An Ode to My Phone

My phone, what have you become? If I were to give you a shape or a body...I would say you feel like some heavy listless creature lumped haplessly upon my shoulder. Your arms are stretched out, pawing at my face for my attention, feigning an appetite that can never be satisfied. You are everywhere, weighing me down, keeping me off kilter, preventing me from walking without the fear of toppling over.

You consume my every moment. Your constant unimportant notifications pull me from the here and now. When you go silent, I become concerned. Are you okay? Are we connected? Are your messages coming through?

You have me locked in a torturous cadence. I have to check on you every five minutes. The motions are thoughtless and automatic. There are times I don't even remember looking. I have become a robot.

I want to feel connected to the world, yet you stand between us like an invisible wall. I want to control my own body yet parts of me have dedicated themselves to you. I do not feel connected. I do not feel here. I do not feel whole.

I think you have to leave.

(Written in conjunction with a friend for a creative writing assignment)

For all of those people who add up to my life, no matter where you go.

Everything is nothing to the universe
By all odds we should not be here
Yet to be conscious, to make connections
To have multiple moments of happiness
Echoes of laughter and smiles
In this giant fog of stars
With barely a whisper of notice
From the indefinite span of time
Your presence was all the more important
So wherever you go in your life
I will always thank you for being a part of mine.

Is this my family history...or a movie?

I realized one thing when I was younger...that my memory is terrible. I need to start writing these stories down while they're fresh, otherwise they could be lost forever. Here's what my father just reiterated over our Roll N' Roaster lunch.


That guy that works in the restaurant who happens to be my father's "ghost-cousin"...

We were having a conversation about a dim sum place we recently attended and my father remembering it his "cousin" working there. By cousin, he meant that someone in our family and somebody in his family were married after death.

This is called a Ghost Marriage, in which two people are married after death so that they don't have to endure a lifetime of loneliness. According to wikipedia, Chinese ghost marriages were usually set up by the family of the deceased and performed for a number of reasons, including the marriage of an engaged couple before one member's death,  to integrate an unmarried daughter into a patrilineage, to ensure the family line is continued, or to maintain that no younger brother is married before an elder brother.


My father's grandmother was stoned to death while using her arms to protect my grandfather, who was ACTUALLY previously married, but the Japanese attacked their house and she died.

So my great grandfather was a baller in the old days. He had two wives, certainly not uncommon, and he was brave enough to live with both of them under one roof.

The first wife bore him a daughter. At some point, he wed a second woman who gave him two sons and two daughters. The first wife would get into arguments with the second one but when it came down to it, the second one would remind her that she never bore great granddad a boy so she was kinda worthless.

The first wife grew depressed and so she hung herself. The village in which she lived was infuriated by this, it's a grave crime for the first wife to be driven to such an act, so they decided to stone the second wife.

My father painted this lovely visual of her being stoned while her children huddled beneath her protecting arms. And this would explain my father telling me how his father killed someone on the boat coming to America.

Apparently Grandpa was also previously married, but the Japanese attacked China in some war and a missile injured the first wife to the point where she wasn't able to recover and passed away. Then he traveled to America, was betrothed to my grandmother when she was 19 and whisked away from her family to join him in America.


My Uncle John's got 99 problems, some used to be women, but not any more.

On my mother's side...my Uncle came to America. Problem was, he was married and somehow managed to leave her in China. As he began to carve a new life  for himself here, he met and fell in love with an American woman and married her...without getting a divorce to the first wife. I mean, an entire expanse of water separates the two of you so what's the chances...right?

Well the chances however slim weren't in his favor as the first wife found a way to come to America and was not happy about the situation she found. She fought tooth and nail for her spot in the family and eventually, creating so much calamity that my uncle and the second wife couldn't take it anymore and split.

After the divorce, the first wife got into a car accident in which she didn't survive...and then my Uncle John found himself back to where he started...alone. Perhaps he needs a ghost wife. Or maybe not.

My father and uncles got skipped through school for math, and I could have as well....because of that Great Uncle who passed his brain down the line!

My grandmother's great grandfather went to Beijing to take a nationwide exam, the kind that only one in twenty thousand people pass. Because he was one of the few, he was named a scholar which was one of the highest honors back in those days. Others who have passed this exam have progressed to become officials and other positions likewise. Instead, he returned to my grandmother's village of ten thousand (considered quite the size at the time) and enjoyed his new found notoriety. The school in the village named the playground after him and he later opened up a private school of his own. Back then only well off people could afford to attend school so this opened up a wonderful opportunity to those in the village at the time.

My grandmothers grandfather was also asked by Dr. Sun Yat San, the first president of China, to be on his cabinet when he first visited in the United States. He turned down this great honor because of his great great grandfather's allegiance to the Emperor.

My father and his brothers were all skipped through school from scoring high in math exams. When I was in school, I'd always finish the exams fifteen minutes before the next fastest person, because it was so easy for me. I barely had to write down my calculations and I consistently scored higher than 99.99th percentile in the nationwide regents exams. I would say it's not fair.

I'm not exactly sure why figuring out the bill when I eat lunch with my coworkers is so difficult, but I suppose if you don't use it, you lose it...even when you have generations of genetics trying to keep it up. Sigh.


Somewhere down the line, you're related to the Emperor and your last name isn't really Chin.

Supposedly five generations back we are related to one of the last Emperors of China...yet there is no actual proof of this. What would normally happen in a coup is the former family flees...or risk being hunted down and murdered by the new family. I suppose not killing them would be a security risk. If this is true, that means my ancestors changed their surname and hid...so perhaps "Chin" isn't my real last name after all.

The Story of Arna and the Narwhal

The Story of Arna and the Narwhal

A time long ago, there were no seas, only land as far as the eye could see. All whales were Narwhals and would float through the air gracefully without weight, and humans were bound to the earth as they are now. A girl named Arna would travel the countryside with her favorite friend, the Narwhal.

Arna would spend her days watching the Narwhal arch upwards and effortlessly soar through the clouds. Diving back down, he would glide so close to the land that the air beneath him would bend the grass blades of the hills before returning back to the sky. Grounded by the land, Arna over time, became jealous of the grace and magic her friend possessed.

One day, as they were resting in the grass, Arna turned to the Narwhal and asked, "How is it that you fly?"

The Narwhal responded, "I wasn't always able to child. It is something that happened as I grew. The longer my horn became, the more buoyant I became, until the day that I realized I could soar."

Hearing this, Arna thought to herself that if she could somehow take the horn from the Narwhal, she too could become powerful and fly. She turned to the Narwhal and told him, "I've heard that your horn is a source of great power, but it comes at a cost. For each ring you grow, you grow closer to death."

Upon hearing this, the Narwhal's eyes opened wide in fright. "But my horn is so long, death must be near!"

Arna responded, "Well, I could help you. Give me your horn, and you will get your life back."

The Narwhal hesitated in thought, and then replied, "You are truly a great friend Arna. I hope we will live together forever."

The greed inside Arna's heart turned her hands cold, as they wrapped around the Narwhal's horn. She tugged viciously until part of it began to tear. Tendons and tissue snapped and with one mighty heft, it broke free.

Arna stood triumphantly with the horn in her hand and looked down at Narwhal proclaiming, "Silly whale, nobody lives forever. And now, I can live the rest of my life with the freedom you've always had."

Breathing heavily, she summoned her thoughts to fly...yet nothing happened. She wasn't sure how to use the horn and asked, "How does this work?!"

There was no answer.

She looked down and saw the light in her friend's eyes grow dim. The whale was unresponsive. The horn, though beautiful, had no magical powers of it's own. She didn't think taking it would harm her friend but apparently, what she wanted most was something that could not be separated.

She stood alone on the hill with nothing but a broken reminder in her hand.

Realizing she had been selfish, she bent over the Narwhal, weeping uncontrollably. She wept and wept, until an ocean of tears formed around them. Waves of sorrow swept up around them until they both began to float away. It was at this point that she heard a voice.

It was the Narwhal's.

"My friend, what has happened! What is this that surrounds us?"

Arna looked up, "It is a sea of my sadness and love."

The Narwhal spoke, "It is this very thing that has brought me back but I must move on. I am now trapped here in the sea, yet I shall still soar through water as I once did the clouds. You can't live here Arna, so we must part ways. Perhaps we can meet again one day where the land joins the water."

Arna returned to the land as the Narwhal dipped below into the ocean's depths, forever separating the land mammals from the marine mammals. She walked many times to the waters edge, but never saw her friend again. Occasionally, she would hear the distant song of the Narwhal, which filled her ears with sadness and love.

The End.

What I learned about life from old men and fishing

As a child, I spent most of my summer days fishing with my grandfather and his friends.  I have always felt lucky to have had numerous philosophical conversations with men near the end of their lives.  I was less than ten years old when I received most of these small golden nuggets of wisdom and though I was young, I took these words to heart, and it has helped me tremendously along my journey through life.  If you can figure out how to be successful saltwater pier fishing, you can probably "tackle" most things in life.  Yes, I am that corny.

So, what exactly was it that made me as a young child want to listen to my elders?  I wanted to catch fish of course!  I realized that if I did what they told me to, by the end of the day, I would find myself surrounded by people standing closer wondering how me and my grandfather always knew where the lucky spots were. They would constantly try to figure out how to detangle their reels while I sat there catching fish, never getting snared on anything.  They never knew all of the subtle things I was told to do to make it all work.

Here is what I learned from fishing:


You can't force fish.  They come when they want to.

Don't obsessively check your bait.  The waiting can be frustrating and you sometimes feel the need to make something happen but let the line do it's work for a little while.  Most attempts at control will not only scare away fish, but will often shake the bait off the line from yanking it so often through the current.  If you just leave it out there for a while, you'll avoid a lot of common fishing problems.


Multiply your chances at success with more setups.

If you can find the poles, cast a few lines out there.  Make sure your bait is securely attached.  Set them and forget them.  Don't get worked up whether they are going to succeed or fail because ultimately you have no power over this.  If the baited line fails you, re-bait it and throw another line out.  When there is a big hit, and you pull that fish in successfully, it is an exciting moment and will often draw a crowd of onlookers.  They won't know you how many times you've baited empty hooks, but watch as they slowly move closer to your spot to fish.


Pulling the line in too fast will get you snagged!

It's important to take your time when pulling a line in.  Make sure you're going slow enough along the bottom to feel if it's beginning to get snagged on something.  You want to feel the line, and respond if you know you have to.  If you stop in time, the current will often loosen a snagged hook right on up.  If you force the line in too quickly it will become securely tangled and you may lose your whole setup.  You can also get snagged on other peoples lines this way and piss them off due to your carelessness and impatience.


Know when to cut the line.

Sometimes your line gets stuck despite all of your efforts and expertise.  When you know that there is no way short of you diving into the water to untangle this mess, know when to cut the line.  Sure, you'll lose your bait, hook and sinker, but at least you won't lose any additional time chasing after a futile goal.  The sooner you can set your line back up, the sooner you can start catching fish again with that pole.


Wait for the right moment to grab an opportunity.

If you've ever gone saltwater fishing in New York, you'll know that the water is pretty darn murky. Once your bait dips down a few inches, it becomes impossible to see.  The fish are also perfectly camouflaged for this environment.  The only thing you can see is the tip of your rod and the direction of the line.  Some use this to patiently know the right moment to pick up the rod.  I prefer to keep a finger on the line and feel the slight vibrations coming from the other end.  It's like having x-ray vision into the water.  The bite of a fish is distinguishable from most other things like currents and seaweed after a bit of experience.  The true trick is reading into the right moment to jerk your line and snag that baby.

Pull the line too quickly and you can not only lose the fish but your bait.  Pull it too late and the fish can escape well fed.  Knowing that slight pulsation of nibbles that let's you know the fish's mouth is right on the line and maybe getting slightly stuck and knowing the exact moment to yank that pole upwards is one of the reasons I will catch more fish than the guy next to me.


Some people get lucky and catch fish despite doing all of the wrong things.  Be happy for them. 

Winning things by chance is the entire game but always be happy for other's fortunes.  It doesn't take away your chances of catching fish, and it may make you remember why you're out there. 

The very most important thing to being a successful fisherman is the actual action of throwing lines out.  You can't catch fish if you don't even try.


And finally, enjoy the moment.

Fishing is kind of boring and it takes some acclimation to doing close to nothing for up to 12 hours straight, though seeing it as nothing is just one point of view.  This is your life.  You only have a limited time here yet so many moments go by unappreciated.  When fishing, once you become mindful of your surroundings, you will become to notice the small things of beauty. The glint of the sunlight speckling the waves warming your face.  The smell of the sea. How the wind softly brushes lightly across your face. Adjusting your focus to notice small fish and things swimming occasionally past you. The sound of the gulls crying at each other.  The mysterious vibrations of the line under your finger as it tugs with the current and bumps into things along the ocean floor.  Being able to quiet your mind, enough to feel this ebb of time flowing by you and really savoring it is a way to optimize this time you have everywhere every day.  When you start to enjoy just being in the middle of so much and nothing at the same time, you will capture a multitude of moments that otherwise would have passed you by.

So there is all I have learned from fishing.  All of my fishing buddies have long passed on, but I'm hoping their wisdom will continue to live on. It has done me a lifetime of good so it makes me happy to pass it on.

Pregnant? Record a Video For Your Unborn Child

I have a bad memory but I think we all do.  The brain can only handle so much information at one time.  When all of the events of your current life fight for your attention, it's hard to properly recall your mental state from a few years ago.  This is normal and it is okay, but there is something valuable about saving this, and especially to the ones who weren't present for it.

My first son is now three and a half.  I sometimes go through his videos from two years ago and can't believe this is the same child.  I've become so used to his budding personality that my current memories are all I can think of when I conjure thoughts of him. At the time of the videos, he basically stared everywhere and drooled helplessly.  I've totally forgotten this version of my son, and I knew this would happen.

Before he was born, I sat in front of my computer and started to record a video. I showed him my belly.  I told him how we got to his name and all the horrible alternatives his father had come up with.  I described the phone call of how I broke the news of our first child to his daddy.  I also gave him my message for his future about how ultimately I don't care what he does in life, as long as it makes him happy.  Even writing it just now made me feel a deep thud in my chest, just knowing how quickly the time span of a life may pass.

I stitched this video together and left it on my hard drive, unsure of when I will show it to him.  Nothing could show a more accurate depiction of my emotional and mental state as recording it in the moment, and that is why I think it is so important.  I also hope that one day he will remember me as I am now, as I am sure old age will one day transform me into an entirely different being.  I hope he will always know from the last words that I uttered in the video, the one thing I wish for him in this life is to be happy.  I hope he shows possible future progeny, or that some future relative will find it and know who we were.  I imagine that the data will last as long as humanity.  That someone will watch my videos and would have had the technology available to record in 3D, but will be satisfied with some of the oldest recordings of their family history they were able to search for.

For all of these reasons, turn the camera on and share some love for the future to find.

How Not Knowing Dutch Landed Me on a Blood Soaked Train Headed to Nowhere

Traveling in other countries is an extraordinary experience, especially if you've only known one thing your whole life.  Suddenly you are ripped from the comforts of your own language, food, friends and any familiarity, tossed into the center of a strange new world.  The humans you see around you are recognizable, but alien at the same time.  Sometimes not knowing the language or customs can have interesting consequences.  For me, one day turned out to be pure comedy as I ended up on a bloody train to nowhere.  And I mean that literally, not in a London slang phrase sort of way.

I had gone to Amsterdam with a few friends from a smaller town called Enschede. They had all headed back but I decided to stay an extra day so I could visit a museum in Amsterdam with a friend from London.  At the end of a lovely day of picture taking and sightseeing, I had to bid her farewell and make my way back to Enschede...alone.

In my pocket lay a crumpled piece of paper that my friend had written her address and phone number on.  Both pieces of information looked like some bizarre code, indecipherable to my ignorant American nine-digit phone and five-digit zip code eyes.  I went up to the ticket agent and pushed it towards her hoping she would be able to tell me what to do next and how much colorful Dutch play money to fork over.

She gave me that look signifying "ah I can help you but first, let me tell you a lengthy set of instructions that you won't understand as I point vaguely in the general direction you should walk next."

As I nodded not understanding a single iota of what I had to do next, I looked down at the ticket.  It seemed simple enough.  Go to platform 8B and the train will leave at the time stated.  I looked down a long hallway punctuated by upward stairwells and read the signs.  One said something regarding trains 8A - 8B.  Sweet!  This is going to be a piece of cake!

I gingerly sprinted up the steps triumphantly thinking I had mastered my first real challenge of traveling in another country, the local transit system.  Now I had to call my friend and tell her I was on my way.

I made sure I was on the right platform and saw I was standing at 8A.  A little further down it said 8AB.  Great, I'll just walk to the end when the train comes.

The public phones looked similar to what I was used to seeing.  A phone, keypad, coin slot and digital display.  On the display it was clearly labelled that I had to deposit two coins to make a phone call.  So simple.

I took my paper out and looked at the number.  It was an unusual amount of digits and I wasn't sure if you were supposed to use the 1 in the beginning, or if you had to use a zero with an international code, if some of those numbers written were international codes and if so, maybe I should leave them out because I was making the call from within the country.  This alone posed several combinations of digits that could or couldn't work.  Whatever, I can just try them all.

I dropped two coins into the phone.  Some instruction came up on the digital display written in Dutch.  I put the number in, another message came up.  Then it didn't go through but I saw some message that I had to wait two minutes for the system to reset itself.  I moved over to the next phone and tried again.  None of them worked and I kept running out of phones that were working.  Then I tried putting the number in first and then coins.  Then I tried putting the number in, paused a second and then put the coins in...each time getting shut down in another language.  I began to call over anybody walking by to see if they could help me but every time somebody did walk over, they would start speaking in German or French and had no idea.  Most of them tried in vain while scratching their heads and would fail.  I realized a lot of people visit Amsterdam but apparently actual Dutch people were found elsewhere.  At some point I saw the time was getting close and gave up.  My friends had told me they were picking me up regardless at a certain time so if everything went smoothly, I shouldn't really have to call them.  It was more of a courtesy.

Then I looked up as a train pulled past the 8A platform that I was standing on.  That train was probably the one I wanted.  I walked further down past Platform 8AB.  There was no platform 8B.  The train stopped at the 8AB sign.  Was 8AB the same as 8B?  Why would there be a 8A and then 8AB?  Confused with five minutes to departure, I ran back down the stairs to the long hallway with all of the platform names and couldn't find a single one that said anything closer to my answer than 8AB.  I figured, okay maybe 8B is at the end of 8AB but it's obvious so they didn't need signage?  8AB then.  I went back up just in time to run onto the train and grab a seat.  After ten minutes the ticketing agent came by to punch the ticket, he looked down, punched a hole and moved on.  He would have noticed if the ticket was wrong, right?  I wanted to avoid more bad Dutch conversations that gave me little answer so I didn't ask.  I stared out of the window in doubtful hope that I was going in the right direction.

Holland is a beautiful country with an endless rolling landscape of farms, cows, horses and other various grazing animals.  At first it was very relaxing, but after a while, I had begun to worry that the stops were too far in between.  I didn't remember the trip to Amsterdam being the same way.  I remembered there were stops every ten minutes.  Fifteen minutes went by, twenty, twenty five, twenty-seven...  Time seemed to go slower in relation to my inner state of hysteria.  Once the train went past forty minutes without stopping, I panicked enough to get up and find an agent.

At the far end of the car stood three agents chatting and laughing.  They saw me approaching and paused.  I tried my best to make my face convey confusion and handed my ticket over, shrugging my shoulders. The woman closest to me grabbed my ticket, looked down and the proceeded to show her colleagues, all the while laughing with fleeting eye glances in my direction.  She tried valiantly to say something to me but her English was very limited.  She tried using hand gestures as best she could punctuated by simple words.  Are you sure you didn't sell me this ticket?  I could have sworn I just did this.  Then the train began to slow down as we pulled into a stop...finally!

Using more emphatic hand gestures and words like "oonder", she successfully told me to go down a staircase, walk beneath the platforms and go back the other way back to Amsterdam.  I had shifting feelings of relief and distress, because I was on my way, but officially in the middle of nowhere and late.  I made the universal hand signs for down stairs and under one last time as they gleefully nodded and I bid them a grateful adieu.

I made a straight path for the one staircase she had pointed out.  At least there were no other options available than to go in that one direction.  Coming out of the staircase, I came upon three construction workers who were leaning on the wall and socializing.  They looked up and saw me.  One guy smiled and said something in Dutch.  I gesticulated that I didn't understand but he said something else that sounded more direct.  Then another guy started laughing and said something to the first guy.  I wasn't sure what was going on.  I smiled politely and started walking down the platform thinking they were trying to flirt or something.  They continued to laugh and say things after me, to which I smiled and just walked farther down the platform.

Pretty soon afterwards, the train arrived and boy was I glad.  Besides the three workers, the platform and surrounding area were pretty deserted, and I didn't have any interest of hanging around for much further.  I grabbed a seat by the window and waited for the train to pull out.

As it did, I ended up passing the construction workers again.  This time they were all standing relaxed, leaning against the wall smirking, doing the miss America hand wave good bye.  It was the universal sign for...well we tried to warn you but you didn't listen...so have fun!

I sat there thinking, why do these things always happen when I'm by myself?  This is probably going to be one of those tall tales I tell where it sounds like I'm exaggerating.  Is this going to get stranger?  Maybe the train will just go straight back to Amsterdam, somehow the stupid phones will actually work, I'll catch the correct train and be in Enschede by night fall.  Just going to relax because there are lovely rolling hills and cows outside of my window and it is so quiet.  It's really quiet.   Really realllly quiet.

Hmm, let me stretch my neck and see if I'm the only person on this car.  Yep, well that's not totally surprising right?  The stop that I got on this train was completely deserted and logically thinking, because the stops are forty minutes apart, it was probably coming from somewhere unpopulated.  Let me check my watch.  Only ten minutes.  Cool, I only have thirty more minutes until I'm back in Amsterdam.  Great.  I am sooooo relaxed.

And then, after ten minutes, the train began to slow down by a platform.  Hmmm, is this normal?  Shouldn't it be forty minutes until it stops?  I remember passing platforms and not stopping so perhaps this was the local train back?  I got mad that I was going to be even later...until the train did something weird, it didn't stop at the platform.  It went slowly past it, glided slowly for a very long time, and then it stopped...NOT at the platform.  Actually quite a bit ahead of it.

Now I'm thinking.  Okay that's weird.  No doors opening.  I'll just sit here another minute?  Then the train began rolling very slowly backwards.  Why would a train go backwards?  Then it stopped again.  I heard a thud and the train rolled even more and just slowed to a soft stop.  Then it was really quiet.

I got up, didn't see anything or anyone out of the window.  I decided to see if I could find a ticket agent.  I went to the car behind and noticed immediately that it was also empty.  Now my pace was quickening as I ran to check the next one, of course discovering that it too was vacant.

I quickly realized the entire train was deserted and what small amount of staff present were probably leaving.  I only had a minute or so to make the first car where hopefully I could reach a driver or something.

I quickly turned the other way and began to run, getting more and more tense with each empty car I passed, the only sound I could hear were my footsteps breaking the muffled silence.

I reached the farthest car and knocked really hard on the door.

"HEELLLLOOOO.  Helllllooooo.  HEYYYY!!!"

No response.  Shit.  I turned to the right where the front exit door was and pushed all of the large round buttons next to it that I could find.  Nothing.  It was like hitting the buttons on an arcade machine that isn't plugged in, you get a satisfying click and then nothing.  I tried pushing the doors.  They weren't budging at all.  I checked the windows and thought to myself, there's no way I can kick through these things.  They look pretty solid.  No way to open them either.  Great.  How long could I possibly be stuck here.

I went back to the driver door, saw the emergency break lever and hoping some alarm would go off, I pulled it.  I didn't hear an alarm, but rather a diminishing slow hiss from air being let out of some brake or something.  Then silence again.

This silence after the dramatic hiss made me bust out in laughter.  I put my head on my forearm against the door and looked left, where something caught my eye.

How did I NOT see that.  The first few windows of the left side of the car were covered in blood splatter.  Dozens of short streaks that had turned downwards when the train came to a stop I suppose.

Now I was really laughing.  I couldn't believe my trip turned this dramatically.  Now it all made sense.  The train had hit something, hopefully a cow, and the construction workers were trying to tell me this train was headed for the yard to be cleaned.  Very funny indeed.

I took out my camera and figured, well what else am I going to do.  May as well snap some shots so people believe me.

As I took pictures, I looked right again and caught the sight of a female train worker walking about four tracks away.  Holy crap!  My salvation!

I ran to the door and started pounding it with my fists, screaming towards her.  At the same time, I was thinking that if this was a television comedy, they would show a scene of me inside of the car hysterically screaming.  Then they would switch the shot to this lady walking straight and not noticing me because I wasn't making any sounds that could be heard from the outside.  After ten seconds I was already thinking, "Of course she can't hear me because... this would be my luck."

She must have noticed something because she looked at me for a split second and then continued walking straight again.  No!  She then did one of those classic double-takes and bewildered, started running towards me speaking inaudibly jiggling keys between her fingers.

"What are you doing here?!!" She said as she opened the door.

The relief that came over me when she spoke those English words was immeasurable.  FINALLY!  This woman can unlock all the secrets of the universe!

I told her a short version of how I ended up on the train much to her chagrin.  She asked if I wanted to use her cellphone to call my friends. Another wave of relief washed over me.  Thank you stranger for not leaving me to the mercy of the public pay phones again.  I asked her what I did wrong and she told me that I had to put the number in, then wait two seconds for a tone, then drop the coins.  Apparently not waiting the two seconds makes the phones unable to comprehend.  I NEVER would have guessed to do that in a million years.  I'm from New York.  Wait two seconds?  Seems like a cardinal sin.

After that, I took the correct trains back to Enschede with quite the lovely tale to tell.  Who knew one could get so incredibly lost but in retrospect, it was a lot of fun and I would do it again in a heartbeat.