I love to dance. I just love it, can't get enough of it. Just filling my soul, making me feel so freaking fantastic, just letting go. OH. MY. GOSH.
Yeh. Yesss. Yes.
We went dancing last night. And I tried my hand at Salsa. I'm getting it, but not there yet. Still stumbling at times when I'm dancing with our Peruvian friends, but I have the heart.
And I'm really happy right now. Not because I danced, but, girrrrls, that was great. It was a great last week. And a great day. And my family is coming today. And I'm happy, just like always in this beautiful country I now want to call my home.
I went to Pisco on Thursday, the place where the national liquor of Peru, Pisco, was, well, created, duh. Right? NOOO. Sucka, it was created in Ica, a providence in Pisco. Gosh, idiots.
Well, we went there, too. But in Pisco, they had this island. And in this island, they had animals. And in these animals, there were magical butterflies. Mariposas magicales.
Psyyccchhhe. No butterflies, but they had penquinos and walruses and birds. Freaking like a lot of birds, the second most birds in the world in one, like, 50 mile area. It was kind of cool, I guess.
But I loved the penquinos, and we took a boat to the island. And wen clsoe to the walruses, and saw an alien marking in a field on the island, and I think it was the island from Lost and it was cold because of the Humbolt current and that's why there were penquins.
Then, that night, we bought a 5 sol bottle of Pisco (that's right, boys and girls, a one liter bottle of alcohol for $1.50. Shiz), two bottles of coke, went back to the hostal, and got f'ed in our a's. It was the birthday of Elizabeth, so this combined with the penquinos, amazing dinner we had for 10 soles (3 bucks) a piece (cake, drink, soup, and the best lomo soltado I've had yet peru), made for a truly amazing birthday day. Oh, and we sung happy birthday, in three languages--Hebrew (there were two Iraelis on the trip, and I was talking to them about Birth Right, going to Israel, being in the Israel army--they were officers, not me, come on), English, and obvi, Spanish. I can't believe I just used obvi. Shiz. Yeh, and I just used shiz again. Dammit.
Anyway, at 12:00, we started singing happy birthday to PERU, mi amor! Peru rocks. It rocks really freaking hard.
So we celebrated. Then passed out. But I took some funny videos first. It rocked. Like Peru.
The next day, to celebrate the rocket sauce that is Peru on it's independence day, Fiesta de las Patrias as it is called herre, we went to the aformentioned Ica. And deeper in Ica, in Huancaia, where there was a lagoon and a desert and beauty as far as the eye can see, we rode miles over the sand in a boogey cruiser, almost died, lived again, sandboarded, shredded hard, lied in the sand, sat by the oasis lagoon, took great pictures, and just loved it up.
It was the highlight of all of Peru so far. It was just absolute, pure, unabrided fun on the great dunes of the Peruvian desert.
Then we came back to Lima, with all the plans of having a crazy night out at Gotica or Sebby's beach house. But the house was full, and an hour away, and we were late for Gotica, and tired. SO dressed to go out, Carlos, Nadia, and I fell asleep in my bed watching Mulan.
Yeh, I'm awesome.
But it was fun. We relaxed and enjoyed the rest and laughed the next day.
I watched the Military Parade, went out that night, then the next day went to Villa Maria, and worked with some of the most amazing kids I've met yet. This one young boy, David, I'll mention briefly. He came in at 9:00 A.M. And because it was vaccacions, he was the only one there. We worked for two hours, and he was just so smart. But so shy--at the beginning. But after some minutes, with some Chocala's (high five) thrown in, goofing around, laughing, and him just doing an amzing job, he came around. After word, he just wanted to stay and play with me. And I just felt his joy radiated through me, his warmth, how he was feeling so good about himself, and it made me smile all day long.
74 percent of children in Peru come out of primary school unable to read. But then there is still David. And there is still hope, with organizations like Fe y Alegria y Foundation Tuny Custer and so many others.
And i am so fulfilled to have been part of it, even if it has been so small what I have done. But I smile to know I have, indeed, done it with great love.
As much as I have.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
What Is To Be Gained
Favorite quote of Television History: "You're not just an idiot, Patrick. You're also my friend."
I'm watching Spongebob in Spanish, and there was just this scene where Crabbers, Bob, and Patrick were painted Mrs. Crabbers's house, and while Spongebob and Crabbers did their job and painted the house, Patrick, oh Patrick, painted the ground.
That made me laugh.
I always stop when Spongebob is on, one, because Spongebob rocks, and two, I'm reminded of my mom, who freaking loves Spongebob. And the quote that started this post, that's hers (well, from Spongebob, but for me, it's hers.)
The television has switched over, to news of a Venezuelan court ruling against Hugo Chavez's government, saying it is illegal for them to censure RCTV in Venezuela--that free speech must exist, even under his dictatorship.
People are cheering there, I wonder how significant this is for Venezuela, because this has been a big issue for many days, maybe a watershed moment, but maybe just a first step.
I hope I don't lose this excitement. I mean, TV, oh yeah. No, in all seriousness, I was thinking of my return trip today, going back home. It's so close, and I don't know what to feel about it. I feel my experience is complete, or nearly there at least. After final parties, Cusco with my party, seeing off the people I've met, going to see my final children, I will feel ready to leave, to exit this experience knowing full well that I have been present at every moment.
But I wasn't sitting in Carlos' room the other night, and we were talking about how we're different. How it will be to return to Harvard, to return home. What have we lost in turn with what we have gained?
It comes slowly. The distance between yourself and friends you have known, between what you loved and what you love now. But it's so present. We know that when we go back, other people we people different in our eyes. Looking ever so different, because we are changed. And this is a beautiful thing, to have gone through this and come out the other side wanting something greater than ourselves, and knowing that the rest of our lives will be in search of that.
Carlos told me he won't be able to focus at school, won't be happy, if he cannot find someway to do what he is doing now--to help someone, in some way, in any way possible.
It's a revelavation, to feel so absolutely fulfilled from service, from helping others, from being here to give to others. But how do we continue it, how can we go back to the world we knew before, without feeling that something is missing? Do we leave here and leave behind everything that we have grown into? I don't believe this, although it is hard not to have this doubt. It carries on, with you, only fainter. But when we come back to it, it will ignite once more just the same.
For now, we wait. We sit. We finish these last two weeks and give as much as we can. And sometime in the future, I don't know when, we will come back to it.
Because it's a purpose, so completely solidified in our hearts that it is changed the very people we are. For better, I hope, and for the better of those around us.
I'm watching Spongebob in Spanish, and there was just this scene where Crabbers, Bob, and Patrick were painted Mrs. Crabbers's house, and while Spongebob and Crabbers did their job and painted the house, Patrick, oh Patrick, painted the ground.
That made me laugh.
I always stop when Spongebob is on, one, because Spongebob rocks, and two, I'm reminded of my mom, who freaking loves Spongebob. And the quote that started this post, that's hers (well, from Spongebob, but for me, it's hers.)
The television has switched over, to news of a Venezuelan court ruling against Hugo Chavez's government, saying it is illegal for them to censure RCTV in Venezuela--that free speech must exist, even under his dictatorship.
People are cheering there, I wonder how significant this is for Venezuela, because this has been a big issue for many days, maybe a watershed moment, but maybe just a first step.
I hope I don't lose this excitement. I mean, TV, oh yeah. No, in all seriousness, I was thinking of my return trip today, going back home. It's so close, and I don't know what to feel about it. I feel my experience is complete, or nearly there at least. After final parties, Cusco with my party, seeing off the people I've met, going to see my final children, I will feel ready to leave, to exit this experience knowing full well that I have been present at every moment.
But I wasn't sitting in Carlos' room the other night, and we were talking about how we're different. How it will be to return to Harvard, to return home. What have we lost in turn with what we have gained?
It comes slowly. The distance between yourself and friends you have known, between what you loved and what you love now. But it's so present. We know that when we go back, other people we people different in our eyes. Looking ever so different, because we are changed. And this is a beautiful thing, to have gone through this and come out the other side wanting something greater than ourselves, and knowing that the rest of our lives will be in search of that.
Carlos told me he won't be able to focus at school, won't be happy, if he cannot find someway to do what he is doing now--to help someone, in some way, in any way possible.
It's a revelavation, to feel so absolutely fulfilled from service, from helping others, from being here to give to others. But how do we continue it, how can we go back to the world we knew before, without feeling that something is missing? Do we leave here and leave behind everything that we have grown into? I don't believe this, although it is hard not to have this doubt. It carries on, with you, only fainter. But when we come back to it, it will ignite once more just the same.
For now, we wait. We sit. We finish these last two weeks and give as much as we can. And sometime in the future, I don't know when, we will come back to it.
Because it's a purpose, so completely solidified in our hearts that it is changed the very people we are. For better, I hope, and for the better of those around us.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
If I Were President
It humbles me everyday. Just being here, with so much love and affection and care and connection and gratitude, it makes you feel so completely humble.
I've gotten the President thing a couple of times here, from different people along the way. Here's the general format: (In Spanish) What are you studying? Political Science. Where? Harvard. Oh, wow, I'm talking with the next President of the United States.
And scene.
But today came the most sincerest of those pleas. From my host mom. We were sitting at lunch, with her cousins, talking about Peruvian food, how handsome I was (one of the cousins, 50, wanted me bad), my time in Peru, and it was great. Then Elisa, my mom, brought up for no reason that I could be President. I try to take it as a compliment and shrug it off, but this time, it just came out, how adorable and kind I am, charismatic, my intelligence, dedication, how large of a reach my soul has.
It humbles me everyday.
I went back to visit Gustavo today, at Villa el Salvador, my first school. It's all coming full-circle, I guess you could say, with my returning to the beginning just at the time when I am about to leave.
Gustavo was Gustavo, but he was also tired. He didn't want to work today, just play. It's so hard to keep a perfect view of things, because when you do, you're living in fantasty land. Or candy land. Or playing Candyland. Can I just say what's on the tip of everyone's tongue: most underrated game ever, right. Come on.
Not everything is perfect. Okay, that came out horribly. How my english is starting to fail me. But I mean that you have to work through the bad, you have to re-dedicate yourself when it' hardest, because that's when you grow.
It happens slowly. I was dissapointed, he wasn't the same, well he was, but it wasn't perfect. So I sat there. And thought. And then pushed myself a little more. Give a little more, stay focused, because I have to. There's nothing more to it than that. And we got through the lesson. And I carried him back to his room. And I said goodbye for the last time. And I hope he remembers me. I hope that I've helped. I hope that one day, I can do more.
As I walked back, it was recess. Kids climbing on top of me, me lifting them high into the air, staring at their faces, so calm in their euphoria. Just to be high, to be held, in the air, flying, that's all they want. To know that someone is there for them, to play with, to be there, nothing more. I looked into this one small boy's face, and his eyes shone so bright. I had to catch myself form holding him there to long, there was just something there, in this quiet boy that I found in the back of the line, too shy to come forward to be thrown in the air. As my host mom told me in my first e-mail with her, Peru has magic in its borders.
The key is to unlock it. To find it. And maybe I have. To do this thing, this thing so small and miniscule, with the greatest of love, maybe that is it. To be it and nothing more.
I walked back into the room, and sat down with Axel. I asked him to be my teacher, because I don't know anything about the letter M. He was so excited, he's so smart, correcting me, helping me, so eloquent, too. We sat there with my boss, and just worked, and played. And everything came back down to earth. But it did not do so in the melancholy way, it just came back to Peru. To me being here. To doing anything I can do to help these kids, these parents, these communities. To me being here and loving this experience, what it has given me, what I feel everyday, and how joyous everything truly is. Axel put on my jacket. He looked like a man. He smiled, and I did just the same.
I was talking with Bradford about this the other day. I've spent some time here in Peru not thinking, but remembering. Trailing over the events and trips of my life like a scroll, checking at each one how I felt, where I was, what I did, who I was with. I realize more and more how truly lucky I am. How much I have been given, how joyous the time that my life has been.
From remembering hiking in the moutains with my sister, mom, and dad, only going up if we could buy all the junk food we wanted. We stopped every five feet to have a snack, and by the end, we were sick, but so happy as well. We would come back to our house, at Graves Moutain, and look out over the field in our backyard, at the horses far away, the giant tree, and we would smile.
To Russia with my sister. To the road trip with my best friends. Looking out over the Grand Canyon and realizing that everything was beautiful. And smiling.
To Lady and Sons, to White Castle in New Jersey, to Relay for Life this year with Team Extreme, to my first Harvard-Yale, to getting into Harvard, to seeing the look on my grandmother's face when I dedicated my award at the Norfolk Sports' Club to her. To going on the field with my dad after the 49ers NFC Championship game to just touch the turf. And smiling ear to ear.
It was the same smile that brings me back to Axel. That brings me back to this place, where I have found so much inside of me. To this place that is now my home, that I feel so joyous in. Where I realize that everything is beautiful and I realize that my purpose in life is to help people.
To this place where I am just smiling all the time, feeling joy in the same way I've felt it so many times before. It's amazing that only now I put it all together.
I feel home here. After coming back from Chile, visiting Alejandro, my dove, for the weekend to shred, enjoy Santiago, and teach the magic of gnar to all those who can understand it's power, I missed it.
I missed my home, my family, Maria and her care, her laugh, my kids at the orphanage, Peruvians and their kindness, the most delicious food in the world (btw, Chillean food sucks, from the mouth of Ale, not me).
And I felt home. Carlos and I discussed this very thing as we rode in our cab back from the airport. Chile was an adventure, we'll remember it forever, but not because it was Chile. It was becasue we stayed in Argentina (whaddup Niko!) Thursday night, didn't arrive in Chile until 5 PM Friday, got stuck in a blizzard at the ski resort, almost fell of the cliff in our bus, got stuck in traffic on the moutain for 6 hours because of a wreck, shredded our kicker we made by the side of the bus when it wasn't moving for 3 hours, barely making our flight back on Sunday morning. And after this adventure, we came back, and we came back home. And we'll remember the trip because of that. We realized we had a home, and how truly special that is.
And as Carlos and I, later that day, ran through the middle of Peru's independence day parade, chasing the fireworks that were going off two streets ahead of us, as we were running in the darkness, as the ski was ablaze, we laughed. We yelled. "Viva el Peru." We looked at eachother. We were joyous, we had found a home, we felt so great. We watched the fireworks go off over Parque Kennedy, to conclude the parade in all its glory. And our journey, in many ways was complete. We yelled some more. We laughed one more time.
And we smiled.
PS: If I were President, and do away with taxes.
Then create super-taxes.
And give all the money to Gustavo.
I've gotten the President thing a couple of times here, from different people along the way. Here's the general format: (In Spanish) What are you studying? Political Science. Where? Harvard. Oh, wow, I'm talking with the next President of the United States.
And scene.
But today came the most sincerest of those pleas. From my host mom. We were sitting at lunch, with her cousins, talking about Peruvian food, how handsome I was (one of the cousins, 50, wanted me bad), my time in Peru, and it was great. Then Elisa, my mom, brought up for no reason that I could be President. I try to take it as a compliment and shrug it off, but this time, it just came out, how adorable and kind I am, charismatic, my intelligence, dedication, how large of a reach my soul has.
It humbles me everyday.
I went back to visit Gustavo today, at Villa el Salvador, my first school. It's all coming full-circle, I guess you could say, with my returning to the beginning just at the time when I am about to leave.
Gustavo was Gustavo, but he was also tired. He didn't want to work today, just play. It's so hard to keep a perfect view of things, because when you do, you're living in fantasty land. Or candy land. Or playing Candyland. Can I just say what's on the tip of everyone's tongue: most underrated game ever, right. Come on.
Not everything is perfect. Okay, that came out horribly. How my english is starting to fail me. But I mean that you have to work through the bad, you have to re-dedicate yourself when it' hardest, because that's when you grow.
It happens slowly. I was dissapointed, he wasn't the same, well he was, but it wasn't perfect. So I sat there. And thought. And then pushed myself a little more. Give a little more, stay focused, because I have to. There's nothing more to it than that. And we got through the lesson. And I carried him back to his room. And I said goodbye for the last time. And I hope he remembers me. I hope that I've helped. I hope that one day, I can do more.
As I walked back, it was recess. Kids climbing on top of me, me lifting them high into the air, staring at their faces, so calm in their euphoria. Just to be high, to be held, in the air, flying, that's all they want. To know that someone is there for them, to play with, to be there, nothing more. I looked into this one small boy's face, and his eyes shone so bright. I had to catch myself form holding him there to long, there was just something there, in this quiet boy that I found in the back of the line, too shy to come forward to be thrown in the air. As my host mom told me in my first e-mail with her, Peru has magic in its borders.
The key is to unlock it. To find it. And maybe I have. To do this thing, this thing so small and miniscule, with the greatest of love, maybe that is it. To be it and nothing more.
I walked back into the room, and sat down with Axel. I asked him to be my teacher, because I don't know anything about the letter M. He was so excited, he's so smart, correcting me, helping me, so eloquent, too. We sat there with my boss, and just worked, and played. And everything came back down to earth. But it did not do so in the melancholy way, it just came back to Peru. To me being here. To doing anything I can do to help these kids, these parents, these communities. To me being here and loving this experience, what it has given me, what I feel everyday, and how joyous everything truly is. Axel put on my jacket. He looked like a man. He smiled, and I did just the same.
I was talking with Bradford about this the other day. I've spent some time here in Peru not thinking, but remembering. Trailing over the events and trips of my life like a scroll, checking at each one how I felt, where I was, what I did, who I was with. I realize more and more how truly lucky I am. How much I have been given, how joyous the time that my life has been.
From remembering hiking in the moutains with my sister, mom, and dad, only going up if we could buy all the junk food we wanted. We stopped every five feet to have a snack, and by the end, we were sick, but so happy as well. We would come back to our house, at Graves Moutain, and look out over the field in our backyard, at the horses far away, the giant tree, and we would smile.
To Russia with my sister. To the road trip with my best friends. Looking out over the Grand Canyon and realizing that everything was beautiful. And smiling.
To Lady and Sons, to White Castle in New Jersey, to Relay for Life this year with Team Extreme, to my first Harvard-Yale, to getting into Harvard, to seeing the look on my grandmother's face when I dedicated my award at the Norfolk Sports' Club to her. To going on the field with my dad after the 49ers NFC Championship game to just touch the turf. And smiling ear to ear.
It was the same smile that brings me back to Axel. That brings me back to this place, where I have found so much inside of me. To this place that is now my home, that I feel so joyous in. Where I realize that everything is beautiful and I realize that my purpose in life is to help people.
To this place where I am just smiling all the time, feeling joy in the same way I've felt it so many times before. It's amazing that only now I put it all together.
I feel home here. After coming back from Chile, visiting Alejandro, my dove, for the weekend to shred, enjoy Santiago, and teach the magic of gnar to all those who can understand it's power, I missed it.
I missed my home, my family, Maria and her care, her laugh, my kids at the orphanage, Peruvians and their kindness, the most delicious food in the world (btw, Chillean food sucks, from the mouth of Ale, not me).
And I felt home. Carlos and I discussed this very thing as we rode in our cab back from the airport. Chile was an adventure, we'll remember it forever, but not because it was Chile. It was becasue we stayed in Argentina (whaddup Niko!) Thursday night, didn't arrive in Chile until 5 PM Friday, got stuck in a blizzard at the ski resort, almost fell of the cliff in our bus, got stuck in traffic on the moutain for 6 hours because of a wreck, shredded our kicker we made by the side of the bus when it wasn't moving for 3 hours, barely making our flight back on Sunday morning. And after this adventure, we came back, and we came back home. And we'll remember the trip because of that. We realized we had a home, and how truly special that is.
And as Carlos and I, later that day, ran through the middle of Peru's independence day parade, chasing the fireworks that were going off two streets ahead of us, as we were running in the darkness, as the ski was ablaze, we laughed. We yelled. "Viva el Peru." We looked at eachother. We were joyous, we had found a home, we felt so great. We watched the fireworks go off over Parque Kennedy, to conclude the parade in all its glory. And our journey, in many ways was complete. We yelled some more. We laughed one more time.
And we smiled.
PS: If I were President, and do away with taxes.
Then create super-taxes.
And give all the money to Gustavo.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Of Love and War
That seems to be the theme for Peru these days. For me, it's all about the love. Never-ending connections with different friends, family, and ninos. I feel it coursing through me, as a heat that is so very vivid. It feels unbelievable.
But this huelga continues, and it is rough. But it is the right, the very right to debate this, to gain their respect, as my dad says, for what they do is so very great. Yet, when this violence devolves to what it has become, it hurts so many. I understand their end, but to the means to which to gather it, I am pensive.
But that is just the context. What is happening day to day, for me, is still a dream. It is still all about the love.
It was too much on Friday. I haven't cried here, although sometimes of wanted to, not out of missing home or feeling lost, but for others. For what is so difficult for so many of the children I see here, and the families we are trying to help, is what is so basic--living day to day. And it is hard for me, as you know if you're reading this, because I feel through other people, and what they are going through breaks my heart. I want to do more, but this is my plight, and I have only this to do, nothing more. And however much I try to do it great, to love to my fullest, it is still so very hard, because there is so much left to do.
I worked at the Foundation's site at Lima's orphanage on Friday. I don't know what the words are to describe, my English is failing me, but it's liek there was a bubble of joy, at least in mmeory, that surrounded me once I opened the gates and entered the complex. Children running up to me, laughing, wanting to be held, me throwing them all around, faking to be dead, them trying to bring me back to life, a simple act of recess but so beautiful, "No te mueras, no te mueras!" Being with the children in class, telling them how smart they are, laughing with these most beautiful of children I've met so far. They were so pure and kind and their love was raw and vibrant, and a tear came to my eye. I was sitting next to the first student, helping as I usual do with the activities, and as she was placing beads on a necklace, matching the color pattern already given to her for the exercise, I lost focus for a second. And my mind drifted to her life. She is all alone. She has love from these teachers, but will grow up with this lost.
And a tear came to my face. It was very hard, but it just made me want to be present and be there all the more. I walked around with Jorge and Paola, met the kids, played with them, saw their smiles, and I was so fulfilled. It really was as you said, Bradford, a boy with the imagination to choke Raold Dahl, hair flowing side to side, picking up each child and throwing him, then the next, then the next. On a grass field by the sea. In an orphanage in Lima. The sun peeking through the clouds ever so slightly. Surrounded by love.
You just have these moments here, and you can't put your finger on it, but it's there. And it breathes life into you, it breeds purpose into your soul, and it is something so new and amazing.
Saturday felt just the same. I was escorted around Lima by my mother's son (truly, in more ways than one, my brother.) With my niece and I, we went with him, drove along the coast, joking, laughing, listening to regaton, a look in his eyes of youth and kindness. He was a child at heart, just like me.
Oh, and on top of it, what was the purpose of the trip? Shredzone Peru. Shreddaggggee. Shred dead. Shreddage.
So I couldn't go to Chicamac this weekend, because the city is closed off as a result of the huelga, the strike.
I was bummed, but this man, Mario, a man of my heart, and his niece, an incredible smart and shretastic 14-year old girl, lifted me, to shred heaven. We went to Puerto Viejo, an hour south of Lima, and I surfed with Mario, next to this huge cape, huge rocks, and caught 3 monster lefts, about 5-6 footers each. One was 4. And it felt so great, to be there, back on the board. Back with the ocean. It's so tranquil and revitalizing for me. And so freaking knarlliciousss!!!
We got off the beach, had a beer, drove back in ecstasy, met up with his family (the way they treat me, I should say my family), and I had the most delicious steak I've ever tasted. From Argentina, with love, it made me poop a little bit.
What a day. What a weekend. What a time here in Peru. I miss you all. Love you so. Un abrazo,
Walt
But this huelga continues, and it is rough. But it is the right, the very right to debate this, to gain their respect, as my dad says, for what they do is so very great. Yet, when this violence devolves to what it has become, it hurts so many. I understand their end, but to the means to which to gather it, I am pensive.
But that is just the context. What is happening day to day, for me, is still a dream. It is still all about the love.
It was too much on Friday. I haven't cried here, although sometimes of wanted to, not out of missing home or feeling lost, but for others. For what is so difficult for so many of the children I see here, and the families we are trying to help, is what is so basic--living day to day. And it is hard for me, as you know if you're reading this, because I feel through other people, and what they are going through breaks my heart. I want to do more, but this is my plight, and I have only this to do, nothing more. And however much I try to do it great, to love to my fullest, it is still so very hard, because there is so much left to do.
I worked at the Foundation's site at Lima's orphanage on Friday. I don't know what the words are to describe, my English is failing me, but it's liek there was a bubble of joy, at least in mmeory, that surrounded me once I opened the gates and entered the complex. Children running up to me, laughing, wanting to be held, me throwing them all around, faking to be dead, them trying to bring me back to life, a simple act of recess but so beautiful, "No te mueras, no te mueras!" Being with the children in class, telling them how smart they are, laughing with these most beautiful of children I've met so far. They were so pure and kind and their love was raw and vibrant, and a tear came to my eye. I was sitting next to the first student, helping as I usual do with the activities, and as she was placing beads on a necklace, matching the color pattern already given to her for the exercise, I lost focus for a second. And my mind drifted to her life. She is all alone. She has love from these teachers, but will grow up with this lost.
And a tear came to my face. It was very hard, but it just made me want to be present and be there all the more. I walked around with Jorge and Paola, met the kids, played with them, saw their smiles, and I was so fulfilled. It really was as you said, Bradford, a boy with the imagination to choke Raold Dahl, hair flowing side to side, picking up each child and throwing him, then the next, then the next. On a grass field by the sea. In an orphanage in Lima. The sun peeking through the clouds ever so slightly. Surrounded by love.
You just have these moments here, and you can't put your finger on it, but it's there. And it breathes life into you, it breeds purpose into your soul, and it is something so new and amazing.
Saturday felt just the same. I was escorted around Lima by my mother's son (truly, in more ways than one, my brother.) With my niece and I, we went with him, drove along the coast, joking, laughing, listening to regaton, a look in his eyes of youth and kindness. He was a child at heart, just like me.
Oh, and on top of it, what was the purpose of the trip? Shredzone Peru. Shreddaggggee. Shred dead. Shreddage.
So I couldn't go to Chicamac this weekend, because the city is closed off as a result of the huelga, the strike.
I was bummed, but this man, Mario, a man of my heart, and his niece, an incredible smart and shretastic 14-year old girl, lifted me, to shred heaven. We went to Puerto Viejo, an hour south of Lima, and I surfed with Mario, next to this huge cape, huge rocks, and caught 3 monster lefts, about 5-6 footers each. One was 4. And it felt so great, to be there, back on the board. Back with the ocean. It's so tranquil and revitalizing for me. And so freaking knarlliciousss!!!
We got off the beach, had a beer, drove back in ecstasy, met up with his family (the way they treat me, I should say my family), and I had the most delicious steak I've ever tasted. From Argentina, with love, it made me poop a little bit.
What a day. What a weekend. What a time here in Peru. I miss you all. Love you so. Un abrazo,
Walt
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
My Joy Ride
I've been taking the same bus for a week now. 6:30 A.M. I leave from my stop at the corner of Paseo de la Republica, ride la Ocho to San Juan, Fe y Alegria Number 26 School, get off, get to work by 8:00 A.M., have lunch, prepare for our workshop, play with the parents, play with the kids, being there, leaving at 6:30 P.M., getting off the selfsame bus, and walking home, to arrive by 8:00 P.M. and sleep.
For anyone that knows me, this is a freaking insanity of a schedule. I have never done anything like this before in my life. And I constantly have to be on my toes. Yesterday I had an off day, I wasn't on my game, some boys whistled at me and yelled gringo, stopping after I turned around and stared at them. Everything was haywire, it wasn't the perfect eutopia where every kid loves and understands me completely, where every touch I give cures their woes.
And its never been like that, but yesterday it was apparent. It was obvious I still have a long way to go, on many levels that speak to more than what this program and this adventure means. That there is so much room to grow is humbling and frustrating, but at the same time at its utmost necessary.
You have to be there. You have to be in it. But you have to also go through it. The preverbial crucible is just that, it is a constantly evolving challenge that you face, and to push through, it takes time. And it takes dedication. And it takes heart. And its freaking hard.
But that is the place you grow. And this is the place I am growing.
Because my life isn't as it was presented in the opening paragraph of this blog. What fills in the cracks of this story is what makes this journey so significant.
Talking about Tenacious D with Humberto, showing him my Jables impersanation, him laughing his head off; me giving English lessons to Fabiola, who is just learning, to see her smile when she says, "Where my girrrrls at??" dead on; spending an hour playing with this one young boy, not even knowing his name, all because he came into the room when only I was there. He wanted to be a soccer player, he loves Robinho, and he is so very special. I don't mean to get sappy, but I was with this boy, and his friend joined him then left, just sitting with him. He came in, I said how are you, then I went back to my business, writing letters to the parents. He just stayed there, silent and shy, minding his business. Then we talked. I coaxed him to a few words, as he was obviously intimidated, but he wanted so bad to be there. When we got to soccer, he opened up, shed his placidity for excitement, and smiled so broadly.
He loves soccer. He has one brother. He wants to learn how to box correctly. I tell him. He loves math. I give him harder and harder word problems; he is perfect at every one. In fifth grade, in the poorest of neighborhoods in the center of Lima, here is this boy.
And I saw who he was. And I saw that he was special.
And I hope someone he knows that, and that I can see him again.
But if I don't, I was there. It was so small, what my presence will do for him. But at least I know him, and I won't forget.
Becuase he was just one of many, struggling, but loving. Living all they can, learning what they must, parents living for their kids, teaching what they have. It's so hard, when these parents had no education just the same. But they are trying. There is some hope, some chance, I guess. All I can do is be here and do what I can. And it feels so little. But I know this is just the beginning, to take this in and share it at my future's end. To one day return to this people, as a force greater than what I am now, to help them all the more.
This experience is a joy. It breaks my heart. It makes me cry. But it is a joy. To hear Elisa say my soul is beautiful, to see the smile on Maria's face when I say something to make her laugh, to know my family and friends are so close to me while they are so far away, to know that I am still a freaking kid at heart, to know I have another ride on the 8 bus tomorrow, to know I have another chance to make a difference, to feel satisfied with my purpose in life; this is all I need.
For anyone that knows me, this is a freaking insanity of a schedule. I have never done anything like this before in my life. And I constantly have to be on my toes. Yesterday I had an off day, I wasn't on my game, some boys whistled at me and yelled gringo, stopping after I turned around and stared at them. Everything was haywire, it wasn't the perfect eutopia where every kid loves and understands me completely, where every touch I give cures their woes.
And its never been like that, but yesterday it was apparent. It was obvious I still have a long way to go, on many levels that speak to more than what this program and this adventure means. That there is so much room to grow is humbling and frustrating, but at the same time at its utmost necessary.
You have to be there. You have to be in it. But you have to also go through it. The preverbial crucible is just that, it is a constantly evolving challenge that you face, and to push through, it takes time. And it takes dedication. And it takes heart. And its freaking hard.
But that is the place you grow. And this is the place I am growing.
Because my life isn't as it was presented in the opening paragraph of this blog. What fills in the cracks of this story is what makes this journey so significant.
Talking about Tenacious D with Humberto, showing him my Jables impersanation, him laughing his head off; me giving English lessons to Fabiola, who is just learning, to see her smile when she says, "Where my girrrrls at??" dead on; spending an hour playing with this one young boy, not even knowing his name, all because he came into the room when only I was there. He wanted to be a soccer player, he loves Robinho, and he is so very special. I don't mean to get sappy, but I was with this boy, and his friend joined him then left, just sitting with him. He came in, I said how are you, then I went back to my business, writing letters to the parents. He just stayed there, silent and shy, minding his business. Then we talked. I coaxed him to a few words, as he was obviously intimidated, but he wanted so bad to be there. When we got to soccer, he opened up, shed his placidity for excitement, and smiled so broadly.
He loves soccer. He has one brother. He wants to learn how to box correctly. I tell him. He loves math. I give him harder and harder word problems; he is perfect at every one. In fifth grade, in the poorest of neighborhoods in the center of Lima, here is this boy.
And I saw who he was. And I saw that he was special.
And I hope someone he knows that, and that I can see him again.
But if I don't, I was there. It was so small, what my presence will do for him. But at least I know him, and I won't forget.
Becuase he was just one of many, struggling, but loving. Living all they can, learning what they must, parents living for their kids, teaching what they have. It's so hard, when these parents had no education just the same. But they are trying. There is some hope, some chance, I guess. All I can do is be here and do what I can. And it feels so little. But I know this is just the beginning, to take this in and share it at my future's end. To one day return to this people, as a force greater than what I am now, to help them all the more.
This experience is a joy. It breaks my heart. It makes me cry. But it is a joy. To hear Elisa say my soul is beautiful, to see the smile on Maria's face when I say something to make her laugh, to know my family and friends are so close to me while they are so far away, to know that I am still a freaking kid at heart, to know I have another ride on the 8 bus tomorrow, to know I have another chance to make a difference, to feel satisfied with my purpose in life; this is all I need.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
In the Middle of It All
So this is probably not making international news. But in Peru, this is the biggest thing that has happened in years. SUTEP, and other organizations of teachers in Peru, have banded together in huelga, to strike, against the government of Alan Garcia. They stand opposed to a law, formed to create a new system of evaluation for teachers, that was just approved today by Garcia's government.
The law, in my mind, is a just one, it mandates a higher quality of teacher for Peru, which needs it badly. The old system of evaluating maestros was outdated and subjective; this new law mandates a new test, which costs the teachers time and money, but it seems to set a new path for education in Peru, so all the teachers strive to a reach a higher level.
These are the facts. But what makes this situation so complex are the intanglibles, for me. The idea of the right to protest, being enacted to its fullest extent. The revolution of the people. The ground swell of support for the teachers in Peru.
But for what point? And at what cost? I revolt for rights, for justice at its core, and there are many things wrong with the education system in Peru, and in the world at that, that I would fight to cure. But what is this revolution fighting for. I'm open to it, I want to experience it from both sides, but with my job, as a private organization working, and depending, on a debunct public school system, but working for these special children, I find myself dead in the middle.
I love these teachers, but I love these kids more. So what is this strike for? Is it for justice, or is it at the cost of these poor children, who have nothing more in the world than a chance at a education. Or is it a revolution to make the government more receptive to teachers. Or is it a demonstration that has devolved into violence, that has become angry, cruel, and tragic, whose purpose has become lost to me. Whose purpose seems to derive more from pride than from justice.
Yet, I see that this is there right. Their definitive right. And it is so important to this developing nation, to give these teacher's a definitive right.
But it is at the cost of lives, and it is at the cost of the children.
So I have not made my decision yet. I am directly in the middle. I love revolution, you know that, come on, I want it, non-stop, all-the-time, give it to, yes, please, more. Thanks.
But this is the first time I've seen it applied, in due course, in real life. That is it apparent. That it is real. I want to see this revolution to its course, to its endpoint.
Yet, I think I know. It must be a revolt for justice, in the name of something more than ourselves, not over a lowly concern of money or pride. I hope this strike is the former. I suspect, and dread, it being the latter.
Towns are shut down, including Hayacucho and Arequipa, sorry Kelly, with roads blocked, stores shutdown. Effegies are being burned in Truquillo, streets are swarmed in Lima. The nation has come to the teacher's cause, but I don't know why. I just don't know.
We will see where this takes us. We will see.
The law, in my mind, is a just one, it mandates a higher quality of teacher for Peru, which needs it badly. The old system of evaluating maestros was outdated and subjective; this new law mandates a new test, which costs the teachers time and money, but it seems to set a new path for education in Peru, so all the teachers strive to a reach a higher level.
These are the facts. But what makes this situation so complex are the intanglibles, for me. The idea of the right to protest, being enacted to its fullest extent. The revolution of the people. The ground swell of support for the teachers in Peru.
But for what point? And at what cost? I revolt for rights, for justice at its core, and there are many things wrong with the education system in Peru, and in the world at that, that I would fight to cure. But what is this revolution fighting for. I'm open to it, I want to experience it from both sides, but with my job, as a private organization working, and depending, on a debunct public school system, but working for these special children, I find myself dead in the middle.
I love these teachers, but I love these kids more. So what is this strike for? Is it for justice, or is it at the cost of these poor children, who have nothing more in the world than a chance at a education. Or is it a revolution to make the government more receptive to teachers. Or is it a demonstration that has devolved into violence, that has become angry, cruel, and tragic, whose purpose has become lost to me. Whose purpose seems to derive more from pride than from justice.
Yet, I see that this is there right. Their definitive right. And it is so important to this developing nation, to give these teacher's a definitive right.
But it is at the cost of lives, and it is at the cost of the children.
So I have not made my decision yet. I am directly in the middle. I love revolution, you know that, come on, I want it, non-stop, all-the-time, give it to, yes, please, more. Thanks.
But this is the first time I've seen it applied, in due course, in real life. That is it apparent. That it is real. I want to see this revolution to its course, to its endpoint.
Yet, I think I know. It must be a revolt for justice, in the name of something more than ourselves, not over a lowly concern of money or pride. I hope this strike is the former. I suspect, and dread, it being the latter.
Towns are shut down, including Hayacucho and Arequipa, sorry Kelly, with roads blocked, stores shutdown. Effegies are being burned in Truquillo, streets are swarmed in Lima. The nation has come to the teacher's cause, but I don't know why. I just don't know.
We will see where this takes us. We will see.
Monday, July 9, 2007
New Pictures
On facebook as of two minutes ago. Check them out. Blog post to come tomorrow. Love you all,
Walt
Walt
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