the problem with desensitization

So it turns out I might in fact e a blogger.  Or maybe I’m just realizing that my memory is worthless and I don’t want to forget the things that have struck me as important over these last few days.  Or maybe it’s that some things never change and I’m still a procrastinator/use this to keep from studying a language my mouth can’t quite master the sounds of.  Or maybe it’s that I want to feel like I’m communicating with someone (I can say I’m envious of the married couples here who have shared experiences/someone to laugh with during those strange moments…who would have ever thought I’d be saying that [the marriage part not the shared experiences part]).  Or maybe it’s that I’m super self absorbed and like to hear my self ramble and feel my ramblings are worth sharing with other people.  Or maybe it’s just that I like to type. 

My blog is becoming several series of long KH length posts.  Haha speaking of that I had a dream last night that was pretty funny and allowed me to wake up in a super good mood.

The song “I want to be a billionaire” is blasting on the basketball court right now.

So, the things I don’t want to forget.  Actually, these are things  that I don’t think I could forget because they are things we all see and feel and experience on a regular basis.  Maybe that’s why I feel like I want to remember.  I don’t want to become numb to these things or pass them by. I don’t want to become desensitized.

I’ve been thinking about desensitization a lot since I’ve been here (haha I make it sound like I’ve been here forever when really it’s been no time at all).  I’ve been very privileged throughout my life and have had incredible experiences all over the world, including the U.S.  I’ve been exposed to a diverse realm of beautiful things I often refer to as “good” as well as things that seem unbearable that I call “bad.”  I know some people don’t think there are such things as good and bad, and sometimes I struggle with the concept of dualism (this is a discussion for a different time), BUT there are just some things that even the best philosophers couldn’t convince me are “not bad.”  Not that those philosophers would term those “not bad” things “good,” just that there are things something in my soul tells me are wrong and bad and not good.  Now, that doesn’t mean that I think good can’t come from any situation, or anyone could gain something positive from most experiences...it’s just…I guess… some individuals and some populations seem to be faced with horrific suffering and injustice that seem to be more than any human should ever experience. 

Now this is when I get caught up in my whole argument that there are good and bad things.  Fortunately, and unfortunately, I’ve been able to witness and experience the oppression of people from the corners of Hollywood streets to the slums of India to the jungles of Congo.  I’ve met faces that tell stories of pain beyond anything I can imagine and the cries of those who have lost hope have kept me up countless nights as people’s histories are constantly replayed through my mind.  Each pair of eyes, each hand, each mouth holds so much truth and so much potential.  Unfortunately, our world hasn’t evolved to a point where that potential can be reached by all.  In my young naïve place of being right now, I think this is not because those individuals haven’t taken advantage of the opportunities around them, or that those individuals are incapable, or that those individuals have failed to reach a state of realization that allows them to realize they are blessed in their suffering.

I think, rather, it’s because humanity is scared of that which is different.  This includes other people.  So, as a coping mechanism to deal with our insecurities and our fears we assume power over others (sometimes monetarily/economically, sometimes physically, sometimes technologically etc.), and we create systems that harm and destroy other than support and prosper our larger potential as one humanity.

So, yes I realize the degradation of any person by another is actually inhibiting the progress and peace of the entire human race, but that suffering, I believe, is felt more by the individuals at the mercy of these power games than those in charge of moving the pieces around the board. 

I promise I have a point, and I’ll get on track in a moment.  Refer to disclaimer about KH length.

I don’t have the strength to deal with the suffering of others the way I probably should.  It breaks me.  I know I have a tendency to be dramatic, but I’m serious when I say it sometimes makes my physically ill or uncontrollably depressed.  It’s too much to bear.  How do people keep breathing when the world has nothing to offer them? How do people like me pass by so many people in need of one thing or another without ever taking the time to love?  If fear is the problem of the world, the root of the suffering, love is the key.  When we open ourselves to love we become attached.  Some argue attachment is a negative thing, but I think it could be a positive thing.  It is when we are attached to other hearts and souls and faces and stories and histories that we see beyond ourselves and see the interconnectedness of all life.  When we reach this awareness we demand change and we contribute to change and we are change and we feel and pray and love and feed. 

That’s why I say my argument about good and bad is lacking. If you like to argue you might say, if it weren’t for my exposure to all the suffering, then maybe I would be stuck in my bubble disconnected from all that is being experienced by those around me.  But,, I can assure you that would be giving too much credit to me and my abilities.  I could say though that if some people out there in the world have met the saints I have, then they could effectively work on making the world a better place for all people.  The only problem with this is it remains a very self focused way of perceiving good out of the bad, as it keeps the person with power at the top (he/she is the one who got the “good” out of the “bad” after all), while the suffering is still being felt by those without power (the term I’m using for power I mean economic power or physical power etc, not the power of resilience or joy which I may get to later). 

I feel like that was one giant disclaimer about how I got to what I’m about to address.

Desensitization.  When I’m exposed to so much pain, despair, suffering, hopelessness, struggle etc etc etc I become overwhelmed. I begin to wonder if anything can ever change and I realize that the best way for me not to completely shut down, which will physically happen, is if I separate myself from time to time from the things I’m seeing or the people I’m meeting.  I don’t want this to be true because when we separate ourselves the hierarchies are formed to divide people into groups of “us” and “them.”  I really think we need connections and we need to realize there is no “us” or “them”, it really is just “we.”

If anyone is reading at this point I’m thoroughly impressed because lets face it this is making no sense and I’m getting nowhere.

Basically, the moral of the story is I don’t want to become desensitized.  I don’t want to forget that I’ve felt things and had experiences like the ones I’m about to write. 

Yesterday, the day of my happy blog post, I went to get that ridiculous internet gizmo device magical piece of technology that really is just a temperamental character refusing to assist in my communication efforts.  As we, the other PCT’s and I, first got to the area of town that had the store we needed to go to we saw a bakery that’s apparently famous for its’ cakes.  After the store we decided to experiment and try some of these cakes.  I got a bottle of tea and a small chocolate cake thing.  The combined price was about PP40 (less than a dollar). 

I’m living on a PC budget, which means I don’t really have a ton of money at all ,by any means.  Enough to survive, but for someone who typically lives in abundance survival mode is difficult (note: my survival mode included enough money for me to buy a tea and cake).  Of course there are street children and homeless adults here in the Philippines.  There are homeless people all over the world.  It sounds cliché but I’ve always had a heart for the homeless.  I’ve met so many incredibly beautiful and wise and loving people on the streets and I can honestly say I would not be who I am without many of the conversations and relationships I’ve had with people I’ve met who aren’t fortunate enough to have a roof over their heads at night.  Their contributions to my worldview and my passions for the world are too many to count. 

I don’t know what to do when you see a homeless person.  Do you just smile if you don’t have time to talk or go to lunch, or do you drop some cash, or do you give the granola bar from your purse, or do you…who knows?  I don’t think any one thing is always right as no two people are the same and everyone needs/would like something different, but no matter what, if I have some cash, I try to give what I have if I don’t have time to take someone to lunch or spend some time talking to them.  It’s the least I can do I often think.

Well, as you can guess by now, I don’t know what to do here in the Philippines because I’m learning how to budget my Pesos and I rarely have enough to go around to all the kids so the whole debate of “which-kid-and-why-that-kid-and-not-the-others” starts to ensue.  My excuse my first couple days here for not giving as I might have given in the past is that I don’t have any money.  I really don’t. Especially when you compare it to the amount of money I normally have when in a different country or in the states.  

So, yesterday, coming out of the bakery a group of kids comes up to me as I was walking and eating this chocolate delight.  The cake and tea was a splurge for me but it was worth it in my mind.  YET, the day before when a group of kids asked for money in the market I said no.  I could have given them those Pp40, but I said no and I bought a mini cake and tea. 

My already sipped tea and my already bitten cake. I gave both of these things to the kids asking for money and/or food.  When they were pulling on me I looked at them and I knew I literally had no money to give them because I bought that ridiculous cake (as if I need more sugar that I already get in my Filipino diet) I felt this huge realization and simultaneous disgust come over me.  All I had to offer was this worthless, already contaminated with my germs tea and cake.  I considered my computer but that would be useless to them as I didn’t have my charger and even if I did, where would they charge it.  I thought about my bracelets, but I don’t have any of monetary value.  A bitten cake and sipped tea.  That’s all I had to give them.  I looked at them and told them that’s all I had and their faces lit up.  They were thrilled that I was willing to give them, essentially, my left over snack.  I had first dibs, and they got the leftovers. 

Who am I? Who am I to offer someone my leftovers?  Who am I to not share my money no matter how limited?  Who am I to try to separate myself from the feelings I have for the street children because I can’t bare to think there is nothing I can offer them?  Who am I?  I never want to be desensitized, but I think it’s my survival technique as tragic as that sounds.  I don’t think desensitization is beyond me, and I’m afraid I will become one of the individuals I criticize for not looking at other people with the awareness and recognition that each person is truly human and deserves whatever dignity and respect I could possibly offer a person. 

On a happier note, tonight returning from my rabbies shot, I was sitting in the back of the jeepney. I was all the way in the front touching the back of the drivers’ seat.  As I offered my fare my white skin must have stood out because the man in the passenger seat quickly turned around to see me.  This man, I’m guessing, is related to the driver and the driver is responsible for caring for him as he isn’t able to do so for himself.  I’m not sure what disease he may have had but it was something that prohibited him from being able to smile fully and semi-crippled his arms as well as neglected each hand of a few fingers. 

When he looked back I smiled and said “Magandang Gabi Po”  (literally translates to beautiful night and “Po” is a sign of respect) and his face lit up.  As much of his lips that could smile did smile.  Periodically throughout the rest of the ride he would just look back and smile.  There was something powerful (not the economic or physical power, but the power of great peace and joy) about him.  He seemed so happy and content driving around in that passenger seat.  It was as if he felt great importance every time he helped collect the fare or brush the rain off the windows.  He loved to see all the people coming in and out of the jeepney, observing where they were getting off and what was happening on the streets.  He was enjoying every moment, not letting any chance to be excited or happy pass him by.  He radiated something that gave me hope that the world will be okay. It was as if he was telling me to have faith that humanity has the resilience and power to overcome common concepts of power, progressing the world from its current self-interested fear-driven form into a thing offering great peace and security 

happy post

Hello world.  It’s me.  just balancing my computer very skillfully on my knees, and strategically/painfully sitting my butt on the bottom left corner of my bed post, while simultaneously angling my computer at about a 37 degree angle.  I always hated talent shows because I had nothing to show.  Now, things have changed.  A true talent to say the least.  If you ever need to find an internet signal just call on me and I’ll retrieve it for whether it means sitting inside a cockroach friendly closet with a poster of a half naked white women on the side or holding the computer one handedly above my head.  This may sound fake, but it’s not.  It’s pretty humorous.  Actually, I was just laughing to myself. 

Here’s the story:

Today, some other peace corps trainees had the brilliant idea that it would end up being cheaper over 2 and a half years if we buy these little gizmos called “smart bros.”  Yebo, smart bros.  Anyways, you take this little thing that looks like a USB and you put a SIM card inside of it.  You can buy credit for it like you buy credit for a cell phone that takes SIM cards.  Here they have these little shops called Sari Sari shops that sell load/credit.  It seems eay enough.  One grand investment of Pp1,495, or about $30, and you should have internet anywhere you go.  Anywhere, turns out to be not so much any and more so no.  Keep in mind that amount of money spent on this magical device is about half of my money for the month of Septemeber.  An investment I thought.  But now I see I have jumped the gun yet again in my travels.  Sort of like shark diving in South Africa or Tiger safari going in India.  You would think I would get smarter as time goes on, but really I never change.  The good part is everytime I just laugh.  Although, I’m sure someday I will be greatly frustrated by this bro.  Give me a few months.  But, for now I laugh.

I laugh a lot here in the Philippines.  For instance, right now, outside my window, there is a basketball game going on. Filippinos love basketball.  Unfortunately I haven’t seen any girls playing or else I’d jump in because as many of you know, I have superb basketball skills (for those of you who don’t know me that’s a little bit of sarcasm…but just a bit).  So, these basketball games happen every night.  From 7 to 9.  Typically, here, I got ot bed around 8:30 so I go to bed to the sound of a man on the loudspeaker announcing the names of players on team “Cherry Blossom” and the like.  Every now and then there is an English or Spanish word and it just makes me laugh.  I can’t explain why.  It’s just something charming about the basketball announcer. 

***actually I could go into why this makes me sad with the whole imperial, colonial, and military legacies left behind by my favorite historical groups…the conquesting Spanish and the ever ambitious Americans BUT I’m in a pretty good mood right now so I’m going to focus on the good stuff.  Hopefully, it will cheer you up cause it certainly cheers me up. 

7 seconds remaining…7 seconds…5 seconds…hajkfjafhk de los santos…first quarter shshsahfjkdaf…

okay, so here I am.  In Olongapo.  Doing my Peace Corps Training.  It hits me at some point every day that this is real and that this is going to be real for the next 27 months, which seems like an incredibly daunting amount of time.  Sometimes I panic knowing I’ve never done anything in one place for that long.  Sometimes I panic knowing I’ve never been a teacher.  Sometimes I panic knowing I don’t know how to read or speak English properly so it will be nearly impossible for me to teach.  Sometimes I panic because I really struffle with learning languages, especially when I know I need to be able to speak it in 11 weeks cause I’ll then be on my own.  Sometimes I panic knowing that I’ll be on my own in 11 weeks.  Sometimes I just panic because who knows.  I guess I’m a panicker (proof that my vocabulary is far under par and my grammar isn’t too far behind). 

But, BUT, then I see a group of kids playing in the rain and everything is better.  Or, I successfully get un-lost.  Or, a lady from the market I met the day before sees me on the street to tell me about a good deal on rain boots she saw at some store some place I’ll never be able to find.  Or the man who makes Sate outside my homestay house gets super excited to see me when I get back from class.  OR, the best part is I come back to homestay and feel relief from the stress of trying to figure out where to go or how to buy something or how to communicate to someone. 

I have an amazing homestay family.  I don’t know how to describe them other than by simply saying there was something going on in the universe that brought me to them and I am eternally grateful to that thing.  I live with a woman, my mama, named Lisa and her there daughters who are between the ages of 9 and 6.  Zaira is the oldest, then there is Francine, and finally Kikay.  Also, Lisa’s sister, Early and her two daughters who are 16 and 15 Kamille and Kutch live in the room next to mine.  They have all taken me in and put up with my bizarre ways.  They have introduced me to Filippino hospitality and family love.  Sundays are my days off from training, so yesterday we went to the store and bought beads to make bracelets.  I also had my first Filippino make over (I don’t think the look really works for me) and am beginning to learn the choreography of a few dances.  Uno, or some sort of inconsistent game we play with uno cards, has become a pretty entertaining activity as well. 

I’m definitely in the honeymoon phase of culture shock, but it’s encouraging to know that this feeling exists so when my mood plummets (probably next week haha) I can know that this feeling will come back and that the Philippines does have the potential to feel like home from time to time. 

It’s already 8:30 and my eyes are barely staying open, so I need to wrap this up, but basically…blast, I forgot.  I guess, just we’ll see what this place and these wonderful people do to me.  We’ll see who I become and what life brings me through all of this.  We’ll see if I ever like dried fish skin (doubtful but we’ll see) and if I ever dare to find out what makes the hot dogs pink and what the white things inside the hot dogs are (also doubtful). 

That reminds me…I hope all of you don’t mind if I gain about 20 pounds.  Literally.  That’s not an exaggeration or sarcasm.  The diet here consists of tons of meat, tons of sugar, tons of fried things (including fried chicken skin and fried shrimp some how stuck to this orange food colored sauce…I can’t explain.  I’ll take a picture) and tons of carbs.  Mama always asks if I’m okay cause she doesn’t think I eat that much.  My body can only handle so much food throughout five meals a day.  Even so, you can expect a much plumper Kaitlin when I return. 

And one funny story just for you before I go to bed.  Tonight at dinner I was told I have a pregnant nose.  Yebo, a pregnant nose.  This means a large nose.  It’s true.  And that’s probably a good way to describe it.  I never thought of that adjective when describing my nose. 

I’m closing this up.  It will probably be a few days before I can hold the internet connection long enough to get this posted but I’ll work on perfecting my skills.  Also, after literally an hour (7:02-7:53…so pretty close to an hour) my gmail opened enough that I could see I had a few emails and messages from some people.  I hope you are the ones reading this because I don’t have enough internet to respond to them but I did get enough to open them and copy the words, so I’ll read them and respond either in hand written letter form or online whenever I get the patience to sit here more than a dew hours trying to open my email.  Just know that I love you.  A lot.  And I miss you.  And you are all here.  Which reminds me, my walls are decorated with pictures of all of you.  My family comes in to ask about each picture and each person from time to time.  I tell them regularly about how wonderful you are and what an impact you have had on my life.  this sounds sappy, but its true.  Maybe that’s what happens to me when I realize how long I’m gone. I become sappy/ an emotional mess hahaha.  Some things never change no matter where you are. 

What I’ve observed about the Philippines so far (disclaimer: some good, some sad):

• Cheese wiz
• Chika-Chika (aka gossip and the spreading of news quite rampantly)
• Strong family respect, love and care for each other
• Meat (some of which you don’t want to identify)
• Videoke in the morning
• Videoke in the afternoon
• Videoke at night
• Videoke in the middle of the night
• Basketball and more basketball
• Generosity and hospitality
• Soap operas (not only on television but literally some people are living soap opera-like lives…see also chika chika)
• Jeepneys
• Fried food and jelly food and sweet food (even pasta sauce is sweet and sugary)
• Pet dogs are put in cages and appear to never be let out…and by cages I mean just big enough to stand and depending on the dog sometimes turn around)
• Gambling
• Happy birthday singing at all hours of the night
• Importance of being social
• Whitening soap
• Fried food
• Ohoy (sp? See also shrimp and orange sauce fried together)
• Catholicism
• Church
• More Catholicism
• Videoke
• Hotdogs
• Dancing…lots of dancing
• Great humor
• Trikes
• lots of water
• Lots of dirty water
• Naps 
• Laughing

time and terrorism

I can already tell that this whole blogging thing is going to be hard for me, but I’m making an effort.  I’m forcing myself to write this so that I don’t get in the habit of not blogging before I even attempt to blog. 

It’s just weird to write and share your/my thoughts and feelings about life.  I think I’m used to writing for myself but not for an outside audience.  Not that I’m assuming I have an audience, but I do know a few of you (Anna and Rebekah) who are into blogs and may indeed be reading this. 

The two things that have been on my mind a lot are time and terrorism.  Time boggles my mind as it always has, and, well, actually terrorism also boggles my mind.

Time:

3 years ago from the day I left for the Philippines Nick died.  That same day I was recklessly jumping off a cliff attached to nothing other than a frayed rope, lacking any sort of “bungee” apparatus, and a wet piece of Velcro supposedly “securing” my feet over the source of the Nile.  Head first I dove after I spending weeks in a country divided by ethnic conflict, experiencing all that comes with a 22 year war.   Surrounded by soldiers, both official and those kidnapped into the title, and fear that hope wasn’t a reality.   A potentially dangerous place for a white girl, and surely a dangerous place for the Ugandans who anxiously await the redemption of their land.

Meanwhile Nick, a very responsible guy, was heading down to college to get settled in days before classes were to start.  Nothing extreme, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to be worried about.  Tragically, and for no reason the human mind can conceive, his life was ended in second. 

Both places blessed and cursed by the rains.  In Uganda the rain was birthing new crops while simultaneously washing away peoples’ homes.  In the United States rain was singing lullabies on peoples’ rooftops while simultaneously moving Nick from this world to the next. 

Things don’t make sense.  One person a true Eagle Scout, prepared for absolutely any life scenario, studying with a plan to make a true difference in the world, and another recklessly gallivanting around the world without direction.  Why he was taken and I was not is still unknown.  

What I do know is time continues to move.  This thing we can’t perceive but has defined us in terms of minutes, years, generations, and histories continues to drive us from one place to another, constantly inspiring new ideas, relationships, and feelings. Each experience, each breath, each interaction between life forms is another step in time, but time is a magical thing and remains still despite it’s overwhelming movement.  As we are pushed and shoved, sometimes beyond what we are comfortable with, from one moment in time to the next, each moment contributes to our being, our person, and our soul, forever imprinted in the galaxy. 

Time boggles my mind.

Terrorism.

The UN apparently has over 170 definitions of “terrorism.”  I’ve gotten into a few arguments about this concept with professors, friends, peers, family, and strangers alike.  It seems to be a constant theme of discussion in current news and politics.  So much so that it has infiltrated our homes and dinner conversations.  Astonishingly young children who have yet to reach a stage of literacy that would allow them to read the newspapers printing stories about “terrorists” are classifying their neighbors who wear different head coverings than themselves as dangerous people.  What has happened, and why do our explanations of the world always result in tales of fear and terrorism instead of love and understanding?

Today we had hours and hours and hours of briefings.  Briefings of every sort.  Basically, the day was spent on describing all the dangers in this country and all the potential ways to die.  Sure enough, the day started with the most current “terror” news here.   A bus hijacking yesterday not too far from where we are located for this training.  Eight people were killed and apparently, as the story goes, the hijacker was an angry police officer that was recently laid off from his job.  To take out his frustration he targeted a bus of Chinese tourists.  Everything about this story is sad, and I’m sure fear was instilled in everyone who was faced with this mans gun.

I would define terrorism as being any action, thought, or speech that makes one feel fear.   I think terrorism is a very real and effective thing.  It is a very brilliant (brilliant not being acceptable or good) technique of spreading awareness concerning ones’ cause.  The problem is terrorism is only successful when we allow ourselves to feel the terror.  That feeling legitimizes the work of the terrorist and further strengthens his/her motivation to continue his/her work.

Today as we were being told all these things we need to be aware of it seemed as if every briefing got its point across by instilling fear into us.  Don’t touch this coral because you will die, this terrorist group is known for violent activity and we don’t negotiate with terrorists which means your chances of survival are limited, you will not be raped or robbed every day but in this place with these people under these circumstance it is likely, if you do this someone will slice your purse/pocket and take your money, these people were kidnapped, this woman was raped, these men were drugged etc etc etc. 

No, none of these actions are okay and no one should ever be raped, killed, stolen from, kidnapped or any other thing that presents a danger to their life, BUT, I feel there is a better way to describe these scenarios.

I don’t know how I would present these things but I feel there has to be another way.  As the terrorist groups and terrorist activity was being described to us by the embassy people looked rather uncomfortable and all I could think was this is exactly what any terrorist group would want.  They would want their cause to be worthy enough that the American embassy, its’ diplomats, and every other American citizen in the Philippines would be concerned.  It gives them strength.  It makes us fearful, which gives them a victory from the beginning.  If we never figure out a way to move beyond conflict without instilling fear this is going to become a perpetual cycle that is forever engrained into our society and our histories.  Do we want to be defined as the generations afraid of those different than us, or the generations that use fear to manipulate other people and gain support for our causes? 

Just as time isn’t something we can necessarily see but we can feel, terrorism and fear are things we feel but can’t necessarily see.  Just as terrorism and fear can be seen through bombings and kidnappings, time is something we can see through the growth of children and plants.  Life and death.  All connected.  Both continue to happen despite the hands of time.  It’s just a matter of how we want our lives to be lived and our deaths to be died.  Void of fear, open to love, free to pass from this world to another sounds like the optimal experience to me.  We don’t have much time on this earth, so we should embrace the time we do have with open arms, daring hearts, and a desire to understand and empower. 

The beginning of another journey

This is really strange.  I don't often share my rants and ramblings.  But, here I am. Beginning to blog.  I am beginning to blog.  To share my thoughts and concerns and joys and fears with whoever may stumble upon this page.  That's intimidating.  But, why not? Why not push ourselves from time to time?

 I am writing a blog to help me process all that I need to.  I'm also writing a blog to stay in contact with as many people as possible as I continuously try to understand this massively small world I have fallen in love with.

It's strange because I don't expect anyone to read this, but I write it as if someone will soon see these words.  Speaking of words (disclaimer: to everyone who has never read my writing before i tend to go on long insignificant tangents and very quickly loose focus on what i originally wanted to say.  my apologies from the beginning) i think it's incredible how words come alive.  they are different and new and significant in ways we can't imagine each time they are written and/or read.  the power words hold is almost frightening at times.

I recently returned from three amazing weeks in MA where I was greatly challenged and inspired by the people of the community i became a part of.  On our last day, after our last meditation, a man of great wisdom and peace...the kind of man who enters a room surrounded by an invisible but noticeable presence of grace and love strong enough to give each one of us hope for humanity...spoke with us about the significance of power.  We shared about our fears and our visions of power.  True power.  The power that can diminish hatred and fear; the power that can heal war torn countries and feed the stomachs of thousands; the power that can turn a bad day into a day of bliss; the power we, humans, each possess and have the ability to use as a gift to the world.  It was suggested that maybe we fear our power. We fear that power creates a hierarchy and a hierarchy manifests oppression and exploitation. But, what if, the power of love is able to transcend all outcomes we may fear and is a means of empowerment for all?  It sounds like "hippy" "idealistic" nonsense, but I think the power of love really does have the ability to change the world dramatically.  I hope that if my words are heard or read or interpreted or imagined that they are words of power.  Words capable of healing and loving and sharing and becoming.  Words for you and words for me.  Words for us.  All of us.

SO, now that i'm done contemplating the greatness of words, i'm on to the purpose of this blog.  I'm moving to the Philippines with the peace corps.  This is something i have literally dreamed of for at least ten years.  i feel weird saying that because it sounds like i'm one of those suck up peace corps kids who is trying to prove that the peace corps made the right choice in selecting her to serve for the next few years.  i don't think that's me, but maybe it is.  either way, whether i'm a peace corps suck up or not, i've been waiting and dreaming and thinking about this for many years.

when i say i've been waiting and dreaming and thinking about this for many years, i don't mean "this" as in the "philippines."  I'd say the Philippines is probably the only place i never even thought of going for the peace corps.  I assumed i'd be going to sub-saharan, most likely west, Africa.  there was something in me though that knew i should try to control this situation as little as possible.  it's when i let go and let the wind blow that i find myself in the most unexpectedly perfect places with the people i need at that point in my life.  I really know nothing about the world or life or anything beyond myself, actually i don't know anything about myself either, but i do know that i don't know.  i've learned everything i plan and everything i think is right is far from right and really doesn't work out.  so, i'm taking the approach of a sailboat blowing through the wind (i stole this metaphor from a friend). I have the ability to respond to the wind as it blows but i realize i can't control where the wind blows.  so, i move with it simply trying to avoid capsizing while taking in the sea mist, sun rays, stormy waves, and sometimes violent winds.

we'll see what's in store starting next week. i can only hope and pray life knows what it is doing and somehow sees the role i can play, placing me where i might be of use.  i pray i fall in love with the Philippines and its people. I pray for strength and clarity and wisdom and everything great i pray to someday be.

i promise i'm almost done.  i called this blog wonderings while wandering.  I did this because i've come to realize my only true talents are wondering about things and wandering around. i don't understand too much so i basically just question and contemplate...all the time about everything.  i also love new experiences, cultures, faces, and places.  my heart is a wandering heart.  it's on this search for purpose, this search for answers, this search to feel the lives of other people.  so i wander around trying to learn all that i can.  i hope that someday all this wandering and wondering will be able to be something i can give back to the world in some manner as right now i feel i hoard it all to myself.  my goal is that once i reach a point of discovery i'll be able to help transfer the knowledge that has been shared with my by those i meet on the many roads i walk to people who can be helped with it.  time will tell.

pizza is here, so i'm going to go.  whenever you want me to stop writing just bring me food.  it really works.  i'm going to leave you all with this song that sort of expresses my thoughts and feelings on this next stage of life.  it was shared with me by a wonderful friend just recently.  ignore the speaking part of the song cause that sort of goes against my whole "power of love" message.

that's something else i should share with all of you.  i'm a hypocrite so if things don't line up in my life, that's why.  i try hard not to be a hypocrite, but it's one of my many great faults.  i'm working on it.

have a beautiful night/day/whatever moment in time (time also boggles my mind)  it is when/if you're reading this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch8bDERRSQA