I can recall having done this on two occasions.
1)
During high school particularly, I had many house parties when my parents weren't home. But! For my 17th birthday, for some reason I wanted to invite everybody. I had just returned home from boarding school, having transferred, and I had kept strong connections with my friends from public school at home, and my friends from boarding school who were from all over. I even began to meet people at my new private school (since my birthday is in October). I invited about 70 people to my birthday, 50 of whom actually showed up.
Really I just wanted to dance. That's something that usually doesn't catch on at a lot of house parties now a days. People just jump around, or drink. I rolled up the rug in my kitchen, and created a dance floor ambiance; and it worked because everyone was dancing and enjoying themselves. People from all facets of my life showed up and met each other. That year I thought that I was the glue that kept my friends together, and now a lot of us don't talk anymore. It's okay though because we made a lot of good memories together. Except for the Russians I didn't know that showed up and tried to steal from me and my old buddy Hilary ended up kicking them out for me. People were over so much that summer that they all developed a lot of respect for me and my house. I didn't really have to do much unless there were strangers there.
------
2)
The second time was last summer at the "end of the summer staff party" that my brother and I hosted for the co-counselors we work with at camp. That was great, because I felt like I became extremely close with every counselor last year. The only crappy part was, I told my brother from the beginning that I would not take any responsibility for the party. Everyone showed up at 4p for the BBQ and hanging out (all of which I organized), and no one fell asleep until around 2a... my brother passed out at 11p and left me to deal with cleaning up and noise control. I threw a book at him on his head and he didn't budge. Throwing stuff at him without any consequences was fun... him laying all responsibility on me when all I wanted to do was go to bed, not fun.
Maybe these parties weren't enormous in retrospect... but I don't imagine I will be a big party thrower when I have my own house, and considering there was limited floor space, I'm just gonna go ahead and consider this goal checked.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
2. Teach Sunday School
I attended Sunday School classes after and during church on Sundays from when I was around 4 years-old until I was in high school. In high school I found myself gathering so much information from my religious studies in school and at church camp that I wasn't learning anything in classes on Sundays. At times, I would even be correcting the teacher because he or she had obviously not taken as much interest in the topic as I had. Since I was in boarding school for my second year of high school, I barely attended church unless I was home. The closest Orthodox Church to Brewster Academy was about an hour away at least. When I returned home to finish high school while living with my parents, I took full advantage of the simple pleasures of having a car, few rules, and a loose schedule. I anticipated becoming involved with my Sunday school by teaching kids who could take in the information that I had to offer, and help children grow in their faith. I was only 16, but I was ready to make a difference. I asked the head of the school if I could teach, and much to my dismay, I was placed in the nursery room as an assistant teacher. It makes sense now that I'm thinking back on it, but at the time I felt that I was being highly underestimated. For two years I took attendance, made jokes that the parents thought were funny but that the kids did not understand, and I taught the kids that we love a dude named Jesus, whose mom was Mary, and dad was God, and he's awesome because he died for us.
When I graduated high school and left the Sunday school, I went to church after a night of partying, received an icon and gift in front of the entire congregation, and managed to not stumble my way through the aisle. One of my kids gave me a candle, and another gave a gift card. I got some scented soap, drawings, and a lot of thank you cards.
When I left, half of the kids called me "Miss," "Teacher" or "Miss Teacher" because they could not say my name, and I was tired of making them try.
It wasn't time wasted, but it did feel a little bit silly teaching 4 and 5 year olds lessons for an hour about stuff that are far too complicated to understand at that age.
At least now they know what Christmas and Pascha are for, and who that Jesus dude is.
When I graduated high school and left the Sunday school, I went to church after a night of partying, received an icon and gift in front of the entire congregation, and managed to not stumble my way through the aisle. One of my kids gave me a candle, and another gave a gift card. I got some scented soap, drawings, and a lot of thank you cards.
When I left, half of the kids called me "Miss," "Teacher" or "Miss Teacher" because they could not say my name, and I was tired of making them try.
It wasn't time wasted, but it did feel a little bit silly teaching 4 and 5 year olds lessons for an hour about stuff that are far too complicated to understand at that age.
At least now they know what Christmas and Pascha are for, and who that Jesus dude is.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
109. Go Parasailing
Since I am terrified of heights and really fast moving things, skydiving, basejumping, and things that are in that family all feel as though they are out of the question. Falling would not be so bad if it was sloooow and I was attached to a pully that could control gravitational pull. My best compromise for something daring and along those lines was to try out parasailing.
FYI, parasailing is when you are attached to a parachute which is attached to a boat that is pulling you through the sky. It's like flying a kite, except you are attached to the kite.
I traveled to Mexico this past year as a tourist. The previous time I was in Mexico was to build a house in Rosarito, which is on the western coast by Tijuana. This time, my mother and I vacationed (resort style) to Playa del Carmen, which is a short drive from Cancun on the southeast Gulf. Most of the vacation was tanning, drinking, and eating. It wasn't the most exciting of times for me. I am completely appreciative of my opportunities to travel, and I do love tanning, drinking, and eating... but after a certain amount of time doing those things, I am a person who likes to become more active.
On our final full day in the resort I told my mom that I wanted to go parasailing. Now, some parents are very motivational, and can push their children to do things because they agree that it is a fun thing to do. My mom is more terrified of speed, not being in control, and heights than I am. After a small amount of probing I convinced her to agree and we left on our adventure. One thing that my mom was happy that parasailing did not involve, was jetskis. On our last vacation we went on a jetskiing adventure and she was terrified because of the variables of extremely high seas, very fast speeds, and going through the Bermuda triangle where a channel of tour-cruises were passing our way. Little did we know, that in order to get to the boat that will take us parasailing, we first have to be taken there via jetski.
I love jetskiing! I think it's fun and I know when I tip or fall off I can get right back on or flip it upright. The driver of the jetski knew that my mom was terrified, but he also was hitting on me. So instead of letting my poor scared mother sit behind him to hold on, with me flailing off of the back, he decided that I should be the meat between the bread and my scared mother could cry and scream while almost falling off the back. Damn my hottness. At least on the way back I told him in Spanish that we had to switch it up.
Finally we get out to the boat and sit down in the bow. Some harnesses had to wrap through our legs and around our thighs, to create a seat-like position when in the air. However, the only thing keeping my mom and I from falling over 100ft into the water was two hiking buckles attached to a bar which was then connecting the giant smiley faced parachute to the 30ft boat below.
When our turn began we were told to sit on the back of the boat while our harnesses attached. Extremely slowly slack was let out more and more from the boat and before we knew it we were high up in the air! It wasn't a rush at all, it was very tranquil and my mom insisted that it was the closest she has ever been to heaven. The wind was in our hair, and we had sights and worlds all around us, but there was no fear, no tension.
I could even look down at my dangling feet and not be afraid. It was like a cloud was lifting me and carrying me along the coast.
We took many pictures, a few which you can see here or on facebook. I was scared of landing but being brought down was just as smooth and easy as takeoff. I remember thinking that if parachuting is anything like that, I would love it, and I would want to do it over and over. The part before the parachute opens is when I'd probably pee my pants.
We'll see what the future has in store...
Listen to Bon Bon by Pitbull
FYI, parasailing is when you are attached to a parachute which is attached to a boat that is pulling you through the sky. It's like flying a kite, except you are attached to the kite.
I traveled to Mexico this past year as a tourist. The previous time I was in Mexico was to build a house in Rosarito, which is on the western coast by Tijuana. This time, my mother and I vacationed (resort style) to Playa del Carmen, which is a short drive from Cancun on the southeast Gulf. Most of the vacation was tanning, drinking, and eating. It wasn't the most exciting of times for me. I am completely appreciative of my opportunities to travel, and I do love tanning, drinking, and eating... but after a certain amount of time doing those things, I am a person who likes to become more active.
On our final full day in the resort I told my mom that I wanted to go parasailing. Now, some parents are very motivational, and can push their children to do things because they agree that it is a fun thing to do. My mom is more terrified of speed, not being in control, and heights than I am. After a small amount of probing I convinced her to agree and we left on our adventure. One thing that my mom was happy that parasailing did not involve, was jetskis. On our last vacation we went on a jetskiing adventure and she was terrified because of the variables of extremely high seas, very fast speeds, and going through the Bermuda triangle where a channel of tour-cruises were passing our way. Little did we know, that in order to get to the boat that will take us parasailing, we first have to be taken there via jetski.
I love jetskiing! I think it's fun and I know when I tip or fall off I can get right back on or flip it upright. The driver of the jetski knew that my mom was terrified, but he also was hitting on me. So instead of letting my poor scared mother sit behind him to hold on, with me flailing off of the back, he decided that I should be the meat between the bread and my scared mother could cry and scream while almost falling off the back. Damn my hottness. At least on the way back I told him in Spanish that we had to switch it up.
Finally we get out to the boat and sit down in the bow. Some harnesses had to wrap through our legs and around our thighs, to create a seat-like position when in the air. However, the only thing keeping my mom and I from falling over 100ft into the water was two hiking buckles attached to a bar which was then connecting the giant smiley faced parachute to the 30ft boat below.
 |
| Look how little the boat became! |
 |
| My dangling feet |
 |
| Job well done! |
We took many pictures, a few which you can see here or on facebook. I was scared of landing but being brought down was just as smooth and easy as takeoff. I remember thinking that if parachuting is anything like that, I would love it, and I would want to do it over and over. The part before the parachute opens is when I'd probably pee my pants.
We'll see what the future has in store...
Listen to Bon Bon by Pitbull
 |
| View of la playa from the parachute. |
Saturday, June 4, 2011
108. Study abroad and/or intern abroad.
Well! This will be short and sweet. I'm currently studying abroad in the Dominican Republic doing social work and the good stuff... and if God-willing everything goes accordingly I will be studying abroad again in Spain during the fall semester this year. If you want to know more about what I'm doing, I'll be keeping a blog during both times abroad, and you can follow that at
http://www.vivalavidaconyasmin.blogspot.com
Please comment leaving your thoughts!
http://www.vivalavidaconyasmin.blogspot.com
Please comment leaving your thoughts!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
20. Save a life.
Have you ever wondered why it is that some people second guess themselves constantly in order to please others around them? I wonder why it is that a person would want to please others rather than themselves, and why that person would be unhappy when failing to please others and succeeding at pleasing the self. I have always struggled to feel contentment when completing a task that makes me feel better, makes me happier. It's guilt, really. Unless the thing that makes me happy is also making another person happy, than I am in the dark. I've spent my entire life crawling on my hands and knees, sprawling out on the floor to feel my surroundings, searching for a light switch, or a candle. In my darkest days, the shadows would form figures, horror stories, and demons would follow me around. It was like I was blind in a room where the walls were covered in thorns. I had pricks in my hands, and to protect myself I cowered in the fetal position, hugging my knees in the center of the room. I slept like that for years.
It wasn't until a hand reached out to me to pick me up and show me light that I realized the time I had wasted, the life I had wasted in the dark. I left the dangerous and dark room, one step at a time, holding hands with my guide. Though I had seen the light, there was still a mountain to climb before I could touch it, and that mountain took years. As my steps produced wider gaps, my hand slipped from my guide, little by little. First a finger let go, then two, then three, until I was walking like a child holding the pointer finger of my confidant, sucking my thumb, and clutching my favorite stuffed animal as if letting go would be the end of me. My steps continued to grow, until I was leaping, and skipping up the mountain to the light. Even on the hottest days and the steepest climbs, I sought radiance and was given strength in my struggle. I had hope for the future. I was surrounded by rubble, and yearned to see the patch of grass at the mountain's peak. When I reached the light, I looked back at my journey, at my struggle for gratification and fulfillment. I prayed. And I lived on. I have not walked on a plateau since then, but the mountains have been smaller. Although at any moment, if I chose to slide down from where I stand and start over, I could. But now I keep the light closer, and I understand why it is that there are some people who have an incessant need to please others. I think that might be what grace is.
The life I saved was my own. I survived a struggle, a climb. Everyone has to. I think in order to save other peoples lives, saving my own would be the first mountain. I've seen the peak, and I know what's up there. I know it's beautiful. Now it's my turn to be the guide, and show people how to navigate their path, so they can witness the beauty too.
Thank you to my many guides along the way.
Listen to: Change Your Mind by Sister Hazel
It wasn't until a hand reached out to me to pick me up and show me light that I realized the time I had wasted, the life I had wasted in the dark. I left the dangerous and dark room, one step at a time, holding hands with my guide. Though I had seen the light, there was still a mountain to climb before I could touch it, and that mountain took years. As my steps produced wider gaps, my hand slipped from my guide, little by little. First a finger let go, then two, then three, until I was walking like a child holding the pointer finger of my confidant, sucking my thumb, and clutching my favorite stuffed animal as if letting go would be the end of me. My steps continued to grow, until I was leaping, and skipping up the mountain to the light. Even on the hottest days and the steepest climbs, I sought radiance and was given strength in my struggle. I had hope for the future. I was surrounded by rubble, and yearned to see the patch of grass at the mountain's peak. When I reached the light, I looked back at my journey, at my struggle for gratification and fulfillment. I prayed. And I lived on. I have not walked on a plateau since then, but the mountains have been smaller. Although at any moment, if I chose to slide down from where I stand and start over, I could. But now I keep the light closer, and I understand why it is that there are some people who have an incessant need to please others. I think that might be what grace is.
The life I saved was my own. I survived a struggle, a climb. Everyone has to. I think in order to save other peoples lives, saving my own would be the first mountain. I've seen the peak, and I know what's up there. I know it's beautiful. Now it's my turn to be the guide, and show people how to navigate their path, so they can witness the beauty too.
Thank you to my many guides along the way.
Listen to: Change Your Mind by Sister Hazel
Friday, May 6, 2011
40. Go on a really big rollercoaster.
I HATE rollercoasters! I don't like heights, the speed makes my stomach hurt, and the anxiety of just being on the ride gets me every time. Even rides like Splash Mountain or Railroad whatever its called in Disney world, they make my stomach turn! They scare me! Ridiculous, I know.
I've been on maybe 4 (adult) rollercoasters in my life, mostly in Disney world, and when I was younger.
During my sophmore year of high school my family and I were headed down to visit my brother at the University of Tampa where he attended college at the time. My parents let me bring two of my closest friends, so right then and there it became a party. Half of what we did, I don't remember, but it was a weekend full of love, and skipping.
One of the days, my parents took us all to Busch Gardens. My friends loved rollercoasters so it was the perfect place to go, and (like a mom) I happily stood on the sidelines taking pictures and cheering them on. One rollercoaster they rode went at a 90 degree angle at some point. Just by watching my stomach turned, and I said "eh, no thanks."
My mom doesn't like rides like that either. She and I are very agreeable sometimes, so we would find something else to do, like get Henna tattoos, or take lots and lots of pictures.
It came time that we were leaving within the hour, and my friends have failed their mission of convincing me to ride a rollercoaster with them. ALAS! One of the final rides was a rollercoaster called Gwazi. An enormously high and fast wooden ride, with no loops, or upside-down things. Everyone was taking bets on whether I would do it or not, but the real deal breaker was when my friend, in a baby voice, and also in French, asked me to ride the rollercoaster with her. Ask me in a baby voice or a foreign language and you're pretty convincing. But ask me in a baby voice AND a foreign language at the same time?! You have me hooked.
Thats the great thing about foreign languages in the U.S., when you hear or speak them it feels like you're discussing a secret.
So of course when my friend says with a pouting face, "est-ce que vous roulez le rollercoaster." I don't even think she said it right but "le rollercoaster" in a French baby accent got me.
Upon twiddling my thumbs for ten minutes in line, my stomach was twisting the entire wait, but my friends were jumping up and down with excitement. The worst part of a rollercoaster, whether you like the rides or not, is the click click click click, and the sloooow motion of going up the peak from the station to where the REAL ride begins. That is the most anxious moment for me. Particularly when the cart is slowly rounding the top of the peak and half of me is starting to fall while the other half can still feel the least bit of contentment that the ride has not yet begun. After that fall, anything is possible! I mostly say "HOLY!" a lot without finishing my phrase, because even in a rip of panic I am aware that there may be children around. Also, another choice phrase is "WOAAAA" It's a combination of woah, and ah that I was inclined to repeat throughout the 2 minute ride.
The rollercoaster wasn't so bad, it was only the big drops that really had me hesitant to throw my hands high in the air. By the end I had let loose a little bit, but my stomach was in agony, and I was not convinced to do it another time.
I've always had motion sickness since I was a kid; boats, trains, planes, all kinds of movement. I guess I can use that as an excuse, it's just something that I can't control.
Rapper's Delight by Sugar Hill Gang. :P
I've been on maybe 4 (adult) rollercoasters in my life, mostly in Disney world, and when I was younger.
During my sophmore year of high school my family and I were headed down to visit my brother at the University of Tampa where he attended college at the time. My parents let me bring two of my closest friends, so right then and there it became a party. Half of what we did, I don't remember, but it was a weekend full of love, and skipping.
One of the days, my parents took us all to Busch Gardens. My friends loved rollercoasters so it was the perfect place to go, and (like a mom) I happily stood on the sidelines taking pictures and cheering them on. One rollercoaster they rode went at a 90 degree angle at some point. Just by watching my stomach turned, and I said "eh, no thanks."
My mom doesn't like rides like that either. She and I are very agreeable sometimes, so we would find something else to do, like get Henna tattoos, or take lots and lots of pictures.
It came time that we were leaving within the hour, and my friends have failed their mission of convincing me to ride a rollercoaster with them. ALAS! One of the final rides was a rollercoaster called Gwazi. An enormously high and fast wooden ride, with no loops, or upside-down things. Everyone was taking bets on whether I would do it or not, but the real deal breaker was when my friend, in a baby voice, and also in French, asked me to ride the rollercoaster with her. Ask me in a baby voice or a foreign language and you're pretty convincing. But ask me in a baby voice AND a foreign language at the same time?! You have me hooked.
Thats the great thing about foreign languages in the U.S., when you hear or speak them it feels like you're discussing a secret.
So of course when my friend says with a pouting face, "est-ce que vous roulez le rollercoaster." I don't even think she said it right but "le rollercoaster" in a French baby accent got me.
Upon twiddling my thumbs for ten minutes in line, my stomach was twisting the entire wait, but my friends were jumping up and down with excitement. The worst part of a rollercoaster, whether you like the rides or not, is the click click click click, and the sloooow motion of going up the peak from the station to where the REAL ride begins. That is the most anxious moment for me. Particularly when the cart is slowly rounding the top of the peak and half of me is starting to fall while the other half can still feel the least bit of contentment that the ride has not yet begun. After that fall, anything is possible! I mostly say "HOLY!" a lot without finishing my phrase, because even in a rip of panic I am aware that there may be children around. Also, another choice phrase is "WOAAAA" It's a combination of woah, and ah that I was inclined to repeat throughout the 2 minute ride.
The rollercoaster wasn't so bad, it was only the big drops that really had me hesitant to throw my hands high in the air. By the end I had let loose a little bit, but my stomach was in agony, and I was not convinced to do it another time.
I've always had motion sickness since I was a kid; boats, trains, planes, all kinds of movement. I guess I can use that as an excuse, it's just something that I can't control.
Rapper's Delight by Sugar Hill Gang. :P
Thursday, May 5, 2011
31. Collect CDs and DVDs
423 CDs
Techno, Country, Rock, Scary Rock, Classic Rock, Alternative, Emo, Punk, Hip-Hop, Reggae, Blues, Big Band, Pop, Opera, Jazz, R&B, Arabic, Greek, Italian, French, Indian, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Irish, Soundtracks, Folk, Acoustic, Oldies, Rap, Electronic, Dance, Mixtapes, Romanian, Spanish, Reggaetone, Trance, and so on
I've got it all.
I've since sold 200 of them though, to afford to have fun. Unfortunately Newbury Comics would not buy back Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Lopez, or several other of my CDs of which are in great condition.
I have it all saved anyway.
310 DVDs
- and counting.
Yep.
Techno, Country, Rock, Scary Rock, Classic Rock, Alternative, Emo, Punk, Hip-Hop, Reggae, Blues, Big Band, Pop, Opera, Jazz, R&B, Arabic, Greek, Italian, French, Indian, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Irish, Soundtracks, Folk, Acoustic, Oldies, Rap, Electronic, Dance, Mixtapes, Romanian, Spanish, Reggaetone, Trance, and so on
I've got it all.
I've since sold 200 of them though, to afford to have fun. Unfortunately Newbury Comics would not buy back Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Lopez, or several other of my CDs of which are in great condition.
I have it all saved anyway.
310 DVDs
- and counting.
Yep.
24. Pierce my ears at least 8 times.
It seems that at the start of a new and exciting time in my life, I almost always get my ears pierced. Some people get tattoos in different places they go, or collect trinkets. Well, my thing is getting my ears pierced. It's not on purpose either. I don't think: this is a significant moment in my life, I should get my ears pierced. I just do it and it happens to be at a significant moment.
The first time I got the regular piercings, I was in middle school, and everyone I knew already had their ears pierced for years even. Little things like that would make me feel left out, so it was very important that I looked and acted like a girl. So I went in to a store, batabing bataboom, done. Thank you Claire's.
The next piercing was in high school. I was at boarding school during this year and a really close and dear friend of mine had a piercing gun and had done it before. We were hardcore. I asked her to pierce my cartilage, and after 5 minutes of anxious anticipation, she pierced my ear and that was that. I went home and showed my parents a couple weeks later and they were shocked that I would do something so impulsive. Little did they know.
The next time, I was thinking I wanted holes two and three on both sides. Mom and I were shopping, saw Claire's, and decided HEY! Now or never. Boom, got that done. It was part of my graduation present; new beginnings. Thanks again Claire's.
Now at this point we were at 7 piercings. The goal is 8. Even numbers are nice, and 8 was once considered my lucky number as well.
In New York it's very easy to do anything illegally, or for cheap cheap. People think New York is expensive, and when it comes to food it is, but you can really find a reasonable or ridiculously cheap price for almost anything. The reason this time was significant for me was because I had begun to make amazingly wonderful and beautiful friends who are great to me, and I also started a new life here in New York. Moving is always a significant change and it will keep happening, that's the exciting part, there's always something that will be different! I don't understand people who get bored, they aren't living, aren't being spontaneous or getting off track from their routines. The only time routine is good is in prayer; otherwise it takes away from life, I think. Consistence is not the same though, that's a different story.
It just so happened that my friends were getting their bellies pierced out of impulse one night, something I don't think I would ever do, and I was feeling like it was time for me to do something spontaneous, potentially painful, and new. Tattoo's aren't my thing. At least not spontaneously. I feel like tattoos are something that I would want to put a lot of thought into, or I would want a friend or myself to draw it first.
It just so happened that my friend and I both were interested in getting another cartilage piercing, but only for CHEAP! That was the deal. So we walked along St. Mark's Street for about 5 seconds before we saw a sign for piercings. We entered into a doorway aligned with white cardboard walls. Around the narrow corner was a storage sized room where tattoos and piercings were being given. I asked the overweight tan man with tattoos all over his body, how much for a piercing. $10. Okay, better than the $35 that legitimate places were asking for. I agreed, and as if the man was being timed in a marathon, he sat my ass down, put a dot on my ear, and asked if I liked it. I glanced in the mirror for less than a brief moment and said yes BUT WAIT! He was moving way too fast for me (typical story), so I asked him to slow down. He grabs my ear, positions the gun, shoots, and as I get up he says "we don't slow down here, next."
I came to find out later that piercing cartilage with a gun can cause the cartilage to shatter and my ear would collapse and flop over. The only sanitation that went on was a quick spray of a water bottle and that was all. Not to mention, I've also learned that piercing with a gun like that is illegal. That explains the secret storage-room operation then. Although my ear was swollen for a week, the swelling has since gone down and it doesn't hurt as much anymore either. Niiiiiiice! :D
As always, great experience... but never again.
Maybe next time I'll get my nose pierced.
The first time I got the regular piercings, I was in middle school, and everyone I knew already had their ears pierced for years even. Little things like that would make me feel left out, so it was very important that I looked and acted like a girl. So I went in to a store, batabing bataboom, done. Thank you Claire's.
The next piercing was in high school. I was at boarding school during this year and a really close and dear friend of mine had a piercing gun and had done it before. We were hardcore. I asked her to pierce my cartilage, and after 5 minutes of anxious anticipation, she pierced my ear and that was that. I went home and showed my parents a couple weeks later and they were shocked that I would do something so impulsive. Little did they know.
The next time, I was thinking I wanted holes two and three on both sides. Mom and I were shopping, saw Claire's, and decided HEY! Now or never. Boom, got that done. It was part of my graduation present; new beginnings. Thanks again Claire's.
Now at this point we were at 7 piercings. The goal is 8. Even numbers are nice, and 8 was once considered my lucky number as well.
In New York it's very easy to do anything illegally, or for cheap cheap. People think New York is expensive, and when it comes to food it is, but you can really find a reasonable or ridiculously cheap price for almost anything. The reason this time was significant for me was because I had begun to make amazingly wonderful and beautiful friends who are great to me, and I also started a new life here in New York. Moving is always a significant change and it will keep happening, that's the exciting part, there's always something that will be different! I don't understand people who get bored, they aren't living, aren't being spontaneous or getting off track from their routines. The only time routine is good is in prayer; otherwise it takes away from life, I think. Consistence is not the same though, that's a different story.
It just so happened that my friends were getting their bellies pierced out of impulse one night, something I don't think I would ever do, and I was feeling like it was time for me to do something spontaneous, potentially painful, and new. Tattoo's aren't my thing. At least not spontaneously. I feel like tattoos are something that I would want to put a lot of thought into, or I would want a friend or myself to draw it first.
It just so happened that my friend and I both were interested in getting another cartilage piercing, but only for CHEAP! That was the deal. So we walked along St. Mark's Street for about 5 seconds before we saw a sign for piercings. We entered into a doorway aligned with white cardboard walls. Around the narrow corner was a storage sized room where tattoos and piercings were being given. I asked the overweight tan man with tattoos all over his body, how much for a piercing. $10. Okay, better than the $35 that legitimate places were asking for. I agreed, and as if the man was being timed in a marathon, he sat my ass down, put a dot on my ear, and asked if I liked it. I glanced in the mirror for less than a brief moment and said yes BUT WAIT! He was moving way too fast for me (typical story), so I asked him to slow down. He grabs my ear, positions the gun, shoots, and as I get up he says "we don't slow down here, next."
I came to find out later that piercing cartilage with a gun can cause the cartilage to shatter and my ear would collapse and flop over. The only sanitation that went on was a quick spray of a water bottle and that was all. Not to mention, I've also learned that piercing with a gun like that is illegal. That explains the secret storage-room operation then. Although my ear was swollen for a week, the swelling has since gone down and it doesn't hurt as much anymore either. Niiiiiiice! :D
As always, great experience... but never again.
Maybe next time I'll get my nose pierced.
Monday, March 21, 2011
21. Do Community Service in a Foreign Country
Buna ziua! (Good day!) My first community service in a foreign country was to Beius, Romania in 2009. I kept a journal during that time, and in order to be realistic I'm going to copy that journal here, and probably add some extra information so that you'll be able to follow. I think that this trip may have been one of the main deciding factors in my journey to becoming a social worker, so it is very important and dear to my heart.
Sunday, March 22nd, 2009
I'm on the flight to Germany then Budapest, and finally arriving at our destination in Romania. Thus far, the trip is going smoothly despite the unnecessarily strict man who checked our bags. At least he let me check my bag for free instead of an extra $200. It also didn't make sense, because now that I'm on the plane I'm looking around and there are other bags that are even bigger than mine. Lufthansa is awful.
The only concern I still have for the trip (other than landing and taking off) is the horrific pain I feel in my back, and how difficult it may be leaving the children we'll be taking care of for a week at the orphanage in Romania.
I always pray taking off because it makes me nervous; Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal have mercy on us.
Monday, March 23rd, 2009
EUROPE! The journey here to Beius is finally over. I feel like I've lived around traveling for years. After landing in Budapest we drove through dry dead forestry and farming in Hungary and similarly in Romania. The first town looked like the crappy part of Boston, with the addition of Orthodox churches on every corner with crucifix out in front of each one. The one aspect of Romania that looks the best kept is the churches.
The total trip took around 18 hours with non-stop flying and driving. On the western border of Romania it seems extremely desolate, and is around 8 hours driving to the capital in the south eastern corner. Driving through, we passed several renewal and upkeep projects by both locals and missionaries. Every building and piece of land was either new, in progress and abandoned, or run in the mill homes appearing as shacks.
Just driving through, I feel guilty for staying in this nice apartment. There are 9 of us, and we're staying in four rooms. There is a kitchen, bathroom, washer/dryer and our apartment has a modern bath and toilet and is directly above one of the best coffee shops I've ever been to. Upon settling into our beds for the next 8 days, my fellow travelers and I were informed that the girls we'll be taking care of have contracted lice. This journey sure is going to be interesting.
Tuesday, March 24th, 2009
Today we have a little bit of down time to rest and catch up on jet lag sleep. Being out of the country and on new ground hardly any of us slept and we mostly went to the market and unpacked the 20 duffel bags of things that were generously donated for the trip. Unpacking and organizing the duffel bags will take at least half of the trip since there is so much to do. After lunch we're taking the girls to the playground to meet and play.
<--- One of the walls of clothing in the market.
So far, I've learned that the coffee house downstairs has the most amazing desserts. It's like nothing I've ever tasted. A mixture of natural sweets, love, and homemade goodness, all of the desserts taste similar to Tiramisu... maybe that's what it was. The proceeds go towards the mission so it's always worth a couple of dollars, and there are always locals there.
In town the Romanian people made us feel very welcome. They gave honest prices for their clothing and are very happy and smile at us just for walking by... even though we're "Typical Americans." I find most Europeans are not really appreciative of Americans since we have such a lack of positive cultural influences. That's probably the best way to put it.
It's mild and rainy today but it feels warm and welcoming. I've used different names for the girls of the orphanage, in order to keep identities confidential.
After meeting the girls, there are 8 of them in the orphanage, these are what my initial reactions were:
Anna does whatever Princess does and is a little bit of a tom-boy. Love it.
Princess is very smart but is a little bit of a smart ass because she can tell the difference of when she can and cannot be. Not to mention, I think she definitely knows that she is the queen bee of the group.
Dasha y Tasha They are twins, and seem to seek negative attention and are really active. They also follow Princess' lead.
Tisha is a little mama. She is proper and well behaved but needs to learn a little bit about independence (who doesn't). She is definitely the cutest little girl I have ever seen in my life.
Emilia tries to be a smart ass but gives in to discipline, and loves getting attention. They all love getting attention, I suppose that may be typical for children in orphanages. Emilia is missing her middle front tooth, and I find it to be an adorable feature.
Sami doesn't listen or do what she's told. She is quite the handful and reminds me a lot of myself when I was 8 years old.
Mischa she is quiet for now and I can't figure her out too much. She is Sami's older sister... but you would never guess that they are related.
Putting the girls to bed was fun. Since none of us know Romanian we would do hand motions for brushing teeth and ask if they went "pishu" which is slang for pee. They laughed at our speaking Romanian and they pretended to not understand English, but they definitely knew what we were saying.
Tasha walked over to me like she was strolling down a runway and said, "Hey baby!" In her attempt at being a sexy American... pretty funny for a Romanian 8 year-old who doesn't speak English. Thank you to the influence of uncensored high school American missionaries!
I'm trying to remember to have love and patience throughout this experience. It's not as easy at it looks.
Thursday, March 26th, 2009
Ciao! Yesterday we redesigned the play area for the children and taught at school yesterday and today too. By redesigning I mean scrub and clean everything because of the lice outbreak. The kids were very enthusiastic and proud about their new and clean area.
Later that day we went to the girls classes at school. The principle was very nice and an advocate of breaking boundaries, so we went to teach lessons on tolerance and discrimination. Since most of the kids were little, we mainly talked about loving each other. They are all 7, 8 or 9, and so there were about 3 or 4 different classes for us to go to. The reason we went to teach about tolerance and loving each other is because the girls from La Casa are not only orphans, but they are also gypsies, both of which are hugely discriminated against here. Gypsies have a history of being dirty and thieves, and non-gypsies here do not even typically go to gypsy villages. They both keep their boundaries and both do so for their own ideas of protecting themselves. It can get very messy in the schools for these girls, because even some of their teachers are intolerant and mistreat them. With the exception of Sami's teacher, a Baptist woman working with the orphanage who converted from Orthodoxy, the other teachers did not seem to care much about our beautiful gypsy orphans. I haven't seen any examples of discrimination against gypsies yet. I know I will by the time my stay is over. My teacher tells me that it's unusual that I haven't yet, and that I should take in my surroundings better. It seems like gypsies "know their place" because they do their best to avoid confrontation. They don't look at you or smile and they don't talk to you unless they're selling something. You can tell who they are because of black clothes for men or bright skirts for women. The older men where hats. You where a scarf on your head if you're a married female gypsy and if you're important in the gypsy community you where a black hat (for men) or scarf (women).
While teaching the young kids we drew flowers, and I taught the students what Mother Thekla from Boston taught me at a religious program that I had taken part in. We want to be beautiful bright medium sized flowers. Why? Because big flowers fall over and small flowers have no smell... so we want to be just in the middle for a humble medium of standing tall and smelling beautiful. I said it in a better way than that, and the kids thought it was funny because I would act it out as if I were the flower. They thought it was particularly funny when the translator told them that I didn't smell good.
Although we didn't know any of the 4th graders, the principle of the school (she was very cooperative and helpful) asked us to teach a 4th grade class as an extra hurrah! Some of the 4th graders spoke impressive English and made teaching much easier without having to use a translator. The students here are so much smarter than Americans and are expected of so much more. Americans seem much less disciplined and more spoiled (which they are). Particularly my generation, I find that there is a strong sense of entitlement. They wine. The Casa girls wine but they have trauma because of they're hectic lives without parents and living in such a big group, not to mention they each have their own personal traumas and stories of abandonment.
It must be so difficult for people the girls like to come and go. They were all wanted at some point but when international adoptions closed some of the people who were planning to adopt simply disappeared. Adoption lines are still closed and as far as I know, there is a family waiting for Tasha and Dasha, and they see her on some weekends. Emilia's adoptive parents visit and stay for months at a time to make a connection and keep it, but because of their history, everytime a person leaves they seem to prepare themselves for the possibility of never seeing that person again. It's hard to be an adoptive parent and break that boundary, reminding the children that they are here to stay. Mischa and Sami had a mother who would visit for months. They became so close that they even called her "mama." When adoption lines closed "mama" never came back.
Even if an orphan was towards the end of the adoption process, the entire thing went on hold and they can only be adopted by fellow Romanians. Being adopted by Romanians is difficult and unlikely because Romania itself is in harsh conditions and a poor economy, not to mention the stigma against gypsy orphans does not improve the likelihood of adoption either. There are very few wealthy Romanians. So all of these girls have suffered. Some were extremely close with their potential adoptive parents and called them "mama." But they were ditched when everything went on hold. It's sad for the girls, but it is also sad for the potential parents. I can't imagine knowing and loving a child and leaving them, but I also can't imagine knowing and loving a child and having to continually take time off from work and spend money to travel for months at a time when there is no way of knowing when the spending and time off from work will end. Also, there is the possibility that the adoption lines will not be opened until after the girls are adults, so why bring their hopes up when it may never happen for them? It's difficult for everyone really.
Later that night...
George, one of the founders and co-directors of the orphanage (along with his wife), came tonight and taught us about the history of Romania's orphanages in relation to treatment and communism. Even years after communism fell, the orphanages were filled with kids chained to their cribs until they were five years-old. Being chained to a crib for 5 years, let alone during important developmental stages, can cause extreme mental disadvantages and social inabilities. After that kind of malnutrition and lack of compassion, they were put in an institution where a similar treatment was given. The children were not bathed or cared for, and not educated either. Essentially, they were thrown in a room with no explanation, and no understanding. George talked about the ruined lives of communism and orphans. Romania has come a long way but many things are the same as they were... but better hidden.
He said during communism everyone had to lie. Equal everything, sharing everything, and no religion. There was lots of persecution and much like Nazi Germany there was no speaking out of line - if a person were to do so then the punishment would be death/imprisonment. We all cried watching the documentary video he showed us about the orphan lifestyle immediately following communism. Thank God that the children in the private system here do not have to endure that torture any longer.
We were told that the gypsy treatment in Beius is a lot better than anywhere else in Romania, though that is not saying much. They use the same stores but the gypsies can't have their own market table, and they must have their own villages outside of Beius so that they do not live amongst the other Romanians. The discrimination of gypsies being thieves and thugs is everywhere else in Romania too, and I believe its in other parts of the world. I've just never experienced it or learned about it before.
George called us "Heaven's Ambassadors," showing extraordinary gratitude for our being there. We were there for only a week, and I don't feel that we are deserving of any praise.
Friday, March 27th, 2009
Today we did foster care runs. The Mission not only has an orphanage where it used to have 30 children, but since the adoption lines closed those children have been taken or placed in the Mission's foster care system so that now there are only the 8 girls in the orphanage. The foster care system was created by our group leader Jo and was the first in the country of Romania. Jo has been working with the Mission for 10 years now. She raises money and donations year-round and travels to the orphanage once or twice a year. Since she has been there since the girls were babies she is well loved and part of La Casa family.
The orphanage and foster care are privately run systems, and are monitored very closely. If a child cannot be paid for or taken care of the government swoops in and takes them from their foster families (families that the children have been with since they were babies) and they cannot be found or heard from again once they are taken. The Mission has suffered greatly from economic struggles and children have been taken here and there. Foster families are currently doing their work for free simply because they love the children in their families. Many of the families are poor and desperate because of it.
We were able to sit in on foster care runs. I sat in on one and it was very touching. Going in, I knew that it was going to be hard to see, but that I couldn't show sadness because the family cannot afford the burden of another person's weakness. The one I went on was just like a normal family, which I didn't expect. I'm not sure why I didn't expect it, most likely because of all of the Oliver Twist-type movies I've seen that promote poor child care in foster systems.
I cannot disclose some information about the foster care families, other than that the family had two foster care children, Joshua and Isabel, and I believe had other children of their own as well.
The mother cried when Jo complimented her about how strong and God-given she has been to take care of the kids for free and to raise them. The father was extremely frustrated and growing resentful of the system because there is no money and they are close to having nothing as far as money goes. Apparently, a common tale.
It isn't unrealistic for the kids to be taken away, even after many years. We were informed today that two other boys will be taken by the state orphanage never for us to hear from them again. Just like the 14 kids that this happened to last summer. Families are torn apart and it is likely that the boys are not properly taken care of in state facilities. Like I said, it hasn't changed that much since communism. The biggest problems and frustrations of the private system are the closed international adoptions and the lack of money because of the financial crisis.
During the meeting I sat nodding and listening. The kids were so happy with their new trucks that were donated and they played jump rope and distracted themselves away from the conversation that the adults had about finances. I could tell the father was frustrated because of the speed he was talking. The mother had a lot more patience (this must be a universal mother thing) and wanted the information on their situation just as badly but was trying to calm him anyway. Its a frustrating situation for everyone and we all understood that. But everyone wants sympathy and no one is giving it to the Mission or foster parents.
The home seemed like a typical lower middle class home in the U.S. There was furniture and smiling faces on the kids, and it was very comfortable. I imagine Jo dealing with this every year and I think of how her heart must be broken all the time.
The family offered us cakes and snacks, which to be proper I accepted, but I kept accepting in order to be proper and I felt ill from the taste and eating too much. I decided that eating slower meant eating less because they wouldn't offer me anything unless my hand was empty.
We did a brief health check-up and psych exam with the children after the meeting and continued to move on to the next foster home.
Saturday, March 28th, 2009
I'm sitting outside with a blanket on. My butt is chilled from the cold porch and I am watching the sun come up. Its so cold out and my allergies have kept me awake for most of the night. It's almost 7am. Out here my sneezing and nose blowing wont keep anyone awake, and on this trip sleep is very precious. All I hear are the crows flying overhead, drowning out the roosters that are cocking and the wild dogs that are barking. The sun is slowly rising over an old apartment complex that was built during communism for equal living. People no longer have to live there, but many do because they can't afford to move, even after 20 years of democracy.
The church bells are ringing now, it must be 7. People are going to start waking up. We have a day of shopping in Oradea and adventures with the girls in the bear caves (where there are no actual bears, just anciently old clay drippings that make a really cool scenery).
Oradea is the nearest city and is an hour drive away. The photo above is a picture of the main Oradea shopping drag.
To the left is a picture of part of the cave that we adventured through. The tour took a couple of hours. This picture doesn't do it justice. It was such a magnificent sight to see.
During our tour, is when I witnessed the most severe discrimination against gypsies. The bathroom was at the beginning of the tour and rather than allowing for us to turn around when one of the girls had to pee... he said that she could just go in the cave, and then continued the tour. I felt disgust and outrage, and don't wish to go into further detail.
The money here is Lei and it is 3.1 to every dollar, so I expect to be spending a lot and buying many gifts for family and friends. Not to mention a day away from Beius and less psychological stress.
Side note: I forgot to mention that in school the first day the 2nd graders sang songs to us. One of the songs was Father I adore You.
And animal noises sound different in Europe
.
I spent 360 Lei today and I think it turns out to be about $60... pretty impressive for buying EVERYONE back home a gift.
Sunday, March 29th, 2009
We went to church this morning. The church was Russian Orthodox and the Orthodox converted Baptist school teacher is the one who took me and a fellow group member to the service. I insisted on finding a way to go, since it was only my second time in a country where the national religion is Orthodox. Not to mention, Romanian is a beautiful language. I think part of the service was in Romanian and the rest in Slavic. We went 2 hours late to the service and were able to make it to the 45 minute homily and miss communion. Apparently we were doing the normal thing in Russian churches, which I had never been to before. I loved it though, and felt so humbled by the experience thus far that I'm freaking myself out a little bit. The church was beautiful and the iconostas went all the way to the ceiling and was adorned with gold. The paintings on it looked very Russian style. The walls everywhere were covered with traditional icons of Jesus' life and were obviously hand painted. There are monk seats on the side (that's what I call them) and folding chairs for pews. Finding a seat was really hard and I bet around 350 people were there. The church was jam packed. At least I got a little kneeling pad. The entire experience was a nightmare for my back so I was glad we didn't go any earlier.
Mischa, Princess, Emilia, Anna, and Tisha have all really warmed up to me. Tasha and Dasha as well as Sami are much harder to get through to. They're all so cute that I don't want to leave them and be another person that just does what they must and leaves.
Tuesday, March 31st, 2009
Last night we said goodbye. Jo said that was the first time ever that a team became so close to the girls and the first time ever that the girls cried. Princess and Mischa I saw crying the most. It all started with Jo crying and the girls raise their hands and said "I love you" in English. Even Sami who tries to be hard and laugh at everything serious and play games, she cried to Jo. She raised her hand in our goodbye circle and a shocked hush went over the room... Sami was raising her hand politely. What's this? Jo said, "Yes Sami?" and Sami very seriously said, "Jo, I love you." That's basically the moment that everyone broke down (at least everyone from our group). We were witnessing the breaking of barriers. Emotional walls were coming down for some of the girls and it was a very important psychological improvement in behavior. Jo said they've never cried even when it's just her visiting, and she has known them since birth. Since the girls knew we were leaving, a few of them refused to hug or say goodbye because of attachment and abandonment issues. Tisha stared at me blankly and refused to hug me, and I considered her the one that I became closest with. That was really hard for me. Emilia wouldn't hug me either. They would push some of us away because they know we're leaving. Princess hugged me very tightly and Mischa was crying. I think they were all really touched by us; which was strange since I couldn't imagine a person being more effected than myself and the people in my group. I know my heart was truly touched because I would go through this whole hellish, painful, exhausting, and lice infested experience again just to see them happy. I don't know if I could make that decision now... it would be like food shopping when I'm full. But I would do it in the future, after sleep and healing my back. I love those girls and leaving them broke my heart.
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
We were scheduled to be back at school for classes on Thursday. Spring break had already ended back home. We had one extra day to stay at a hostel in Budapest, Hungary and explore the sights before our flights back. Also, it gave us a day to think about ourselves and freak out about half of us having lice from the infestation, both of which were put on hold during our stay in Romania. Luckily moving home with lice is a lot easier than getting it while being home. It was hard to treat the girls with their lice issue because Beius was not a pharmacy-type place. We bought a bottle of lice-ridding stuff called the Blessings Water. We didn't realize until later that the bottle's ingredients included getting rid of paranoia, and treating it with a prayer... also sugar and water. In Budapest we were able to get real anti-lice wash, and we tried our best not to contaminate the hostel.
Our visit in Budapest was really interesting. Most of the people in stores were nasty to us. They knew we were Americans so they pretended to not understand English. The castles and walking were beautiful and I could just stop on the bridge that connected Buda and Pest to look at the beauty and just breathe for the first time on our trip. Some of us got food and sat on a statue in the park of a lady named Eleszbert.
Relaxed. We watched the people around us and talked. For the first time on our trip I actually had a moment to fully take in my surroundings for more than a minute. I had a feeling like I'd experienced a trauma and I was out of breath all the time. I, of course, had not experienced a trauma. It was me, understanding and taking in the traumas of the girls and other people we had met along the way during our trip. I like to think that my struggle may be a result of taking a little bit of the burden from their struggle.
Some lasting impressions of the girls that I've left with are:
Anna is one tough cookie and loves to do sports and games. She had 105 fever but insisted on playing and being up and about. She's very curious and is always watching and taking things in. She learns to understand on her own.
Princess is a hot shit. She's like a teenage supermodel. Every time she does something it's like she's striking a pose. She also thinks of herself as the leader of the pack, even though she is the youngest.
Dasha is more shy than Tasha. She doesn't like to be in pictures but she loves to play and ignore the adults.
Tasha and Dasha both like to have attention. They get spoiled on the weekend by a family so they sometimes act like spoiled kids. They both have started figuring out how to do some bad things with Sami, like taking what is not theirs. They do get attached they just like to think that they're hard and disconnected. They wouldn't hug me goodbye the first time and Jo told me not to push so I didn't ask the second time... but I think once they realized it really was goodbye they would have, if I asked again. Tasha changed her mind if I remember correctly, but the hugs that night kind of blur together. It was extremely emotional.
Mischa loves to be the boss because I think her being the leader doesn't really happen often. She loves to sing but not unless others are singing along and she loves to be a part of the fun where ever it is. Who doesn't?
Sami. She is the worst behaved and has a terribly short attention span. I think while we were there, positive attention was better than none. She knows when to be serious and when not to, but she doesn't do that necessarily.
Emilia is very stand offish and wouldn't listen at first with me because she knew I wouldn't stay. Then she forgot about that and cried when we said goodbye. She has her mom and dad who always come back, so I'm sure her almost adoptive parents have helped her with that problem just by showing up. She is as cute as a little button. Her and Princess are the most adorable.
Tisha loves attention both negative and positive. But when she might be punished she listens right away. She cries when she doesn't get what she wants and she thinks everything is a joke or a game, but I think that may be a way of coping. She has no idea how to tell when someone is serious unless she's getting in trouble. She's going to try and be funny when she's older.. I wonder if that will work. When we played, we would draw on sketch pads and say "hasta tu." That means, "this is you." So we would draw funny pictures and tease each other saying "hasta tu."
Since Lufthansa treated us so awful, charging us $800 for extra baggage on the trip to Romania, our group did not feel the least bit guilty for possibly leaving lice on the plane. Take that, Germany!
Post Service Project
Saturday, April 4th, 2009
Being back at school was strange and annoying. People were really concerned with the lice situation even though we were getting checked and it was contained. Particularly with me, I never actually had lice according to being checked every day for a week, so I don't know why it was a big deal. No one is concerned about anything else but heir own lives and encounters. I get that way a lot but I always feel like my eyes are wide open to the world and I'm such a small insignificant part being so useless and self-centered. I'll get over this feeling but that doesn't mean I'll stop doing service projects or lose sight of my goals.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I randomly became very upset today thinking about my trip to Romania. I've felt very angry at the world since I've been back. I've been overly critical of what different people hold important and of how dramatic people are about their own stupid problems. I do the same thing and so I either become critical of my own choices or I ignore my choices but continue to judge others, which makes me a hypocrite. I feel like my experience has grown positively but my personality may have been influenced negatively... at least in terms of judging people. Many things people say or do seems wasteful and pointless. I feel more and more; impatient, pessimistic, cynical, angry, every day that goes on.
Soon the mission will run out of money and the girls will have to be taken away. I find myself thinking about what God does in all of this, and what we do. How can we change?
I think it's very normal to be angry with God when witnessing something so sad and creating a change of view for myself. I view the world differently now, it's not like I snapped my fingers, but I feel more aware of what I could be doing with my life. God made sure I went on this trip because of His plan for me... the result may be what I choose to do with my future.
My frustration is a good thing. Motivation is often fueled by frustration, I think. I like that I'm questioning all of these experiences and realities. I love that I want to change it and be aggressive in fighting off the unjust treatment of children and families. I want to heal.
Though it may seem selfish, I know the more trauma I see and the more sadness I witness, the more defined I will become as a person and the better outlined my goals will be. The more good I try to do for those suffering, the better person I become in my faith.
I've never been sure that Orthodox Christianity was the one true religion, though most Orthodox do think that. I'm still not sure. But I am sure, that by believing in Jesus and God, I know His plan will layout for me the best possible route by giving me opportunities to offer myself to others.
I enjoy suffering on behalf of others. I feel as though one of my greatest rewards is being able to fully stand in another persons shoes and understand their struggles and trauma. I don't enjoy feeling the emotions that a person who struggles feels, but I do enjoy the ability to feel for them. If it were Jesus whose pain I was feeling than I would have holes in my hands and feet. By understanding the kids emotions I feel the same hole in my heart as they do, I am a strong sympathizer, which I think is something that others appreciate. It's a difficult emotion to explain without sounding crazy, but I feel as though talking and understanding others is a small way of taking a piece of their burden. That might not be so crazy.
I hope you enjoyed what I had to say. This was one of my big deal goals, and I can't wait to do it again!! Possibly for the rest of my life.
If you were wondering, I left out the name of the orphanage on purpose because I want to keep these girls identities private, even though it is not private information that they belong to the orphanage and pictures can be seen on the orphanage's website.
The photos on this blog post are compliments of Ruby Beg, a fellow Romania traveler, and some are my own.
More of my personal photos can be found on my facebook page.
Noapte buna (Good night!)
Sunday, March 22nd, 2009
I'm on the flight to Germany then Budapest, and finally arriving at our destination in Romania. Thus far, the trip is going smoothly despite the unnecessarily strict man who checked our bags. At least he let me check my bag for free instead of an extra $200. It also didn't make sense, because now that I'm on the plane I'm looking around and there are other bags that are even bigger than mine. Lufthansa is awful.
The only concern I still have for the trip (other than landing and taking off) is the horrific pain I feel in my back, and how difficult it may be leaving the children we'll be taking care of for a week at the orphanage in Romania.
I always pray taking off because it makes me nervous; Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal have mercy on us.
Monday, March 23rd, 2009
The total trip took around 18 hours with non-stop flying and driving. On the western border of Romania it seems extremely desolate, and is around 8 hours driving to the capital in the south eastern corner. Driving through, we passed several renewal and upkeep projects by both locals and missionaries. Every building and piece of land was either new, in progress and abandoned, or run in the mill homes appearing as shacks.
Just driving through, I feel guilty for staying in this nice apartment. There are 9 of us, and we're staying in four rooms. There is a kitchen, bathroom, washer/dryer and our apartment has a modern bath and toilet and is directly above one of the best coffee shops I've ever been to. Upon settling into our beds for the next 8 days, my fellow travelers and I were informed that the girls we'll be taking care of have contracted lice. This journey sure is going to be interesting.
Tuesday, March 24th, 2009
Today we have a little bit of down time to rest and catch up on jet lag sleep. Being out of the country and on new ground hardly any of us slept and we mostly went to the market and unpacked the 20 duffel bags of things that were generously donated for the trip. Unpacking and organizing the duffel bags will take at least half of the trip since there is so much to do. After lunch we're taking the girls to the playground to meet and play.<--- One of the walls of clothing in the market.
In town the Romanian people made us feel very welcome. They gave honest prices for their clothing and are very happy and smile at us just for walking by... even though we're "Typical Americans." I find most Europeans are not really appreciative of Americans since we have such a lack of positive cultural influences. That's probably the best way to put it.
It's mild and rainy today but it feels warm and welcoming. I've used different names for the girls of the orphanage, in order to keep identities confidential.
After meeting the girls, there are 8 of them in the orphanage, these are what my initial reactions were:
Anna does whatever Princess does and is a little bit of a tom-boy. Love it.
Princess is very smart but is a little bit of a smart ass because she can tell the difference of when she can and cannot be. Not to mention, I think she definitely knows that she is the queen bee of the group.
Dasha y Tasha They are twins, and seem to seek negative attention and are really active. They also follow Princess' lead.
Tisha is a little mama. She is proper and well behaved but needs to learn a little bit about independence (who doesn't). She is definitely the cutest little girl I have ever seen in my life.
Emilia tries to be a smart ass but gives in to discipline, and loves getting attention. They all love getting attention, I suppose that may be typical for children in orphanages. Emilia is missing her middle front tooth, and I find it to be an adorable feature.
Sami doesn't listen or do what she's told. She is quite the handful and reminds me a lot of myself when I was 8 years old.
Mischa she is quiet for now and I can't figure her out too much. She is Sami's older sister... but you would never guess that they are related.
Putting the girls to bed was fun. Since none of us know Romanian we would do hand motions for brushing teeth and ask if they went "pishu" which is slang for pee. They laughed at our speaking Romanian and they pretended to not understand English, but they definitely knew what we were saying.
Tasha walked over to me like she was strolling down a runway and said, "Hey baby!" In her attempt at being a sexy American... pretty funny for a Romanian 8 year-old who doesn't speak English. Thank you to the influence of uncensored high school American missionaries!
I'm trying to remember to have love and patience throughout this experience. It's not as easy at it looks.
Thursday, March 26th, 2009
Ciao! Yesterday we redesigned the play area for the children and taught at school yesterday and today too. By redesigning I mean scrub and clean everything because of the lice outbreak. The kids were very enthusiastic and proud about their new and clean area.
Later that day we went to the girls classes at school. The principle was very nice and an advocate of breaking boundaries, so we went to teach lessons on tolerance and discrimination. Since most of the kids were little, we mainly talked about loving each other. They are all 7, 8 or 9, and so there were about 3 or 4 different classes for us to go to. The reason we went to teach about tolerance and loving each other is because the girls from La Casa are not only orphans, but they are also gypsies, both of which are hugely discriminated against here. Gypsies have a history of being dirty and thieves, and non-gypsies here do not even typically go to gypsy villages. They both keep their boundaries and both do so for their own ideas of protecting themselves. It can get very messy in the schools for these girls, because even some of their teachers are intolerant and mistreat them. With the exception of Sami's teacher, a Baptist woman working with the orphanage who converted from Orthodoxy, the other teachers did not seem to care much about our beautiful gypsy orphans. I haven't seen any examples of discrimination against gypsies yet. I know I will by the time my stay is over. My teacher tells me that it's unusual that I haven't yet, and that I should take in my surroundings better. It seems like gypsies "know their place" because they do their best to avoid confrontation. They don't look at you or smile and they don't talk to you unless they're selling something. You can tell who they are because of black clothes for men or bright skirts for women. The older men where hats. You where a scarf on your head if you're a married female gypsy and if you're important in the gypsy community you where a black hat (for men) or scarf (women).
While teaching the young kids we drew flowers, and I taught the students what Mother Thekla from Boston taught me at a religious program that I had taken part in. We want to be beautiful bright medium sized flowers. Why? Because big flowers fall over and small flowers have no smell... so we want to be just in the middle for a humble medium of standing tall and smelling beautiful. I said it in a better way than that, and the kids thought it was funny because I would act it out as if I were the flower. They thought it was particularly funny when the translator told them that I didn't smell good.
It must be so difficult for people the girls like to come and go. They were all wanted at some point but when international adoptions closed some of the people who were planning to adopt simply disappeared. Adoption lines are still closed and as far as I know, there is a family waiting for Tasha and Dasha, and they see her on some weekends. Emilia's adoptive parents visit and stay for months at a time to make a connection and keep it, but because of their history, everytime a person leaves they seem to prepare themselves for the possibility of never seeing that person again. It's hard to be an adoptive parent and break that boundary, reminding the children that they are here to stay. Mischa and Sami had a mother who would visit for months. They became so close that they even called her "mama." When adoption lines closed "mama" never came back.
Even if an orphan was towards the end of the adoption process, the entire thing went on hold and they can only be adopted by fellow Romanians. Being adopted by Romanians is difficult and unlikely because Romania itself is in harsh conditions and a poor economy, not to mention the stigma against gypsy orphans does not improve the likelihood of adoption either. There are very few wealthy Romanians. So all of these girls have suffered. Some were extremely close with their potential adoptive parents and called them "mama." But they were ditched when everything went on hold. It's sad for the girls, but it is also sad for the potential parents. I can't imagine knowing and loving a child and leaving them, but I also can't imagine knowing and loving a child and having to continually take time off from work and spend money to travel for months at a time when there is no way of knowing when the spending and time off from work will end. Also, there is the possibility that the adoption lines will not be opened until after the girls are adults, so why bring their hopes up when it may never happen for them? It's difficult for everyone really.
Later that night...
George, one of the founders and co-directors of the orphanage (along with his wife), came tonight and taught us about the history of Romania's orphanages in relation to treatment and communism. Even years after communism fell, the orphanages were filled with kids chained to their cribs until they were five years-old. Being chained to a crib for 5 years, let alone during important developmental stages, can cause extreme mental disadvantages and social inabilities. After that kind of malnutrition and lack of compassion, they were put in an institution where a similar treatment was given. The children were not bathed or cared for, and not educated either. Essentially, they were thrown in a room with no explanation, and no understanding. George talked about the ruined lives of communism and orphans. Romania has come a long way but many things are the same as they were... but better hidden.
He said during communism everyone had to lie. Equal everything, sharing everything, and no religion. There was lots of persecution and much like Nazi Germany there was no speaking out of line - if a person were to do so then the punishment would be death/imprisonment. We all cried watching the documentary video he showed us about the orphan lifestyle immediately following communism. Thank God that the children in the private system here do not have to endure that torture any longer.
We were told that the gypsy treatment in Beius is a lot better than anywhere else in Romania, though that is not saying much. They use the same stores but the gypsies can't have their own market table, and they must have their own villages outside of Beius so that they do not live amongst the other Romanians. The discrimination of gypsies being thieves and thugs is everywhere else in Romania too, and I believe its in other parts of the world. I've just never experienced it or learned about it before.
George called us "Heaven's Ambassadors," showing extraordinary gratitude for our being there. We were there for only a week, and I don't feel that we are deserving of any praise.
Friday, March 27th, 2009
Today we did foster care runs. The Mission not only has an orphanage where it used to have 30 children, but since the adoption lines closed those children have been taken or placed in the Mission's foster care system so that now there are only the 8 girls in the orphanage. The foster care system was created by our group leader Jo and was the first in the country of Romania. Jo has been working with the Mission for 10 years now. She raises money and donations year-round and travels to the orphanage once or twice a year. Since she has been there since the girls were babies she is well loved and part of La Casa family.
The orphanage and foster care are privately run systems, and are monitored very closely. If a child cannot be paid for or taken care of the government swoops in and takes them from their foster families (families that the children have been with since they were babies) and they cannot be found or heard from again once they are taken. The Mission has suffered greatly from economic struggles and children have been taken here and there. Foster families are currently doing their work for free simply because they love the children in their families. Many of the families are poor and desperate because of it.
We were able to sit in on foster care runs. I sat in on one and it was very touching. Going in, I knew that it was going to be hard to see, but that I couldn't show sadness because the family cannot afford the burden of another person's weakness. The one I went on was just like a normal family, which I didn't expect. I'm not sure why I didn't expect it, most likely because of all of the Oliver Twist-type movies I've seen that promote poor child care in foster systems.
I cannot disclose some information about the foster care families, other than that the family had two foster care children, Joshua and Isabel, and I believe had other children of their own as well.
The mother cried when Jo complimented her about how strong and God-given she has been to take care of the kids for free and to raise them. The father was extremely frustrated and growing resentful of the system because there is no money and they are close to having nothing as far as money goes. Apparently, a common tale.
It isn't unrealistic for the kids to be taken away, even after many years. We were informed today that two other boys will be taken by the state orphanage never for us to hear from them again. Just like the 14 kids that this happened to last summer. Families are torn apart and it is likely that the boys are not properly taken care of in state facilities. Like I said, it hasn't changed that much since communism. The biggest problems and frustrations of the private system are the closed international adoptions and the lack of money because of the financial crisis.
During the meeting I sat nodding and listening. The kids were so happy with their new trucks that were donated and they played jump rope and distracted themselves away from the conversation that the adults had about finances. I could tell the father was frustrated because of the speed he was talking. The mother had a lot more patience (this must be a universal mother thing) and wanted the information on their situation just as badly but was trying to calm him anyway. Its a frustrating situation for everyone and we all understood that. But everyone wants sympathy and no one is giving it to the Mission or foster parents.
The home seemed like a typical lower middle class home in the U.S. There was furniture and smiling faces on the kids, and it was very comfortable. I imagine Jo dealing with this every year and I think of how her heart must be broken all the time.
The family offered us cakes and snacks, which to be proper I accepted, but I kept accepting in order to be proper and I felt ill from the taste and eating too much. I decided that eating slower meant eating less because they wouldn't offer me anything unless my hand was empty.
We did a brief health check-up and psych exam with the children after the meeting and continued to move on to the next foster home.
Saturday, March 28th, 2009
I'm sitting outside with a blanket on. My butt is chilled from the cold porch and I am watching the sun come up. Its so cold out and my allergies have kept me awake for most of the night. It's almost 7am. Out here my sneezing and nose blowing wont keep anyone awake, and on this trip sleep is very precious. All I hear are the crows flying overhead, drowning out the roosters that are cocking and the wild dogs that are barking. The sun is slowly rising over an old apartment complex that was built during communism for equal living. People no longer have to live there, but many do because they can't afford to move, even after 20 years of democracy.The church bells are ringing now, it must be 7. People are going to start waking up. We have a day of shopping in Oradea and adventures with the girls in the bear caves (where there are no actual bears, just anciently old clay drippings that make a really cool scenery).
Oradea is the nearest city and is an hour drive away. The photo above is a picture of the main Oradea shopping drag.
To the left is a picture of part of the cave that we adventured through. The tour took a couple of hours. This picture doesn't do it justice. It was such a magnificent sight to see.During our tour, is when I witnessed the most severe discrimination against gypsies. The bathroom was at the beginning of the tour and rather than allowing for us to turn around when one of the girls had to pee... he said that she could just go in the cave, and then continued the tour. I felt disgust and outrage, and don't wish to go into further detail.
The money here is Lei and it is 3.1 to every dollar, so I expect to be spending a lot and buying many gifts for family and friends. Not to mention a day away from Beius and less psychological stress.
Side note: I forgot to mention that in school the first day the 2nd graders sang songs to us. One of the songs was Father I adore You.
And animal noises sound different in Europe
.
I spent 360 Lei today and I think it turns out to be about $60... pretty impressive for buying EVERYONE back home a gift.
Sunday, March 29th, 2009
Mischa, Princess, Emilia, Anna, and Tisha have all really warmed up to me. Tasha and Dasha as well as Sami are much harder to get through to. They're all so cute that I don't want to leave them and be another person that just does what they must and leaves.
Tuesday, March 31st, 2009
Last night we said goodbye. Jo said that was the first time ever that a team became so close to the girls and the first time ever that the girls cried. Princess and Mischa I saw crying the most. It all started with Jo crying and the girls raise their hands and said "I love you" in English. Even Sami who tries to be hard and laugh at everything serious and play games, she cried to Jo. She raised her hand in our goodbye circle and a shocked hush went over the room... Sami was raising her hand politely. What's this? Jo said, "Yes Sami?" and Sami very seriously said, "Jo, I love you." That's basically the moment that everyone broke down (at least everyone from our group). We were witnessing the breaking of barriers. Emotional walls were coming down for some of the girls and it was a very important psychological improvement in behavior. Jo said they've never cried even when it's just her visiting, and she has known them since birth. Since the girls knew we were leaving, a few of them refused to hug or say goodbye because of attachment and abandonment issues. Tisha stared at me blankly and refused to hug me, and I considered her the one that I became closest with. That was really hard for me. Emilia wouldn't hug me either. They would push some of us away because they know we're leaving. Princess hugged me very tightly and Mischa was crying. I think they were all really touched by us; which was strange since I couldn't imagine a person being more effected than myself and the people in my group. I know my heart was truly touched because I would go through this whole hellish, painful, exhausting, and lice infested experience again just to see them happy. I don't know if I could make that decision now... it would be like food shopping when I'm full. But I would do it in the future, after sleep and healing my back. I love those girls and leaving them broke my heart.
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
Our visit in Budapest was really interesting. Most of the people in stores were nasty to us. They knew we were Americans so they pretended to not understand English. The castles and walking were beautiful and I could just stop on the bridge that connected Buda and Pest to look at the beauty and just breathe for the first time on our trip. Some of us got food and sat on a statue in the park of a lady named Eleszbert.
Relaxed. We watched the people around us and talked. For the first time on our trip I actually had a moment to fully take in my surroundings for more than a minute. I had a feeling like I'd experienced a trauma and I was out of breath all the time. I, of course, had not experienced a trauma. It was me, understanding and taking in the traumas of the girls and other people we had met along the way during our trip. I like to think that my struggle may be a result of taking a little bit of the burden from their struggle.Some lasting impressions of the girls that I've left with are:
Anna is one tough cookie and loves to do sports and games. She had 105 fever but insisted on playing and being up and about. She's very curious and is always watching and taking things in. She learns to understand on her own.
Princess is a hot shit. She's like a teenage supermodel. Every time she does something it's like she's striking a pose. She also thinks of herself as the leader of the pack, even though she is the youngest.
Dasha is more shy than Tasha. She doesn't like to be in pictures but she loves to play and ignore the adults.
Tasha and Dasha both like to have attention. They get spoiled on the weekend by a family so they sometimes act like spoiled kids. They both have started figuring out how to do some bad things with Sami, like taking what is not theirs. They do get attached they just like to think that they're hard and disconnected. They wouldn't hug me goodbye the first time and Jo told me not to push so I didn't ask the second time... but I think once they realized it really was goodbye they would have, if I asked again. Tasha changed her mind if I remember correctly, but the hugs that night kind of blur together. It was extremely emotional.
Mischa loves to be the boss because I think her being the leader doesn't really happen often. She loves to sing but not unless others are singing along and she loves to be a part of the fun where ever it is. Who doesn't?
Sami. She is the worst behaved and has a terribly short attention span. I think while we were there, positive attention was better than none. She knows when to be serious and when not to, but she doesn't do that necessarily.
Emilia is very stand offish and wouldn't listen at first with me because she knew I wouldn't stay. Then she forgot about that and cried when we said goodbye. She has her mom and dad who always come back, so I'm sure her almost adoptive parents have helped her with that problem just by showing up. She is as cute as a little button. Her and Princess are the most adorable.
Tisha loves attention both negative and positive. But when she might be punished she listens right away. She cries when she doesn't get what she wants and she thinks everything is a joke or a game, but I think that may be a way of coping. She has no idea how to tell when someone is serious unless she's getting in trouble. She's going to try and be funny when she's older.. I wonder if that will work. When we played, we would draw on sketch pads and say "hasta tu." That means, "this is you." So we would draw funny pictures and tease each other saying "hasta tu."
Since Lufthansa treated us so awful, charging us $800 for extra baggage on the trip to Romania, our group did not feel the least bit guilty for possibly leaving lice on the plane. Take that, Germany!
Post Service Project
Saturday, April 4th, 2009
Being back at school was strange and annoying. People were really concerned with the lice situation even though we were getting checked and it was contained. Particularly with me, I never actually had lice according to being checked every day for a week, so I don't know why it was a big deal. No one is concerned about anything else but heir own lives and encounters. I get that way a lot but I always feel like my eyes are wide open to the world and I'm such a small insignificant part being so useless and self-centered. I'll get over this feeling but that doesn't mean I'll stop doing service projects or lose sight of my goals.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I randomly became very upset today thinking about my trip to Romania. I've felt very angry at the world since I've been back. I've been overly critical of what different people hold important and of how dramatic people are about their own stupid problems. I do the same thing and so I either become critical of my own choices or I ignore my choices but continue to judge others, which makes me a hypocrite. I feel like my experience has grown positively but my personality may have been influenced negatively... at least in terms of judging people. Many things people say or do seems wasteful and pointless. I feel more and more; impatient, pessimistic, cynical, angry, every day that goes on.
Soon the mission will run out of money and the girls will have to be taken away. I find myself thinking about what God does in all of this, and what we do. How can we change?
I think it's very normal to be angry with God when witnessing something so sad and creating a change of view for myself. I view the world differently now, it's not like I snapped my fingers, but I feel more aware of what I could be doing with my life. God made sure I went on this trip because of His plan for me... the result may be what I choose to do with my future.
My frustration is a good thing. Motivation is often fueled by frustration, I think. I like that I'm questioning all of these experiences and realities. I love that I want to change it and be aggressive in fighting off the unjust treatment of children and families. I want to heal.
Though it may seem selfish, I know the more trauma I see and the more sadness I witness, the more defined I will become as a person and the better outlined my goals will be. The more good I try to do for those suffering, the better person I become in my faith.
I've never been sure that Orthodox Christianity was the one true religion, though most Orthodox do think that. I'm still not sure. But I am sure, that by believing in Jesus and God, I know His plan will layout for me the best possible route by giving me opportunities to offer myself to others.
I enjoy suffering on behalf of others. I feel as though one of my greatest rewards is being able to fully stand in another persons shoes and understand their struggles and trauma. I don't enjoy feeling the emotions that a person who struggles feels, but I do enjoy the ability to feel for them. If it were Jesus whose pain I was feeling than I would have holes in my hands and feet. By understanding the kids emotions I feel the same hole in my heart as they do, I am a strong sympathizer, which I think is something that others appreciate. It's a difficult emotion to explain without sounding crazy, but I feel as though talking and understanding others is a small way of taking a piece of their burden. That might not be so crazy.
I hope you enjoyed what I had to say. This was one of my big deal goals, and I can't wait to do it again!! Possibly for the rest of my life.
If you were wondering, I left out the name of the orphanage on purpose because I want to keep these girls identities private, even though it is not private information that they belong to the orphanage and pictures can be seen on the orphanage's website.
The photos on this blog post are compliments of Ruby Beg, a fellow Romania traveler, and some are my own.
More of my personal photos can be found on my facebook page.
Noapte buna (Good night!)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
26. Swim the width of the Merrimack back and forth twice without stopping
The Merrimack River is a pretty big river that runs through Hooksett, Bedford, Manchester, and I think Concord, New Hampshire. Basically, if you live in New Hampshire you should know about the Merrimack River. It's kind of big... at least in relation to New Hampshire sized things.
Most of the areas along the Merrimack River are private property, owned privately or by the state. Many people growing up in New Hampshire near the Merrimack River have trespassed on these properties... I am one of those people.
It was the summer of 2007, and I was a youth in revolt! I was naked in public on several occasions, and trespassed on several occasions as well. My parents would go away for weeks at a time and I would throw parties at my house to get friends together for community bonding. Most of these parties were dry, since my parents trusted me and I valued that, I didn't allow drinking at the parties. Even though we played drinking games, had bon fires, went in the hot tub, and did all kinds of things that could have been more fun with alcohol, I had much more fun doing it without. My parents also locked up the alcohol, and after the summer ended when they found out about these parties, I wasn't punished because there were no real liabilities. Sometimes kids just need to keep their activities secret simply for the excitement of having a secret, and not letting parents know what they're doing.
One of the far less substantial part of the rise in my own version of revolting against the man, was trespassing at the Merrimack River to swim and play on the rope swing that many locals would flock to. While swimming with a friend one day, a police officer broke up the party (big surprise), and took down our names and ages so that we could be "warned" of trespassing. At that point I honestly did not know that we were doing anything illegal... afterwards I had no excuse.
MERRIMACK RIVER (this is the same bridge that I swam next to)
http://photos.winnick.net/The-Bridge-Project/002Lilac-Bridge-Hooksett/08030006/347620523_xh4CS-S-1.jpg
So! The next day I went to the same spot to go swimming and cross the river. People familiar with the Merrimack know that the current can be extremely strong and is responsible for local drowning incidents over the years... most likely resulting in the trespassing problem. I suppose that makes sense. Many didn't care about the laws, but you still have to be smart about safety. I was a person who didn't care and so that is the reason I returned the next day to my swimming spot at the gigantic rope swing. The tree was probably 10 feet up and broke into two enormous branches... all the way up were steps that someone nailed into the tree and it could be nerve racking for someone afraid of heights, like me. But I still loved it!
Upon returning to the roundabout where people left their cars by the Baptist church to go swimming, I parked, got out of my car and opened my trunk to get my towel. Low and behold the same police officer approached me at my car and asked me if I was going swimming. I said no, grabbed a notebook out of my trunk, and told him I was just getting something. The police officer then drove away... and I went swimming. Duh. My goal from the start was to be able to cross the Merrimack, which I was able to do. There's a point in the river where if you went out far enough you could begin to feel how strong the current is, and if I felt it was too strong in relation to my swimming capabilities I would turn around and try another day.
By the end of the summer swimming back and forth took an hour and was a daily routine. It wasn't until my last day at the river, since the season was ending the current was getting stronger regularly, so it had to be my last day for my safety.
I jumped into the water and swim over to one end, where an obvious bunker for homeless people existed. It was actually a really cool area, there were couches and places to sleep. It was like a secret camping site, something most children dream about having as a place of their own. I stopped when my feet could touch the sand, turned around and swam back to the rope, and continued this one more time. By the time I finished it had been 2 hours, and I was exhausted. I enjoy swimming, but that does not make me a swimmer and so this entire experience was quite exhausting.
The last time that I crossed the river on my second lap, the hobo camp area was welcoming a police officer. I panicked and turned around beginning to swim back. No one else was swimming that day so there was nothing that was attracting his attention other than the camp-out. I had probably 10 minutes to swim a 30 minute lap, get out of the water, grab my stuff, and get my car out of there. This time I would be arrested if caught, since I am knowingly trespassing, and I am alone. (I don't know that for sure, but it makes the experience much more exciting if I'm right.)
I saw that he noticed me while I was getting out of the water. Luckily the policeman took his time walking back to his car to drive over the bridge where I am parked under. I made the lap in 15 minutes grabbed my clothes, and sped home. The cop wasn't behind me until after I turned on the main road and by that time he didn't know that it was me who he had just seen in the river.
Victory once again! Yasmin, you are such a sly devil.
Something to speed away from a cop while listening to: Black Betty by Ram Jam, or Until the End by Breaking Benjamin... possibly anything exciting by Blink 182
Most of the areas along the Merrimack River are private property, owned privately or by the state. Many people growing up in New Hampshire near the Merrimack River have trespassed on these properties... I am one of those people.
It was the summer of 2007, and I was a youth in revolt! I was naked in public on several occasions, and trespassed on several occasions as well. My parents would go away for weeks at a time and I would throw parties at my house to get friends together for community bonding. Most of these parties were dry, since my parents trusted me and I valued that, I didn't allow drinking at the parties. Even though we played drinking games, had bon fires, went in the hot tub, and did all kinds of things that could have been more fun with alcohol, I had much more fun doing it without. My parents also locked up the alcohol, and after the summer ended when they found out about these parties, I wasn't punished because there were no real liabilities. Sometimes kids just need to keep their activities secret simply for the excitement of having a secret, and not letting parents know what they're doing.
One of the far less substantial part of the rise in my own version of revolting against the man, was trespassing at the Merrimack River to swim and play on the rope swing that many locals would flock to. While swimming with a friend one day, a police officer broke up the party (big surprise), and took down our names and ages so that we could be "warned" of trespassing. At that point I honestly did not know that we were doing anything illegal... afterwards I had no excuse.
MERRIMACK RIVER (this is the same bridge that I swam next to)
http://photos.winnick.net/The-Bridge-Project/002Lilac-Bridge-Hooksett/08030006/347620523_xh4CS-S-1.jpg
So! The next day I went to the same spot to go swimming and cross the river. People familiar with the Merrimack know that the current can be extremely strong and is responsible for local drowning incidents over the years... most likely resulting in the trespassing problem. I suppose that makes sense. Many didn't care about the laws, but you still have to be smart about safety. I was a person who didn't care and so that is the reason I returned the next day to my swimming spot at the gigantic rope swing. The tree was probably 10 feet up and broke into two enormous branches... all the way up were steps that someone nailed into the tree and it could be nerve racking for someone afraid of heights, like me. But I still loved it!
Upon returning to the roundabout where people left their cars by the Baptist church to go swimming, I parked, got out of my car and opened my trunk to get my towel. Low and behold the same police officer approached me at my car and asked me if I was going swimming. I said no, grabbed a notebook out of my trunk, and told him I was just getting something. The police officer then drove away... and I went swimming. Duh. My goal from the start was to be able to cross the Merrimack, which I was able to do. There's a point in the river where if you went out far enough you could begin to feel how strong the current is, and if I felt it was too strong in relation to my swimming capabilities I would turn around and try another day.
By the end of the summer swimming back and forth took an hour and was a daily routine. It wasn't until my last day at the river, since the season was ending the current was getting stronger regularly, so it had to be my last day for my safety.
I jumped into the water and swim over to one end, where an obvious bunker for homeless people existed. It was actually a really cool area, there were couches and places to sleep. It was like a secret camping site, something most children dream about having as a place of their own. I stopped when my feet could touch the sand, turned around and swam back to the rope, and continued this one more time. By the time I finished it had been 2 hours, and I was exhausted. I enjoy swimming, but that does not make me a swimmer and so this entire experience was quite exhausting.
The last time that I crossed the river on my second lap, the hobo camp area was welcoming a police officer. I panicked and turned around beginning to swim back. No one else was swimming that day so there was nothing that was attracting his attention other than the camp-out. I had probably 10 minutes to swim a 30 minute lap, get out of the water, grab my stuff, and get my car out of there. This time I would be arrested if caught, since I am knowingly trespassing, and I am alone. (I don't know that for sure, but it makes the experience much more exciting if I'm right.)
I saw that he noticed me while I was getting out of the water. Luckily the policeman took his time walking back to his car to drive over the bridge where I am parked under. I made the lap in 15 minutes grabbed my clothes, and sped home. The cop wasn't behind me until after I turned on the main road and by that time he didn't know that it was me who he had just seen in the river.
Victory once again! Yasmin, you are such a sly devil.
Something to speed away from a cop while listening to: Black Betty by Ram Jam, or Until the End by Breaking Benjamin... possibly anything exciting by Blink 182
Saturday, February 5, 2011
23. Make Homemade Videos
One day, there was a boy in my room and we decided to get naked and film it.
Kidding!! When I say homemade films, I mean videos of creative scripts or music videos or something... Not porn. I am no Kim Kardashian... though being famous for doing nothing would be really awesome.
Those of you who knew me in my early high school years know that I made music videos to songs like Jack Johnson's Sitting, Waiting, Wishing, and Young MC's Bust a Move, and my friend and I made a popular Lady Gaga Alejandro video that is quite ridiculous and has never been noticed by Ellen Degeneres. Sad.
Back in the day, before youtube was big, I posted all of this stuff on a website called vmix. A video I did of My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas actually became really popular and became vmix's clip of the month... and lasted for the whole year in 2007. It's not online anymore since vmix.com is no longer owned by that company.
Back in the day, before youtube was big, I posted all of this stuff on a website called vmix. A video I did of My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas actually became really popular and became vmix's clip of the month... and lasted for the whole year in 2007. It's not online anymore since vmix.com is no longer owned by that company.
But I posted Catherine Crinigan and my embarrassing Alejandro video. Please laugh at it.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
9. Go to College (The Right One For You) 10. Decide on a Major in College
I'm sure I have not made the best decisions in my life. I fall under the same categories as everyone else. It's more likely that I am UNspecial, than special. And I'm sure that I am not the only person who feels that way about themselves.
However, I've learned to think of that perspective as something special in and of itself. Most people have an arrogance about them that can be obvious, or cloaked, but rather than arrogance I have an unidentified fear of confidence. I may appear confident, but just as most people do, I am not actually confident. By attending 3 different high schools I learned that in order to feel comfortable, you must appear comfortable to the people around you. People notice when you enter a new building, full of unfamiliar faces, and you don't know where to turn. The reason they notice is because it is written all over your face and body language. Now, some people might think that this is a good thing, but they are wrong! If you look like you are unfamiliar, that does not make it more likely that a stranger will come up to you and offer you a welcoming committee. In fact, it means just the opposite. If you appear unfamiliar, than people will be unfamiliar with you. Rather than thinking "oh I've never seen her before, I guess we've just never met," they will think, "that must be the new girl." The difference between the two being, either they will think that you may have something in common, like you've attended the same school for a while or, on the other hand, because they know you are the new girl, they will assume that you are invading their school with more unfamiliarities. Now, I don't mean to summarize EVERYONE, but of course this is high school I'm speaking of and whether kids intend to do it or not, most of them like to stick with what they know or think they know.
I considered this a quiet milestone in my life, you know, understanding the need to be familiar or appear familiar. I actually became quite good at it, until I decided that the high school I graduated from was so familiar with one another (60 students per grade) that the only way to be welcome was to not be. I bonded with the people who were unwelcome, unfamiliar, and unimpressive to the other students. That was how I managed my last two years of high school, by sticking out like a cartoon character surrounded by real 3D people. It was like I was Roger Rabbit outside of Toon Town.
Normally, people would be uncomfortable with that. All of the people that I hung out with outside of school those last two years were friendships that remained from public school or boarding school. Because I was alone from 7:30am to 3pm without any friendly faces, some days I was destitute and isolated. My entire Junior year I would leave school whenever I didn't have class. Even when I wasn't supposed to I managed to get away with it. I wouldn't go out on a fantastic voyage to experience something thrilling and against parental control. I just wanted to be free. There were days when I felt as though the maroon and off-white walls were blandly seeping into my soul and becoming me. I became bland, and I blended in with everything else so much so that I could lose myself if I forgot to try not to.
There was one place at that dreaded school where I could break out without leaving the confinement of the campus. Interestingly enough, it was the guidance counselors office. I never went there for a counseling session, but I would go there with other students just to sit among judgment free people. The counselor allowed for me to call her by her first name, Jo, which was extremely rare in the high schools I attended. Jo and I created a bond that we still connect with every so often. Because of our bond I was able to see exactly what it is she does for a job as a school psychologist. She encouraged me to do service, be honest, and help others. Parents often discipline children by saying, "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed." Jo would award my actions through the absence of praise simply by treating me as her equal, and allowed for me to trade roles with her by being her teacher once in a while. In result of her strong encouragement and persuasion, I went on two service trips with her and my school. One was through Habitat for Humanity in West Virginia, and the other was youth work in Beuis, Romania. Both experiences lead me to the path of missionary work, of which I will be doing upon graduation with my Masters of Social Work degree.
Thanks to Jo, and other similar experiences and people along the way, I was able to decide on a major before I even decided on a college. After one stepping stone led to another, and after changing schools twice in college I have ended up at New York University, and I feel as if all of the different roads that lead me to social work are the same roads that led me here. Better late than never.
http://cityguideny.com/listingsupload/63140/0708_A460_f_SSSW_GradSchools.gif
However, I've learned to think of that perspective as something special in and of itself. Most people have an arrogance about them that can be obvious, or cloaked, but rather than arrogance I have an unidentified fear of confidence. I may appear confident, but just as most people do, I am not actually confident. By attending 3 different high schools I learned that in order to feel comfortable, you must appear comfortable to the people around you. People notice when you enter a new building, full of unfamiliar faces, and you don't know where to turn. The reason they notice is because it is written all over your face and body language. Now, some people might think that this is a good thing, but they are wrong! If you look like you are unfamiliar, that does not make it more likely that a stranger will come up to you and offer you a welcoming committee. In fact, it means just the opposite. If you appear unfamiliar, than people will be unfamiliar with you. Rather than thinking "oh I've never seen her before, I guess we've just never met," they will think, "that must be the new girl." The difference between the two being, either they will think that you may have something in common, like you've attended the same school for a while or, on the other hand, because they know you are the new girl, they will assume that you are invading their school with more unfamiliarities. Now, I don't mean to summarize EVERYONE, but of course this is high school I'm speaking of and whether kids intend to do it or not, most of them like to stick with what they know or think they know.
I considered this a quiet milestone in my life, you know, understanding the need to be familiar or appear familiar. I actually became quite good at it, until I decided that the high school I graduated from was so familiar with one another (60 students per grade) that the only way to be welcome was to not be. I bonded with the people who were unwelcome, unfamiliar, and unimpressive to the other students. That was how I managed my last two years of high school, by sticking out like a cartoon character surrounded by real 3D people. It was like I was Roger Rabbit outside of Toon Town.
Normally, people would be uncomfortable with that. All of the people that I hung out with outside of school those last two years were friendships that remained from public school or boarding school. Because I was alone from 7:30am to 3pm without any friendly faces, some days I was destitute and isolated. My entire Junior year I would leave school whenever I didn't have class. Even when I wasn't supposed to I managed to get away with it. I wouldn't go out on a fantastic voyage to experience something thrilling and against parental control. I just wanted to be free. There were days when I felt as though the maroon and off-white walls were blandly seeping into my soul and becoming me. I became bland, and I blended in with everything else so much so that I could lose myself if I forgot to try not to.
There was one place at that dreaded school where I could break out without leaving the confinement of the campus. Interestingly enough, it was the guidance counselors office. I never went there for a counseling session, but I would go there with other students just to sit among judgment free people. The counselor allowed for me to call her by her first name, Jo, which was extremely rare in the high schools I attended. Jo and I created a bond that we still connect with every so often. Because of our bond I was able to see exactly what it is she does for a job as a school psychologist. She encouraged me to do service, be honest, and help others. Parents often discipline children by saying, "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed." Jo would award my actions through the absence of praise simply by treating me as her equal, and allowed for me to trade roles with her by being her teacher once in a while. In result of her strong encouragement and persuasion, I went on two service trips with her and my school. One was through Habitat for Humanity in West Virginia, and the other was youth work in Beuis, Romania. Both experiences lead me to the path of missionary work, of which I will be doing upon graduation with my Masters of Social Work degree.
Thanks to Jo, and other similar experiences and people along the way, I was able to decide on a major before I even decided on a college. After one stepping stone led to another, and after changing schools twice in college I have ended up at New York University, and I feel as if all of the different roads that lead me to social work are the same roads that led me here. Better late than never.
http://cityguideny.com/listingsupload/63140/0708_A460_f_SSSW_GradSchools.gif
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
12. Learn to Drive a Boat Myself
All my life my dad has been a boat person. It's rather annoying actually. I do not like boats. It's ironic, I don't like the ocean, or boats, yet I've grown up boating with my family, swimming in the ocean, and I was on different crew teams throughout high school. It doesn't quite make sense to me.
There are a couple reasons I could be afraid of this crap. The first reason is the game known as UNDERWATER TAG!
Since I was around 6 years-old my family has been part of a private pool club called Sudden Pitch. The cool thing to do was get the other kids together and play underwater tag, or gutter ball. Underwater tag is when if you were above water you could be tagged and you were "it." The coolest kids could hold their breath really long and go from one corner of the shallow end to the other all in one breath (those corners were the "safe" zones). Oh how I tried to be that kid. After learning to hold my breath for that long, there was an incident when my brother (3 years older and probably around 13 at the time) held his hand over my head waiting for me to come up. Obviously I didn't want to get tagged! So I stayed under water and struggled breathing since he was kind of holding me under, and when I finally came up the game was ruined for me and I cried to my mommy. This probably results in a fear of drowning.
Another reason I may be afraid of the water happened during an outing on our boat called Habiti (Arabic for my love, when directed toward a male.) We had run over a lobster trap and the line was caught in our propeller (the big fan thing that goes round and round under the boat resulting in motion.) Someone had to dive under the boat to see what was going on, to determine the damage and whether or not we had to fix it right then and there or it could wait till we got back to the dock. Well, being the youngest, the most agile, and willing, of course I had to go diving. Usually the beach and landlocked waters are warm enough for swimming, but we stopped in open waters where it felt freezing. I dove for about 15 minutes and then my parents had to take me out of the water so that I wouldn't get hypothermia. The entire ride back I laid on the couch shivering with 3 different blankets on me in the heat of summer. This probably resulted in further fear of drowning. Not to mention that looking at the bottom of a boat in open waters is kind of freaky to begin with because there are living things down there. Thank God there weren't any sharks... or worse... SEALS! haha
I also have an uncalled for fear of sharks. I used to imagine that there were sharks in the deep end of pools and I could never swim unless a grownup was there.
As a matter of fact I am terrified of things that are alive in the water touching me. My family and I were once on a beach that I was afraid to swim in because of a newspaper article the day before that said the beach was covered with jellyfish and it was unsafe. Apparently we were in the clear, but I was a kid! Have mercy on the child!
I fell asleep on the beach and my brother and dad picked me up and painstakingly dumped my in the water and I SCREAMED bloody murder and ran away.
So perhaps it was never a fear of boats, just a fear of everything surrounding boats.
Anyway, part of my process of overcoming fears is to just face them. I'm afraid of heights, so lets go up the tallest building in the world and put our foreheads against the glass. That's the kind of person I am. There are some things that I'm not afraid of but just don't desire to do them, like sky-diving... I am afraid of skydiving, but I also just don't want to do it. One of the ways I wanted to feel more comfortable on the ocean was by driving my own boat without help.
Along with our Habibti we had a smaller fishing boat called Booties. Not like asses... like foot booties you wear in cold water. Pervert.
I asked my dad to take me out to learn, and it was successful, despite the almost colliding with other boats on a regular basis.
This is a picture of a 22ft capecraft which is the boat i drove... but that is not me... and it's not my picture.
http://www.capecraftfishingboats.com/images/models/2100WA_main.jpg
Driving a boat really fast over waves can be extremely nerve racking since you often are flying in the air and feel as though you are not in control of where the boat will land and go after it lands. Not to mention, that in the harbor you have to go slow because of the no wake zones. It sounds easier, but the boat reacts faster than you intend, and then the currents take over, not to mention the other stupid boats that ignore the no wake signs and get you caught in their waves.
Parking our boat back at the dock could have been an extremely tragic experience if my dad did not duck his head. I had to drive in and do a fast last minute sharp turn so that the bow faced the opposite way we drove in. I successfully managed the turn, so that we were so close to the boat behind where i was supposed to park.. it almost took my dad out with its dangling anchor.
I parked, and decided NEVER AGAIN. Plus I think that put my dad in a bad mood. Ruh Row.
Thank you ocean, for succcckinngggg.
Something to dance and sing to: Hello by Martin Solveig & Drogonette
There are a couple reasons I could be afraid of this crap. The first reason is the game known as UNDERWATER TAG!
Since I was around 6 years-old my family has been part of a private pool club called Sudden Pitch. The cool thing to do was get the other kids together and play underwater tag, or gutter ball. Underwater tag is when if you were above water you could be tagged and you were "it." The coolest kids could hold their breath really long and go from one corner of the shallow end to the other all in one breath (those corners were the "safe" zones). Oh how I tried to be that kid. After learning to hold my breath for that long, there was an incident when my brother (3 years older and probably around 13 at the time) held his hand over my head waiting for me to come up. Obviously I didn't want to get tagged! So I stayed under water and struggled breathing since he was kind of holding me under, and when I finally came up the game was ruined for me and I cried to my mommy. This probably results in a fear of drowning.
Another reason I may be afraid of the water happened during an outing on our boat called Habiti (Arabic for my love, when directed toward a male.) We had run over a lobster trap and the line was caught in our propeller (the big fan thing that goes round and round under the boat resulting in motion.) Someone had to dive under the boat to see what was going on, to determine the damage and whether or not we had to fix it right then and there or it could wait till we got back to the dock. Well, being the youngest, the most agile, and willing, of course I had to go diving. Usually the beach and landlocked waters are warm enough for swimming, but we stopped in open waters where it felt freezing. I dove for about 15 minutes and then my parents had to take me out of the water so that I wouldn't get hypothermia. The entire ride back I laid on the couch shivering with 3 different blankets on me in the heat of summer. This probably resulted in further fear of drowning. Not to mention that looking at the bottom of a boat in open waters is kind of freaky to begin with because there are living things down there. Thank God there weren't any sharks... or worse... SEALS! haha
I also have an uncalled for fear of sharks. I used to imagine that there were sharks in the deep end of pools and I could never swim unless a grownup was there.
As a matter of fact I am terrified of things that are alive in the water touching me. My family and I were once on a beach that I was afraid to swim in because of a newspaper article the day before that said the beach was covered with jellyfish and it was unsafe. Apparently we were in the clear, but I was a kid! Have mercy on the child!
I fell asleep on the beach and my brother and dad picked me up and painstakingly dumped my in the water and I SCREAMED bloody murder and ran away.
So perhaps it was never a fear of boats, just a fear of everything surrounding boats.
Anyway, part of my process of overcoming fears is to just face them. I'm afraid of heights, so lets go up the tallest building in the world and put our foreheads against the glass. That's the kind of person I am. There are some things that I'm not afraid of but just don't desire to do them, like sky-diving... I am afraid of skydiving, but I also just don't want to do it. One of the ways I wanted to feel more comfortable on the ocean was by driving my own boat without help.
Along with our Habibti we had a smaller fishing boat called Booties. Not like asses... like foot booties you wear in cold water. Pervert.
I asked my dad to take me out to learn, and it was successful, despite the almost colliding with other boats on a regular basis.
This is a picture of a 22ft capecraft which is the boat i drove... but that is not me... and it's not my picture.
http://www.capecraftfishingboats.com/images/models/2100WA_main.jpg
Driving a boat really fast over waves can be extremely nerve racking since you often are flying in the air and feel as though you are not in control of where the boat will land and go after it lands. Not to mention, that in the harbor you have to go slow because of the no wake zones. It sounds easier, but the boat reacts faster than you intend, and then the currents take over, not to mention the other stupid boats that ignore the no wake signs and get you caught in their waves.
Parking our boat back at the dock could have been an extremely tragic experience if my dad did not duck his head. I had to drive in and do a fast last minute sharp turn so that the bow faced the opposite way we drove in. I successfully managed the turn, so that we were so close to the boat behind where i was supposed to park.. it almost took my dad out with its dangling anchor.
I parked, and decided NEVER AGAIN. Plus I think that put my dad in a bad mood. Ruh Row.
Thank you ocean, for succcckinngggg.
Something to dance and sing to: Hello by Martin Solveig & Drogonette
Monday, January 24, 2011
8. Learn how to snowboard.
I come from a city in New Hampshire. Snow, and ice, and winter are around for about 4-6 months throughout the year. I HAVE NOTHING TO DO for those 4-6 months. Nothing besides drink hot chocolate and watch movies that I've already memorized.
I can't go swimming in the river (or I could but would prefer to avoid that challenge), I can't go for a walk without freezing, there are so many things that I cannot do. I could snowboard, ski, sled, ice skate... the only problem being that I don't know how to do any of those things. First is skiing, I don't have very good balance, and at the time of this little adventure into snow country, skiing was considered very lame. Snowboarding is cooler. Sledding... well I guess any idiot could do that, but it seemed too simple, and wasn't considered a sport that I could do with my other friends. I tried ice skating when I was around 8 years old, but after the dreadful bunny hop lesson, I quit.
There you have it, I was left with snowboarding. My friends had tried to teach me how to snowboard here and there, but the truth is that they all got tired of waiting for me, and just wanted to go have fun. Even before that, in my middle school and early high school days, I tried snowboarding lessons. The bunny slopes were awesome, and by the time I could go down them and only fall once, the lessons were over. Following that was joining the snowboarding club at my high school. It was great! We went three days a week after school, I had all of the equipment, and the teacher HAD to teach me. FORCED by the laws of earning a paycheck.
I was getting better and was off the bunny trails! After 2 or 3 weeks of the lessons, it was my day to go on a real trail! Hurray! My bald student rep advisor who was also my snowboarding buddy took me to the top of the easiest trail at Pat's Peak in N.H.
While sitting on the lift I began to anticipate how the hell to get off of it! This big wheeling machine that carries people up the mountain is not going to stop or hold out its hand so that I can arrive at my destination safely. My teacher explained it to me but I was still panicking, and when it came time for me to gently snowboard off of the lift, I gently snowboarded directly onto my face. This small incident would later define my snowboarding career.
I popped up from my mistake, and began to follow my teacher down a slightly steep bump that would lead me to the actual trail I was to go down. The slightly steep bump wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't covered in ice, alas resulting in a bruise directly on my right ass cheek.
Okay. Now, we were at the point where the challenge actually begins. I know how to turn, kinda. I know how to stop, and fall after. I also know how to get up after I fall. I began down the hill with my bald teacher encouraging me along the way. Shortly after feeling thrilled by the success of my motion, I then realized that I did not know how to slow down. I sped up faster and faster and began to scream and look for safe places that I could crash into on purpose to avoid hurting anyone. My teacher was hollering advice at me, probably telling me how to slow down, but at this point that was all white noise. It turns out that when I am overcome with fear I forget how to stop, fall, and/or turn. Problem.
I then, went off of a jump that happened to be in front of me. I flew into the air, and having never done that before, landed (sort of) and tumbled to the right side of the trail. That was quite the adventure. The only problem is I am still almost at the top of the trail and can't quit just yet. OH HOW I DESIRED TO QUIT! I took a deep breath, and got back up. Something unusual must have happened because when I went to use my right arm to get up I could barely hold myself. It was extremely painful, but I was getting used to pain after falling so much in my attempted snowboarding lessons. I thought that this pain, was just part of the deal so I brushed it off, and continued down the hill... and managed to fall again, of course. This time it was far less dramatic and when I went to sit up, I realized that I was in even more pain and that now I couldn't even lift my arm. I felt that there was nothing more I could do other than finish going down the trail and taking a break at the lodge afterwards. I hoped the break would last the rest of my life. At this point I couldn't tell if I was sweating, crying, or freezing. All of those things seemed to mix together. I breathed into my mouth cover and couldn't tell if my nose was running or my eyes were leaking. I felt sweaty but I was ice cold. Winter sports are so complicated.
One more time I got up, and a short while later, fell down just before the trail ended. Now I couldn't move. I'm pretty sure that the moist face mask was from crying. I thought maybe the tears were from being so cold, but it was probably because I was hurting.
Some of my classmates came over, and so did my bald teacher. He told me to walk inside the lodge and I could finally have my life long break.
It turns out God looked at me trying to snowboard, snapped his fingers and said "well, that's not gonna happen"... because as luck would have it, I dislocated my shoulder on the first fall, and relocated it on the next fall. That would probably explain my pain. At least that's what the emergency room doctor told me at 1 in the morning. The good part was, my doctors note got me out of snowboarding club for the rest of the semester. I didn't even have to go, but I still was able to get the sports credits. That's something I call, victory, sweet victory.
And so, there you have it! I will never be a winter person no matter how hard I try! I now have chronic back problems due to unrelated issues, and will most likely never be on a snowboard again. But hey! At least I gave it a shot. I don't mind being the supportive person who sits in the lodge window drinking hot chocolate and hitting on snowboard instructors. It'll be a sacrifice, but I'm cool with that.
I can't go swimming in the river (or I could but would prefer to avoid that challenge), I can't go for a walk without freezing, there are so many things that I cannot do. I could snowboard, ski, sled, ice skate... the only problem being that I don't know how to do any of those things. First is skiing, I don't have very good balance, and at the time of this little adventure into snow country, skiing was considered very lame. Snowboarding is cooler. Sledding... well I guess any idiot could do that, but it seemed too simple, and wasn't considered a sport that I could do with my other friends. I tried ice skating when I was around 8 years old, but after the dreadful bunny hop lesson, I quit.
There you have it, I was left with snowboarding. My friends had tried to teach me how to snowboard here and there, but the truth is that they all got tired of waiting for me, and just wanted to go have fun. Even before that, in my middle school and early high school days, I tried snowboarding lessons. The bunny slopes were awesome, and by the time I could go down them and only fall once, the lessons were over. Following that was joining the snowboarding club at my high school. It was great! We went three days a week after school, I had all of the equipment, and the teacher HAD to teach me. FORCED by the laws of earning a paycheck.
I was getting better and was off the bunny trails! After 2 or 3 weeks of the lessons, it was my day to go on a real trail! Hurray! My bald student rep advisor who was also my snowboarding buddy took me to the top of the easiest trail at Pat's Peak in N.H.
While sitting on the lift I began to anticipate how the hell to get off of it! This big wheeling machine that carries people up the mountain is not going to stop or hold out its hand so that I can arrive at my destination safely. My teacher explained it to me but I was still panicking, and when it came time for me to gently snowboard off of the lift, I gently snowboarded directly onto my face. This small incident would later define my snowboarding career.
I popped up from my mistake, and began to follow my teacher down a slightly steep bump that would lead me to the actual trail I was to go down. The slightly steep bump wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't covered in ice, alas resulting in a bruise directly on my right ass cheek.
Okay. Now, we were at the point where the challenge actually begins. I know how to turn, kinda. I know how to stop, and fall after. I also know how to get up after I fall. I began down the hill with my bald teacher encouraging me along the way. Shortly after feeling thrilled by the success of my motion, I then realized that I did not know how to slow down. I sped up faster and faster and began to scream and look for safe places that I could crash into on purpose to avoid hurting anyone. My teacher was hollering advice at me, probably telling me how to slow down, but at this point that was all white noise. It turns out that when I am overcome with fear I forget how to stop, fall, and/or turn. Problem.
I then, went off of a jump that happened to be in front of me. I flew into the air, and having never done that before, landed (sort of) and tumbled to the right side of the trail. That was quite the adventure. The only problem is I am still almost at the top of the trail and can't quit just yet. OH HOW I DESIRED TO QUIT! I took a deep breath, and got back up. Something unusual must have happened because when I went to use my right arm to get up I could barely hold myself. It was extremely painful, but I was getting used to pain after falling so much in my attempted snowboarding lessons. I thought that this pain, was just part of the deal so I brushed it off, and continued down the hill... and managed to fall again, of course. This time it was far less dramatic and when I went to sit up, I realized that I was in even more pain and that now I couldn't even lift my arm. I felt that there was nothing more I could do other than finish going down the trail and taking a break at the lodge afterwards. I hoped the break would last the rest of my life. At this point I couldn't tell if I was sweating, crying, or freezing. All of those things seemed to mix together. I breathed into my mouth cover and couldn't tell if my nose was running or my eyes were leaking. I felt sweaty but I was ice cold. Winter sports are so complicated.
One more time I got up, and a short while later, fell down just before the trail ended. Now I couldn't move. I'm pretty sure that the moist face mask was from crying. I thought maybe the tears were from being so cold, but it was probably because I was hurting.
Some of my classmates came over, and so did my bald teacher. He told me to walk inside the lodge and I could finally have my life long break.
It turns out God looked at me trying to snowboard, snapped his fingers and said "well, that's not gonna happen"... because as luck would have it, I dislocated my shoulder on the first fall, and relocated it on the next fall. That would probably explain my pain. At least that's what the emergency room doctor told me at 1 in the morning. The good part was, my doctors note got me out of snowboarding club for the rest of the semester. I didn't even have to go, but I still was able to get the sports credits. That's something I call, victory, sweet victory.
And so, there you have it! I will never be a winter person no matter how hard I try! I now have chronic back problems due to unrelated issues, and will most likely never be on a snowboard again. But hey! At least I gave it a shot. I don't mind being the supportive person who sits in the lodge window drinking hot chocolate and hitting on snowboard instructors. It'll be a sacrifice, but I'm cool with that.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Beginning
1. Get married in an Orthodox Christian church. To some people this may not seem like much of a goal, but for me it lays out the future of my life after my wedding. Getting married in an Orthodox Christian Church not only tells me what kind of a person I am marrying, but it also strengthens my relationship with my religion, current, and future family. The reason being, even if my husband is not Orthodox, if he understands me well and respects and loves me, he'll know that in order for my to be happy I must be married by a priest, in a church, and our children must be my religion. Granted, there is always room for flexibility depending on the man that I fall in love with, but I'm not quite there yet.
I began to write this list of life goals in 2007. After starting the list while thinking about my future, and where I would like to end up, I began to wonder what other possibilities for major goals could be noted. And so, like the giant marshmellow thing in Ghost Busters... the list GREW! I wrote major objectives that could possibly take my entire life to pan out. Example: 5. Live until October 25, 2100. My birthday is October 25, if I live until I am 110, I will have lived in three centuries, which I think would be a major feet. Possible, yes. Predictable, no. Doable at the present time, nope. Boring... a little bit.
Veering away from goals that tended to be obscure at the present time, I decided to brainstorm ones that I would like to achieve that were much more minor, and doable. It occurred to me that in order to feel the least bit accomplished with this list, I should be getting some of this stuff done. In result, the final list of my goals ranged from 1 to 107, and I still add to it from time to time.
I like to think that this is not a bucket list. It's not like in the movies where I spend my entire day and life getting this stuff done. No. Often I even forget that I wrote them and I probably look at the list only a couple of times a year to see if I got anything done.
According to the well-equipt Urban Dictionary, bucket list has 3 definitions:
1) A list of things to do before you die. Comes from the term, "kicked the bucket."
I do not need to do these things before I die. The lists purpose is to remind me
of things that I forget about, whether I've done them or plan to do them.
2) A "Bucket List" is a list you make with your friends of things you always say you'll do and you don't. Not before you die... just for fun.
That's partially right, it is just for fun... but I didn't create it with friends. Also, I
actually am doing most of what I wrote, so it's not something I'll say I do and then
don't.
3) A really bad movie where a lot of money was wasted on unnecessary CG work that is unconvincing and you can tell the actors were in front of green screens during most of the shoot.
Agreed, hence: not a bucket list.
I began to write this list of life goals in 2007. After starting the list while thinking about my future, and where I would like to end up, I began to wonder what other possibilities for major goals could be noted. And so, like the giant marshmellow thing in Ghost Busters... the list GREW! I wrote major objectives that could possibly take my entire life to pan out. Example: 5. Live until October 25, 2100. My birthday is October 25, if I live until I am 110, I will have lived in three centuries, which I think would be a major feet. Possible, yes. Predictable, no. Doable at the present time, nope. Boring... a little bit.
Veering away from goals that tended to be obscure at the present time, I decided to brainstorm ones that I would like to achieve that were much more minor, and doable. It occurred to me that in order to feel the least bit accomplished with this list, I should be getting some of this stuff done. In result, the final list of my goals ranged from 1 to 107, and I still add to it from time to time.
I like to think that this is not a bucket list. It's not like in the movies where I spend my entire day and life getting this stuff done. No. Often I even forget that I wrote them and I probably look at the list only a couple of times a year to see if I got anything done.
According to the well-equipt Urban Dictionary, bucket list has 3 definitions:
1) A list of things to do before you die. Comes from the term, "kicked the bucket."
I do not need to do these things before I die. The lists purpose is to remind me
of things that I forget about, whether I've done them or plan to do them.
2) A "Bucket List" is a list you make with your friends of things you always say you'll do and you don't. Not before you die... just for fun.
That's partially right, it is just for fun... but I didn't create it with friends. Also, I
actually am doing most of what I wrote, so it's not something I'll say I do and then
don't.
3) A really bad movie where a lot of money was wasted on unnecessary CG work that is unconvincing and you can tell the actors were in front of green screens during most of the shoot.
Agreed, hence: not a bucket list.
Which brings me to this blog. I've decided that taking note of the goals that I achieve as I do them, or in recollection of how I did so, would be full of interesting, and sometimes audacious and provocative stories. I'm not the best writer, but this blog is all about my experiences. I obviously have a list that I'm going by, but I thought if I showed you the entire list right away it would ruin half the fun. Besides, there is so much explanation required that it would be boring and uninteresting to just go through reading everything off.
So, welcome to my blog. I hope you enjoy it, and I'll try my best to keep you interested.
No bucket lists, or stupid generic crap. This is not a movie, it's personal. Enjoy!
So, welcome to my blog. I hope you enjoy it, and I'll try my best to keep you interested.
No bucket lists, or stupid generic crap. This is not a movie, it's personal. Enjoy!
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