Whoops

Sometimes I forget I have a blog, whoops. It's like life takes over and then three months later someone asks me about it, and in my head I go, "Oh yeahhhhh".

Today I got a letter in the mail that said that I had officially passed my first year of medical school and was being promoted.

Which is kinda great, especially considering that I finished classes two and a half weeks ago and have been telling every.single.person I have come across ever since.

Without divulging too much info on the interwebs, I am working at the Dept. of Infectious Disease at a local hospital for the summer.  In one word, it is amazing.

I have already learned so so much and I have really enjoyed the time I spend working on different studies.  I'm not really sure if I'm allowed to talk about the study, but I will find out and then post details if it is allowed!

An Ode to Spring Break

You're only two days away,

But really only twelve hours, 

Only one test between us,

then I'll stop to smell the flowers.

If you could come sooner,

that'd really be great,

I need you, spring break,

my brain is beginning to deflate. 

When things don't go your way

I have had a one track mind since (before?) I was born. I get super excited about something, put my all in to it, hope really really hard things will work out, and usually,  they do.

And then, sometimes, they don't.

I applied for a summer internship in Columbia that has to do with HIV/AIDS outreach in rural South Carolina.  Because I am super interested in HIV, I thought this would be a great opportunity! I interviewed last week, and then waited to hear something.  Waited, and waited, and waited. Did I also mention that I've been impatient since before day one?

I got really caught up in this internship, dreamed about it once or twice, (you do know where this is going, right?) and found out today that I didn't get it. 

Interestingly enough, I went to a talk yesterday about international medical missions, and I left with the hope that I wouldn't get this summer internship here so I could serve overseas for the summer.  It's one of those, "this is all starting to work out exactly as God planned it" type of things--I'm sure of it.

I have been dabbling in the idea of going through a program like Hospitals of Hope for a summer internship, and I can't help but think that it's high time to explore that a little bit more.

Here's to hoping! (no pun intended)

What I've Learned in Med School (Besides All That Book Stuff)

My short 7 months in med school have taught me a lot of things, both book stuff and otherwise. I've learned a lot about myself. In no particular order, the things I've learned the most:

1. You can't study all the time. I mean, you can...but you'll end up like the creepy kid that sits two rows in front of you. The days I remember the most from last semester are not the days that I spent in the library studying.  They are the days that were different--the days that we built a slip n'slide in the backyard and the days that we played flag football (and loss, boo!).

2. Not everyone will understand. While you will have many friends ask you how med school is, the only response you can give that they will understand is "it's a lot of work". Because no one can really understand the sheer volume of information you cram into your head on a daily basis. You will have friends that can relate more than other friends. You will have classmates that will understand. But you can't explain to them how it feels to study for a week, only to get a C. You can't explain what it's like to spend 15+ hours a week with a dead person. You can't explain how this is everything you've ever wanted and yet you're so unsure of that at the same time. Not everyone will understand why you can't hang out with them every Friday night. Your family won't understand when you can only spend Thanksgiving day with them, instead of the whole break, because ohmygod there are three tests in five days next week. Not everyone will get it. And that's okay, they don't have to.

3. You need friends that aren't in medicine. You need people that you can hang out with that don't understand.  You need to be able to hang out with people who aren't in med school, who aren't your competition, who can carry on normal conversations about normal things. Or people that you can sit in complete silence with and not feel awkward.  Those people will get you through the really, really bad days.

4. You need your family. Even though they won't get it (see #3), they are only people who are required to love you, even at your worst. They are the ones who will tell you that they are proud of you, that will rejoice with you in your triumphs, and fake that your downfalls aren't so bad. They will provide you with highlighters and dinners when you need them the most, and surprise you with small gifts in the mail that will be a bright spot in the midst of terrible days.

5. You need to be plugged in to something. Whether it's an organization (off-campus), or a church, you need to be involved in something bigger than you and the world of medicine.

6. You can't always study alone. Med school is lonely and sometimes you just gotta get out of the house or the library. One of my favorite places to study is Starbucks. Besides the fact that I like to creep on other people's conversations, it puts everything in to perspective. The rest of the world is carrying on, even though your head is in a book. Life is still going on around you.

7.  You will inevitably sacrifice parts of your life for medicine. You get to be the judge of which parts stay and which parts go. 

8. Everyone fails at something. Everyone. Maybe the creepy kid two rows in front of you didn't fail the latest test because he studied all day every day for a month straight, but he has failed at something, too.  If you never have failure, the success won't feel as great.

9. What works for everyone else probably won't work for you. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with this.  While everyone can study a certain way, I cannot.  And that's okay.  It doesn't make me any worse or better than they are, it just makes us different.  90% of med school is figuring out what works for you.

10. Thank the ones who are behind you. I wouldn't be where I am without everyone who has stood behind me the whole way through this journey. I have three pictures on my desk--one of my college roommates, one of my best friend, and one of my parents and brother. When the going gets rough, I look at those pictures and think about everything they have done for me to help me get to this point.  My college roommates listened to me whine about how much I hated Cell Biology, encouraged me through interview season, and celebrated with me when I got accepted to med school. My best friend is now my go-to "you're not in med school, let's hang out" person, and of course, my family has done the most for me.  When I have really bad days, I think about all of them, and realize that while I am doing this for me, I couldn't be doing it without them.

Proof that there was a test today

Now that I have both passed my test and clean my room, I am off to have a great night with friends!

Birthday partayyy!

I took a break from med school life today to celebrate my sweet Nana's 82nd birthday.

I made a cake this weekend for her, knowing that we would go to dinner tonight.  We went to Ruby Tuesday's, and mama commented that maybe they wouldn't let us bring in a cake.  I quickly decided that I would guilt whoever I needed to by asking if they were really going to deny a 82 year old woman her birthday cake.  And then I would cry on the spot.  Thankfully, no crying ensued.

The cake in question:

She would probably die if she knew I was putting her picture on the internet for the whole world to see, so no one tell her! :)

Sorry for the crappy phone pictures, it was all I could manage at the time!
And finally, me with the birthday lady:

 Also, my sweet grandparents:

All of us in a picture, all smiling, no one talking, everyone posed perfectly is almost an impossible feat. Sometimes you just gotta take what you can get, right?

I'm so thankful that I have been blessed to have many grandparents still alive and kicking.  They are so full of life and I think of them often when med school has me discouraged. Hopefully we will celebrate many, many more birthdays!

It's been awhile....

My first semester of medical school taught me one thing: med school is a marathon, but you sprint the whole way. It was overwhelming.  Now that the pace has returned to a semi-manageable, nice jogging pace, I have full intentions to get back to blogging. 

I quickly learned that you can't study ALL of the time. It's not healthy--that's how you become the crazy doctor that can't relate to people and is awkward in all social situations.  Since I can already be awkward, I'm avoiding that at all costs! 

That being said, now that we are (finally) having nicer, warmer days I'm spending more time outdoors--usually with notes in my hand.  I am enjoying the semblance of a semi-normal life.  Instead of wandering into Target and being shocked at how people are going about their normal lives, I am embracing a normal life this semester.  Med school should be a large part of my life, not my whole entire life.

I miss blogging, and while my content has certainly changed from the times I was (legally) hopping the border on what seemed like a regular basis, I am excited to dust off the ol' blog and get back into the swing of things!

Update on Life!

I know, I got everyone's hopes up. I promised I would blog...and then I didn't. Typical.

My sweet friend and former Pico Duarte guide, Moises, reminded me that it's kind of difficult to read a blog that doesn't have anything written.

Seems like it's probably true.

Because I start school on Monday (!) and my brother is marrying the love of his life this weekend, I have a few short days to get everything up and running so that all of my friends can stalk my life, since I am boycotting Facebook. :)

Here's hoping!

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, I had a blog! And I had people that read my blog!

And then, I quit blogging because I had nothing to talk about.  No one wanted to read about my boring life!

However, I just closed one chapter in the book of my life (graduating college), and I am on to the next chapter--medical school (and moving out of my parents' house!)

I hope to start blogging again as many changes start coming my way!

An Ode to My Forgotten Blog

Oh, my insanely forgotten about, neglected, left-out-in-the-cold blog. I've forgotten you, I've left you in the dust. We were doing so well--I would update you for all those people to read, and then I came home to the world of college and the papers and tests and projects and exams took over my life. And there you were, on the back burner.

I have no more adventurous stories to tell, no language mishaps, no moments where I'm challenged extremely beyond my comfort zone. I have many things to share, but the mundaneness of what I'm doing next weekend or how much I hate my Spanish class isn't what it used to be.

I guess I should just come out and say it like it is: I forgot all about you.

So for now, I will bid you adeiu (I know dear blog, I should stick to Spanish). Before we part, I will tell you this: I have no forgotten about the Dominican Republic--it's engrained in me and it's a part of me. I even went back over Spring Break (I know, I forgot to tell you that too!). And get this blog, I'm going back again in three weeks. In the end, know this: next spring, you will be written in much, much more. (Hint, hint).

Pico Duarte Recap

Because my dear friend (and PD guide), Moises, has been reminding me about this post, I finally decided to do it...

My experience at Pico Duarte, the tallest mountain in the Carribean, was something I would equate to the volcano in Chile: I don't know how I got to the top, but I didn't die. Chris and I decided to climb Pico Duarte with a group called Camping Tours, who basically take care of all of the details so that you get to enjoy (as much as you can in that situation) your trip. I was extremely pleased with the guides and if you're deciding to climb Pico I would totally recommend them.

We left on Thursday morning of Semana Santa (April 1) at like, crack-o-dawn thirty. I think it was 3:30 AM, but early will suffice. If you know me, you know I don't do early.

We drove from Santiago to La Ciénaga and started with this route:

The goal was simple: get to the top, and get back down. And do it in four days.

We set off, and y'all--it was STEEP. It was never a straight up kind of path. It was up this mountain, down this one, around a curb, up again, slight down, etc. And for me, that was a huge mental block. To not be able to see where you're going, but to walk, and walk, and walk is disheartening.

We stopped Thursday night in Compartición at a little house looking thing.

We rolled out our sleeping bags on the cold, hard concrete floor, and drifted off into dreamland. There were complaints the next morning about bad sleep...I, however, slept like a baby. I was so tired from the day before that I would have slept just about anywhere. I opted for a mule to get to the top of the peak. It was 4 AM, and my knees were on their way out.

As we started to climb towards the peak, I saw the sunrise, and we were literally above the clouds. It was an amazing way to spend Good Friday.

Seeing the sunrise made waking up at 4AM totally worth it. Finally, we made it to the top! From the "Pico Duarte that way" sign, it's about another 45 minutes to an hour to the bust of Juan Pablo Duarte, the official top of the mountain. The views are breathtaking. Although we couldn't figure out which way to look, you can see Haiti from the top of the peak. I've also heard that you can see the lights of Puerto Rico if it's dark (but I would NOT want to be climbing that in the dark!).

Me with the man, Juan Pablo Duarte.

Reppin' Wofford College. I try y'all.

Day two was by far the hardest (even on mule). From the peak, we headed back toward Compartición where we had slept the night before to gather our stuff and head for Aguita Fria (I think?--The details are fuzzy at this point). Everyone was exhausted, and everyone had knee issues. The path down to Aguita Fria was basically straight down. (By the way, straight down on mule = NOT FUN.)

If you look really close in this picture--we're headed for the little red speck on the left cornerish. We spent the night in tents in Aguita Fria in a nice grassy field.

Day three, Saturday, was our play day. We relaxed in Aguita Fria and then went to the river--where I completely understood the term "Cold little water". Our guides and the mule owners had roasted a pig all day and it was dinner Saturday night. (The jury's still out on where the pig came from). We had campfire time and went to bed, ready to wake up and do it all again the next morning.

Drying off, iguana style.

Happy Easter! Day four, Sunday, we woke up, took down the tents, and headed off for Santiago. Once we reached Los Tablones, we knew we were close. Everyone was exhausted. I ended up going to the hospital right when we got back in Santiago for my knee (I wanted to experience the health care system, but this was not my idea of doing it!)

Me and my mulo.

Llegamos por fin! We made it!

I was really surprised by the weather during the trip. I knew it was going to be cold, but I had no idea. I'm the kind of person that thinks 100F (38 C) is hot, 90F (32 C) is comfortable, and 80F (27C) is reason to break out the parka. I hate being cold. Well since I was packing for the country with the eternal summer without giving thought to cold weather, I was extremely unprepared. I basically begged people for warm clothes before going (which is why you may look at pictures and be like.."You don't go to Kenyon College", or "Who's hat is that?" or "Who's pants are those?!")..but even then, it was extremely chilly. Camping Tours recommended a scarf and gloves, and I thought that they were just exaggerating how cold it would be--I was so wrong. If you climb Pico, take some gloves! All weekend we rocked the socks and flip flops trend during down time.

I can't exactly remember what we ate during the trip, but it was good. Camping Tours definitely took care of us. They had guides and guys that cooked and it was phenomenal. No one went hungry!

I was really surprised at the vegetation in the area as well...In 2003, there was a forest fire that took out a lot of the trees in the area. So you get to a point where everything is burned and not exceptionally pretty. A little disappointing, but beautiful all the same.

The group dynamic amazed me during the whole trip.

Going in to it, I knew Chris. There were 5 other gringas, all English teachers in Santiago. There was also the Tres Locos, or three crazies. One lives in Connecticut, Amaury in Santo Domingo, and one in Azua (near Santo Domingo). There was also two doctors, one works for Camping Tours, both from Santiago. We also had the tres amigas..three young girls from Santiago. And get this--one of them had her dad, and her SEVENTY SOMETHING YEAR OLD GRANDMOTHER with her. Seventy something people!! Holy Cow! I hope when I'm in my seventies I can make it up Pico. There were two men from Spain and also two other women. Plus our three guides. I think that's everyone--so so sorry if I forgot you!! It was amazing. I definitely had a great time with the other American girls and it was nice to spend some time with new people! After our trip, we had a "Pico Duarte Reunion" and Chris and I went to see Amaury afterwards as well.

During my time in the DR, but especially during the Pico Duarte trip, I realized that I am stronger than I think I am. I can also always push myself further than I think and do more than I'm willing to admit. Funny how you find that out in a completely different atmosphere.

All in all, it was an amazing trip. Will I do it again? Probably not. Should you do it?

DEFINITELY.

Running Around

So since I'm still unemployed (do you know of anyone hiring??) and have very little no life, I've started something new.

If you know me in real life, you know that I jump around. Not literally--I do that too sometimes--but figuratively. I jump from hobby to hobby to hobby like it's my (unpaid) job. If you know my dad, you know that I inherited it. It runs in the family.

SO. Without further ado, my new "thing": a mini-triathlon.

300 meters swimming, 20 K bike, 5 K run.

Sounds horrible, no?

The worst part (or maybe the best?) I'm stuck with it. A friend and I are planning on doing it mid-September through the YMCA. I'm excited.

If I can stick with it for that long.

Week Three

Short posts are overrated. It's a long one. But a good one. (I hope).

I've been home now for exactly three weeks, and this is truly the first time that I've felt like I could be coherent enough to blog.

Coming back has been terrifying, heart-wrenching, inspiring, difficult, and humbling. The first week, I was at a complete lost--I didn't want to hang out with people, didn't want to talk about my experiences, I simply wanted to be. I wanted to be alone and sort out what was going through my head.

Week two was by far the hardest. I went to school to visit my friends, and it was hard to see how they had changed, how I had changed, and how we meshed differently than we have in the past. I realized how much I had missed out on in their lives, and it was difficult to share my experiences with people who can't fully understand them.

This week has been bearable. I've started to adjust more. I've made plans with friends from both high school and college to hang out and to get back in the swing of things. It's hard going from being busy every single day, having tons to do and little time to do it, having friendships and relationships to maintain, and trying to process it all to coming home to nothing, friendships that need to be rekindled, no job, no school, no nothing. It's hard.

I didn't realize how much I was leaving behind until I came back. Don't get me wrong, I knew I was leaving lots behind. I just didn't realize how much I would miss my life there. I get caught up in the details here, in the complications and requirements, while there I was more care-free and live-by-the-day.

During our trip to Bahía de las Águilas, I journaled one day on the beach. This was during my last week, and I want to share a little bit of my thoughts:

"There have been very few moments in my life where I have felt right where I needed to be doing exactly what I needed to be doing. And then I came here. I've gone back and forth on this since I've been here, but I feel in my heart that this is where I belong. How do you leave that? How do you willingly walk away from a place where you feel absolutely right? I know one thing, you do it with tears in your eyes and a broken heart.

How do you go back to a life that wasn't satisfying, when you've found something incredibly satisfying? How do you return to a comfortable place when you've been constantly challenged for the last four months? There was not a single day here when I woke up and thought "Today is going to be easy". Maybe there were days that were easy in comparison to the days before them, but there was never an easy day like I have at home. How do you return to a life of complacency, of ignorance even, after you see some of the things I've seen here? How do you leave behind people that you've formed bonds with, come to love, and feel like you belong with? How do you leave behind compañeros, who you've struggled with, laughed with, cried with, and learned with? How do you leave behind a place where you learned more about yourself than you ever thought? How can you leave a place where God daily revealed himself to you? How do you go back to searching for beauty when it's been evident in so many people and places for the last four months? How do you leave behind a family that has become your own? How do you return to what you were, taking with you who you are now and continuing that life?"

Although I've found temporary answers to some of these questions, I still go through this struggle every.single.day. And my final conclusion to all of these questions is: I don't know. But I'm finding out.

And on my next to last day, I wrote again:

"Tomorrow is the day that I've both dreaded and feared. In some ways, it's both a blessing and a curse. At the beginning, I counted days. 'I've survived 10 days, I can make it 10 more'. By mid-February, I had stopped counting and starting enjoying. And recently, I've started counting again, but in the other direction.

Before I came here, someone told me that I wouldn't want to go and at the end, I wouldn't want to come home. I cried when they told me I had to go. And I'm crying when they're telling me that I have to leave.

I think about how far I've come in just four short months.

Before coming here, I didn't know what it meant to listen. Learning another language forces you to do that. It forces me to listen to what people are telling me. I've become less reliant on people around me and more reliant on myself. I don't feel like I have to be surrounded by people 24/7, doing nonsense things just to pass the time. I'm content just sitting and being alone and without distractions.

I know that I'm going home a better person. I've learned and lived, but mostly, I've loved. I've tried to take every experience and every opportunity for what it was. I've tried to say "no" and took everything as it came. While I'm not ready to go, I know that in time I'll be okay.

And I know that I'll be back."

I feel like everyone's favorite question to ask me is "How did this change you?". (Everyone's other favorite question is "What did you miss the most?" And the answer to that is Sweet Tea. I mean really, was that even a question?) I feel like the best answer is how DIDN'T this change me. I know that's super vague. But really, I feel different in every aspect of things. I feel like I've really been stripped down to WHO I am during the last four months. I intentionally left home behind..and although that's a hard thing for a lot of my friends to hear, it's the truth. I knew that the drama would be there when I got back. I knew that I wouldn't miss anything of super high importance. I also knew that I would come back and people would love me just like they did before I left. (And they did). For my sake, I had to leave behind the Wofford World. (Or Wofford Bubble as it's affectionately called).

I think more than anything, I'm more aware. Aware of situations going on around me. Aware of how I treat people and how people treat me. Aware of how blessed I truly am. My neighbor remarked to me the other day that knowing me, he knew that my heart bled for every single kid I came across in my community that was less fortunate. More than y'all know. I know I have a big heart, and I have a heart to serve. I've always known this. I just didn't realize how big it was, or how great that desire is to serve. And now I know. I've given the Peace Corps a lot of thought since I've been back, and I've also thought about Doctors Without Borders or Partners in Health in the future. For now though, I'm looking into volunteering somewhere in the area that I can continue to quench my desire to serve. (If you're local and know of a place--let me know!)

Y'all already know that I'm planning on hopping on a plane there the second I walk through the Wofford gates in my cap and gown. (Just kidding, Mom. Kind of). Y'all know that it's all about the people to me. I felt like I was in my campo the whole four months--everyone was that friendly. People accepted me like I was their kids best friend for 18 years--the way that my friends parents accept me here. I was in awe of the people.

And that awe has followed me back home. I have to admit, I was a little surprised when no one yelled "Rubia!" at me when I walked through Target the other day...but I digress. Through Facebook and through email, there have been so many people that have shared a piece of their hearts with me. I absolutely love it. I love that people have reached out to me and thanked me for writing my blog--it reminds me what I loved so much about the country.

But really, I need to thank y'all--all of my readers. Without y'all, I wouldn't be here. I would be writing for my mom and my aunt (love y'all!). I would have given up a long time ago. I hope you've seen that not all Americans are what the movies portray. Through this blog, I've been real--no facades, no expectations, no nothing. I've shared my heart openly and willingly, and truly, I owe all the thanks to y'all.

Because y'all are the best.

For all three of you that still read my blog..

You can look at my pictures from the Dominican Republic in their entirety by stalking my Facebook, because Blogger is just TOO SLOW and I lack the patience to put 2,478 pictures on my blog. That's an exact number.

My Facebook.

If it wants you to add me as a friend, you can add me. I don't bite. (Usually).

Enjoy! :)

On Re-Entry

I never thought that going back into the country where I was born, grew up, and generally happy (before I left it) would be so hard. The Dominican Republic changed me in ways that I couldn't have imagined...some of those changes I can put into words and some of them I cannot.

When I first came to the DR, I was SO shy. If I didn't know how to say something, I didn't. I usually faded into the background. If you know me, you know that I'm not shy, until I meet new people. Imagine me in a new situation--the people are new, the city is new, the country and culture is new--it was basically a disaster. In four months, I've become bold. Not overbearing or demanding, just more sure of how to communicate what I want/need. (I think if I had learned this earlier I would have switched families before I did).

I also realized how complacent I was. I (and the majority of my friends) can dictate my daily routine to you without problems. EVERY day for me is the same--wake up, eat breakfast, class, lunch, lab, dinner, homework, bed. Always. Without fail. I think this is better described as comfortable--and that's a hard thing to admit and to overcome. It's hard to force yourself out of the comfortable and into the unknown, but I did it. Now that I'm back into the comfortable situation that I left, I'm trying to force myself to not fall back into the same routine. I'm trying to find ways to challenge myself. In the DR, every single day held (at least) one challenge. Every day. There was nothing comfortable or familiar about my life there, and at the time I saw it as a challenge or something that was hard for me to get over. Now, all I want to be is challenged.

I was so ignorant, (and still am, in some ways). I look at my perceptions of what the Dominican Republic would hold for me, and I couldn't have been more wrong. I feel more educated, more enlightened. My only problem is how do I tell that to my friends and family? How do I share with them everything I learned and all of the lessons that I learned?

I hate starting every sentence with "When I was in the Dominican Republic..", but I feel like I've been doing a lot of that lately. I've been trying to keep my mind occupied here, and haven't allowed myself much downtime. I found out my first night here that downtime is when the sadness comes. (And it's SO quiet here compared to what I'm used to!) I've surrounded myself with people, and am planning to go back to school tomorrow to see all of my friends.

My only problem now is that I have yet to come up with an answer to, "I'm so glad you're home!" In my heart of hearts, I can't agree. I'm glad to be back with the people I have here, but I feel incomplete and not quite whole.

Back in the States

I made it safely back to the states today. Culture shock has severely set in.
I plan on continuing blogging about my life after the DR and how my experiences there are affecting my life now. Please stay tuned for pictures and more stories!

La Despedida

We spent the last few days in the southwest, in possibly the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life. (I promise that when I'm in the states and have super fast internet that I will post ALL the pictures from Pico Duarte to now). The people here and their hospitality continues to amaze me.

Tonight we had our despedida at Elaine's house with our host families. Tomorrow (friday) is my last day in Santiago. Chris and I are spending the next few days chilling in other places, but I officially leave my family tomorrow.

We had a short moment to say a few words about our families and our experience here..and if you know me at all, you know that I had more tears than I had words. I've never been good at goodbyes.

I don't even know how to go about saying it, but my family here has been my family Dominicana. They're not the people that I live with, the people that feed me, or the ones that tell the taxi that gets lost all too often how to get my to our house. They are my family.

When I finally got it together, I told the story of how I always wanted little sisters. If you know me, you know. If you have a little sister and we grew up together, chances are I went to your house and played with you, but begged to play with her too. If you know me, you know that I have an intense love for little children. You know that I spend my Sundays looking forward to seeing my little cousins after church. Ya tu sabes.

I told the story of how I always wanted little sisters. And finally, I got them. I got two of the most amazing little sisters that exist in the whole world. And how I'm going to miss them.

If I could have found the words, I would have talked about my mom. More of my big sister than my mom, but my mom all the same. She has taught me so much. Even in words she doesn't say, she shows me a wonderful example of what a mom should be. I would talk about the time I told her about the wells we use for water, and how she couldn't believe it. I would talk about when she took me to the emergency room and held my hand through the whole ordeal. I would talk about when she explained to me that being called Americana isn't always an insult. I would talk about when she complained about the gua-guas that go to La Vega and the men that harass to take the gua-gua. I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss her.

If I had another chance, I would talk about playing tag in the parking lot with the neighborhood kids and my sisters, always being the liason between the boys and the girls, because God forbid a boy touch a girl in tag. I would talk about going to pick my sisters up from school, and listening to the other kids ask who I am. I would talk about the pride I feel when my sister valiantly responds, "ELLA ES MI HERMANA AMERICANA" (she's my american sister). I would talk about being greeted at the door when I come home. I would talk about having to go work in my community and my sister begging me not to go. I would talk about the times that she's woken me up to tell me that she loves me or that she's going to miss me. I would talk about the times that she's cried, begging me to stay with her. I would talk about how I learned words that I never thought I would need to know, such as "rainbow" or "bubbles". I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss her.

I would talk about my dad, who's a doctor through and through. I would talk about the time that we watched baseball together, cheering for the Red Sox. I would talk about the times that we spent talking about my investigation and my project. I would talk about the times that we shared stories and awed over the beaches. I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss him.

I would talk how I didn't know what to expect. I would talk about a family that welcomed me with open arms, and loved me, loved me, loved me. I would talk about a family that was there through good and bad, that helped me through it all and showed me what a family is. I would talk about how I learned, how we loved, and how I'm going to miss them.

Oh, how I'm going to miss them.

PROOF

Someone asked me a few weeks ago if they could read my investigation. So, without further ado, here it is in all it's glory:

Los Conocimientos, Actitudes, y Percepciones del Dengue en la Comunidad de Las Colinas, Hato del Yaque

You can't preview it, but you can download it and read it if you wish.

If you can't speak Spanish, sorry. If you can speak Spanish and you find a mistake, sorry.

Enjoy!

On Being Happy

It’s been awhile. In fact, I know it’s been awhile because my program director (Hi, Elaine!) mentioned to me that it’s been awhile. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had nothing to say or because I’ve had a lot to say and no words to say it.

The past two weeks, my parents have been here. We spent time in Santo Domingo, Santiago and Puerto Plata. I enjoyed having them here, but it opened my eyes to so many things about my own culture that I was unaware of—things that sadden me, anger me, upset me—but ultimately, things that make me who I am. Err, who I was.

I had my exit interview with Elaine after my presentation. (That’s right, my work is ALMOST done). I realized that I’m not ready to leave. I’m not close to ready to leave. And that’s upsetting, because as of today, I have exactly two weeks left. I dread every single one of those days. Rather, I dread every single one of those nights, because I know that that day in it’s entirety has ended.

I got a Facebook message today from my dad’s cousin (my second cousin?) that said, “I've looked at some of your pictures on facebook. You look so happy --I guess you had a great time!”

I can’t remember the last time that I was happy like this. That’s not to say that I’m an unhappy person or that I’m unhappy with my life or anything like that.

At school in the states, I often feel like I’m going through the motions. Every single day is the same. Get up, eat breakfast, go to class, eat lunch, squeeze in a quick nap, go to lab/class/afternoon activity, eat dinner, do homework, go to be. Rinse and repeat.

At school here, although I feel like busy work will always be busy work in whatever language it is, I have had projects, presentations, and assignments that have truly interested me, challenged me, and caused me to question everything on a deeper level. It’s no longer, “Okay, I have to do this and this and this and this. I have to put what the teacher wants to hear to get a good grade. After I take this test, I can forget it all”. I don’t know if it’s the subjects or what, but I don’t want to forget the information I’ve learned.

There’s no going through the motions here. For me, there’s no such thing as a “normal” day. Every day is an experience. Everyday is something new. And every day is one more day that I thank God I’ve had the chance to experience. My eyes have been opened to so many things. I’ve formed friendships and relationships that I cannot possibly forget. I’ve found out things about myself that I was unaware of, due to obliviousness or ignorance. I’ve found out more about who I am, what I want to do, where I’m going, and who I want to go with.

I’m so happy here.

And in two short weeks, I have to leave it all behind.

I suck at blogging

That's right folks, I'm telling you something you already knew. I suck at blogging.

In my defense, I'd like to blame the other gringos (my parents) that are taking up all of my free time (even though I'm glad they're here).

My capstone project has pretty much sucked my soul and life right out of me, so there's that too.

I'll update eventually.