Andrew Torii.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..." - from "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac

So Andrew, I'm reading this book right now on Courtney's Kindle (which is cool, but definitely nowhere near as good as an actual book) and I wonder all the time if you'd like it. It reminds me of you and I told Court that I would probably like the book because of that. You once told me, after I had given you a second David Sedaris book as a present, that you actually don't like David Sedaris and that you and I had very different tastes in books. That really hit me at the time, and now years later, I think I've finally realized why. It was because I never bothered to ask you.

I know ultimately, it would be extremely ego-centric of me to blame myself for your leaving. That is, your decision was your decision alone. At the same time, I do believe that we affect each other, that we are all intertwined. I don't want this blog entry to be an apology, but an act of me trying to be present now to you, in ways I hadn't been before, wherever you are in the world.

Maybe you have changed your name. But I wanted to call out your name in this entry, because it is the only one I know for you. And I know we are still connected, somehow.

"Continue to call each other by the names I've given you, to help remember who you are. You will get where you are going by remembering who you are."

Maybe you have completely transformed. Maybe you have shrunk, expanded, stripped away, reinvented, in ways I couldn't have imagined. All the same, you are still you. With the same mind, body, soul. Everything you set out to find that lonely dark night, vibrating with the potential of silence, was and is within you.

It's been a year. After a year, I have come to realize that I am more your sister than I knew. I am more like you than I could have dreamed before all this had come to pass. I was nervous about today. At many times over the last twelve months, dates and the counting of time has figured so emotionally in my daily. But this morning, I feel calm. All the mad hopes and fears, all the burning desires still reside within me. But I am present. To the here and now. To me. To you.

Pregnant pause.

Courtney and I moved to our second placement, a women's crisis shelter in the city (Kota Kinabalu, capital of Sabah), last Wednesday. I'm sitting in our shared bedroom in this nice house, which serves as a secret location for pregnant women.

There are currently 10 women here in varying stages of their pregnancy. Some look like they're going to give birth tonight. Some have a couple more months to go. All are visibly pregnant. Some of them have been sent here against their will by their parents, because it's still very much taboo to be a young single mother. Some are here because of domestic violence. Some are here because they were raped. Their ages range from 16 to 36.

I really love all of them. Just like with the girls at the hostel, they are all so unique and it's been so fun getting to talk and hang out with them.

But when we first arrived, all I could see were pregnant bellies. And all I could think was, as if I'm not going to be emotional enough, I'm spending Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's here???

Of course, when I get out of my self-centered mindset, I feel very blessed to be here. For one, it's going to be a holiday season like no other, I'm sure. But more importantly, this is their life and I have been invited to share in that.

They are not allowed to have cell phones or use the Internet. Some of them may not see their families at Christmas, because their families might not come to visit (they're not allowed to go back home). I remind myself that whenever I feel suffocated from not having my own space. I remind myself that as I sit here in my room using the incredible wifi.

But I know life is not about comparing realities. What it is about is being together. I think these words from Pema Chodron will resonate especially for me here: "We don't set out to save the world; we set out to wonder how other people are doing and to reflect on how our actions affect other people's hearts."

A little story about what life is like here: On the third day we were here, I was on duty for the first time, Courtney was sent to the Good Shepherd microenterprise kitchen to help make Christmas cookies. On your first day on duty in this crisis shelter, you mostly just sit around and observe and wonder if you're in people's way. But that morning, a nurse also came to do a weekly medical talk with the women. She spoke mostly in Malay, so mostly I understood words that I knew like "susa" (difficult), "tarik" (pull), and "keluar" (exit), though she also threw in some English, like "plastic bag", "placenta", and "membrane." I was thoroughly enjoying myself, as well as the diagrams of the uterus, fetus, and cervix that she drew on the whiteboard, even though I didn't understand everything. For this session, it was just a Q&A discussion, so the nurse talked about a whole slough of things including what happens to the woman's body when the baby is ready to come out, what happens when a baby is pre-term, how to get your baby to breastfeed. And of course the women asked questions like, will my hips return to their original size after I give birth? (Nurse's answer: 60-70% of women don't return to their same shape.) Can I still drink Coca-Cola? (Nurse's answer: some people say no, but if the Coke makes you happy, then drink a bloody Coke.)

So, I sat during that discussion on my first day in this place, very pleased that this is my life. We have heard about how the women are traumatized and often want to sleep all day and can get very depressed. But during that session, they were full of questions, full of attention, and seemingly to me, full of hope for what is to come.

To know, to love.

Posted on the GSV blog this week! :)