A Peak Into Communist China

China wasn't at all what I imagined it would be. I imagined people eating fried bugs, and frogs, fish pedicures, people being afraid of the police, no sign of any holiday spirit, and I was prepared to be a defensive victim at every turn. Defensive of my rights - my liberty that I am so used to having.

Well, I've learned that it takes a lot of effort to peak into the true life of Communist China. I stayed in or around Beijing, China for nearly 3 weeks. Granted, it was a small window of the country - with more time and money I might have traveled to Hangzou, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Hong Kong, Chengdu, and maybe a few other hoppin locations that I've have yet to hear about. Instead I spent 3 weeks between suburban Beijing in Hebei Province, and the center of Beijing. I'm glad that I stayed put getting to know my environment and spending time with my God sister, and I certainly learned a lot from the experience.

Of course, what I have to say about life in China and communism is based on my limited experience - 3 weeks in one city is not saying too much. As I observed, some Chinese (particularly those who haven't traveled beyond China) don't even realize that they are living in a country so strict, and so limiting compared to the rest of the world. Whereas others feel the full effects of the adverse ways of life. Something crucial that I learned (having never really studied China in my free time) was that there is no judicial system in place. No judges. No lawyers. No trials. If a rule is broken, the person goes to prison, work camp (the same as that which I have been taught about during World War II in Nazi Germany), or they are killed. No questions asked. If they are lucky, their entire family will not face the same punishment. As I understand it, that sort of luck is uncommon.

I never felt unsafe in China. In fact, traveling around, accessibility of supermarkets, taxis, public transportation, and street markets, was familiar to me as if I were in a Chinese version of New York City. It was the most Western-feeling place that I had been in over a month. There were paved roads - wide ones - and even sidewalks with street lights. I was grateful to be staying with my godsister. We enjoyed the holidays together, and learned together. She taught me many of the dos and don'ts and helped guide my way. After one day in China, there was no question about it, having a guide is an enormous benefit. No one speaks English. No one. Hardly anything is written in English. Hardly anything. There's no doubt that I would have found my way (particularly with the skillful communication of body language and hand gestures) but it might have taken a lot of misdirection first. In a country where the language is routed in Latin, Greek, or Germanic, I would have been able to figure it out - but Chinese may as well be a bunch of clicks and ticks or cat scratches on a wood panel. There is no way to just "figure it out."

I never had a desire to come to China before. Having studied so thoroughly the effects of communism in European history, it was my goal to stay as far away from communism as possible. I didn't even want to be a tourist supporting their economic growth - to me its a slap in the face to the people who remain oppressed no matter what the government gains. I came to spend the holidays with my godsister, and it was worth it to see her, get to know her better, and learn about her life in China. However, after several days in Beijing, and getting to know many different Chinese locals, expats, and travelers, I can say that I wish I had seen more of China, met more people, had even more experiences. I would certainly consider going back - maybe after learning some basic Chinese.

Although my opinion of communism is fairly low, that's not to say that I'm ignorant to how America functions as a government as well. They do things in secret. They kill innocent people. They fuel the fires of oppression in many ways. Sometimes I am happy to be an uninvolved citizen, and sometimes I feel the need to stand up for goodness and fairness. However, Americans still have a million freedoms that the Chinese don't, straight down to how schools are run, how people live in their homes, how much money is spent on pleasures, what you should or shouldn't freely say, etc. In America, I never questioned whether I could have a hot shower every day, or how publically I could celebrate my holidays or my religion. American government might do some sleazy stuff, but we Americans still receive a great deal in our lives.

No matter how I feel about the government and communism, the people are truly authentic here, and many of them are deeply oppressed. They are oppressed in every way that I imagine. I have never been so grateful for my liberties, opportunities, and overall spoiledness that comes with being American.

In China the people are friendly, but not helpful. They give their opinions, but not loudly. Helping each other is not encouraged by the government. There is no law after all. If a fight breaks out, people will watch, maybe use words to calm the situation, or just walk by. This behavior would make them a bystander in the United States, it might be deemed selfish and cowardly. But what if a simple spontaneous decision to be brave over an everyday problem means death or life in a prison? I would be a lot more likely to think first, act later, or never - depending. Getting involved in other peoples business means that you are subject to the same suffering or benefits as that person. Most people would rather not take the chances of getting in trouble.

There are many beautiful and authentic things about China. As I'm sure you can imagine that the government doesn't entirely define you or your life, so it is the same in China. It has much to offer the world and it treats whiter skinned foreigners, like myself, like gold. China wants a good worldly reputation, so tourists are treated very well. I've even heard of white people being paid to be in promotional videos and photos for money. Most Chinese are not so lucky to have a large apartment, with internet, a hot shower, and heating system. The students at the local University have to wait in line - in the cold, or any other season - to use the showers, and they have to pay. They have to pay money that some people don't even have.

Beijing to me, is fascinating. It's bigger and far more spread out than New York City. The foods are different than anything I have ever seen. Some are in thick sweet sauces, just like American Chinese food, there are a thousand different things that I have seen pre-packaged (that looks slimy and undesirable). The street food is excessive, delicious, and as amazing as an endless food court, there are lots of noodles and rice, and yummy Hot Pot. In case you didn't know, because I didn't, Hot Pot is a soup based fondue. It was my first meal in China. My godsister and I went to a local restaurant, ordered vegetables and thinly sliced meats, and cooked them in the soup broth, then removed them after cooking and feasted. It appears as though the people in China always eat family style, and always order excessively at restaurants. One order per person is just a silly idea, even though (when the food does come out) it is a platter-full of eats. Thank God "take-away" is a norm in this country.

The subways are another adventure. After navigating through at least 10 different subway systems in major cities throughout Europe and America, I feel I am pretty accustomed to how they typically work. After all, they are all fairly similar. Beijing's subway was no different. If anything, it was more organized and higher security than any subway I had ever been on.

I've been told by many different people that helping each other is not cultural in China, just as shoving is not discourteous. On the subways people shove into, past, and even through each other like hypnotized cattle. During rush hour, cramming into a car requires effort, moving towards the door to get ready to exit requires effort, and holding on for dear life so as not to be swept out of the train by the foot traffic can even be dangerous! The swarms of people shoving and moving like a mob of fish reminded me of the abused horses I saw while trekking in Nepal. The horses would push right past whoever was in their path, if they didn't do what they were supposed to they would be whipped, so my only option was to get the hell out of their way! I have my own methods on the train during times when its full. I tuck my arms in, clip my backpack tightly, and get away from the door if it's not my stop to get off.

Everything I became accustomed to doing in NYC exists in a Chinese version here - the subway, the food, the shopping, the schools, the street food, the tourists spots, and the different burroughs of the city.

People here are the same as the average person in New York. They behave (obey the law), do as their told, go to work, and keep to themselves so there are no problems. One of the major differences is that people do not break the law nearly as often. There is no pick pocketing. No fighting (or far less). People don't commit crimes - at least not serious ones. If they do, they may as well be committing themselves to a brutal prison system, and maybe take their family along with them. Luckily, theft is not an issue on the busy subways - I mean, do you think theft would be an issue if the possible punishment is death or life in prison for you and your entire family? I didn't think so. The person who breaks the law in China is selfish, desperate, or both.

Communism has found a way to keep order through fear, and if people here stay in order then they can also have a false sense of freedom. Children and University students have no freedom. Every waking hour they are practicing something, or studying something, and the living conditions can be terrible for anybody.
The simple understanding of how college students are selected, treated, and what jobs they receive is a perfect example of lack of liberty that I would never stand for in my own life. Luckily, I have a choice.
A high school student is required to take a college entrance exam that will essentially determine the course of their entire life. The exam determines which University they will attend, whether it will be a Chinese University, what they will study, and what their post graduate profession will be. There is no choice otherwise. You can imagine, that doing well in school - cheating - is very common. Everyone cheats, not just on the entrance exam but throughout college. Failure is not an option because a small misstep could change the course or life.

Read more from the New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/01/world/asia/burden-of-chinas-college-entrance-test-sets-off-wide-debate.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

There are ways to be defiant to some extent. In Beijing there were Christmas lights, cardboard cutouts of Santa's face on windows, and Christmas trees in many plazas. Christianity here is allowed by the communist run churches, but celebrating a holiday that is not a government holiday so openly, is looked down upon by the government. I except that a crack-down will happen after such a widely expressive Christmas season in the city. The Christmas tree lights were beautiful lining some of the streets in different districts. Beforehand, I imagined that everything would be bare - there would be no holiday spirit, everything would be black and white with no colorful expression. I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was holiday cheer in the air, and some version of Christmas songs playing in many of the supermarkets I went into. I learned that some locals don't like the communist run Christian churches. For example, on July 1st, which is a national holiday, the churches say all of the same prayers as usual, but rather than praising Jesus, they praise the communist party. That is something I would refuse to do. The people who are like me have secret churches, underground, in basements, or their friends houses. They have services, and exercise their human rights to believe in and praise whoever they want.

If I were Chinese, I just assume practice my religion in private. I wouldn't want to go to a communist-run church, but I also wouldn't feel the need to risk my life by going to a secret church. My body is the temple after all.

To dig deeper on all of the human rights, religious rights, and freedom of speech issues, I had an interesting conversation with a few different local people concerning my work as a social worker. Social workers don't really exist in China. The homeless go to prison. The mentally ill are either killed via infanticide (most likely, since there are no official records), taken care of by their family, or arrested doing something they shouldn't and sent to a work camp. Mental illness does not exist in China. People know about it, they know the names for different illnesses (as much as any American would),  and they are kind to one another. However, there is no empathy, no trial, if a mentally ill person gets in a fight, steals, runs away from home, makes a scene of any kind, or breaks any other kind of law - thats their one strike to get out. The police know what mental illness is, but the arrested mentally ill person will either be sent home or sent to a work camp after committing a crime. There is no program, no treatment for mental illness. In Viet Nam and Thailand, there is also no treatment. No need really... the "undocumented" rates of infanticide in these parts of the world would be probably be disturbing. Other than a limping walk (most likely from old age), I have not seen one person with any kind of physical disability. I am currently in the greater city area of Beijing where the population is upwards of 20 million (verses NYC's 8.4 million in 2013). I have seen two black people, and no disabled people in the course of 18 days.

Mental illness sufferers get locked in cages. Political prisoners get sent to mental institutions. 

http://www.cnn.com/2014/05/06/world/asia/china-mental-health/

According to an American newspaper:

1. "Statistics released by China's National Center for Mental Health showed that as of the year of 2009, 100 million Chinese suffered from mental health problems with more than 160 million citizens afflicted with serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and paranoid psychosis." http://www.theatlantic.com/china/archive/2013/07/unable-to-cope-chinas-inadequate-care-of-the-mentally-ill/278170/

But what is the treatment? How are they cared for? It's all lacking. The entire institution and approach to mental illness is enough to make someone in the helping profession nauseous. The conversation where I first began to learn all of this before researching on my own, it made me feel sad and sick when I was told the facts out loud.

You might be wondering, as I would be if I were you, how I was able to even find this information while in China. Facebook, instagram, gmail, international new sites, etc - are all blocked or banned in China. Luckily, I paid for a VPN a few months ago so that I could occasionally watch American movies on the internet, and even more lucky is that the VPN works phenomenally while in China. If I were in China without a VPN than all of this information would be utterly inaccessible. 

It's such a simple thing, being able to research news information, that it never occurred to me as something I should be grateful for being able to do! Grateful for a computer, yeah because many people can't afford one. Grateful for internet, yeah because some people don't lived in a developed world where internet is accessible. But, for the people who have computers, and internet, I never thought about being grateful for what I can access with it.

My experience in China has made me all-the-more grateful for the life I have back in the United States. For example, the air in China can have extremely high pollution on some days, and on others (particularly after a good windy day) have none. I never really understood why I've seen Chinese people wearing face masks in public, but now I welcome it for myself simply so that my head is clear breathing in clean air. Some days, when the pollution was bad, I didn't feel well. On an average pollution day, I could feel the burning in my nose like I might have a nose bleed at any second. I couldn't imagine not being able to exercise outside regularly. It's such a simple thing to think about.

China made me grateful for so many simple things, straight down to the air that I breathe, private stalls in the women's bathroom, going to church, exercising outside, speaking English, access to Google, and on and on it goes. Being reminded to be grateful for all of these things which I have back in the United States did not make me less grateful for the amazing experience of China. Whatever I lost, I gained something else tenfold through my experiences.. Having less just leaves opportunity for gaining more - both in spirit and character. I appreciate all that I was able to learn just by seeing how the other half (of the world) lives.

It's obvious that I didn't have many positive thing to say about communism, but that doesn't necessarily speak to my personal experience in China either. At first, my deeply rooted empathy for humanity made it all the more difficult to have any involvement with such negative and harmful environments as communism provides. However, while in China I experienced all kinds of humanity on an interpersonal, and micro scale. I watched Chinese people help each other, and on several occasions people helped me find my way, understand new information, even simple things like find the right kind of lotion in a corner store. Despite the limited communication, I had a fantastic one-on-one experience of Chinese people. I watched couples in love and saw the defiance in it. Rather than follow the old traditions of marrying for status, the young Chinese generation is moving towards marrying for love, and being honest with their partner. I met several couples, and many Chinese travelers, who spoke English, and shared with me their experiences, their ups and downs, and their private opinions about what life is like for them.

I've known many Chinese Americans throughout my life. Particularly after attending school at NYU, I felt as though there was a Chinese takeover coming to the States. Chinatown just keeps growing and growing - Little Italy is almost non-existent anymore. I never fully understood the profound nature of their culture, the challenge of the language, or the importance of upholding an essence of their way of life. There's a Chinatown in countless major cities in the U.S. and I think now I can at least begin to understand why. What sets the Chinese apart from other cultural Americans? I imagine that taking the beautiful Chinese culture in China, and giving the people freedom and liberty too, can do a whole lot for their way of life. It's a transformation. A loud, exciting, loving, hospitable, and respectful culture suddenly has permission to become louder, friendlier, and more helpful just because their fears of government are taken away. They have the freedom to share themselves with others, which probably makes it even more important to them than the average American who never had that sort of  strictness, fear, and struggle present in their immediate lineage. Its the same as a culture coming from war, except for the battle is within themselves - every day they must have poise and obedience. Every day they must walk the line and not stagger.

The Chinese people are truly magical, interesting, and fantastic to learn from.

I am so grateful that, despite my anticipation entering into the country, I was able to leave loving the  people and therefore slowly but surely falling in love with their authentic ways of life. 

My Nepali Family

Leaving from Istanbul to Kathmandu, and choosing to stay for a month, was one of the boldest moves I have made. I booked my international flights within a week, in and out of Kathmandu, with no plans for the 30 days in between. I intended to volunteer in Kathmandu, living in a homestay and working in a school.

When I arrived at the airport, I was retrieved by my homestay dad, Shanker, and introduced to the basics of Nepali life. The primary introduction consisted of the smallest international airport I’ve been to yet, (smaller than my home town domestic airport in New Hampshire).

Dirt roads. Dust everywhere! The streets in Kathmandu were a basic free for all. In between cars driving on the left side of the road, were motorcycles getting through traffic in whatever way possible. On several occasions during my stay Shanker – or friends I made – took me around the city on their motorcycles. The potholes were so excessive that we would be driving at full force head on towards an oncoming car or motorcycle, not turning until the last minute. The roads of Nepal were most commonly a free for all. Thankfully, the most dangerous roads were at least partway paved.

The Hindi traditions I learned while in Kathmandu consisted of observing my host family’s living and eating habits. My host sister, Chunchun, introduced me to Bollywood MTV and we would create dances for hours on end. She and I goofed around a lot, and had fun being kids. 

The food at the house was always Dahl Bat.

Dahl Bat is a traditional meal, typically eaten twice daily (more or less). It consists of rice, a small portion of vegetables, and a vegetable or chicken liquid to pour on the rice. The common phrase, is Dahl Bat 24 hour power! You can eat it any time, anywhere.
Before eating, the family would each take a small amount of rice (a fingernail size) and place it on the table next to their meal before beginning to utterly engulf their food with their right hand. I followed suit with the new traditions, learning that the rice set aside was a sacrifice to the Gods, and holding my hand a certain way so as to push the food into my mouth with my thumb was a more efficient way to eat.

I didn’t learn until a week later, that even Nepalese don’t always eat with their hands, and it wasn’t really necessary for me to do so. Nonetheless, I preferred it. It gave me purpose to play with my food.

Shanker Man insisted on taking me to several different locations in Kathmandu at his own behest. When I went to the temples, I rang the bell in front of the Hindi statues, placed flowers on my head, and filled myself with the positive energy from the gods. Some of my favorite gods are the dancing Shiva (the destroyer), Surya Ganesh (incarnate of Vishnu the preserver), and Brahma (of course, the creator). The first Temple I've ever been to was Monkey Temple, and the reason they call it Monkey Temple, is because on the grounds of the temples are thousands of... monkeys. Thousands. I fed them with crackers that we bought at the market, and some crawled onto my leg. They weren't the nicest monkeys though, fighting each other and screaming a sound that made me think they might attack me.

Unfortunately, I did not receive any details about the volunteer work that I was meant to do in Kathmandu, other then where the school was located. Once I arrived, I learned that the children were very young, and having worked in several different parts of the world with children, I wasn’t comfortable becoming attached with them if I only planned to stay a few days. It’s not healthy for children to make attachments and for those people to always leave them. Not to mention, there was no volunteer work needed at the location.

On a daily basis, I began to walk or ride the motorbike with Shanker to his money exchange office in the main tourist hub of Kathmandu, called Thamel. One of his new employees, Rabin, became a good friend of mine and introduced me to the relaxed nightlife of the locals. Each night I walked with Rabin twenty minutes to where his friend owns a shop. Although, I’m sure his friend owns a “secret hangout disguised as a shop” since we had to walk through dark allies behind buildings and needed a flashlight just to find the place. There were rugs in the room that were meant for selling… but they were the same rugs every day. I asked Ring, Rabin’s friend and my new friend, when the last time he sold a rug was. There was no coherent response. I became friends with all of the regulars who came to Ring’s shop in the evening to drink homemade whiskey and play cards. The oldest man in the group, Barbar, who I called Baba (father), drove me home at the end of the evening before he went home to his wife. I was thankful for that since the dirt roads were deserted after 9pm. Rabin and I even stumbled across his friend Kim on the first night that I went to Ring’s shop. Kim is an American who has been living in Nepal working for a Non-Governmental Organization and studying Nepali. She is so sweet and full of life that she insisted on meeting me. We became instant friends, just like everyone else that Rabin introduced me to. By the time I left Kathmandu, I felt like I had created a family.

Ring, Baba, Soogar, and Rajis, are among these amazing guys!

If I hadn’t stayed at the homestay - with Shanker, Chunchun, her mom Padma, and grandma who I called “Ma” - then I might not have had some of the amazing opportunities that I had. One of the family members who came over for a visit one day, spoke English very well and was fascinated with my travels and my work as a social worker. It turns out, that he (Mygendra) is the #1 exporter of wool in Nepal, and had been looking for a social worker to communicate and empathize with the men and women who work in his factory. Many Nepalese women live difficult lives, and having someone to counsel them and hear their stories is very important. The next day, he was gracious to bring me to his factory 18km outside of Kathmandu to a town called Baktapur. There, he gave me a tour, introduced me to many of his employees including an American distributor named Matt, and conducted several business meetings with me about ethics and interpersonal relationships in business. In between working with Matt and Mygendra, and touring the factory, I had a few hours to kill before we all drove back into Kathmandu. As if Mygendra wasn’t already showing immense hospitality, he had his factory chauffeur take me on a motorbike into the center of Baktapur to see the temples, and try some of the traditional local foods. Baktapur is famous for being home to the milk curd. I went to eat at the Curd King, where I learned that milk curd tastes like ice cream and most locals don’t like it because many don’t like cold foods. I understand, because cold means that it isn’t necessarily hygienic, so they don’t eat cold food often. I wished that I could take a bucket of the stuff from the Curd King and bring it back to America, but dairy doesn’t work like that.

The people of Nepal were extremely loving and warm to me. However, I couldn’t stay in Kathmandu for one month. The pollution of dust from the unpaved roads, and sidewalk-less streets were enough to make me feel like I was nursing a cold the entire time that I was staying there. I took medicine every day, and eventually my allergic reactions really did turn into a cold.

Something people in Western civilization don’t seem to think about often, is how lucky we are to not deal with the pollution that is all over Asia. It’s hard to breathe some days. My nose might burn, or my eyes might not be able to open on days when the pollution is bad. I will never take advantage of fresh air, ever again. The reason I didn’t leave Kathmandu sooner, was because my passport was being held at the Chinese Embassy for my visa, and on the day when I went to retrieve it, I didn’t have U.S. Dollars to pay the visa fee. I learned the hard way, that because I am a U.S. Citizens I can only pay for my visa fees in USD all over Asia. It took me two days to find an exchange place that would give me USD, and then another day to book my bus out of Kathmandu. The trick was to figure out where I should go.

On the plane ride in from Turkey, I met a 70-something year old woman who was traveling with her son to go climb Mount Everest. She told me, that if I have time to travel around Nepal, I should go to Chitwan National Park. So, without much of a plan, I booked a lodge and left the next morning on a 6 hour bus ride - through mountains on winding roads - to the south of Nepal. Into the jungle, if you will. I was happy to have some time outside of the city, with fresh air, to recover from whatever I had caught.

Leaving Kathmandu and entering into the unknown, was the biggest adventure I had in Nepal. Every day was brand new, unplanned, and uninformed. The first day I rested. In Sauraha, bordering the wild jungle of Chitwan National Park, there were no streetlights, and the fence across the street that separates the world from the wild jungle was less than intact. It was not safe to walk around at night after 7pm. My first day at the lodge was spent reading and eating Momo (Tibetan & Nepali style dumplings).

I wasn’t alone for long. One night I found friendship with a 6 year-old boy, who loved dancing. It didn’t take me long to get the lodge bar to turn up the music, and dance for hours with this little guy, whose name was close to sounding like CVS. Between watching Bollywood in Kathmandu, dancing with my homestay sister Chunchun, and dancing with CVS, I had pretty much nailed some of the classic twisting and pumping moves that are popular in the country. Before you know it, CVS and I were tying scarves around our heads and shaking our tails off. It was a perfect release, since earlier that day I had spent 5 hours riding a rented bicycle across unpaved jagged roads through the community jungle. My butt was killing me. I didn’t want to lie down and sleep at 7pm, but I didn’t want to sit around either. A good shake-off and dance competition was just the ticket. Just before my dance-off competition - after my rigorous bicycle journey, with the jagged roads, and mental struggle - I said a prayer asking God for me to only encounter goodness and perfect conditions to uplift me. Prayers answered? Check.

That’s how I met my friend Anna. In the course of my dance competition with CVS, I noticed that a red haired smiling girl was watching us and laughing. Of course I looked silly, but I always thought silliness made me more extraordinary, not less. When it was finally time to take a break, I sat down for dinner and invited Anna to join me. Immediately I connected with this girl. I still don't know her life history, her family, native language of Swedish, or even what her favorite anything is, but she has a light about her that speaks far more than words – a light that only people who are deeply routed in goodness can have. It only took another full day of trekking in the jungle together for me to learn that I could trust her, and that meeting her was quite literally an immediate answer to my prayers.

The jungle trek was a life-risking adventure! I participated in a half-day trek before, however, I didn’t get to see any animals. I fell in love with the excitement of searching for them in the jungle with our guide.

The day after meeting Anna I had, literally, the perfect day full of goodness. I was refusing to pay the extra $17 that the lodge was aiming to charge me for another jungle walk – particularly since every time I entered the office to inquire about the cost, someone gave me a different price. It was easy to know that they were inventing an exploitative commission. The jungle guide overheard that I wanted to go, but did not want to pay such a ridiculous commission. $17 in Nepal is equal to 1,700 rupees, which is equal to 3 or 4 nice meals. The guide found me, snuck me aside, and told me I could pay the park directly, and his fee directly, and save the extra money. This is how my perfect day started. God's plan in motion! So I grabbed my snacks and my water, and headed into the jungle with Anna and a couple - Marlaine and Stephan. I always know when I’m in good company, because I just feel it. When I feel that I am in good company I am also usually curious to learn what everyone does for a living. I wasn’t surprised to learn that I was spending the day with two psychologists and a social worker. Knowing that someone works in a profession grounded in empathy and love, can speak volumes to their personality.

Left to Right: Stephan, me, Marlaine, & Anna

Our journey into the jungle began riding in a hollowed tree canoe up the Rapti River until we arrived deep into the edge of the Sauraha side of the Chitwan jungle.

Along our ride we saw over 15 different alligators and 10 different kinds of birds. We heard from canoe drivers, walking their boats up river, that we were approaching a rhinoceros. When we approached the feasting fiend, we pulled the canoe over to the side of an eroded cliff and hand climbed up a wall of vines and mud, so that we were within a few feet of the rhino! We whispered and took safety precautions, (like remembering to huddle together or locate the nearest climbable tree) as we followed the rhino up the path in his giant wake. The most exciting part was walking across naturally made log bridges, careful not to fall into a sinking pit of mud, and hand climbing up the wall and back down afterwards.

Once we continued on our journey we arrived in the jungle, laughing and joking all along the way. It wasn’t until after our lunch break that our trek guide told us, whatever we have to say, to get it out of the way and shhh from here on out. We were searching for a tiger after all. He gave us all of the safety tips. If a rhino or tiger approaches, climb a tree. If a bear approaches, huddle together and grab a weapon, or run like hell as your final option for any life threatening situation. Our guide was amazing, he stopped to smell poop just to tell us how long ago the animal was there. I always made sure to stay close behind him.

After a 4 hour hike through the jungle, silent laughter, and seeing a number of different wild animals, we all headed back, showered up and then joined another couple for dinner and card games. Coincidentally it was on thanksgiving, and with the new bonds I made, I was so thankful to be with amazing loving company and great food!

The manager of the restaurant is someone I will never forget. His name was Osac, and he was entertaining to talk to because of his choice English phrases - said with his stronh Nepali/Hindi/Indian accent - were some of the highlights of the evening. For example, every time he approached our table (between long intervals, sometimes hours) he would say “ahh yes, excuse me yes. Is okay?” Meanwhile, we haven’t been served anything. “yes, is okay” was his most common phrase. On one occasion we had been waiting a half hour after ordering some classic foods, like Momo and Dahl Bat, before Osac came over and said, “excuse me, excuse me. Yes, the food is not coming.” Why? "Your food is coming, but your food is not coming. We have no Momo." It was odd that he would say that they don’t have Momo. It was on the menu, and is a simple and classic Nepali dish. Not to mention that we had ordered quite some time ago. Osac paused a little bit as if to chew on his words a little bit, mumbling, and then pointed to the man at the table next to us while he said, “Well, there is no Momo… because the chef is very drunk.” (You mean, that guy over there who has been harassing us and coming to sit at our table?) We all sat for one second before making eye contact with each other and bursted out in laughter. I asked between fits of amusement, ‘So who is making our food? Do you need help?’ And he said, “is okay, he make only the Momo. We have no Momo because he is very drunk.” We laughed hysterically at the language, and the circumstances. Osac didn’t sugar coat it at all, and the Momo chef was very very drunk. Drunkenness and alcohol are looked down on quite a bit in Hindu and Muslim countries, so all of the factors were surprising and hillarious. 

The honesty of Nepali people is brilliant.

Needless to say, we did not have Momo, but the food was still good.

We polished the night off teaching each other card games we knew from our varying home countries.

My goals around Nepal, aside from trekking in the jungle, were also to travel north in order to go trekking in the Himalayas. Without a partner, or a guide I couldn’t afford, it seemed impossible, so again I took my needs to God, and told Him that if I am meant to go trekking, then the perfect conditions would arise.

The next day I made the decision to travel to a place called Lumbini, across the top of Chitwan National Park to the Western border between India and Nepal. It turned out, that in order for Anna to take a bus to India, she also had to go to Lumbini – so we decided to go together.

Lumbini is a large sector marked as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is 3 miles by 1 mile and is best known for its temples and for being the birthplace of Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) in 623 BC.  

The exact birthplace of Buddha in 623 BC. Govered in plexiglass and different foreign currencies, but underneathe is a good ol' slab of granite.

Anna and I spent only 3 hours on the gardened land where dozens of temples are represented from around the world. When I entered the Maya Devi temple where the original ruins from Buddha’s birthplace are kept safe inside of a plexiglass entrapment, I saw before me ancient ruins from before Christ. The walkway follows along the walls of the temple, while the ruins stand in the center, and a ramp leads out so that people can go closer to the exact birthplace. Lying on the ruins were currencies from all over the world to be collected for donation to the temple. As I entered to the left circling around the ruins, a group of Buddhist monks from China entered in a single file line. Slowly they took steps in a single file line, one step at a time, allowing their feet to kiss the ground – and chanting in their native tongue. I joined in the line. I don’t know what they were saying, but the use of tones is what’s soothing, not necessarily the words of the chant. I circled around, and afterward felt refreshed and renewed, as if my head had cleared.

After our walkabout, Anna and I returned to our hostel room. The hostel was probably the poorest conditions I’ve stayed in. We were the only guests in the facility, and aside from the bugs spattered on the wall, and no net hanging over the bed – I didn’t have any complaints. I can stay anywhere as long as I feel safe. So I asked for nets (to protect from bugs carrying diseases), and what the hostel owner gave us were essentially, moth nets the shape of tablecloths and tied up over our bed in various positions around the room. I felt satisfied after that, and it was quite a sight to see!

The conditions of Lumbini were the poorest developed that I had seen in all of Nepal. I brought toilet paper and germX with me everywhere in the country, since although the Turkish toilets were always available; there was never toilet paper or paper of any kind and often no water. There was definitely no hot water.

From Lumbini I planned to go to Pokhara, Nepal, where I would go trekking for 4 days at the start of the Annapurna Circuit in the Himalayas – provided that my perfect conditions arose. Anna had finished climbing Mount Everest not too long before we met and was interested in trekking in the Annapurna region despite her previous plans for India. So when I said before that God answered my prayers to give me the perfect circumstances, Anna was very much an answer to my prayers, not once, but twice! Rather than go our separate ways from Lumbini, she traveled with me another 8 hours to Pokhara Nepal where we stayed for a few days in between trekking.

After a grueling twisting and turning ride through the mountains, Anna and I arrived at a hostel just before my motion sickness started to kick in. Pokhara was a whole new world compared to Kathmandu, Chitwan or Lumbini. There were paved roads, thick sidewalks, and many modern westernized restaurants and shop stalls. My favorite part about the restaurants was the free popcorn they served. The city overall was more organized, better suited for tourism, and welcoming. It would be easy to go out for a night on the town in Pokhara.

 

The view from our hostel in Pokhara, Nepal

We stayed in a hostel for two nights before leaving early in the morning to begin our trek. I rented a backpack so that I wouldn’t have to carry all of my things, and I purchased lots of under armor. We were heading above the clouds and it was not tropical weather in Nepal! Trekking at this time of year surrounded us with snow and cold after a certain altitude. On our first night in Pokhara we returned from an adventurous encounter with some locals, followed by an evening dinner. Later, a girl staying up the hall from us in the hostel approached us. She was from California and traveling alone wishing to go on a trek. I was hesitant at first, as I sometimes am with new people I meet, but as it turned out, Azin (was her name) was a lovely young woman who introduced us to her Australian friend. By the end of our second night in Pokhara, we had created a small trekking group; me, Azin, Anna, and Rob. Rob was heading out to go to Annapurna I - which is the Annapurna Base Camp - and the rest of us were aiming to do the first three days of the trek before heading back on the fourth day. Rob had a guide (named Delhi), and was interesting to talk to because of his deep affection for animals and his experience trekking. I was grateful to have happened to be traveling with someone who paid for a guide also because there may have been a couple of parts on the trail where I wasn’t sure which way to turn. Delhi was nice enough to always tell me how much further we had to go too.

If those aren’t the perfect conditions, then I don’t know what are!

Our 5-person group ventured out and for the first two days we climbed steps up the mountain to 3,200m (10,498 ft). It was consistently steps all the way to the peak called Poon Hill. The steps were often piles of rocks or branches, and the inconsistency of them made it a challenge. Staying at teahouses at night was also a new experience. The beauty of trekking in Nepal is that all along the route are villages, and in those villages are guesthouses that cost between $1-5 a night. After a certain altitude the guesthouses no longer offered hot water or electricity, but all along the way we encountered the same menu for food and ate the same delicious local treats. I ate lots and lots of chocolate. In the evening after trekking we would shower (or not), relax, kick up our feet, and play cards over tea and dinner.

On the second day, rather than get up at sunrise to go to the top of Poon Hill, I wanted to go and watch the sun set. I was tired. The stairs were astonishingly challenging on the second day. There was no way I wanted to wake up in the freezing cold before the sun came up in order to go to the top of the mountain for the start of a 7-hour trekking day. So instead, my entire group went along with my idea and joined me up to the top of Poon Hill that evening to watch the sun set. Our day was a 6-hour trekking day, and it was perfectly worth it. In the wind I stood for 20 minutes watching the distant mountains of Annapurna and Machupuchre turn dark blue, and then pink and purple until finally the sun was set. Afterwards we hiked back down the steps for an hour before snuggling up near the heater in the guesthouse and playing a fun game of Uno with other trekkers. The trekking life is a work hard play hard life!

Left to Right: Me, Anna, Rob, & Azin

The third day of trekking was the best day, in my opinion. We weren’t going up stairs the whole time, but we also weren’t going down stairs the whole time. The views were spectacular as we weaved through the jungle terrain passing waterfalls and crossing bridges.

After saying our goodbyes to Rob as he continued on his trek, Azin, Anna, and I headed down the mountain and eventually back to Pokhara. While Anna rested to recover from a sickness, Azin and I had our celebratory farewell dinner together (complete with popcorn. Two nights later I was on my own once again. It was sad to be on my own after splitting from Anna and our new friends. I felt like I had met my soul sister by how connected we were so quickly. It was such a blessing to meet al of them.

After trekking, I decided to stay in Pokhara for a week, doing nothing and enjoying my down time. I shopped for Christmas presents for my godsister who I would stay with in China for the holidays. I ate delicious food, read my books, and rested up for the days to come. For only three days in the week I explored parts of Pokhara beyond walking along the Lakeside and main roads.

I rented a motorcycle to ride to the top of a mountain where a well-known village called Sarangkot is home to a popular paragliding launch site. It was exciting for me to ride a motorcycle on the left side of the road, let alone on the edge of cliffs, along the side of a mountain, high in the sky. For a long time I had been afraid of heights, and afraid of speed (or loss of control), so conquering my fears and allowing myself to be lost, spontaneous, and virtually out of control, was a freeing feeling. I stopped along my route to take pictures and watch the paragliders take off.

One of my last days in Pokhara was spent taking a canoe boat to a hill where at the top sits the World Peace Pagoda. There are many peace pagodas in the world but this is the only World Peace Pagoda. From the canoe I hiked for one hour on slippery mud paths up to the Pagoda, read all of the plaques and paid homage to the symbols at the top and the amazing view of the Annapurna Conservation. It seems every mountain I climbed there was an amazing view of the Annapurna Conservation. As they sing in the Sound of Music, climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, 'till you find your dream.

After taking photos I headed back down the mountain to find a French and German man, lost at the beginning of the trekking path. They needing to locate a canoe to return to Lakeside, Pokhara - and I already had my canoe waiting for me. We hiked for an hour or so, chatting and laughing. After getting dinner at the lake we headed back for a stroll along the main street before parting our separate ways.

The next day I traveled back to Kathmandu so that I could have a few days to say goodbye to everyone before flying to China. It was a long day of travel, the true Asian way. After only an hour of driving, our bus hit a motorcyclist. I knew when I got onto the bus that this would happen – I just knew it. The reason I knew is because for two consecutive days prior I had seen motorcycle accidents. As Paulo Coehlo says in the Alchemist if something happens once it probably won’t happen again, but if something happens twice it will definitely happen again. So it was no surprise when my bus was delayed at an accident site and later at the police station for about 3 hours.

The other ironic side-note that was thrown in for good measure – the name of the bus company was “Open Heart.”

When I arrived in Kathmandu it was raining, and dirt everywhere means mud.

I walked in the mud and the rain looking for a hostel that I didn’t book or locate. I entered three or four hostels before I found one that was affordable, clean, and in a fantastic location. I kicked off my shoes, went to dinner, and messaged all of my Kathmandu friends to let them know I was back in town. The next night, all of the people I became friends with for the first few weeks in Nepal, invited me to do the same old, drinks and cards, and an enjoyable late night. Much to my pleasure and surprise, it turned into what felt like a going away party. We took pictures, and Kim even gave me presents! When I left the next day, I felt like I was leaving my family.

Me in my Nepal hat that Kim gave me as a going away gift, and the one and only Ring!

The people in Nepal were all so relatable and warm to me. All of my experiences were good and personable. I became friends with every shop owner. I became friends with every other person with my spontaneity and openness. The nature of Nepal is beautiful in and of itself, and although Nepali business people have a willingness to exploit tourists because they are in need of money, I have complete understanding, compassion and love for them all. It was a perfect month, and so far, it was the longest that I’ve been in one country since I began traveling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

To top it all off... I saw Mount Everest on the flight out.

The Tourist Hustle

Lets talk about being a tourist. My experience, having now reached country #32 in my world journey, has given me an opportunity to fully see the tourist hustle in all of its poor and fortunate qualities. Today I’m hoping to share with you a little bit about what I’ve learned.

For some reason, just because I am a tourist, people tend to assume that I am Bill Gates rich. It’s apparent that I have enough money to get to my location, but I don’t see that as a humane reason for exploiting me for every cent I possibly have.

Setting aside all of the judgments I receive as a tourist every day, being a tourist in and of itself – especially on a budget – can be wild! Traveling is constant chaos, planning, thinking, adapting, etc. I have to know the map, and I remember it almost by heart sometimes because my brain now sees map memorizing as a survival skill. Thus my memory has improved. I have to know what’s in my bank account – roughly. I have to know what’s in my pocket. Do I have x y and z? Where are my things? Have I booked the flight, checked the bus schedule, figured out where the bus stop is, found out the address of where I’m staying, where will I sleep next, will I be getting back at night, is the vibe safe, does my door lock, will the hostel do last minute booking, is there really 24/7 hot showers, 24 hour cancellation policy, how do I get to these ten thousand places I’m recommended to go to, what are some cultural laws here, how do I say hello, goodbye, thank you, and enough – and on and on and on. Not all the same questions every day. Of course, I always become familiar with a new place after a day or two, and I always figure out when, how, and what exactly needs to be done. Sometimes when I “figure it out” its really me, just stumbling upon an adventure, reminder, or good fortune.

Asking the right questions, as a tourist, is very important. Sometimes, the person I’m asking doesn’t understand me. Sometimes they lie to me unbeknownst or on purpose. Sometimes my American phrases make no sense in a different culture. Sometimes my direct question is answered – but a lot of the time, all of the helpful information surrounding the answer is omitted. It would be overly dutiful to divulge every bit of information that could be helpful from a local or experienced stranger to me. Then I have to be more specific, asking a thousand questions and getting all of my answers. My thousands of questions are usually directed towards someone who is doing their job by answering them. What time do we get up? What is included? Why does it cost this much? Where do we go? What should we wear? What do the locals do? What is culturally appropriate? Why is the plan like this?

When it comes to bargaining (which is common in many African and Asian countries) I pull out all of the stops. Most of the items sold using bargaining are from China, mass-produced and poor quality. I have to know my product, so that the salesperson can’t trick me. I know how to tell if its real leather, real wool, cotton, silk, made in China or locally – I know all of the tricks. I didn’t always know all of the tricks. I’ve met honest salespeople, who taught me, or I remember something arbitrarily said in my vicinity and recall it as currently useful, or I do a little research. Sometimes strangers are the most helpful tools and sometimes they are deceptive.

I cannot recall how many times I have been lied to on this trip. Even with directions, I might ask 4 different locals the same question and receive 4 different answers. I never go with my first answer. I must have research or several unrelated opinions to support the answers that I receive.

People who are selling, or have any possibility to gain from tourist money, are usually people that I am hesitant to trust. On more than one occasion I have called out salespeople for lying to me. I say, this isn’t made here, and I explain why, and then I ask why their price is higher for a less genuine quality item. I have no shame. They are the ones trying to trick me, and I am the one with the money to spend. Sometimes, I say it loudly and they don’t like me deterring other people from their store so they tell me to go to another shop instead. I gladly leave to spend my money somewhere else. How a person responds to me can sometimes tell me if I should be giving them my money or not. Especially in poor countries, if I give me business and my money somewhere I want it to be with good genuine people. I don’t know them right away, but I know if I feel lied to or if I feel connected and happy with someone.

Basically, any time I am asked to pay over $20 for something– I have to ask questions. Where is my money going? If all of these shops and hotels are the same, then I am not going to the one where the person working there is creepy, or rude.

It’s the same at hotels and hostels. Whenever someone books something on my behalf, there is some kind of commission taken – so I need to compare costs with other companies or, book it on my own (if its even possible). It’s nice when people, places, or companies make decent sounding offers for tours or adventures – but I never take my first offer. Not unless I’ve already seen what else is out there. Some countries set up their tourist systems so that I have to book through a company. Then the prices get cut throat. I could spend more than $50 extra just because I didn’t ask around. That’s 2 – 5 nights in a hostel. I like places with no commission.

Trust no one, when it comes to money, especially as a tourist in a foreign country.

Even the ATMs, I always remember to check for cameras and cover up my card when I insert it, or block my pin number when I type it in. On more than one occasion I have seen illegally placed cameras just above the screen of the ATM, and commonly there are cameras in the room or stall where it is kept.

The tourist hustle is that of exploitation. Everyone wants a piece of the money-cake. Have money will travel, therefore people who travel have money. Maybe not everyone has a ton, but they have enough to get where they are. So the recommendations tourists receive from locals, restaurants, hostels, or hotels have to do with promotion, advertisement, tips, tax, and whose hand is in what pile of cash. Nice hotels typically recommend fancy restaurants, or just higher class restaurants where the toilets are clean, there are white tablecloths and the manager always takes care of you - too expensive for me. Tour guides send me anywhere that might make them money, unless they genuinely want me to experience the culture (that depends on the type of people I meet and at what point in our relationship they start giving me advice). Often, people who freely throw advice about where to go and what to do, are either overeager tourists who think that their good opinion will probably be universal, or locals who are trying to send me somewhere that will make them or their family money. Sometimes, at least while I’m traveling, when I throw in my two-cents without being asked, it is simply because I want someone to talk to. People who only give advice when it’s asked, sometimes after chatting for a little, those are the ones who usually have genuine quality opinions and experiences to share with me, and aren’t doing it in their own self-interest.

Finding a unique local experience can be difficult. In fact, sometimes I know where I am in a city simply because I followed the tourist-looking-whiter-people. It was often fairly obvious where the tourists were. Even without any visible differences between the locals and tourists, its easy to find the hotspot locations – the prices are higher, the amount of people is denser, and there is someone on the side of the road selling souvenirs (sometimes in a near-harassing manner). Sometimes, if I am lost, I can just follow the increasing prices to get to my tourist location – when I was in Helsinki, that is how I stumbled along the fish market. The cafés along the crowded main street I was walking along (lost and bored) continually charged 3, then 5, then 8 euros for a coffee. Smells like I’m approaching my tourist destination.

The recommendations I always received from hostels were often a thousand times better than any hotels. While youth backpacking, I have met people of all ages and backgrounds. Usually the recommendations are for - where to get a free something, a cheap but awesome meal, and good local beer. Then I’ve relied on all of my random interactions along the way to show me what to do next. I usually don’t know what I will do in a place until I get there. The locals know the best, and the cheapest ways to do things. Other tourists do too. Usually the tourists who are leaving have the most interesting feedback to consider. Consider, not follow. Listening is important, and I usually listen to what people recommend to do or not, but everyone has different preferences, so consideration is the most I can do. Sometimes if something sounds amazing, and I know nothing about it, I do it anyway – going in blind. Sometimes if something sounds terrible, I look it up first, and then I do it anyway after determining my own opinion. Only a few times has my last-minute spontaneous planning not worked out, mainly because something I wanted to do was a “touristy” thing, and I needed more than a days notice to book it, or sign up. I missed out on the original “Last Supper” by Michaelangelo, I didn’t do a tour of glaciers or fjords in Norway, and I never hiked up the Eiffel Tower. But, I have a lot more, memories of what I did do than what I didn’t. Instead of seeing the “Last Supper” I saw all of the art museums in Milan. Instead of a tour of Norway, I took a 6 hour train ride across the country seeing fjords and glaciers. Instead of hiking the Eiffel Tower, I partied underneath it, and walked the entire city of Paris. God always seems to have a better plan for me than I do. Often, missing the touristy adventure means going on an alternative adventure for me.

Tourism truly is a hustle. The broker I am, and cheaper I am living, the more genuine help and less hustle I deal with. Staying somewhere nice - or revealing in any way that I have some money in my pocket - usually means I have to deal with some exploitative bullshit.

Here's my little anecdote to illustrate how complicated something simple can be, just because of tourism.

When I was in Kathmandu Nepal, I was looking for a wool scarf to give as a gift. I had already bought one with the same make, style, and genuine quality wool in Pokhara, Nepal where it was 1,500 Rupees. In Kathmandu, I finally stumbled across a salesman who offered the exact scarf I was looking for. He told me 3,200 Rupees (of course this is the start of the bargain, so I know that is what I will not pay). I counter the offer with 1,000 Rupees. I know this is far too low, since the salesman I had bought from in Pokhara paid 1,400 and sold it to me for 1,500. When I offered 1,000 Rupees the shopkeeper laughed at me and said he can’t sell it to me for that price. I expected that response. When Nepali salesmen say they can’t sell it at that price, they mean it, and they look genuinely sad when they say it. I told him, look I have this exact thing at home, and I bought it in Pokhara for 1,500. I’ll give you that, and we can be done. He didn’t believe me, because bargaining is a lying game and he hasn't learned yet that I am a genuine person and on a budget. I said, really, I’m telling you the truth. What are you buying your scarves for?? 1,500 is a good price, a fair price. He tells me honestly, and I believe him, that there is no way he could buy that scarf for that much money and therefore sell it to me for less. Unlike some shop owners, he persisted in explaining it to me rather than taking the scarf out of my hands dismissively. I persist, how much did you pay for these (the scarves) then? Because you know, and now I’m sitting and looking him in the eye so he knows I’m just having a genuine casual conversation with him, I say if another salesman can sell this same thing to me for less then your price, then I think you’re paying your distributor too much. He bought his for 1,800. I knew I wanted the scarf and it was hard to come by, so I said to the guy, listen, I know you want to sell this, and you know I want to buy it, so lets come to an agreement where you give me a price that is fair and not ridiculous, and I give you a price where you can make a little profit. This type of patience and honesty is necessary in human connections, particularly with someone who is in the position to constantly rip-off tourists and exploit them. Those people may or may not have an interest in knowing the tourist, but if they can see a little humanity instead of a giant dollar sign on my forehead, then I feel like the interaction is far more enjoyable. I entered into a great conversation with the salesman about business sales, and distributors that charge less. After I told him it would be better if he had a fixed price, and sold based on the concept that he is making X amount of profit on every item, with no bargaining, then he would increase sales and not annoy tourists. It was a revelation to him that tourists don’t like to bargain. When he expressed that to me, I vented a little bit. No, I don’t like to bargain! Every time I bargain I feel someone trying to rip me off, cheat me, or lie to me, and all I want is a damn scarf. It’s not a good feeling to be always cheated or lied to. He laughed, but I think he also understood my sincerity. I imagine these people get just as sick of being scammed as the next person. The man thanked me for my advice and said something about our destiny's colliding so that his business would improve. I thanked him for the scarf that I bought for 2,000. ($20 is pretty good for a hand embroidered wool scarf I’d say.)

Anyway, that’s the tourist hustle as I have experienced it in Europe, Africa, Central America, and now Asia. It’s not avoidable. Coping with the feeling of always being lied or cheated (as a tourist) can be exhausting and can cause negativity or impatience when encountering new locals or businesses. Even when I know someone is overcharging (and I am well aware they are trying to exploit me and fellow-travelers) I always remember to have patience and kindness towards them. Sometimes its just the culture that makes things that way. Sometimes its just a poor country, and people are just doing whatever they can to survive. Usually, its easy to tell within the first few minutes of a conversation whether someone is cheating me or not, whether they are genuine or not. However, I sometimes find it difficult to understand whether people are genuine when I am encountering them within my first few days in a new place, with a new language – before I’ve fully grasped the tradition and way of life in the new place. But I’ve learned to cope with the feelings of being lied to or cheated. By having the kind of empathy that helps me to understand why one might want to exploit me, talk to me naggingly, or over-charge me, I can learn how to love them anyway and detach myself from any offense. I have made the tourist hustle bearable, and I am comfortable navigating the exploitative environment by:

1)   Knowing my facts and my research so that I am concrete in my opinion and understanding of how things work and cost wherever I am.

2)   Swallowing my pride and having patience to a degree that I am comfortable with.

3)   Being honest and empathetic.

4)   Loving people no matter what, and always making sure to part on good terms. Burning bridges and people creates a bad karma that I don’t want. 

5)   Trusting myself and standing my ground.