My life

May 23, 2013

Where do I want my life to go? Standing on the road in Guelete I ponder this question. I've read two biographies in the past three days and it has lead me to wonder about the kind of person I want to be. One book was about a boy who went into the wild of Alaska, spent a few months just being, then promptly died a painful death right before he meant to leave. The other book was about a housewife with a gun in Alaska making jam and shooting mountain goats on the side. This doesn't lead me to wanting to move to Alaska (Though I would consider it.), but rather leads me to ponder just what do I want?

I know that in the end I want to give more to society than I take. I want to pay my financial debt to society... To the government... To myself.... You know, those pesky student loans, and then give of myself as long as I am able. I have considered things such as Teach for America, Red Cross, over seas mission work, joining the national guard, and nomadically wondering from place to place after natural disasters being of use. I'd like to use my brain and any physical strength I actually have to lift someone else up. I've considered settling down and becoming a parent, but that I've decided probably requires a second half first. I've dreamed of being a foster parent and adopting a child (foreign or American). I've created big dreams for myself, but so much of that depends on just what happens in my life. Right now, I am sitting in my bedroom in the north west part of the Dominican Republic. In theory I will live most of the next two years in this little corner of the world. What happens after isn't necessarily something I have to or should consider, but if you know me, I will forever be thinking of the future while trying to simultaneously live in the present.

Conclusively, I turned 23 last week. The future looks bright. If I play my numbers right I may be able to slash my debts by 30. But what really matters is that I find what matters to me, and go for it.

Give more to the world, than you take from it.

For when you give of yourself, the return is always worth any sacrifice.

I made up this story

One time, a peace corps volunteer was living with a really old lady in the Dominican Republic. It was dark out an the electricity in the house hadn't been working for a few days. The volunteer spent the night playing "Skip-Bo" with the three kids this lady was caring for. Two were he grandsons destined to move to America at the end of the school year and the other was a young girl who ha lost both of her parents on the years preceding.

On this particular night the volunteer went to her room to prepare for bed. She heard whispers and laughter just on the other side of the door. She walked to the kitchen and there, hovering in the corner were the kids and their grandmother. They were chucking and holding a flashlight over the sink.

When the volunteer joined then they laughed some more. The oldest was opening a bottle with the end of a can opener and grandma was holding the light.

When he popped the top the grandma pulled out some cups and asked the volunteer if she wanted some. The confused volunteer asked what was in the bottle thinking it was root beer or club soda. The corners of grandmas lips curled up as she said "Cerveza!" The volunteer couldn't hold in the laughter and everyone else joined in too.

Not wanting malt beer but also not wanting I miss out on the moment the volunteer accepted the glass. The group shared the bottle and headed to bed. When the grandma snuck more dark liquid into the volunteers glass the volunteer snuck the glass to a snickering little girl.

The funny thing is the volunteer had no idea who they were hiding from. The law in the DR isn't like in other places. Kids can walk into colmados and buy beer for their parents all the time. Their is an age limit, but what matter is it. None of the kids have parents currently in the country if they even have parents that aren't this particular doña.

Things like this happen all over the world. Grandmothers just want their gran children to laugh a little and enjoy a little sneaking around. What a fun moment the volunteer will always have.

Ella rasgaste mi vestida

Right in front of me...
Because she couldn't figure out how to turn it right side out.

This adds to why I have accepted that I will most likely move out on my own after three months in Guelete and why I will not wear certain outfits until then.

Laundry here is strange to me.

As is how children and animals are treated, but I promise that is a problem for another day.

Cheater!

Did you know the word for cheat in Spanish is "trampa"? I looked it up when I was playing cards. Did you also know that my iPhone changed that word to "tramps" when I typed it in? Did you also know that I would probably use that same word in English for a cheater, but that it would probably not be directed at you young card-playing child but rather directed at a woman with apparently ill-fitting pants. Think about that while I think about how funny I think words are.

Books are funny

"Well, the Methodists believe something stupid or else they'd be Baptists." - Bernese; Between, Georgia

The language of children

I've been having a hard time wanting to leave my room recently. I won't go into too much detail, but lets just say I have a very over bearing person in my life right now. Because of this, I have more or less been home bound and therefore English bound. I read a lot, and I need to change that. With that in mind, I left my house this morning and walked up the hill to the next casa. I was hoping for a woman I had met last week, but found instead her daughter. The daughter has her hair up in true Dominican style. After awkwardly speaking every Spanish word I know I was asked in for some coffee and a tour. She does have a porky house. I think it is fairly new. Everything looks clean and new. She has cable. I think she is living off of remittences. When I asked about the father of her little four year old niño she explained that he is in Nueva York. Just so we are all aware, to Dominicans, The United States is Nueva York. All Dominicans that move to the states move there and everyone knows someone who is there. Anyway, she has a pretty nice home and the man who picture is in the house is in the states, entonces I'm thinking remittences.

My point. We are watching some kids movie on Cartoon Network and it is in Spanish, but like The Croods, even with my limited Spanish, I'm understanding it all.

Reading

20 May 2013
Night time, as in late, as in it might as well be tomorrow.
Okay, we will just call it 21 May 2013 aka: my cousins birthday.

I've begun what I've read about for ages... I call it Peace Corps reading. I read two books yesterday and another one today. I still ha time to study Spanish and go to another town to meet with a friend. I've regained my younger self's reading speed. I actually think I need to slow down the pace, because I am almost out of books and I don't see another trip to Santo Domingo for at least a few weeks. The good news is, I have two years and a room full of books to get through in my spare time. Soon, as in now, my time will run shorter, but I am happy that in the wake of being out of college I have regained my ability to read for pleasure.

All I need now is to start reading in Spanish. Aqua para elefantes is not going as quickly as "Into the Wild" and two of Jodi Picoults books went. Spanish... You are my Everest.

Man, I feel like a woman.

I don't know if I wore high heels "a lot" in America, but here, I know I do not wear them nearly enough. I miss my shoes. When the PCDR packing list said not to bring shoes I promptly ignored that. I know that sometimes I have to get up, put on a pretty dress, and walk around in some heels. I may not even have to leave my house. Sometimes it just feels nice to feel like you look nice. If that means I brought 2 pounds of extra weight that isn't suggested and doesn't make sense then I am okay with that.

All of this comes in light of my most recent event... swearing in as a peace corps volunteer. It was a ceremony completely in Spanish, but hey, I looked nice. I wore jewelry, heels, and a vestida worth the money I spent on it that one time I was in Wisconsin. I took pictures, so those will appear sooner or later, but for now, I slumber knowing I will always be able to say I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, at the very least, for a day.

BTW, Happy Birthday. Last year was a Sh!t storm, so this year has to be better.

Swearing in

Today the Peace Corps staff gave me a number.

Actually they gave me a bunch of numbers, but the only one I cared about was a ranking, out of ten, that determined if I will be sworn in or not. The answer is yes. I "needed" a tinge and I am a 4.5 on the Spanish scale. I guess this means you can throw me in the middle of only spanish speakers and I won't freak out. I probably couldn't successfully explain the difference between ESL and EFL, but I can explain that I am from the United States and like to eat oatmeal.

I've been stressed about passing the test, but I should have known the peace corps wouldn't spend all of your valuable tax dollars getting me here if they weren't going to try their hardest to keep me here and functioning.

After today, I'm on my own. Training is over. I am officially a free bird. I'm free to drink coffee, learn more Spanish, and convince my uncle I'm actually going to do some work here.

I have to commend two fellow volunteers on their Spanish work. They went from a 1 to a 5. They practice non stop and read our Spanish verb books on the regular. I've been reading them too, but not at the rate they are. I hope I gain confidence in the next few months. That is where my real problem lies. I tell myself I don't speak Spanish and voila, I don't. Now, I have to... If I want any success at all I have to pick up the pace.

Okay, I'm going to take a shower, fix my hair, apply makeup, put on high heeled shoes, and become a peace corps volunteer. I'm ready. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time now. The decision was made and I can't back out now.

I miss you all.
(If you're reading this three years from the day it was written, this may not be true any longer, but you understand what I mean here.)

I love you.
I'm 23 tomorrow.
What will my 23rd year look like?

Vulgar

Is the music they choose to play at this bus station full of children still considered vulgar if most of the children have no idea what the words say?

I would probably only play this possibly American song at the scene of a drug deal. Hash tag: Thank you, America. We are full of class.