Post from 10366 m Altitude

...purely because it could be done.

T-minus 53 minutes.

Surreal.

Tomorrow...

...will be a day for sleeping in.

for eating breakfast with my host family.

for last minute errands and packing.

for walking slower than normal.

for stopping to talk to friends in the hallway.

Tomorrow will be a day for goodbyes.

Tomorrow is my last day in Ecuador.

47 hours and counting

This adventure has taught me many things.

Mostly about myself.

For starters:

Finality still bothers me.

A story

¨...Jesus went out and saw a tax collector by the name of Levi sitting at his tax booth, ¨Follow me,¨ Jesus said to him, and Levi got up, left everything, and followed him.¨ - Luke 5:27-28 [emphasis mine]

An adaptation:

¨...Jesus looked down and saw a college student by the name of Charlie sitting in her dorm room, trying to decide what to do with her life, ¨Follow me,¨ Jesus said to her, and Charlie got up, left her school, her family, her friends, her country, her plans for the future, and everything else, and followed him. ¨

and you know what? So far it´s turned out alright.

La Reina

Some reading:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/01/world/americas/01colombia.html

The headline is: ¨Columbia´s Beauty Pageants Put Income Gap on View¨

It focuses on Columbia, but pageants are a big part of life in Ecuador as well.

Examples:

There is a Queen of Banana

My math midterm got moved from its original scheduled time and class has been cancelled because the annual school beauty pageant is being held that evening.

As Jeremy says, ¨ This is new for me...¨

Traditions

Sometimes you don´t realize how obnoxious things are until you say them out loud to someone else.

I was explaining Black Friday to my host mom (though it´s known here. Some people I know from here flew to Miami in time to join the lines):

¨Well, the day after Thanksgiving is when we traditionally start the Christmas season, so everyone starts their Christmas shopping on that Friday. All the stores have really big sales, and open early, so people get up and 2 or 3 in the morning, or even sleep in line, so they can be there when the doors open.¨

¨Wow, it must be really crazy with all those people.¨

¨Yeah. It can be intense, especially at toy stores. People die.¨

-That´s about the point where I realized what I was saying. But the best was her response:

¨At toy stores? Oh yeah, makes sense. Crazy mothers.¨

Some things are just universal I guess.

I am Thankful

for many things.

Family.

I am thankful for eccentric parents, who brave technology for the sake of staying in touch,
for older sisters who include me in their daily lives, even long-distance,
for nieces and nephews who are more like siblings,
and for the daily progress of new additions.
I am thankful for my big, nosy family, who remembers me on days like today, even from another continent.

I am thankful for prayers for my safety and well-being, which I feel daily,
for shared coffee, stories, and laughter,
for songs that mean the same thing, even though the words may sound different,
and for the knowledge that all believers share one heart and one home, even when they settle on the far side of the sea.
I am thankful for my large, loving, and multi-lingual church family, in all corners of the world.

I am thankful for open doors, open minds, and open hearts,
(Doy gracias por puertas abiertas, mentes abiertas, y corazones abiertas,)
for a house that has come to feel like a second home,
(por una casa que ahora siente mas como un hogar)
for patience and understanding in my behalf,
(por paciencia y comprension en mi nombre)
and for the daily lessons in language, and in life,
(y por los lecciones diarios de la lengua, y de vida)
I am thankful for my host family.
(Doy gracias por mi familia Ecuatoriana)

Friends

I am thankful for deep conversations, shared laughs, and skype dates,
for the other half who skips dinner to call me every week, even though I abandoned her in a big lonely house,
for the inspiration who taught me how to bake pie and be a pen pal, and who is babysitting my guitar until my return,
for the hermanita who opens my eyes to new perspectives with every word she writes,
for the shaggy, tall, protective brother-figure who knows exactly what to say when I need a good laugh,
for the Inspector who has made spending the entire day feeding sea gulls, getting lost, and singing too loudly for strangers a cherished tradition,
for the ex-cage-fighter who makes me grilled cheese, listens to my stories, lets me invade his kitchen, and walks me home at midnight,
for my fellow travellers, scattered to the four winds, who remind me to ask the hard questions,
for my new friends here in El Sur, those born here, and those visiting with me, who have made this strange city feel more like home.
I am thankful for friendships built on common language, common interest, and common points of view, but above all, bult on common ground.

Home

I am thankful for my home in the moutains, not the place I was born, but the place I grew up,
for its open air and its freedom,
for its closeness and community,
for the way the grass smells in the summer and the way the sky feels in the winter,
and for the fact that everybody knows my business.
I am thankful for Amador County.

I am thankful for the new home I chose to leave behind,
for the creaky mansion with the big front yard perfect for lazy afternoons spent reading,
for the neighbors in the hallways until well after midnight,
for the rainy afternoons and the quiet evenings,
and for the time I spent there, and the lessons it taught me.
I am thankful for San Rafael and DU.

I am thankful for my temporary home in a new culture,
for new words and new view points,
for the city sounds and the sunshine,
for the chance to travel and know more of the world,
and for the knowledge that no matter where I go, I am never truly alone.
I am thankful for Ecuador.

Dear Diary

I´m sorry I have forsaken you.

It´s no excuse, but here´s what my typical day looks like now:

6:30am - Get up. Make myself presentable. Make breakfast.
7:00am - Eat breakfast while reading either Numbers or Matthew.
7:30am - Check email, pack up, visit with host parents.
8:15am - Leave for the bus, get to UEES, take second bus into Guayaquil.
9:30am - Arrive Niños Con Futuro, the school where I teach English.
10:00am - 12:15pm - Teach English to 4-8 year olds.
12:45pm - Catch the public bus home
1:30pm - Arrive home, eat lunch, do homework
3:40pm - Leave for the bus
4:15pm - Arrive UEES, Spanish class
6:00pm - Gym
7:30pm - Calculus
9:00pm - Finish class. Either go home with my neighbor, visit with family, make dinner, use the computer, amd watch Law and Order, or go out with friends to dinner, bowling, the movies, the mall, etc.
12:00am - Go to bed

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

I made an executive decision

Problem:

I have too many stories about Peru to post each one here.

Solution:

Sub-Blog!

http://lomalimallama.blogspot.com/

The Peru Chronicles

Coming soon to a blog post near you.

Important things you should know until then:

1. Peru was incredible.

2. I´m home in Samborondon safe and alive.

3. The next time I decide to travel alone with a boy, we will come up with a fantastic story for why we´re traveling together, BEFORE the 100th taxi driver asks if we´re married.

4. When traveling in a group in a foreign country where no one has any way of long-distance communication, it is generally best to ensure that everyone is on the same flight/train/side of the city.

5. Classes start today. Hello, calculus night class.

6. I might be teaching English in an elementary school starting tomorrow.

Checklist [X]

• Bus ticket to Peru [X]
  
• Whole wheat crackers [X]
  
• Good company for the ride - Jeremy, this is you [X]
  
• Old friends to catch up with when I get there - Bethany&Jordan, cheers [X]
  
• New friend to meet in a new place - Maureen, welcome to the madhouse [X]
  
• Theme song(s) - AudioAdreneline, The Beatles, Paul Simon [X]
  
• Team Name - [?]
  
• Guaranteed Epic Two Week Adventure - [XXXXXXX]

Buenos Dias, Rayita del Sol

To quote Cassie, I need to be a little sassy for just a minute.

Here´s what I woke up to this morning:

1. My looming trip to Peru has hit some roadblocks. i.e., 4 different flights for 5 people, and Jeremy is stranded in Cuzco for 2 days by himself.

2. All three of my potential classes for next semester are at the same time.

3. Trying to book a flight the day before you plan to leave is a bad idea and a hassle in any country.

4. I think I inadvertantly insulted the maid this morning at breakfast. I like water better than juice that is 136% sugar, sorry. It´s not personal.

5. My sister is 50% sure she´s pregnant with a baby.

Some Morning Reading

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/24/magazine/24volunteerism-t.html

http://kristof.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/20/how-to-change-the-world/

Study Notes

The Decameron:
Hospitality
Should never be looked down on
it saves marriages

The Prince:
Machiavelli:
Better to be feared than loved
Be cruel when needed

The Renaissance:
Medici´s: Patrons
Humanists loved the classics
Questioned religion

The Art of War:
No war is best war
Fewer battles, the better
Skew advantages

Marco Polo:
saw lots of cultures
money, hookers, war
did he really go?

The Ramayana:
Vishnu, born ¨Rama¨
Demons, monkeys, adventure
Lost his wife for pride

The Arabs:
Land is unfertile
Mecca, Muhammed, Islam
Trade routes abounding

Nero:
Nero, you nutter
killed your opposition
all so you could sing

Byzantium:
A.D. three-thirty
Justinian and his wife
Constantinople

Satire #3:
To Hell with the Greeks
No room for Romans in Rome
Drinking, brawling, crime

Satire #6:
Marriage: Suicide
Marry for wealth, never pleased
She-tyrants abound

Postmarked to Viña del Mar

Hablamos con Beth
Para planear Peru
viaje bacan

Atlantis City
Wikipedia that ish
crazy, I tell you

The Loch Ness monster
is better known as Nessie
she lives, I believe

Atlantis? Nessie?
When I arrive in Heaven
these are my questions

Lost ancient knowledge
burned and destroyed for revenge.
That, truly, is crime

Yo tengo el tos
no me gusta jarabe
soño horrible

Fish men stone carvings
scientists think they mean much
I think they were stoned

I wonder if they were high,
those ancient artists
that would make some sense

Yo tengo frio
bastante, como hielo,
como nieve

I am freckley.
Revoltant development?
Me cae bien.

This pen may not live
all the way to December
You´ve served well, old friend

We both wore v-necks
such good times in Mexico
The V-neck shirt song.

[We were talking about Atlantis and lost knowledge in World Civ...]

Dear Aiden,

Your mom said you liked looking at some of my pictures, and I know that she reads this almost everyday. Here are some pictures of you from our fun times this summer. I wear my fast fast shoes a lot when I go to school, and sometimes I wear one of my tie dye t-shirts too. It´s not as cool as your tie dye spiderman cape though. I can´t wait to come hang out with you, your mom and dad, and sookie when I come home for Christmas. I bet you´ll be almost as tall as me by then!
I love you!
Charlie

Puerto El Morro

I spent my Saturday chasing dolphins in a motorboat.

Meet some of my new friends:

They´re really friendly. Our guide said sometimes as many as twenty will swim around a boat.

This one chased our boat!

Some Things Never Change

This is my neighbor´s car.

That little black box in the rear windshield is a Star Wars sticker.

In Spanish.

I feel like my world just got a little smaller.

Faithful Followers

Good Grief. I feel like a cult leader after typing that...

I added some photos to previous posts.

¨Empece a Conocer este lugar.¨

and,

¨I´ve always imagined Ecuador smells of coffee...¨

Enjoy.

Preguntas

¨I meant what I said, and I said what I meant, an elephant´s faithful, one hundred percent.¨

- Dr. Seuss

Some questions, as promised.

¨Why should Venezuela (or anyone else) have to do what´s best for the U.S. ? Shouldn´t Venezuela do what´s best for Venezuela?¨ - Brought on by The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. I highly recommend it.

¨What´s the appropriate response to my anger at injustice?¨ - sure I can let off some steam on a blog, but what steps, however small, can I, the individual, take to help alleviate the situations I find myself faced with?

and finally,

¨Why am I so quick (and so content) to throw up my hands and say, ´I can´t do everything, so why should I try to do anything?´¨

Confession

I have been in a funk for the past few weeks.

Thanks in part to Cassie P., I think I have found the source.

Somewhere along the line I stopped asking questions.

The combination of cultural overload, mundane school stress, and the realization of how far from home I really am, all worked together to bring this about, I think. That´s not an excuse or a justification, merely a self-analysis.

Therefore, I, Charlie B., do hereby commit myself to choosing:
Curiousity over Saftey (within reason, parents, promise.),
Culture over Comfort, and
Questioning over Complacency.

Hold me to it? Thanks.

Capoeira

I spent yesterday afternoon with these people. I´m almost this good.

One Week

[Cue Barenaked Ladies here]

(Relax dad, it´s just the name of a band)

Some words for this week:
quick-moving,
studious,
cultural,
culinary.

Some reasons:
I swear yesterday was Monday,
I had finals and presentations,
I learned merengue, capoeira (see previous post), and the symptoms of culture shock,
I ate cow intestine (Guatita) and meatloaf within a 48-hour period.

Needless to say, I had pepto bismol for breakfast the day after.

Dear Diary

I´m sorry that I´ve been neglecting you.

I wish I had a good excuse, some sort of exotic illness, mysterious romance, or grand adventure to share that would make up for my absense...

But alas, no, all I have are final exams and writer´s block.

The World Needs to Hear the Conversation I Just Had

In my kitchen, with my host mom and sister (stefie):

Me: ¨Mañana unas amigas van a visitar despues de las clases para estudiar la Biblia. Muy tranquila. ¿Está bien?
Tomorrow some girlfriends are going to visit after class to study the Bible. Really calm-like. Is that okay?

Stefie: ¨Viernes depués de las clases voy a charlar y farrear con unas amigas. Muy tranquila también. ¿Está bien?
Friday after class I´m going to get drunk and do some wild partying with some girlfriends. It´ll be really calm too. Is that okay?

I honestly think that this might be the funniest thing that´s ever happened in my life.

Stockholm Syndrome

I think I should be worried.

Some people picked me up from a bus stop in the middle of the night.

They keep me in a solitary room.

They feed my strange things.

They don´t speak my language.

When they really need me to understand something, they act it out.

They say I have to stay here until December.


And yet, I´m loving every minute.

A Story for Beth

Alternatively titled, ¨Why My Heart Calls Mexico Home¨

One day, a year and a half ago, my hermanita, Michelle, unknowingly turned my life upside-down. She asked me at lunch, ¨Hey, hermana, any chance you want to go on a mission trip to Mexico for two weeks this summer? Point Loma has a trip.¨

To which I replied, ¨Y´know, no. Not really. ¨

Background: The previous year I had traveled to Panama with a group from my church. It was a good trip, I had no complaints, but my heart wasn´t ¨in it¨ so I didn´t feel like I was in the right place, thus, I didn´t feel that mission trips were for me.

My dear hermanita let it go at that, even though I knew she was disappointed.

It wasn´t until almost a month later, as I was driving to school, that I thought again about her offer. I was driving along, listening to my ipod, singing along obnoxiously, like you do when you´re driving to school alone and only cows can see you. The lines of the song went something like,

¨Jesus I believe in you, and I would go to the ends of the earth for you...¨

Pause.

This is where God said,

¨Really, Charlie? Do you mean that?¨

To which I replied,

¨I´d like to think so?¨

And the divine creator of the universe responded with,

¨Oh good. Let´s start with Mexico, shall we?¨

Now how am I supposed to argue with that? And if that wasn´t enough, just to spite me, the next song on my ipod was ¨Mexico¨ by James Taylor.

So then I was faced with a few difficult conversations:

1. Hermanita. "Hey, you know that trip? The one I turned down? Is it still open?...." -- turns out it was. Because Point Loma extended the deadline at the last minute. Oh yeah, my higher power covers his bases.



2. My father. More difficult. "Hey dad, you know how I said I didn't want to go on any more mission trips? About that....."


Fast forward three months.


I'm sitting around a table in the PLNU cafeteria with hermanita, Brittaney [another high school friend] and some new friends, all headed to Baja California early the following morning. Mary, a 40-something woman from the midwest who somehow found herself headed to Mexico with 25 teens from SoCal and 77 Mexican students, was telling us her story. Afterwards, she asked us, " What about you? Why are you here?" Listening to my new friends tell their stories, and listening to myself tell my own, I had an overwhelming feeling that God was about to open his mouth again.


" Charlie, you're going to find your heart here."

And I did. Not in the way I originally expected to though.

I assumed that ¨finding my heart¨ meant that I would hop off the bus and instantly know what God wanted me to do with my life. This was the summer before I started college, and so naturally majors, careers, callings, and life goals had been heavy on my mind. I became a woman possessed. Every city we drove through, every stop we made, I waited expectantly for something magical to happen. It was as if I was looking for a billboard in every skyline saying, ¨Charlie. This is where I want you to be.¨

Loca, right?

It wasn´t until over a week into our trip, while sitting next to hermanita during our customary evening worship service in Cabo, that things began clicking. We were singing a song in spanish:

¨Hoy te rindo mi ser
Te doy mi corazon
Yo vivo para ti
En cada palpitar
Mientras haya aliento en mi
Dios haz tu obra en mi.¨

which translates to:

¨Today I surrender my self to you
I give you my heart
I live for you
in every heartbeat
while there is breath in me
God, work your masterpiece in me.¨

Pretty deep stuff, yeah?

So as I´m listening to myself say these words, and their meaning is hitting me, I realize that THIS is what finding your heart means. It´s not about places, or careers, or even callings. It´s about motivation and surrender. Knowing what (or who) you´re living for.

As I started scribbling these things down in my journal, 2 Corinthians 5:17 was on repeat in my brain:

¨Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come!¨

I copied it down at the bottom of the page, and just as I finished, the remaining blank pages fell out of the binding. Time for one more divine conversation:

¨Charlie, this is a new beginning. Trust me. You´re not walking with me anymore. Let´s dance.¨

¨Lord, what about the whole ´finding my heart´ business? I mean, did I hear you wrong?¨

¨Charlie, sweetheart. I told you that you would find your heart. I didn´t say I you were ready to know where to put it.¨

And he still hasn´t told me.

That trip started a domino effect in my life that I´m still feeling today. I´m sitting in front of a computer in an Ecuadorian house partly due to it. I ended up transferring to Loma almost a year after the trip, largely due to it´s impact and the people I met there. And some of those people, those strangers around the table, I now count among my closest friends, including the lovely lady to whom this post is dedicated (who will also be my roommate in January).

I can´t say for sure if I´ll ever get to go back to Mexico long-term, though I can think of few things that would please me more, but I do know that it´s where I found my heart, and that for that reason it will always feel like home.

Empiezo a Conocer Este Lugar

After walking to and from the bus four times a day for over a month, I´m beginning to ¨get to know¨ my neighbors. In a manner of speaking.

It´s something like this:

When I walk out front, if it´s morning, there is a boy, about 12-13 years old, sitting on the pavement directly across from our gate, holding a bottle of coke and a stopwatch, staring at me.

This used to make me nervous, but then I saw my next door neighbor, a boy a couple years older, running every day with his dalmation. My guess is that they´re brothers, and older brother gives younger brother sugary goodness to sit on the pavement and time his runs.


In the morning there are also a couple of ladies who are out jogging together. It´s a scene that helps me understand why Guayaquil is called ¨Guayami.¨ The ladies have matching jogging outfits, ipods, perfectly done hair, and are laughing together as they run along a sidewalk shaded by palm trees. Someone should really get a picture for some ad brochures.


This same stretch in the evening is occupied by a different crowd.

There´s an old man who stands in front of his house, in the dark, for his 7:30 smoke every night, like clockwork.

There´s also a house under contruction. During the day the men play loud reggaeton on their radios, and in the evening a television can be heard from inside the half-finished concrete walls, blasting telenovelas.


After that it´s just me and my nose for a few blocks. I hold my breath while I cross the street that inexplicably reeks of sulfur, until I reach the Catholic school that has the giant jasmine bush growing along the fence, and I can breathe again.



And finally, the guardias. I live in a gated community, and there are 2 or 3 guards at each enterance, as well as a few patrolling on bicycles. I count them among my amigos here. They´re always incredibly polite and cheerful with me, which is nice.

It´s nice to reach a point of at least partial familiarity. It feels almost like a movie set, with all the stereotypical background characters in place. And now I´m one more extra, the gringa with the green eyes and the purple shoes, walking to the bus stop, same as usual.

Mañosa

-- means ¨picky eater¨

I´m having an ¨off¨ morning.

The maid is back.

The fact that that alone is making me have an attitude should be cause for concern, I think.

I, for one, feel that I am ungrateful.

But I´ve fallen into a routine. I wake up in a foreign country, wash my face with soap from a bottle that I can´t read, say good morning to my host parents who are watching the news in a language that I can´t understand, and then I go to the kitchen, and make myself a mountain of scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, and soy milk.

And after that, I can face the world. I can handle the honks and cat calls on the way to the bus, I can deal with the stares and giggles of my fellow classmates when I pronounce words wrong, I can eat 70 pounds of rice a day, I can stumble through catching a taxi that [hopefully] won´t kidnap me. But first I need to make my own breakfast.

Like I said, ingrate.

I´ll be working on this. Independence is great and all, but I really wish someone would tell me how obnoxious I am. Example:

Dear Charlie,
Someone is making you breakfast. And then washing the dishes afterward. Shut up and deal with it.
Love,
The Mature Person You Hope to Someday Be

The Country´s Back to Normal

ish.

The police are back to work, the streets are calm, and I can go bolwing with my friends on a Saturday night without worrying.

The politics behind Thursday´s events are still being debated, but as far as my day-to-day life in the Ecuadorian suburbs, things are settled down.

Welcome to Latin America: massive nationwide unrest on Thursday, family get together to watch the national soccer team play on Sunday.

Beautiful Words

A new favorite from an old favorite:



Read along here:

May the Grace of God be with you always, in your heart
May you know the truth inside you from the start
May you find the strength to know that you are a
Part of something beautiful...

And I thought that I saw a light Shine,
I thought that I saw a light shine
Yes, I thought that I saw a light Shine
I think I see a light shine, now...

[repeat as necessary]

Updates

I am still safe.

Truthfully, if I turned the television off, I wouldn´t even know anything was amiss here in Samborondon. The streets are quiet. Quieter that normal. Too quiet. Maybe I would know something was different.

I´ve spent the evening bouncing back and forth between the computer, looking for news online and keeping family updated, and my host parents´ room, watching live Ecuadorian news with my family.

One thing´s for sure, sitting on my host parents´ bed eating sweet bread with my siblings, watching the national police open fire on their president is not something I´ll forget any time soon.

Historia Esta Pasando

Today I woke up too late to catch the early bus that I usually take to school.

So I decided to make it a leisurely morning, hang out with my host family, finish my homework here instead of in the school library, and go to class at noon.

At about 10:30 my host brother asked me, very concerned, if I was planning to go anywhere today. I told him no, except for class. He repeated ¨so you´re not going into Guayaquil?¨ [we live across the river, in Samborondon]. I assured him that I have no life, and thus, no plans. He seemed relieved, and then tried to explain to me there was a situation in the city. We had to pass the dicctionary back and forth a few times, but I got the gist of it. The police and military are striking. The bridge is closed. Leave home only if you have to.

So I walked to the bus stop at noon. It never came, so I called the international student office at school, and they told me to go home. So I did.

And so here I sit, watching history happen on the local news. I don´t know how big the story will be on U.S. news, but you may hear a little bit about it if you pay attention.

There are conflicting reports, but President Correa apparently is rumored to have considered dissolving the congress, which would allow him to rule by decree. He also (supposedly) considered measures that would cut the wages of the police force, which is nationalized here.

In response, the police are on strike throughout the country, and the airforce has joined them in protest by closing the Quito airport. In addition, other groups and civilians are rioting all over Ecuador. The lack of a police force has resulted in a higher incidence in crime, particularly robbery.

As of this moment, President Correa has been hospitalized and treated for injuries resulting from tear gas released by the military when he tried to address them earlier today. I´m not sure if he is still in the hospital, or has been released.

While all of this sounds incredibly dangerous, and it is, rest assured that I am safe, for the moment, and that there is a very large group of intelligent people in charge of my well being. I live in a gated community protected by private guards who are still on duty, in a suburb of Guayaquil called Samborondon. The buses aren´t running and school is closed ( as well as many of the business here) but aside from that the only impact on me directly is an occasional siren. The bridge into Guayaquil is closed, and my host parents and sister are stuck in the city, but they´re safe as far as I know, and my host brother and I are staying put inside the house until things clear up.

I´ll try to keep updating as things unfold. Definately a day I´m going remember and be able to say , ¨I was there then.¨

Una en Cada Seis

Background story:

I grew up in a county with a hunger problem. When I was younger, one in seven people were unsure of where their next meal would come from. Since the U.S. economy nosedived, that number has gone up to one in six. One sixth of the population. That´s roughly 5,300 people. 3/5 of whom are children. 3,200 children.

Hungry.

When we moved to the county, our new church was involved in a ministry to aid the local food bank. My parents, being gardeners and generally benevolent people, joined in.
I don´t think I will ever forget the day we went as a family to drop off our bag of cans, to find the sign on the distribution door:

¨No fresh produce today. Cans only.¨

I was too young to really comprehend it, but the idea that everyone coming to get food that day would be turned away without anything green or leafy or grown on a tree broke my mother´s heart. From that day on my parents have devoted our one acre vegetable garden to the fight against hunger. I grew up helping weed, pick, pack, and unpack their efforts. Spending summer mornings sorting old grocery store bread into bins labeled ¨clients¨and ¨pigs¨ hugely impacted my values, even to this day.

Y es por eso, que tengo este historia:

[And for that reason, I have this story:]

I don´t like to throw food away. If someone puts something on my plate, be it ginuea pig or pre-dressed salad, I will eat it.

My host family here in Ecuador has noticed this, and assures me occasionally that if I don´t like something, it won´t insult them if I don´t eat it.

This came up again last night, which resulted in the following conversation:

Papa Cesar: ¨Si no quieres comer algo, no necesitas. No hay problema.¨

[If you don´t want to eat something, you don´t need to. It´s not a problem.]

Me: ¨Yo sé. Pero, para mi es dificil para dejar comida en me plato.¨
[ a terrible attempt at: ¨I know, but for me it´s hard to leave food on my plate.¨]

Papa Cesar: ¨¿Por que? No nos molsete.¨

[Why? It won´t bother us.]

Me: ¨Porque en mi canton hay muchas hambrientos. Una en cada seis no pueden comprar comida, porque no tienen suficiente dinero. Y mi famila trabaja con ellos. Entonces, no puedo dejar de la comida, porque siempre hay alguien que no tiene. ¨

[again, terrible attempt at: Because in my county there are a lot of hungry people. One in six can´t buy food, because they don´t have enough money. My family works with them, so I can´t leave food, because there´s always someone who doesn´t have any.]

And Papa Cesar has been walking around shaking his head muttering ¨Una en cada seis¨ ever since.

To make things even more interesting, I found out this morning that tomorrow´s cultural seminar will be about food sovereignty and the problem of hunger in Ecuador. Needless to say, you will be hearing more about this.

Location?

My mailing address is in Ecuador.
My heart is in Mexico.
My dog and guitar are in California.

I am conflicted.

La Historia de un Amistad

Dear World, meet Jeremy Lee:

Jeremy and I were born in the same city.

He lives five minutes away from my sister´s house.

Our parents now live an hour away from each other.

We´ll be students at the same university in the spring.

That university is on the opposite end of California from where we live.

I just transferred to that university in May.

He transferred there at the beginning of last year.

We both love swing dancing, apples, and Mexico.

We didn´t find most of this out until we sat next to each other in Spanish class in South America.

We did meet once before crossing the Equator, but only because we have two mutual friends:

One of my best friends from high school in northern California,

And my future roommate, who I met on a mission trip to Mexico last summer through the same university, a year before I even thought about transferring there.

They both happen to go to the same university, and happened to be in the same summer program with Jeremy in San Diego.

I went to visit before I knew for sure if my transfer application would be accepted. I had applied to Ecuador, so our mutual friends introduced us, even though I didn´t know yet if I was going to get to go.

We all ate pb&j together, and then Jeremy forgot my name.

And now, four months and 3879 miles later, here we are.

Safe to say God wants us to be friends?

I´d say it´s a pretty safe bet.

Ecuador is a Book

[Thanks to Beth for the inspiration]

Ecuador is a book with an old leather cover that smells like dust, chocolate, and time. The edges used to be gold, but they´ve been worn from use. It´s a book that you pick up and start reading, but have to put down for few minutes sometimes because the story is overwhelming. It is a book with some difficult words, words that you don´t know yet. It is a book with pictures, beautiful pictures, but sometimes they don´t match the story. It´s a book that you think you understand until you get halfway through, and then you realize that it´s an allegory for something else, something much deeper, and you have to go back and reread what you missed. Ecuador is a book that you want to share with your friends, but sometimes the plot is too difficult for them to follow. It is a book with a lot of notes in the margins. It´s a book you can get lost in, and a book that you will probably want to read again, because you get something different out of it every time you open it.

Home

I wish there was a way I could:

Ride bikes with my sister Amy around Denver,
Play tennis with Jacey in Fiddletown,
Walk my dog in Sutter Creek,
Share coffee and stories with my SCCN family,
Play protest songs on the guitar with Claire on my back deck on God´s Wild,
Eat lunch and go to Borders with my nephew Dan in Roseville,
Watch Lord of the Rings and a thunderstorm with my sister Deana and her husband Josh in Crestone,
Lay on a blanket and read books with Brittany Blake on the lawn in front of Meadowlands Mansion in San Rafael,
Eat a pretzel and listen to some ragtime at the Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium,
Hike ¨the FCC trail¨ at Silver Lake,
Picnic on the river rocks at the old family cabin in Kyburz,
Get lost singing show tunes and feeding fish and chips to sea gulls with Hana in San Francisco,
Pick blackberries with Hannah on the Amador City backroads,
¨Kill the Audience¨ in the AHS drama room,
Go out for sushi with Scott, JoAnna, and Ashlynn in Sacramento,
Play monopoly with the Wall family on Oro Madre,
Count stars, bats, and blessings with my Hermanita on a balcony in Mexico,
Drink Abuelita with Cassie and Beth in the Nease treehouse in San Diego,

And still be back to Samborodon in time for Pictionary.

I guess when you have been everywhere, and have called everywhere you´ve ever been ¨home,¨ it is impossible not to feel a little homesick sometimes.

Health Update

Some things sound cooler

¨Incubant Salmonella¨

Than they really are.

So for those of you who have been concerned (and for those of you who haven´t), the school nurse stole my blood and decided that I have salmonella brooding in my intestines.

Delicious.

Long story short, I´m on some hefty prescriptions that should have me back to abnormal by this weekend. No need for worry. Though, if you wanted to mail me some chocolate chip cookies, I could play sick a little longer...

¨It´s not weird, it´s different¨

Words of wisdom from my good friend Melissa Tucker.

Emtuck, as I prefer to call her, is a very special lady I have had the privelage of knowing for a little over a year now. She organizes youth service trips, and I was blessed enough to accompany her to Mexico through Point Loma Nazarene University (which was not my alma mater at the time, and now is...but that´s another story for another time).

In the hustle and bustle of preparation, Emtuck asked us to make the above phrase our mantra as we encountered (and hopefully adjusted to) a different culture.

Here in South America, I am reminded again and again of this sentiment.

Some Ecuadorian examples:

Everyone kisses on the cheek here as a greeting.

We wear shoes of some kind all the time, even in the house.

Rice is served with every meal. Every. Meal.

Students dress up to come to class. I told some friends that stateside collegiates sometimes wear pj´s, and they were shocked.

Toilet paper gets thrown away, not flushed.

Some things are the same though.
When I get home Mama Maritza and Papa Cesar want to hear all about my classes.

Mama Maritza scolds Papa Cesar for watching soccer instead of helping her around the house.

My fellow students come up with some pretty great excuses for missing homework.

We have to hide any snacks and goodies that we want to save somewhere where my host brother won´t find them, or they won´t last more than a few hours.

¨I´ve always imagined that Ecuador smells like coffee¨

Sorry Amy D., Ecuador doesn´t smell like coffee.

It smells like: cigarettes, car exhaust, humidity, and the trees the maintenence men are trimming down the street.

It tastes like: rice, cilantro, cinnamon, fruit juice, and 7 different kinds of bananas.

It looks like: traffic, iguanas, palm trees, mangroves, and post modern architecture.

It feels like: tile floors, full tummies, long walks to the bus, kisses on the cheek, and the sudden change from overly-air conditioned rooms to humid courtyards.

It sounds like: reggaeton, car horns, spanish argot, telenovelas, tropical birds, the crying baby next door, and host brother swearing when he can´t what he´s looking for in the kitchen (usually rice).

Yo Nací en Este País

Yo nací en este país
que sabe a caña y algodon
que se ilumina mucho antes de que salga el sol

Yo nací en este país
de niños pobres de almidón
enlodado con los mismos que se lo llevaron todo

Un país llena de historia
de hombres y mujeres de hormigón
llenos de coraje y de temura
llenos de pasión

Yo nací en este país que va
con alegrías y dolor
con gente linda
y con canallas que nos roban la ilusión
que no le teme al por venir

que no se deja derrotar
que no me pide visa
y al que siempre quiero regresar

Pero yo nací aquí
y aquí aprendí a caminar
aquí te conocí
aquí me enamoré de ti

Este país lleno de historia
de hombres y mujeres de homigón
llenos de coraje y de tenura
llenos de pasión

- Juan Fernando Velasco

Cinco Siete Cinco

World Civ. ran a little long last night...

My stomach is sick
battlefield on my insides
lots of gatorade

No more chicken, please
if I eat more meat I´ll cause
open rebellion

I feel sort of sick
who knows, maybe I´m dying
Shelby gets my door

[notice a theme yet?]

Spanish was cancelled
I fear this class is pointless
I should have stayed home

Dear stomach critters,
please up and die already
you are unwelcome

Microbes: rent is due
you should consider this your
evacuation notice

A senseless haiku
pop culture reference needed
so, ¨This is Sparta¨

My head is pounding
I think it´s a tumor
I watch too much House

All men are soldiers
women run government
Well, this is Sparta

[the lecture was on ancient Greece]

¨I´m going to start¨?!
It´s been forty five minutes
Dear stomach, hold on

I love my sister
even when she creeps on me
Facebook stalking, much?

Hana Casita
your name has five syllables
perfect for haikus

Paper is precious
It has so many uses
write, draw, fold, toss gum

Yo, preggo lady.
I think you´re beautiful
You know who you are.

Socrates, buddy
stop making people look dumb
they´ll kill you for it

[an ode to Plato]
My imprisoned soul
cannot reach full potential
locked in this classroom

[Laurel]
A little birdie
told me that you like haikus
let´s share some, shall we?

You argue a lot
it´s making my brain sleepy
Kum Bah Ya, my friends

You´ve said ¨Last¨ so much
I don´t want to raise false hope
in case you talk more

Allow Me To Introduce...

Juan Pablo, my host sister´s boyfriend.

He speaks really fast Spanish, doesn´t drink, thinks I´m ¨precious,¨drives a tricked out green sports car, asks me to translate Black Eyed Peas, and doesn´t like cucumbers.

Laughing Words

Circe McDonald, you may be the only person to fully appreciate this.

I have the Ecuadorian version of Dominican University´s Dr. Momo as a professor for one of my classes. I´ve been saving some quotes to share with you. He and the class shall remain unnamed, just in case. Rest assured that his words are meant only for humor.

Parental Advisory - Some instances of strong language.

¨Say you have a boyfriend. He is a sonofab!tch. You still think you can change him, no?¨

" I don´t want to breastfeed my baby. My boobs will sag."

"Do you want to live forever?...No? ...So you wanna die."

"If your marriage is not consumed....¨

"There was no time for the human need to just sit down with the one you love and bullsh!t."

"I ran in Olympia. Where the atheletes run. So I made myself to think that I was running nude. Because they used to run nude.¨

Mi Compañera Chileana

Note - Parental Advisory: Some instances of strong language.

Dearest Bethany
Some haikus from Guayaquil
I know you love them.

Boys here are ballsy
I guess that gringas are rare
Want to get pizza?

I want to be friends
Let´s go have pizza, not sex
Damn cultural norms.

Neighborhood noises
Baby crying, phone ringing
Despues, regreso.

Stop honking at me
I find your stares offensive
Please leave me alone.

Host brother smells good
takes good care of the gringa
feels like real family

High speed internet
I didn´t know what I had
I need you. Find me?

Aqui en el sur
Oigo muchas palabras
no entiendo.

I am a stranger
when I go out and about
in these city streets.

Rights, pt. 2

They say there is cycle and a system to cultural adjustment. That all extranjeros follow a certain pattern, to some extent. Along this pattern line there is a point where we´re all supposed to face the deeper differences between our host culture and our home culture. Perhaps I´ve hit that, and perhaps that´s why this question of rights continues to pop up.

Background:

I used to be a poli-sci major. Keeping up on the news was part of my morning ritual. Wake up. Brush teeth. Read headlines. Put on socks.

But since arriving in Ecuador, I´ve fallen off the bandwagon. Thus, I only found out two days ago that the U.S. is leaving Iraq. This realization sent me in search of more U.S. news, and so yesterday found me on the NYTimes website. I stumbled upon the Terry Jones story.

Mr. Jones is the preacher who is promoting Sept. 11 as ¨International Burn a Koran Day.¨ Perhaps you heard of him.

I won´t recount the story here, because it´s pretty easy to find and read for yourself. But my reaction brings back this question of rights.

When I read the articles about Mr. Jones, I was shocked, angry, and hurt, for several reasons:

As an American, particularly an American in a foreign country, I am dissapointed to be associated with his xenophobia. I´m the only U.S. citizen in one of my classes (and one of two in another). This makes me an ambassador of sorts when we talk about cultural values, and to have stories like this circulating makes it that much harder to explain to my classmates that not all Americans are the same.

As a Christian, I am offended to be linked to his intolerance. How can I expect people to believe me when I tell them that I serve a loving and merciful God, when someone is proclaiming hate and intolerance in His name?

As a human being, I am ashamed. One of the articles I read included an interview with a Muslim man in Mr. Jone´s nieghborhood. His concluding statement was that on Sept. 11 he will honor the American tragedy the same way he does every year, by going downtown and feeding the homeless. When people who don´t profess to following Christ do a better job of it than those that do, I have no choice but to question our motives.

Thus, I´m angered by this story. My brain is screaming. What right does Mr. Jones have to spread hatred and intolerance like this?

So, like any good 21st century American youth wanting to let off some steam, I posted my thoughts on facebook. [This in itself is shameful, but I´ll come back to that]. In response to my post, my good friend Aaron raised a valid question:

What right do I have to tell Mr. Jones what he can and cannot do? If he buys a book in the U.S., legally, he has the right to do just about whatever he wants with it. At what point do we draw the line?

Food for thought, at any rate.

In hindsight, I am ashamed that my first reaction to something I find unjust is to post it on facebook [and now, a blog]. My good friend Lianni used to remind me about the difference between charity and justice. Putting on a bandaid, and finding the source of the pain. Both are necessary. Perhaps this is a situation where I need to practice a little less lip-service charity, and seek out ways to work towards justice.

Thought Words

¨Ojos que no ven. Corazon que no siente.¨

¨Eyes that don´t see. Heart that doesn´t feel.¨

It has become my practice, as I walk to the bus stop every morning, to count how many times I get honked or yelled at. So far the highest has been ten times. By the time I get on the bus my American pride is usually seething. What right have THEY to talk to me? To yell at me? To look at me? I´m not here for their enjoyment. Why can´t they just leave me alone? Just because I´m a good six shades lighter than they are doesn´t mean I don´t understand the words they hurl at me. Their advances are unwelcome. And I have learned very quickly to make that explicitely clear through facial expression and body language.

But it´s a funny word, ¨rights.¨

The proverb at the top came up in a discussion in my World Civ. class last night, and it got me thinking. The ten minute walk to the bus stop leaves me perturbed and insulted, internally justified that I shouldn´t be subject to unwanted attention, but once I get on the bus, are my eyes open to the world outside the window? Even the catcalls are a sign of an underlying social...something. I´m here to learn and to absorb. But in the process of that learning, what right have I, especially as a proclaimed member of the body of Christ, to close MY eyes to the world that I am now immersed in, strange as it may be?

This is not to say that I´m ever going to be comfortable with the attention I get in my neighborhood. But perhaps a better solution than running to the CEI - Center for International Education - and asking them what Ecuador´s self defense laws will let me get away with, I should instead ask them to explain to me the cultural undercurrents that determine things like women´s rights here. Perhaps.

Pablo Clabo un Clabito

I'm in Guayaquil with my family.

I like them a lot.

I love Ecuador.

School is good.

Friends are great.

Buses are confusing.

Internet is intermittent.

But I'm happy.

Spiritual Cleansing in 15 Easy Steps

Today we witnessed a cleansing by a Shaman. A Shaman in the Andes is a medicine wo/man or healer. I'll describe the steps in brief:

1. The subject (Erica, in this case) rubs an unlit candle all over herself.
2. The shaman lights the candle, then lights a cigarette from it, and smokes a few puffs.

3. The shaman decides what's wrong with the subject (in Erica's case, bad luck).

4. The subject strips down to skivvies and straddles a smoking plate of embers.
5. The shaman chants over the subject.

6. The shaman holds three candles, swigs some vodka, and spits some flame throwers at ever angle of the subject.

7. The shaman holds a spear over the subject while chanting, then spits vodka in her face.
8. The shaman chants over some plants, spits vodka on them, puffs some smoke on them, and scrubs the subject's body with them. Repeat four times.
9. The shaman chants over four eggs, spits vodka on them, puffs some smoke on them, and scrubs the subject's body with them. Repeat four times. Then send the eggs down the river.
10. The shaman puffs some cigarette smoke all over the subject.
11. The shaman asks the subject to choose a perfume.

12. The shaman mixes the perfume with rose petals and has the subject scrub her face and body with them.
13. The shaman chews up rose petals, swigs the perfume, and spits the mix on all angles of the subject.
14. The shaman chants over the subject with a giant chunk of obsidian.

15. The subject is clean, but cannot eat pork or onions for the rest of the day, and cannot shower for two days.

Food for Thought

"I cried because I didn't have shoes, until I saw a child who didn't have feet."

Si no es Baroque, no Arreglarlo

Our first day we saw the historic part of the city and visited a museum of Oswaldo Guayasamin's work.

There are a lot of churches (of course). All the different types of architecture are really interesting. We toured a Gothic cathedral, a Baroque cathedral, and the President's Palace, which is colonial, all in about half an hour. August is Independence Month (that's right, MONTH) in Ecuador, so downtown was really busy with live music and festivities. There were some avid Argentinian soccer fans downtown too.

Oswaldo Guayasamin was a political-minded artist who lived in Quito in the 20th century. His paintings all reflect the suffering, oppression, and hope of Latin Americans and other discriminated cultures. He's famous worldwide, and his paintings are EVERYWHERE here.

Thoughts From Cruising Altitude

Tidbits from my journaling on the plane:

* JoAnna - I found Starbucks.

* I like making friends with the people I sit with on airplanes. That way if we crash on a desert island and have to resort to cannibalism, hopefully I've got allies.

* Deli sandwhiches are hard to eat on airplanes. I should have thought of that.

* I can never spell the word "sandwhich" correctly. Sandwich?

* From this high up it looks like we aren't moving. I wonder if that's even possible? I always thought planes were like tuna: they have to keep moving or they stop working.

* Colombia smells good.

Llego en Quito

I'm writing this from my room at Hotel Quito, in the capitol city of Ecuador.

Maybe when I wake up in the morning, this will start to feel real.

Maybe.

Up, Up, and Away

Here goes.

Some words for the road from my dear friend Beth:

Lord,

I believe my life is touched by you,

that you want something for me and of me.

Give me ears to hear you,

eyes to see the tracing of your finger,

and a heart quickened by the motions of your spirit

Eternal God,

Lead me now out of the familiar setting of my doubts and fears,

beyond my pride and need to be secure

into a strange and graceful ease with my true proportions and with yours than in boundless silence

I may grow strong enough to endure and fleible to share your grace.

Breathe into me the courage to make something new

Thank you for all I forget are gifts, not rights

Forgive me for all the grievances I remember well

Save me from self-pity, the self seeking the fat heartedness which is true poverty.

Guide me if I'm willing. (Drive me if I'm not)

into the hard ways of sacrifice which are just and loving.

Make me wide-eyed for beauty,

and for my neighbors needs and goodness

wide willed for peace making and for the confronting power

with the call to compassion

wide-hearted for love and for the unloved

who are the hardest to touch and need it the most.

dull the envy in me which criticizes and complains life into a thousand ugly bits.

keep me honest and tender enough to heal,

tough enough to be healed of my hypocrisies

match my appetite for privilege with a stomach for commitment

Teach me the great cost of paying attention that,

naked to the dazzle of your back as you pass,

Breathe into me the restlessness and courage to make something new,

something saving and something true that I may understand what it is to rejoice.

Big Girl Pants

When you're about 4 years old, you get invited to your first sleepover. You pack up your pink Spotty-Dotty backpack with your scooby-doo pj's, your Barbie toothbrush, your blue blankie, and all the toys you can cram into it. You wait at the window until your friend's mom comes to pick you up in her mini-van, and when she finally gets to your house, your mom double-checks your backpack, makes you leave your Polly Pockets at home, reminds you to clear your plate, gives you one last hug, and says the magic words:

"If you change your mind, just call me and I'll come pick you up and bring you home, okay?"

And you giggle and tell mommy that she's being silly, that you won't need her to come pick you up, that you're a big girl now. But, deep down, you feel better knowing that comfort and familiarity will only be a phone call away.

And then, all of a sudden, you're nineteen years old, and about to leave for another continent. There are a lot of similarities: your suitcase is stuffed with things you probably won't need, but can't bear to leave behind. Your calendar is crossed-off, counting down the days. Your parents check and double-check your packing list.

But there's one big difference:

You are a big girl now, and this time there are no magic words this time. Sure, if there's an emergency you can come home, but it has to be more than "their couch smelled funny and I forgot my special pillow."

I know once I get there I will love it. But in these last few hours before takeoff, I could sure use some magic words.

Introductions

Meet McDuff.
McDuff likes Lady Gaga.
McDuff dances to Lady Gaga.
McDuff gets embarrassed when I catch him dancing to Lady Gaga.

This is P.V.

P.V. stands for "Piss and Vinegar"

P.V. knows what suitcases mean.
P.V. has abandonment issues.
P.V thinks that if she stays still, I'll forget she's there and take her with me.

Ten Things....

Today marks my last day as an employee of the Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium. It's bittersweet, really. On one hand, it means I'm one step closer to the next step, but on the other, this place has seen me from gangly 17-year old clueless highs chool junior...to still gangly 19-year old, still clueless, college sophomore.

...okay, so to me it's more meaningful...

To commemorate my three years at the SCICE, I have compiled a list of how best to be a "memorable" customer:

1. Never say please. Ever.
2. Rearrange the chairs. And the tables. And the centerpieces. And when you leave, just go ahead and leave your chair in the middle of the aisle. Really.
3. No scoop should be the right size, no matter what. A child's scoop is too small, naturally, and you couldn't possibly finish a whole single scoop. Why would they think that? You know, the best way to settle this is to get angry. Really, really angry. Ask to see the manager, she has nothing going on, after all.
4. Order a double scoop for your 4-year-old. In fact, order it on a sugar cone. Even better? Insist that he doesn't need a napkin.
5. If your food isn't ready in less than a minute, by all means, march back into the kitchen and demand to know what's taking so long.
6. Change your order no less than three times.
7. Pay for a pack of gum with a twenty.
8. Pay for a sandwich with dimes and quarters.
9. Allow your children free reign of the toy display and card racks. The stickier their fingers, the better.
10. Order everything in "to go" containers, then leave them on the tables.

11. [Bonus] Tell your server how to do his or her job. They certainly don't have a clue.

Long Overdue

If you look to the side of this page, you should see a list of links. At the top is Hometown Radio. This is where I spent the half of my summer not spent scooping ice cream. It's a local radio station specializing in Oldies, local news, and down-home goodness. If you tune in [by clicking the link] you might catch some of my "Fair 2010 Highlights." They've been kind enough to let me invade the studio for the summer, and they linked this blog to their homepage, so the least I can do is return the favor.

La Familia Mendéz

I've been exchanging emails with my host family for a few days now, and the more I hear from them, the more excited I am to meet them, and the better I feel about the trip as a whole.

Mama Maritza - my main contact, she likes to cook, and is looking forward to taking me to the market so I can teach her "como comer mas sano." She also asked what percent vegetarian I am.

Papa Cesar - is more hip than I am. He emails from his Blackberry. He's very adamant that "Cuando estés con nosotros seras un miembro mas de nuestra familia."

Los Hermanos - Stephanie is my amiga de facebook, she just had a birthday (the same day as my fellow traveler and future roommate, Beth). Jessica is in Africa right now, I hope she comes home before Christmas, so I can meet her. Cesar II like Glee and the Beatles



In other news, my Visa is in the mail, my classes are requested, and my bag is packed (sort of). 11 more days!

Tale of an Unexpected Encounter

Dear Diary,
I know that I have neglected you, and that there are many updates due. However, this story takes the cake.

The scene: The Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium

The time: 5 minutes until I lock the door for the last time.

The characters: Myself, a nice man named Joe, his lady friends Wendy and DeeDee (my apologies on the spelling), and a pretty awesome Higher Power

A nice man named Joe (he was wearing a nametag) came in with two nice ladies, Wendy and DeeDee, right before I locked up last night. Joe wanted to know my name, didn't believe me when I told him (that's okay Joe, I get that a lot), and we got to talking about school. Naturally, I told them about my impending adventure, and they were all very interested, especially when I mentioned "Holy Spirit University" (it was about this time that I noticed that Joe was wearing a "work and witness" polo). By the end of their visit, these three beautiful people not only blessed me with a scholarship (which will be going towards Malaria inhibitors), but also asked to pray over me.

The whole exchange was a pleasant reminder that I am in bigger and more capable hands than my own. Thank goodness.

"I Don't Hate It"

The above is a catchphrase that I've picked up from my San Diego friends. It can be heard used after such statements as:

- " My host brother likes Glee and the Beatles "
- " The only clear station is Spanish Talk Radio "
- " I think that cute boy with the good hair is staring at you "
- " We accidentally baked an extra batch of cookies "
- " I caught my parakeet dancing to Lady Gaga " <--[True story]

. . . Etc.

Villa No. 12

Meet my host family. César, Maritza, Jessica, Stephanie, and César II. Now you know as much about them as I do. I also know that they do not have a mascot, whatever that means. If your understanding of Spanish colloquialisms is better than mine, feel free to chime in on that [Rachel. . .] .

Notice their coloring. I may not stick out like a sore thumb after all. Here's hoping.

It just keeps getting realer and realer. I may have to suck it up and actually pack soon.

Teleophobia

1. Fear of definite or final plans.

2. Fear of religious ceremonies.

Well, I am the proud owner of a plane ticket [courtesy of cheapOair.com - leave it to my father to find THAT] to Quito, Ecuador. Weird. This is actually happening.

Perhaps this is a good time for a confession:

Finality terrifies me.

I aim for flexibility. I try to be one of those people who can "roll with" just about anything. I enjoy spontaneity. Last-minute road trip? Count me in. Drop of the hat camping? Yes please. Pack up and leave the country for a third of a year? Put my name down. Really.

But knowing that things, big things, are happening. Knowing EXACTLY WHEN they're happening, progressively getting closer and closer, that scares me. The "point of no return" feeling really gets to me [as a little kid I used to lie awake the night before my birthday - not out of excitement, but because I was worried that I had forgotten some important seven-year-old milestone that could not be fulfilled the same at eight. Ridiculous. I know].

Even worse is having to make those decisions myself [Hence my indecisiveness]. Things like goldfish dying, breakups, and yes, leaving the country for extended periods of time, put me in a strange funk [and a different "funk" than those types of things are expected to cause]. I'm fine after the moment of change has passed. There will be other goldfish, I'm a strong person on my own, and I am wholly excited to immerse myself in anther culture. But watching Goldie swim around sideways, knowing there's nothing I can do; making the fateful phone call, even knowing it's for the best; and getting on the plane, even though I know what adventures lie ahead, all make me second-guess my choices.

It's human. I know. It's normal [To some extent, at least]. But I am seeing and recognizing this fear in myself now, and it's eye-opening.

I will be fine as soon as the plane is in the air. I know it. But getting on the plane? That moment of finality, stepping through security? That's probably going to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

Perfection

"This rock is so pretty, and it's perfect for skipping, so perfect that I almost want to just keep it. I'm afraid of ruining it by trying to skip it and failing."

"But wouldn't it be better to try to skip it and ruin it, than to keep it, since what it's perfect for is being thrown?"

-Conversation of the day.

A Theological Query

If the sun sets on my anger at the system, is that bad?

I'm trying to be patient, but the redundant and inane paperwork and bureaucracy are testing my limits.

Funny that when I land in two and a half weeks, I won't even remember this part.

That's all.

Voy a Extrañar...

Today, as I was rinsing my hair with coffee out of a canning jar (be proud Cassie, be proud), I realized that there are some things about life here in the states that I will miss while on the far side of the sea. So, naturally, I compiled a list:

1. My "quirky" habits (such as java-rinsing my hair) that will probably be too imposing, difficult to explain, or just plain weird to continue.

2. Abelard the guitar

3. Driving myself wherever I need to go

4. Frozen Yogurt

5. Understanding what people around me are saying

Oh, What a Day Is Today

Today I am...

Leaving the dishes in the sink.

Enjoying good food and laughter with Cassie.

Acknowledging my anxieties about this next adventure.

Looking forward to the changes in store for me and those around me who are embarking on parallel journeys.

Needing it to be "okay" that I'm excited to move on.

Certain that the county fair is the best place to re-adjust one's digestive system to meat

(that's one corn dog accomplished).

Finished with County Fair radio broadcast.

Making it my life's goal to experience an Improv Everywhere musical.

Probably not going to sleep until very late.

If She Wants to Roll, She Rolls.

"... said the missing piece. 'I was hoping that perhaps I could roll with you...'

'You cannot roll with me,'

said the Big O,

'but perhaps you can roll by yourself.'

'By myself?

A missing piece cannot roll by itself.'

'Have you ever tried?'

asked the Big O.

'But I have sharp corners,'

said the missing piece.

'I am not shaped for rolling.'

'Corners wear off,'

said the Big O,

'and shapes change.

Anyhow, I must say good-bye.

Perhaps we will meet again...'

And away it rolled."

-The Missing Piece Meets the Big O. [Shel Silverstein].

An Ode to Paperwork: Haiku

Dear Paperwork, I
want to leave the country, but
you subvert my plans.