Triple Light in Peace Corps Honduras

Gracias, Honduras

2009-02-15T22:24:00.000-08:00

Today is my fifth month back from Honduras. Five months. How am I adjusting with my new status as a "Returned Peace Corps Volunteer" coming from the boondocks of Central America back into the jungles of the U.S.?

It hasn’t been a breeze, but I don’t have much to complain either. For one I’m thankful to just have gotten

a job at a great firm with great colleagues given how difficult life has become for everyone across the board when I got back. I’m also thankful just to be reunited with everyone I love, to be in a city I love and have access to all the things I love to do. It was just time to come home for me and I’m happy to be back. However, I wouldn’t deny dreading the things I was more than happy to leave behind in the first place – like the temptation to be swept away again by “life” and responsibilities and find oneself be part of the droves of the living dead or be consumed by the accumulation of things, debt and stress.

The realization that my two years overseas that at times felt like an eternity actually happened in the blink of an eye and that most everything and everyone that was left in the U.S. remained where they are was rather poignant. There are days when it actually feels like I never left at all and that Honduras never happened. Peace Corps’ predicted “reverse culture shock” experienced by returned volunteers was pretty on point, such as how it's harder to readjust coming back

and how most people won’t care to listen for more than five minutes about our experience. Personally, one of the most difficult adjustments was getting used to again to not making eye contact with anyone or not acknowledge another presence in a room or on the street, unlike in Honduras.

Nevertheless, I know that once again, I’m right where I need to be right now. But I refuse to conveniently assimilate back into a mechanical lifestyle in a society that has largely forgotten how to LIVE. It saddens me whenever I see how quick-tempered people are over the pettiest matter and how isolated everybody is from everyone else, even amongst a crowd, perpetually plugged onto their mp3 players and smart phones.

As difficult as it is, daily I consciously hold onto the best of both worlds and refuse to be overcome by my negative experiences. I love the U.S. and will be forever grateful for the opportunities only it can afford to all who work for it. But I’ve also come to love Honduras for reminding me of the important things that its powerful neighbor has come to take for granted. Everyday I carry in my heart and mind the faces of the people who have touched my life and continue to make their presence felt by keeping in touch with me.

Five months may seem like a long time already, but I know that my transition is far from over. One of the biggest things I learned in Honduras is MORE patience; hence, I’m trying to apply the same principle to myself by recognizing that things take time- even with me. I’m learning to be patient and accept that I am still in the ocean of uncertainty and that I don’t know what’s next in my life. And I accept that it’s okay. My biggest dilemma for a while was: since I’ve checked off the biggest dream on my list, now what?? Instead of freaking out, I am deciding to feel excited because this could mean: that it’s the time to dream again, and dream even BIGGER.

And to conclude, to Honduras, la tierra de los catrachos, I say:

Thank you for being the place where a dream came true- and making me work HARD for it.

Thank you for embracing another foreigner and entrusting your land, your people and your heart to her.

Thank you for giving me the family I needed when I couldn’t be with mine.

Thank you for the trials that sharpened my wits and increased my strength.

Thank you for always wanting to be in my presence and becoming a part of my life.

Thank you for teaching me humility with your simplicity.

Thank you for slowing down my life and making me look at what’s more important about myself and people.

Thank you for giving me a taste of the kind of life I’d like to lead.

Thank you for making me a better person than when I first came in and accepting me for who I am.

Thank you for waiting for and believing in my return.

Curtain Call

2008-09-11T09:21:00.001-07:00

Seven weeks ago, my students from Olanchito Ballet had their recital before a standing room only crowd at the cultural center. That venue never fills up unless the municipality was giving out vouchers, or free meals to go with political campaigns. Somehow, rain or shine, all cultural activities I´ve organized also made the exception. Last year´s show only had seven ballerinas taking a bow, but this year, my adrenaline got the best of me and I ended up with 37 excited ballerinas and hip-hop dancers taking the stage by storm. It was a bittersweet, nevertheless, perfect conclusion to my service as a volunteer in Honduras. I knew it was going to be a long and exhausting road to the finale, but I couldn´t have asked for a better day for me in Olanchito, where, everything, actually went right.

Fast forward to today, as I reach another personal milestone. I remember my days back in the corporate world and daydreaming in the office of doing the kind of job I wanted, meeting new people and seeing more of the world. Check, check, and check. I finally got to do Peace Corps, met a ton of people along the way, and somehow got to know nine new countries in the process- Spain and all of the countries between Mexico and Panama. Not so bad to be a daydreamer afterall, eh?

After almost a month of being a former volunteer and spending much time traveling, decompressing and reflecting, we may all be asking, "What´s next?"

"HOME" is the definite first answer, but after that is all up in the air for me. This is the first time in my life that I´ve allowed myself to become this spontaneous and worry-free (constantly trying my best not to freak out). I have a definite idea of the things I want and don´t want in my life and I´ve been letting my faith and instincts guide me each day. The process has been terrifying, but undeniably, exciting. I´m really enjoying this whole "do-not-plan-too-much" state of self.

There have been days where I´ve been restless and wished I was back home already, but at the same time, I know all this down time is doing me a lot of good and keeping me from jumping from one big thing to another like I usually do. Much reflection remains to be done, but one insight I already gained is that my time here in Honduras was one amazing experience, but it is also up...and it´s time to go home. I think I can live with that.

Three Cheers in the Month of June

2008-06-23T10:27:00.001-07:00

Happy Two Years to Me. Last June 21st I turned two years in Honduras. I made it! Time sure has flown, but unlike in the States, I’m more aware of where my time and my days here have gone- an even split between doing my projects and spending time with people building and nurturing relationships. I can honestly say it has been an amazing experience in all levels; it wasn’t easy at all, but I am certain that I have become a better person for it, thanks largely to the difficulties and challenges I have faced. It’s somewhat ironic to be grateful the sources of my troubles and heartaches, but I know too well that they have been sent my way to instruct.

I know I have changed a lot and have formed a different perspective of life and people, including myself. How, I’m not sure I can explain. I just know that I grew up a lot in the past couple of years in ways I didn’t expect, and I probably will not realize to what extent until much later.

To celebrate the occasion, I was coincidentally invited to back-to-back parties that day and inadvertently, those two events turned into partly my own celebration, in the company of the people closest to me.

Feelin’ So Good. To make the two-year achievement more meaningful, last Friday I knew for sure that I did something right in this country. I haven’t been the type to think that so quickly, having had so many frustrations with work and moments where I have felt futile more than anything else as a volunteer. People left and right have told me that I have done a lot and I know that, I’m just never sure whether I was actually helpful beyond doing just “a lot.”

For the past two months, I, along with the other members of the committee, have been slaving over organizing a Spanish Language Competition in the elementary level where different skills, such as, reading, penmanship, spelling, oratory and declamation were evaluated. In true Honduran fashion, the teachers were late in joining and preparing the kids, or chose not to participate at all. But the schools that did show up became part of a defining moment and helped plant a seed of what hopefully will become a tradition.

The event was not only the first of its kind in a while, but it was exciting and beautiful at the same time. Children got to don their formal wear and had the experience of being on stage, reciting poetry to the public as if they owned the world, then went home with certificates of participation and, some of them, prizes for winning, something they’ll probably remember and brag about their entire lives. I made all of that happen. Yes, that’s right, for a change I am claiming credit for everything- from coming up with the idea to procuring the funds, forming the committee, planning out the event, getting the people there and do their part, and just plain making it happen. I know it was my persistence despite the road blocks (the event had to be postponed due to strikes, some committee members fell off the radar, getting schools to participate was like pulling teeth) that made it come to fruition. The best part was that eventually, I ended up having a real team of people equally dedicated as I was to doing the project and doing it right. I learned so much from them and from the experience and for the first time that I really felt I achieved incorporating “citizen participation” in its fullest sense.

Next and Last Big Thing. At this point so close towards the end of my service, I know I should be resting more than working. Despite the fact how some people may define rest as “inactivity,” there is an activity that I personally consider as still a form of rest, or at least relaxation…i.e. dancing. July 19th is when I have scheduled the final recital of Olanchito Ballet, the group I formed a year and a half ago and has grown. Ballet classes have been ongoing all this year and this week, I will start another series of workshops with ballet classes for younger kids and hip-hop for teens. I couldn’t resist sharing what I love to do the most with more people, especially since so many of them have approached me asking for more, so who was I to say no? Besides, I always wanted to have a graceful ending to my service, and it seems like I’ll be dancing all the way to the finish line.

High-Speed 2008

2008-03-29T17:38:00.000-07:00

It’s almost April. How did that happen? I guess I must have been having a lot of fun and really busy working to have time fly by just like that. I had a feeling that this year is going to be a much better one than the last and so far, so good. It has actually been pretty exciting and I don’t have anything to complain about, aside from, everything seems to be going a little too fast.

A quick rundown of my year, thus far:

January
• I held a three-week ballet and hip-hop dance workshop. It was the first time in my life that I had so many dance classes and it was a very exhausting but rewarding experience. I had two ballet classes divided into age groups ranging from 5-13 years old. A big surprise was, for the first time ever, a boy came to my class. I also had a hip-hop class with students from 5-56 years old! It was a lot of fun; some of them never even knew what hip-hop was, let alone, take dance classes. Personally, it was also a first to me to teach 5-year-old kids anything; I don’t know how I got through it, but I did. Despite a lot of hair-pulling moments, there were definitely a lot of “awww” ones too!
• January 25th was National Women’s Day and for the second year, I helped out some local women organize a celebration. My major contribution somehow ended up being dance related as well- I did the choreography for a dance piece for a group of women and kids to showcase the different roles and relationships that women have (daughter, mother, grandmother, friend, etc.) and also just to give the participants a chance to experience performing on stage. Also, I had photo exhibit of different women of Olanchito whom I interviewed as a part of a project I’m doing where I am trying to get to know the history of the town through the life stories and experiences of various women. I have interviewed eight women so far and it has been a poignant and eye-opening experience for me finding out a common thread on the reality of the majority of women here. This will be an ongoing project until I leave where the final product will be an archive of profiles of different women, along with, a reflection on their stories and the interviews.

February
• I helped out the cultural center find a librarian for the Children’s Library that was built as part of my project. It was fun seeing the process for the hiring- a local professor administered different tests to gauge the written, story-telling and creative skills of the different candidates to determine the perfect person who will be running the library and doing story hour with the kids. Of course, little did I know then of the drama that would ensue later on…see details under March.
• Hooray and thanks be to God for generous and kind hearts that chipped in to buy me a ticket back to San Francisco and have one of the best times of my life. It was a very much needed break for me to get my family-friends-and-food fix and just to decompress from a tough year of being away from home and the let’s just say, challenges of being a volunteer. The two weeks went by high-speed as well and I barely got a wink of sleep through it all, but I sure savored every moment being with my loved-ones and inhaling every type of cuisine I could. That trip reminded me of how loved I am by my family and crew who took care of me oh-so well (Gracias!) and spoiled me to pieces. I also think I brought enough goodies back to Honduras to last me the rest of my service. One hundred fifty pounds' worth of luggage, and I didn’t get charged a dime extra, pretty good, eh?

March
• I barely touched down in Honduras from my SF trip and I had to turn right back around to do another trip- this time by bus, to the other end of the country. I went down to the Dirrrrty South in Orocuina, Choluteca to meet with the volunteer group COLORS, that does American diversity education to locals and also serves as a form of cultural-exchange and support group among volunteers. We held another cultural diversity activity at a local high school where, once again, we demonstrated to shell-shocked students that Americans come in different shapes, sizes and hues. It was fun. Also, this trip made me realize in its full glory how hot and dry it is at the opposite end of the country (see photo of two kids waiting for the bus) and made me realize why most PCVs hate volunteers who get assigned to the humid but lush and green North Coast. All I can say is, I’ll just keep counting my blessings.
• As if my 15-hour bus ride trip (one-way) to the south wasn’t enough of a “welcome-back-to-reality” from my fabulous vacation, I went back to Olanchito with some mo’ drama fo’ yo’ momma. Let’s just say there were sudden unforeseen “staffing issues” at the Children’s Library while I was gone and two weeks after I got back and had already helped with training for the librarian. Hopefully, all of that is already resolved and part of the past. At this point, I’m actually pretty excited because it seems as if, finally, by next week, the library will truly be open, complete with a librarian and kids ready to fall in love with books to make it all legit.
• I would have to say one of the best things about this year so far is being visited in Honduras by my dear friend Gwen from the Yay! Area. We had a blast getting to know a few North Coast spots despite the flu and rain tandem that attempted to spoil our fun. She wanted animals, food, beach and Leah as part of her trip and we easily got to check off that list and at the same time turn her into a volunteer by teaching her how to be cheap. I was a happy camper playing hostess, translator and tour guide for my beloved guest.

What’s Next? Since life is going so fast, I had to come up with a quick list of what I have to do in my remaining months here, namely:
• Finish remaining projects and follow up on pending ones.
• Dance my heart out with the kids I am teaching and stage a dance concert before I leave.
• Travel locally and cross a couple of borders.
• Make the most of my last few months with the friends and family I have formed here.
• Do all the reading, writing and other things I’ve been planning “to do a lot of” during my service.
• Figure out my action plan for my return to America, come September.

And the countdown begins…

A New Year´s Prayer

2008-02-04T07:45:00.000-08:00

I am thankful that when the clock struck twelve that fateful 9th of December, I turned 30 and the world remained intact.
At least my world.
I felt my heart race once or twice leading up to the moment.
I sensed a split-second anxiety wondering whether there’s an unspoken rule that once I turn 30, I would have to start behaving, well, 30-ish.
Shortly after the candle was blown out and being surrounded by friends with old souls and hearts that are forever young, I realized, it’s just another year.
I will always be the same kid I have been deep down.

Eventually, I started to notice a difference-
That I appreciate my youth more,
That I recognize its enduring, steadfast quality,
That I am proud of it beyond expression.

I am thankful for a new era in my life and the chance for a new beginning.
I am thankful for having been honed over the years for the adversities that face me today. That I had the foresight in the distant past of the challenges that I would have to one day endure.

I pray that I am as strong as I have to be, as forbearing as I would like to be.
I pray for the right perspective and attitude towards my life to get through day to day.
I pray for understanding and compassion from myself and from others that I may have peaceful rest every given night.
I pray for forgiveness and kindness form my past and for healing.

My thanksgiving I lift up to the heavens for accepting my imperfect self and my imperfect faith and for allowing me to at least try to be even just a little closer to perfect.

I pray for this world that has endured every conceivable pain, destruction and hopeless situation, and yet it persists and endures. May I be just like this world and the goodness that it continues to reflect. May I be a light, no matter how faint, but bright enough to shine in the darkest corners of people’s hearts.

- Journal entry, 010808

Beyond Numbers

2007-12-23T22:15:00.000-08:00

It is the end of the year and this is the perfect opportunity to reflect on a year gone by. I will start by listing down some important numbers indicating the number of people I’ve directly worked with on different projects over the course of the year and the amount of funding for a project I got.

• Domestic Violence Workshop (1 session) - 22 women
• Project Citizen (14 sessions) – 28 high school students
• Cultural Diversity Activities (1 session with 3 different schools) 53 high school students
• Gender Equity Workshops (1 session with about 21 different classes in 3 schools) – 619 high school students
• Ballet and Modern Dance Classes - 46 grade school and high school students
• Micro-Enterprise Workshop (6 sessions) – 12 women
• $10,000 – amount of funding acquired for the Cultural Center project
• Execution of Cultural Center Project – approximately 50 youth and adults (contracted and volunteers)

Why do I have these numbers? Because I had to track them down. In my project area, we volunteers have to turn in biannual reports reflecting the work we’ve done in our respective communities. The first time I had to do mine I was really intimidated (and depressed) because the report format was very numbers-oriented, where we had to list down the number of people that we’ve trained in the different targeted areas by municipal development. Needless to say, I didn’t have much to write on my first report, at least not in terms of numbers. All the work I did on my first six months all seem to have fallen under the “other” category.

On my second report, however, I felt more like that as a volunteer, I had met the minimum basic requirement, by being able to come up with the digits aforementioned. This has led me to reflect a lot, because even though that I knew I was working all the time in my community, somehow I felt that the only way for me to justify that to Peace Corps administration was by coming up with the numbers. Sure, there was plenty of room at the “others” column, but then again, all my work couldn’t be under that one category.

So how does one should really go about measuring the success of one’s work?

I don't have a definitive answer, but an insight I can offer based on experience is this: the numbers don’t always speak the entire truth. For example, in the countless classrooms I’ve been in preaching about gender equality, I remember often wishing to myself that even if just a few of the students got it, then my time spent there would have been worth it. But I’ll never know for sure, really. I have given this workshop to 600+ students and yet, I feel more confident that I got my message across better with the 12 women I worked with on the micro-enterprise workshop. Most people are receptive and thankful in the end, but I can't help but wonder, "What did they really learn from me and will it stick?"

Usually the things that have been more obvious and in my face have been the challenges that came with this role, such as chronic apathy and indolence that are endemic in the culture. The experience of this whole year has been sobering for me in the sense that being a volunteer has stretched me so much further than I would’ve thought. I was pretty confident that I was already a patient, strong and resilient person before coming to Honduras. I was ready for the rough patches and the challenges; but I never expected being “hard-pressed… perplexed… persecuted… and struck-down...” by them the way that I was. For a while, there seemed to be something on every corner waiting to pounce on me and run me out of this country whether they were work-related or “cultural” things that I just have had to accept.

But true to 2Corinthians, despite all the frustrations, I didn’t let myself get “crushed… be in despair… feel abandoned… or get destroyed.” When I didn’t know what to do anymore, I let my faith take control. I’m not the type who quits so the only other alternative left for me was to humble myself and trust that the circumstances I was facing all have their purpose. I’ve also had to a have little more faith in myself and believe that all my good intentions and my labor have amounted to something positive; how much exactly, I will not worry about. If we really have to do the Math, I can offer this figure: for this holiday I’m giving out at least 110 greeting cards to good friends and colleagues in Olanchito alone…the majority of these cards are addressed to families, so let’s say if an average family has at least three members (this is Honduras, after all), that means that I have made a positive connection with at least 330 people. This doesn’t include the participants whom I’ve trained or taught in my various endeavors. Hence, I’d like to think that, sure, I’m making a positive impact on people or at least planting some seeds in their minds, whether through my work or by example. I figure that, if I leave a positive impression whether as an American, a woman, or a volunteer, then that’s something to feel accomplished about.

So how does one should really go about measuring the success of one’s work? It depends on who’s measuring, but for me, when I get to make people smile, get invited to their homes and family gatherings, or get a "Thank you" then it’s a sign that I must have done something right, whether that registers some numbers or not.

***
For more details on the projects aforementioned, see previous blog entry: Confessions of a Workaholic

Dancing My Heart Out

2007-11-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

It took me a long time to admit it but I can finally say that dancing is my first and true love. I realize that part of the difficulty in admitting this is my deep-set insecurity about not being as good as I’d like to be, hence, I can’t make any claims to being a real dancer.

But I’m over that because I figured out that there’s no sense of my being continually frustrated over not having the regular and formal training I could have used to develop, it doesn’t really matter because I never dreamt of being a professional dancer anyway, I just always wanted to be, well, good. And just to keep dancing. It’s interesting that while growing up, despite not having the encouragement from home for me to pursue a hobby, nor the money to pay for non-school related endeavors, I always managed to find an outlet for dance that didn’t cost a dime, save for costumes for performances. Thank goodness for the student-organized cheer dance team in high school and the dance company in college. Then after graduation, when I eventually got this thing called a “job,” I could finally pay for dance classes to my heart’s content. I had a better idea of how I loved to dance when I was still living in Fairfield and used to drive 50 miles all the way to San Francisco on weekends just to receive a couple of classes. I was also fortunate to have found opportunities to perform and even for a short while, be part of a real dance company.

Looking back now, I’m more impressed with myself than sorry for having accomplished a lot in dance despite the little professional training or experience I have. In high school, I was surprised to have been able to learn some new skills despite being, as a dancer, being in the ripe age of 16 years old. In college, I was in the dance company for four whole years and in the last two, was in charge of the dance productions that were staged. These entailed more than just dancing. Then a couple of years ago, I organized a performance hip-hop key group in the church I was attending whose aim was to do fellowship through the common interest of the members. We had a pretty cool performance one New Year’s Eve that not only involved choreography, but a spoken word piece as an introduction and a multi-media presentation that was played during the dance. More than the coolness factor, the whole experience was special to and a breakthrough for me because it was when I realized that God really wants to use my dancing as a way to reach people. “Little ol’ me?” I wondered. “Yes, little ol’ you,” seemed to be God’s response.

Coming to Honduras, I always knew that I was going to keep dancing somehow. However, not in a million years would I have thought that I’d be giving ballet lessons…especially since it’s not my forte, having only received a few years’ worth of instruction and well, it wasn’t my cup of tea. Nonetheless, I’ve maintained my high regard and respect for it being the necessary foundation any real dancer must have. I always consider knowing ballet as being literate in dancing. To cut the long story short, for art´s sake, I eventually succumbed to giving classes back in February, not having a clue what I was getting myself into.

Lo and behold, November 3rd was the first ever performance and recital for Olanchito Ballet, the name which we would eventually call the group I’ve formed. Seven little ballerinas who’ve remained steadfast and committed to learning ballet, the art form that is as esoteric as the concept of punctuality in this country. In the recital, the girls performed ten (count ‘em) short dance pieces, to a combination of classical and Latin folk and Honduran folk songs. This is mind blowing to me because personally, I hate doing choreography with a passion. Let alone, choreograph to classical music, which I have never done, nor would have wanted to do. I always just wanted to be the one learning and dancing. But what was I to do? I found myself in a situation where the only way I could keep on dancing is to be able to be the one to teach it. So I went for the compromise.

I thought I already knew how much I love to dance, but I didn’t know to what extent. Being a teacher truly stretched my limits and brought about another experience I didn’t expect to have: being a parent. Thinking of my students as my own children was the only way for me to survive the classes without any bloodshed (spoken like a true non-mom) or losing my sanity. Sure, it was fun, but it was also like being a full time nanny.

Was it all worth it? Of course, everything looks better in retrospect, having survived the tempest. But I remember the evening of the performance where a good number of people braved the rains to witness what was to be the first ever full-length ballet performance in Olanchito. Days in advance, I tried my best to let go of all control and let the kids come around on their own and be there for them as moral support more than anything. I won’t deny that I felt like a true stage mom the whole time, proud of how all the girls (and two “special participants”) held their own even if it was the first ever performance for the majority of them. Also, I’d have to say that I was proud of myself for having accomplished something like that and overcoming everything that got in my way- my own issues included.

Dancing has also been my refuge as a volunteer. For someone who can barely stop working to rest, dance has been my playtime as much as it has been work. It didn´t matter how frustrated I got, because at the end of the day, I was still dancing. It also has given me my chance to get to know more youth in the community. Twice I was asked by a couple of high school groups to help them out with their cheering competition- and the sucker that I was, I readily agreed not aware of the headaches these two ventures entailed. In the end, I was only able to help them out partially, either they didn’t give me enough time to work with or only half the group was attending and I had to cut my “services” short. In the end, however, Honduran-style, both groups pulled things together last minute and managed to walk away with second place in their respective competitions. Pretty cool.

From all these experiences, I’ve gathered that my most effective and gratifying community work is going to come from doing something I love the most- dancing. My project at the cultural center is on the last stretch and when that is done, I will take advantage of the kids being on vacation and will be giving dance workshops (ballet and hip-hop) to all those willing. I will also be involved in preparing for various art, literary and theater workshops, all part of the project for the center. Art is life indeed.

I haven’t built any wells or roads, but I am helping build a children’s library with a mural and the works; I haven´t saved lives, but I have danced into the lives of people, in one way or another; I once thought that ballet was a part of my past and yet I have started a school here in Olanchito. I´m still a long way from the kind of dancer I´d like to be, but I know that if I can keep doing it, I can only get better. I think I should have faith in my talent the way it has been faithful to me, always giving me opportunities to keep dancing. I guess this little ol’ dancer has nothing to complain about.

Confessions of a Workaholic

2007-10-25T13:04:00.000-07:00

I would like to begin by saying that my English is falling apart (Feel free to think, “We’ve noticed, Leah.”). I recently wrote an article that I submitted for a volunteer publication and I must say it was quite a challenge getting through writing it and finding the correct English words, instead of using some Spanish words that seem easier to come by these days. Nothing to be alarmed about, this is a normal occurrence among volunteers- thinking and speaking in Spanglish…it just seems more pronounced once one tries to write on paper in one language. I don’t feel too bad because I’m not the only one; the only thing is that I hope Peace Corps would start an “English Rehabilitation” program before sending all volunteers back to the U.S. Or the rest of America can catch up on their Spanglish too; that way returned Spanish-speaking volunteers can just blend right back in!

On another note, one of my dearest friends in the world, Connie, told me not too long ago: “You haven’t changed, Leah. Your life is still the same. The only thing that has changed is your location.” She was referring to how I live my life non-stop regardless if I’m doing something for a living or voluntarily. Some people know me too well. It may seem that I have fallen into the black hole these days, as I have been quiet on my blog and on emails. I have to confess, I’ve backslid once more into overdrive mode. This is the last time I’ll let it happen again, I swear! Yeah, right. I must sound like a recovering addict trying to say over and over that I’ll slow down…so and so…and at the same time committing to another project or engagement. On the bright side, I can’t really complain this one time because, finally, I’m beginning to see the fruits of my labor as a volunteer.

To begin with, the project I got approved for the Casa de la Cultura is finally being executed. I had this bright idea of including a million components in my project, hence, there have been a lot of things to be done. But in essence, this project (that is being funded by a grant from USAID and the Municipality of Olanchito) aims to recover the identity of the community as the country’s capital of civic and culture through the construction of a Children’s Library, various installations in the building (bars and mirrors for dance classes), purchase of equipment (sound system, lights, costumes for performing groups) and different cultural activities. It’s not true that the only measure of development is through infrastructures being built, because development is not only about the tangibles. But in terms of instant gratification, it sure is nice to be able to see things being built right before my eyes and know that I helped make that happen.

Case in point: the ballet class I am teaching now is official. The kids and I used to dance bare feet and in plain clothes, while using backs of chairs as barres. Now, thanks to the group’s fundraising efforts and the grant I got, all the seven girls have complete ballet uniforms and real barres to use. And drum roll please...full-length mirrors to top it all off! Despite the fact that we are not in a ballet academy, the teacher is nowhere near a prima ballerina and that there are no wooden floors, nor a real studio…we are still doing ballet! And isn’t it all about working with what you have? And on that note, the class is busy preparing for its debut performance on November 3rd. I am staging a dance recital just for them that includes dance pieces using various music including classical and Honduran folk. It has been a lot of work and I am exhausted, but I’m really excited about it. The girls aren’t quite ready for Swan Lake, but they’re precious regardless.

Continuing with the list of things keeping me on my toes, I recently concluded a 6-part workshop on basic business administration with a group of women who have their micro-enterprise. What do I know about business? Up until recently, nothing, really. I fully understood through this experience the expression that says something about teachers being only a page ahead of their students. That’s where the beauty of Peace Corps and manuals steps in. As a volunteer, we have a plethora of resources about any conceivable topic related to development work and a lot of them are manuals that enable any of us to teach the most fundamental concepts of any subject to locals. It is wonderful because I’m personally learning a lot as well. This particular endeavor seriously kicked my butt because I had a ton of material to cover and prepare (sans Power Point, i.e. all of my visual aids were done with good ol’ fashioned markers and paper). But in the end it was all worth it because the women I worked with (aged between 20-something to 70-something) were very grateful for the new things they learned. Furthermore, it was a great experience for me going into a rural community to work (literally “home schooling” the women right out of their houses) and spend a few nights there to see the women in their element. Needless to say, I was lulled to sleep by nature’s choir- roosters, pigs, mosquitoes. Life in a farm, indeed!

And then there’s my public policy project with some high school kids that was on hiatus for six weeks due to a combination of reasons why there were no classes or students were too busy, namely: preparations for Civic Week (where ALL schools participate in parades for an entire week), a break from Civic Week, a marching band competition, and finally, a teachers’ strike that lasted two weeks. It’s the same group that I couldn’t meet with the entire month of July due to another set of reasons just as fascinating. The good news is, this week we got the ball rolling again and there is actually hope of finishing the project before they go into their exams in a couple of weeks. Vamos a ver.

Did I mention that in between all this I was helping out a high school group to prepare for a cheering competition? Um…yeah. Well, until I had to pull myself out of it because by our fourth rehearsal day, out of a group of 30 that was supposed to be practicing, only nine people showed up. Yet another classic scenario of my life here- people commit to something and in the end they don’t want to do any work. It’s all across the board, whether it’s with kids or adults, whether it’s about doing a project or doing something fun like preparing (which is work) for a dance performance. It’s frustrating to the teeth, but ultimately, it’s just sad. But, what else can I do?

It all worked out in the end, though. I took that incident as a sign that God wants me to REST. I realize that staying committed has been one of my greatest skills, but that I shouldn’t overdo making commitments right and left. These days when delays or cancellations happen, instead of getting upset, I just take it as an opportunity to have more down time. I promised myself to just focus on what I have on my plate now and not to even dare think of ordering “seconds.” No more stress, no more burning-out. No more being behind on my own life whether it’s doing the laundry (by hand, let’s not forget) or finishing the books I’ve been trying to read forever. At least, this is the plan.

It’s not going to be easy…but once my family and friends start hearing more and sooner from me, then it means I’m being good on my promise. Of course, they can feel free to cheer me on at any time.

Running for Cover

2007-09-04T14:39:00.000-07:00

It’s a wonderful thing to know that one’s safety is looked after and prioritized. Not long after news broke out about Hurricane Felix reaching category 5 off the Caribbean, Peace Corps immediately sent out an order having all volunteers close and not so-close to the north coast to consolidate in an area more to the center of the country.

After about a 10- hour sojourn in three different bus rides yesterday, here I am safe and sound, far from my site and far from the work I have to be doing. About 20 or so volunteers are in my company and we are just on standby on when we could go back to our sites if nothing catastrophic happens. The downpour has started in various parts of Honduras but it seems that the hurricane’s impact is not going to be as strong as originally forecasted…or feared.

I can’t complain about being safe, warm and well-fed where I am now and in good company and well-equipped with all my gadgets…however, it sure was a sucky feeling having to leave my site and being one of the first ones to skip town and run to safety. I know Peace Corps isn’t the Red Cross, the U.N., nor any search and rescue group. We’re not here to help out when the circumstances become a threat to our own safety, because that’s not what we signed up for. I just have to accept that and not beat myself up for having the privilege of having the option of having a safer place to go to when the going gets rough, unlike the majority of the population here.

I guess this has been another reality check where in I am reminded that no matter how inconvenient or uncomfortable my predicament sometimes may be, it will never be the plight of someone being at a perpetual disadvantage. I will always have choices at my fingertips to improve my conditions and have someone watching my back…and paying the bills. Hopefully when the tempestuous weather subsides and I am back at my site, I can resume trying to do meaningful work. Work that is significant enough that no one will have to remember me as the Peace Corps Volunteer who “peaced out” when the rain started pouring.

Blues in all the Hues

2007-07-11T12:00:00.000-07:00

Nobody’s volunteer service is supposed to be perfect and I was prepared for the rough patches heading into Honduras. Or so I thought.

It was a few weeks before I completed my first year in country (June 21) that I began to realize what I was NOT prepared for. So many subtleties in the different aspects of my daily life here have accumulated and have struck me quite hard out of nowhere. Eventually, it registered to me- or perhaps, I finally admitted that…”Geez, I’m in a funk!”

As a result of a series of deep reflection, I identified the following as factors to the quite extensive valley I have found myself in –

• Getting piropos (cat calls, kissy sounds, being called “Hola, mi amor!”¬) on a daily basis for pretty much an entire year has worn me down, along with, not so pleasant incidents where, trapped amidst a crowd in a big event, certain men took the liberty of grabbing what they thought they could get away with. Ever since, I try my best not to be a walking man-hating, angry women’s rights defender, but needless to say, I have graduated from simply ignoring all forms of harassment at all times and try to defend myself in various ways I have come up with.

• Realizing that the majority of my frustrations with work are rooted the apathy and complacency endemic in the culture. When nobody really wants to do any work or change anything, where do I go from there?

• Having my work with two different high schools be paralyzed by endless “days off” for every reason conceivable to mankind i.e. “Students’ Week,” review week before exams, exam week, rest day after exams, “Student’s Day”- which isn’t included “Students’ Week!” I mean, c’mon!

• Wrestling with existential issues such as the uncertainties with the future upon realizing more that anything and anyone can change at any given time, including myself. Also, the fear of being forgotten by or growing apart from my nephews and nieces who are all growing so FAST.

• Going through a “I’m still not good enough to be a Christian” phase even though I know for a fact that I’m quite an excellent human being.

At the end of the day, it’s all about the perennial issue that most volunteers mull over- that Eureka! moment of, “I am really not needed here.” Or- “Even if I were needed, nobody is willing to change anything anyway.” Worse, when there is interest from locals in any form of development or improving anything, having to work for it would be a major drawback. The vast majority in this country are so used to hand-outs (whether from foreign institutions in the country doing “development” work by just giving away anything to their discretion and from families abroad that send remittances sufficient to live off of) that lifting a finger for something would be a complete hassle or a foreign concept.

But am I complaining? Not really. If there’s a valuable lesson somewhere in this entire avalanche, it is that I am getting to know myself more. I thought I knew myself enough- but, surprise, surprise. I’ve been thrown into a fire I’ve never known before and that has forced me to dig even deeper into my being and find whatever fiber that will get me through this and help me look harder for the valuable things that are in the garbage heap that I am waist-deep in.

Ultimately, the gratification really lies in the relationships I have formed. Although at times I find myself counting the months and days until I finish my service (a little over a year and two months), as soon as I remember the loved ones here that I’m going to have to say goodbye to, I can’t even bear the thought of leaving them. Life is full of ironies indeed.

Another irony is that somewhere in my moments of blues, I find shades of warm orange that allow me to enjoy the difficulties and challenges because I feel more human than ever, and also, I can literally sense the growth happening inside of me. Let’s hope it is a butterfly that I transform into in the end, or at least a much better and stronger person.

So instead of fighting the pain (annoyances, really)- I just let myself feel it and go through the process and find breaks of white light in between. The perennial optimist that I am, I always know to just go back to counting my blessings when the going gets tough- naturally, I will end by listing the things that have kept me going…

• Getting my project proposal for the culture center approved. It means a lot of work before me and it’s really not official until the money comes, but at the least, it seems as if months of hard work and waiting seem to be bearing fruit.

• My most devoted ballet students are still coming to class. Also, although we are yet to present a dance piece we have been working on, it is finished and has come together nicely and is liked by the girls very much.

• Seeing a spark of interest even in just a portion of the different high school kids I’ve been working with in issues such as public policy, gender equity and cultural diversity.

• I’ve become an adopted member of many families that I have friendships with. I am invited to every occasion just like any next of kin and these relationships have just become my pillars of support and source of true joy.

• Learning a lot of skills both in the professional and domestic realm- from becoming familiar with issues well enough to impart them to students to making my own pupusas and encortido so that I don’t ever have to buy them outside.

• Enjoying the pleasures of living in solitude and finding solace in it- especially in moments spent writing, listening to music, cooking, reading.

• The hope that all my experiences here, good and bad, will someday serve me well.

I know that all the sucky things, too, shall pass so I have not made any drastic decisions such as packing my bags and going back to the U.S. mojada, as far away as I could from at times this seemingly God-forsaken country. In the end, I know that I am still where I should be because I sense that there’s so much more growing up in store for me here. Ojala que al fin, valdrá la pena. So I brace myself for all the cocoon moments that are still before me and I just close my eyes and picture la mariposa que voy a llegar a ser.

Teaching Adventures, Pointed Toes and Time Flying

2007-04-09T12:57:00.000-07:00

Who would’ve ever thought that Peace Corps life would be so hectic? Where are the lazy days on a hammock, the periods of sheer boredom? But then again, I also initially thought that I was going to be living in a hut by candlelight. My life is quite the contrary, as I enjoy electricity and running water 24/7 and live in a city with at least 4 Internet cafes. However, there remains a Peace Corps-esque element: I still wash all of my clothes by hand. I iron them too.

I figured it’s not Peace Corps but a Leah thing- I have a gift, to somehow, some way get so busy with responsibilities that I end up not being able to catch up with my own life. I have a ton of books that I have yet to read, e-mails from months ago to respond to and pending “personal time” to indulge myself in. For a while this really got me down, how my Honduras life ironically mirrored my über-hectic, fast-paced former U.S. life. But I am on the road to recovery, pausing every so often to reflect on my priorities more and escape from a neurotic life that has been my own doing. However, I would say this in my defense, despite reverting back into overdrive, there is one important difference between my life then and now: at least now I’m doing things that I really want to do.

Charla Marathon. March 8 was International Women’s Day and in order to continue the momentum from the National Women’s Day celebration, I honored the day, however, taking a different route. I wanted to give charlas (remember, a mini-lecture or workshop) to high school students about the history of the occasion and possibly about sex and gender concepts. My “great” idea was to go to two different public high schools and perhaps, give two charlas in the morning in one school, and then two more in the afternoon at another (note: high school classes here are only HALF a day long). But as I explained this to the school facilitators, they basically responded quizzically asking me why I would want to give two sessions when there are seven sections each for the morning and afternoon sessions? Okaay. I don’t know what possessed me to agree to the arrangements, but at the least I was able to bargain myself a lunch break and schedule TEN charlas instead of fourteen.

On the day itself, heaven favored me considerably such that some classes were combined; hence I only ended up giving seven forty-minute charlas instead of the original 10. Mind you, I never really had any formal teaching experience nor have no idea why I signed up with the toughest crowd there is (i.e., adolescents). But 357 students later (yes, I counted, I had a sign-up sheet) – I survived my own brilliant plan and surprisingly, ended up feeling very gratified. I was terrified more than I cared to show prior to my sessions, but everything worked out in the end. It went almost too well, but naturally, there always is that ONE class, specifically, ONE student that kept things very, very real. Up until that one student, I actually thought to myself for the first time ever that perhaps, I have what it takes to be a teacher. Um, I will not be quitting my day job any time soon.

Seriously, though, the experience was very sobering, because it gave me a taste of what Honduran teachers have to go through everyday. Obnoxious student behavior aside, the very dismal conditions of the classrooms and lack of many basics (e.g. in one high school, the students had to go around carrying their own chairs to their different classes because there weren’t sufficient seats in all of the rooms) just explains the poor quality of education in the country (a student is at a disadvantage from the beginning, with the classrooms falling apart) and why teachers are notorious for going on strike for higher wages all the time – must be all the stress they deal with on a daily basis! But to end on a high note, although I only I was able to only touch the tip of an iceberg through my sessions, I am pleased to claim that at the least I may have planted some seeds here and there and expanded their vision on society even just a tad wider and encouraged questioning, for example, why there are no women in their history books or why inequality exists between genders and how this is reflected in their own lives.

To end this subject, I would like to say, kudos to all the real teachers out there! Hats off, thumbs up, high five and all that good stuff to y’all brave and steadfast souls.

I’m a Gringa too, I swear! On a different occasion, a group of Peace Corps volunteers and myself gave a charla (yes, another one) on ethnic diversity to a group of students in a town called Siguatepeque to raise awareness and dispel existing stereotypes on the subject and discuss the origin of the term gringo. We had an activity where all the volunteers (of diverse backgrounds) were lined up and the students were to pick which ones were North Americans (here we can’t just say “Americans” because it’s offensive to Latin Americans to refer exclusively to U.S. citizens as the only Americans) and sure enough, the results of the activity and discussions reinforced what we already knew that the majority of Hondurans think that white, tall, with blue eyes define what it is to be estadounidense. It was great however, that out of the 21 students, 2 or 3 of them knew otherwise; so there is hope for the future! The funny thing was, after we, the volunteers, divulged that we are all “North Americans” despite having different roots, in the end of all the discussions on history, etc., the students still seemed incredulous that not all gringos are the typical white, tall with blue eyes. This was akin to telling a kid that Santa does not exist. But it was a lot of fun, and surely a lot less stressful than my previous marathon charlas.

Ballet Basics. When I was in San Francisco, I was taking an average of three classes per week, whether it was jazz, ballet, hip-hop or capoeira. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time where I would reach the point where due to the inexistence of dance classes for me to take in my town, I would go ahead and give them instead. Hence, I am now an official unofficial ballet teacher for Olanchito with kids ranging from 6-14 years old. Couldn’t stay away…couldn’t resist. I’m no prima ballerina, but I’m as good as it gets where I am and I am confident in being able to teach at least the basics to a group of first-timers. By the way, have I mentioned that I have never taught kids and especially not dance classes to people with no prior experience? Oh, and that I’m not exactly a big kid-person either? Hmm…notice the pattern I am developing here?

Ha! But so far so good…I started with a “trial period” of four weeks to test the waters and in the end all the kids and parents want to continue. I had a survey and all the good stuff to ensure a proper evaluation of my class- one of the comments I received that they like how I stress discipline (especially punctuality- a rare trait among Hondurans!) in my classes. This goes to show my plan is working…ballet was the last thing I wanted to teach but I want to transfer the greatest values that I personally learned from it as a kid, the discipline and a sense of a responsibility that I was later on able to and still continue to apply to all other aspects of my life. Through this process, I have been learning myself, to basically, uh…learn to deal with kids, improve my “instructional Spanish” and have a creative outlet that hopefully bears good fruit in the future.

Special mention to my dear friend, Ericka, who, provided me a cd of ballet class music and a ballet book to serve as my reference for my classes. Gracias! All other contributions accepted from anybody, anytime. ☺

A Moment to Pause. I never thought I would say that time here in Honduras flies, but it does. I have been here over nine months now and although there are plenty of petty things that I can legitimately complain about, I won’t, at least not now. To this point I remain thankful for having the chance to live a dream and I will continue to do so the best way that I can, even if it means getting over my hang-ups with politicians, kids and apathy in general. I am simultaneously excited and panicked – excited to complete my service and find out how “it all turns out” and panicked that I may not accomplish the things that I would like to by the time I finish next year. But is this my overdrive persona thinking? Either way, I will keep trying to achieve a good balance in all that I do, so I end with one of my favorite sayings- work hard, chill hard.

My Hands are Finally Dirty

2007-02-08T15:54:00.000-08:00

After months of wandering and wondering, wandering and wondering…looking for “real, tangible” work and pondering on where I fit exactly in the world of community development, doors and windows are finally opening upon my return from the holiday break.

A Different Kind of Writing. I promised myself that I’d pick up on my writing while here in Honduras and I’ve been true to my word- my blog, journal and letter writing have kept me busy. Now it seems that I am about to embark a new kind of writing that I’ve never done before- project proposals. For the municipality. After meeting with the powers that be in my town and various institutions, I have been assigned to be one of the people responsible for writing the proposals to acquire funding for projects that have been defined in the town’s municipal development strategic plan. It’s not going to be rocket science, but I still find it rather intimidating, especially since I’ll have to be familiar with subject matter that I’ve never worked in before, such as water systems, infrastructure, agriculture production.

I’m getting a knot in my stomach just thinking about it. Oh, and did I mention that the concept of organizing or managing information does not exist where I am? But I wanted to be challenged, and I guess here it is, staring at me right in the face.

El Dia Nacional de la Mujer. January 25 is National Women’s Day in Honduras; 1955 was the year when women earned their right to suffrage. Upon finding this out about a month ago, I consulted some of the women I knew from various sectors about the possibility of celebrating the event. A committee was formed made up of representatives that included the Women’s Municipal Office, Red Cross, Media, Fundación Pico Bonito, a network of women’s groups and of course…Peace Corps (i.e., I!).

What started as an idea turned into something larger than life. Prior to the day, some of the organizers appeared on television and radio spots to promote the event and discuss various themes concerning women. Yours truly, who has successfully dodged the media since September, eventually succumbed to the pressure and made my first radio stint and gave my first tv interview not long after. I suspended all my camera shyness and insecurities with my Spanish in the name of promoting the event and giving my own 2-cents on some gender issues. Happy to say, people told me I did a good job, and this was a huge relief.

The celebration itself ended up being a whole day event starting with a marcha pacífica (peaceful march) in the morning followed by an informal conference where various speakers were invited to discuss various themes (historical significance of the event, gender equity, sexual health education, to name a few), combined with a small food sale of some of the products made by the small women’s micro-businesses. The celebration was concluded in the evening with a cultural night, where different performers were invited, and homage to various senior women (midwives, clothes washer, cooks, etc.) who have dedicated their entire lives to their labor but have gone unrecognized. Each of the day’s activities was successful and by the night time, the venue was packed and a lot of women came in their best outfits, it seemed. The showcase of talents (poetry, song, dance) was impressive and very well-received (not to mention a certain volunteer named, Leah, performed a jazz piece to bachata music, the beloved sound of Honduras, among ranchera and reggaeton).

It was a historic day indeed, not only in terms of success, but due to the fact that it was the first ever celebration held in Olanchito for National Women’s Day. And even days after, people kept telling me that the whole pueblo (town) was still buzzing about everything and one of the positive, tangible outcomes of it was that some women found out that day that the Women’s Municipal Office exists and were able to go there for assistance afterwards.

What made all this possible in the first place was the “WE” in team factor- when our committee presented the ideas for the celebration before the municipal council (90% male) they were approved for the way we presented our cause and ourselves. We weren’t a group of women who wanted some cute little party to celebrate, but we showed that we were serious, had something to say, and had something to show. This is particularly significant for me because when I first got here, the mayor wouldn’t give me the time of day when I told him I was interested in working on strengthening the Women’s Municipal Office, because he had age-old, political issues with a colleague. But persistence has paid off, especially efforts to team up with more women, and now we don’t feel so invisible anymore.

For this one time, I would like to toot my own horn, for a lot of the work happened after the approval and I ended up doing a whole lot of the organizing and execution and every dirty chore in between. I was blessed to work with people who did their part (and cursed by those who were just there for show) and those who came out of the woodworks to give their support. There were a lot of frustrating and stressful moments that could’ve been easily avoided, but since we weren’t in the same cultural page on a lot of things, especially on the concepts of accountability and responsibility, I had to respect that and learn to also gracefully concede without sacrificing the quality (well, not too much) of work. I really can’t complain with the outcome, for everything was truly worth it plus I sure learned a lot from the experience. Furthermore, we were able to promote issues at the heart of our committee- women’s rights and gender equity, and bottom line, that’s what really matters.

Crossing the Border

2007-01-17T09:36:00.000-08:00

The magic of airplanes. One minute I’m dragging my worn-out suitcase through unpaved roads, the next minute I’m unpacking the same suitcase in another world, where the streets are paved and lined with gold, yet nobody really notices.

My immediate thoughts, within the first few days: Yes, I missed the streets of San Francisco, but not the walls of corporate America. Yes, I missed nice things, actually, having things, but not being broke because of them. Yes, I missed the speedy and efficient service for everything, but not the lightning-speed pace of life.

I definitely do NOT miss “work” as being the reason why the majority of people don’t ever have time for themselves and loved-ones or for things they really would rather be doing.

Eventually, the inevitable came. The departure date. I spent my entire life bouncing between two countries, and now comes a third, so one would think goodbyes become easy at some point. The truth: the “Hellos” never lose their thrill, but, neither does “Goodbye” fail to pierce through the heart each and every time. Even if it’s with the same people again and again.

So why do I keep saying goodbye, especially to those I hold closest to my heart? I don’t think I ever told anyone goodbye. It has always been a “See you later.” Out of the desire to find myself. Out of the need to chase my dreams before regrets start chasing me.

How bittersweet was the minute I realized that I yearned to go back to Honduras because there my dream awaited to be completed. Now, as I patiently head that direction one day at a time, what keeps me going is the promise of the next round of hellos. And the thought that perhaps, on top of “Hello,” one day I will get to say, “Guess what, I’m here to stay.”

Happy Birthday to Me!

2006-12-14T08:04:00.000-08:00

My birthday has always been one of my favorite times of the year simply because I always get an overwhelming outpouring of love and thoughtfulness each and every year for as long as I can remember. What´s interesting is not the same people remember every year, nor do they all remember at the same time, but nevertheless, I there are well-wishers, here there and all over. It never fails that each year, I receive a couple of random greetings from people out of the woodworks, so it has been fun finding out every year who they are going to be.

This year is no different in its level of awesomeness. Just when I thought being in Honduras would pose as a challenge, somehow I knew deep down that my day would find its way to prove to be special. My first birthday song (en español!) came in at 12 a.m., December 9th, from a friend in town, followed by a long distance call from the Philippines at 12:02 a.m. that came with a song number as well. Did I ever get to say that I LOVE IT when people sing Happy Birthday to me over the phone? I think it´s the most hilarious and fun thing.

My plans for the day were to attend a Christmas party at a nearby mini-resort for the network of women´s group that I am working with- only they turned the party into one birthday fiesta for me as well! When I arrived, birthday music in Spanish was blasting from the speakers and everyone surprised me by jumping from behind the bushes. My “party” was made up of almost 25 awesome women all in all!! Most of these are people I´ve only seen about a few times since I started working in Honduras, and yet they drowned me with kind words and some presents and as the picture shows- in icing. Yes, I got my cake and ate it too! Not to mention a piñata and merengue time with the ladies!

In the evening, I got to attend my first ever Honduran wedding to accompany my host mom, so that was cool. I felt like I had another big party with a ton of people, at no cost to me! Haha. Capped the evening by going dancing with some friends and then the following day, I went to celebrate again out of town with another volunteer who had the same birthday as I do- so we had some adventures in La Ceiba. Everything was chill and good.

Messages and phonecalls continued to pour in throughout the weekend and through the mail- both snail and electronic. Some people form here called me too and I never even told them when my birthday was! As always, I can´t really complain about anything, if at all, I feel so blessed to have so many amazing people in my life who continue to prove that distance doesn´t matter- and neither does being “recently acquainted” because in my three months here in Olanchito, a lot of people have come to embrace me as their own.

I´m 29 years old and it´s amazing how I don´t feel a year older. If anything, I know I´ve definitely matured more in my thinking but my heart is definitely getting younger and younger. Unlike the majority of people who freak out every time they turn a year older, I am the exact opposite, feeling more brave to embrace life as the years pass. I don´t think I ever have to worry about getting old- especially here in Honduras – I´ve had countless arguments with people who tell me I´m lying when I give them my real age, but when I tell them I´m 22, the argument comes to a halt. Case closed, indeed.

So this is a special shout out to each and everyone in my life who ever remembered when I had a birthday and made an effort to make me feel special. Every message, every phone call, every gesture- they all have stayed in my mind and heart and continue to make me feel mmm…good…deep inside.

Excerpts from November

2006-12-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

Nov. 2nd Apartment Blues
Moved into an apartment and I was back on my own. Sort of. Still had the previous occupant’s things and it took two weeks to get rid every last one of his things. Now I´m enjoying all my loaner items- bed, desk, drawer, stove, some kitchen items. My bed sheets are brand new, however, and a refrigerator may actually be within reach. But for now I will continue to enjoy my consumption of room temperature agua, since I made it to a month without the luxury of the ice box. It´s not so bad once you get used to it.

Nov. 4th and 29th ¡Viva Cuba!
Attended a ceremony on the 4th to honor the presence of the Cuban Ambassador to Honduras in our town. Our Mayor spoke endlessly on the glory of Cuba and how wonderful anything and everything that is Cuban. Heard the Cuban National Anthem for the first time, which lasted about 30 seconds as opposed to the Honduran anthem of 3+ some minutes. Saw members of the Medical Brigade from Cuba as well and they lived up to their reputation that I have heard about beforehand- creidos, i.e. snobs. But, the Ambassador was very nice to me when I introduced myself and he actually shook my hand.

On the 29th was a day to commemorate the Cuba – Honduras friendship. When it was time for the guest of honor from Cuba to give her speech, instead of the usual flowery declamation, she suddenly went into political discourse lambasting U.S. policy and the Bush administration and the evils of North Americans and how mighty Fidel is for making it to his 80th birthday. Hmm. Being the lone estadounidense in the crowd, I could only imagine what could have happened if the fired up speaker suddenly realized that there was an enemy amongst the audience. For once I found it convenient that no one in Honduras ever initially perceives me as from the U.S., only from China or Japan - the only two countries in Asia, according to the knowledge of the majority here. But I digress, needless to say, it wasn´t a very comfortable situation.

Mental note: I should avoid future events of this nature so that I will not have to be obliged to join the crowd when they burst into their chanting of ¡Viva Cuba! and ¡Viva Fidel!

Nov. 5th – 23rd. Speak Spanish to My Ears
I attended series of workshops with varying themes such as Human Rights of People Living with HIV/AIDS, Water Sanitation Laws, Emotional Intelligence, Conducting Feasibility Studies for Development Projects, Functions of the Powers of State and the Transparency and Audit Committees. Oh yes, all of these were in español.

Although I have been told by a lot of people that my spoken Spanish is perfecto or excelente, I still have my doubts. However, I do know that my comprehension has definitely improved, I would say up to 97% after surviving all these workshops, sans a dictionary, and even understanding technical terms. Kudos to my dedication and endurance! Sitting through classes of legalese in English wasn´t the most exciting nor easiest thing for me, what more, in Spanish. But “I´m doin´it…and doin´ it well," to quote an LL Cool J song, I think.

Nov. 13 If You Look Foreign, You Must Have Dough!
One of the men I have seen frequent the municipality on behalf of his group suddenly called me on my cell phone (a colleague just conveniently gave it to him) to ask to meet with me because his group needs help acquiring land and no one else in the municipality has been able to do it. Uh, sure thing. That was my cue to recite my spiel of "Peace Corps does not provide financial resource, but human resource” and went on to offer him instead to connect him with an existing organization that works on his issue. Just another day in Municipal Development work, I guess.

Nov. 14 Definitely in the Boondocks
I visited a 20-year old community of about 25 houses in one of the neighboring mountain villages of the city. When I arrived, I asked where the bathroom was and I was advised to go behind the church. Was the bathroom behind the church? No, the river lay behind the church. I was told to go there because no one would see me there as I took care of my business (just #1, for the record). So, as I was doing my first ever squat-to-pee in Honduras, it dawned on me that there was no bathroom anywhere there because there was no water system, hence no latrines, and of course, no electricity either. I had my first hand experience of the reality of the majority of the people who are living in the rural areas, outside the comforts of the city. It was sobering for me and a good reminder of what I´m supposed to be doing in this country. So no more whining ever about my apartment blues, where, although I had a leaky faucet at first, at least I have running water. And a toilet.

Nov. 23 and 24 Turkey Day
I had turkey! I had turkey on Thanksgiving Day in Honduras! Thanks to a volunteer friend’s mother (fabulous Ms. Viviana from San Diego) who came to visit the country for her daughter’s birthday and invite her friends. The lucky souls were treated to two nights in Hilton where they served a traditional (well, close enough- the turkey was real, though!) Thanksgiving Meal. Woohoo! The following night we enjoyed some wine, various cheeses (none of which was quesillo!), fruits and cold cuts. We had a lot to be thankful for indeed!

Nov. 26 Good Morning, Politics
Shortly after getting out of bed I headed out for the grocery and passed by a nearby store where I started chatting with the owner. When he found out that I´m from the U.S., he immediately went on about the injustice of how immigrants are treated there and his sentiments against the construction of the wall and then reminded me of the disasters that resulted in every Central American nation’s relation with the U.S. from the Reagan era. I have to admit I was blown away by the depth and breadth of his knowledge of history and politics – this was definitely not a typical chitchat with a Honduran. However, this was also at around 8 a.m., the morning after traveling on a bus for eight hours. I let him finish what he had to say and then politely told him that not all North Americans ( I learned that it is more p.c. to be specific and not just say “Americans” because Latin Americans are also Americans, not just the gringos.) share the same opinion with the current U.S. administration and then I excused myself. On a different day or time, it would have been interesting to pursue the political discourse, but that early morn, I just wanted to buy some groceries.

Nov. 29 Meeting with the Big Cheeses
My Peace Corps supervisor came to visit me at my site and meet with myself and my counterpart, the Mayor. It was all procedural, in order to check how things have been with work, health, life in general and discuss any issues. Over lunch, a graceful dance of politics and diplomacy between my jefa and the alcalde ensued and I would have to say it was productive and very helpful for me. At the least I would say that the past couple of months have been a frustrating uphill battle trying to find my purpose and way in and through a political world. Although I know that it will not be smooth sailing from here, hopefully having found some common ground from the discussion will result in progress.

Nov. 30 Beauty amidst Sorrow
Maritza is one of the best girlfriends of my host mother, Rosa. This week, her family suffered a tragic loss when her younger brother, a lawyer, was murdered in the capital. I wasn´t able to make the trip for the burial, however, when the family returned, I accompanied Rosa to visit their home since Maritza has become a friend of mine as well. It was an honor for me to be welcomed into the home and be allowed to witness incredibly intimate moments. I am familiar with the process of mourning when a loved-one passes away, but I have never been in a situation wherein a loved-one´s life was stolen. It was painful seeing the mother and the siblings of the deceased grieve. However, I found beauty in all of this - the maturity and strength of Maritza´s eleven-year old daughter consoling and embracing her mother as she cried and cried, people from the community visiting the home to be empathize with the family, intimate friends running the household and entertaining guests so that the family can mourn in peace. And in the middle of all of this, Maritza´s brother, Anoel, whom I met for the first time that evening, took the time to sit with me and get to know me, setting aside his own need for space in order that I could feel more comfortable in the home and with the situation.

This brings me to the realization that all this month I have been frustrated and stressed over not being able to do any tangible work even though I have been here, there, and everywhere trying to get to know communities, people and organizations. Someone once pointed out to me that building relationships is work. Whenever I go out I carry around a little notebook, writing names of every person I meet. Every so often I review these names and even though I don´t always remember everyone, everytime, most often I do and the effort has always been vale la pena (worth the trouble) when the eyes of someone whose name I remember light up. Last time I counted the names was over two weeks ago and I was at over three hundred people. This doesn´t even include the people I met before September 9, when I moved to this town. I guess 300 new acquaintances, several already dear friends, in about two months time is not bad work at all.

I guess what I am trying to say is that reaching a level of confianza (trust) the way I have with Maritza´s family, where I was able to go in her room, despite being the extranjera (foreigner) that I am while other visitors could not, is an amazing thing for me. And thanks to Rosa and other colleagues who have introduced me to various circles, I have reached this level of intimacy with other families as well. The concept of volunteer work being that of building relationships more than anything is starting to make more sense. So, no, I have not saved Honduras and I don´t think I´m going to- more than anything I think it is saving me from myself and any risk of having lofty aspirations. However, I will continue on with the kind of work I have been doing putting people first and I know somewhere out of all of this, a project of some sort will come up where it will be my turn to make a positive difference in somebody´s life.

Bitter Becomes Sweet

2006-11-05T17:35:00.000-08:00

I am suddenly living solo. After a year of living with family then two years with a roommate in the U.S., and four months later with four families in Honduras, I am back with me, myself, and I. Four days and counting.

The past month of living with my host mother, Rosa, has been so abundant with wonderful experiences and learning that to my surprise, I found myself not wanting to leave and just stay with her for the rest of my volunteer service. For a change, I didn’t have to worry about being lonesome or having a real home, as I had it all in the company of this lovely woman and in the cozy abode that she has. I met so many people and learned a lot about the community through her and discovered as well the extent of compassion a human heart can have.

However, I had to take a refresher course on humility and acceptance when the honeymoon had to end. Rosa’s heart was willing to take me in longer, but her commitment to keep her space open for a greater cause called for letting me go. As painful and sad it was for me at first, I immediately turned to counting the blessings I received through her and became grateful for the experience.

Apartment Blues. No transition is ever easy, especially not when it involves a business-like transaction in Honduras. Immediately after I signed a lease contract with my landlord for an apartment beginning November 1st, she told me that I couldn´t move in until the 2nd because the current tenant (i.e., her brother-in-law) had not vacated. Okaaay. So I returned the following day to pick up the keys only to have her tell me that the apartment wouldn´t be ready until the 4th. She told me my host mother wouldn’t mind my extending my stay with her because she is a kind, calm person. Yes, this is considered a professional excuse in this country. No more nice Leah at that point. So I put my foot down and told her I had to move into the apartment by hook or by crook, since Rosa was expecting family members to arrive and occupy my room, hence I had to pack up and leave, hasta pronto.

Somehow I was able to move into the apartment, but the place still had all of the previous occupant’s things- furniture, clothes, and appliances. Not to mention it was filthy. Instead of trying to take advantage of the Cornflakes-laced bed that was still there to sleep in for the night, I opted for the wickerwork-type of couch. Needless to say, with all the additional emotional and physical transitions I suddenly had to go through, that night was a definite low point. To sympathize with my pain, it maybe helpful to mention that in the last six years, I lived in six different places in the U.S., but if this seems rather crazy, it´s nothing, really, considering I just outdid myself because in my four months in Honduras, I had just moved for the fifth time.

Feel me?

After a good cry, I collected myself and reflected on what had just happened with my life. I knew my patience and faith are being stretched even further for my own good, hence, at that time, I didn’t have the need to get hysterical nor have a nervous breakdown. Besides, that would be very un-Leah. If anything, I have been my usual stoic self in the face of uh…crisis? Killing the landlord and her brother-in-law with kindness even when they tried to scr*w me over eventually worked to my advantage because the apartment ended up being emptied out a day earlier and I got a bed frame and a drawer loaned out to me. I didn’t have to sleep on the floor, after all, like I thought I would and I was able to empty out my suitcase. Sweet!

Back to Basics. Last night was the first time that the apartment, even in its vast emptiness, started to feel, not quite like home yet, but at the least, like my own place. It finally got cleaned, Honduran style (i.e. hose everything down with water) and I felt like I could finally breathe and in my solitude, find some inner peace. I felt that it was the real official start of my volunteer service.

I am now the proud owner of a twin-size colchon (a pseudo-mattress made of foam), bed sheets, and a pillow. I have a loaner fridge and two chairs for another week and a stove is about to be donated to me. So far, so good. For a while I was a bit stressed out how to fit the $200 allowance the volunteers got to furnish our respective places, but I refuse to sweat the small stuff much longer. I decided to trust that everything I need will find its way to me when I need them, not sure exactly how, but it will happen.

I am bringing to new heights learning to make do with what I have and extinguish any desires of acquiring so much stuff. This is what I wanted to leave in the U.S. so bad, and unfortunately, it hasn’t been easy as I hoped because a lot of people in this country, despite their poverty, are unsurprisingly materialistic. I swear, it is the power of cable television. The clothes, shoes and fancy cell phones of some people here definitely do not reflect their actual economic status. Dirt roads are not a deterrent to women painting the town red in their shiny stilettos. As for me, I refuse to fall back into a consumerist lifestyle and instead would like to savor the minimalist wayI find myself living in.

Alone, but Not Lonely. As much as I have enjoyed being out and about meeting the whole town (literally) in the past couple of months and always being in good company, finding myself solo in my empty apartment one last Friday night was a breath of fresh air. I found refuge in the company of a new shipment of books from my dear friend, Ericka, and a pile of books in Spanish begging to be read. For a change, I heard myself think and felt myself really feel for an extended period of time. I remembered the projects I originally wanted to do on my quiet time and got excited all over again.

Sure, it seems like I have been on an endless roller coaster ride, even before I left San Francisco. True. But with each dip I discover something new as I rise back up, equipping me better for the next dip that I’m about to encounter. It´s not a secret that life is full of ups and downs, so I´m not sure why people keep trying to run away from or deny the ”downs” that inevitably occur. There are a few rules in life that I swear by and one of them is to live it with the utmost grace, even in the face of adversities. I knew all along what I was up for when I chose to become a volunteer and having the right frame of mind makes such a big difference. It probably doesn’t hurt either that I´m ridiculously patient and optimistic no matter how hard the hits I take.

I am pretty fortunate that even if I choose to become a hermit here in my town, it will be impossible to do so given that I already know a ton of people and any given day that I would like company, all I would have to do is step out of my door. I already know my neighbors prior to moving into my apartment and with invitations to eat out or hang out coming in abundance, truly there is no excuse to feel alone. If anything, all the attention and company can be overwhelming, but , this a subject matter for another time. For now I will just enjoy finally having the balance of alone time when I´m in my place and having the company of the whole of Olanchito when I´m out.

God´s Love in the Time of Addiction

2006-10-12T18:20:00.001-07:00

Coming across a church in Honduras that is called Fire of God, I am reminded why those who are not accustomed to the Christian life and all its attributes, would deem ¨those evangelicals¨ as crazy fanatics and why they would immediately run the opposite way within sight of anyone carrying a ¨Jesus Saves¨ sign. I grew up Catholic and am very well acquainted with Mr. JC Himself, but I used to think ¨those crazy evangelicals¨ to myself too. Well, I still think that way about some of them, but over the past couple of years, I have been educated about a thing or two and am now more careful to judge.

It was bound to happen that I wanted more than just the routine of going to mass, 50 minutes of which were devoted to sheer ritual, reciting memorized prayers, and performing gestures in between, and the rest was 10 minutes of homily either by an inaudible octogenarian or a foreign priest with an accent so thick that he might as well have spoken in tongues since nobody understood him anyway. In other words, like my Theology Professor in College declared, I was guilty of being a nominal Catholic like the rest of the class. It´s embarrassing but I never really read much from the Bible until the required exegesis in freshman year, and only heard the same Scripture passages during mass year after year.

The Leap. Then one day I attended service at a non-denominational church. In all honesty, as much as I wanted a profound experience, I actually felt like I crossed into the Twilight Zone. People were all over me as I walked through the door, greeting and blessing me, and the congregation was bouncing off the walls dancing and praising to LOUD music. And everyone knew everyone and most of all, everyone seemed just TOO HAPPY. Scared little Catholic girl, I was indeed. Nevertheless, I kept going back and started to learn more, such as the Christian speak, i.e. commonly used words in the sermons and conversations that I have never used before in everyday language such as testimony, ministry, His stripes, miracles, restoration, and a lot more. I just kept thinking to myself, ¨Change is good. Change is good.¨

It was good indeed for as different (and weird) everything seemed at first, I found exactly what I was looking for so long, church hopping and all, for quite some time- a real message. For the Word of God to make sense in real life and not just be some be some strange text full of Ye´s and Thou´s. Passages I´ve heard all my life suddenly started to make sense, not just in meaning, but in application as well. It took a lot of work and utmost open-mindedness on my part to start reaping the benefits of really seeking and learning. A lot of heartaches too. For at times, nothing just made sense- different parts of the Bible seemed to contradict each other- one part says Thou Shalt Not Kill and then in another, God commands to annihilate clans and clans of people. Hmm. And then there is just that persistent insecurity- it is just too darn hard to be good or understand things- at least in the way that those happy people are. There was actually a period that out of frustration, I consciously stopped praying and tried to not believe in a God, or the God, or whatever it is supposed to be.

It was the emptiest feeling I have ever experienced in my life.

Living Presence. I don´t know if I ever will be eloquent enough to be able to explain why I believe in God, especially to a non-believer. All I know is that all my life there has been this presence in my life guiding me every step of the way, even when I didn´t pay much attention to it. I don´t even dwell too much on issues of historicity or factual basis of the Second Coming like all the intellectuals like to debate about. I have just come to accept His reality in my life and now I am just focused on patiently growing day by day and embracing the truth the love of God can bring. And dare I say it- the miracles.

A Miracle Called Morris. Last Sunday I went for the first time to a Christian church here in town and it just so happened to be the night where the congregation was welcoming the return of a group of young men from a spiritual retreat. Needless to say, there was the hour and a half long intro of singing, praise, and invocations, but finally the participants were called in to the sanctuary. They then ran into the building and started dancing for joy in front of the church like I´ve never seen youth dance before. For a second I could´ve thought I was in a rave party, seeing the frenzy that they were in. And then each of the participants were called to step forward one by one and share their testimony. One of them was Morris, the ultra friendly and convivial server /bartender in one of the town´s best restaurants, who is also usually seen in the social scene (not that there´s much) when not at work, always with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette on the other. He is a very pleasant person, but the few times I had the chance to spend time with him, I saw all the signs. Needless to say, this 21-year old was all about work, booze, smoking, getting stoned and getting…some.

So there was Morris, in front of the congregation, proclaiming his love for God and that the old Morris is gone and has been interred. He then asked forgiveness from his family and wept uncontrollably as he did so, as his family (and myself, along with my host mother) went into his embrace. It was the same thing for the rest of the participants- one by one, proclaiming their salvation, claiming they are free, and falling into the arms of almost always, their mothers. What struck me the most was that some of them looked as young as ELEVEN YEARS OLD, weeping with such remorse, as if they were already carrying the sin of the world at such a young age. Eventually, I found out that they were indeed. This group of about twenty young men was the rock bottom of this town, the product of broken families – living with the addiction of alcohol, cocaine, you name it. So imagine the look on their mothers´faces as their Prodigal Sons have come home.

Learning from a Former Non-Believer. A couple of nights later, Morris, being a long time family friend of my host mother, visited us in our home to thank us personally for our presence at church that night. He was his usual self- jovial, happy, but the only difference was, he was sober. And the delight that emanated from him was incredible. He wreaked with joy such that I recognized it as to be the same kind of happiness that I saw in real Christians, you know, the kind that I found TOO happy it was odd. Glass after glass he drank with us- all of them water. He shared that since the retreat, he had no desire or craving at all for his vices, even after years of addiction. I then found out the extent of his dark past and I was amazed by his honesty and the ease with which he opened up and just how his world went downside up overnight. This is coming from someone who, too, used to think, ¨those crazy evangelicals.¨

I am still not over by what I witnessed that night. I keep thinking to myself, here I am, having believed in God and always faithful to His ways all my life, and yet, I don´t ever remember a time where I think I have danced and praised God, in the way those boys, now men, did. Such reckless abandon in their worship and joy in their faces – the very kind I would like to be able to have one day, and the reason behind I keep finding myself in the company of Christians.

And then there was Morris at our dinner table, asking to lead the prayer before our meal. If I didn´t know better, I would´ve thought to myself, ¨Oh, he´s one of those Christians who are too happy.¨ If I needed any more convincing about what the love of God can do, witnessing the change in Morris and those boys would have clinched it. But the thing is, I don´t need any more convincing, I just need to shed all my still existing inhibitions and hang-ups and completely open my heart such that one day, I, too, may experience fully the joy the love of God brings.

Two Birthdays and a Funeral

2006-10-08T15:10:00.000-07:00

There`s nothing more intimate than being invited into family occasions to celebrate with them and also, share their moments of mourning. It didn`t come as a surprise that my moving in to live with a woman in her 50´s who is well-known and well-loved by the entire community has given me instant access to the world I am living in now. Integrating has become effortless. A week after the move, I am still blown away by the depth and breadth of this free-spirit I have come to get to know and how she is received, along with myself, in every single home or corner store we pass by. I feel immensely blessed by this opportunity and it is only the beginning.

In the past week alone, I attended an 18th and an 80+th birthday party and a burial. In all three occasions I found myself surrounded by strong family ties and life-long friendships fueled by an insurmountable amount of love for each other, whether in a time of joy or sorrow. Imagine the octogenarian celebrant, surrounded by her 9+ children, multiplied exponentially with her grandchildren, all taking the time to slowdance with her. And then there was the late night gathering of a throng outside a funeral home, where friends and family awaited the arrival of the deceased; when the hearst arrived, there was silence and when the tears started pouring, shoulders to cry on abounded.

The past month has been a blur, being pulled right and left in getting to know the community, and up and down, emotionally. Supposedly the first few months of service are going to be slow and I would have to agree- that is, when it comes to business being done. Deadlines don't exist here and when it comes to keeping appointments, well, I learned all too well that they do take place- eventually. Pretty big adjustment for someone who used to swear by an Outlook Calendar, but in a way, I think I`m learning to enjoy just going with the tranquila pace of life here, and the attitudes. On the other hand, my social life has skyrocketed into the atmosphere- that is, of course, if you count visiting community or family members and chatting over Coke or tortilla y quesillo and going to local grocery stores to stop and chat as social events.

I have also been able to go out dancing in more consecutive weeks (even days) than I can remember, even compared to back in the U.S. And I don`t necessarily mean going clubbing. Over here, there is room for dancing for any occasion, any place, and I love it. I couldn´t remember ever dancing with a group of vibrant and humorous 50+ year old women (and an 80+ year old, let´s not forget!), shaking it to merengue music til we dropped. And last weekend I was on a field trip with a network of women's groups trying to form an alliance in the region and when we were having lunch at a poolside of a resort, reggaeton played and I on instinct just bobbed my head to the music. When all of a sudden, the hot mamalicious of the group just grabbed me and next thing I knew, we were putting on a show for the rest of the ladies...showing them how it's done and how music and dance truly defy all age and cultural barriers. It was hilarious...and amazing. As much as I would hate to admit it, I realized that the 40/50+ year old women I have been hanging around with have so much more energy than I do and could definitely outlast me whether in dancing or socializing. I have some serious training to do, I say.

On the work front, I cannot say that things have been too peachy. I guess I can`t have everything I want in one sitting. These days I have been developing my virtue of patience more than ever, figuring out how I can be really useful to this community. I have decided that on top of being involved with the arts center, I would like to focus on working on women's issues, collaborating with the Municipality Office for the Women. But before I get to do that, I have to get through an ocean of political drama and bureaucratic hoopla. Although it`s supposed to be a "municipal" office, it is not really the case as it hasn`t really been getting any form of support for some time from the local government. To say the least, I discovered how challenging it is to get the time of day from the seat of power when it comes to women´s issues, being in a machista town where more roads are of utmost importance. I have been frustrated for a while, but I guess this is where my creativity and wits are supposed to step in, and fortunately, I have been finding encouragement here and there simply by having the right frame of mind and patience, of course. Right now I have no idea on where to find the solutions, but I guess my real work has begun. And like everything else in Honduras, I know everything will fall into place, eventually.

I´m Legit

2006-09-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

It`s official. I am a volunteer. I made it through eleven weeks of training and so did the rest of the 50 out of the 52 that came to Honduras. The past couple of weeks have been a blur with so much happening. Field-based training in La Esperanza wrapped up successfully and rather quickly. Then it was back to Sta. Lucia for a week and the following weekend was our site visit- the time when we were finally told the location of our sites and actually got to visit them for four days to see the place and get to know the community.

Sweet Discovery. I lucked out by having my site situated in the highly-coveted area of the North, where all the beaches are found. I´m not quite that lucky by being right on the coast, or even being really, really close to it…but two hours away isn´t bad at all. My site is the principal city in the department of Yoro, known as civic city of Honduras. My real fortune lies in the kind of work that I´ll be doing- mainly with the municipality and the casa de cultura, which is what a city´s cultural center is called. My counterparts are the mayor and the director of the casa. It´s still pretty surreal how I was sad to leave my dancing and all the arts in San Francisco but managed to end up in a city best known for the writers and artists that have emerged from it. The casa was pretty defunct until the new director took over and now it offers music and drawing lessons, ballet (well, sort of) classes and is actively looking to do more (perhaps I didn´t have to say goodbye to dancing or design work afterall?). I arrived at a perfect time- Civic Month where two weeks of activities celebrating culture and civic pride have been scheduled. My work in the municipality is yet to be determined but I´m supposed to over all strengthen it…rather vague and ambitious, I know. Hopefully my subsequent meetings with the mayor will clarify things and focus on at least step one.

Burnt, but Content. I can´t really expound right now, exhausted from the week´s series of activities and emotional roller coaster ride. I was on the bus for at least a total of 30 hours the last two consecutive weekends. My site is ten hours away from Sta. Lucia and last week´s visit plus last night´s return have taken their toll on me. Not to mention that I´ve packed and hauled all my things three times the past three weeks- from La Esperanza to Sta. Lucia and now to Olanchito. For the first time in eleven weeks, I am feeling a bit spent. Fine, sort of sick. But I just wanted to share my thoughts while fresh, especially about last Thursday´s swearing in of volunteers. The country director for Peace Corps Honduras was there, along with, the U.S. Ambassador. The ceremony was short and sweet and afterwards we had some fun in the Ambassador´s Residence where as a bonus, we got a sighting of the Honduras President who happened to be there. The night was concluded with dancing at a club with the entire group and afterwards a hot shower and a plush bed at the Marriott where we were actually allowed to spend the night on a volunteer rate. I guess I can´t really complain about the ten hour bus ride that followed the next day.

So this is it for now, folks. More details to come as I get to know my new home for the next couple o´years and start settling in to the Volunteer life. I plan to take everything slowly, but surely, just as I always have. I´m just happy to finally be able to say- I`m really doing it! Wish me luck!

Two Months Down

2006-08-19T18:32:00.000-07:00

Almost Volunteers. This past week has been a turning point as all the trainees had the chance to start executing self-directed projects and had a better idea of what volunteer work is going to be like. The mantra of the Municipal Development group is, “It happens” because in Honduras, and in community work, especially, things do happen and that’s just the way it is. For example- meetings starting late, only half the people expected showing up, being asked to rescheduled an already confirmed workshop on the day and time it was about to take place,

Last Tuesday, I gave my first ever charla (workshop/lecture) in Spanish to a group of high school students. My subject was self-esteem. A school director had requested this on top of the original plan for a leadership workshop because she believed some kids she had in mind could use a lecture on self-esteem, so I accepted the challenge. It was nerve-wracking enough having to come up with the material on my own and having to facilitate the entire thing in Spanish before the “special “students. For a while I felt like the whole thing was a scene right out of Dangerous Minds as I went into a run down classroom, with some seats turned over and the students were eyeing me, bored out of their wits, wondering what in the world I was about to do with them. But I believe I pulled it off and that experience represented what my Peace Corps experience is going to be like. I didn’t let the circumstances intimidate me, sucked up my courage from somewhere, stuck to my plan and at some point, I became comfortable in my skin. I managed to engage the group until the end and even though I didn’t get a standing ovation in the end, I knew I did my job.

I actually felt better in the end that I didn’t get the “perfect, enthusiastic” crowd for because it made my experience more real. Volunteer life will never be a walk down a path laced with rose petals nor will everyone come out of every activity I lead a changed person. Somewhere along my workshop, I let go of my script and just spoke extemporaneously (still in Spanish) on what I thought those kids needed to hear. I made them repeat one by one before the class their life goals that we had discussed earlier. I told them that all of their dreams were possible, but they will not come for free. That success took hard work, but with more successes in life, come a greater sense of pride. That I was once a student like them, bored out of my mind at times with school and lectures like the one I was giving, but I wanted to make something of myself so I took life seriously. I told them that my greatest dream for the longest time was to be a Peace Corps Volunteer and that I am about to live that dream because I worked hard for it. Most of the 18 kids I had in the group still looked at me with glassy eyes after this speech, but there were a handful who kept their ears peeled until the end and clearly got the point. They are the fertile ground where my first seeds got planted. I figure if I keep this going, after the two years, I would have covered a vast area of real estate.

HIV Reality. In addition to addressing self-esteem, today the trainees gave a workshop to high school kids on HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention. Yes, my second charla in a week; I’m definitely on a roll. Yesterday we had a “training of trainers” where we received the same workshop we replicated today. It was a great experience to receive a formal training and then immediately be able to put it into practice. The method was very effective and participative and definitely paid off with engaging the kids. They sure enjoyed those bananas.

This is as close I have ever been to the graveness and urgency of the issue of the epidemic, with Honduras being the hotbed of AIDS for Central America. This is also the first time I’ve actively done something about it…well, a step further from my AIDS Walk and Marathon participation. It was pretty surreal talking to thirteen year olds about the ABCs (abstinence, be faithful, condoms) but it really is the age in this country (well, the rest of the world, really) that things begin. So I guess it is better to favor the side of caution than ignorance, or even denial. Which is the state of what most people are here- the “deed” is never talked about within the family; parents don’t educate the kids out of being “conservative” or just plain ignorant because the majority of adults themselves are unaware of the reality of AIDS and how it is transmitted. Infidelity is the norm and it is very common that a man would infect his wife without either one of them ever finding out or until it’s too late. Or at times the man would know he is infected but would continue with his reckless promiscuity regardless. The kind of myths that people have about HIV/AIDS here also demonstrate how misunderstood the disease is- one kid from today’s charla shared that he heard that if a woman is to bear a child every year, it would reduce or eliminate her chances of contracting the disease. Another one is some men have taken their wives’ birth control pills or have taken the injection for themselves thinking that would prevent their infection. Umm…Houston, we definitely have a problem.

I am grateful for having learned and experienced a lot this past week. I also appreciate that we, as future volunteers, are encouraged to give these charlas every chance we can in our respective communities. Having shed my apprehensions and with my Spanish bound to get better, giving these workshops should become easier and useful. Now only if I knew what community I’ll be in.

Veil of Mystery. We are three weeks away from being real volunteers and yet we still don’t know where our sites are going to be. Our Project Manager knows, but she is holding out for two more weeks, supposedly to sustain our interest and attention for training. Allegedly, volunteers in the past just slacked through the remainder of training soon after they found out their sites. So we are being punished for the sins of our ancestors. Argh. We are all restless, impatient…and helpless.

However, I did find out a little more information from my recent interview about my future site- that I will be placed in one of the larger cities and will be working directly with the municipality. Doing exactly what, I’m not sure- but something along the lines of organizing the different agencies and getting the municipality in shape. If it will be anything like the municipalities I’ve seen so far, then I definitely have a few ideas in mind. The highlight of my interview, however, was finding out that my Project Manager actually heeded my request to find a way for me to have a secondary project that will enable me to do something related to visual and performing arts. Hence, I will also be working with the casa de cultura of the same municipality, which is basically the cultural center of that town in charge of all arts related activity. Golden!! If this cultural arm turns out as active and progressive like my manager described it, then I’ll definitely be floating in air. I just want to be able to do the things that I enjoy and use my talents in every way I can.

Speaking of which, to add on to my line of charlas under my belt, I’m actually preparing to give another one for our group next week on web design concepts and how websites can be useful for the municipality and organizations. Well, who would’ve thought- rusty on web skills and having thought I had to give up my design life for two years and plagued with a fried laptop and yet, here I am preparing for a session on web design and technology. With initiative and a kind friend loaning her computer to me, ¡si se puede! (It's possible!) I’m very thankful that I’m beginning to realize that my two biggest love, dancing and design, are slowly showing their faces again and are promising a future of keeping me busy and happy.

Raining Manna. So I’m pretty much a destitute, officially, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. Actually, I’ve been feeling pretty wealthy lately, at least in all the other aspects. One reason is that I’m just really excited to finally become a volunteer and start working. Everything I’ve experienced in the past two weeks and what I have to look forward to for work have all been encouraging and exciting. I’m really fortunate to have been assigned to a program that really suits my interests and even squeeze in my other extraneous passions, i.e., the arts.

Then, there is the loving I’ve been getting through phone calls, snail mail and e-mails. I can’t express enough how comforting it is to have dearly beloveds stay in touch. The past few days, it hit me how much of them are going through major, exciting changes. All by choice. Big and bold steps being taken left and right; my heart is leaping and singing right now. Four life-long friends have been engaged to their respective beloveds, another one will be packing up some suitcases to give the fashion world a run for its money. A sister just crossed the finish line with all her might, got a gold medal and discovered the extent of her inner strength, while another one crossed the finish line of the corporate world and is about to become her own boss, the same goes for a cousin in the orient. Then there are those loved-ones, waiting in the backstage for their turn to chase their dreams- a ball of fire contemplating serving the world, my mamacita about to spread her wings, a newly found long-lost friend inching her way to the doors of all the nations, the love of my life finally taking the slow lane to smell the roses…and hopefully, listen to the music.

I’m so happy about these things that my lonesomeness has diminished. Even though I’m by myself here, I feel as if I have the company of everyone above in the journey I am taking- of self-discovery and doing more meaningful things, of bravery and making the ultimate commitment to self, love, and spirit.

Getting There. The day I become an official volunteer in September is not only the day a long-time dream comes true, but also the day I get to start chasing my other dreams. I am grateful for the peace I hold in my heart now, but more than anything for the love. This love of mine and faithfulness to whatever I can imagine have led me this far and it brings me great joy that the important people in my life are starting to be as true to their hearts. I remember before when they were just hearing the whisperings of their desires. I don’t see the big picture completely, nor can I fathom what it could be like, and yet, I already sense its greatness. Not just for me, but for everyone else who learn to believe, dream, want and work like I have discovered- with reckless abandon. After all, happiness is happiest when shared, so as early as now, I’m already in solidarity with the excitement of the first steps being taken by my loved-ones, along with the trials that will come, and ultimately, the sweetness of perseverance realized. How beautiful and kind life is indeed, for those who look at it the right way, and want it as such, no matter what.

Warm Cornflakes for the Soul

2006-08-05T14:07:00.000-07:00

I previously only heard about it from other trainees, but last Monday, for the first time, I was served the infamous cornflakes with warm milk and sugar. It has actually grown on me…well, at least the warm milk part. As for the sugar, that’s another story. It comes with everything in liquid form. Zuko (equivalent to Tang) is automatically served with lunch and coffee with dinner (not breakfast, I don’t know why) and both come with sugar already- seemingly with 50% content. Almost a week into being with a new family, I’ve declared to them that diabetes is hereditary in my real family and I’m a potential candidate and that I often suffer from dehydration, hence, water is best for me. I thought I made it clear that I prefer my cereal without sugar, but it still seems sweet to me, but as for the rest of the meals, I have managed to dodge everything and stick to H2O.

Just small adjustments to this new life in a new city with a new family for field-based training. Everything is different here in La Esperanza I can’t say things are better or worse in comparison to Santa Lucia, as both places have their plus and minuses, they’re just different. The change has been well-received, however. It is nice to lead a life beyond the confines of the training center, away from an elementary schedule and lifestyle.

New family. Apart from the sugar situation, everything has been great with my new host family. I have a teacher mom, an accountant dad, who works 7 days a week, and three siblings aged between 16 and 20. They have a seemingly different lifestyle from my last family- humble, but not exactly primitive. They have an electric stove but only use it rarely and cook most meals using the fogon, or wooden oven. As in with firewood and a furnace and all that good stuff. Nobody has a cellphone, but they do have two TVs. Also, for a few days I didn’t think they had a refrigerator since I didn’t see one in the kitchen- until I walked into the living room and found a massive one there. Pretty interesting. But the best perks would have to be that their tortillas are homemade (I am currently in training) and I have my own hot shower!! Woohoo! A nice break from the ice cold mornings I’ve gotten used to.

More importantly, however, is that my family is great to talk to. Especially the mom and one of my sisters. I spend a lot of my time conversing with them- the most memorable one being one evening when electricity was out for a long time and yet, time flew by. My sister is everything opposite the typical Hondureñan youth- hates reggaton but is passionate about rock music, loves black clothing and wants to pursue a career in Military Psychology (or along the lines of) which will take about 12 years of study. She can also crank out about a million tortillas a minute. I am in perfectly good hands.

A Preview of Municipal Development. The nice thing about training here is that Spanish classes are done in different homes and luckily, I reached a level where I only have to go to class three out of five days a week. Which means, I have more time for the community project. The main goal of being in this town is to get hands on experience working with a municipality, a community-based organization and a student government. There are three groups working in three different municipalities and the other day we were able to meet different mayors (and vice-mayors) and start making contact with the people in the municipalities. How do I describe the experience? For now, let me just say this, DMV would be a perfect institution compared to what is here. It merits its own entry and I will paint a better picture once I have spent more time in and have a much closer look.

But for now, I am grateful be a step to closer into figuring out what being a community developer really is and finding a way to be useful where help is really needed.

Of Basuras and Bolos. La Esperanza is in the department (equivalent to a U.S. state) of Intibucá and is one of the poorest parts of the country. It is here that I may have seen a better representation of the country’s situation. Honduras is infamous for its bolos or borrachos, i.e. drunks. It’s not uncommon to find one, or several of them, passed out on the side of a street or some random doorstep. A slightly comical sight the first couple of times, but seriously a tragic reality. Supposedly, drinking here starts on Fridays and go on until Monday, so the most common day for bolo sightings is Sunday. Most of these people are vendors from out of town whose earnings never make it back to their families because they spend it all on guaro (bolo’s drink of choice- cheap, potent, pretty much like gasoline as one local described it to me; often laced with lead, as in, lead the mineral).

A slightly more popular sight than a bolo would be basura. Trash, trash everywhere. Even on top of the mountain, when I went hiking last month, I saw food wrappers. People walking down the street would nonchalantly toss their garbage on the ground, or out of a moving vehicle. And I mean soda bottles or food scraps- nothing discreet at all. The sad thing is, the people can’t be completely blamed for their bad habits. Waste collection service is non-existent in a lot of places, so people are left to find creative ways of "managing" their trash. If only the people were educated better, waste management shouldn’t have gotten out of hand, which brings me to…

Education. In a word, this is both the biggest problem of the country and what anyone wanting to help out should set as a priority. This is a heated issue right now with all the teachers nationwide on strike, protesting the president’s reneged promises. I have heard both sides and am sympathetic to certain points of both parties, but bottom line, there is a huge problem that needs to be fixed. ASAP. Here is a snapshot: out of 200 class days last year, only 92 days were completed due to the never ending strikes, and generally, only a small percentage of students get through high school. It is not uncommon at all to find cities with mayors having only an elementary education. I have only been here over a month and most week days, I found kids being out in the street instead of in school. Also, does child labor ring a bell, anyone?

Having seen this, I realize that any development work to be done here by anyone will essentially be on education. There are so many issues to choose from. Let’s not forget that Honduras also has the highest HIV rate in Central America. If I may surmise, the same should go for teen pregnancy. Thirteen, fourteen year olds having babies everywhere. There are families with up to fifteen kids. Out of the ordinary? Sadly, no.

This is not only a poorly educated population, but an impoverished one. To add insult to injury, an everyday sight would be a local walking some distance on muddy, unpaved streets, carrying a heavy load, while SUVs drive past with music blasting, carrying the beautiful, rich people. In a way, this has been my reality too- carless and living on a stipend, I have begun to be in solidarity with some of the people’s plight. But not exactly, for my situation is temporary and by choice. I can go back to my cushy life in the States now if I wanted to. Choice. I have one, the rest of them don’t.

Argh. Where does one begin? With one person, realistically. In training, we are constantly reminded that we are not here to change the world or save a community. We are not even to see the fruits of our labor within our two year tenure. But we are here to plant seeds, to open eyes, to show alternatives. To empower and instill pride. Be it with a child or a small group of women.

My conversation with my sister over candle light was a dose of hope. The most poignant insight she shared with me was that she doesn’t care too much for going to the U.S., like the rest of her countrymen. She said she believes it will be best for her and her country to stay here and do good things here. She even taught me words to poke at those impregnated early, making it clear that she isn’t about to be a statistic. Sure she loves Blink 182 and loves her black skirt with black knee-high boots- but she is a catracha (native) through and through. And whenever I see her rhythmically churn out the tortillas as she bobs her head to a reggaton (which she puts up with for her sister’s sake) song, I don’t think she is about to forget who she is anytime soon.

One Month Down

2006-07-25T16:35:00.000-07:00

A little over a month into training and time has finally started going a little faster. This weekend my training group is moving to La Esperanza for field based training where we actually get to leave the classroom life and get to know the community and do something similar to our future work. The change of environment will be greatly welcomed and perhaps then, things will start to feel a little more like what I signed up for.

Not quite 22. A big reason I´m pretty anxious for change is that I discovered recently that out of a group of 51, the majority of the other trainees are between 22-24 years old. Fresh out of school. So it´s no surprise that I often feel like I´m in spring break or in one big soiree. I´m the second oldest in the group, with the eldest one being over 50 years old. I´m not quite in the level of the fresh grads, but not quite where 50 is, either, so finding someone I can relate to has ben tricky. But thankfully there are some people close to 28 or at least act more mature than most in the group. Nevertheless, it is a surreal feeling being back in an environment where we are treated like kids precisely because some people are acting as such. Restless for partying, pissing away money as if we´re still earning dollars, complaining about cultural differences. Last time I checked, it was the Peace Corps I signed up for, not summer camp, right? I know I´m a kid myself and will stay young forever deep down, but c´mon, there´s a big difference between being child-like and child-ish! But being the more mature person I am, I see and understand where the young-uns coming from so I just try my best not to get distracted by all the juvenile behavior.

Quiet time. As homesick I have been lately, well, people-sick, really, I am thankful for the amount of quiet time I get to have now. Even when I start to get lonely, especially at night, under my mosquito net, I feel good knowing that I didn´t spend my day being stressed over things that used to get to me. Sure the amount of homework and just adjusting in general are exhausting, but bottom line, I go back to the fact that if I wasn´t here, I would just feel lost. It has also been wonderful reconnecting with friends and catching up with life. Even though I don´t get to respond to e-mails right away, I read what I can and go home reflecting on everyone´s letters and get I get to give some more thought on my own answers. I knew life was getting bad in the U.S. when I had all the technology at my fingertips to connect with people in an instant, and yet, I couldn´t keep in touch. It is great hearing from people from all over and feeling closer to them than ever, even when I am here by myself in a different corner of the world.

Seeing more. I´ve said this a lot of times already, but I will keep saying it- this place reminds me of the Philippines so much. Furthermore, I practically feel like I am back in the Philippines. This time, however, living from the perspective of a low-income lifestyle. I have had a chance to see a few more places here and the more I see of people´s lives and learn of the country´s politics and culture, the more it rings of home.

I evaded politics for a good period of time simply out of distaste. Growing up in Manila and seeing what I have, there wasn´t much motivation to have faith in any form of government and realistically expect progress and equality for all. But I always secretly hoped for it. In the U.S., I tried to be a good citizen, at a minimum, by voting and knowing some figures in office (not all Americans can claim these two things!) but politics still wasn´t my cup of latte.

How ironic that I now find myself at the lion´s mouth of government work. Maybe I never did give up hope. I find the opportunity to work in municipal development my chance to get a first hand look on how the wheels of politics run and finally understand it, but more importantly, to get my hand in it. I never found myself eloquent in matters of political discourse at a theoretical level- all that I could really talk about were the realities of poverty, pain and suffering I have seen. I was fortunate to have lived comfortably amidst an impoverished nation and later on experience everything great about America. Nevertheless, I couldn´t escape the reality of the rest of the world and how it made me feel, even as I sipped my four dollar coffee. So here I am .

I have been questioned, even rhetorically, why I´m serving in Honduras instead of the Philippines, where my help is just as badly needed. I don´t have the perfect answer right now, but I do know that everything I do right now is all eventually going to go back to where my heart truly belongs. I figure, with all the similarities between Honduras and Philippines, my time here will be well spent learning and understanding something that was once just confusing and tragic to me.

At a minimum, I am representing well of who a Filipino is and what the Philippines is like- without sugar-coating. I can´t begin to express right now the extent of my love and devotion to my mother land. It may not be evident in my looks, the music I listen to, how well I speak English or what part of the world I am now, but I am as brown as brown can get deep inside. It´s also interesting how I´ve lost the cultural identity issues I used to have when it comes to being simultaneously being Filipino and American. Being here has given me a greater appreciation of what it is to be an American and a better understanding of who one really is. The U.S. is a nation of immigrants, and an immigrant I am indeed- like the rest of the country, at one point in time. Being in Honduras, I am representing the U.S. as an American, and as an American, I am representing Filipinos. There is no conflict. I love every opportunity I´ve gotten to demonstrate that and it has been pretty darn cool.

So I end this by saying, I can´t wait to get past the theory part and start taking my small steps to at least trying to go towards creating progress and development for all. Maybe if I keep reminding myself this, all the raucous of 22-somethings acting like kids during lunch time wouldn´t bother me as much anymore.

My Life, Thus Far

2006-07-11T15:24:00.000-07:00

My everyday routine. Been getting up early and take my time on the stroll up the five semi-hills up to the training center, which is pretty muc like school. It definitely feels like it with a 730-430 schedule and a ton of homework afterwards. At the end of the day I try my luck at the internet café and do what I can with usually a half hour slot and head home, if the connectionis running at all. Then I help out with preparing dinner which has become my bonding time with my host mom and a good way to learn how to make the local eats. I linger a bit after dinner to watch some telenovela with the like La Fea Mas Bella or Pasion es Prohibida or some American film dubbed in Spanish. Quality programming, I know. Ideally, I should´ve done my homework at this point, since I do not have a desk in my room and have to do all my studying in their patio-like area which either gets really cold or too bug/mosquito infested after 8 p.m. Any work or reading I do in my room immediately leads to passing out.

My Mosquito Net. All the trainees were required to use mosquito nets which I really appreciated as soon as I started identifying at least three different species of bugs in my room. Whenever I see them crawling on the walls, I feel protected within the safety of my mosquitera- and layers of insect repellant which we are also required to apply on a daily basis.
Weekends. This is when I usually have been doing my laundry (i.e. by hand) and ironing and sometimes meet with trainees for a school project. I have also gone to the campo, which is the gorgeous football field they have situated hillside and having a picturesque view of the surrounding mountains. I only go to watch games and hang out, I haven´t quite desired to turn into Pele or Ronaldinho, not especially after Brazil lost in the World Cup. Painful, painful.

Last weekend I went on a hike with a couple of other people to a national park called La Tigra. I think it was my first time to hike an entire mountain- I wasn´t quite expecting to do that when I was told there was a nice “trail” we could hike on. Seven hours later, drenched from the forest rain, we emerged victorious. I was ecstatic to have survived and would know better next time when somebody invites me for a stroll through the mountains. It was gorgeous, though. As rough the terrain was on the down hill with the rain pouring, at some point it just became peaceful and my mind just wandered in the clouds- which was where we practically were.

Social Life. Surprisingly, I have been able to go out dancing the past three weekends I´ve been here. The first Saturday, the host families put together a welcome party for us held in the school and even had a DJ – complete with strobes and all that good stuff. For some of us, as long as there was music, that was all we needed. Once in a while there is a party held at one of the social centers they have here and of course all the trainees are all over that. There was a smoke machine when we went....ooh. Aside from that, there´s this local dive that all the trainees go to regularly for their cervezas and it occasionally plays music in a back room which we will invade. Apart from that, it was either seeing the football games together (over by now) or just getting together for cafe con leche. We are in a rural area afterall, and until the ban is lifted on going to the capital, it usually is an early night for most of us.

It´s all about the Benjamins. Uh, what Benjamins? Cash here is actually in Lempiras, or limps, as we refer to it. It´s tragic that everything here is pretty dirt cheap ($1=Lps. 18), but then again I don´t have the U.S. dollars to roll with…especially not with the Lps. 50/day we get for our walk around allowance. $2.50. Pitiful, I know. But for now it´s actually sufficient since all my meals are covered by my family anyway. All my extra money goes to this internet place, which thankfully is pretty cheap. Way cheaper than sending snail mail- which will cost Lps. 40 PER letter. Crazy! So my peeps will definitely hear from me the cyber way more than ever, as much as I love writing snail mail. Gotta keep up with the Math whether I like it or not.
It´s not so bad, though, as we´re bound to get more moolah (I hope!) when we get to our actual sites in September. But this early though, I will begin the fundraising for “Buy Leah a Refrigerator Fund” as our move-in allowance definitely will not cover that. It´s usually a luxury that volunteers acquire. But I have a few more months before I worry about that.

Looking Ahead. This weekend we will be doing our Volunteer Visits where each of us are paired with an existing volunteer in the country to see what their life and work are like and gain exposure. Which also means we get to travel! Hooray! My first real trip beyond the confines of training. I was actually paired with another trainee to visit a married couple in Choluteca- which is down south, close to Nicaragua. It should be fun- and educational of course. Then in two weeks, we are to pack up and sort of start over again for our Field Based Training, which will be in La Esperanza. We will be there for a month to put our theory training into practice, basically. I will be staying with another host family but eventually go back to Santa Lucia for a few more weeks before we get sworn in. September 8 is the big date, baby. When it all becomes official.

For now I´m just taking things one day at a time, living off on mail and phonecalls to stay connected to home and taking in the new things that everyday brings. Nothing too exciting, I know, but so far, so good.

Giving Thanks

2006-07-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

People I know have always had an impression of me as being very independent and brave and all that good stuff. I wouldn´t argue with that but now that I have more time on my hands to reflect on things both trivial (Should I put the layer of insect repellant first or the sunblock?) and profound (Will I really make a positive effect?), I have come to realize that the road to where I am was an independent decision but getting here was made possible by an entire village.

I find it interesting and admirable that more than half the people whom I have told that I was going to join the Peace Corps responded with something like, “I, too, want/ed to do something like that.” I, too, was one of the people who used to say that to others, and now I feel privileged to have crossed the line and to be finally doing something I always wanted to do.

I have been especially overwhelmed over the past few weeks with all the help I have received to get me to where I am. People often tell me they admire me for being able to do whatever I want and having the courage, when they don´t have any idea that I never really do things on my own. It is the people I have been surrounded with who have planted seed after seed and nurtured them, and I, more than anything, just followed through. We, as people, really have the ability to be affected by other people´s slightest acts and fewest words – and it is in our power as well to decide whether to be affected by the negative or the positive ones. Guess which road I have chosen.

This is to acknowledge all the people who have shaped me – ranging from those I have known all my life to acquaintances who touched or inspired me anyway by sharing a good word or pointing me to the right direction.

The past few months, up to the day of my departure, exemplifies how there was always someone helping me with each step to get to the next. Starting with those who supported my decision to apply for the Peace Corps from the beginning and didn´t have to ask why; those who didn´t understand why, but supported me anyway; those who always knew I´d make it when I wasn´t so sure myself. Then there are those who helped me financially without even being asked- people coming out of the woodworks left and right pledging and blessing me with what they have such that I don´t have to worry about the school loan I continually have to pay the next two years even without an income. I can´t get over the fact how ultimately I didn´t have to borrow another loan to pay for a different one, and the amount I ended up getting was just enough to cover the school payments for the next couple of years. Am I blessed or what? And then there are those who took me under their wings whether as a visitor in their homes or as a nomad and shared their time and their warmth whether for a couple of hours or a few weeks. Those who wrote me kind words and gave me things to bring with me so I would always have a piece of home and my life with me. Those who constantly prayed for and still are praying for me. Those who didn´t say much but made me feel their love and support regardless.

And throughout my life, I acknowledge the people who molded me slowly be giving me a piece of themselves and their time- those who trusted me with their thoughts, shared their art, writings and music. Those who encouraged every pursuit I had from going for everything I can ever have to suddenly giving them all up. Those who drew me closer to God, through their words and by their example; for further opening my eyes and reassuring me that the road to faith isn´t an easy one, but a path where I can be myself the most and find the most peace. Those who accepted me for who I was and allowed me to keep on growing to find my true self. Those who have moved on to another life but whose memories of their love and generosity live on in my heart and soul. Those who treated me like a sister and daughter regardless of our ties and just gave and gave of themselves. Those who held my hand and my heart when there was nothing else that could be done.

Those who saw further into my future and more in me than I ever could.

For some, saying thank you has become a lost art or a lost cause altogether, but not for me. I can never repay all the kindness I received my entire life but I will remain grateful each and every day and try my best to show to others the same kindness and generosity I received.

Be still, my heart, how fortunate and loved I am. I thank the heavens for all the special people in my life, may they know what a blessing they have been to me and may they always feel the love and gratefulness I have for them.

Hola from Honduras

2006-06-30T16:05:00.001-07:00

One week and two days in Hondu. Made it through the official “first week” of training, since last week was “zero week” according to the powers that be. Where do I begin.

Well for one, I am glad to have made it this far. When I thought of training back then, I didn´t really expect to feel like I will be back in school, which is pretty much what the next three months will be. First day of orientation was exactly like the first day of school, with then 53 trainees walking around like lost souls with name tags introducing ourselves and finishing paper work.

Hours of security, medical and cultural sessions, with twice as many language hours later…and down to 51 trainees. We are not quite legit volunteers yet until we are sworn in September 8, that is assuming we all make it that far. But I am quite an optimist.

Isn´t it all so exciting and great and all that good stuff? Yes, it is all of the above, but I am at a point where it all just sinking in and my mood is more subdued than euphoric. The past couple of days I have come to terms with the what, why and how of what I am doing. Not that I ever thought I was off to an exotic vacation and will be staying at the Ritz Carlton in the first place, but in order to deal with the simultaneous emotional roller coaster, physical and psychological adjustments and information overload, I seriously needed to sit myself down and remind myself that I just got myself a new job- at a drastically different scale. Well, okay- so I just got myself a new life.

A familiarly strange world. Our training site is in Santa Lucia situated in the mountains and very much reminds me of Baguio in the Philippines. Seriously- everything just looks like it, including the plants and even a lot of the fruits. It has been a while since I´ve been in tropical fruit heaven. Sometimes I wonder if I´m back in the Philippines, but when I hear ¨Cheque Leque” and see the beans and tortilla for dinner, then I remember that no, not quite.

As for the weather, I didn´t quite expect it to be this cold. Uh, cold enough that I wish I had brought my heavy, fleece blanket ndensum. I have mastered the art of taking 5-minute ice-cold showers at 6 a.m, baby. There are creative ways around this, I know, but I am just the type that needs to take a shower everyday when I wake up, so it´s one of the items on the long list of small things to get used to. I seriously miss my hair dryer, though.

But notice I said shower, por eso, I have running water! Yey! I have my own bathroom in my bedroom too which is more of like a storage area turned into a room but I have all that I need in my new minimalist life. And so far I am good in my supplies of toiletries. Whew!

New family members and a new lifestyle. Funny thing is, I had the feeling that my host family, the Figueroas, will be living more comfortably than one would expect. Sure enough, mom, dad and older brother all have cell phones and well, they have a pretty slammin´ washing machine…to which I don´t have any access, of course. Part of our training is to know how to wash clothes by hand, because once we are assigned our sites, we won´t be having this gadget. Not that I don´t already know how to wash by hand…growing up in Manila trained me well. But, it is pretty ironic for me to be scrubbing away with my clothes on the pila (where all the laundry is done) while the washing machine hums away not very far from where I am.

My host family (anfitriona) is pretty great. A set of parents and two brothers, one is 16, the other 10 years old. Carmen, the mom works at the Peace Corps training center´s cafeteria as the resident cook so yessss….I definitely have a sweet deal. The dad, Francis, is very father-like and seemingly serious and strict, but I know he has a fun side and has been really nice to me.

Oh, did I mention their house is on a mountain, but…we live in barrio abajo. Which means town at the bottom. Serious uphill climb everyday for me and whenever I´d want to go anywhere. Uh, yeah. But I guess that balances the beans-tortilla-rice-avocado everyday diet. But this whole place is breathtakingly gorgeous, it´s surreal being in it on a daily basis. Well, at least for the next three months.

Counting my blessings. If there is a lesson I learned or reinternalized in the past week or so, it is this- nothing worth it in life every comes for free.

This is my first ever post on a blog and I´ve just been rambling about stuff and I can go on and on about sites and turn this into a cool travelogue piece and disguise the fact that I´m also going through a serious life change and adjustment period. I know I´m a pretty tough gal and had a rough idea what I was getting into…the cold water, new food and all that can all be manageable, but ultimately, there´s just no going around the missing people you love part, ya know? And honestly, that is where I am right now…but when I´m at the brink of questioning what it is exactly I´m doing and why, I suddenly remember that…I AM IN HONDURAS TRAINING FOR THE PEACE CORPS.

To all those who´ve known how bad I´ve wanted this for the longest time, then I don´t have to explain further how pretty damn cool it is to be almost quite there, man. And the humbling thing about being on the brink of a dream coming true and making the definitive step of shaping my future is that it is so, so, not easy. I am yet to begin the hard work. I´m used to hard work, but this time it is work that I chose for myself. I wanted meaning, depth, and challenges so bad for so long and here I go.

This blog is for me to remind me one day where I came from and the journey I made and for all those who care to share the journey with me one way or another.