Dumpster Diva

I think dumpster diving should be considered one of the love languages. For me, dumpster diving is a way of showing myself that I love myself so much and want to stay true to my thrifty side, that I am willing to rummage through stinky trash in hopes of a rare treasure of a bookshelf, old chair, table, or maybe even the occasional musical instrument. It can also be a way we show we care about others. Today in the trash, I found a (very ugly, but practical) table for a friend. It was heavier and dirtier than anticipated, but I eventually got it home. I bet if Jesus lived in an apartment, he would dumpster dive.

My pastor talked about love today. Love is Jesus' biggest message. Even with the most difficult and complicated problems, it should be easy to act if we can just remember everything boils down to love. A Christian school principal from Kenya said that the two rules for his students is 1. love for God 2. love for people. If his students can remember those, everything else falls into place. It would be really great if the rest of the world could act under such simple rules. The problem is that we don't remember. We forget so quickly how lucky we are to be loved so much. We forget that everyone around us should feel our love too. A man from my school returned from a mission trip to Borneo. He said, 'It's not enough to write a check and say a prayer.' He meant that you have to show up and show them who God is through your love. The monkeys in Bali managed to show more love to one another than I usually show to most people, much less to God! Argh. I am quite a disappointment at times.

Many Balinese are Hindu and have various rituals to honor their god. One of these is to bathe in a holy spring. Each spout has a different purpose; to cleanse their soul, heart, mind, body, brain? At any rate, by the time they're done, they're pretty much wrinkly raisins. Its kind of like the water park in Wisconsin Dells. Everyone goes there for some water fun and relaxation! You can also see the offerings made at each water spout; offerings of flowers, money, incense, and rice. Apparently rice is the food choice of gods. If I were a god, I'd at least request some Oreos or cheesecake. Come on Bali, Santa gets better treats.

Bali reminded me that I don't need to give anything to God other than my heart. Everything else will fall into place after that. No ritual, no amount of holy water, no offering, will unlock the love He has for me - it's already there on the table, with a side of kimchi, ready for me to dig in. I just have to show up and eat.

On an island in the sun...you "none meatly lover"

"Men and Women's Cutting Room"...You might think this is a place for self mutilation or perhaps a place where men and women can do arts and crafts, cutting out snowflakes and the like. You would be wrong. Its a hair salon near my apartment, at least that is my hope every time I walk by this place and giggle. It never seems to get old. Fortunately for me, Bali, much like Korea, has difficulty with the English language, so I was able to get my laugh on every day. I especially liked the notes at temples stating that menstruating women were not allowed to enter. How you gonna enforce that one!? Hahaha!

Bali was incredibly beautiful, warm, and welcoming. I woke up the first day staring into the roof of my mosquito net. When I remembered where I was, I squealed with excitement and scurried down the steps of my elevated hut out into the jungle of palm trees and fun that was awaiting. I ate so much fresh fruit I could have turned into a mango. It's amazing how much more alive I felt while I was there. Maybe it was the sun, the ocean, the vitamin C, or maybe it was the escape from any real responsibilities. Whatever it was, I felt really alive. My sunburn also reminded me that I am very much alive. Crap. Equator rookie.

A swim in the ocean is also another way for one to feel alive. I was enjoying an ocean swim with Lily, the daughter of the owner of our home stay, (Lily is 5 and a peach. She brushed my hair my first morning in Bali) when some waves knocked me over (and over and over) on some very unforgiving rocks. I'm still alive. Another crap! Ocean rookie.

Once I had the sun and rocks figured out, the last thing to learn was how to bargain in the market. My friend Emily has this down to an art, or maybe even a science. She offers the most obscenely low price, they laugh and counter, she yells the same price, they continue to laugh, she yells even louder and will not stop until they either kick her out of their area or give her the item for that price. One particular bargain was with 2 women over a straw bag. Emily got it for something like 2 dollars. They turned to me and sweetly laughed "1,000 for drink?" which meant, "Can you give me 10 cents for a drink because this lady is CRAZY!" I don't think they knew what had hit them.

Rosa was less than amused that I had been gone so long. Apparently she hid under the sink every time my high school neighbor Abby came to feed her. She reappeared after 10 minutes of my return home and has not left my side since. She thinks its funny to lay on my head or chest when I'm trying to sleep and recover from vacation. I think I caught some Balinese flu or something. Or maybe its the lack of ocean, sun, and green that is making me sick. We'll see if it gets better or if I have to go to somewhere tropical again to feel alive. For now, I'll enjoy my new Indonesian music, decorations, and suntan. "No problem!" (this is the Balinese phrase for absolutely everything).