In His Last Little Bit on Earth

7 de septiembre 2015

Let's go back in time. When he used to run up towards my house with his twin brother, stick in hand and tire rolling ahead. "Julieeeeee!!" He would yell. And if I was there, he'd come in, walk right into my bedroom and stare at himself in my mirror making faces. Or when I asked for a kiss and he would kiss me on the lips and his brother would give me his cheek. When Casilda and I took a day trip to Santiago with the two of them, both sleeping the whole way there, being crazy and playing in the lobby of the hospital, and then sleeping the whole way back. When he got blood drawn and didn't make a single whimper. Running through the white halls, saying hello to everyone, knowing exactly which room they had to go to in that maze of ugly curtains, rolly beds, and the smell of rubbing alcohol. When we read together in my gallery. When I chased them naked around their new home and they hid around every corner but their giggles gave them away. When he would ask me "¿Que es eso?" 101 times and still never repeat what I said back to me. His clear, hazel eyes that pierced your heart. His smile. And the last night there when he was hitting me over and over again, I threatened to leave and ran outside, he chased after me, sent his brother to find a belt, and together (with my help...), they tied my legs and arms up so I couldn't go anywhere. 

But just a short year ago, this little man while stealing my heart was eating a chinola. He fell and started violently throwing up. A month and 4 hospitals later, he was diagnosed with liver cancer. Treatments left and right, hair loss, weight loss, no appetite, surgery, constant health issues, hospital trips, and many phone calls later, he was declared healthy. The tumor was removed, no more treatment was needed and he was home. Not a week went by and he fell ill again, his stomach swelling up as it did before despite the sunkeness of his cheeks and he was put in intensive care. They said the tumor was back. Many confusing diagnoses later, I get a phone call from a crying mother, begging me to do something. They told her, in front of him, that there was nothing more they could do here. That they just needed to love him and give him something to ease the pain. I called a friend. We searched for options outside of this country. She reached out to so many. We went to visit them one weekend, and weren't allowed to see him. But We got to see her. We cried together, got copies of his records, and made promises that although we didn't know at the time, we couldn't keep. These few weeks were long. The battle rose and fell. Some days he was better. Then he was worse. I received photos and videos of his tiny swollen body that are still haunting my sleep. There was too much waiting time...

Because on Saturday, August 29, I was in IKEA with some friends. And I received the phone call I was dreading. She was screaming. I understood nothing. Then finally, the last thing she screamed was, "Julie, tell me he's not dead." And hung up. It was too late for me to go that day-the last bus would leave in an hour and I didn't have time to get back, pack and make it to the bus stop. More waiting. But at 5am, that Sunday morning, I was on a bus, headed home, trying so hard to hold it all together, wondering what more I could have done.

By the time I had made it, I missed the funeral and I missed the burial. I had always wondered if there really was a difference in an open casket or closed at a wake. There is. Denial is a strong thing when there is no closure. I didn't get to see him at the hospital. I was told he was getting better. And then he was gone? I couldn't, I refused to believe it. I was told of the screams, the hallucinations, and that his siblings passed out during it all. And that his mother at one point was screaming out, "Julie! Julie! Your little brother is dead. Come quick."

When I got in, I dropped my stuff off at my Doña's house and saw Francheska. She collapsed in my arms, sobbing. She loved him so dearly. When I was able to make my way to Casilda's, my heart was racing. I saw nothing but what was directly in front of me. I entered the front door and into the bedroom. She was there, sitting on a bench with people sitting around the room. She screamed out when she saw me, "Julie! Look!" Holding up a little blue, long sleeved shirt of his. I collapsed to my knees and hugged her. She rocked me, sobbing, and with half of voice, "He's gone Julie. He left us. I had such hope. I had such faith. We fought so hard. Why is he gone? Why did he have to leave us?" Over and over again. Her husband had to pull us apart to get her to calm down. I left the room, searching for his siblings through the blur of tears. I hugged each and every one of them and told them how much I loved them. I helped them eat. We sat in silence. And in tears. So many people. So much is fuzzy now...

The week was spent hosting visitors, cooking, cleaning, and whatever else that needed to be done. I didn't do much. Just tried to be there. It reminded me so much of the passing of a loved one back home. The pain but also the people, the help, the noisy kids, playing games late into the night, and just being distracted. Or looking at photos.

My bosses stopped by since they were in the area. I've been so blessed throughout all of it. The constant messages, the girls who took care of me that night I was waiting to get out of the capital, my family back home answering my doubts and sending love, the mass given for the family, the flowers left on my desk, the note and candle in my apartment, the neighboring volunteers coming for the event on the last day I was there. All of them. I was never alone. There was never a moment where a thought, prayer, or hug wasn't being sent to everyone. And I'm convinced that's what held the family up. Each day got a little better. Moments came and went as expected; the burial of feelings would come to a head now and again. But the love and support was there. And a new and handsome angel with a heart of gold is now watching over all of us. We all still wish he was here, but it helps to know that his suffering has ceased and that he will, without a doubt, do amazing things from up there. 

Ángel Manuel changed my life. And although the anger comes and goes still, I will always feel blessed to have known him, loved him, and fought alongside him in the last little bit he had here on Earth.

A Blessed One Indeed

24 de julio 2015.

There really is so much to be grateful for. I arrived last night from my travels at 7pm, making pasta for dinner, showering and passing out early. Not before receiving a message, however. Juan was headed this way, making a delivery and would be heading back to Mariano Cestero with an empty truck. Until, that is, he picked up the donations we were promised by the wonderful women at Save the Children. They're moving to a smaller office and because of a contact I had made long ago, we had some things waiting for us for the library. So I yet again wasn't given notice ahead of time (this has happened numerous times and have been failed attempts). I awoke and was at the office by 8am, making crazy phone calls all along the way-to Juan, Casilda, the Save the Children office and to Ann. I finally got ahold of Juan, directions for him, and permission to leave. I left at 9am, caught the metro, waited on the side of the road, and finally saw the beautiful, empty, red truck with Juan in the drivers seat. A few loops and we made it to the office. 

And loaded it up like so:

5 gorgeous tables, a printer, and copier were sent off to Mariano for the future library. More things await us but there was no room this trip around (such a good problem to have!). And a few phone calls made for a very happy library committee. I was flying high on the way back to the PC office. A working lunch, cup of coffee, 4 charlas planned, and then I received a much-awaited phone call. My grant for the library was finally approved. We will soon be receiving $5,000(U.S.) for the library. And the work will soon begin. My heart beats faster just thinking about it.

I arrived at the office at 8am and didn't leave until 6:15pm. And I didn't mind one bit. It was such a beautiful, crazy day. A blessed one indeed.

To the 3 Corners, Around the Middle, and Back Again

23 de julio 2015.

These last two months have been crazy, exhausting, and so fulfilling. It was time to visit my babies in their new sites and see how they were doing. 19 in total and then 2 more visits to 1-yearers. I started out in the campos of Elias Piña which is a province in the middle west of the country. Where luz, transportation, and cell-signal are scarce but the views are like this:

Despite the lack of amenities these girls are kickin it, loving the kids, finding their purpose, and delving into dulces, chocolate milk, and laughter.

Next was the south where the road is literally lined with the beach on the right and the mountains to the left but believe it or not, it is the poorest area in the country. Depending on your definition of poor. The views were breathtaking and inbetween singing at the top of our lungs, buying a bottle full of a stone called Larimar (this precious blue rock can ONLY be found in this country-nowhere else in the world has it-the story behind it and the reason for its name is beautiful, look it up!), Keila and I stopped every few kilometers to take pictures like this:

Where a girl has found her passion outside of the pressures from the top and is genuinely happy.

Then I headed to Samaná, northeast, where beaches are a plenty and the lushness of the land look like this:

And the girls are battling comparisons, stereotypes, and certain realities but still finding the time to open a library daily, spend time loving on the chubbiest little one year old alive, and making waves at the district level where the possibilities of change are widened.

Vacation time was spent not far from there where we caught a bola (free ride!) and celebrated the 4th of July together like a bunch of crazy Americans like this: 

Next up? Home. To Dajabón I went up in the northwest where I spent all my time visiting and just spending time with those I love. Lots of porch lying, coffee drinking, hugs, about 20 runs fetching water and singing at the tops of our lungs down the dirt road, and reminiscing.  I didn't even take the time away to take pictures believe it or not. And where those babies are already holding literacy and art classes, allowing their imaginations to run wild against all odds, playing sports, and volunteering to help working women just because.

And finally, I took a day to visit a nearby volunteer from the capital (where he fights a tough comparison but holds beautiful and fun English classes for all ages) and then up the middle north to Puerto Plata. I stayed with 3 different volunteers and saw my final 6 in their crazy reality of tourism, big pueblos, NGO partnerships, and prostitution. Their overwhelmingly big communities and struggles with the language are so real but their hearts are even bigger. They might not be able to see it quite yet but I already know who will win that battle.

It was on my bucket list to travel more throughout the country. But I'm not a huge beach person; going to the touristy areas is not what I mean by traveling (though yes, there are a few famous places I'd still like to see-like the magnetic mountain that literally pulls your car upwards when it's off and in neutral, or climb the tallest mountain in the Carribean). I had wanted to travel the campos: meet more people within this beautiful country where no luz means more meaningful moments, where long bus rides mean hearing incredible life stories, and where the many differences but oh so many similarities mean enchanting realities for all. And I did it. To 3 corners and around the middle I went and headed back again. 25 communities total in just 33 days. And the love, passion, and drive I saw from my newbies backdropped against the selflessness, generosity, and love returned I saw from their new neighbors and friends was....

A Life Between Two Worlds

June 20, 2015. 

So here I am. Sitting in my new apartment, English music playing through my window, the water just in front of me, and the city behind. A new life. A new culture. Just a girl trying to find herself in a big city. I think that's from something. I understand it now.

These past two weeks have been filled with walking, office work, diversity trainings, learning about grants, revamping our entire teacher-training initiative (in a good way, though challenging), too much English, craziness with the apartment and electricity bill, early-childhood shenanigans, free sangrias, watching way too many shows and movies, loneliness, running water, constant luz, bringing lunch to work, and planning to visit my babies in their sites for the next month and a half starting Monday. I'd like to say I'm adjusting but I think I'm still in the numb phase. I have plans. I want to paint the apartment. Meet new people. Get out of my new shell that I've put myself in. Volunteer at a home where children that live on the streets of the city are taken in. And embrace the new routine that will be my life for the next year. I'm going to do it. And I'm going to find myself here just as I've done before. But we all need that adjustment phase...right? It's just hard when I either call back home or they call me. I miss them terribly. And it keeps me stuck in a limbo between my life there and my life here. Though maybe that can be my life. In-between two worlds. One I don't want to let go of and one I can't run away from.

So for now. Here's some before and afters of my apartment (though there will be after afters once I'm able to stop struggling financially and buy paint). Thanks to Julie, an incredible new PCV and friend, I was able to nestle pretty quickly. And make it somewhat my own.

I Would Do It All Over Again

The first week of June.

It's funny how many times I've found words to be insuffient. So to share the last week in my home, with my family, I will show simply with pictures. And do my best with words. Forgive me if you're left with questions or wanting more. But at least you should know that you're not alone in that.

The river trip. My going-away party. My incredible friends and family planned it all and told me nothing. Made reservations at a beautiful private river. Invited even the "close" PCVs to join us. We piled into this truck and we're off, food, pots, pans, plateware, and a gift all at our feet.

The gift? One of those pressure cookers that cook beans way faster then normal (like hours faster). Less gas. Saves money. Believe it or not I was the original winner of said pressure cooker when we had our most recent raffle for the library. But as soon as my number was pulled out, 111, despite how much I had actually wanted it, I said no. I truly had only bought the ticket to support the library. Winning was not the reason. So it went to a wonderful, hysterical guy my age from my community. So when they handed my a big, wrapped, box at the river. I knew what it was. They had known I wanted it. And got me one anyways.

Then there was the first "clean-up" at the office. I had begged them to plan it for before I left. Just one last thing I wanted to be a part of. And we did it. I and many others made the first big, visible move in transforming this abandoned office into a library and computer center. One that I pray for nearly everyday. 

If you only knew the difference one day made. Though it may not look like it.

Then there was the day before I left. I had promised a few of my favorites (sorry) we would make rubber-band bracelets. Oh and did we. We started out just three of us but at one point I think I had 15 munchkins crammed into my little living area. It was perfection. And seeing them all day with 5 or 6 colorful bracelets on their wrists and ankles... Priceless. Thanks gram.

Then the goodbyes. The photos I gave out. Double goodbyes. Tears. And my boys stealing my camera.

It's amazing that so much love doesn't make your heart stop. Sometimes it feels like it will. But I keep waking up every morning. As if I deserve to continue receiving such blessings and so much love in return.

 Saturday morning. I finished packing. Was in a complete haze. Hardly seeing straight. My sister came by. She wanted one last photo in front of the office. I thought I had time. But while we were there, I saw the white truck go by towards my house. It was time. I ran. And when I got there, I was no help in packing it up. I'm not even sure who was. I hugged more, cried more, and spun in so many circles. Francheska was hyperventilating. I couldn't get TinTin to calm down. I was shaking uncontrollably. And when I finally got in the truck and we drove off, I realized that Baraquito had been nowhere in sight. Or had I been blinded to him? I called Yoelbi frantically. He told me he had been hiding behind the mango tree. Crying. I told him to hug him for me and tell how incredibly sorry I was for not saying goodbye. My stomach flipped. We made one last stop to see my sister's kids, the twins trying once again to wrap me up with a belt. Just as they did the night before. And then we were off. 

I didn't imagine it that way. I felt so disconnected and yet so connected in that fleeting moment. But as much as my eyes still well up and my throat clenches when I think about it, I wouldn't have had it any other way. They were my life. They were my everything in this last year and a half. I would go back and do it all over again, if not better, even if it meant hurting so much all over again.

Trying to Just...Be There.

Today is the first of June. 9:12am. And a wonderful breeze is seeping through my only open window. I should be out and about, visiting, telling people how much they mean to me, starting the goodbye process. But I find that I am not good at this. My heart clenches tight so that my chest pulls itself in. As if to to say, "No, not yet. Please don't go outside." It has been a long time since I have written, I know. But there's many reasons for that. I've started a few times, and then quit. Lack of time, frustrations, and an uncertainty of what I even want to say. I don't have the best memory. I know that years from now, I'm going to look back and be angry with myself for not writing more. But this has literally been a goodbye build-up since February. 

When I decided to stay, applied, did an interview, and got accepted, I didn't realize how much the end of my service was going to change. Technically, this upcoming year's job wasn't supposed to start until the current PCVL left. In June. Now. But upon my boss asking for a favor, I accepted. With the promise that I could have the entire month of May to close out my projects, help the follow-up volunteer a little, and just... be there with my friends and family here in Mariano, I agreed to leave for the entire month of April for training with the new group. I stayed with an amazing host family, met a group of 20 beautiful, smart, experienced, and motivated newbies. Training was incredible and overwhelming. Busy and fun. I reflected so much on these past two years. Cried on multiple occasions (sorry guys). And tried my best to share my experiences, good and bad. We threw a going away party to our trainer who began her journey with my group two years ago. And I was blessed to spend her last with her. We made habichuelas con dulce, empanadas of yucca, we ate too much, always had an excuse to buy a cake, saw the realities of the school systems and suffered together, celebrated our ups, shared our downs, met the national ultimate frisbee team of the DR, swam in a pool, drank chocolate milk, and went to a river. One of the craziest months of my life. And I had to learn real quick how to balance still being a volunteer but also part of the staff that had to evaluate the trainees on their progress. The last day I was supposed to rush back on the last bus possible. But my training manager needed help with the last of the evaluations. I agreed to stay one more night. She offered a hotel room and dinner. We started at 1pm and didn't finish until 5. She then took me to her home, a gorgeous apartment in the middle of the capital-furnished as if it were straight out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. Grand piano included. I met her two beautiful daughters, talented and smart. We spent time together laughing, showing off flexibility skills (NOT mine), and spoke in a mix of English and Spanish, waiting for their father to get home from work. We then went to dinner. At an incredible Italian restaurant. Of course, it wasn't my grandma's food but I had a phenomenal eggplant parmasian that melted in my mouth, tried a bite of the oldest daughters pesto pasta, and washed it all down with some red wine. What a change from where I just was and where I've been for the past two years. It was luxurious and I felt so uncomfortable. But her family and their love made me think of my own, and I was comforted. At 10:30pm, I made it to the hotel, 3am was woken up by a volunteer heading out of the country forever, and at 5am I arose to catch the earliest bus back home.

Returning was strange. But it quickly went back to normal; hugs, lovin, coffee, and my family. But I was anxious. And couldn't shake it. In and out of tears.  As my new job overlapped my current one, I learned that I wasn't going to have the entire month of May after all. There were three more times I was going to have to travel back to capital. And being so far away, travelling there and back is always two more days tacked on for travel. So, May 2, I was back in site, the new volunteer showed up for his first "visit" on the 6th, he left on the 10th, and I was gone again on the 13th. We showed the new volunteer the ropes and he's going to be perfect here. I know it even more now but I knew it back then. On the 13th I headed out early and was able to make it to the Swear-In ceremony with my babies. I was like a proud momma watching each one go up and accept their certificate of completion of training. I also finally got to meet my boss' newborn son. He is beautiful, weighed 9lbs 10oz at birth and slept in my arms the whole time. Afterwards, pictures were taken and we headed separate ways to get ready for the "Swear-In" party in the colonial zone that night. I drank 2 chocolate milks and was alllll done (lightweight? Cheap date?). The next morning was PCVL orientation. I was a hot mess all day. Haha but the new PCVL for business, region 3, and I worked our way through all sorts of new information about the work ahead of us (did I mention that I almost cried when we were told about all of the resources we will have available-copier, printer, scanner, etc. it has taken me three days before to simply print something...). That night I went to take a nap at 5pm with plans to get up at 7, get dinner and hang out. I didn't wake up until 2am. Oops. The next day, I was a much better person and we had the second day of orientation involving "coaching" and what it all means and how to do it right. Ending a little late, we had to rush home and get ready for a dinner that our training director threw for all those that were involved in training the new groups: business and education. So back to that beautiful apartment, delicious food, good company, incredibly talented kids playing the piano, and the night ended with us volunteers being the only ones left. 

Oh yea, so the other two trips to the capital? Thankfully turned into just one. I was expected to go back again the 20th-22nd after arriving back home on the 16th. And then at the end of the month? Leaving the 25th through the 30th. I decided to put my foot down. I felt as though I was being punished for accepting to stay for a third year. My time continuously got cut short and I was done. So, I argued my case, my one boss didn't like it, but I told her there was nothing she could do. I wasn't coming. So that week I spent my time playing softball, meeting with a community to hopefully someday get electricity installed, starting to pack (burning memories that will never truly be engulfed in the flames), running errands in DaJabon with a surprise beach trip, having my last community English class full of games and candy, and just...being there. And on Monday, the 25th, I was gone again.  To spend one night and my first night in my new apartment. Passed down by an old volunteer. He left a lot of random shit and I showered with running water. That's all I really know for now. Pictures will come when I move in officially. Then, a week long conference with the group of volunteers that have completed one year of service. It was wonderful to see them all again, hear their success stories, work through their challenges, break boards, play silly games, and oh the work. So much so that I had to write down everything that we want to accomplish this year. For them, for the education sector as a whole, and for this country. And as Brendan said his goodbye to his group, I said hello. The switch is fast approaching. I made it back late Friday night and since then I have been here, not been here, helped with a raffle for the library, planned the office cleaning day with the community, continued organizing and packing, realized that my internet was cut already because I won't be able to afford it in the capital and decided just not to pay this last month, been rained in and an emotional wreck.

Today is the1st of June. I leave for good on the 6th. Today I want to visit my far away family. Tomorrow I have to finish the grant for the library in DaJabon, Wednesday is the first cleaning day, Thursday is apparently my going-away party only God knows where, Friday I want to go out one last time, and Saturday, they're coming to pick me and all my shit up. And I will be off. I have imagined this day for a long time. Whenever you have an expiration date on something, it's inevitable...right? But it's funny. I've done this a lot now. And I don't think I've imaged it right once. Vamos a ver.

Just Needed Munchkins, Leaves, Crayons, and the Big Guy

25 de marzo 2015

I'm almost speechless. And I'm laughing at myself for saying that because I know with how I feel, I'm going to write a lot. So maybe speechless is a lie. But I'm on a high. And don't want to come down. These last two weeks, moreso these last few days has been insanity. And I've loved every minute of it despite never having any free time. Last Friday was the first of our two teacher conferences. The ones I was in charge of planning (with the help of all my amazing volunteers, of course!). And it went beautifully. First, everyone showed up that we invited, including my director which was the first time he had participated despite me always inviting him, and including two people who weren't invited! Haha the charlas went great, the food arrived on time (that's super important!), and from what I've heard, some things are already being put into practice! I arrived home that night after a much needed beer and evaluation exhausted. I even went to sleep with my contacts in, waking up with one eye shut tight and hurting quite a bit. Oops! Now for my team to own this Fridays conference! I won't be there but I'm so excited to hear all about its success :)

Saturday I spent the day being a crazy planner. I have a charla with the new group next Saturday. I had English class on Sunday. And, my favorite part, I had to plan for today's shenanigans. What was that? Doing a model kindergarten class in front of 10 kindergarten teachers from all over this region. Last night I finished all my materials, and plans in hand, I headed to Restauración terrified to face 25 little 4 and 5 year olds with adult eyes watching and judging my every move. I may be a certified teacher but their planning is quite different and I won't lie, I've been out of practice for things like this. And may or may not have had bad experiences way back when.

Now this was originally planned for me to do it as if the teachers were the students, not actually with them. So this change was big. 25 isn't easy for anyone. The tecnico who I've been working closely with was late. And I'll admit it. I decided in my head that I wasn't going to do it because we were losing time. And I could just share my plans with the teachers, right? Wrong.

I always find it funny when God laughs at me and follows through with his plans anyways. The tecnico arrived and I offered my suggestion. She wasn't happy but went as far as going to find someone to take care of the kids so we could do it somewhere else. She couldn't find anyone (yep, the Big Guy). So, shaking uncontrollably, I was off! And this is where I lose words. No, it didn't go perfectly. They made fair suggestions (although some I don't agree with, sometimes we have to adjust because things like their curriculum, can't be changed haha). But the kids? Despite never meeting me before, were amazing. Behaved like little ones but nothing compared to my biggest fears going in. I received more hugs than I can count. I completely forgot that I was being watched. I drowned so happily and passionately in what I was doing. I was in my element. And God was laughing, saying, "Ha! And you thought you were going to get out of this!" I floated out of that room on the clouds of their laughter, enthusiasm, joy, intelligence, and one final group hug that I begged them for (from all 25 of them!). I didn't want to leave.

And although time got away, I didn't get to finish with my plans because the tecnico wanted to evaluate and share ideas together. I took pictures of all the things they wrote about me. And even a woman who has had 14 years of experience in inicial congratulated me and didn't have anything negative to say. My head and heart nearly exploded.

Forgive me. I don't mean to raise myself up. I just felt so incredibly doing this and the reactions and motivation I could see in the eyes of the teachers who I know struggle daily, was incredible. This is what I'm here for. This is what I'm supposed to be doing. I just needed a room full of munchkins, some leaves, crayons, and the Big Guy to work his magic to remind me of that. 

Tomorrow? I'm off to the capital for an entire month. Bittersweet but it's all a part of the plan. One month to help run training for the new group. I just hope I can honestly share my experiences and have some of the beauty that I see in between the ugly rub off on them. These two years have been the most difficult years of my life, but they've also been the most fufilling. I've never loved so hard people I barely know. And I want them to have the same feeling when their two years quickly come to a close.

Lots more work ahead of me. But so long as what I'm feeling right now is never forgotten, and I've got Him behind me laughing? I'm good to go.

Pellets

9 de marzo 2015.  Change. It's an incredible, inevitable force that can confront you like a hail storm in the middle of December. Or pass through you like a soft spring breeze. Arriving in this country two years ago, it was like a hail storm. Climate. Language. Food. Culture. Relationships. Job. Expectations. And the concept of the change we seek that doesn't come as easy as we would like. It was constantly hitting me in pellets until I couldn't see and until I lost sensation in my skin.

But I have to say. Through these two years, the storm calmed and though change continued to happen, I became less affected by it. It hurt less. Shocked me less. And I've almost stopped recognizing it. 

Until now. Last week I went to the capital for our Closing of Service Conference. Three days of resume writing, learning of non-competitive elegability, and talk of how in the world we go back home after these crazy two years of change. I'm not going to lie, I checked out for most of it. And could only think of the change that I'm going to be seeing. Sooner than I'd like.

Campo to Capital. Paved roads. Anything I need, right around the corner. Transportation like it's everyone's business. A structured job (moreso anyways). Running water. 24/7 luz (almost). Salsa classes (hopefully!). Free workout center outside. 

I could probably keep going but the truth is? The tears have already started streaming down my face. Why? Because between all those things that I'm trying to see as positives, I think of all that I'm leaving.

The mountains. The cool air. And the cold nights. My sister. The twin boys and the fight against cancer. Baseball. My kids in and out of my house all the time. The hugs. The nights without luz where the stars become countless. The stillness. The coffee on the many porches. Teaching kids. Teaching adults. The lucha for the damn library. Meeting so many people daily. Riding in the back of pick-up trucks. Tina and her family in the middle of nowhere where coffee is always made upon arrival followed by whatever leftover food was made that day. Moto rides. Going to the colmado with munchkins and buying them a dulce. More hugs. My little house made of wood. My Dominican mother. Have I mentioned my kids? 

...

I know I made the right choice. And it's not like I can stay here forever. But imagining leaving them and only being a visitor rather than one of them? A part of them? I don't know how to do it. This change I no longer know how to face. And I don't know how I'm going to handle it. Because as of right now, I'm not doing such a good job.

Whispers from the Heart

27 de enero 2015

Well after my last blog post, I guess it's time to be serious. Lots of new and exciting and terrifying changes are in the making.

Let's start easy. This up coming month, we will be having an Escojo Enseñar Conference in our area. And I'm in charge of planning (yikes!). Things are slow moving in the planning process but our new approach might become a reality. We want to work closer with the Ministry of Education and the districts; creating a stronger bond in order to support one another more effectively. This will prove to be difficult. But with sustainability being a huge Peace Corps goal? It's exactly the next step we need to take. And we want to prove to them that we are not trying to bring about outside ideas or more work. What we teach and stand behind is precisely what is being sent down by the MofEd. We just want to help!

Next up? The making of an early childhood Manual. With my degree and the experiences that Kinnerly, another volunteer in my area, has, we've been passed the torch. And they want it done by the next time the new group arrives in March (yikes again!!). I'm super excited though and have a lot of passion in this area and see its necessity daily. The dreams behind the book will be a mix of workshops and activities geared towards parents as well as teachers of little ones from birth through age 5. We've met up once now and realized that we have a lot of work ahead of us! Wish us luck!

Just last week I finished up helping out with a two week photography course. Yep, you heard right. Every afternoon, I left my house, praying to God, at noon in search of a ride to Santiago de la Cruz. There, teamed up with Save the Children, was an American couple and their organization, Clark Photography (look em up!). Their life's work? Travelling the world to spread a knowledge of the art of photography. They bring 10 cameras, teach a two week long course to 10 children, and then leave the cameras with whomever is responsible enough and motivated enough to carry on their work. It's phenomenal. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a misunderstanding and 20 kiddos instead of 10 were selected. Because of this, they had to shorten the course to a week, and do it twice. But seeing these munchkins learn and explore their creativity behind the lens of a camera was inspiring. Oh, and my work? They didn't know Spanish. And the woman from Save the Children doesn't know English. So, Jack taught the class in English and I translated everything. Talk about exhausting! I had no idea haha. And sometimes because of transport, I didn't even get home until 7 or 8pm when the class was only from 2-5pm. But on the last day, the 20 students created their own posters with printed pictures that they, themselves took, and their parents, teachers, and friends got to see it all. What a blast. I even got to meet the head Director of Save the Children, who lives in the capital. She is a phenomenal woman. She served in the Peace Corps in Venezuela, became the training director in PC Guatemala, and married a man who served in PC Peru. PCDR and Save the Children have been trying recently to form a better relationship and work closer together here, so it was so awesome to meet her and get a chance to chat a little. I'll definitely be visiting her in the capital soon.

So speaking of the capital... And a change that is exciting and terrifying all at once... Two weeks ago I headed to the PC Office. At 11:15 I had an interview with Brendan, Ann, and Carole. And at 2, a presentation in front of the Senior Staff of PCDR. Why, you ask? A ping pong battle has been going on in my head and heart for some time now. Imagining leaving this country in just four short months when I feel like I've found something incredible here, was bone-shaking. But also thinking of being away from my family is a struggle that remains constant, despite two years now passing. So when my boss sent out an email, asking who in our group might be interested in the PCVL position, I had to make a decision. PCVL? Peace Corps Volunteer Leader. This is a third year volunteer who chooses to stay and work from the capital. They are mainly there for volunteer support but also have a bigger hand in the sector work. Working alongside the bosses rather than just in one community in one corner of the country. Amber was our first PCVL when I arrived in country. I'll never forget the day she showed up at my CBT home with a bottle of wine to share to help calm my nerves and uncertainties. Laila was second. She will always be my rock and faith supporter. The one who fearlessly ran teacher training conferences and reminded me to "Trust in the slow work of God."  And Brendan, our current PCVL, who has trusted in ME while always having that perfect piece of advice to keep me going. My three butterflies throughout my service (butterflies have a beautiful symbolic meaning in this country) that have made me who I am, and made our work a continuing success. If it weren't for them, I don't know if I would have made it through the struggle to learn Spanish, the site change, and the search for purpose. This, and more, I explained in my presentation to all my bosses in the Peace Corps. And not an hour later, I was called up to Carole's office. I got the job.

So another year in this beautiful country of mango trees, bachata music, big brown eyes, and letter fichas has been granted to me. In the hopes that I can be the same support and love that I received for those already here, and for those still to come. That we can keep the initiatives that were brought to life, moving forward, that we can create new ones, always bettering the future together, with what little time we have.

So in April, I am headed to CBT training with the new group for a month. In May, I'll be able to come back to Mariano until June. And in June? Brendan leaves, and I slip in. Living in the capital with higher prices, louder and MORE motos, and less time with munchkins. But hey, luz will pretty much be constant, water, WAY more reliable, and who knows, a calling that will be different, but hopefully just as fulfilling.

Send some prayers to my family? I know how much they support me, but some, aren't as thrilled about the news as others. I love you all. And I hope you know that this decision doesn't mean I don't miss you all terribly. And it doesn't mean I'm never going home. I'm just trying to follow the whispers of someone special that I can hear through the accelerated beating of my heart.

Nobel Poop Prize

Yep, I'm going there. And if the talk of bowel movements grosses you out, I would advice that you close this window and carry about your day. But whilst leaving, think about this question: "Why?" Why does talking about something so natural and so common gross you out? (Yes, everyone poops) When so much of what our body is doing or not doing can be read by just a simple glance backwards before the flush? And while I don't have the luxury of seeing what is leaving my body, I've become so much more in tuned to the feeling that it's almost the same as seeing. Now you may leave.

For those of you still here, I would like to inform you that my sister has awarded me the honorary "Nobel Poop Prize." And in recognition of such a prestige award, I would like to make a speech. *deep breath* and here goes:

"Wow, I'm almost speechless. Almost being the key word. How much time do I have allotted for this? Oh well, just warn me when I'm getting close. 

It all started on the 23rd of December. I fell ill with something that is apparently knocking the entire country down. Don't worry though, it only lasts a week goes away on it's own. Food just didn't have the same effect on my body. I tried to eat but it was released rapidly in a form that no one wants to experience. So I ate less. But having the same sensation of urinating happen around the backside continued. And it was exhausting. Draining my energy with every trip to the hole out back (despite never having to push). But I persevered. Ate what I could, stayed near the back door, and kept my shoes on and tied tight. For what felt like eternity. At times my belly blew up with the first attempted morsel of food. The gaseousness built and in time, I would no longer be able to hold it. My front door remained closed to save the neighbors or maybe even the flower bush just outside my gallery. Over the next week things got better with each passing day. I could eat more and be greeted with less bloating. Trips to the hole, lessened. Morning rushes outside in the bitter air became less urgent. And yesterday, the 6 of January (2 weeks of agony), I had my first, successful, solid bowel movement. *waits for applause to soften* Thank you.

My time's almost up? Okay, let me finish.

I want to thank God first and foremost for bringing me through the smell of the darkness and into the crisp fresh air. To my family for raising me to be fearless when it comes to "the talk." (And no, not that talk). To my grandmother for her fabulous nursing background and bravery in teaching her children and grandchildren how to read "the signs" and how to appropriately share them. If it weren't for all of them, I wouldn't have told my Doña my symptoms and I wouldn't have drank that disgusting bitter tea which saved my intestines and colon. If it weren't for all of them, I wouldn't be standing here today. I'd be sitting on top of a hole, questioning the color but knowing the consistency, and asking out loud to the zinc walls of my surroundings, "Why me?" 

I am honored to receive this award. I am a survivor. And I want to continue sharing my story so more survivors like me will no longer be afraid. Stand up from your hole (when the current stops, of course) and shout, "Enough is enough!" I'll hear you in the echoes and together, we will be solid once again. 

Thank you.