Photos!

Me & Juan Lopez

At the first site

Me & The family

On the Pacaya Volcano

Beginning of the second site

Day 15- LAST DAY

Bittersweet endings seem to cling to me.  Its a pattern of occurance I cannot seem to shake off. 
We cranked out half of the house today in compensation for the time we lost waiting for materials earlier this week.  At the end of the day our coordinator brought us cake and drinks to share with the family and to celebrate a long and hard week we endured to bring them this house.
It was sad to say goodbye to the family.  To Hugo and Elivia, the little children.  To the kittens born a couple days ago in the barn house.  To the crazy uncle that would always come up to me and say "Whaaaa tyyme izit!!!!!" no matter how recently he had just asked me.  To the kind grandmother that sewed my pants (I brought her a traditional cake bread the next day in thanks, and to my horror as soon as I handed it to her I realized that she had no teeth.... I dont know how she ate it). And to the masons especially. They were so patient and understanding.  I learned so much. Who knew I could build a house?!
I leave for the airport soon. In the 25+ hours of travel I'm sure more eloquent words will come to mind,  but for now I'd like to give everyone that I have met a giant hug. I realize that they have all shaped this adventure in their own way.  However trivial or large, my new experiences would have been nothing without the people that created them.

Day 14- Naipes

This morning while we waited for the materials to come again I taught the masons how to play a favorite card game of mine, Rummy.  My great-grandma Billie and I used to play on mornings when we'd visit and she would make us pancakes.  We would emerse ourselves in mini tournaments and watch the hummingbirds feed off of the flowers sitting outside her window sill. Needless to say, in her wise and practiced years she usually won, but I think my playing today would have pleased her.

Day 13- El Jardin de Amor

Today we got our first break since beginning work. Our coordinator took us to visit a school in Santa Maria de Jesus, outside of Antigua.  We got to take a miniature "chicken bus," so I was able to cross that off my list of things to do before I've left. I will post a picture soon of these buses so you all will know exactly what I mean, and what a feat this truly was.
Appropriately titled "El Jardin de Amor," "The Garden of Love," serves about 50-60 families that cannot afford to pay the exorbiant rates the village's official school demands.  These children come from ranges of families with 10-16 children, with an income of less than 20 Quetzales a day- an equivalent of less than 3 dollars.  They are usually forced to work for thier food, simply because if they dont, there cannot be enough to supply the whole family.  The school strikes a deal with the families, convincing them to let the children come to school for half a day, and then work the remainder. 
I learned that "El Jardin de Amor" is not only a place for the students to learn.  It is a safe place for them to play and have fun too. At home they only work and sleep. There is no time to play or joke around.  Most students dont celebrate their birthday at home, so the school provides monthy parties for the students.  It is thier only opportunity to experience real, child-like life.

Day 12

Today I played with baby kittens and chickens. I climbed a peach tree.  I visited the Spanish embassy.  I went to an art museum.  I tried my hand at drawing.  I watched Guatemala lost to Portugal 0-1 in the U-20 Mens World Cup.  I ate cactus flesh.  I conversed with a police officer.  I wrote an essay for a college app. I did not take a nap.
All in a day's work.

Day 11- Ordinary Unordinary Day

The supplies couldnt make it up the mountain because the truck wasnt four wheel drive so today was unusual from the beginning.  We began framing the house and quickly finished.  Then because we had nothing more to do, we dug more foundation trenches for the house scheduled for construction next week.  I dare say digging is the hardest thing I've had to do this far, and that's because you are bent over at an awkward 90degree angle and are constantly using some muscle to its full extent.  But anyways, that was all relatively normal.
To my delight we played soccer at lunch with some of the local boys.  During that hour the temperature rose to the hottest it has been since I've arrived. I must've sweat 6 or 7 pounds off.  Right as we were about to finished up, I ripped my pants. A clean rip right from the zipper all the way down to the crease of my knee so that it flared open right away.  All the boys fell on the floor laughing as I tried my best to conceal myself and hold the fabric together.  Pretty soon I was cracking up too and ran back to the house to ask the mother for help.  I sheepishly approached the girls, who were all under a tree braiding each other's hair, but I didnt even have to say a word; the grandmother grabbed my arm with a smile and took me inside.  She gave me one of their skirts (really just a long piece of fabric wrapped around your torso) and tied it up with the ribbon in her hair.  She took my pants and asked if I could sew, but before I could even answer that she shook her head and said she would take care of it. I ran back down to join the soccer game again, and stood in for a makeshift "portero."  Only 15 minutes later my pants were ready, and literally as good as new- I cant even tell there is an extra seam.
Then the rain came.  We all crowded in the family's metal shed to wait it out.  Inside was so tiny, and as the rain kept pouring I could see how important a real, concrete house really was.  From the doorway we could see the pathway outside quickly  morph into a river.  The muddy dirt seeped in the sides of the house and rain trickled down the inside of the walls.  It created a muddy soupy floor- only the very middle was dry. The clouds rolled in and soon we were enveloped by fog.  The thunder and lightning disrupted the monotony of the rain pounding on the tin roof. 
The I thought about our trenches.  At one point when it seemed to sibuside a bit I ran outside and saw that they were both newly filled with water: a sickening answer to my wish for pool only hours earlier.  I ran back inside and we proceeded to wait out the storm.  About an hour and a half later we made a break for the truck still parked on top of the mountain.  Tomorrow the water in the trenches awaits me and my muscles and my bucket.  Joy.
But for now, I'm off to a Guatemalan yoga class.

Day 10- Lake Atitlan

I will not take credit for this picture.... Google is to thank for that. But my lack of a camera cord and my inability to describe the beauty of this Mayan lake with mere words leaves this the only option.

We spent the day sailing around, eventually making it to 3 surrounding villages, each a snipet of different Mayan lifestyles. 

Day 9- El Volcan Pacaya

On my day off from building, I hiked a volcano.  Then at the top, I roasted a marshmellow over the active volcano's crater.
We got up at 5:30 for a 6 o'clock departure to the Pacaya Volcano that shadows the city of Antigua.  The bus ride was cozy at best; we were packed in a mini van with 15 other sleepy adventurers. It took almost 2 hours to reach the top of the volcano. We fought through wild forrest and jungle-like terrain while following our crazy tour-guide Rudulfo.  He told us much about the explosion of May 2010 and the native plants that can be used as different types of medicine.  I found it particularly interesting that they seemed to have every sort of remedy growing on the volcano because its soil was so fertile.  It was an extremely long day.  I passed out in the van on the way home and the driver had to shake me awake again.  Tomorrow will be another long day.  I suppose the rest and warm shower will all come at once when I get back home.

Day 8- Mano de Leon

My life changed today.  Our new house location is located on the back side of a mountain overlooking Antigua.  The drive there was a treacherous 20 minutes passed any similar form of civilization.  At the top we had to park the truck and walk down the back side because there was no road, only dirt trails carved by goats and stomping feet.  It was walking back up this beaten trail after the day's work that I the reality struck me. My thoughts today up that steep incline confirmed the feeling that had been growing curiously in my stomach all day.
The village is called "Mano de Leon."  In English it translates to "Lion Hand."  There are only 18 families in the entire village.  Fortunately there is a school that serves the 40 children living there with one teacher, Diego.  As we breached the corn field surrounding the village like a make shift barricade from invaders, the school yard was filled with scrawny, but smiling students running around.  Their faces were painted with vivid colors that decorated the pairs of curious eyes that seemed to follow us wherever we went.  The children were practicing for a play they planned on presenting later that day.  Continuing onto the construction site we were further welcomed by every type of dog a person could imagine.  They led us directly into the family's yard.  There two women were waiting for us: one with long black hair and a once colorful skirt and brightly embroidered top that had surely faded over time, and the other with gray hair tied up in a bun and no teeth except the largest front one that protruded from the crease in her lips.  One was the mother, and the other the grandmother. I with I could remember their names, it embarrasses me to have forgotten them already, but they were very indigenous. I expect this village was once very heavily influenced by Mayan culture.  I do remember the boy.  Hugo is 4 years old and too young to go to school yet.  He likes cats and playing with his truck.
Carlos, our new head mason, explained as the day wore on that the hundreds of stockpiled supplies- dozens of bags of cement, wheelbarrows, and hundreds of iron rods and cement blocks- were carried by the women and children of the village the day before all the way from the point where we had left the truck on top of the mountain.  It amazed me.
Today we dug the trenches for the foundation of the house.  It was extremely strenuous because there was no shade and the sun did not relax is rays one bit (I did get a small sunburn on my shoulders.) not to mention that there were no other masons but Carlos today; the others were repairing another house built last year.  When we broke for lunch Carlos walked us down to the communal washing well.  There were a couple girls doing their laundry. They giggled so much when I tried to open the faucet properly.  The water was cool and fresh and felt like a blessing in the heat.  For lunch the family offered us peaches from their tree as a humble sign of their thanks.  We graciously accepted them and cut them up to share.  They were delicious.
Once we started working again Diego appeared carrying more blocks.  Soon an army of children came in a line carrying more blocks balanced on their heads.  I stopped shoveling just so I could observe this ant-line of colorfully painted children laughing and smiling as they each dropped off a block and ran off to collect more. They kept coming and coming, no one complained. Soon mothers were helping too, fathers, cousins, grandpas, baby brothers. It appeared as though the whole village was here helping this family.  The sudden busyness drowned out the heat and I caught the energized atmosphere again, soaking it up.  It was beautiful.
We finished the foundation trenches and packed up to go home.  The walk up the mountain side was exhausting. My back ached from digging packed dirt and clay all day.  My legs burned from squatting inside the trenches and lifting shovels full of dirt over the sides.  But I turned around to catch my breath, and I caught something much bigger. I caught the view of the entire village hidden in this little secluded valley.  Surrounded by corn fields, orchards of peaches, rows of bean plants, and other herbs and greenery, this little village had no means of support aside from themselves.  They grew everything, shared everything, and loved everything.  This was the difference.
The other village we worked at seemed so sullen and depressed. It was as if they knew they were poor. But here, even farther away from other villages and the outside world, and even poorer than the previous village, they didn't seem to know they were so poor because they were, in actuality, so rich.  The children glowed despite their skinny frames.  The mothers gossiped good-naturedly despite the back breaking work of harvesting and cooking.  Even the dogs barked with enthusiasm instead of with fear of not being fed.  These people were happy.  It didn't matter how poor they were- the fact that there were only 2 concrete buildings in the entire town and that the rest slept on dirt floors and played amongst chickens and stray dogs didn't seem to phase them- they were happy to be alive in such a beautiful place with beautiful neighbors.
And so I thought- maybe this is the key. It doesnt matter your financial situation.  It is all relative anyways.  That isn't what makes one rich.  As long as you surround yourself with wonderful people, all sharing the same thoughts, you will find a happiness.  The rich are those that believe they are happy, not the ones that believe they have enough money.

Day 7- Cerro de la Cruz

The house is done! We finished it early today around noon.  Because all that was left to do was the floor, and I have no skill (nor patience) for laying down and smoothing layer after layer of concrete, I asked Juan Carlos, the father, if I could do anything else for him.  He was working on building the outline of a sun cover for the front of his house and he mentioned that he was planning on making a small patio to go underneath.  I spent the morning hauling buckets of dirt to fill in the rough holes that developed outside his house, and then using a pick to break up mounds of hard packed clay used for the wheelbarrow stands.  I evened out and smoothed the whole area out of his house and helped him construct a step leading up to it from the garden.  It was amazing what the difference it made to the whole atmosphere of the house.  That smooth area and step made the house feel completely usable and family-like.  At the end I admit I stood back and just told myself how awesome it was.

I had a while to play with the kids before we left.  In the course of the afternoon I asked Juan Carlos Jr. what he wanted to be when he grew up.  He was very shy about it, but eventually told me he wanted to be an artist.  Than just before I left, he handed me a folded up piece of paper.  I opened it and saw a drawing of an orange.  He said he drew an orange because I wore an orange t-shirt to work everyday and he thought that may be my favorite color.  I hope he gets to become an artist.
Another gift I received from the family was the promise to take care of a seed I planted.  Erica, the smallest, was very adamant that she would water it everyday and when it grew big and strong she would not only build a house for me to live in the branches, but she would send me packaged fruit every day. I dont know it the seed with actually blossom, but knowing that a part of me will always be there is somewhat comforting and fulfilling.

Because we got done early once I returned home I went out exploring.  My new food experience today included a chocolate covered banana, which wasnt so bad because it was frozen and alleviated the intense sun. The weather is strange here.  It's not even really hot- the sun is just so strong.  Very different.  After the chocolate banana a sat in the central park and read a bit before my room mate met me and we decided to climb one of the little mountainsides surrounding Antigua.  On top of the mountainside there is a cross and a breathtaking view of the entire city.  I am not exaggerating in my use of the word "breathtaking." You can see every street and light and house of the city and you can marvel at the exact parallel streets that create a perfectly gridded street system.  The various churches jut out of the rows of roofs like special ornaments decorating a cake or pizza. It was beautiful. Two beautiful sights in one day: I must've had some good karma.

Day 6- Los Albaniles

I ride to and from work everyday in the bed of a toyota pick up truck.  Today the truck broke down and naturally we only put the hazards on and kept coasting down the mountain to stop at the nearest auto station.  Lucky for us, the rain had ceased so we could enjoy the lapse of neck jostling and knee buckling in the sun.  Maybe I will get tan after all.  It was a nice moment to see all the masons outside their construction element. They are all great guys. My favorite part of the day is lunch (that much hasn't changed since elementary school), where each one pulls out his own tupperware container of last night's left-overs and one goes down the the local tienda to buy a stack of steaming fresh tortillas.  We pull up extra concrete blocks around a makeshift table and listen to the Guatemalan radio- always the station featuring the epitome of latin style music.  Then, everyone just digs in. The different foods brought are for everyone to share.  You can try a couple tortillas-full of any dish. The tortillas themselves are quite versatile: they can be used as spoons, napkins, plates, or just a food chaser. Mostly they laugh and make jokes among themselves and I busy myself with interpreting the newspaper we buy every morning.  So far I've tried all varieties of rice and a chile so spicy it made me cry.  The idea that we all share the hunger of a tough day's work is commonly, and duly acknowledged.

Day 5- More Construction

It started pouring today right after lunch just as we put the roof on.  The rain was welcoming this time though.  I broke quite a sweat breaking up and shoveling mounds of hard packed clay that will level out the floor inside the house.  I've noticed that there isnt much difference between moving a pile of blocks and earning an A on a test.  The personal satisfaction of manually transferring them bit by bit and the feeling afterwards is quite similar if not making you more proud because you can see the immediate effect and change.  You work hard, you get a result. I like that.

Day 4- First Day of Work

My first day at the site was a success!! As in no personal injuries or catastrophes.  I met the family that the house will belong to: Marta y Juan Carlos, and their three children Veronica y Juan Carlos Jr, the twins aged 9, and Erica aged 4.  They are all very sweet and eater to help.  Juan Carlos Jr. is quite the artist. As soon as I walked in he showed me books and books of his crayon drawings that mostly included pigs and giraffes and helicopters.  Right now they are living in thier aunt's house next door. It is a one room concrete block building about the size of my bedroom back at home.  Inside all they have inside are two beds shoved together for the five of them and a desk with a radio, clothes and pictures stacked on it.  That leaves only a small corner by the door free for thier table (an upturned paint bucket with a wooden plank balancing on top) and chairs (more cement blocks piled by the wall and only taken down one by one when needed to use as stools).  They have no floor, just packed earth.  Thier kitchen is outside around the back and consists of more cememt blocks surrounding a firepit and covered by metal scraps to keep out the ever persisitent rain.  They bathe outside with bucket carried from the water spiket down the street. This is actually better than what they had originally because last week Constru Casa demolished thier scrap metal shed in order to make room for the new construction.  This new house will provide them a home.  It wont be a place where they can just keep dry, but a place with a real lock they can secure at night and feel safe- a luxury they never had before.  They will have a floor for the first time to free them from worms and parasites that crawl every where.  They will have rooms to live and play, and rooms to cook and bathe.  It will change thier lives.
I am working with four other men: Servilio, the head builder; Ricardo and Mateo, his helpers; and Juan Carlos, the father of the family.  Juan Carlos and I do mostly odd jobs because we are not certified nor practiced builders.  The first thing I did was move 200 cement blocks from one location to another.  Then I punched holes in them with an axe so that they can be used in the anti-seismic system that is also featured in the house design.  After lunch I mixed cement for a good 3 hours.  Shovelfull... after shovelfull... after shovelfull.... I know my back will be sore tomorrow!
At times I did feel as though I only got in the way because I couldnt do any of the real important jobs.  Everything I do requires nothing but muscle, and in the present stage of the house, skill is more valuable.  They began this house last week and all that's left to do is finish the walls and install the roof and floor.  I'm content with shoveling, I like it.  It's much easier when they play the radio too; the intense Latino music gives a good rhythm to work to.

Day 3- Another Comment

Right now I am in a small internet cafe, and I am surrounded by four 20-30 year old men playing an intense game of World of Warcraft.  I wonder if they really have nothing better to do.  However, the anxious key jabbing is quite funny.

Day 3- Lunch

Today I bought a mango and a pocket knife from the market. My mother forbid me to eat any pre-cut or opened fruits without skins for fear of some disease or that my stomach might not be able to handle it. I understand mostly, the water isnt very clean and I really dont know where the knifes or fruit has been.  But the fruit looks so good, so I had to improvise.  I took my perfectly ripe mango to "Parque Central" and sat on a bench to watch the people.  There was a book fair going on and that happened to be attracting many visitors and annoying tourists.  It's always fun to people watch.  I finished my mango and put away my book and knife and walked an extremely long ways to a hotel with a "safe" ATM machine.  Just inside the gates of the hotel was an exquisite garden and selection of stone fountains.  It was huge!!  I walked in cautiously because the beauty made me feel selfconcious in my old tshirt and Toms shoes.  A couple more steps in, I could see the reception about 100 meters from the entrance, and a bird flew over my head.  The colorful feathers made me look twice. A parrot was now perched on one of the jungle-y looking trees. I had to just stand still for a moment. I was looking at a real life parrot! It was beautiful.
For lunch I made my way back across town to the market again. I wanted to buy a tortilla to try for lunch and I remembered seeing many stalls of women preparing maza, dough, and cooking them over large metal sheets standing precariously over fires. I didnt want to sit down at a touristy restaurant or inside some random cafe.  I saw a group of young girls eating tortillas topped with beans and some types of salsa so I approached them and asked where I could find what they had been eating.  They pointed me to a stall, but I could see that they were putting chicken all over everything (I'm not kidding, they eat chicken with everything imaginable in every way possible).  My vegetarian request evidently merited a special stall, so a boy about 13 years old took my hand and wove me through a whole new section of the market that I had never before known existed.   We entered a huge warehouse building filled- packed!!!- with dozens of stalls selling food and providing tables to rest.  It's completely hidden in the heart of the market by stalls that surround the walls, as if protecting it from intruders.  I let myself be lead across through the rows of restaurantitos divided by colorful concrete blocks and cloth.  Finally he introduced me to a girl around my age who sat me down at a tabled filled with other customers and told me she would take care of everything.  All I had time to say was a reminder that I didnt eat meat.  I looked around me and immediately smiled.  This was pure culture- not a tourist or foreinger in sight, except for me, who was getting a lot of strange looks.  To my right was a young couple with a small child.  They seemed to find me particularly amusing.  Three teenage boys were watching the game very intensely. Across from me was an old man with a fake Hollister polo on.  He was scarfing down some fried chicken, rice with chicken, and chicken soup.  To my left was a police man with an extremely funny mustache flirting with one of the cook's daughters.  Music was playing over loud speakers wired throughout the warehouse. It almost drowned out the chatter and commotion that echoed from the hundreds of people, but it was not very successful.  The soccer game- Guatemala vs Nigeria was playing on every TV and various radios.  In all, it was an extremely busy and loud place.  The girl brought me plate of food and a basket of tortillas.  The plate alone looked beautiful. It was piled with rice, frijoles, an ear of corn and two vegetables that I have never in my life seen before.  Before I even took my first bite I was appreciative because I could see the family 3 feet from me all working and baking together.  The mom was making tortillas, and the daughters each doing different side dishes. She asked me what I would like to drink "Agua, o Fresca?" and I said nothing because I had no idea what "Fresca" was, and I knew I shouldnt drink the water.  But then the police man was delivered a white, cloudy liquid in a glass.  I looked around and everyone was drinking it. I asked the girl what it was and she said "Fresca" with a hint of "duhhh". Then in response to my potentially quizzical face she added "Horchata."  I said I would actually like a glass. She grabbed a clean one from a rack and went to a paint bucket in the corner of the room and dipped a laddle in it to pour several scoops in my cup.  I tried it hestitantly (I still have no idea what is in it or what it is made of).  It was delicous!! I drank it quickly and ordered another. It was cool and refreshing and perfect because I was so hot from walking all day. I've found my new favorite drink.  Eventually I'll have to research what it actually is.  The food was equally delicious and the two mystery vegetables were my favorite.  When I had finished I brought my plate up to the booth and asked the girl what the vegetables were called.  She said something that sounded native and exotic "guisaquil and quicoy."  I had her write them down because I knew I could never remember.  I've yet to look them up, but maybe I can sneak some of them back in my suitcase :) Though the lunch was only 13 Quetzales (equivalent to almost $1.50) it was worth so much more.  This completely raw Guatemalan culture is so rich and friendly and beautiful, much different from anything I have ever seen.

Day 2- First Impressions

This morning I woke up, extremely tired, to small kitten footsteps pounding on my tin roof.  At first it just resembled the heavy downpour of rain that rattled the roof all night but soon it's meows drew me out of bed.  My room is quite small, about 10 by 15 feet.  I've got a bed, des, and dresser\closet that fill most of the space but the very middle and doorway. My light source is a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and to open the door I must pulla wire and push my whole shoulder weight down slightly and then forward.  I love it!  The whole house is quite ingenious.  It maximizes all natural light and rain drainage necesities.  You enter a big metal door from the street into a small courtyard covered partially by metal sheets adorned with exotic and huge leafy plants to block the forceful sun.  It is completely open and wall-less except for the kitchen and livingroom that are seperated by the only divide.  Up a stone staircase cut into the side wall of courtyard are the bedrooms.  In my hosts' house there are other volunteers staying, though I havent met any yet.  The singular bathroom is at the end of the second floor shaped like and L.  The rooms all face outward to the hallway\balcony.  My shower last night was short to say the least.  It had minimal hot water, but I didnt mind because the coolness kept me awake.  You arent allowed to flush anything down the toilet, which i find weird. Not even toilet paper. For that, there is a wastebasket adjacent to the toilet.
My host parents Christopher and Nelly are extremely nice.  I found out they've been "hosting" for almost 14 years which explains why they are so good at it.  This morning Christopher took me into town so I could familiarize myself and withdraw some Quetzal, the local currency.  The first thing I saw as I stepped out of the giant metal door onto the cobblestone street was a family of women in traditional clothing, balancing fruit on their heads.  The patters on their clothes juxtaposed with the colorful, but plain building facades is a beautiful first impression. I cant wait to go exploring.

Day 1: traveling

My 26 consecutive hours of sleepless travel time is a personal record I happen to be very proud of.  I think I've successfully begun adjusting to Guatemalan time, now I just have to resist the temptation to nap.  This could prove extremely difficult.  I arrived last night at around 11pm and collapsed in my bed... breakfast is now bright and early at 8 o'clock.

A Day to Mourn

Today will be a rollercoaster.  How else to describe all the emotions I could gurantee will develop??  My last day before I leave for Guatemala (I'm so excited!), but also my last day with Emma Pauken!  Such a bittersweet combination.  In her words, "Last day before E^2 goes on a temporary hiatus. Many shall mourn"  Never a truer statement. 

Permanent Reminders

Some things you’ll remember forever: your first grade teacher, your older neighbor’s cool bike or toy, your first dog, the day you were taught something useless but will never forget, your high school sweetheart or best friend, your first taste of extreme pride or embarrassment. These are ingrained in our memories to fuel creepy déjà vu sensations and recall reminiscing smiles.  They are to help us remember our past and remember the good, innocent times of our lives.  Last night I built a fire with my best friend.  We capitalized on Germany’s first day without rain and pitched up a tent in my backyard.  We shrunk from our teenage selves into 7 and 8 year old curiosities as a last celebration before she heads off to college.  In between the tie-dyeing and making s’mores and lighting things on fire and scaring ourselves with serial killers I could never forget this epitome of Emma awesomeness because it stands for all we believe in: fun, dangerous, thought-provoking, daring, adventurous, creative, and good-natured.  I will never forget Emma Pauken, my best friend. 

Dad

I admire many of my dad’s characteristics; however, there is one in particular that I’ve lately come to appreciate with growing conviction.  An example just occurred the other day as we were running to watch a Women’s World Cup soccer match.  The trail to the Community Center (where they screen the game and give out prizes and such) is about six miles from our house and, thus, proved us with quite a while of so called “father-daughter time.” To be honest, I remember little more than the gist of our conversations.  What I remember most is the occasional occurrence of another runner.  No matter the type- male, female, child, dog, stroller, bicyclist, old, young, serious, casual- my dad always stopped mid sentence and would pause to smile sand say “Hallo!!” as each passed us by.  Now, in retrospect, I can confidently say that he has never failed to do so under any circumstance. Whether it’s down our German street, in the parking lot, at the grocery store, in the doctor’s office, he always finds time for a simple, cheery Hello.  What stuck me as particularly memorable the day of our run was not my dad’s enthusiasm- that I’ve always taken for granted. But it was people’s reactions: it undoubtedly varies, but overall a certain pattern is detectable. The old German men that genuinely smile back are becoming a rarity. For the most part, I’ve noticed that people mostly respond with irritated and suspicious faces, hardly allowing a nod.  To realize that society today has become suspicious toward a good-natured greeting makes me sad. But indeed, I’ve noticed it as well walking in the hallways at school!  People hardly make eye contact anymore.  Passing by a fellow student only to have them avert their eyes to the floor as if the blue linoleum was more important that you is disheartening!! What has happened to social chivalry? It’s important for society to develop that communal bond.  If everyone smiled and said “Hello!” as they passed, so much animosity could disappear. A simple smile has the immense power to change someone’s day!  Whether it’s the store clerk, your friend’s father, a stranger, the mailman, or (and I should say especially) the janitor, it is important to acknowledge them.  It not only lets them know you see that they are there, but that you care. You care they are human and you care they are more than rocks and trees and motorcycle tires: it adds personality to our increasingly solitary and cyber world.  Thank you Dad. 

The Beginning

I leave for Guatemala in exactly one week! In preparation I recently read a wise Hindu proverb: “Pitiful is the one who, fearing failure, makes no beginning.” This seems to perfectly articulate a goal I’ve adapted over the past months: to act with confidence in order to pursue my own dreams, no matter the security of the future. It is important for people to act responsibly without the hesitation that stems from fear of failure. What is failure but another opportunity to learn? This week, through all the forced reading and newspaper articles about Guatemala presented and driven by my parents, I’ve only grown more and more anxious to begin this new adventure in Guatemala.  This trip was sparked almost two months ago by a revelation I had. I realized that I’ve never before challenged myself physically and mentally, at the same time, beyond a point of comfort.   Living overseas, especially in a developed country like Germany has taught me invaluable things; yet I’ve never had to really push myself. I’ve never known hunger or such extremes of physical exhaustion.  I’m impatient to learn more about these feelings that plague a majority of the world.  I want to discover my limits by comparing them to theirs. In Guatemala I’m eager to hopefully catch a glimpse of this other, ever-present world.

Guatemala is ranked as one of the lowest countries in Latin America.  Haiti remains the only country of the area that is lower on the UN Human Development Index.  While more than half of the population lives in poverty (as classified by $2 of income a day per person or less), I will be staying in a village called Antigua.  It is located near the southern end of the country. Here I will be working with a non-profit organization by the name of Constu Casa.  During my two-week stay I will be building a basic house for a family living in extreme poverty.  Constu Casa has built of 480 houses since its foundation in 2004 for families that cannot afford standard living necessities.  Needless to say, I expect much from my stay.  I will be housed with a local family and will be working alongside local masons and construction workers in earnest effort to improve my Spanish.  I want to learn more about the language I love and also explore this depressing, yet colorful and bright culture.  Mostly, however, I am excited to build.  I want to get my hands dirty and fall asleep at night from physical exhaustion.  I want to know that I helped make a difference in but one family’s life through my own hard work and my own ambitious sixteen-year-old hands.