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
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Take It, But Take It Easy
There are some things in this world that make me very happy. Bawls, chicks, shredding anything, farting, pooping, making jokes about farting, making jokes about pooping.
I'm a simple man.
But, more than that, there are very few things in this world that fulfill me. I've been teetering on this fine line for a year now, searching for something more while resting in a place of happiness. It is hard for me to explain: it all felt right, but something was not right. There was still some step above, some place over my head that I just couldn't see, not for lack of trying.
But then I come here. And I find myself staring into the face of a six-year old's smile, the salt-drenched tears of a old abuelita, or the inquisitive eyes of every 14-year Peruvian girl at every college I go to (Matt, no. Stop. No. No. Troy, okay. Keep going.) Kai, if you want to concentrate in getting chicks, I'll be it 14-year old ones, this is the place for you.
And I feel so happy, I feel very whole. And I feel fulfilled.
Not by the chicks part, although that rocks, because, hey, dudes, we get chicks.
But everything else. Over the past week, it has just been a continual process of realizing my faith, of growing into this journey I have set myself on, feeling uncomfortable, but moving through to grow. To reach the place I've always wanted.
It started Sunday. We went to our parent's Chackra (farm) up North an hour, and chilled out. And when I say chilled out, I'm talking chillzone to the max, my friend. Goats, dogs, chickens, land, a river, a big rock mountain cascading over us, a porch, couches, joking, grilling, cold Coca-Colas, children running around, football in the front yard, teaching baseball to my new cousins, loving life.
You dig? It felt so very good, to be there with my new family, being there with the land. We climbed a mountain, the children together, and were panting and smiling the whole time. Just over huge rocks, up to an Incan house on the hillside, 500 meters up. It was a hike, but it was so fun. We were kids again, seeing beautiful sites that appeared so new and glorious to us, looking through their eyes. Of course, or two leaders, my 11-year old boys Mariando and Niko, were experts and had mapped out a trail 100 times. But it is was even new for them, having someone who could actual beat them up the moutain, while making fart noises the entire way up (you can't teach what they know about parts of the body to make pttthhhhs, it's crazy).
And my uncle is taking me to shreddzone next weekend, now, too. 2 KM long waves in Truquillo, the spot where Endless Summer boys went to. I'm geeking out. FREAK YEAH! (Get it, Brad?)
Monday. Coming from paradise, I returned to where I'd been all week. To Villa San Salvador, with Gustavo, Cheri, and mis amores at the school. We played, we joked around, we learned, and it was beautiful all over again. Just being there, I have to pinch myself, becasue I feel like this is where I should be, that this has happened somehow.
I love taking it easy, but this was an opportunity I had to take. Take it. Make it. Break it. Shake it. Snake it. Bake it. And Shake it. And don't forget to Bake it.
And Take it.
Then Tuesday came the test. It was my first day going 8-6 (it turned into 7am-8pm), and it was hard. I was working the entire day with my new boss, Humberto, a 28-year old kid at heart, joking consistently, running everywhere, running to some place I don't know, having a vision, being a control-freak, but also being so lively and a great friend. He rode with me, along with Fabolita, the other psychologist to and from work, Weds. and Tues. (I worked in the same school then). We talked about his doubts on G-d, the Peruvian political state, chicks, his life, la jerga (with the help of Fabolita, she's 22), or slang for Popo (tombo), money (un taco), and chicks (flacccaass!!). Bien chevere (Sick).
And it was hard. Because it was such a long day, and they really pushed my Spanish and my body and my mind and my confidence. Because in the afternoon of Tuesday and Wednesday, I had to be talking to these parents, in Spanish, about what to do about their kids, how to help them.
This is the second part of my internship, now beiginning, step one working with the kids and step two working with the parents to help them continue their kid's growth and focus them on school.
It feels like I can really have an effect, and this makes me nervous and scared. I have this responsibility, but I thought I wasn't ready for it. But once the workshop with the parents being, I found it. My stride, my smile, what I can do. I got them energized, as we split up into 4 teams of parents to teach them games they can play with their kids, to help with their confidence, to teach them to be patient, to help them grow, and just give them advice.
I am here, I am so excited for your kids, and I hope you can do the same, and remember this. Remember this, that is my message to them.
I am here doing small things, for only a short time, but I want them to know I'm here. I'm here to help them, someone cares, and don't forget it.
Remember it.
But everything passed as it should. I went through the crucible, I was uncomfortable, but I grew.
Now, I'm off to paradise number two, Caja Marca, in the mountains, with my family. More to come on 4th of July, Peru style, and the trip to Caja on Monday. Love,
Walt
I'm a simple man.
But, more than that, there are very few things in this world that fulfill me. I've been teetering on this fine line for a year now, searching for something more while resting in a place of happiness. It is hard for me to explain: it all felt right, but something was not right. There was still some step above, some place over my head that I just couldn't see, not for lack of trying.
But then I come here. And I find myself staring into the face of a six-year old's smile, the salt-drenched tears of a old abuelita, or the inquisitive eyes of every 14-year Peruvian girl at every college I go to (Matt, no. Stop. No. No. Troy, okay. Keep going.) Kai, if you want to concentrate in getting chicks, I'll be it 14-year old ones, this is the place for you.
And I feel so happy, I feel very whole. And I feel fulfilled.
Not by the chicks part, although that rocks, because, hey, dudes, we get chicks.
But everything else. Over the past week, it has just been a continual process of realizing my faith, of growing into this journey I have set myself on, feeling uncomfortable, but moving through to grow. To reach the place I've always wanted.
It started Sunday. We went to our parent's Chackra (farm) up North an hour, and chilled out. And when I say chilled out, I'm talking chillzone to the max, my friend. Goats, dogs, chickens, land, a river, a big rock mountain cascading over us, a porch, couches, joking, grilling, cold Coca-Colas, children running around, football in the front yard, teaching baseball to my new cousins, loving life.
You dig? It felt so very good, to be there with my new family, being there with the land. We climbed a mountain, the children together, and were panting and smiling the whole time. Just over huge rocks, up to an Incan house on the hillside, 500 meters up. It was a hike, but it was so fun. We were kids again, seeing beautiful sites that appeared so new and glorious to us, looking through their eyes. Of course, or two leaders, my 11-year old boys Mariando and Niko, were experts and had mapped out a trail 100 times. But it is was even new for them, having someone who could actual beat them up the moutain, while making fart noises the entire way up (you can't teach what they know about parts of the body to make pttthhhhs, it's crazy).
And my uncle is taking me to shreddzone next weekend, now, too. 2 KM long waves in Truquillo, the spot where Endless Summer boys went to. I'm geeking out. FREAK YEAH! (Get it, Brad?)
Monday. Coming from paradise, I returned to where I'd been all week. To Villa San Salvador, with Gustavo, Cheri, and mis amores at the school. We played, we joked around, we learned, and it was beautiful all over again. Just being there, I have to pinch myself, becasue I feel like this is where I should be, that this has happened somehow.
I love taking it easy, but this was an opportunity I had to take. Take it. Make it. Break it. Shake it. Snake it. Bake it. And Shake it. And don't forget to Bake it.
And Take it.
Then Tuesday came the test. It was my first day going 8-6 (it turned into 7am-8pm), and it was hard. I was working the entire day with my new boss, Humberto, a 28-year old kid at heart, joking consistently, running everywhere, running to some place I don't know, having a vision, being a control-freak, but also being so lively and a great friend. He rode with me, along with Fabolita, the other psychologist to and from work, Weds. and Tues. (I worked in the same school then). We talked about his doubts on G-d, the Peruvian political state, chicks, his life, la jerga (with the help of Fabolita, she's 22), or slang for Popo (tombo), money (un taco), and chicks (flacccaass!!). Bien chevere (Sick).
And it was hard. Because it was such a long day, and they really pushed my Spanish and my body and my mind and my confidence. Because in the afternoon of Tuesday and Wednesday, I had to be talking to these parents, in Spanish, about what to do about their kids, how to help them.
This is the second part of my internship, now beiginning, step one working with the kids and step two working with the parents to help them continue their kid's growth and focus them on school.
It feels like I can really have an effect, and this makes me nervous and scared. I have this responsibility, but I thought I wasn't ready for it. But once the workshop with the parents being, I found it. My stride, my smile, what I can do. I got them energized, as we split up into 4 teams of parents to teach them games they can play with their kids, to help with their confidence, to teach them to be patient, to help them grow, and just give them advice.
I am here, I am so excited for your kids, and I hope you can do the same, and remember this. Remember this, that is my message to them.
I am here doing small things, for only a short time, but I want them to know I'm here. I'm here to help them, someone cares, and don't forget it.
Remember it.
But everything passed as it should. I went through the crucible, I was uncomfortable, but I grew.
Now, I'm off to paradise number two, Caja Marca, in the mountains, with my family. More to come on 4th of July, Peru style, and the trip to Caja on Monday. Love,
Walt
Friday, June 29, 2007
And It Breaks My Heart
(Pictures on facebook by tomorrow)
I feel like I'm taking too much in. Like sometimes I'm overflowing, getting outside of myself a little bit. I was sitting back today, thinking about being with the kids for the first time, thinking of last night's unbelievably drunken but beautiful events. Me, Carlos, and Nadia listening to my rap mixes, with me wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and no shirt. Letting it rain, falling back in laughter, drinking Cusquenas. And I missed home.
Because it was too much. I was exhausted today, as we traveled to the beach, and it was cold and cloudy. I missed my beach. I missed not being exhausted, not having anything to care about, living with no pressure, with no weight, with no idea of what the future is to bring.
But I was exhausted today. So the weather didn't help, and last night didn't help, and the work week, waking up at 7 each day, didn't help.
Yet, I think the biggest thing that was exhausted was my spirit, my energy, and my heart. I've been taking a lot in these past weeks, and at some point it gets hard. And it's not hard in the sense, I can't deal with this anymore, get me out, shut down time. It's heavy, it's a weight, because you are doing something so uncomfortable and out of the ordinary.
It was Thursday. Gustavo, this little boy of six years old, came to me at the end of our class, where we played hopscotch with days of the week and played music with tiny tamborines, where they were always smiling because I couldn't stop telling them how great they were, and said to me, "a mi me encantate." I love you.
It broke my heart. This little boy, with problems keeping up in his first grade class, and a life living on a dirt road in one of the poorest towns in Lima, broke my heart. It was only 45 minutes we were together. But it was so fantastic. I loved him, too, and I wish I could do so much more.
I stepped out of the classroom after this, looked out at the school, and finally realized how real this was to me. It was surreal to that point, with me asking how did my life bring me here, how was I here at this time and place? Then a flood hit my body, of emotion, realization, reality, I don't know. I lent against the wall, and I didn't know what to think. It was too much. It was a weight, of something that was so hard. This has been the first time I've gone and done something like this, being in this poor community, being with these children, walking in this decrepid neighborhood where they have nothing. I am here, I am here in a place so hardened, so much more difficult then I could ever have imagined.
And I take it in, but it's not enough. I want to do more, I want to give more, but then, I am exhausted. Drained and broken-hearted, by how hard life can be for these beautiful families and children.
This exists, you know, but it really exists when you're there. And it's hard, and it's exhausting.
I talked to this abuelita for 15 mintues while she sat and waited for her granddaughter to end here 45 session with the teacher. She said she never sits, never rests, because she has to put food on the table. Her daughter is dead from cancer, so she is the mother to two orphans, 13 and 14. Her other daughter works from 5am-9pm, so she is all that her other two grandaughers, 4 and 7, see. She cried, she was in pain, and she has no way out. All she can do is continue, somehow getting her family through school, somehow putting food on the table. I told her she was an angel, that was she was doing is so hard, and I love her for it.
I told her, I'm here, I want you to know, by my presence, that there are people who care, that will fight, that will help others with whatever means they can. I said I will be that in the future, and I meant it.
It was a burden, because this is the beginning of my life. Everyone I meet here is too nice, they here politics, Harvard, and looks, and they want a picture--the next President, they say. And how that is such a stretch, if being President allows me to somehow help these people more than they are now, then so be it. Because I know now, for sure, that's what I want to do with my life. And that is one of the biggest things that has happened to me in my life.
And it's one of the most exhausting. I said all I can give you is a hug, un abrazo, and I took her in my arms and hugged her. And tried to give my love, through a touch, loving great however I can.
I looked out at the school, watching the children run in the durt field, at the center of the schoolyard, playing soccer, and it was all so tangible, and I could not believe that this was it. It was so big, but I can't really think about that, or don't really have the ability to, right now because I'm still here, being present in it.
I'm going back on Monday, to be with Gustavo and Gaston and Ana Lisa another time, then Tuesday, and then I am gone from their lives, onto another school.
My aunt sent me an e-mail today, calling for me to be ready to receive, to take in energy to be ready for new things to happen and new gifts to come, as was read in the Native American medicine cards she draws for me. It was a great feeling to know the forces were true, and working together, and the breeze is blowing toward me, and I'm here, and that I can love great here and being my future, right now.
I feel like I'm taking too much in. Like sometimes I'm overflowing, getting outside of myself a little bit. I was sitting back today, thinking about being with the kids for the first time, thinking of last night's unbelievably drunken but beautiful events. Me, Carlos, and Nadia listening to my rap mixes, with me wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and no shirt. Letting it rain, falling back in laughter, drinking Cusquenas. And I missed home.
Because it was too much. I was exhausted today, as we traveled to the beach, and it was cold and cloudy. I missed my beach. I missed not being exhausted, not having anything to care about, living with no pressure, with no weight, with no idea of what the future is to bring.
But I was exhausted today. So the weather didn't help, and last night didn't help, and the work week, waking up at 7 each day, didn't help.
Yet, I think the biggest thing that was exhausted was my spirit, my energy, and my heart. I've been taking a lot in these past weeks, and at some point it gets hard. And it's not hard in the sense, I can't deal with this anymore, get me out, shut down time. It's heavy, it's a weight, because you are doing something so uncomfortable and out of the ordinary.
It was Thursday. Gustavo, this little boy of six years old, came to me at the end of our class, where we played hopscotch with days of the week and played music with tiny tamborines, where they were always smiling because I couldn't stop telling them how great they were, and said to me, "a mi me encantate." I love you.
It broke my heart. This little boy, with problems keeping up in his first grade class, and a life living on a dirt road in one of the poorest towns in Lima, broke my heart. It was only 45 minutes we were together. But it was so fantastic. I loved him, too, and I wish I could do so much more.
I stepped out of the classroom after this, looked out at the school, and finally realized how real this was to me. It was surreal to that point, with me asking how did my life bring me here, how was I here at this time and place? Then a flood hit my body, of emotion, realization, reality, I don't know. I lent against the wall, and I didn't know what to think. It was too much. It was a weight, of something that was so hard. This has been the first time I've gone and done something like this, being in this poor community, being with these children, walking in this decrepid neighborhood where they have nothing. I am here, I am here in a place so hardened, so much more difficult then I could ever have imagined.
And I take it in, but it's not enough. I want to do more, I want to give more, but then, I am exhausted. Drained and broken-hearted, by how hard life can be for these beautiful families and children.
This exists, you know, but it really exists when you're there. And it's hard, and it's exhausting.
I talked to this abuelita for 15 mintues while she sat and waited for her granddaughter to end here 45 session with the teacher. She said she never sits, never rests, because she has to put food on the table. Her daughter is dead from cancer, so she is the mother to two orphans, 13 and 14. Her other daughter works from 5am-9pm, so she is all that her other two grandaughers, 4 and 7, see. She cried, she was in pain, and she has no way out. All she can do is continue, somehow getting her family through school, somehow putting food on the table. I told her she was an angel, that was she was doing is so hard, and I love her for it.
I told her, I'm here, I want you to know, by my presence, that there are people who care, that will fight, that will help others with whatever means they can. I said I will be that in the future, and I meant it.
It was a burden, because this is the beginning of my life. Everyone I meet here is too nice, they here politics, Harvard, and looks, and they want a picture--the next President, they say. And how that is such a stretch, if being President allows me to somehow help these people more than they are now, then so be it. Because I know now, for sure, that's what I want to do with my life. And that is one of the biggest things that has happened to me in my life.
And it's one of the most exhausting. I said all I can give you is a hug, un abrazo, and I took her in my arms and hugged her. And tried to give my love, through a touch, loving great however I can.
I looked out at the school, watching the children run in the durt field, at the center of the schoolyard, playing soccer, and it was all so tangible, and I could not believe that this was it. It was so big, but I can't really think about that, or don't really have the ability to, right now because I'm still here, being present in it.
I'm going back on Monday, to be with Gustavo and Gaston and Ana Lisa another time, then Tuesday, and then I am gone from their lives, onto another school.
My aunt sent me an e-mail today, calling for me to be ready to receive, to take in energy to be ready for new things to happen and new gifts to come, as was read in the Native American medicine cards she draws for me. It was a great feeling to know the forces were true, and working together, and the breeze is blowing toward me, and I'm here, and that I can love great here and being my future, right now.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
What Does Rock Smell Like?
My first three days as a Fundacion worker have passed, with nothing to write home about. Which is kind of weird, because Im technically writing home, about it, right now. I just have to get some things out of my head, for tomorrow.
Im really anxious. Im really scared, more. I dont know what to expect, going into the schools for the first time tomorrow. I sat today, ate dinner with Carlos, Eric, and Maria while we watched Mexico beat Brazil 2-0 in the Copa America. Its fantastic being here in, watching the games live, where it means so much. It was fantastic, us jabbing about soccer, Maria piping in with her comments that we need to calm down, like a mother to us all. Eric, Carlos and I laughed and chided eachother, talked about Peru, talked about Brazilian girls, and time just passed. We talked about the weekend, after a long three days of seminars, meetings, and getting all the knowledge I need to go in and understand what were doing in these schools, I need it. But I also needed these three days, to understand the kind of help the students need and the wall that Peru is facing. To understand how little I can do but how it is a step for so much to be done in teh future.
It is amazing to go to these lectures, read these materials, to have the resources to become aan expert, to study with these experts, on Peruvian education. It is so central to the plight of Peru as a nation, to overcome its circumstances and threive. Much can be said about the rest of the world, and the United States itself, but that is left for a dissertation in the future.
What was important then was the relaxing. Was the time, passing, with no wieght on its shoulders. Moving, floating, nothing more.
But when I left that world, returned to emails, calls with parents, thinkign about tomorrow, I got ancy, I got frustrated, I got worried. It was just a natural feeling of disequilibrium, because Im thinking of something that is tomorrow that will be so far outisde myself, and not really big, but a big step. But Im weighted down on the earth, but trivial matters, by trivial thoughts. I just want to go. I just want to enter the school and experience whatever is there. But Im sick and tired and exhausted and frustrated and pained and off on another planet and everythign right now. But I take a breathe....and I return. Sometimes you just have to believe, however that manifests. THat these things are happening to make you stronger, to make you ready for a task at hand. Not something world changing, but something small, that, done with great love, can spark a revolution in a heart, in a mind, in myself.
The smell of rock is buttsmoke.
Im really anxious. Im really scared, more. I dont know what to expect, going into the schools for the first time tomorrow. I sat today, ate dinner with Carlos, Eric, and Maria while we watched Mexico beat Brazil 2-0 in the Copa America. Its fantastic being here in, watching the games live, where it means so much. It was fantastic, us jabbing about soccer, Maria piping in with her comments that we need to calm down, like a mother to us all. Eric, Carlos and I laughed and chided eachother, talked about Peru, talked about Brazilian girls, and time just passed. We talked about the weekend, after a long three days of seminars, meetings, and getting all the knowledge I need to go in and understand what were doing in these schools, I need it. But I also needed these three days, to understand the kind of help the students need and the wall that Peru is facing. To understand how little I can do but how it is a step for so much to be done in teh future.
It is amazing to go to these lectures, read these materials, to have the resources to become aan expert, to study with these experts, on Peruvian education. It is so central to the plight of Peru as a nation, to overcome its circumstances and threive. Much can be said about the rest of the world, and the United States itself, but that is left for a dissertation in the future.
What was important then was the relaxing. Was the time, passing, with no wieght on its shoulders. Moving, floating, nothing more.
But when I left that world, returned to emails, calls with parents, thinkign about tomorrow, I got ancy, I got frustrated, I got worried. It was just a natural feeling of disequilibrium, because Im thinking of something that is tomorrow that will be so far outisde myself, and not really big, but a big step. But Im weighted down on the earth, but trivial matters, by trivial thoughts. I just want to go. I just want to enter the school and experience whatever is there. But Im sick and tired and exhausted and frustrated and pained and off on another planet and everythign right now. But I take a breathe....and I return. Sometimes you just have to believe, however that manifests. THat these things are happening to make you stronger, to make you ready for a task at hand. Not something world changing, but something small, that, done with great love, can spark a revolution in a heart, in a mind, in myself.
The smell of rock is buttsmoke.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Bawls and Farts
Two notes I forgot, that Bradford reminded me of: There's shreddage here!!! I'm going to shred the nar so freaking hard it's going to make my balls pang with awesomeness.
Second, just to clarify, I connected with a group of peruvians over Balls and Farts. Or bawls and fahts, for those who remember.
We were talking about Guarana in one of these drinks, and I went nuts and discussed Bawls drink, "testiculos," as I called it. Now, their name for me is the "mariposo," the gay, for loving balls in my mouth. Man, some jokes don't know culture barriers. And some elexirs of life will spread across the globe, leading a revolution for alll!!!!! (aka, Guarana and Bawls).
Then, this drunk friend of Sebastian's came into the house as we were leaving, at 2, and the elevator smelled like vomit. Then we smelled him. He smelled like poop.
Because he pooed his pants.
I am not joking.
The cagon (fartman) made a smell I had never ever smelled in the states, and the girls didn't stop laughing at this observation for 10 minutes. We went outside, and he came out, and I asked him all these questions, calling him the cagon, and the girls went wild with laughter.
It was so funny. The two things I know the best, Bawls and Fahts, came bundled together, gift wrapped, onto my lap, for me to go nuts with, to be the funniest man I could be. I did allright.
Second, just to clarify, I connected with a group of peruvians over Balls and Farts. Or bawls and fahts, for those who remember.
We were talking about Guarana in one of these drinks, and I went nuts and discussed Bawls drink, "testiculos," as I called it. Now, their name for me is the "mariposo," the gay, for loving balls in my mouth. Man, some jokes don't know culture barriers. And some elexirs of life will spread across the globe, leading a revolution for alll!!!!! (aka, Guarana and Bawls).
Then, this drunk friend of Sebastian's came into the house as we were leaving, at 2, and the elevator smelled like vomit. Then we smelled him. He smelled like poop.
Because he pooed his pants.
I am not joking.
The cagon (fartman) made a smell I had never ever smelled in the states, and the girls didn't stop laughing at this observation for 10 minutes. We went outside, and he came out, and I asked him all these questions, calling him the cagon, and the girls went wild with laughter.
It was so funny. The two things I know the best, Bawls and Fahts, came bundled together, gift wrapped, onto my lap, for me to go nuts with, to be the funniest man I could be. I did allright.
My First Week
So, first of all, I uploaded some pictures from the ceremony at Pacha Cama and going out to the Mercado yesterday onto facebook. If you can't get on facebook (family, I'm looking at you), then e-mail me at wehowell7@gmail.com and I'll send you my e-mail and password to access it. But don't be that person who gets on and changes my stuff, just don't be that person. G-d knows I've been.
Wow. It's been a week. It doesn't feel that way, I guess. It feels at the same time a month, at the same time a day. Like time is trivial here, it's just about passing from a moment to a moment, because what makes living here different, being in Peru, is that each moment is intensified. Each experience is new and satisfying, even if it's as minimal as calling your first taxi company without being totally confused about what they were saying (last night to go to Sebastian's). And now we have our own personal cab driver, Roberto, who has taken us to Sebby's twice and is so nice and old.
But tomorrow's the next big jump. Into the Fundacion, to working for the first time. I feel like the first week will be introductions, getting the feel, but I'm going in tomorrow at 8:30 to be a part of the a meeting with the execs, Marcela says that's a good sign for me. I don't know, I'm just going to go there and do everything I can.
Before that jump, the weekend is left to discuss. Let's see, I stopped Thursday night at 4, a little tipsy, so let's pick it up from there, no?
Friday morning, woke up, and I felt allright. We went into la Universidad to watch a movie, Days of Santiago (Dias de Santiago). If you want to see a picture of how there are so many struggling, even in Lima, in Peru, and a film that is brilliant and captivating, watch this. It won some awards at flim festivals, and is very exceptional. This young man, Santiago, has come back from the war with Ecuador, he was a soldier, to a life without work, with a disgusting family, and no hope. He tries and tries, to help himself, to help and "rescue" those around him, but he is haunted both by his past and his present. It is a never-ending struggle for so many, in so many different ways, we have a very tiny picture of it.
But we must open our eyes, because it is too easy to keep them closed.
I came back home, took a nap, then organized final dinner for all us, to say goodbye to Marcela, our fearless leader. I guess I fall naturally into the planner, controlling dude, keeping people up on their partying toes. We went to the Mesitas, had a great dinner, then went out to a bar, the Mochilleros (backpackers, I thought of you, Char), and got there and no one was there. You see, we made a mistake. One of the girls in our group wanted to come to dinner but had to leave at 10 that night to go to Huaraz for the weekend. So we had dinner at 7, ate, drank, was merry, said goodbye to Marcela, and it was 9:30. So, to give you a sense for how early we were, we went to a club last night at 2. We got there at 2. THAT was early. And when we got home at 5, that then, was early, too, for different reasons.
There does not exist the word late here. Well, it does, it's tarde, but, I mean, so, just roll with it, come on.
Always a fiesta, si sabes.
So we had the bar to ourselves, I talked to the barkeep (it was a real cool, calm place, like a basement with a stage and nice wooden table, very chill), Eduardo, had some shots of tequilla (okay, these will be the death of me, because shots of tequilla are so big here that I was chilling with one of Sebby's friends, Marcelan, last night, and she had a song, not that complicated, but she loved, "shots de tequilla, bam bam, shots de tequilla"), 5 beers for 5 bucks, yeh bro, and listened to a six foot six Peruvian with a long beard, dreds, and his friend, reggae rap in Spanish. You know, it was real good. They had the ghetto moves down, the hands waving side to side, and were really excited to see some Americans. I gave him a pound, said good job, and he blurted out, "You come back." I said yeh.
Then we ventured on through the night, because now it was 11:30, time to really start the night, or still just early, I don't know. We walked through Barranco, another party area beside Larco Mar, but chiller, more bars then clubs. Everybody was out in the streets, everyone happy.
We walked through a beautiful park, bar hopped, going to the places that offered Nadia and Diana free drinks--pisco sours, what Peruvians love. There weren't many people in these stratified bars, but we found some fun places, made it fun ourselves. We found a secret room in the first one, well not secret, but there were only two people on the dance floor there (the third floor of the bar), dancing. We got there and took it for our own, with them leaving immediately. It was fun. And it had two raised dancing circles, you know, the kind that girls go in and dance in the big clubs. I felt professional, very sexy. You guys feel that. Oh yes, we were jamming. Oh my goodness, let's get this started, let's make this happen. Yes. Jammmminnngg.
Came back home, couldn't sleep that much, but did some e-mails, read the paper, little things. But it was a big deal. Just reading the paper, but in Spanish. Someting more special. It makes you feel like Jon Stewart from Half Baked. Yes, you've done these things before, but have you everyone done it, on weeed? (in Spanish, get it).
Then Nadia, Diana, and Andres came over to have lunch with our aunt and uncle, because we were going out to the Inca Market to do some bartering and buy some nick-nacks at 3, afterward.
The lunch was so unbelievable, there was Rebecca, my aunt, Pedro, this round old men, vivacious as hell, very smart and so funny. He was always joking the two women, Rebecca and Ana Lisa, a family friend, for being, well, woman. Yehhhhh, boyyyyy. Woman. Haha. So funny, them women.
Sufficed to say, he was a man of my taste. Then their daughter, Veronica, came in, bosting a Stones' shirt. She was about 30, so nice, with a huge smile.
Everyone here has just been so nice, I can't fathom it. I am so very lucky. And I think it's happening for a reason, to give me a base to do more than I know here, in these two months.
But we talked and laughed, and strangely, I got to talking about my cancer, because Ana Lisa said she was in remission, and I said me too, and everyone looked shocked. I always feel bad for bringing it up, I don't know. But I said I am fine now, everything is super-bien.
But we moved on, and it was so nice and I felt like I am communicating better and better.
And at the market after, I bought a charango, a small Peruvian guitar, from a small store in the market with the most beautiful hand-made guitars. The Charango is unreal, I've been playing it a lot and I love it. Very similar to guitar, but with different chords. I have a little book, but it doesn't say much. So I play what sounds good. I play what feels right.
Wow. It's been a week. It doesn't feel that way, I guess. It feels at the same time a month, at the same time a day. Like time is trivial here, it's just about passing from a moment to a moment, because what makes living here different, being in Peru, is that each moment is intensified. Each experience is new and satisfying, even if it's as minimal as calling your first taxi company without being totally confused about what they were saying (last night to go to Sebastian's). And now we have our own personal cab driver, Roberto, who has taken us to Sebby's twice and is so nice and old.
But tomorrow's the next big jump. Into the Fundacion, to working for the first time. I feel like the first week will be introductions, getting the feel, but I'm going in tomorrow at 8:30 to be a part of the a meeting with the execs, Marcela says that's a good sign for me. I don't know, I'm just going to go there and do everything I can.
Before that jump, the weekend is left to discuss. Let's see, I stopped Thursday night at 4, a little tipsy, so let's pick it up from there, no?
Friday morning, woke up, and I felt allright. We went into la Universidad to watch a movie, Days of Santiago (Dias de Santiago). If you want to see a picture of how there are so many struggling, even in Lima, in Peru, and a film that is brilliant and captivating, watch this. It won some awards at flim festivals, and is very exceptional. This young man, Santiago, has come back from the war with Ecuador, he was a soldier, to a life without work, with a disgusting family, and no hope. He tries and tries, to help himself, to help and "rescue" those around him, but he is haunted both by his past and his present. It is a never-ending struggle for so many, in so many different ways, we have a very tiny picture of it.
But we must open our eyes, because it is too easy to keep them closed.
I came back home, took a nap, then organized final dinner for all us, to say goodbye to Marcela, our fearless leader. I guess I fall naturally into the planner, controlling dude, keeping people up on their partying toes. We went to the Mesitas, had a great dinner, then went out to a bar, the Mochilleros (backpackers, I thought of you, Char), and got there and no one was there. You see, we made a mistake. One of the girls in our group wanted to come to dinner but had to leave at 10 that night to go to Huaraz for the weekend. So we had dinner at 7, ate, drank, was merry, said goodbye to Marcela, and it was 9:30. So, to give you a sense for how early we were, we went to a club last night at 2. We got there at 2. THAT was early. And when we got home at 5, that then, was early, too, for different reasons.
There does not exist the word late here. Well, it does, it's tarde, but, I mean, so, just roll with it, come on.
Always a fiesta, si sabes.
So we had the bar to ourselves, I talked to the barkeep (it was a real cool, calm place, like a basement with a stage and nice wooden table, very chill), Eduardo, had some shots of tequilla (okay, these will be the death of me, because shots of tequilla are so big here that I was chilling with one of Sebby's friends, Marcelan, last night, and she had a song, not that complicated, but she loved, "shots de tequilla, bam bam, shots de tequilla"), 5 beers for 5 bucks, yeh bro, and listened to a six foot six Peruvian with a long beard, dreds, and his friend, reggae rap in Spanish. You know, it was real good. They had the ghetto moves down, the hands waving side to side, and were really excited to see some Americans. I gave him a pound, said good job, and he blurted out, "You come back." I said yeh.
Then we ventured on through the night, because now it was 11:30, time to really start the night, or still just early, I don't know. We walked through Barranco, another party area beside Larco Mar, but chiller, more bars then clubs. Everybody was out in the streets, everyone happy.
We walked through a beautiful park, bar hopped, going to the places that offered Nadia and Diana free drinks--pisco sours, what Peruvians love. There weren't many people in these stratified bars, but we found some fun places, made it fun ourselves. We found a secret room in the first one, well not secret, but there were only two people on the dance floor there (the third floor of the bar), dancing. We got there and took it for our own, with them leaving immediately. It was fun. And it had two raised dancing circles, you know, the kind that girls go in and dance in the big clubs. I felt professional, very sexy. You guys feel that. Oh yes, we were jamming. Oh my goodness, let's get this started, let's make this happen. Yes. Jammmminnngg.
Came back home, couldn't sleep that much, but did some e-mails, read the paper, little things. But it was a big deal. Just reading the paper, but in Spanish. Someting more special. It makes you feel like Jon Stewart from Half Baked. Yes, you've done these things before, but have you everyone done it, on weeed? (in Spanish, get it).
Then Nadia, Diana, and Andres came over to have lunch with our aunt and uncle, because we were going out to the Inca Market to do some bartering and buy some nick-nacks at 3, afterward.
The lunch was so unbelievable, there was Rebecca, my aunt, Pedro, this round old men, vivacious as hell, very smart and so funny. He was always joking the two women, Rebecca and Ana Lisa, a family friend, for being, well, woman. Yehhhhh, boyyyyy. Woman. Haha. So funny, them women.
Sufficed to say, he was a man of my taste. Then their daughter, Veronica, came in, bosting a Stones' shirt. She was about 30, so nice, with a huge smile.
Everyone here has just been so nice, I can't fathom it. I am so very lucky. And I think it's happening for a reason, to give me a base to do more than I know here, in these two months.
But we talked and laughed, and strangely, I got to talking about my cancer, because Ana Lisa said she was in remission, and I said me too, and everyone looked shocked. I always feel bad for bringing it up, I don't know. But I said I am fine now, everything is super-bien.
But we moved on, and it was so nice and I felt like I am communicating better and better.
And at the market after, I bought a charango, a small Peruvian guitar, from a small store in the market with the most beautiful hand-made guitars. The Charango is unreal, I've been playing it a lot and I love it. Very similar to guitar, but with different chords. I have a little book, but it doesn't say much. So I play what sounds good. I play what feels right.
Bob Dylan
Do you realize that Bob Dylan produced his maybe best, or even most accomplished and most beloved, album when he was only 22 years old. I only know one other person with that ability.
But when he sings, "Girl from the North Country," I think of the mountains, I think of all that is simple and beautiful.
Like tonight. Like going out with Sebastian and his 10 girlfriends, joking about Balwls, "los testiculos," and the boy who farted so disgustingly. It was so fun, I connected in Spanish with so many in Spanish tongiht. It felt so good. It felt like I had made some connections, like I had crossed some bounds, but most importantly, it was fun.
Man, thats what life should be.
But, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
I love you all,
Walt
But when he sings, "Girl from the North Country," I think of the mountains, I think of all that is simple and beautiful.
Like tonight. Like going out with Sebastian and his 10 girlfriends, joking about Balwls, "los testiculos," and the boy who farted so disgustingly. It was so fun, I connected in Spanish with so many in Spanish tongiht. It felt so good. It felt like I had made some connections, like I had crossed some bounds, but most importantly, it was fun.
Man, thats what life should be.
But, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
I love you all,
Walt
Friday, June 22, 2007
My Lucky Day (cont.)
So to reward my loyal followers, a poop joke is coming at the end of this post. I started this post on another computer, had to leave to go out to a club, and now someone is sleeping in the computer room. Pues, if you read on, you'll see a freaking hilarious fart/poop joke, jiggaaass.
But, onto what's most important. Today was a lucky day. The group traveled on a bus with a jovial old man (there seem to be a lot of those in Peru) that was named Berto Gomez (si yo puedo recordar, Juan Amberto Gomez Luis) who was so kind and amiable, I loved it. He was our tour guide of history.
Because today we went to the Pacha Camada--place of the Sun god--where the oldest Inca civilization, archeologically, is located. It was unbelievable. A huge desert gave way to this gem of antiquity, a piece of history that seemed to arise from the ground itself. I took many pictures, enjoyed it so much, but that icing on the cake came as we came down from the proverbial mount. A group of chachmas, those who were here before the spanish conquistidacion, were having a ceremony for the Inti Cajma, or the summer solstice. It happens once a year, and we were there. Get it, lucky.
It was so spiritual, as the eldest member of the tribe lamented prayers, about mother earth, father sun, our brother trees, and all that is needed to preserve oiur love for our "tierra" or land. It felt invorgorating, and what was all the more significant was that we were part of the ceremonia. We drank the cachua, we ate the coca leaves and then sacrifced them to the gods, by pointing the leaves to the sun, in the middle of the circle, alone, kissing them, then casting them into the fire.
And while we did so, we put one prayer in our heart. I prayed to mother earth that she give me the strength to be outside myselft, to have the strength to be there for these children and make their lives better.
As my heart beat so fast after I sacrificed the leaves, I hoped it had had its effect.
After, we ate a delicious meal, went to a musuem of Liman history, then went back to our house to sleep.
After eating dinner, Carlos, Nadia (another member of the Harvard group), a guy named Liam, who was really nice but liked Nadia a little too much (bordering on being freaking weird), and I went out with Santiago's brother, Sebby, who was so very welcoming, kind, fun, and quite frankly, unbelieveable. We went to the casa del Danino (his house), had some beers, meant his cousin and his unbelievably kind friend Lucho, then left for Grananta, a club where a Harvard alum, a friend of Santi, was having a party. It was incredible. We got in for a reduced rate (5 down from 20 dollars), then danced, drank, and talked in Spanish with Sebby's goregous friends. One of them tried so hard to give me her number that she made me bleed with a pen. Oye, locas, ven paca. Give me something.
But all of them were so nice, we had so much fun, and now I'm back in my bed. At 4:15, having to wake up at 8. But it's okay. Activities end tomorrow at 11.
And, as you know, today's my lucky day.
:)
But, onto what's most important. Today was a lucky day. The group traveled on a bus with a jovial old man (there seem to be a lot of those in Peru) that was named Berto Gomez (si yo puedo recordar, Juan Amberto Gomez Luis) who was so kind and amiable, I loved it. He was our tour guide of history.
Because today we went to the Pacha Camada--place of the Sun god--where the oldest Inca civilization, archeologically, is located. It was unbelievable. A huge desert gave way to this gem of antiquity, a piece of history that seemed to arise from the ground itself. I took many pictures, enjoyed it so much, but that icing on the cake came as we came down from the proverbial mount. A group of chachmas, those who were here before the spanish conquistidacion, were having a ceremony for the Inti Cajma, or the summer solstice. It happens once a year, and we were there. Get it, lucky.
It was so spiritual, as the eldest member of the tribe lamented prayers, about mother earth, father sun, our brother trees, and all that is needed to preserve oiur love for our "tierra" or land. It felt invorgorating, and what was all the more significant was that we were part of the ceremonia. We drank the cachua, we ate the coca leaves and then sacrifced them to the gods, by pointing the leaves to the sun, in the middle of the circle, alone, kissing them, then casting them into the fire.
And while we did so, we put one prayer in our heart. I prayed to mother earth that she give me the strength to be outside myselft, to have the strength to be there for these children and make their lives better.
As my heart beat so fast after I sacrificed the leaves, I hoped it had had its effect.
After, we ate a delicious meal, went to a musuem of Liman history, then went back to our house to sleep.
After eating dinner, Carlos, Nadia (another member of the Harvard group), a guy named Liam, who was really nice but liked Nadia a little too much (bordering on being freaking weird), and I went out with Santiago's brother, Sebby, who was so very welcoming, kind, fun, and quite frankly, unbelieveable. We went to the casa del Danino (his house), had some beers, meant his cousin and his unbelievably kind friend Lucho, then left for Grananta, a club where a Harvard alum, a friend of Santi, was having a party. It was incredible. We got in for a reduced rate (5 down from 20 dollars), then danced, drank, and talked in Spanish with Sebby's goregous friends. One of them tried so hard to give me her number that she made me bleed with a pen. Oye, locas, ven paca. Give me something.
But all of them were so nice, we had so much fun, and now I'm back in my bed. At 4:15, having to wake up at 8. But it's okay. Activities end tomorrow at 11.
And, as you know, today's my lucky day.
:)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
My Lucky Day
Before I begin, a friend wants me to let everyone know that Wilco is from Chicago, so everyone should forget that. I think that's what she said. Oh, and my human computer, aka Sufjan Stevens, has valmorphitized into Mic Jagger. It sucks.
With that out of the way, I have to go poop. I'll be right back.
....Ahh.
Who thinks I really just pooped? You'd never know if you weren't here.
But I did, so now you do.
Man, aren't fart and poop jokes just so funny. Like this one:
What's two plus two?
Answer: Fart.
You see, you freaking laughed at that. I know you did.
Oh yeh, Peru. Today was my lucky day. Our group's really, but I'll take credit for it.
With that out of the way, I have to go poop. I'll be right back.
....Ahh.
Who thinks I really just pooped? You'd never know if you weren't here.
But I did, so now you do.
Man, aren't fart and poop jokes just so funny. Like this one:
What's two plus two?
Answer: Fart.
You see, you freaking laughed at that. I know you did.
Oh yeh, Peru. Today was my lucky day. Our group's really, but I'll take credit for it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Its an Experience
All of it, from the failed attempts to buy a pair of pants at the centro commercial, to making my second mom, Elisa, laugh for the first time (in Spanish), to getting joked for being a gringo who cant speak ¨castellano¨, to getting complemented, by the same person, on my improvement in just one day, its all so fluid. Just a constant ebb and flow of success and failure, stepping outside of myself only to get flung back to the ground.
And then you pick yourself up. Get back on the Chama bus, pay your sol and 20 (like 40 cents, everything is so inexpensive here. in the battle of prices, twin awesome one (me) and twin buttface zero (Char Char Binx, aka my sisteer, Charlottle Howell. Ok, thats enough for the parenthesees).
I guess the bus ride today was just part of it. Carlos and I, after riding the crazy ass bus system in Lima for 2 hours with one of our directors to explain to us what to do, where to go, etc., etc., were ready to do it ourselves. Oh, Carlos is the other student whose living with me--his family is from Mexico, he's fluent, he stuies biology, and he's mad cool.
Jesus titty fín Christ, did I tell you how nuts the bus system is in Lima. They have a cargardor, who pimps out his ride to anybody, because they love to cram this tiny van converted into a bus line with 50 people (=60 soles for them) that usually can fit, let's give them 15. Come on. Seriously, dude. Seriously. Really, really....come on, dude.
F me. Then they have a route, but sometimes they don't take it because the driver feels like going and seeing an amigo in a different district and so you get lost and i freaking got to shrink to the size of a hobbit to fit in, because who knew Peru wasn't made for 6'3 dudes, come on. In all seriousness though, I'm freaking really big for Peru.
I don´t know how , but somehow I followed the bus route on my map, saw we were about to pass our street then, you have to to make them stop, yelled ¨Baja!¨aka I'm going out,and made the bus stop. We got out, took a breathe, and we did it. We freaking did it. Suck it, Lima. I am a master of all that is manly and all that has to do with buses and shit. Oh yeh, it feels good. It feels reallll gooooooodd.
Bueno, the second challenge for the day was meeting my program director. But she was amazing, very nice, and complemented me on my Spanish after slamming me down. We were all together, program directors and studetns, at a mini'suare in a classroom at the Unviersity El Pacifico, where we always meet for lectures or to depart on our introductory excursions. We talked for a half hour, she told me I would be doing a couple things int he office to start, for a week, so I can learn and see how the project goes, then I go, everyday, into the poor areas around Lima, to one school, where I will play with the kids, get to know the families, then lead workshops teaching the parents ways to better their kid's educational opportunities and lives.
Oh my god. That's the first time I have written that out. Wow. I am a little shocked right now. What a weight of responsibility. Just something so minute but I have the ability to really do something, to be someting to someone else. To help them. It is such a tremendous burden that makes me a little scared to face it. More terrified. It is not just about me anymore. Time to grow, real fast, for them, to get strong for the challenge. I guess I'm a little scared, still, but also ready. I think so.
But anyway, that was fantastic, it's exactly where I want to be, and she was so sweet, has a son at UT (hook em' horns) studying to be a rocket scientist (for real) and a daughter, both from an IB school. The daughter is 15, so shut the freak up, Matt. Shut it, no joke allowed, not at all, stop. Seriously, rape Troy day was fun, but, just, stop.
Anyway again, after we talked, she introduced the organization to everyone, then me, said I was great, but she was not sure if I understood everything. Everyone laughed, then I paused for dramatic effect, and said ¨Puedo entender todo¨, I can understnad everything. Another laugh, then I explained my role, very presicely, and after I was done, she said to me in Spanish, you get an A for that.
A similar turnabout came with my host mom, Elisa. The family, the friends, Maria (a cook of epic ability, holy carp, like she should be on top Chef or something nuts like that) and everyone in the house has been so overwhelming kind and welcoming and open. I've loved it. But it started to wear on me, not the people, but the day of Spanish. And while we were talking about calling cab companies, Elisa said Carlos has to call, becasue I sound like a gringo. Of course I know that, but it was a little rough at the time, I do not know. But latyer in the meal, after talking, she said that she was so impressed with how much I have improved in one day, because I spoke well but now I'm speaking better, to put it roughly. It was a little victory, I guess. It felf good, yo no se.
But I realized something today. Things are going to be up and down. Things are not always perfect, and it is a struggle. But it is also an experience. Its a journey, through tests and challenges, from bus to bus, person to person, and I guess what is important is that I am here, I am trying. And the failures and successes inspire in the same. Because one is nothing without the other. And the experience is vapid when one is left out.
To bed, I'm exhausted, but I miss you all, love the posts, love life, love Bawls, love you mom and dad and Char, Clif is gay, and we'll see how this ride unwinds, more to come tomorrow.
PS Santi, talked to your borther, will hang out soon. Brad, Clif, Rage, and all those who are worshippers of Guarana--freaking national drink of Peru is Inca Cola, with the active ingredient of Guarana!!! Oh my freaking freak my butt. I'm home, as the prophecy foretold, for it was told, from the Quatch. Pttth (for Joyce).
And then you pick yourself up. Get back on the Chama bus, pay your sol and 20 (like 40 cents, everything is so inexpensive here. in the battle of prices, twin awesome one (me) and twin buttface zero (Char Char Binx, aka my sisteer, Charlottle Howell. Ok, thats enough for the parenthesees).
I guess the bus ride today was just part of it. Carlos and I, after riding the crazy ass bus system in Lima for 2 hours with one of our directors to explain to us what to do, where to go, etc., etc., were ready to do it ourselves. Oh, Carlos is the other student whose living with me--his family is from Mexico, he's fluent, he stuies biology, and he's mad cool.
Jesus titty fín Christ, did I tell you how nuts the bus system is in Lima. They have a cargardor, who pimps out his ride to anybody, because they love to cram this tiny van converted into a bus line with 50 people (=60 soles for them) that usually can fit, let's give them 15. Come on. Seriously, dude. Seriously. Really, really....come on, dude.
F me. Then they have a route, but sometimes they don't take it because the driver feels like going and seeing an amigo in a different district and so you get lost and i freaking got to shrink to the size of a hobbit to fit in, because who knew Peru wasn't made for 6'3 dudes, come on. In all seriousness though, I'm freaking really big for Peru.
I don´t know how , but somehow I followed the bus route on my map, saw we were about to pass our street then, you have to to make them stop, yelled ¨Baja!¨aka I'm going out,and made the bus stop. We got out, took a breathe, and we did it. We freaking did it. Suck it, Lima. I am a master of all that is manly and all that has to do with buses and shit. Oh yeh, it feels good. It feels reallll gooooooodd.
Bueno, the second challenge for the day was meeting my program director. But she was amazing, very nice, and complemented me on my Spanish after slamming me down. We were all together, program directors and studetns, at a mini'suare in a classroom at the Unviersity El Pacifico, where we always meet for lectures or to depart on our introductory excursions. We talked for a half hour, she told me I would be doing a couple things int he office to start, for a week, so I can learn and see how the project goes, then I go, everyday, into the poor areas around Lima, to one school, where I will play with the kids, get to know the families, then lead workshops teaching the parents ways to better their kid's educational opportunities and lives.
Oh my god. That's the first time I have written that out. Wow. I am a little shocked right now. What a weight of responsibility. Just something so minute but I have the ability to really do something, to be someting to someone else. To help them. It is such a tremendous burden that makes me a little scared to face it. More terrified. It is not just about me anymore. Time to grow, real fast, for them, to get strong for the challenge. I guess I'm a little scared, still, but also ready. I think so.
But anyway, that was fantastic, it's exactly where I want to be, and she was so sweet, has a son at UT (hook em' horns) studying to be a rocket scientist (for real) and a daughter, both from an IB school. The daughter is 15, so shut the freak up, Matt. Shut it, no joke allowed, not at all, stop. Seriously, rape Troy day was fun, but, just, stop.
Anyway again, after we talked, she introduced the organization to everyone, then me, said I was great, but she was not sure if I understood everything. Everyone laughed, then I paused for dramatic effect, and said ¨Puedo entender todo¨, I can understnad everything. Another laugh, then I explained my role, very presicely, and after I was done, she said to me in Spanish, you get an A for that.
A similar turnabout came with my host mom, Elisa. The family, the friends, Maria (a cook of epic ability, holy carp, like she should be on top Chef or something nuts like that) and everyone in the house has been so overwhelming kind and welcoming and open. I've loved it. But it started to wear on me, not the people, but the day of Spanish. And while we were talking about calling cab companies, Elisa said Carlos has to call, becasue I sound like a gringo. Of course I know that, but it was a little rough at the time, I do not know. But latyer in the meal, after talking, she said that she was so impressed with how much I have improved in one day, because I spoke well but now I'm speaking better, to put it roughly. It was a little victory, I guess. It felf good, yo no se.
But I realized something today. Things are going to be up and down. Things are not always perfect, and it is a struggle. But it is also an experience. Its a journey, through tests and challenges, from bus to bus, person to person, and I guess what is important is that I am here, I am trying. And the failures and successes inspire in the same. Because one is nothing without the other. And the experience is vapid when one is left out.
To bed, I'm exhausted, but I miss you all, love the posts, love life, love Bawls, love you mom and dad and Char, Clif is gay, and we'll see how this ride unwinds, more to come tomorrow.
PS Santi, talked to your borther, will hang out soon. Brad, Clif, Rage, and all those who are worshippers of Guarana--freaking national drink of Peru is Inca Cola, with the active ingredient of Guarana!!! Oh my freaking freak my butt. I'm home, as the prophecy foretold, for it was told, from the Quatch. Pttth (for Joyce).
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The Start of All Things
6/18/07, 9:47 P.M., Lima, Peru.
The end of the first day feels fine. I'm lying in my bed, exhausted from a day of touring Lima, talking in Spanish, meeting my program directors, and all of the other introductory activities that only Harvard could master.
Actually, I wouldn't expect them to master that at all. They would be horrible, really horrible at it. But, somehow, a few emerged from the darkness to lead us, lead us to freedom. Or just sweet introductory meetings on the ins and outs of Lima. Or freedom.
But as I lie here, I'm just feeling so very good. Expect for my allergies, I have passed through what I was most worried about--making my flights, getting to my host family's house, meeting the directors, speaking my first words of Spanish. All that is done. All things done, as Sufjan says, as he is my Itunes. Yeh, so now my computer is a human, as a result. How do you like that, a little inside information into Peru--computers evolve into human beings here. You wouldn't know unless you came.
It's peaceful, but I'm very tired from Bonaroo, the flight, my allergies, and moving in. But I want to put down my memories from the last few days, beginning with Saturday night. Because, as my mom always says, it is most important to stay focused on your transitions, so you don't lose anything.
Memories, or my passport. With this blog, I'll go two for two.
It began Saturday night, as Clif, Bradford, Mariah, and Mariah's dudimus maximus of a friend, and now our friend, Jordan, went to see Sting.
And let me tell you something, Sting Sucks. Holy crap, Sting is like really gay, like imagine gay, then imagine Troy Murrell's hairy butt, then mix that with a Superhero whose superpower is to have sex with dudes. That's how gay Sting is.
Roxanne, you don't have to turn off the ptttttttttttttthhhhh (fart noise). I send an PTHHH PTHHH PTTHH to the PTHHHHHH.
Sting sucks.
But, you know, I love Sting being gay.
Side note: You know how I know I'm gay?
Anyway, it gave us more time to see the Flaming Lips, but we would have had even more time if Mariah didn't pee on her leg. Eww, DISGUSTING!!!
But we got there, stormed the gates, and climbed over piles of strung out hippy nomads to reach row five at which stage? Which Stage! Get IT!!!??
Neither did we. It was a stinky joke that sucked. Almost as much as Sting.
Slam.
And it was the revolution we had been waiting for. We were abducted by aliens of awesomeness and taken to magical rock dreamland, with Wayne Coyne as a sage and god. He came to us in a shining clear orb, that looked like a hamster ball. And when he sang, "Do you realize?," we felt the transformation, to our future of goodness.
As we all looked at each other after, we were exhausted to the point where all Bradford could retardly stammer out, for 10 minutes as we walked back to camp, was a series of "Sting is SOOO Gay" or "Don't PTHHH, Don't PTHHH so close to me."
But other than these mutterings, we had no words.
It was such an amazing experience, just being there together and loving the music and the performance. As we fell asleep, on my last full day in the United States, we felt good. I felt good. As simple as that sounds, it expresses the sensation completely. It is something we all want to find, and when you do, you cherish it and experience it at that moment. It is nothing more, nothing less. But it is so significant.
It is the beginning of all things.
And it prepared Bradford, Clif and I for our Rock Crusade, our journey to Mecca--Wilco, main stage, Bonaroooooooooooo.
We got to the front of the stage, and as Tweedy grabbed his guitar, Nels riffed to begin "You Are My Face," and I stared up at perfection, we had arrived out our Paradise.
It was continued with the perfect harmony of "Walken", then completed as the first rock riff of "Spiders (Kidsmoke),"played, as Clif, Bradford and I stared at each other then sent our bodies immediately into the air, hair shaking, bodies going locos with momentum, continual energy streaming though each one of our faces, each with a distinct look of euphoria.
We left. We drove to Nashville, with Bradford leading us out in style as he booty-shaked, tweek-freaked, and nasty-danced beside our 'Burban, rolling on twenty-twos, listening to Outkast as a kid walked by in a red t-shirt, stumbling and yelling, "I don't know where I am." The irony was delicious--Bob Weir v. Outkast. Outkast 1, Bob Weir naked and throwing up somewhere in the middle of Tennessee (not Bob Weir, but that kid).
And my time in the U.S. ended in Nashville, as I grabbed my computer, ready to turn it off for the trip and finish packing to catch the 8:00 A.M. shuttle to the airport. But then I saw a note on the desktop. It said it loved me, it said to challenge myself, that growth comes through that alone, and it said to love great.
I wish everyone had the mind and heart that could produce such words.
And I was gone, to Lima, inspired. Gone to catch my flight out of Nashville, to Atlanta, to wait for five hours, to go to Peru, to wait for my bags for an hour, to find Danny (one of the directors who met me at the airport), to catch a cab, to meet my new mom, Elisa, and her husband, the kindest sixty-year old man I've ever met, Hernando, to unpack my bag, to lie in my bed, to go to sleep, to wake up for the beginning of the first great adventure of my life.
The end of the first day feels fine. I'm lying in my bed, exhausted from a day of touring Lima, talking in Spanish, meeting my program directors, and all of the other introductory activities that only Harvard could master.
Actually, I wouldn't expect them to master that at all. They would be horrible, really horrible at it. But, somehow, a few emerged from the darkness to lead us, lead us to freedom. Or just sweet introductory meetings on the ins and outs of Lima. Or freedom.
But as I lie here, I'm just feeling so very good. Expect for my allergies, I have passed through what I was most worried about--making my flights, getting to my host family's house, meeting the directors, speaking my first words of Spanish. All that is done. All things done, as Sufjan says, as he is my Itunes. Yeh, so now my computer is a human, as a result. How do you like that, a little inside information into Peru--computers evolve into human beings here. You wouldn't know unless you came.
It's peaceful, but I'm very tired from Bonaroo, the flight, my allergies, and moving in. But I want to put down my memories from the last few days, beginning with Saturday night. Because, as my mom always says, it is most important to stay focused on your transitions, so you don't lose anything.
Memories, or my passport. With this blog, I'll go two for two.
It began Saturday night, as Clif, Bradford, Mariah, and Mariah's dudimus maximus of a friend, and now our friend, Jordan, went to see Sting.
And let me tell you something, Sting Sucks. Holy crap, Sting is like really gay, like imagine gay, then imagine Troy Murrell's hairy butt, then mix that with a Superhero whose superpower is to have sex with dudes. That's how gay Sting is.
Roxanne, you don't have to turn off the ptttttttttttttthhhhh (fart noise). I send an PTHHH PTHHH PTTHH to the PTHHHHHH.
Sting sucks.
But, you know, I love Sting being gay.
Side note: You know how I know I'm gay?
Anyway, it gave us more time to see the Flaming Lips, but we would have had even more time if Mariah didn't pee on her leg. Eww, DISGUSTING!!!
But we got there, stormed the gates, and climbed over piles of strung out hippy nomads to reach row five at which stage? Which Stage! Get IT!!!??
Neither did we. It was a stinky joke that sucked. Almost as much as Sting.
Slam.
And it was the revolution we had been waiting for. We were abducted by aliens of awesomeness and taken to magical rock dreamland, with Wayne Coyne as a sage and god. He came to us in a shining clear orb, that looked like a hamster ball. And when he sang, "Do you realize?," we felt the transformation, to our future of goodness.
As we all looked at each other after, we were exhausted to the point where all Bradford could retardly stammer out, for 10 minutes as we walked back to camp, was a series of "Sting is SOOO Gay" or "Don't PTHHH, Don't PTHHH so close to me."
But other than these mutterings, we had no words.
It was such an amazing experience, just being there together and loving the music and the performance. As we fell asleep, on my last full day in the United States, we felt good. I felt good. As simple as that sounds, it expresses the sensation completely. It is something we all want to find, and when you do, you cherish it and experience it at that moment. It is nothing more, nothing less. But it is so significant.
It is the beginning of all things.
And it prepared Bradford, Clif and I for our Rock Crusade, our journey to Mecca--Wilco, main stage, Bonaroooooooooooo.
We got to the front of the stage, and as Tweedy grabbed his guitar, Nels riffed to begin "You Are My Face," and I stared up at perfection, we had arrived out our Paradise.
It was continued with the perfect harmony of "Walken", then completed as the first rock riff of "Spiders (Kidsmoke),"played, as Clif, Bradford and I stared at each other then sent our bodies immediately into the air, hair shaking, bodies going locos with momentum, continual energy streaming though each one of our faces, each with a distinct look of euphoria.
We left. We drove to Nashville, with Bradford leading us out in style as he booty-shaked, tweek-freaked, and nasty-danced beside our 'Burban, rolling on twenty-twos, listening to Outkast as a kid walked by in a red t-shirt, stumbling and yelling, "I don't know where I am." The irony was delicious--Bob Weir v. Outkast. Outkast 1, Bob Weir naked and throwing up somewhere in the middle of Tennessee (not Bob Weir, but that kid).
And my time in the U.S. ended in Nashville, as I grabbed my computer, ready to turn it off for the trip and finish packing to catch the 8:00 A.M. shuttle to the airport. But then I saw a note on the desktop. It said it loved me, it said to challenge myself, that growth comes through that alone, and it said to love great.
I wish everyone had the mind and heart that could produce such words.
And I was gone, to Lima, inspired. Gone to catch my flight out of Nashville, to Atlanta, to wait for five hours, to go to Peru, to wait for my bags for an hour, to find Danny (one of the directors who met me at the airport), to catch a cab, to meet my new mom, Elisa, and her husband, the kindest sixty-year old man I've ever met, Hernando, to unpack my bag, to lie in my bed, to go to sleep, to wake up for the beginning of the first great adventure of my life.
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