And traveling on your own, shhhh don’t tell Mairin, is pretty great. Quiet airports. Your own hotel room, I better stop and switch gears.

I have been reading my Time Hop updates lately and it is crazy how every year, it feels like every few weeks it says something like: Getting ready to go to Kenya. Just got back from Paris. Headed to Chiang Mai tomorrow. Just got back from Vietnam. I feel grateful to be able to travel so much for work and work with kids and other teachers while teaching and leaning in so many environments, but more importantly I am thankful that Mairin is so supportive and understanding and holds down the fort when I travel. I know it is not easy to run the household alone, and the fact that she does it so many times a year demands a public declaration of gratitude. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

…

In other random news, I was excited to hear that Ice Cube basically told Gene Simmons to shut the hell up about the state of hip hop as they were inducted into the rock and roll hall of fame.

Pearl Jam kicked off a spring/summer tour. I am already checking in on their nightly set lists and following their shenanigans.

The new Ben Harper album is not blowing my socks off, but I am being patient with it. There are a few gems on the first few listens.

Apparently it is un-islamic to have a mohawk in Saudi Arabia. Who knew?

Trump has been pretty quiet lately. I guess when he loses he doesn’t have much to say. I am hoping he is thinking up something crazy to spring on us before New York.

And that’s about it.

Got an episode of Girls and the series finale of Togetherness on deck for tonight. Feeling a bit relaxed knowing I have no more making to do for a while. I am pretending like the cover plans will be easy to write and I can get them done tomorrow at school.

How was your first day back at work? If I didn't see you, take a sec and share a quip.

Privilege and Jet Skis

The way the Air Asia flights work out, you have to spend a night in Langkawi when you got to Koh Lipe. Something about the connecting ferry and flights don’t match up. No big whoop, so you spend one night in Malaysia.


Last time we came here we chose proximity to the airport as our chief criteria and paid for it dearly with a Shining like experience at a vast, unmanned, prison-like-hotel that claimed to be a Four Points Sheraton, but was really an empty compound with terrible food and the largest square pool we had ever seen. For the money we paid it was not good, so this time we changed our primary criteria, paid a bit more and went with the place that had the best pool.


Much better experience. We arrived, checked in and were by said pool by 3pm, reading books and listening to the kids squeal in delight as they made their way down the slide for the gajillionth time. The food here is meh, but the rooms are nice, the pool is sweet and the beach is close by. After a few hours, I went for a walk down the beach to explore.


I didn’t walk down the beach to explore, really I wanted to price the jet skis.


You see as a kid, my family didn’t travel much. We never went on vacations. Sure we took a few camping trips up north, but I can’t remember any times we stayed in a hotel as a family, and to this day I have never been on an airplane with either of my parents. So while my Marin county peers spoke of trips to Tahoe, or Hawaii or Cabo, my family considered a long Sunday at Stinson beach or maybe a few nights at Lake Berryessa- whereever the hell that is, a vacation.


But one thing I do remember from these lake trips were the Jet Skis. Sure they were terrorising the calm beauty of the lake with all their fossil fuel glory, but god damn it if I didn’t want to be the one to be doing the terrorising. I remembering wishing that somehow, one time, we would just walk over to the guy who was renting them, pay him and reek havoc on the surface of that lake. But that never happened. Not even once.


Too Expensive. Too dangerous. Too loud. Too too.


Why don’t you have another feta cheese, cucumber and tomato sandwich and ride on this inflatable raft instead? But don’t go too far. Maybe stay where you can reach the bottom and where we can see you.


Someday- I promised myself, I would be the kind of guy who would walk up to the jet ski guy and say, “I want this machine for the next hour, so gas her up and get out of my way.” At which point I would obviously be buffed and tanned enough to commandeer the thing like some kind of swimsuit model. I would be wet and with chiseled jaw and sculpted abs ride the jet ski around the lake where women and girls of all shapes and sizes would marvel at my sheer mastery of jet ski moves. I might do a flip if I caught the right wave.


I had no notions of grandeur or hyper-masculinity on my mind today, I just thought that if it was somehow affordable, thirty minutes of taking the girls for a spin would be a nice way to end the day and our trip. I would not only be the dad who says yes to jet skis, hell I would be the dad who suggested jet skis!


$54 for 30 minutes.
Fifty Four Dollars for thirty minutes.


Are you freaking kidding me? In Malaysia of all places. $54 for 30 mins. I am no math whiz, but that is $1.80 a minute. It just didn’t seem possible. I immediately started making excuses:


Too expensive. Not worth it. Not sustainable. Wastes fuel. They are so loud and obnoxious anyway. Maybe we are not and never will be Jet Ski people. The girls need to learn that some things are just out of our range. We just spent five days in Thailand and spent a petty penny on Scuba Diving, would adding a thirty minute thrill ride on a water motorcycle really be added value?


This was not going to happen. I was leaving the beach.


I looked over my shoulder one last time and watched a guy doing jumps off the waves on the choppy water as the sun was low in the sky and cracking diamonds in her wake. I couldn’t see his face, but if I looked hard enough I am sure I saw his wide smile, from ear to ear, because not only was he having a great time, he didn’t care how much the machine cost a minute or how much gas it was wasting; he was high on adrenaline and the freedom that comes from paying whatever the cost to have fun. I went back to the pool, grabbed my book and decided that I would wait to have a cocktail with dinner.


As a child of lower middle-class parents, who worked their asses off as small business owners in Marin county of all places, I know the value of a dollar. And maybe, just maybe in the long run, my kids would be better served realising that somethings are just off limits, not because you can’t afford them, although knowing these limits is valuable too, but knowing that some things we might could afford, but it is just wise to say no.


Having said all that, I don’t know….it is almost time for sleep and I am still dreaming of a time I ride that goddamn jet ski.

…

As I was showering for dinner and rough drafting this post about the jet ski, I also started to think about the privilege of holiday. As I mentioned before, vacationing was not a privilege my family enjoyed. We had fun. We did stuff. We were not poor, but we did not vacation. Not the way that my kids are off to Thailand and Chiang Mai and the USA and god knows where else.


“I didn’t even know resorts like this existed when I was a kid,” said Mairin as we walked around the massive pool, “much less ever dream of staying at one.”


The very notion of taking a break. A holiday. A vacation is such a statement of privilege, because it presupposes that you even have a job. A job that allows you take holidays and one that pays enough to let you do and go where you want. This is what I was thinking about as the cool water from the “rain” shower fell to the granite tiles and rolled beneath the egg shaped boutique tub.


Anyway…it is late and I am tired and we are headed home tomorrow. I am annoyed that the AC is not cold enough in our room and that the music from some bar is louder than I want it to be. I am also thinking about how I was in Kenya not too long ago and that I will be in Manilla in not too long from now.


I can’t decide if my problem is that I think too much or not enough. Or maybe my problem is that I always think that I must have any problems at all.

…

Joshua Ferris’ book To Rise Again At A Decent Hour has got me thinking and neurotic in the best way. It was a pleasure to read. It is not going to pass any bechdel tests, and the characters and plot could use some…something, but his attention to words and the mundane and the unnecessary are beautiful and captivating. You can be cynical and say that he is another uber-intellectual white dude whining about nothing ala Franzen and Eggers, and that we have heard enough of this white male privilege, and I might agree with you, but I can always take another 300 pages worth. There are some choice scenes. He spends two pages on hand lotion. What more can I say? Scott, Ari, Chris, Shasta, Jordan, curious what you all think.

Sun Sunk Low

It wasn’t the longest travel day. Short flight. Short wait at the ferry station. Short ferry ride. Short(ish) immigration wait, but added all up, it felt long, but before we knew it we were in our room, changed, down in the ocean, by the pool and a few mojitos under before dinner.

The sun sunk low in the sky and the water was hinting orange, but still sparked bright like a bag of spilled diamonds. The girls were goggled and swimming somersaults, diving deep trying to touch the parrot fish and the anemone that they were able to see in the coral just off shore from our hotel. It was late afternoon already and I was revelling in the fact that we were aquatic mammals back home in the ocean. The ease and comfort with which they swam in the ocean made me smile. I looked forward to the coming days when we would spend more time in her embrace.

…

After I posted my rant last night, Mairin asked if it was a good idea to post such a biased one sided, slightly offensive post. “You are a teacher and you cannot be so opinionated,” was her plea. And this has been her plea for years. I get her apprehension. And the public nature of being an opinionated teacher has always been hard to balance. But are we not allowed to have public opinions?

I try to always ask myself, how would a parent react to this post or that photo or that opinion, but at the end of the day, I hope that I could show my years of writing and thoughts and feelings as the true reflection of who I am. I hope I am never judged by any one post. Sure, I might be angry and ranting about religion one night, but the next night I might post part of a prayer from Mathew that a friend posted in response to my previous thinking:

I put aside my anger, judgement, frustration, stress, prejudice, fear and pride.

I acknowledged the hurt and pain and suffering that is in the world. I take responsibility for my part in the systems and behaviours that have caused it; and I look for the answers to bring change within myself, and I choose to take action. I know that in me is the capacity for good and love and forgiveness. I return to my goodness, and choose to respond to the world out of that.

I choose to be love.
I choose to be patience and peace and kindness.
I choose to be the change I want to see in my world.

And... I choose to forgive. I choose to take the violence out of circulation. If wrong is done to me, if violence is poured against me. It will stop with me.

I choose to respond out of the environment of love, and not the environment of anger and pain and hurt or greed.

See that all sounds pretty good to me. I just can’t handle the stuff about the lord and the father and the “he” who created the world etc….I believe in love for its own sake, not of a god who created it. It is in peace and patience and kindness where I want to find common ground too.

Anyway, thank you for all the likes and loves and comments. It feels good to know that we are not alone in our thoughts. As teachers we have to be able to hold opinions about religion and politics, just like everyone else.

…

I finished The Bell Jar on the ferry today, and I found it pretty boring, but eloquently written. I didn’t care that nothing really happen, because I loved her dry sardonic tone. Next up, To Rise Again At A Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris. I am pretty excited because Adrienne didn’t like it very much, which means I will love it.

My eyes are burning. My muscles are sore. The kids are watching a movie and we have nothing to do tomorrow, but eat, drink, swim, sleep and maybe get a massage. Life here is good even though I am aware that in many places it is not.

Ready For The Sun

Tomorrow is Friday of the penultimate week, before a four day week, which will usher in a two week spring break. I think students and teachers, as well as my own kids, are more than ready for this holiday. We have all been going strong since Chinese New Year, and while that may have only been a few weeks ago, it feels like an eternity. The days are bluring together- class after class and the nights are littered with naps and marking. Six classes worth of Argument writing pieces and Lit Essays has my brain spinning like a hamster wheel. I have little space for much else. And what little space I could be using for, you know, relaxing, enjoying, breathing, I have filled to the gills with election mumbo jumbo.


Let’s just say I am ready for the sun, the sand and the tranquil waters of the Andaman Sea.


In other news we have officially booked our tickets home, and we will be in the ole US of A, if it is still standing, on June 23. There are many people we would love to see, but time will be tight and we are on the move.


I will work out a detailed itinerary soonish to make sure we see as many of you as possible but a rough sketch looks like this: Marin for a week, down to Monterey to see my mom, road trip up the Redwoods, Bend Oregon, up to Squamish for a week, back down to Bellingham with possible stops in Vancouver and Seattle, then back to San Francisco to fly home August 2nd.


Since I have missed all of our HS reunions, and I have developed some cool relationships with many you people on FB, I would love to have a dinner or bar night in San Rafael for sure. I will send out details as we get closer to summer. Other than that, I am looking forward to being home and showing my girls my favorite places in Marin. Los of hikes on Mt. Tam and creek jumping at Sammy P. Park. I am very much looking forward to spending time with my favorite part of America- its nature.


Speaking of flights, I also booked flights for my first trip to Manila in a few weeks for a pastoral care conference at ISM. I always love going to places I have never been and The Philippines has been on my list for a while.


It’s funny, I often complain about the routineness of my life and here I am going to Thailand, The Philippines and Cascadia in the next few months. Need to take a moment for gratitude. I could be working in an office or at a bank with ten days of vacation that I spend on some cruise. I am very thankful for a life and a job that allow me to see the world and interact with people of all cultures.


Try as I might, I can’t squeeze much else from today.

Daraja Here We Come!

Tomorrow night, Friday morning, at 2:00 am I will be boarding an airplane to fly to Kenya. I will be leading a school trip to The Daraja Academy for girls. I have been to this school twice before. The first time I went, Kaia was only this big...

The other time I went, we were literary painting the walls...

...and hiring teachers...

There were no students and the campus sat expectant, heavy with ambition and promise. I remeber sitting on Jason's (the founder and my best friend since we were 15) deck talking about how I might be able to help him design a Wordpress blog to promote the school. We were so naive and innocent. Well, I was. Jason had a fire in his eyes and a vision that must have been crystal clear, because since that first trip, not only did the school open, but it is now filled to capacity with over 250 girls from grade 9-12 and has graduated at least one class. Their website is stunning and they are a fully sustainable and operational school. We will be arriving a few weeks before Daraja's fifth anniversary.

You can look at more pictures here or read previous posts for some context here.

Daraja is the opposite of the slums and poverty from which her students will come. It is beyond politics and good intentions. Daraja is the realization of a dream. Hope actualized and made real. Hands in soil, trees planted. Seeds sown. It is beyond donations and charity. Daraja is a place where regular people like you selflessly give their time, money, and energy in the hope that change begins within each of us.

 I can't pin-point what excites me most about this upcoming trip. Will it be...

...seeing this guy again, after so many years.

And relaxing on his deck and talking about what it feels like to be forty and sitting on the grounds of a school that was born in our dreams. Together. Talking about the students he has hand picked from across Kenya. He will tell me about the tough young women his school empowers everyday to make a change in Kenya and beyond. Perhaps we will reflect on the work I have done at UWCSEA to stay connected to Daraja. I will relish the fact that I managed to pull off this trip after years of hoping. I will tell him how five teachers paid their own way to make it happen, and how Claire and Joy worked tirelessly not to let this trip sink. We might discuss the strange magic that has followed us for most of our lives. Directing us to moments exactly like the one described.

Perhaps we will be in the kitchen watching his students interact with ours. While there are only five from our school, we will discuss how the beauty of Africa will infect them to maybe create schools of their own in the future. I will introduce him my friends. Worlds will collide.

Maybe I will talk to my friends/colleagues, beautiful women in their own right, under these stars...

We might pontificate on the immensity of the universe and the forces that might have brought us all to this spot on planet. We will shed the stresses of big school big city life and remember why we do what we do. They will thank me. I will thank them. We will be thankful beneath the stars. Paula will take stunning photos. Jen will keep us grounded. We might make a movie, write a book, scream at the universe. Be noticed. Be ignored. We will be alive and we will know it, and we will remind the people around us of the intensity of life. The intensity of our  awareness.

Maybe I am most excited by the quiet walks I will take looking for light like this...

Finding the nooks and crannies of the campus for my quiet contemplation. I will remember and reconnect to the unnameable unmistakable gravity of Africa. I will remember the afternoons I spent in Mozambique. I will envy Jason for the fact that he can live in this place all year, every year, for years. I will promise to be back and bring another group next year.

I am excited to walk each of our students to their rooms...

and I will think about the thrill they must be feeling-- so far away from home. I will be excited to think about them contemplating their place in a continent advertised as so wild, knowing that they are there, alive and safe.We will shatter stereotypes and build worlds on experience. We will hug and love and befriend strangers. We will never see people as charity cases or recipients of our pity. We will learn to see people for who they are. We will learn respect and honor dignity. We will listen and listen and listen. Then we will record and scribble and draw and then...we will shout and share and create until we heard. We will make promises to bring others here.

I am excited by walking down roads like this one...

With the red soil beneath our feet, the metaphor of the path not-taken not lost on any of us. We will be excited by the not-knowing. What will we see? What will we learn? About the school? Each other? Ourselves? We will walk. We will breathe.

Make The Grid Work For Me

I've been thinking again. Damn. Will it ever stop? Been thinking about creativity and nature and kids and toughness and grit. Been thinking about how to teach and learn about life while knowing that life can never be taught or learned. Been thinking about climbing mountains and escape, about digging-in and living. Been thinking about the state of my soul and the embarrassment I feel when I use the word soul publicly-- as if somehow the romantic sentimentality of the notion of an inner-spirit will lose me whatever elusive street-cred I falsely feel I have accrued.

These errant thoughts have roots in other fleeting thoughts. Like a cluster of tangled floating kites, my mind tries to untangle from itself, I hope that maybe someday soon I might land. Maybe take some time to unravel the lines and set them free. Free to float and become ensnared again.

Some knots I have been trying to untie: Can I fully live in the present moment, in the situation I have created and not perpetually be waiting for some alternative future? Can I enjoy nature in a city? Can I be creative while working a full-time job? Can I feed my sense of adventure and wanderlust with a family? I have been thinking about many of these things since the beginning of this term, but things have been coming to a head after reading The Circle by Dave Eggers, a student trip to Chiang Mai and most recently after watching 180 South.

Take a look:

After sharing my now predicable (cyclical) boredom with the Internet and humanity in general, Adrienne, suggested I take a year off and do something about my need to.... I am not even sure I can name it. The idea of taking a six month trip to (insert anywhere) sounds about as plausible as taking a trip to the moon.

So what? I just sit and stew?

From pretty early on in my childhood I have had contact with the Green Gulch Zen Center. And for just as long, I have admired and respected the beautiful kind people who live and work there. I have often contemplated what my life would look like, if I lived at a Zen monastery working on a farm and meditated every morning. And now, after watching 180 South, I am left contemplating what my life would like if I was some bearded mountain climbing, surfing adventurer. If I was single and had made some very different choices, perhaps I too could enjoy life affirming freedom and adventure by surfing off the coast of Easter Island, but that is not my reality.

I am the proud and happy father of two amazing kids, I have a job that I absolutely love and a wife and partner who loves and supports most of what I do, think and feel. My point being that I cannot just drop everything and move to a monastery or take a six month trip to Patagonia. Part of me has always thought of those lifestyles as a sort of cheating. I mean, anyone can be Zen master when surrounded by a sangha. But what about those of us, that for whatever reason are living "normal" lives? Are we to be deprived of the marrow of life, if we simply go about our business and raise families and do our jobs?

More questions: How does one bring Zen to daily life? How can I be adventurous while living in a city? How can one satiate a soul while bound my the trappings of a life consumed by materialism? Important questions? No? I have friends who are quitting their jobs to become Dive masters or Outdoor Ed facilitators. And I have nothing but respect for them and their choices, but apart from radically changing my life what can I do? I do not want to live off the grid, so how can I make the grid work for me?

I thought I had some ideas and more answers, but this post might just be a series of questions. Looking forward to some of your suggestions and thoughts. The comments are yours. Let me know what you think or wise friends.

I Need To

My life has boarded the fast train, but I am still standing on the dock. I can see the cars fly by, but I am motionless. I need to walk in the rain and rub mud through my hair. I need to watch the steam rise from the earth only to return seconds later as a storm. I need to watch our orange cousins cling to the last traces of their homes. I need to watch them move slowly amongst the trees and watch for lessons in my folly. I need to see the wisdom in their eyes.

cc licensed ( BY ) flickr photo shared by NYC-MetroCard

I need to talk to kids about watching insects and digging for poems beneath the foliage. I need to ride a boat, a bus, a river. I need to jump from a height that impregnates me with the fear I cherish. I need to watch the stars and forget and remember. I need to eat rice, walk in damp socks and not shower. I need to disconnect and disappear. I need to go primal and scribble in a journal. I need to. I need to. I need to.

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by onbangladesh

Time near a fire, a guitar in hand, a jungle is what I need...

I am taking 45 ninth graders to Bukit Lawang on Sumatra island for a week without walls trip. We will trek, look at apes, and do many of the things I mentioned above.

Coconut Paradise Villas- Review

It’s our last night at our house at the Coconut Paradise Villas in Rawai. There is a cool breeze and bursts of light showers, and I want to write a quick review about this amazing place. Let's start  with Ken and Sue the proprietors of this great outfit. I knew we were onto something special, when my wife first found the place, when I noticed that the official website was a blogspot blog and their pictures were hosted on Flickr, and like the unassuming web presence the Coconut Paradise Villas are a simple people oriented place.

We arrived to our two bedroom Coral Island Villa to a warm greeting by Sue to a comfortable, simple and well stocked house. She had stocked the kitchen with a few basics to tide us over before we got settled. The house has everything we have needed for the last four weeks: pots & pans, microwave, TV, towels, cribs, kids toys, and free Wifi. (When we lost Internet for a few days through no fault of Ken or Sue, they were more than accommodating by bringing us a USB modem. When that didn’t work because it was not Mac compatible, without even asking, Ken went out and bought a new one, until the Internet was back up. We were very impressed by how kind and attentive they both were for our entire trip.)

The town of Rawai itself gets a bum rap. It is classified as not a great tourist spot with mediocre beaches. But the truth is that, it is a quaint quiet town. The villas are situated in a low-key Thai neighborhood, surrounded by sleepy restaurants and a great coffee shop called Spoonful of Sugar. 

When we are young, we often have dreams of finding the most remote and rare beach spots. Dreams of The Beach force us to turn away from such accessible spots like Phuket, but Rawai is a perfect place for families who want to spend an extended time near a beach, under the sun and in the pool. With Nai Harn and Kota Noi within a few minutes drive, this is definitely an affordable way to spend a summer. We are already thinking about coming back next year and would recommend Coconut Paradise Villas to any of our friends.

Thanks Ken and Sue for creating such a friendly and perfect vacation spot. You are doing great work and we look forward to seeing you again very soon.

Random Notes From Rawai #2

I am sitting on the side of the road. My eyes are closed and I can hear the gentle strum of a breeze beating against the lethargic fronds above. I come hear everyday to buy a few sodas for the dinner we have been eating with my wife, her parents and the girls. The house/store belongs to an old Thai couple; out here in Rawai, where we are staying, there are no Tattoo shops, Internet Cafes, Massage parlors, or Tour operators.

Our villa, a small house, is in a residential area and this shop operates outside this couple’s house. The man is always shirtless and wearing a sarong. He chastised me in broken English the other day for not buying beer. But back to the story, I am sitting out front getting some respite form the energy sucking commotion that comes from hanging out with two kids under five all day, everyday. It is quiet, the weather is perfect and it feels nice to let my thoughts doggie paddle in mind a few minutes each day. Here is what they said:

Let whitey have their Protestant work ethic. That dog don’t hunt down here in the tropics. Down here there is little need to get things one. There is sunbaked skin, lapping waves, and strong urges to nap and let the day pass with little angst. Yes, I know these are the musing of a man on vacation, but really what do we in “The West” for lack of a better word have stuck up our asses about schedules, efficiency, and hard work. I have been privy live in several expat communities who condescendingly  chastise the “locals” for being on (Insert tropical Clime) time. As if not being led by the stress of industry is some sort of moral flaw. I'll take it any day.

I watch a young family pass by on a scooter, the youngest mouth a gape swallowing the wind by the mouthful. Her shirtless dad all smiles. Behind me an old lady naps on her porch. My muscles are sore from swimming in the ocean and my skin is sun-baked. I don’t wan to turn this into a political treatise on the misguided superiority complex of colonialism and the true nature of humanity, so I will let it go. This was a thought I had while watching the road go by.

Next one:

So much talk about reforming education. Technology, Networks, Computers. Blah, blah, blah. Here’s an idea: send kids out into the world. Forget the Skype chat, take a group of kids and have them live in Phuket for a summer. Let them waste some time on a beach, start a business, learn to surf, make a film. Let them talk to people of other cultures, not research them on wikipedia. Let them learn to scuba dive, monitor a reef, or play with water colors. Weeks without walls are good, but only scratch the surface. True education is about authentic life and experience and the classroom is about neither. I have not thought out what this pedagogy will look like, but I know that travel is the best teacher in the world.

That’s about it. It is now dark and the music is loud and festive. I am calm and energized. Just felt the need to shed some thoughts.

Random Notes From Rawai #1

"Where are you from?"
"California, San Francisco. Bay Area. Born in Iran, but raised in a town called San Rafael, but I currently live in Jakarta."
He stares into the distance at a passing boat. We are in Rawai on Phuket Island.
"We don't get many Americans here."

That was yesterday morning as I was waiting for a few chocolate croissants and a latte to take back to the house. It is now almost eight pm; it feels like midnight. My skin is toasting to its natural color- a  cappuccino shy of milk. The girls are asleep. I am listening to some songs by Steve Earle and the pool ripples beyond the glow of this machine.

I haven't much to say, but feel the need to sharpen this knife nonetheless. I was supposed to be working on the book, but I keep making excuses- focusing on these stretching exercises more than the main event. A few hours ago, Kaia and I sat on the side of the road on the motorbike watching a man wash a baby elephant. We were our way back from a reconnaissance trip to Kata Noi, before that we had surfed the waves at Nai Hern beach. I am loving this southern tip of Phuket. Rawai is a quiet sleepy town distant from the nonsense at Patong and even Kata. We are staying at a little house in a local neighborhood, a five minute ride from a nearly empty beach. It is a bit windy, so we are deprived of the tranquil aqua waters this place is known for, but a little tumble in the surf never hurt anyone.

The nights are filled with music and these words. I am missing my guitar as I usually do, think it might be time for a travel guitar. It's when we are without our instruments that we feel the need to sing.

Let this little light of mine shine and lead you against the night

Maybe someones watching and wondering what I got
Maybe this is why I'm here on earth maybe not



Not sure whether it is angst or understanding that forces me to push through these tender nights, but it feels natural to take a few minutes each night to let a few ideas spill from me. Apparently, the world rolls on beyond the waters of this island, but the events there matter little to me. The air is warm and the hours pass slowly. The mind is still running a bit too fast, worried about "doing" things, but I am sure with time it too will quiet down and halt to a slow crawl.

Till then there is little but the struggle to document each passing moment in song and poetry. There is this quickly fading and impermanent post, lost in the shuffle of so many others like it.  Another pixel lost in this ever expanding eternity.

Would you hear my voice
Come through the music?
Would you hold it near
As it were your own?

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again

If I knew the way, I would take you home...

Wild Things

The role of the writer, as I see it, is to harness the inexplicable and give shape to the unnameable. The trouble is that the act of creating images from fleeting moments of wonder is an impossible feat. Many have tried, some more successful than others, but reality is simply too grand in scope to be portrayed using petty tools such as words.

How can language ever be enough to share the feeling of riding a motorbike through the jungled roads of Phuket with your five year old daughter gripping your hands, as the tender golden soft light of the sun falls from the leaves like drops from a balmy rainstorm? Robust clouds of white and grey give chase, the wind on your faces as you whisper, "Are you okay?"  You give the accelerator a gentle pull. Coming down the hill the vast ocean sparkles and waves caress the patient earth. She takes her helmet off as you stop to admire the sea. How can these words possibly explain the confidence with which she swings her hair and carries the helmet on her wrist?

Back on the bike, you smell burning garbage and coconut rusks, the grilled shellfish and roasting chili peppers. You are aware that this very moment is being engraved onto her consciousness and shaping her dreams. The notion of risk taking has been forever altered as you check and re-check the mirrors, make sure to slow down around each turn, but you cannot ever be too careful. After all it is adventure that gives these moments their brightness, you know this, but her safety comes first. Never again will you throw caution to the wind and do things just to see if they can be done.

You think back to the freedom of youth, amazed you were able to navigate the vast loneliness of all that space. You are coming down the hill, "You know I love you right?" The wind is howling, so you whisper again into her ear. The giant red helmet nods affirmative. Men often gripe about domestication and the staleness of family, but you know that these are the moments of rebirth and second shots at childhood. You will show her the world, every inch of it, in all it's wonder. She will be there to grip you tight and nod her head in affirmation every step of the way. Not only a receptacle of your devotion, but also an active agent of love. She is your anchor, your friend, your partner in this reincarnated freedom.

You pull the accelerator once again and howl as tears pool up in your eyes. Beyond the sound of the engine and the wind you here her voice echo what you already know- the things you can never explain. 

Everything You Need to Learn You Learn From The Ocean

There was a time when every vacation my wife and I planned revolved around Scuba Diving. Costa Rica, Mozambique, Mauritius, Thailand, Malaysia, and Hawaii. Yes, I have even dived in Lake Malawi. Although, I have logged nearly fifty dives and have my advanced license, I would never say I am an expert diver. I began diving as a way to face my fear of the ocean and claustrophobia, but years later, every time I don the regulator and sink into the big blue deep, there is still a part of me that is terrified. Beyond the ecstatic feeling of neutral buoyancy, the discovery of breathtaking marine ecosystems, and the feeling of perfect Zen meditation it is the fear that brings me back to diving.

I have not been in the water since my daughter Kaia was born over four years ago, so it was with great pleasure that I was able to look out at Bali to my left and Mt. Ranjani in all her fog capped majesty to my right, as our boat navigated the Gili Islands off the coat of Lombok, where I am lucky enough to be spending my Christmas Break.

image by yeowatzup

In the water, as I sank to about fifty feet and watched the bubbles engulf my body, I began to think about this blog post. Yes it is a sickness I know, but what can I say? My experiences are wrapped in my ability to document them in text and photos and music and video and…..well you get the point. This is not the “diving” post where I regale with fluid prose about the otherworldliness of diving, I am saving that for the book, this is simple a top ten list of things I was thinking about on my last dive as poked and prodded my way around the ocean floor. So there I am kicking along, controlling my breathing, watching my thoughts roll through my head and out my regulator and I thought of this list:

The four things I have learned from Diving:

1. Not every cause has an immediate effect. Sometimes you may see a big coral outcrop in your way and you take a deep breath to inflate your lungs, so by design, it will lift you effortlessly over the boulder, but before you let the air molecules play with the water molecules, and the ocean molecules play with the you molecules, you are kicking your legs and wasting precious energy and air, where if you had just waited patiently, you would have seen that the breath you took a few seconds ago would have done its job if you had just relaxed and let it. The world needs time to react to your energy, so don’t expect immediate reactions to your every action.
2. Don’t fight a current. Ever. The Ocean is much bigger than you. If a current is pushing you faster that you want to go and you are afraid that it will push you beyond where you want to be, well tough shit. Deal with it. Swim with it where it takes you and make notes a long the way. It is easier to gather your bearings and sort things out after a current is done with you than to try and fight it. No matter how big or brave you feel, going with the flow is always the right choice, even if you have no idea where you are going. Because fighting it will just get you tired and unable to deal with the end when you get there.
3. Don’t waste so much time looking into the big blue void looking for the big stuff that you miss the tiny nudibranch right in front of you. While sharks and Manta Rays may be impressive to spot, it is the myriad of tiny creatures making the ocean their home that make life interesting. Just because something is common doesn’t make it less interesting than something that is rare. When seen through the mask of curiosity and awe, even the most clichéd clown fish and anemone scene from Nemo can be fun to watch. If you spend the entire dive looking for something rare, you may waste your entire time not seeing anything at all. You are part of a bigger ecosystem; see it as a cycle and as a whole.
4. Focus on your breathing, but don’t fixate on it. Stay calm and breath. Live in the now, but don’t worry so much about breathing that you miss the ocean around you. No one wants to run out of air on a dive. Just like no one wants to run out of air on a life, but you can’t spend the entire time worrying how much time you have left. It is possible to be overly conscious. You try to stay calm, conserve your energy, and enjoy the ride, but if you see a turtle in the distance, never mind how much air you have; kick yourself over there and take a look.

Thought there were more, but I guess those juicy thoughts were mine alone to deposit onto the ocean floor.