good people

I haven’t written in a while. I’m not sure why. I just haven’t felt like it. But, something in the last two days has made me want to write again.  I don’t have anything specific that inspired this nor do I have anything in particular to write, but I do have a few reflections that were inspired after reading another pcv’s most recent blog.

I’ve now been in the Philippines for a while.  I’ve still got a while to go, so my perceptions of the Philippines may change drastically in that time. With that in mind I’m going to start a thought and we’ll see where it takes me. I may or may not talk about the Philippines, but if this post finds itself there then just keep in mind I have no idea what I’m really talking about.

I was reading Rechael’s blog and realized something I rarely think about. I think a lot here, and for a while I thought my mind had flirted with every issue out there.  Luckily, Rachael’s words hit me with a topic I don’t think much about, which is strange because it’s something significant and something that seems obvious.

She recently went back to the U.S. and spent a day talking to high school students about her time here. She said in that moment she realized that she had taken for granted the fact that not everyone does the Peace Corps.    My life here has become my life.  Often the days seem mundane and predictable.  The food here has become normal, the weather has become normal, the languages have become normal, my work has become normal, cultural differences have become normal…things that may seem exciting to someone who isn’t here have become normal to me, which makes me forget not everyone knows about life here and not everyone gets the chance to live in another country for two years. 

By no means has this been an easy time or a time that has left me completely happy or with feelings of fulfillment, but it is a time I am very grateful for.  It is a time I have been taken into a stranger’s home and have been made family.  It is a time I have learned to depend on myself, forgive myself, and realize I don’t want to be by myself throughout future journeys. It is a time God and I have been in tension, a time when I have found peace with the universe, and a time I have felt both completely hopeless and ecstatic for the future and the good humanity can do for each other.  It is a time I have had to learn to show respect and hold my tongue, as well as a time I have learned it’s important not to compromise myself and continue to fight for what is right.  It is a time I have tried to help. A time I have tried to listen and learn and love.  It has been a time filled with a lifetime of experiences. 

I will introduce you to a few of my favorite over these past several months.

First, my host family. Something was looking out for me when they brought me to this family. I don’t know how to describe them in a way that would do them justice. I will start with my host sisters. Rachel is shy when you first meet her, but once she warms up to you you see her personality is filled with strength, love, beauty and humor.  She is one of the funniest people I have ever met. She is humble and smart.  No matter how bad my day was or how frustrated I am about something, when I talk to her or when she smiles I feel so much better. It’s as if the day was looking out for me and knew I needed something bright. As I said she is very smart as well as incredibly artistic, however she doesn’t see these things about herself.  She loves ghost stories and adventure movies. She likes to read and when she reads she takes notes about everything she has read.  She just finished reading a book on how to become successful. One of the steps said to smile when you wake up, so now she smiles every morning when she wakes up. I hope success finds her.  She is a great cook and dreams of opening a restaurant. She is full of dreams and holds onto those dreams. Currently she runs a little store that sells school supplies and spends her Sunday mornings teaching Sunday school.  She is open minded and progressive and keeps me from being lonely. We can talk about anything without judgment, and while we might be different we understand each other without any effort. 

Marife, or Ping, is full of life and energy.  She is currently at college studying elementary education, and I have no doubt she will make an incredible teacher. She is creative and patient. She is always willing to try something new and embraces life without fear.  She hears of something and she tries it and she does it.  Things come natural for her, but she is a perfectionist and never underappreciates the time and work someone has put into something.  She loves telling jokes, and always has very animated stories to share.  She is eager to learn anything and everything she can. She listens closely and puts a lot of consideration into what others have told her.  She enjoys plants vs zombies and swimming.  She is resourceful and can make art out of anything.  She will be able to achieve anything she tries, and luckily has many interests so will try many things.  She is also very open minded and responds to me without critique.

My host mom, Gine, is very kinds and very loving.  I remember one Saturday afternoon both my host sisters were doing something else so it was just my host parents and I. I told my host mom a story about something that happened to me and she started to cry and just told me she was so sorry that that thing happened.  I knew in that moment that she looked at me as if I were her own daughter.  She is hard working and loves her daughters. She likes to laugh at her daughters and is the reason her daughters don’t judge. My host mom doesn’t participate in the typical chika, rather she listens to all sides of any story and only takes something seriously if it comes from a credible source (I write this because it is rare here). She accepts my oddities, and seems to even find them entertaining. She helps anyone and everyone she can with anything they need.  She laughs and talks a lot, and finds great joy in her flowers. 

My host dad, Pio, is a very good person to be a part of my life here. Many of my interactions with men here are less than positive, but my host dad is one of the greatest men I have ever met.  He loves his family dearly, and treats his wife and daughters with great respect.  He is always working and making improvements to the house, trike, or fields.  He is more quiet than my host mom, but he is sarcastic which is a rare joy here. Despite not finishing high school he is very very intelligent and teaches me something new daily. He, as with the rest of my host family, has great patience with me. He is always looking out for me and ensures that I am okay. 

One girl who has shared many moments of laughter with me is a five year old girl in town. I don’t know her real name because every time I see her she tells me her name is something like “chocotops” (a popular snack here) or “skittles.”  Whenever I see her she sings the Scooby doo song in tagalog, searches my purse for gum, takes pictures with my camera. She cracks me up and no one ever seems to be worried that she’s alone in the town plaza. I haven’t ever met any of her family members, but she is a spunky little girl. I once saw her punch some boy about two times her size in the nose. I gave her another piece of gum.

My host mom’s grandma just recently turned 88. She’s the closest thing to an angel I’ve ever met.  She’s forgetful these days, but she never forgets me or my dog.  Her English is impeccable. She has shared stories with me about the occupation of the Japanese and the horrors she and her family endured. Looking at her you would never know the pain she suffered. She is always smiling. She is loved by everyone and possesses elegance only someone who gives that much love could have.  She admired a bracelet I was given in Jordan, so I gave it to her on her birthday. She was astounded and told me she would wear it then walk up and down the street saying “see this? This is from the American Kaitlin. Do you know America?” Then she laughed and said people would think she was crazy but she didn’t care cause she had a bracelet. She told me this maybe 20 + times and is now a joke among the entire family. 

I love my students. All of them.  They have opened up to me and accepted me and shared their lives with me.  I’m hoping to make a documentary about them because there is no way I could do them justice with my words. You need to see them and hear their words.  We have been able to challenge each other and help each other grow.  I hope that they are all able to achieve the lives they currently dream of.

My counterpart, Maryann, has been a blessing. Without her most of my work would never happen. She loves her students and really cares about their personal lives and how they are doing. She is a strong woman who has endured a lot.  The strength of her faith is astounding to me considering some of the things that are a part of her life.  She is forgiving and always willing to love.  She has given me the chance to get to know her beautiful daughters.

There are two boys who live on the street in alaminos (the city where I get internet). I once gave the apples and now every time they see me they ask me for apples instead of money. The oldest is 8 and the younger one is 4.  They are adorable and always laugh.  They really like when they ask me for apples but instead I give them chocolate snacks.  When I’m at the ATM they pretend to be my bodyguards. They think it’s hilarious. I think they just like the fact that when the guards yell at them to move away from the ATM I say it’s okay. It’s probably the only time they get to defy authority.  Even if I have no food to give them they will still run over to me just to talk and tell me a story.  I wish I could adopt them. 

Ma’am Emelda is my host dad’s sister. She is the pastor’s wife of the church my host family goes to. She symbolizes grace.  She is thoughtful and is always willing to give her time to others.  She takes anyone in no matter who they are or where they come from. She once brought me an orchid out of the blue just to say thank you for teaching her son and living here. She also shows great gratitude and really appreciates anything someone gives her no matter how small it may seem.  She listens to people and wants to help everyone she can. She is the only Filipina I’ve met who has adopted a child. 

Ma’am Jaina has invited me into her home numerous times and has allowed me to get close to her family.  She is the leader of the women who work for Beads For A Cause.  I met her through her daughter who is one of my students, and since then we have been working together to sell her products.  She is innovative, creative, and dedicated. Nothing stops her or gets in her way, which is proof of the love she has for her family. She wants her children to be healthy and have opportunities, and she is willing to work to ensure that happens no matter what that means. She is always happy. She is honest and she loves God. She has faith that God will provide for her family, but she understands that for the manifestation of that provision she needs to be proactive.  She is a leader. She is humble. She is giving many people hope. 

i'm grateful for good people

Paulo's magic words

There is a woman visiting Anda right now. She is the daughter of the woman whose house I stayed in for my first three months here. She works for the Red Cross and has been on missions all over the world including Pakistan and Sudan.  This woman, Gema, is a breath of fresh and someone I’m grateful to have met. 

She brought a couple books with her.  Three of which are written by Paulo Coelho, who is an author I greatly admire. I don’t know if the mechanics of his writing are anything profound, although this may be that I’m only reading the English translations of his work, but his stories, characters and remarks on spiritualty, religion, magic, the unknown, wisdom, love, and knowledge are all things I greatly admire and find refreshing, just like Gema’s visit. 

I know it’s sort of trendy to read Coelho these days, but this week as I read two of his books for the first time and re-read the Alchemist it felt like he was writing me personal letters as his words are words my soul had been trying to hear through dialogue with forces that have left me feeling alone. That probably sounds cliché after hearing that I’ve read Coehlo, but Im okay with that. 

Here are some of my favorite parts of my time with Coehlo this week:

The Author’s Note in By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept:

“A Spanish missionary was visiting an island when he came across three Aztecpriests.

                ‘How do you pray?’ the missionary asked.

‘               ‘We have only one prayer.’ Answered one of the Aztecs.  ‘We say, God , you are three, we are three. Have pity on us.’

                ‘A beautiful prayer,’ said the missionary. ‘But it is not exactly the one that God heeds. I’m going to teacher you one that’s much better.”

                The priest taught them a Catholic prayer and then continued on his path of evangelism. Years later, when he was returning to Spain, his ship stopped again at the island.  From the deck, the missionary saw the three priests on the shore and waved to them.

                Just then, the three men began to walk across the water toward him.

                ‘Padre! Padre!” one of them called, approaching the ship.  ‘Teach us again that prayer that God heeds. We’ve forgotten how it goes.’

                ‘It doesn’t matter,’ responded the missionary, witnessing the miracle and promptly asked God’s forgiveness for failing to recognize that He speaks all languages.

                This story illustrates just what this book is about. Rarely dowe realize that we are in the midst of the extraordinary. Miracles occur all around us, signs from God show us the way, angels plead to be heard, but we pay little attention to them because we have been taught that we must follow certain formulas and rules if we want to find God. We do not recognize that God is wherever we allow Him/Her to enter.

                Traditional religious practices are important: they allow us to share withothers the communal experience of adoration and prayer. But we must never forget that spiritual experience is above all a practical experience of love. and with love, there are no rules.  Some may try to control their emotions and develop strategies for their beahvoir; others may turn to reading books for advice from ‘experts’ on relationships—but this is all folly.  The heart decides and what it decides is all that really matters…

                For in every love lies the seed of our growth. The more we love, the closer we come to spiritual experience. Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all inhibitions and preconceptions of their era.  They have been able to sing, to laugh, and to pray out loud; hey have danced and shared what Saint Paul called ‘the madness of saintliness.’ They have been joyful—because those who love conquer the world and have no dear of loss. True love is an act of total surrender… sooner or later, we have to overcome our fears, because the spiritual path can only be traveled through the daily experience of love.

                Thomas Merton once said that the spiritual life is essentially to love.  One doesn’t love in order to do what is good or to help r to protect someone. If we act that way, we are perceiving the other as a simple object, and we are seeing ourselves as wise and generous persons.  This has nothing to do with our love. to love is to be in communion with the other and to discover in that other the spark of God…”—Paulo Coehlo

“Sometimes an uncontrollable feeling of sadness grips us, he said. We recognize that the magic of the moment of the day has passed and that we’ve done nothing about it. Life begins to conceal its magic and its art.

                We have to listen to the child we once were, the child who still exists inside us. That child understands magic moments. We can stifle its cries, but we cannot silence its voice…

                If we are not reborn—if we cannot learn to look at lie with the innocence and enthusiasm of childhood—it makes no sense to go on living…

                 We must allow this child to take the reins of our lives. The child knows that each day is different from every other day…

                Remember the human wisdom is madness in the eyes of God. But if we listen to the child who lives in our soul, our eyes will grow bright. If we do not lose contact with that child, we will not lose contact with life.”--By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

                “ ‘You had that wrong’ he said. ‘A person who goes in search of God is wasting his time. He can walk a thousand roads and join many religions and sects—but he’ll never find god that way. 

                God is right here, right now, at our side. We can see Him in this mist, in the ground we’re walking on, even in my shoes. His angels keep watch while we sleep and help us in our work. In order to find God, you have only to look around.

                But meeting Him is not easy. The more God asks us to participate in His mysteries, the more disoriented we become because He asks us constantly to follow our dreams and our hearts. And that’s difficult to do when we’re used to living in a different way.

                Finally we discover, to our surprise, that God wants us to be happy, because He is the father..and the mother’ “--By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

                “ ‘I just want t say one thing to you,’ she said. ‘Don’t bother trying to explain your emotions. Live everything as intensely as you can and keep whatever you felt as a gift from God. If you think that you won’t be able to stand a world in which living is more important than understanding, then give up magic now.  The best way to destroy the bridge between the visible and the invisible is by trying to explain your emotions.’ “—Brida

                “‘But the path of magic—like the path of life—is and always will be the path of Mystery. Learning something means coming into contact with a world of which you know nothing. In order to learn, you must be humbles.’”—Brida

                “’Right now, while we’re here eating, ninety-nince percent of the people in this planet are, in their own way, struggling with that very questions. Why are wee here? Many think they’ve found the answer in religion or in materialism. Other despair and spend their lives and their money trying to grasp the meaning of it all. a few let the question go unanswered and live for the moment, regardless  of the results or the consequences.

                Only the brave and those who understand the Traditions of the Sun and the Moon are aware that the only possible answer to the question is I DON’T KNOW.’” –Brida

“’ We don’t look for an answer, we accept, and then life becomes much more intense, much more brilliant, becase we understand that each minute, each step that we take, has a meaning that goes far beyond us as individuals. We realize that somewhere in time and space this question does have an answer. We realize that there is a reason for us being here, and for us, that is enough…and we surrender ourselves full to each moment, knowing that there is always a hand to guide us, and whether we accept it or not is entirely up to us.’”—Brida

                “So, why is it so important to live our personal calling if we are only going to suffer more than other people?

                Because, once we have overcome the defeats—and we always do—we are filled by a graet sense of euphoria and confidence. In the silence of our hearts, we know that we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. “—Coelho

                “’Dreams are the language of God. When he speaks in our language, I can interpret what he has said.  But if he speaks in the language of the soul, it is only you who can understand.’”—The Alchemist

                “’It’s [Personal Legend] what you have always wanted to accomplish.  Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.

                At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.  They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives. But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them tht it will be impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend.’”--The Alchemist

                “’There is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It’s your mission on earth.”--The Alchemist

                “’To realize a one’s destiny is a person’s only real obligation.  All things are one.”--The Alchemist

                “’Everything on earth is being continuously transformed, because the earth is alive…and it has a soul. We are part of that soul, so we rarely recognize that it is working for us. “--The Alchemist

                “’The secret is here in the present. If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day according to the teachings, confident that God loves his children. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity.’”--The Alchemist

                “’You must understand that love never keeps a man from pursuing his Personal legend. If he abandons that pursuit, it’s because it wasn’t true love…the love that speaks the Language of the World.’”--The Alchemist

                “’Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.’”--The Alchemist

                “’Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.  And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search si a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.’”--The Alchemist

                “’It [The Soul of the World] said that all people who are happy have God within them. And that happiness could be found in a grain of sand from the desert, as the alchemist had said. Because a gain of sand is a moment of creation, and the universe has taken millions of years to create it.’”--The Alchemist

                “The boy reached through to the Soul of the World, and saw that it was a part of the Soul of God. And he saw that the Soul of God was his own soul. And that he, a boy, could perform miracles.”--The Alchemist

but i couldn't turn my back

i can't stop listening to this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoRNfpvWhwQ&NR=1

actually i don't know how to post it, but look it up on youtube. it's called "Blackberry Stone" by Laura Marling

water

i think i was made to spend my days bathing in ancient mountain rivers and swimming alongside the old souls of the sea. i was made to shower in the typhoon rains under the night sky.  

Ericka

I'm working with a handful of students on scholarship essays.  One essay asked students to write about a hardship they have overcome.  This is Ericka's essay:

I have encountered and overcome many struggles, but the hardest was when my father died. It was the start of everything, and I was only six-years old.

                 Our family was perfect and well-rounded (physically, socially, mentally, and spiritually), but everything changed when my father was murdered at work.  My father was a money collector of a big company of books.  The police told us it was a hold-up. He was shot in his head once, but there were three exit-wounds.  That is all we know. 

                After we buried him, my mother brought me to my grandparents in the province, Pangasinan, to continue my studies.  She left my little sister, Fatima who was three years old at the time, and I there while she returned to manila to fix our files and to take my father’s case to the Court of Appeals.  She returned to the province and promised us she would find a living. 

                In order to make my mother, and my deceased father, happy, I studied hard even though they were not with me to guide me. I was ranked in the top two of our batch during grades two and three.  After two years in the province my mother brought us to Bulacan where she was working in a small eatery.  So, I, as the breadwinner of the family,  helped her serve, clean, and wash the dishes of the small business.  At first I cried a lot because of the non-stop washing of dishes, but I learned, and realized, that it was the business that was helping us live.  I also noticed that my mom was crying at night while looking at my father’s picture, and realized that she too was tired of our work. So, I was not surprised when she told us that we had a new father, but I did not like him. In a short time, my mother became pregnant.  I was angry with my mother because I felt like she was not content with my sister and me. 

                While my sister and I were at school on day, my mother, when eight months pregnant, was brought to the hospital  because of sudden bleeding.  However, in God’s grace, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. After his birth we needed to find another house because we could no longer afford the rent of our apartment.  It was very hard to face life in our new house. My stepfather’s earnings from as a tricycle driver were not enough. I experienced hunger, and a lack of attention. It was as if I was left behind.

                By that time, my mother and stepfather were always quarreling and their relationship ended.  We had many difficulties, so we accepted the offer to live with my mother’s new friend.  I am thankful that we met her even though we were treated as her maids.  However, without our knowledge, my mother’s friend was a drug addict.

                During that time I almost had to stop studying, but since I was about to graduate I tried to finish my studies because I didn’t want to waste my time and sacrifices. I also didn’t want to disappoint the people who love me, especially my teachers in Bagbaguin Elementary School who encouraged and helped me in that time.  I graduated as salutatorian.

                That was one of the hardships in my life that has made me stronger—the foundation for what I am now.

dear god

Dear God,

Bakit? Why? They say you are a kind God, a loving  God, but my God, why?

A white man comes one day.  He gathers the children and he preaches fear into the depths of their hearts.  He stands up on the stage, all the closer to you dear God, and they sit at his feet where he declares, through a hoarse voice and a fountain of saliva, the sinners belong.  He recklessly swings his sword, slaying all visions of a God that liberates and loves and cares for humanity, without ever opening a page to read the truth. 

“You must fear God.  If you do not repent you will spend eternity in the firery pits of Hell. Do you want that? You know how hot it is right now? Imagine living for eternity in a place 1,000 times hotter without a break.  Is that what you want? That’s what you will get if you don’t follow my path. You are poor, but I bought a $2,000, that’s American dollars, plane ticket to come here and sacrifice my safety in this terrorist country…all to save YOU!”

The fat white man, with a slurred southern English accent and  a lack of breath, continued. He forced the children to stand. He ushered them into a circle, and he demanded they repeat his prayer.

“God, I am a bad person. I am a sinner. I need you.  I want to spend eternity with you.  I am yours.”

He congratulated them for their “big steps” toward you, dear God, and every ounce of his power paraded around the center of the circle to “bless” the new Christians. He patted the children’s heads with his sword and then told them each “Now, with God, you will be able to live a rich life in this place of poverty you call home.” As quickly as he stormed in, his Land Rover fled the school grounds surely taking him back to his life across the sea where you are white and a friend of the rich. Where he doesn’t need to look at or speak to or smell the children. 

Bakit? Why, dear God? 

The children write you letters. Letters of desperation, exposing truths only you and they know, yet your face remains invisible and your hands must be preoccupied in a far off land, where people have money to tithe, because the children are alone. 

“God, I wish you would take my life early. Bring me to heaven where there is food.”

“God, I try to be a good son, but my dad is still angry with me. I don’t know why. I do everything good, but he says I make him drink and when he drinks he hurts me.”

“God, they don’t understand me. They say because I get angry with you that you don’t love me and I will burn. I don’t want to burn, but I don’t see you here.”

“God, my mother is in the city looking for work and I am here as a boarder and they treat me like a slave. I’m so tired God. I hate it here, but my mother says she doesn’t have enough money to take care of me.”

And so the letters go, and the teacher’s responses crumple those pains into little balls to be burned in the night trash, a glimpse of life for the sinners.  “God is giving you these bad things because He is teaching you a lesson. You are meant to live the lives you are living. It’s for a reason, don’t complain about it. You need to be grateful.” And so the children retreat into themselves and I watch their spirits crumble as they internalize their suffering, and realize you are a powerful God who dominates morality and politics and the peace within one’s being.   

These children grow, and the world is stubborn, refusing to change.  After all, the children are told they can’t change anything because it is your world and the injustices that flood the earth are lessons to be learned and punishments to be received.  So, the children grow hopeless and idle and their dreams of change dwindle to flickers of bitterness until there is nothing left to be felt. So like leaves dried by the sun they fall, weak against the mighty forces of time, unable to be revitalized with water.  Trampled by all that life is, they disintegrate into the land without a fight.

honesty

I tell my students to breathe when they are sad or frustrated or angry or trapped. I tell them to think of nothing but breathing. To connect themselves to the heavens and ingest all that they believe heaven to be. I tell them this will help. But one of my greatest flaws is my hypocrisy for so many of the things I tell them I fail to do successfully. Or, maybe, and even worse, what I tell them just isn’t true.  Right now, no matter how much I breathe, the heavens are out of reach. 

*Do you think the Dali Lama could ever really retire?

*What would have happened if Mother Theresa would have left Kolkuta?

*Did Martin Luther King JR. Have to die?

*When and how did Che go wrong?

I’ve thought a lot of thoughts

I’ve walked a lot of steps

I’ve seen a lot of sites

I’ve felt a lot of feelings

And still, STILL, I’m only a new born child who has yet to taste the flavors of life

___________________________________________________________________________________

I love working with the women from Beads for  a Cause. They bring so much energy and peace to my world here. It feels like I’m actually contributing to something when everything else just seems to be rolling backwards.

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be pretty. When I was a little girl I would hide for what seemed eternity behind my parents’ armoire, but it never seemed anyone was looking for me. I was sure if I was prettier someone would notice when I went missing. 

I’ve always known that I somehow missed the pretty gene.  My family is pretty, my friends are pretty, everyone here is pretty, and actually, I can’t recall ever seeing someone who isn’t pretty. I can see this. I can see everyone’s prettiness.  I can feel it, and I wish I too was pretty. 

It’s vain, I know, but I wish that one time I would look in the mirror and see someone else, or walk into a room and instead of hearing “its admirable you live with rats and cockroaches. I wouldn’t do that,” to hear, “you look really pretty.” 

One of my—well he wasn’t mine mine, but he was mine. He would sit on my lap and he would go to school with me and he would sit in the back of my classroom and we would play and I would sneak him my lunch and he was my first friend here and I spent more time with him than anyone—dogs was sold to be eaten. I was out of town and I came home and he was gone.  I never got to say goodbye. I can’t imagine how scared he was when they tied him down.  And for what? He was malnourished.  He didn’t have much meat.  I just left him one day not thinking anything of it, and when I came back he was gone. 

Dogs here are hard in general. Not only when they are eaten.  The other day I saw a dog hit by a van.  The van didn’t even try to avoid the dog. It just hit it. And the dog was there in the middle of the road unable to move. And I couldn’t do anything. It was breathing but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help him.  I didn’t know what to do.  Some lady yelled at him. His body spasmed.  She started throwing rocks at him and somehow he stood up and dragged himself to the other side of the street. We looked for him in the grass, but we couldn’t find him.  We walked by his blood and knew he was gone.

Another volunteer told me a story about watching four puppies get run over in a pot hole. This doesn’t happen in my community, but in some parts of the country there are so many dogs that hitting them with vehicles is sort of considered a sport, like hunting, to maintain population control.  She was there, on the side of the street, admiring four puppies that were all sleeping together in the crater of a pothole. A trike saw them and swerved to their side of the street. He slowed down and slowly rolled over all of them.  All the puppies.  And then he drove off.  And the puppies were gone.

I had a really good day. I was at Liz’s place. Last night we made a delicious failure of a meal.  It was supposed to be veggie burgers. Instead it was incredible vegetable mush.  And we talked.   And then we slept and we woke up and we went to a small island. It was beautiful. A full day of nothing but the sea and sand and shade. A whole day of collecting shells, swimming, reading, eating left over vegetable mush, and sleeping. I needed it.  And then we ate macaroni and cheese for dinner with a side of mangos.  Everything was perfect.

The past, present, and future are strange things.  What a bizarre concept it is to divide time into these three categories. I’ve found that once something happens it isn’t really part of your “past.” It is a contributing part to your “now” and is vital to the formation of your future. There is no distinction. Once something happens it is a part of you and you are a part of it.  We don’t really ever leave things behind. We just learn how to respond to them in different ways.

I’m listening to the song that got me into college. Arc of Time by Bright Eyes (yes, I quoted Bright Eyes as the introduction to my college entrance essay). This song still encourages me in the way only a few people’s words have.

What is God anyway?

I wonder if I’ll ever live in LA again. I hope I do. I really feel like it is the city of angels. 

The other day I had a minor breakdown. I tend to cry a lot. I always have. I probably always will. But I try not to cry here because I don’t want anyone to know. If someone finds  out, everyone will know, and I’ll never stop hearing about it.  I can only imagine the assumptions people would have about why I was crying.  Oh gosh.  Just that thought alone makes me want to cry.

Anyways, I was doing my wash. Nothing too bizarre. Just washing some dirty clothes.  And then I got to my favorite bra. A bra. I cried over a bra. Not a big deal, right? Well, it struck some sort of cord that has been waiting to be cut loose I guess cause I cried. And cried. And probably cried a little more.

It sounds absurd, but it was my favorite bra.  I was washing and I noticed it had mold spots all over it. Somehow water had leaked into my hamper and a lot of my clothes got moldy.  I was fine with it…until this bra. 

It’s pretty.  It’s one thing that is still mine while I’m here.  I have no control over my life it seems. I don’t get to choose what I eat or when I eat or how much I eat. I don’t get to decide when I sleep or how long I sleep. I don’t get to choose what I teach or what thoughts I can share out loud or what feelings I can express.  I go where people tell me when people tell me and do what they request. I internalize my frustrations and my moments of sadness.  I have no control over any of it, just like there are few material items that are still mine and only mine.  My bed has succumbed to mold. My body has made space for a variety of bacteria and viruses and other unknown ailments. My computer is used by anyone and everyone. My movies are borrowed without my knowing and often never returned. My books too. My clothes and jewelry are worn by students and my pictures have become teaching materials or hang in sari sari stores.   

I don’t mean to complain or say I don’t want to share these items. I do. I want people to learn how to use computers, and to read books. I want people to learn about the world, and if my pictures are the way, well then it’s worth it.  I signed up to sensor my often outspoken mouth and to mold myself to fit into a different culture and society. I knew I would get sick. I agreed to all of this.  But it’s a lot.

My bra. It was one of the few things that was still only mine.  I guess I’m truly American and need things to be mine.  And it was nice.  I like pretty underwear. It makes you feel good. I can be covered in fleas and lice, have bacterial infections in my feet, wear clothes with mold spots and holes from over washing, sleep under a mosquito net not so the bugs don’t bite me but so the lizard poop doesn’t fall on me while I’m sleeping, have my hair chopped off because it takes too much water to wash, be criticized and critiqued, poked and prodded, observed like a doll in a museum, talked about among everyone who has ever even seen me (most of the talking may not even be true), and be sweaty every day for two years as long as I have that one nice thing that still makes me feel somewhat…I don’t know…clean, or myself, or at home, or comfortable…or just in control of one thing—what bra I’m choosing to wear. 

But then it was gone in that moment.  My one thing was gone and I started crying. And I couldn’t stop.  It’s ridiculous. It’s not even anything important. Just a stupid article of clothing, but it felt so significant. And then I laughed because it’s so crazy and I have so much here and really…a bra? It is ridiculous.  _____________________________________________________________________________________

I hear the world calling, but my compass is broken and I don’t know which path leads north….

The wind whispers to me, beckoning me through the forceful sways of leaves and waves alike. Its’ call is clear as it beats like drums calling me to war and prayer.  The pounding is constant, empowering the vibrations to control my mind and heart; body and soul. I give my being to the rhythms reverberating through the forests and cities. I bounce from here to there and there to here. 

The rhythms overtake me and instead of floating I feel as if I’m drowning. So many beats and songs I no longer know which one calls to me with the loudest and most urgent demands.  I have lost all sense of direction, so I pull a compass from my pocket, but the magnet is broken and it doesn’t know north. 

My dance of discovery and freedom has turned to a struggle for survival against the might tides of sound and force. I need a moment to breathe, a moment to wipe the salt from my eyes. But the cries grow louder, so deeper I go seeking redemption for any of the eyes whose tears expand the water I’m treading.  Blue becomes green, and green becomes black and my feet have morphed to fins in an attempt to navigate the most dizzying undertows.

The last time I was in Manila I decided to venture into a grocery store. It was my first real grocery store in a year. I was looking for a towel ( I don’t know why I went to a grocery store to find such a thing), and I passed by the pet isles.  I cried.  It was so overwhelming. All this food and all these toys for cats and dogs, and it was all so expensive. I wanted so badly to get Todd and the Blackies and the cats some good food and some toys.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t afford enough for all of them.  All of our pets just eat left overs, mostly consisting of rice. Without a doubt they are malnourished. Without a doubt they would be so much healthier with this food, and there it was. Right in front of me, but I couldn’t get it for them.

It made me think about all the families where the parents can’t afford food to feed their children. I can’t imagine the heartache of knowing there is food out there but you don’t have enough money to buy it for your children so you watch your children grow sickly and weak. You watch as they never gain weight or increase in height. You watch their bodies be neglected of life. Such a simple thing, and yet so difficult for so many people to get—food. I can’t imagine. 

And it made me think about the shock of going to a grocery store for a parent who can’t afford food for his/her child.  To see all the non-sense and the things people don’t need, while he/she can’t feed her/his child.  How overwhelming and so much sorrow. 

Why? Why are there so many hungry children and why do some people have so much while others have so little?

I wish I was something unique.  I wish I was smart enough to answer the tough questions, or, really, any questions. I wish I was wise and could understand what it’s all about and what it’s all for and what it all means. I wish I was creative and could make something great to share with the world and offer hope. I wish I was innovative and could come up with a solution for any one of the many problems facing humanity.  I wish I was funny and could make sad men laugh. I wish I was witty and could make arrogant women pause. I wish I was musically gifted so I could translate their stories to melodies every soul could interpret. I wish I was strong so I could handle it all. I wish I was brave so I could defend the defenseless, fight when needed, and stand in defiance against all that is wrong. I wish I was fearless so sexism and prejudices didn’t haunt me.  I wish I was good at listening so I could know them. I wish I had better eyes so I could interpret all that there is. I wish I was filled with enough love for everyone. I wish I never got tired and I wish I had a passion that could support change. I wish I was positive so that I had hope and could pass that hope onto others. 

I love my advisory class from last year.

I know a lot of guys. Many different types of guys. Artsy, logical, free-spirited, athletic, serious, funny, nerdy, musically gifted, compassionate, arrogant, selfish, giving, loving, gentle, harsh, hopeful, creative, angry, rich, poor, American, African, Filipino, religious, atheist, frustrated, content, bitter, hopeless, light, dark, intelligent, wise, passionate, apathetic, YET, no matter what qualities each guy possesses many seem to feel this pressure to be “successful.” Granted not all, but there is this pressure put on them at some point in time by some person in society, whether a family member or a stranger or the media or a teacher.  I’ve seen too many who don’t let themselves just “be” and give themselves the chance to live and experiment with the experiences they dream and talk about living. 

It’s as if college ends and they begin to feel this pressure and it pounds them until they can’t resist it and they battle it. As with any battle, one is victorious and one is disheartened.  And a tragedy is born each time another man is overcome by an identity or job that compromises his spirit. 

It’s interesting to be a girl and think this. Throughout high school I wrongly assumed it was only girls who felt a strong societal pressure to be pretty and get married etc etc etc. But, in college I learned boys, from the time they were little, are overwhelmed with societal pressures telling them to be strong, rich, handsome, and take care of a family. 

I don’t understand how and why we pass these expectations on to our children and next generations if they leave so many in our generation feeling empty and lost and depressed and strange to even themselves.  We can’t seem to see the damage our pressures create not only for individuals but for our world as a whole. 

After asking students to write a journal entry about the word “Fear,” one student, Niccon, offered to share his answer: “My fear is my hope.” Because of students like him and thoughts like his I have great hope for the future of this country.

A good clove is worth it.

I saw a starving dog on the street. Its hip bone looked like two tumors protruding from its back. Nothing should starve.  Skeletons were made to be covered.

The mango tree was being suffocated by the hovering sun. The paper tree stood idly by with its branches drawn in prayer—hoping for redemption from the same fate.

Sometimes I hate being a girl. Especially when I’m travelling alone. Male-dominance has plagued this world and turned man to animal and woman to fodder.  No one stands a chance when personhood has been manipulated to such levels in directions that span both sea and land.

The rains have come, and again the world mourns for restored balance.

 I’m in Baguio alone and sort of lost cause I dropped my phone out the bus window. I’m waiting for steven to text my new phone. As I’m sitting here I’m listening to two guys talk about their many affairs. One is from LA, but had a “boring” child-hood (I’m guessing the rich Fil-Am story where the parents work a lot and lose track of their kids’ lives), and the other is from the Philippines and appears to be very rich as well as he has gone to American schools here etc.

The American one hates LA and has attempted suicide numerous times. The Filipino is incredibly intuitive and compassionate. He asked why the Fil-Am is telling him all this.  He asks if the Fil-Am ever told his therapist or his friends all this.  The Fil-Am said, “What do I have to say? I had a boring childhood and have no reason for extreme depression or aimlessness? Who wants to hear that? There’s nothing to my story other than I don’t feel at home anywhere.”

The Fil-Am is tutoring English and recruiting for a university. The Filipino has an unpaid internship, but I don’t know what it is.

The Fil-Am spent some time in LA prostituting himself with a service that would drive him to meet the other men then drive him home to protect him from potentially dangerous situations. He said he would meet “clients” three times a week on average. Usually rich clients. 

The Filipino was sleeping with a person. He said this particular relationship was “just sex.” He would go to the man’s house (a white foreign man), they would have sex, and then he would leave. He said he was broken-hearted to realize the guy was also sleeping with a different guy, and that’s when he realized there is no such thing as “just sex with no emotions.”

The Fil-Am talked about an old 50 year old man whose wife died and who had three kids older than him. He said he “couldn’t get it up for such an old man.”

Both agreed sex is much more than only a physical relationship. They said there is a lot of emotion and a deep spiritual connection involved.  “It can lift up your spirits if someone smiles at you after you’ve finished.”

The Fil-Am likes when someone catches and holds his eye in the bar.

The Filipino thinks porn ruins the sensitivity and spirituality of “true sex,” while the Fil-Am loves porn and thinks it’s a good distraction from life.

Fil-Am: “It’s the idea of rejection. No one wants to be unwanted.”

Filipino: “You never know if rejection helps you. What if that guy was a huge asshole. That saves you then. That rejection is a gift.”

Fil-Am: “But rejection is such a defeat.”

Last night I had one of the most refreshing conversations I’ve had since I’ve been here.

I was at Steven’s apt when his drunk Kenyan roommate stumbled in with the guidance of his Croatian friend escorting him up the stairs.

Zelly is an only child. His mom dies when he was little, so it was just him and his dad for a while.  He fought in the Croatian army.  Spent some years fixing up cars. Spent some years doing miscellaneous things, and then spent some time in med-school.  He lived in Germany for many years and would like to return with his family in a few years.  His wife is an artist and owns a bar in Baguio.

I was talking to Preston online when the two guys came in. I felt like somehow the universe brought Preston and Zelly together through me in that moment even though they never spoke and will never know each other. They both encourage me to live based on my intuition and heart, theey both believe love and compassion can transform the world and they believe in the cycles of life.

Zelly reminded me it’s okay to mourn for the world and celebrate it at the same time. He gave me confidence that it’s okay to be in tension with God/the Cosmos/Life if you feel good about your decisions and know that you are trying to impact those around you in a positive way.  

The world (people, place and time) is pretty miraculous

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I met a wise man the other night. His words were enlightening and as he spoke I could feel certainty and truth pouring through his veins.  I was sure he’d be able to answer the questions no guru, imam, pastor or monk ever could. 

At first his interpretations of life gave me hope, but when I asked him the questions I’ve asked every man and woman before him, his body retracted and sadness filled his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

So, I asked again, and again he didn’t know. The more I asked, the more he couldn’t explain until the two of us sat there in silence wishing for something more.

I told them I don’t align myself with any religion and sometimes whatever people call “God” makes me angry. A few days later one of them texted me asking me to pray for her. I guess they know I pray as hard as anyone.

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I can’t wait to learn about fisheries and fishing rights and coral gardening and restoring the oceans. It astonishes me how every life force, and non-living force for that matter, is so intricately connected and vital for the well-being of all others. The complexity of the world, without a doubt in my mind, argues for the existence of some sort of intelligent designer.

So often I’m discouraged by the way I observe people treating each other and the way so many people carelessly respond to their environments, and the animals they share those environments with. However, getting to spend the night with a group of people who were truly fascinated with the delicate process of coral spawning refreshed my hope for this world.

I met a Spanish man who is in love with the ocean. He became so emotionally connected to the aquatic life he swims life that he can no longer eat fish because he doesn’t want to turn his diving partners into objects of appetite. He told me that in the seas there are “cleaning stations” where certain fish clean others and in this zone, where some are servicing others, nothing 9including sharks) eat each other. I don’t think I’ve found a system like that in humanity.

It’s amazing to watch a group of people who have been told by society that they are worth little because of their economic standing learn a skill few people have, and then take pride in that skill. Pride in oneself can be a powerful tool for global transformation. But, like all things, must be balanced as pride in oneself can also be the root of socio-economic oppression.

One day I feel like I’m actually, finally, doing something good here. Something worthwhile that will help even just one person. Then the next day, if not hours later, I again feel the frustration of not being able to do anything to help anyone and the frustrations of watching one idea and project after another fail.

I just saw 9 of my most rascally boys sprint onto school property after jumping the fence that divides the school from the neighboring farm.  All 9 of them were beaming with delight. I don’t think I want to know what they were up to, but their smiles make me happy.

I’m waiting for church to start. It’s just me and two little girls. They keep whispering to each other trying to figure out how to ask me questions in English. Then I respond In Tagalog. They think it’s a fun game. I do too.

There is so much I want to write but can’t. Not because I don’t have the words (I certainly have plenty of words for these things). But, it will have to wait till I’m home.

One year has gone by quickly. Time amazes me. I’m nervous for the next year though. I’ve done so little.  What will I do this year? I hope something. Anything. 

I’m afraid when I come back to the states I will be bitter and angry and frustrated that no one understands anything I’ve seen or felt or experienced or worked with while I’ve been here. I don’t want to be that way, but it’s so hard to talk to people and realize they have no perception or idea of what you are talking about. It’s going to be hard not to be able to explain myself or to remember that people just don’t know what I’m talking about simply because I’ve adapted (to a degree) to life and work here, which means I can’t comprehend not knowing or  understanding. I just wish people could know without me explaining things. I’m going to need patience or maybe I wont talk about things. It might be easier.

The Broken Hearted Idealist seems like a good title for a book.

I wish I could help my host sister open a restaurant. She’d be so good at it, and she passionately loves to cook and create new recipes.  I just have this vision of her being so happy if she had a place and the money to make food for people.

I hate poverty and I hate the way most people perceive those living in poverty.  I wish everyone was healthy and had access to food and water and education and equality. I wish resources were divided equally. And there is no reason why the world can’t distribute what it has evenly amongst all its people. Unfortunately, we feel this need to keep for ourselves even if it means the neglect of others. I don’t know how this became a common part of humanity. It’s tragic.