Remember when I said I was going to update my blog more regularly? Well, it’s been three years so I just thought I’d check in with you. Perhaps you’ve realized by now that the only time I post is when I have an update. But before I do that, you’ll have to listen to me wax-poetic for a moment.

As I come to the end of my three year stint of living in the Middle East, I’ve started to wonder what “home” means. Is home where you were born? Is it where the majority of your family live? Is it a place? Or is home a feeling? A yearning or longing? What makes us “feel at home”? Can it be a person? Is home simply belonging?

As an immigrant to Canada, these questions are never far from my consciousness. And then when you live as an immigrant-cum-expat, the construct of home becomes even more complicated. The standard expat-getting-to-know-you questions always play out like this: “where are you from?” followed right away with “how long have you been here?” and then always, “how long will you stay here before heading home?” It’s like we need this information before we can fully form an opinion about someone.

When people notice my mixed up accent the idea of home really starts to be challenged. Is my home South Africa or Canada? Some people really need to know this in order to put me in the right box in their mind. My not so favourite question is “so how do you identify, as South African or Canadian?” — as if they’re mutually exclusive! I recently went back to visit South Africa and kept referring to it as back home. Then, when I was there, I’d refer to Canada as back home until I was going to the airport to head back home to Doha. Are you starting to understand how confusing this can be for me?

When I typed “home” into google to get a proper definition there was a pop up on my phone asking if google could use my location. We are conditioned to believe that home is a place. Furthermore, that it can only be one place. If we attach this label to one place, a place in which we do not currently live, what does that mean for the present? The definition of home, according to my google search, is the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. So, then that means for the past few years I have not had a home? This can’t be.

It makes me think about all the songs and books that have been written about home. Think about all the different ways we use the word ‘home’ in our lexicon. It can be a noun, an adjective, an adverb or a verb. Homecoming. Homing missile. Homely. Home run. Home girl. Home free. Homework. Homeless. Homeward.

As I face the homestretch (forgive me!) here in Doha and I think about the new city I’ll call home in a few short months, I think I’ve decided on what home means for me — I am home. I take home with me wherever I go. It’s something that I can tap into whenever I want. It’s the memories of my childhood in Africa; it’s the feeling I get when I smell Canadian cottage country during the summer; it’s the lifelong friendships I make in each new country I move to. As J.R.R. Tolkien famously wrote, “Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread…”

For some of us, Home is not absolute. It cannot be defined. It’s both fluid and forever. Home is vast.

Talk soon,

—Kerry

P.S. My new ‘home’ for the next two years will be Guatemala City. ¡Dale!

It’s here: my last week in Vietnam. It has been such a ride. My goal when I started teaching internationally was to learn, so it seems fitting that I end this experience by summarizing some of the important things I learned here.

1. By far the thing that caused the biggest collision of emotions has been learning to drive a scooter. This is something I’d never wanted to do but since it’s a way of life here, I was forced into it despite my profound fear. Now, I’m elated every single time I jump on my scooter (did I mention it’s hot pink metallic?) and can’t fathom how I’ll live sans bike. Learning to manage the horrific traffic here (with a smile on my face) has taught me I can do almost anything.
2. I learned the value of clean air. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d never even thought about it. I mean, I knew there were places that had bad air quality but you can’t fully process the horror until you live it; the burning eyes and throat, the heavy chest, the black stuff you see when you blow your nose, the recurring chest infections. It saps your energy and it ages you. As a runner, it has been torture. For the first time in a decade I haven’t enjoyed running. When I think about the most exciting part about spending the summer in Canada, I think about how good that air is going to feel in my lungs.
3. I did a lot of traveling alone this year. It was really hard in the beginning. I love the company of others, especially when I’m having a memorable moment. However, I’ve learned to find the joy in having these memorable moments on my own. Being alone gives me the freedom to authentically be present and mindful. It’s also so much easier! I can wake up when I want, plan my day however I chose, eat when I feel like it and I don’t have to worry about whether or not my travel companions are happy. Traveling alone has become a decadent gift that I give myself.

   

4. I learned about what war can do to a country. It’s been more than four decades since the Vietnamese war came to an end, but the ramifications of that war are still felt. War alters culture; so does colonialism and communism, both of which have impacted Vietnam, but not in the same way as war. It’s hard to articulate, and I’m sure many people would argue with me, but there is a deep sadness (perhaps, weariness?) surrounding the Vietnamese people of a particular age. As a foreigner there are barriers that make it difficult to get close to Vietnamese people. Hopefully time will heal these war wounds.

   

5. I learned how to eat rice with chopsticks. I learned that ice in beer is amazing. I learned that, despite what my mother has told me, yelling “oi!!!!” at someone is a perfectly normal/polite way to get their attention (in VN you refer to people as “Em oi, Chi oi, Anh oi” depending on their age/sex so you’ll hear these phrases yelled out all day long. Kind of like the way we’d yell “excuse me!” or “Mom!!” except way more aggressively.)
6. I learned the true, real, genuine, bona fide meaning of “tropical climate”. I grew up in Africa and I’ve spent countless weeks in the Caribbean and Miami but I have never experienced heat like the heat in Vietnam. (Clearly, lesson not learned given my new location come fall.)
7.  I learned that working as an expat, in a foreign country, at a for-profit school leaves you with virtually no rights. KinderWorld Education Group, specifically Singapore International School is a multi-million dollar a year business whose focus is definitely not on education. In more than two decades of working I’ve never been treated so poorly (in fact, I waited until I was out of the country before uploading this post in case there were repercussions). It was shocking and disappointing.  I will never take for granted the basic employment protection that is standard at most, if not all, Canadian companies.
8. Finally, I learned that in order to be a really good teacher I need to be learning more than my students everyday. And as a result of this I have discovered that I am my very best self when I’m learning in a classroom filled with third graders. This was my first year teaching post graduate degree and it was such a brilliant year that I get choked up writing about it. I could spend a year writing blogs about all the things my kids have taught me. Probably, the biggest lesson I learned from them is that sometimes it’s easier to just be happy. Kids don’t hold grudges or stew in anger; they move onto something new that makes them happy. I’m looking forward to spending the summer reflecting on all these lessons and using them to become a better person and a better teacher.
   

   

Have a great summer, everyone!

-K

Having a blog to write about my own experiences seems so self-indulgent and pretentious, which is probably why I don’t update it very often. However, given that this is the last day of the year, a day in which we are encouraged to reflect, and I have to say goodbye to my family today in order to make the journey back to my new home, I thought I’d indulge myself with a very personal post. Forgive me.

As I reflect on 2015  I am filled with profound gratitude. I realize this year was a once-in-a-lifetime-year, a monumental turning point for me in so many ways. I completed a lifelong dream of furthering my education; I officially became a teacher (which still hasn’t sunk in yet); I travelled to, and eventually relocated on the other side of the earth; I learned to drive a scooter which has been the most terrifying thing I have ever attempted; I came to terms with my broken heart; I met people from all corners of the globe who have become my life lines, some of whom brought me back to life; I watched (from afar) my amazing nephew turn from an infant into a toddler and one of the most incredible human beings I’ve ever met (thanks to his parents); I delighted in watching my own parents scratch their travel itch as they explored a number of new countries and cultures. All of these incredible moments came at a price though…

I worked my azz off in order to graduate all while acquiring some impressive student loans,  and I’m still reeling from the seemingly endless culture shock of relocating to Southeast Asia. But perhaps the biggest, most gut-wrenching sacrifice during 2015 has been missing out on so many important and mundane moments in my friends’ and family’s lives; moments and time that I will never recover or get back. There’s a part of me that just wants to stay at home so I don’t miss any more. Fortunately, during this holiday break I was able to meet up with some very special people who reminded me just how remarkable my life has become; neighbours and friends who told me how much they wish they could do what I’ve had the luxury of doing this past year. And so once again I am filled with gratitude.

If you are reading this blog (thank you!) I invite, encourage, implore you to make 2016 your own turning point year. Some of you are already well on your way (Savanna & Andrea, Chantelle & Sophie) and for the rest of you, I wish you a year of new experiences…big or small. Book the trip. Take the course. Fall in (or out of) love. Order something on a menu that you can’t pronounce. Plan. Work hard. Follow through. Yearn for something new, but  be grateful for what you have. Trust me, it’s sensational.

Happy, happy, happy New Year.
-K

Watching people drive in Hanoi is a sight to behold. In some ways it is liberating to not have so many rules, but it can take frustration levels to the brink when you’re forced to expect the unexpected, all the time. Here is my top 10 why reasons you should come to Hanoi and drive a motorbike:

10. You can go wherever you want with your motorbike; sidewalks, streets, alleys, markets, it’s even customary to drive your bike right into your own living room.

9. You can drive against traffic (this includes, but not limited to, roundabouts). Let’s face it, sometimes this just makes life easier.

8. Red lights are completely optional on a motorbike. They are merely a suggestion. Feel free to honk your horn and drive right on through! In fact, most traffic violations are completely forgivable if they’re prefaced by honking your horn.

7. In a traffic jam you can push  and squeeze yourself in between cars and other motorbikes in order to deepen your position within said traffic jam…very effective.

6. You can carry ANYTHING on your motorbike: mattresses, trees, sheets of glass, multiple kegs of bia hoi, dead pigs, alive pigs, three children and your husband…check, check check! It CAN be done.

5. It’s such a great way to catch up with friends! It’s customary to drive alongside your friends (on a narrow road), travel at the same (low) speed and chat about life. No need to worry about clogging traffic. Vietnamese people are very patient.

4. Riding your motorbike provides a great opportunity to read your emails or send those text messages that you hadn’t had time to do earlier. After all, when you can accelerate and brake with one hand what’s the other hand supposed to do?

3. As a foreigner, riding your motorbike during the day is a great and efficient way to work on your suntan. However, as a Vietnamese woman it’s necessary to cover up. Everything. This requires a special riding outfit that involves significant effort each time you venture out: a wraparound ankle-length skirt, a long-sleeved jacket that covers one’s hands and includes a hood, a mouth mask, sunglasses and helmet.

2. IT’S CHEAP! It costs between $3-5 for a full tank of gas. I fill up every two weeks or so.

1. Come to Hanoi and ride a motorbike because absolutely nothing beats the feeling of freedom when you’re driving at nighttime with the warm air in your face, marvelling at the brilliant city lights as they surround you, smelling street food and hearing the sounds of the city. You’re right in it. You’re living it. You feel alive. #RideOn

Hai Phong is a sprawling, flat, port city in Northern Vietnam. Although it is the third largest city in Vietnam, it is not the kind of place a tourist would likely visit. This is a both a blessing and a curse – it allows the foreigners living here to have a truly authentic Vietnamese experience but it doesn’t cater to westerners/tourists, so there can be some cultural difficulties.

These cultural ‘difficulties’ or differences are why I wanted to travel and live abroad because they force you to critique your own culture and lifestyle. While there are some things that I will never get used to, like the lack of toilet paper and zero respect for personal space, there are other things that I believe are worth exploring. For example, the food culture is something we lack in North America…

Most people eat out daily because the food is good and cheap. Street stalls or vendors usually specialize in one or two main dishes so you can walk the streets searching to satisfy your particular craving and enjoy a meal or a drink for about $1 – breakfast, lunch or dinner! Why don’t we do this more in North America? It makes perfect economic sense by providing jobs; it reduces food waste – vendors sell until there is nothing left; it fosters much healthier eating because although the food is quick and accessible, it isn’t traditional fast-food, rather it’s a regional dish prepared with fresh ingredients that day.

Finally, when I’m sitting at a street vendor, on a miniature plastic stool, devouring something delicious and unpronounceable with a group of strangers, I feel a sense of community and belonging – something I don’t often feel in North America. The food culture in Vietnam makes you feel like you are never alone.

–K

How can I even begin to describe my first two weeks in Vietnam? Well, for starters I should apologize for not updating my blog. The days just seem to fly by; between training, planning for my classes and meeting over 150 new students time has evaporated and I’ve fallen woefully short of my goal to post weekly updates. Better late than never…

I arrived in hot and humid Hanoi amazingly well rested from my long plane ride. I managed to meet up with a fellow Apollo teacher from D.C. in the Visa line at the airport; the school had arranged our overnight stay in Hanoi and our transportation to Hai Phong the following day, so it was great to connect so early on. We dumped our bags at the hotel and hit the vibrant streets of Hanoi. I had my first Bahn Mi, which is a Vietnamese sandwich on a type of light, french baguette (there are remnants of French culture throughout Vietnam) usually filled with pate, fried egg, sliced cucumbers and carrots, although there are endless variations depending where you go. I also enjoyed my first beer (pronounced Bia)…the Vietnamese love their fresh beer made daily (Bia Hoi) and served everywhere for fifty cents to one dollar a glass.

We walked through the old quarter, made our way to the West Lake, veered into interesting alleyways, found markets of every description (food, fabric, meat etc.), stopped for coffee (and more bia) and visited a lakeside temple.

Hanoi is an assault on the senses – there are strange and wonderful smells; the air is filled with the sounds of honking horns and scooters; there are lush trees and flowers everywhere; the buildings are a fusion between colonial charm and mystical Asia; the food is beyond description – fresh, vibrant, balanced (and cheap!). In short, my first 24 hours in Asia is something that I will never forget. My love affair with Hanoi has only just begun…

Bittersweet. The meaning of this word is implicit in it’s simplicity. However, when I looked up the definition I found a description that illustrates the complexity of this adjective — “pleasure alloyed with pain.” Really, how can something be pleasurable and painful at the same time? Well, this is where I find myself today…

After the most gruelling and difficult year of my life (both personally and professionally), I’m finally graduating. I’d only daydreamed about going back to school to do a Master’s degree and never imagined it would ever come true, nor what a humbling experience it would be to become a student at age 37! However, with the support of some incredible people (my fellow cohorts) and my beloved parents, I’ve achieved my wildest and sweetest dream. Not only that,  I’m about to begin an adventure that I also never dreamed possible; I’ll be spending three months in Haiphong, Vietnam and then two years in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

As my Dad keeps reminding me, “this is an end of an era.” While I celebrate this accomplishment I’m also very aware of the painful goodbyes that will be taking place over the next couple of days. Saying goodbye to my parents, my baby nephew and the rest of my family and friends will be even more  bitter and painful than the first time I moved away, because this time I’m acutely aware of how difficult it is to exist without them.

There has never been a more bittersweet moment in my life; the pleasure is alloyed with pain.

-K

PS: Next post…Vietnam! (Whaaaat?)