am i there yet?

 

As I sit in this lonely coffee shop in San Rafael pondering how to describe my current state through writing, Ingrid Michaelson has been my rescue.

 

She has a beautifully scripted song, titled "Are We There Yet" that has been a bit of an anthem for me during the last few years.

 

"They say that home is where the heart is

I guess I haven't found my home

And we keep driving round in circles

Afraid to call this place our own

 

Are we there yet?"
 

Three years ago my mother would call me to ask when I would be "home" to the house in the harb for dinner.

I would text Alex to tell her that I would be "home" to our dorm for a movie night.

My coworkers would ask when I would be coming "home" to Yelm and the crazy that came from my cabin, B11.

Tracy and Diem always wanted to know when we would all be "home" to work on our puzzles together.

Abang would text me "O tswa kae?", where are you coming from? When will you be "home?"

My sister would pester me to come "home" asap from my internship to watch the Bachelor and bond.

Kerry would whatsapp me relentlessly to sprint "home" and save her from our host parents (that message would usually be accompanied by an incredibly desperate Kerry selfie. A+ work siempre.)

Just a few weeks ago my housemates and I would miraculously find our way "home" together at 5am after sharing in some gloriously salsaed street tacos.

Last week my father texted me to remember to feed the dogs when I got "home."

Last night, I reassured my grandparents that I would lock up after I came "home" from coffee with a friend.

 

Am I there yet?

Am I afraid to make home?

Location wise as well as intimately wise with other humans?

 

I don't think so.

I'm just searching,

waiting,

trusting.

 

 

Ingrid continues...

 

"They say there's linings made of silver

Folded inside each raining cloud

Well, we need someone to deliver

Our silver linings now

 

Are we there yet?"

 

I'm gathering fabulous experience,

I'm sharing my heart with the world and allowing it to shape me into a more complete and aware "me."

I'm meeting people with incredible stories, minds and passions.

This is a silver lining,

until I leave.

Then, it is nothing but another hole brutally carved from my already damaged, overly pulled and ripping a the seams heart. 

 

It's a cycle, really.

It's grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived, grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived, grown, stretched, full, shanked, shriveled, empty, mourned, revived....

 

"They say you're really not somebody

Until somebody else loves you

Well, I am waiting to make somebody

Somebody soon

 

Are we there yet?"

 

It's so true.

Home... though it is a location at times, I'm not there yet.

I don't have that space that is solely mine where I can go an be surrounded by the familiar,

the comfortable,

the understood.

 

But I have home.

It's not external, it is all within.

 

I have home where I have love.

And that, my friends, is an endless fount of possibility and joy eternal.

 

I crave a Kayla space,

but maybe that's not so important after all.

 

___

 

 

Last night on my way home from coffee, I ran across a homeless woman sitting on a street corner.

I took her to dinner.

For that moment she had a home.

I had a home.

Her home with me, and mine with her.

 

Home.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



becoming ready



And just like that, I'm back in the good ol' US of A.

Rockin, CA.

wooh.
 

A good friend sent me a few pictures from my unofficial "going away party"

(unofficial because it wasn't actually a party for me but we totally made it so)

and I was flooded with so many feels.


 

In a way, I'm grieving.

Actually, not "in a way",

I'm thoroughly grieving.

I'm grieving the loss of big love;
the death of an era.

 

Friends that became family,

a language by which my heart was won,

star-filled nights guided by rhythm,

a culture that lives fully and relationally,

and an adventure that is always developing into something truly great.

Experts in psychology say that there are five steps of grief that lead to final acceptance:
 

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance 

I have moved passed the denial stage.
I was completely and utterly in denial for a few days.
"I'm just on vacation.. to the US.. from Mexico. I'll be home soon."
I now realize now that unfortunately, this is not the case.

At the moment, I'm knee deep in the anger phase.
Actually, I'm way more than knee deep,
I'm drowning.
I hung up from a Skype conversation with a friend named Daniel down in Guadalajara yesterday and instead of feeling sadness, I was overcome with a rage-like sensation.
I physically felt my muscles tighten up and as I leaned back and ran my fingers through my hair, I could feel blood pulsing through my brain as the pressure built and built to a mental explosion of exasperation.

vnfuiqegnrivenuvneiuvnoiffff.

I am mad that he is there,
and I am here.

I am mad that I am not there and that he is not here,
that none of my absolutely incredible friends are here,
and that I am not with them.

I'm in Rocklin.
Pinche Rocklkin.

Anger is not healthy, and I would like to move past it.
In a way, I think I have.
I have, at least in a small manner, began to bargain.

I find myself scouting plane tickets and planning trips with friends that will never happen.
I'm wishfully spitballing ideas by people
"what if....."
when I know that there is little chance of any of these dreams becoming a reality.
But that's often how it is with dreams.
I guess that's what makes a dream a dream.
I will continue to hope.

Part of me wants to power through these steps and be fine.
My brain keeps telling me
"Come on Kayla, just rub some dirt in it and move on."

But I don't want to move on.
As soon as I've moved on, that will mean that I have forgotten, in small part, how my heart feels right now.
Ya know what, I don't want to forget.
I'm okay with living into this sadness, this anger, and whatever else is to come because that means that I am living into something.

I'm letting my heart feel,
hurt,
greive,
and be chipped away at bitby bit.

I'm letting myself be remolded, once again, into a fuller person.
I'm taking all of my love and all of the ache that accompanies it and letting it wreck me because that's what this chica needs right now.

I am emotionally beat,
but I really think that's a good thing.
It's a process.
A painful, brutal, knowing and all together shitty process.

My heart is still in Mexico, but it's working on finding a home.
I doubt that Rocklin will ever be that place, but I'll find it someday.
Or rather, my heart will find it and the rest of me will follow.

Te seguiré, mi pequeño corazón roto.
I'm becoming ready.



 

wizardly wisdom

Yesterday I was casually reading The Order of the Phoenix because I have an infinite amount of work to do so consequently I will do anything to not be doing what I'm supposed to be doing, when something that Harry said gave me pause to think.

Dumbledore had seemingly finished an epic duel with the Dark Lord when Voldemort possessed Harry and began to show him all of his worst memories in attempt to over take him.

Just before Voldemort had completely consumed Harry's thoughts, Harry became strong and overcame him by remembering of all the beautiful things he has in his life.

Harry responded to Voldemort

"You're the one who is weak. You will never know love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you."

Voldemort is independently strong because of his power,

but Harry has love and friendship 

and that overpowers all.

I leave Mexico two weeks from tomorrow.

It's weird

and terrible

and I'm super bummed.

I've been here for almost a year, and that's a significant amount of time to love and to make incredible friends. 

I am so thankful for everyone I have met here.

I'm beginning the slow and painful process of emotionally separating myself.

I know that I'm leaving and I am uncertain of when I will return.

Leaving here will be easier than Bots in regards to distance, 

thankfully Mexico is not on the other side of the world.

But still.

One can never be certain of where they will go and with whom they will be.

In regards to relationships, this separation will be much more difficult.

A year is a long time.

Okay maybe, not a longgg time, but long enough to build solid relationships.

Every coffee date or drink I get with a friend causes me great pain but also gives me joy.

It makes me strong.

I am stronger with them than I am on my own and even though I have to leave this beautiful country soon, the friendships and crazy memories will not be dimmed.

I am learning the significance of difference between

"adios"

and 

"hasta luego".

"Adios" is no longer in my vocabulary.

It's never really goodbye.

When Peter came to Wendy's window after taking her home from Neverland she told him goodbye, 

but peter responded

"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."

I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not going away.

And I'm definitely not forgetting.

But I am separating,

and my heart hearts.

I have 15 more days.

May they pass slowly

and may it never be goodbye.

i remember when

So I'm on Spring Break.

(woooooh)

Unfortunately this semester has decided to be the death of me so traveling is not a thing and in its place comes hours upon hours in cafes drinking mass amounts of coffee while writing endless papers.

I know.

Party hardy.

So I'm sitting here staring at my computer screen thinking, "Wow Kayla, you really know how to turn up. You're on Spring Break in frickin Mexico! That's like, every white girl's dream. But, you're spending it mostly at home, completely swamped in your books. You go Glen Coco." when my brain started to wander.

Last year during Spring Break, I went camping in the Chobe National Park in Northern Botswana (and a small time in Zimbabwe with one of the seven natural wonders of the world,Victoria Falls) with the elephants, lions, hippos, impalas, giraffes, zebras, and some pretty gnarly humans.

The view driving in to camp.

Victoria Falls exploring with Bryce.

Victoria Falls. (Not even half.)

Chobe

A water buffalo! (I may or may not have sang the water buffalo song from Veggie Tales every time we saw one.)

Chobe river with Jose and his brother.

All the shade from Bryce. Thanks for the jacket, btw.

Hey there kitty kitty. 

Our bad ass guide, Frank.

Most of our group. (Including some Motswana, Americans, Swedes, Mexicans and Canadians.)

We spend a week together waking up early to explore, getting arms distance away from stunning creatures, rushing to camp "Ferrari safari" style to be back before dark, sitting around the campfire getting destroyed by mosquitoes and who know what other bugs, and then laying awake at night in our tents listening to elephants stomp down trees, hippos grunt and baboons chase each other through the bushes.

I often have to stop and ask myself

"Is this real life?"

Because holy guacamole, I am so blessed.

_____

Thinking more of my time in Bots I am filled with both emotions of great fondness and great despair.

I had so much fun.  

I remember exploring Gabs via combi and getting ridiculously lost in the process. They may say that combi 6 goes to Game City where, by the way, you can get the best coffee in the Gabs, but sometimes, it just doesn't. 

Then I'd have to call Sampson (my faithful cabbie) to come and save me. He was the most random man. He was in a merengue band and would constantly blare his cd from his car. He also would answer his phone at all hours and be unnaturally enthusiastic to pick you up. 

My roommate, Abang, was also fantastic.

I remember late night sitting on the floor by her bed while her and Kitso attempted to teach me Setswana pronunciation. They would laugh as I struggled but never gave up on me. 

She would come over to my side of the room to Skype my parents with me and ya know what, I think they might actually love her more than they love me. ;)

Carley was also a gem.

For most of the semester the two of us were attached at the hip. We'd go dancing, explore the city, study at Linga Longa, and embark in general shenanigans together.

Ooh, I remember when we discovered that place with cucumber smoothies... life changed forever.

We also, with two friends, went exploring in Bots over Easter weekend. We road tripped basically the whole country and just made it up as we went along. This proved to be disastrous at times, but all in all we tore it up.

On Easter, Carley and I canoed solo in the Chobe river. It was incredible, just the two of us taking on the great unknown. We spent the whole day in Kasane sitting in lawn chairs reading, journaling and talking about life while overlooking God's beautiful creation until we decided to explore it up close and personal. Though probably not the safest life choice, I will forever remember the feeling of the river against my paddle, the wind blowing through the reeds and the Motswana people taking pictures and being incredibly confused at why there were two white girls alone in the middle of the river.

(Carley btw is still in Bots working for Campus Crusade for Christ (CREW) and I'm sure would appreciate your prayers.)

_____

Though Bots provided unlimited adventure, it also presented immense challenges.

I remember walking into the student center one day and seeing it filled with tents. When I asked someone what was going on, they said it was a regular HIV/Aids testing week. Botswana has the highest HIV/Aids rates in the world. My friends, their families and loved ones... this was a reality for them. 

I got extremely sick towards the end of my trip and ended up having to be rushed to the hospital. I had refused treatment for over a week because often, HIV/Aids is transferred through hospital needles. I ended up passing out and waking up with IVs in my arms. Carley was there and promised me that she saw them unwrap the needles so they were fresh, but I still had to get HIV/Aids testing to ensure that I was not infected. My one scare is an everyday reality for those living in Bots.

The extreme patriarchy in Bots also was something that I had to wrestle with every second of every day. I was burdened by my own feminism thinking, how can I continue to fight for my rights in the United States when women in Bots have basically zero rights. How can I complain of a wealth gap between women's and men's salaries in the US when there are passion killings all the time in Bots from male jealousy and the belief that it's okay because the woman is theirs.

I wrote a poem to express my inner conflict through a Biblical perpective named "Because I am a woman" and posted it about a year ago. If you care to read it, feel free to back track on my blog a bit. It's there.

I remember struggling with the rote educational system and having flashbacks to my time teaching in Rwanda. This is not a problem solely in Bots, it's on a global level. I wrote a paper in my "Ecology and Empire, Conservation Politics in Eastern Africa during the Colonial Era" course that linked the industrial revolution to colonial policies through the use of romanticism poetry and my professor was mind blown. It was the first abstract thesis that she had ever received during her time as a professor.

_____

I remember coming back to Gig Harbor and having terrible reverse culture shock.

I have never had problems going abroad. I adjust just fine to the third world lifestyle (for more on that theme, read my last blog post titled "but seriously, why the third world?"). 

Going from technology rampant, fast, and self-centered to simple, slow and genuinely caring has never been an issue. I actually crave it.

But man or man, going in the opposite direction just about kills me.

I remember trying to communicate the beauty coupled with pain that I experienced to people and only getting blank stares and belittling questions in response.

I desperately wanted someone that I could relate to.

Thankfully, Sanne reached out to me and I was understood.

I took some dried mmpani caterpillars to my mom's class and gave those kids the opportunity to eat like a Motswana.

I was able to incorporate my learned behaviors and joys into my work with youth.

But it still hurt. Whenever I go back to the states, it hurts. Loneliness in thought has become a norm.

_____

So now I sit in a coffee shop, writing instead of studying, remembering.

Bots might not be home anymore, but it will always have a piece of my heart.

Mexico might be home right now, but it won't be forever.

Mexico though, will always have a piece of my heart.

Every place I have poured myself into the lives of those around me will have a piece of my heart because a part of me will always be in the hearts of those I loved, was loved by and left.

Gig Harbor youth work.

Some students in Rwanda.

Lesotho in Botswana. 

Chapala in Mexico.

Kerry and Cris in Mexico.

Carley (pronounced Curley by locals) and I road tripping in Bots.

A few days ago outside of my church in Mexico.

Youth work in Gig Harbor with one of the best, Miss Allie.

 Youth work in Gig Harbor.

My heart is scattered around the globe and I have no qualms with that.

Know that you are loved deeply.

_____

Ventura

Gig Harbor

Fresno

Yakima

Vancouver

Panama 

Santa Catalina

San Francisco

Tacoma

Kigali

Chicago

Yelm

Gabarone

Kasane

Lapwai

Guadalajara

_____

I remember when...

but seriously, why the third world?

Every morning it takes me about an hour and a half to arrive at my university.

Sometimes, when I time the busses just right, I can manage it in an hour. But let's be honest, timing things correctly here is simply not a thing.

 

By the time I've finished my monotonous classes, the last thing I care to do is work with multiple busses during the hottest time of the day, which is conveniently rush hour.

 

Thankfully, my lovely university has set up an unofficial hitchhiking/ride sharing/carpool system.

Now, before you freak the frick out, I'm not hitchhiking on the street from random people in Mexico. Have a little faith in me.

 

There is a small round about in the entrance of ITESO and all students and faculty who park on campus must pass through the round about, after showing their credentials, in order to enter and leave the university. It is by this location that I obtain a ride home every day.
(Note above picture.)

 

I really enjoy it.

I get to meet new people, both students and faculty, and have really interesting conversation.

 

Today I, along with two other students, received rides from one of ITESO's professors.

We talked about our respective majors, how our weekends went, the weather... ya know, typical conversation until it turned into something a with a bit more depth.

 

The professor asked me about where I have traveled and when I began to tell him about my US and Canada travel working in the inner city with the homeless, my time in Panama, Rwanda, Botswana and now Mexico... He was completely puzzled.

 

"Por que el tercer mundo? Tu podrias ir a cualquier lugar que quieres..."

Why the third world? You could go anywhere you want...

 

I paused to think.

 

You see, I've always been extremely attracted to the third world lifestyle.

The sense of true community and ability to thrive in simplicity fascinates me.

The fact that friendliness is not done out of convenience but out of genuine care is beautiful and the general open armed demeanor is something the rest of the world should really take note of.

 

He nodded in a respectful manner and agreed with my conclusions.

But then he asked again

"En serio, por que el tercer mundo?"

But seriously, why the third world?

 

I paused to gather my thoughts again.

Normally that's my standard answer because it's true and satisfies people's questions.

This prof though seemed to know that there was more, or perhaps he did not believe that a young, American woman could be enamored by a life filled with community and simplicity.

 

I responded again.

I love the third world because in the third world I see the face of Christ.

 

I love the song "Signature of the Divine (Yahweh)" by Needtobreathe.

The opening line captures my sentiments pretty darn well.

 

"Cathedrals have tried in vain to show the image of your face. We are, by own design, signature the Divine."

 

It later goes on to say

 

"The fortunes of kings and queens are wasted chasing what we've seen. 'Cause we are, by your reprieve, the beauty framed by your suffering."

 

 

Those who have spent time with the outcasts, the downtrodden, the poor, the hurting, the deemed "freaks" by society, the orphans, the widows, the prostitutes, the addicts, the dealers, the families living ten people to a one room apartment, the shut ins, and the terminally ill... they'll all have to agree with me.

 

Jesus was a baller.

A total outcast.

Like, he's God, I'm pretty sure he could do whatever with whomever he wanted.

But no, he chose to kick it with women, fishermen, tax collectors, children, lepers...

 

He made killer speeches about the Kingdom of God, told stories of forgiveness and grace, flipped tables to show his fury regarding corruption in the church and side stepped cocky assholes let the children come to him.

 

I've seen the beauty that riches can provide.

Massive mansions, fast cars, political power, status, unlimited education, effortless travel, glitzy clothing, general attractiveness, tons of friends...

 

I've also seen the beauty that true joy can provide.

Widows singing praises and dancing in the face of their HIV/Aids, orphans playing with sticks in the mud but smiling as if that stick was the coolest toy in the world, families living in cardboard boxes telling bedtime stories as they cuddle together, old women scrapping up what resources they have in order to provide their entire church congregation with homemade tamales every Sunday night...

 

people who know that money is not what makes a life worth living,

people who maybe can't even identify where this feeling comes from,

people who know that this joy is not of earthly origin.

 

Holy joy,

the radiating light that shines from those who know their worth in Christ rather than status,

those thriving in the worst conditions one could imagine...

 

that's why I love the third world.

 

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the clean of heart. for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted, for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."

Matthew 5:3-12

 

 "Signature of the Divine (Yahweh)" by Needtobreathe

what more could there be?

Can we please talk about this for a moment?

Peter Pan original release date: February 5, 1953.

BOOM.

Destiny.

Most of you know, and those of you who don't clearly do not know me well enough, that my all time favorite story is that of Peter Pan.

I am in love.

I have been for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger, my love of Peter Pan was rooted in the fantasy of being whisked away to Neverland to partake in endless adventure.

And to fly, obviously.

I never closed my window, no matter the outside temperature, because I was (and still am, to be honest) waiting for Peter to take me away.

I don't need to go forever.

But come on,

Neverland!

I remember swinging on the play set in my backyard imagining that I could fly. I'd play "Wendy". That didn't last long though because Wendy is super lame. I'll give her credit for accepting the adventure in the first place. That's about it though.

I think even from a young age my extreme dislike of Wendy stemmed from the fact that Wendy is a representation of adulthood and there is no way that I'm ready for that nor do I ever want to be as seen or embrace the feeling of "old". 

Young at heart.

Forever. 

(but not in a #yoloswag type way. that's gross)

Towards the end of the story, Peter says to Wendy in response to her complaints regarding the "lackingness" of Neverland,

"I taught you to fight and to fly! What more could there be?"

Oh, Peter.

Life is so much more beautiful than fighting and flying.

There are endless possibilities when you choose to really live your life.

This is how my love of Peter Pan has shifted.

I am still completely enamored, don't get me wrong.

Peter is a child. He looks at the world with simple eyes.

He understands the difference between good and evil.

He recognizes the necessity for fun and spontaneity.

He is incredibly loyal.

He is persistent.

He loves a good story.

I want to always be like Pan.

I hope that forever I will remember to choose what is right, crave adventure, stay true, never give up and remain infatuated with story. 

To see the world through the eyes of a child,

not jaded by the hardships of life,

wholly optimistic,

fearless,

trusting,

full of laughter.

For as J.M. Barrie writes

"When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

If you have not yet read the original novel Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie, I would highly recommend that you do so. 

Now.

Return to your youth.

I challenge you to look through your eyes, how ever many years they have seen, and remember what how the world is perceived by a child.

Stay there for a while.

Soak in the beauty. 

Then, go play.

"Do you know" Peter asked "Why swallows build in the eves of houses? It is to listen to the stories."

you're that important

So it's my birthday week.

I guess that's kinda neat.

It's also my sister's birthday week.

That's neater. 

It's a bit of a bummer that our week started out with a loss.

It's okay, we'll be 12s forever.

Love you guys.

Since our birthdays last year, so much has happened in the lives of the Stelle girls.

Transitions, transitions, transitions. 

We've moved around a bit.

Madison moved from the harb to good ol' Cheeny to attend university.

I moved from Botswana to Mexico to continue my study.

(Side note, our family moved from the harb to Rocklin. Wooh.)

We have both done some relationship shifting, both in the friend circle and elsewhere.

It has been weird and uncomfortable for us both, but we're still kickin.

We're both figuring out what our role is in this big, scary world.

Madison has locked into the justice arena. She is passionate about freeing those in bondage.

I am still wandering around falling in love with culture and the people who make it.

We've both spent a fair amount of time being lonely.

It's okay though, because no matter what, we have each other.

Distance has become relative.

Letters are fun.

Texting is convenient.

Skype is a blessing.

It's funky though, without all of that, we would still be close to one another.

It's out hearts.

They're in sync.

We can sense when the other needs a call or an embarrassing selfie.

It's like we have ESPN or something.

Sisters.

But more.

Best friends.

But more.

Confidants.

But more.

Words cannot describe how thankful I am for you, Maddog.

Picture Zac Efron running and jumping around the golf course filled with angst.,, that's about the same level of feels that I have.

You're that important. 

Love you.