This blog generally has two functions. It is meant to both provide a way for my family and friends to continue to be informed about how and what I am doing (not to mention the consistency of my posts are surely reassuring my mother that I am alive and at least coherent enough to write in some understandable manner) and to keep my advisor abreast of what is happening on this internship. I have often felt myself torn between wanting to express my personal feelings and knowing that I need to relay the activities of the day in an accurate manner. For those of you that know me well, you know that I am much better at emoting than presenting accurate information. Information not infused by my personal feelings seems strange and distant to me. That said, this particular post will function only to express the personal feelings with which I am overwhelmed at the moment. My normal confidants are in another country, and so the world wide web can bear the burden of my emotions for the time being.

I have finally fallen into a moderate routine here and I no longer feel unbearably uncomfortable with my surroundings. There are times when my mind is overwhelmed with the language, especially when it is fast and loud.  At these times I often find myself unable to connect the sounds with logic, the words with emotion, or the sentences with their speaker. If I let it, these moments feel like there are countless voices in my head that I cannot understand, yet with enough familiarity that somewhere inside I know that I should. It reminds me of being on psych meds, when people would speak to me in my own language and their words would echo in my head without ever taking on meaning until they were too far away to hear anymore. When this happens here, I have to clear my head and at these times I feel the overwhelming need to be alone so that the only voices are my own.

It is strange for me to be so disconnected from the people who I have come to know so well from home. In the times that I have traveled in the past – even though I found myself in foreign countries and often over extended periods of time – I have never experienced these feelings of longing before. It occurs to me that maybe at those times in my life I hadn’t formed any of the structures of life that I now feel connected to. Maybe searching the way that I did when I was younger allowed me to be apart from the things that I knew and not feel anything. Being here in the Dominican Republic is bringing up a lot more nostalgia than I thought it would, and I am not sure where it comes from.

There is something about being here that has made me question all of the things that I thought I was sure if when I was in the United States. I cannot shake the feeling that the things I have been doing are inadequate. That my inability to tie myself down to things is no longer freedom, but failure. It seems that all of the emotions that lingered behind the swift and guillotine-like decisions I have made in the past six months or so have caught up with me in this place. I have found myself lying awake at night and wondering if I could have saved my relationship, if I am really cut out for graduate school, and if I shouldn’t just forget all of this and devote myself to painting for the rest of my life.  I wonder about the current state of my relationships with those I care about most. Why do I feel such a strong desire to be connected to my family when I thrived on my apparent independence from them before? Who, of the many people I know, are really my friends? In an unguarded moment, have I let myself fall for someone I will never really have? I left a lot of things undone when I left for this country. I am not sure where I want to live when I return. I am not sure where I will work or even what I will do. All of these thoughts have been swirling around in a mess of uncertainty for the last week or so. It is so far outside of my character to worry about things like this, and I am no longer sure how to handle it.

I think often of my return to the states. Three months is not that long in the grand scheme of things, but it is long enough for things to rearrange themselves in ways that are significant. The idea of walking back into my life and having it be unrecognizable is one that I find unsettling. I know enough to know that the answers to all of these questions will not come to me now, and I do not expect them to. I know enough to know that worrying about them is futile at this point in my journey, I just wish I knew what encouraged them to surface with such a vengeance.

I am writing from the Library at the University of Santo Domingo. There is wireless internet here (that is only slightly difficult to access) and air conditioning. I have never appreciated air conditioning as much as I do now. 🙂 It is a welcome break from the heat and humidity, and it is interesting to see the very large amount of students that study and work here.

Jill and I discovered the library yesterday, on what I am calling “la dia primera de indepencia” – or, the first day of independence. I say this because it is the first day that Jill and I ventured out into Santo Domingo on our own and without the supervision or help of our gracious hosts.

I began the day by getting up much earlier than my internal clock liked, had a quick breakfast of cereal* and left the house with Mario and his two daughters. We dropped Susy and Magda off at their respective schools first, and then he drove me into the city and to Jill’s house. As early as it was, I had to ring the doorbell several times in order to wake Jill up so that she could let me in. I like going to Jill’s house in the morning, despite the early time, because I like being able to use her shower. The shower that I have in my bathroom – while I am extremely grateful to have my own bathroom – is smaller than you would ever believe, and if you’ve been keeping up with my earlier blogs, you know some of the difficulties I have had in it. In addition, Mario has not had water at his house for a couple of days, making things that much more difficult. Jill has a very large shower and I was excited to be able to use it.

*(Some of you know about my food issues. If you do not, I have issues with food. It’s not that I am allergic to many things, but that I have an overactive imagination and a very visual mind. That said, I find myself unable to eat certain foods because I imagine other things while I eat them. Cereal (and anything that involved chunks of things in liquid) remind me of vomit. Watermelon reminds me of the inside of baby’s diapers (like when a mother puts her child in the pool in a diaper and it explodes open and the silicone comes out). So I have problems eating these things. Here, however, I have learned to overcome my food associations because I cannot afford to be picky)

I was able to get a shower before Loly came to pick Jill and I up to visit some of the many jewelry supply stores in the city. We went to three total, and were able to browse their inventory, compare prices, gets great ideas as to how to make some different types of jewelry, and get information on the classes that each of the stores offered. The people were generally very helpful and both Jill and I found the trip to be very valuable.

We returned to Jill’s house with plans to make lunch and venture out to the university (with Loly insisting that we call as soon as we arrived safely – my mother will be grateful!) We had a light lunch and called a car (yes, in Spanish, and yes with some confusion as to the actual address that we were at, but it did eventually arrive). Once we got in the car I asked the driver to take us to the library at the University, and off we went. On the way, it began to rain. When it rains in this country, it seems to rain a lot and very quickly – too quickly for the city’s drainage system to keep up with. As we drove through the traffic and the streets, it was not long before they became flooded. The people on the sidewalks began standing on benches, trees, and walls in order to avoid the shin-deep water that covered the streets and sidewalks. Somehow, our cab kept on going, though we crossed a few puddles that were big enough to make us significantly nervous!

We did, eventually, make it to the library, and by the time we arrived, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The library here is very large, milling with countless numbers of students, and much different from what you may expect. They do not have open stack of books that one can browse or read. Each floor is designated to a certain amount of subject areas. There are three main rooms associated directly with the library on each floor – two that have computer stations, tables, and benches, and one that has shelves of books behind a large counter. In order to view books, you go to the counter and give them whatever information you have – subject matter, title, author – much like a human card catalog – and they bring you the books you need, if they have them, or redirect you to the appropriate floor. In order to take a book back to your study station, you must leave some form of photo id with them. There is no option to take books out of the library.

Jill and I took advantage of being at the library to use the internet (after a visit to tech support for help on getting our laptops to connect to their wireless network) and to see what resources the library had available on prostitution. Many of the books available were very outdated, but, we did have some luck on the fourth floor where graduate thesis work was stored. We were able to view three thesis publications and glean some valuable information and resources.

After this, we left the library and walked out onto the street. By looking at which direction the sun was setting, we were able to figure out which direction the sea was, and therefore, which direction Jill’s house was. We decided to walk down to the ocean to take some pictures – mindful that it was starting to get dark – and then call a car to take us the rest of the way. We made it to the ocean, enjoyed walking through the city, and felt very proud of ourselves for navigating as well as we had. Once at the sea, we stopped at a restaurant called el Charro to eat dinner. We had nachos and fajitas, talked, and relaxed. It was a nice time, and well deserved. From there, Jill called a car and we managed to make it back to her house where I was to wait for Frances and Loly to finish a meeting and pick me up to take me back to Mario’s.

While we waited, Jill and I watched a movie (Memoirs of a Geisha), that we still haven’t finished. Loly and Frances picked me up and drove me back to Mario’s house, where I all but passed out when I hit the bed. It was a good day, and I feel really good about having navigated some of the city alone. It is a significant experience for both Jill and I  – one that was important to have whether it worked out well or not. Luckily for us, it worked out wonderfully.

My time at the library tonight is coming to a close. Jill and I need to make it back to her house and find something to eat for dinner before we venture out onto the streets with Casa Joven to minister to the women on the streets. It should be an amazing night.

Buenas Noches!

Here are some of the sketches from the visual journal I have been keeping. Enjoy!! (Apologies that I cannot get all of them to turn the right direction… I will work on it for the future!)

I have been attending church services with Pastor Mario and his family, who also happen to be my host family here in the Dominican Republic.  They attend church in a neighborhood of Santo Domingo called Guaricanos, in the Northern section of the city. His church is called: Dios es Mi Paz: Iglesia Cristiana Reformada (God is my Peace: Christian Reformed Church). Mario has been the pastor of this church for the past year and a half, although his original assignment was to fill in for six months while the church looked for someone to lead it. He has explained to me a little about the role of the traditional pastor in this culture, and many times, the people within a church not only look to the pastor for guidance, but also to provide both moral and day-to-day structure in their lives: from what is right and wrong to what they should eat, wear, and do in their spare time. Matters of dispute are often settled by the pastor, and the people within a congregation tend to have strict reliance on whatever the pastor says. This is further complicated by the fact that many people, especially in smaller neighborhoods within the city, are often uneducated. It is not uncommon for people to be altogether illiterate.

In my conversations with Mario about his ministry in this part of the city, he has explained to me that the church has only been “reformed” for the length of time that he has been the pastor, and previous, the church held a very legalistic and strict stance on all matters of both spirituality and everyday life. According to Mario, much of his time there as pastor has been spent trying to teach the congregation how to be reformed and to learn to rely on the Holy Spirit instead of only him.

I have had the opportunity to be a part of this very welcoming congregation on several occasions over the past week, and yesterday, I had the opportunity to help lead worship for the small congregation. Ezekiel, pastor Mario’s assistant and an employee of the ministry center, called yesterday morning to ask permission to come and pick me up. He took me to his home (set up dormitory style) at the ministry, and on the way, we picked up a friend of his who walked up to the car with a keyboard under his arm and singing a song in a lovely tenor.

One we arrived, I was introduced to Ezekiel’s mother, met many of the people who lived there, and was escorted into a backroom. There, Ezekiel and his friend took out instruments, brought chairs, and settled in for rehearsal. We went through the songs that were to be sung for worship that evening, but more than that, we jammed for hours. It was a much needed and refreshing experience. Both Ezekiel and his friend are extremely talented, self-taught, and can sing, play the guitar, play the piano, and play and tune by ear better than most musicians I have encountered in my life. These few hours were the first that I have felt totally comfortable here in this country, the first that I forgot about how hot it was, and the firs that I did not over-concern myself with cultural differences and language difficulties. We sang in English and in Spanish, and it truly did not matter. If I ever believed that music was universal, I have experienced first hand now.

Worship that night went well, I was well received, and Pastor Mario even taught the congregation the chorus to “Light of the World” in English. There was a lot of laughing and mispronunciation, but it can’t be any worse than my attempts at their version of the Spanish language 🙂 It was a lovely experience, and one that I hope to repeat. There are few things that make me feel honestly happy like music does, and I am grateful that Pastor Mario, Ezekiel, and the people of Dios es Mi Paz were so  welcoming and accepting as to allow me to participate in their service.

Tonight, I am writing to you all from a blanket on the roof of my house. There is an actual breeze and the temperature is comfortable for the first time since we arrived. As promised, I am going to write about the time I was able to spend last night on the streets of downtown Santo Domingo.

The evening began with a prayer and worship service as Casa Joven. The church, Casa Joven, is in downtown Santo Domingo and is located in an office complex. Inside it is very modern and comfortable. The service was moving  and very emotional. There was a lot of prayer, testimonies, and singing. After, we had a small meeting in order for the leaders of Casa Joven to speak with Jill and I about what was going to happen for the rest of the evening, where we were going, and what was ok for us to do and say, as well as not do and say. They told us that the women were very intelligent, that they would be able to sense if we were afraid or apprehensive, that it was ok to talk to and touch them freely. They also told us not to ask questions about their work, but that they enjoyed speaking about their children and families, and would probably ask us to pray with them. Loly told us that they had told the women about us, what we were coming to do, and that the girls were very excited and expecting us.

We left the church in four cars – a group totaling about 12, and drove into the city. As I watched the scenery through the window, I noticed immediately that the night in this city is very different from the day. It was easy to recognize the sex workers as we drove down the street, and I was surprised at just how many there were. We stopped fairly quickly, and as we got out of the car we met A (I am not including the names of the women I met last night in order to protect them and their dignity). She is a woman in her sixties and has been working in prostitution for over fifty years. I was soon to find out that a woman of her age is not typical of the many people we would meet.

A few minutes of quick spanish, and A was in the car with us and we were off to find the other girls. A few blocks later, we pulled over yet again and got out onto the sidewalk. It was easy to see that the other women of Casa Joven had invested a lot of time into building relationships with many of these women, because as we made out way down the sidewalk, we were greeted warmly with hugs and kisses from many of the women. We spoke with four other women there aside from A, and they were kind and candid. They told us about their children and their lives. The conversations were light and refreshing, as well as sobering and moving. One of the women I spoke to was only nineteen years old. She told me that she had three children at home ages 6, 4, and 3. Another girl talked to me about moving to New York City and showed me the bruise under her makeup from where her boyfriend had hit her the week before. Almost all of the women we spoke to were under 21, and I could not help but think of the life they had already experienced at such a young age.

The group from Casa Joven then divided up into groups of two and took each of the girls aside. There, the conversations became more intimate as the girls told us what they would like us to pray for. One at a time, each of the groups joined hands while standing out on the side-walk, amidst honking horns and slurs yelled by passersby, and prayed with each of the girls. I had the opportunity to pray with two of the women while my very good friend Anilssa translated.

The women seemed excited to start making jewelry with us, and the most common question was “When do we start?” Both Jill and I made effort to speak to the women in the bast versions of spanish that we were able, and the women from Casa Joven filled in where we were not able. All of the women were very accepting and open. There were times that they would walk away from the conversation in order to speak to cars that had stopped, but, many of them devoted their full attention to the group. I was equally as impressed with the women and men from Casa Joven. They were almost bright as they interacted with the women on the street. They were the most animated I had seen them yet, and their relationships with the women were obviously sincere.

We drove to several corners in order to see certain women. I watched those from Casa Joven introduce themselves to women that did not know, and fully engage those that they did.  The passion from these people was palpable, and I was moved at the intensity with which they cared for each of the women.

I feel that this has been the most valuable experience I have had thus far in the Dominican Republic. Meeting and spending time with these girls shattered any preconceived ideas I had about the people with whom Jill and I would be working while in this country. I am excited at the potential of this program, I am excited to have the opportunity to help make a difference in each of their lives, and frankly, I am excited that they are excited.

I am posting this blog at a little after two in the morning. I just returned from spending time with the women (sex workers) on the streets of downtown Santo Domingo. It was an interesting and valuable experience, and one about which I will write after I have some sleep. In the meantime, since I made it a goal to post something every day, I would like to share with you some pictures I took while walking around the part of the city called el Zone Colonial. This section includes the house of Christopher Columbus, streets designated just for walking, many shops, and the cathedral of Santo Domingo (the first cathedral built in the Americas). Enjoy!

Last night, I did not sleep well. I have not yet adjusted to being awake in the morning and going to bed at a reasonable hour. I find that I do not like going to bed – for fear that I will miss something important or exciting, and once I am in bed, I do not like to get up. The first night that I was here was after a full day of traveling and stress, so sleep was easy, but last night I knew I needed the sleep, but ended up lying in bed for hours. Not sleeping, needless to say. This morning, after falling asleep a mere two hours previous, I woke to heat that I couldn’t believe. It was hot. Much hotter than the previous day – and it was only 8am! Pastor Mario had warned me that the first day we were here was a cool one, and I didn’t believe him. Silly me.

Right from the beginning I had to tackle a difficult task. Being as it was so warm, I knew that I would not be able to wear jeans again (like on the first day), which presented a problem. I needed to shave my legs.

This is not a difficult thing, you say? Try shaving your legs in a shower that measures a mere two feet by two feet and in which the water is only freezing or scalding. (The water has a knob to turn it “on” and the water heater is also either “on” or “off” – no degrees of warmth here!) Since it is so hot and there is no air conditioning in the house, the cold water isn’t too much of a problem. The size of the shower, and where to put my leg while I try to shave it, however, is. You should also keep in mind that in such a small shower there is no option to step out of the water, for any reason, without stepping out of the shower entirely. This makes lathering up one’s leg enough to shave it without removing large sections of skin rather difficult. Finally, after many failed attempts and positions, I ended up opening one side of the shower curtain, letting the water get absolutely everywhere, and propping my leg up on the toilet. (Classy, I know.)

After my adventures in the shower, getting dressed, and a light breakfast, I rode with Pastor Mario to his office in  the Center of Ministries. This is a small complex off of the main road that is gated and houses offices, a small yard, and a private school for children and youth of all ages. (The public schools here are very bad, and people try if at all possible not to send their children there) Here, while Pastor Mario checked and answered emails, I wandered around with my sketch book and drew. I ventured outside of the center and walked down the road (through houses and some small shops) toward the main highway. I have been discovering over the last couple of days that here, in the Dominican Republic, I am hot. I don’t know whether it’s because I actually am particularly attractive in this culture, or because I am American (Jill says it’s because I must give off a “solicit me” vibe), but everywhere I go, men hit on me. Today, while I was walking down the road I was stopped by four different men who asked me for my phone number, told me I was beautiful, or, in one man’s suave words – “I like you much.” One of these men had a tricked out car, fancy clothes (compared to many) and seemed very clever, so to speak. I later learned that these types of men are referred to as “el Tigueres” – or Tigers. From what I can gather, these types of men are usually older and slick – not unlike women who are considered cougars in the United States.

After I made it back to Pastor Mario’s office having successfully avoided the “come ons” of the morning, he drove me to the house where Jill is staying. We were to have lunch with a woman from the church and her family. On the way, we got stuck in traffic. Here, I must say something about the transportation in Santo Domingo. It is crazy. I have driven in Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, and experienced the traffic in London and Paris. Nothing compares to the amount of vehicles and the lack of  regard for any sort of traffic law that is here. The highways are wide (like ours) and the streets are narrow, often with cars parked on one or both sides or ditches on either side. In neither of these cases are their lines marking the streets. A lane is designated by where one can fit his or her car on (and sometimes off) the street. Drivers ignore traffic lights, intersections, and speed limits. When you are in a car – especially during traffic hours which are in the morning around nine, in the afternoon around eleven or twelve, and in the evening around five or six, you are literally surrounded by a sea of cars that, at a glance, seem to have been sporadically dropped there by some unseen hand. Cars often hit other cars, in fact, it is expected, but no one stops. Even Pastor Mario commented at one point (as we sat partially between two larger trucks with not quite enough room to get by), “If those were older cars, I would try to squeeze through.” (Newer cars signify money, which means power. Drivers avoid hitting newer cars because then the law may actually do something about it)

Do you remember the Ford Aerostar? That awful minivan that graced the streets of the United States for a few years in the eighties and nineties? Well, if you were wondering where they all went at the turn of the millenium, they are all in the Dominican Republic. Imagine my surprise as we drove by one of the many Ford Aerostars (some hardly recognizable from dents, scrapes, and creative welding) with more people than one could count inside. So many that many of them careen down the streets and scrape through traffic with people hanging out of open sliding doors and open windows. Likewise, taxis and cars fit seven people (more if we’re talking about children) in what we would consider a five passenger car. Men, women, and children ride in the back of pick up trucks and on the back of motorbikes (they look a lot like our dirt bikes. And carry two to four people on the back!)

While Pastor Mario and I were driving through the afternoon traffic on the way to lunch, we got stuck in traffic like this on the highway.  And, with my luck, next to a truck transporting pigs. I mention this for two reasons – one to make a point in the differences in my and Pastor Mario’s reactions, and for all of you who may think that PETA exaggerates about factory farming. In the United States, the horrors of factory farming are often hidden in a way that makes many of us wonder if it is actually a problem. Here, that is not the case. As the truck drove slowly beside us, I was openly horrified at what I saw. This was a two tier truck, with pigs on both levels. On each level, the pigs were stacked two high. On the bottom layer, many of the pigs were dead or unconscious. On the top layer, they were alive and scrambling to move, many of them crushing other pigs in the process. Some of them were bleeding, several were throwing up, and the pigs on the top level had blisters all over them from the sun. It pained me to see it. Pastor Mario, on the other hand, simply waved his hand and said “There goes our meat.” When I mentioned that I thought it was a shame that they had to suffer like that, he merely launched into a story about how he killed a goat when he was younger. It was an interesting cultural comparison.

The rest of the day was spent having lunch with Jill, Ceceilia, her husband Fernando, and their two boys aged 12 and 15. They have a beautiful apartment in the city with large windows and a lot of light. For lunch we ate rice and beans with chicken and bananas. After we drank coffee and talked. One of their sons had a guitar, so I played a few songs for them and they asked Jill and I if we would sing in the church before we left (to which we agreed, of course!) Frances (the pastor of Casa Joven) and his wide, Loly picked us up in late afternoon and drove us around some parts of the city – including el Zona Colonial, which is a section of the city that is considered historic (it contains the house of Christopher Columbus) and is home to many artists, shops, and cafes. It is my favorite section of the city so far.

This evening we met in  large building in the center of the city to have a meeting with Frances, Loly, and Pastor Mario about our work while we are here, their current relationship with the sex workers (the socially correct term for “prostitutes”), our timeline, and all of the questions and concerns from all parties. It was a productive meeting and definitely cleared up some of our concerns, which surrounded transportation, the distance we are living from each other, and communication.

Finally we had dinner with Anielsa and her husband (one of the women from Casa Joven who picked us up form the airport), along with Frances and Loly. This was probably the first time that we actually relaxed and had pure fun. There was a lot of laughter, joking, and talking in both English and Spanish. They spoke to us about everything, taught us some of the local slang from the city, and the entire meal was very comfortable. I feel much better about being here today than I did the day before, and I am quickly becoming more comfortable with the language. I think this will be a wonderful experience and I am excited to be in this country and to share this wonderful culture with so many good people.

Tomorrow night we will be on the streets with Casa Joven meeting and spending time with the sex workers as they work. It will be a long day, but I will try and post the morning after.

Buenos noches!

Last night I arrived in the Dominican Republic after two flights – one from Philadelphia, and one from Miami (where I both met my colleague, Jill, and got Will Smith’s song “Welcome to Miami” stuck in my head). The flight from Philadelphia was turbulent, but I didn’t get much sleep the night before, so I was able to sleep through most of it. Once I arrived in Miami, being with another person was helpful, and the flight from there to Santo Domingo was standard, and surprisingly short.

We arrived in Santo Domingo and spent a very long time in customs. Between turning in the appropriate paperwork, buying a tourist card for ten american dollars (that serves as a tax to the city from tourists), and just getting through the lines, it too a while. When we finally cleared customs, we were greeted by Frances (the pastor of Casa Joven), his lovely wife, Loly, and three women from their congregation. I quickly discovered that the spanish dialect here is very, very different from what I learned. One of the women, Bianca, who speaks English, explained to me that in the Dominican, many of the people both use a lot of slang and they blend words together and drop syllables. It has made it difficult to communicate, but most people have been good about speaking slowly and remembering that I am not fluent.

The language barrier has been a very strange experience for me. I did not expect to be so under confident about my language, and I have never really been in a situation where English was not a regular option or I did not have a decent understanding of the language being spoken. Not only is this a challenge for me, but it has made me hyper-sensitive to the feelings that come along with it. It is very easy to feel isolated from other people when there is a communication barrier, and it leaves you very dependent on the people around you. I have been thinking a lot about how this translates into urban work in general – even when the same technical language is being spoken, I imagine that there are similar feelings between those with gaps in culture and generation. I have been diligently practicing my vocabulary, and listening to everyone as they speak. I already feel slighty more comfortable than I did even last night. I have no doubt that I will learn quickly.

After being picked up from the airport, Frances, his wife, and co. took Jill and I to dinner. Pizza Hut, to be exact, although it was  a little different from what you may think. The food was very good – though, my favorite thing about Pizza Hut is the bread sticks, and here they are thin, flat, and triangular and served with diced tomatoes instead of sauce. (Not that the Pizza Hut is the most important part of my night, but I thought it would be interesting). I spent the rest of the evening driving around with Bianca to the grocery store, Jill’s home, and, finally, the home I would be staying at.

I am staying with Pastor Mario, his wife, Yolanda, and their two daughters – Susy (9), and Magda (5). I have my own room and bathroom, along with a door that walks out onto the roof. They have a beautiful garden in the back that is filled with plants, fruit trees, and a veranda with hammocks. As today was termed a “relax” day by Pastor Mario, I spent most of it outside with Susy and Magda. They played, I talked some with Yolanda, and drew pictures of their backyard. I had planned on getting some work done – since I am blessed to be living in a house with an internet connection, but the electricity went out in late morning and stayed off for most of the day. In retrospect, it was probably better that I spend some of the day doing nothing, so to speak. I needed the time to gather myself, and am already enjoying the much slower pace of Latin America.

This evening I was able to meet up with Jill and Pastor Mario for some Chinese food (that is also very different from the Chinese food we have in the states) and some good conversation about the city, it’s major social issues, the government, etc. From there, we picked up his family and drove to Guaricanos, a much poorer neighborhood in the city. Here, the streets were small and packed with people, cars, motorbikes, and more dogs than I have ever seen in one place. The people were friendly, and we attended Pastor Mario’s bible study in “Dios Es Mi Paz” – a one room church building with open doors. We sat in plastic lawn chairs, the woman next to me tied her baby to the seat with a towel, and listened as Mario presented the Word in Spanish. Since I have decided to keep a visual journal of sorts, I drew some of the people in the small congregation. The children in the service were delighted by it, and after it was over, they stood around and named the people I had drawn. It was altogether a lovely experience, and one I hope to repeat during my stay here. Once I figure out the best way, I will try and post some of my drawings here – they are a very important part of my understanding of the place I am in.

We have many things planned for tomorrow, and now it is getting quite late. I am excited for the work we are doing, and looking forward to adjusting to this new place and culture!

Buenas noches! (Good night!)

I spent this weekend making plans for next weekend. Yes, this may seem counter productive, but next weekend will be my last in the United States of America for at least a few months. I am excited (and a little nervous) to say that I will be leaving temporarily trading in the red, white, and blue for the, well, also red, white, and blue of the… ok, so that metaphor doesn’t really work. The point is: I’m actually going.

Sure, people go places all of the time – and many of them even go to the Dominican (the number one industry is tourism, in fact). But, as a person who spent many years unable to leave her bed (and, frankly, when she did nothing but chaos and one emotional break down after another ensued, so it was probably better for all involved that she did not), leaving to stay in another country for three months in order to do research and work with transitioning sex workers is not only an amazing opportunity, but the likes of which I spent many years seriously doubting would ever happen.

I love to travel. I have always loved to travel. It is part the experience of a new culture, part the new-ness of a place, and part an insatiable curiosity that drives me to want to try new things. I have had the opportunity to travel in the past: my aunt took me to england after high school, and I spent a summer touring Europe as a concert clarinetist in an orchestra. Both of these were amazing experiences that I would gladly repeat in an instant (not considering the fact that I haven’t picked up either of my clarinets in what is going on to be years now) – but this trip is different. This trip has a meaning behind it that is so much bigger than myself. This trip marks the beginning of my forage into urban ministry and work with those on the margins of society. This trip marks my return to graduate school. This trip is the very beginning of my path – the one that I know I’m supposed to continue on. It took me a long time and a lot of detours to find this place, but standing in it makes me feel eternally grateful to God and all of the amazing people in my life that have supported me in so many different ways – and still continue to do so, beyond all of my expectations.

I started putting things together for my trip tonight, and, as I stood in my room counting toiletries, checking things off of the countless lists I have made in effort to remain sane during this last week, and folding clothes, I had to stop because my emotions began to overwhelm me. I sat next to my open suitcase and cried. I cried for the people who I am going to miss while I am gone, for the people I will meet, for those I hope to help. I cried for the amazing opportunities that I have been offered, for things working out when I didn’t believe they ever would, and for the people who have helped me. I cried for how amazing and precious life is, and how grateful I truly am to be alive. I cried because I am living.

It has been nearly three months since my last post.

I’m sure that all of my “regular” readers have long since found other, more consistent (if not more interesting) and relevant blogs and websites to frequent. I’m sure that the online community has all but given up on my cyber-existence. Despite this, my real-life existence has been pretty happening, as far as real-life existences go. But, first things first.

After such a significant hiatus (after all, three months on the internet is like an eternity anywhere else), you may be wondering what spurred my triumphant return. Today, I had a meeting scheduled with my graduate school adviser, for whom I am also the “graduate assistant” – which is a fancy term to say that I do a lot of stuff for him and, in return, they help me pay for school. Regardless, as part of my duties, I have been doing some social networking on a site called Ning, and I needed to find out if one could and how to feed in an existing blog. This, being the only blog I currently have, was the one I used to “test” my RSS theories, so to speak. As a result, this blog has been successfully fed into my Ning profile page (yay me!).

This, however, did not prompt me to post again. Today, at the meeting I mentioned earlier, he happened to comment that he had read my blog and that it was “sad.”

(Not “sad” as in pathetic, but “sad” as in not happy. At least, that was my assumption…)

This was of great concern to me.

Yes, many of the posts… well, ok, almost all of the posts that make up this blog are more “sad” and contemplative in nature, I think they are only reflective of the very unsettled feelings and excess emotions with which I was left at that very transitional time in my life. That said, I do not want to give the fine people on the internet the impression that: a) My life is generally sad; b) That I am actually an angsty teenager trapped in a quasi-adult life and incapable of writing about anything except for said angst*; or c) That I am unhappy with the events of my life thus far.

*(I think the term is “scene” now. Some of you were thinking “emo,” but I should tell you – for your own good – that term is now “out” and the new “in” term for terminally sad teenagers with forlorn looks and eyeliner is “scene”.)

Yes, I am still single (which, I have quickly re-learned, is not such a terrible thing!). Yes, what was supposed to be my wedding date is quickly approaching (you should all say nice things to me on October 3rd). Yes, I have a wedding dress hanging in my closet right now and my biggest goal this week is to sell my engagement ring (yeah, I kept it). Regardless of these and a ton of other things I could be dissatisfied with, I have been granted the gift of starting over. I get to make it up all over again and see what happens. I consider myself truly blessed to have experienced all of the things I have experienced, to have learned the lessons that I have learned, and to have the opportunities that I have in front of me.

The weekend that was originally all booked up with a wedding, I am leaving for the Dominican Republic to do exciting and valuable work. I am nervous, yes, but thrilled beyond belief. I am finishing my Master’s degree (finally!) and have been given the opportunity to be a graduate assistant. I will return from my trip just in time to spend Christmas with my family (all of whom I am coming to realize are far more amazing than I ever believed). And after that it’s entirely up to me. I have no idea where I will live when I return (signed over my lease to another person), where I will work, or what I will choose to do. Everything is new and fresh and I must say, I am enjoying it.

I am happy.  😀