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Settling Into Mongolia’s Modern Capital | #66 | November 2022

These events occurred when I’d been back in Mongolia for about a month. Some oddities of the culture shock had worn off by then, so I could get in more of a rhythm. After I got back from Kharhorin, plenty enough happened. This entry recounts the seedlings of adventures that would become new norms in my second year of Peace Corps service. 

Transition

The Sunday, November 13, 2O22, which kicked off my Week 5, was fairly mundane. I attended English and Chinese Mass at my local St. Thomas Aquinas parish, practiced more people's names, met some of the parishioners’ kids then returned to my apartment. It was a good morning. 

Then in my apartment, I spent the afternoon and evening writing. My main counterpart visited to drop off a considerable portion of the countryside meat, since our return to UB the night before. It was kind of wild to think that I had seen that animal walking just a couple days before. That Sunday, though, I had three articles I intended to finish. By 2 a.m., I had two pretty well drafted. The third was still some time coming. But finishing would have to wait. 

New Projects, Familiar Faces

Tuesday, November 15, 2O22, I co-facilitated my first community English speaking club since my time in Erdenet. It was with the Volunteer Center of Mongolia, alongside my fellow M3O, Eric. Earlier that day, the two of us had visited the UNFP at the United Nations building. Eric and I had the interesting task of visiting local nonprofits and NGOs in preparation to report back to the new M3I Peace Corps Mongolia Trainees.

On a special note, one of the attendees of that speaking club was one of my former English/Chinese students from the 2OI9 group of international relations sophomores I’d taught back at the National University of Mongolia, Erdenet School. She had since graduated this spring 2O22, after having moved to UB. Having her as a facilitator for our speaking group felt so touching. 

After Tuesday evening’s speaking club, I dropped by a small place on the west side of the square called the EscoBar. It’s where the public English “UB Quiz Night” was going down. Participants could pay a slight fee to join in for the chance to win the money if their table group won. (And if their team won second place, they were responsible for setting up the following week’s quiz.) Dropping by, I remembered how in Reno, Nevada, church friends from Newman would also participate in bar trivia outside town. On one such occasion I’d driven out to participate though I skipped the drinks.

The next afternoon, Wednesday, November 16, my main coworker and I taught our first seminar together! It was a citywide English methodology workshop hosted at a local secondary school, #48, near our office. I learned these monthly seminars would be a regular feature of my assignment to our city’s department of education. During the workshop, when I wasn’t presenting, I was noting unfamiliar Mongolian words and translating them with my dictionary. Some teachers got some cool photos and videos of me presenting! My first workshop was about how to reach Gen Z, which related to my Springtide Ambassador Program work. Apparently my being single was also an interesting tidbit to some in the room, too.

Volunteer Opportunities and Reunions

The next morning, Thursday, November 17, fellow M3O Eric and I embarked on a trip to Special Olympics Mongolia, the site of one of our M28 predecessors who’d stayed on back in 2OI9 to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader (PCVL). With the PCVLs having evacuated with the rest of us, their former sites were now potential NGOs with whom we could serve. Special Olympics specifically had a special partnership with the Peace Corps thanks to the Shrivers. 

Perhaps of the most special importance was an introduction to the American Corner. On Tuesday night, I’d also met at the Volunteer Center of Mongolia a volunteer who’d done projects in the city library, Duka. That afternoon I came by the uncannily familiar library. I would recognize this was one of many locations in UB I had visited only once yet significantly nonetheless. It was the site of the filmmakers’ December 2OI9 talk before my Christmas return to America that year. 

At the American Corner, the student volunteer Duka introduced me to their program coordinator, Ari. From there, I got an overview of the center’s programs and needs. In Peace Corps lingo, we call this the needs assessment. I decided to help on their children’s speaking club and writing workshops. A children’s speaking club was among my Erdenet projects before, and writing was my specialty. I also met fellow Americans, such as those who came to Mongolia on the current cohort of Fulbrighters. I heard of more, too! My network rapidly expanded. 

I at last got my schedule to work so that I could meet a dear ol’ friend. And my, what a meeting! We shared what felt for me like the finest meal I'd had since the time our Peace Corps Country Director had come to visit my sitemates and me just over three years before, Nov. 3, 2OI9, in Erdenet. Even the drinks were great! We reminisced about my days when I was first in Mongolia and he’d visited me at my old site. He shared more too about his professional background and work since the pandemic unfolded. We resolved to meet again so he could introduce me to program partners. It was a pleasant night. 

Projects Beginning

That Friday, November 18, 2O22, marked the one-month anniversary since my return to Mongolia. 

In fun resourcefulness news, I unlocked a door using scissors! It was during a visit to Beautiful Hearts, another previous Peace Corps Volunteer Leader (PCVL) site. I certainly appreciated this organization's service and hoped there was something Eric and I could do to carry on the Peace Corps partnership with them. At least a few of our M3I Trainees had social work backgrounds, too! Baigalmaa would be our main contact there. Another staff member there also mentioned I could get some tasty Chinese food from a restaurant near my office. 

That afternoon I returned to the American Corner to begin as a co-facilitator to its children’s speaking club. In typical Peace Corps Mongolia fashion, I wondered if they played a prank on me, for when I got there, no one was around. Then people arrived. It made for a good laugh in the group chat. 

I felt that the co-facilitator was a lovely presider. She gave me the grade school teacher vibe by how she smiled at the children and exuded what felt to me as though serene patience. I was quite literally passed the mic, so I took the floor. That was a fun moment. 

Afterward, we strolled amid the flurries back toward the square. She was studying at university to become an English teacher, so I felt glad that she was working on our program. Then I continued my new Mongolian language classes with the friend Adonis. Turns out his lessons were in the same building as the Special Olympics office. So many places related! 

Weekend All Across Town

Saturday, November 19 was Day 3 at the American Corner, then back to the cathedral. That morning a few of the M3I Trainees arrived with me to the public English speaking club. After it began transitioning to its Toastmasters time, that’s when I took off early to catch a bus east to Ofitser, where the cathedral was near. 

At the cathedral, we rehearsed with the music ministry and celebrated with children the vigil Mass ahead of the next day’s Christ the King Sunday. I then received a ride from the cathedral to the Shangri-La, where we had the theatre. Unfortunately, just in front of the Star Apartments area (very close to the Shangri-La), we had a somewhat scary moment when our car wound up scraped with another. So I and a friend got out of the car and walked the remainder to the theater. 

That night, a group of new Peace Corps Trainees and us saw the new “Black Panther.” I missed the introduction. But later reading, I discovered that it was as I expected: Chadwick Boseman’s real passing was referenced similarly by characters in the film as T’Challa’s passing. I found the film otherwise moody in the right ways. For it dealt with questions of colonialism while introducing a mutant of incredible power and decent charisma even if too headstrong. I also appreciated how they worked in the MIT character, for it reminded me of wandering the campus just a few months earlier, in September. I looked forward to seeing what Marvel Studios would do with her story. 

Sunday, November 2O, 2O22, I returned to the cathedral for Christ the King Sunday, the last day of the church year. After singing with the choir, I ventured to a far side of town to a large bookstore called Azkhur. I came for an Autism Association of Mongolia volunteer training alongside M3O Eric, our Beautiful Hearts contact Baigalmaa and our friend from the Volunteer Center of Mongolia, Tsevelmaa. I enjoyed how our networking was already benefitting other organizations. 

School Visits and New Encounters

Monday, I embarked on multiple school visits alongside my counterparts. We traveled to the 72nd, 50th and 5th Schools that day, primarily within the Chingeltei district. When introduced to English teachers, I did short needs assessments with their departments, sometimes even observed classes and gave teaching methodology advice to help address needs. Such school visits would become part of my main routines. 

The next morning was the Feast of St. Cecelia. That morning, M3O Eric and I stopped by the Red Cross to learn more about its volunteer activities. That evening, he and I returned to the Edu-Volunteers’ English speaking club. That night, I returned to the American Corner to meet the American facilitator Nick of its remaining writers’ workshop. He taught me about what’s worked in his workshop and needs still to meet. 

To wrap up Tuesday night, I headed with Nick to the 976 restaurant to experience another place where fellow international folks like to go, salsa night. It was a packed evening full of energetic folks hitting the floor every few minutes for salsa, bachata and kizomba. And after some time I eventually met the American for whom we were looking, Audrey. She was such a positive, peppy woman. It was nice to know another American associated with the Fulbright, too! 

The U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia

Wednesday morning was an exciting time, for the new U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia, Mr. Michael Klecheski’s successor, would meet us Peace Corps folks. I needed some more vaccinations first from Medical, then it was time for the meet-up. That morning we returned to the community center of Star Apartments, where we’d celebrated Hallowe’en. This time the center was more plainly adorned. There we met the Ambassador, Mr. Richard Buangan, such a warm fellow. 

Given that he was only the second ambassador I’d met, I naturally found myself comparing what I remembered of our 2OI9 ambassador and our current. Both were friendly and informed men. Though, I supposed I related better to Mr. Buangan’s interest in media and his Filipino descent, which reminded me of my tita. I hadn’t realized journalism in Mongolia had such challenges, yet that greatly interested me. It was wonderful to hear too he was so supportive of us Peace Corps folks. I wondered if someday I could become a U.S. ambassador. 

For lunch I dropped by the Chinese restaurant mentioned to us the Friday before at Beautiful Hearts. It was admittedly alright. I wasn’t sure how regularly I’d want to come but at least the prices were nice. After that I headed back to the department office to work through the afternoon. 

Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday Eve

That evening, Trainees and I assembled at a Starbucks-like Tom N Toms coffee shop in an office building downtown to co-plan our next big operation to occur on Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday, coinciding with Thanksgiving. We divvied up who would do what during our American cultural component of the presentation. I found it a bit ironic to get saddled with the Southwest despite feeling personally more like a Midwesterner. Nonetheless, the “Wild West” was a more iconic part of our nation and one that my Vegas experiences certainly enabled me to speak on. 

Thus, in that single week after my Language Proficiency Interview and ‘cultural practicum’ to Kharhorin, new projects had begun in earnest. Every new day sowed the seeds of a next one. 

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.Tumblr.com :)

[superdoodles]

Наадам, 22nd Birthday, countryside, city and more ❤️ With less than a month left in Training, today looks back on arriving at my training site through the summer holiday (including my wrestling debut haha!). ☀️ Three blog posts, plenty photos, train trip to the capital on my birthday and over a dozen elementary and middle school English classes co-taught later, I'm still going strong. 💪🏼By next month, I'll finally know where in Mongolia I'm serving the next two years! 🇲🇳 Stay tuned. For more stories, Tumblr @memoryLang ✌🏼 📸 @thatdanicaperson @hopekchenderson + host mom (at Selenge Province) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0Msvw_HUN6/?igshid=1kpcdbtqtjf37

[memorylang]

Hallowe’en and Mongolian Proficiency | #64 | November 2022

In this entry, I pick up with November 2O22’s beginning, from what was the start of my new Peace Corps assignment to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. 

Chronologically, this takes place from the start of my third and fourth weeks back in Mongolia. As part of my current Peace Corps continuum, I spent those weeks in the remainder of my reeducation. Capping that off would be my Language Proficiency Interview, in which a rater would formally assess my Mongolian language level. I also spent these weeks becoming first acquainted with the city's municipal department of education and a handful of local non-profit organizations. 

I’ve still felt especially grateful to St. Joseph’s Day, Mar. 19, 2O23, during which I made serious progress on this piece, while a dear friend was simultaneously taking care of tasks. Now from November 2O23, we at last revisit November 2O22! 

At the Education Department

I felt surprised on my first day at work, Mon., Oct. 31, 2O22, with my main counterpart taking me to meet some 45 coworkers across our department’s, at the time, five sectors. We began from our little space in an office at the back of room 505. As we approached one-by-one desks together, my new counterpart would attempt on the fly a translation of the job title of whomever we were greeting. In my brown gridded notebook I tried to jot a list of people’s names, nicknames and titles. We walked from one desk to the next like this, office room after office room. 

After the initial hello to everyone working in our department, I remembered too that I’d brought from Reno joke calendar pages gifted by my Bostonian friend Jim. I felt distributing the pages would be a lovely way to ensure that everyone I met got a slice of American English. And so, the next days at work, I began revisiting people’s desks to deliver to them these jokes.

On my solo visits to people’s desks I would also bring my Mongolian-English Oxford Monsudar compact dictionary to assist me as I helped people to interpret. I stayed at one’s desk usually till I got a smile of recognition about what made the joke funny. Sometimes nearby coworkers’ who’d understood their jokes would help newcomers, too. 

The method of visiting four dozen people’s desks did wonders for my ability to understand pretty well quite a diverse slate of English abilities. The actual process of ensuring that each of my coworkers received their pages actually took many days, though, in part because some were out of the office when I first arrived. Nonetheless, I noted their names on a whiteboard in the office space of my main counterpart and me.

Allhallowtide With Friends

As I mentioned, my first day at the department office was Oct. 3I. So that evening after work, I met up with Peace Corps Mongolia for a Hallowe’en party gathering. I felt glad that the M3I Peace Corps Trainees had handled arrangements for it. All I had to do was to navigate to Star Apartments!

M3Is there in the community center felt eager to hear how my first day at work had gone. All I had to do after getting off work was arrive then swap into my Captain America get-up. Still, I enjoyed having the chance to get in costume. I’d brought the shirt specifically thinking how it would make an easy albeit on-the-nose costume. The Trainees looked great. We got to meet our Peace Corps staff’s kids, too! I enjoyed getting to be a proud hero.

As folks were leaving, I became graced with many candies to take home. I of course took the leftovers, so I spent time filling my backpack. Our Director of Programming and Training was around too, so we spoke briefly. He said kind words about the magnitude of my returning to service, especially with my interest in starting a foreign service career. When we were by the gate outside on the icy night, he impressed upon me that my choosing to return to Mongolia after three years away was something so meaningful to people. 

I returned to the education department office the next morning, Tues., Nov. 1, 2O22, for my second day of work. I needed to meet my ‘big boss’ to sign some paperwork. My main counterpart and I actually ran into him in the elevator! I felt welcomed when he said in Mongolian that my look was handsome. From the elevator we headed to his office to get the Peace Corps Volunteer agency agreement signed. He wished us well with our cooperation. He had a very kind smile. 

I was grateful that night to return to simple little St. Thomas Aquinas Church for its All Saints’ Day Mass. Singing “One Bread, One Body” across the Pacific was still a joy. The Gloria reminded me of the same Mongolian one in Erdenet sung years before.

The next day, Wed., Nov. 2, All Souls’ Day, I accompanied the Peace Corps on an excursion to the world’s largest equestrian statue of Chinggis Khaan, giving me a break from my work duties. On the adventure the new cohort got to practice in the bus, “Аяны шувууд” /Aynii Shuvuud/, my go-to Mongolian song. 

Throughout the week were also a blend of misadventures, involving joyful times throughout our city, Ulaanbaatar (UB). The tasks were mostly either to get supplies or to complete Peace Corps paperwork. Still, a key Thursday night highlight was reuniting with my Peace Corps Pre-Service Training Cross-Cultural Facilitator Bulgaa. She welcomed me to dinner atop the Shangri-La mall and had even shown me the school where she works. A Friday night highlight was joining my coworkers at the gymnasium for volleyball, reminiscent of my months in the countryside with my host family in Nomgon, Selenge. 

Cathedral Reunion: Second Sunday

A couple days later, that Sunday, Nov. 6, I traveled across town to the cathedral I remembered years earlier. Well, I got off at one bus stop too soon. Still, I'd left my apartment so early that I still arrived on time. 

As I approached the hazel-colored stone ger-shaped building, it felt quite familiar. Though, it sported an unfamiliar 30th anniversary poster on the door through which I entered. 

I came early for an English Mass that’s usually scheduled at 9 a.m. Sundays. Instead, a priest explained, there would be adoration. 

I enjoyed the time I could spend in prayer. 

A woman greeted me in passing with a hand on my shoulder. I took her to be an ICM religious sister, for she was Black and wore traditional Mongolian clothes. 

Before the benediction, I received a sheet in Mongolian listing the words to say and sing. I remembered that “ерөөх” is a verb that relates to blessing and praise. 

I learned during Mass in the cathedral that we were celebrating the 125th anniversary of the ICM Missionary Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It also celebrated their 27th year in Mongolia and the 25th anniversary of a certain sister's consecration. The cardinal celebrated the Mass. (He was among the cardinals whose elevation we'd celebrated this spring in Vienna.)

Before Mass, I also received a pamphlet with an English translation summarizing the cardinal's homily. By the time Mass began, I realized that it turned out the Sister who greeted me was the same Cameroonian Sister Lucilla whom we honored that day. 

I also reunited with one of the pastors I knew from Erdenet, the one who had helped me evacuate. I also met again a UB Catholic I’d first met when I had come back to the cathedral during Advent 2OI9. Parishioners and staff even recognized me despite my having gotten to visit with them only once, those three years prior!

Sunday Night Language After School

I took the southern bus from the cathedral back toward the Narantuul/Dunjingarav area where my practicum group had gone before, when we’d lived at Holiday Inn. I found my way well enough. Then began the walk. 

I looked for the National Park area and then for Park Od Mall. I had read that this mall was near another mall named similarly but different. Along the way, I passed a Singaporean school, which surprised me. The trek reminded me of a dark walk in Malaysia’s Petaling Jaya on my way to St. Ignatius Church. 

I found the Park Od Mall lovely to know it had a glass bridge. The person with whom I’d meet found that detail quite mundane. “It’s a bridge,” she wrote, haha.

Happening to work in this mall was a Mongol who had contacted me years ago, during the pandemic’s start when I had just returned to Vegas. This evening she had invited me to visit her to practice my Mongolian. So indeed I came. She was so cute! When I arrived, she simply invited me behind the desk, and there we sat working. 

Turns out she owned the very store where we sat with my language notebooks open. I felt so surprised. She imported Korean products to sell. She was also heading back to Korea soon, so we just happened to be in Mongolia at the same time. 

She identified my lisping and quickly suggested remedy sounds I could make instead. I felt stunned by how kindly she diagnosed and remedied some of my most troubling pronunciation challenges. I wondered why she was so generous to me. She reminded me of the many warm young people I had met in China as an exchange student years ago. Still, I returned her favor with English advice. 

The hour felt quite, quite late by the time we finished in her office. So she walked me back to the bus stop. She looked fully wrapped in her warm coat, such that one could barely see her eyes from beneath everything.

She helped me to ask young folks also at the bus stop which bus route was right for me. In the cold, I got a deeper crash course in how to use the clunky UB Smart Bus app to parse the right route. It hardly made much sense with my limited data, though. 

My newfound friend was off to Korea, but asked if I could help her with English. We accepted that a video call could work too. I appreciated her generosity and wished her the best. She wished me likewise. I took the cold bus from the shopping area back to my apartment. 

Monday Reunion With Former Students

The next night, Mon., Nov. 7, I walked for a bit with M3O Eric and M3I Kat then traveled to reunite with two of my former students. M3I Kat joined me. I found the Tse Pub where Google Maps routed me, and its downstairs interior indeed resembled the one to which I'd gone with friends Adonis and Buynaa nearly three years earlier. 

Kat and I found a table to await my students. They came from my senior English teachers class and my junior Chinese translation students I’d taught at the National University of Mongolia, Erdenet School in 2OI9. Since that was years ago by fall 2O22, however, they had both since graduated. Curiously, the Chinese translation student’s brother, another of my friends, was in Dubai! 

I chatted with my former students over simple food and drinks. I felt like Tse’s prices had risen since their original $1–2 USD pricing. Nonetheless, I found their $3 rates competitive. Inflation does that.

My formers asked me whether I had a crush, which was surprisingly hard to answer. So I respond truthfully, "Мэдэхгүй," pronounced as I tend to prefer, /Мэдкү/. This answer seemed somewhat disappointing to my formers. Still, I felt conflicted as to whether chance encounters warranted the emotionally taxing label. 

Nonetheless, more exciting to me was the reality of having gathered together so many friends, new and old, in a seemingly familiar place. UB after all was a city I had visited only sparingly in the nine months I spent in Mongolia before. To reunite here with such warm people was a magical joy.

Tuesday Assembly Follow-Up

The following night, Tues. Nov. 8, I visited an associate pastor and his family, whom I met briefly at their church the prior Oct. 3O Sunday I came for Brian Hogan's talk. His family lived in an area near mine, hence my ease of accepting their invitation. He, his wife and children were pleasant. We enjoyed a living room meal, for which I remembered to bring the customary gift of something white such as milk. 

During our conversation, the husband taught me that we use a different verb in Mongolian, “гаргах,” to refer to the specific kind of killing of an animal I would witness soon. My main coworker was from Хархорин /Harhorin/ and had invited me to come visit her hometown with her to collect the winter’s meat. Harhorin has been especially famous for its location beside Mongolia’s historic capital, Хархорум /Karakorum/. 

I felt so surprised too that one of the pastor’s sons was superb at English from having learned it on YouTube. The son would have to work on his Mongolian language, though. Still, it was my first time to encounter such a situation in which a Mongol child in UB would know English better than Mongolian.

Wednesday Reunion and Finale

In order to secure my travel with my coworker to her province, she had called my language tester (her childhood friend) to move my test a day early. So the next night, Wed., Nov. 8, my meet-up with my friend Adonis moved a day earlier thanks to some flexibility on his part. He also brought along one of his students to meet me. 

We met in a place entirely unexpected to me. Yet the moment we entered, I knew exactly where we were. It was the Modern Nomads in which I had shared my Last Supper in Mongolia among fellow evacuating Peace Corps Volunteers who wanted a final Mongolian meal in March 2O2O. Thankfully, my friend had me and his student sit in a different section of the restaurant. 

His student's name reminded me of one of my former Mongolian language teachers, as her name was Bulgan too. In the English language portion of our conversation, we spoke at length about speaking with confidence. Thankfully my friend and I gave her relatively the same advice.

After dinner, Adonis started practice drills through frequent Mongolian language errors of mine and how to address them. I felt amazed by the precision with which he identifies and addresses my linguistic challenges. He really did make use of his degrees in psychology and linguistics.

In the restaurant, I overheard through the speakers a bittersweetly unmistakable song. I listened to this exact violin track morning after cold morn’ in Erdenet, rising for work many days. It was Degi’s sweet rendition of "Аяны шувууд" /Ayanii shuvuud/, the Mongolian song I sang for Teachers’ Day 2OI9. Hearing the familiar song with a familiar friend in the familiar place gave me a spiritual sense that God and Mongolia smiled, “Welcome back.”

The next morning I would take the language exam for which I had been preparing so long. Then that day I would leave the capital for my return to Mongolia’s countryside. 

Tested and Set Free

The morning of Thursday, Nov. 9, my LPI began after some time. I was back at what we called “Cluster B,” behind the Peace Mall. The name felt fitting despite no connection to the Peace Corps.

In the familiar room where I practiced many afternoon lessons alongside fellow evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, M3O Eric, I was alone this day with our tester. Our trainer Sumiya had prepared us well. This was much less stressful than my original LPI years ago. This time the tester and I spoke about my experiences in Mongolia before evacuating and upon returning, rather than something about where to put luggage. My tester too had been one of my teachers during our weeklong In-Service Training 2OI9!

After I finished, I felt glad to see Instructors Sumiya and Bolormaa in the corridor, as well as staff member Erka. I very gratefully spoke some Mongolian thanks to the three before grabbing my backpack and charging phone then hustling down to and out of Cluster B toward my apartment. I’d need to grab my sleeping bag and be ready to go.

As I walked back to my apartment, I reflected on how to some degree, the test was not about accuracy. It was a test about understanding. And yes, I definitely fell short of my grammatical accuracy and proper pronunciation many times. Yet, for the most part, I think I was understood, even if at times I didn't understand. I crossed the street onto Sukhbaatar Square’s sidewalk.

I continued to cross the sidewalk and noticed conversations from my fellow board officers of the Overseas Dispatch, an online experiment in forming community during the pandemic. At the traffic light as I waited to exit Sukhbaatar Square, I responded to the team’s messages and our consensus to gracefully dissolve. 

Up next, I was off to a province to which I hadn’t been before. 

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.tumblr.com :)

[memorylang]

Thanksgiving and Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday | #67 | November 2022

This holiday double-feature takes us through the collaboration between the Peace Corps, KOICA and JICA, development agencies of the U.S., Korea and Japan, respectively. Following the project, I continue with the next day’s stories, as networks grew and relationships built. We also saw an opera for Chinggis Khaan’s birthday! So that was exciting. From these, we reach the beginning of Advent. 

Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday

On Thanksgiving Day, November 24, I joined a group of about a dozen of our Peace Corps Trainees on a trip out of town, to a modern ger camp in Terelj. Our journey began before dawn, in the cold outside the pink Socialist-era Drama Theatre. The temperature was -25°C (-13°F). A bus would collect us from outside the green Grand Irish Pub. 

While we waited, we had a chance to warm up inside the office of KOICA (Korea International Cooperation Agency). Their organization had sponsored the mentoring project for youths living in the Chingeltei District of Ulaanbaatar (UB). I recalled having just been in Chingeltei earlier that week for school visits that Monday. The joint project with us Peace Corps Volunteers was to “provide opportunities for cultural exchange with other countries for underprivileged youth, [...] promote KOICA in relation to the resumption of the dispatch of KOICA volunteers in Mongolia and raise positive awareness of volunteer activities.” 

The students would have the day off because Mongolia observes Chinggis Khaan’s birthday as a national holiday. It’s been celebrated since 2OI2 according to the lunar calendar on the first day of the first winter month. It typically lands around American Thanksgiving, celebrated on November’s fourth Thursday. That said, they don’t always align. 

After the wait, we PCVs hopped aboard the coach bus with KOICA staff for the journey. Along the way, my M3I friend Rowan and I got to talk to KOICA staff, whose roles were equivalent to our American Peace Corps staff. I enjoyed meeting fellow development workers and hearing their perspectives on life in Mongolia from Korea. To my surprise, they had plenty of opportunities to speak Korean because so many Mongols study the language! 

Along the ride from the city center, the windows frosted over as they tend to. We used the practice of taking a credit card or ID to the window to scrape aside such frost to see out. After leaving the city, driving east, we eventually descended a large, winding hill past an ovoo and crossed a bridge. I’d often treat this area as the entrance into Terelj, though it wasn’t a formal one. 

An International Holiday Venue

We arrived to the Terelj site. After everyone had disembarked, we got a group photo of all the volunteers. Then we ascended the hill and steps to enter a massive ger-shaped building.

The buildling remind me of the dining hall in Chinggisiin Khuree, where my Peace Corps cohort and I had first arrived in Mongolia. In this building though, we PCVs were setting up among folks from many nations. International Volunteer Day was coming up, too, on December 5. KOICA brought in us Peace Corps folks alongside JICA (Japan International Cooperation Agency) to make the day. 

A Peace Corps staff member came to help with language facilitation. It was the recent Mongolian instructor of M3O Eric and me, Sumya! Sumya mentioned to us how the cloud-like decorations hanging above us were like those of her childhood in preparation for New Year’s, decorated much like Christmas from the socialist period onward. It was nice to have context behind the light blue and white crafted puffs above us.

Shortly after we arrived, our groups from the U.S., Korea, Japan and Mongolia together received matching grey KOICA hoodies. KOICA always had that drip, I remembered from IST 2OI9. So cool to be part of the action, too! Then I wandered the floor to meet folks and help out. It turns out Eric and I weren’t alone among evacuated returned volunteers, either. An older JICA gentleman was among us!

Day of Service

Before long, the children who’d participate arrived. The table group with which I was paired had a kind JICA nurse, a bubbly KOICA volunteer and half a dozen adorable kids. It turns out that the KOICA in our group was the same eager gal who’d served me hot cocoa shortly after I arrived. It was “No Brand,” the same simple yellow products I saw throughout the huge Emart. Eventually I’d adjust to the fact that Emart is a Korean chain with Korean brands. 

I enjoyed how despite just meeting my fellow volunteers, we worked together to bring joy to the kids. At some points, since the JICA volunteer only knew Japanese and Mongolian, she would say something to me in Mongolian that I would then translate to our KOICA volunteer in English. Fun teamwork! 

Each delegation had something to present. The JICA volunteers taught us to fold origami sumos then how to make them do battle. After demarcating the ‘ring,’ competitors simply tap their fingers against the surface to cause their combatants to waddle at each other. The fight reminded me of how Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots seem to fight. The KOICA volunteers taught us to make weighted hacky-sacks from paper, stones and rubber bands. 

We Americans hosted a little dance party amid our regional presentations, including my bit about the Southwest. The Northeastern presentations reminded me of Boston, the Red Sox and New York, too. We Americans really pumped out the energy! Our colleagues complimented me and my friends for our moves. It was a good vibe! 

Around lunchtime, we enjoyed a tasty meal like those of Terelj’s Red Rock Resort, where my fellow PCVs and I had IST 2OI9. Afterward, our groups headed outside into the snow for a photo competition. My co-volunteers were much more creative than me with staging cool squad poses. Nonetheless, I enjoyed our gleeful grins. Our team hadn’t won the prize this year, but we’d won the joy of a good day. 

Before the event’s end, students heard motivational life advice from a presenter who walked people through the past decade or so of autobiography and testimonials. I hope the presentation helped kids to see some directions where they could go in life. As for us volunteers, we got to know each other better and resolved to hang out sometime. It was a good day. 

I don’t recall much from the bus ride back probably because I was asleep. I needed that. We rode back from Terelj across the bridge, back up the winding hill and surely hours later back into downtown UB. Traffic was as rough as usual, but at least we had each other. 

Thanksgiving 2O22

Unlike my last Peace Corps Thanksgiving, during which staff had sent all our sites turkeys, we celebrated in UB this year. That evening, we Peace Corps folks reconvened at the Star’s community center, where we’d celebrated Hallowe’en. Since we were all in UB, staff had generously chosen to throw us a Thanksgiving dinner alongside a committee of Trainees. They gave us good vibes!

We each received cool standing nametags welcoming us to the event and noting where to sit. Those of us from the KOICA event still had our hoodies, easily identifying us. I enjoyed getting to spend more time with the new Trainees since M3O Eric and I had split off to resume our service. 

While there wasn’t turkey, the chicken equivalent was great. And my, the pies were wonderful! At the night’s end, Peace Corps staff sent us home with plenty of trays of leftovers. So nice to have salads, too. 

Fourth Peace Corps Anniversary

The next day was Black Friday 2O22 and thus marked the fourth anniversary since in 2OI8 when I accepted my invitation to serve in the Peace Corps. Admittedly I hadn’t expected much to occur. I had a meeting scheduled with my local children’s speaking club counterpart, a Mongolian language lesson with my tutor and a sports evening then show afterward. Yet the day had surprises in store! 

My counterpart from the children’s speaking club indeed came to visit my office to co-plan our afternoon’s session. When we were walking from the library after that club session, we chatted a bit. At some point she slipped into Mongolian, and we chatted about my trip to Övörhangai. (She was from its neighboring Arhangai.) She also asked if I’d seen “Wakanda.” I felt amused. I felt like she asked me if I’d seen a country. I’m used to calling the film “Black Panther,” though that was indeed “Wakanda Forever.” I saw it, yeah—highly recommend. 

Afterward, I headed to my language lesson in the tower west of the Square. Afterward, my tutor Adonis helped me to find where I could get my first UB haircut. (After I’d moved to Erdenet, fall 2OI9, I simply got my cuts done by a community member after my first barber visit.) We’d mentioned the word “paradise,” which I remembered from Sunday translates to “divaajin.” It sounded to me like the word “divine!” 

The haircut cost more than my friend foretold, but he helped pick up the difference. Afterward, I continued on from there to visit the nearby Secondary School #21. The department of education was having our sports night. So my friend pointed me in the right direction. 

Unexpected

When I reached the school, a young woman who seemed to be the designated door guard asked something like, “Хашаа агаа?” when I approached. I fumbled through some words to explain I came to play sports with my colleagues. I also mimed bumping a volleyball. “Өө, заал, гэх юм уу?” she replied. Yup, that where I was trying to remember. Anyway, she let me by. 

I reached the gym without issue. Then I found my colleages weren’t there. So I sent a photo in our English group chat to confirm I showed up. I also implied I got a haircut, hehe. I checked my other messages while I waited and felt pleased to see an Honors College Student Council officer offered to fill my Community Advisory Board’s secretary vacancy. That left me hopeful! Still, it seemed like my colleagues weren’t coming to the gym that night. 

On a grim note, I also read the news that our cohort’s first Early Termination (ET) would occur. ETs always feel painful, for they mean the loss of a Peace Corps community member. I thought about this for some time on my walk home. I returned to my apartment for a nap. 

Adventure

I awoke to “Lush Life” by Zara Larsson, followed not long after by “Sunday Morning” (Maroon 5) and “Stardust” (New Politics) as I got ready. Turns out the person I was supposed to meet ahead of the night’s event came early to the restaurant where we’d meet. So, leaving behind my backpack and armoring up with my coat for -17°C (1°F), I bolted from the apartment. 

The eager KOICA intern with whom I served the kids on Chinggis Khaan’s birthday had invited me to come to see a concert with her at the cool Fat Cat Jazz Club. The headliner was Carole Alston, an American. So we’d grab dinner before the show. That was the plan. 

Rushing down streets against the clock, I felt as though the male lead of some drama. I pictured a scene of having to catch someone before that person catches a train, perhaps never to be seen again. I hustled. I skipped across the broken sidewalks and navigated past even a great mound of dirt across a sidestreet. 

On the run, I saw pleasantly that the sidewalk ice cleared by local workers had largely melted. Still, I recalled that Safety & Security emailed us colder weather was coming. (Earlier that day, I felt surprised that we hadn’t gotten emails about such things until that very day we got such an email.)

Arrival

By the time I arrived, my friend and I found that apparently the café closed early that evening. So we would try elsewhere. Apparently her apartment was nearby. Its interior reminded me of the digs an undergrad in nice parts of America might have. The direct nighttime view of Sukhbaatar Square was phenomenal. 

Hanging out for a bit, my friend treated me to homemade Korean foods I hadn't had before. They were cute and so good. The intern mentioned she too came from a comms background. I shared some about my recent time in New York, as I'd shared in my blog earlier that day. I feel a bit bashful that she said she’d already read it, given that not even 24 hours had passed since I shared it. Still, I feel grateful that someone had read it. 

We chatted a little about churches, too. She mentioned attending a Korean one sometimes! Adonis had mentioned Korean churches when I was first in Mongolia, but I never had a chance to visit one. An outing to one would be a future adventure, then. 

Jazz

We stepped underground into the brick jazz club. I felt surprised to see KOICA staff members with whom I’d been chatting within the past 24 hours. People who were strangers no less than a day before were fellow concert-goers. Their table was too small for the two of us to join, though, so we retreated to a high table along the back wall. 

The concert kicked off with the tune “Route 66.” Music brings back memories. The tune mentioned such places as St. Louis, where I was during my last month in America. The performances also reminded me of a few more experiences. I remembered watching the evening performance of my professor of the MUS 122R honors survey of jazz class. I’d taken that during my first semester of college, fall 2OI5. I even remembered that pandemic experience when my fraternity brothers and I took a friend out to midtown Reno jazz bars. That marked his belated 21st birthday and my belated 24th, a couple nights after our shared day, July 6, 2O2I. 

My friend ordered a cherry Coca-Cola to share between us. We got these quaint little jar-looking cups with bright plastic straws. Pop tasted sweet. I liked it. I didn’t feel like ordering anything else. She was so generous. I’d pick up our bill. 

As the jazz night progressed, I remembered too scenes from “La La Land,” that favorite film of mine. I considered how quite a lot of its plot happened during concerts in jazz clubs like this one. I felt glad to experience another part of that “La La Land” tour from—to my surprise—a year and a half before. The film captured the intimacy of such spaces well. 

Next Quest

During the intermission, a friend from KOICA staff came by our table and said hi. She was surprised to find out I’m Christian, since I remember on the bus we talked about Christian roots. My name’s “Daniel” after all. I guess I hadn’t brought up my personal story. 

The person I sat with mentioned I would be joining her at the Korean church in a couple days. The staff member, amazed, and said something to her in Korean. Their nonverbals gave me the impression she said something joking, like that my pal was recruiting me into her community when I didn’t speak Korean. Plenty of people in Mongolia had encouraged me to study Korean, anyway. 

The waiters came by at some point to announce the last call for drinks. Like the last call for food, we said we were fine. Indeed we were. We kept chatting after the show till the venue’s closing. 

During our stroll back in the cold outside, I recognized the great mound of dirt I’d skirted by earlier and realized that I’d hustled right past this place on my way to the nearby café. We joked that I could run home to stay warm. But I opted instead for the brisk walk. One dash across town was enough for the night! 

As I walked home, I remembered how my dad would often do as I did, picking up the bill. He did that especially in front of my stepmom unless she snatched the bill first. I felt glad I could do something in thanks for the fun time that Friday night. 

Advent of Advent

The next day, Saturday, November 26, I came by the cathedral again for choir practice and the Mass. After I sang with the music ministry, a younger participant said, “гал, гал.” It translates literally to “fire, fire,” or, as I would say, “lit, lit.” I felt touched by their praise. 

My peers complimented me too on, “Christ, Be Our Light,” even though I kicked myself a little for my harmony fading during the refrain’s back half. Still, I felt glad too to get to sing Mongolian Mass parts during the children’s service. Singing really was a great way to practice languages. 

After Mass, I reunited with the Peace Corps Trainees downtown for an evening at the opera. Our Trainee Chris W. found a show commemorating Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday. We headed into the large performing arts building east of the Square. We watched from a great vantage on the theatre’s second floor. Chris also commented on the Soviet style of the theatre. His experiences in Russia sure feel cool to hear. 

Chinggis Khaan in Opera

We witnessed an epic retelling of Temüjin’s journey to become Chinggis Khaan. I felt especially impressed by the opera’s dramatization of Temüjin’s loving mother, his captive wife and the rift between him and his blood brother Jamukh. I felt chills from the solo performances of the woman who portrayed Temüjin’s mother Hö’elün. I felt that she really captured a mother's love for her son. 

I felt the most emotional from the final performance by the man who portrayed Jamukh, Temüjin’s friend. The way the singer as Jamukh compared his life to Temüjin’s left me feeling heartbroken to recognize that Jamukh’s betrayal of Temüjin was imminent. Temüjin ultimately had to overcome Jamukh to become Chinggis Khaan. The actors depicted them impressively. 

With the show entirely in Mongolian, it led me to considerably practice my listening skills. Peculiarly, I noticed that Temüjin’s father’s name sounded an awful lot like the Mongolian name for “Jesus.” Есүхэй sounds close to Есүс. But that was just a coincidence. Yesükhei didn’t have much to do with Yesüs. Anyway, the show, in its marvelous performances, stage and costumes, increased my interest in the life of Chinggis Khaan and led me to read more about him that night. I love great performances. Anyway, the next morning would kick off Advent 2O22.

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.tumblr.com :)

[memorylang]

By Mongolia's Ancient Capital | #65 | November 2022

I began Thursday, Nov. 1O, 2O22 with the Mongolian language exam for which I had been preparing for so long. And with its conclusion, I’d officially completed my reeducation to fully resume service as an evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Having finished the test, I walked swiftly back from near the Peace Mall to my apartment. I then grabbed my heavy Peace Corps sleeping back with my backpack and hopped in the van with my counterpart’s family. 

Road to Өвөрхангай /Övörhangai/

We rode out of Ulaanbaatar (UB) on the main road east. Along the way, I spotted above the traffic a pedestrian bridge labeled “Хархорин маркет,” /Harhorin Market/. With horseback travelers' statues across the top, the market presumably took the name of the historic place to which we were heading. Hours in traffic continued. 

As we emerged from the congested urban sides of UB, our view transitioned to our long road and snow-powdered mountains to our sides. I remembered these sights from evacuation 2020. Blizzard conditions at that time made the terrain look less forgiving though than this. 

As the husband of my coworker drove I remembered what M30 Eric had commented, that Mongolians must be the best drivers in the world. My counterpart’s hubby would kindly flicker his high and low beams before passing someone. Since this was one of those vehicles with the driver side in the right-hand seat instead of the left, we had to creep awfully far into the left lane to check whether we could pass. Still, I hadn't felt worried. Maybe life with my host family back in Nomgon took that fear from me. 

I felt pleasantly surprised that our entire route from Mongolia's current capital to its old one was on paved roads, often with painted lines between the right and left sides of the road. That was a change from the more torn-up roads I recalled from before. It’s possible these roads were paved before the pandemic, though. It’s not like I’d been this way before. 

My counterpart had also handed me the most interesting kimbap I’d seen. It was triangular-shaped, with the seaweed somehow wrapped in separate plastic from the rice part. I had to do some fumbling to figure out the contraption. I spilled a few grains doing so. I was more used to those kimbaps I used to buy in UB that were just like uncut sushi rolls, wrapped in cling-on plastic. 

Throughout the ride down, my counterpart’s youngest son would ask me a myriad of questions. While it was typical fare for a 7-year-old, I felt surprised by the general fluency with which he spoke. It was very much the kind of language used by popular YouTubers, though. I told him not to say bad words, which his mom backed me up on too. Evidently, he was fond of some man named “Mr. Beast.”

My counterpart mentioned that her son needed to work on his Mongolian, though. He reminded me of the child I met a few days earlier while rehearsing for my Mongolian test. After quite a few more questions, my counterpart asked if I was tired. She had her boy shush, I let him ask one more question, then I took a nap.

Töv Province, There in Lun

I reawoke at dusk about half an hour later. The world now had a greyish look by 5:30 p.m. My counterpart asked if I was hungry, to which I replied I could eat but wasn't starving. We were passing through Лун /Lun/, of the central Төв /Töv/ province, crossing the Туул гол /toel golsh/ (Tuul River). Window frost mitigated photos. Still, this was the first new province I’d seen since 2019. 

We stopped at a very nice-looking restaurant. Its outside listed the name “Урьхан” /Uirhan/. My main counterpart commented about how there's one of these restaurants on the way from UB to Дархан /Darhan/ or Эрдэнэт /Erdent/, too. If there was, I didn't remember it looking this fancy. Although, I did remember such stopping places along the way. 

Inside the restaurant, I admired pictures on the wall of other scenic locations across Mongolia. I recalled hearing about a famous crater in Bulgan that I never had the chance to see, when the Coronavirus struck China. I read the landmarks’ signs with little difficulty and wondered if elementary readers were the ads’ intended audience. It was probably just good writing, though. That made them accessible. 

While at the restaurant, an older, gruffer, darker skinned fellow approached me and my counterpart’s youngest son while we sat at the wide wooden table. The fellow asked something about хоёулаа /the two of us/, to which I replied, “өө, би Америкаас ирсэн,” in my usual foreign cadence. I got those wide eyes of wonder that felt familiar to me outside of UB. Perhaps this man hadn’t seen someone from outside Mongolia before. I’d missed that feeling. 

After eating, we hopped back in the car. Night had fallen with still a long way to go. About an hour back on the road, “Эрдэнэсант сум. It belongs to Төв Province,” my counterpart added. Our journey west continued. Before long, we crossed the border to Өвөрхангай /Övörhangai/.

Хархорин /Harhorin/

Arriving in Хархорин /Harhorin/ at 9:30 (21:30) that night reminded me of an experience in the Булган /Bulgan/ province with my first counterpart back in August 2OI9. We had food in the local place of friends known to my counterpart though not to me. 

Still, then and now I enjoyed lovely food in classic Mongolian style. In this case, we stayed the night, too. Instead of three glasses of vodka following the meal, we had Scotch whiskey instead. Honestly, I preferred whiskey's taste to vodka's. 

The folks’ purplish magenta robe for going outside in the cold reminded me of the navy blue one I wore at my host family's place for trips outside during early mornings and nights during summer 2OI9 too.

During Friday morning, we also explored the сум /so-m/ some. I remembered how an M29 who taught me during my In-Service Training had served in this very place. I wondered whether anyone I met knew her.

Meat for the Winter, Friday

We then drove out from the soum center to some gers for the гаргах /gargah/ collection of winter meat. I witnessed them bringing out a cow from the pen, and my counterpart participated in a process of what seemed to be blessing its hooves and head with milk. Then began the sadder but necessary process of giving our bovine friend a sound bop on its head so that it would not be conscious for the next part. (You may want to skip ahead if you're not into the sadder though necessary parts.)

The cow collapsed, and others began to help to secure it as the bleeding began. It seemed like a humane way to go. The cow’s dismayed murmur could be heard as it regained consciousness at times, but the men brought it back to sleep as often as needed.

As the process progressed, the men began to reach inside the animal's body to collect innards to place in designated containers. They kept the handfuls of blood relatively contained, for they had plenty of experience with the work. All things had a purpose. Then came the knives out for skinning.

As skinning continued, I reflected on how I could have died on the mountain back at Glacier National Park this summer but didn't. It was when my friend Victor and I were hiking the Grinnell Glacier Trail when the weather got bad. We were right around the glacier at the trail’s end as lighting appeared around us. We’d rushed into the trees as rain and hail came thundering down. We were drenched beneath the branches waiting for the worst to pass. Seeing the men in the snow skin the cow reminded me of the feeling of how fleeting life could be. Still, God saved me then, and here I was now. 

Later, I wrote to some folks with whom I'd been in touch that not only had I witnessed the cow гаргах, but I also saw the process for two sheep. The sheep seemed more scared than the cow, but but I could empathize that anyone could feel scared knowing one's end had come.

I had looked up “гаргах” in my dictionary. I felt pleased to see its definitions contain meanings such as “going forth.” It seemed like a nicer way to describe the process. I could see why some Americans draw comparisons between Mongol and indigenous practices associated with the land and respect. 

On another countryside note, I finally figured out how to make that /shoo-kuh/ sound I'd heard from as long before as from my host dad back in Номгон /Nomgon/! I'd imitated the sound from one of the little kids who was surely no older than 4 years old. It’s something people would tend to say when doing an action. 

Dinner

Yay, бууз /buuz/! I mentioned on my LPI (Language Proficiency Interview) how I hadn't had бууз since Цагаан сар /Tsagaan Sar/, back in 2O2O. I’d missed Mongols’ traditional steamed meat dumplings. For dinner, we were having бууз. 

At dinner, I also remembered what my counterpart had told me on a walk back toward our Department’s building, that wine is seen as a ladies' drink. Still, I preferred its taste to the large Tiger beer. 

I tried to remember that rhyme I think I heard somewhere. “Wine before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before wine and you're fine,” I guess? That couldn't be right. Well, there was beer and wine at the same time, so I figured that's what I was working with, then. 

My counterpart (CP) asked if I was tired, to which I replied I was just trying to figure out this game, муушиг /moe-shig/. The name sounded so familiar. I wondered whether I'd played it with my host family during PST summer or even with fellow M30 Peace Corps Volunteers at IST/PDM winter. 

The Next Morning, Saturday 

Saturday, November 12, 2O22, I awoke groggy hearing what sounded like a persistent wind mumbling outside beyond the pre-dawn dark blue of the windows. I felt what seemed like some cramps and a certain feeling that the dreaded time had come. 

I sprung from my sleeping bag and crossed the living room to my backpack and items pile. As I crossed, I felt a little loopy, but I couldn't tell if this was being tired, hungover or maybe both. 

A little melody, almost as though it could have been a children's rhyme looped in my head as I worked.

“Take only what you need, in your journey to the жорлон /jorhlon/.”

Amid the COVID-19 pandemic academic year of 2O2I to 2O22, I learned from a newfound Chinese Catholic friend in Reno about the Chinese music notation system. (Hopefully you can interpret my attempt.) Anyway, here is my approximation of the transcript:

Take5 | on-ly6 | what6 | you5 need6 | 

in6 your5 | jour4-ney5 | to4 the3 | жор2-лон1.

Melody in my mind, I started by sliding on my socks since I didn't have to think about those. I emptied my trouser pockets then pulled those on along with my belt. I grabbed my дээл too, and without bothering to mess with its button, I slung that on. Then I crossed the little house to its other side, where my coat stretched across the top of the clothing stack. The whole ordeal took just about 15 minutes as I ventured into the dark cold for the necessary deed in the designated wooden zone.

As I typed about 2O minutes later, my stomach felt a little rumbly, so I lied back down. I would defeat this food-borne challenger, I asserted to myself. 

I remembered the other half of that rhyme, “Beer before liquor, never been sicker.” I guess wine wasn't involved, then? Still, I recalled my alcohol awareness trainings that said not to mix different alcohols. Well, I guess I did that…

By half an hour later, round 2.

While I hesitated to consider the жорлон now my ol' friend, I at least decided that we had a working relationship, an understanding of each other. 

This time my trip took only 1O minutes. This time as I crossed the yard, I felt delighted by the reddish-orange glow upon the mountains in the distance. One of those pretty black and white birds landed upon the fence with two little birds beside it, too.

At last, for the most part, my body felt corrected. 

That Cold Morning

As I approach the house door, I try to open it and realize… I’d locked myself out. 

Now this feels more like the Peace Corps for which I was trained! 

I message my counterpart (CP). 

I hear the wind, see my breath, feel my hands numbing, watch my nose dripping. At least the post-dawn glow of the sun looks pretty. 

I begin to notice the frost on the bottom half of the door. I like how it patterns across the base. 

Someone's gotta come out eventually, I remind myself. 

I check the weather on my phone. It’s only -16°C. 

I remember the bull from the day before and think, glad to be alive. 

I consider how, safety-wise, a door only openable from the inside is actually quite wise. 

15 minutes pass. 

The sun rises. I try calling my CP. 

I feel like since the sun's rising the wind has picked up. I get a little antsier and start wandering back and forth. 

I poke the little nose drippings that had fallen on my jacket. Indeed, they had frozen.

I wonder whether to make a deal with God. 

Then the mother emerges, surprised to see me. 

This time when asked, “Дарсан уу?” my sheepish reply is, “Дарсан.”

Aftermath

I got inside to see the whole ordeal was about half an hour. 

I checked the weather again and saw 3°F. I guessed that’s not very warm, after all. The mother started the fire and encouraged me to rub my hands together. 

I felt as though here, it’s everyone versus the cold. 

I warmed myself beside the fire for the next 2O minutes as the house began to come awake. 

The mom offered me tea while I sat by the fire. 

Round 3 occurred far later, well after my warming and donning of my second jacket, the цэнхэр өнгөтэй one. I felt better by this time. 

When I was last in Mongolia, I had far greater fear about when the outhouse door would fling open that people would see me. Yet this time, while I still cared, I cared less. Part of it probably was because at that time, the outhouse door faced the house’s general direction, whereas this one faced away. Still, I feel like I just cared a lot less about it now than then. I wondered if perhaps this was because amid my two and a half years outside of Mongolia, whatever reservations I may have had unconsciously grew tinted with nostalgic longing.

My total 4O-minute morning adventure became the talk of breakfast, which amused all, including me! I could tell it was definitely about my story, for they related how I said, “Баярлалаа,” to the mom when she opened the door, then I'd beelined to the fire to warm up. I remembered my host family in Номгон cheerfully recounting too my antics. Though, even my papa back home would do the same at family reunions or when family friends visited. Family's indeed family!

My CP later advised me, “You can knock [on] the window.” I explained I didn't want to scare someone, to which we laughed. In hindsight this sounded silly versus freezing. Still, I felt like window-knocking in a U.S. American sense would be more akin to causing a scene. 

I liked how my CP let people know I speak Mongolian when they wanted to ask me something. I responded briefly to a visiting relative’s question about whether this was my first time in Mongolia. It was my second time in Mongolia but first to spend in the countryside during winter and not summer. 

Outside after breakfast, my CP taught me about, “Өвлийн салхи,” Kharhorin's cold wind from a mountain near. To this I thought, “Ah, my new foe has a name.”

My CP invited me back inside while she and the others finished business outside. Her oldest son helped carry inside the back-half portion of one of yesterday's sheep. I sat again by the stove as I continued typing up the weekend's adventures.  

Historic

The rest of Saturday was nice, too. My CP introduced me to the inner walls of the famous Erdene Zuu Monastery. My CP’s grandfather had been a monk here. It felt so wide without many of its older buildings. Unfortunately we couldn’t enter the buildings, but the grounds were still amazing.

The monastery reminded me lightly of the one to which I had walked in Bulgan, November 2OI9. It also had a vibe of that Mata Nui Online Game. Immediately outside the monastery were more consumer-centric areas for tourists, I supposed. 

We got to see another impressive sight. It commemorated multiple historic empires of Mongolia and its predecessors. This mound atop the mount, my CP explained, was the mountain. Behind it, the great river was the Орхон гол, the Orhon River. The monument before us was the Хааны хөшөө, the Khan's Monument. Beyond these were the Хангай /Hangai/ mountains, from which this province got its name. I learned from here for perhaps my first time with detail about the Turkic Empire. 

We drove over to the museums too, but they were closed. I sure would have loved to see the Karakorum Museum. Its exterior reminded me of visitors centers to U.S. National Parks. Nonetheless, the weekend excursion felt like a rad cultural practicum.  

The Road Back

That afternoon, it was time to leave. While we were filling up at the gas station on our way out, I noticed on Pokémon GO that it was a Community Day. So I caught an adorable few Teddiursa, including some ‘shiny’ green ones. Then I evolved a purified one with the best stats into Ursaluna from that new premake, “Legends: Arceus.”

A considerable time along our journey, we stopped by a clump of sand dunes for photos. The sand was so soft. Apparently people bring camels up here for riding during the summer. Yet now it was cold. This reminded me of Death Valley National Park in the U.S. Yet, Death Valley gets popular when it gets cold (like when we went, November 8, 2O2I). I also don't recall people bringing camels to Death Valley. 

Back in the car, my CP offered me some more snacks. I noticed the brand name Julie's again, which reminded me of the cosmetics saleswoman going to Korea, who helped me with my Mongolian the Sunday evening before. I also noticed from the packaging that the crackers came from Melaka, Malaysia, where I was in April, earlier in the year! I felt I should share the news with my Malaysian friends. Their foods have reached Mongolia. 

As we continued east past 5 p.m., I enjoyed shadows from the sun cast far to our right, ahead of us, along the way. I faded in and out of sleep as the sun set. We returned to the same eatery where we dined the first time we came through, on Thursday evening. Though, now it was dark out. 

Seeing so many cars on the road reminded me of those going from Vegas to Reno on weekends. Indeed, the population distribution of Nevada is similar to Mongolia, anyway: There is the megapolis, then there is everywhere else. 

Battle Finale of Legend

When we returned to my apartment, I wanted to celebrate with a break. So I set up my CP’s telly and watched, “The Finals IV: “Partner,” Ash's battle finale against Leon in “Pokémon: Ultimate Journeys.” (It was English-subbed.) I’d been following the Masters Eight Tournament since before I’d returned to Mongolia. Indeed, I was even in Mongolia when Ash became champion for the first time of the Alola League, 2OI9. 

Now, I felt so excited to see the returns of so many of Ash’s friends and Pokémon from around the world, throughout his past. And with that, our hero became the world champion, “The Very Best, Like No One Ever Was.” Well, so began Ash’s new journey and, being back in Mongolia, so began mine! 

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.Tumblr.com :)

[memorylang]

In Mongolia at Last | #60 | October 2022

Today marks the second month to the day since my return to Mongolia. I’d persisted two and a half years in finally getting to share this story of having returned to Mongolia. I wish I could have gotten to it sooner! Still, I hope as you read on you’ll know what’s kept me busy. I start first with the juiciest bit of us returning then circle back to how I got here. 

Mongolia

The morning of Tuesday, October 18, 2O22, I step from Turkish Airlines back into Mongolia, the “Land of the Eternal Blue Sky.” I wear the silver дээл /dehl/ shirt I received from my host family for Naadam in 2OI9. I lug the silver backpack my mother planned to gift me when she was still alive. 

I had considered leaving my silver backpack behind in the States because of its wear. But it’d been with me for so long around the world since 2OI7. I chose to bring it back, still. 

This airport looks different than I remember. Eric, my fellow evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, comments that this must be the new airport, I think. Immigration definitely feels like a warm breeze here compared to the cold floors we knew before. I pass through without challenge. 

I feel elated for another reason, too.

Right at the door from immigration stands my Country Director.

Our American leader grins with her characteristic welcome and diplomacy. We share a big hug. We chat about how nice Ulaanbaatar’s new Chinggis Khaan International Airport is. We’ll have plenty more time to chat later, anyway. Beside her stands our General Services Manager, a Mongolian man with whom I hadn’t shared too many conversations. Still, he beams, and I’m so glad to see him. We three know each other. 

The New Chinggis Khaan International Airport

Baggage claim is smooth, so smooth. I grab my bags with relief to see they’re all here this time. I’m still surprised by how cozy this airport feels. I trek toward what seems to be an exit. I feel excited yet disoriented, recalling my 2OI9 trip into Beijing during service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I exit baggage claim.

Wandering out, I spot suddenly to my right these huge Peace Corps Mongolia “Hello Again 2O22” banners held by familiar figures of staff I haven’t seen in over two years. I enthusiastically take up hugs with anyone offering. I embrace both my past Regional Manager and our Safety & Security manager, with whom I don't even recall being so close. Still, goodness, what a difference years apart yet online make. 

I’ve barely a moment to wait as I’ve bags to load onto whatever bus we’re taking this time into the city. I shuffle on through, gleefully greeting any Peace Corps Mongolia staff member as we recognize each other. Amid my new reality, I notice too an unfamiliar blonde woman and man. I hear somewhere they’re with the U.S. Embassy.

What Comes Next?

With bags loaded, I’m free. I hop back off the bus to see. It’s a brisk 6°C (43°F) this October morn. 

I take in the moment. M3O Eric stands beside me outside. We had similar ideas. I'm astonished to learn that Eric was late to our bus meeting in Seattle because he was seeing a mutual friend of ours, my Nomgon neighbor, Sam.

I'm not shocked for long though beside Eric and me, beside the bus, stands too our Director of Programming & Training. Of course, the director and I share a huge hug. He tells Eric and me with a wide smile how today staff is to swear us in immediately and get us back to serving soon.

We’re glad to hear it. I’m genuinely excited about the prospect of serving again so soon. But, I’m not sure whether to believe they’re really about to reactivate us. Still our director sounded reliable.

Not long after, the M3Is file through and onto the buses. 

Once everyone’s about settled, we all hop back off for a big facemasked photo. I brave the cool with my coat left on the bus so that my дээл /dehl/ is entirely visible. As the Peace Corps Mongolia banner unfurls, I stand toward the front, beside it. Next to me stands Ken, with whom I chatted from our Seattle hotel. Peace Corps is really back in Mongolia. 

Staging in Seattle

That preceding Friday afternoon on October 14, 2O22, my flight to Peace Corps’ staging lands in Seattle, Washington. I’m walking across the plane that brought me out of Vegas when I receive a text. It’s from a Trainee in the new M3I cohort, Chris. He’s landing in Seattle about when I do. 

I head to SeaTac's baggage claim. I remember having met my fellow M3Os, Marisa and L, at the Philadelphia airport three years ago. Now I’m back in Seattle, where I visited my first and second times last summer. It won’t be long before I don’t travel alone. 

Sure enough, the tall man Chris walks up. He explains he's from Portland. I remember my time there around this time last October. Chris’s flight to Seattle was his very first flight, he beams. I welcome him to the Peace Corps with a smile. 

First Ordeals

I find not long after meeting Chris a complication. My orange backpack seems not to have arrived with me. So I head to Alaska Airlines’ desk. Its attendants send me back to the carousels. I wait quite a while longer, with Chris staying by my side. 

The ordeal occurs for about an hour. During this time M3Is Ken and Darcy, who'd texted having also arrived, go ahead to the light rail. Meanwhile, another M3I, Alex, arrives beside Chris and me, too. I remember Alex’s face from Zoom calls preceding today. 

Our trio decides we ought not to keep waiting. I come back to Alaska Airlines’ desk to put in a mishandled bag ticket, hoping my bag arrives the next day. Wow, this feels like Munich this summer. Then haul our things to the light rail, too. I remember October’s NYC trip yet with more walking here. I think too about that time I traveled to D.C. from Vegas when the Capitals were playing our Golden Knights. 

Our trio rides the light rail a while. When at last we hop out, we lug our luggage uphill many blocks. Now this reminds me of San Francisco last August yet sweatier. I’m wearing the heavy coat I’m bringing back to Mongolia, though I really don’t need it for Seattle’s October. I’m pleased to pass by the public library I remember from my Seattle solo adventure last summer, though. 

Peace Corps Arrival

At last we reach the hotel. Chris, Alex and I split as we check and head to rooms. Upstairs I find Peace Corps staging staff of Nick and Maya so friendly. I feel weirded out somewhat by how tight COVID-19 protocols remain. Still, I see my fellow evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteer Eric, M3O, and feel a bit better despite the oddness. 

Eric and I catch up over Mexican food a brief walk away. I like how he has real Southern calm about him. I remember conversations we shared when we were Trainees in the ger camp outside of Ulaanbaatar (UB), three years ago. We were two of our cohort’s members also into Chinese studies.

Staging 

Eric and I return to our hotel, and staging begins. I try not to too blatantly draw attention to how I’m one of us two evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteers who were serving before in Mongolia. I try to focus more on getting to know my new peers. In among the first activities then, I get to know a fellow Asian American seated behind me, Christine. I’m surprised by what led her to Peace Corps but feel confident that she’ll be fine. 

I expect to get to know others in the M3I cohort more when we’re together the next day. There are about half the Trainees in this cohort compared to those in Eric’s and mine. Still, when the traditional ice-breaker comes asking what weird thing we packed, I decide to reveal a piece of my heart. I packed my bus card from our first summer in UB, and I want to see whether it still works in Mongolia. 

Navigating the Old and New 

After the evening session, I’m on a side quest. My sister Becky and her new boyfriend Solomon are also in town. That night, they pick me up from the Renaissance Seattle Hotel where Peace Corps is staying, and they take me to enjoy delicious Indian food with them nearby. I recall when I visited Becky last summer in the Seattle area, too. Her boyfriend Solomon’s quirky, funny and wise. 

Saturday I go back through staging. It exhausts me at times. Its minimal acknowledgment that this ain’t the first staging for evacuated returnees bugs me sometimes. I still remember plenty from my first staging. Personally exhausting too is how memories left dormant for two and a half, sometimes three, years would ping pong back to me. 

I stay upbeat while getting to know the new Trainees. At least I’ve only 23 names to learn right now. Eric and I had to learn so many more as Trainees in 2OI9. 

Bonding 

During one of staging’s identity exercises, we’re asked to consider three aspects of our identity that will become most apparent about us in Mongolia. I announced that three regarding me would be that I’m young, Asian and single. I remember these from what coworkers and locals would often say to me. 

At lunch, I walk with many M3Is to a pizza place where we can build what we like. I get my Subway-style everything meal. I enjoy the company of the down-to-earth Midwesterners with whom I dine outside. One reminds me of my former sitemate from Wisconsin, Emilie, our volleyball star. I miss her. 

I’m surprised by how many in the new cohort also have China backgrounds. That’s nice. Our walk again past Seattle’s major public library reminds me of conversations I had there with the National Peace Corps Association. I’ll miss the stellar stateside Walk Around Allowance that Peace Corps provides, too. 

New Recruits

Amid staging, I also reunite with/meet for the first time Rowan, an M3I I met virtually back in fall 2O2O. We’re so glad to meet at last in person. She feels to me like an old friend. I also enjoy hearing the teaching background of Ken and the social work background of Darcy. As part of the ice-breakers, Rowan and Darcy are in my doodling group, which I enjoy. Humorously, some of the Trainees mistake our group’s drawing of someone sad and alone to being a drawing of a blood sacrifice upon an altar. (It’s because of that red marker we had.) 

I meet as well Kat, a person whose backgrounds of both Chinese and Germanic descent mirror mine. I’m surprised by how well-dressed Caroline of Massachusetts is! We have quite a few from Massachusetts here. I pass along warm wishes, “Minglaballers for life,” from a past college classmate to two Trainees who trained with him in Peace Corps Myanmar before the global evacuation that followed Peace Corps China’s and Mongolia’s evacuations.

One Last Night

That night after staging’s main day concludes, I return to the place where Becky (and now 'rock' star Solomon) is staying in Bellevue. It was here last summer that I received the very silver journal in which I'm writing my current experiences. Tonight Becky cohosts here a talent show that's more of an open mic.

For my act, I share the story of how “Frozen II” moved me during evacuation. With its significance on the floor, I sing an unrehearsed, "Show Yourself.” They receive my song well. The night reminds me of when I similarly performed the song once during the pandemic back at my college parish, the spring preceding our other younger sister Vana’s future fiancé’s graduation party. 

Throughout the Saturday too I’d checked with Alaska Airlines on the status of my missing backpack, but no specific luck. It feels too much like the summer’s Munich ordeal awaiting my bag from Singapore and Qatar. I pray everything just arrives in time. 

Sunday in America

My final morning in America, I get back on the phone with Alaska Airlines to hear that my luggage made it to the airport. They lack time now to deliver it to our hotel. But it’s here in Seattle. 

My college parish community prayed for me this weekend, I learn. What could have been worse was better! I conclude that the Devil had been trying to rattle me one more time along my path back to do good ‘round our world. 

I report my bag’s return to our desk officer Nick. He commends me for my good humor. That was something my past priest would say, too. (Thanks to that priest I’d been discerning with the Jesuits after coming back from Southeast Asia.) Unfortunately, our priest retired not long after Reno’s new bishop from Seattle came and replaced him.

Sunday Service

For Sunday Mass, I find that my nearest parish is the archdiocesan cathedral! So I stroll across the bridge over roadways to attend Mass. It’s a beautiful area that reminds me of New England. During the service I consider how this was the very cathedral from which the man who made himself pastor of our parish in Reno came. 

The Mass also reminds me of parishes I attended in Southeast Asia, with their unfamiliarity yet allure. The cathedral even reminds me how last Sunday I celebrated Mass in New York’s cathedral! My prayers today are of thanksgiving not petition. Still, I hope I’ll have a Catholic parish to attend in Mongolia. I hope I won’t go long without Christ’s Eucharist! 

Heading Out 

I hustle back to the hotel after Mass, ascend the elevator to my room, grab my bags and descend again. I reunite with the Peace Corps Trainees. The friendly Nepali American Trainee Sareena leads my team. I appreciate her chill directness. 

All Trainees receive yarn of a similar color to that which Eric and I received three years ago. Though, this shade is slightly greener than our electric blue. We fasten these to our bags then cross the street to our waiting bus. 

Eric is away, however, forcing our Peace Corps community to wait a while. In the meantime, chow down on my leftover everything pizza. This seems endearing to some folks in the cohort, at least. 

We board the bus. At last Eric appears! We set off for to the airport. 

Beside me sits Ken, the likable English instructor with quite a penchant for fun methodologies. From him and an M3I Eric, I learn that quite a few of the Trainees beside Rowan have waited these pandemic years to accept their invitations to serve, as well.

I enjoy talking with Ken. He reminds me of the M3O Ken I knew, with whom I hiked in Ulaanbaatar our days before Swear-In. I missed Ken when he Early Terminated (ET). Still, I hope none of the M3Is ET.

Seattle's Airport

When we arrive back at the airport, I have to split from the group to head back downstairs to Alaska Airlines’ baggage claim. I’m glad I don’t have to be a group leader since that’s responsibility I don’t want to think about. I entrust my welbeing to the friendly Rowan. Then I beeline straight back to Alaska’s desk. 

I see my bag’s a bit dirtied. But, it’s my bag. I’ve awaited it. Desk Officer Nick had advised me to insist on compensation, so I get a brochure on how to reach customer service for compensation. I report the phase of the mission accomplished and trek back upstairs. 

Back in Time

In line before bag weighing, I help some people who feel extreme stress. This reminds me of my experience helping the M29 during evacuation. I miss her, too. 

Further along the airport line, I receive a compliment from a man for the wooden Holy Spirit cross I wear. I comment how it reminds me God is always with me. The man agrees. His daughter served in Peace Corps Namibia, he explains. He kindly lends us his luggage scale as we near the front. 

Unfortunately, Turkish Airlines calls my bags too heavy. So I, like some Trainees who came before me, must reconsolidate my belongings. I’m not too concerned, but the process annoys me. I just brute force my hope that this all works out. And it does. 

Forth in Time

I’m rewarded by seeing Sareena, tall Tom and our other leaders awaiting me. I feel consoled seeing Jeff, too, an older gentleman with good spirit. The clump of Trainees reminds me I’m no longer alone. I’m with a new community. 

Once our cohort reaches our gate, I take a video call with both my siblings and recipients of this year’s inaugural Lin Yuejun Lang Asia Scholarship. I have fun getting to speak with them before I leave the country. Our recipients seem really cool too, having studied in South Korea and Thailand. Glad my siblings get to see me having fun. 

I also have time to complain to Alaska Airlines’ customer service to get more than the normal points compensation for the baggage issue. I don’t like complaining, so I appeal to integrity. A little compensation tempers my temper some. 

Nearby, folks from the training cohort claim to recognize members of Mongolia’s famous band, the HU, who wait in line. The Trainees suggest they’re visiting home between tours. I’m surprised Trainees recognize them. Some daring Trainees even walk up for pics. I honestly can’t tell if it’s really them, and I choose not to bother. Still, it’s cool to think that may be the HU. 

The Flight

Our cohort boards. For the long flight, I'm seated with both Kat and Sareena. Our Asian American trio speaks at length from Seattle to Istanbul.

I enjoy sharing Asian roots with my new peers. Sareena strikes me as someone who could really lead, and Kat seems so thoughtful. I enjoy getting to know what’s bringing them to Mongolia as I go back. Their perspectives on culture, psych and privilege both warm and challenge me.

Across continents, I also decide to see, “X-Men: Days of Future Past.” The film both further celebrates my having seen Hugh Jackman on Broadway and feels like a sequel to my having seen in Southeast Asia, “X-Men: First Class.” I’m glad too that “Days of Future Past” has a continuity that reminds me of “X2,” which I saw so many years ago, back in school. 

Anyway, the superhero thrills keep me awake while I fight the jetlag. I don’t think I glean particularly monumental lessons from these. Neat to see President Kennedy, Peace Corps’ founder, referenced. I like Marvel flicks. 

Through Istanbul

The M3Is, Eric and I spend little time in Istanbul’s airport before we board again for Mongolia. That said, I do have time to split from the group to catch foreign Pokémon in “Pokémon GO.” I complete a raid and plant a Pokémon on a gym. I don’t expect I’ll be playing video games much after we land. 

Anyway, close enough to midnight local time, we hop back on a plane, this time for Ulaanbaatar. Seats shuffle a bit, though Kat and Sareena aren’t far. I kick off trying to rest against jetlag. 

Past about 6 a.m. local time, I hear Trainees worry about declarations and immigration. “What did you put as your visa number?” one asks, tapping my shoulder. To be honest, I hardly care. I don’t remember those responses affecting much. 

Turkish Experiences

During the flight, I also reflect on Turkish people I met lately. There was a young sports player named Ozan I met while returning to America from Europe this summer. There was a Haluk, too, the young Muslim I met in New York this month. Remembering them reminds me how connected our world is. 

I also remember, while maybe Turkish or not, a thoughtful Asian flight attendant with a dark, wavy bob who had served on our flight from America to Turkey. She stood out to me because of a time on the flight when I simply requested a snack. Another attendant had answered my request, actually. But I noticed across the plane that the female attendant said something to him. When the man returned with a snack, I received not only one but two, as well as a sour cherry juice I remember choosing from her earlier on the flight. That above-and-beyond care struck me as so in line with that personal way God loves. This is how I am to love.

I’m also still wrapping my head around the realization that I’m really going back to Mongolia. Looping in my head is “Breathe” from “In the Heights.” Two and a half years… and I’m going back. 

Peace Corps Mongolia to Ulaanbaatar

After we land in Mongolia, get our bearings and get the bannered photo, we hop back aboard our buses. We’re separated in accordance with COVID-19 mitigation standards. Peace Corps and Embassy staff step on to wish us well before we’re off. For the road, we’re treated to modest plastic bags of snacks and water. 

I sit toward the back, recalling my experience when we first came to Mongolia, and I sat there, too. This time, however, I’m without so many in this row. Social distancing limits close quarters. 

As we ride through the countryside from the new airport to the city, I remember my winter trips from the airport when I took leave. Though Mongolia had snow already in mid-October, the cold isn’t like that which I remembered from December 2OI9 and January 2O2O. Still, I feel as though having pined for this landscape. 

Unfortunately, we see across the hillside no herding occurring through a Prius. I guess we’re in the wrong season or place to spot that. Still, I recall seeing that among the biggest surprises to me in response to what our former Director of Management Operations had said, that we would, “see people do things with a Prius you [we] never thought possible.” Still, that was among the greatest things I witnessed that summer in the countryside. 

As our bus nears the city, I think back to what few adventures I’d had in the capital, getting to see friends at their apartments, for example. I’d no sense of the city’s apartment geography, so I’m not sure if I’m looking in the right direction. Still, I know I’m seeing UB. 

Re-Education

We arrive at a hotel I don’t recognize and ascend without roommates because of pandemic restrictions. The hotel is so fancy. After dropping our bags, we’re to wait some time till we can head up to the conference floor for another round of COVID testing. I’m so pleased to see again medical staff with whom I hadn’t even been close. They seem so pleased to see me, too. I'm pleased to meet in person our new Peace Corps Medical Officers, too!

Back in my hotel room, I put on my good shoes to replace my hiking boots and wear my black mask from Singapore. Then I head back to the conference center on the top floor for official opening remarks. There are some introductory health and safety sessions. I journal that afternoon of our situation, “Having a vibe like both PST and Final Center Days conferences at the same time, Eric and me, alongside 23 M3Is.” 

Swear-In

By intros’ conclusion, it’s time for a ceremony that I quickly realize is what I think it is. Our Country Director directs my fellow evacuee and to the front. I'm glad to have been wearing the very same shirt I wore when I first swore in three years ago.

In front of the room, before our audience of Trainees, our Country Director hands us new certificates. We raise our right hands. We repeat after her. This is surreal. 

Sure enough, we're sworn in. Two newsgroups interview us, GoGo Mongolia and TenGer TV. I describe in English my mother’s story that brought me here. I tell the reporters about my time teaching at МУИС /MUIS/ in Erdenet and in the orphanage.

That night, I locate in my luggage my copies of my original Swear-In documents. I really am a Peace Corps Volunteer again. My re-education begins.

In my next tale, I’ll take you through my first days back in Mongolia.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[memorylang]

12 Months’ Pandemic Chronicled | #51 | March 2021

Happy Palm Sunday yesterday, and Happy Passover from the night before! Right under two weeks ago, March 16, 2O2I, marked the one-year anniversary to the close of my first Peace Corps Mongolia service. While I’ve continued to serve virtually, I’ve done so informally as a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Having lived these past 12 months back in the States, today’s tales chronicle that year. 

Also commemorating the one-year anniversary, I’ve uploaded dozens of photos from my first nine months serving Mongolia. You can find those on my Instagram and Facebook, from February and March. I begin today’s stories with those. From there, I chronicle my journey across the year. 

Evacuating Mongolia (February 2O2O)

February’s final week, on Ash Wednesday 2O2O, I was in Mongolia celebrating the third day of Tsagaan Sar, its Lunar New Year. Returning to my apartment from my last supper, I read an email from Peace Corps Mongolia that we were evacuating. I pulled an all-nighter packing my apartment. Shortly after sunrise, I visited a Peace Corps neighbor’s apartment to pack theirs. Then in my final two days, I said hasty goodbyes to community members, exchanging parting gifts. 

Sunday morning, which began Peace Corps Week and March 2O2O, I and fellow Volunteers loaded into Peace Corps vehicles and rode in our caravan till evening. Then the snowstorm caused us to need to stay overnight in a hotel coincidentally located in a city that my cohort would frequent during our summer 2OI9 for training. My evacuation group reached Mongolia’s capital Monday afternoon, with briefings from staff throughout Tuesday. Mongolia had already begun to enforce mask-wearing and physical-distancing, so we couldn’t do much with our final hours in Mongolia. Indeed, since mid-January, many public places had already closed due to quarantine. 

Wednesday night, the week after my peers and I had received notice of our evacuation and now mere hours before my group would depart the country, we awaited the arrival of fellow Peace Corps peers to the capital. For, Peace Corps staff staggered our arrivals into and departures from the capital to account for both the time drivers would need to assemble us from across the nation and the limited flight options still going out of the country. Those of us who remained awake through our final night enjoyed getting to see and embrace peers for our final moments together. 

Over the course of Thursday, March 5, my group flew first from Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, through Moscow, Russia, to Berlin, Germany. Many of our itineraries diverged. From Germany, I and a few flew to Amsterdam, the Netherlands. From the Netherlands, I and a couple others flew to New York, New York. I slept four and a half hours’ in a hotel. Then I flew alone Friday from New York to Las Vegas, Nevada. I returned to my home of junior high and high school in North Las Vegas. 

American Twilight Zone (March 2O2O)

My first few weeks in the States felt weird, not just because of reverse culture shock. Back in Mongolia, fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, particularly Health Volunteers, had followed American media and read that our presidential administration had been downplaying the COVID-19 pandemic. Problematically, too, when leaders acknowledged it, some labeled it the “China virus” and accused Asians of spreading it. These set the tone. 

When I arrived in New York, I felt perturbed by the lack of mask-wearing and physical distancing. The morning when I’d fly out, I felt annoyed when the worker who checked me into my flight joked that I might have the virus since I’d flown in from Mongolia. Mongolia had no COVID cases—and wouldn’t have its first community transmission till November 11, 2O2O. Friends, too, when I said that I’d come back, distrusted that I couldn’t have the virus. So, although Peace Corps peers and I had already been quarantining nearly a month and a half before returning to the States—and very much craved to reconnect with folks—we found ourselves again isolated. 

Then Vegas felt weird. Nevada had reported its first COVID case the day before I returned, yet Mongolia hadn’t any. Yet Mongolia had shut down, and Nevada hadn’t. Society moved as though little was happening. My brothers still had school and were gone most of most days. Dad worked weekdays out-of-town. Thus, while I lived again in the States, even inside my family’s home, I was the only one around. I felt lonelier than how’d I’d felt before leaving my life abroad. 

The Filipina family of my father’s fiancée was perhaps the most understanding of my circumstances. The oldest daughter was celebrating her birthday that first Sunday, March 8, since my return to the States. So, I got to join them in enjoying the occasion. As I’d come to learn, Mongolia and the Philippines had more cultural similarities than I’d expected. I’d also feel dismayed to learn that people weren’t treating the youngest daughter kindly in her food service role, for some customers believed that her being Asian meant that she had the Coronavirus. 

Resettling Into Lent (March 2O2O)

Most every morning, my first few days and weeks, tracks from Disney's “Frozen II” became my anthems. I’d seen the film that Friday, March 6, when I’d flown alone back to Vegas. I’d connected especially with “Show Yourself,” “Some Things Never Change” and “The Next Right Thing.” I started to learn the lyrics not only in English but also in Mandarin Chinese and Spanish. 

My local church was still open. Meanwhile, in Mongolia, our church had been closed for nearly months. So, I attended services daily. I overheard old parishioners wondering what all this pandemic talk was about. I visited Reconciliation and a Stations of the Cross service. I applied to sing in the choir with which my late mom sang. 

My second week in the States, church and schools closed. Meanwhile, Peace Corps announced its global evacuation. My peers and I weren’t to expect to return to Mongolia this summer and instead were to expect that fall would be the soonest. My youngest brother’s hs senior spring ended abruptly, so he stuck around at the house. Our oldest brother left to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters. 

I cleaned much in and around the house. My greatest achievement early in the pandemic was to lead a garage clean-up with all siblings when my sisters visited. The task enabled us to at last park a vehicle in it once more. My siblings and I donated, too, decades of belongings. 

Among the unearthing, I dove deep into family history. I wrote up my understanding of my father's and my late mother's ancestries, which were also mine. Months later, I'd join WikiTree, talk to distant relatives and migrate large swathes of history onto the platform. 

Easter in Action (April–May 2O2O)

Gloom seemed to enshroud the world by Easter. I saw from the telly the Vatican's Lenten services, witnessing Pope Francis’ words from his city to the world and for Holy Week. His Good Friday Way of the Cross felt especially moving, for prisoners had written beautiful reflections that made me realize how little of a prison our quarantine was. 

My younger sister in LA had also returned to visit Vegas. I resumed daily exercise routines, including trying to concurrently complete handheld video games and walk miles on the treadmill. This began my May push to make the most of my days back in America. I kicked up a daily Duolingo habit, rising through leagues, and talked regularly with Mongols during early mornings. Such helped my sanity, especially when state offices gave me a hard time trying to get the unemployment assistance to which lawmakers entitled evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteers.  

Around Memorial Day, an uncle and aunt visited from Kansas to celebrate my youngest brother’s high school graduation online. The relatives also took my siblings, a family friend and me on my first national parks trip in years. We saw Saguaro, Great Basin and Capitol Reef. During the trip I’d grown my Goodreads library and soon enough uncovered the Libby app. The journey led me too to begin a pensive look back on my life. 

Summer in Reno (June–July 2O2O)

Dad remarried on June 6, 2020. Shortly thereafter, I relocated to Reno to help Pa and Stepma (“Tita”) handle copious amounts of yard work. With more time to reflect, I took up the request of a homebound friend to pray rosaries daily over the phone with him. 

Another friend of mine was going through a dark patch too but had a love of films. So each morning I’d rise early to see one of his recommendations then discuss it while working the yard if I wasn’t praying a rosary. I fondly recall the conversations while trimming plants, as I wander the Reno backyard even now. 

Near the same time, the friend and another encouraged me to tell my stories. So I began to write a memoir, on which he’d give feedback. The other friend had me appear on his podcast. Both experiences made the summer feel very whole. In memory of my first summer in Mongolia 2OI9, I also wrote a more detailed series on those experiences. [Arrival (June 2OI9), Meeting Host Family (July 2OI9), Summer’s End (August 2OI9)]

I celebrated my 23rd birthday in Vegas with an overnight vigil, praying 23 rosaries alone and with Catholic friends from around the globe. I felt such joy to reconnect meaningfully with so many across languages and cultures. Languages became a growing theme for me. I’d also begun again playing Pokémon GO after having not played since 2OI6. 

That summer, I finished seeing “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” (Season 7) as well as relevant bits from “Star Wars: Rebels.” I kept up with the Japanese episodes of “Pokémon Journeys: The Series.” Those, I’ve watched with English subtitles to know what’s happening. I’d also begun to read chapters of the Bible daily, at that time checking in weekly with an ol' friend. I started with Acts then Proverbs, Ephesians then Psalms. Meanwhile came Hebrews and John. Then were Ruth and Matthew. Now I read 1 Kings and Mark. I’d grown to appreciate both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles with renewed interest. 

Autumn Languages (August–September 2O2O)

Much of that fall, I was back in Reno. Yet, my younger brother had also come to Reno for his undergraduate fall semester. The guest room where I’d stayed quickly became his room, which left me a tad displaced. Still, I stuck through. Mornings, I rose early to read through a Latin textbook before daily conversations with a close friend who’d majored in classics as an undergrad.

Meanwhile, I’d stepped up to arrange meetings with Congressional lawmakers on behalf of the National Peace Corps Association. I’d also taken on roles within my alma mater Honors College and within the Social Justice Task Force for the American Psychological Association’s Society for the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality. I kept people organized and took notes during meetings. Meanwhile, my siblings and I had been starting a scholarship foundation, so I’d taken point on negotiating a partnership with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation. 

As a nice break, I joined friends I’d met in high school on their near-monthly trips to national and state parks. These sights included Lassen Volcanic, Burney Falls and Tahoe’s Emerald Bay. Realizing that I wouldn’t return to Mongolia that fall, I booked a Department of Motor Vehicles appointment to renew my learner’s permit—The earliest appointment would be in December. 

In entertainment news, I’d finished seeing “Queer Eye: We’re in Japan,” “Love on the Spectrum” and “Midnight Gospel.” I’d also started playing “Pokémon Masters EX” when I’d heard that it included characters from multiple generations. I enjoyed how the stories felt new yet nostalgic. 

National Park Winter (October, November, December 2O2O)

October was a great month for my spiritual life. I got to attend my youngest sister’s Confirmation. I enjoyed my first retreat in years. I also got to tape videos for my alma mater. 

Then I returned to Vegas some weeks to complete more yard work. I’d also relocated belongings in different rooms and was able to have my own bedroom back in Vegas. This gave me a decent space in which to work. From November, I’ve also been hosting weekly video calls to help Mongols from my community abroad continue to practice English. 

I’d also listened to Riordan audiobooks, “Blood of Olympus” and “Hidden Oracle,” and various authors’ financial literacy materials. By December, “Kafka on the Shore” was a real highlight. In Reno, I saw too “The Mandalorian” (Seasons 1–2), emphatically recommended by a friend with whom I’d hiked at Red Rock Canyon. My other friends and I reunited to try again at Crater Lake and succeeded. 

My siblings and I partnered with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation to launch our family LinYL Foundation to honor our late mother with scholarships for students. Though my formal role’s within outreach, I’ve done a fair bit of organizational leadership given my undergrad experiences. I’ve also been helping another non-profit start-up. Through it, I’ve gotten to meet alumni of overseas programs. 

My family celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas in Vegas with our stepsisters. I’d also celebrated American Independence Day with them. Christmas felt peculiar, as I’d returned from Mongolia to Vegas the Christmas before, too! 

Then my national parks friends and I hit a new record, seeing Walnut Canyon, Petrified Forest, Meteor Crater, Sedona’s Devil’s Bridge and the Grand Canyon. Having successfully renewed my learner’s permit, I scheduled my driving test for the earliest date—February. I returned to Reno and at New Year’s reunited with friends for whom I’d participated in their wedding the year before. 

Road to Rejuvenation (January–February 2O2I)

Following the U.S. elections came the presidential inauguration. I felt more at peace with the state of the nation after that. Though U.S. politics have absorbed media significantly throughout the pandemic, I felt relieved by the calls for unity and returns to political normalcy from Inauguration Day. 

Meanwhile, I sought to kick off 2O2I strong, with renewed optimism and control. I practiced driving almost daily. I’d seen “Daredevil” (Season 3) too and progressed in the Blue Lions story of my younger sister’s “Fire Emblem: Three Houses” copy. At February’s start, after years of challenges, I secured my driver’s license. 

Mid-February, my national parks friends and I saw Utah’s Mighty Five. Our trip spanned Canyonlands, Arches, Capitol Reef (different section), Escalante, Bryce Canyon and Zion. I got to help drive at the end from Vegas to Reno, a major milestone. 

Thanks to Discord, I attended a virtual alumni reunion of my high school alma mater. I experienced our school's recreation in “Minecraft: Java Edition,” wandering into the classroom where I used to play “Minecraft” as a freshman. In “RuneScape,” after 12 years on-off, I’d achieved level 99 in all but the newest skill. I'd even gotten the characters I wanted in “Pokémon Masters EX” and nearly finished my Kanto Pokédex in “Pokémon GO.” (I've never before completed a Pokédex.) 

I finished February recording music for my undergrad parish’s online edition to our annual performance for “Living Stations of the Cross.” I got to lector at and attend a friend’s baptism. I’d also soaked up my youngest sister’s boyfriend’s Disney+ again and saw “WandaVision” entirely. Its takes on grief and joy astounded. 

Social Justice (March 2O2I)

These bring me to where and how I am today. I write from Reno, Nev., where snow had fallen and the weather grown warmer. Spring is here. 

The announcement of increasing vaccines gave me lots of hope. Since I've lost so many people this past year to COVID-19 and other conditions I'm grateful that we may near the end. An email from and a check-in call with Peace Corps confirmed that summer would be the soonest I’m going back abroad. Still, I’ve kept in touch with my people in Mongolia. 

My older brother and his girlfriend moved into the Vegas house, so I haven’t felt as obligated to be there. Thus, I’ve focused more time on the church in Reno. 

A great fount of a spiritual joy for me has been getting to help lector for my college parish’s weekly Proclamations of the Word. I received particular acclaim for my reading from 2 Chronicles, for Lent’s Fourth Sunday, which delighted me. At the time I’d been reading 1 Kings, so I’d enjoyed recognizing parallels. In some ways the exercises are like a miniature college course. Beyond regular Sundays and Holy Week, I’d also lectored for such feast days as St. Joseph’s Day (March 19) and the Annunciation (March 25). 

My siblings’ and my family foundation chose our first year of recipients. It’s been an exciting process, reading and witnessing our inspiring candidates. I hope that I'll get to meet these students someday, but ah, the pandemic. 

I’ve gotten back into “Frozen II,” thanks to its authentic behind-the-scenes docuseries. I've also passed the one-year anniversary of my first seeing the film. Each morning I’ve sought to see something on Disney's platform—real' nice. 

Our psychological division’s presidential task force for Social Justice released our statement about the Capitol riots, which received strong critics but stronger supporters. Then came the Atlanta situation. 

In my U.S. Week 5I (Feb. 19–25), during a walk past the nearby elementary school, I’d had an unpleasant personal experience that led me to feel very grateful when the #StopAsianHate campaign began. I’ll likely share more later, but today’s blog story is about done. 

Hope and Easter 2O2I (April 2O2I)

At the last Adoration activity before Easter, our parish offered Reconciliation, so I returned again. Absolution offers such sweet cleansing for my mind and soul. Now Holy Week begins. I'm still lectoring, too! 

This summer, I hope to write more on my memoir. I’m still revising my research. I'm set to finish all five tiers of Duolingo Latin tomorrow. Then I'll get back to my textbook. 

I still delight in chatting with ol’ friends. My national parks homies and I will hit Redwood next weekend. Then my parish has Spring Retreat. I look forward to getting vaccinated in coming months then hugging folks forevermore. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

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Easter: Redwoods, Light | #52 | April 2021

I write from Vegas, having returned after spending most of this spring in Reno. Life has been well. I feel adjusted to being back in the States a year. Every so often, objects and settings still remind me of last year’s evacuation from Mongolia. I still have the interest I’d had in trying to improve the lives of those around me. I still plan to return to Mongolia as soon as pandemic conditions permit.

This month’s blog story reminds me of cycles. Attending a virtual Open Mic Night at the conclusion to this month's “Culture of Creativity Workshops” featuring overseas alumni, I felt called to tell our folks there about this very blog story that I hadn't yet finished. A fellow participant suggested my theme of cycles. I'd spoken of how events that happen throughout time, how our feelings come and go. So here it is—My Easter 2O2I tales of cycles, light and renewal!

Back to Vegas

I returned to Vegas tasked by my father to continue to sort my belongings, tend to the yard and help my older brother and his girlfriend clean the kitchen since their recent move back to the house. Early in March, I’d visited the house with my siblings, and I’d intended originally to spend Holy Week here, too. But my college parish had many functions, including a friend’s baptism, Knights’ service events and opportunities for me to continue to help with the recordings of Sunday Proclamations of the Word. Palm Sunday’s and Good Friday’s were special highlights. Anyway, I'd opted to stay in Reno for Lent’s remainder into Easter’s first weeks.

Easter in Reno

Being in Reno for most of this April instead of in Vegas like last year, I enjoyed seeing trees blossom. A highlight of this Easter season has been its many serendipitous moments. This is also noteworthy because I'd listened to the "Tao of Pooh,” which noted spontaneity as among the good spiritual life’s fruits. A spiritual director had told me something similar not long before I'd graduated college.

Days before Easter Sunday itself (U.S. Year 2, Week 5; April 2–8, 2O2I), I enjoyed getting the opportunity to lector at that Mass. It was a small Mass, but I felt glad to be in person for the greatest celebration of the Christian year since all had shut down last year. Later this Easter Octave, I’d gotten to both lector and serve at a family's confirmation Mass. That too felt lovely.

Serendipity hadn’t stopped there! I’d caught up with an ol’ friend at Rancho San Rafael Park not far from the Uni and later biked with another friend at North Valleys Regional. My bike itself I’d bought from a rummage sale the day before on an unexpected adventure in a U-Haul truck to help our student coordinators collect furniture in the morning after they’d asked whoever could help. Thus, that Wednesday night they’d requested help, Thursday morning I’d joined them to Gardnerville and the rectory, and Friday night I was biking with a friend. The last time I recall riding in a U-Haul was over a dozen years ago when I was 11, my family moved from Indiana to Vegas.

My youngest sister has also been encouraging me to practice my licensed driving by borrowing her vehicle to and from our parish. I’d visited so often that staff offered me a key to simplify visits to my "home away from home away from home." I’d felt touched because I could go on walks around our pretty campus without worrying about getting locked out when I was alone. The flexibility gave me peace recently on my U.S. Year 2, Week 8 (April 23–29, 2O2I), when midday I’d needed to drop by my Honors College alma mater’s office to help print a letter I’d written to graduating seniors for our Honors Alumni Task Force.

Also at church, I’d gotten to participate in a few of our Alpha sessions hosted by a diaconate candidate whom I’d interviewed back in 2OI8 on my diocesan public relations internship. I'd heard about Alpha first back in Mongolia from a kind Evangelical Mongol. Anyway, the diaconate candidate, student coordinators and Alpha participants have been great conversation partners.

Beyond these, our pastor had driven me to my first Pfizer vaccine dose, lent me films and advised my reading! On one occasion, he even let me bring Holy Communion to a friend of mine. Such activities have kept me from feeling too distressed amid research writing and revisions. Parish support has made my “happy contentment” quest kinder.

Redwoods National and State Parks

This year’s Easter Octave concluded for me with another trip with my national parks friends (U.S. Year 2, Week 6; April 9–I5, 2O2I). This trip, I’d anticipated especially. As a young lad in Indiana, I’d felt mesmerized by the photos of massively tall California trees noted in our science textbooks. Thus, from an early age, Redwoods imprinted themselves in me.

At these national and state parks, epic scenery of old-growth forests, mountainous hills and valleys beside the coast astounded me. I hadn’t seen the Pacific Ocean since January 2O2O when I’d flown back to Mongolia from Vegas via San Francisco. I felt surprised by how many months had passed since my last overseas adventure.

At the loop completing the Tall Trees Grove trail, I found a special place. My peers had gone ahead while I stayed behind to take photos, record videos and capture audio. I hadn’t expected to find at the trail’s end a creek filled with still other trees—vast ones, like those that I’d seen in subtropical Asia but different.

I basked in these trees. While taking photos, I also discovered my phone has a virtual reality setting. I tried it out, remembering undergrad extra credit VR photography projects. I’d wanted to journal at least something.

“Daniel!” my peers called from some distance down the path. I couldn’t see them, but their voices echoed well enough. I called back something to the effect of, “I’m here!” I still wanted to get a good fill of this park. Here’s what I journaled:

[11:45 a.m.] Redwood, National Park, end of Tall Tree Grove along the creek zone is this phenomenal section of mossy trees with winding branches. Here I discovered my VR. [A woman paused, passing me, “You must be Daniel.”] 19IO–I96O, so many of these trees that used to be across Humboldt, Eureka, Arcata were cut down. The smells… the scents, the mosses, the ferns, the light. Beyond.

Mid-journaling, I paused because a mid-aged woman who was passing by smiled and acknowledged that I must be the "Daniel" she'd overheard about. I smiled yes and reveled in the gorgeousness that surrounded us. She affirmed and mused how this park’s name should be changed like, “Redwoods and Other Trees and Lose-Your-Brother-in-the-Forest National Park.” She added how in the early half of last century, these very types of trees once blanketed far more Northern California, across the very counties through which my friends and I traveled to get here.

I later journaled again after sprinting much of the uphill trail back to my friends. We then saw the “Lady Bird” Johnson trail, then a confluence of the Klamath River and Pacific Ocean (where there were seals!) and finally Trillium Falls. I’d written this about the final hike:

So hypnotic. [...] Dodona’s Grove* vibes from the Trillium hike after the Falls. Whispers from God. Endlessness.

*The Grove of Dodona is a prophetic forest from “The Hidden Oracle,” a book to which I’d listened amid the pandemic by an author I used to read in junior high and high school, Rick Riordan. While I wasn’t a huge fan of where he’d taken “The Heroes of Olympus” series’ finale, I'd often admired his picturesque locales.

My peers and I left the park by 6:45 p.m. The view from the road on which we departed reminded me of the bamboo forest in 安吉 Ānjí near 杭州 Hángzhōu. I’d seen it in 2OI7 during my first summer overseas and have rarely found comparable places.

Of Redwoods, I journaled too of how gleeful I’d felt to have hugged so many trees. A friend had complimented my writing when he mentioned that I don’t need to take so many photos. I added how photos help me remember what to write. I'll probably share my Redwoods photoset in May.

A carpet of moist, fallen leaves along the paved trails had reminded me of a Sunday morning path that my dad would take my siblings and me through for years at Spring Mill State Park in Mitchell, Ind.

Spring Retreat: Recognizing God’s Light

Beyond Redwoods, I'd stayed behind in Reno chiefly to participate in my college parish's Spring Retreat. This spring the student coordinators held it in Gardnerville, the same location where I'd enjoyed it my senior spring. However, I'd had to leave early from it that year. It was my first and only of the eight semesterly retreats from which I'd left early.

That year, I'd left in order to co-emcee the Diocesan Youth Rally 2OI9. To my surprise, the youngest member on this year’s student coordinator team was likely at that same event when she was a high school student. Similarities like these gladdened me.

I felt renewed. This year’s theme, "Light in the Darkness" (Spring 2O2I), reminded me of "Ignite the Light," (Spring 2OI8), the year after my mother died. This time, however, I’d had more years to reflect and feel greater peace. Similarly, I've felt more peace being back in the States even though I'd prefer to be abroad. God’s light shines every day, in every moment of every person. I can see it.

Writing of seeing things, I’d also seen "WandaVision" and "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" while up in Reno. I’d reconnected too with a Disney-loving college friend to get more Disney+ watchlist ideas. I’d seriously enjoyed the “Into the Unknown: Making Frozen II” docuseries. Both she and my college pastor led me to witness iconic performances by Julie Andrews in both "The Sound of Music" and "Mary Poppins."

Justice

April felt refreshing for a more challenging reason as well. Much of the month had featured on many channels coverage from the trial over the killing of George Floyd. I imagined that this would be a trial that my generation remembers for years.

I’d watched live various testimonies and even the closing arguments. Then, on that Tuesday, April 2O, 2O2I, afternoon, our nation heard the verdict—My pastor called it among the fastest traveling news.

I've been on the Social Justice Task Force of the American Psychological Association’s Society for the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality since last summer. Our Task Force had come together in response to the killing of George Floyd and subsequent renewed pushes across our nation for social justice.

Our task force has been meeting every other Tuesday night, after weekly fed Zoom fatigue. Our meeting that Tuesday fell on the night of the guilty verdict. But, this justice felt cathartic only somewhat. More shootings filled the media. Our task was far from over.

Still, I’d another reason to celebrate. That Tuesday marked my last advocacy meeting on behalf of the National Peace Corps Association to offices of Nevada’s lawmakers this March–April. All told, I’d coordinated and met virtually with offices of the U.S. Congresspeople Horsford, Titus and Lee as well as Senator Rosen. And Representative Titus herself attended our meeting! She was very kind. So, I felt relieved to have finished those duties for now.

Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

Next month (May) begins Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. I've decided to tell a #StopAsianHate story. Given America's centuries of racism toward Asians, I don't enjoy the subject. But, I’d had an experience on my Week 5I (Feb. 19–25, 2O2I). It reminded me the importance of continuing to tell stories so that we can promote diversity and inclusion.

I was on one of my Reno walks that cold winter. As usual, I'd pass by the local elementary school. I'd paused to check my phone. The time was while children were at recess. They played opposite a chain-link fence a few yards down a hill from where I stood.

At first, I didn't think that the kids were talking to me. So, I paid them little attention. Then their voices sounded closer, in greater numbers.

I hadn't decided whether to acknowledge the children but decided to finish my walk. My walk brought me along the fence. From my right periphery, I saw a clump of children gathering, following. They certainly addressed me.

I heard what sounded like slurs against Asians that I won't repeat here but also questions that I will repeat here.

The kids asked if I was homeless, whether I'm an orphan, whether I speak English. I reflected on these. I was wearing a big scarf from Mongolia, a hefty hand-me-down winter coat and wide, secondhand jeans, frayed at my ankles. But I hadn't spoken a word to the kids.

Their questions themselves weren't offensive. Yet, the children’s tones reminded me of the mocking ones I'd heard in middle school when boys made fun of me for caring more about good grades than getting girlfriends. (Little did the boys know, girls I liked tended toward good grades.)

Anyway, these kids seemed to have negative implications behind positive responses to their questions. This upset me. After all, homelessness, being an orphan and not knowing English are not inherently bad things. For, often, people do not choose to go without a home, parents or American English. So why might these children ask these degradingly?

I felt perturbed by the realization that these children would find pleasure in mocking people who they suspect are without homes, parents or English skills. Yet, from this, I felt a glimmer of solidarity. I'd heard directed toward me what seemed unkind speech. This may help me relate to Asians who hear slurs, to those without homes, to those without parents and to those perhaps struggling with English.

My parents tend to insist too that I buy new clothes, though. Given our world's rampant consumerism, I find second-hand ones quite fine. "Form follows function." I wish that more folks would appreciate hand-me-downs and thrifting.

Nuance

Curiously, as I continued past this chain-link fence, a somewhat pudgy boy of color asked with a wide grin for money for Taco Bell. Truthfully, I didn't have money on me. I calmly answered the questions, not pausing from my walk. I guessed the kids dismissed the homeless guess/joke. I noticed thankfully that they wore face masks. We’re still in a pandemic, after all.

The boy's questions made me wonder about his family life. True, he could have been joking. But I remembered, many of the boys who'd picked on me in middle school had been living in a neighborhood that many people called not a “good” part of town.

In light of the visibility that Black Lives Matter has had in the past year, I've tried to grow more aware of how cruel predominantly White societies can be toward Black, indigenous and other peoples of color. I recalled learning when I was little that, often those who bully had been bullied themselves. Sociology interests me.

Thus, when these playground children said potentially questionable things to me, I wasn't sure whether to intervene about the slurs or micro-aggressions or what I'd say.

As I neared the fence’s edge to complete my pass by the school, I overheard a girl's or maybe a woman's voice call the kids to stop wasting their free time. I'm glad that someone spoke up. Compassion is the answer, especially in light of hurtful things.

I’m still unsure whether my general silence was helpful or problematic. But the experience caused me to think. For, children learn fast. Innocence is invaluable. My generation's problems and those of that above ours replicate in youths the longer we fail to act.

I’m glad that folks are speaking up these days in hopes to #StopAsianHate. Social justice mustn't sleep.

Language Six

On April 2O2I’s last day, I hit my 365-day streak on Duolingo!

Over the past year, I’d focused on Latin, Spanish and Chinese. Having finished every lesson and level Duolingo had for Latin, I started dabbling in German. While I’ve no intention to extensively pursue German (yet, at least), I’ve enjoyed how its lessons help me see from where many non-Latin roots reach English.

I’ve been dipping into my Germanic heritage on Dad’s side again lately. This began about when I’d seen “The Sound of Music” then reconnected with my distant relative who’s researched more of our shared Austrian and Volga German forefathers and mothers. Turns out that my relative had personally written to and received a postcard from the real Maria von Trapp!

I've grown to like more German language. "The Sound of Music" and how Spotify has Disney soundtracks in German help. Besides listening to vocalists like Namika, I’ve also gotten into LEA, Manuel Straube, Julia Scheeser and even Willemijn Verkaik! This is probably just a phase, but it’s certainly fun.

Every language I’ve sought to learn has at least one Spotify playlist. For recent films I’ve seen, like "Mary Poppins" and "Mary Poppins Returns," I’ve cherry-picked tracks in German, Spanish and English. Though I don’t catch most words, I like to consider translators’ decision-making.

Summer Fun

I get my second Pfizer dose on Cinco de Mayo. By then, I hope to have channeled my Julie Andrews-inspired service of making things better than how I've found them. Later that vaccine week, on Mother’s Day, I’ll return to Reno with Tita and Papa.

May 14 will celebrate the Baccalaureate Mass of lovely student coordinators and friends from undergrad. Then comes the 2Ist birthday of my youngest sister and will also mark when I’m fully inoculated, May 19! Pentecost comes May 23. Then will be May 3O, the wedding of two of my undergrad coworkers, including a fraternity brother. We'll have a mini staff and fraternal reunion!

After that, I look forward most to a Seattle trip at my 24th birthday. National parks friends and I are flying up to see Olympic National Park. It’ll be my first time to see further into the Pacific Northwest than Ashland, Ore. My younger (not youngest) sister got a job in Seattle, so I’ll be surfing her couch for part of my visit. Super stoked to reconnect with friends from high school, college and Peace Corps in the city! Even my married friends with whom I'd spent New Year's Eve the past couple years plan to visit me there.

This April my siblings and I reviewed our first scholarship applications for a Foundation that we’d founded to honor our late mother, who was Chinese. So, with next month and the fourth anniversary of her passing, I’ll share Foundation experiences, I think. Along with those, graduations and celebrations await!

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[memorylang]

Language Learning, Mom’s Birthday | #43 | August 2020

Since Mom had held language-learning close-to-heart, I dedicate my August update to a language theme! 

With August 9, 2020, my late mom turned 55. I’ve often felt since 2017 a bittersweet fondness for the summer months between Mother’s Day and her birthday. That year had been my first summer in China getting to know Mom’s family after her death. 

For this August’s story, I’ve reflected a great deal on my experiences with language learning. Of which I’d written before, I’ve basically chosen five languages as the ones I want to be functional using (my native English included). So beyond the usual reflections from this COVID-19 summer in the States, I also take us back through my young life learning.  

And, I’m pleased to announce that I've begun to work on a new writing project! More on that soon. 

From Multilingual Mom to Me 

I start us from spring 2020, around evacuation back to the U.S. from Peace Corps Mongolia. 

By April 10-16, I’d been in my sixth week in Vegas again. Yet, less than a couple months before, I was in Mongolia packing to evacuate. As part of my coping while packing, I’d listened to hours of music. Much included Chinese Disney themes I’d found on Spotify. 

Well, having returned to Vegas, you might recall that the sisters’ songs in “Frozen II” resonated deeply with me. Whether while waking or working the yard, I’d listen to “Frozen II”' tracks in Chinese, sometimes in English. Finding songs in other langauges fit my 2020 exploration resolution. I humorously suspected that my Spotify Wrapped 2020 will surely list the same tracks in different languages... if only Spotify had Mongolian versions. Well, a month later, by week 10 (May 8-14), I’d exchanged the songs’ English versions for Spanish!  

That week also featured May 13, 2020—the third anniversary of Mom’s funeral. This year, something special happened.  

I’d received a fateful book—A Primer of Ecclesiastical Latin. My college pastor had ordered this for me just days after I’d asked him what I should consider studying while discerning during quarantine a doctorate in religious studies. After my pastor noted my interest in world Christianity, especially its past and present in Asia, he highly recommended I study Church Latin. 

My pastor’s suggestion pleased me in a curious way. It reminded me of my Duolingo dabbling back in Mongolia, how at that time I’d favored Latin over Greek. Still, Liturgical Latin, studied seriously, seemed like quite an undertaking. Nonetheless my pastor commended my talents and felt confident I could succeed along paths God may open for me. I felt grateful for the aid! 

Embarking on my quest to learn Latin, I’ve found the language remarkable. 

It’s felt at times the culmination of my years learning languages. In fact, Mom had actually wanted my siblings and me to learn languages since we were little—She’d taught us to read English then tried to have us learn Chinese. Most summers, she’d have us in the mornings copy down Chinese characters before she’d let us play games or do activities that weren’t “educational.” 

While cleaning my family’s garage this COVID-19 this summer, I’d unearthed old notebooks in which my siblings and I would write Mom’s required phrases. I noticed how even back then I’d seem to try harder than most of my siblings, given how many characters I copied. Still, I hadn’t much inclination to know the language words beyond, then, clearing Mom’s barrier to letting me play games. 

Still, even if the notebooks had implied some aptitude I’d had for languages, Mom’s requirements left me if anything more averse to language acquisition than eager. 

Suffering Through Spanish

Many today may feel surprised to know that for years I’d called Spanish my second language. 

Given my childhood disdain for studying languages beyond English, I’d found my task to study Spanish in high school assiduous. I formally began in the language fall 2011 as a freshman. Spanish was our Vegas school’s only foreign language option, and all honors students needed two years of language. Yet again, my language studies drew from a requirement—little more. 

Many of my classmates and I rapidly found our classes exhausting, for our instructor had a thick French accent. Furthermore, verb conjugation, unfamiliar tenses and gendered vocabulary felt alien. I didn’t get why a language would be so complicated. 

Yet, despite my struggles to understand our teacher, she’d commended me because I “made the effort.” Well, I sometimes felt like I’d make the effort to a fault. When peers cheated on exams, my darn integrity had me abstain. 

By my second year, when I was succeeding in college-level AP world history, my fleetingly flawless GPA took from Spanish a beating. That hurt. By my senior year, at least Mom let me take Spanish online instead. I’d learned that I’d known more than I thought, but I still sucked. 

Redemption Through Mandarin

By fall 2015, I’d had graduated high school and enrolled as an honors undergrad facing another foreign language requirement. 

Licking my wounds from Spanish, I ruled out that language. I saw the University offered Chinese, though. Studying world history had interested me in Mom’s cultural background and native tongue. Considered she’d made my siblings stare at the language since childhood, I hoped it wouldn’t be too hard. So, I chose Mandarin Chinese.

And by my first days learning Chinese, I could already feel the benefits of having taken Spanish. 

Chinese felt astoundingly straightforward. Spanish had taught me to recognize that English letters (better known as the Latin alphabet) sound differently in different languages. For example, I felt pleased to notice that the ‘a’ /ah/ letter in Spanish sounds similar to its Chinese pronunciation. Thus, Spanish’s “mamá” and Chinese’s “māmā” relate, despite appearing in separate languages. 

Thanks to my Spanish experience, I picked up Chinese’s general pronunciation system far faster. Furthermore, I felt relieved to find that Chinese grammar lacked the conjugation and gender nightmares I’d faced in Spanish. I’d even loved how Chinese characters’ little images could often help me guess word meanings intuitively! 

My interest and success with the Chinese language led me to study abroad in 2017, planned with my mother before she was killed. I returned to China a year later, in 2018 on an intensive program. Both times, I spoke my mother’s native tongue, meeting relatives and making friends. I even received awards for my skills. 

Yet, despite my progress in Chinese, I’d often considered it only my third language. After all, much of my success in Chinese came having struggled through Spanish.  

  Finding Peace with Spanish

In my college senior year, January 2019, I’d attended a religious pilgrimage in Panamá—a Spanish-speaking nation. 

By that time, I’d grown acquainted with language immersions. In fact, I readily used my Mandarin skills when I met World Youth Day pilgrims from Hong Kong, Malaysia and Taiwan. They often felt shocked to meet someone outside their communities who knew their language! 

Of course, Panamá left me at times surrounded too by folks who only spoke Spanish, including my host family. 

I listened carefully. A luminous spark, I’d felt. Buried memories of my broken Spanish resurfaced. Near my last day in Panamá, I felt awed to have had a conversation with a cab driver completely in Spanish. 

My peace with Spanish became a renewed interest. 

After our pilgrimage, I’d continued with my host family and new Latin American friends to speak and write almost exclusively in Spanish. Online, we benefited over WhatsApp with Google Translate, too. Panamá in 2019 had taken a language that was for me dead and breathed in it new life. 

Peace Corps Language Level-ups

Later that year (last year), I began to learn what would be my fourth language and one entirely unfamiliar—Mongolian.

I should note that before reaching Mongolia June 1, 2019, I couldn’t even read its Cyrillic alphabet. I’d basically started at zero. 

Peace Corps’ language briefings had at least taught me that Mongolian is an Altaic language, distinct from Indo-European language like English and from character-based languages like Mandarin. Over the course of summer in villages of Mongolia, Peace Corps put us through mornings of immersive language training followed by returns home to our host families. 

Still, many Peace Corps Trainees felt unmotivated to learn Mongolian. After all, with statistically few Mongolian speakers worldwide, many felt that we wouldn’t have much utility for Mongolian outside Mongolia. Nevertheless, I felt motivated by desires to understand and feel understood. I powered through. 

Initially, Mongolian baffled me. 

Its Cyrillic alphabet (and its script one, too) includes consonant and vowel sounds unknown to English, Spanish and Chinese. Furthermore, Mongolian uses a case-based grammar of suffixes, a reversed subject-object-verb order and postpositions instead of prepositions. Mongolian even reintroduced me to my nemeses gendered vocabulary and tense-based verb endings!

I felt grateful for the sparse Chinese loanwords I wouldn’t have to relearn! Yet, my kryptonite was often pronunciation. Challenging consonants and tricky long vowels left me so inauthentic. Regardless, I was an ardent study who savored most every chance to receive Mongols’ clarifications and corrections. 

Finding Latin in Asia

Curiously, Catholic Churches became great places for my language learning.

This was the case for me both with learning Chinese in China and Mongolian in Mongolia. Parishioners would often take me under their wings to support me. Curiously in Mongolia, an English-speaking French parishioner pointed out once that Mongolian grammar is quite like Latin. I didn’t know Latin, though. 

I had encountered Latin, though. For, Asian vocabularies for Church topics often derived more directly from Latin than even English translations! These pleased me, since learning the vocabulary to speak about religion felt less foreign. 

Then came the sleepless nights during Mongolia’s COVID-19 preemptive quarantining, January and February. I’d had taken up Duolingo and opted for Greek or Latin in hopes that they’d bore me to sleep. I’d also hoped they might supplement how I teach English and read Scripture. And while Greek felt hopelessly confounding, Latin vocabulary felt surprisingly... natural. Despite my lack of formal training, I did alright just guessing. 

My Roads Led to Latin

From late May through mid-June 2020, I’d read the first four chapters of the Church Latin book. Meanwhile, mid-summer, I felt pleased to reach Duolingo’s Diamond League! Realizing that to become Champion would take far more effort than I cared to give, though I focused just on keeping my streak. 

Still, my Latin especially progress slowed after Dad’s remarriage and my relocation to Reno, Nev. My mostly-free summer rapidly grew hectic. But even in those first four Latin weeks, I’d discovered true gems in pursuing the historic language. 

At face value, Latin’s vocabulary reminded me of Spanish and English. Sometimes, Church words I’d learned first in Mandarin and Mongolian too related! Vocabulary felt profound. 

Furthermore, Latin grammar felt reminiscent of not only Spanish conjugations but indeed Mongolian cases! I felt relieved that Panamá had freed me from my conjugation aversion. Likewise, my Mongolian skills felt far from obsolete! 

To supplement my Latin studies, I try to translate between Chinese and Spanish, the way how in Mongolia I’d translate between Mongolian and Chinese. By juggling languages, I seek to codeswitch in more contexts with a more unified vocabulary. 

Wherever I wind up academically and professionally, I hope to work between languages. Through daily discipline, textbooks, apps, videos, notes and conversations, I trust I’ll go far. Feel free to connect if you want to practice with me! The more corrections, the better. 

From Ecclesiastical to Classical Latin

On August 23 (of my stateside week 25), I’d reunited in Vegas with a high school friend who’d studied classics in undergrad. From that meeting on, I’d not only ramped up my Latin studies but also transitioned from Ecclesiastical Latin to classical. 

For, Church Latin is but an evolving Latin. To understand the orgins of many words—beyond simply their uses within the Roman Catholic Church—I would need the eternal Latin that changes no more. Well, my friend offered to tutor me, so I offered to try! 

Classical Latin is harder, by the way. 

And in the midst of my suffering throughout September, my friend had even offered to tutor me Greek. While mostly joking (but also not), I’ve offered that I might learn Greek from him if for no other reason than to thank him for teaching me Latin! 

Nearly a month since beginning the tutorial system with him, we’ve since cleared over a fourth of a textbook meant sometimes to take a year’s worth of study. I hope by the year’s end to have finished the book. 

At least a third of my waking hours at times seem to go into Latin. But, it’s nice to keep learning! That same week, my siblings had all resumed their undergraduate studies. At least I’m still learning something! 

Embarking on a Book Memoir 

Besides working on my other languages, I’ve even placed time in my English. 

Lastly, I want to share about my writing quest! Although the project isn’t always across the top of my agenda, I keep at it. We return again to mid-summer. 

Peace Corps friends and I have often checked in on each other since evacuation to the States. Some also write. During a webinar for evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, I’d met many looking to tell their stories.

Most weeks since July, I’d also have a few video calls. I’d take these no matter what I was up to. I’d still been doing that ‘groundskeeping’ in Reno, Nev. of which I’d written before. Whether I was getting the mail, trimming the hedges, pruning the flowers, watering the lawn, raking debris, sweeping the floor, taking out the trash, tugging the garbage bins, adjusting the windows or washing the dishes, I’d often had some task that Dad requested I’d tend to. Calls with friends broke the monotony. 

After encouragement from mentors and friends, I’d decided to write a creative nonfiction book memoir for publication someday! 

The first step, of course, is having a manuscript. So, since week 17 (June 26–July 2), I’d been typing away at the first chapters to what seems will be a story spanning my three years of studies and service overseas after Mother’s death, leading up to my acceptance and peace. I'm excited to tell stories about finding purpose and identity, despite grief and loss. I hope it helps readers to find their own peace amid confusion. All things are so fundamentally interconnected. 

By three weeks in, I’d felt so grateful for the outpouring of support I’d received. Frankly, I wouldn’t be writing so much if people hadn’t been saying this has potential. Thankfully, readers offer marvelous insights. They treat the story as one deserving of quality. I love their attention to details. 

Still, among the most grueling lessons I’ve learned learned has been that a book about grief has needed me to relive the hurt of my mother's death for repeated days. I trust nonetheless that once I’ve written and rewritten well, the remaining may rest behind me. 

If you’re looking to read what’s coming, you’re in the right place. Merely starting on the book has helped me to improve my blog writing. You may have noticed in my recent summer 2019 throwback stories, for example, I’ve used more narrative than before. I hope you’ve enjoyed! 

The language studies and the book continue, though I’ve taken more breaks lately with the book. From mid-August I’d embarked on advocacy projects with the National Peace Corps Association. I’ll share more on that soon. Having doubled-down on my Latin studies from mid-September, it can be a quite a black hole for my time! For everything there is a season (Ecc. 3:1). 

Seeking to Stay Holy

A couple friends admired my dedication and called upon me to help them meet their spiritual goals. What a kind expereince! In helping them keep accountable, they’ve likewise helped me. 

With a homebound Knight of Columbus, we’d continued July’s rosaries throughout August, as many as three times a day leading up to the Catholic Feast of the Assumption. Afterward, we’d reduced our count back to two times daily through early September. I’d never prayed so many rosaries before! 

Through August, I’d also read a chapter of Proverbs daily with a friend. I’d reconnected with her during my outreach for the book. I enjoy our weekly Scripture chats, and she shows more Protestant perspectives on our faith!  

I find God a great companion along the journey of life. Regardless of how you view religious and spiritual topics, I trust that you have companions, too. They’re so important! 

On a positive note, I’d gotten to revisit my undergrad parish. I felt so amazed to hear that students I’d never met thought I was a cool person! I try not to think too highly of myself, but I feel touched when people notice me. I hope I inspire folks. 

Coming up Next

Thanks for reading my meta-stories about languages and stories!  

If you’ve been following my tales for a while now, you may recall I’d mentioned feeling surprised to learn that my mother had been studying Spanish around the same years I’d been studying it. I felt awed to realize that even when I’d tried to learn one of my earliest new languages, Mom was trying to learn what was for her one of a few. I’m glad to have perhaps inherited Mother’s interest in languages. 

Up next, I have a very special piece dated for September 2020 [and ultimately released in October]. I’m focusing on perspectives—mine and others’. I’m particularly excited to share adventures with teams including those within the American Psychological Association and the Honors College at the University of Nevada, Reno. They’ve given me plenty of fun roles amid the pandemic! 

I’m also writing about national and state parks! God, I love nature.

Stay healthy, friend.

COVID-19 and America Months 11 through 15 | April, May, June, July, August

Easter Epilogue in America | #35 | April 2020 

Remembering Mom—Third Year After | #36 | May 2020 

Fathers’ Day, Faith and Familiarity | #38 | June 2020

23rd Birthday~ Roses and Rosaries | #39 | July 2020

Language Learning, Mom’s Birthday | #43 | August 2020

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :) 

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Fathers’ Day, Familiarity and Faith | #38 | June 2020

If my COVID-19 experiences were a Netflix Original Series, I feel someone could title it, "The Groundskeeper."

Synopsis: Returned Peace Corps Volunteer from Mongolia, now back in Nevada, learns a thing or two about hedge trimming and much more about life living.

The inspirational hit series stars award-winning memoirist Daniel Lindbergh Lang, director and editor. “Please support the official release.”

Quirky thoughts keep me sane. More on these later, of course. 

The U.S. celebrated Father’s Day 2020 on June 21, so I commemorate it with reflections from being my father’s son. 

The adventures follow both my Mothers’ Day reflections (#36) and Easter in America stories (#35). I focus now on continued COVID-19 adventures in yard work, sorting and reminiscing. 

Chronologically, we pick up from my stateside Week 11 (May 15-21), when my sisters came home from their unis’ spring semesters. With them as collaborators, I continued sorting our family’s memorabilia. After a few weeks’ interlude 'round Memorial Day, big changes occurred Weeks 14 through 16 (June 5-25) through Fathers’ Day.  

I also consider Pentecost and the Spirit. Easter 2020 ended Sunday, May 31, so we’re in a fruitful new time. In fact, I write here results from the smattering of routines I shared before. 

Lastly, to clarify, many assume my dad’s Asian. But that’s untrue. He’s Austrian-American. That’s where I get my “Lang” surname. Ethnically, I’m about half Austrian. Culturally, too, Dad’s family influenced me far more than Mom’s when I grew up. My mom was ethnically full Chinese, hence that half.

Now back to Dad!

Father’s Perspective on My Boyhood 

During my 2020 time home since Peace Corps’ evacuation, Dad often prods me to take on projects he sees around the yard. So, I do yard work. I don’t like desert heat, so I usually work the daily tasks an hour or two at dawn, sometimes dusk. Picture three months this way.

But Dad would tend to demand a certain perfection on many projects, expecting me out there working when there’s work to do. I’d rather let nature do as it pleases. Peace Corps experiences taught me decorated yards generally feel overrated. When I’m older, I feel I’d much rather have my family frequent parks to get our yard fix. Nonetheless, yard work lets me chat with God, who reminds me empathize. 

It is difficult to say, "I serve the Father," if I do not serve my father. 

With this in mind, I consider the patient progress of waiting while working often. 

Dad grew up in rural America’s Midwest from the mid-20th century. Dad’s parents and community were largely Austrian-American Catholics. Dad’s grandfather immigrated with Dad’s great-grandfather because land in Austria was scarce, late-19th century, yet plentiful in Kansas. My dad grew up on a farm as a third-generation Austrian-American. He funded his higher ed. through U.S. military service and numerous side jobs, including those in teaching and sales. 

Through Dad, I’m a fourth-generation Austrian-American—though, only second-generation Chinese-American, through Mom. I wasn’t quite on a farm, having grown up between Midwestern suburbs and an urban West. Still, Dad regularly tasked siblings and I with yard work.

An Energetic Kid, Ages 4-7 

Now this gets interesting!

This mid-May 2020, my younger sister and I unearthed Christmas letters our parents (mostly Dad) had written to Dad’s siblings—my uncles and aunts—since before 2000. Turns out, our mom kept hard copies in the bins beside her desk. From these, Sister and I read pretty enjoyable pieces about our child selves. 

Here I share Dad’s tales from grade school me in Indiana (used with permission): 

2001: "Daniel is 4 years old now and is looking forward to kindergarten.  He likes outdoor activities and he is quite strong for his age.  He can do a lot of sit ups and push ups already.  He likes to walk with [his mom] at the airport, which is nearby." 

2002: "Daniel is five years old.  He is in kindergarten.  He is [...] very competitive.  He is in the same school as [his older brother] and is rapidly learning to read now.  He is good at math, and he studies very hard." 

2003: "Daniel is six years old.  He is very competitive and naughty.  He always keeps track of the books he reads and comes home to tell us how many books he has finished.  His goal is to reach 100 books this year.  He is over 90 already.  Well, he likes to pester [his brother a lot].  He thinks that is fun. [...]"

2004: "Daniel is seven.  He is goal oriented and a 'do'er.  He is good at making all kinds of crafts.  He is our family's talented teacher.  He taught [his younger sister] how to read before she went to kindergarten.  He also gives homework assignments to the others, except [his older brother].  He always pesters [his brother] as usual." 

God graced me with energy as a kid. 

I noticed three themes. For one, I seemed to follow Dad’s lead in filling my time productively. He served in the U.S. Army National Guard and emphasized self-discipline. As a civilian family practitioner, too, he advocated for daily exercises, such as sit-ups, push-ups and walking. I seemed to follow suit.

On the other hand, I was a kiddo with an older brother, and I didn’t mind expending plenty spare energy to bother him. Thankfully I stopped pestering when I grew up with enough self-awareness to know good people don’t intentionally troll. Uni helped. 

Curiously, I noticed the letters seemed to note many of my interests resembling Mom’s. Arts, reading and studying seemed more like Mom’s interests than Dad’s, yet I hadn’t realized my similarities to Mom back then. Of course, Dad values education, too.

Studious Beyond Belief, Ages 13-19

As I went through elementary school, Dad’s military service included deployments overseas to Afghanistan (2005) and Iraq (2007). In 2008, our family moved from southern Indiana to North Las Vegas, Nev., where I started middle school. Since my younger sister and I hadn’t found letters from Dad’s years deployed with the others letter, we figured Mom wrote them. By 2009’s end, Dad retired as a lieutenant colonel. But he continued work elsewhere, including in a dozen nations to indigenous peoples of the Americas. 

Here were Christmas letters from my adolescence on. Coincidentally, I noticed the first couple we found both came from my last years at respective schools. 

2010: “Danny, 13, is finishing at [...] a magnet [middle] school associated with math, science and technology. He [earned last year] a 4.0 [grade-point] average. He received a letter this past week from a magnet high school stating that he was the type of student they were looking for. [I, Dad, think Danny] is also in the National Junior Honor Society [service group]. [...] Danny continues to have to be at the school bus stop at 5:50 in the morning.” 

2014: “Danny is the ultimate study robot, with his inhuman ability to study for hours on end in place of sleep, or other usual activities for high schoolers.  He attended NV Boys State this past June, and he has risen to the rank of Division News Editor within [Kiwanis] Key Club--a HS service group.  Danny and [his younger sister] also attended Key Club activities in CA in Nov. [...] As this is his senior year [...], he should be starting to apply for colleges now, but [...] he has not applied to Yale, which is causing his mother to feel that she is a ‘failure’ if none of her kids get accepted at this prestigious school--it’s used by Chinese mothers as a guilt trip for their kids! [...] He also received an AP with Honors award [from his magnet high school].  He presently is in the ‘top 10’ students in his class ranking.  But if he doesn’t get his applications in, then there is always UNLV [Las Vegas]!” 

2016: “Daniel is now a sophomore at UNR (Reno) in the Honors Program, and is an honors ambassador. He says he has 1 major in journalism with 3 minors at the present time, and he works at the library when time permits. He also completed an internship in publishing during the summer session, when he stayed in Reno and frugally survived during the summer by ‘couch surfing’ at several different locations. Several of us attended his confirmation at Easter in Reno. He also [...] presented at a few [conferences]. Additionally, he is involved in [the Kiwanis] Circle K service group on campus, as well as the Knights of Columbus, and he sings in the choir at the local Newman Center. Based on his Facebook postings, he seems to be enjoying college immensely. [...]” 

I definitely loved service groups—and still do, if Peace Corps counts! 

Seeing these letters in 2020, I feel amused how Dad wrote of my later academic interests with distance. Dad’s 2002 line about 5-year-old me, “[Daniel] studies very hard,” escalated exponentially, noticeable by his 2014 line about 17-year-old me, “Danny is the ultimate study robot, with his inhuman ability to study for hours on end in place of sleep.” I figure my peers were similar, though… 

I feel amused, too, how Dad included Mom’s wanting me to pursue STEM careers. Chinese often expect this of their kids. In some sense, I’m glad Dad let me escape the Asian tendency and Mom’s ideal to have me pursue a Bachelor of Science. Back then, I contended a bachelor’s from the professional School of Journalism would still make me hireable. 

Sure enough, Peace Corps hired! 

Besides, I felt vindicated later when I learned my minors in English literature, Chinese studies and communication studies resembled my late mother’s fields of English literature and international relations... She clearly benefited from Liberal Arts. More on these in previous reflections, though. :)

Back From Mongolia

Snap back to March 2020, when I just returned to America after our COVID-19 evacuation from Mongolia. 

I was really into “Frozen II,” the cathartic film easing me back into the States. My first week back felt very different from those after. Because “Some Things Never Change,” I discerned to do “The Next Right Thing.” Waking to various “Frozen II” numbers of looping in my brain, days began with such thoughts. 

My first days, I often compared experiences to Mom’s when she raised my siblings and me. Despite being at home, I was alone. Dad worked away, plus siblings had school and work. (This preceded American schools canceling or moving online.) So, I felt confused what to do. 

I discerned I could tidy the house, serve where others couldn’t. Whether dishes to wash or rooms to clean, I addressed what I saw. I imagined Mom felt this way when my siblings and I attended school and Dad worked. 

I also considered my living father matters as much as my late mother. So, honoring Dad honors her, too. 

Dad always had yard projects he wanted me doing. I had to weed so much when I first returned. 

I felt insights, at least. I considered, weeds are eternal. Weeds will always grow on spiritual life. Weeds attempt to choke our crops’ life. We must uproot our weeds and prune dead areas to fortify new and better parts of being. The physical and spiritual are one. … Yet, weeds still annoy me. 

Noticeably, my labors seemed to confuse many in my family. They seemed mostly to recall the 2015 me who’d choose studying over chores any day. But I guess most hadn’t factored I’ve experienced plenty in my years away from home, especially during my months living alone cooking for myself in Mongolia. House tasks are necessary parts of life. 

Besides, I’d already been doing these tasks others seemed disinterested in, even back at Christmas 2019, when I sorted Mom’s books, and later during post-evacuation Week 9 (May 1-7), packing up Mom’s desk after three years gathering dust. I felt frustrated others seemed slow to accept I’ve changed since Peace Corps. I pray for grace.

The New Journey

June 6, 2020—just days after Pentecost and coincidentally one month to my 23rd birthday—marked one huge occasion. 

Dad remarried! 

I felt excited.

I also noticed a curious parallel in threes. For, on my family history adventures, I discovered something about Dad’s parents. In 1987, his mother's spouse passed away; on the third year, she married again, in 1990. 30 years later, my dad’s spouse passed away in 2017; on the third year, he married again, in 2020. Coincidences comfort me at times.

That day, I’d also finished revisions to submit my thesis to a different journal for publication. I’d tried before with one in June 2019 and February 2020, but unfortunately my work hadn’t fit within their scope. Still, the editor believed that  I could publish it in the right place! 

College Town Return

That Week 14 (June 5-11), Dad also purchased a house in Reno, Nev., where my kind stepmom may move, too. Dad requested aid moving things in Reno. My younger sister and youngest brother both opted out, so I went instead. I prefer Reno’s weather, anyway. 

In Reno again, I felt parallels to past years. 

Helping my youngest sister and her friend move from a condo and house to the new place, I recalled the many who helped me move between Reno homes during my undergrad. Honestly, I felt weird to think of my dad relocating to Reno, especially since I hadn’t known the area he chose existed during my years studying in town. 

Mongolia returned to mind, too, while I lugged belongings in and out of the condo, up and down stairs. Hard to believe that that was three months ago when Peace Corps evacuated us. Exactly three months before, March 9, 2020, was my first Monday in Nevada again. 

Writing of Mongolia, I also recalled every bellhop who's hauled my 23 kg (50 lbs.) luggage up stairs in Asia. God bless them. 

On the bright side, with helping the sister and friend move, Dad said I got stronger. That felt good. When he asked how many push-ups I could do, I said 50—my new personal record met just days before. When I started working out the month and a half prior, I could only do half that. 

Thanks to the lifting and yard work tasking me in Reno, I paused my fitness routines. I realized, I’ve enough strength and endurance for what I’d want to do. So now, having met the goals, I still work out, just less concerned about gains.

Tests of Faith

Back to that ‘groundskeeping.’

With Reno versus Vegas, I prefer hedges to palm trees. Hedges are more fun and less merciless. They leave my body less bloody than palm trees, too. Reno’s weather also keeps cooler. 

As you’d expect, yard work leaves plenty time to reflect, chat with God. In earlier days these chats opened with lamentations about the heat and constant tasks. But God graces peace.

Ultimately, Dad’s tasks need someone to do them. He’s busy working full-time out-of-town, and siblings still have activities they must or would rather do. So I volunteer. 

On the other side, Dad at times says he’ll compensate me once the bills are paid. There always seem bills to me, though. Since it’s been three months now, I try to think of this like the Kingdom. Whether or not I see rewards, I try to persevere. I must trust the Father to provide in time, no matter the wait. It’s a spiritual exercise. 

Pa says he’s glad I’m financially stable, too—My scholarships, grants and work study graduated me debt-free. Those seem good, I guess. 

So, spiritually exercising while laboring, I consider parables of workers in the field and masters. Christ spoke of such. Parables about fields and wages seem more nuanced after feeling comparable questions. 

I think, too, to re-education labor camps sometimes. During China’s Cultural Revolution, my mom’s parents—both teachers—were sent to those. So, my ‘toiling’ in Dad’s backyards are surely nothing compared to what my grandparents involuntarily endured. I can bear my ‘shackles.’ 

These bring me to privilege.

At the day’s end, I have places to stay, food to eat and stable internet. Many Americans and people worldwide face greater turmoil than these, perhaps including you, my reader. So, I try acknowledging my ‘hardships’ hardly compare. I try to focus prayers for the needier. Faith helps me through.

On a happy note, I just reached the Diamond League on Duolingo! So, life could definitely be worse...

The Climb

One day during Week 15 (June 12-18), after Dad came home at dusk from work, he asked me to get out the ladder to climb the backyard tree. I thought that was wistful thinking! 

Well, I had the time and realized he wanted me to climb after all. The tree had a fallen limb he wanted me to saw off, since I weigh less than him. I insisted I’d only climb with him around.

Well, he came around. 

I ascended and sawed four limbs! Before the climb, we thought I only had to address a single one. But as I climbed for it, I found more. Thankfully, these were thin limbs. Dad gave some advice from below, handed me our hand saw then left me while he took care of other tasks around the yard. I climbed higher, wedged my feet in semi-stable positions and got to work.

Atop, the wind blew, so the tree rocked. I clung high in a swaying tree. Good Lord. 

But I felt amazed, handling my saw even with my off-hand. I’d cling with one arm and saw with the other. When branches got stuck, I had to grab them, push and jerk them away from other sections to send them down. Dad had me call out, “Timber!” With the final branch out, I let the saw fall. 

Success felt like redemption from that random tree I climbed the first culture-shocked day I returned to Vegas from Mongolia. This time I’d such control. My safety depended on it! Plus, I only grazed the back of my hand, as opposed to gashing my palm like the last time I left a tree. Less bleeding is better. 

By the end, my arms and legs trembled, not from worry but from muscle fatigue. Still, I felt empowered. Throughout my childhood, I could never climb a tree. Now I passed the physical I hadn’t expected a month and a half prior. 

All told, my climb took just half an hour.

Staying the Course 

In a week and a half, I turn 23! So I’ll be one (1) 23-year-old, hehe. Look forward to new reflections on how I’ve grown and changed. 

As an extension of my paternal family history projects, I started writing memorable quotes from Dad. My siblings and I wound up adapting these and more into our Fathers’ Day 2020 gift! Dad enjoyed our “Book of the Father” we printed. 

Meanwhile, America begins to slightly reopen amid COVID-19 conditions, and the post-solstice summer’s begun. So, I encourage us to, whenever possible, still #StayHome more than usual, wear our face masks, maintain physical distance and of course wash our hands. We’ll get through this.

And I hear some are struggling with loneliness, too—If you need someone to talk to, you can always count on me. It’s among the most challenging feelings, given we humans are social beings staying physically apart. Writing, phoning and video calls help me, at least. Feel free to reach out. I keep you and loved ones in my prayers.

Best wishes, and till we chat again.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

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Easter Epilogue in America | #35 | April 2020

Friday, March 6, 2020, I disembarked in North Las Vegas, Nevada, to a home I hadn’t lived in since high school 2015. I’ve been here a couple months now, by time of writing. 

With today’s stories, I bring you from my first days and weeks back in the States through April’s end. I share reverse culture’s shock’s role in my readjustment to Vegas life, as COVID-19 grew across the States. But I’m a hopeful man, so you know my stories end well. 

As a good friend reminded me the night I learned all Peace Corps Volunteers had to go, "The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way" (Psalm 37:23). Consider this the epilogue to my very fruitful, memorable, and—dare I write—life-changing adventures. I've no regrets. 

Overture

Week 1 (March 6-12) was a blessing, having just returned to an America vaguely like the one I knew. Gosh, I love fruit. Thankfully, a few friends saw me. 

Then Week 2 (March 13-19) brought big changes and new deadlines. But, meanwhile, Week 3 (March 20-26) began my home improvement operations. The following weekend saw a drive to Reno to see my 19-year-old sister at uni. 

Weeks 4 and 5 (March 27-April 9) saw my 21-year-old sister visit Vegas from LA, starting with the 24th birthday of my older brother and ending after Easter Sunday. 

Week 6 (April 10-16) began with Holy Week, then driving Sister back to LA, followed by the restart to fitness routines. My routines expanded, Week 7 (April 17-23). Week 8 (April 24-30), Dad visited that weekend, so I braved minor puncture wounds from yard work with him plus an excruciating medical procedure. Fitness routines continued, and I shifted my diet from a fruit obsession to increasing my protein intake. 

Week 9 (May 1-7) began by closing loose ends with my Peace Corps stories. I’ve begun next steps while home, as we lead into Mothers’ Day. 

Landing—Returned to Vegas

From tens of thousands of feet in the air, I felt the end of an era. Nine Mongolian months ended. 

The midday we landed, I wanted to get up and leave elsewhere, not to the house in Vegas. 

I’m an English teacher. It’s a school day. I should be teaching. 

My 18-year-old high school senior brother picked me up from the airport. Haha, he said he skipped English class to get me. Dad seemed upset that my bro missed class, but Bro had stable senioritis, with college plans secured. I loved the irony of skipping class to get a teacher. 

Neighborhood in Reverse Culture Shock

A few hours after we came home, I went forth to community walk around the neighborhood, trying to make sense of things. 

“Hello, how are you?” said someone in passing. “Oh, doing great,” I replied in usual fashion. 

Well, I wasn't [doing great]. 

As I walked I weighed how when I used to live in Vegas, in 2015, I was more concerned with, what's the newest game? What's the latest episode? Yet now I feel more detached, less purposeful. I continued on to the park. 

I love the fragrances and fresh air beneath the trees. I lied in the grass. 

In another way, I felt, I only tolerated Vegas. There's more for me out there. There are so many cities and places with people I'd rather see and be with. 

But God is with me here, too. It's the second Friday of Lent. 

School buses drove by as I walked home a couple hours later. Middle schoolers walked and biked my neighborhood. (Was it my neighborhood? I'd hardly reintegrated...) 

Middle schoolers jeered to each other about whatever. Some kids probably had crushes on each other but felt too shy to speak up, uncomfortable with the status quo. I felt like a watcher no longer a participant. Yet I was them, here, 10 years ago. 

I had some dinner then slept shortly after, from 6:30 p.m. to 1 a.m. in our home’s guest bed. There I realized, I might be sleeping here a while. 

Strange Days Ahead

By Saturday morning, my first one waking at home, I still felt I’d feel lonely without my senior cohort if I came back to Mongolia. Thankfully at least a half dozen said they plan to return. And senior cohort members who continued keeping in touch with me were great comforts. I still felt encouraged to apply to be a Resource Volunteer, sometime after conquering my 16-hour jet lag. 

“Frozen II” tracks from the day before looped in my head most mornings. Film themes of change, grief and controlling the few things we can felt uncommonly personal. From Saturday on, I looped English and Chinese tracks from “Frozen II” while coping with being home. One jetlagged 3 a.m. morning, I even transcribed and translated the tracks between languages. 

Later Saturday morning, I walked back to the park. I spotted a tree. So I climbed it. Surprisingly my park had a sturdy one. Who knew? The tree’s been here all the dozen years my family has... 

Atop its branches, I felt I might wake up from a dream and be back in Mongolia the next day. 

I felt still reeling from my bewildering first Peace Corps Week. From seven days ago, I left my Mongolian city, came among nearly 100 fellow Volunteers, joined half on a journey across Europe, then found myself back in Vegas with my four siblings still in school. So mystic. 

American Culture Redux

I’d jot general musings about culture during these first days back in the States. 

We say, “Pardon me,” as though the mere act of engaging a stranger in conversation might offend against a stranger’s time. 

In the West, we highly value possessions, and we treat time itself as something to possess. 

In the States, we travel separately to functions. We might chit chat some before or after. Then we part ways to do whatever we’ve already scheduled. 

I wondered if I should ask to visit people or accompany them. Would that be weird? I felt my integration habits of Peace Corps lingered. But I considered, I still had plenty I could do by myself, like taking time to process my sudden evacuation.

In the States, we decide against reaching out to people. Perhaps we fear simple greetings to friends, with nothing more, might impose on their time. On the flip side, I receive multiple messages per week from Mongolians simply writing to say good morning or hello—so pleasant. I should cherish others’ care, never reject. 

Resettling In

I cut my hand dropping down the tree, so I applied pressure, elevated the wound and headed home to clean and bandage it. I felt weirdly at ease, remembering Peace Corps health trainings. I recalled “Dear Evan Hansen,” too. 

My family was busy with life, so the house felt rather quiet and still most hours. Already, though, I brainstormed ways to keep busy as a Peace Corps Volunteer on admin hold. 

I began by finishing my Peace Corps blog stories. The day after, I’d already have my newest online, “Trilingual Adventures, My First Mongolian Winter | #22 | January 2020.” Coincidentally, that story was my last from before Coronavirus quarantines in Mongolia began. 

Mongolian friends still messaged me every so often. They're so kind. I hoped they wouldn’t lose hope I'll return. [Nine weeks later, they’re still hopeful.] Meanwhile, I still wanted to search for a Vegas Mongolians Facebook group when my jet lag was up and I felt ready to start speaking Mongolian again.

I considered planning a trip to my alma mater in Reno, Nev. for a week later that month, once I settled more into the States’ routines. On the topic of routines, I decided maybe I'd visit church most weekdays to establish some semblance. I'd help my folks as best I could, so I’d still feel like I'm serving somebody. I even thought of getting my 23-year-old brother's bike repaired, to borrow it every so often! 

To end that reflective weekend, later that Saturday, my little brother drove me to the bank to deposit the funds I withdrew earlier that week in Mongolia. Then he treated me to my first American fast-food in a while. I attended Mass for the first time in weeks that evening. On Sunday, I marveled at seeing free to-go boxes, when Dad’s fiancée’s family invited my brother and I to celebrate the oldest daughter’s birthday. I enjoyed my first Thai tea in a long while. 

That week, I frequented daily morning prayer, rosary and Masses at church. Then walked around the community and continued blog tales either from the public library or from a local Starbucks (coincidentally the same one in which Black Friday 2018 I committed to Peace Corps service). On separate days, a couple friends also reconnected with me. I attended Mass seven of eight days this period, returning to Reconciliation that final Saturday and dreaming dreams most every night two weeks thereafter. 

Peace Corps Global Evacuation

Week 2 (March 13-19), my cohort learned we were being reclassified as being Returned Peace Corps Volunteers—as in, we’d officially completed our service. This followed with sudden paperwork, thankfully not due for a few weeks. This led to global headlines of all Peace Corps Volunteers coming home, too.

Between home projects to tidy the house or weed the yard, I joined up with the National Peace Corps Association group writing to our legislators to support Returned Peace Corps Volunteers worldwide. I spent the days preceding the Holy Triduum completing my final paperwork. 

I felt comforted nonetheless Peace Corps Mongolia insisted we could reinstate, assuming Mongolia’s situation resolves within the next year. I felt willing to take that bet. 

COVID-19 Escalates Across the States

My second week, church closed. I still frequented the park but felt amazed to see more people than usual. A couple more friends reconnected. 

A few weeks later, businesses shut down, schools closed, and I felt more adjusted. America was looking like the rest of the world. I trusted Americans generally had a good sense of sanitation practices, so I felt less concerned about establishments open. Mongolia lacked drive-throughs, so businesses there often closed outright. 

But my weekend between Weeks 3 and 4, March 26-28, felt the first time I heard how rapidly COVID-19 escalated in the States. My little brother played podcasts as we drove to deliver supplies to our uni sister sheltering in Reno. From the news, I heard the U.S. now led the world in Coronavirus cases. That sounded bad. I felt especially baffled hearing that Nevada, with a population slightly less than Mongolia’s, topped over 100 times as many cases. I felt more at risk in the States! 

During the trip, I also encountered American jargon, like, “Out of/due to an abundance of caution…,” “social distancing” and “Flatten the curve.” I felt critical of whether many Nevadans really knew what the jargon meant, considering how many cars remained on the road, how close people gathered in parks and how shoppers hardly kept distance. Though, I also recognized that Mongolian media might have used similar stock phrases that I just didn’t know... Nonetheless, Mongolians officials seemed more willing to pause operations to let health workers build capacity, and citizens tended to comply. 

If any last brave friends wanted to see me, the closest we got to physical touch was to raise our feet toward each other and bump our shoes, as bros might fist bump or clasp hands. I commented touching each other’s feet together in Mongolia would’ve been a serious taboo, hehe. Still, I left those as my last in-person meet-ups to #StayHome and limit concerning others.  

Perks of Being American

At home, my time zone matched most friends’ again, which made phone and video calls so feasible. I chatted with whoever reached out or replied to my outreach, which led to lovely chats with relatives, mentors, past classmates, fellow Peace Corps evacuees and more. 

Introverted friends inspired me much when I checked in with them. They joyously shared how much time they’ve had for uninterrupted time to themselves and work from home. Introverts often touch my soul. 

Being an ambivert feels weird for me sometimes, in how I straddle both sides. Extroverts often seem the ones I want, but introverts seem the ones I need. Nowadays, when being extroverted takes the effort, I find inspiration flowing from introverted bliss. 

Community members I met in Mongolia continued keeping in touch with me, which helped me remember and stay close to my prayerful Lenten commitment to consult God on my projects. 

Easter 2020 #WithMe with Family

My fourth week, my 21-year-old sister, the USC junior, flew in to celebrate our older bro’s 24th birthday. She brought her Nintendo Switch, so I soaked up the fun of “Super Smash Bros. Ultimate,” Nintendo’s “ARMS” demo and Jackbox Games with the family. After unis went online, our older bro transitioned to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters, but he still visited to celebrate his birthday with us. 

I also felt joyful during Holy Week when the World Youth Day 2019 Mass soundtrack appeared on Spotify. It was an incredible choral and rhythmic masterpiece I never thought I’d hear again. I recently learned, too, a childhood best friend would receive confirmation this year—magnificent!

As on Sundays, I saw the Lent and Holy Week services on YouTube, between channels like Shalom World with Pope Francis, Ascension Presents with Fr. Mike Schmitz, Word on Fire with Bishop Barron, and Our Lady of Wisdom Newman Center with Fr. Nathan Mamo. A Kansan relative joked how COVID-19’s let us “attend” Mass in our jeans, haha. Dad’s fiancée and I talked about the newfound freedom to just choose any online pastor per week. 

My Easter 2020 apex came Good Friday. I felt moved by the Vatican’s Way of the Cross, which read Italian reflections written by incarcerated and those whose lives they affected or whose lives affect them. They reminded me, for many of us, COVID-19 is nothing compared to the ‘normal’ sufferings of those behind bars, starving for hope. 

Renewed Motivation

After Easter Sunday, my lil’ bro and I returned Sister to L.A., Dad returned to work in northern Nevada, and Older Bro returned to sheltering away. So since the beginning of Easter, April 12, 2020, I’ve spent my days seeking to accelerate into a newer, more stable motivated state. 

I decided first to honor Dad’s suggestion to work-out and, with my lil’ bro’s help, added focused fitness to my days. I borrowed my siblings’ game system and games to finish one I started years ago while on the treadmill. I personally doubled-down on blog stories to get two through a week. And, setting up my new horizon after, I started looking back into language studies. Week 7 (April 17-23) added my return to polyphasic sleep to boost productivity. 

I’m a hopeful man. So some days, especially between 4 and 6 a.m., I draw or write stories about the ideal life I wish I could be living. This helps me delve into where my yearnings really are, mentally. After seeing “The Rise of Skywalker,” I even doodled an Avatar like Rey meditating in the air. Then I try giving my wants back up to God, accepting I can’t have all those things right now. Usually this process illuminates desires I hadn’t acknowledged before. 

I also recognize the steps I can take now to draw me closer to my future desires.

I spend idle thoughts when possible praying for others. I realize with so many people already praying for me, I needn’t worry about myself, since I’m taken care of. Instead, I should think to the ones who do not know the hope I feel. I wish some encounter might intrigue them and offer new peace. Such exercises remind me too of my privileges and help root me in my giving self. 

Ecclesiastical Latin’s been a fun quest toward greater knowledge. It bridges both Mongolian and Spanish grammar, while drawing vocabulary I’ve encountered across English, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese and Mongolian, too. Plus I understand church music better now. It’s a fun journey. I found regarding Church language that Mandarin and Mongolian more frequently transliterated straight from the Latin, where English and Spanish adapted. Fun reading. 

Five Months of Freedom

I read the soonest I might return to Peace Corps service in Mongolia would be October 2020. So, I’ll be here in the Pacific time zone for long, if you want to call someday. I’ve cherished my adventures and look forward to those ahead.

I’m ostensibly home for the summer, so I plan to write at least once monthly a new piece sharing unpublished bits from Mongolia, maybe a few new tales from American life, too. 

Hard to believe after packing my Mongolian apartment, evacuating in our caravan to the capital, saying so-long to many, flying around the world and finally landing in Vegas, I’d finish revising and editing these blog stories #22 through 38. I’d been drafting them for months, weeks and days! At last, we’ve caught up. 

So, as the days come, I’ll rise, read Scriptures, reflect, journal, chat with Asia, take to the treadmill, play some games, see some films or shows, try to eat well, try to work most muscles, try not to strain something, then return to writing, other reading, napping, showering, sorting, teeth-brushing, thinking and marveling. This leaves plenty of time to socialize. And I do miss you, wherever you shelter.

Keep in touch, Friend! 

Up next is a 2020 Mother’s Day reflection. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[memorylang]

Pets! Pronunciation, Saints and Souls | #12 | November 2019

I was helping the Buddhist monks understand the English alphabet one Friday, when I found they had trouble hearing me teach the sounds /ch/ and /j/. These two sounds are and have always been two I’ve struggled with since birth. Finally, I just chalked on the board, /ch/ = /ч/ and /j/ = /ж/. So, those who understood explained it in Mongolian to the others. My speech problems go way back.

I often say, I struggled with my native language too, when my Mongolian students struggle to speak English. Today, I return you to my childhood to share how personal English pronunciation problems affect my teaching today (plus stories about pets).

While a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve watched over both a kitten and a puppy, too. They made me reflect on life. And November begins with Allhallowtide. So I’ll wrap up today’s stories living my first full triduum to the dead.

The Challenging Child

Growing up, I fumed when siblings and especially Father kept telling me to, “Stop mumbling.” I never intended to sound inarticulate. My words just came out that way. 

After graduating high school, while packing to move from home to university, my eye caught my kindergarten teacher’s file on me. I flipped through it. Astonishingly, the teacher’s notes described month after month her concerns that I seemed slow to make friends, seldom spoke and sounded hardly audible when I did. I never realized kindergarten-me troubled her. 

While in Catholic elementary school, a friend and I maybe a few times per month attended a separate speech class from our classmates. Among our activities there, we sometimes played “Uno” and “Go Fish”—games I now adapt to teach English here in Mongolia (though “uno” is a Spanish word, hehe).

Before the first of those years of sessions began, my entire class underwent phonics testing. I’ll never forget this particular moment. The tester raised cards with a picture and asked me to name objects. I saw a small box with a screen and button grid. “Cell-a-phone,” I spoke with certainty. 

I felt frustrated, then, when the card-holder asked me to repeat, insisting I was wrong. Finally, I said “cell phone” as she said, not, “cell-a-phone.” But I didn’t understand. Later, I later, that phonics person was correct. So I felt betrayed by my mother, who taught me wrong. 

Mother read aloud to me, while I was in kindergarten and first grade. She sometimes pronounced words differently than I heard at school. I felt grumpy wondering, who could I trust? Elementary school or Mom?

As I later learned in high school and came to understand after Mother’s death, her career as an English professor let her to immigrate to America from China. So, teaching English surely mattered to her personally. She taught her second language to me to learn my first.

My Pronunciation Improved

From late middle school into high school, I wore braces. I realized my speaking problems associated with my teeth. After braces, sounds like /s/ and /th/ became easier. I recalled that elementary school tutor had drilled me on those sounds, plus /sh/, /ch/ and /j/.

At university, while singing four years in choir, I learned to articulate to help convey emotion in music. Similarly, I realized articulation helped convey emotion in speeches to bring clarity. These took vocal warm-ups, as we did in my senior storytelling course.

But, in China last summer, I learned my Chinese pronunciation was terrible. I started new regimens, like using only audio recordings to communicate instead of writing messages. I also learned to listen for exactly the right sounds. And despite my poor tonal pronunciation, instructors commended my listening. I could transcribe the right pīnyīn, for even unfamiliar words. 

As a Chinese instructor now, though I, too, at times struggle to pronounce words from memory, I can recognize almost at once when I hear an off sound. For, I know how it should sound. My Chinese-instructing colleagues even notice I speak alright. I’ve come a long way.

Instructing English With Compassion

These memories lead to why, when I teach pronunciation, I give the benefit of the doubt that students aren’t trying to mumble, even when they seem to. I focus on asking students to speak louder and move their lips more. I focus on visual articulation, too, so I can see how they form sounds.

One of my university colleagues specializes in pronunciation and amazes me by how well she knows the phonetic alphabet. When I clarify pronunciations for her, she notes in phonetic letters. We bleat about English’s inconsistent phonetics sometimes, haha. 

Yet, learning phonetics helps me plenty. When I catch multiple students speaking the same error, I write a series of words to course-correct. For examples, to drill, “brown,” I might write, “crown, round, down.” Or, to drill, “orange,” I might write, “or, door, floor.” I link troublesome vowels to familiar ones. 

Curiously, the Mongolian language lacks the /ə/ sound, one I often spell as “uh.” I first noticed the missing sound while teaching Chinese, when my students struggled to pronounce the most basic question, “什么？(Shénme?).” It has /ə/ (or /uh/) in its second character. Thus, students misprounounced “么 /muh/” as /meh/, instead. This Mongolian lack of /ə/ makes authentic pronunciation of basic English words like articles “the” and “a” challenging. 

Still, my fixation on pronunciation has its fun. Apparently this trickles into my Mongolian! Lately, I find my students gleefully giggle with amazement when, as we might be walking and chatting together, they hear me slip briefly into Mongolian to say passing pleasantries to employees or locals I know speak no English. My students often insist I sound authentic and beautiful. And I assume there’s hyperbole in those. But my colleagues, too, have said I’ve improved. They’ve no doubt I’ll speak wonderfully by this time next year. More on this at the end.

Pets! Kitten and Puppy

During my Peace Corps service I watched in the capital, Ерөө /Yeröö/, the kitten of one Volunteer, and in my current city, Azzy, the puppy of another. I saw myself in those pets. 

I mentioned we Peace Corps Volunteers played, “The Shining,” for Halloween. As the film began, we Volunteers exchanged smirks when the mountain lodge’s owner explained concerns about fears of isolation during the harsh, trying winters. We sat through such talks about choosing to serve in Mongolia. But the film’s symbolism, about confronting our psyches in the mirror of isolation, felt fitting to me. 

Many Mongolians fear dogs. Dogs are protectors not companions, for many. In the States, even my mother feared dogs. In fact, we had two pet dogs. I feared them a bit, too. When my parents went walking with my siblings and I, neighbors’ dogs would run up beside the road and yap at us. But Dad would always laugh and yap back, teasing Mom about how they just wanted to play. I remembered those walks even throughout college, when I strolled neighborhoods and heard barking. They gave me peace. And whenever I visited friends’ houses, their dogs most always loved me for reasons I never knew.

Azzy the puppy he would weave around my legs or leap up and cling to me momentarily, when I visited to feed him. He seemed so lonely without me. Then he would hop down, zoom around at my feet and scamper to a corner of the room. He freaked out over the simplest things, too, haha. But one morning, after his owner had come back, while I was walking into the city, Azzy zoomed to me and accompanied me from the area where we live, all the way downtown. I felt surprised, though I appreciative.

Ерөө the kitten had fun darting about our hotel room, zooming with wide eyes at light speed to achieve nothing particular. And she would flick her paws at the jingling toy I dangled, while she lept from table to chair. And, when I was journaling a little, Ерөө would hop on the bed, then leap to the desk and plop on my arm. I would pick the kitten up by her middle and set her on the floor, then she would zoom back to me again. I loved her energy, even if she seemed a little too hyper, hehe.

The pets were ecstatic for me to visit. I considered my own longings for companionship. But pets are relationships that take responsibility. And I’m hardly certain I could commit. Still, maybe because I accept others, they come. Maybe that’s all there is to it. They don’t just want love. They want to love. How sweet.

I’m glad our Peace Corps Mongolia director allows pets. They let my energetic soul see itself in the crazy creatures. Such joys, even for the effort!

All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days

The second and third day after Hallowe’en, in the Catholic tradition, celebrate first, “All Hallows,” the Saints and holy ones, living and had lived. Then we celebrate, “All Souls,” all who have passed away. The triduum has always been difficult for me the past three years, since they inevitably return to mind my loneliness since Mom’s death. 

But this year was kind, for people asked me how I was doing when they greeted me. I also remembered to pray for my friends who’d lost close family. In my suffering, I remember my chance to heal others. At Mass on the last day, while others lit incense sticks for relatives, I lit one for Mother. I burned my finger. But I liked the sting. It reminded me I live. Hearing the readings of how we’re always surrounded by the saints and how the teachings assure that none of us can compare this life to the next, I felt consoled, these holy days. By the end, I’d attended Mass five days in a row! Woah.

Nowadays’ Love

I like the compliments from colleagues, students and friends that my Mongolian pronunciation’s rather good. And I know it can still be better. But they gives me great hope. My students can improve, as I have.

In our Toastmasters Club, I’ve been assigned weekly as Grammarian, tasked with correcting pronunciation for all speakers. They’re so grateful I come, and I’m so glad to help. 

I recently spoke on the topic of how I chose this English teaching profession, while chatting with my senior students to prepare them for their TOEFL exams.

I recounted how Mother was an English professor and her parents were both secondary school Chinese language teachers. And it struck me how I teach both English and Chinese at both university and secondary school levels. I teach everything those two generations before me had done.

Whether children from Номгон, adults from our community speaking clubs, or new friends from the orphanage, I love the little messages I get from locals striving to improve their English. And, sometimes, those many Mongolians striving in their English remind me of Mom. She always strove. Even before I became an English instructor like her, I helped her. Maybe that’s why I aid anyone trying in English, always. They’re her.

 Up Next: Thanksgiving and the Orphanage

I am extremely excited to share with you my next story, for it’s about the orphanage. I adore its community. Our children and teachers touch my soul.

As for the puppy, it’ll be a shame to say goodbye when he moves to the capital by Thanksgiving. But perhaps I’ll see him again when I visit the city sometimes! 

Meanwhile, check my Instagram at memoryLang and Facebook for this year’s Thanksgiving novena of photos and memories bridging my summer life to today’s.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :) 

[memorylang]

Teaching Chinese in Mongolia | #7 | September 2019

As I visit the capital to co-present at the English Language Teachers’ Association of Mongolia’s international conference, I take a different turn with today’s blog. Here’s one of my favorite community development projects with Peace Corps Mongolia: teaching Chinese.

Through today’s stories, I recount episodes teaching and practicing Chinese. I also reflect on learning Mongolian. I love in Peace Corps when I use concurrently my “Big Three” multilingual skills in English, Chinese and Mongolian. I hope throughout life I continue these.

Chiefly, of course, I serve in Mongolia to teach English. In fact, I teach it nearly 30 hours a week. I co-teach English, co-lesson plan, develop resources, chat with students, answer questions and advise student clubs. My students sometimes practice their reading skills on this blog, hehe! 

But, as I’ve written so often of my city, I’m very fortunate, very blessed. Chinese remains a constant tie for me to my mother and her family, so being able to practice and share it gives great life. With these graces, I serve. 

An Exciting Multilingual Moment

One day, one of my school administrators stopped by our department office to translate a note from Mongolian to English. Usually, I might help with my fellow English instructors, but they were elsewhere. One of the instructors, who has her desk near me in our office and teaches Russian, mentioned I know Mongolian, I think. So, our colleague approached me. She teaches Japanese, by the way. Our department is so friendly. 

Looking at the handwritten slip signed by our school director, two things felt apparent. One, I can finally read Mongolian cursive! But, two, the note still had unfamiliar words. My confusion must have sounded evident, because soon our department's Chinese instructor walked over. She knows my Chinese is better than my Mongolian. After all, we teach together weekly. So, in Chinese, she discussed with me the unfamiliar Mongolian words. 

With that, I finished typing the note in English then sent it to our colleague. What an experience! I returned to my apartment musing what a strange and exciting opportunity to help I had. 

Chinese Adventures—Since Week 1

I’ve been having these Chinese moments since the beginning. On our school’s first day, after I taught that English class I recounted in my past story, I returned to our department office for passing period. My first supervisor, having returned from her meeting, shared important news. Our university’s Chinese language program merged with our newly merged Humanities Department! I felt stunned! 

An afternoon after the merge, our department rearranged desks so we would work in the same room. And, day-by-day, my fellow instructors introduced me to our colleagues. I could teach with them! Now, I’ve worked among colleagues who instruct all the above languages. Some even teach pedagogy, psychology and international relations. Our students study to become language instructors and global communicators, even businesspeople. All who study English are my students. 

Practicing Chinese in Mongolian

Visiting Chinese classes, I love how I forge the missing link in my language abilities. At the university, my Chinese students are third-year majors studying intermediate Chinese and third-year business majors and international relations freshmen studying basic. Hearing my colleagues explain to students the meanings of familiar Chinese vocabulary and grammar using unfamiliar Mongolian, I find myself rapidly repairing my rifts between.

Likewise, I truly enjoy helping my students practice Chinese. Amusingly, as when I studied in China, people seem so amazed by my notetaking. They show my notebooks to others and even photograph them. I hope they help! I’m most helpful teaching pronunciation, which I struggled with as well, before my summers in China. Now, I recognize native pronunciation. Since my Mongolian is so patchy, I wind up speaking straight Chinese sometimes! And though I accidentally teach like a native, I do find myself emulating Chinese instructors from my past. 

I also feel astounded how, no matter how many places and times I’ve studied Chinese, I keep feeling I know nothing before I recall I know plenty. For, Chinese speaking styles offer differ. I must read and hear new vocabulary before applying again my familiar expressions. Haha, my winter and spring in 臺灣 Táiwān this year even caused me trouble recalling the common 北京 Běijīng accent again! What a wide world.

Dream Come-True

Yet my tales don’t stop there. After finishing that first week of classes, English and Chinese, I took a break after Mass on Sunday to visit the foreign language room of our city library across the street from church. Maybe I was journaling. The librarian came up to me and asked about the clubs our fellow Peace Corps Volunteers were doing. And during our chat in Mongolian, there entered four high school students, who asked whether we had a Chinese speaking club. I mentioned I know Chinese. Even the librarian said she wanted to learn! 

Fast-forward to now, and I’ve been teaching community Chinese lessons at the library to local Mongolians every Sunday after Mass and fellowship. Working adults come, too, to our lessons. But of course, I could host none of these without the support of many gracious and talented community members. By my second week teaching Chinese, I’ve had a team of club leaders helping translate my Chinese characters to Mongolian equivalents. By week three, they’re even teaching our lesson themselves! I’m awed my greatest Peace Corps pipe dream came true.

Consolation

I almost cried on my way home, the Sunday I first taught our Chinese speaking club. In the blackness, as my boots avoided the usual glass while crunching along the dirt, I reflected on the day. It was, too, my first day I experienced Catholic Mongolian language tutoring; then, after Chinese Club, I hiked to a Buddhist temple and even helped, that night, my shopkeeper learn English. Somewhere within me, I love these multilingual, multi-religious adventures. Maybe they’re consolation. Life’s next steps may be magical.

Next: Conference Presentation and Teachers’ Day Performance!

This weekend, I’ve returned to Mongolia’s capital for my first time in a month and a half. Here, I’m presenting with my fellow instructors how to teach creative writing. I trust this blog makes my love of such self-evident...

Lovely for me, the weekend coincides with the memorial to Mongolia’s bishop. I have the opportunity to attend Mass with my city’s parish alongside Catholics from around the nation. 

But, as for conference, I’ll get to meet Peace Corps Volunteers from the cohort before me, which always excites me. I’ll even reunite with friends from Номгон! My favorite people are at the university where I’m presenting. I’m ecstatic to meet.

Guess what? I’ve been rehearsing a performance, too, for Teachers’ Day. Anticipate my debut next week, in October!

First Autumn, Looking Inward Months 3 through 5 | August, September, October

Swear-In for Peace Corps Mongolia  | #42 | August 2020

University Instructor: Identity and Settling In | #5 | August 2019

Loving First Week, University Instructor! | #6 | September 2019

Teaching Chinese in Mongolia | #7 | September 2019

Piercing Nights Amid Autumn’s Sights | #8 | September 2019

A Broken Language and Water’s Phases | #9 | October 2019

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I Love This Orphanage | #13 | November 2019

While walking from the orphanage after my third visit (have spent a surprising three hours), I felt serving the teachers and children there was becoming one of my absolute favorite parts of this Peace Corps service. Within my first month, I visited there five times. On my fourth occasion, I even stayed over eight hours! 

I describe how I came from seeing the family to feel like part of it. I recall how the children have shown me the mirrors to my younger selves. And I tell, too, how I’m relating to different groups of children.

Witnessing Family: My First Visit

When I first arrived for just an hour at the orphanage with a friend, at once a child with a speech impediment ran up to and hugged me in the office. I felt comforted. We stepped into a play area. Young children eagerly handed me origami boxes they’d made. 

Later, toddlers would tug me by the finger to show me different group bedrooms. These pointed to large group portraits of the children. They said, “their family,” in Mongolian and named each member. 57 children live here.

I twinged with sadness when they pointed to those they said went to homes. Ultimately, that’s a goal. But I love these children together. In another room, I watched the children hop from bed to bed, as my own brother and I did when we were little. I sat down for a moment at a bench.

I saw something beautiful. An adorable toddler who kept dashing around to things (the same four-year-old who tugged my finger to bring me places) was doing a headstand. A younger girl beside her, emulating, started to headstand. But the toddler fell into the younger one. At once, the younger girl sobbed. A little boy ran up to the sobbing girl and picked her up. Then the toddler came over and kissed the girl she knocked over. And just like that, the younger one stopped crying. The children returned to plodding around the room with whomever. 

I felt privileged to be here among the children.

Becoming Family

On my third visit arrived again an English teacher I met briefly my first two times at the orphanage. She was shortish, always beaming. She hadn’t time to remove her coat before children clustered around her. A toddler hardly tall enough to reach her waist hugged her legs. Then we went inside to teach a couple English lessons.

As for me, the children always noticed on my silver blazer my golden Peace Corps pin with its Mongolian and American flags above the white dove. I feel like when the younger children see the Mongolian flag, they seem to accept me as a friend, even without knowing me. I always have to explain the dove to them, hehe.

And by my fourth visit, I realized when it comes to personal life, the orphans felt like some of the most unassuming children I’d met. They asked in Mongolian how many are in my family. And as I replied, they didn’t seem noticeably horrified or disbelieving when I didn’t mention having a mom. Indeed, they looked content, even captivated, when I described having siblings, too. I had to explain I was actually born in the States and Mom was born in China, though, hehe. (I often have to explain this.) But I liked them. 

In ways, the orphans reminded me of my student community in rural Номгон. But, these orphans must for the most part, always remain at the orphanage. They glow, eager to spend time with me when I come. They’re so eager to have me stay for their meals and introduce me to other children.

And on some level, time outside feels frozen when I’m with them. I feel unhurried to leave. Indeed, my third, fifth and fourth visits were amazingly three, four and eight hours long. I feel, if anything, relieved for other meetings to cancel so I can stay longer. A single day at the orphanage can feel like nothing for me. For them, it feels like more.

Meeting My Younger Self

After teaching those first couple English sessions to the children and teens of the orphanage and bidding farewell to my cheery co-teacher, I stayed in the classroom with the few children who remained. 

Innocently, a nine-year-old stepped over to me. She took me by her tiny hand and walked me to the whiteboard at the classroom’s front. Then she just started writing math problems on the board while explaining them, completely in Mongolian. 

She wrote, “2 x 1 = 2,” then noted, “3 x 1 = 3,” pointing out that with the 1 on the right, the product mirrors the first factor. She said tag questions like, “За юу?” (OK?), seeming to check my understanding. I felt amused by the confidence of this girl less than half my height. She didn’t particularly seek consent before she started instructing. 

Then she wrote, “2 x 2 = 4,” and, “3 x 2 = 6,” noting below them how, “3 x 2 = 3 + 3.” Again, she asked a tag question, like “Тэ?” (Yes?), while nodding, like a tiny teacher telling a theory. I nodded my understanding. Then her classmate stepped up to the board, writing, “20 x 3,” and handing the marker to me. I wrote, “60,” pleasing both. I returned the marker to the nine-year-old. 

Then, the little girl presented a sort of “exception” to her rule: “1 x 0 = 0.” She followed this with, “2 x 0 = 0.” She handed the marker back to me. I wrote, “3 x 0 = 0.” She seemed satisfied I understood. 

In that moment, I felt humbled realizing I was once her. I treated my little siblings when I was her age as she treated me. Then, I felt, I’m standing before a future teacher.

Mom must have seen the same in me, when she watched me for years come home from elementary school, take my tiny siblings to that whiteboard I asked her to buy me, then show my siblings everything from reading to arithmetic. I’m grateful to have had Mom and glad she never held me back.

Meeting My Summer Self

A 10-year-old called, “багш аа, багш аа,” to get me to come back from the board. She asked me to sit with and teach her English. I noticed she hadn’t learned to read, as I tried to help her hear the difference between, “What?” and “Where?” Meanwhile, a 15-year-old at a higher level asked me simple questions I gave simple answers for. But the 10-year-old’s will impressed me. She kept asking me over and over to help, even as she struggled to understand.

In Mongolia, students don’t begin to learn English until fifth grade. And, when they begin, they learn only speaking and listening, with pictures. They don’t learn to read English in schools until sixth grade. But, the 10-year-old insisted on using the book that didn’t seem like her grade’s. 

When I was in training during summer, I did the same with my host family as this little girl did with me, as I’d ask my grade school-teaching host mother and less-patient but loving host sister to help me understand confusing Mongolian words. Thanks to them, too, I learned as quickly as I did. For this 10-year-old, I felt I was like the family member who helps figure out this incredible conundrum of a language she wants to know. 

On the flipside, I notice while helping the older teens, they seem more intent and stressed to get things right. When I discussed with them scholarships and community service on my fourth visit, they responded disheartened as if they faced insurmountable odds. I love helping them and wish I could reach them. The younger learners seem less defeatist. I’m still learning, too. 

Students Striving

I love supporting those striving to improve. At the night’s end on my fifth visit, the nine-year-old wanted me to teach her the ABCs. We were back at a playroom at that hour. As I sang for her and the 10-year-old, they set their fingers on my vibrating Adam's apple. Since they looked confused, I briefly explained diaphragm breathing, showing them how to puff out their bellies, hehe. I recalled three years ago, I sang with vibrato, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” to huge applause at the open mic night of a national conference in the University of Delaware, haha. 

In practicing love, I find different relationships form between the teens, children, toddlers, girls, boys and me. Since my second visit, for example, many orphans call me, “агаа” (my close/big brother). I feel welcomed by the title. I’ll muse about it more in the Thanksgiving story coming next. But, others call me, “багш аа” (my teacher). By my fourth visit, I noticed some call me both. They would say “teacher” while inside the orphanage’s classroom or while talking about my classes. And they said “big brother” in the playrooms and other halls.

Dancing With the Girls

After teaching morning lessons, I came upstairs to join the children. On my fourth visit, they’d dance practice for a routine. I gave the children two thumbs up and a grin when they looked to me, and one of them mirrored me back with more glee! She would also reply, “Woooow!” and place her hands on her cheeks or below her chin, as I do, hehe. My honor society awarded me for how much I said, “Wow,” at university… Seeing their rehearsal, I felt this warm gut feeling, imagining this is how parents feel watching their kids perform. I thought to my smiling parents when I played piano for them. 

After their rehearsal, the children had free time to dance. A teen who enjoyed K-Pop put on music and started teaching the younger ones other routines. Seeing the girls dance to K-Pop reminded me of college friends who performed at our conferences those same BLACKPINK and TWICE hits. 

I’m quite a go with-the-flow fellow. On my fourth visit, the nine-year-old “teacher” wanted me to dance with her. So I said sure. This first mostly involved the kid taking my hands then waving our arms in rhythm. Then this girl started a sort of waltz, where we would step past each other and back before separating a hand, fanning out, coming back and twirling. 

Like with the instructors at Teachers’ Day (who were albeit not too sober), I loved how my dance partner went unfazed by my inexperience. I remembered seeing Mother’s best friend dance, the summer in China I met her after my mother died. 

In the moment with the orphan, a thought fluttered. I would love a girlfriend with the fearless will to just have fun. Or maybe a daughter. Maybe it’s life’s seriousness that wearies me. 

But other little ones wanted me to dance with them, too. The girl would pout and lecture to them in Mongolian how it wasn’t their turns or something. Then she sat me down and insisted I was too tired to dance with anyone else. Luckily, the teen came to my rescue and had the girl go dance with children across the room. Meanwhile, little girls and boys would just climb on and cling to me. So then I had a few minutes to lift and spin those waiting kids. 

By my fifth visit, even without music, the other little girls would take my hands and want me to dance with them. They would giggle with delight when I imitated their K-Pop moves. They would repeat them until I performed well. And all the kids enjoyed, too the popping and locking a fellow Peace Corps friend taught me during summer. So I did the wave and wrist rolls on command. And I’m glad I gave glee.

Brawling With the Boys

Though I often comment I enjoy Mongolian wrestling, I hadn’t wrestled since National Наадам. On my second orphanage visit, many young boys challenged our Peace Corps Health Volunteer to wrestle. My friend wasn’t up for it. When I chimed I’d wrestle, the tiny kids rushed my legs, trying to knock me down. Usually I sidestep so their own weight topples them. But when two kids heaved up both my legs, I was done for, haha. 

Relatedly, I noticed a handful of toddlers thrash each other on my fourth visit. I considered how, heck, even my older brother and I beat each other up when we were little. The kids call each other names sometimes, but I always say, "үгүй ээ!" and tell them to be nice. They wouldn’t be family if they weren’t rowdy sometimes, I guess, hehe. 

By my fifth visit, the adolescent boys finally took notice of me. So they, too, challenged me in their group bedroom to wrestling. It somewhat reminded me of the Galar Champion Cup from Pokémon, the way children would keep challenging me bout after bout, while others spectated around us. The first teen literally picked me up and dropped me on a bed. Then the next one toppled me from my legs. 

A younger kid zoomed around me till I was able to push him down by his own weight. Then, another, I just let exhaust himself till it was a draw. Then I sat to catch my breath. Still, another wanted to go. I accidentally kneed him (ending that tussle), which we both apologized emphatically for. Then the kid I called a draw on rematched. He kept zooming around till I toppled him. But he caught me, and we both fell on the kneed kid. Oh, you can feel the cringe. Boyhood, friends…

Watching Over Toddlers

I wrap up those exhausting boy stories with a tranquil one. Toward my fourth day’s end, I was back in the little classroom with my co-teacher. It was a peaceful moment. So I asked her why she chose to work here. She loves children, she happily replied. 

Then a couple toddlers ambled into the classroom. So my co-teacher sat with one at the teachers’ desk, while the boy practiced handwriting Mongolian’s Cyrillic letters. The other toddler was the energetic four-year-old from before. She stood at a different desk. I smiled and sat down with her.

A thought came to me while I watched her flip through an English picture dictionary. Focused, she would circle blank spaces with a yellow pencil she lacked the dexterity to hold properly. Sometimes she would look up at my smirk, then grin back at me, before resuming her paging and circling. I felt the pleasant warm gut feeling again.

A spiritual director advised me this Advent outside the States to be open to in whom I may find God. A toddler, too, was Jesus. His parents surely shared moments sitting with Him, watching His antics getting to know the world. How precious, it felt.

Presence, Longing and Leaving

As I prepared to leave on the third day, the children asked with a sort of urgency the next time I’d return. It’s often like this. I sensed myself in their longing to know when my friends would return to me. I promised as best I could I’d return around this time next week. And the children wished me farewells, returning upstairs to resume whatever they did before I came. 

Leaving from my fifth, most recent visit, after I taught the ABCs, the children grilled me at least half an hour for when I’d come back. Like with my college students when they misunderstood my “going home” as going back to the States, the children looked visibly distressed when I said I may visit the States at all. I really do want to be here for them. So before leaving, I gifted the children a bag of my American candy to share. I heard they celebrated their birthdays the day before on Mongolia’s Independence Day. After handing the bag to an adolescent, I saw the children lining up as I left. 

One night, while catching up with a friend who’s been in Hong Kong, she commended me and called me so generous for wanting to serve at the orphanage despite being in Mongolia so few months. I hadn’t thought of it that way, before. I hoped I serve well.

Echoes

Around the weeks I began visiting the orphanage, I also found a white kitten in the cold stairwell of my apartment building, curled in the darkness at my doorstep. Its purrs and mewing sounded like a small child, crying out. It scared me at first. 

I would step away from my door and retreat down a few stairs. The kitten would follow me down and up, as though seeking a way in. When it neared me, it would nuzzle around my ankles and climb upon my boots. I would stand waiting till it climbed off before I continued stepping. 

I don’t want to hurt the kitten, but I can’t care for it by myself. After I re-entered my apartment, I would still hear the kitten meow some nights. But I haven’t heard it recently. I hope it’s OK. 

This time last year, when I detailed to a spiritual advisor my feelings of loneliness, he advised I worry less about whether my friends are reaching out to me and focus more on the individuals others aren’t reaching out to. He suggested I write to prisoners, for example. During the year that followed, I engaged in deeper conversations with people without homes, people with disabilities and those who work in stigmatized industries. I also followed my heart to spontaneously reach out to old friends, when feeling called to. Often, I never saw a reply. But that’s alright. “We all lead such elaborate lives,” I remind myself. 

I’m meant to serve. I’m meant to love. Perhaps my service is my salve. 

After coming home my third evening from the orphanage, I continued to hear in my head the children’s exclamations and questions reverberating. The way the toddlers would climb over me and hug whatever part of me they could reach reminded me of the little kitten, too. My presence is their present. 

Two or three years from now, when I leave Mongolia, I’ll surely cry in my goodbyes.

My next story recounts Thanksgiving 2019 in Mongolia.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me

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22nd Birthday! Наадам, City and Countryside | #3 | July 2019

Today I bring us to both Mongolia’s capital and its countryside. Rocking aboard a Russian train I turned 22. I also relate today profound parallels I’ve experienced to my American parents’ childhood stories in their countrysides. Plenty of scenery. 

Local Наадам

My site celebrated its local Наадам (Naadam) last month, and the capital celebrated National Наадам these past three days. Filled with Mongolian wrestling, horse-racing and archery, these are our traditional sports. I can personally relate, this wrestling is crazy fun to do - its strategies remind me of fencing! Also amazing, the verb, “to celebrate Наадам” is “наадах!” An English equivalent is to say, “I am Christmassing,” or, “I just Eastered!” I’m a geek.

I received for local Наадам a gift relating to my first birthday overseas two years ago. During that summer, my Chinese relatives gifted me enough to afford a red/black 唐装 (tángzhuāng) Chinese shirt. Similarly, for Mongolia’s Наадам, my host family presented me a silver дээл (deel). It reminded me of a first дээл I saw when I arrived in my training site weeks ago. Amusingly, while I was in Panamá this year, God helped me resist buying one of the white fedoras surrounding us, since I knew I didn’t need one. Yet, when my Mongolian host family gifted me my дээл, they coincidentally gifted such a hat to match! God is funny.

What shocked me most, though? My host mom said to match my дээл with clothes my own mother bought me in our last week together, those years ago. I later wrote in a letter to my host family how special this felt to me. God, it’s so nice to have a mother again, even if just for this summer. Loneliness messes with me. I let fade those I’ve lost until ones like them reappear. Still, in sharing with locals stories how my mother, too, taught English, and how she, too, always wanted me to be multilingual, I feel relieved and strengthened by those around me. Connections flow when my wounds show. God is good.

Local Наадам, really helped. Turns out being among the only eight Americans in our parade stood out! Despite the dust storming around us, students and children gathered with me later, helped me practice Mongolian and wanted so many photos. From then on, many call out my name when they spot me! Most say in Mongolian, “Даниел” (which sounds Spanish), but some say, “Daniel,” straight-up. That night, I also returned to school to see the amazing volleyball finals, which remind of how we play chess. We move to force our opponent’s moves. Mongolians in sports tournaments transfix me.

22nd Birthday!

In the city, I felt like we entered another nation. Though half Mongolia’s people live in the capital, life there felt closer to my memories of 北京 Běijīng and 臺北 Táiběi than to the Mongolia I’ve seen. I also enjoyed unique encounters with generations of Peace Corps (PC) Mongolia Volunteers and a scholarly friend of my thesis mentor. These made more worthwhile the sweating and shivering aboard our train crossing the midnight blue, my birthday’s eve. Before we left for the city, a fellow PC Trainee surprised me with a cake slice and got our elementary students to sing to me. My Resource PC Volunteers also bought my last supper together. So sweet. I thought of my first sleeper trains in 2017 to 广州 (Guǎngzhōu) and 2018 to the Говь Gobi Desert. Much love.

National Наадам!

My host family drove us to the countryside. In the river, we rested, swam and played volleyball. No bathing suit necessary. Resting a moment, I saw how the sky seemed to open with light upon the goats and lambs while shadows cast over the mountains and trees. I considered my mother’s story of having swam in a river of her hometown 邵阳 Shàoyáng in China. I considered, too, “Audition,” my favorite song from my favorite film. The song describes an aunt abroad, barefoot in the river. To my months-old nephew in the States, maybe I’ll be that uncle.

After the river, I enjoyed my first хорхог (meat cooked with hot stones), sang “Happy Birthday” to my host family’s friend and experienced a parallel to my dad’s side of our American family. With my host family’s friend’s daughters, I ate great yogurt, then whistled and clapped with them to herd cows, use the dung to light my first fire, then milked my first cow. So peaceful, guiding God’s creatures. Dad had told me stories of how he and his siblings in Kansas milked cows every morning. Though, I did all these while singing from memory a Mongolian song, English television themes and Christmas hymns.

Mongolia’s Beauty

I end this blog recounting how that night’s sky painted so distantly across our earth. To practice location words in Mongolian beside the гэр (ger, yurt), I asked the daughters whether the sky was “above” us. They laughed, saying it’s all around! So true. And true, too, are how our sky’s hues blend. The Mongolian words for purple and pink are the same, ягаан. Yet two different words describe light blue, цэнхэр, and dark, хөх (my favorite shade). After seeing those variations blanket the sky, I accepted this curious difference of the Mongolian rainbow.

I often write in my downtime and read your notes to me. I’ve two more pieces I hope to share with you before I leave for my permanent site one month from today. I’m itching to share with you encounters with my Chinese identity and how much I love my first Mongolian community. Maybe food or routines, too. And of course, thank you again for your birthday wishes! I appreciated especially the poems and prayers, whether in English, Chinese, Spanish or other. These have been a joy and remind me nuanced wonders of language. By my next post, I’ll have a vague sense of where Peace Corps sends me next, so stay tuned!

More from my summer in training below: 

Summer’s Peace Corps Training Months 1 through 3 | May, June, July, August

Host Family Farewells | #41 | August 2019

My First Days in Peace Corps Mongolia | #37 | June 2019

Refresh Abroad as Student and Teacher | #1 | June 2019

Meeting My Mongol Host Family | #40 | July 2019

Horses and Global Adventures | #2 | July 2019

22nd Birthday! Наадам, City and Countryside | #3 | July 2019

Typical Day in the Training Life | #4 | August 2019

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :) 

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Move-In, Faithful Reunions | #63 | October 2022

In this entry, I pick up from October 2O22’s end, from what was the start of my new Peace Corps assignment to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Chronologically, I pick up from what would be my second weekend back in Mongolia. (I am especially grateful to St. Joseph’s Day, Mar. 19, 2O23, during which I made serious progress on this piece while a dear friend was simultaneously taking care of tasks.) 

Coincidentally, this marks my sixth October 2O22 story. I first set the record of six blog stories in a month when evacuating Mongolia in February 2O2O. So it’s a fitting count. Alright, for one last time, back to October 2O22! 

Move-In Day (Redux) 

Saturday, Oct. 29, 2O22, I awoke in the Holiday Inn Ulaanbaatar for my last time in a while. It’d been a nice stay. 

I took my last shower, using a new soap and shampoo, since house cleaning had taken my others the other day. I donned again the silver дээл /dehl/ I’d worn for the flight to Mongolia. It was the same from my host family at Наадам 2OI9, for Peace Corps Mongolia Swear-In that August. 

This day would be Moving Day. Prior to that morning, I’d already met two of my main three new counterparts. So I felt less anxiety than otherwise thinking I’d meet someone new. 

As part of moving preparations, I’d also labeled in marker over masking tape my belongings, as in the good ol’ days of Pre-Service Training (PST). That said, this morning I wanted to change the color in which I wrote my name. So before I headed to breakfast, I went back upstairs to the conference meeting space for a blue marker then rewrote. The blue-over-red look of the labels reminded me of the hair color of the protagonist Alear of the upcoming Fire Emblem game, formally announced before I left for Mongolia. Well, anyway, at least my name was in a more fortunate color now. 

Departure

Parting from the other Peace Corps folks felt bittersweet. They were eagerly preparing to move to the cluster sites where their training would continue. They met for the first time teachers with whom they would be training. Ken, my bus-mate from our Seattle staging trip, showed me a cool way to lace together belongings to carry better. 

M3O Eric and I on the other hand would proceed straight to our new assignments. I shared an elevator with him and his new counterpart from a famous non-governmental organization. Still, our role was special, too. The M3I Trainees encouraged me with this. 

With preparations complete, and alongside my new counterpart Nyamka, the foreign language specialist, she and I loaded my belongings into a taxi outside the hotel. Then we crossed town. I was off to my new home. 

Arrival

I felt pleasantly surprised to find when we arrived at my new apartment that I would have an elevator in this one. Back in Erdenet, I lived on the fifth floor of an apartment without one. And hauling every one of my belongings from America and from Peace Corps Mongolia up those stairs was a mighty challenge. So having an elevator here in UB was nice. 

I had a sort of welcoming crew present at my move-in. There was my landlady, I believe her husband with a friend, their daughter (not so far from my age, I think), plus the real-estate agent, who gave me a business card, too. I’d heard real estate in UB takes an agent, so I guess good ones always hustle. 

Back in Erdenet, my Host Country Agency—the university—owned my apartment. So I never actually saw a landlord. Everything was handled by my school. So, actually interacting with the people involved was new to me. Thankfully, I’d still retained enough Mongolian language from three years ago that I could communicate partially with my landlady and the agent. 

Apartment

For the next few hours, my counterpart and I with my Mongolian-speaking landlady signed copy after copy of form after form. In between my counterpart and her talking, I walked around the apartment photographing how things were, as was the daughter and the agent. Everyone would have the same records. 

Before I left, my landlady encouraged her daughter to practice English with me. So resumed the norm of parent-aged locals encouraging their children to practice with me. My landlady asked if I would need a TV and a vacuum. Unfortunately, I was too kind at that time and said they wouldn’t likely be necessary. (I didn’t usually watch TV, and I had a broom and dustpan.) Later, I recalled the words of my M29 predecessor trainer who’d told me whenever offered something to say yes. 

I did find out however that I would need Wi-Fi for the apartment. Thankfully my counterpart’s husband (“hubby”) does internet installations. She also said they had a spare TV if I wanted one. (I remembered I could use one as a spare monitor.) So, I felt relieved to know these would be accounted for. 

Erdenet Connections

The night before, Friday, I had mentioned how I thought I would have been recognized in UB eventually. Well, God must have heard.

After moving into my apartment, Saturday, my colleague Nyamka was taking me to the nearby Emart store so I could stock my place. That’s when we passed a building advertising preparation for the IELTS (International English Language Testing System) test. We were rounding the corner when from somewhere behind me I heard, "Даниел /Daniel/." Then I heard it again.

Surprised, I turned around to find the source. A woman was sitting at a bench we passed and got up, approaching. With her was a tall young man, and within moments I connected the voices with the faces. Beaming, she asked if I remembered them. Of course I did!

We embraced with a hug. They were parishioners from the parish I attended in Erdenet nearly three years ago, I explained to my colleague. The son was far taller than I remembered and his English smoother, too! They were in UB this weekend for his IELTS test. I felt touched to have heard his mom describe me as having been his teacher. My colleague and I explained how I'm working here with the Metropolitan Education Department now.

My friends asked when I may visit Erdenet, and I admitted it depended on my workload. Still, I would message when I’m coming. My colleague and I were nonetheless short on time, so we soon bid my friends farewell. Before we left however, I wished them the best and let them know how much I missed them. The encounter felt like a joyful yet bittersweet animé encounter. 

Soon after, my counterpart and I continued onto the mart. As we walked, I shared more with her about how I knew them and their hospitality. It was a lovely experience. I recounted how when I was especially ill that October three years ago, the mother had bought me food. We would eat together. I saw them one last time when I was evacuating in 2O2O. 

And at the store, my counterpart was recognized at the store by who was apparently one of her coworkers at the education department. I’d realize that running into local teachers too is common for my counterpart. That’s the life of the foreign language specialist. 

Meanwhile, by the time I got home, I was happy to read too that the M3Is were enjoying their Pre-Service Training (PST) apartments. I hoped they’d transition well into service. Ultimately they could be staying in places like mine! 

I later recounted an abridged version of the Erdenet ecounter for the Friends of Mongolia’s newsletter, Jan. 8, 2O23. By then, I’d also add,

“In the capital, I encounter former students who’ve grown into young adults working and studying here. Some have participated in my new community projects, and at least one became a new community counterpart. As I navigate the city, I also find myself stumbling into buildings I recall having entered only once or twice as a Peace Corps Volunteer before. I find myself buying foods I remember my host family fed me from Darkhan during my first summer in this Land of the Eternal Blue Sky. I celebrate the simple reminders that I once lived in this country. I’m truly back. I hope the many who’ve come anew will experience the love and joy I have known so often, back now.”

Hello and Farewell

Another community member I knew from Erdenet was both the first to visit me when I moved there and one of the final people to say goodbye when I had to go. (In fact, I’d even given him my ol’ nametag when I left.) He insisted on being the first to welcome me to my new apartment here in UB. So, the now ‘young man’ Saka honored our tradition and showed up before the night's end. 

When Saka arrived, I offered him water as I'd offered my Mongolian counterpart earlier. (I didn’t have much yet to offer back then.) Saka didn’t seem so much taller, though perhaps he was some. He mused about how he was 16 when we met and was 19 now. I’d similarly commented on how I was 25 now and 22 then. His braces were off, I noticed! 

We caught up on life. Saka was someone known for playing basketball. I felt surprised to hear that he hadn’t gotten to practice his English much in the years since Peace Corps had to leave. Apparently he hadn’t had so many opportunities here at the university in UB. 

Saka also commented on how I've a modern дээл /dehl/, my silver one. My host family has good taste! I recounted how my host mom had messaged me from the countryside that day her welcome for me to visit. Indeed, I hoped to. 

Enthused by our reunion, I wondered when I may next see again the rest of our friends. 

Mending Mental Connections

While unpacking in my apartment, that night I’d found that the Pietà (Michelangelo) figure that crossed the world with me had part of the base shattered. While somewhat upsetting, it wasn’t so upsetting. I procured the super glue I still had from when my “Violet Evergarden” frame had broken during my stay with the Franciscans in Singapore spring 2O22. As I began mending the base, I noticed at least one shard remained missing. 

I considered the True Cross, its relic we venerated with the St. Padre Pio relics tour in Vegas not long before my journey to Southeast Asia. I supposed that perhaps I wouldn’t find that missing shard, but that was OK. The parts I found, I’d resecured to the piece, and it was as whole as it would be. 

I was also able to display my “Violet Evergarden” picture, too. I placed it alongside the other pictures I had brought with me through Malaysia and Singapore. Now they could keep me company during my time back in Mongolia. I placed too a newer Peace Corps poster I’d drawn during staging in Seattle. I had come full circle. 

All a Dew Drop

By the next morning, Sunday, Oct. 3O, 2O22, snow had fallen in UB! I remembered how snow had fallen in Mongolia when we left. Now it was here in our return. 

I enjoyed the snow as I walked down the streets from my apartment past the Chinese Embassy and familiar National University of Mongolia dorms where I stayed years ago. I never would have guessed these would be my neighborhood now. I was returning for my second Sunday to St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church, having discovered that it was indeed my nearest parish after all. 

I felt immediately touched by a reading from the Book of Wisdom 11:22, “the whole world before You is like a speck that tips the scales, and like a drop of morning dew that falls on the ground.” I remembered it was the favorite passage of Fr. Bernard, my pastor in Erdenet. It reminded me that we are all small in comparison with yet so immensely loved by God. I missed our community. At least, they knew I was thinking of them. Two had seen me Saturday, and I’d texted our chat. 

I also felt moved by the Gospel reading, about Zacchaeus. That was a Biblical character whose call by Christ featured prominently in the Jesuit discernment retreat in which I participated this past July 2O22. I was going deeper with my interests in international service at that time. Coincidentally too, the journal in which I was writing here in Mongolia was the same that I had taken on that retreat. 

Brian Hogan

After Mass, I headed to the church of the friend Bayra I’d first met in Erdenet during Tsagaan Sar 2O2O. Turns out since she had come up to Erdenet from UB at that time, I was now in UB not far from where she actually served. I found out there that she and her husband were actually the pastors there! Their associate pastor also lived very near to my apartment’s area. 

When I was locked down in Erdenet, I read, "There's a Sheep in My Bathtub," as recommended by an anthropologist. Then by Tsagaan Sar of that year, I was celebrating alongside a family shown in Brian's story, that of Bayra’s. 

Well, I arrived at the building and found myself instead in a coffee shop. Brian was there speaking, so I wondered whether I was in the right place. But then we went upstairs not long after. I was touched too to have been spoken of! I felt treated as though like an honored guest. I sat right up front and listened with joy. 

All Comes Together

I enjoyed hearing Bayra playfully translate for Brian as he told stories of faith. I felt like an ol’ friend to some degree. Indeed, I knew Bayra from my last week in my Erdenet home and now from my first week at my new UB home.

And as Brian recounted how people tried to discourage him by telling him, “nothing can start in Erdenet and spread to the rest of the country,” I remembered my own Peace Corps service having started in Erdenet and resumed with the rest of the country. This encouraged me, knowing how decades later that story continues. 

Afterward, Brian shared with the youths more stories to encourage them. Of course, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I wouldn’t be working with religious organizations. Still, I felt grateful to at least get to experience the graces of the community. I even reunited with Boloroo, another woman I'd met amid my final days in Erdenet. The UB community welcomed me to visit them again any time. 

First Day at Work

The next morning, Monday, Oct. 3I, would mark my first day of work. It would also mark the start of Allhallowtide and that spooky holiday popular to Western folks, Hallowe’en. I felt renewed by the delightful encounters tangibly tying back to my final days in Mongolia, in Erdenet. Now, those memories would accompany me into my new UB role. And so, my next directives would be to continue to restore my Mongolian language skills and to get acquainted with the people I would serve through my next year in English education and community development. 

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.Tumblr.com :)