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.
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