Lessons learned

Round one of lessons learned on my Guatemalan adventure:

*i learned to be more assertive and laid back, both of which can be good and bad at times.

*i learned to be more independent.

*i learned that i am not what i say, what i do, my past, etc...that there is much more to who i am than only those small defining things, and that's good.

*i learned to seek more experiences and enjoy each experience for what it is.

*i learned that people are always much more interesting than they appear and finding out why is more important than many of my daily activities.


Now, the fun part is seeing how these things apply in my daily life here.

the wise words of Kahlil Gibran

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

--Kahlil Gibran

I'm about a week away from Xela and my experiences there. I write that with a sadness that sits in the back of my heart. It doesn't overwhelm me, and I am thankful for that, but it does remain a constant presence. However, sadness has a companion: Joy. Kahlil Gibran puts it well.

I rode away from the city through the mountains at eye level with the clouds. We said our goodbyes, and I found it fitting that my cloudy view matched my cloudy thoughts and emotions. How is it possible to want so badly to be able to be in two places at once?

Since returning, I've said that sometimes it feels like my time in Xela was just a dream--that it didn't really happen. Yet my life here feels like a dream as well. I'm a little curious as to what it will be like to really wake up.

I'm trying not to forget. I don't want to lose what I learned in Guatemala...the language, the way of life, the problems, the solutions, the observations, the experiences...I don't want to lose these things that have become a part of me. So I talk about them and relive them in my mind in the hope that what is clay will turn into concrete in my mind.

As I've said before, my adventures in Guatemala really helped me to appreciate even more my friends and family here. My love for them grew exponentially, and I didn't think that was at all possible since my heart had been overflowing even before I left. I'm beginning to see a similar process happening with Xela and those that I love there. Let me end, as I began, with another Kahlil Gibran quote:

When you part from your friend, you grieve not: For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

Good night, Xela!

All the friendly faces are there. From all around the world we gather at our temporary home at our hostel. We recount the day's events and determine who is cooking at home and who is going out to eat. Some do both. Again we negotiate the language of choice for the evening. Is the Escuela para los Gringos in session? Only until one of us remembers something too funny to risk misunderstanding in Spanish.

We gather in the kitchen, held there together by what we've named "air glue." Apparently, it is spread by laughter, making it quite difficult to leave the kitchen after only a short amount of time. We gather here like a family, learning to support each other and becoming genuinely interested in each others lives and activities over a shared bag of tostadas.

Slowly, we move our way out of the kitchen. Perhaps it is to do homework or run errands or to meet some friends out on the town. I grab my books and head down to my favorite coffeehouse.

First stop: El Cuartito. It's full, as usual, and I enjoy the hunt for a table. I meet some friends there and our studying turns into laughter about our spanish flubs and our odd experiences here. Second stop: La Fonda del Che. Emilio is playing again, and it's impossible to not love xela while listening to his music. The guatemaltecos sing along to every song, and it further secures my affection for them. Third stop: La Rumba. I just can't pass up the opportunity to salsa dance, no matter how tired I am from the day's travels. I see some new friends from salsa class, and they are gracious enough to help me learn some new steps. I am forever grateful that they actually take the time to talk with me and hang out despite the fact that my communication skills leave me with the personality of a doorknob. Perhaps they've learned to read the different meanings behind my smiles and nods.

It's late, and my homework still awaits, but the night was worth staying up late for. I head back to my "habitacion" and listen to the sounds of the city as I do my homework: the reggaeton parties down the street, the rain on the plastic roof, the cat wailing and hungry. Here I think about the day, the week, the weeks. I take these experiences, these gifts, and pack them up. They will always be with me, and I look forward to the unpacking process.

visual journey...

Un poquito mas fotos...


1. Someone spray painted the gallo symbol on a wall...and I love it!



2. Today, walking back from our teaching post at Telesecondaria, we saw this man overlooking the cemetary...I might remember this sight forever.

3. This was taken in the more tropical/jungle area near the coast at a Mayan Ruins site. The rocks near the bottom are from aroun 900bc...used for a tunneling system. Pretty cool stuff, really!

4. This little guy was sooo sleepy...probably because he's nocturnal.

5. Walking in the park one day I saw this parade...I have no idea what it was for. I asked a little girl, but the only thing I understood from her response was that she wanted me to buy stickers.

6. At my last Comida Internacional on Friday, we had an american theme in honor of Independence Day. Appropriately, the grilled cheese sandwiches were made with "queso tipo americano" with the rippling flag in the background of the package.

7. Yesterday, as I was browsing the local market, I came across this. I'm not sure what to say about this...there was a band playing some nice salsa music, and then there were these people dressed up in crazy costumes doing some sort of dance to the music. It was by far the weirdest thing I have ever seen...if you look closely, you can see a clown, two blonde "women" and Saddam Hussein. If you see the connection between these masked figures, please let me know. Below is a video of the dance...

The video...

communicacion...

Communication is so interesting. It's so hard to know sometimes what communication really is. We're given these words to work with when we're young...just these sounds that represent things so incompletely...one word, for example, to represent the complex notion of love...one group of letters to communicate confusion or fear or happiness. It's not fair, really... It reminds me of the line from another Over the Rhine song: "I have five senses, I need thousands more...at least." I feel that way with language...I need thousands more ways to express myself.

Tonight, I was at a coffeehouse with some friends and we were about to leave to go to a different cafe. One girl still had half of her drink left, so I told her I'd stay with her so she could finish her drink. She said no, that it was ok. I figured she was being polite and not wanting to make me wait, so I tried to insist. "No really...you have half of your drink left! I have no problem staying!" But she kept saying no...I was confused and wished she would have taken me at face value for what I was communicating instead of thinking that I really wanted to go but was only trying to be nice.

A few minutes later as we were leaving, I found out that before I had arrived, some guy had bought her that drink and was trying to use it as an excuse to talk to her in German though she speaks no German...it was a funny situation and she was happy to leave half of the drink there along with that guy. Had I known that, it would have changed our conversation greatly. Had I taken HER at face value when she said, "No, I don't need to finish the drink. We can go." instead of assuing that she was just being polite, how would the interaction have been different?

I realized after that conversation that it is difficult for me to take words at face value. I often assume that more is being communicated than what is expressed with words, for better or for worse. And one small word or change in voice tone can communicate so much more.

So, I'm working on this whole second language thing. My natural instinct is to translate the words from Spanish into English since I already have a language as a frame of reference. But I'm trying to connect the Spanish words with the concepts as best as I can in order to understand all the meanings that go along with that word that might not also be attached to the closest translation in English. It's a difficult process, but I love what it has revealed about both languages. For example: When I say, "Me encanta esta cancion" it basically means, "I love this song..." but a more specific translation of it would be: "this song enchants me" which paints a much richer picture in my mind of the same concept. Are the meaning and the translation the same thing? And what is the face value? In the example, which is more accurate: to love (an action that I take) or to be enchanted (an action that i receive)? Perhaps both are correct...but again, it pushes me to the point that words are incomplete...

At this point in the argument/debate/inner dialogue I get frustrated. I know that we have to use the confines of organized language in order to communicate, but I still hope for something better. I think we feel that about a lot of aspects of our lives...we have systems and relationships and languages and "rules"...but we will always wish for something more complete.

Good afternoon, Xela!

I'm not sure why, but I love it when people here call me Rosita. Somehow, the teachers seem to know lots of songs with Rosita, and everyday I appreciate their serenades.

But I can't stay long after class. I have limitied time to get down the hill, past the market and to a good place to eat before I need to come back to the market and up the hill for the afternoon's work. On my journey, I listen with newfound appreciation to Marc Anthony. I can't explain it; it's a Guatemalan mystery. My head is full as I try to think with new words. I formulate sentences to greet the sights that I missed on this morning's trek: buenas tardes (the papeleria boy), gracias por los regalos ayer (the local pan shop), su hijo es muy lindo (the family tienda lady), me recuerdes de Daisy (the tan dalmation.)

I make it to the Blue Angel with barely enough time to eat. Superman is flying around in the form of a 3 year old. I try to talk to him, but he will only respond with scowls and grunts while his cape chases him with a dramatic flair that cannot be equaled. His determination to save the world gives me motivation to finish my vegetables, beans, tortillas and tea in reasonable time to walk back up the hill to my duty.

There, I choose a bike that is only slightly the wrong size for me, and I make some plans during our bike ride to La Cuchilla for the upcoming classes: english and art. First hill: if I can make it to the tienda with the peacocks, I feel like Lance Armstrong. I don't mind walking the bike up the last 20 foot incline. Left turn at the gas station: everyday I wonder if that street is Rodolfo Robles but no one can give me a straight answer, not even the map. The hill of doom: anyone who attempts to bike this immediately receives my full admiration. Left turn at the bus stop: we've gone past the ritzy neighborhood with the waterfall into the extremely poor neighborhoods with the goats and crumbling bricks.

Classes begin. Marcos has vision problems and his shoes are literally falling off of his feet, but when he shows me his art, he could not be happier. Evelyn draws me pictures and calls me "seño"... Oliver likes to bully, but when you sit with him, he remains quite attentive.

I walk with anxious kids to get the key for the bathroom during the pause. The others play soccer, and I am eager to watch. In those moments, they have no cares. Their minds are not on having new school clothes to show off or video games to play. No, instead their sole delight is in a simple game with a simple ball. Even the pouring rain cannot wash away their joy in this game they play together. Here I realize that though many of them may never see a portion of the wealth that we see everyday, their lives are abundantly rich.

Classes finish and the other teachers and I affectionately say goodbye to the children. We head back down the hills on our bikes in the pounding rain. We rest a bit at our school and continue our descent back down the hill to the heart of the city where we live. The rain continues, and our pants have become so soaked that the street water becomes the wick and our pants the source. During this walk, as we talk and laugh, when we are cold, wet and most likely to be miserable, that is when we find ourselves most happy to be in Xela.

Sueños

Yesterday was a pretty rough day for me. I became overwhelmed by all that I have been learning, the busy schedule, the new experiences, the physical demands , etc and my brain just shut down. But on top of that, I was trying to process some emotional/spiritual thoughts as well.

I took some time in the afternoon to read/write/pray/rest. I read some great things about life, our need for community, our need for solitude as well as our need to listen to our "inner necessity" or those parts of us that were placed in us for a purpose bigger than ourselves that we just cannot ignore. I was feeling frustrated because I don't really know what my inner necessity is..and I'd like to. Later that afternoon, I took a nap and I had a couple of dreams during my nap that I just can't shake:

Somehow I was at a concert or show of some sort. I was the girl singing in the concert, but I was also watching the whole situation. I was singing, or wanted to sing and had wanted to sing all of my life, but I had no idea why. It wasn’t a strong passion, just something I had always worked toward. People even had asked me about it and I told them I had always wanted to sing, but I never knew why.

During part of the concert, somehow we found out that another girl in the audience really wanted to sing for a living and it was her life long passion/dream. Someone asked me if she could sing the last song with me. I just stood there processing for a second and realized that the purpose that I had been interested in singing all of my life was for this one moment—to give this girl a chance to sing with a band and to help her with her dream.


I had another dream that involved a cat on a roof. Someone was trying to chase the cat away, but I was trying to protect it because somehow I knew this cat was going to inspire the first piece of music that either Beethoven or Mozart composed. I somehow saved the cat just in time, and right after that I saw this young boy watching the cat and getting excited about a tempo or a melody, and I knew that a huge string of events had just begun that would effect millions of people in the world and that my whole purpose in life had been to save that cat.



I love dreams, and I really do think they are important. If there is one thing in my life that points to God's existence, it's dreams. I'm still trying to process these...