REVELATION!

Composting toilets are just like those cute air fresheners in asian people's cars, where the plastic character poops out used pellets.

What's so fascinating?

First, the poop. pellets. see the relation yet?

Second, the smell. in successful composting toilets, the bottom layers that are extracted to be used as fertilizer don't smell! (the poop has been broken down by microorganisms and becomes as good as good ol' dirt) in air fresheners, the small pellets that are pooped out don't smell! (they've released all their fresh smell)

Third, the poop/pellets break down over time (through some chemical process) in both cases, and the fresh poop/pellets push the old stuff out to some place for 'collection'. composting toilet: poop becomes compost. air freshener: the small pellets are scattered around the car.

Isn't that GREAT? This inspires me to build a composting toilet in the form of a cute asian animal character. any suggestions?

totoro? pikachu?

Flash. Back. Track.

June 22, 2008 Taranaki Environment Center. New Plymouth. New Zealand

In order to learn a community, it would take a lifetime to understand its complexities; but it doesn't mean I'm not going to try. How do you bridge the gap between intellectuals and those who just want to make a living?

Everyone has their place in society. In the world there are too many misunderstandings. And I want to help bridge some of those misunderstandings.

When I was with the Malaysians, they saw me as someone special, a unique resource. I noticed that everyone looked at me with a funny eye: many people, even travelers, have never seen an Asian American before. Someone at Central Oasis backpackers recognized me from 8 months before, because I was an Asian who spoke perfect English.

Now what use would all these open minded people in the States be, if they don't go out and spread the knowledge, or bridge gaps between people in remote places? It's like Jim O'Bourgman saying he wants to teach wwoofers because then they go out and spread the knowledge. People like Jim are stuck to the land.

Thing is, once you become part of the intellectual community and lifestyle, it is almost impossible to come out, so this knowledge never gets transmitted to the people who really need it. A bit like money, once you have it, it's very hard to distribute that money and go back to living poor. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the money that the rich get never trickle down to the poor.

Lucky for me, I have MIT on my side. MIT is like an American passport. I can go anywhere. Even if I go to the dumps, I can always return. If I had a North Korean passport, I'm sure I would have gone through many security restrictions, and have to prove myself much more. Let's just hope this gets me far enough in the world

-------------------------------

June 23, 2008 Taranaki Environment Center

I am feeling much better today. A few day's time always helps. Although there were times today when I was absolutely bored, and didn't know what to do with myself, (i wanted to sleep but didn't want to be anti-social because I'm here to talk to people and learn as much as I can), I'm discovering more purpose in being here. It's really nice that I can be by myself, in my own world, have the time to myself, not having to worry about where I'm going tomorrow, whether I have a bed to sleep in , and getting low on money. Sometimes you just need that time to stop and reflect, give myself that time and space to just breathe.

Outside was thundering and lightning, how grateful I am to be inside, with a roof over my head, with no grave danger. Remember that bike guy at Cornell who got hit by a drunk driver in Arizona? it's a big, scary, dangerous world out there. And right now things are ok; I'm in a safe place.

Sometimes I'm afraid, knowing that I'm alone. I know people back home think of me. But they lead such busy lives, and I feel so forgotten, because I was almost like the runaway child. I know I'm not, but it still feels that way. I'm carrying this backpack with everything. I haven't changed clothes in the past two weeks because it's too cold to take off, wash, and wait to dry.

And yet, I don't know what keeps me going.

Maybe it's that spark of light I have inside, that never ending flame inside, resistant to blow out, that little flame that shouts 'I can do it!' It's a small flame so overwhelmed by my insecurities, emotions, and lack of sureness in speech. People put me down, situations throw me down, another few punches in the face, but I know something is inside, something that maybe people can't appreciate. I am just going to keep trekking, not going to let anyone or anything overcome me, because this is my calling, this is my path.

I hear an echo in my ears: 'what are you doing? that's useless!' i bet that's what artists hear all the time. but they just follow their hearts, because there's something there that hints a faith, a passion that makes you feel like a completely different person, in a different world, a comforting one, that speaks to you in a special way. Watching my professor Junot Diaz's talk:

'If your book doesn't do well with the literary community, it doesn't mean much, because it just means you fit a profile of what critics need right now. I write for the readers, the people who just love to read; they are much more unincumbered, free, because they don't have any considerations. It's not that I'm against academia, but if you work for the intellectual community, there is so much at stake: tenure, relationship with professor, critical climate, publications...'

Bicycling in Africa

Hello friends!

 

As many of you know (but some of you don't), I am embarking on an epic adventure soon. I am cycling across Africa with four friends, from South Africa to Egypt over eight months.

 

We are keeping a blog which we hope to update through internet cafes along the way, so our friends and family can make sure we are safe:

bikesinafrica.blogspot.com

If you want to automatically receive the blog updates in your email, click on the 'subscription via email' link on the left side. Feel free to comment or ask me/us questions. I love hearing from all of you! It keeps me inspired and pedaling!

 

I flew to Wisconsin to meet with Karen, Orian, and Nate and have spent the last few days preparing my new bike. It has leopard spots on it, and the story is that it was painted by a hippie in the 80s when he had nothing to do for 3 months. Funny enough, when we were buying extra parts at the bike shop, the hippie was one of the workers there. He looked at my bike and said: 'That was my first mountain bike!' Now it is my very first mountain bike. Orian's family had a good bye party for us with Nate's family and other neighbors, which I was surprised and very happy about.  

 

We will begin our journey on Friday, as we sit on a long flight to Capetown, South Africa. We hope you enjoy our stories and pictures!

 

Much love,

Minwah

running my butt around the northeast: random notes

i love bike culture. i'm super excited about my new schwalbe marathon tires. the bike shop guy was incredibly nice. and all these things make me happy.

new york. washington dc. new york. vermont. new york. boston. new york. wisconsin. africa

that's a lot of places to go in 3 weeks, huh? especially after not being back for 14 months. the crisp winter air keeps me refreshed though.

it feels nice to be in boston again. it feels more like home than new york. i have lots of new york pride, but new york is depressing to me when i'm there. my parents' home in queens is too far away. i can stay in chinatown with my aunt, but all my stuff isn't there. it's like i can't be settled.

boston is nice because there's not many people on the streets. the buildings are red brick and cute. central square has that alternative feel. the bike shop is a nice walk. mit is down the street. toscanini's is a warm, safe haven. the charles river is right there for a run or walk. boston has a lot of open space to breathe. that is, if you're not studying at mit. boston just seems personable and friendly and community-like.

now that i'm no longer a student at mit, i feel motivated on mit campus. how ironic! all these amazing people here-not just in technology, but also public service. being on campus inspires me to get involved, be ambitious, and make a change.

but it's a bit different now. after 14 months on the road i've grown. i know what i need to do now. and i'm relieved to see that MIT will always be my home.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Wild West

The adventures of me continues...

 

 -------------------------

"Don't DO that! You never hitchhike on your own, especially a young woman. It's so dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Have you seen the movie Wolfe Creek? You don't even know how many people go missing every year." As I stood there with my thumb out, I could feel volunteer firefighter lady's scolding eyes upon me; her words echoeing on repeat through my ears. I watched the cars pass by, and my thoughts were filled with all the terrible things that could happen to me. One horrific situation after another flickered before my eyes, when finally, my mind was so muddled with terrifying visions. I put my thumb away. I stood there looking really pointless on the side of the road outside of Broome.

Over 1500 miles (2500 kms) from Broome to Perth, down the west coast of Australia. That's like going halfway across the United States, from Boston to Iowa. It was a long way to hitchhike. Many things could happen to me in 1500 miles. The thought was daunting.

But the road was calling me. It felt right. I just knew I could do it. And Good Judgement [my trusty buddy] was going to be right beside me all the way. So I stuck my thumb out again. Loud and proud. And I started singing: 'I'm headed down south to the land of the pines, thumbin' my way to North Caroline…[I mean, Perth]' The cars passed by and I smiled to each of them. A Greyhound bus rushed passed, and I chuckled at how boring traveling on Greyhound must be. I couldn't contain my excitement for my very own newest adventure! Down on the corner, out in the streets! Willie and the Poorboys are playing, bring a nickel tap your feet! Classic Creedence Clearwater Revival had kicked in.

A few minutes later, I turn around to see the Greyhound bus blocking up the entire highway. What in the world is it doing? It was making a U-turn. Not an easy task for a big big bus on a small small road. Silly bus driver, must've forgot something in Broome. The bus gets back on the road and makes a right turn—again, creating a minor traffic jam because I remind you, it was a big big bus on a small small road. Nope, silly bus driver just missed the turn. A few moments later, the bus emerges from behind the bushes, and was charging towards me again. To my utter surprise, the bus screeched to a halt in front of me. The driver and his Greyhound supervisor opened the door and made a friendly wave: Come on!

My heart stopped. What?! No Way! Greyhound picking up hitchhikers! And that gigantic traffic-blocking 360-turn…all that was just to pick me up! So I hopped on. From that moment, I knew, that nothing is ever impossible. And Greyhound, is so not boring.

------------------------

The bus left me at the roadhouse, where they turned off to head North. I swung my backpack on, and skipped along to the road junction. Rollin' rollin' rollin' on the river… Except there were no rivers; only me and my backpack in the hot, dry, red outback. But I was so free…If only I could do cartwheels! I would do cartwheels under the big arrow to Port Hedland!

In the distance a vehicle emerged; the first car in awhile. It was an old Wicked Campervan. I rolled my eyes: just another group of party backpackers. I was sure they would just carry on…

But, they stopped! I was greeted by three bright young smiles. 'Where are you going?' 'South. Where are you going?'

'Perth. We can take you!'

Just my second ride out of Broome, and I had a ride all the way to Perth! This hitchhiking thing was far easier than I expected. Too easy, mate!

In fact, they weren't 'just another group of backpackers.' They were three PhD students on a study break. Two Czech guys (Tom & Jerry) and a Mexican girl (Ikerne). Studying computer science, international relations, and human migration, respectively. I was more than impressed.

'You know, I would never have the patience to do a PhD,' I confessed. I thought about how long ago it was since I finished the studying thing. It seemed so far away.

Tom laughed. 'Patience? We're not actually patient. Really, we're just procrastinating from the real world. You know, a real job, a house, a family.'

Then Tom asked, 'So America. What's a very American saying?' I thought for a moment. These questions about culture are hard sometimes.

'Like totally awesome dude!' We all laughed for a long time. Night eventually fell upon us, so we stopped at a rest area. The sky was clear, the wind was breezy, and the kangaroos were hopping about. As we laid out the tarp, mattresses and pillows under the starry sky, Ikerne smiled at me and said, 'It's nice to have another girl around.' Jerry pulled out his guitar and serenaded us with Czech folk songs. And with a deep sigh, I fell asleep between the stars, sweet dreams, and my new friends.

'This world is like SO totally awesome!'

----------------------

It seemed too simple to go all 1500 miles to Perth in just two rides. I wanted to meet more people on this epic adventure. So as heartbreaking as it was to leave my PhD friends, I left them after four days.

----------------------

I walked up to the rest area with my backpack. There were two guys already sitting at the table. I nodded to greet them, and strolled away to find a good tent site. I walked around for a long time, as there were ants everywhere, and these ants are no good: they chew through your gear and bite you. But I must've looked quite lost.

'Are you alright?' A voice startled me from behind. A young guy [English, from his accent] was standing there with a beer in his hand. 'Hey, yeah, I'm just looking for a good spot,' I replied.

'Where did you come from? Because you just, like, popped out of nowhere. I mean, one minute there's just a road, and the next, there's this random girl walking with big bags. I've heard of people biking or roadtripping around Australia, but walking? Like, what the hell? You must be superwoman or something.'

I burst into laughter. 'No no no. I've been hitchhiking, and the guy dropped me off at the Roadhouse across the road.'

'So you're not like, a witch or something. You're real. You didn't perform some crazy magic. Because the closest town is more than 60 miles (100 kms) away.'

'No, I swear I'm real. I'm sorry I scared you.'

'Nah, we were just making sure you're alright. We were just like, what's going on? You look one way down the road: nothing. You look the other way down the road: nothing. But you are here. Weird.'

That's how I met Ben. In the end, Ben and Stefan took me all the way from the Minilya rest area to Perth. Almost the whole time, they just smoked and drank beer. There was a simplicity in their lifestyle that I admired and enjoyed. Just beer and cigarettes, and everything was all good.

---------------------------

And so I made it to Perth. Nearly 3000 kms in 14 days. A brand new hitchhiking-on-my-own record for myself. One that will be hard to beat. Who knows if I'll ever go that distance again? All I know is, this time: Mission accomplished!

"Find out what you want; find something you really care about. When you know what you want, the rest follows. But don't just drift into something because it offers security. Security is never worth a damn. We're meant to live, and to live, means to live dangerously, half on the edge of trouble, half on the edge of achievement." –Hammond Innes

Bama Ngappi Ngappi

Greetings friends!

I will be returning to the USA (New York) on Wednesday December 18, via Los Angeles. If you are around Los Angeles, I have a 7 hour layover there, so I would love some company! Let me know if you are around. I can't wait to see you all!! Big giant smiles!!
------------------

Burri Koman: One fire. Bama: the Aboriginal people. Ngappi Ngappi: coming together. Burri Koman Bama Ngappi Ngappi, they say.

The red and orange flickers within the concrete bricks. Smoke dances away into the palm trees above. Fish, crab, damper, and a large pot of hot water sit atop the one crackling fire. Their home is a mere shelter; a washed up piece of corrugated iron supported by four timber poles. Four ripped mattresses lie on the floor beyond the fire, where the uncles are lounging. 'Coo-wee!' I suddenly hear. Uncle is calling me. 'Coo-wee!' He shouts again. 'Ya have a feed yet, Minna?'
'No, not yet Earl.'
'Come, Minna, Uncle Palo say we need ta take care of ya. Ya have a good feed.' His fingers make an eating gesture.    

 'Our people. We cook over de fire, ya know? Ya cook over a fire before? A wood fire. Id get der flavor, you know?' He places a whole footlong fish in front of me. I sit quietly, waiting for the others to join in. Uncle looks at me curiously: 'Have a feed, Minna.'
'Please, I can't eat this all by myself!'
'Na na na, yar our guest. Dat what Uncle Palo say. Say look afta Minna. You know we de mob. We all broders and sisders. We goddo wut Broder say.' All the uncles urge me to eat the gigantic fish.
'Thank you,' I reply and reluctantly take my first bite. 'Please eat,' I plead as all the uncles stare at me eating alone. 'It's happier when everyone eats together.'
'You 'right, Minna. This is our Law. Guests always first' Uncle smiles. 'My-ee Boo-gan. Means good feed.'

Poot…poot. An engine sputters into sight. Aunties pull up in an old car. It must be low tide. Dem aunties come to crack oysters. As I follow them over the oyster covered rocks,
the eldest auntie looks at me, 'Where you sleep?'
'Over there in my tent Elder Auntie.'
'Over dere?! Why you over dere? Dem crocodiles come here. You look out fer dem crocodiles.' Crocodiles in the ocean? Never heard of that before. Thought crocodiles were only in rivers and swamps.
'You move your tent, so dem uncles see you. You over dere, dem crocs get you.'
I walk over to the other aunties, eager to learn their cracking technique. Auntie Carey tells me carefully, 'You listen to dem old people. Dem old people know.'
'Dem crocodiles! Dem crocs!' Elder Auntie repeatedly echoes, her hands flaring at the shoreline, where the crocodiles live, but do not make their appearance today. 'Dem crocs!'
Auntie Carey continues, 'Our people live off the land. And dis how our mothers and grandmothers taught us. Dis our Law. It's different from white man law. We listen to our elders and dey teach us. Dey tell der stories and sing songs. Like my father. He taught me how to look at the sun.' Clunk, clunk, crack; clunk clunk crack; there reveals a white oyster only as big as a thumb. 'Only take the white ones, the clear ones aren't ready yet,' and Auntie places the oyster into her jar.

For the next two days, the Uncles drive me around the community. The first thing seen: the police station. At the school, children are chasing each other during recess. At the gardens, elder aunties and uncles are passing on knowledge of plants and trees. The community hall is decorated with xray paintings, didgeridoos, and turtle shells; the voices echoing are the legends that surround the hills and shorelines, where dem old people were. They take me to the hills and shorelines to visit their ancestors, the rocks that lay atop.

I look curiously at the uncles who have taken time to share their community, 'And what do you do when I am not here?'
'We making a building over there. You know, so when de mob come we can sit down. But the council don' want approve it. We waiting for few weeks now.' Uncle Earl stares intently at the stack of building materials, and tips a tin of beer into his mouth. His eyes move slowly across to the shoreline. 'You know, dem white men wanted to build a resort over dere, and the council approved it in couple o' days.'
'You can teach others many things. You have taught me many things.'
'Dat mean we havedo leave. We cand leave. We da mob. We goddo look after dem brodas and sisdas, and de land dat our grandfaders gave us.' He takes another mouthful of beer.
---------------

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. There is so much to learn. The fruits, the trees, the land, the stories, the songs, the old ways. It doesn't have to be this way. My heart burns as I search frantically for something to say that would stop their drugged and drunken state. Fists, dope inhales, smashes, screams, shoves, shouts, bottle shatters, louder louder louder…and shrieks! shrieks of fear, violence rattling through my veins; ringing out through my ears, fingers, intestines, toes, stronger stronger stronger…and smash! Into my brain, and tearing my body into rips of anguish. I slam my eyes shut and let out a giant scream. Except no one can hear it. The tears stream down, but no one can see them. I dare not let them see it.

It's just a nightmare! I open my eyes but it is not a dream. The uncles and aunties stagger in limps of lifelessness; marijuana smoke hovers in and out between their dazed, half open eyes. The alcohol, the drugs have poisoned them. Even they know that. But while everything around them falls apart, at least they have each other—the mob.

Burri Koman Bama Ngappi Ngappi. This is the fire that gives them hope. The fire that wakes them up every morning to gather wood. Some of the uncles are half breeds and some full breeds. But they are all indigenous peoples. And we are all one fire.

On the Road Again

I never seem to stumble across the right times and places to write thoughtful emails anymore, so I am now resorting to a brief summary of my travels. I hope this will fill some of the void that I have left you all with.

 

After picking and packing kiwifruits for a month to earn some money, my travels led me to the Taranaki Environment Center. I hoped to learn about building self sufficient technologies, such as recycling wastewater and simple food processing. But when I arrived, I found my direction completely changed.

 

July 3               Lifting my head, Mt. Taranaki towered before me. I continued along through town. Even when I could not see the grand volcano, it engulfed me with its majestic presence. Mt. Taranaki: Ruler of the North Island's western cape. The surrounding region is Taranaki, and the people here live by this mountain. This is their mountain. They are governed by this mountain, and come together by this mountain. This: is what I have come to know as community.

 

My time in Taranaki was about community—people setting aside differences to build relationships. Relationships between people, food, and nature. Sharing resources, skills, and knowledge to help each other. Organizing community initiatives: youth conservation groups, carpooling networks, seed saving networks, abuse helplines, growing community gardens and orchards. Ever since then, I have been on a mission: a mission to discover how ordinary people (including convicts, handicapped, teenagers) can come together to live self-sufficiently. This mission led me to Waiheke Island, a Transition Town (www.transitiontowns.org). Here, even the old granny who didn't think could do anything about the future, seems to be involved in becoming more self-sufficient. My discoveries? Well, we might just have to have a cup of coffee when I get home in December.

 

After a week on Waiheke Island, I bade my farewells to New Zealand, and went off to the Land of Oz (Aus). Aussie Aussie Aussie! Hoy Hoy Hoy! This is the infamous chant that brings together every Australian. I stayed three days in Sydney to visit my wonderful friend Susannah (How I met Susannah…that'll be another cup of coffee). Then to Cairns I flew, spotting the mesmerizing wonder of the Great Barrier Reef from above. There, I went Wwoofing on a cattle farm for two weeks.

 

Indeed, talking to cattle for a whole day proved to be a new challenge. But besides extended conversations with cattle, I was captivated by the spiritual manner in which my host worked. Whether we were in the forest, vegetable garden, or the paddock, there was a deep, thoughtful air of respect and finesse in everything he handled and did. The deep breath of air, the rush of smells, and the floating wind elucidated: The World is not Hard Science. It is also governed by a spiritual essence. Otherwise, how do you explain: Why do people sing? And meditate?  

 

My travels next led me to Yarabah, an Aboriginal community where I stayed for a week (Sorry, details next time). Since then I have made my merry way to the Red Center of Australia, Alice Springs.

So that's two months in a nutshell.

Until next time from the Outback.

Truly, Sincerely, now Down Under

MinWah

 

PS for those who don't know about my pictures and blog: miniwahwah.shutterfly.com  and   miniwahwah.blogspot.com