God, I am tedious.

What type of sick, twisted narcissist re-reads her own blog?

This one.

Sorry. I have a few blogs coming up about current events. Please bear with me: existential crises are best served blog.


I have never liked things that I can't control - I found the idea of Santa disturbing from day one. A bearded stranger bearing unmarked packages? When did I approve this? But my mother (the ultimate control junkie) sympathized with me, as I was constantly encountering something that I felt was unfair. I've learned to cope, finding small comforts in knitting, an acerbic tongue, and VH1 series. I still feel like someone missed a few lines in theHTML code of life. I encounter more error messages than I'd like- I'm still pushing Santa back up the chimney everyday. I find pockets of patience, little ways to feel like I have some say in my own destiny.

But sometimes I run out of patience and I find the human condition completely offensive and nonsensical. It can make a girl feel a whole lot like this:




Leaving out all the terrible things that people have to deal with: hunger, poverty, oppression, prejudice, sickness, just being a normal old person is pretty much the hardest thing I can imagine. What is more out of your control than being alive. It's easy to feel trapped, but who would ever want to leave it?

So we're here. Now what?

It's kind of a lonely business being a person. So we find people to help us forget that we are lonely. We care about them. We end up caring about a sizable number of people over a lifetime. And very few of those people stay with us, for whatever reason. Falling in love is particularly tricky. You are flooded with this incredible feeling - a body high that makes us entirely sure that we could never be alone now. And we enter into this mutual gushyness with a mutual understanding that it probably won't last. One or both will be hurt and someday you will just be an entry in the other's journal- an anecdote to tell, another name to remember. Again, when did I approve of this? It doesn't seem fair at all that we end up loving way more people than can ever love us back?

Here's my big problem: I want to love everyone all the time. I don't like this business of people passing through. I want to have my first grade crush, my next door neighbor, my roommate, the band,the rabbi, my family, and everyone around me so nothing changes. No one is lost or forgotten. I get attached to people and places -probably more than makes sense and I don't know how to manage holding onto everyone.

That's scary. Every once in awhile a little bit of light reaches my black,communist soul and I think " Fuck. I have a lot to lose. And chances are I'll lose most of it eventually. One day I will definitely lose all of it." If there is one terribly morbid thing I know - no matter what you believe - we all have to face death by ourselves. Someone much nicer than me said, " Well doesn't that make you appreciate things/people/feelings more?" Frankly, not most days. It makes me want to move to Moscow and hide. Maybe start making my own vodka. Becoming a social recluse sometimes seems easier than the constant inevitably drifting. At least I could maybe get a historical site out of the deal " the hermit of helinski" I like it.

These ideas don't have a big resolution because it still makes me sad almost everyday. My mom assured me, " I was alone for a long time. Yes, it is easier, but it is definitely not better." I try to make sure I tell and show people that I love them - I love all of whoever you are and I always will. No matter how much you hurt me or forget me, I will still love to hear how you are doing years from now. Other people's lives are important to me, so I don't really have a choice to withdraw. If I am clingy, its because I know you're going to leave me. If I'm distant, I'm scared about how hard that will be. Yes, sometimes I feel stuck in this weird wheel that crunches together loving and leaving. But maybe that's part of loving someone - realizing that we're all on our lonely way to somewhere or someone else. The company in the meantime is just about the best you could ask for.

The Not-At-All Odd Couple

The two people (under 30) that I admire the most happen to be madly, deeply, sensibly, and understandbly in love with each other. I love them. I love their relationship. I love how they treat people both individually and together. I love seeing both of them happy. Whether they know it or not they are my examples and the people I look to for most of the big things, ideas, and concepts in my life. One of them I was destined/fated/doomed to know and love and the other I met because of the good judgement of the other and it just so happens I love him almost as much as I love her. Julie and Jimmy, this one is for you.

I figure I’ll start with why and how I like each of you separately and then go into why you both together has just a synergistical effect on the whole thing.

Julie is someone who has mystified me from birth. Quiet, either by choice or because of the pacifier in her mouth, you sat back and watched while I boradcasted my every feeling, thought, and worry to the rest of the world. I thought she was strange, mainly because I didn’t know how to relate to her. As we got older, I resented the fact that we shared a room and that you seemed to be so much more together and competent than I was- an awkward, insecure, impulsive geek. I tell pretty much everyone that I cannot really account for Julie’s presence between 1999 -2005. She was floating off in Julie-land -a place none of us were allowed. We never fought, but we both understood ( i hope) that we had to settle into our own orbits for a little bit.

Now that we are older, I still find myself rather in awe of Julie - who seems to have all the dedication and levelheadedness that I lack. I’m glad our relationship has progressed as it has, because I was not a very likable person up until very recently and I have always felt like I had to earn her respect. I envy and admire how much she thinks for herself and knows so clearly what she feels, thinks, and wants. She is able to filter through all the bullshit that comes her way and find the little nugget of relevance. Julie is much more kind and honest with people( including our parents) than I have the courage to be on a daily basis. Julie-land still exists and I’m proud to say I know a little more about it lately. She can keep a secret better than anyone else.We’re really not as bad of sisters as we make ourselves out to be and if I met Julie as someone other than my sister, she is really someone I would want to be my friend. Her dedication to her causes and what she thinks is right inspires me as I eke out my own little humanitarian path. People take Julie seriously, but she has some inspired moments of humor and goofiness that I like equally as much.

And Julie has brought me one of the best friends anyone could ever hope for. I remember the first time Jimmy and I acknowledged each other’s presence. We were in that weird front room of Lourdes waiting for rides. Jimmy pointed to me and looked away quickly, whispering something hurriedly to Jay. I was suspicious, but he was already in the beginning stages of things with Julie and didn’t want to make a bad impression on me with any after school shenanigans. Jimmy has been Julie’s boyfriend for almost 5 years and he is honestly one of the most intelligent, funny, talented,wise, and principled people I have ever met -he could make Nelson Mandela look like Pauly D. Something about Jimmy is literary - he is almost too much of a wonderful anomaly to have been created by accident. He seems to walk through life, which hasn’t always been kind to him, with the poise of a main character. I am convinced that Jimmy knows something we don’t- he sees things differently, expresses them differently, and just loves whatever he does with every inch of himself. I am on a constant quest to keep Jimmy’s respect - he did buy me my first light up, action noise lightsabers after all. I know that I can call Jimmy at anytime with any problem ( he fielded my call at 1am when I was stranded and lost at JFK) and he will advise me perfectly and effortlessly. Watching him embrace my family and vice versa has been beautiful to watch over the past few years.

Julie and Jimmy make each other happy. Their relationship is “old love” - there are no illusions, but they believe in themselves just as fiercely as they believe in everything else . Sometimes I think I avoided relationships for so long because I couldn’t hope to measure up to what they have. They have taught me what a functional relationship is and what mutual respect looks like. I want them to make each other happy for as long as they can and hopefully I get to be around for some of it. I hope you get to make each other tea and play funny songs on the guitar together for a long time. I am so supremely grateful for each of you and for what you have together. Don’t let the big world get you- everything you have and everything you are is worth fighting for.

Yes, but no not really

I think that there are two of all of us. Not in the “be reunited on Oprah 40 years later” two of us, but two versions of ourselves. There is the self that we button up every morning – we wake up and remember the person that we are out there. Oh yeah, I’m ---- and I am a functioning member of society. I have classes and a job and responsibilities and people who I care about and who care about me. I mean something to someone and my presence makes things easier for other people. I don’t have problems or insecurities, or at least none important enough to warrant any time or attention – after all I have many things to do. Or at least that’s how it generally goes for me. I wake up and put myself together like so many Lincoln Logs, until I become the overcommitted, loud, frizzy haired person that stomps around Poughkeepsie. I don’t really think it’s just me either – I think lots of people wake up every day, look in the mirror, and say “ I’m a lawyer/mother/student/singer/etc. and I am supposed to do XYZ.” How could anyone be expected to leave the warm grooves of their bed if there was no role to fill?

The other self is elusive and not as much fun. This self was the weird kid in your orientation group that you prayed wouldn’t be your roommate. This self has been broken up with, has said something stupid, feels weird about its relationship with its parents, doesn’t know what to do with its life, is not really sure if/why anyone likes it, is scared of failing, has a secret, is dissatisfied but doesn’t know why. I think this is the self we kinda fall asleep with. We peel off our superhero spandex (not very breathable) and reenter our much less svelte civilian skin. This self doesn’t have the energy to be anyone in particular –or to do anything really but eat and wonder when things get easier.

We are ashamed of this second self – convinced that we are the only one with an overweight, unemployed, uninteresting, uncharming being floating under our put together shell. We fight it off, even as it bubbles up, asking for attention and making you second guess yourself.
I, characteristically, swing between both extremes. ( I think) I am either an untouchable force of nature or someone on a desperate search to relate and connect, so I can feel less solitary. You either get all of my thoughts , or none at all. A few people have seen the gray area, and I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.

I find my stance regrettably wishy washy. I can see the courage in committing fully to each self. Either you’re going to talk about it or you’re not. I admire those who are able to own up to their inherent instability. I really can’t - both options seem scary to me. Pretending that you have it all wrapped up is just as tiring as remembering that you don’t.

I’d like to say stop being so hard on yourself to all 6 of you reading. But I know if you are a friend of mine, that probably sounds like the tallest task on the planet. Try your best to be comforted by the fact that most people walk around with a little bit of “stuff” and that people will still love you even if you let your second self show. And doesn't that make you want to love them that much more?? Know that everyone deserves to be happy and that constantly making sure that other people are happy won’t keep YOU happy forever. There is something out that only you can/ need to do and that will make you and everyone else happy. Nifty, right?

This is kinda emo and I apologize. It was a thought sorter-outer for me and hopefully one of you bored internet- lurkers will find it mildly valuable.

We've got nothing left.

I am writing to you on what has unexpectedly become my last night in San Jose. I was not able to post my last entry before I left for the weekend, but if you read it, you will see that I have been trying against all of my gut instincts to make this work and see the sunny side of every terrible situation that has been thrown at me thus far. I was rallying. I was going to make this work. I had done more difficult things right? And a long weekend at the Arenal Volcano was going to be the perfect remedy.
Grace, 2 other Máximo girls, and myself were scheduled to take the 615am bus out of San Jose. We left the Rojas residence at 5am and took a taxi over. The bus costs and unbelievable $4 for a 4 hour ride. We got on the bus almost without incident, but the bus smelled kinda rancid and travelling with your bags in your lap ( which was sternly advised) was extremely uncomfortable. Grace was a little worried about the whole ordeal since she gets severe motion sickness, so I was trying to be calm and soothing, which is not usually in my nature.
The whole bus settled in and almost everyone was asleep. I was in an anxious half-sleep at about 7am when our bus driver slammed on the breaks ( we were on a highway going about 70). We skid for 4 or 5 seconds before we hit a car. The front of the bus was completely crunched and the whole bus was covered in glass. The car we hit was completely flattened. I heard the people inside get hit, moan, and die. People hopped out from cars and roadside stands to see what happened – as soon as they peeked into the car, their faces fell. No rescue attempt was made- a family of 5 was dead at impact. Elisabeth and I were ok physically, but Grace hit her head pretty badly and Meredith has what appears to be a broken nose.
My mind was blank except for the neon flashing thoughts saying “you need to get off this bus in case something explodes.” So there we were. 60 of us – ranging from 8 months to 80 standing on the side of a Costa Rican highway nursing bloody noses and waiting for the next direction. Grace and I looked at each other and we realized we were almost completely alone. We had no one to call and no way to call them. We seemed eons away from our families and friends, who had no idea that we were ok or that we were even on the road. I knew instantly that I wanted to go home as soon as possible and Grace agreed. What were we doing here? We had felt unsafe and isolated from the first minute we arrived and I couldn’t even say that I felt I was doing meaningful work.
They unceremoniously pulled up a second bus and told us to continue on to La Fortuna. We had to endure 3 hours more, as the bus wound around hilly coffee plantations, praying and bracing ourselves around each turn. I was shaky and sick to my stomach and trying to remember all the people I hadn’t said I love you to lately.
I have never been that close to death before. Silently, five stories ended for good that day. There was no negotiation, no challenging it, there wasn’t even time for anyone to get used to the idea. 5 futures, 5 pasts, 5 sets of dreams, 5 people with connections to countless others. The earth didn’t split open; most people didn’t even stop their car. The first thing the bus driver did was to make sure he collected his money pouch. For anyone who knew anyone in that car, Saturday was the last day of their old lives. I found myself praying, which hasn’t genuinely happened in a long time. It’s very cliché to reach out to “God” at our most mortal moments, but at the time, he does seem like the most logical option, especially to a 20 year old, for whom death is about as relevant as water aerobics and Ross Perot.
To really know for the first time that it could all end that quickly made me feel two opposite ways. My first reaction was to grasp for the people I love and hold them close. I want to snuggle up to them and remember exactly how their voices sound. My second reaction was that I was happy I was out experiencing things. No one has given me a free pass from fate. It could easily have been me and my friends in that car and Grace and I (sitting in the front seats) could have been seriously hurt and our bus was inches away from going into a ditch. Nowhere is it written that I get any certain amount of time here – no matter how entitled we feel to a long life. I can’t make my life any longer than it will be, but I can make it as full as I want to and I have done a pretty good job of chasing life around and seeing what I can make of it. I don’t have to fly half way around the world every week to make it full, but once and a while that’s a part of it.
It makes me want to crack myself open and let my dreams and idea and loves splatter all over this world. How else will anyone know they ever existed? That I existed?
I’m really shaken up and this entry is a little hokey, and I hope you will forgive me. I have more to tell and more to reflect, but I am sick of thinking about the accident and wanted to set it loose in the blogosphere.
If you are reading, expect a long, huge hug in the next 48 hours.
Pura vida,
Emily

Dile a Grace que....

WOW. There have been no words
So I am sorry I haven’t blogged in a while- Grace and I are doing our best to keep it togerther. I am still not sure all of this is actually happening. I have never been on a weirder and more disorganized trip in my entire life.
I have been all sorts of emotional this week- I have been happy, excited, scared, confused, homesick, brave, lonely, useless, exhausted,centered, and everything in between. I’m sure there are a few lessons and self reflection moments in there – and I am working on digging those out. I am trying to be mature and be brave and be present. I can’t help but make comparisons to Spain and even Mexico and this is VERY different. Very,very different. I was going to break it down by days but that is overwhelming for both you and I.
The Good
My host family continues to be really nice. Today I made an effort to talk to them more and spend time with Jennifer, just talking about movies and languages and fun life stuff. The son Ethan has decided I’m alright. He’s 7 so he is very particular. He came into my room last night and played on my laptop and then talked to me about his dog that died. We bonded about that and basketball. He has a good sense of humor for a 7 year old and he watches out for me ( Hey Emily- don’t pet the cat’s tail – she gets mad.) Word.
I had a cool moment with one of the kid’s moms at the volunteer site today. She came in and asked if anyone spoke Spanish. She wanted to make sure her daughter got back home in time for school and she was going to take some of the other volunteers to the airport on Sunday. I told her I did and her face immediately lit up. I translated for her and then she told me more about herself and asked if I could teach her English. We parted and she gave me a big hug. Sometimes, speaking Spanish feels like a super power. I have never been more proud of anything in my life than I am of speaking Spanish. Learning this language and traveling as I have has been the most important and rewarding thing I have ever done. This language and the people who speak it have given me and taught me so much –things that cannot be translated. My pride is coupled with a sense of humility and awe for this culture that I will never fully discover.
I have bonded with Grace in a whole new way. We have always been friends- very good friends, but there is something about traveling together, living together, being completely terrified together, and consuming enough rice to tip all of Confucius’s scales that makes you friends for life. We have decided that if we don’t end up getting married, we will at least be in each other’s weddings. She is brave when I am not ( we make sure no one has a breakdown at the same time) and is always 100% honest with me ( “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. Really.”). We are still managing to laugh a lot – nervously or otherwise. I am so thankful that we are here together – she is my outlet for Sylvia, she packed all of the items I forgot, and we may have turned the small outdoor room that separates us into a Michael Buble cabaret. If Grace was not here, I would be in the fetal position.

The Bad
I am very very unhappy with my volunteer placement. I think I wrote it in my last blog but we are renovating and expanding a community center in a poor suburb of San Jose – La europa . It is a tin building and several children come by to play and learn English everyday. Sounds great right? In theory it is. However, this community center involves absolutely no one from the community. Community members were not consulted as to what they would like it to include, they are not participating in the renovations, they don’t even feel comfortable coming by to check it out and ask questions. Participating made me feel like a conquistador. I am not convinced that everything we do is by nature better than what they already have. Us being American does not mean we know anything more about being happy and living a good life than they do. You can raise a good family in a tin shack just as easily as you can in a Mc Mansion. We are not doing Costa Rica a favor by being here, they are generously welcoming us and that is the attitude that is surrounding this project. It is too easy to focus on the physical details of something and forget about the people that inhabit it.
There is also no sense of continuity here. In all of the volunteer placements, people just flow in and out. Here for a week or two and then gone. The communities we serve feel this lack of permanence and investment and it affects their participation. There are no goals we must reach, no progress reports, no one is checking up on us. While it is nice to be trusted, it is important for all projects to have a direction – and that is not the case here. The result is complacency. For the most part, there has been nothing for me to do at my site- I spend a lot of time standing around and end up playing with the kids- which is fine and rewarding in its own way, but I feel superfluous .I also find it offensive that some sites have no Spanish speakers. Lest I say again WE ARE VISITORS.PEOPLE SPEAK SPANISH HERE. For all the fuss we make about ATMs and advertisements being in Spanish- you would expect there to be an interest in learning the language. Also for those teaching English, you can relate to your students so much more if you are learning a language too. You teach them, they teach you, and it’s beautiful.
The company coordinating us is disorganized, hid a lot of information from us, and has little interest in getting to know its volunteers. They sent us to work one day on the bus with a bag of machetes to cut the grass. Questionable idea, party of one. Employees rarely visit the work sites and don’t really seem to oconcerned with what’s going on. I feel deceived, lonely, and like a bad ambassador for the US.
I am trying to take this for what it is. I am glad I get to see Costa Rica and the ticos and ticas have been wonderful to me so far. I sound angry and bitter in this post, which is the exact opposite of how I wanted to feel, but I kinda am . I hate feeling like a lip service volunteer – I was hoping to come home at the end of the day feeling absolutely empty, having left it all out there. After a very cerebral semester, I was also looking forward to getting my hands dirty and using my major muscle groups. Every morning I wake up and try to reframe this experience in a positive light and I am trying to make each interaction and conversation meaningful and to give each person my full attention and care.
If anything can save this experience, it will be people, who continue to surprise and amaze me with their joy and complexity. Whether its Grace, my mom, Ethan the host son, a hug from a child at the community center, the world has sent me a million ways to stay connected to the ideas that I am clumsily trying to build my twisted life around

12 days until I go home . And I miss you all VERY VERY much.

Day 2 – A quick post on food

Travel is primarily about food for me. I can’t relax until I know where/when my next meal will be and I am usually pulsing with excitement to see what will show up on my plate. Spain, as almost everyone who I have ever spoken with knows, was SUBLIME food wise. Paquita served up masterpieces day after day –I will never understand how she did it in that tiny kitchen. So I expected ( hoped would probably be more appropriate) that Costa Rican cuisine would be similar – ie emphasis on meats, cheeses, and fresh fruits. Some elements are similar or even better – Costa Rican coffee is other worldly. There are lots of hornazos where you can buy all sorts of stuffed pastries and my favorite Funciona juices are all over the place. However, Paquita’s Protein Palace has been replaced entirely by Costa Rican Carb-apalooza.
SO MUCH BEIGE FOOD (all delicious fyi)
Dinner last night- Spaghetti
Breakfast – 3 pieces of toast, fruit, and coffee
Lunch – Picadillo de Papas (potatoes, herbs and sauce on a tortilla) and Rice
Dinner : Picadillo de Papas, Rice, and a thin bean soup.
Breakfast: Arenques? Very similar to pancakes/panquequess/panclocks
Costa Rica is not for those on Atkins, South Beach, or any diet that does not require lots of complex sugars. I would suggest it for runners looking to carb up. Costa Rica is still a developing country and our family lives on moderate means, so I understand that meat is expensive. I was living in meat territory in Spain ( all of the best pork comes from Castilla y Leon) so meat was abundant and cheap. It isn’t really fair or accurate to compare the two countries – they each have their own independent history and customs and for all intents and purposes have little to do with each other. Like I said, it is all really really good and pretty typical/regional, but not what I expected at all.
I am a little homesick – I miss my friends and family and food. I was beginning to reestablish a few roots at home and that was scary/exciting/very comforting. I was also caught in a huge vortex of fun, hopping from concerts, to dinners, to field trips, to my lovely job, to al fresco evenings. I was/am a lucky girl. My mother just looked at me in disbelief most days and asked when I was planning on sleeping. While I hope the fun vortex is still spinning when I get back, it’s ok to take a break and remember that some people are just happy to wake up every day in a warm bed.
Tomorrow I will have posts and pictures about my first real (eye opening) day at work.
Love always,
Emily

Day 2 – It’s Easy Being Average

One of my favorite mentors/friends/professors once told me that I was “malleable”and that I could slip from one culture to the next without too much difficulty. It is one of the biggest compliments I have ever received, especially coming from someone who has lived all over the world and basically is who I’d like to be when I grow up. In my limited experience, I have to agree with her. I don’t have as much trouble coming into a culture as I do reacclimating to my own. A few general strategies come in handy:
1) Eat everything (especially in Hispanic countries) – People are more patient with your other short-comings if you clean your plate. It’s an exchange of trust, a sign of appreciation, and an admission that you are the visitor. Unless you are allergic, I would highly recommend trying that unidentified murky,purple beverage. You will probably like it and your hosts will appreciate the attempt.
2) Laugh a lot especially at yourself–Smiling and laughing have gotten me out of a lot of really awkward situations ( see Spain post about semen). Like eating, it’s universal and a sign that you are humble. And staying in a stranger’s house and not speaking the language is funny in a lot of ways. Paquita and I had a few go to jokes that we always went back to if things got quiet – los freakquis, George Bush and Tony Blair spooning, drunk people, etc.
3) Ask permission and ask to help – The first few days, I ask for permission for almost everything. Lest we forget, this is not our house; it’s not even our country. So you should probably ask before you reorganize their closet to make room for your extra shoes or take a 30 minute shower.
Those are all common sense, no? Sharing a room with Julie for so long definitely helped me be a better tenant and my parents didn’t tolerate much picky eating so I have had good training.
One of the things that bothers me about travel is all of the extra considerations women have to deal with and how we automatically stick out no matter where we go. I think it is brutally unfair and I hate that my parents have to answer any questions about why they are allowing me to go somewhere. The fears are inevitably internalized and it’s not really fun to not trust anyone in a new place. I hate that I can’t entertain conversations with strangers or be out late at night or consider how I dress. BUT that is where I have a secret weapon.
I am a very basic looking person.
I am not extremely tall or short, fat or thin, dark or light, blonde or dark haired, ugly or attractive, Irish or Italian. I am an average sized girl with brown hair. Unless you already know me and love me, there is nothing really that notable about how I look – except for my hair on some days. I’d like to think I distinguish myself physically(for better or worse) with my clothing, but in Costa Rica my jorts, t-shirts, and Birkenstocks make me look like any other crunchy chick. I walked around all day and just enjoyed genuine smiles from passerby. An occasional whistle, but I mostly floated through the city undisturbed. I was initially really nervous to walk around by myself, especially given all the warnings I got in my orientation booklet ( don’t show my kneecaps??). Despite my tantalizing knee caps glistening in the Costa Rican sun, I managed to avoid any blatant harassment. I was malleable.
This is not a call for compliments or disagreements. The “plainness” that was the bane of my middle school existence is something that I appreciate now. It gives me control (if you don’t like control in some area of your life, you are LYING) – I choose when I want to be seen and by whom and it gives me a glimpse of that male freedom. I don’t look foreign in most places and people generally leave me alone and trust me. I don’t get cat-called like my blonde haired friends and creepy guys pretty much leave me alone.(is a girl with a messenger bag really going to put out? Probably not) I once told my mom I was “Just pretty enough to be taken seriously,” which is a terrible statement for women but still true from my perspective. Someone once told me it was best to be "pretty attractive and very funny."I can be funny or quirky or intelligent without having anyone question me. Now, I know a LOT of women who are extremely attractive and manage to be funny and quirky and intelligent and many more things than I could possibly fathom – and that obviously has its advantages.
The women I admire most are detached from their appearances – not in the sense that they are sloppy or grimy – but that it doesn’t take up too much of their mental space . They refuse to be defined by it or acknowledge it overtly, no matter where they lie on the modern continuum of beauty. Clearly, I haven’t gotten there yet, since I just devoted an entire blog post to this, but I think there is value in recognizing the benefits to of being inherently undefined. Freed from the burdens of extreme fortune/misfortune , you get to be an observer to a lot of neat cultural things ( especially if you follow my basic homestay guidelines), decide almost completely how you want to define yourself, and participate only when you want to. Also, if/when someone finds you pleasantly descript, it’s pretty exciting.

Day One WELCOOOMMMEE

I LOVE IT HERE! This was a hellacious day of travel but I am so so so happy that I stuck it out. I almost gave up for a minute. Any way here is how it went.
I stayed up way too late on Saturday night and my father found me in denial in front of the computer at 319 am and was absolutely furious with me. My response to “WHAT ARE YOU THINKKING???” was “don’t yell at me I’m blogging.” On Saturday, my mom woke me up and my stomach crumpled up into a little ball. I. did.not.want. to.go. My stomach promptly uncrumpled when my mom said “you’re flight is cancelled.” What??? This early? Weird. Immediate thought: THIS IS A SIGN. Immediate action: I told Jane to reschedule me for 7am tomorrow and I proceeded to sleep until 2pm. Jane lay with me for a few minutes and proclaimed “American Airlines don’t know me” ruff riders style. Upon waking up, I did tons of useful things, like work on beating Spyro the Dragon for the 10th time, napping, eating ice cream from the carton in my underwear, etc. I was already packed and no one knew I was still in the country- I was truly a free agent. I also spent some time convincing myself that this wasn’t one last glimpse of life before the universe snapped me up in its iron claws. It was a weird day- our dinner plans got messed up, everyone was cranky, my nose ring fell out, and my family even got into a fight – sure sign that the universe is not well.
So my new 7 am flight required me to get up at 3am and if you remember my bedtime the night before was somewhere around 330. Perfect. I was in my bed from midnight – 3am texting and trying to talk down my ulcers. My mom woke me up again with no cancellation news- but my parents were all dressed in their plaid and eating different types of fibrous products. We drove the new car down to JFK without a hitch – and a really cute woman named Fang checked me in. I was a vision in the clothes I had taken off and discarded on the floor only hours before. I waded my way through security and the American Airlines debacle began.

Flight One – No air conditioning, rancid smells, ma nwith creepy fingernails next to me, terrible landing. arriving and then sitting on the runway for an hour. This was just kinda general travel discomfort – there are certain risks you take when you hurtle your body through space in a metal tube.
Flight 2- DELAYED TWO HOURS. Plane change. Gate change. Waiting on the runway for the catering cart to arrive. I got to sit with the guy who decided to drink an entire bottle of duty free rum on board (well he drank what he didn’t spill all over himself) as he talked about cheating on his girlfriend, the subtleties of misogyny, being enraged at the Guyanas, why I should/shouldn’t rub his head, where he should barf, and trying to figure out whether he peed his cargo shorts or not.

I arrived in San Jose 12 hours after I left my home in Poughkeepsie. I tried my best to keep in touch with the volunteer company as to my whereabouts but with my phone dead and not making international calls, I relied on my family to just let them know that I was delayed and keep checking. So I arrived and fell in love with the people beginning right at customs. The people here are beautiful. The best of the indigenous American face and the European face combined and slapped itself on a very stylish and extremely friendly person. I walked out of the exit and had a feeling that I wouldn’t see my name out there. And it was a sea of signs. Business executives, doctors, students, families, but not me. A man came up and asked me if I needed help and being a wary New Yorker, I said no I was fine. False. I was in a foreign country with no address to go to and a few numbers to call and no phone to dial them. I was sure I had been scammed and was about to be sold on some sort of human market.I wandered around for a few more minutes before he found me again and I gave in. He told me he would give them a call for me. I gave him the number and he TOTALLY took care of things for me. Got on his cell, told the company what was going on and that their driver should get here ASAP to pick me up. He didn’t creep on me – just told me he’d let me know if the company called back. He kept an eye on me as he continued to dire ct the taxi traffic. His name was Jorge and he pulled everyone with a sign that said “volunteer” on it and asked if they were looking for me. When my driver came, he shook my hand and welcomed me to Costa Rica. Three of us were getting picked up at that time- me, a pre med student from Boston and a French girl here to do Turtle Conservation.

A tiny woman named Ingrid and her husband Leo zipped us through the outskirts of San Jose, while trying to learn our names and making phone calls. I was dropped off first because my house is right across the street from the main office. My host family is adorable – there is Jen the mom, the husband whose name I don’t know (eek), and an 8 year old son named Ethan. There is also a cat- which I didn’t know until it hopped onto my bed and laid down in my suitcase – the cat’s name is Chinoa. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs ( which was also my farewell dinner from Casa Fio) and we settled in for a calm evening of professional wrestling on TV. The husband is a TV ADDICT. He laughs so hard at all of the sitcoms, I am surprised he has any blood vessels left. Some favorites include The New Adventures of Old Christine and Two and a Half Men. The house is simple and my room is ( I think) a converted tool shed. Costa Ricans do not seem to get as riled up as Americans or Spaniards – an even keeled group. Nothing is great but nothing is terrible and that’s about all you can wish for. This is not exactly the experience I had expected but I definitely feel myself growing up a bit. Travel has certain rituals – airports, packing, goodbyes, hellos, etc – that let you gauge how “this” felt before and how “this”feels now. “This” feels very different and hopefully soon I’ll be able to say how.

SAN JOSE

Hi my blogees,

I have been estranged from my blog for a very long while. For about half of that while, I wasn’t writing because I was frightfully unhappy and lost. I pushed away the people that cared about me and clung to people and things that never really did. I told myself that I could only be “this” happy and that was that. Luckily, the second half of the semester, I wasn’t blogging because I was rediscovering myself and all the things I could/can be- as Oprah as that sounds. And I can confidently say I have never left for ANY trip feeling as content as I do right now about my home life.

As content as I am, I need to prove to myself that I still have travel/volunteer chops. I have this deep fear that once I graduate college, I’ll never travel again. While I rationally find that to be ridiculous and untrue, I still choose to forge ahead just in case. And since no legitimate internships with in < 3000 miles away from Poughkeepsie popped up – I really didn’t have an excuse. I applied to every program and internship under the sun. I even got accepted to a few. My friends and teachers (and parents) were exasperated when they received a different answer to “What are you doing this summer?” every time they spoke to me. It took my tenacious friend Grace (teaming up with my mother) to get me to sign up for 3 weeks in Costa Rica doing one of my favorite things- construction/renovation! I get to share a host family with Grace, and though no one will ever EVER EVER rival Paquita, I am hopeful that this will be a good trip too.

Honestly, I am beyond nervous. I don’t know why. I want to go. I need to go. But I’m afraid something is going to go wrong. I have had too many lovely travel experiences. Aren’t I due for some type of disaster? I’m being insane I KNOW and once I get there I’m sure I’ll be excited and more comfortable. I’m thrilled to be speaking Spanish again and even happier that I’ll get to eat so many new delicious things. Ziplines, Volcanoes, Biodiversity. All really cool things that I never dreamed of actually doing – and Grace is there to keep me sane.

I don’t know exactly what I wanted to say in this blog post except that:

1) I am going to Costa Rica until June 23rd
2) I am going to blog daily so please read my updates. I want to make this experience part of my Praxis courses
3) I am not running away from anything or myself and maybe that’s why this seems scary/unfamiliar.
4) I love my family and friends more than I could ever awkwardly tell them. Their patience with me and their genuine excitement about what I am up to always surprises me.
5) If you are unhappy keep going. Push yourself, find people that push you, and embrace the love that comes your way. The people that love you are already here. If someone’s not there don’t worry about it
My travel mind and thoughts are opening up and hopefully I will find some insight on this trip. I have internet – so email me. And if we are good enough friends- let’s skype. Thinking of all of you! I’ll bring you back some cured meats.

"And when you run make sure you run to something and not away from..."

Updates from Me- A Few Lessons Learned

Hi, blog. I really do miss you and all of the wise things I once had to say!

I have crawled out of the dark abyss that was January, officially. Got my passport stamped and everything. Anyway, the past two months I have been medicating myself with school, jobs, and extracurricular activities. I was self centered ( somewhat out of necessity) and I ended up inadvertently hurting most of the people that meant the most to me. I truly was clueless to all of this- which is actually worse in someways. I doubted my own ability to deal with my life and my friends ability to help me/understand/etc. I realized I operate on the extremely selfish/untrue idea that no one is invested in my actions and that my presence/lack there of is completely inconsequential. It's not healthy and it's completely inconsiderate of all the people that do care if you're around. Don't do it. So I have spent a fair amount of time apologizing for my thoughtless behavior. I know I haven't even come close to all of the apologizing I need to do but I'm trying to do better.

I don't like having to apologize but I find the actual apology process to be so helpful. We're usually so busy trying to scrounge up examples of what we are doing right, we forget how many things we may be doing wrong. Saying "yeah i totally sucked at that" to another human being is a big sign of trust, at least from me. Im giving you full permission to say " yeah you did totally suck and here's why." So if there's anything you need to apologize for to anyone, do it. Due to my unbelieveable guilt complex, a thorough apology feels like an hour of yoga afterwards.


Some more fun things that I did:

Saw my Lulu in Baltimore/DC.

I had seriously the best time with Luisa and her family on my spring break. One of the things I love about Lulu is that when she plans something she really intends on doing it. So when she invited me for spring break and sent me links to bus tickets, I knew I had to deliver. Lulu, her boyfriend Eric, and I spent 4 days just being tourists, listening to the best lite radio station ever in the taurass, and hanging out with her family, one of the highlights definitely being uncle jack and his 26 atlantic city jackpots(where does it all end?). Aunt Kitch and Aunt Reet fed us truly unreal amounts of food ( including Maryland crabs!) and gave us some stiff competition for bananagrams. We spent a day in DC, did the Aquarium, Fells Point, Federal Hill, Fort Mc Henry etc.

Lulu was the first friend I made in Spain - we were both kinda panicking and thinking we would spend the next 4 months alone. Because abroad is so unique and fake lifey, it's natural to think about friendships not translating. But as far as I'm concerned, we picked up literally right where we left off and seeing her in real life only made us better friends - salt fish fo lyfe. She is one of the funniest, smartest, most normal people I know and has had a huge impact on my slang vocabulary. Hopefully, this is one of many Emily- Lulu expeditions. Also maybe we can get matching tattoos? Welcome to forever?Just an idea.

Also I finally got my nose pierced! I had been thinking about it for about a year and I had cash for once and a willing enabler (Alana) so I went for it. Palm Sunday piercing appointment? Normal. Anyway we made our way to New Paltz, where we had originally selected a location. We got there early, went to the Muddy Cup and tried not to look too " Marist" and offend the New Paltzians. The place opened at 12 and arrived at 1215 only to be told there was no piercer there today. Sigh. Alana said " Fear not!" There was another shop in New Paltz that had a wizard on the sign. Perfect. However, apparently the wizard is Catholic, because he wasn't open on Sunday either.

I felt we had failed ultimately. I told everyone I would come back with a piercing and I wouldn't even have a caffeine buzz by the time we got back. Again Alana insisted that we not give up and hopped on her fancy phone. We saw that Kingston was fulllllllll of options and despite the fact that neither of us knew anything about Kingston and we had almost no gas left, we bravely got on the Thruway and headed north. It was a brief Thelma and Louise moment.

We wound our way through Kingston, which, as you can imagine, was not very lively at that time of day. We stumbled upon Metamorphosis first in a cool old historic Kingston house and we pounced. A really nice man named Jorian pierced my nose while his kids played on the computer in the next room. He had tattoos curling around his next and the massive gauges in his ear and was sure he would judge me for my lame, girly nose ring, but he was an unbelievably nice and soft spoken. Don't believe what anyone tells you- my piercing hurt ALOT. But I am so unbelievably thrilled with the result that it's an afterthought. Big ups to my parents for being supportive and even letting me use their car. Love those two.

That's all I've got. It's not heartfelt or full of meaning or wisdom, but I guess most of us don't get to live on the mountain top all the time.

This song is sublime.

Summer Plans

Hi everyone,

I haven't blogged in awhile, mainly because hanging out at the library and playing my flute aren't that exciting and I have been too focused on getting my act together to have too many transcendent thoughts about life. BUT I have been making some changes that will hopefully put me in a better place and orient me a little more into my purpose and put me in touch with some new, inspiring people.

I began searching for internships almost immediately upon my return from Spain. I felt pretty strongly that I needed a "work" experience- something concrete that would tell me something I would/would not like to do. My brave and wonderful parents told me I could go wherever I wanted to- the whole US! I looked online and began applying everywhere, with an emphasis on the West Coast. My internship search, much like my college search, got more and more random as I went on. There were so many things that sounded interesting to me but I had no boundaries for my search and no guarantee that I would get anything that made any sense.

Finally I felt I got some sort of mental message from the universe to stop applying. Whatever I submitted was ok and something would work out. And it did! I have two internships lined up beginning in the end of May. I will be working with a local hotel/service workers union in San Francisco and working as a quasi health care case manager in East Oakland. My feelings are a little mixed. Somehow this seems scarier than a semester abroad. This is my real life ( as opposed to abroad fake life). I'll be living all by myself and will be totally responsible for feeding and clothing myself. I will not have Paquita there to bounce all of my insecurities off of. And something tells me the streets of East Oakland won't be quite as picturesque as Salamanca.

However, the work is absolutely perfect. I'm honoring all my interests and I will get to speak Spanish! Yeah, it's in a rough urban area but shouldn't that be where people go? Do they need more people like me in already gentrified urban areas? Wouldn't a real perspective on poverty and structure be good for me? I certainly hope I am making the right decision and that this experience will be both inspiring and safe. I hope I learn how to take care of myself (really) and figure out a little bit more about who I am(a process I feel must be put on hold for now), and what Spain meant to/for me.

I need a new start, although at this point, I may be addicted to them. Marist and everything/one I have here is really really beyond great. I have opportunities to do something fulfilling everyday and people who think I'm capable/decent, despite my pervasive,underlying feeling that I'm not(which is on my list of things to work on in San Fran). However, it's a weird feeling having worked on "yourself" for so long and then trying "you" out for a while and feeling like you may have to change a few spark plugs or tighten a few gears.

I'm also afraid I may be chasing this moment of clarity and this life where I make no mistakes and am this shining example of unity between "talk" and "walk" - and as I talk to more people, that just may not be how life is. Its sounds a little nihilistic ( I think this is correct) but maybe all that security and safety I hoped for doesn't exist. People get fired, people get sick, people you love leave you, people you thought love you never did, friends change, you change, and I guess that's ok. People also get hired, people are cured, people you love never leave you or always come back, people surprise you with their kindness, friends change with you, and the little kernel of goodness inside you never changes

I need to be more comfortable with the give and take and realize that this ME is a process and one I've done ok with so far. As I said to my mom, " At least I'm not dating a drug dealer." The only way I know to feel empowered again is to throw myself into a new and completely over my head experience that I am completely unprepared for and the next one begins on May 20th!

There's a great big, beautiful tomorrow

If being home was weird, being in Disney World was weirder. Definitely don’t plan your trip to Disney right after your trip to Europe. Dare I say the magic is tarnished? I guess there is no shame in spending a little time wallowing in licensed merchandise, mass produced food, and subtle gender/race stereotypes. There really is no place more American. I won’t spill anymore bitterness all over Mickey’s spectro-dreams wishes and sparkle parade, but I will say DEFINITELY avoid EPCOT. The Eiffel Tour is way cooler in real life and your visit will not be narrated by Martin Short. When we were in Cordoba, we had to visit a large shopping center around Christmas and it was complete and total over stimulation. After about 5 minutes, all of us were inexplicably cranky and Helen turned to me and said “ Is this what going home is going to feel like?” And the answer is yes- if your roommates wear oversized white gloves and red shorts. Disney is a terrible place to reflect and get your feet on the ground. Mickey is a terrible listener, contrary to popular belief. Apparently they don’t have a lot of room for doubt and nostalgia among all the “spirit” and “magic”. The songs aren’t A Whole New World ( of Financial Instability) or I Just Can’t Wait to be Sing(le and Unemployed).

But Disney wasn’t all bad. I got a Darth Vader airbrush tattoo, had some emotional “return to music moments,” formed the core 4, and got to reconnect with a few very important people in a “Marist Lite” environment. Also it gave me and Poughkeepsie a little break as we get to know each other again. Florida is definitely not my state – bad coffee and bad foliage. Being home in Casa Fio is very nice too- my family missed me – even Julie! We had a very nice sister moment as we rapped Grillz and the Welcome to Atlanta Coast 2 Coast Remix together at a coffee shop. They are being very patient with my “Hansel and Gretel” life style. I leave water glasses, books, Cds, pens, and sweatshirts behind me all day. If I was ever implicated in a crime or went missing, it would be very easy to retrace my steps.

Alas, I seem to come home to even more undecided decisions and this new feeling that I have nothing to hide behind anymore- every responsibility and task before me this semester is significant. My classes are very relevant to that foggy career lurking ahead ( it appears to me as though through one of those misty 70s lenses) and there are less corners that I will be able to cut. My extracurriculars revolve almost entirely around ESL- something that kinda happened to me by accident but I take it very seriously. Ive said it before but we affect one of the most basic parts of life- language and communication. There isn’t busy work or pushing paper. Oh and then there’s band. A personal/social life and maintaining my health would be nice too. Phew- quasi adulthood is odd.

Cliché simile time! Landing back in New York, I felt like a brand new notebook ( buying a new notebook is sublime for me). It’s crisp and clean and not yet mangled by the tangle of things living at the bottom of your backpack. You pick it up and let the empty pages fan your face, inhaling all the possibilities. You promise yourself you will take really neat notes this semester. But eventually you have to take the new notebook to class. You have to scribble in it, shove it in your backpack, and hold it in your teeth while you unlock your locker. And someone will probably put their big soggy sandwich on your new notebook. It’s all part of the brutal reality of notebook ownership.

In the days before I actually return to school (not aforementioned simile school) I fear for my proverbial notebook. I don’t know if I feel like the take no prisoners, assertive Emily with time for seemingly everything and anyone that I was. I spent 4 months shredding my old notebook page by page and that notebook was an overstuffed mess. I’d like to be very careful about what I fill my notebook with now that I am home. Everyday as I look around at all of the things I’ve collected ( Dave Matthews Cds? Backed issues of Teen People? Really?), I can only think

“I don’t want this.”

I feel the same way about most of my emotional and mental things too. I don’t know how much I want back. No one leaves home to come back the same. So I guess you could call this the editing phase, which is probably not very much fun for my friends or my blog readers (weren’t we in Rome last week?). I have a tendency to act in extremes – so I am fighting the urge to reject everything or jump totally back into the flow of my pre Spain life. I’m afraid of a lot more things than I will ever admit publicly. I want this semester to be a recollection of sorts, getting ready to go out and make the life I want. Sometimes I wish I could just let all of these daily existential crises go and just suck on a smoothie at the mall, but I’m not ready to do that just yet. Feeling uncomfortable feels right and I’m going to do my best to make Paquita proud in the meantime.