Another Book Excerpt

The bright glow of the fluorescent light emanated from the ceiling, pouring over the victim chained to the chair. Ha Na, her hands folded behind her back and her black sneakers clunking noisily across the concrete floor as she stared at it, gathered her breath as she attempted to compose herself. Her limbs quivered as the blood coursed through them.

The victim refused to meet her gaze, eyes locked to the ground as his black mop of hair dangled over his eyes, his cracked lips trembling as large beads of sweat crept down the corners of his neck. He clasped his chained hands together, threading his fingers around one another and squeezing them until the white crowns of his knuckles broke through his tanned, rough skin.

Inhaling deeply, Ha Na gulped past the lump in her throat and seized his collar. "What did you do to Kim Hye Mi?"

The victim looked up at her, letting his head roll back crazily. A small smirk played upon his lips.

No answer.

Ha Na's fist crashed into the side of his cheek, jarring it. Blood congregated in the corners of his mouth as fireworks exploded in front of his eyes. He winced, opening his jaw as it cracked into place.

Again, she grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him upwards until the scalding heat of her wrath breathed down his nose. The sweat absorbed by his shirt squeezed into her fists, crumpling the material as her hands constricted around it. Her eyes glared at him through the scarlet rims, teeth clenched, barring the exit of words from her mouth.

"Tell me," she hissed, "what did you do to my little sister?"

His cheeks curled back into a mocking grin, a sharp laugh chiseling its way out of his mouth. "Haha...what sister?"

Crash!

He reeled backward, shoved downwards by the sharp jab of her leo against his stomach. Tears bled from the corners of her eyes as she lunged forward. Sobbing heavily, she showered a cache of fists into his sculpted body. Clenching his teeth, he flexed against her, attempting to absorb the shock of her assault. He clenched his eyes shut, barricading all sensations but the constant rhythmic pain drumming into him.

A small voice crept through the bit lodged in his ear.

"Endure."

He curled his body, folding into the fetal position almost instinctively, shielding himself agains the torrent. With each pang of pain came a memory exploding before his vision in brilliant detail. He saw his father looming over his body, laughing as he dove his meaty fists against the child's already bruised ribs. The screeches of the girl reverberated through his head with harrowing familiarity. Like the screams of his mother as she hung onto her husband, pleading for the life of her child. Not that the father cared.

"It's a cruel world." The sound of his father's voice echoed through his head. "Only the toughest survive. The rest? It's better for them to die early than to live at all."

Endure? He could endure. He had to. He had to show him. He had to prove that the world couldn't kill him. That he was strong.

A wrenching sensation yanked at Ha Na's gut and pulled her off the pile of cloth and damaged flesh heaped in front of her. Wrapping his arms around her, Tae Joon turned her around, allowing her to sob in his shoulder. She pushed against him, attempting momentarily to break free before surrendering into his firm embrace. Arms slipping slowly up his back, she curled her fingers around the badges stitched onto his shoulders and clung to them, shaking silently as she wept. Pressing her into himself, Tae Joon twisted around, looking up through the thick glass of the observation room. With his head, he gestured towards the motionless man lying upon the floor. In Suk nodded, motioning for the on-site medical staff. Rushing in, they congregated around the victim, bending over him with urgent concern.

Arm still around Ha Na, Tae Joon turned about and hurried up into the observation room. He bowed courteously to In Suk, who returned the favor stiffly. Eyes swollen from crying, Ha Na lowered her head quickly, bring it gradually up again only to meet her father's grim gaze - those sad, stony eyes swimming in disappointment. He looked away, facing the windows one more time with his hands folded behind his back.

"We have to change our approach," he said. "Tae Joon."

The boy lowered his head abruptly. "Yes, sir?"

"Take Officer Kim home."

Hastily, he bowed. "Yes, sir!"

Resting his hand upon Ha Na's shoulder, he guided her out of the room. Ha Na turned one last apologetic glance towards her father, only to be met by the icy stare of his sloped shoulder blade. Cold. Cut-off. Unapproachable.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk. they sun receded behind a cloud, hiding its cheery face in a world of bleakness. Striding over to his black car, Tae Joon opened the door and ushered her quickly in, slamming the door shut behind her. Climbing behind the wheel, he pulled into the road and sped away.

Moments later, an ambulance pulled into the empty space in front of the station. A group of six men rushed through the door , pushing a stretcher occupied by a man clothed in bruises and welts. He lay there, drifting constantly across the border of consciousness, his head listing from one side to another.

From the shadows of the doorway, they woman pushed the button and spoke into the microphone clipped discreetly to her clothing, speaking into it.

"'Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize?'"

The man froze, halting her words as a slow smile spread across her face. So he heard her.

"'So run that you may obtain it.'"

And then...

"Endure."

*Verse credit 1 Corinthians 9:24 ESV

Book Excerpt 2

Hi guys!

Well, unfortunately I'm on a time crunch for this novel (it doesn't look like I'll be able to finish in time for National Novel Writing Month), and plus I'm sick and am trying to write as many words as fast as I can before it gets ridiculously late. So sorry if there are a lot of grammar/syntax/spelling/passive voice/just bad writing mistakes and am not about to fix it for awhile. I just wrote this though, so its fresh off of my keyboard and I thought I would share it with you!

Warning: This part directly proceeds the excerpt I posted previously, and my male lead is at a really, really, really low point in his life. This excerpt deals with some slightly darker concepts than what I usually write, but fear not! My emotional and psychological health is 100 percent stable! I'm just writing from inside my character's head and trying to give background/make my reader pity him.

Oh, and one word you need to know: Pabo. It means idiot/stupid. Ya is just an expression used to bring to one's attention, used much like we use hey.

Well, here it goes!

The last musical notes rang out, dangling in the air as it clung to life, its vibrant pleas fading softly into silence. For a moment longer, it lived inside the hearts of the fans as they screamed in wild adoration, the noise of their worship climaxing and then fading into a heavy intermingled by excited chatter as the fans tried to shout sense into each other’s deafened ears. The vivid lights grew dim, leaving the stage a dusky gray as the last rays of the limelight faded. Instantly, a group of men clad in uniformly black slacks and black shirts swarmed the platform, dismembering the once lively stage by taking down and packing away what needed removing.

Ha Na looked around her, watching the rows of people file slowly out of the building, some lingering in their seats to talk to friends and the occasional fan jostling against the guards in an attempt to make it backstage. She scanned the crowd, looking absent-mindedly for anything suspicious or out of place, watching the vast sea of people as it oscillated, her brain registering every detail.  Her ears strained, unintentionally retrieving samplings of random conversations, her mind scanning them automatically for suspicious details, probing pointlessly into the psyches of stimulated fan girls.

“Monster looked sooo hot in that song!”

“Can you believe what he did with that cape?”

“Omo, his voice is handsome live! So manly!”

Ha Na sighed, shrugging. Probing into the mindsets of excited adolescents. Sounds like a threat to security.

Detective senses can really be a curse sometimes, she thought.

Beep!

“Kim Ha Na, Hyun Suk wants you backstage now.” Tae Joon’s voice rang over the radio.

Ha Na raised the device to her lips and pressed the little black button. “Copy that, I’ll be right over.”

Stuffing the little black handheld back onto her security belt, she turned around and walked determinedly towards the backstage door….

Monster stepped out of the limelight and back into the shadows, fleeing from the mob behind him. Wiping the sweat from his brow, twisted open a bottle of water and downed it instantly, relishing the sudden stream of life rushing through his body.

Turning the doorknob, he swung the door open, a flood of light falling across the relatively dark hallway. Crossing over to the chair, he sat down, his tense body trembling as he relaxed against its surface. With a shaking hand, he reached up, sliding his fingers beneath the mask, removing it. Staring at himself in the mirror, he allowed his dark mop of hair to fall into his eyes. Slowly, he ran his fingers up his jawline, tracing its abrupt curve upward, brushing over his cheekbones. He noted how the skin stretched over them, thin and weary, as if it would snap over him at any minute and leave naked the inner workings of his being.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The eyes. Those luminous eyes that suddenly had called everything he had ever done into account. They haunted him, filling his every fiber with horrid memory. His heart race, the blood pumping into his already red face. His temples thundered, splitting his mind with a penetrating pain. Raising a hand to his face, he worked his fingers into them, trying to massage matters back into normal circumstances.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. A picture of Michelle illuminated the screen. His grip tightened momentarily around the device, as if he desired to break it, shattering the image into a million pieces until it mirrored the splinters of his mind, and then scatter them until it mirrored his affections. But he refrained, instead sliding it into the unlock mode and pressing number 2 on his speed dial. Immediately, the image of a sweet, smiling woman clad in a long white coat and holding a clipboard filled the screen. He put the phone to his ear.

“Yebosaeeo?” came the voice on the other line.

“I’m in the dressing room. Come immediately.”

He pressed “end”, eclipsing her reply. He didn’t need to hear it.

Rising up out of the seat, he sauntered slowly over to the counter, bracing himself against the counter and staring at the reflection that gazed back at him evenly. It was the same face, was it not? Only older, the hands of time beginning to scratch their marks across his countenance.

Then why did it seem so different?

He sighed. This is who he was now. A shadow of himself; a mere spectre lurking in the shadows of his own light. His identity. Something he could hide behind. Somewhere he was safe. In the world, yet safe from its prying eyes. Surrounded by people, but alone in any given crowd. Alone with himself, his mind, his secrets, his soul. Alone. Free to live while his true self died.

He had to accept it. He had to live what little life he had left. And if that meant traveling through life with a heart as cold as his countenance, pushing people farther and farther from the perimeters of his soul, so be it. At least he would be alone.

This is who he was.

But who was she?

The answer reverberated through his mind like a resounding gong, echoing off the walls, poising the question to the air and receiving no reply. That girl. The one with the beautiful eyes that sparkled even now as he remembered them. The girl that haunted his imagination with her presence, dancing up and down the aisles of his memory. For a moment, his heart raced, beating against his chest in desperate hope. He shook his head, tossing his thoughts back into place.

No. It couldn’t be.

The door wheezed silently, allowing a gust of fresh, cold air to seep into the warm room. A set of plain, carefully filed nails curled around the doorway, full, healthy fingers gripping the white edge. A shock of black hair, smoothed professionally into two sections parted directly in the middle, brushed over a white doctor’s jacket that came to the mid-calf. With her other arm, the woman clutched a clipboard to her chest, pen inserted neatly between the clip. Her tan lips parted, revealing a line of perfectly white teeth.

“You did well tonight,” she said, her black heels clacking against the floor as she crossed the room.

He stared straight into his reflection, refusing to look at her as his mouth moved, the words tumbling out of them. “Thanks.”

She frowned, discontent as she grabbed his arm and motioned to the cushioned chair. He sat, allowing his troubled body to sink into about the only thing that would embrace for who he really was.

Well, that and Ji Eun.

Pulling out a rolling chair for herself,  the psychiatrist leaned  slightly forward, hands clasped over the clipboard balancing on her crossed knees. She tilted her head, black strands of hair touching eyebrows furrowed with worry. She studied her patient, watching as he covered his unmasked face with his hand and sighed.

She gulped, swallowing past the concerned knot raveling itself in her throat. “How did you feel about it?”

He pulled his hand away from his face, his gaze falling down to his lap as he tried to gather his thoughts. His nostrils flared, dragging oxygen into his being as he attempted to slow the frantic beat of his confused heart. It thundered in his ears, beating against his bones, screaming, shouting, silently demanding answers.

Silently.

He reached for the bottle set next to him on the glass table and popped the top off, a mad crimson hue flooding his cheeks as he chugged  it down. As he slammed it back down, the glass reverberated with a dull ring, breaking the silence. Elbows digging suddenly into his knees, he leaned forward, eye’s aflame as they met her own. Running a finger over his wet lip, he pushed the alcohol away.

“Why do I trust you, Kang Ji Eun?” he hissed, almost under his breath, his gaze burning as he tilted his head. The pungent scent of hard liquor punctured the atmosphere.

Ji Eun watched every tense muscle, noting the cold, placid strain in his voice. His feet planted firmly on the ground, he studied her, as if evaluating her as a choice of confidante. Twitching in a brief smile, she pulled out the pen from the clipboard’s clip and pinched it between her two fingers, resting the tip lightly against the paper.

His mouth twisted into a cruel, tortured smile as he looked at her evenly, muttering in a barely audible voice. “What could you understand of me? What do you know of war? Or imprisonment? Have you ever cowered behind your own walls, waiting for them to fall upon you? To crush you, to kill you? What do you know of those?”

He shrank back in his chair, covering his eyes with his hand.

Ji Eun sighed, reaching over and clasping his hands in her own. She felt them shake as they wrapped around them, the clammy sweat bleeding into her own as he clung to her. As his hands shook, she could feel the walls of his existence cracking as if they were about to crumble in her palm. He was like a fortress engaged in battle, the undisputed ruler of his domain.

But in this moment, she knew that she was the only one he had ever allowed so close. Close enough to see the cracks in this stoic fortress. Close enough to peer through them and see the human towering in his own desolate castle, everything he had built crumbling to meaningless ruin. His kingdom, so powerful to everyone else, was naught but sand to him.

Although the wall between them was crumbling, she could do nothing but strain her ears to hear above the din of the battle and listen to his silent cries. And although her heart bled for him, strained out to touch him and heal his dying soul, she knew that the trembling gates remained closed for her. That although he shouted to her from across the wall, she could only watch it fall upon him. Slowly, gradually, the stones of his pretense piled upon him, burying the true man beneath the weight of his secrets as the world trampled them in rejection.

She looked down at her clipboard, scribbling down a few notes, her pen soiling the white paper, separating words into categories. Words. That’s all they would ever be.

She set the pen down and looked back up at him. “Is there anything I can do?”

He pointed abruptly to the door, refusing to return her gaze. “Go.”

“Do you want to – “

“Go!” he barked at her.

She nodded, smiling in the kindest way possible as she gathered her things. Standing up, she pressed the clipboard against her chest again. Striding over, she patted his shoulder, her hand pounding against him in light, rapid succession.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said. “You’ll be alright. Just forget about tonight.”

He listened, his chapped lips kneading against each other in deep thought. Nodding, he reached out to the coffee table, his grasp curling around the green glass surface of the beer bottle, white flesh haloing his fingertips in righteous frustration. His arm began to contract, pulling it back to his lips.

Deftly, she wrapped her hand around the bottle, suspending it in midair between them. Surprised, he looked upward.

“I need a drink,” he said, pulling it aggressively towards himself. You’ve never stopped me before.

Pulling it from his hand gently, she placed it back upon the coffee table. “Not tonight. The Hyun Suk wants you to meet the new crew. You should be sober for that.”

He shrugged her comments off his shoulders, as if that would keep them from ringing about his empty skull.

“Go!” he said, flicking his hand towards the entrance.

She nodded, squeezing her pen tightly between her fingers. She hesitated, looking him over once again, her doctor’s mind mentally calculating his furrowed brow, his eyes glazed with absence, his tensed fingers coiling into the muscle of his relaxed arm.

She sighed. Fine.

“Take care of yourself,” she said, her heels tapping the ground as she turned to leave.

Clack, clack, clack.

The tick of her shoes against the ground echoed in his head as he listened to her retreat, the cries of his soul trailing behind her. He leaned back, closing his eyes as he attempted to shut out the noise of the world.

Ya, pabo.

His lips moved slowly, forming the quiet words as they slipped from his lips, falling into thin air. He should have just done it. He should have told her the whole story; why he was like this. Why he had to hide. The specter that haunted him even in his dreams, her laugh ringing joyfully in his ears, resounding in his mind. How she waltzed towards him, the green, lively stems of a rose bouquet ensconced between her hands. How, night after night, he reached out to her, longing for her warm little body to press into his own. How the heat rose in his being as anticipation filled him. How his arms extended, empty, the cool breeze pinching them lightly just as he immersed himself in the fact that maybe this time it was actually real. Maybe this time he could start over. Maybe this time she would run into him and throw his arms around his neck, her sweet lips kissing his warm cheeks. Maybe this time….

But no. She would run into his arms, her eyes twinkling with life. The roses in her hands would turn to blood, dripping between her fingertips as her healthy skin grew pale and her cherry red lips turned a bruised blue. Then she would fall over, stabilizing herself by planting her hands against his chest, staining his purely white shirt crimson. She would gasp for breath, her entire body heaving as blood crept to the corners of her lips, dribbling slowly down her chin. He would listen to her, chills suddenly traversing his body as he shook, frightened. Suddenly, she would collapse, lifeless into his cold arms, stiff and lifeless. He would sob, his screams for help rising in his chest and pushing against the barrier of shock holding them back, containing them, strangling the life out of them and leaving them silent. Suddenly, as the sobs subsisted, he would notice a black instrument resting in her grip, a small, rolled up letter tied with a scarlet ribbon fastening it to its stem. With flaccid fingers, he would pry her claw-like grasp from it and unravel the ribbon. Pulling the pieces of paper apart, he would read the single word, scratched delicately, hastily up the paper.

Goodbye.

Even now, he winced, wishing himself not to go on. But he knew the rest of the story.

He would grasp the black stem of the instrument and raise it his head. He would bite his lip, a crimson spring cleansing his tear-soiled face as he dug into it. The gentle, cold press of the metal barrel against his prickled skin. His finger curled around the lever.

He would pull it, a thud running through his body. And then nothing. Nothing but the darkness that surrounded him when he jolted awake, frigid sweat bathing his small being and seeping into the blankets he desperately pulled at to cover himself. To hide his sin. To remind himself that it was all only a dream.

Or was it? The death of a child, the death of a man.

Maybe he should have told her.

He glanced over his shoulder, staring at the cool, clear liquid still swimming crazily in the confines of the bottle from its contact with the coffee table, wishing he could drown himself in its roiling depths. He licked his dry lips, saliva sipping into the cracks as he savored the memory of the sharp sting sliding down his throat. The pain, followed by the numbness. A numbness great enough to dull the pain of his aching heart.

And then sleep. Deep, eternal, drunken sleep, devoid of any memories or haunting dreams. Only him and the blackness that already surrounded his soul.

He reached over, fingers curling around the green bottle once more as he pulled it to himself.

He couldn’t tell her. This was life. Or the only life he was allowed to live anyway.

Twisting open the cap, he brought it to his lips, enjoying the familiar, vibrant sting as it slid down his throat, pinching him. This was good.

I’m still alive, he thought.

New Book Excerpt

Note: I, along with some friends, are currently participating in the month-long writing challenge known as National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. The challenge is to write 50,000 words of the same story in 30 days. Up until the beginning of November, you can only plan your novel (plot, develop characters, etc.) without writing any of it. You're not supposed to edit; just let loose and write as many words as possible. I wrote this for that, and ended up feeling like sharing this with you. So I apologize if it's badly written, if it's inaccurate about what bodyguards do, or if I'm getting Asian culture completely wrong, but please enjoy!

Another note: At one point, I have the line "Better to be a false god than a god that no one would listen to." I do NOT believe this. I believe firmly in my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and to Him I am forever dedicated! I wrote this clearly out of my character's subconscious. This is where he is at this part of the book, and this will be part of his character development and lesson throughout the book. So, I will eventually prove him wrong in the end :). Just a little spoiler :).

But anyway...here goes nothing...

The roar of the crowd soared around Monster, throbbing like the pulse of a screaming demon in his ears. As one, they writhed, up and down in unholy worship, their hands raising signs proclaiming their undying love for him, their leader - the props of their unholy worship. From behind his mask, he observed them, eyes roving over his legions of faithful followers. Did they even know what they were worshipping? Could they even see the filth of the man imprisoned behind this pitiful façade? Desperately, his heart pounded, punching at the walls of anonymity, but at the same time clasping his cape tightly around his chest, as if afraid they would actually crumble, leaving his ugly soul naked for all to see.

And then who would be there? Who would scream his name? He hung precariously, clinging to the pedestal they lifted him on even as the pit beneath him widened its jaws, waiting to receive him, to ensconce him in its black depths forever. Indeed, even now his hold slipped as he wavered between falsehood and destruction, but he clung on, fearing that if he fell, if they saw who he truly was, that they would abandon him. At the end of the day, would anyone ever come reach into the black depths and pull him out?

Better a false god than a god no one would listen to.

He raised the microphone to his mouth, praising the cold metal against his warm lips as he screamed, the sound bellowing forth from his aching heart as it trembled with every vibration, threatening to break. The crowd went wild. Closing his eyes, he drowned himself in the darkness which covered them, his mouth moving automatically as he sang the testimony of his soul, his arms and legs swinging in choreographed rhythm.

He knew all of it by heart. Or rather, it came from his heart. Written in his own blood as the feelings seeped through his fingers – produced by the labor of his feelings as they bore a child conceived in corruption, the lovechild of shattered dreams and desperate lies – his songs were a part of him, wed inextricably to his identity. Tears bled from the corners of his eyes, cutting paths through the dark circles of make-up, shimmering for a moment in the limelight before it slipped behind the mask, never to be seen by the naked eye. And yet he could feel it. It clung to him, sticking his face to the mask already plastered to it.

Taking a few steps forward, he opened his eyes, holding one arm out, embracing the limelight as it hit him straight on the chest, hitting the notes with effortless ease as the song spread its wings and flew from his mouth. Looking at his audience, he stepped towards them once again, reaching down to the fans, allowing them to grasp his hands. Their empty handshakes collided against his as he grasped each and every one blindly, half expecting, half hoping, that one would latch onto his hand, if only for a brief instant, with the love and care he really needed.

From her post at the crook of the stage, where the neck of the jutting out center met the main, long body, Ha Na stood, her arms outstretched as she held back a tsunami of surging fan girls crashing against her body. They attempted everything; reaching, climbing upward, pushing persistently against one another as they constantly strove to be the one to touch the image of the god they worshipped so fervently.

With the flash of the lights, her pulse raced, stomach suddenly fluttering. Immediately, her skin flushed, palms going clammy and face whitening as she felt the music lifting her feet. The inaudible clack of heels that rang so loudly in her ears. The soft rustle of dresses as the dancers took their places, whispering apprehensively to each other.

And then the voice. The pure, beautiful voice. The voice that made her heart skip, made her feet skip ahead of the rhythm. The voice whose song she never wanted to end. The voice whose song ended too soon.

The face she longed to see. If she closed her eyes, she could see him behind her, his voice echoing the smile on his face, reaching deep into her heart, touching her deepest part.

Suddenly, she couldn’t take it any more. She had to see him, no matter what it took. Tired of pretending, tired of forcing herself to hear the voice buried so deeply in the grave, she looked up, craning her neck to see the figure standing behind her.

He lowered his head quickly, obviously unaware of her. All of a sudden, their faces were inches apart, his crisp, warm breath fogging gently on her cheek. She went cold – his face, his entire countenance, lay concealed behind a white, expressionless mask, painted black eyelids covering his eyes as he sang, creating black sockets in their place.

It’s not him, disappointed, she began to turn away.

Just then, however, he opened his eyes. For one panicked second, they locked gazes, pinning each other in the intensity of the other’s stares. The singing stopped as his lips came to a halt, words frozen upon them. In his eyes, she saw a thousand tales, raw, grating, and sad, suddenly humanizing the beast she saw in front of her. In a second, the stories of years poured down upon her in an unintelligible torrent, the past colliding suddenly with the present as a tear tumbled accidentally from his eye and splashing onto her cheek, becoming her own as she caught a fleeting glimpse of his brokenness.

But only a glimpse, as panic gripped him and he pulled away, righting himself. Fleeing hastily to the other side of the stage, he whipped his hair down, flinging himself into the refuge of his own music.

Ha Na’s heart swirled with confusion.

Who is he?

中国欢迎你！

你好！好久不见！(Hello! Long time no see!)

I apologize for my negligence in updating you all in regards to my activities in China. The internet here has been giving me difficulty, and so it has been hard to access my blog.

Currently, I am living in a small farming village just outside of downtown Beijing. The residents of this village are typically farmers, although do also operate the small shops and restaurants which line the main street of the town. In our town, we have access to most of the amenities we need, although they often are available only in non-Western brands. One of the objectives of the organization I am with is to make ourselves, the westerners,  as local to the Chinese people as possible. Of course, we do stick out with our light skin and hair, but we attempt with all alacrity to adapt to the Chinese lifestyle as practiced here in the village.

The first week, we interns received bicycles, which I was at first a little frightened to ride. I had not ridden upon a bicycle in ages and now I was supposed to do it in Chinese traffic? However, I soon had not only renewed my bicycle riding abilities but had also mastered the art of riding it in the middle of the street! Now, for those of you who have been in foreign traffic before (where they really do not seem to have a multitude of rules and vehicles come literally inches from hitting each other before they yield to the other person), allow me to reassure you that this is a decently safe thing to do. Since there are many people in China - and therefore many bodies, bicycles, and cars to not hit - Chinese drivers are very skilled. They know how not to hit people in the middle of intense traffic. And, moreover, honing is not considered a rude habit, but rather a courteous way of saying, "I am here, coming up behind you." Then, the pedestrian /bicyclist usually moves to the side of the road and allows the car to pass. Therefore, honking in China is a nice way of making the other users of the road more aware of their surroundings and increases everyone's safety.

Additionally, I have been having a marvelous time exploring the village we are living in, speaking Chinese to the local people, and eating food at the local Chinese restaurants. One specialty you all will find particularly interesting is our village's taste for donkey sandwiches. Yes, it is really donkey meat, and there are several shops all over the village. Lately, we went to one and tried the delicacy for the first time. It was actually very good! Almost like a roast beef sandwich. We all hope to return to the restaurant sometime during our internship.

So what exactly are we doing on our internship? We are volunteering in an orphanage, which mostly means taking care of children, and, for me, doing child education. In the mornings from 8:30-10:00, I have one-on-ones with three little children, whom I teach basic motor skills too via the means of play. Then, from 10:00-11:30, I interact with the Backyard School children, which engages the older children in elementary school activities. From 1:30-2:30, I teach an intensive English class to two of the children who are about to get adopted into an English-speaking country. From 2:30-3:00, I plan for the pre-school class, which meets outside at 3:00, after which we play until the children's foster families pick them up. Then, I hold the upstairs babies, which are the youngest at the orphanage. Afterwards, I often occupy the time between work and whenever my fellow interns are ready to depart for home with conversations with the college-aged students from the English school, which is run by the same company as the orphanage and shares the same campus as the orphanage. I have made friends with a few of them, and it is quite fun for us to speak in a blend of English and Chinese, thereby instructing each other in our particular second language.

Working at the orphanage has been quite interesting. The children certainly arrest your emotions, and you earnestly begin to hope for them to receive families as quickly as possible, and rejoice with them when they do. Instead of seeing their handicaps, you see their own set of unique gifts and talents. These children  have so much to offer the world, from their ever-present smiles to their intellectual capabilities to the ability to give love to whosoever arms they run into. In just these few days, I have sincerely fallen in love with the children entrusted to my care.

As far as tourism goes, we haven't really done much of that, but we have made several excursions into Beijing. We have been to Yashow market, which is a huge, six-storey market where knock-off (or *ahem* "real", according to the clerks) products are bargained off at a price bantered over by both clerk and customer. Usually, the clerk begins at a ridiculously high price, and the skilled buyer will begin a bit lower than the price they desire to buy the item at. Then, as each demands a certain price, the seller slowly, hesitantly, works his way down while the buyer slowly and hesitantly works his way up to a price that satisfies both. One hint at bargaining: don't be afraid to walk away if the seller will not negotiate on his price after awhile! If he truly wants your service, he will call you back (possibly even call you his friend) and offer you a more reasonable price.

Another interesting thing we've done is visit Chaoyang park, a 5 yuan (about 1 dollar) amusement park, where eight of us rode a six-person bicycle. Other than that, we haven't really done much except for explore the village. One storeowner even pulled out chairs for us and proceeded to talk to us about how to get around Beijing! It was quite fun :).

BUT...we ARE embarking on an eleven-hour train ride to somewhere special! I'll reveal the destination next week! Stay tuned!

An Update

Hello, friends!

My, it has been quite some time since I have last written here...to believe that I have been around the world and back and have moved across the country since then is nearly unfathomable! I give thanks to God for the very many opportunities He has given me and look forward to what He will do through me.

Allow me to begin this post by giving you a bit of an update. Last time I wrote here I was sitting in my bedroom in Texas, typing away as the voice of my mother talking downstairs or of Brock and Brielle laughing rang in my ear, accompanied perhaps by the smell of dinner cooking, the door opening as my dad came home for the night, or Brant playing video games in the game room. I had just learned to drive and was beginning to drive all over the place. I was living in a Texas-sized home with a family of six that had a Texas-sized love for one another. I was hot at least half the time, and cold the other half (that's living in a desert for ya). I was preparing to return to Africa, this time to Rwanda with my mother.

Now I'm sitting in a small room. I live on the second floor of a building, along with 52 other girls. Around 600 people live in this building, most of which are only one-to-two years older than me. Someone is playing music, despite the fact that it is quiet hours. Our parents don't live with us, but we still have a close-knit family of believers in Christ. We play hard, we work harder, and we love in Christ the hardest of all. Most of us don't have cars (I haven't driven in around two months). I am cold now almost every single day, but I still love it here. If you haven't already guessed, I have moved from my home in San Antonio, Texas, to Wheaton College's Fischer Hall, Room 207, in Wheaton, Illinois - the adorable little Midwestern town I have grown to love. And this time, I am preparing to return to China, this time with one of my closest friends in the entire world, Destinee.

Destinee and I have been talking about going to China together for around two years now. We always dreamed about it, saying that someday...someday, we would go. Well, we both found out about this internship program available in a foster home in a small village just outside of Beijing. It was six weeks long, and we'd get to play with kids/teach English everyday as a job. Moreover, we would be living in China together for the entire six weeks. We both got really excited about the idea, but my parents wanted me to get as much college credit out of my summer as possible, so I applied for the Wheaton in China summer abroad program and made plans to attend Beijing Normal University for six weeks and take language/culture classes. Although I wished I could have gone with Destinee, this program still had me really excited because I have to sign a waiver saying I would only speak Chinese for four weeks straight, with the exception of weekly English hours to reflect on experiences (and probably to keep you from going insane :)). Now, for most people that probably sounds like a big turn-off, but anyone who knows me well enough knows I'm a language geek and would probably still take the trip even if we were going to the Middle East and I had to speak Arabic the entire time (and I'd go even if I couldn't speak at all).

But then Christmas break came, and I went home. Suddenly, this overpowering need to go to China not just to study, but to do something outside of myself overwhelmed me. I did not want to go on the Wheaton in China trip any longer, and I really couldn't imagine anything half so disgusting as sitting in a classroom and studying to better myself when I could have been helping others and making an impact in their lives. I needed to serve this summer, and I knew it in my heart.

Knew it so well I probably did something I shouldn't have. I told my mom that I was going to go ahead and apply for the internship, but apparently she thought I was going to go seek out the blessing of my dad first. Well, I honestly...I was afraid he would say no, and figured that if our heavenly Father didn't want me on this trip, He would close the door anyway. I just wanted to see if I got in, and then cross the bridge of talking to my dad afterwards (which I now realized I should have done first). I went to Destinee's house one night, and she helped me with the application (she had already sent hers in, since she planned on going regardless if I did or not).

I began to get scared that I wouldn't get the internship. I hadn't had my interview, and it was the night before we were supposed to find out. I think I literally had half of my floor praying for me. The man from the foster home called me that night and we did the interview, despite the fact that I was plenty nervous. The next day, he welcomed us both on the trip!

So I called my parents and we talked...to make a long story short, it started to look like Destinee and I would both be able to go, just not on the same trip (there are two trips a summer, one at the beginning of the summer and one at the end), because she would have to miss her graduation if she went on the earlier trip and I would have to go straight from China to moving back to school if I went on the later trip. But a few days later, she texted me saying that she talked to her parents and prayed about it, and she had peace about going on the earlier trip with me!

So now on May 18th, 2012, we will be heading back to the beautiful land that holds both of our hearts...this time to love on the beautiful people of Beijing's surrounding villages!