LISTENING EYES

            I sat at the MAX station for a half hour waiting for the trolley to arrive and a man approached me. I have always had an acute awareness for the people that surround me and it was no different when I first saw him walk towards me. He had a long grey trench coat (which believe it or not Californians, is acceptable in Oregon), a cigarette tucked behind his uncombed hair, and vociferous but hallow eyes. He sat right next to me and I could feel his eyes stretch across my body. I was not afraid; he looked at me like a toddler looks at a parent playing peek-a-boo—with sheer amazement.

            Without saying words, the stranger and myself were becoming acquainted, a level of “accustomazation” overwhelmed me as I allowed for the world I was living to become intertwined with his own. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, leaving the one behind his ear for later, and scattered smoke into the frozen air. Still starring at me, he puffed once more so that the smoke clouded my vision and made me teary eyed and then, he began to speak:

  -Elizabeth Taylor died today, her green eyes are dead

I was startled, but wanted to appear unalarmed and so I replied with a thoughtful sigh and a small condolence on behalf of the actress. He continued.

-Elizabeth Taylor was a beautiful actress, but she was the devil. Devil woman married the devil            and had devil children. She had green eyes. Green eyes make you the devil.

I nodded in fearful agreement and smiled and he finished. He then threw his cigarette on the tracks of the MAX and walked away. Despite the trepidation that accompanied my conversation with this stranger, I boarded the MAX with a humbled feeling. Out of all the people waiting for the MAX, he had chosen to confide in me; coincidentally for sure, but nonetheless, I was, for five minutes, this stranger’s confidant.

            The humbled feeling has not left me even now, hours after we parted, because I can’t help but wonder who the last person was that allowed for fear to take the back seat and rather, to listen to the “stranger”. Two days ago Rebecca (the woman I am staying with in Costa Rica) emailed me and she told me that an 18-year-old boy died in the community I will be serving. I thought of him, the boy with no name, a stranger, and wondered if he would have talked to random people at the MAX station. I wondered even more if he would listen to someone else if he had been at a MAX station.

            And this may all seem like a jumble but what I am feeling right now and cannot articulate is that I was connected to a stranger today. And in a strange way, the trench coat stranger was connected to the Costa Rican boy because they were both a little forgotten in their own home, their own society. They both went unnoticed because the trench coat stranger was mentally unstable and a bit scary and the Costa Rican boy was poor. They went unseen. 

            This entry is for the forgotten trench coat man that smokes cigarettes on the MAX:

you are being thought of. And to the green-eyed strangers I have yet to meet, I am one of you; let me listen to what others forget in silence.

JOY

Some the greater "joys" in my life. Top left: my roommates Jordan and Erin. Top right: friends at school that are always up for a lunch time break. Center: mi familia. Bottom left: my truest friend, Josephine. Bottom right: Blake, Jules, and Eric having fun.

          

  I spent the day tormented by John Wilmont’s “Satyr Against Reason and Mankind”. Between the animalistic metaphors, difficult vocabulary (words like affable, prelatic, obstreperous, and tawdry kept me from reading quickly), and 18^th century history that hid between the margins, I was completely lost. Class starts in a half hour and I have an infinitesimal idea of what Wilmont was trying to convey.

            Simplistically Wilmont contends that humanity is flawed and there is no way to fix it. He demonstrates humanity’s covet for reason and our pitfalls that arise out of reason’s tension with reality. What I gathered from the famed satyr was a sense of hopelessness. If as Wilmont says “Man differs more from man than man from beast” what am I doing with my life? Why do I care about anyone else outside of myself?

            Cross-curricular dialogue with my philosophy class only confused me more. We talked today in class about “the meaning of life” (how ambiguous is that?). We discussed if it was even worth our time to care about finding the meaning of life and if it is subjective rather than objective. My point being, in every class, I felt uncertain and therefore, helpless as well when it came to a sense of purpose.

            So where is the turning point, the “ahh-ha moment”? I can’t say that my epiphany solved the age-old philosophical questions about human purpose, or humanity’s flaws. But, I do know that yesterday falling asleep was nearly impossible. I sat in bed thinking about the lunch I had with friends that genuinely care about me and reciprocally, I care about them as well. A rush of thankfulness for people that were genuine in my life took hold of me. I thought of my roommates who are two of the most kind and hard-working people I know. My mom who may love her parrot more than me right now but is always and will always be there for me, my dad that waited with me at the airport for almost two hours on Sunday night, step-parents that aren’t classically evil, and siblings that are my best friends. I laughed at pictures from Spring Break and reflected on the people that went out of their way to spend time with me, just because they care. I anxiously am awaiting the arrival of my best friend, Josephine, who is visiting in a week and Jules and I was just overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the happiness that surrounded me and by the people that love me.

            My point is, with all the good in my life, I can’t think of many things that are more important than spreading the happiness that I have. So whether it is "arguably reasonable" according to Wilmont, or it serves as a meaning to my own life, service is the best way for me now to spread the indescribable joy that kept me awake last night. 50 days and counting let the joyous celebration begin!

DRAWING A LINE

Senior Los Ninos Retreat Group with Mr. K in the Back

            I spent some of the day at my old high school and was reminded of how blessed I was. Somewhere in some book or movie I once learned that only 1% of the world has a college degree. Sitting in one of my old classrooms I couldn’t help but think about how part of that 1% was going to be me.

            Today in class, we talked about consumer choices and how important the consumer is in the process of deciding what products are going to be sold. The classic argument was presented: if we stop buying from big corporations who don’t care for their workers, then aren’t we decreasing the amount of jobs available for people that need them? Questions like this are hard to answer because of how many people the solutions affect and how many variables are involved.

            Mr. K, the teacher, talked about a “line” that we need to set and maintain. He said that we are responsible for providing for ourselves and our families so that they can stay healthy, safe, and happy. But, when we can provide for our families in this way and then we have a surplus of money or time, then we are responsible for serving those who need it. We have a call he explained to the poor and the vulnerable.

            With a college education, you would think that these issues become easier to solve. In a perfect world, all the reading, writing, midterms, and presentations could offer solutions. I think the solution can be found in education. Today, thirty girls sat in a room and questioned the way the world worked. They shared their opinions and they created stronger opinions—this is learning. This summer, if a few more people are supported, if I can make the children in Costa Rica question the way the world works then perhaps I can be a part of the best solution. Education allows people to stand up for themselves so with my time commitment this summer, I am assessing my “line” and teaching others that they can too.

PASSPORTS, TRANSLATORS, AND BRIDGES (TO NOWHERE)

             It is Spring Break and I am in San Diego enjoying the sunshine. Yesterday I was excited to find my passport in the mail. It was a tangible step in my Costa Rican adventure.  The sun here is yet another reminder of what I am up against once I arrive in Costa Rica. The Portland weather has made me forget the sunscreen mornings and aloe vera evenings.

            I invested in a translator today as a little helper for the words that just don’t stick. It is nice and small and will fit in my back pocket. I have been practicing Spanish in my head. Before I say something I think of how I would say the same thing in Spanish. It is tough but it is fun.  Even more difficult than translating the language is trying to translate why I am going to Costa Rica in the first place to the friends and family members I talk to.

            To be honest, I don’t quite know exactly what I will be doing. I fly in to San Jose and then get in a taxi for about an hour to the tourist city of Jaco. Once there, I am meeting up with an old family friend, Rebecca, who has been doing missionary work in the area for about five years now (?). Rebecca works with the forgotten people of the area. There is a community on a river that has less money, more alcohol, and several prostitutes. In this community, Rebecca has been working with the children. She has shown them what an education can do and how to abstain from substances. I will be working with the children too. I will be teaching them all that I can in the short month that I am there and a lot of this will be simply teaching by example.

            So preparation, how do you prepare to do something when you aren’t quite sure of the specifics? I have been doing a lot of reading to calm the anxieties of the unknown. After talking to a friend that has been on many missionary trips himself, I was told to try to stay away as much as I could from trying to learn everything there is to know about the place I was going to and rather to learn more about the issues that I will be addressing. He said that if I tried to learn all about Costa Rica, the culture shock once I got there would be even more shocking and I would have to unlearn some of what I hadn't known in the first place; he said it would just be creating more work. It is sometimes better to just learn by immersing yourself. Rather, I have been reading books about aiding countries in developing countries, education systems, and Latin American politics.

            Last week, I read the book Half the Sky and I couldn’t recommend it more. Its focus was on women and injustices they face. There were pictures of the women as you read and many stories straight from their mouths. It was one of the most enlightening books I have read in a while and I am convinced it should be required reading for high school students so that everyone knows the world is much bigger than our own towns before they graduate to the bigger world of college. Not only did it tell you the stories but it left you with solutions. Today I am finishing up the book Africa Doesn’t Matter. I have found that less than the facts about Africa, this book has been the best reminder about foreign aid. Essentially it begs for individuals who want to help to ask the people they are helping what they want before they try to help. As reasonable as this sounds, I think often someone that just wants to go help goes in with an idea of what they are going to do long before asking the people what they truly need. There are stories of American missionaries building bridges for Kenyans but they don't built roads to get to the bridges and therefore, the bridges go unused. This was an enlightening moment. Perhaps, not knowing exactly what I am going to do this Summer in Costa Rica isn’t such a bad thing. It is better to learn what the people need then start making plans for unneeded bridges while I am still in the States.

            So, 62 days and counting but until then, lots of reading, Spanish practicing, and money saving!

HOPE

            A group of students met in the Public Safety parking lot at 6 pm for Campo last night. We piled into an 80s Aerostar van. On the dashboard, it says to ignore the ticking noise (it is more or less an adventure).

            This last Wednesday, once we arrived and began to teach a man walked into the barn. He told us that next week, there would be chains on the doors and this would be our last lesson. While frustration and anger heavily weighed the room, I think that they were dependent on one big question, “why?”

            The camp itself is set up so that there are about twenty one-room houses with no electricity or running water. Communal bathrooms are in the center and about four men live in each house/room. Each week, the men work on the surrounding farms and from at 7-8 pm. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we meet in a barn that becomes a makeshift classroom.

            So why take away the little that they have? With a limited amount of education, people have limited opportunities. Learning English for the men isn’t just about being more cohesive, with the American society but also, giving Mexicans a voice that Americans understand. The land manager who was going to put a lock on the door arguably knew that if he could prevent the men from studying then the possibility of the men staying would increase. This means that the men would stay at the Campo paying $250 each month for a dingy one-room apartment.

            It is times like these, you wonder how you could make a difference when it feels like the whole world is against you. Last night, I looked to my friend Taylor. He reminded me of the importance of patience. Sometimes you just have to wait so that you know to throw a fit at the right time. Last night wasn’t the right time.

            Today, a friend Allie left a note on my door, it reminded me there was hope—so for today, I remain hopeful.