Besos and Tortillas

I got a kiss. I got a kiss, hey hey hey hey. I’ve gone to Emanuel church about four times now. Twice since I’ve been back. Both times, I’ve sat next to a couple with a little boy about 8 years old. I still don’t know his name. He’s been watching my every move. Tonight at church, I poked him in the stomach when he raised his hands to stretch. He first smiled, and then he frowned. Maybe I went too far, I thought. But then, after the service (the kids leave during the middle), he came up to me and said adios. I leaned down and said adios back and he wrapped his hands around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. Two words: church rocks.

I’m turning Honduran. On the way to church today, I wore high heels. Not a smart idea to wear high heels…EVER, but especially to walk a far distance on rocky roads. I don’t know how these women do it. That’s all they ever wear. Next time, I’ll wear my crocs there and throw the tacones on when the church is in view.

Eva did indeed teach me how to make tortillas. It’s rather easy, and although my circles aren’t perfect, they turned out edible! I cooked her dinner that night, and had extras so I gave them to Silvio. I don’t know if they just don’t want to insult me, but they really liked my cooking. Maybe it’s in my blood. Maybe it’s in the name, haha. Cooking is my new favorite pastime. For me, it’s an art. I never really know what I’m doing, but thank goodness, most times the food turns out asi asi is when I’m not cooking for anyone else. My PC friend enjoyed my cooking too, but I think it’s because he normally eats beans and rice…all the time.

I’m heading to Nicaragua next week to visit some friends I haven’t seen in a while. I’m excited about being there, but not so excited about the trip. I’m afraid my camera and mp3 player won’t come with me, they’ll be safer here. Because all the roads are so curvy, it’s hard to read on the bus rides. Maybe I’ll find some more kissing children.

Let faith support us where reason fails, and we shall think because we believe, not in order that we may believe.
-A. W. Tozer

Spit

I can spit farther than Bill.
I'm proud of it.

Blah Blah Blah

my writing here is crappy...sorry:

The rainy season has brought more creatures into my apartment. I’ve been back less than a week, and I’ve seen about 20 of these little cocoon-like things hanging in random places on my walls. Tonight, I looked and realized there is a little worm-like guy inside of there. I think grown up, it’s a moth-like guy. But this ain’t the place to grow up.

Hydrocortisone cream is my new best friend. The ants are my skin’s new best friend. Grrr.

School starts for real around the end of August, but right now we are in the middle of summer school. I started teaching Math to 2nd graders. I’m not sure who thought that would be a good idea, but I’m actually enjoying it.

My friend from college came up and visited me for a bit. It was rather weird having someone from college life in the midst of Honduras life, but it was great to hang out with him. We went to the movie theatre here which costs all of 30 Lempiras, which is less than $2, and traveled far too long on busses to see a 400m waterfall. Bill swears that waterfall is not as tall as the guide book says it is. I’m not good with numbers or distances, but it was a pretty big waterfall. He’s been in Nicaragua in the Peace Corps for almost a year now, and after hearing his stories about how he lives, it made me realize just how blessed I am. I have my own apartment, constant running water, no bed bugs, and I shower everyday. I also have four grocery stores to choose from, and I can buy just about any kind of basic American candy.

My new roommate moves in tomorrow. We’ll have bunk beds in the room that serves as a living room and a bedroom. The apartment is really meant for one person, but only in America does one person live in a one-bedroom apartment. I mean, this is Honduras for Columbus’ sake. Speaking of him, the name Honduras literally means depths. Columbus named the country this for its deep waters off the Atlantic shore. A little FYI for you geeky folk.

I’m supposed to learn how to make tortillas soon from my neighbor, Eva. Hmm, I’ll let you know if they are edible when I finish.

Four

I'm in the states for about four more days. I try rather hard not to think about how I'll be gone for a year. I'm not very good at committing to things. Amazingly enough, I lasted at my last job (during college) for that long. I didn't think I'd make it. I've wanted to live in another country for quite some time now, but as the day approaches, I feel anxiety, fear, and excitement all in one. I think I was pretty lucky because I had a few months to see if things worked out for me down there in Sigua. And because I lived in Nica before, Sigua seems so developed to me. As I've written in my previous posts, I have fallen in love with the kids I teach down there. There's not too much to complain about. But will the lovey-dovey stage quickly fall apart as I return and my mind plays the "oh my gosh I'm here for THAT long" game?

I've always lived a life of comfort, and even though folks are always amazed at how I can travel in some of the conditions I've traveled in, the thought process was always, "Okay only four more days of this, or only one more day on the river with the crocs." This time, it will be like, "Okay only 360 more days." I hope my mind doesn't revert to that mentality. I pray I can just enjoy the time there and learn as much as possible from my students, from my environment, from my fellow human beings.

I really am looking foward to new adventures, both in and out of the classroom. But a whole year of no targets, walmarts, chic-filas and rootbeer? It's amazing how quickly life seems to change. It's as though once college was over, all this adult-like thinking took charge. Even the things I thought would always stay in that "idealistic state" are starting to fall to the ground of reality. Falling in love is no longer just what happens. I suddenly have to look at the logistics of a future mate: education, financial stability, if he would ever consider living outside the US, if his dreams somewhat line up with mine, if his parents could handle me and my italian- ness (including the crazy italian family--madonna mia!). And in the category of careers, it's no longer just teaching for a year in Central America. I suddenly have to prove to others that this is a stepping stone to a better career. And I must list what skills I will gain from this experience that will help me move up in the ladder of success. Do I plan to stay for one year or five?

Not that life was ever not complicated (yes, double negatives and I'm an English major :-P), but suddenly it seems all the previous complications were so much smaller. And where does God fit into all this? I used to think if there were two paths in front of me one was definitely from God, the other wasn't. And maybe like those "elect"-like thinkers, that is true, and we just always pick the right one. I think God can be found, well, anywhere you go...no matter what happens to you. What would life be like if I was living in the states working at a newspaper writing the cops and courts beat. I wouldn't be learning the same exact things I am about life, love, and God, but I'd be learning about those things nonetheless. I certainly prefer to be teaching PE (which usually means me playing soccer with my 11 year olds) to sitting at a cubicle typing up a story that means nothing to me. But maybe there will come a time when I have to, as they say in Honduras, "Hacele huevos." (Suck it up, pal) Maybe I will have to follow my head instead of my heart, at least to get to a point where I can fund the following of my heart. $250/mth might not even be a rung on that ladder of success. But maybe success isn't a ladder at all. If only one was paid by how many people he made smile that day. In my idealistic world that I've held onto for so long--and will continue to as long as I can--I am rich with a currency that has no monetary value. But there are too many ladders. Too many economies of monetary blah blah blahs.

Can't I be four again?

america

This is what America is good for. Icecream and candy at midnight!

bare 'em proudly

I think there should be a national barefeet day. April would probably be the best time to have it because the asphalt wouldn't be too hot for the majority of Americans. Maybe places like Arizona and Texas could celebrate the day in December or something. But I think that everyone should have to follow the guidelines. If anyone is seen wearing shoes, they will be fined $50 and all that money would go to a charity like the Paraplegia Foundation (www.paraplegicindia.org) or something of the sort. So even the big wigs like Donald Trump and George W would have to go to work that day without shoes on. I mean, we have probably some of the cleanest streets in the world, and the nicest feet because they are always covered or pedicured or (hopefully) daily washed. Why not enjoy those clean streets in a way we never have before. I tell you, it's too bad I don't run the world.


So I cut my hair recently. It hasn't been short in about two years. It hasn't been this short ever. The man who cut my hair had really long fingernails. I think someone should give me a cookie for allowing a man with long fingernails to touch my hair for about an hour. I think that's the most disgusting thing (quite possibly in the whole world). A man should not have longer fingernails than a woman. Yeck! Anyways, when he first cut it, he had the front part coming down over my forehead. I've never had bangs before and now I know why. I completely and totally look like a boy. Thank God my parents never thought bangs would be a good idea for me. I had enough troubles with my monstrous glasses that engulfed my face. (I've never found a better use for the word engulfed, EVER, b/c that is what they really did!) No worries though, when I style my hair, unlike nasty long fingernail guy, I dont have bangs.

Check out www.locksoflove.org if you have 10 or more inches of hair that you dont know what to do with.

The Fighter

A man goes off to war. This isn't his first time. He was trained to fight. He feels comradery with his fellow soldiers. He fights for himself, for his country, for his family. He suffers. Some days he is scared. Some days he feels powerful. The King calls him back home for a week of vacation time. The man comes home (because if a King tells you to do something, you do it). The King says eat this good food, drink this great wine, go and sleep near the warmth of your wife. But he refuses the comfort of a warm bed, a roof over his head, a beautiful wife to lie next to. Instead he sleeps outside.

Every believer must fight if he wants to maintain the rights to believe. In my life, there have been quite a few of those belief fights that have lasted one or two rounds, maybe three. But a boxing match does not compare to a battle, and one battle doesn't compare to a war. There are levels of fighting, and I think we all must pass through each type at one point or another.

The hardest battle any believer must face is one in which his words, his so-called beliefs line up with his actions. In the Christian lifestyle, there are some actions that may seem very easy to match up. But in the right environment, with the right amount of peer pressure or loneliness, what used to be a definitive black and white issue transforms into a battle one is unconsciously fighting. When the shit hits the fan, unconciousness disappears and he must then decide if he will continue to act in a manner that does not match his beliefs, or turn around and do as the biblia says and repent. I always wanted to be remembered as someone who stood up for what she believes in. But this believing gig isn't getting any easier. If it was, though, it'd probably be a sign of a warm bed when where I should be sleeping involves a trench and a sleeping bag.