#memorylang

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. 

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. 

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

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. 

At last came the fateful day I wished wouldn’t come so soon. My newfound Peace Corps friends and I left Mongolia. 

Concluding Peace Corps Week 2020, which began the day I boarded that Peace Corps vehicle to leave my city of service, I take you along our misadventures crossing Eurasia and the Atlantic from Mongolia to America. Many goodbyes and hellos follow in this penultimate part of these evacuation stories from my life with Mongolia. 

Departing Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia

Wednesday morning, March 4, standing and staring out the window of our hotel’s continental breakfast room, wearing my traditional Mongolian clothes, I felt like an elderly man moments away from losing a home he’s known for generations. 

20 hours later, my departing group and those who came to see us off gathered together in hotel lobbies. We 49 left for the airport. I felt moved by an experience there. Then I reached our gate. 

I reunited with the rest of our crew in the waiting area. 

I saw the friendly sights of my senior sitemate and cohort friends, like the one I saw Monday and my Episcopalian buddy. I asked one to watch my belongings for a moment, then I returned just in time for boarding. 

As we readied, one of my fellow Volunteers, my kind sitemate, asked if I'm ready to go home. "No," I abruptly told her. 

But as we began walking toward our plane to board, I felt some excitement. Next stops, Moscow and Berlin. It'd be a long Thursday. 

Settling In

I saw an open window row across my aisle, so I slid over. I later heard people weren’t supposed  to change seats, but eh, no one said it to me. Nearby were both my cohort friend who visited me Monday afternoon and the senior cohort member who trained me my first weeks in Mongolia. 

As we readied for takeoff, I saw out my left window workers in the cold with this huge hose blasting green chemicals on the wing. I’d never seen anything like it. But I also saw billowing what seemed mist, so I got the gist they were defrosting the wing. I think I vaguely recalled from middle school aviation classes that ice increases drag. 

This seemed just like Mongolia that we’d need to defrost our wings for take-off. By take-off, our wing was still that weird light green...

Powerless

On the plane, my thoughts returned to a friend I helped before coming to our gate.

I remember her saying something as I left her group moments earlier, but I didn’t catch it. I still wanted to offer my support if she needed, though. Messaging her she’s welcome to chat if she wants, I noticed she tried to video call me after we boarded. Shortly after, a flight attendant asked me to power off my phone. I wasn't sure what to make of our missed communication. 

I remembered earlier she said something like she’s been so angry and rude, and yet I didn’t mind. I was thinking, "I care about you," wishing I could lift her pain from her, like Simon and the Cross. But I couldn't. How could I help my friend who’d done so much for me? Again Lenten thoughts made me think to God’s Cross. 

The hardest part for me was seeing my positive friend disheartened. I recalled how my friends, too, compared me to the sun. I wondered if my friends had felt as I did then, when my friends worried about me when I struggled through darkness. Friends in my undergrad years came through, so I guess I wanted to pay it forward. Compassion feels key. 

But I’d noticed other Peace Corps friends around my friend’s end of the plane when I boarded. So I accepted as long as she had people to support her, she’d be alright. 

Having done what I could, I focused on rest, now that my Wednesday’s all-nighter was through. 

Moscow Mayhem

Hours after, we neared Moscow. Whatever green on our wings was gone. I rested little. 

From the sky, visible buildings below reminded me of my city in Mongolia, just with tremendous more development. As we descended, our airport’s outskirts reminded me of Detroit’s view, too, but with more pines. I wasn’t sure what to make of comparing Russia’s capital to Detroit... 

Over the intercom, I heard a third language after Mongolian and English. I initially assumed it was Russian. But after listening more carefully, it sounded like German. Our flight was merely passing through Moscow, with Berlin its final destination. So German made sense. 

Also, while our plane taxied, I realized, I really can read Cyrillic! That felt cool.

But, dang, Moscow was rough. 

We disembarked, followed long lines and went through with an immigration woman. All on our flight could only file through two immigration windows. Security spoke Russian and insisted nonverbally, too, we move incredibly fast through. But then we all clumped in this huge, warm mass of people in a chamber, waiting to get through security to get back on our flight. Some of us commented among ourselves we’d be faster if they didn’t have us do this in the first place. 

I’d left Mongolia wearing that crazy six layers but took off and held two from the sheer heat in here. Around me felt weird, too, not seeing people wear face masks. All wore masks in Asia. But Peace Corps advised us to hide ours to minimize attention after leaving Mongolia. 

Nonetheless, I made the best of our wait. I wound up in line beside one of my cohort’s Volunteers who came from Kansas City. We hadn’t spoken much during our service, but I valued our talks. I admired her quiet wisdom. Sometimes, especially in our cohort’s first week last June, I feared I came off too enthusiastic, which might be off-putting. But I feel types of people show me insights I don’t often find alone. I enjoyed our talk. 

All reboarded by what would be considered nearly 1 a.m. in U.S. Pacific Time, half an hour late because of security. 

As we returned to our seats, I recalled the warning from the Mongolian Christian I met at my Last Supper in my city of service. She said Moscow’s airport was terrible. I got what she meant, about how staff spoke no English, and we got poor service. Well, I hoped the rest of Europe wouldn’t be bad. 

I tried to rest more, knowing I’d many more farewells. 

Berlin Bittersweet Goodbyes

As we entered the German capital’s airspace, I loved seeing such traditional European architecture. Clouds added additional depth to my field of vision. I even saw a cool needle-looking building. (Do all super cities have needle buildings?) 

We 49 in our Peace Corps squad hit the ground running in Berlin, with just under a couple hours to find our gates to Frankfurt and Amsterdam. More than about 30 were on to Frankfurt, leaving sooner, while my Amsterdam crew located our gate with little hassle. 

So, my Amsterdam folks and I had a spare hour. 

I walked with my senior sitemate and his friend, as we greeted every so often one of our friends passing on the opposite direction, to reach Frankfurt’s gate. We said last goodbyes of varying lengths, sharing camaraderie. 

My senior cohort friends went to buy snacks, so I had downtime again. I spotted two more of my friends just beginning to wait in Frankfurt’s line. They weren’t to move ahead too soon, I felt impelled to see them off. 

My friend I mentioned before seemed far happier now, seemingly back to the self I knew. She remembered I said days ago, I wanted to take a goodbye photo. My other friend, the Episcopalian buddy, commented it’s an honor when I want a photo with someone. 

Maybe I didn’t show it, but I felt a little bashful from the comment. I just love remembering when I meet, see and part from wonderful people. Maybe the honor goes both ways. 

The rest of my Berlin time, I joined my first-week roommate alongside one of my summer training clustermates. They sipped German beers while we chatted about our cohort’s murky future. My first-week roommate and I’d fly together into NYC, so he said I’d meet his parents. Neat! 

An American in Europe

Boarding the Royal Dutch Airlines (KLM) flight to Amsterdam went rougher than expected. 

Berlin’s airport transportation security felt displeased with my not knowing European security protocols. I qualified that it was my first time through Europe, but she wasn’t having it. Even the man coming behind me through security felt miffed. I tried not to take them personally. I figured this must be a cultural difference from America, where TSA verbally repeats everything to fliers. 

KLM staff hurried me aboard the plane. As I passed down the aisle, my assortment of bags, haphazardly carabinered together, careened a bit. I felt shocked how Europeans visibly looked violated and perturbed when I accidentally bumped them. This felt way different from Mongolia, where people usually squeezed together in public places. I totally underestimated personal space changes. 

I also considered the speed of business. Leaving Amsterdam, I felt Europeans I encountered expected me rushing way more than Asians did. The Europeans also weren't as forgiving for cultural ignorance. Still, they seemed more inclined to give reasons for their intentions. The flight crew asked passengers to sit but added so they could announce the cabin clear for take-off. 

"Thank you for your attention,” I heard after an announcement. I always found it weird to hear Mongolian students conclude close presentations with that phrase. I realized it’s European. 

My New British Friend

To my great relief, I sat beside an extremely understanding man on my flight. 

He started by helping my frazzled self get situated. Then we chatted the whole flight. I explained I’m American, going through a Peace Corps Mongolia evacuation. He said he’s from the UK, but he’d worked in Berlin, the States, and Hong Kong. He understood feeling confused with new cultures. He was a facade engineer, specializing in glass for high-rise designs. 

I asked my new friend what he thought of the States’ culture. Pleasantly, he described how he felt people in England didn't seem as concerned with ancestry the way Americans are. Americans he knew could name from which countries their ancestors came, when and from where. We discussed how this may relate to American identity formation, with its diversity. 

Our conversation cooled me down from the spike in stress leaving Berlin. Onward to our final European stop—and more farewells. 

After we reached Amsterdam’s airport, when I looked for a water fountain, my new friend reminded me we were in Europe. I laughed at my forgetfulness. Europe doesn’t have free public water the way America has. 

Amsterdam, the Netherlands

We rushed through Amsterdam’s airport to reach our scattered next flights. More Peace Corps goodbyes began after immigration. 

About half our group, maybe a dozen or so, split off for the gate to Atlanta. Sadly, this included my senior sitemate, who would return to Kansas City. I’d miss his cool collectedness about everything. The last three of our Peace Corps Mongolia group would be me, my friend and his friend, making our way to New York. As we hurried to our gate, a few more from the senior cohort accompanied us till they peeled off to theirs. 

And generally, our gate felt more pleasant. A kind Dutch flight attendant jollily asked our senior cohort friend about a buildable Mongolian chess set he carried. Apparently the attendant had seen a traveler with one before. I mused, how cool this Netherlands airport sees such international goods and people. 

I hoped I was done with security things. But two out of us three won the "random" extra check. The kind flight attendant gave a considerate laugh and assured us he doubted they were random. He gets them all the time. Dutch security swabbing my things felt like Chinese security with a different flavor. 

But overall, I adjusted quickly back to much of western culture. 

New Amsterdam, America 

When I heard over the intercom about our departure, I heard our flight as though from Amsterdam to "New Amsterdam." Our transatlantic journey would take us through time. 

Later on the flight, I felt I ate the best airline meal from the best airline inflight service I’d ever had. Seriously. Royal Dutch Airlines was by far among the finest I’d flown with. 

Regarding politeness, I felt European to American norms and expectations are as Taiwanese to Mainland Chinese. People in Europe and Taiwan seemed to expect more politeness, for they gave more. I also thought flight attendants were either great actors or good at what they do. They seemed to genuinely want me to enjoy my meal. 

Reverse Culture Shock in New York City 

As we descended after sunset Thursday, March 5 into NYC. My heart rate sped up seeing so many cars still on the highways. So many cars, such wide streets.  

After baggage claim, my cohort friend and I said our penultimate goodbye, to our senior cohort friend. Then my guy and I began wheeling out our luggage. 

A security person questioned us about where we came from, which spooked me a bit. But my friend took it well and suggested to me the guy probably just felt curious. 

Though last May, our cohort of more than 40 Americans flew out from JFK International to embark on our Peace Corps service, today just two of us arrived back here specifically. 

My friend’s kind parents greeted us at once and brought us to their car to give me a lift to my hotel. I had that weird feeling like college graduation, getting to meet my friend’s parents. Great people. But wow, I guess when I’m adulting I don’t think I’d ever meet my pals’ folks. 

Outside must have been around 9 p.m., but fatigue from crossing the Atlantic and Eurasia made that Thursday, March 5 feel later. Our group of now four chatted a bit about reverse culture shock. I commented on seeing around me these huge airport parking lots, big diverse automobiles, elevated highways and wide pothole-less roads. My friend’s folks even had this cool electronic toll collector—E-ZPass? Even thinking about toll roads felt Sci-Fi to me. As much as I tend to lament the States’ infrastructure compared to China’s, America still has so much infrastructure. 

In a short while, we reached my hotel. We hauled my luggage from the SUV’s trunk. I really appreciated the folks’ kindness. Gosh, and I’d miss my friend. Amazing to think we were assigned each other’s roommates when we first reached Mongolia, and here we were, the last Peace Corps Mongolia Volunteers we’d see for a while. 

Final Steps

And so, the week after I found out I’d leave my city in Mongolia, I’d already be back among family. In Mongolia, it’d be Saturday, March 7 by the hour of my return to Vegas. Peace Corps Week 2020 thus began the day I left my Mongolian city and ended the day I reached my American home of record. 

In the upcoming evacuation finale, I’ll share with you the moving experience I had flying across the States in my final flight home. Along the way I bring together my favorite theme of all: identity. 

For the few days we shared back together at Mongolia’s capital, my cohort and the one above us got about as much closure as we could. 

In my original conception of these blog stories, #31 might’ve been our heroic return to Mongolia featuring its 31st cohort. Unfortunately, as of writing, it’s too early to know when that might be. So, the evacuation journeys continue nonetheless.  

In these stories I take you through the end to my days in Mongolia. Tuesday, March 3 kicked off with sessions at the Peace Corps office to get my evacuation group up to speed. Meanwhile, we awaited the arrivals of our friends from more Volunteer evacuation groups. We hoped they’d arrive before the March 5 early-morning flight 49 of us (over half Peace Corps Mongolia’s Volunteers) would board. 

These events happened while our senior cohort hurriedly worked through their Close of Service conference. 

First Morning: The Situation

Tuesday morning, I loved hearing from our American staff our country director and her director of programming and training crack so many jokes. It felt weirdly uncharacteristic of them, compared to their full formalities when we first met them last June. But our 'unprecedented’ times warranted this. Honestly, their lighter gravity made circumstances more bearable. 

My cohort friend Monday night had advised I bring my spare candy, since she said her group definitely appreciated it. So I brought mine. Our training director, the kind woman I passed on the stairwell the afternoon before, gave her warm smile. 

Now, on to business. This morning, my cohort’s second evacuation group gathered in the kitchen. To emphasize the severity of Mongolia’s national crackdown to prevent COVID-19, our staff couldn’t even rent a larger venue. Public groups couldn’t surpass three to five people. So, we tad over a dozen crammed into Peace Corps office’s kitchen/break room for our sessions. 

Staff definitely expected my cohort could return. Hence, we would go on administrative hold, a status in which we remained Peace Corps Volunteers while stateside. They confirmed nationally canceled flights led to our leaving. The U.S. Embassy would update monthly whether Mongolia became safe to reenter, and our staff would inform us accordingly. 

Our country director imparted her guess (verbally bolded and underlined), our administrative hold could be how long. 

Her guess quelled my concerns somewhat, since I could fix a figure to my limbo. But she made very clear, no one could predict the future. Like our director of programming and training (DPT) said, situations change rapidly. So, our director of management and operations, also American, gave us a résumé workshop to our non-competitive eligibility, if we come to that. 

By the way, to our amazement, our DPT and our hardcore Peace Corps medical officers had all been through multiple Peace Corps evacuations. They also returned later to complete duties. That comforted me. (Even the Returned Peace Corps Volunteer I met in the States after Christmas experienced evacuation!)

Meanwhile, our sweet programming and training assistant was kind as ever. She beamed at my usual enthusiasm for Mongolia’s awesome snacks we had during tea breaks. I’d really miss our staff. 

Warm Reunions

Later that afternoon, I heard loud applause down the hall. 

I’d just signed my reimbursement form and checked out a Mongolian language textbook from our language and cross-culture coordinator. So I walked down and stepped into a meeting room beside one of my regional managers. 

Our senior cohort was celebrating their certificate ceremony. 

I felt so happy, seeing so many together. I hadn’t even met some before. Other senior evacuation groups hadn’t arrived yet, but those here were many. Many felt glad to see me, too. I felt relieved it felt mutual. 

My manager and staff smiled, saying I’d get this ceremony next year. 

Catching Up

Afterward, my evacuation group 2 amassed to head a bit downtown. 

We needed to wait in a terribly long line for notary services. I enjoyed chatting with my friends, though. I liked learning about the places and experiences my friends saw across Mongolia. I heard about Chinese dramas worth seeing, too. 

Afterward, I got dinner with friends, including both the Catholic friend I roomed with Sunday night and the senior cohort Volunteer who studied Byzantines. I felt amazed we hadn’t talked about the Byzantines before, considering I love their history. 

Coincidentally, our trio ate at a little restaurant my host brother took me to visit the weekend after I swore-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer in August. The small place reminded me of my research trip to 臺灣 Táiwān, where I sometimes ate in modern little Japanese-like places.

We chatted on all sorts of topics. The Byzantine studies Volunteer and a friend in his cohort had come to visit my city some time ago, working on their dorm mentorship summer camp I met on behalf of, near Tsagaan Sar. Our Byzantine studies friend considered doing a third year with Peace Corps Mongolia, depending on its situation. 

On our way back to the hotels, I joyfully ran into even more familiar faces. I swung by a store with them before meeting up again with the senior Volunteers, in their hotel. I loved those deep conversations with the guys—fun mentors. But still, they had Close of Service papers to finish. 

Final Full Day in Mongolia

My last full Mongolian day, Wednesday, March 4, was indeed a full one. 

That day, I’d basically empty my bank account, purchase actual ankle bones, enjoy my last supper of Mongolian food and stay up through the night with senior Volunteers. 

This day began like the one before—me, lingering at breakfast to see who I may. 

Then my Monday friend joined me. Masks on, we embarked on our banking quest to empty accounts. Easy enough. Then we walked back to the Peace Corps office. With staff and our our cohort’s evacuation groups 1 and 2, we had our final briefing, group farewell, and photo. 

Midday, I left to lunch with a squad including my kind sitemate. (She’s the one who called me when I climbed my apartment building’s staircase the Wednesday before.) Our group enjoyed a shortcut, thanks to a Peace Corps medical officer who knew the way—so nice. 

With my sitemate were our fellow cohort friends she spent her weeks stranded in the other province with. Also, a local friend of ours joined us. She came all the way to the capital to say goodbye—Awww! This was my same English teacher friend who saw me off, Saturday evening. She even brought a friend from an Australian volunteer group. I chatted with him. Turns out his office was right below our Peace Corps Mongolia one! I enjoyed some spicy Central Asian dish as my meal. 

After lunch, some of us went shopping. My English teacher friend was so great, helping us hail taxis and navigate. She happily saw I still wore her copper bracelet gift. At last, I got to see Mary’s and Martha’s. I bought some actual /shagai/ ankle bones, not just the consumer plastic ones. Neat! 

Close of Service Feels

I left early and hustled back to our Peace Corps office. I wished to see the senior cohort after their Close of Service ceremony. My cohort couldn’t attend, due to such limited space. But, staff didn’t mind me coming after. 

I shed a few tears on my walk. I felt awed, people I barely knew mattered to me so much. One from their cohort was already leaving by the time I reached the Peace Corps office building’s gate—just in time, I thought. 

Wish granted. When I got upstairs, people were beginning to filter out. I loved their gorgeous outfits and getting to hug them. Most Volunteers in the senior cohort were only a year or few older than me, but their life experiences and perspectives molded among the best parts of my service. I would really, really miss them. 

My Resource PCV I saw Monday directed me to find my other Resource PCV, too! I felt so happy. The two of them trained me and my cluster in Номгон /Nomgon/ last June through August. They were fantastic. 

In the moments that followed, I mingled with  senior cohort friends, more than I could count, filtering through the lounge. I met some for the first time. Even that senior TEFL friend I got dinner with Monday passed by. She shared with her cohort friends what a coincidence she received a silver дээл /dehl/ just like the one my host family gave me! I was wearing mine this last day, commemorating my Mongolian life’s end. So nice~ 

Gratitude

After COS’d Volunteers left, I returned to my hotel to relax. I ran into even more friends from my cohort, who just arrived from central Mongolia. I just loved these people. 

Anyway, back in my room, I reflected. I considered how I’d insist it felt crazy to receive so many parting gifts. 

I enjoyed such things as the cashmere jacket in Mongolia's signature blue, the copper bracelet from the Copper City I served, a miniature wooden replica of Mongolia's national морин хуур /morin huur/ instrument, a trilingual storybook about Chinggis Khaan, a shiny magnet of the Mongolian countryside, replacement wallets and a key chain of Mongolian styling, an artistic bookmark, Mongolian ankle bone pouch, travel gear adorned with horse images, and snacks, unhealthy and healthy.

Well, while still making sense of all that, I considered Chapman's five love languages idea. In that view, I prefer quality time (like long talks and walks) and physical touch (hugs). I usually give words of affirmation (cards, letters) and do acts of service (loving volunteerism). 

So, I supposed, maybe these are why gifts feel odd… 

But, I remember in situations like evacuations, quality time becomes harder and physical touch, impossible. Affirming words might appear in cards, but service acts, too, are challenging. So, gifts are a last, lasting way to show love. 

Peace Corps Mongolia gave us two more blank thank you cards, in case we’d last words. Having penned my other three before I left for the capital, I dedicated my final two to the philosophic medical community who taught me about Mongolia’s traditions and to my Peace Corps staff. 

Hello, Last Goodbyes

I came by the Peace Corps office one last time that evening before dinner. These hopefully temporary goodbyes felt weird, unsure we’d see each other again. My regional manager who accepted my staff card said goodbye with a big hug. Later, when another of my regional managers was leaving, she thanked me for my card, having read it, too. She looked forward to my cohort’s return and would be in touch.

That night, I joined a group of senior Volunteers seeking Mongolian food for their last Mongolia meal. Fortunately, the senior Health Volunteer with great taste in music (from my evacuation van ride) was leaving the Peace Corps office when I visited, and he offered I walk with him. Unfortunately, our group miscommunicated which restaurant to meet at, so we all wound up in two. Fortunately, our smaller groups were fine for Coronavirus standards. 

I enjoyed Mongolian classics like цуйван /tsuivan/ and хуушуур /huushuur/ (like those at Naadam). They couldn’t beat countryside home cooking, but they tasted nice. The restaurant was Modern Nomads. I met our colleague Davaakhuu’s Australian Volunteer friend Zach, too!

Late that night while coming back to our hotels, I ran into another group of my cohort friends, who just arrived from the west. I felt ecstatic. I saw them at last. I met for the first time senior Volunteers who served in the west and advised me, despite us never having met in person. That’s often how Peace Corps Mongolia life goes... 

I felt grateful that through our evacuation, we met. 

The Ending Night

Paralleling my Wednesday before, during which I stayed up through the night, I did so once again. And while this time I needn’t stress over packing, I felt instead not wanting to sleep when I could still see friends for final hours. And they were staying up, too.

I continued on to my cohort’s hotel, where I saw even more cohort friends who made it from the west. Amusingly that included my cohort’s D&D party members, completing our fellowship. 

After getting my fill with my cohort, I returned across the street to spend the rest of my night with the senior cohort. Although many in my cohort mightn’t return soon to Mongolia, our senior cohort officially closed their service. My fleeting hours left with them felt cherished. 

We gathered in a familiar room, seemingly identical to the one where I stayed during my weekend after swearing in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Peculiar. I’d watched a kitten there. Thus, I recalled my first weekend a Peace Corps Volunteer alongside this last. 

I loved seeing many from the senior cohort cycle through with mine. Health Volunteers signed yearbook-like sheets for each other. I found it sweet.

Many from the senior cohort insisted, too, I’d be great to have on as a Resource Volunteer for future Peace Corps Mongolia Trainees. That warmed my heart. I felt glad they felt glad I could help the future cohort, that fateful day I’m back to serve. 

We took farewell photos, those of us who wouldn’t see each other soon. I said bye to them, who felt like my teachers, mentors and siblings. The rest would be with me within hours, at the airport. 

Time to Go

I swung by my hotel room around 3 a.m. to shower and tidy my last things, with an ample time before departure. I figured if I stayed up long enough, I’d feel tired on my flights, too. 

I considered having to repack from receiving 'too many' Mongolians’ gifts not a bad problem… 

No matter how much food I tried to give away, by the time I left my city, I still had so much people sent me with. So I’d liberally given out food from my colossal bag. Admittedly, some came in handy on the road Sunday and Monday, since we didn’t stop to eat. But even in the capital from Monday to Wednesday, I avoided buying much, to keep trying at my immense haul. 

Thursday morning, I’d little enough I could relegate the rest to my small IKEA backpack personal item to fly with. In a sobering thought, I realized, I’d with me all the food from my apartment that I hadn’t either donated or left. Supplies that once could have lasted me weeks, I reduced in days. 

Beyond my room, I heard rumblings about my building of others leaving. Our 5 a.m. or so time came.

Down and Out 

That Thursday, March 5 morning—what a blur. 

In our hotel, with bellhops’ help, we hauled down our luggage to the lobby and checked out of rooms. We received sack lunches in exchange. 

Then my group crossed the street and crowded in the other little hotel’s lobby for temperature checks. 49 of us gathered this morning. After checks, we heaved our luggage below or aboard the charter bus and clambered on. 

Peace Corps staff present took roll and wished sincere goodbyes. They really didn’t want to see us leave. They’d be in touch. 

Our bus pulled away. I looked out my right window. I saw waving a clump of our cohort friends who arrived from the west and either woke up early or stayed up late to see us off. I felt glad they came all this way for us. They’d be off in a couple days. 

Up next, I share calmer stories flowing through me, reflecting in transit back on experiences leading to the airport and its stressors. For, at last, we’d be up in the air. We began this journey to the west. 

When I landed back in Mongolia, many asked me either, “How was America?” or “How was China?” I saw both, anyway. So in this travel trio finale, I reflect on the changes I’d noticed in and around me during my three weeks on vacation from Mongolia.

During my reverse culture shock in the States, I logged my findings. Some were physical, like my increased tolerances (resilience?). Others were perceptions. Food, friends and family are my themes~

Landing in the States

“Welcome back, sir,” smiled the U.S. immigration officer at SFO, when said I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer. 

That felt different. 

Usually immigration gives me trouble, not credit. 

But I also felt more comfortable on the plane and in the airport, too, not needing to worry whether my shoes’ bottoms faced others. When travelers’ feet rubbed mine, they didn’t need to shake my hand. Those made life easier. Nonetheless, I felt odd seeing Americans nonchalantly have their shoes’ bottoms face people.

The House in Vegas

Returning to my family’s house that December 19 before Christmas, it felt more spacious than I remembered. Even our restrooms just felt larger than I recalled. Having our cooling fall from our ceiling, instead of heating from radiators below the windows surprised me, too. 

Writing of the house, I also sleep way better in the beds at home. Amusingly, I slept in my older brother’s old bed, since, for the past four plus years, he’s slept in my old bed. My younger brother had moved into his old bed while I was away for university. (It’s complicated.) Based on the States, I felt, I could think up ways to make my bed in Mongolia more comfortable…

As I explained to friends in the States, I’d also experienced dreams including friends from both in my Peace Corps service and in my Nevada lives before. I noted, in the past, I would keep in touch with American friends while going abroad. This time, I would keep in touch with Mongolian friends while visiting the States. Those blending communities felt profound, since I loved when life’s separate experiences crossed. I hope I continue such habits beyond my service.

Before my half-brother and his wife left after Christmas, they commended me, I seem more confident and calmer since graduating university. We discussed at length some cross-culture techniques, regarding how I seek and engage motivations when I teach and learn.

On the Advent of Christmas, I’d returned through my closet for childhood things I’ve finally grown willing to part with. I gifted these to them, for their baby. When I returned to Mongolia, they shared with me a photo of him adoring his new toy. Hehe, what a life.

So Much Food

To end my first full day back at the house, I stayed true to my word from Mongolia. I just went to the fridge and freezer, grabbed a bunch of berries and banana, plunked them in a blender with pineapple(?) ice cream and milk, (plus peas,) then downed that awesome shake while I worked on my writings. Ugh, shakes. 

I definitely satisfied my major cravings stateside. While I love Mongolian food, I’d forgotten the States’ food diversity! I enjoyed at least American (including Hawaiian), Chinese, Japanese, Filipino and Thai goodness. Vegas has lots of Asian cuisine. 

I hadn’t realized how much a half-Chinese American like me could miss pizza, burgers and bagels, but heck, I found that out, too. I ate pizza at plenty opportunities, amounting to at least a time or two per week. Freezer pizzas tasted rad. Even those staling discount blueberry bagels from Smith’s were great. 

And, oh dang, microwaves! Not having to heat my food on a pan felt the best, haha. I’m such a tourist in our own house.

Into Our Community

Leading up to my return, I announced to friends I’d be back. Get-togethers arranged. 

Sunday, we left home to see family friends. The constant Christmas music on the radio and Christmas lights on neighborhoods’ homes welcomed me. I even welcomed hearing car radios! I hadn’t heard as many radios in Mongolia, since I avoided taxis my first months. Buses just played downloaded music videos, if anything.

Outdoors in Vegas, I realized I could take the cool way better! I wore one or two layers when locals wear two or three.

At sushi, we enjoyed a welcome back lunch celebrating the returns of a family friend and me. I loved the fraternal bonds and companionship. Curiously, a family friend offered me a beer, which I finished myself. I felt surprised, considering I could hardly do that before leaving America. I guess Mongolian events like Teachers’ Day gave me practice. Later, at my high school Korean friend’s house, he offered me to try his favorite bourbons. Even those, I realized, tasted pretty good. Seems my drink palate’s changed. But I prefer not to invest that route.

Fireside Philosophies

That night with three from our high school alma mater, we lounged around a backyard fire pit with s’mores. Having had freshman classes with these guys, we’ve known each other almost a decade. 

I felt particularly moved in an albeit geeky way, moments earlier, when we first reunited inside. He’s finishing his last semester at West Point. With a hand on my shoulder, he compared me to Ash Ketchum, traveling the world and making so many friends. “Someday, you’re going to be Hokage,” he smiled. 

He’s fun. He reached out during my first autumn in Mongolia, after some four years apart. 

Our party of four discussed our passions, dreams and goals. We’d all traveled afar for our studies and careers. We talked big ideas like cross-cultural evangelization, shared Asian and Christian philosophies and the flooring ethical codes and punishments of West Point. Turns out isolation isn’t just something Peace Corps Volunteers experience!

Vegas Since Christmas

Days later, after Christmas, I reunited with more friends.

First, I saw a game developer, who also graduated my high school, who saw me before I left for Peace Corps. Then I met up with my photographer Korean friend who married before I left for Peace Corps and has done well. He prefers non-K-Pop Korean music. He let me know our high school friend from freshman year who left to study in the Philippines just returned to America. We hadn’t seen him since 2012. I felt so excited, we drove to see him. What an experience. I picked up a huge Thai tea with boba and Hawaiian burger, too. Now that’s Vegas. 

Then I met one of my best friends, a fellow world-traveled one, who’s also preparing his graduate application. We also met a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, who served in Bangladesh till civil unrest evacuated them. I’ll cover our coffee shop/bookstore conversations in an upcoming story. Another friend, too, a Catholic I met at university, wandered a mall with me before her own first study abroad. I felt so happy for her. 

In there, I noticed what my older brother and his girlfriend meant, about Americans not walking up escalators (lifts), even wide ones. When I got back to Beijing, I saw people did as I remembered, standing on the right side to wait or stepping up the left to go quicker. I felt glad I wasn’t crazy. Though, it made me wish Americans didn’t desire such large personal spaces in public places… We must share.

Last Rides in Reno

Back to Reno! My final day there, morning after the wedding, I donned my Mongolian traditional shirt and reunited with my journalism school and the Honors Program at the University of Nevada, Reno. I reunited, too, that weekend with my fraternity brothers and friends. We talked big ideas, and I imparted notions sculpted by my months in Mongolia. Yet I felt so comfortable seated in the cars, taking walks and lounging between professors’ offices in the city I called home four years. 

Many related my youngest sister’s been doing well in her sophomore year at my alma mater. Church-wise, she’s even going through the Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults and dating her sponsor, who was my Knights of Columbus successor. (There’s a great coincidence from RCIA 2016 I may touch on someday.) The morning choir loves Sister dearly, though, even as they’ve missed my days, months and years among them. They’re family. Curiously, I even heard my dad’s been attending morning Masses there when he takes jobs in Northern Nevada. I’m glad he hears our remarkable pastor. 

My sister and I actually had a falling-out the day I left our college town last May. So I’d written and sent her a formal apology while flying through Kyrgyzstan to Mongolia. Though we made amends over the seven months, I’m glad she’s had the good year I’d hoped for. Though my legacy hasn’t left its halls, I’ve wanted for her her own story. Even our youngest brother means to attend the Honors Program, its new director told me. Ultimately, my sister and I said goodbyes first this time, for she had to leave before my last day in the States.

That noon, still December 31, I also got lunch with my World Youth Day 2019 family. So fitting to end the year where we started it—together. I related the feeling of living the faith in the First Evangelism. They spoke words with such Spirit, I felt touched. They’ve really had my back this year. They kept in touch regularly since I came to Mongolia. I’ve needed that. 

I spent the rest of my day slipping around campus, musing down memory lane and delivering gifts of шагай \shagai\ ankle bones I’d also given many for Christmas. I loved sharing Mongolian culture through my gifts. Mongolians wishing me over Facebook, “Merry Christmas,” on New Year’s Day, reminded me, as a Catholic, Christmas and New Year’s really do overlap.

There are so many more in Reno-Sparks I wish I could have seen again.

Northern Nevada’s New Year’s Eve

As evening neared, Dad picked me up from the University to take me near Lake Tahoe, where we would share dinner with the Catholic Regent and her Mongolian daughter-in-law, who first readied me for Peace Corps mere weeks before I went. Dad’s so social. Maybe someday I could match his way with making himself comfortable in a room of unfamiliar peers. Discussions of mining in Nevada and the Gobi Desert set in stone for me how similar my undergrad and current communities feel sometimes. Seriously. 

Dad drove me back into town so I could ring in the new year with my newlywed friends. We experienced a multi-faith night hosted in the Reno Buddhist Center. Since I couldn’t find them, I sat in back. I spotted the University photographer who took my portraits at my senior year’s beginning and end, for having done well with my University scholarships and later becoming Senior Scholar of my school. She smiled at me with that familiar twinkle in her eyes. 

I enjoyed a joke our kindly cathedral rector made, that evening, about Catholics coming late and leaving early. I hadn’t heard humor like that in Mongolia. He smiled with such affection when he saw me. Later than evening, as the fireworks came up, I approached the front. A woman had me and a classical singing boy join her beating the Taiko drum! What a moment. 

The newlyweds joined me afterward, joyful to have spotted me down there. They introduced me to a Native American, an imam and other religious leaders who attended the wedding. They complimented my cantoring. I felt shocked they remembered. Then we took a big photo. We shared the most loving hugs.

Then, the couple and I went outside. Like our times passed, we exchanged goodbyes before my next big trip around the world. Then I got back in the car with Dad. After returning to Mongolia, I’d place throughout my apartment faith filled keepsakes from that beautiful wedding.

The New Year

New Year’s Day, I rode with Dad to Fallon, from where we left to Vegas after rest and a continental breakfast. Seeing his suitcases and the coolers in the hotel room before we loaded the car, I recollected years of road trips with my father and family. I still felt surprised how selflessly he’d driven me around New Year’s Eve, when I wanted to get places. I’d miss these road trips with my dad. 

As I stared out the window, seeing the faraway mountains and thinking of that Thanksgiving car ride in Mongolia, I felt grateful to still have Dad well and healthy, after Mom. He still listened to dad rock. I liked that. We’d be home soon.

Through car rides like these, I finished one more big thing in the States. Across my weeks, I blazed through “Pokémon Moon.” This achievement was colossal, since I played in Mandarin Chinese and only touched the game once or twice annually for the three years since my sophomore year at university.

But ultimately, I left it behind in the States. I’m in Mongolia, a world of adventure. That’s my 2020 theme: Exploration. A game would surely distract if I brought it.

Leaving America (Again)

The last friend I saw before leaving Vegas and the U.S. again was also my last friend I saw before leaving for Mongolia the first time. 

She seriously helped me pack in May, when I was a mess. This time, we ate out at a restaurant chain I’d seen only during my years in Reno-Sparks. We spoke for hours. Our reunions since college often wind up as these late nights. Though we relate about the voids left since our parents passed, we’ve known each other so long before. I’ve loved we can talk without retelling backstory. She’s one of those friends who’s so real, she knows me better than I do sometimes!

Anyway, seems I grew another way since Mongolia. This time in Vegas, I finished my packing myself.

Before the crack of dawn, I hugged my other siblings bye, before Dad zoomed me across the city for my flight away. That shiny Raiders stadium will probably be done the next time I’m back.

Return to My City

I experienced an amazing time with relatives and friends back in China on my return trip from the States to Mongolia. 

January 8, back in Mongolia, I took an overnight sleeper train for my first time alone. I felt darkness’ void in knowing no one. I felt the waves of the rocking train, its lurches and bumps as it shifted and wheels screeched. I felt pensive during the odd morning hours when my sore back woke me. I thought about my identity and new words said before I left. More on that soon.

Peace Corps Mongolia continues.

Thanksgiving’s season marks my one-year anniversary since accepting my invitation to Peace Corps Mongolia. This Thanksgiving, I reflected on all I’m grateful for. And I celebrated it nearly a week, thanks to Mongolia’s Independence Day and Chinggis Khaan’s Birthday leading up to Americans’ day of thanks! Plus, unrestricted weekend travel in-country began.

I’ve been grateful especially for my students and the time to reflect on life and relationships. Part of why I chose Peace Corps after college was to refocus on people I hadn’t spent as much time with while a busy undergraduate. 

You can compare this to my story #4 (August 2019), from when I first arrived in my current city. Preceding Thanksgiving, I also shared a novena of photos and reflections from my first five Mongolia months, from training to beginning my service.

Snaking Snow

Many Mongolians call winter their favorite season. I like snow.

One morning, while seeing the glistening light blue snow merge with the horizon’s blend of smog, my view looked beautiful but bittersweet.

While leaving the orphanage one day, powder snow skirt across the creamy surface snow, blasting freeze in my face. They remind me of the summer’s dust storms, yet these stings linger.

I had never felt face-numbing cold before. Every exposed side of my face felt cold. I pulled down my beanie to even keep my eyebrows warm. I wrapped my scarf around my head to protect my cheeks. Even still, the furthest edges of my cheeks numbed. I get used to it, though. Best to bundle up!

Snowy Thanksgiving Adventures

This Thanksgiving outside America, I basically celebrated five times. Recalling the White Christmas ideal, we’d snow blanketing our Thanksgiving world.

First, I celebrated it Monday at a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer’s secondary school, with snacks for her and her students. She made amazing bread pudding. I enjoyed meeting her students again, too, since they participate in our student community English club.

Then the volunteer and I met again Thursday night (Thanksgiving Day) for the community dinner she helped with at the coffee shop of our World Vision building. As it happens, I dropped by the coffee shop to write, ran into our German volunteer friend, then stayed. An American couple from the Jesus Assembly group hosted the dinner. I felt impressed one shared the Thanksgiving origin story from the Native American perspective, because of his ancestry. I wished more Americans could hear his story, yet here I heard it in Mongolia.

University’s Thanksgiving

My biggest Thanksgiving came Friday (Thanksgiving Day in the U.S.). My department celebrated our university's Thanksgiving with our students. My department values teaching not only language but also culture. So, since I’m here as the American here this year, we celebrated my holiday. I helped make the itinerary.

Students included our English education sophomores, Mongolian language and literature education seniors and foreign relations sophomores. Their wonderful dishes made me more forgiving of the students missing in class. While eating, I recalled Friendsgiving events from my university years.

For our activity, I joined suggestions from other Peace Corps Volunteers with an activity from summer training I recalled during my Thanksgiving novena. I had students draw hand-turkeys then tape these to their backs. Afterward, they went around to write on each other’s backs what they’re thankful for. I felt delighted teachers and students loved these.

My colleagues also had students write in advance English thank you cards to whomever. I received two! One student gave me the craftiest little paper book, with a Pikachu face. She thanked me for everything. Her piece reminded me of my own crafts I loved to make. Another student gifted a letter he typed and sealed in an envelope. He gleefully commemorated the (only) PUBG match I was credit to team. He, too, gave many thanks.

 Above the Snow

I traveled to a neighboring province that night and reunited with one of my Mongolian teachers from the summer. They next day at brunch, I celebrated Thanksgiving with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers and a community group. Whatever food I missed at my university’s Thanksgiving, I found here.

Then I enjoyed my weekend leave with a hike to the stone гэр \ger\ and a Buddhist monastery.

The winter’s snowdrift was so packed, I could wake on top of it without falling through. I walked out from the slippery city square, across a park and up a hill to the stone гэр, as we called it. I later read it serves as a mausoleum. I felt somewhat sad to see industry’s smoke billowing across the quaint town from where I came. I donned my face mask.

Continuing, I saw the monastery over the ridge, as the Volunteers said. Though rebuilt after Soviets destroyed it, it still looked as though centuries old.

I love history. It makes me smaller.

Afterward, resting a moment, I returned to cook with my fellow Volunteers. That evening, we celebrated our Thanksgiving for the province with local Mongolian counterparts and phone called Volunteers celebrating their Thanksgiving another province over.

While in the cab ride back to my city, I mused how people compare Northern Mongolia’s snowcapped hills and mountains here to Northern Nevada. And while I find the comparison a bit overstated, I do, too, get the feeling from days like these.

Their Brother

I find comfort in being someone's “агаа” \agaa\ (like 哥哥). Literally, “older brother,” the term extends to plenty males slightly older than us. You needn’t even be friends by Western standards to be one’s агаа. But the name feels so endearing to me.

All are brothers and sisters in the Catholic sense, too. But we don't usually call each other these in English. So I like this about Asia.

The first day I heard the word, “агаа,” I mused to the friend who said it how I’d never heard the word before. I thought it strange I’d been in Mongolia so long without hearing it. 

God must have noticed. That very night, in a video call with my language partner, over her shoulder suddenly popped her younger cousin, who beamed a huge toothy grin and just greeted me, “Aгаа!” giggling. I felt agape. Then the girl rushed away. 

I never quite know what about me excites small children and pets. It’s like… my presence is plenty. 

Maybe I stem the feelings from missing Mom. Or maybe the titles remind me of the bygone age when my own siblings were warmer toward me. That was the time we lived in Indiana, before moving to Vegas. Though I still call my siblings “sister” and “brother,” I feel more warmth from other languages’ terms. 

Have I mentioned, when Mongolians ask where I’m from, I consistently identify as an American Midwesterner more than as a Nevadan, despite living in Nevada just as long? Maybe childhood roots hold stronger.

 Fulfillment in My Service

During my first site placement interview this summer, the regional manager explained my backgrounds in helping students speak publicly, build confidence, and succeed in interviews and applications could help especially in a сум (soum), with high schoolers. Indeed, other managers also commented I did very well with our soum’s children. 

In August, I felt surprised then to five places especially where I fulfill what the need that manager described.

Weekly with working adults, I’ve helped the new Toastmasters public speaking club. And, with students and adults preparing for IELTS and TOEFL, I help them rehearse their interviews. On one occasion at a past Peace Corps Volunteer’s school, where my senior students did their practicums, I even gave a personal development workshop on goal-setting. At my own university, I’ve given resume workshops. But lately, this orphanage has felt most special. 

After co-teaching my very first English lesson for the orphanage teenagers, the 12th grader whose birthday was that day wanted to keep in touch. That night, we discussed her goals for life after high school. And I felt her eagerness, although she didn’t know how to get there. But I teach at a university, I explained. So I know a bit. Another time I visited the orphanage, she had me help with her homework. 

Unlike the younger orphans, who call me, “агаа,” she called me, “bro.” Being a supportive bro to her and the rest matters to me. 

Roots in My Community

The Saturday one week after Teachers’ Day was the first time I returned downtown, since recovering. That afternoon, one of my senior students doing his practicum invited me to help at his school’s speaking club. 

As I learned from the teachers there, this was a school where generations of Peace Corps Volunteers have served! I learned their previous Volunteer was Chinese, like me. And some of their staff even used to work where I teach now. 

That afternoon, I fielded a delightful QA about American teenagers. We also discussed social inequity and homeschooling. Cultural exchanges interest me plenty. 

Afterward, my senior student treated me to snacks, which was so kind. Then I returned to church, since it was en route to the birthday celebration of our teacher I wrote about some time ago. Church had rosary, since it was Saturday. Although I still struggle with the words, I felt peace. What a mystery! I actually prayed a rosary that morning, too. 

That night I even saw one of the students who visited me during my cold, during our teacher's birthday! Apparently he was her teacher, too. What a small community. 

Living Legacies

Before learning I would serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in a city that’s known decades of them, I worried I would be boxed by those I worked with, being expected to look and act like whoever came before me. But instead, I’ve found excitedly the opposite.

I feel such joy when colleagues and community members compare me to the Volunteers they knew before, like the English Volunteers Rob, Sam and Adrienne and even the Health Volunteers Alice and Samantha. I feel comforted to enter into the legacies of those who served before me. I feel glad, in doing as I want and feel drawn to, I am for these communities like those they knew before. I think, no wonder we were placed in the same city and schools! There are things about us that just fit. 

While I was preparing to leave the office for home one day, a colleague mentioned how one of her evening course students asked her if she knew me and whether I could come help teach the course. My colleague said she felt surprised! Me too! I’d hardly been in this city three months, and people already knew of me and wanted my help. What a marvel. I love to help, of course. So, I shouldn’t even worry about the legacy I’ll have… I will have made differences. And those will be enough.

Onward!

Gratitude is a lovely topic. I’m closing the year with December’s first story detailing a typical week from this autumn life, followed by last stories before my return visit in America.