There comes a time when after some serious thought you can thoroughly reflect on some life decisions and make some accurate judgements on actions you have taken.
I regret my decision to do an internship with Hope International.
Done. Out in the open. Critics will say to me I am arrogant, selfish, and demeaning. I would say I am not ignorant or blinded by this elusive subject we call poverty. I went down to the Dominican Republic to work and learn about micro finance and poverty. I came away with a cultural experience and new friends. It wouldn't be just to say I didn't learn anything about micro finance. And while the little first hand experience I had did teach me a thing or two, I didn't go down to learn that micro finance doesn't work the way Muhummad Yunus would make it seem. It is dirty, rough, hard, and it takes a lot of work. I have more respect for those nationals and expatriates than ever before.
But see, there is this thing called culture. It gets in the way of so many people's attempts to get to the root of... life. Sure, living in a third world country is tough. It is hard, it isn't easy, but should it be used as an excuse for inactivity or unproductiveness? No. And yet for me, my attempts to grow and learn while down in the DR were constantly hit with this abrupt wall of culture for an excuse. Am I angry? Call it bitterness. I am glad for my new friends, both Dominican and American. And I do miss my experiences down there. But that is just it: those experiences would have been there had I been working for for the Peace Corp, the World Bank, studying abroad, etc. What I experienced wasn't anything special to the internship. It was just time spent learning about Dominincan culture.
I want to learn about culture through work. Through partnerships I want to meet new people. I want to see new places travelling to a new location either to start a new project for investment or find a new slum to help alleviate poverty, not just to experience a new dump or new town. That is what I came to the DR to do. And I got new friends instead. Hey, friends are good. But those people are still hungry, still hurting, and here I am back in my heated and air-conditioned room telling you about the warm fuzzy feeling poverty brings to the many of Americans who experience it. How terrible it was to have cold showers in the morning, to eat rice and beans every day:
To make a spectacle of a new culture and of poverty.
I didn't go to the DR to do that. But I ended up doing the very thing I detest in so many pele who talk about poverty like it is a entertaining 3 minute thriller.
31.3.11
8.3.11
Love
It's like the first touch of hands. The sharp rise in heartbeat, the goosebumps that appear all over, the thrill of a physical connection, and the excitement of confirmation of attraction.
It's like the cresting of that first hill on a roller coaster. The clanking gives way to a brief silence. Anticipation takes over knowing thrills are about unfold at breathtaking speed.
It's like returning home for the first time after months being abroad. Hearing the border agent at the airport, a complete stranger, saying welcome home. Seeing the anticipation on your friend's and family's faces as they await you to come out of the terminal.
It's like waking up in someone's arms. Feeling warmth wrapped around you. Understanding the intimacy of the relationship you are in. Having that best friend. And knowing you are had, if only for that brief moment.
It's like coming home from a stressful day at work, sitting down in your favorite chair and enveloping yourself in that ever intriguing storyline. Returning to old friends you met but a week or so ago and reading or watching more of their lives unfold right before your eyes.
It's like waking up to the warm ocean breeze causing the light fabric unfurl in billows by the window. To hear the cry or gulls and birds over the crashing of the waves but 50 meters from you.
It's like the excitement of a big city. Stepping out of the underground station for the first time into the sunlight. Cars hustling by, people in stride with bags, briefcases, and cameras. Tall glass structures looming overhead casting long and cool shadows.
It's like exploring the woods. The musty smell of the past spring rain, the crackle of the leftover leaves from fall. The groans of the trees swaying in the wind. The rustle of the thousands of leaves above you drifting freely.
It's like watching the deep blue sky shift to a light orange and pink only to drop it's hue to a deep maroon as that large ball of fire slides beneath the horizon. The night encroaches in a gentle calm manner, inducing sleep.
It's like biting into that big, juicy strawberry, ripened by the months of sun, rain, and warmth. A blossom of sweetness and tenderness.
It's like the feeling of success only to quickly find out you had been humiliated in front of your peers.
It's like a rotten apple, bright red on the outside but brown, mushy, and poisonous on the inside.
It's like a bright clear sky with dark luminous clouds quickly moving in at a unrelenting pace.
It's like that first jump off the swing. The exhilaration of the sensation of flying. The freedom of height and air. Until the reality sets in that the flying has turned to falling. The pain of the sprain. The tears, the ache.
But we get back up. We choose another apple. We wait the storm out. We stand in front of our peers again. Why? Because the exhilaration of that roller coaster, the juicy core of the strawberry, the wonders of the sunset, even the calmness of a summer forest are worth it. We will fall again, be hurt again. But aren't the pain and hurt what make love so amazing and wonderful?
It's like the cresting of that first hill on a roller coaster. The clanking gives way to a brief silence. Anticipation takes over knowing thrills are about unfold at breathtaking speed.
It's like returning home for the first time after months being abroad. Hearing the border agent at the airport, a complete stranger, saying welcome home. Seeing the anticipation on your friend's and family's faces as they await you to come out of the terminal.
It's like waking up in someone's arms. Feeling warmth wrapped around you. Understanding the intimacy of the relationship you are in. Having that best friend. And knowing you are had, if only for that brief moment.
It's like coming home from a stressful day at work, sitting down in your favorite chair and enveloping yourself in that ever intriguing storyline. Returning to old friends you met but a week or so ago and reading or watching more of their lives unfold right before your eyes.
It's like waking up to the warm ocean breeze causing the light fabric unfurl in billows by the window. To hear the cry or gulls and birds over the crashing of the waves but 50 meters from you.
It's like the excitement of a big city. Stepping out of the underground station for the first time into the sunlight. Cars hustling by, people in stride with bags, briefcases, and cameras. Tall glass structures looming overhead casting long and cool shadows.
It's like exploring the woods. The musty smell of the past spring rain, the crackle of the leftover leaves from fall. The groans of the trees swaying in the wind. The rustle of the thousands of leaves above you drifting freely.
It's like watching the deep blue sky shift to a light orange and pink only to drop it's hue to a deep maroon as that large ball of fire slides beneath the horizon. The night encroaches in a gentle calm manner, inducing sleep.
It's like biting into that big, juicy strawberry, ripened by the months of sun, rain, and warmth. A blossom of sweetness and tenderness.
It's like the feeling of success only to quickly find out you had been humiliated in front of your peers.
It's like a rotten apple, bright red on the outside but brown, mushy, and poisonous on the inside.
It's like a bright clear sky with dark luminous clouds quickly moving in at a unrelenting pace.
It's like that first jump off the swing. The exhilaration of the sensation of flying. The freedom of height and air. Until the reality sets in that the flying has turned to falling. The pain of the sprain. The tears, the ache.
But we get back up. We choose another apple. We wait the storm out. We stand in front of our peers again. Why? Because the exhilaration of that roller coaster, the juicy core of the strawberry, the wonders of the sunset, even the calmness of a summer forest are worth it. We will fall again, be hurt again. But aren't the pain and hurt what make love so amazing and wonderful?
1.3.11
Life
Today the world welcomed the life of Vesper Hiver Beck. Dependent, weak, and tired, she will be a new soul, a new voice, and a new example in this world. She has much to learn: much joy, much pain, and much excitement. The wonders of walking, the joy of friendship, the excitement of love, the pain of sorrow, and the mystery of the unknown. It won't be an easy journey for her but it will be one of learning and prosperity.
I want to use this post to celebrate life. Picture the new buds forming on the ends of hundreds branches around you. Each one yearning to unfurl into a bright flower or a strong green leaf ready for a new cycle of warm air, cool rain, and the light breezes. Imagine the beauty of a young fawn taking its first steps, struggling to gain ground and then feeling the confidence to explore a new world full of smells, tastes, and colors.
Life is nothing but a collection of cycles. Be it the overarching cycle of a lifetime or the cycles of pain we experience, we are constantly moving in circular motions. That isn't to mean there is no progress in our lives. In the same fashion as a tree, we have our times of full bloom where the effect of our existence comes into full being. But we also have times of withdrawal, rest, and recovery, as noted by the hibernation against the harshness of winter. And yet, despite this yearly cycle for a tree: the bloom, the beauty, the transformation of color, until the ultimate shedding and hibernation, the tree isn't stuck in one cycle. It continues to grow and strengthen. The harsh winters invigorate it. The calm springs hearten it. The warm hot summers strengthen it. And the cool falls relieve it. So we go through these cycles of hardness, relaxation, calmness, and struggle. We die, we rise again. We die, we rise again. These cycles are what make us and define us.
For Vesper, she is about to begin on one of thousands of cycles in her life. There will be winters, falls, springs, and summers. And through each season she will grow and learn until she has become the towering oak she is destined to be, a sight for all people and an great influence in the world around her.
That is life. That is what we celebrate.
I am proud to be her uncle and her godfather. May God bless her, her mother, her father, and those she will have an impact on in her many years of life. Amen.
I want to use this post to celebrate life. Picture the new buds forming on the ends of hundreds branches around you. Each one yearning to unfurl into a bright flower or a strong green leaf ready for a new cycle of warm air, cool rain, and the light breezes. Imagine the beauty of a young fawn taking its first steps, struggling to gain ground and then feeling the confidence to explore a new world full of smells, tastes, and colors.
Life is nothing but a collection of cycles. Be it the overarching cycle of a lifetime or the cycles of pain we experience, we are constantly moving in circular motions. That isn't to mean there is no progress in our lives. In the same fashion as a tree, we have our times of full bloom where the effect of our existence comes into full being. But we also have times of withdrawal, rest, and recovery, as noted by the hibernation against the harshness of winter. And yet, despite this yearly cycle for a tree: the bloom, the beauty, the transformation of color, until the ultimate shedding and hibernation, the tree isn't stuck in one cycle. It continues to grow and strengthen. The harsh winters invigorate it. The calm springs hearten it. The warm hot summers strengthen it. And the cool falls relieve it. So we go through these cycles of hardness, relaxation, calmness, and struggle. We die, we rise again. We die, we rise again. These cycles are what make us and define us.
For Vesper, she is about to begin on one of thousands of cycles in her life. There will be winters, falls, springs, and summers. And through each season she will grow and learn until she has become the towering oak she is destined to be, a sight for all people and an great influence in the world around her.
That is life. That is what we celebrate.
I am proud to be her uncle and her godfather. May God bless her, her mother, her father, and those she will have an impact on in her many years of life. Amen.
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