I don't care that it's a cultural thing, I don't care that things are viewed differently and that here this is not viewed as an insult. DON'T CARE.
It's not okay (NOT OKAY!!!) to have this conversation with the older lady you're friends with:
"Oh yeah, I've started going to this dance class every night so I can get in shape before my sister's wedding."
"Oh really?" (looks at me up and down) "Because you're fatter than the last time I saw you."
"Oh...." (looks at self) "I didn't think i looked any different..."
"Nope. You're fatter."
"...."
NOT OKAY, ECUADOR. NOT OKAY.
:-(
Edit: Clearly she wasn't insulting me. It's not an insult here, and I know that as a culturally sensitive person I'm supposed to accept and understand that. But I can't. American cultural norms are ingrained in my head, and no matter what I tell myself, my inner bitch is yelling THAT'S NOT OKAY, DUDE. NOT OKAY.
Edit #2: This is also coming after a long period of build-up. Gaining weight = happy, to Ecuadorians. So everywhere I go, I am greeted with : "Sarita! You've gained weight!" and after about a year of this, in which my weight hasn't fluctuated that much, I'm just kind of getting sick of it. It's tough, when you eat right and exercise, to walk around and hear every day from ten different sources that you're fat. It just wears you down. I liked it better when I came here and got sick, and everyone was bemoaning that I was too thin. It's like a ten pound difference between now and then, but I guess they can tell. It's frustrating. I'm not even someone who usually obsesses over weight, I don't diet and I'm pretty happy the way I am, thank-you-very-much. But comments day in and day out take a tole, no matter what the cultural meaning is.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Strangely shining moments
...and as I sit in the grass and watch the horses parade in circles, their thrilled and sometimes bewildered riders clinging like velcro to their backs, I play with the dirty clovers and searched for four-leaved ones, like when I was a child and would spend hours combing through a field for good luck. The fat golden retriever with its waving fan of a tail makes me six again, in the summer grass with my best friend and his briar-covered fur. In the distance, beyond the hyacinth and hibiscus, the volcano is topped with ice. The wind is so very clean.
Later, I hold a baby with Down's syndrome in my lap and croon songs to him in English. I haven't held a baby in many years, but it feels good, wide eyes looking into mine, small body cradled against my hip. He is beautiful, pudgy-cheeked, and there is a strange sadness knowing already at seven months that he will never grow up to be what we humans so arbitrarily classify as normal.
One tiny girl is fierce and bright, a shining star; she is here because her toddler sister has Down's. She likes me, I don't know why, and holds my hand whenever we walk. She likes to sit on my lap, and I stroke her long dark hair, and I think, I would like to have a daughter someday.
Here, in this place, I find unexpected moments of beauty.
Later, I hold a baby with Down's syndrome in my lap and croon songs to him in English. I haven't held a baby in many years, but it feels good, wide eyes looking into mine, small body cradled against my hip. He is beautiful, pudgy-cheeked, and there is a strange sadness knowing already at seven months that he will never grow up to be what we humans so arbitrarily classify as normal.
One tiny girl is fierce and bright, a shining star; she is here because her toddler sister has Down's. She likes me, I don't know why, and holds my hand whenever we walk. She likes to sit on my lap, and I stroke her long dark hair, and I think, I would like to have a daughter someday.
Here, in this place, I find unexpected moments of beauty.
MY FIRST MARRIAGE PROPOSAL...or mistress proposal, not sure which
OKAY. I'm walking down the street today, on my way to the fundacion, when this guy stops me in the street. He knows me; I don't remember him. This happens often, mainly because I work in a bunch of different communities and while I stick out here, they don't. He's got to be in his mid-40s. And the exchange goes something like this.
Wait, I can't even transcribe it. It's too weird and filled with me just going "...." or "uh...gracias?" or laughing nervously. But, in a nutshell, he monologued:
"I haven't seen you in so long! Where have you been? You're just enchanting, so beautiful." (He touches my hair in a too-familiar way). "Oh, that blonde hair, blue eyes." (My eyes are green, so...?) "You know, you should stay in Ecuador forever. You've just enchanted me. I have a hacienda (big house with land), and you could come live there are be treated like a lady and never have to leave Ecuador."
This went on for a while, but that was the gist. Plus, I was wearing a black sweater that I had shed on a bit, so at one point he started PICKING THE HAIRS OFF OF MY SWEATER LIKE HE WAS GOING TO KEEP THEM WTF.
Seriously. Ecuador. I'm know I'm gringa. I'm super gringa. I'm like the gringiest gringa who ever gringa-d. But really. YOU CAN'T JUST WALK UP TO PEOPLE ON THE STREET AND DO THESE THINGS. It's creepy. And no, I'm not going to move to your hacienda and be your wife/mistress. Really, I'm not.
Wait, I can't even transcribe it. It's too weird and filled with me just going "...." or "uh...gracias?" or laughing nervously. But, in a nutshell, he monologued:
"I haven't seen you in so long! Where have you been? You're just enchanting, so beautiful." (He touches my hair in a too-familiar way). "Oh, that blonde hair, blue eyes." (My eyes are green, so...?) "You know, you should stay in Ecuador forever. You've just enchanted me. I have a hacienda (big house with land), and you could come live there are be treated like a lady and never have to leave Ecuador."
This went on for a while, but that was the gist. Plus, I was wearing a black sweater that I had shed on a bit, so at one point he started PICKING THE HAIRS OFF OF MY SWEATER LIKE HE WAS GOING TO KEEP THEM WTF.
Seriously. Ecuador. I'm know I'm gringa. I'm super gringa. I'm like the gringiest gringa who ever gringa-d. But really. YOU CAN'T JUST WALK UP TO PEOPLE ON THE STREET AND DO THESE THINGS. It's creepy. And no, I'm not going to move to your hacienda and be your wife/mistress. Really, I'm not.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Acts of kindness; or, I hope I didn't get fleas
(x-posted at my livejournal, which from now on everything will be, due to the fact that I've rediscovered how awesome livejournal is.)
Yesterday was the first full, exhausting, useful, fulfilling day I've had in a long, long time. It's a good feeling, this particular type of exhaustion. I had almost forgotten what it felt like (and I'm so tired today that it amazes me to think I used to have school full time + 20 hour internship a week + homework + a strong network of friends and a great roommate to hang out with. I don't know how I managed it. It was the best year of my life, so far.)
I volunteered with a medical brigade that was doing free health checkups and doctor's visits in the indigenous town of Salasaca. They were a group of young doctors and docs-in-training from the States, and most didn't speak Spanish, so I was there with a few other Peace Corps people to work as translators. The turnout was huge-- we were working ALL DAY.
It was awesome! I've found that I love translating. It makes me feel so gosh-darn smart. I played soccer in the morning with the group before the clinic (aka local two-room elementary school) doors opened, and most of the rest of the day was spent with the physical therapists, translating their every question and instruction to the patients.
It was tough, though, because Salasaca is a super-duper indigenous community, meaning...many of them DON'T SPEAK SPANISH. They speak Quichua, a strange, mumbly language that has no connection whatsoever to Spanish. And I don't speak a word of it. (Well, technically I can say brother, sister, child, it's cold, it's hot, and hungover.) Plus, most of the physical therapy people were ancient (I'm talking 80-90 years old), without shoes or teeth, or hearing, or eyesight. AND they were so old/confused/not speaking the language that they would nod and say Si Si to whatever I said, but didn't actually get a word of it.
So most of the day there was a line of translation: the doctor would speak English, I would repeat in Spanish, and some helpful villager would speak Quicha to the patient. But even then, they just wouldn't understand how to do the simplest of things, like sitting up straight or lifting their arms above their head. It would go like this:
"Lift your arms above your head, like this." *Doc and I lift our arms*
*patient lifts them to the side*
"No, up, up, like this." *lifts them up*
*patients holds them out*
"NO, UP, DO EXACTLY WHAT WE ARE DOING."
*patient lifts one arm*
"Okay, but both arms. Look at us!" *waves arms in the air*
*patient holds them out to sides again*
It was like that ALL DAY.
It was also heartbreaking at times, because we didn't have the tools or equipment to really help people who needed help. One man had torn a hugely important tendon in his knee, and couldn't walk, but we didn't have a knee brace, or shoes that fit him, so all we could do was give him some exercises to strengthen the other muscles and send him on his way. One young woman had adolescent arthritis, making her hands curl up like claws, and her feet were severely deformed, making it difficult for her to walk. She needed special shoes and braces for her hands to stop the progression of the deformity, but we didn't have them. The worst thing is, if these people are in pain they can't work, can't feed their families. And the ones we could help, who only needed some physical therapy and to do simple stretches and movements in their home, probably didn't quite understand what to do or will just forget and won't do them in their houses. The people here are notoriously...forgetful, resistant to change.
Salasacaneos (is that how you spell it), are a really cool people, though. They are originally from Bolivia and always wear the traditional outfits: black skirts, white flowy shirts and brightly-colored ponchos for the women, black pants and black ponchos for the men. They are also cleaner than most indigenous communities, which I guess isn't saying a lot, because they are still pretty...well, let's just say that I really, really hope that I didn't get fleas. And one doctor hugged this adorable crying old woman, which was a really sweet gesture, but probably not the smartest idea in the world.
Here, have some google images, because I forgot to bring my camera yesterday:
It was long day of hard work, in which I got to feel super smart with my awesome Spanish, hang out with some really cool people, and help those that really needed/appreciated our help. In short, it was exactly what Peace Corps should be like all the time. I guess that for some lucky people, it is. I'm just glad to have one good day every once in a while, to keep me sane.
Yesterday was the first full, exhausting, useful, fulfilling day I've had in a long, long time. It's a good feeling, this particular type of exhaustion. I had almost forgotten what it felt like (and I'm so tired today that it amazes me to think I used to have school full time + 20 hour internship a week + homework + a strong network of friends and a great roommate to hang out with. I don't know how I managed it. It was the best year of my life, so far.)
I volunteered with a medical brigade that was doing free health checkups and doctor's visits in the indigenous town of Salasaca. They were a group of young doctors and docs-in-training from the States, and most didn't speak Spanish, so I was there with a few other Peace Corps people to work as translators. The turnout was huge-- we were working ALL DAY.
It was awesome! I've found that I love translating. It makes me feel so gosh-darn smart. I played soccer in the morning with the group before the clinic (aka local two-room elementary school) doors opened, and most of the rest of the day was spent with the physical therapists, translating their every question and instruction to the patients.
It was tough, though, because Salasaca is a super-duper indigenous community, meaning...many of them DON'T SPEAK SPANISH. They speak Quichua, a strange, mumbly language that has no connection whatsoever to Spanish. And I don't speak a word of it. (Well, technically I can say brother, sister, child, it's cold, it's hot, and hungover.) Plus, most of the physical therapy people were ancient (I'm talking 80-90 years old), without shoes or teeth, or hearing, or eyesight. AND they were so old/confused/not speaking the language that they would nod and say Si Si to whatever I said, but didn't actually get a word of it.
So most of the day there was a line of translation: the doctor would speak English, I would repeat in Spanish, and some helpful villager would speak Quicha to the patient. But even then, they just wouldn't understand how to do the simplest of things, like sitting up straight or lifting their arms above their head. It would go like this:
"Lift your arms above your head, like this." *Doc and I lift our arms*
*patient lifts them to the side*
"No, up, up, like this." *lifts them up*
*patients holds them out*
"NO, UP, DO EXACTLY WHAT WE ARE DOING."
*patient lifts one arm*
"Okay, but both arms. Look at us!" *waves arms in the air*
*patient holds them out to sides again*
It was like that ALL DAY.
It was also heartbreaking at times, because we didn't have the tools or equipment to really help people who needed help. One man had torn a hugely important tendon in his knee, and couldn't walk, but we didn't have a knee brace, or shoes that fit him, so all we could do was give him some exercises to strengthen the other muscles and send him on his way. One young woman had adolescent arthritis, making her hands curl up like claws, and her feet were severely deformed, making it difficult for her to walk. She needed special shoes and braces for her hands to stop the progression of the deformity, but we didn't have them. The worst thing is, if these people are in pain they can't work, can't feed their families. And the ones we could help, who only needed some physical therapy and to do simple stretches and movements in their home, probably didn't quite understand what to do or will just forget and won't do them in their houses. The people here are notoriously...forgetful, resistant to change.
Salasacaneos (is that how you spell it), are a really cool people, though. They are originally from Bolivia and always wear the traditional outfits: black skirts, white flowy shirts and brightly-colored ponchos for the women, black pants and black ponchos for the men. They are also cleaner than most indigenous communities, which I guess isn't saying a lot, because they are still pretty...well, let's just say that I really, really hope that I didn't get fleas. And one doctor hugged this adorable crying old woman, which was a really sweet gesture, but probably not the smartest idea in the world.
Here, have some google images, because I forgot to bring my camera yesterday:It was long day of hard work, in which I got to feel super smart with my awesome Spanish, hang out with some really cool people, and help those that really needed/appreciated our help. In short, it was exactly what Peace Corps should be like all the time. I guess that for some lucky people, it is. I'm just glad to have one good day every once in a while, to keep me sane.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Culture Clash: What does weight mean?
x-posted at my livejournal:
I just HAD to record this conversation (and remember this is all taking place in Spanish):
Today I was sitting on a very, very tiny child's chair today at the day-care for mentally disabled children and one of the employees looked at me and said, out of the blue: "Sarita, I like your thighs."
There was a long, long pause, as I tried to sort out what I had just heard. "What?"
"Your thighs."
Awkward smile. "I don't understand. My thighs?"
"Yes!"
I looked down at my jeans. My legs looked like...legs. Normal. "...what about them?"
"I like them."
"You like my thighs. Um. Why?"
She beamed at me. "Because they are so big and round! My thighs are so skinny, it's terrible. I wish I had thighs like yours."
"Uh, thank you? You know, in my country, it's much better to have thighs like yours. Only skinny is pretty."
"Fat isn't pretty??????"
They were truly surprised. Now granted, being huge isn't attractive here, but there is definitely the mindset that a little meat on your bones is a good thing. This is why, when I first arrived in Ecuador, my host family used to exclaim: "Eat more! You're too thin, you look sick!" and months later, when they saw me again and I had gained at least 10 pounds, everyone had to say: "You gained weight! You're mas gordita! How wonderful!" and pinch my stomach.
(And here I'm inserting the obligatory clarification: I am not fat, or overweight. I am a nice, normal size, which in America means I could stand to lose 10 pounds, but in Ecuador means I'm skinny as hell. Except, I guess, for my thighs.)
I just HAD to record this conversation (and remember this is all taking place in Spanish):
Today I was sitting on a very, very tiny child's chair today at the day-care for mentally disabled children and one of the employees looked at me and said, out of the blue: "Sarita, I like your thighs."
There was a long, long pause, as I tried to sort out what I had just heard. "What?"
"Your thighs."
Awkward smile. "I don't understand. My thighs?"
"Yes!"
I looked down at my jeans. My legs looked like...legs. Normal. "...what about them?"
"I like them."
"You like my thighs. Um. Why?"
She beamed at me. "Because they are so big and round! My thighs are so skinny, it's terrible. I wish I had thighs like yours."
"Uh, thank you? You know, in my country, it's much better to have thighs like yours. Only skinny is pretty."
"Fat isn't pretty??????"
They were truly surprised. Now granted, being huge isn't attractive here, but there is definitely the mindset that a little meat on your bones is a good thing. This is why, when I first arrived in Ecuador, my host family used to exclaim: "Eat more! You're too thin, you look sick!" and months later, when they saw me again and I had gained at least 10 pounds, everyone had to say: "You gained weight! You're mas gordita! How wonderful!" and pinch my stomach.
(And here I'm inserting the obligatory clarification: I am not fat, or overweight. I am a nice, normal size, which in America means I could stand to lose 10 pounds, but in Ecuador means I'm skinny as hell. Except, I guess, for my thighs.)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sooooo.... guess it's time I update, eh?
It's been almost four months since my last update, so thank Gill for bringing that to my attention. Truth is, I don't really know what to post anymore. Things are kind of blurry for me right now, like life is sliding by and I'm finding it surprisingly difficult to grasp moments and memories.
I went to Cuenca in May, for "resiliency training", aka, "how not to ET training." It was (surprise surprise!) boring as hell, but while in Cuenca I got to hang out with some amazing people and see what is truly the most beautiful city in Ecuador.
My birthday was in June, during mid-service (boring, but mercifully short), and some people from my Omnibus surprised me with a chocolate-covered apple, a mini bottle of wine, and a big bottle of vodka, which we all shared. I am in awe of the people in Peace Corps-- I swear it draws the best of the USA.
Big bro came to visit for the whole month of June, but besides saying we went to the beach and attempted to surf (I actually managed to stand up a few times!), I can't get into details here. Maybe next year... but let's just say it was awesome.
I've been writing A LOT. Nothing exciting (fanfiction, doncha know, aka I've developed an obsessive love of Supernatural), but I've realized that writing fun stories is so, so good for me. Not only does it allow me to have fun on otherwise boring days and get some positive feedback online, but it also allows me to percolate on original ideas that are lingering in the back of my mind. My brother actually inspired me during his visit, and now I have the plot for a possible book that is quietly putting itself into place while I write other stories. I'm super-excited about this -- Dangerous People was my one good idea, and now that I've written it I was afraid inspiration wouldn't strike again.
I just got ordained online (apparently I can absolve your sins now), so I can officiate my sister's wedding in a few months. I'm also looking up plane fares online, and will be home for a week at the end of September/beginning of October. Plus, only nine months left of Peace Corps!
As for daily living... things have slowed down... a lot. The volcano erupted, which is kind of cool, but mostly irritating. About 50% of my work was in a town called El Triunfo, and I can no longer go there because I have to go through Banos, and that's off-limits because of the volcano. Also, school is out for the summer, so there goes another 25% of my work. Plus, my community contacts aren't getting back to me, so...you get the idea. I'm trying to plan new things, get involved with new projects, because damnit, I only have nine months left and I want to be able to say that I accomplished SOMETHING in the Peace Corps.
Oh, and I joined the newly-restarted newspaper, El Clima, though exactly what I'm supposed to be doing on it I'm still a little unclear. Hmmm....
What else is new? Spent the forth of July in my apartment, feeling sick, but on the 10th there is a gringo get-together in Rio Bamba complete with picnic food and fireworks that I hope to go to. If that falls through I'll go to a picnic in Cayambe on the ninth. I've (finally) started exercising again. I found sour cream for the first time in 16 months (Wooo!). I'm signing up for the GRE's as soon as they open for registration. I'm getting by. And...that's life in Ecuador.
I went to Cuenca in May, for "resiliency training", aka, "how not to ET training." It was (surprise surprise!) boring as hell, but while in Cuenca I got to hang out with some amazing people and see what is truly the most beautiful city in Ecuador.
My birthday was in June, during mid-service (boring, but mercifully short), and some people from my Omnibus surprised me with a chocolate-covered apple, a mini bottle of wine, and a big bottle of vodka, which we all shared. I am in awe of the people in Peace Corps-- I swear it draws the best of the USA.
Big bro came to visit for the whole month of June, but besides saying we went to the beach and attempted to surf (I actually managed to stand up a few times!), I can't get into details here. Maybe next year... but let's just say it was awesome.
I've been writing A LOT. Nothing exciting (fanfiction, doncha know, aka I've developed an obsessive love of Supernatural), but I've realized that writing fun stories is so, so good for me. Not only does it allow me to have fun on otherwise boring days and get some positive feedback online, but it also allows me to percolate on original ideas that are lingering in the back of my mind. My brother actually inspired me during his visit, and now I have the plot for a possible book that is quietly putting itself into place while I write other stories. I'm super-excited about this -- Dangerous People was my one good idea, and now that I've written it I was afraid inspiration wouldn't strike again.
I just got ordained online (apparently I can absolve your sins now), so I can officiate my sister's wedding in a few months. I'm also looking up plane fares online, and will be home for a week at the end of September/beginning of October. Plus, only nine months left of Peace Corps!
As for daily living... things have slowed down... a lot. The volcano erupted, which is kind of cool, but mostly irritating. About 50% of my work was in a town called El Triunfo, and I can no longer go there because I have to go through Banos, and that's off-limits because of the volcano. Also, school is out for the summer, so there goes another 25% of my work. Plus, my community contacts aren't getting back to me, so...you get the idea. I'm trying to plan new things, get involved with new projects, because damnit, I only have nine months left and I want to be able to say that I accomplished SOMETHING in the Peace Corps.
Oh, and I joined the newly-restarted newspaper, El Clima, though exactly what I'm supposed to be doing on it I'm still a little unclear. Hmmm....
What else is new? Spent the forth of July in my apartment, feeling sick, but on the 10th there is a gringo get-together in Rio Bamba complete with picnic food and fireworks that I hope to go to. If that falls through I'll go to a picnic in Cayambe on the ninth. I've (finally) started exercising again. I found sour cream for the first time in 16 months (Wooo!). I'm signing up for the GRE's as soon as they open for registration. I'm getting by. And...that's life in Ecuador.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Insert Title Here
Went to Mindo the other weekend with some PC people, and had one of those crazy, soul-sustaining times that keep me sane in Ecuador. It's a sleepy little cloud-forest town, where we went zip-lining (one of which was a slightly terrifying bungee-jump-cum-zip-lining mash up) and jumped off of a high (12 meters) rock into water (I hit the bottom) and swam in a river with waterfalls. At night we ate delicious over-priced food and swapped stories and were generally silly. There are good people in PC Ecuador, that's all I have to say.
And now for something completely different...
I'm in a pretty good mood tonight. I finally realized today that if I want a change in my life, I have to make it, and that even something small can make a difference. So I looked up some info/videos online and started teaching myself Parkour/freerunning at a local children's park.
It's perfect for me: the park is ten minute walk from my house, and isolated enough that are no people staring at me as I run (and Patate is perfectly safe, as well, unlike other Ecuadorian cities...please don't let THAT statement come back and bite me in the...)
The park is filled with benches, jungle gyms, swings, tables, tires, slides, everything a beginner runner could want. Parkour, or freerunning (though they are a little different, but at this basic level I think I can use them relatively interchangeably) is essentially running from point A to point B no matter what is in front of you. So you vault off tables and swing over bars. It gets crazy (aka the guy in the opening sequence of "Casino Royale" was a freerunner), but I'm just trying to learn how to roll without hurting myself and vaulting over benches. It is brutal work, and makes my whole body feel like jelly. I feel great.
Work is also improving, and while it is still slow slow slow I am at least getting something accomplished, and that's a relief. A school garden actually succeeded (gasp!), a farmer sought me out to ask my advice, a school I work with made their own Biol, and I'll be teaching honest-to-goodness classes in a few weeks. And as always, the people that I work with are so friendly, I literally don't know what I would do without them.
My biggest thing now is looking to the future: My brother's visit in June (+birthday and midservice), going home for my sister's wedding, Me + Mom = Galapagos, but most especially ending my service in just over a year and going to graduate school. I've been doing my research and have my schools narrowed down (just two now, but they are both awesome), and will be retaking the GRE's/ applying this fall. I am so, so looking forward to that life. I miss school, I do. I miss learning, I miss sitting in classrooms, I miss writing papers in coffee shops on my laptop, I miss living in an American city with American people.
Now that the craziness of February is over and I have some work to do, I am content here. A volunteer who is just about to COS (leave country) told me that the goal of the second year is just to make it to the end, but it goes fast and despite this, is the best year of all. So I'm looking to the future, as always, but content. Maybe I will even miss it when it's over.
And now for something completely different...
I'm in a pretty good mood tonight. I finally realized today that if I want a change in my life, I have to make it, and that even something small can make a difference. So I looked up some info/videos online and started teaching myself Parkour/freerunning at a local children's park.
It's perfect for me: the park is ten minute walk from my house, and isolated enough that are no people staring at me as I run (and Patate is perfectly safe, as well, unlike other Ecuadorian cities...please don't let THAT statement come back and bite me in the...)
The park is filled with benches, jungle gyms, swings, tables, tires, slides, everything a beginner runner could want. Parkour, or freerunning (though they are a little different, but at this basic level I think I can use them relatively interchangeably) is essentially running from point A to point B no matter what is in front of you. So you vault off tables and swing over bars. It gets crazy (aka the guy in the opening sequence of "Casino Royale" was a freerunner), but I'm just trying to learn how to roll without hurting myself and vaulting over benches. It is brutal work, and makes my whole body feel like jelly. I feel great.
Work is also improving, and while it is still slow slow slow I am at least getting something accomplished, and that's a relief. A school garden actually succeeded (gasp!), a farmer sought me out to ask my advice, a school I work with made their own Biol, and I'll be teaching honest-to-goodness classes in a few weeks. And as always, the people that I work with are so friendly, I literally don't know what I would do without them.
My biggest thing now is looking to the future: My brother's visit in June (+birthday and midservice), going home for my sister's wedding, Me + Mom = Galapagos, but most especially ending my service in just over a year and going to graduate school. I've been doing my research and have my schools narrowed down (just two now, but they are both awesome), and will be retaking the GRE's/ applying this fall. I am so, so looking forward to that life. I miss school, I do. I miss learning, I miss sitting in classrooms, I miss writing papers in coffee shops on my laptop, I miss living in an American city with American people.
Now that the craziness of February is over and I have some work to do, I am content here. A volunteer who is just about to COS (leave country) told me that the goal of the second year is just to make it to the end, but it goes fast and despite this, is the best year of all. So I'm looking to the future, as always, but content. Maybe I will even miss it when it's over.
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