Life in a Comic Strip

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Faka-Malo, Illustrated

Though I begrudgingly biked to work, tempted to call in sick so I could celebrate Thanksgiving faka-America, I feel like being faka-cheesy in writing some little snippets on things I’m glad to have in my life. And since I’ll be in Clean Life in 19 days, I’m writing just as many thankfuls. Hopefully the illustrations will keep this from being as excruciating as those sappy inspirational novels.
*Please note that these aren't particularly in order of importance. Except for #1. And #4, too.
#19: The unbelievable friendships I’ve made here totally rock my socks. So when I can’t wear boots, I love rockin’ socks.

#18: The technologically communicative world. Luckily, I’m in an age where most PCVs have cell phones (we were provided with one) and access to internet. Even more luckily, I have internet at work. Thank God I can keep in touch with my family!
#17: I’m thankful Cat can maneuver herself out of my walls. Since I’ve made her an outdoor cat, she instantly climbs up my screen door, into my roof, and meanders across my ceiling and down my walls to centralize her obnoxious meowing into none other than my bedroom. When I realized she might be stuck, my first thought was, “Great. Now she’ll die and it’s a stinky mess I won’t be able to clean up.” I’m such a great mom.

#16: The diversity I’ve encountered in Tonga has helped me to grow leaps and bounds. Even outside the diverse realm of Peace Corps, I’ve made friends of various backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, yada yada. This is the best way I’ve adopted acceptance into my character. Acceptance is probably my favorite virtue.
#15: Though I’m trying my best to know what goes on in the world and in the MotherLand, I am overwhelmingly thankful to live away from the foul political mess in the States. Maybe Tonga’s government is slightly corrupt, and maybe democracy will take a long time, but the campaigning bandwagon BS is a sliver of a fingernail compared to the big, strangling hand of American politics

#14: I’ve never been much of a fish despite my astrological sign, but the sea has been one of the biggest spiritual-inducers for me. I look into that big sashaying mass of depth, mystery and moods, and I just feel how wonderful God is. Every day I appreciate the power of creativity more and more.
#13: Sprite. Imported from Fiji, it’s made with real sugar and not corn starch! Woohoooo!

#12: Polynesian music and vocal harmonies. You’ve never heard anything like it—I promise.
#11: The Peace Corps staff is one of the friendliest groups of people I’ve ever met. Despite all my brain lapses (like forgetting paperwork), mishaps (falling while on a hike thus hurting my arm), and misfortunes (stupid lice), they’ve been nothing but a fun-loving, laid-back family.
#10: I have never been more proud or reminiscent of my Kentucky culture. When I have a vocal slip into countrified speech or southern colloquialisms, rather than covering my mouth, I just ‘grin like a ‘possum’ and say, “That’s right. I said it!” (*Note: grin like a ‘possum is a Teddy quote. He’s my dad )

#9: Praise be to Sisu that I’ve yet to get creamed by a motor vehicle while I’m riding my rickety bicycle that is slowly falling apart.
#8: I’ve never been more surrounded by positive, confident, powerful, lovely women. I recently had an epiphany that it was time I owned my womanhood, and these women help me embrace that.
#7: Government-provided health insurance. Best use it while it lasts!
#6: Living in ‘Eua for 7 months was one of the biggest growth experiences for me—I matured many moons by enduring hardships (and celebrating victories) in an outer village. Running water wasn’t the most consistent of amenities and I didn’t have a running toilet, but there I realized that my service here wasn’t about martyrdom. It was about relationships. People. Communication. Patience. Going with what I’m given.
#5: Voices. You know when you’ve moved into your own apartment or maybe you’re on a short holiday but you don’t feel well or have had a bad day? Sometimes to get out of that pit, all you need is a voice. On a lighter note, my entire family is notorious for impersonations…oh, how I miss my brother’s “Harry Carey”, my dad’s “Cookie Monster”, my mom’s late-night-slap-happy fit of giggles, my sister’s motivational speaking abilities, and the adorable, squeaky sopranos of my two nieces.

#4: Peanut Butter.

#3: Life options. I’m a single female in her early 20’s and I’m living on an island. For my next adventure, I could be a hippie in Portland, do grad school in Wyoming (huh?), tutor in Italy, meander through Southeast Asia where I’d meet the love of my life and get happily plump on awesome food, or write myself into insane and slightly self-centered oblivion. Yay opportunities!
#2: Music. The richness, the variety, the way it calls to my inner shreds of being beyond human. I’m often skeptical about praying (in a traditional sense,) and music has given me the conversational ability to express what I need and to enjoy the artwork of others.
#1: My family has done everything they can to get me home, never wavering in enthusiasm and determination. That is definitely the most beautiful gift this year. Love is brilliant.
So now that you’ve finished my cheese-fest, spread it around. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, eat yourself to a divine stupor, hold the hands of people you’d otherwise long for, embrace the opportunity to relax with family, and don’t even think about Black Friday shopping until the turkey, the cranberry sauce, the mashed potatoes, and all the pumpkin pies are only to be remembered by your grateful stomach or an occasional, sneaking burp.

The Apples of my Eye: Boots, Coconuts, Boots...

I’m coming to realize how little I write about Tongan culture. Living in the capital, things are much more westernized than outer villages or other islands. I live in what could be considered a neighborhood, but I don’t really talk to my neighbors.
Anyway, this whole no-culture realization came this morning when I realized I wanted to blog about how excited I am to wear boots when I’m home for the holidays.
Who blogs about wearing boots?

Okay, maybe it’s acceptable because my feet are definitely getting flatter from wearing flip-flops 24/7, and my eager feet are itching to be fully surrounded by warm, fun structures, but still.

So before I spiel about the holidays, my excitement, my countdown for going home, and my boot addiction (and no, not the shiny devil’s-pitchfork type), I will recant 3 cultural observations and/or stories I’ve experienced in my 13 ½ months of service.
1. Tapa. This is one of the biggest Tongan/Polynesian crafts that can bring in generous income. In ‘Eua (and sometimes even here) I’d wake up to a thwack, thwack, thwack at between 6:30-7am. The first two weeks in my tiny village, I assumed someone was building a house until the weeks turned into months. I finally got curious and asked Vea, my papaya-jam-making maestro, to teach me how to make tapa. The process is quite long, vigorous and tiring, but my role was with tutu, where tree bark (after soaking) is beaten with a thick, square-shaped mallet. The mallet has indentions to help widen the fibrous mark into a mat-like material. Then, the ladies make a root-crop paste to attach the strips of newly-beaten fabric together. After the tapa dries, women use natural dyes (reds, browns, and black) to paint traditional Tongan designs for any occasion. These are often presented at weddings, funerals, departures, etc. And much to my delight, I recently met an 80-year-old woman who only speaks Tongan and will let me help her with tapa! Yay!

2. Carving is another beautiful craft here. From war mallets to huge Polynesian sculptures, many wood- and bone-carvers are quite successful here. I’m not a jewelry person, but I will bear Christmas gifts of awesomely-carved things!
3. The coconut is the most fruitful of trees. Ever. A coconut tree is good for everything! You can build a traditional house, weave baskets and hats (and even a porch!), make a broom, you have a never-ending supply of pig food (they love old coconut husks), and, most importantly, a coconut is the most satisfying beverage you’ll ever have. Ever. In the whole wide world!

I suppose the capital has caused me to become spoiled in all things Peace Corps. I have internet at work, I live close to the office/town, I have access to everything I need, and my friends are close. But just as I often forget the beauty of rolling, Kentucky hills, I also forget the greatness of Tongan culture.
So as I’m rocking my boots back in Clean Life in supermarkets, restaurants, or even my own bed (I may even sleep in them…I just love boots,) in my 3-week separation from all things Tonga, perhaps I’ll miss something from here. The sea breeze, Cat, the ease of transportation, the proximity of friends, the absence of the 2012 elections, and the many foods that can be made with coconut.

'If the world was perfect, it wouldn't be." --Yogi Berra

Lately I’ve been highly reminiscent of baseball. It’s been sunny and breezy the last few days, and I miss the smell of broken-in leather. I miss playing catch or even tossing under-hand to remember how good it feels to rekindle my flame of pitching. Well, until my shoulder catches on fire, my elbow gets shooting pains, and my hand goes numb. One of those love-hate relationships, I suppose.

Starting this past weekend, a large chunk of Group 75 bid farewell to the Kingdom and returned to Clean Life. This week, I’ll say goodbye to 2 more; next week, 3(ish) more, and on and on until I leave for a 3-week Christmas holiday with my family and return with only the remnants of the faithful Group 76.
But I keep remembering my first two months in this country. We 76’ers basked in the beachy glory of Ha’apai, greeted by 4 anxious (and at first, we thought slightly crazy) volunteers who hadn’t had much Palangi interaction in what seemed a while. Their excitement to see us was astounding—they had already read our resumes, stalked our Facebooks, browsed through our pictures… (desperate much?)

But now, 13 ½ months in and with no new group this year, I understand. Group 75 said it was nice to have new faces, new characters, new ideas; and all this brought back motivation to be a successful volunteer.
Our predecessors were overly-enthusiastic to share ideas, details, advice, and creative tips like how to explain Bloom’s taxonomy via sea metaphors.

Even with the exhaustive levels of understanding (from pre-school activities to educational methodology,) a combination of excitement and motivation from both the PC staff and volunteers created a wonderful, positive environment for us newbies. Our group 76 dynamic was pretty amazing (we couldn’t be more relaxed or open with one another,) and that alone solicited praise and excitement from PC Tonga. Now, I still feel that group bond, but the combination of island fever, separation, and sadness from seeing my friends leave makes me feel far from motivated.


I’m currently three weeks away from good ol’ Kentucky and I’m banking on THAT to be my motivation. Many of us are winding down the year with stagnant jobs or school days cut short; we’re making plans for the holidays and buying Christmas presents for our families, but until our own short departures, we’re all waiting in the dugout, punching the familiarities of our gloves, eyeing the bats with hopeful wonder, and cheering on our teammates who finally get to go up and take a swing.

I Put the Bla in Blasé

Clearly, it's been a rainy few days. Let me make clear that I LOVE the rain--in my world, rain trumps sunshine any day unless I'm doing laundry or have an amazing hair-day. (Nah, omit that last part. Even on an amazing hair-day I love rain. Though laundry is serious business.)
So I've embraced the start of the rainy/cyclone season by absorbing the weather mood and adopting it as my own.
This means: I only want to sleep, watch movies, read books, drink coffee, and cuddle with my cat. Except for my cat smells like 7 different levels of death and is covered in fleas.
Cat now hates the shower--not only has it also slightly flooded due to the outside water elevation (seriously), but I gave her an intense bath last night and doused her in flea treatment. She was NOT a purring, happy kitty. She became a shivering, wiggling, ball of stink that smelled like Oil-Spill casualties meets the Garden of Eden. (Or dead fish+Herbal Essences. Same thing.)

Sure, she's still adorable and teeny, but after work, when I want to collapse on my 70s retro couch and watch something while cuddling my cup of coffee, I have to mop. EVERY DAY. I wipe up her poop, mop the floor(s), feed her, and bitterly wish I could never smell that god-awful stench of feline waste.

I just want to enjoy this rain. Sigh.

As Long As There's a Tango

The gruff, angry voice of the Unconscious Argentenian from Moulin Rouge is in my ears; accompanying him are weeping, hasty violins that cut through your nerves with hot precision. Cellos or the next size bigger (always forget...stand up bass? I'm terrible) are swooping across in a dramatic VROOMP of fashion. Then pause. A violon quietly finagles over the strings, then chaos, dissonance, shrill, sharp notes with a building backdrop of emotional strings... and Ewan McGregor BELTS his emotional turmoil into the empty street, the balcony where his love is standing and suffering beneath disgusting hands of a sugar daddy.

I just took the biggest deep breath/sigh combination of my LIFE.
I've been listening to this soundtrack for an hour now and I cannot stop THINKING about musicals. Last night my friend Stephanie, who went to college in NY, was telling me about her plethora of attended musicals on and off-Broadway, and I just melted into a musical trance of wishful thinking.
From age 4, while turning cartwheels and singing Whitney Houston down our small hallway, I felt an affinity with music. Even now, nearing 20 years later, you've only experienced the true Jamie if you've had a conversation in which I've sang at least one sentence. I sing to everything, with everything. If I don't have a handy bottle, brush, or spatula, an arm/hand/foot will suffice for a makeshift microphone.

Throughout daily life, musical pieces often fill my mind with relevant circumstances.
In order to recover from a rut of low self-esteem or feelings of inadequacy, my go-to number is "Confidence" from The Sound of Music.

When I smart off to a cheeky Tongan via a surprising criticism in the Tongan language, "He Had It Comin'/The Cell Block Tango'" from Chicago pops into my brain, along with sexy Catherine Zeta Jones and her red-lipsticked snarl.
Since romance isn't much of a staple in my life, I find myself singing "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret anytime I'm cooking. I sing it A LOT. I'm not sure why. But here is the link from the movie, a young Liza Minnelli.

When any trait of defiance, hippiness, strong independence, resistence, rebelliousness, etc. triumph in my life, "La Vie Bohem" (Rent...did you even have to ask?) leads me finding a big, long table to march over, philosophizing about Nietzche while demanding equality, AIDS awareness, and...."WINE AND BEER!"

In my once-rare but now-consistent sappy/sentimental mood, "People Will Say We're In Love" from Oklahoma has me digging through my computer for Frank's version. Sigh.
In my spurts of Southernisms and missing home, "Man of Constant Sorrow" from 'O Brother Where Art Thou? is a MUST. "I bid farewell to old Kentucky, the place where IIIIIIIIIIIII was born and raised." That's right!

I need a musical in my life. In fact, I'm contemplating if a musical can be written in an impatient sense of boredom with a lone ukulele.
Now I need a title. I hear South Pacific's already taken. (Scoff.) Rodgers and Hammerstein. Stupid posers.

Out-of-Townie

Since the middle/end of July, I've encountered a great increase of goods and services. There's a large veggie market with a wonderful assortment of colorful musts; there are big stores with big things in them; there are bakeries and ice cream shops; there's a laundromat, to which I take my towels and sheets because they're nearly impossible to hand wash with efficiency. There are also nearly-endless supplies of pesticide and rat poison.

Despite the advantages of being a townie, it is louder than a rock-eating lawn mower, full of Palangi-fied Tongans, and adorned with kids and adults that ask, "One dolla? Two dolla?"
This weekend I dedicated to being anti-social and anti-townie. I went to Kaitlin's village for bestie time and to get a break from barking dogs, construction trucks, roosters, and temptation to spend money.
So I woke up, gathered some necessities at the market (i.e. veggies and Cream Cheese icing from the American store), and biked my way to the village, which is normally a 20-25 minute bikeride for Kaitlin.

Well, 1.) I'm not so good of a biker. 2.) These bikes suck. 3.) My tires are nearly flat, so...4.) It took me forEVER. At one point, my 91-year-old arthritic grandmother could've tip-toed past and I'd have eaten her dust.

Most of the ride, the wind would annoy me with all its force, then the road would get super bumpy and crazy, then I'd just be tired, which made me feel lazy and out of shape, which made me mad, which made me pedal faster, which rebirthed a new cycle of a bad mood.
But luckily I can't be in a bad mood around Kaitlin, so once I got there and stripped down to as little clothing as possible while being appropriate inside a house, we were lazy as sin. Gradually we decided to start preparing food for dinner that night for us and two friends.

The dinner sent us into a food coma, then a food hangover, but as we were moseying through the kitchen to prepare everything, Kaitlin suddenly screamed, "OHHHHHHHH God! WHY? WHY?!!"
"Why what? What's wrong?"
"There's a MOLOKAU! It's the second one this WEEK! Oh God, where did it GO??!!!"

"Do you have scissors? A knife? Anything sharp?"
"Scissors? Why Scissors?"
"To cut off the head."
"Ew." (pause) "Well, I have kitchen knives...which we're currently using."
"Nah, no kitchen knives, that seems gross."
"I have a hammer."
"That's potentially good."
She hands me the hammer, then goes to her classroom next door to search for her scissors. This was quite convenient, since the rust-colored molokau decided to slither and crawl its way across the kitchen floor in her absence.
A word about molokaus: they're fast little shits, and they're aggressive. So when it realized the hammer was coming from me, it darted toward me , which gave me a head-on advantage to smash the thing to pieces, which also left its guts (and a few dents, from my misses) all over the floor.

Kaitlin came in, saying, "Did you kill it?!"
"Yup, it's kinda smashed everywhere and its body's still squirming, but the head's off."
Kaitlin did one of those gross-shivery dances, saying how glad she was that not only was I here, but that I didn't freak out about molokaus like she did.
But she hasn't seem me around rats, either.

Ohhhh, relaxation. :)

It's Me, It's Me, the Worker-Bee

Bike through stupid traffic, avoiding overanxious flat-bed trucks and stupid buses.

Set up computer, turn on lights and box AC. Bossman could really use my skill-set.

Check email, stalk Facebook, download the latest Glee episode (takes 400 years), watch all Sassy Gay Friend snippets. Check email again. Facebook again. See if someone will talk to me on Skype.


Clock cannot move slower. Watch some movie trailer, download ukulele chords, read other blogs and the Huffington Post.




Ohhh, to be the only lonely Palangi.