It's amazing how much other people can tell us about ourselves, especially those we are close to, whether we like it or not. Our progress, our meaning and our wisdom are often marked by how others react around us; the questions they ask, the remarks they make and their exclamations about the way we live. It's as if others are a mirror into what we truly are, and how we are truly acting out our lives. They show us the innermost workings of who we are, and what we are accomplishing, or may be able to accomplish in the future. At least, that's how the saint mikes group was to me.
It wasn't until I was surrounded with 10 people that had never been here before that I realized how much I do, and don't know, about this country. How much I have learned and how much is left to discover, both about myself and the culture. The main difference in having a group here, and being by myself, was perspective. Instead of just thinking about things in terms of how I see the world, all of a sudden I was looking at my new home from fresh eyes; ten different ways of viewing what I saw everyday. All of a sudden, the poverty seemed a little worse, the mountains a little higher and the people a little more welcoming. I was thinking about things like medical care and seeds and lawsuits and what women did when they got their periods, just because different people were asking different questions. We forget how different our lives are, and our ways of thinking, until everyone looks at the same thing and comes up with eleven different, and wonderful reactions.
It wasn't until the group was here that I could truly see myself through the eyes of other people. It was Heidi telling me how she loved to hear me speak Spanish, and how natural it sounded that made me realize I may actually leave here bilingual. Or Allison telling me how much I've relaxed and opened up that made me realize that the Dominican culture has had more of an effect than I may have planned. Or even when ari claimed how sweet the coffee was, almost painfully so, that made me realize I'm immune to it, and probably should detox on my return home.
Most of all, though, it wasn't until the group was here, questioning me, that I realized how much I really do love it here. It wasn't until I could share it with someone else, someone on the outside who was seeing what I was seeing, that it became clear again how much I loved this place. I got to share about the struggles I've heard of, the stories that have been passed down and the lives people are living. I got to share the story of ADESJO, the organization I am so passionate about and just hope that some of that rubbed off on someone. I got to listen to Theany humbly explain her work to others and see their reaction to all the good she's doing; all the good I've been lucky to witness first hand. I got to point out my favorite places, where Freddy's family lived, and the different communities that encompass the area. I got to share about my life here to try and make it a little clearer, a little more meaningful, for everyone else.
Looking at the faces of the 9 students chosen for the trip, more than anything I was brought back to my first time here. 19, insecure and the youngest on the trip, I fell in love with a place that changed my life, even if I didn't know it at the time. I was taken aback by the beauty mixed in with the poverty, with the overwhelming sense of welcome alongside stories of teenage marriage and a lack of education. With the way the people gave everything even when they had nothing. I was in awe of it all, and didnt know where to start or end, other than to sense in some way that this was the beginning of something. I came back confused, heart broken and in love and unable to describe the world I had seen other than to say " its just different". And now, three years later at the age of 22 I don't know much more except to say that this place changes people. I can now see how it changed me, and I got to stand witness as it changed 9 young girls, some still trying to find themselves, and others trying to find out how the world will accept them. It's a powerful thing, watching a transformation and knowing that it can lead to so much good, but also so much confusion.
The Saint Michael's group came at the right time for me. I was in a place where I knew enough to share, but am still ready to learn. I can challenge things more, as I know more of the language, and was open to people showing me more ways to challenge. It was like I could finally see the cycle of how I got here.I saw the last three years laid out. My first trip here, my study abroad experience, my return trip last May and then this crazy experience, like a play that was already written waiting for me to act it out. It all seemed like a muddle at the time, but here, standing back now, its clear that it was somehow meant to be all this time. And now, along with that, i can see the future. What my next few months may hold, how my returns here will be shaped, cause we all know this isn't the end, and who else i can drag along on this crazy journey. Because of them, I can see it. It may not be clear, but in one form or another its there.
The groups leaving has been hard, without a doubt. When anyone from home leaves, there's a sense of loneliness and a sense of wanting for the rest that home offers, that no amount of arroz con leche or love from a surrogate family can sooth. But what I am ready to accept now, and may not had been had they come earlier, is that I will be sad for a few days, but then I'll find a new challenge or way to engage myself with the people I love. Because the group taught me more than I did them. They showed me I was strong enough, and smart enough, to do this. They were my mirror to myself, and I gotta say, thanks to them, I kind of like what I'm gonna see in the next few months. So here's to everyone that was here. You tryin to make me see who I really am here? Cause ya did, and I'm not gonna lie. I dont hate it.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Wheels on the Bus...Might Fall Off
People say that the best way to learn about a culture is to just dive in, and see what happens. I like to think that I've done this, often to the extreme over the last two months. I learned about healthcare by burning myself on a muffler of a motorcycle and traveling to the clinic to get a tetanus shot and medication, and I learned about delinquency by being mugged on the side of the road when going for my leisurely walk (exercise really is dangerous). I've learned about religion by becoming a part of the congregation, and about the food by stuffing my face so that later I have to stuff myself into my own jeans. But amongst all of these tasteful and invigorating experiences, nothing smells like cultural immersion more than a bus ride to Rancha Arriba or the capital.
Picture this: to get to Rancha Arriba, I take a broken down land rover that looks like its on it's last leg. I get to sit on the outside, which means I'm next to the paper thin door separating me from the side of the mountain and a rocky river. The window is also open, meaning I could just fly out of that, as seatbelts clearly haven't found their way inside this gem. So far, the physical demeanor of the bus is a little different than our typical greyhound or little yellow school bus. And then there are your passengers.
Typically, on a bus in the US, people don't really talk to each other. Sure, you have the occasional love story probably written by Nicholas Sparks where two strangers meet on a bus and fall in love, but it's not the norm. People don't talk to strangers, which really is a reflection on how most of our culture interacts as a whole. Welp, not here. Everyone that enters is sure to greet each other personally, making sure that they have made at least two new friends by the end. And conversation is plentiful. Sometimes, it's with the driver, which is slightly nerve racking as he isn't so much looking at the winding roads, but instead is looking at the person speaking, and sometimes it's a whole group debate about political parties. And I get to sit in the middle of it all.
Being on the bus has also taught me that the limits of space do not exist in this country. I'm pretty sure I live in a big Mary Poppins bag where things magically appear and fit when there is no physical explanation for how it happens. Take the inhabitants of the bus just last week. We had a man with his chicken and a woman with her baby in one row, along with two other people when there was really only room for half a person. We had one man sitting on the wheel of the bus because all the other seats were taken, even though the driver insisted " no no esta bien, much espacio". Let me tell you. By no means was there mucho anything, let alone space. For amongst this group of people, we also had some sacks of platanos, a sack of rice someone else got to sit on, some suitcases, and a bag of oranges. All intermingling together, hoping that the bottom of the bus would hold until the next stop.
If you're lucky, you might also find yourself on a bus to a major city, where along the way vendors will hop on to sell you things. So if you forgot your sunglasses or container of favorite peanuts at home, it's okay because someone will surely come and try to sell them to you. It does kind of take away the joy of napping, as you have people yelling in a confined space, but after a while it becomes nice background music of some sort. It's also just a fun paradox of what you would find in the Us: I'm pretty sure that if random vendors jumped on a city bus lawsuits would be quick to follow, and stranger danger would be heightened to a maximum degree.
For me, despite the danger and fear of breaking down, bus rides are one of my favorite parts of the week just because they say so much about the culture. People here are open to each other. They want to talk, they want to learn, they want to share. Ans they want to take care of each other. When the seats in the way to Santo Domingo are full, people give up their seats to those who need them, and let others sit on their arm rests. Here, it's not about the individual, but about the community. People will give up a little, or a lot, of their comfort just to make sure someone else has their share. So while my safety isn't a hundred percent guaranteed, and my comfort is taken away when there are four people on a two person bench, I find myself looking forward to the rides. I may have to pray a little more than I do during trips at home, but I've also met a lot more friends and laughed a little more. Maybe greyhound has something to learn from the transportation here. Maybe we all do.
Wishing you a happy Sunday,
Sabrina
Picture this: to get to Rancha Arriba, I take a broken down land rover that looks like its on it's last leg. I get to sit on the outside, which means I'm next to the paper thin door separating me from the side of the mountain and a rocky river. The window is also open, meaning I could just fly out of that, as seatbelts clearly haven't found their way inside this gem. So far, the physical demeanor of the bus is a little different than our typical greyhound or little yellow school bus. And then there are your passengers.
Typically, on a bus in the US, people don't really talk to each other. Sure, you have the occasional love story probably written by Nicholas Sparks where two strangers meet on a bus and fall in love, but it's not the norm. People don't talk to strangers, which really is a reflection on how most of our culture interacts as a whole. Welp, not here. Everyone that enters is sure to greet each other personally, making sure that they have made at least two new friends by the end. And conversation is plentiful. Sometimes, it's with the driver, which is slightly nerve racking as he isn't so much looking at the winding roads, but instead is looking at the person speaking, and sometimes it's a whole group debate about political parties. And I get to sit in the middle of it all.
Being on the bus has also taught me that the limits of space do not exist in this country. I'm pretty sure I live in a big Mary Poppins bag where things magically appear and fit when there is no physical explanation for how it happens. Take the inhabitants of the bus just last week. We had a man with his chicken and a woman with her baby in one row, along with two other people when there was really only room for half a person. We had one man sitting on the wheel of the bus because all the other seats were taken, even though the driver insisted " no no esta bien, much espacio". Let me tell you. By no means was there mucho anything, let alone space. For amongst this group of people, we also had some sacks of platanos, a sack of rice someone else got to sit on, some suitcases, and a bag of oranges. All intermingling together, hoping that the bottom of the bus would hold until the next stop.
If you're lucky, you might also find yourself on a bus to a major city, where along the way vendors will hop on to sell you things. So if you forgot your sunglasses or container of favorite peanuts at home, it's okay because someone will surely come and try to sell them to you. It does kind of take away the joy of napping, as you have people yelling in a confined space, but after a while it becomes nice background music of some sort. It's also just a fun paradox of what you would find in the Us: I'm pretty sure that if random vendors jumped on a city bus lawsuits would be quick to follow, and stranger danger would be heightened to a maximum degree.
For me, despite the danger and fear of breaking down, bus rides are one of my favorite parts of the week just because they say so much about the culture. People here are open to each other. They want to talk, they want to learn, they want to share. Ans they want to take care of each other. When the seats in the way to Santo Domingo are full, people give up their seats to those who need them, and let others sit on their arm rests. Here, it's not about the individual, but about the community. People will give up a little, or a lot, of their comfort just to make sure someone else has their share. So while my safety isn't a hundred percent guaranteed, and my comfort is taken away when there are four people on a two person bench, I find myself looking forward to the rides. I may have to pray a little more than I do during trips at home, but I've also met a lot more friends and laughed a little more. Maybe greyhound has something to learn from the transportation here. Maybe we all do.
Wishing you a happy Sunday,
Sabrina
Friday, March 9, 2012
People
I'm a person who often lives inside my head. I think, analyze, over think and imagine on a constant basis. It's why instead of having an imaginary friend, I had an entire family with something like 14 kids, a husband named People and one of my children named Thing. It's why, now, I often lead myself into moments of anxiety, because I get stuck imagining the worst instead of living the best. It's a double edged sword- I get a great imaginary family, but sometimes forget about the real world as Im off in my mind.
My solution to this, ironically, is the very name of that imaginary husband. People. It is my relationships with others that can pull me out of myself and make me come back into contact with the world. My sense of doing revolves around these relationships with other people. And like I mentioned before, this country is all about relationships with people. It's what makes time worthwhile. It's what makes volunteering worthwhile; putting a face to a struggle, and seeing the person behind the poverty, the person behind the change.
The other day I was having a typical "I feel like I'm not doing enough" day. Weird, I know, as it's obviously not something I've struggled with. I had been going with Freddy and ADESJO to the villages, but felt like it wasn't enough. I mean, I was sitting in a truck I didn't have to drive, to go visit groups and eat the best meals ever, to then talk to people in the community, watch the other volunteers work, and then turn around. I felt like my presence was obsolete. Until I saw Dario.
I met Dario my first week here, when I traveled with ADESJO to meet with the different communities in preparation for the year's volunteer groups. He is a little man, full of life and spirit and at that time was living with his wife, daughter, son in law and granddaughter. I remember the bowl of oranges he put in front of us, and how after I had eaten three, the group didn't understand why I wasn't eating more. Typical Dominican culture. I continued to meet Dario over the weeks, as I visited the numerous groups in his community, and each time we seemed to form some sort of bond. One time, he told me that his house was my house, and truly meant it. A couple weeks later, seeing him at the ADESJO office, he asked me why I hadn't been by recently. When Freddy ensured him I would be there soon, Dario promised to cook me a meal. And then the last time we visited, he wouldn't let me leave without a huge hug and a bag of oranges. The fact that we were in a rush didn't matter. Mandarins were more important than time, and to me Dario is more important than being busy.
And then there is Santa, one of the cooks who stays with groups preparing all of their meals for the week. I have met her a bunch of times with different groups, and have come to love her sense of humor, hugs and fantastic meals. The other day she too got mad at me, this time for not coming to her house when all of ADESJO was invited. It wasn't until I assured her that I wasn't even in the country at the time that she let it go, and then promised to make me her infamous arroz con leche before I left...even though she's supposed to be cooking for other groups and not according to what I want.
And then we have Eduardo. I met him three years ago when I first came to El Rifle, and despite him being old enough to be my father, we struck up an immediate and immature friendship. I saw him this week for the first time since 2009 and it was like nothing had changed. I got in trouble for being here for two months and not having seen him yet, and he got in trouble for not visiting my group last year in Los Palmeritos. We shared a pack of Dino cookies, and got over it pretty fast.
And how could I forget Apollo, who I feed at the nursing home, or the kids at the school who shout out my name and are eager to learn. Or Patricia who soaks up as much English as she can to prepare for an eventual move to the US. Or the man who drives the guagua for the school in Rancha Arriba and lets me sit in the front. Or Ernestina. Or the teachers at the school who don't get paid. Or Juana. Or Freddy and his family. And everyone.
I could go in for pages about the relationships I've made. About the people who have pulled me out of my head and helped me live here. About the conversations I've had, and mostly understood. About the true laughter that resonates. About the stories I carry. The point is, it's these people who make it worth while. In talking to a friend, I mentioned that I felt like I wasn't moving mountains. He said, no, you aren't, but you're making the mot of your experience by talking. Your getting everything out of it that you can.
And should I even be surprised? That I feel the most connected and real when I'm taking? Let's be honest, I'm the girl that doesn't shut up, that talks in my sleep and as fast as can be. And here I am. Talking and sharing. Making the most of my time here, and eating as many oranges as I can. Trust me: it's a lot.
Wishing you a weekend filled with friends, whether imaginary or real,
Sabrina
My solution to this, ironically, is the very name of that imaginary husband. People. It is my relationships with others that can pull me out of myself and make me come back into contact with the world. My sense of doing revolves around these relationships with other people. And like I mentioned before, this country is all about relationships with people. It's what makes time worthwhile. It's what makes volunteering worthwhile; putting a face to a struggle, and seeing the person behind the poverty, the person behind the change.
The other day I was having a typical "I feel like I'm not doing enough" day. Weird, I know, as it's obviously not something I've struggled with. I had been going with Freddy and ADESJO to the villages, but felt like it wasn't enough. I mean, I was sitting in a truck I didn't have to drive, to go visit groups and eat the best meals ever, to then talk to people in the community, watch the other volunteers work, and then turn around. I felt like my presence was obsolete. Until I saw Dario.
I met Dario my first week here, when I traveled with ADESJO to meet with the different communities in preparation for the year's volunteer groups. He is a little man, full of life and spirit and at that time was living with his wife, daughter, son in law and granddaughter. I remember the bowl of oranges he put in front of us, and how after I had eaten three, the group didn't understand why I wasn't eating more. Typical Dominican culture. I continued to meet Dario over the weeks, as I visited the numerous groups in his community, and each time we seemed to form some sort of bond. One time, he told me that his house was my house, and truly meant it. A couple weeks later, seeing him at the ADESJO office, he asked me why I hadn't been by recently. When Freddy ensured him I would be there soon, Dario promised to cook me a meal. And then the last time we visited, he wouldn't let me leave without a huge hug and a bag of oranges. The fact that we were in a rush didn't matter. Mandarins were more important than time, and to me Dario is more important than being busy.
And then there is Santa, one of the cooks who stays with groups preparing all of their meals for the week. I have met her a bunch of times with different groups, and have come to love her sense of humor, hugs and fantastic meals. The other day she too got mad at me, this time for not coming to her house when all of ADESJO was invited. It wasn't until I assured her that I wasn't even in the country at the time that she let it go, and then promised to make me her infamous arroz con leche before I left...even though she's supposed to be cooking for other groups and not according to what I want.
And then we have Eduardo. I met him three years ago when I first came to El Rifle, and despite him being old enough to be my father, we struck up an immediate and immature friendship. I saw him this week for the first time since 2009 and it was like nothing had changed. I got in trouble for being here for two months and not having seen him yet, and he got in trouble for not visiting my group last year in Los Palmeritos. We shared a pack of Dino cookies, and got over it pretty fast.
And how could I forget Apollo, who I feed at the nursing home, or the kids at the school who shout out my name and are eager to learn. Or Patricia who soaks up as much English as she can to prepare for an eventual move to the US. Or the man who drives the guagua for the school in Rancha Arriba and lets me sit in the front. Or Ernestina. Or the teachers at the school who don't get paid. Or Juana. Or Freddy and his family. And everyone.
I could go in for pages about the relationships I've made. About the people who have pulled me out of my head and helped me live here. About the conversations I've had, and mostly understood. About the true laughter that resonates. About the stories I carry. The point is, it's these people who make it worth while. In talking to a friend, I mentioned that I felt like I wasn't moving mountains. He said, no, you aren't, but you're making the mot of your experience by talking. Your getting everything out of it that you can.
And should I even be surprised? That I feel the most connected and real when I'm taking? Let's be honest, I'm the girl that doesn't shut up, that talks in my sleep and as fast as can be. And here I am. Talking and sharing. Making the most of my time here, and eating as many oranges as I can. Trust me: it's a lot.
Wishing you a weekend filled with friends, whether imaginary or real,
Sabrina
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Slow Down Sister
I have a feeling that if a scientist searched through my DNA, he would find a little strand called "must do everything possible at all times". I was somehow born with this notion that if an opportunity exists, I have to take it. If work is available, I must do it. And if, by golly I have to slow down, catastrophe is bound to ensue.
I like to think that this phenomenon started in high school, but I'm pretty sure it was before that, in preschool when I didn't understand why my brother got to do homework, and i didn't. Or in elementary school when I decided to run the school store and run for class president ( I lost, and am still bitter). Or even in middle school when I tried out for a play because I thought, why not, and was only forced to quit when I realized that I physically could not be blocking shots in net and be on stage as an alien at the exact same moment. If only I had hermione's time changing device I could have done a lot more.
The seven years of intense education I had starting my sophomore year of high school confirmed this DNA analysis. I did everything. I breathed academics, ate extra curriculars and slept sports. I edited the newspaper, acted as a donkey in a play, weight lifted with boys, hiked the Appalachian trail, hoarded fourteen year old girls into their rooms at night and managed to keep up friendships and relationships. College didn't change that. It was the same story, with more extra curriculars and classes, more friends, more international travel and a little less time. I don't think i slowed down once in seven years. And then after graduation, I worked myself to the bone to save money, to be here.
Ok, Siobhan, get to the point, we all know your type A. Get on with it. Well, blogging audience, the point is that when I am forced to slow down, it's against my nature and I hate it and I want it to stop immediately. I am in every sense of the word a doer. Here, I feel it even more because I only have a limited time to do. Five months seemed like an eternity when I landed on January 14, but with my two month mark creeping up on me, staying in bed with a stupid stomach bug for two days seemed like a lifetime. I felt like I was letting all of my opportunities slip out of my hand. I felt useless.
Needless to say, this is not a reflection on the culture, but on my reaction to it. I'm pretty sure Freddy would have liked to quarantine me for another few days, and that Theany was mad that I had gotten out of bed at all. Here, they slow down. Here, I freak out. I guess my fear is that I'll leave and not really have done anything. That I'll have dabbled in service, but that I will have wasted time and not done anything big. People tell me all the time that they are proud of me. Sitting in bed watching another re run of friends, I can't figure out why. It's only when I'm out and engaged that I feel worthwhile. Otherwise, I feel stuck and restless.
It was after feeling like this for two days that I got some words of encouragement from a couple of friends.Sarah reminded me that it isn't the amount of time, but the little moments. Like when Argentina told me that I was going to turn into a pig because my bath water was too hot. Or when Joel bravely found the rat in my room when I stood on my bed and cheered him on...from a safe distance. Or when Raphael played me in dominoes and I discovered I might not be as bad as I thought. Or when I survived my first merengue. And then Pete reminded me that the world keeps turning, and that there will still be things for me to do when I get better. That all the problems in the county won't be solved in the two days that I'm sick. And Freddy reminded me that living somewhere is different than visiting somewhere. That things go slower when you are somewhere for a long time. That there is naturally more space, more time to breathe.
This is my challenge. To remember that I don't have to cram everything into one day, that I am here for more than a week and that I don't have to live in that mindset. To remember that conversations are more important than work, that slowing down is natural everywhere outside of the US. And to remember that even though I'll be leaving in June, that doesn't mean my time here is done. That really this is a life project that I will continue at home in between my visits to my other country. My learning doesn't have to stop when I leave, and my time doesn't have to be filled every second. More important, like Sarah said, are the small moments.
It's a big challenge for a type A person to undertake, a big game to talk and then have to follow up. But I have three and a half more months to figure it out, followed by years of return visits to practice. Maybe I won't be perfect by the time I leave, but then again maybe I'll drop from being a type AAA battery to just a AA. it's a big goal, but us type a's always need something to reach for.
Wishing you a day filled with lots of nothing,
Sabrina
I like to think that this phenomenon started in high school, but I'm pretty sure it was before that, in preschool when I didn't understand why my brother got to do homework, and i didn't. Or in elementary school when I decided to run the school store and run for class president ( I lost, and am still bitter). Or even in middle school when I tried out for a play because I thought, why not, and was only forced to quit when I realized that I physically could not be blocking shots in net and be on stage as an alien at the exact same moment. If only I had hermione's time changing device I could have done a lot more.
The seven years of intense education I had starting my sophomore year of high school confirmed this DNA analysis. I did everything. I breathed academics, ate extra curriculars and slept sports. I edited the newspaper, acted as a donkey in a play, weight lifted with boys, hiked the Appalachian trail, hoarded fourteen year old girls into their rooms at night and managed to keep up friendships and relationships. College didn't change that. It was the same story, with more extra curriculars and classes, more friends, more international travel and a little less time. I don't think i slowed down once in seven years. And then after graduation, I worked myself to the bone to save money, to be here.
Ok, Siobhan, get to the point, we all know your type A. Get on with it. Well, blogging audience, the point is that when I am forced to slow down, it's against my nature and I hate it and I want it to stop immediately. I am in every sense of the word a doer. Here, I feel it even more because I only have a limited time to do. Five months seemed like an eternity when I landed on January 14, but with my two month mark creeping up on me, staying in bed with a stupid stomach bug for two days seemed like a lifetime. I felt like I was letting all of my opportunities slip out of my hand. I felt useless.
Needless to say, this is not a reflection on the culture, but on my reaction to it. I'm pretty sure Freddy would have liked to quarantine me for another few days, and that Theany was mad that I had gotten out of bed at all. Here, they slow down. Here, I freak out. I guess my fear is that I'll leave and not really have done anything. That I'll have dabbled in service, but that I will have wasted time and not done anything big. People tell me all the time that they are proud of me. Sitting in bed watching another re run of friends, I can't figure out why. It's only when I'm out and engaged that I feel worthwhile. Otherwise, I feel stuck and restless.
It was after feeling like this for two days that I got some words of encouragement from a couple of friends.Sarah reminded me that it isn't the amount of time, but the little moments. Like when Argentina told me that I was going to turn into a pig because my bath water was too hot. Or when Joel bravely found the rat in my room when I stood on my bed and cheered him on...from a safe distance. Or when Raphael played me in dominoes and I discovered I might not be as bad as I thought. Or when I survived my first merengue. And then Pete reminded me that the world keeps turning, and that there will still be things for me to do when I get better. That all the problems in the county won't be solved in the two days that I'm sick. And Freddy reminded me that living somewhere is different than visiting somewhere. That things go slower when you are somewhere for a long time. That there is naturally more space, more time to breathe.
This is my challenge. To remember that I don't have to cram everything into one day, that I am here for more than a week and that I don't have to live in that mindset. To remember that conversations are more important than work, that slowing down is natural everywhere outside of the US. And to remember that even though I'll be leaving in June, that doesn't mean my time here is done. That really this is a life project that I will continue at home in between my visits to my other country. My learning doesn't have to stop when I leave, and my time doesn't have to be filled every second. More important, like Sarah said, are the small moments.
It's a big challenge for a type A person to undertake, a big game to talk and then have to follow up. But I have three and a half more months to figure it out, followed by years of return visits to practice. Maybe I won't be perfect by the time I leave, but then again maybe I'll drop from being a type AAA battery to just a AA. it's a big goal, but us type a's always need something to reach for.
Wishing you a day filled with lots of nothing,
Sabrina
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