Reflections from Liminal Space

reflections from liminal space

1.

April 28th, 2017 I woke up on the top bunk of Kuba’s apartment in Prague and snapped this photo. I particularly liked the drawings on his wall, some of which were done by his friend Martin. I took a liking to the drawings of the stocky black figures with curious facial expressions- that is something I would consider getting done as a small tattoo.

I remember looking up ways to avoid that, and one tip was to blot the bacon with paper towels before cooking to remove the excess oil. It didn’t work, and Kuba continued swearing. Kuba was my 10th host out of 14, and with the weather slowly warming up, I was counting down the weeks left on my journey.

We made breakfast every morning- rather, he threw a random assortment of items together and they became sandwiches. He kept getting burned by bacon oil that popped off the pan.

“Hello, I’m Josephine. Nice to meet you. What meals do you enjoy? How do you decorate your space? What are you reading? How do you say “thank you” in your language?”

1

Going on my first long-term, solo backpacking experience, I must have asked those questions at least a hundred times.

In every new country, I stayed with friends, or strangers from the CouchSurfing app that would eventually become friends too.

The number of interesting and kind souls who let me into their homes taught me the immense joy of getting to know complete strangers in a matter of days. I cracked open my first Croatian beer with an Australian who was cycling his way across Europe, and explored Florence alongside a young Australian couple aiming to travel for as long as they could.

I sprawled on air mattresses and couches belonging to a seasonal snowboarding instructor in Switzerland, a businessman working with an up and coming Hungarian fashion designer, a polyglot MMA fighter and a young Turkish boy who longboarded across Europe. I debated about America’s greatness, or lack thereof, with a Maltese guy on a nude beach in Barcelona, and explored the old communist mines near Karlťtejn with a Czech paramedic.

Before traveling solo, I took my group travels for granted. I knew we would stick together because we’re all tourists with the same to-do list. This was the first time I was required to take a step back, and that helped me develop a newfound appreciation for the kindness of strangers and the ability to share experiences with others.

2

3

4

5

6

2.

June 5th, 2017 Morocco was my first country in Africa.

It was fascinating and one of the first, true culture shocks I’ve been through. The tiniest things excited me. Did you know dipping your boiled egg in salt and cumin made it THAT much better? Neither did

Only recently did I leave my bubble and moved out for University. That is when I began to meet people of different backgrounds. Compared to the homey suburb I grew up in, Morocco might as well have been another planet.

I. Part of a hearty, traditional Moroccan breakfast.

I liked being pushed further away from my comfort zone, but it was also more overwhelming than expected. During my childhood, I was very sheltered. I was raised in a predominantly east Asian suburb in Toronto, where I felt comfortable simply because everyone looked and sounded like me.

As much as I embraced the unfamiliarity, the tourist harassment did not make me feel excited about walking through the busy medina.

I understand that this is how people make a living, but shouting “ni hao” or “konnichiwa” at me does not make me want to stop and browse their shops.

7

On two occasions, full grown adults threw racial slurs at me to “fucking go back to China” just because I replied “no, thank you” to their desert bus tour sales pitch. Their words were enough to make me feel uncomfortable, but never threatened.

helplessness that brewed in the pit of my stomach. I was frustrated with my inability to think on my feet and react in emergency situations. I was over thinking about alternative outcomes and what could’ve been done instead.

I lost a lot of energy after nearly being robbed by some guys. It wasn’t even 10PM, and my friend Mandy and I were simply walking back to our hostels. They tried to get our attention and grabbed our shoulders. When they attempted to reach for our phones, we caused a scene and they ran away when people started to slow their motorbikes down.

To me, personal growth means acknowledging and learning from mistakes, achievements and everything inbetween. Consciously choosing to ignore certain events paints an incomplete picture of an experience, and I would never want to do that.

For me, I would love to return to Morocco and And those are tales I tell when I think back to explore other parts of Northern Africa, but this Morocco. This could have happened anywhere, but I marks the first time I felt overwhelmed and will never forget this unfamiliar feeling of anxious to be alone.

8

9

10

3.

March 19th, 2017 Backpacking forces a minimalist lifestyle because you are always on the go. I don’t have the time or strength to carry heaps with me.

For instance, when I’m in the comfort of my own home, I have a 30 minute bathroom routine because materials are at my disposal. While traveling, my morning and night routines usually consists of 3 (sometimes 4 if I choose to floss) thingsbrushing my teeth, messily splashing water on my face, and putting on or taking off my contacts. So now, with things like only having two pairs of pants (black and blue) to choose from, the question of “what do I wear” amongst other habitual thoughts vanish immediately.

It’s replaced with, “who will I cross paths with?” and “what new words can I store in my memory?” and my favourite, “what will I learn today?”

11

12

13

14

4.

May 5th, 2017 I want to do a quick shout-out to the Holy Trinity of the European Shoe-String Budget diet- bread, cheese and cured meats. These were the three things I grew up disliking, but became the three things in my main diet during my time abroad.

Not only were they super affordable, but the selection of bread, cheese and cured meats is so much more impressive than the brand name, mass processed foodstuffs I’m used to in North America. It has taken me 22 years, but I refuse to stomach another slice of Kraft Singles. I went from cautiously scanning the shelves in a tiny grocery store in Dubrovnik, Croatia, unsure

about what to buy, to grabbing packs of chorizo from a Sainsbury in London, UK and popping them in my mouth like potato chips.

Truthfully, it took me time to develop respect for the Holy Trinity because I used to be so afraid of eating specifically bread, cheese and cured meats. I was raised on a diet of rice, seafood and vegetables.

Rice was my main source of carbohydrates, and bread could not compare once my taste palate was developed around rice. I thought cheese was stinky and left my mouth feeling dry.

15

I then convinced myself that I was 30% lactose intolerant (I’m not) and refused to go near cheese. My mom cooked every meal with the least amount of salt possible, so I had very bland meals growing up.

A little bit more sodium and I would be overwhelmed with my food, even experiencing stomach aches.

But 2017 changed everything. At one point, my friend Gaby asked me if I was worried about having high sodium levels. We were at her family’s cottage in Hungary and I kept devouring their cured meats at an abnormally rapid pace. I looked at her and kept eating.

This is the year I finally developed a love for sodium that no longer churns my stomach. The year I willingly stuffed goat cheese in my mouth. The year I found bread dipped in olive oil with a little bit of pepper to be delicious. After all, a peasant’s meal is a nobleman’s appetizer. (Spoiler alert: I’m the peasant).

16

17

18

5.

19

April 17th, 2017 Sushanth, a hairstylist from India doing his masters in Amsterdam, contacted me via Couchsurfing.

He was trying to expand his portfolio, cutting hair wherever he goes and donating hair to charities. The catch was, the cut had to be a pixie or shorter for it to be free.

He told me if people were willing to leave their comfort zone and try something new, he’d gladly lend a hand.

At first, I was uncomfortable with cutting my hair that short. I’ve never had my hair above my collarbone.

What would people think?

What if it didn’t match my face?

How would I go out in public?

20

A 1 hour conversation later, I summoned my courage and went with it. He said a couple things I never acknowledged wholeheartedly until I heard it aloud.

“The less hair you have, the more attention drawn to your facial features.”

“My face isn’t ‘round’- it’s oval and heart-shaped.”

And for the last no-brainer...

“Hair grows back!”

Before he began, he had me pose for a before-and-after video for his Instagram. In hindsight, being in front of the camera was more daunting than chopping most of my hair off.

He told me to think about all the negative moments and experiences that happened in the past few months. He told me to channel it into my hair, so he can remove the negative energy once he cuts it off. At that time in life, a new beginning was definitely something I was searching for.

We made some falafels and deep fried cheese pastries while watching The Price is Right before saying goodbye and parting ways. That day, I placed my trust in the hands of a new friend. The left side of my head carried most of the weight while the right side felt fuzzy, and I donated hair for the first time.

21

22

23

24

6.

25

June 10th, 2017 Before March 2017, a significant chapter in my life ended. I was stuck in liminal space, unsure of how to proceed. I was hurting and didn’t know how to pick myself up again, so I chose to leave home. I thought I’d be proactive and start the next chapter in my life with this trip. I recognized the opportunity I had in front of me and I wanted to make sure I didn’t waste any second of it.

I always believed the excitement and new discoveries that came with traveling was the most natural way to go about a healing process. But I also felt like I was running away from my problems. There were days I let myself hurt and over think, feeling trapped in the past rather than living in the present. In Sevilla, Spain I scrolled past something on Facebook that made it hard for me to breathe.

I decided to walk it off and explore the main areas of Sevilla. But as I wandered along the cobblestone streets and passed by the colorful architecture, I barely took notice of the city’s liveliness. I was having an internal dialogue with myself, calming the voice inside my head.

Another time, I let myself drunkenly sob into the arms of a new friend in Cologne, Germany, after a personal talk and too many shots. After that night in Cologne, I realized that it was easy for me to be triggered by the slightest memories, and that I had trouble dealing with them by myself.

After coming to terms with my personal issues, I started to heal. I learned to control my overthinking, because nothing screams “waste of time” like dwelling over hypotheticals. I used to think that I was incapable of feeling hurt and upset. That unrealistic notion has shifted completely- I vent whenever I want, wherever I want.

Hindsight is always 20/20, and now I realize my time abroad was, in fact, spent in liminal space. I wasn’t floating around passively, as I created a sense of control for a set amount of time. I thought I was starting a new chapter in life but being away all those months just gave me ample opportunity to alter my immediate reality. Waiting at bus stops and airports and long train rides also gave me ample time to think about what’s next for myself. On a larger scale, everything remained the same until I was able to face my problems and work on myself. Although I didn’t return home completely healed, I definitely went through a transformational phase, matured and gained the ability to analyze situations through different perspectives.

26

27

With traveling comes a lot of waiting.

Waiting to go from one place to the next.

Waiting inspired me to create a photo book, with musings from my journal ahead.

reflections from liminal space by josephine tse