Found In Ceylon

Transcript: Hello! I’m here in Colombo, at the Cinnamon Grand hotel. I’ve got about 45 minutes to kill; am waiting for the mall next to the hotel to open at 10. I need to go shopping for some stuff, like a cell phone (not to talk into, but to text with!), shampoo and soap and other bathroom stuff, maybe some art supplies or a shirt or whatever.

I just got here last night, around midnight. I landed at 10:45 and it took about 30-45 minutes to go through immigration and get my passport stamped and everything else and then the driver picked me up. The nice thing was that we got to chat before getting into the car, so we talked about his family, about how many times I’ve been to Sri Lanka. I said three, which is technically speaking because I left Sri Lanka last year for one week to go to Detroit for my cousin’s bar mitzvah. So it’s really my third time at the airport, but I consider this my second visit to the country.

Anyway, it was a nice chat, and then we hit the road. It took about 45 minutes to get to Colombo proper. It was dark and I couldn’t see much, but I could recognize everything; it’s all very familiar, normal, and regular. I wasn’t confused or lost or bedazzled as I’d be in a different country–I knew exactly what I was doing and what was going on. It’s a good feeling to be back.

This hotel is nice–it’s one of the best ones in Colombo. I’m treating myself to a night of comfort before heading to Matara today. Another driver will pick me up at 3:00 PM. I know this driver, Punchi; he drove my sister and I all over Sri Lanka for two weeks during the December break. It’ll be good to see him again.

I had a great breakfast this morning. It’s a huge buffet with all kinds of foods, including, of course, Sri Lankan food. And I just gobbled that down: milk rice, hoppers, dhal, everything else. I ate with a fork this time, not my fingers. I didn’t see anyone else eating with their fingers so I didn’t want to attract any attention.

I took some time to read the newspaper while eating, catching up on the news. There were elections in the recently liberated Eastern Province, the usual government wrangling, and even a news item about Hillary Clinton!

I’ll arrive in Matara between 8 and 9 tonight, and chill at the hotel. I’m not sure what to do tomorrow–show up in the morning and possibly disrupt school, or show up in the afternoon after school. I’m nervous. Some kids won’t be there, and there’ll be new kids. I’ve no idea what will happen tomorrow! We’ll see.

Taking advantage of the high speed access in my hotel room at the Cinnamon Grand in Colombo. I really should be asleep as it’s 12:36 AM and who knows in what time zone my internal clock is now.

But it’s wonderful to be back! Tomorrow I’ll have a great breakfast downstairs, go shopping at the attached mall, then head to Matara at 3:00 PM. For now, here’s pictures of Hong Kong, sans captions.

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So I spent several hours today exploring the Pearl of the Orient, Hong Kong. Thoroughly worn out and wearing a different shirt that wasn’t soaked with sweat, I got on the next flight. Instead of finding myself in Colombo, however, I’m in Sinagpore.

Go figure. You know how sometimes the airlines show you a “direct” flight, but it actually includes a layover where you don’t have to change planes? So I’m back in Singapore for the next hour, and recognizing that Changi Airport does a great job of including ferns and palms in every possible cranny, including in between the urinals in the men’s bathroom.

I had a pretty good tour of Hong Kong. The best part was the Airport Express train, a 25-minute ride from the international airport to Kowloon and Hong Kong. I was sitting by the window, my environment still illuminated by artificial light as it’s been for the past 24 hours. Suddenly, the train shot into bright daylight, and I gasped as beautiful views of lush, green hills above still blue waters filled my window.

Much of the Hong Kong territories is still untouched high green hills carpeted with tropical flora, just like how Kauai looks in my parents’ photos. Then the train approached Kowloon and the hills were replaced by hundreds of apartment buildings, straining vainly to meet the same heights as the jungle heights surrounding them. And then the famous Hong Kong skyline came into view; all those distinctive skyscrapers.

After a confusing walk through downtown Hong Kong, I took the funicular train to the top of Victoria Peak. I say funicular because all the printed and online literature I read up about Victoria Peak prior to the visit kept saying, “funicular train,” as if it is as common an adjective as “blue.”

Well, I just found out via Wikipedia what a funicular train is, and you should, too. Wikipedia: Funicular

That was a fun and steep ride, and the views atop Victoria Peak are really great. I saw the classic Hong Kong skyline, but not much more since it was a pretty hazy day (I really, really wanted to see as far as Shenzhen in mainland China), you know how it gets so cloudy in the horizon that the ocean melts into the sky and you can’t tell where the South China Sea begins?

After a hourlong nature walk around the Peak, I descended the mountain on foot (and have the shaky knees to prove it), stepping through the Mid-Levels and their famous escalator system, back into the Central district. I got lost for a hour trying to find a dim sum restaurant mentioned in the guide book, and when I found it, I realized I didn’t have enough time to eat and then return to the airport.

So ate at the airport I did, and some e-mails, and that was Hong Kong for me. I loved the hot, humid weather. The city is highly friendly to visitors, with colorful tourist signposts installed everywhere I turned. The people are interesting–everyone dresses Western style, and the stores are all high-end chain boutiques with English signs, so I didn’t feel very foreign. And that’s the problem with Hong Kong. It’s just another city, which means I have to be sure and work hard to see the interesting parts of it next month on my way back to America.

Now it’s on to Sri Lanka, for real this time!

I’m sitting in the international terminal at LAX Airport, beneath a large information board titled DEPARTURES. There are four flights boarding; their destinations are Brisbane, Melbourne, Hong Kong, and Mexico City. Tahiti Nui #201 to Papeete is delayed; those who are on Asiana #203 to Seoul are out of luck because that flight has been cancelled.

The last flight for the day is Cathay Pacific #881 to Hong Kong leaving at 1:45 AM, with me in seat 33F. Then the departure area of the terminal sleeps for five hours, until the first two flights, headed to Mexico City and Guadalajara, take off at 7:00 AM.

Yesterday, I left a city and community that I was not ready at all to leave, and drove to San Diego with my friend Allison. I only had packed up my stuff the night before, so all afternoon today was focused on unpacking what I had brought down from San Francisco, and then repacking what I wanted to bring with me to Sri Lanka.

The funny thing was, I never really unpacked my Sri Lanka stuff from last year. I bought several of those Eagle Creek storage bags, and through the nine months I worked there, I stuffed them with various mementos and electronics.

And then they remained zippered for nearly a year…until today, as I furiously emptied them out, transferred some to Ziploc bags and others back into bags to reuse (such as electricity converters, a mini USB hard drive, sunscreen). I found my old journal and address book, and will just keep using them. I’m using the same camera, suitcase, and backpack; heck, some of the clothes are the same. In some ways, it’s almost as if I never left Sri Lanka.

But last year I was an English teacher. That was my job, among other duties. While I can reuse the same storage bags and miscellaneous objects, I can’t reuse my job.

Four weeks doesn’t lend itself well to teaching a third language to deaf children in a country where that language isn’t very visible in the environment or spoken by the populace. For all I know, they’ve completely forgotten everything I taught last year.

So I’ve been racking my brain and my friends’, trying to figure out my purpose for this second visit. I invented grand schemes and then dismissed those as being too paternalistic or colonialist. For a while, I seriously considered Sophie’s suggestion: be just a visitor with the aim of reconnecting to the children and friends. After all, they have not asked for my help yet.

But that didn’t feel right. While I’m aware that my very presence can make positive changes (by being a role model to the children, etc.), I felt that I had access to resources that I should somehow try to provide to the school and the deaf community. Other than the fact that I didn’t want a four-week tea break anyway, I also couldn’t brush aside the feeling that doing so would mean unconsciously taking advantage of my friends’ hospitality.

This morning, I opened up a package from my dear friend Amanda. Last year, she had collected an assortment of markers, stickers, and art supplies to send to me in Sri Lanka, but apparently the post office gave her a hard time with the customs forms to the point where she wasn’t sure her gift would arrive safely. So she just held onto it, knowing that I’d probably return one day soon. She was right, and she mailed the package to me to bring to Sri Lanka by hand.

I looked at the fun Crayola mini-markers and the bag of little colored foam stencils. And then, I don’t know why, but I figured it out.

I have been collecting this and that for the last few weeks. A book: Deaf Artists in America. Several DVDs of ASL storytelling from California School for the Deaf. A handheld camcorder and tripod from Lizzie, a friend who works in Gallaudet’s TV/Film department. Origami paper and instructions.

I didn’t know how to tie it all together. I imagined simply having random art and video activities after school to keep the kids busy and engaged. The least I could do, right?

But as my eyes searched the contents of Amanda’s package, I realized that the last eight months has been, in large, a consideration of my Deaf identity. What has been an almost unconscious journey of my deafness for a lifetime prior to living in the Bay Area has turned into a conscious investigation, both internal and external, of the world I live in, the Deaf community I am a member of, and how Deaf people, despite being marginalized and split into several fractions by cultural, medical, and economic forces, stubbornly continue to celebrate their sense of unity borne out of a collective experience, world view, and language.

90% of all Deaf people are born to hearing parents: in isolation from their potential Deaf brethen. And yet, this community exists. Is that not one of the greatest stories of humanity? What is this essence that connects Deaf people to each other, like moths attracted to a flame? What does it mean to be a Deaf person, to transcend the deafness pathology?

These are all powerful and fundamental questions; the exploration of these questions has been one of the most important things I’ve taken with me from my eight months in the Bay Area.

And it is this very journey of self-discovery that I hope to impart to the children at Rohana Special School. While these are some of the happiest kids I’ve ever seen, they still see their deafness as an affliction.

In the next four weeks, I hope to guide the children onto their journey of self-discovery, and consider what it means to be a Deaf Sri Lankan. Through art, education, group discussion, sign language analysis, music, storytelling, video recording, and dance, the children will explore every aspect of their Deaf identity.

In the end, they will understand that being Deaf is full of possibilities, not limitations.

I may not be the most qualified person to do it. I’m not sure what the end result or repercussions will be. I don’t know if a heightened sense of Deaf identity would help them get jobs or put food on their plates. I will need to be careful to make sure they do not develop a Deaf theory based on Deaf American principles, but rather their own.

But I know this much: intuition is powerful. The materials, knowledge, and experiences that I’ve collected haphazardly for the last several months do all have a common thread. They were all meant to work together as part of this new program that I’ve only just started to nurture in my mind. I’m astonished by how it’s all seemed to work out.

And once again, it is all about serendipity; the word derived from that island once known as Serendib and now my next destination, taking off at 1:45 AM.