So apparently, I am actually one of the volunteers with the best Spanish skills. Which, considering my Spanish skills, is kind of surprising. Some of the volunteers know almost no Spanish... and that I can barely fathom, because I was scared to death of my inadequacy already.
For instance, on Thursday, as we were going to go play soccer, we met up at the office, and then a few people left through a taxi. Then 8 of us were left, and we were trying to fit into a taxi, and we got 7 (5 in the back, 2 in the front... I was the last one to get in the back and was basically half-sitting on someone's leg and half-standing. Pretty proud that I was somewhat able to squeeze in though, lol, with a bunch of people that I had met that day), but there was still one guy in his 20s (who happens to have the same birthday as me! haha. As you can tell, I like those kinds of things) that wasn't ready to squeeze 3 in the front (not sure if that would've been possible anyway). So he offered to go on another taxi, but the staff member with us, Mariel, was like, "You don't know where you're going though." I got out and offered to help, and we eventually decided that we had to take another taxi, and that they would wait for us to flag down a taxi and make sure the second taxi knew where to go.
We flagged down a taxi and I went to go tell the taxi driver where we were going, and he knew where that was, so we piled in and then left. The guy and I talked for a while, just the normal small talk, but about halfway through the ride, I got a call from Freddy, saying that we were actually going to a different soccer field, and to tell the driver to go there. There was a slight mess as the call kind of got dropped, and the name of the field that the driver was repeating back to me was different than what Freddy was saying, so we parked by a park where we saw the other car turn into. The other guy called Freddy since I didn't have a signal, and then passed the phone to me, and then we made sure that this was the right place.
What surprised me about the whole thing was that during the times when the other guy was trying to talk to the taxi driver, he spoke almost completely in English, and I was just like, Wait... what? You were about to get onto a taxi by yourself without knowing hardly any Spanish? Good thing I came along. >_< Had I been in his shoes, I would've probably been petrified with fear and maybe would've asked someone to come with me in the new taxi.
We then went off to play soccer, during which my team won, yay! And people complimented me on my soccer skills despite wearing sandals (I didn't have enough time to change. haha. I did get out of breath really quickly though, and was heavily breathing pretty much the whole game due to the high altitude. I sometimes still find it hard to breath when I'm just sitting down... it's kinda strange). We did have the kid who was here at Projects Abroad doing the Sports program and specifically doing soccer, so that was kind of an unfair advantage... xD Although we were losing to begin with, so perhaps our teams were actually fairly evenly matched. Afterwards, we went out to drink and have some snacks, during which I drank some of the Bolivian beer (pretty sweet and tasty), but failed at pouring because I didn't know to tip my glass and then it just foamed all over the place... so embarrassing. By the end of the night, I was a pro at pouring, though, haha, and one volunteer was like, You learned fast! haha. After about three or so glasses, though, I don't know if I felt buzzed at any point. I mostly just felt dizzy and tired--surely partly due to the soccer game, but still. Did I need to drink more? Did I drink too much? I didn't feel like I was drunk... and I didn't know drinking would feel that uncomfortable... shattered dreams of constant elatedness and such, I guess. I just wanted to sleep after that.
Anyway, back to Spanish abilities. This morning, I was translating for one of the volunteers who's been here at MC for the past couple of weeks, which made her and the staff member, Gastón, really happy, because apparently they've been trying to communicate with each other all this time and couldn't really. aww. She has to do this Mother's Day dance (Mother's Day in Bolivia this year is May 27th), and I was explaining to her what the staff members were expecting. Poor girl... she came to Bolivia from Great Britain with a couple months of on-and-off Spanish classes by a friend of her mom's... and so she's at a pretty basic level. Unfortunately, I guess she has to get by with a lot of miming, and doesn't get to interact too much with her host family, but she does listen to them speak, I guess. Today, for instance, I told her what "entonces (then)" meant, after I used it, and she was like, Man, I hear that word a lot... ah, no wonder. She's starting Spanish classes soon, though, and will be here for another month working with me at MC, so we should have quite a few fun times together, and her Spanish will definitely improve a lot. And I'm more than happy to be of help translating.
Today, I met a volunteer at this host Mother's Day dinner thing Projects Abroad had, who has basically taken Spanish classes since she was little, and is quite good at Spanish. She's from the States as well (the second one of the volunteers that I've met, I think. Nearly everyone else (~15 other volunteers) is from a different country, but I think we're getting few more people from the U.S.) During the couple of minutes that we talked before we left the dinner, we both bonded over the fact that people apparently come here with no Spanish skills and that was absolutely mind-boggling to us, and that we were both rather fearful of our own Spanish skills, but that pretty much everyone has told us that our Spanish is really good. haha. That's a relief. But the comparing with other people doesn't make me feel much better, because I still don't feel that adequate in the language. Oh well--with time, I suppose, things will get better.
I am really cherishing the time I spent in Spanish classes, though, and for the random words that I'm gained over the years. When I was translating for the girl I work with at MC (her name is Alice), Gastón said "preguntándose (wondering, as in wondering about something)," and I felt like I learned that from this random time in either some random class or some random flipping through the dictionary when I realized that preguntar (to ask, as in a question), had a reflexive form, and it apparently meant "to wonder." I remember thinking, "Oh, that's useful, even though I don't think I've ever heard anyone use it", but I remembered it since it seemed useful to be able to say "to wonder." And now, it's actually proving to be useful. =) Kinda cool how that stuff works out.
Also, I've been learning a few phrases in Quechua, since some of the kids in MC understand Quechua and I think that may have been their first language/they respond to it better. So I asked Quechua speakers how to say, "Stand up," "Sit down," "I love you (er, the Te quiero version, not the te amo... although I don't know if there's a difference in Quechua, but everyone has responded by translating it as Te quiero)," and "Come here." One of the staff members at MC also taught me a phrase, which then he told me was a bad word. I was like, Oh.! o_O. Apparently it means "Kiss my a**."
I impressed a host mom at dinner with the Quechua I knew (well, surprised her with that last phrase, lol), and she taught me other phrases, although I only care to learn the ones useful for telling the kids stuff... so I didn't really pay attention when she told me the numbers, or some random phrases. She then told the volunteers she was hosting how I'd been here for only 8 days and I already knew some Quechua words. Kind of embarrassing... but the other volunteers seemed interested, which was good, haha.
That makes me reflect on just the usefulness of knowing languages. I've definitely been grateful for the little bits of Korean that I've memorized or being able to write some of the alphabet when I've met people who were Korean. They seemed to really enjoy the random Korean I knew, and I can see the same interest I would take if someone knew some phrases in Mandarin Chinese.
I guess these are the times I'm glad I'm a linguistics major, because I can read the articles on these languages and really appreciate/understand what the articles are saying. And this past year I've been exposed to language grammars, so I have a passing familiarity with what's expected in a language grammar, and I can read them and understand them. I may not be able to speak the whole language (and the practical side of me stops me from wanting to invest my time in doing so), but knowing such things is nice.
Oh look, this article about Quechua says that "Here's some English words derived from Quechua: coca, condor, guano, gaucho, guanaco, Inca, jerky, lagniappe, lima [bean], llama, pampa, puma, quipu, quinine, quinoa, and vicuña."
Pretty cool.
Also, I just realized that all you blogspoters will know when I'm creeping on your blog because the Bolivia part of your map that says where your visitors are coming from will light up. lol.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
¡Gracias! Excerpts
I've bolded the parts that I thought were a succinctly powerful message for me. Of course, I enjoyed it all, otherwise I wouldn't have taken the time to type it all out, but the bolded parts are my extra favorites.
Page 16 - 18
Page 16 - 18
"Friday October 30
Today Gerry McCrane, the director of the language school, gave a presentation to newcomers. In his gentle and pastoral way he offered us an opportunity to share our struggles in adapting ourselves to a new culture.
One theme that came up was the re-emergence of long-forgotten conflicts. In displacing ourselves into a new and unfamiliar milieu, old, unresolved conflicts often start asking for attention. When our traditional defense systems no longer are available and we are not able to control our own world, we often find ourselves experiencing again the feelings of childhood. The inability to express ourselves in words as well as the realization that everyone around us seems to understand life much better than we do, puts us in a situation quite similar to that of a child who has to struggle through a world of adults.
This return to childhood emotions and behavior could be a real opportunity for mental and spiritual growth. Most of the psychotherapies I have been exposed to were attempts to help me relive those times when immature ways of coping with stress found their origin. once I could re-encounter the experience that led me to choose a primitive coping device, I was also able to choose a more mature response. Thus I could let go of behavior that was the source of my suffering. A good psychotherapist is a person who creates the environment in which such mature behavioral choices can be made.
Going to a different culture, in which I find myself again like a child, can become a true psychotherapeutic opportunity. Not everyone is in the position or has the support to use such an opportunity. I have seen much self-righteous, condescending, and even offensive behavior by foreigners towards the people in their host country. Remarks about the laziness, stupidity, and disorganization of Peruvians or Bolivians usually say a lot more about the one who makes such remarks than about Peruvians or Bolivians. Most of the labels by which we pigeonhole people are ways to cope with our own anxiety and insecurity. Many people who suddenly find themselves in a totally unfamiliar milieu decide quickly to label that which is strange to them instead of confronting their own fears and vulnerabilities.
But we can also use the new opportunity for our own healing. When we walk around in a strange milieu, speaking the language haltingly, and feeling out of control and like fools, we can come in touch with a part of ourselves that usually remains hidden behind the thick walls of our defenses. We can come to experience our basic vulnerability, our need for others, our deep-seated feelings of ignorance and inadequacy, and our fundamental dependency. Instead of running away from these scary feelings, we can live through them together and learn that our true value as human beings has its seat far beyond our competence and accomplishments.
One of the most rewarding aspects of living in a strange land is the experience of being loved not for what we can do, but for who we are. When we become aware that our stuttering, failing, vulnerable selves are loved even when we hardly progress, we can let go of our compulsion to prove ourselves and be free to live with others in a fellowship of the weak. That is true healing.
This psychological perspective on culture shock can open up for us a new understanding of God's grace and our vocation to live graceful lives. In the presence of God, we are totally naked, broken, sinful, and dependent, and we realize that we can do nothing, absolutely nothing, without him. When we are willing to confess our true condition, God will embrace us with his love, a love so deep, intimate, and strong that it enables us to make all things new. I am convinced that, for Christians, culture shock can be an opportunity not only for psychological healing but also for conversion.
What moves me most in reflecting on these opportunities is the they lead us to the heart of ministry and mission. The more I think about the meaning of living and acting in the name of Christ, the more I realize that what I have to offer to others is not my intelligence, skill, power, influence, or connections, but my own human brokenness through which the love of God can manifest itself. The celebrant in Leonard Bernstein's Mass says: "Glass shines brighter when it's broken. . . . I never noticed that." This, to me, is what ministry and mission are all about. Ministry is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a word of hope. This hope is not based on any power to solve the problems of those with whom we live, but on the love of God which becomes visible when we let go of our fears of being out of control and enter into his presence in a shared confession of weakness.
This is a hard vocation. It goes against the grain of our need for self-affirmation, self-fulfillment, and self-realization. It is a call to true humility. I, therefore, think that for those who are pulled away from their familiar surroundings and brought into a strange land where they feel again like babies, the Lord offers a unique chance not only for personal conversion but also for an authentic ministry."
Page 18 - 21
. . .
Gratitude is not just a psychological disposition, but a virtue. Gratitude is an intimate participation in the Divine Life itself. The Spirit of God in us recognizes God in the world. The eyes and ears by which we can see God in others are in fact spiritual sensitivities that allow us to receive our neighbor as a messenger of God himself.
This theological perspective on gratitude makes it clear why it is so crucial that we pray: through prayer we become aware of the life of God within us and it is this God within us who allows us to recognize the God among us. hen we have met our Lord in the silent intimacy of our prayer, then we will also meet him in the campo, in the market, and in the town square. But when we have not met him in the center of our own hearts, we cannot expect to meet him in the busyness of our daily lives. Gratitude is God receiving God in and through the human interaction of ministry. This viewpoint explains why true ministers, true missionaries, are always also contemplatives. Seeing God in the world and making him visible to each other is the core of ministry as well a the core of the contemplative life."
Going to a different culture, in which I find myself again like a child, can become a true psychotherapeutic opportunity. Not everyone is in the position or has the support to use such an opportunity. I have seen much self-righteous, condescending, and even offensive behavior by foreigners towards the people in their host country. Remarks about the laziness, stupidity, and disorganization of Peruvians or Bolivians usually say a lot more about the one who makes such remarks than about Peruvians or Bolivians. Most of the labels by which we pigeonhole people are ways to cope with our own anxiety and insecurity. Many people who suddenly find themselves in a totally unfamiliar milieu decide quickly to label that which is strange to them instead of confronting their own fears and vulnerabilities.
But we can also use the new opportunity for our own healing. When we walk around in a strange milieu, speaking the language haltingly, and feeling out of control and like fools, we can come in touch with a part of ourselves that usually remains hidden behind the thick walls of our defenses. We can come to experience our basic vulnerability, our need for others, our deep-seated feelings of ignorance and inadequacy, and our fundamental dependency. Instead of running away from these scary feelings, we can live through them together and learn that our true value as human beings has its seat far beyond our competence and accomplishments.
One of the most rewarding aspects of living in a strange land is the experience of being loved not for what we can do, but for who we are. When we become aware that our stuttering, failing, vulnerable selves are loved even when we hardly progress, we can let go of our compulsion to prove ourselves and be free to live with others in a fellowship of the weak. That is true healing.
This psychological perspective on culture shock can open up for us a new understanding of God's grace and our vocation to live graceful lives. In the presence of God, we are totally naked, broken, sinful, and dependent, and we realize that we can do nothing, absolutely nothing, without him. When we are willing to confess our true condition, God will embrace us with his love, a love so deep, intimate, and strong that it enables us to make all things new. I am convinced that, for Christians, culture shock can be an opportunity not only for psychological healing but also for conversion.
What moves me most in reflecting on these opportunities is the they lead us to the heart of ministry and mission. The more I think about the meaning of living and acting in the name of Christ, the more I realize that what I have to offer to others is not my intelligence, skill, power, influence, or connections, but my own human brokenness through which the love of God can manifest itself. The celebrant in Leonard Bernstein's Mass says: "Glass shines brighter when it's broken. . . . I never noticed that." This, to me, is what ministry and mission are all about. Ministry is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a word of hope. This hope is not based on any power to solve the problems of those with whom we live, but on the love of God which becomes visible when we let go of our fears of being out of control and enter into his presence in a shared confession of weakness.
This is a hard vocation. It goes against the grain of our need for self-affirmation, self-fulfillment, and self-realization. It is a call to true humility. I, therefore, think that for those who are pulled away from their familiar surroundings and brought into a strange land where they feel again like babies, the Lord offers a unique chance not only for personal conversion but also for an authentic ministry."
Page 18 - 21
Saturday, October 31
"During the last few days, I have been thinking about the significance of gratitude in mission work. Gratitude is becoming increasingly important for those who want to bring the good news of the Kingdom to others. For a long time, the predominant attitude of the missioners was that they had to bring the knowledge of the Gospel to poor, ignorant people and thus offer light in their darkness. In such a view, there is not much room for gratitude.
As the missionary attitude changed, however, and more and more missioners came to see their task as helping others to recognize their own God-given talents, and thus to claim the good news for themselves, gratitude became much more than an occasional "thanks be to God." Gratitude is the attitude which enables us to receive the hidden gifts of those we want to serve and to make these gifts visible to the community as a source of celebration.
There is little doubt that jealousy, rivalry, anger, and resentment dominate our society much more than gratitude. most people are afraid to make themselves available to others. They fear that they will be manipulated and exploited. They choose the safe way of hiding themselves and thus remaining unnoticed and anonymous. But in such a milieu of suspicion and fear, no community can develop and no good news can become visible.
True missioners are people who are hunting for the Divine treasure hiding in the heart of the people to whom they want to make the Good News known. They always expect to see the beauty and truth of God shining through those with whom they live and work.
The great paradox of ministry, therefore, is that we minister above all with our weakness, a weakness that invites us to receive from those to whom we go. The more in touch we are with our own need for healing and salvation, the more open we are to receive in gratitude what others have to offer us. The true skill of ministry is to help fearful and often oppressed men and women become aware of their own gifts, by receiving them in gratitude. In that sense, ministry becomes the skill of active dependency: willing to be dependent on what others have to give but often do not realize they have. By receiving in gratitude what we have helped others to discover in themselves, we enable them to claim for themselves full membership in the human and Christian community. Only those who truly believe that they have something to offer can experience themselves as spiritually adult. As long as someone feels that he or she is only an object of someone else's generosity, no dialogue, no mutuality, and no authentic community can exist.
[a fascinating idea of empowering individuals regarding their God-given talents that will be important to keep in mind for CCF]
. . .
Gratitude is not just a psychological disposition, but a virtue. Gratitude is an intimate participation in the Divine Life itself. The Spirit of God in us recognizes God in the world. The eyes and ears by which we can see God in others are in fact spiritual sensitivities that allow us to receive our neighbor as a messenger of God himself.
This theological perspective on gratitude makes it clear why it is so crucial that we pray: through prayer we become aware of the life of God within us and it is this God within us who allows us to recognize the God among us. hen we have met our Lord in the silent intimacy of our prayer, then we will also meet him in the campo, in the market, and in the town square. But when we have not met him in the center of our own hearts, we cannot expect to meet him in the busyness of our daily lives. Gratitude is God receiving God in and through the human interaction of ministry. This viewpoint explains why true ministers, true missionaries, are always also contemplatives. Seeing God in the world and making him visible to each other is the core of ministry as well a the core of the contemplative life."
I realized that Zene is actually Rene. lol. Updating his name in all my posts now. I also found his facebook after creeping on his full name from this book that they use to record donations left at the door.
whatever, i'll add him as a friend. Although too bad, it says he's interested in women. =( I was kind of going to purposely be like, "¿Tienes novio?" wait a bit for his reaction, and then maybe cover it up with, "oh, lo siento, er, tienes novia?" xD
maybe i'll do that anyway. lol.
Also, his profile picture is nothing special, and I don't really find him that attractive in it. It really is the gelled, spiked up hair that I find attractive...
Unfortunately, I found out today at MC that he only works in the afternoons (since he has school in the morning... well, except not, since the professors are on strike). but I can only work in the mornings! D= I guess that's more incentive for me to go to MC at 6 p.m. after working at Ciudadela... haha.
whatever, i'll add him as a friend. Although too bad, it says he's interested in women. =( I was kind of going to purposely be like, "¿Tienes novio?" wait a bit for his reaction, and then maybe cover it up with, "oh, lo siento, er, tienes novia?" xD
maybe i'll do that anyway. lol.
Also, his profile picture is nothing special, and I don't really find him that attractive in it. It really is the gelled, spiked up hair that I find attractive...
Unfortunately, I found out today at MC that he only works in the afternoons (since he has school in the morning... well, except not, since the professors are on strike). but I can only work in the mornings! D= I guess that's more incentive for me to go to MC at 6 p.m. after working at Ciudadela... haha.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
More Thoughts on my First Week
These are really just coincidences, but based on my track record, I apparently like older guys and guys who happen to be shorter than me... although I guess I've liked some taller guys... but they've generally happened to be shorter. Also, if a guy has shorter hair and spikes it up or puts it into a faux hawky sort of look, I will inevitably find him more attractive.
My newest somewhat of an infatuation is with a guy who's only 22 going to be 23 soon. Doing much better on ages... but still, this past year has been 28, then 25, then 22. meh.
His name is Rene (I think... lol) and he works at Maria Cristina. He's full Aimara, one of the large indigenous populations here, and he knows both Aimara and Quechua, which makes him really cool in my opinion. He knows all the official languages of Bolivia! He's been working here for two years and he wants to continue next year, if possible. That's like really sweet of him... considering the whole nearly 100% turnover rate and nearly everyone else I've talked to having worked there since the beginning of this year.
I went to Ciudadela in the morning yesterday (I think Freddy expected me to come in the afternoon. Oops!), where wasn't much to do, but I think I'll be working in the afternoon from now on. It's an orphanage, but for children without disabilities. On the plus side, I guess I do get to practice my Spanish more, perhaps, since I have to be able to speak with the kids and explain math/their homework in Spanish.
In the afternoon, I was the only volunteer today, since the other volunteers went to a nearby town to go sightseeing and I didn't really want to go (they were coming back Sunday, and I wanted to visit a church. Also I wanted to work, haha). Even though I was the only one, I loved it. Here's some things that went down:
--picked up poop with gloves, and i think i earned respect points from the staff, but the poop was my fault, since I kind of let one of the residents walk off by herself in the courtyard as I was wondering and watching this little boy and another taller older resident in a tree, hoping they'd be safe. Fortunately, Rene was there. So I walked back to her and saw her squatting on the ground. She was pooping by the time I got there, and I was unsure of what to do... should I even make her wipe herself? should i make her stop since it's not decent? Or should i just let her finish because that way she won't get poop all over her clothes?
I kind of tried to call for help, but it was halfhearted because I was embarrassed that I let this happen.
--felt like throwing up a couple of times, but generally only when I was in that room that they put chairs in to stop residents from escaping (some residents will go out and eat random trash, but i guess they still do that in the room, so i dunno how much it helps). I think the eating trash kind of made me gag a little, along with the constant smell of feces.
--helped lift this gigantic rock to try to fix the sewage, which is backed up in the women's bathroom (so they can't take showers there) and then as five of us were placing it down, there was the awkward, like, oh no, how will we get our fingers/shoes out in time? And yelling and worry and then the rock slamming to the ground. But no one was hurt, thankfully. We all looked up at each other,smiling and probably thinking, "man, we lived!" since no one's feet or fingers got caught to death.
--helped with showering. Rene is awesome in that he lathers them up all the guys and isn't afraid to get his shirt/pants wet. I told him I'd help him one day, but then I realized I told Ciudadela, the other orphanage I'm working at, that I'd be there in the afternoons, and thus I'd be too late for showering time. Crap. Maybe I'll help him on Sundays. Or maybe I can get out of Ciudadela at 5? not sure.
--the staff served this creamy snack that was served outside from a gigantic wok-like thing. There was one girl who stole a plate from this other girl who is young, really nearsighted, and eats slowly. I ran after her and took away the plate, trying to explain to her that she shouldn't steal this food. She then hit the plate up from my hand and spilled the food all over me and the ground outside. Then she kept eating from the ground with all the dirt as I picked up the food, and then she apologized to me (I forgave her and told her it was alright... what else can you do, i guess?). As I was finishing putting all the food back on the plate, and she was hugging me and apologizing again, she hit the plate from the bottom again and so I picked it up again, and she began pushing me as I was picking up the food, at which I firmly told her to stop pushing me, and would put my arm out to stop her. Then another resident attacked the girl after I was walking away, and finally some staff members came to discipline her.
When the staff asked me if I wanted any, I declined... partly because I was afraid of getting sick, since people were just reaching into the wok and eating at it with their hands (after people were served, there were no utensils provided, but everyone was more or less content with eating with their hands). I hoped I didn't seem too stuck-up...
--they still don't have enough spoons, as evidenced by the many people who just ate dinner with their hands. At least it was some kind of macaroni casserole and reasonable to eat with one's hands.
--getting through to Carlos, who was the one who had the meltdown before by chasing him all around the courtyard. Maybe I can help stop some meltdowns in the future.
--came back at about 8 p.m. Whoops. I wanted to stay longer until 7:30 p.m., when the staff leaves (and when Rene leaves...) at which point I'd probably come back at about 8:30 p.m. (well i think it generally takes half an hour, but sometimes it can be hard to catch the correct trufi/I take the wrong one and end up walking more or something), but I didn't tell my host family I'd be back so late so I decided i should try to come back slightly earlier.
--I asked about who comes on the weekends, and the staff switches off who works. So I asked Rene if he was coming in tomorrow (Saturday). He said no, but on Sunday he would.
--So then I happened to decide to go to Maria Cristina on Sunday after church/lunch and not on Saturday... xD
Today, I walked all along Av. Ameridas for a couple hours for the address of this church I wanted to visit, but then I came back and realized that the address was for their actual living location and not for their church. lol. But I did also want to just look around Cochabamba and explore. I realized that the actual church location is even closer to my house, just around where I go to withdraw bolivianos from the ATMs and where a small supermarket is. It's just like a 10-minute walk! Yay! =D
As I was about to go confirm the location, though, I saw that my host mom was meeting with a couple of people from her English class (they've been learning English for 5 months), and I decided to talk with them for a bit. I ended up staying and just chatting with them in English for a couple hours, and we all enjoyed it a lot. They said it was really helpful, and set up times for us to meet again (or well, one woman really just wanted me to be there and talk), so we chose Thursday and Saturday... haha. Although that means that I'll have to leave MC at 6:45ish to make it to their 7:30 p.m. time, since one of them lives quite far away... =\
Then again, Projects Abroad just has required working hours of about 25 hours a week. With me planning on going to MC in the morning from about 8:30 - 12:30, then Ciudadela from 2:30 - 6, then MC from 6-7:30 (thankfully they are *really* close to each other... like a 3 minute walk or something, so I can do that), every week day and maybe the occasional Saturday or Sunday, I'd be working like 50 hours a week already. haha, maybe I could take a week off at that rate and go see the Salt Flats. Then again, I'd probably be too attached/feel too guilty about that and I'd just keep working.
Just went to confirm the location of the church tomorrow, and it turns out that they were having their youth service! =) (youth being from 12 - 30s) I happened to just decide to walk upstairs to the front entrance because I was kinda confused if that was the entrance or if it was somewhere else. I heard drums being played, so i walked in, but there were black curtains covering a makeshift wall that didn't allow me to see anyone else. So I just stood by the entrance table and bookshelves and looked at the stuff there, until a guy happened to walk over and we talked for a bit. His name was Richard, and he had the kind of haircut i like. bahaha. Anyway, he introduced me to one of the missionaries working there, an African-American guy from the States, so I talked with him for a while, decided to stay for worship and listen to one of the girls speak. It was nice. Later, they went to play wallyball, which the one time I've ever played that was at Jackson's house (my Mormon friend). I decided to go home then since I felt tired and I also didn't have the right shoes.
My newest somewhat of an infatuation is with a guy who's only 22 going to be 23 soon. Doing much better on ages... but still, this past year has been 28, then 25, then 22. meh.
His name is Rene (I think... lol) and he works at Maria Cristina. He's full Aimara, one of the large indigenous populations here, and he knows both Aimara and Quechua, which makes him really cool in my opinion. He knows all the official languages of Bolivia! He's been working here for two years and he wants to continue next year, if possible. That's like really sweet of him... considering the whole nearly 100% turnover rate and nearly everyone else I've talked to having worked there since the beginning of this year.
I went to Ciudadela in the morning yesterday (I think Freddy expected me to come in the afternoon. Oops!), where wasn't much to do, but I think I'll be working in the afternoon from now on. It's an orphanage, but for children without disabilities. On the plus side, I guess I do get to practice my Spanish more, perhaps, since I have to be able to speak with the kids and explain math/their homework in Spanish.
In the afternoon, I was the only volunteer today, since the other volunteers went to a nearby town to go sightseeing and I didn't really want to go (they were coming back Sunday, and I wanted to visit a church. Also I wanted to work, haha). Even though I was the only one, I loved it. Here's some things that went down:
--picked up poop with gloves, and i think i earned respect points from the staff, but the poop was my fault, since I kind of let one of the residents walk off by herself in the courtyard as I was wondering and watching this little boy and another taller older resident in a tree, hoping they'd be safe. Fortunately, Rene was there. So I walked back to her and saw her squatting on the ground. She was pooping by the time I got there, and I was unsure of what to do... should I even make her wipe herself? should i make her stop since it's not decent? Or should i just let her finish because that way she won't get poop all over her clothes?
I kind of tried to call for help, but it was halfhearted because I was embarrassed that I let this happen.
--felt like throwing up a couple of times, but generally only when I was in that room that they put chairs in to stop residents from escaping (some residents will go out and eat random trash, but i guess they still do that in the room, so i dunno how much it helps). I think the eating trash kind of made me gag a little, along with the constant smell of feces.
--helped lift this gigantic rock to try to fix the sewage, which is backed up in the women's bathroom (so they can't take showers there) and then as five of us were placing it down, there was the awkward, like, oh no, how will we get our fingers/shoes out in time? And yelling and worry and then the rock slamming to the ground. But no one was hurt, thankfully. We all looked up at each other,smiling and probably thinking, "man, we lived!" since no one's feet or fingers got caught to death.
--helped with showering. Rene is awesome in that he lathers them up all the guys and isn't afraid to get his shirt/pants wet. I told him I'd help him one day, but then I realized I told Ciudadela, the other orphanage I'm working at, that I'd be there in the afternoons, and thus I'd be too late for showering time. Crap. Maybe I'll help him on Sundays. Or maybe I can get out of Ciudadela at 5? not sure.
--the staff served this creamy snack that was served outside from a gigantic wok-like thing. There was one girl who stole a plate from this other girl who is young, really nearsighted, and eats slowly. I ran after her and took away the plate, trying to explain to her that she shouldn't steal this food. She then hit the plate up from my hand and spilled the food all over me and the ground outside. Then she kept eating from the ground with all the dirt as I picked up the food, and then she apologized to me (I forgave her and told her it was alright... what else can you do, i guess?). As I was finishing putting all the food back on the plate, and she was hugging me and apologizing again, she hit the plate from the bottom again and so I picked it up again, and she began pushing me as I was picking up the food, at which I firmly told her to stop pushing me, and would put my arm out to stop her. Then another resident attacked the girl after I was walking away, and finally some staff members came to discipline her.
When the staff asked me if I wanted any, I declined... partly because I was afraid of getting sick, since people were just reaching into the wok and eating at it with their hands (after people were served, there were no utensils provided, but everyone was more or less content with eating with their hands). I hoped I didn't seem too stuck-up...
--they still don't have enough spoons, as evidenced by the many people who just ate dinner with their hands. At least it was some kind of macaroni casserole and reasonable to eat with one's hands.
--getting through to Carlos, who was the one who had the meltdown before by chasing him all around the courtyard. Maybe I can help stop some meltdowns in the future.
--came back at about 8 p.m. Whoops. I wanted to stay longer until 7:30 p.m., when the staff leaves (and when Rene leaves...) at which point I'd probably come back at about 8:30 p.m. (well i think it generally takes half an hour, but sometimes it can be hard to catch the correct trufi/I take the wrong one and end up walking more or something), but I didn't tell my host family I'd be back so late so I decided i should try to come back slightly earlier.
--I asked about who comes on the weekends, and the staff switches off who works. So I asked Rene if he was coming in tomorrow (Saturday). He said no, but on Sunday he would.
--So then I happened to decide to go to Maria Cristina on Sunday after church/lunch and not on Saturday... xD
Today, I walked all along Av. Ameridas for a couple hours for the address of this church I wanted to visit, but then I came back and realized that the address was for their actual living location and not for their church. lol. But I did also want to just look around Cochabamba and explore. I realized that the actual church location is even closer to my house, just around where I go to withdraw bolivianos from the ATMs and where a small supermarket is. It's just like a 10-minute walk! Yay! =D
As I was about to go confirm the location, though, I saw that my host mom was meeting with a couple of people from her English class (they've been learning English for 5 months), and I decided to talk with them for a bit. I ended up staying and just chatting with them in English for a couple hours, and we all enjoyed it a lot. They said it was really helpful, and set up times for us to meet again (or well, one woman really just wanted me to be there and talk), so we chose Thursday and Saturday... haha. Although that means that I'll have to leave MC at 6:45ish to make it to their 7:30 p.m. time, since one of them lives quite far away... =\
Then again, Projects Abroad just has required working hours of about 25 hours a week. With me planning on going to MC in the morning from about 8:30 - 12:30, then Ciudadela from 2:30 - 6, then MC from 6-7:30 (thankfully they are *really* close to each other... like a 3 minute walk or something, so I can do that), every week day and maybe the occasional Saturday or Sunday, I'd be working like 50 hours a week already. haha, maybe I could take a week off at that rate and go see the Salt Flats. Then again, I'd probably be too attached/feel too guilty about that and I'd just keep working.
Just went to confirm the location of the church tomorrow, and it turns out that they were having their youth service! =) (youth being from 12 - 30s) I happened to just decide to walk upstairs to the front entrance because I was kinda confused if that was the entrance or if it was somewhere else. I heard drums being played, so i walked in, but there were black curtains covering a makeshift wall that didn't allow me to see anyone else. So I just stood by the entrance table and bookshelves and looked at the stuff there, until a guy happened to walk over and we talked for a bit. His name was Richard, and he had the kind of haircut i like. bahaha. Anyway, he introduced me to one of the missionaries working there, an African-American guy from the States, so I talked with him for a while, decided to stay for worship and listen to one of the girls speak. It was nice. Later, they went to play wallyball, which the one time I've ever played that was at Jackson's house (my Mormon friend). I decided to go home then since I felt tired and I also didn't have the right shoes.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
On Maria Cristina (Pre-Visit)
So today was mostly an orientation of Projects Abroad, what my placement will be like, and bits of the city that Freddy (the supervisor of the Care portion of Projects Abroad Bolivia) and I walked around to. Tomorrow I will see Maria Cristina, the orphanage (well, about 98% are orphans, Freddy says) for people with disabilities. I guess I should ask why they are referred to as niños, because I found out today that the age range is actually from 9 to about 50. I suppose it's because their ages mentally are, according to Freddy, from 0 - 14. Except wait... some of them I think are just deaf, which means there shouldn't be a cap of 14, unless all the deaf people are under 14... hmm. Or maybe it's the whole discrimination against those with hearing disabilities and thinking they're much dumber people or something. But then again, Freddy worked with children with special needs for 12 years before working at Projects Abroad for like 8 years, so he should know quite a bit.
Apparently, Freddy says that my placement is the hardest that they have, and it requires the bravest volunteers. Freddy told me about how volunteers are all gung-ho about working at Maria Cristina, and then in like 5 minutes they start crying. I'm not sure if that means they can't handle it and switch placements, or they eventually get through it all. Interestingly, the blogger I was linking to in my public transportation post also visited an orphanage in Cochabamba, and her experiences are here, specifically,
"One day during the strike, I went to Solomon Klein Orphanage at the suggestion of friends. When I stepped in the door, they asked if I could help and I was put in a room with twenty 3-year-olds and one other adult. One little boy was blind, one had a club foot, one girl was dangerously skinny. All of them were only as clean as a few adults can keep that many filth-loving munchkins. I only lasted the morning. It was good to be there, as there was clearly a need, but I just kept thinking 'but for the grace of God...' It made me so sad to think that these kids deserve to grow up with as much love as I did, and they won't have that chance. Then it challenged my belief that 'God's love is sufficient,' a belief that should be and is always challenged, but when looking at those kids, was very hard to wrestle out. I feel like a coward for not spending more time with those children. It was something I did not have the strength to do.
This 'volunteering' thing is like using your fingers to stop leaks in a dam. The dam is never gonna be repaired, or even hold, but you can't pull your fingers out once you're personally and physically committed.
There are 57 residents at the orphanage, and the staff (which I forgot to ask how many there are, but I'm guessing like a handful, if that) work from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Then a nurse (or maybe a couple nurses?) generally from the nursing school in Cochabamba comes and watches them throughout the night. Obviously the nurses are under-equipped as well, being still students likely with little training.
Freddy said that if I want to work both morning and afternoon, I can (which I hope to be able to do), and if I want to stay the night at some point, I can (which I definitely want to do as well). Tarryn (the volunteer from above) and another volunteer set up an account and have already raised over $8,000 for materials to help entertain and teach the children, which is incredible. I'm not really interested in raising money... soliciting for things makes me feel quite awkward, as it probably does for many Asians (or well, actually, since the account has been set up already, maybe I can just piggyback onto that). I do wish I could be as awesome as they are, though. But maybe I can at least give my time and my love.
Apparently, Freddy says that my placement is the hardest that they have, and it requires the bravest volunteers. Freddy told me about how volunteers are all gung-ho about working at Maria Cristina, and then in like 5 minutes they start crying. I'm not sure if that means they can't handle it and switch placements, or they eventually get through it all. Interestingly, the blogger I was linking to in my public transportation post also visited an orphanage in Cochabamba, and her experiences are here, specifically,
"One day during the strike, I went to Solomon Klein Orphanage at the suggestion of friends. When I stepped in the door, they asked if I could help and I was put in a room with twenty 3-year-olds and one other adult. One little boy was blind, one had a club foot, one girl was dangerously skinny. All of them were only as clean as a few adults can keep that many filth-loving munchkins. I only lasted the morning. It was good to be there, as there was clearly a need, but I just kept thinking 'but for the grace of God...' It made me so sad to think that these kids deserve to grow up with as much love as I did, and they won't have that chance. Then it challenged my belief that 'God's love is sufficient,' a belief that should be and is always challenged, but when looking at those kids, was very hard to wrestle out. I feel like a coward for not spending more time with those children. It was something I did not have the strength to do.
This 'volunteering' thing is like using your fingers to stop leaks in a dam. The dam is never gonna be repaired, or even hold, but you can't pull your fingers out once you're personally and physically committed.
The staff apparently do little to no work because they are like out of high school (or less) and have no experience or training. How they learn to work with the children is purely through working at Maria Cristina. Initiative apparently needs to be taken on the volunteer's part, which I'm a little apprehensive about... I often feel like creativity is not one of my strong points.
Perhaps creativity isn't needed as much, because the sheer need will be enormous.
The April 2012 newsletter from Projects Abroad has a volunteer writing about her experience in helping with occupational therapy for a month in Maria Cristina. Here's the tragic account from Tarryn Stott:
"To say the facility is poor is an understatement. When fully staffed they only have four personnel to manage the orphans, one accredited nurse, two nursing students and a social worker. As there is a mixing of genders the staff is often forced to keep the orphans in a single room where they are able to supervise them. The only materials that they have in this room are old, soiled mattresses on the floor, which are where the orphans spend their days sitting or sleeping as they have nothing to stimulate them. Some of the orphans are covered in wounds from fighting with each other, likely I believe for some sort of entertainment. They are unable to provide basic medication for epilepsy so some have fits, and twelve of the orphans are incontinent, however they cannot afford pads for during the day so they often sit in their own defecation. "
There are 57 residents at the orphanage, and the staff (which I forgot to ask how many there are, but I'm guessing like a handful, if that) work from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Then a nurse (or maybe a couple nurses?) generally from the nursing school in Cochabamba comes and watches them throughout the night. Obviously the nurses are under-equipped as well, being still students likely with little training.
Freddy said that if I want to work both morning and afternoon, I can (which I hope to be able to do), and if I want to stay the night at some point, I can (which I definitely want to do as well). Tarryn (the volunteer from above) and another volunteer set up an account and have already raised over $8,000 for materials to help entertain and teach the children, which is incredible. I'm not really interested in raising money... soliciting for things makes me feel quite awkward, as it probably does for many Asians (or well, actually, since the account has been set up already, maybe I can just piggyback onto that). I do wish I could be as awesome as they are, though. But maybe I can at least give my time and my love.
On My Psychological Examination and Spanish Skills
I also had my psychological exam today, conducted in Spanish by an outside psychologist, with a little bit of assistance from a Projects Abroad staff (Mariel) when I needed help.
I was asked to draw three pictures of three people, and asked for their names and ages. One man, one woman, and one person standing in the rain. I was asked questions about the man and the woman, making up a profile about them.
I felt incredibly nervous/awkward... like when the psychologist asked me to put down a name and age, and I thought she wanted mine so she could file the pictures away, but on the woman's picture, I wrote mine again, and the employee told the psychologist that I was writing my name down. Oops.
I could only think of Hispanic names, so I struggled to think of names that would perhaps not make me seem so racist. haha.
I felt really dumb drawing them (the questions running through my head: do I draw clothes? If I just draw a body without markings for clothes, will I be flagged as some strange person? Should I try to draw shoes, or are blobs ok? Do I need more defining characteristics to make this drawing obviously a woman? How do I draw boobs? [I gave up on that, and made the girl be 15 years old to compensate. except i guess I should've chosen like 12 or something, but then I didn't want to seem like a pedophile by thinking about young girls all the time]) and I really wished I could draw better. I wanted to ask if drawing stick-figures were ok, but I decided to just not. Mostly because I did not know how to express that in Spanish.
I also had little idea what to say when I was asked what the man and woman's best and worst part of their bodies were (I wanted to say hands for the worst part because I can't freaking draw hands and they looked so ugly, but I decided that my drawing capabilities were not the point here).
I also felt like an idiot when I said the man's least favorite part was his arms, but I said "armas," and in my head thought, "I'm pretty sure that means 'guns,' and not 'arms.'"
My fears were confirmed when the psychologist looked at Mariel, the employee, and gave a most confused expression. I couldn't remember the word "brazos" for the life of me, but fortunately Mariel provided it. I then nervously laughed and was like, "Ooh, armas means more like pistols or something, huh? I'm sorry." in Spanish, and the psychologist smiled.
I wondered about what these pictures signified... do these pictures represent the masculine and feminine side of me or something?
Some of the other questions and some of my other answers just made me confused and wondering about what I should and shouldn't say. In the end, I stayed with the safe answers, because I wanted to actually pass the exam.
I hope I'm deemed fit to work with the children. >_<
Anyway, the thing that hits me the most about Cochabamba is how similar it is to China. Maybe that's because China's like the only other vastly culturally-different reference I have. But the broken sidewalks, roads, shape of the cars and buildings... all quite similar to walking down some streets in Shanghai. I've enjoyed it all so far, but that may be because it's all so new and different.
I've had four adults (my host mom and three Projects Abroad employees) tell me that I speak Spanish "muy bien," which of course makes me happy. Although then when I was asked by one of the adults (Mariel) what level my Spanish was, Freddy, my supervisor, offered "intermedio" when I was trying to say that I wasn't too sure. He told me my Spanish was muy bien! I was going to say Advanced-low, so I was kinda offended, haha. Then again, I don't know if "avanzado-bajo" would even make sense, so maybe it was better that I didn't say that.
But then, Mariel, after listening to my psych examination, told me that my Spanish was muy bien, so I'm guessing it was better than her expectations (some of my [as far as I know] grammatically-correct long responses impressed me too when I was answering some of the questions). Apparently, according to Freddy after I asked him, most of the volunteers don't speak much Spanish. Some don't know any.
I can't really imagine what that would be like, going to a new country where you know basically nothing of the language, considering how fearful I've been about failing in Spanish. That would just be so limiting... I already feel limited by only being able to understand like half of what my host sister and her friends were saying last night. I hoped it was majorly because of the 28 hours of travelling/airports that I had before, but I feel in large part it's because I'm not quite up to snuff. Yet.
Writing another post about the orientation of my placement, which I have yet to see. I want to designate a whole post to it because it's at once unnerving and frightening, but also intriguing and challenging. I'll have my work cut out for me.
I was asked to draw three pictures of three people, and asked for their names and ages. One man, one woman, and one person standing in the rain. I was asked questions about the man and the woman, making up a profile about them.
I felt incredibly nervous/awkward... like when the psychologist asked me to put down a name and age, and I thought she wanted mine so she could file the pictures away, but on the woman's picture, I wrote mine again, and the employee told the psychologist that I was writing my name down. Oops.
I could only think of Hispanic names, so I struggled to think of names that would perhaps not make me seem so racist. haha.
I felt really dumb drawing them (the questions running through my head: do I draw clothes? If I just draw a body without markings for clothes, will I be flagged as some strange person? Should I try to draw shoes, or are blobs ok? Do I need more defining characteristics to make this drawing obviously a woman? How do I draw boobs? [I gave up on that, and made the girl be 15 years old to compensate. except i guess I should've chosen like 12 or something, but then I didn't want to seem like a pedophile by thinking about young girls all the time]) and I really wished I could draw better. I wanted to ask if drawing stick-figures were ok, but I decided to just not. Mostly because I did not know how to express that in Spanish.
I also had little idea what to say when I was asked what the man and woman's best and worst part of their bodies were (I wanted to say hands for the worst part because I can't freaking draw hands and they looked so ugly, but I decided that my drawing capabilities were not the point here).
I also felt like an idiot when I said the man's least favorite part was his arms, but I said "armas," and in my head thought, "I'm pretty sure that means 'guns,' and not 'arms.'"
My fears were confirmed when the psychologist looked at Mariel, the employee, and gave a most confused expression. I couldn't remember the word "brazos" for the life of me, but fortunately Mariel provided it. I then nervously laughed and was like, "Ooh, armas means more like pistols or something, huh? I'm sorry." in Spanish, and the psychologist smiled.
I wondered about what these pictures signified... do these pictures represent the masculine and feminine side of me or something?
Some of the other questions and some of my other answers just made me confused and wondering about what I should and shouldn't say. In the end, I stayed with the safe answers, because I wanted to actually pass the exam.
I hope I'm deemed fit to work with the children. >_<
Anyway, the thing that hits me the most about Cochabamba is how similar it is to China. Maybe that's because China's like the only other vastly culturally-different reference I have. But the broken sidewalks, roads, shape of the cars and buildings... all quite similar to walking down some streets in Shanghai. I've enjoyed it all so far, but that may be because it's all so new and different.
I've had four adults (my host mom and three Projects Abroad employees) tell me that I speak Spanish "muy bien," which of course makes me happy. Although then when I was asked by one of the adults (Mariel) what level my Spanish was, Freddy, my supervisor, offered "intermedio" when I was trying to say that I wasn't too sure. He told me my Spanish was muy bien! I was going to say Advanced-low, so I was kinda offended, haha. Then again, I don't know if "avanzado-bajo" would even make sense, so maybe it was better that I didn't say that.
But then, Mariel, after listening to my psych examination, told me that my Spanish was muy bien, so I'm guessing it was better than her expectations (some of my [as far as I know] grammatically-correct long responses impressed me too when I was answering some of the questions). Apparently, according to Freddy after I asked him, most of the volunteers don't speak much Spanish. Some don't know any.
I can't really imagine what that would be like, going to a new country where you know basically nothing of the language, considering how fearful I've been about failing in Spanish. That would just be so limiting... I already feel limited by only being able to understand like half of what my host sister and her friends were saying last night. I hoped it was majorly because of the 28 hours of travelling/airports that I had before, but I feel in large part it's because I'm not quite up to snuff. Yet.
Writing another post about the orientation of my placement, which I have yet to see. I want to designate a whole post to it because it's at once unnerving and frightening, but also intriguing and challenging. I'll have my work cut out for me.
Public Transportation in Cochabamba
Took Cochabamba's crazy--yet super efficient--public transportation today. Both times it was to and from my house to the office (well, the second time coming back was from a cell phone store where I purchased a SIM card for a phone my host family is lending me, with the help of Mariel, an employee at Projects Abroad). First it was accompanied by Freddy, the supervisor of my area of work in Projects Abroad (Care), and then I decided to go by myself.
There are no bus stops. There are no stops anywhere. There are no schedules. I don't really know how one who is not a local would know about the routes, since there are none written down. (I looked online and found this website, but this only gives a small chunk--the center--of Cochabamba and doesn't even reach to where I live).
You put out your hand. The vehicle stops immediately. You get on. The driver resumes driving. You yell, "Esquina (Corner)" or "Voy a bajar (I'm going to get off)" or if those don't work, "¡Pare! (Stop!)" when you want to get off.
According to the packet about public transport that Projects Abroad gave us, "There are no easily accessed public sources of information about the public transportation system here. Most of the knowledge--about routes, rates, and rules--is unofficial, unwritten. Changes to the system are passed along by word of mouth--any other written material you might find is most likely out of date or out of whack with the way things really work."
So you have three types of vehicles: Micros, Trufis, and Taxi-Trufis. I've only been on a taxi-trufi so far. There are also radio-taxis, which is private and safe with no overcrowding (the public transportation is safe too, but it stops running after 9 p.m. until like 6:30 a.m.).
Micros I believe are short for micro-buses, which are nothing to write home about. Imagine your usual overpacked bus. Think about buses filled to the breaking point in a place like China, if you've ever been (well, perhaps less full on average than China).
Trufis--I was unsure about the difference between micros and trufis (i knew it's middle-sized between micros and taxi-trufis) since it's only my second day here, but I found this wonderful and hilarious article about transportation in Cochabamba here. And she has pictures, which I'm too lazy to reproduce here! (Actually, her experience here really made me laugh, although it's unrelated to transportation and just makes me feel better about my Spanish, haha).
Taxi-trufis--normal cars. Minus working seatbelts (they don't work on radio-taxis either), so think China again. Except with a maximum of three adults (plus children on the lap if they have any), and then two more up front, squished a little with the driver, if one is in a compact car.
Driving, roads, and crossroads are like China, so weaving in and out along with bicyclists (w/o helmets), honking is fairly plentiful, and there is a dearth of stop signs/lights which makes me wonder how the drivers know when to go. I guess sometimes they just have to inch their way in.
The public transportation costs only 1.7 bolivianos, which is about 24 cents, and is the same no matter how far you're travelling, as per usual for public transportation. Unfortunately, the packedness of the car means I can never pull out my map to see where I'm actually going, and I have to rely on the landmarks that my supervisor pointed out to me. This makes me particularly antsy to not end up completely lost.
I think I was just impressed and mindblown by the fact that I can basically just put out my hand and get on some random car and get off at any place on the street that the car is driving on. The routes that I actually want to take have cars that pass by probably every couple of minutes or less. After 110+ rides on the Metro system in Houston, it's pretty different, especially compared to the times where I've waited 20+ min. after the scheduled time for a bus to come, or had a bus come 10 min early and watch it pass by me as I was walking to the bus stop, or the multitude of times I've run after a bus, trying to catch it.
As the packet from Projects Abroad says,
"The only guarantee you have is to arrive at your desired destination for a fraction of the cost of most any public transportation in the modern world, and to be picked up most likely within 10 minutes. The freedom to stop or board anywhere along the set route, and to tote along your favorite pet, a medium-sized ladder, or your live chicken dinner can be most exhilarating, especially for the first time user."
"And, whatever the system's failings, we believe it works better than any other "Metro" system in the world."
There are no bus stops. There are no stops anywhere. There are no schedules. I don't really know how one who is not a local would know about the routes, since there are none written down. (I looked online and found this website, but this only gives a small chunk--the center--of Cochabamba and doesn't even reach to where I live).
You put out your hand. The vehicle stops immediately. You get on. The driver resumes driving. You yell, "Esquina (Corner)" or "Voy a bajar (I'm going to get off)" or if those don't work, "¡Pare! (Stop!)" when you want to get off.
According to the packet about public transport that Projects Abroad gave us, "There are no easily accessed public sources of information about the public transportation system here. Most of the knowledge--about routes, rates, and rules--is unofficial, unwritten. Changes to the system are passed along by word of mouth--any other written material you might find is most likely out of date or out of whack with the way things really work."
So you have three types of vehicles: Micros, Trufis, and Taxi-Trufis. I've only been on a taxi-trufi so far. There are also radio-taxis, which is private and safe with no overcrowding (the public transportation is safe too, but it stops running after 9 p.m. until like 6:30 a.m.).
Micros I believe are short for micro-buses, which are nothing to write home about. Imagine your usual overpacked bus. Think about buses filled to the breaking point in a place like China, if you've ever been (well, perhaps less full on average than China).
Trufis--I was unsure about the difference between micros and trufis (i knew it's middle-sized between micros and taxi-trufis) since it's only my second day here, but I found this wonderful and hilarious article about transportation in Cochabamba here. And she has pictures, which I'm too lazy to reproduce here! (Actually, her experience here really made me laugh, although it's unrelated to transportation and just makes me feel better about my Spanish, haha).
Taxi-trufis--normal cars. Minus working seatbelts (they don't work on radio-taxis either), so think China again. Except with a maximum of three adults (plus children on the lap if they have any), and then two more up front, squished a little with the driver, if one is in a compact car.
Driving, roads, and crossroads are like China, so weaving in and out along with bicyclists (w/o helmets), honking is fairly plentiful, and there is a dearth of stop signs/lights which makes me wonder how the drivers know when to go. I guess sometimes they just have to inch their way in.
The public transportation costs only 1.7 bolivianos, which is about 24 cents, and is the same no matter how far you're travelling, as per usual for public transportation. Unfortunately, the packedness of the car means I can never pull out my map to see where I'm actually going, and I have to rely on the landmarks that my supervisor pointed out to me. This makes me particularly antsy to not end up completely lost.
I think I was just impressed and mindblown by the fact that I can basically just put out my hand and get on some random car and get off at any place on the street that the car is driving on. The routes that I actually want to take have cars that pass by probably every couple of minutes or less. After 110+ rides on the Metro system in Houston, it's pretty different, especially compared to the times where I've waited 20+ min. after the scheduled time for a bus to come, or had a bus come 10 min early and watch it pass by me as I was walking to the bus stop, or the multitude of times I've run after a bus, trying to catch it.
As the packet from Projects Abroad says,
"The only guarantee you have is to arrive at your desired destination for a fraction of the cost of most any public transportation in the modern world, and to be picked up most likely within 10 minutes. The freedom to stop or board anywhere along the set route, and to tote along your favorite pet, a medium-sized ladder, or your live chicken dinner can be most exhilarating, especially for the first time user."
"And, whatever the system's failings, we believe it works better than any other "Metro" system in the world."
Friday, May 11, 2012
My ASB Journal Entry
Here's what I wrote in the group journal for Alternative Spring Break. I rushed to type it down from the actual journal before the CIC closed and Loretta picked me up for UH's graduation. I still have that long overdue post where I talk about the nitty-grittiness of ASB and what I really learned and took away, but I'll get to that... soon. Ugh, maybe when I'm at the airport on Sunday or something, waiting for the hours of layover that I have to pass by.
Wednesday
7 March 2012
I am unfashionably late to the journal-writing party, as it's been 4 days since we stepped off our plane, bringing us back into IAH. But that doesn't mean I'm anywhere close to being done processing this experience--let's hope this entry helps facilitate my reflections.
As per usual, many people have asked me how my spring break/ASB went. I generally reflexively respond with, "Good," and then we both stand there, waiting for me to elaborate. The second word that always comes to mind that I say is "difficult." Our service didn't end when we had all piled into our Blue and Red Machines and were driving back to First Pres. As someone remarked during one Rice Reflections, our trip was triple-layered, which I'll explain below. So if this ASB trip were a three-layered cake (red velvet or carrot maybe? =) ), here's how I'd describe things:
The First (Base) Layer: KIPP: Impact
Oh, the KIPPsters! They were so adorable, and the teachers were so caring, and the atmosphere was so focused. My head still rings of "That's a demerit for posture," of "college hands" and of stomps, claps, snaps, and glow worms. Being only 5th and 6th graders, they weren't always elated to be in such a strict environment (heck, I'd certainly have trouble handling it even now), but they could tell their teachers cared about them ("They cared a bit too much," some said) and it was a constant inspiration to see how on top of things all the teachers were. And even when the students hated KIPP, I would ask about their parents' view of KIPP and all their parents unanimously loved KIPP... so they realized that transferring schools wasn't a likely possibility for them after all.
That's not to say that all the students wanted to transfer out of course! Some were really invested in their education and were incredibly self-motivated. My students that I tutored in math, J and N, would make remarkable bounds every day, and I was amazed at how much they understood by the end of the week. I know it wasn't all because of my tutoring, or really even partly due to my tutoring... they easily could have forgotten and given up any day they wanted to. And I would have been helpless to teach them much. So KIPP's model of realizing that it's not just that every child can learn, but that every child will learn certainly holds true. On the last day, J ended up getting a 20%, and N got an 80% on their quizzes. I awkwardly had to both congratulate N and comfort J as they sat next to each other and J put his hood up, buried his face in his arms, and silently cried. J and I worked through the problems afterwards, however, and his grit in wanting to learn and his determination to not give up was truly admirable. I can't say I bounce back from failures so easily--I usually don't like to look at what I did wrong on something until weeks later, or until I have to.
Having all three components work together--the teachers, the parents, and the students--that is something KIPP does well and it shows how much good can arise when those three are in tandem. To be able to be a source of encouragement, a brief help, or a temporary role model to them... man, what a privilege. They've definitely shown me how effective and necessary discipline and being strict is, and I hope I can lay down the law with love more in the future.
The Second Layer: Wheatley High School
I do hope they had a great experience and took a lot from the trip. The lack of sleep was obviously killer, and I know my expectations were just a little too unrealistic. They were mentees just as they were mentors, and I didn't appreciate that fact nor realize how much mentoring they needed. I learned some appropriate phrases like "finna" just in time for the KIPP students and was grateful for that. But I think learning to handle such eclectic experiences and expectations about the trip was what I primarily encountered. Handling frustration, disappointment, and annoyance--it was all there, and it all contributed to why "difficult"is the second word that comes to mind when I think back to this trip. Once again, however, what's more important is what they got from the trip, rather than what I got from them. I'm glad we took that tour to Jacksonville University, because even though it was long, it was an intriguing and pretty campus, a nice break, and I think Wheatley really enjoyed it. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if they had disappointments about me or frustrations about how the trip was going. That's life. Without a doubt, thought, the trip wouldn't have been the same at all without them.
The Third Layer: Rice University
What a great group. You guys were awesome and there were so many times that I was extremely grateful for each one of you being on this trip. Thanks for sticking with everything even when Albert and I were at the end of our ropes. Thank you for the encouragement and the belief that things would be fine, because I know the stress was probably evident many times on my face and through my body language. I hope we can continue our friendships as we are here back at Rice, and that w'll be able to still spur each other on. =) Our Rice Reflections were much-welcomed and much-needed. Thank you for being willing and eager to do them, at the cost of sleep.
The Icing: Site Leading with Albert
(Someone during Rice Reflections remarked that if this was a triple-layered experience, Albert and I were kinda like the icing, which I thought was cute and ingenious. xD)
This boy... he is so awesome and the main reason I wanted to site lead rather than just be a participant. His passion and his enthusiasm were such an encouragement and his fast-thinking and previous leadership experience were crucial, essential pieces to making this trip run well. I learned so much about our different personalities and styles, perhaps made most evident in how he is an extrovert whereas I am an introvert. Our site leader reflections would find ourselves reflecting two different mindsets and approaches to an issue, but ultimately reaching the same conclusion. I definitely ill cherish the advice and role modelness that Albert has provided me.
I described what each layer of our triple-layered carrot cake (that seems more nutritious tan red velvet, haha) of ASB was like, but to put to word s how it felt to eat this deliciousness of a cake is beyond what I can write here (ask me for my blog if you want more, haha.) But I know it was worth the calories of time, money, and effort to ingest and I'm so thankful to be blessed to have this experience. Learning and growing were tow major things I did--learning about my insecurities, foibles, and strengths was illuminating. Growing, or at least trying to grow, from what I learned is a process I'm still undergoing, even days after (and probably it'll be for much longer after) this trip. Thank you to everyone for bearing with me.
Much love,
David Wang
Wednesday
7 March 2012
I am unfashionably late to the journal-writing party, as it's been 4 days since we stepped off our plane, bringing us back into IAH. But that doesn't mean I'm anywhere close to being done processing this experience--let's hope this entry helps facilitate my reflections.
As per usual, many people have asked me how my spring break/ASB went. I generally reflexively respond with, "Good," and then we both stand there, waiting for me to elaborate. The second word that always comes to mind that I say is "difficult." Our service didn't end when we had all piled into our Blue and Red Machines and were driving back to First Pres. As someone remarked during one Rice Reflections, our trip was triple-layered, which I'll explain below. So if this ASB trip were a three-layered cake (red velvet or carrot maybe? =) ), here's how I'd describe things:
The First (Base) Layer: KIPP: Impact
Oh, the KIPPsters! They were so adorable, and the teachers were so caring, and the atmosphere was so focused. My head still rings of "That's a demerit for posture," of "college hands" and of stomps, claps, snaps, and glow worms. Being only 5th and 6th graders, they weren't always elated to be in such a strict environment (heck, I'd certainly have trouble handling it even now), but they could tell their teachers cared about them ("They cared a bit too much," some said) and it was a constant inspiration to see how on top of things all the teachers were. And even when the students hated KIPP, I would ask about their parents' view of KIPP and all their parents unanimously loved KIPP... so they realized that transferring schools wasn't a likely possibility for them after all.
That's not to say that all the students wanted to transfer out of course! Some were really invested in their education and were incredibly self-motivated. My students that I tutored in math, J and N, would make remarkable bounds every day, and I was amazed at how much they understood by the end of the week. I know it wasn't all because of my tutoring, or really even partly due to my tutoring... they easily could have forgotten and given up any day they wanted to. And I would have been helpless to teach them much. So KIPP's model of realizing that it's not just that every child can learn, but that every child will learn certainly holds true. On the last day, J ended up getting a 20%, and N got an 80% on their quizzes. I awkwardly had to both congratulate N and comfort J as they sat next to each other and J put his hood up, buried his face in his arms, and silently cried. J and I worked through the problems afterwards, however, and his grit in wanting to learn and his determination to not give up was truly admirable. I can't say I bounce back from failures so easily--I usually don't like to look at what I did wrong on something until weeks later, or until I have to.
Having all three components work together--the teachers, the parents, and the students--that is something KIPP does well and it shows how much good can arise when those three are in tandem. To be able to be a source of encouragement, a brief help, or a temporary role model to them... man, what a privilege. They've definitely shown me how effective and necessary discipline and being strict is, and I hope I can lay down the law with love more in the future.
The Second Layer: Wheatley High School
I do hope they had a great experience and took a lot from the trip. The lack of sleep was obviously killer, and I know my expectations were just a little too unrealistic. They were mentees just as they were mentors, and I didn't appreciate that fact nor realize how much mentoring they needed. I learned some appropriate phrases like "finna" just in time for the KIPP students and was grateful for that. But I think learning to handle such eclectic experiences and expectations about the trip was what I primarily encountered. Handling frustration, disappointment, and annoyance--it was all there, and it all contributed to why "difficult"is the second word that comes to mind when I think back to this trip. Once again, however, what's more important is what they got from the trip, rather than what I got from them. I'm glad we took that tour to Jacksonville University, because even though it was long, it was an intriguing and pretty campus, a nice break, and I think Wheatley really enjoyed it. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if they had disappointments about me or frustrations about how the trip was going. That's life. Without a doubt, thought, the trip wouldn't have been the same at all without them.
The Third Layer: Rice University
What a great group. You guys were awesome and there were so many times that I was extremely grateful for each one of you being on this trip. Thanks for sticking with everything even when Albert and I were at the end of our ropes. Thank you for the encouragement and the belief that things would be fine, because I know the stress was probably evident many times on my face and through my body language. I hope we can continue our friendships as we are here back at Rice, and that w'll be able to still spur each other on. =) Our Rice Reflections were much-welcomed and much-needed. Thank you for being willing and eager to do them, at the cost of sleep.
The Icing: Site Leading with Albert
(Someone during Rice Reflections remarked that if this was a triple-layered experience, Albert and I were kinda like the icing, which I thought was cute and ingenious. xD)
This boy... he is so awesome and the main reason I wanted to site lead rather than just be a participant. His passion and his enthusiasm were such an encouragement and his fast-thinking and previous leadership experience were crucial, essential pieces to making this trip run well. I learned so much about our different personalities and styles, perhaps made most evident in how he is an extrovert whereas I am an introvert. Our site leader reflections would find ourselves reflecting two different mindsets and approaches to an issue, but ultimately reaching the same conclusion. I definitely ill cherish the advice and role modelness that Albert has provided me.
I described what each layer of our triple-layered carrot cake (that seems more nutritious tan red velvet, haha) of ASB was like, but to put to word s how it felt to eat this deliciousness of a cake is beyond what I can write here (ask me for my blog if you want more, haha.) But I know it was worth the calories of time, money, and effort to ingest and I'm so thankful to be blessed to have this experience. Learning and growing were tow major things I did--learning about my insecurities, foibles, and strengths was illuminating. Growing, or at least trying to grow, from what I learned is a process I'm still undergoing, even days after (and probably it'll be for much longer after) this trip. Thank you to everyone for bearing with me.
Much love,
David Wang
Thursday, May 10, 2012
¡Gracias!
I finished reading When Invisible Children Sing, and came across this book, ¡Gracias! on Amazon, which purportedly was by Henri Nouwen and his travels in Peru and Bolivia.
I was thrown off by the cartoonish front cover and was wondering if this was actually the same Henri Nouwen that I knew about. uhhh, surely this was someone else who happened to have the same name.
But nope. It is. My first encounter with his writing (as far as I was aware that I was reading his work) was an article on community that Jeff gave to me to read that I immensely enjoyed. Next was Bill Henson talking at HCC and providing some quotes from him. And finally it was in Washed and Waiting, where Wesley Hill found that Henri Nouwen also had same-sex attractions but wasn't open about them except to a few very close friends. Being a Catholic priest and having taken a vow of celibacy, he was also celibate. But he struggled intensely with loneliness and companionship nonetheless, and Wesley noted that reading his writing in light of his struggles with his attractions just gave an even deeper level to them.
So to see that he also wrote a book on his travels to Peru and Bolivia, where he was trying to discern if this was where God wanted him to live in the future, was like God was just further placing role models in my lap. Not to mention that in the end, although he didn't stay in Latin America, he did go to be the pastor of the L'Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto, Canada, working with and living with the adults with intellectual disabilities there.
oh hey. Similar much?
And interestingly, this book was published in 1983. The same year as the birth of my sister, my mentor, my staff member on my ASB this year, and one of my close gay friend's boyfriend. Hm.
Anyway, Nouwen lives in Cochabamba, Bolivia (oh hey, that's where I'm going...) for three months, taking language courses. Then he goes to Lima, Peru (oh hey, that's where Caleb's going for his Loewenstern, and hey, Jeff is going to Peru too [although not Lima] this summer) for three months to work at the Maryknoll Society there, which is committed to working with and helping the poor.
oh hey. There could hardly be a more perfect book for me after having read Dr. Huang's When Invisible Children Sing, with him being the Harvard med student raised in Texas having gone to A&M, and also Houston for his sister's cancer, working at two orphanages during the day (I realized recently that I'll be volunteering at two orphanages for a 7 - 8 hour weekday, one with children with special needs and one with children without special needs) and Bolivian street children at night.
I just find it kinda amazing that these things are falling into place more than I could have ever expected. I wonder what conclusions and thoughts Nouwen will encounter as he tries to see if this is where God wants him in the future. After all, I have the same questions of whether or not Bolivia/some Latin American country will be my home for a decade or two (or more) in the future.
Man, just blown away by God's provision.
A couple of things I've gleaned so far from the book to come.
"I ignored God’s whispers to come to find rest in His arms and fled instead to anything that would lessen the dull aching sense that life was too much: TV, sleep, friends, food.
This morning my self-medication had its full effect. I woke up with a hardened heart: dull and unfeeling; unresponsive even to His Word. I had wanted to stop the pain, and I succeeded in numbing my heart. A hollow victory indeed."
From Fabs.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Against perhaps my better judgment, I went to see him today. Yet I knew that if I didn't go, I'd just spend my hours wondering what could have happened had I gone to see him.
And after a while, I was just bored. Sure, he's nice to look at. When is he not nice to look at? But we'd already covered our similarities, I felt, and I somewhat scrambled to find topics to talk about. Or maybe I was tired of the small talk and ready to delve into meatier topics, but I just didn't know what I wanted to talk about. How would I know he would respond to deeper, probing questions anyway? He's kinda closed-off that way.
Maybe it was always less about him, and more about what he represented. And what does he represent? The attractive, charming guys of my world?
Maybe it was about my mindset in things. I sought to figure him out, to peel away his layers and see what core lay underneath. But you can't just expect or demand that everyone (or rather, the people you want to get to know) opens up to you.
Maybe it was further disappointment that I was pretty sure he wasn't like me. And if he were? Did I just want support, or did I want a boyfriend?
I can never have him. I can never have a guy like him. These thoughts pounded into my head Saturday as I sat on the concrete circle in the middle of the fields by the Rec center.
and somehow that's supposed to be ok. Well, of course. God has given me everything in the person of Jesus. I harden my heart and I don't let myself believe that.
I need to tell myself that God has someone better out there for me. Or whether or not there's someone, at least He always has Someone here for me.
I find this absolutely ridiculous. 6.5 weeks and nothing has changed too much with my feelings. I told him I came to see him again, and he laughed, and was like, "Oh, thanks." as if I were joking. I didn't tell him I was serious.
Maybe that's why it is more about what he represents. I feel as if normal people don't sustain infatuations over a period of a month and a half on the basis of seeing the person about 5 times in those 6 weeks and having a conversation or even just saying "hi" to them three out of those five times. There must be some deeper psychological nonacceptance of my situation that causes me to pine after him and lament about him to my friends.
Maybe it's just trying to not let go of something I know I can't have, but I still want anyway. Or rather, I don't actually know I can't have this, and by that I mean I don't internalize it and understand it--instead, I simply seek and want what in the back of my head I know is not good for me, but I don't want to believe what's in the back of my head.
I watched Hieu Tran's short films, A Hundred and Eleven and Scripts, and they had that WongFu Asian-American, youtube video feel. The difference was that they had adorable characters in same-sex relationships and I enjoyed watching them in this sort of guilty pleasure, sort of true respect way. Maybe it's been those videos and the few dozens of times I've played that Jason Chen cover of "It Girl" that have gotten to me.
All I have in this post is a bunch of maybes. I think to an extent, it's everything I've written out. I've said maybe because I can't know for sure.
I have nothing to wrap this post up with, except tiredness. So bundle up, post.
Actually, strangely, hope rises in my heart again... now when I least expect it. Perhaps this is the meaning of having an outlet for one's emotions... being able to analyze them or at least see them in a way that is separate from oneself but still a part of one's being. I can externally see that they aren't everything that I am, and so I can deal with them as being just a part of who I am right now, knowing how quickly things may change. Just getting things out there sometimes is enough to let me retreat and go back to living my life normally.
And after a while, I was just bored. Sure, he's nice to look at. When is he not nice to look at? But we'd already covered our similarities, I felt, and I somewhat scrambled to find topics to talk about. Or maybe I was tired of the small talk and ready to delve into meatier topics, but I just didn't know what I wanted to talk about. How would I know he would respond to deeper, probing questions anyway? He's kinda closed-off that way.
Maybe it was always less about him, and more about what he represented. And what does he represent? The attractive, charming guys of my world?
Maybe it was about my mindset in things. I sought to figure him out, to peel away his layers and see what core lay underneath. But you can't just expect or demand that everyone (or rather, the people you want to get to know) opens up to you.
Maybe it was further disappointment that I was pretty sure he wasn't like me. And if he were? Did I just want support, or did I want a boyfriend?
I can never have him. I can never have a guy like him. These thoughts pounded into my head Saturday as I sat on the concrete circle in the middle of the fields by the Rec center.
and somehow that's supposed to be ok. Well, of course. God has given me everything in the person of Jesus. I harden my heart and I don't let myself believe that.
I need to tell myself that God has someone better out there for me. Or whether or not there's someone, at least He always has Someone here for me.
I find this absolutely ridiculous. 6.5 weeks and nothing has changed too much with my feelings. I told him I came to see him again, and he laughed, and was like, "Oh, thanks." as if I were joking. I didn't tell him I was serious.
Maybe that's why it is more about what he represents. I feel as if normal people don't sustain infatuations over a period of a month and a half on the basis of seeing the person about 5 times in those 6 weeks and having a conversation or even just saying "hi" to them three out of those five times. There must be some deeper psychological nonacceptance of my situation that causes me to pine after him and lament about him to my friends.
Maybe it's just trying to not let go of something I know I can't have, but I still want anyway. Or rather, I don't actually know I can't have this, and by that I mean I don't internalize it and understand it--instead, I simply seek and want what in the back of my head I know is not good for me, but I don't want to believe what's in the back of my head.
I watched Hieu Tran's short films, A Hundred and Eleven and Scripts, and they had that WongFu Asian-American, youtube video feel. The difference was that they had adorable characters in same-sex relationships and I enjoyed watching them in this sort of guilty pleasure, sort of true respect way. Maybe it's been those videos and the few dozens of times I've played that Jason Chen cover of "It Girl" that have gotten to me.
All I have in this post is a bunch of maybes. I think to an extent, it's everything I've written out. I've said maybe because I can't know for sure.
I have nothing to wrap this post up with, except tiredness. So bundle up, post.
Actually, strangely, hope rises in my heart again... now when I least expect it. Perhaps this is the meaning of having an outlet for one's emotions... being able to analyze them or at least see them in a way that is separate from oneself but still a part of one's being. I can externally see that they aren't everything that I am, and so I can deal with them as being just a part of who I am right now, knowing how quickly things may change. Just getting things out there sometimes is enough to let me retreat and go back to living my life normally.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Thomas Merton's Prayer
I was volunteering at Bering-Omega (an HIV/AIDS hospice) a couple months ago, and one of the residents had this prayer printed on a piece of paper, taped to a wall. It's a powerful and appropriate prayer for wherever we are in life:
"My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone."
Thomas Merton
Thoughts in Solitude
Thoughts in Solitude
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