tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4792532324912815602024-02-18T20:53:07.602-08:00Venga Lo Que VengaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-569859415824055282016-01-12T06:01:00.001-08:002016-01-23T17:25:01.756-08:00Up We GoPico Duarte. It's been at the top of my bucket list since I had arrived in country. The tallest mountain in the entire Carribbean, reaching almost 4,000m at it's peak. Many volunteers have taken on the challenge, said how difficult it was, but reality sometimes cannot be understood until you face it yourself. And it was an adventure I'll never forget.<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We arrived in La Cienaga the night before; me and 4 other education volunteers who I consider dear friends. We grocery shopped in Jarabacoa and made our way , packs and plastic bags all piled into the back of the pick up truck. After going up for what seemed like 2 hours, we made it to the park entrance and met our guides. We cooked dinner by fire and prepared our stuff for the following day. We met a young boy who was simply wandering around on his birthday. And he gave ME a sucker. I'll miss that unquestioned selflessness someday soon. Julie and I showered by freezing cold water from the hose and we were off to bed early on the cold, hard wooden floor of a rickety old cabin. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A sleepless night was met by an even colder, darker morning. It was 6am and we were off; let by flashlights and a young boy (son of one of the guides) on his horse and a dog who we named Nevada because his fur was white and we knew that the cold we felt wasn't anything compared to what we were about to face in the mountains. Our mules with all our stuff would come up behind us soon.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We started to ascend pretty quickly and joked about how the climb had begun! Oh how naive we were! There were a few resting stops along the way but it was literally uphill for the next 8 hours. We sang every song that have ever existed in this world, used our walking sticks like experts, ate many snacks, walked downhill (wait, what?? We were supposed to be going UP to the top of the mountain!), got split up, and eventually arrived at site. There were cabins, a large kitchen with tons of fogóns, bathrooms with floors that we SWORE we were going to fall through, a big fire pit, and we were absolutely freezing. How there was no snow up there, I do not know. We ate a late lunch, stretched, laughed, made dinner and hot chocolate, played cards, and shared more laughs with our new Dominican companions. Bedtime was early again but the alarm was set for even earlier. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We woke up at 3am after not sleeping a wink with the freezing cold and the chatting pair. While waiting for the mules, we started a mini fire before leaving for the peak at 4am. We walked by flashlight and went up...and up...and up... After the guides swore it was all flat until the "last little bit." Every five minutes we shouted: "We see the top!! Not much further!!" After an hour or so, the sky started to light up, a lush, deep red lining the mountain tops in the horizon. And after 2 hours of straight uphill, we hit a rest stop that we had thought was the top. But there, in front of us, was another peak and a sign that said, "Pico Duarte-1.2km." Some of us caught energy and strength at the site of the sign, some lost it. But we kept going. The deep red turned to all the colors of the rainbow in their own banner across the sky. We had to make it to the peak before the sun broke through. The "last little bit" was indeed the hardest. Sometimes I even used my hands to pull myself up. And more of "there's the top!" And it being a lie. But as I walked most of the final peak alone, I heard two of the group screaming and cheering up ahead. They had made it. And eventually we all did; just as the sun, bright reddish pink, blinded us from the top. Pictures galore, snacking, more pictures, and complete shivering down to the bones. Not even a half an hour later, we headed back to base camp. Julie and I made it down in an hours less time than it took to make it up, running most of the way. And passing the rest of the hikers on their way up. When we made it (10am) breakfast was made by one of our guides who stayed back. We brewed coffee and waited for the rest to arrive. They trickled in and there we started our day of rest. Broken shoes, blisters, many dirty clothes, dirty bodies and all. We debated the next day-would we go to the valley for another day? Or would we go home? But despite the struggles and pain our group was in, impressively, we decided to fight on. The next day we set out, back the way we came, all uphill for the first hour or so, at 6am. We hit a high point and broke off the normal path (have I mentioned how much I will never take toilets for granted again?) and started our trek down to the valley. Believe it or not, <b>this </b>was the hardest day in regards to walking. All downwards, all loose rocks, and you could see your final destination but never felt like you were getting closer. We sang some more, lost breaths at the views of the mountains surrounding us, ate sunflower seeds, fell many many times (we kept track and I think Julie won with the most falls) and laughed harder than we had thus far. We ended up splitting again (it was difficult to keep a slow pace) and Julie, Brady, and I made it to the open, green field we had seen from the top. My knee decided to give out on me and I limped, hiking stick acting as my second leg, all the way to the cabin below. Almost 8 hours later. The rest arrived a few hours after that. Lunch, a trip to a gorgeous river (with the famous "whale" rock that looked more like the head of a turtle than anything else), the indigenous rock with a symbol carved out of it from the Taino people but surrounded by what seemed to be a dumping station for an outhouse, hot tea, and 2 friendly hikers who gave me a muscle relaxer and shared our s'mores and chocolate milk. Tomorrow was the final day. And it was my birthday.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And it was the best walking day yet. We walked uphill for 3 hours (1hour less than expected!) and downhill for 4. I finally rode the mule on the last downward slope because that was when my knee was at its worst. Everyone was in high spirits. Even the guide, who we struggled to like the last 3 days, stood silently after farting at a resting point. After Julie asked each of us if it was us, we all turned to him and realized he was crying with laughter because despite the language barriers, he knew exactly what we had been asking about. And he had been the culprit. We all became best friends after that. Working our way downhill, I stayed at the back with our poor girl with broken shoes. When we arrived at the main camp where it all began, a celebratory chocolate milk was already bought and ready to be opened. We had done it. The mountain came with more of a physical, emotional, and psychological challenge than I could have imagined, and it was some of the best days of my life. We became closer as a group (even with those many trying moments) and had accomplished it together. I was exhausted, but how good I spiritually felt made it nearly impossible to feel the physical pain I knew was there.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The friends we made in the valley left 3 hours after we did. And arrived 20 minutes after we did. It was incredible. But also meant a free ride all the way home to the capital. Not without chocolate milks in the back of the pick up truck, busting at the seams having to pee, eating ribs (!!) at a restaurant, and nearly falling asleep to merengue as the capital lights reminded us of what we had left and didn't miss. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was perfection imbedded in all its imperfections. The best birthday a girl could ever ask for without whispering a single word to anyone about what the day actually was.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And another thing checked off my DR bucket list. I won't finish that list before leaving, but that certainly was at the top. And now I've just got more reason to keep coming back to this incredibly beautiful country. For the rest of my life.</span></div><div><div><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-68201638793728342552015-09-11T06:17:00.001-07:002015-09-11T06:17:45.517-07:00In His Last Little Bit on Earth7 de septiembre 2015<div><br></div><div>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. </div><div>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...</div><div>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.</div><div>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."</div><div>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...</div><div>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.</div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3k8UtViPCiirJLyDXmUspxwpLsywI34ao2DxhIunzRJP03mZi3FWyNV-28UPGDdcU2JwrG1czv54lSpaKat1-qE5vs5cqclV8T6q06I9ro1Q6xYpnKLV_cvGVX9Z226ejqPgqxUmGFJV/s640/blogger-image-2105473563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3k8UtViPCiirJLyDXmUspxwpLsywI34ao2DxhIunzRJP03mZi3FWyNV-28UPGDdcU2JwrG1czv54lSpaKat1-qE5vs5cqclV8T6q06I9ro1Q6xYpnKLV_cvGVX9Z226ejqPgqxUmGFJV/s640/blogger-image-2105473563.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-56369305756931071782015-07-27T15:05:00.001-07:002015-07-27T15:05:08.000-07:00A Blessed One Indeed24 de julio 2015.<div>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. </div><div>And loaded it up like so:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmaCoQM7RFVx_YNWZRpU9YJ7RGRPRpY8LhPxdZq9NoG0Fi10boqs2vIfrTvTMCKek-AEhKSsIwHl2DUqW_sIngVL0bKqkhlAS8UNxemIuONPU1C4zl-DLN6Ezy7tlWG_VRaBmzb7DrRJo/s640/blogger-image-1982470096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmaCoQM7RFVx_YNWZRpU9YJ7RGRPRpY8LhPxdZq9NoG0Fi10boqs2vIfrTvTMCKek-AEhKSsIwHl2DUqW_sIngVL0bKqkhlAS8UNxemIuONPU1C4zl-DLN6Ezy7tlWG_VRaBmzb7DrRJo/s640/blogger-image-1982470096.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwp1rx9emK84eyudxJlujxGBiQ1kDK2CtWxhuCAT3k8qd41znck7jkfd2yTBYh16inwM2JB0YgLaeZs3y3OGCIBXP788xbXWNl4S9CTXyjUptY642VYmdUxZ0e3DL9t9WNpR9UMJw8E0Y_/s640/blogger-image--1559613340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwp1rx9emK84eyudxJlujxGBiQ1kDK2CtWxhuCAT3k8qd41znck7jkfd2yTBYh16inwM2JB0YgLaeZs3y3OGCIBXP788xbXWNl4S9CTXyjUptY642VYmdUxZ0e3DL9t9WNpR9UMJw8E0Y_/s640/blogger-image--1559613340.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7rggQ_awms5DRecrcADMpg-F6kWgnAPeRGAmNazBa9GraqSZP3P-S3ce_5t7d2w6FKe8-XvT2xniRgQQK9ftm84TgnvCsN3l7w1RqTfyCKWYCJlcP1AxA7JUAZ7fD7cS6hUYs69yUCCi/s640/blogger-image-1690892398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7rggQ_awms5DRecrcADMpg-F6kWgnAPeRGAmNazBa9GraqSZP3P-S3ce_5t7d2w6FKe8-XvT2xniRgQQK9ftm84TgnvCsN3l7w1RqTfyCKWYCJlcP1AxA7JUAZ7fD7cS6hUYs69yUCCi/s640/blogger-image-1690892398.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6VbotXFfSGw845wySjOE4oaZpbctC-nmUxc8OmBlPr-rP09FzWYiIXnmajafuoCDs8lpJQ1OdYxxqR0XunulugRf7koyDQ75CJA7jOkKNTldgww4ax5MbU5YXwO8Uc3niYhGmZP3AbNM/s640/blogger-image-1482582740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6VbotXFfSGw845wySjOE4oaZpbctC-nmUxc8OmBlPr-rP09FzWYiIXnmajafuoCDs8lpJQ1OdYxxqR0XunulugRf7koyDQ75CJA7jOkKNTldgww4ax5MbU5YXwO8Uc3niYhGmZP3AbNM/s640/blogger-image-1482582740.jpg"></a></div><br></div>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.</div></div></div><div>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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-16072094385746085452015-07-27T15:04:00.001-07:002015-07-27T15:04:34.521-07:00To the 3 Corners, Around the Middle, and Back Again23 de julio 2015.<div>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:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSv1XD99MOdE9ewajoj2SQHrTQJbCpyf5D1BPWJ0Z_W3KVA4UjsELgTpaS9kCq47EjvSSX1-cbV6jNVMoPVVgTt4mr8bnooDULKRqj98fvZxvf9ksawro2p1DcY6i_XuPcV8FZgUS1aC4Q/s640/blogger-image--1722941370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSv1XD99MOdE9ewajoj2SQHrTQJbCpyf5D1BPWJ0Z_W3KVA4UjsELgTpaS9kCq47EjvSSX1-cbV6jNVMoPVVgTt4mr8bnooDULKRqj98fvZxvf9ksawro2p1DcY6i_XuPcV8FZgUS1aC4Q/s640/blogger-image--1722941370.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Despite the lack of amenities these girls are kickin it, loving the kids, finding their purpose, and delving into dulces, chocolate milk, and laughter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC5pqEpucunJIF4dmFIntdtE75ef9tjGkPv-eZGrmUaGT-I0sfZOwuabJMkBy0TWZnjCITY2Z5tpqzivGY-xMztmMGlLRikMKIDXDURlW8Uvlo-23VEd0vNhJ701e__KWFDbIwRoR6b8A/s640/blogger-image--1219662423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC5pqEpucunJIF4dmFIntdtE75ef9tjGkPv-eZGrmUaGT-I0sfZOwuabJMkBy0TWZnjCITY2Z5tpqzivGY-xMztmMGlLRikMKIDXDURlW8Uvlo-23VEd0vNhJ701e__KWFDbIwRoR6b8A/s640/blogger-image--1219662423.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXeSb8dHOdVz9HeqP6Alxt-xjvJq9maFqfl1c-wMLHRJa9IeCgGNVKj9qRVfmd0KrJ-7u1eF-F-md4LvhJX3YIHplWWw6JMbU0_p44-ya3wNY0skul610g9PVjGZE-Dj3mtVzJpG6nxEh/s640/blogger-image-38829332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXeSb8dHOdVz9HeqP6Alxt-xjvJq9maFqfl1c-wMLHRJa9IeCgGNVKj9qRVfmd0KrJ-7u1eF-F-md4LvhJX3YIHplWWw6JMbU0_p44-ya3wNY0skul610g9PVjGZE-Dj3mtVzJpG6nxEh/s640/blogger-image-38829332.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Where a girl has found her passion outside of the pressures from the top and is genuinely happy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Then I headed to Samaná, northeast, where beaches are a plenty and the lushness of the land look like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0GcULGD2PCR2tk0Fv5NVUEs5I7Jcvf0zCxlrbRBIQr4GOZhn4bH0j5cJGmA3u5nw0S38U23LqKNKk2ZmN-PbTQJZTVO1xkfP2BpAzQWSuGNuHcVL_Is0A4iJiQT51l7kJks0jsoKloQMa/s640/blogger-image--132919776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0GcULGD2PCR2tk0Fv5NVUEs5I7Jcvf0zCxlrbRBIQr4GOZhn4bH0j5cJGmA3u5nw0S38U23LqKNKk2ZmN-PbTQJZTVO1xkfP2BpAzQWSuGNuHcVL_Is0A4iJiQT51l7kJks0jsoKloQMa/s640/blogger-image--132919776.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYFgS2SUKQPq55A8LZB6KfsJcDIwnMvdpB6funy5g2dan-NNKGg_NuThNXYzlTeHJQdqzluryJIHm_cd-oLfTdkEon5_nvH3gNZ0s3dooi16iCoi3Q0fsxZhVWECRdOmiMxgp6DSRTwQt/s640/blogger-image-1173081993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYFgS2SUKQPq55A8LZB6KfsJcDIwnMvdpB6funy5g2dan-NNKGg_NuThNXYzlTeHJQdqzluryJIHm_cd-oLfTdkEon5_nvH3gNZ0s3dooi16iCoi3Q0fsxZhVWECRdOmiMxgp6DSRTwQt/s640/blogger-image-1173081993.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0DCuA4c-2vhoMUl1mjyNdTv7eP0zAq7yOpIlVNxdk9dTS1fBNxx1mPvAjUFhGsIAkkATT0HH7-9Wh5ld77HHD12zxtXMzdxhkXn7pq4mWMsuKCBZhTKc3L2H5JhDYiX8AFyO9RUVyoN7/s640/blogger-image-1115749278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0DCuA4c-2vhoMUl1mjyNdTv7eP0zAq7yOpIlVNxdk9dTS1fBNxx1mPvAjUFhGsIAkkATT0HH7-9Wh5ld77HHD12zxtXMzdxhkXn7pq4mWMsuKCBZhTKc3L2H5JhDYiX8AFyO9RUVyoN7/s640/blogger-image-1115749278.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaKypXCzpjZUU2addypa6jPku1edwBJWbYecQ2zq3xzmQgiQ0ZKN7untmTqSxgreP_93wKBISjqg_2O502Lubp9_CD1TZNgc5EdWTWNYKMSyerFVYs3_C6EfEeYd5AUoKia7lUujlbf9sh/s640/blogger-image-1402391392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaKypXCzpjZUU2addypa6jPku1edwBJWbYecQ2zq3xzmQgiQ0ZKN7untmTqSxgreP_93wKBISjqg_2O502Lubp9_CD1TZNgc5EdWTWNYKMSyerFVYs3_C6EfEeYd5AUoKia7lUujlbf9sh/s640/blogger-image-1402391392.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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....</div><br></div><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-28885327185970584072015-06-22T06:02:00.001-07:002015-06-22T06:02:55.952-07:00A Life Between Two WorldsJune 20, 2015. <div>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.<div>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 <b>can</b> be my life. In-between two worlds. One I don't want to let go of and one I can't run away from.</div></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVUvSAkOhanhPg6tZMnrJNYKYTZVOdvW0ZhJ6mS_itPolqmRouRPj7EzFtH7_9Q-bAV1H9BGoVDek2Izp_OcEMP6_S4b4z0qYALaryX_C-TxAew-cVho5yxDpKkT5OPJpVhd3Gc0Y383D/s640/blogger-image-2115888388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVUvSAkOhanhPg6tZMnrJNYKYTZVOdvW0ZhJ6mS_itPolqmRouRPj7EzFtH7_9Q-bAV1H9BGoVDek2Izp_OcEMP6_S4b4z0qYALaryX_C-TxAew-cVho5yxDpKkT5OPJpVhd3Gc0Y383D/s640/blogger-image-2115888388.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVbDpmfzhmFuIWPFKJjnMf9pfhJas4cVcYE0OfG1341EMAKDnXzRyKxB2RxM8hrzA1eUuXoDlr1QNwdZbAkBF2DPlMmKlYgUoH4tuuAEVGUDEkr01r-RV_Ri3K36UTnxt1xu8PfrRy-bhh/s640/blogger-image--1303744481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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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.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDgqQdmC1vdy9jYYJz21EDozedbbOqdKKTbi4gHQ-DzbJ0vQ6VPNb0wFUAoecNZ-85ZwXs5cJGHBPskLwgiyz2zM-eay2Fmi3KObIjU5Zvg4qO0m88lpED4i6crLJpMFrURvPPgNkIQYc/s640/blogger-image-893397807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDgqQdmC1vdy9jYYJz21EDozedbbOqdKKTbi4gHQ-DzbJ0vQ6VPNb0wFUAoecNZ-85ZwXs5cJGHBPskLwgiyz2zM-eay2Fmi3KObIjU5Zvg4qO0m88lpED4i6crLJpMFrURvPPgNkIQYc/s640/blogger-image-893397807.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViADk59PwqPtPK5VTYUrRlgTDBBnIV5dP6qCOLcAhbbb-xcg4p7VwjnA1GPr2ng4EbYKS32iGFMlCL7BzunRT75NtJhkXjlUvg4GGw90YThxn0YtJHOeq6q3oBeatJfmzE7iwavplsQcS/s640/blogger-image--539225543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViADk59PwqPtPK5VTYUrRlgTDBBnIV5dP6qCOLcAhbbb-xcg4p7VwjnA1GPr2ng4EbYKS32iGFMlCL7BzunRT75NtJhkXjlUvg4GGw90YThxn0YtJHOeq6q3oBeatJfmzE7iwavplsQcS/s640/blogger-image--539225543.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRDbY6jVKUy9LAD_Fv38mNXNSC7Sc7GHakVFtf72lgxraOetefO_bSc1KhvK5qdmwZxSN8LLSs7x5_HYLOjqivBPlDjbvlHUiHc6MP8d8DIwF6Sd9fOXHLfyXa3HIHEKIvcnnzHIc5AGN/s640/blogger-image-51314287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRDbY6jVKUy9LAD_Fv38mNXNSC7Sc7GHakVFtf72lgxraOetefO_bSc1KhvK5qdmwZxSN8LLSs7x5_HYLOjqivBPlDjbvlHUiHc6MP8d8DIwF6Sd9fOXHLfyXa3HIHEKIvcnnzHIc5AGN/s640/blogger-image-51314287.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHhfGPS4klKREEqBFSDzxMMAfJFqjItXLQxfSoolxDMV3sECuuCmcqXDvqUexsyjZp2e0UlDtNtwGEEYcsMXomjrFt8zbik04rXB2u4kwGz40NlXkJNilh2-cZvYWDLxuK-9n3tQw_VZ-/s640/blogger-image-1571156071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHhfGPS4klKREEqBFSDzxMMAfJFqjItXLQxfSoolxDMV3sECuuCmcqXDvqUexsyjZp2e0UlDtNtwGEEYcsMXomjrFt8zbik04rXB2u4kwGz40NlXkJNilh2-cZvYWDLxuK-9n3tQw_VZ-/s640/blogger-image-1571156071.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVCQztYFJUyL4h6yTNhGYVa7ZKCE4dL571moiWbrnV4AFzJuJ2TmrrlF5nCph2DGW6EirRZTHEFNT_ToCy_RECeE-8zVKN6z3E60C7ciNHdR6fdXroEHM_JU5N38cu6UOuukZ-9m89__6/s640/blogger-image-1630388482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVCQztYFJUyL4h6yTNhGYVa7ZKCE4dL571moiWbrnV4AFzJuJ2TmrrlF5nCph2DGW6EirRZTHEFNT_ToCy_RECeE-8zVKN6z3E60C7ciNHdR6fdXroEHM_JU5N38cu6UOuukZ-9m89__6/s640/blogger-image-1630388482.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrQ9UE0Kj8GELVGit8cyaDEKAPFEedEMg4anxciSBGUyQlbyb2LFVwmjUtjo-KONiNGu9paUn0pwaT2ZSgO6AI4_MpUB3DXNmG-6cGP6KAFBhU-58EcPhIFPE1xLfpSgQyWlXtMmp04J8/s640/blogger-image--1853988894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrQ9UE0Kj8GELVGit8cyaDEKAPFEedEMg4anxciSBGUyQlbyb2LFVwmjUtjo-KONiNGu9paUn0pwaT2ZSgO6AI4_MpUB3DXNmG-6cGP6KAFBhU-58EcPhIFPE1xLfpSgQyWlXtMmp04J8/s640/blogger-image--1853988894.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYzR0Xm_7BmAz4hjYgWoMTRLi9sstYrj_Cv154RSb6x28wTrAuzAb0-NiwNE7sJy2XDSs4XMuw7qzC_Nb7qF_nIl51vxgCdCnjNoOAdXuAbpqpXDC1WqToZOgY2Jod2qNq3qhiB-sGTou/s640/blogger-image--300733425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYzR0Xm_7BmAz4hjYgWoMTRLi9sstYrj_Cv154RSb6x28wTrAuzAb0-NiwNE7sJy2XDSs4XMuw7qzC_Nb7qF_nIl51vxgCdCnjNoOAdXuAbpqpXDC1WqToZOgY2Jod2qNq3qhiB-sGTou/s640/blogger-image--300733425.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2JsRAk_ilABvWZ58iiQVF2fPojW84zi6hrVRKvFYrC74g-QktaTqOXzZygUmIdgd49zr0BQNTt4cT7qhYvCokBSTjb2jAHIJzACNPWiCsXYfsq0yeo4jPOE5nPg1u1HrJLj1wFVwNGYa/s640/blogger-image-176122750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2JsRAk_ilABvWZ58iiQVF2fPojW84zi6hrVRKvFYrC74g-QktaTqOXzZygUmIdgd49zr0BQNTt4cT7qhYvCokBSTjb2jAHIJzACNPWiCsXYfsq0yeo4jPOE5nPg1u1HrJLj1wFVwNGYa/s640/blogger-image-176122750.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggCn1dsFKoITjh47ej9bNUVMprCMw7094uH76sT6jse5VNUEagsTx5XSkIeUrSnajHk7ZvQneJJ468-X0_lkCuQ76-TpNk-yfM88G2y95FBvYQatHwiZ3vX2D5C2eifZCq7VINp9w32jj/s640/blogger-image--26489458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggCn1dsFKoITjh47ej9bNUVMprCMw7094uH76sT6jse5VNUEagsTx5XSkIeUrSnajHk7ZvQneJJ468-X0_lkCuQ76-TpNk-yfM88G2y95FBvYQatHwiZ3vX2D5C2eifZCq7VINp9w32jj/s640/blogger-image--26489458.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NGJrbSgdgDmSI2JxoGVSpZXTMgrqBgW75dpAzFav4j0cCOYW0-2AXldsG5g7A2ytSMcE471wjlRRDCZOhOUCeHF-3ZZSZ07ZEDCv9r4vThE0EAoPJkmfPu4K5zpvgHKFAM30Q1H3IHvj/s640/blogger-image-806196753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NGJrbSgdgDmSI2JxoGVSpZXTMgrqBgW75dpAzFav4j0cCOYW0-2AXldsG5g7A2ytSMcE471wjlRRDCZOhOUCeHF-3ZZSZ07ZEDCv9r4vThE0EAoPJkmfPu4K5zpvgHKFAM30Q1H3IHvj/s640/blogger-image-806196753.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKbTUx-vuyzdE0l9Xv9GcXSs-bZ4_sGDjj27gHELsfWjXmAz-DFKuN_awso-jdLYyEsfFzk6OHrh7gmc1SrkUlr4TQYVf0g0-56H_UEbw8qV-p0bjBCyfHw-6d-wF0wnOpdnxIgQcIpQB/s640/blogger-image--1949189434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKbTUx-vuyzdE0l9Xv9GcXSs-bZ4_sGDjj27gHELsfWjXmAz-DFKuN_awso-jdLYyEsfFzk6OHrh7gmc1SrkUlr4TQYVf0g0-56H_UEbw8qV-p0bjBCyfHw-6d-wF0wnOpdnxIgQcIpQB/s640/blogger-image--1949189434.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">If you only knew the difference one day made. Though it may not look like it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZhahMWxWIcdjrUvW213WlJRU58pwD319wNJZknyL-mcGnF0pnXTvqvIwjLXJUuoWRfoaT-qLK8zinlead71j7MSr2UILEcofTgCByz3cn9IkrXFa66TSI1QKgaJT5-y_6HYG-s5vG8Hy/s640/blogger-image-1554194456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZhahMWxWIcdjrUvW213WlJRU58pwD319wNJZknyL-mcGnF0pnXTvqvIwjLXJUuoWRfoaT-qLK8zinlead71j7MSr2UILEcofTgCByz3cn9IkrXFa66TSI1QKgaJT5-y_6HYG-s5vG8Hy/s640/blogger-image-1554194456.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehpopmVP8m42CkfFhD3w0YAV83z3IykH_aCX-QgSaagnL4cfIIaZneNKYbV30b-rzakBwPnBkQif_HiHkktnwQaaqfNisCIHPIw_sFzpwgw9zKxQKmJCFkvJAM3b9_1l1ML2SsKUfTEA7/s640/blogger-image--185443245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehpopmVP8m42CkfFhD3w0YAV83z3IykH_aCX-QgSaagnL4cfIIaZneNKYbV30b-rzakBwPnBkQif_HiHkktnwQaaqfNisCIHPIw_sFzpwgw9zKxQKmJCFkvJAM3b9_1l1ML2SsKUfTEA7/s640/blogger-image--185443245.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHLFrQ6-ED_DUq8lKbRn8o7kERtVQYCLVt3w1GwFsQdFIEv11C33kJd6xHudM2YekGmvvJFtmIDimVrkeYtYV0NCaFmDerNL1YSHXoPgn8dMFaNEsXGVziGOKKbNxVZTp5Tnsx33l5Y6d/s640/blogger-image-960468884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHLFrQ6-ED_DUq8lKbRn8o7kERtVQYCLVt3w1GwFsQdFIEv11C33kJd6xHudM2YekGmvvJFtmIDimVrkeYtYV0NCaFmDerNL1YSHXoPgn8dMFaNEsXGVziGOKKbNxVZTp5Tnsx33l5Y6d/s640/blogger-image-960468884.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLN6tYDRNF3KjeoPabrDuSQcVigXJ1RLucEqkuiBxdd-22uuCe06uFiwlVt92hnhTZ-aZj9vJHJuMs7CQH-iejkbMffARGF7Fw0h_g7Djd1XvPw1ETpXyMi8NLvTDVTSzNEwaVSjfETrc/s640/blogger-image-2112427982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLN6tYDRNF3KjeoPabrDuSQcVigXJ1RLucEqkuiBxdd-22uuCe06uFiwlVt92hnhTZ-aZj9vJHJuMs7CQH-iejkbMffARGF7Fw0h_g7Djd1XvPw1ETpXyMi8NLvTDVTSzNEwaVSjfETrc/s640/blogger-image-2112427982.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Then the goodbyes. The photos I gave out. Double goodbyes. Tears. And my boys stealing my camera.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VNoy0vXgnBTo28W5HQly4hT4mcUDXbbKkIIZT_BmLcv3l11v-N9R7XKmbrrt8cEpOx_z0Qf8XrfB6e1zJI-F_bgUZ-CAb5awjhSs-q_J2SINua-i7aETOnEI9tQfWXKtf-zviqq-4-Ik/s640/blogger-image--368016455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VNoy0vXgnBTo28W5HQly4hT4mcUDXbbKkIIZT_BmLcv3l11v-N9R7XKmbrrt8cEpOx_z0Qf8XrfB6e1zJI-F_bgUZ-CAb5awjhSs-q_J2SINua-i7aETOnEI9tQfWXKtf-zviqq-4-Ik/s640/blogger-image--368016455.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAFt2crvP5us-YXwlY__YalwrcKsb-1CVsOkJPYDKfx2SQ9gXd8hvw42SLoPCevruXZz81rPV3NWRhp0Z90zAiDarAUCu2AgrsPtsZAc0M2oJuXA2zJ-0mfKXcnmeMgy-HfhM6mCFGy_i/s640/blogger-image--428400295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAFt2crvP5us-YXwlY__YalwrcKsb-1CVsOkJPYDKfx2SQ9gXd8hvw42SLoPCevruXZz81rPV3NWRhp0Z90zAiDarAUCu2AgrsPtsZAc0M2oJuXA2zJ-0mfKXcnmeMgy-HfhM6mCFGy_i/s640/blogger-image--428400295.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG6NeXtzm3LxUx8lBnEfcPSfDuefZ_YVB6VqvrNAXbZhitaZbYecJ9vDbNqVXZXil0oA1Hqlowgp7twLJ1L6wVE4xJkcuJZxKfj1X4gzY-IsZOYvaXFLDXcJx8u0-51gixNEG1MUtZkS8/s640/blogger-image--166548565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG6NeXtzm3LxUx8lBnEfcPSfDuefZ_YVB6VqvrNAXbZhitaZbYecJ9vDbNqVXZXil0oA1Hqlowgp7twLJ1L6wVE4xJkcuJZxKfj1X4gzY-IsZOYvaXFLDXcJx8u0-51gixNEG1MUtZkS8/s640/blogger-image--166548565.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> 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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">life</i>. They were my <i style="font-weight: bold;">everything </i>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.</div><br></div><br></div><br></div></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-39749197512942999282015-06-10T10:24:00.001-07:002015-06-10T10:24:13.253-07:00Trying 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. <div>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.</div><div>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. </div><div>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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, 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, </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">been rained in and an emotional wreck.</span></div><div>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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-36138461653581087062015-03-25T09:17:00.001-07:002015-03-25T09:17:44.588-07:00Just Needed Munchkins, Leaves, Crayons, and the Big Guy25 de marzo 2015<div>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 <b><i>insanity</i></b>. 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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">super</i> 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 :)</div><div>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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">terrified </i>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.</div><div>Now this was originally planned for me to do it as if the teachers were the students, not actually <i style="font-weight: bold;">with </i>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.</div><div>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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">nothing </i>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.</div><div>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.</div><div>Forgive me. I don't mean to raise myself up. I just felt so incredibly doing this and the reactions and motivation I could <i style="font-weight: bold;">see</i> in the eyes of the teachers who I <i style="font-weight: bold;">know </i>struggle daily, was incredible. <i style="font-weight: bold;">This </i>is what I'm here for. <i style="font-weight: bold;">This </i>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. </div><div>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.</div><div>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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-19504464969279716122015-03-09T19:01:00.001-07:002015-03-09T19:01:26.962-07:00Pellets9 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.<div>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. </div><div>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.</div><div>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. </div><div>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.</div><div>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? </div><div>...</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-74132806597432206722015-01-26T18:45:00.001-08:002015-01-26T18:45:34.544-08:00Whispers from the Heart27 de enero 2015<div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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!</div><div><br></div><div>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!</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div>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.</div><div>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.</div><div>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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-18789650637583094972015-01-07T14:06:00.001-08:002015-01-07T14:06:47.652-08:00Nobel Poop PrizeYep, 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, <i style="font-weight: bold;">everyone</i> 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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">feeling</i> that it's almost the same as seeing. Now you may leave.<div><br></div><div>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:</div><div><br></div><div>"Wow, I'm almost speechless. <b>Almost</b> being the key word. How much time do I have allotted for this? Oh well, just warn me when I'm getting close. </div><div>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.</div><div>My time's almost up? Okay, let me finish.</div><div>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 <i style="font-weight: bold;">that </i>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?" </div><div>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. </div><div>Thank you.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-50367045277660324542014-12-28T13:16:00.001-08:002014-12-28T13:16:59.865-08:00In a Space Between28 de diciembre 2014. <div>There have been difficulties in my service thus far. Ways that I've been challenged beyond my imagination. Things I've had to learn, overcome, change about myself, and/or accept. If I were to write a novel of all of the parts of these last two years that were difficult, I'd write one longer than all the Harry Potter books combined.</div><div>And while I'm sure that <i style="font-weight: bold;">in</i> every moment, I would have said, "This is the hardest moment of my life," looking back (though even in that perspective lens we are in danger), I now know that I was wrong. The hardest moment of my Peace Corps service was this Christmas time. For the first time in 25 years, I wasn't going to be home with my family, the cold,the tree, the music, the movies, everything. And being raised with a family where traditions are <i style="font-weight: bold;">everything</i> (and I, on my own particularly, might even take that a step further), I was trapped in a world where nearly none of those familiarities existed. I tried mightily by putting up my tree a little earlier, lights outside my house in the formation of a star, a stocking (to which, upon being asked, realized I had <i style="font-weight: bold;">no clue </i>where it came from), and even orally sharing and comparing traditions between cultures with my neighbors and loved ones surrounding me. But as the big day approached, it got harder, I got weaker, and I was lost as to how to cope. The 23rd? In and out of tears (okay, so sobbing tears) kind of mess. I wanted to lock myself away in my house all day. But the loneliness consumed me. I tried to leave and be with other families to help fill the void. But the loneliness consumed me. </div><div>All I wanted was <i style="font-weight: bold;">my </i>family (selfishly); my mom, my dad, my big brother, little sister, and my munchkin. My grandmothers, cousins, Guncle, and random friends who always manage to stop by. I wanted to make cookies and eat the batter behind mom's back. I wanted to help put up the tree while watching the Grinch, annoyingly quoting <i style="font-weight: bold;">every. single. word.</i> I wanted to go Christmas shopping no matter how bad I am at it or how broke I would be doing it with Christmas music blasting through the slightly cracked window just so I could feel the freezing cold air bite my left cheek while my right was burning red with the warmth of the heated car. I wanted to go to church, even if it was with the same outfit as last year. Eat every appetizer grandma put out and then on a full stomach, shovel dinner down too. Maybe even going for seconds. I wanted to watch my cousins open presents Christmas with a glass of white wine in my hands that dad never fails to keep full. I wanted to fall asleep with my little man beside me, kicking me all night long or taking over the entire bed with his skinny but long body, knowing my baby girl was right there too sleeping soundly through the night. I wanted to wake up before the two of them, go to the bathroom (taking an illegal peek down the stairs as if I was 5 years old again), return to both of them awake and start our knocking ritual to "wake" the sleeping parents next door. I wanted to wrestle, laugh, and pretend to get annoyed as we wait for the adults to get everything prepared and start video taping. To take our picture on the stairs still all groggy and gross but always with a sparkle from the tree and excitement in our eyes. To take turns opening presents with a patience that should never exist. To find the cookies and carrots partially eaten and the milk slightly spilled on the table or floor. Drink coffee, eat breakfast, call relatives, and then get ready to head over to grandma #2's. Where the ticking clock in the dining room always matches the pulse of my heart and makes me feel safe and at peace. More presents, wine, food, making videos, playing games, and just basking in the warmth of family. Never wanting to leave but the end of the night inevitably arrives. Always.</div><div><br></div><div>I have learned of an entirely new world, new culture, and seen how small our country that we consume ourselves in truly is. I've loved parts of here far more than certain things back home. But I would be a liar and betrayer if I didn't admit that there are still so much from back home that I appreciate far more now. Sure, we are over-consumers, we use technology way too often, we lack in soaking in the simplicities of life, and we forget about what truly matters some days. But damn it, do we know how to celebrate Christmas (to me at least). Haha And maybe being sick, lacking sleep, needing peace and quiet more than I ever have, and being so damn attached to certain traditions isn't being fair to where I live now, but it's just how I feel. </div><div><br></div><div>But to continue being honest, I was stuck in a space between living in the past, and trying to enjoy the present moment. So to be fair to the present: </div><div>I was able to celebrate Christmas Eve dinner with my second family and it was a beautiful disaster. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYk0IjnpOcsV1nyU8xO1zQRfjQcEEJAa52dur6MYxQcuEHCZhwJzgXwblxYItg0MJorb3Cl9f5wvm-j4GZffoh9UKY1RDqm03MjPLR8gO9cMTm6aMimBVOG5RuKLpcwaaIzOyGm2BQjg2/s640/blogger-image-1532391737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYk0IjnpOcsV1nyU8xO1zQRfjQcEEJAa52dur6MYxQcuEHCZhwJzgXwblxYItg0MJorb3Cl9f5wvm-j4GZffoh9UKY1RDqm03MjPLR8gO9cMTm6aMimBVOG5RuKLpcwaaIzOyGm2BQjg2/s640/blogger-image-1532391737.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Absolute perfection, to be honest because it was just as unorganized and crazy, and delicious as it would have been back home. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQMfnslZsLXMX1T42oJ__fin7lWHzzV7S0z4CAoq7Kwmg7v4mr7_JLHJXnSvqRsfjF2Lsw4jWhGhNXKGKp1ywwlubOA6KzLBX98oJLOuPVScZEY5MVFWKyL_IMzDfVCD3pJ3O-HU7BzLF/s640/blogger-image--1233151033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQMfnslZsLXMX1T42oJ__fin7lWHzzV7S0z4CAoq7Kwmg7v4mr7_JLHJXnSvqRsfjF2Lsw4jWhGhNXKGKp1ywwlubOA6KzLBX98oJLOuPVScZEY5MVFWKyL_IMzDfVCD3pJ3O-HU7BzLF/s640/blogger-image--1233151033.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>I then got to dance and be with friends. </div><div>Christmas Day I was blessed enough to gather with some Americans in the area and we made food from back home, </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkk5eOaGc95lPkXrEleZ3jmzMgF96bhU2DkL91Vh6D1CK6ZMs7sA5L1m9achXR39Qrln3StcF9HwBxzQL6aAhfsOsdXOpmoco5j1Yps6EmTJB63zIP_Lycxb5UlarYCYnJvLu1LtxNLYS/s640/blogger-image--569048155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkk5eOaGc95lPkXrEleZ3jmzMgF96bhU2DkL91Vh6D1CK6ZMs7sA5L1m9achXR39Qrln3StcF9HwBxzQL6aAhfsOsdXOpmoco5j1Yps6EmTJB63zIP_Lycxb5UlarYCYnJvLu1LtxNLYS/s640/blogger-image--569048155.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>a little man (whom I just met that night) stole my heart while mashing potatoes better than me and telling me his life story,</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiW2Rawvvalpr0afeICQtOcRdVL1y3jNGvQmI5E9Hmdm79kgBwWyX5W0ZBjJAp9g7zjp58F358PpRTV51xEOav9ZcW5x6KiAUBork72vIAyA7lv-qN48GIxjIb0ey4Qna3vsbFHjHFC3I/s640/blogger-image-2067959809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiW2Rawvvalpr0afeICQtOcRdVL1y3jNGvQmI5E9Hmdm79kgBwWyX5W0ZBjJAp9g7zjp58F358PpRTV51xEOav9ZcW5x6KiAUBork72vIAyA7lv-qN48GIxjIb0ey4Qna3vsbFHjHFC3I/s640/blogger-image-2067959809.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And my family was there through all of the mess that I was. Even at midnight while I was feverish, just got finished throwing up and was sobbing. Sam, you're the best for answering me while naked and about to shower (did I just post that publically? Oops 😜)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7YQBtFLaHh3AMI6PGUpeYjx5ud6IAdjlcavr98s6EETd_vf26uKmWPSnSpPxbvdkf5WmAFsHEtji19Y1b8CtZilB7LEEsjwk1g_x4RQU3LrCb9h113T6OMmrIkuwNfShEetPZuF_eKT-/s640/blogger-image-1539239836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7YQBtFLaHh3AMI6PGUpeYjx5ud6IAdjlcavr98s6EETd_vf26uKmWPSnSpPxbvdkf5WmAFsHEtji19Y1b8CtZilB7LEEsjwk1g_x4RQU3LrCb9h113T6OMmrIkuwNfShEetPZuF_eKT-/s640/blogger-image-1539239836.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Reminding me that even if I make the decision to be away, they will always be there waiting with a suffocating group hug and glass of white wine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Merry Christmas everyone. </div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-55433182990553313892014-12-23T09:26:00.001-08:002014-12-23T09:26:23.002-08:00Where Children Should Never Have to Be.Santiago Children's Hospital 12 of December 2014. Casilda's twins were getting check-ups and she needed someone to make the trek with her. So with a note sent to my teachers and students to forgive my absence, we were off at 5am. <div>Such a beautifully painful trip. They were celebrating Christmas and the number of people handing out gifts, cookies, juice, highlighters, lo que sea was overwhelming. I did a lot of waiting around with the munchkins as Casilda did what she needed to do. Here are some pictures of us just hanging out and then the craziness of Santa Claus, presents, and the gathering of all the children who attend this hospital far too regularly.<br><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TgxTAS_DERNaXB87AN25kLL4hYb0etdnBqbwmG7KezRdJtpnzSLIrrLDxejGGvOE821EIWS1WgliEmGUdzVw-UjY1egDtbd3ANV7kqSSp8BqA65tTIE8HqgiD4-Jqg-csbEcmyonR8CW/s640/blogger-image--19154935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TgxTAS_DERNaXB87AN25kLL4hYb0etdnBqbwmG7KezRdJtpnzSLIrrLDxejGGvOE821EIWS1WgliEmGUdzVw-UjY1egDtbd3ANV7kqSSp8BqA65tTIE8HqgiD4-Jqg-csbEcmyonR8CW/s640/blogger-image--19154935.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Angel Manuel </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rpZhh5qeBANJ0VztEMyaQ6UqDQkyYUMU5SXNByP1xPlODVBqT9WOd9LAVVPkgUuu8F4VO7384uoSBu_Vts3NUFK2TYFTxngMx0ljYg9ZN9SkoUMivQBygONZxuShNwCHvozPkVTfWUir/s640/blogger-image--1669089161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rpZhh5qeBANJ0VztEMyaQ6UqDQkyYUMU5SXNByP1xPlODVBqT9WOd9LAVVPkgUuu8F4VO7384uoSBu_Vts3NUFK2TYFTxngMx0ljYg9ZN9SkoUMivQBygONZxuShNwCHvozPkVTfWUir/s640/blogger-image--1669089161.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Angel Miguel. I used to not be able to tell them apart... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigY5Tf9BZy5x3JWKNeK1-APSXHaacnblV2dSZDzoLA9ThLiYCmfUSB6Xsh94JKqe4BLVyk57TJBHMVQYjSbibBM-sSwUVU-PLcSCX-tRUb0sgu6TekdmpxVa7SdMJWnl8S1YG8nZ-smNQy/s640/blogger-image-1653404646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigY5Tf9BZy5x3JWKNeK1-APSXHaacnblV2dSZDzoLA9ThLiYCmfUSB6Xsh94JKqe4BLVyk57TJBHMVQYjSbibBM-sSwUVU-PLcSCX-tRUb0sgu6TekdmpxVa7SdMJWnl8S1YG8nZ-smNQy/s640/blogger-image-1653404646.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Momma and her princes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8Z6lWfllrRR-DBcQsAWz2N8RMe0VhftTBGvTOY_nsWLgf8mzsODaZ3n3t-0_PkLcPdkx-6Gw4REFycvNALjYn6HLf8Y3_RtaqZz4fpsiW7YifH5E-RSzVdfAblUOt8BocvmOgCqw2dWx/s640/blogger-image-1455789225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8Z6lWfllrRR-DBcQsAWz2N8RMe0VhftTBGvTOY_nsWLgf8mzsODaZ3n3t-0_PkLcPdkx-6Gw4REFycvNALjYn6HLf8Y3_RtaqZz4fpsiW7YifH5E-RSzVdfAblUOt8BocvmOgCqw2dWx/s640/blogger-image-1455789225.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">They were terrified of Santa Claus. Haha</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9zkbJ__vA7kSEL5J-xmcy76uXCtRyiPaf70fefEyc8Mhv-gH0hlqmdxRVMIqAKWG7FDtZ5M3s6wzTc44mJKaNOFH7tTsdWInrnKk5hDNr7Qll3tdmjbB5oWYpJyM21rfFVKMKKhgv5aW/s640/blogger-image-1091318793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9zkbJ__vA7kSEL5J-xmcy76uXCtRyiPaf70fefEyc8Mhv-gH0hlqmdxRVMIqAKWG7FDtZ5M3s6wzTc44mJKaNOFH7tTsdWInrnKk5hDNr7Qll3tdmjbB5oWYpJyM21rfFVKMKKhgv5aW/s640/blogger-image-1091318793.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All of these children have some sort of chronic illness...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhne_P4U4mkYJAa4V2p49RhLN3DBLdf3SXhBMtkJVh9gG1NMJSl71sklohLe0fSlS9GEeyqcsN2vnwefYyM2ARm2CDN7eCQn2wUNuZF6FT_AJbb_T0tSmvDNyJj3yw3txTtDocLLO_BZD2f/s640/blogger-image-242024298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhne_P4U4mkYJAa4V2p49RhLN3DBLdf3SXhBMtkJVh9gG1NMJSl71sklohLe0fSlS9GEeyqcsN2vnwefYyM2ARm2CDN7eCQn2wUNuZF6FT_AJbb_T0tSmvDNyJj3yw3txTtDocLLO_BZD2f/s640/blogger-image-242024298.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">❤️</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeLSHxqsmpTtcwsLQp_XgOIfF5iGw8vKW45gd2WHgKHhLauioYubv-GNbSlmIJDMWVax1IuZ5fM8I4wdk0qCmBKWDtWaZ_PwL_L_PJJL2zDEU3WUEMMfwIEZA9607jKbJO0zzv-6ApMjQ/s640/blogger-image--511567390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeLSHxqsmpTtcwsLQp_XgOIfF5iGw8vKW45gd2WHgKHhLauioYubv-GNbSlmIJDMWVax1IuZ5fM8I4wdk0qCmBKWDtWaZ_PwL_L_PJJL2zDEU3WUEMMfwIEZA9607jKbJO0zzv-6ApMjQ/s640/blogger-image--511567390.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Miguel and I playing together while his momma and brother had a consultation. She has to go back with Manuel on the 22 where they will inform her whether or not the next step will be the surgery or one more round of chemotherapy... And then on the 31st, they will have to return for whatever is decided.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I pray for little Angel Manuel and his family everyday. They have showed me what the strength of a family really is capable of and I'll never be able to thank them enough for it. We just have to have faith that his thinning hair, loss of his beautifully thick eyelashes, slimming of his tiny body, sinking of his once-plump cheeks, and the unseen battle inside will all be worth it in the end. And we can celebrate another life saved by a miracle someday soon.</div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-20723869203011103482014-12-18T17:24:00.001-08:002014-12-18T17:24:23.859-08:00Who wants a Sack of Rice?The day I got back (8 de diciembre) was a long one. I arose an hour early, forgetting my clock was an hour behind because of the lack of daylight savings in the DR. Unable to fall asleep, I simply arose at 5:30 and through difficult goodbyes, I headed out with my daddy, coffee in hand and a suitcase beautifully stuffed by my mother. The drive was long and the tears threatened to descend the entire way but my dad and his loving support kept me together. I said goodbye outside the airport and rushed in since I was cutting my time quite short. After getting my ticket, checking my 49lb bag (1lb more and I would've had to pay! GO MOM), and making it through security, I sat at my gate with only ten minutes before my boarding time. Phew!<div>I arrived in Santo Domingo at noon, made it through customs, and rushed to find a taxi. I had to ask if there was still a bus to Loma because again, cutting it short. He said the last one left at 2:30. Perfect. But upon arriving at the bus station at 1:10, the last one was leaving at 1:30, and the ticket man first said there were no more seats available. But upon checking again, there was one! Phew again! Six hours later, I made it to Loma in the dark. Yoelbi was late picking me up but when he arrived, I couldn't have been happier. And Eudy tagged along to haul my suitcase. I hopped on with Yoelbi and we were off. HOLY FREEZING. I literally felt my bones shaking. But about 30 minutes in, Eudy hitting a pothole and my suitcase going flying, I made it to my house. And to a bonfire right outside and a bunch of kids chanting my name. God they just know the way to my heart. I unpacked little and passed out after visiting a few favorites (oops, can I say that?).</div><div>The next day I slept in until 11. Oh yea :) I was arranging my house and unpacking a bit when Dominga called me from next door. She told me that across the Play, two girls were fighting. I booked it. After breaking through the crowd chanting and laughing, I grabbed the one girl (almost my height and much "stronger" than me) as she was ripping the other girls hair out and getting bashed in the head. My arms alone weren't strong enough to break them apart. So, I pulled my weight back and used my entire body to separate them, falling flat on my back on the rocks with the girl falling on top of me. Fight over. And commence full body shakes from the adrenaline. Some teachers were there watching but too afraid to get involved. Thank goodness Dominga called me... I was fuming, yelled at a guy my age who was just watching with a smile and returned home.</div><div>The rest of the day was just organizing, handing out presents (who knew the dollar store could be such a hit!), and finishing up plans for class the next day.<br><div>Back to class I went at 8am and boy did I miss it! Casilda and I then went around to sell tickets for our raffle on Sunday. And Sunday was a SUCCESS. A sack of rice (125lbs worth) was such a good idea. We spent more on the prize but raised more money than any other raffle we had done. And there were many more people in attendance. </div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlezhLePF-CNNL80M1ce6EPINkJ3EZfAOXR2ZHVFkFVNyIytc2HHbqiNARYkf829HUQeWPboDnJbMevBs-AtKz7oEDEwMWHlYRAz0-2uyOOj4BZAv-wL2AhgnzLTwv0ClybB33vugQRWNg/s640/blogger-image-33305278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlezhLePF-CNNL80M1ce6EPINkJ3EZfAOXR2ZHVFkFVNyIytc2HHbqiNARYkf829HUQeWPboDnJbMevBs-AtKz7oEDEwMWHlYRAz0-2uyOOj4BZAv-wL2AhgnzLTwv0ClybB33vugQRWNg/s640/blogger-image-33305278.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh5VJ0QQsxNTLbGgPd4ZxM5JFqqWkfENagM6nfsGxHm7XPiJnbXq4h7V9vu-m-sF520vWAVUMrNXVCkyjnPTyudwEQqVRE5fN2d6wcadGEtXeaAgDjsltzN0BneKWtnRKO8kDRCnNdc4O/s640/blogger-image-1673060439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh5VJ0QQsxNTLbGgPd4ZxM5JFqqWkfENagM6nfsGxHm7XPiJnbXq4h7V9vu-m-sF520vWAVUMrNXVCkyjnPTyudwEQqVRE5fN2d6wcadGEtXeaAgDjsltzN0BneKWtnRKO8kDRCnNdc4O/s640/blogger-image-1673060439.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBWDJkXgVjmvbpmp2ebarVevJ8oEMv4XPxZepISN8YJWuvq7G3ChAWuvf4wByiaTHYzMrfdyR2okskYO4OXvx5V6lq246SaKSw7jLTbx7ZrjkKpXGyJb0PS8apr2jFwETD7orC4GmE5g9/s640/blogger-image--824390011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBWDJkXgVjmvbpmp2ebarVevJ8oEMv4XPxZepISN8YJWuvq7G3ChAWuvf4wByiaTHYzMrfdyR2okskYO4OXvx5V6lq246SaKSw7jLTbx7ZrjkKpXGyJb0PS8apr2jFwETD7orC4GmE5g9/s640/blogger-image--824390011.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Other updates? Still no answer for location. We got through to the secretary of the presidency who is going to speak with the man who promised to help us and then dropped off the face of the earth. And another Christmas raffle is in the making :)</div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-26886128271168019062014-12-18T17:16:00.001-08:002014-12-18T17:16:34.852-08:00Too Much love for WordsThe first week of December was vacation time! And can I be honest and say, I cried the night before leaving haha. I'm sure it was just a bunch of emotions running through my body but oh man was I excited. The week was full of family, food, and just good old times. Seeing everyone was incredible. I can't even describe it all adequately but I'm so beyond blessed by the ones I have back home. And I'll never forget it, even while I'm so far away for so long. <div>The wedding was beautiful, the house where we stayed, incredible, and the love I felt, overwhelming-in a good way. My family gave me Christmas early and we just lived each and every moment to the fullest. I find myself without words here so I'll just post some pictures to show my beautiful family and I together for the first time in too long. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7aaOcUI3Y3sCl-dSJzD2Q6RignqdOjVeW5InxuTkrY2E7qtBzI0jF0JhLym3XzIIBqbQkzy-zZyHHuv-QxVfoi_nOrmN99iToxT1kKHbGUMTf4405cmrWEH-KWymPD2DHv1Vfir2Jl_1/s640/blogger-image--1184024219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7aaOcUI3Y3sCl-dSJzD2Q6RignqdOjVeW5InxuTkrY2E7qtBzI0jF0JhLym3XzIIBqbQkzy-zZyHHuv-QxVfoi_nOrmN99iToxT1kKHbGUMTf4405cmrWEH-KWymPD2DHv1Vfir2Jl_1/s640/blogger-image--1184024219.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9GeLzIcDjP4SfYpew0lLv4UG5IONtNCoCpLeFtFds39YTuk5kXWibrddke4QhGzOXTHQUonlxmZ34GIoOiWgGKcmA1Sur3EfLATexT6CaLgtBOjz-Bn2Msu1A6dveu-Br9WyNY4vN-ch/s640/blogger-image--520510131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9GeLzIcDjP4SfYpew0lLv4UG5IONtNCoCpLeFtFds39YTuk5kXWibrddke4QhGzOXTHQUonlxmZ34GIoOiWgGKcmA1Sur3EfLATexT6CaLgtBOjz-Bn2Msu1A6dveu-Br9WyNY4vN-ch/s640/blogger-image--520510131.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHZD4uGUOlshlTj_cy3SpLXjipoT1k9CvizWpKJz-qfAGIO1sIy2SQb0q-T-G23eFBQHSGJFvPa3JIHkpcjVU5l1uMuLHPTFzolcu9N7_tDmvNpr5BzDRcP0b1_2ZvwjRqunyMwiqdX-S/s640/blogger-image--1358819955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHZD4uGUOlshlTj_cy3SpLXjipoT1k9CvizWpKJz-qfAGIO1sIy2SQb0q-T-G23eFBQHSGJFvPa3JIHkpcjVU5l1uMuLHPTFzolcu9N7_tDmvNpr5BzDRcP0b1_2ZvwjRqunyMwiqdX-S/s640/blogger-image--1358819955.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0p74Ugn52m5IlADWD90q3ZvaJRJtmSV2Jj0_p7lOlGmt_s6eyGx02OiJ_4x6go0e7JwFH3bST4vL2z1K52mT42rmOhYMpaOicBBZr8qVj1r1HnUKapBW5O1EjAgzOUZs3stqG76uww03/s640/blogger-image--1941830421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0p74Ugn52m5IlADWD90q3ZvaJRJtmSV2Jj0_p7lOlGmt_s6eyGx02OiJ_4x6go0e7JwFH3bST4vL2z1K52mT42rmOhYMpaOicBBZr8qVj1r1HnUKapBW5O1EjAgzOUZs3stqG76uww03/s640/blogger-image--1941830421.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fkbh7akSwMzebbVm-RW0hj6-npKQ-vLJKjgXGOSDzHexja5nc_qSct4ZVsCiSa8zd-kytQXy2IQUuujzlkcPfOuym65Aby7JAU1gqR-aObJOeahcZCyPx1twB0d0065tn68RkuAXWyyL/s640/blogger-image--8511658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fkbh7akSwMzebbVm-RW0hj6-npKQ-vLJKjgXGOSDzHexja5nc_qSct4ZVsCiSa8zd-kytQXy2IQUuujzlkcPfOuym65Aby7JAU1gqR-aObJOeahcZCyPx1twB0d0065tn68RkuAXWyyL/s640/blogger-image--8511658.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And while everything being so perfect made it hard to go back, it also made it that much easier. Because I know they're always there, loving me and supporting me through all my crazy shenanigans. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I miss you all.</div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-58426964355505727742014-12-17T07:39:00.001-08:002014-12-18T17:11:51.424-08:00Adventure of a LifetimeSo on Thursday, the 20 of Noviembre, Ann and Keila came to my neck of the woods to visit. They stopped by to pick me up and we headed to Restauración for a meeting with Ramon, the district director. The meeting had been scheduled and confirmed as of the day prior but of course, upon showing up, he wasn't there. The sub-director, however, was. The purpose of the meeting was to form a better relationship between Peace Corps and the district. Ann's brilliant plan is to make them more aware of the volunteers in the area, what our job is and how it lines up with theirs, and to hopefully find a way to collaborate together more effectively. This is why she creates "clusters" of volunteers in one district when she does site development. The meeting went beautifully. They saw her passion, loved how much our goals line up with theirs and are excited for the relationship to form. We are still in infancy stages with the process but it was so neat to be there and have a hand in moving forward.<div>Next? Lunch. Then we headed to a community called Cruz de Cabrera for site development. Ann had been there before but had heard of another route through the pueblo which was apparently shorter. What she was unaware of, however, was the condition of the road. Literally the worst road I have ever seen in my entire life. Imagine me in the back seat, holding on to both "Oh shit" bars on either side and Ann and Keila screaming in the front as we rise and fall and curve with ditches and mud and cliffs hanging off to our right. The complete lack of houses and people was also terrifying in that NO ONE would've known if were to have gotten stuck. I had to get out three times to see if it was even possible to keep going with the way the cracks and holes dipped. THANK GOD for the PC four wheel drive and the incredible chofer that Keila was. An hour and a half later, we made it to the school. </div><div>Incredibly enough, despite not seeing many houses, the school's population is higher than that of Mariano Cestero. We met with the director's wife and the teaching staff of the afternoon. They were wonderful and excited about the possibility of a volunteer working with them. All I have to say is this volunteer better be prepared for living out in the middle of nowhere, with no cell phone service, and they have to LOVE walking. A lot. Haha But oh my god did we have a blast together, the three of us women screaming, praying, singing, and laughing until we were sick to our stomachs (or maybe that was just Ann's pregnancy 😜). And again, it was neat to see the back stage of site development. Something that we don't see much as volunteers since we are just sent where our bosses have already been to and explored.</div><div>On the way out, we headed in the other direction and it took only about 20 minutes and the road wasn't nearly as bad haha. We vowed NEVER to go that way again! We stopped by and saw Tiffany and then they brought me home before heading to where they were staying the night. So much fun.</div><div><div><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-55245890710861620722014-11-26T13:39:00.001-08:002014-11-26T13:39:09.072-08:00El Día de la Eliminación de la Violencia Contra la Mujer<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">25 de noviembre 2014</p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">Today is El Día de la Eliminación de la Violencia Contra la Mujer.</p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">We had all the kids in one classroom this morning. Some munchkins did a drama and shared a poem. We watched a few videos. Each teacher then spoke of what that meant and how we can fight it. They said it all but then it was my turn. I had to fight back the tears I was sharing with a few from the crowd that I saw bowing their heads, trying to hide. I know their stories.</p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">But all I did was assign them homework. To go home and hug their mothers, father, grandmothers, siblings, aunts, uncles, whoever in the home. Told them that we have two arms and two hands and WE choose what to do with them. Today, we chose to hug instead of hit. </p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">When they left, I received over 15 hugs from my kiddos and upon visiting one family shortly after class let out, a mother told me that her son came home and immediately gave her a big hug.</p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">My heart is heavy, sharing the pain of those that I know suffer from this reality. But it is also filled with love for those few that DO listen and DO try and make a difference. No matter how small. All they need is someone who cares and someone who shows them that their hands can, in fact, be used for love.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-58723915159186577192014-11-26T13:32:00.001-08:002014-11-26T13:32:02.959-08:00Our Blood Runs Together23 de noviembre 2014<div><br></div><div>Last Monday Kilvio and I took a trip to Mao. We had brought a letter to the director of agriculture in DaJabon and he sent the letter to the main man in Mao, the next level up in the ministry. A week later, Casilda called and we set up the date to meet him personally to discuss the office and its fate. Unfortunately, that Sunday before, Casilda's son fell very ill and they had to take him to the hospital in Santiago. So Monday morning I arose at 4am and Kilvio and I alone caught the 5:45am bus from Loma to head to Mao, about two hours away. We arrived a little early, drank a cafecito in the park and chatted for a bit, hoping the fate of the office would be stated that day. We took another little guagua to the office and met the regional director. He seems like a good man. Spoke of the difficulties of obtaining an office and reiterated that it would be a shared office, just like we agreed. But the decision wasn't his to make. He has to send the letter and project proposal even higher up in the Ministry, to the office in the capital. And then he softened a bit. We discussed the dire necessity in our little community and he said he understood. He shared a moment that he remembers to this day of when he saw his first book when he was little in his campo school. He was in sixth grade, it was red, and about Juan Pablo Duarte. He remembers vividly picking it up and feeling it for the first time and how the pages smelled, brand new. Incredible. He couldn't give us a date of when he would bring the letter and when the committee was going to come to see the office (they HAVE to see it personally to gauge the condition before making a decision) because he said he's a man of his word. So if he says a date, he doesn't like to fail.</div><div>So with a hand shake goodbye, a promise of a phonecall, and a twinkle behind the horribly magnified glasses, we were off, left with newfound hope but the same old standstill. We made three store stops and made the bus by 10:30am back to Loma. I had to wait in Loma for an hour and a half for something to Mariano but I made it eventually.</div><div><br></div><div>So why three stores you ask? Bags. Bags? Yes. To do this:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgImG1jNN7KbVNFHToAyaHbc7zzokaK4fA7CGrx0_iw-F1JuMHFWWPP9rqcymf12h-XB1nGqBTzNiYMN9TgYI55sTb8QAMYW_s6lHulMqF-91v9_iaGiUJH1pNH5JloI7Q8MvsLVYW-v5yG/s640/blogger-image--382184557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgImG1jNN7KbVNFHToAyaHbc7zzokaK4fA7CGrx0_iw-F1JuMHFWWPP9rqcymf12h-XB1nGqBTzNiYMN9TgYI55sTb8QAMYW_s6lHulMqF-91v9_iaGiUJH1pNH5JloI7Q8MvsLVYW-v5yG/s640/blogger-image--382184557.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The day I spent putting up the lights in my house and making a star, I had Casilda come over to give me advice on where to put the last strand. Afterwards, she sat and cried and cried with me in my house. Saying how every year at Christmas she decorates her house. But this year, it's just not in her. Her six kids want it but she doesn't have the drive or energy to do it. So that same Sunday she left for Santiago with her son, I collected her kids and asked what kinds of things they used to do to decorate. Told them that we were to going to make <b>something </b>to surprise their mom. Jose took charge and was the genius behind it all. I didn't quite understand the concept of this tree but I bought three packets of each colored bag (about 100 bags in each packet at $10 pesos a packet) thinking it was plenty. Ha.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That night we started. The kids found a wooden pole for the middle, a nail, wire for the branches and made stakes with a machete and sticks. The base was formed, we cut all of the bags in half and started tying knots. So so many knots. But the bags ran out, and fast. With those three packets all cut in half, we managed to finish one single branch. Haha so for precisely that reason, three stores later in Mao, I walked away with 9 more packets of EACH color (30 packets in total-3,000 individual bags, cut in half=6,000 bags to tie). When I arrived Monday in Mariano, I headed there around 4pm alone. Slowly but surely kids would pass by, stop, and ask if they could help. Claro! At one point, I think I had almost 20 kids working at once, all around the tree. And at 10pm with the headlight of a moto to illuminate our work, we finished. Using every last bag bought and cut. I can't even describe how blessed I felt and how proud I was of all my kiddos in the community who worked tirelessly to finish it in just two nights.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzMJQ-Ogvbb3up3KJR1mrSDfR-XO83J106atSptjwCACYwrHorrzvINa6Fr9jZOMiZdUS85nKxiio0relfdsRTpLC72k2yawK4HpN24kyhDNQoRjhy6DTmYk1pH23930eo874AhMPPxcK/s640/blogger-image--137558784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzMJQ-Ogvbb3up3KJR1mrSDfR-XO83J106atSptjwCACYwrHorrzvINa6Fr9jZOMiZdUS85nKxiio0relfdsRTpLC72k2yawK4HpN24kyhDNQoRjhy6DTmYk1pH23930eo874AhMPPxcK/s640/blogger-image--137558784.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjek_vEqjbuFUnD8ZoWGZjMj49E__QfsRQ3nvV9sAac37WPA8koPHBxhECld6FRXclPfdO-v_l8uAdFd6lRDQx5AKVtrJNSJNKfxzwJfNOffKUlsh4b0BLFuELPCaxrComgouw4HaQFsjYf/s640/blogger-image--90204422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjek_vEqjbuFUnD8ZoWGZjMj49E__QfsRQ3nvV9sAac37WPA8koPHBxhECld6FRXclPfdO-v_l8uAdFd6lRDQx5AKVtrJNSJNKfxzwJfNOffKUlsh4b0BLFuELPCaxrComgouw4HaQFsjYf/s640/blogger-image--90204422.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVBle2o4xNYRPFsTE5JlLSYWysYPrFFMH-Bvej3kVg6jNj8eqC5yM4iV65HjVcFX09bvPq8vKv8sUIYJIW5ze818QHlzIp92KzhqHLmHUWMngJiB_UzpsNm3zjJv2_W3rGE2oiDwxuZF7/s640/blogger-image--1562815664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVBle2o4xNYRPFsTE5JlLSYWysYPrFFMH-Bvej3kVg6jNj8eqC5yM4iV65HjVcFX09bvPq8vKv8sUIYJIW5ze818QHlzIp92KzhqHLmHUWMngJiB_UzpsNm3zjJv2_W3rGE2oiDwxuZF7/s640/blogger-image--1562815664.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The gang in the end. We then made flowers out of plastic bottles we found in the street and I added glitter to make some designs (again, Jose? Creative Genius). The center of each flower is the cap of the bottle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOO3mUEXTcXAdJS5ILD77lcageGcjGivdfk-_mqIvWYjHVDAiNaglTkY9WfadufyVrMTIIuakyVsBQ7KgC8GHtXozHZg0E9EoES4UBI8EZWAtUCYmSFVpFXlcgbos71n8H89s_jwhU0Hd/s640/blogger-image-2020081123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOO3mUEXTcXAdJS5ILD77lcageGcjGivdfk-_mqIvWYjHVDAiNaglTkY9WfadufyVrMTIIuakyVsBQ7KgC8GHtXozHZg0E9EoES4UBI8EZWAtUCYmSFVpFXlcgbos71n8H89s_jwhU0Hd/s640/blogger-image-2020081123.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One set we put on the door and two more on either side of the window. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When she arrived, she cried. And told us she was mad at us while hugging me tighter than she's ever hugged me before :) She wants to finish with a few special touches of her own and then we are going to take some family photos. I'll post when the time comes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I think God made a mistake in not telling me I had a sister in another country. And that I had nephews and nieces that I would love as if we shared the same blood. But como quiera our blood runs together. And though He made a mistake, I'll forgive Him. Because after all this time and all the crazy confusion of where I belonged here in this country of mango trees and bachata music, He finally sent me here to meet them. And to love them unconditionally.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And who can stay mad at God for very long, anyways?</div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-13277108416551732312014-10-24T18:43:00.001-07:002014-10-24T18:43:44.148-07:00Sugar Coffee, Rain Clouds, Baseball, and Dominoes24 de octubre 2014<div>Just going to give an update on life since nothing crazy different is going on but it's been a little while since I've posted.</div><div><br></div><div>Classes are still chugging along. </div><div>Technology classes with 4th-8th are a roller coaster. One week I planned poorly and because of that, behavior was difficult to manage. I lost my patience but was slapped in the face with kindness and love in return from my kiddos. And loved every bit of the pain in my cheeks. This past week, we got enough batteries for every child to have a keyboard and it went much much smoother. They all wrote their own stories all starting with "Había una vez" (Once upon a time) and ending with "Colorín colorado, este cuento se ha acabado." Some were from their imaginations while others were stories they had been told (and some, quite morbid!). But I fell in love. I decided I didn't want them to delete them so I made sure they were saved. That led to me sitting for 3 hours, copying their stories onto my iPad. I then created a story page to print for each student, copying and pasting clipart (to accompany their dogs, frogs, goats, dolls, motorcycles, etc) below so they would each have their own mini cuento. Each, meaning all 54 of them. Haha this next week they're going to retype them and share (because did I mention, I had to correct so many misspellings and lack of punctuation??). I hope they like them!</div><div>English classes are always a blast and I'm learning as I go-better ways to teach from last years lessons and more fun games and activities to make the class less-copy and more-play/practice. In the community class we are so much farther than I've ever gotten. I have to admit, I'm loving that part of it and I really feel as though they're learning a ton-they prove me right every week as I speak more and more in English and they understand me!</div><div><br></div><div>Working with our kindergarten teacher is still just as rewarding and fun. We've finished setting up the classroom and making all sorts of interactive posters on the wall (a calendar that they have to put the numbers on and change the month, an attendance one where they put their names that are written on ducks in the correct pocket with "male" or "female" and change the days next to "Yesterday was..." "Today is..." And "Tomorrow will be..." Etc). We are now deep into planning, ensuring that we follow the manual from the Ministry of Education (and making a list...a very long list... Of the didactic materials we are lacking and want bought lol Hopefully that dream becomes a reality! A kindergarten with no scissors, crayons, colored paper, glue, etc is truly a challenge) and creating "projects" based on themes chosen by the little munchkins themselves. After yesterday's journey around the community observing all around us, we chose our current project: Animals! I just spent today printing out the story of "The Little Red Hen" (where the hen is making bread and with every step in the process she asks for help but the duck, dog, and cat refuse. Of course until she asks who wants to help eat it! And she says no! Haha). I then found clipart of the characters, cut them out and glued them to cardboard (from boxes of granola bars and crackers I didn't want to throw away) and glued them to Popsicle sticks. The teacher wasn't there today which gave me time to finish the lesson materials in the hopes that Monday she likes it and the kiddos can act out the story :)</div><div><br></div><div>The Biblioteca Tecnológica is at a standstill. We received the phone call from the Presidential Palace saying that all they needed was my committee president's cedula number. This *could* mean that they are going to cover all of the funds needed. But we are waiting... And have no way of calling them to find out (the call came in as restricted). So then there's all the institutions and small business owners that we brought solicitation letters to. Do we go as a follow up and start collecting funds and materials? When we might not need any of it? Then there's the location... We called again to find out the status of the solicitation letter and its response. Still no word from the head office. And we were told that they will have to come personally to see the state of the office first. Bueno. When in the world will that be? We don't know. </div><div>But we had a meeting with the community last week. Wanting to keep the motivation and excitement alive even though there weren't many results to share (to accompany all the work we have done!). It didn't go well. Beautifully planned and ready to be executed but life in the DR stood in our way. After 3 hours and getting their hair done and uniforms ready for their dance routine to start out the meeting, my 5 dancers were ready to go. And halfway through the first song, we lost electricity. Way earlier than it normally goes out. And then the CD refused to read in the computer (which was all set up as a back-up plan with my portable speakers! We were so prepared, damn it). Also, only 6 adults showed up from the community... So we postponed our final dinámica/activity (which I was in love with) for the next meeting.</div><div>But such is life!</div><div><br></div><div>This week, I was told that our psychologist, the one who I've teamed up with for the Escuela de Padres y Madres and the one who hungers for knowledge and new ways to do things, is leaving us. Headed to a new community and we don't know if we will get another one. That hit me hard. Without her, the parenting school will fall through the cracks because the only one who can keep it running is our director. And he now has his first grade class in the afternoons-when the meetings are scheduled... She is, however, going to the community where Tiffany (a phenomenal new volunteer) is living and working. So while it hurts to know she's leaving, I'm very happy for Tiffany and the community of Las Rosas because they are going to have such a blessing working with them. Someone who has a passion that's hard to find these days. And they will only benefit greatly from it.</div><div><br></div><div>Yesterday, non-work related, I hosted a Rosary session in my house. You heard right. About 15 women from the community came over and we said the rosary together-complete with the mysteries, prayers, scripture readings, and songs (I've <i>almost </i>got the Hail Mary down in Spanish! Haha). They've been making their way around the community, doing this once everyday of the week in the homes of those who wish to host and I was asked by Dominga (my goddaughter's mother) if I wanted to be next! Afterwards, I made juice (from a package, not all natural-don't get too excited) and we had crackers to accompany it. What an honor. And I have to say, I felt the presence of a very special person from back home-you know who you are and I hope you felt it too.</div><div><br></div><div>For now, I believe that is all :) As the world keeps turning here, changes are being made while other things are staying the same. But we continue to drink coffee with way too much sugar, sit in plastic chairs watching the rain clouds roll in, and play a little bit of baseball or Dominoes in times when we just need a break. </div><div>Abrazos y besos to all back home. As you know, I miss you everyday.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-347454610307077302014-10-10T09:04:00.001-07:002014-10-10T09:04:04.038-07:00The Beauty within the DarknessSometimes there's no electricity and the world around us is dark.<div><br></div><div>Sometimes siblings nag each other and it turns into a fight.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes parents don't always make the best decisions and their kids are left to suffer.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes men do wheelies on motorcycles and hurt themselves or someone else.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes teachers are tired and don't teach their best class.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes money is tight and hunger strikes.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes a child is left behind who doesn't know how to read.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes good people sleep when there's a world to change out there.</div><div><br></div><div>Now, answer me this. The above; the Dominican Republic? Or the United States?</div><div>Exactly.</div><div>You don't know for sure. Neither do I.</div><div><br></div><div>Problems exist everywhere. First world countries, third world countries, your neighbor's house, or yours. There is darkness, exhaustion, confusion, and complacency. I see flaws everyday here. But when I go online (my only portal back home), these flaws and others are seen too. Posted all down my newsfeed from friends and family back home. Some of the articles from home sicken me more than what I witness here.</div><div>So today I want to celebrate. Celebrate the beauty that lies within what seems to be darkness in the life of the DR. Things that make me proud, smile, laugh, and sing. Because there's so much of it. And I'll admit, I haven't done them justice. I challenge you as well, to read these and then make a list of your own from back home. Because some try and find the good, while others drown in the depths of the ugly. </div><div>Which will you choose?</div><div><br></div><div>Today, I witnessed a movement that is being spoken of from the top dogs in the Ministry of Education. Many movements such as these are shared but never executed. Here, in my little campo of Mariano Cestero, we executed one: Recreo es Divertido (Recess is Fun). Recess is a half an hour a day where the kids are free to run, play volleyball, jump rope, basketball, etc while the teachers grab little chairs and sit outside the school grounds in the shade. Fights often break out. Kids fall and cut themselves. Or ride bikes in the dangers of the street where motos whiz by. </div><div>Today we shut the doors. The director had his bank of games and the kids all got together to play WITH the teachers. There were competitions and games galore. Everyone was engaged. The teachers helped monitor, play, and teach. It was an absolute blast. I lost my voice from screaming so hard. And when I left, hearing the screams from the kids didn't make me cringe thinking about the fight that just broke out, it made me smile knowing some team had just found victory.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>This week and last, I've been working with our new kindergarten teacher. I've seen so many that look at the content of this grade and pick and choose what they want to teach. Never changing the room to organize it how the manual says and often write a daily schedule and never follow it. But she is different. She approached me, admitted that she knew little of how to teach kindergarten, found all the materials and information and said, "Let's work together." As a team, we've started rearranging the room, making new signs and posters, organizing all the beautiful resources available that have gone untouched, and read what needs to be done and how. It's still a work in progress but she approaches me everyday with new things to do, new ideas, and new questions.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>My English classes with 7th and 8th grade have gone on for three weeks now. We start every class with the song, "Happy" by Pharrel Williams and we sing and dance together. They genuinely know the word 'happy' and what it means and work hard every single Friday. They listen, write, practice, and lose their "vergüenza" in order to learn as much as possible. They're excited for class each week and always remind me on Thursdays that we have class the next day. I feel such pride and love for them and hunger for the hugs I'm given everyday. And hey, if all they know on the final exam is the word "happy," I will honestly still be just as excited.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>My committee for our Biblioteca Tecnológica is a rock. A few members fall out occasionally for life reasons but we continue to push forward, always picking up the slack where it falls. When we get together, whether purposely to talk of the project or not, we are motivated and ready to continue the fight. The process is long, but my faith in us goes unbroken.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>Viviana is my 25 year old mother who is working on reading. She has taken classes in the past and always given up. A few months back, she approached me and asked me to teach her. Every week since then, once or twice a week, we have class. Her motivation and passion is incredible. And shows in her progress. Her self confidence lacks at times but through various activities, I've been able to <i style="font-weight: bold;">prove</i> that she is improving and I now hear less and less "I forgot" from her. And in the weeks where I get crazy and am unable to have class, I see her reading her notebook outside on her patio or under the shade of a mango tree. Never giving up even when <i style="font-weight: bold;">I</i> falter.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>Kilvio and I made a trip to Loma de Cabrera, Santiago de la Cruz, and DaJabon to hand in solicitation letters for help with our Biblioteca Tecnológica project. One stop was with an institution called "Save the Children." I met a woman, Anita, who works in various communities with many initiatives and ways to promote the rights of children-in all ways (education, health, discipline, etc). Her passion and drive for making a change in her own country was impossible to ignore and bursting from the seams. She's excited to team up with Peace Corps volunteers because our goals and purposes are the exactly same. And it's true. We were limited on time, but after exchanging numbers and promising to get together soon to share ideas and projects, I left her office exploding from the chest with love.</div><div>Beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>And there they are. Certainly not all but recently what's been making my heart beat faster and grow with pride and love for this country and these people. Tonight we won't have electricity, but I know all that is singing in my soul will be enough light to bring out the sunlight of tomorrow.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-20807593277554700992014-10-08T09:45:00.001-07:002014-10-08T09:45:29.311-07:00The Call of a LifetimeWe might have our project funded entirely, all at once, and by the President of the Dominican Republic.<div><br><div>When I see the numbers on a check or in our bank account, I will update.</div></div><div><br></div><div>Also. I updated this one Facebook but not here. In the last two weeks, we've gotten water through the faucet THREE times. Once even on my laundry day. It's been over half a month and I have yet to see the bottom of my water tank. GLORIA A DIOS.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-40831055667825290092014-10-01T15:29:00.003-07:002014-10-01T15:29:58.719-07:00Tomorrow.1 de October 2014<div>Wow. September flew by. And as I lay here absolutely exhausted from today's classes (all 5 of them), I'm struggling as to which parts of my many thoughts to address. But I shall try and share them anyways, hopefully somewhat cohesively.</div><div>I may have mentioned this before but it still amazes me. When I first received that blue envelope with my invitation and copious amounts of information, I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by what was about to be my reality in a country I had only ever seen on a map. Overwhelmed by the fact that I was going to live away from home for TWO whole years (and 3 months). And overwhelmed by the unknown: what would I struggle most with, my everyday life or my PC job?</div><div>Overwhelmed. And now? More than a year later, I am looking forward and backwards. All that I've done, not done, and what's left ahead of me. 8 more months. 2 years used to seem so incredibly long. But oh how it has flown by... And I've only got 8 months? That's not enough time for anything. I feel panicky and doubtful.</div><div>But then my thoughts continue. Would a year be enough? Another year after these 8 months? 2 years? The answer I know to be true is a deafening "No." And sometimes that kills me. Whether I'm home in the states or here, there are always ways we can better ourselves, always ways we can better others, and always ways we can change the future. A single lifetime will never be enough. Here nor there. Here, things just become more challenging with the cultural differences. There are things I want to change. Things I want to scream. Ways I want to make them listen. Sometimes I doubt myself, with reason. Things don't always have to be the way we do them. Other times, I doubt myself when I see how poorly the kids behave in school and how physical abuse is used as punishment and it works. And I think to myself, "Well, I guess my methods would never work here. It's just a different world." </div><div>And then I do another backflip and prove myself wrong again. I had 5 technology classes today. Planned, prepared, and executed the way I would back in the states (with limited resources, of course). And it went beautifully. From 4th grade all the way through 8th, we did a dinámica, an art activity to gauge their understanding before teaching any material, and then an introduction to the mini keyboards. They behaved. Had a blast with the dinámica and art. And took such good care of the keyboards and worked flawlessly in pairs (because there isn't enough for all). </div><div>My methods<i style="font-weight: bold;"> do</i> work sometimes. So what's the problem? Complacency? A culture that for years and years has functioned one way doesn't just change with one person. And if that culture allows for more time to eat breakfast, more time to sit outside the school grounds during recess, less time planning at home, and less caring (because sometimes, the more we care, the more it hurts us)? Why change?</div><div>This is my reality. There are things I would never be able to change in 2 years, 3 or even 10. I have to accept this... it's still a work in progress and may forever be. But I will <i style="font-weight: bold;">never</i> like it. But there are also things I was never supposed to change...</div><div>So I will just continue to love my kids and love when I have my own classes with them (no matter how crazy it gets and even when I get accused of "robbing the kids' recess time" when I simply ask if we can start <b>on time</b> because I want to successfully teach two more classes in the time allotted to me...). I'm certainly not always right, and sometimes when I am, I'm ignored. It's just one of those parts of life, PC life maybe, and it's okay. </div><div>At the end of the day, we are alive and well and trying to make tomorrow better. For now, it's just about tomorrow. And that's all we can do.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-10873756492842940702014-10-01T15:29:00.001-07:002014-10-01T15:29:41.779-07:00When a Single Day Trumps Nearly All of Last Month26 de septiembre 2014.<div>Start of English classes.<div>I was with three kiddos in the clinic. 2/3 from fighting. And I may or may not have flipped out about the lack of responsibility in the teachers in front of some parents and lit the match that may start a wildfire. I was lecturing this poor child who got a stick to the stomach about how he needed to approach an adult when he was first hit in the head with the stick. He apparently did. And she did nothing. The parents there agreed with me and one father went storming off to the school. It may fizzle out but I got some passion out of them. That's why it's still just a lit match.<br><div>Planning for the first official Escuela de Padres y Madres meeting next Friday with our psychologist, Doris.</div><div>Having Doris <i style="font-weight: bold;">beg </i>me to invite her to the next teacher conference we have (after having <b><i>no one</i></b> go with me to this last one) and saying that she wants to soak in and learn as much as possible with me here in this last year because the more she learns and seeks knowledge, the better teacher and person she'll be... It doesn't matter if it's an entire weekend or if it's in Santiago or at her neighbor's house. She said, "Invite me, and I'm there." Wow. </div><div>Meeting with GRUJDECO to continue plans.</div><div>New plans made to motivate another community group that exists but is currently dormant to work on the water project and another to work on their electricity project (Vara de Vaca <i style="font-weight: bold;">never </i>has luz). In this way, we can animate them to find their drive again AND tackle more community projects on our list without taking on the full responsibility ourselves. Win-Win? I think so.</div><div>My promise to continue bugging the president man. Oh yea, I'm gonna be such a pain and I don't care. But if your old, saggy ass is going to hit on me because I'm white and give me your business card? You asked for it buddy. And for those reading this back home, excuse my vulgarity? </div></div></div><div><br></div><div>That is all.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-8639361517278851142014-09-19T17:01:00.001-07:002014-09-19T17:28:00.017-07:00When Moments of Panic Turn to PeaceThis week was COPRS Forum. Basically it's just a set of two days with various meetings held by every sector here in Peace Corps DR. Any volunteer can go, it's not obligated, and attend meetings to reflect, plan, or learn more information about other initiatives out there. I left Wednesday and arrived around 3pm, taking the day to relax after the travel and see so many of my friends I haven't seen in forever. Thursday was the day of Education meetings. It was great. We've got plans to make an Early Childhood Manual for parents and teachers, we reviewed the recent Escojo Enseñar Conferences and planned for the next ones, and learned all of the successes of our fellow volunteers in their communities. Great, but also overwhelming. A big piece of advice always said by all (including me) is to NEVER compare your service with others. And I've always tried hard to abide by that. But oh the success stories, and the incredible initiatives and creativity. I lost it by the end of the day. On the verge of tears and feeling as though I've slept through my entire service in comparison. <div>I never felt this way in my site. It was only going there and listening and drowning in it all that I was swept off my feet, and not in the love kind of way. I tried justifying it all to no avail. I tried using it to motivate me to do more, only making my heart race and stomach flip at the reality of my personal experiences and failed attempts. Tried convincing myself that what I'm doing is enough, but Washington and it's need for numbers hovered over my head, menacingly. </div><div>But I carried on, enjoyed the time spent with my friends and meeting news ones who I hadn't ever seen before. I wanted to go to my old site Friday and head back Saturday but Linda never answered her phone. I didn't want to risk going out there, having her not be there, and not having enough time to get back to my home. So I left Friday morning with Matt and Kinnerly from my neck of the woods. I chatted with a decent younger man on the Caribe Tours bus, we made it to DaJabon on time to get the last bus to Mariano Cestero, and even through the hour and a half wait while they fixed the bus after it broke down in Loma, it all hit me again. As we weaved through the winding roads, rose and fell with the land, felt the air blowing through the windows fill my lungs with a purity I always miss when I leave, watched the boney cows grazing in the fields and between pine trees, and saw the familiar faces of my munchkins and old folks in my town, panic turned to peace. I made it back to my house and was welcomed with a warm hug from my Dominican mother, took a cold and refreshing bucket shower, drank fresh coffee picked, peeled, roasted, grinded, and boiled right from our backyard, organized and unpacked, and headed to see my sister, Casilda, and her son. </div><div>I saw them all and forgot all that ailed me only a day before. I gave Casilda and her family a children's bible (just four stories written for kids and with beautiful drawings) and she cried with gratitude, saying she would bring it every time she went to hospital with her son. And as dinner was given to me, her little boy, with cancer eating away at his liver and tiny 2 year old body, came over to me and began to eat. He had apparently not eaten a single thing that day and hardly anything the day before. I placed him gently on my lap and he nearly ate my entire bowl of boiled guineos. I was humbled, honored, and so incredibly at peace, kissing his cheeks with every bite and soaking in his absolutely beautiful smiles and giggles.</div><div>I may not do all the incredible initiatives and programs and trainings as my counterparts. Washington may look at my service after two years and wonder why they even sent me here in the first place. I may not leave much behind when I go. But this life, this family, and this love I have felt here has forever changed my life and my drive. I may not know what's next but Lord only knows I would have left the pages of this chapter of my life empty and torn if I never came. I only hope and pray that those here feel just as I do and remember me. Always knowing that I truly loved them more than I ever thought possible.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479253232491281560.post-87362289236782292472014-09-09T15:41:00.003-07:002014-09-09T15:41:40.116-07:00Stuck In Colder WeatherThings are slow moving. After the Escojo Enseñar Conference, I took my time getting back to school and didn't miss much. But the list of things I'll be doing this year only grew. <div><br></div><div>1. English classes for 7th and 8th grade.</div><div>2. English classes in the community on Sundays-started last Sunday.</div><div>3. Literacy classes with Viviana-She's improving and I'm so proud.</div><div>4. Technology classes for 4th-8th grade- FUDECO sent 30 little keyboards that are kind of like computers. My director wants me to teach the kiddos how to type on them and how to use them.</div><div>5. Escuela de Padres y Madres-Helping the psychologist to plan. Though when I went to her house Sunday afternoon to begin, she simply had me cover her various notebooks with construction paper and draw pretty things on the covers... Gaining Confianza? </div><div>6. Monthly Grupos Pedagógicos- this is me still fighting to find a way to teach my teachers from The Escojo Enseñar manual. I may have an in by starting to teach them how to look things up on the internet and print since that seems to be all I'm good for when I do go into the school as of late. </div><div>7. La Biblioteca Tecnológica- we haven't heard from the president man yet so we need to call this week and get that going. I really miss Casilda and her drive... But this weekend is the raffle and comedy show to keep raising funds.</div><div>8. Literacy classes for 1st and 2nd grade. I'm putting that off for now but I'll start in October.</div><div>9. Yluminada- with her multi-grado, one classroom school, I'd like to do something better and more sustainable to help her. But I'm still struggling.</div><div><br></div><div>My heart isn't in all of these things but in some. But the wants of my community and school matter more, so off I go! Unfortunately I got my third staph infection just behind my left shoulder and it's been hell. The pain from this one was the worst and sleeping was impossible due to its location. I believe I've gotten the worst of it out, and just got my antibiotics, so we are on the road to healing. And I disinfected my house yesterday by washing every article of clothing, sheets, dishes, by dusting, and by cleaning the floors. And somehow it still doesn't feel like enough. But we're no worse off than we were before ;)</div><div><br></div><div>The water situation is worse, my director slammed the gates shut and hard so we are no longer able to go to the school for water. The closest river is either dried up or dirty because it seems as though people are doing their business in it. The next closest river is now a competition. Whoever gets there first, gets water. The next? Far and down a ridiculous hill... I had to stop and rest more than 10X to make it back to my house the last time I went there (having a bad arm, didn't help I'm sure) haha.</div><div><br></div><div>Much love and hugs are being sent home from the colder weather here in the mountains. I miss all of you back home lots. I hope you all know and believe that.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451398414150925450noreply@blogger.com0