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