Material for Sacrifice

I am in the middle of a book called "Love.." by Elizabeth Elliot. Amazing woman of God, full of faith and trust in Him! While reading this book her attitude about trusting God has kind of rubbed off on me. Let's just say that I have not been the most patient of women these past few weeks... In fact, I've been driving myself nuts with anxiety over the most important things to me in life right now: the future in general, Mexico and the timing of it all, this stupid American Airlines voucher... well, it's not really important what the problems are, just that they exist and my patience is running thin --- so thin it's a lot like wet rice paper.

Even so, after reading about the patience of Mrs. Elliot when her future was in the balance, I feel ashamed of myself for not trusting God more to take care of things. I know that when I am in God's will, He will order my steps and I don't have to be anxious... Except for one problem: there are some things I simply WANT!!! I want to go to Mexico, I want to go to the mission school, I want to live there and make my home there. I want to go this February, and I want the voucher to come in time for me to go in February! I suppose there are a lot of things that a lot of people want, but God sees a better path and re-directs those people.... I pray I'm not one of those people!

In this book I came across an interesting phrase which I've come to terms with, and I believe I've come to embrace the concept and even begun to experience a really amazing peace. The phrase was "Hopes and dreams are simply material for sacrifice." Meaning, of course, that whatever I hope and dream for, I should be willing to sacrifice for the bigger better plan of my God since I'm dumb and would just screw up life if I tried to take it into my own hands. It's so much easier, more joyful, more peaceful, more relaxing (!) to just trust God and not worry about what's coming. Concentrating on now is hard enough!

Down to You (part 2)

I just finished the book called "The Brokenness of the exterior and the liberation of the spirit" by Watchman Nee. It's been a while since I first started reading it, but in my defense I was fighting against wedding preparations, finals and hostess duties for the family of my sister's fiancee. The point is, I finished it and I may turn around and read it all over again it was so good.

In a previous blog I talked a little bit about David and how he was considered to be a man after God's own heart and that in order to become anywhere near presentable to Christ we should follow his example, looking only to God and our desire should focus wholly and entirely on Him. Have you ever been in love? This is how I imagine the relationship between God and David. David was so moved by God's beauty and grace and power that he stopped everything to praise him, and once even danced shamelessly before Him in the view of the whole city. This love that David had for God was so unbreakable, humble, and sincere that it brought all that excitement in his heart that he couldn't help but dance and leap before Him.

The connection I drew between what I read in this book and the story of David is that nothing can be accomplished by our own strength that will count in the Kingdom. Everything that we do for ourselves, even for others and even for God by the prompting of our own minds, will, soul, strength is done in vain. Everything has to be done in one Spirit with God and His Church and will total abandonment of what we think is what God wants or what is "right," or even what we know to be truth. If my spirit is not right before God, and if my flesh is not completely denied before Him, my effectiveness in the Kingdom will come to a halt and what I do will only bring more harm.

Bless Him too, Paul even mentions David's heart in Romans 4:

"...to him who does not work but believes on Him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is accounted for righteousness, just as David also describes the blessedness of the man to whom God imputes righteousness apart from works: Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; Blessed is the man to whom the Lord shall not impute sin."

This is huge!!! Our sins are covered! Even if we screw it up now, we are under the blood of Christ and have already been forgiven. The constant comunion of our spirit with the Holy Spirit is what counts in the Kingdom, not whether or not we're acting right... Although if we are sensitive to this spirit, we will know what the desire of God's heart is: when to act and when to stay still, when to be meek and when to yell, when to pray and when to listen... It's all in one place: in the spirit. So how do we get to that place? Allow God to break our will. Allow Him to show us the truth about who we are. Allow him to take over - the fun part is, He won't screw it up and with Him in control, and our trust safely placed in Him our joy will be uncontrollable, just like David's was.

The wedding

There are only a few things to mention about this blessed day of my sister's. First, that I've never heard so many people say that they have never seen a more beautiful wedding in all their lives and second, the pastor was incredible! I had heard a lot about him, and I could see where both the negative and positive comments could result. He is blunt, straight-forward and doesn't care what people think of him. When I met him I felt the sweetness and earnestness of his spirit. He wants his children and their friends to make the best decisions and he is so clearly in touch with the Holy Spirit that when a young person is in danger of a bad decision, he doesn't withhold his input. He's also a linguist which impresses me to my toes!

I had to read the beautiful love chapter during the ceremony --1 Corinthians 13. It was a funny thing because I had read that verse a thousand times at least, I practiced it in the sanctuary the night before... but for some reason when I read it up there with those two crazy kids ready to tie the knot, I saw their love. I saw that God surrounded them whether they wanted Him to or not, and I saw God's beautiful desire for my sister and Igor to be unendingly joyous in their now-forever relationship. The verse struck me and I became emotional, but I don't think anyone noticed. I just pray that their love strengthens itself with the glue of Jesus for eternity.

down to you

It's a curious thing that a person can be so weighed down by the world around and still have time to think and meditate on the things that are weighing on their heart. That's me. I'm the maid-of-honor in my sister's wedding this weekend, also the designated dance teacher (they need more than just a lesson or two), I have final papers and tests due this week and next week, and to top it all off, I'm broke and thinking to go to Mexico for 5 months this spring! Yaaaay for stress!

In spite of it all, there has been a development in my seeking God for His will for my life. I've decided that this is the only way that I am able to live in complete and unadulterated joy, happiness and peace. That as a starting point I think God began to show me the things that are inside of me that have been less than appetizing characteristics: pride, selfishness, impatience, among other things....

In the beginnings of this quest I began immediately to think about the others that don't know about this unadulterated peace that God has been gracious enough to allow to settle in my heart. I wanted to tell EVERYONE about it and most of the time I didn't feel ready or worthy to do so. I still talked about it, but I think with such an ineffective spirit that I may as well have been mentioning that there was a buried treasure in their backyard and I got the expected reaction: "that's one opinion, I'm busy now, go away." So I went. Confused and feeling less adequate than ever.

So then I thought to myself, wait - if I don't feel adequate to carry out this message then there must be something wrong with me. Then a new mission arose: to better myself. In the process I learned many valueable lessons, but the more I thought in my brain about how I could become more worthy, the more unworthy I felt. The cycle continued like this for a couple of weeks.

On my way to class one day, walking in the freezing cold listening to my Hillsong (spanish version) I thought to myself, it's just me and God, and then it hit me as if between the eyes, it's not about me at all! The dorkus forkus that I am turned the whole event into a me-fest; the one thing that I think would hinder God the most! I was supposed to be working out my pride and selfishness and self-centeredness and while I was thinking about and dwelling on these things I was doing the very thing I was trying not to do... focus on me.

So a new mission has thus arisen. Focus wholly, completely, whole-heartedly, unashamedly, and unrelentingly on GOD. The Bible says that David was a man after God's own heart, and the religiously-minded would say, "but he was an adulterer, a murderer, a traitor!" David had repented of these things, and God would say thereafter that these are things he did, they don't define who he was. I am imperfect, I expect to strive for the rest of my life to become more like Christ while all the while remain imperfect, remain human, remain living in a sinful body, remain unworthy... the one thing that I will be sure of, is that if my spirit is in constant comunion with Him, with my Christ, the sinful nature will become ashes. The light and glory of who God is will reveal itself to me and I will realize the insignificance and the filth of my heart and simply want to "get dressed" like Adam and Eve, but there will be no where to hide and in that moment the only thing left to do will be to let go and let God, and when I do He will wash the dirt from my feet, from my past self, and I will be pure in my heart and spirit.

I say all this in the future tense for one reason: I have aknowledged the insignificance of my body, mind and even my will. I am aware of God's greatness and know that I am nothing, but I await a moment in which the Holy Spirit will show me what He sees. I understand I am imperfect, but I want to see this imperfection with the eyes of my Savior so that I can acknowledge it with my spirit and consequently let go and let God and claim the promise of purity and surrender everything to Him.

Everything?

Everything. It's the least I can do. He gave me everything first.

you ever get that feeling?

Have you ever had the feeling that when the preacher speaks to a whole congregation he really had prepared that sermon just for you? Have you had the feeling that someone is trying to tell you something when you hear the same information 3 or more times in a week from 3 different people? Have you ever had the feeling that God was chasing after you? Not in the scary, oh no, He'll catch me, way, rather like the guy who saw you drop your wallet and is chasing after you because He doesn't want to let you walk on in life and not be fully equipped to take it on.

This is the feeling that I have had lately. That God has had his eye on me and has sent out His sentries to sabotoge my path so that I trip over little clues telling me that I should be looking around me to see where the Guide is leading. These past few weeks this clue has been Romans 8. I've been tripping over that verse ever since I came upon it one night before bed, and after that in communications with friends, then randomly remembering a verse I didn't know was from that chapter, and in church the other day on top of it all. Finally, I decided to crack it open again to see what the fuss was about. I didn't have to read far, but after a while the promises got so big and began filling my heart to the point where I had to see how the story ended:

Romans 8:3...And so he condemned sin in sinful man,

Notice he didn't say sinful men? I think this is the greatest misconception of God's judgement. I've heard friends ask why would a loving God send people to hell? If a man chooses to serve the sin within him that God condemned, he condemns himself. He goes on -

4 in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.
5Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.
6The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace;
7the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so.
8Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.

Verse 8 caught be by the girdle. What? Cannot please God? Isn't the whole point of living here to glorify Him and please Him? So in order to do that we can't be controlled by sin. I have often heard the famous questions about what constitutes a sin and who decides what is sinful and what is wrong. Even if you have never cracked open the Word of God you can't avoid knowing what is wrong -- some people call it a conscience, I call it the nudge of the Holy Spirit saying, "BAD IDEA!" When we ignore that nudge, when we ignore our conscience we can be certain that we are controlled by our sinful nature. So who falls into that category? ME! Everyone... So if it can't please God and we are all this way, what the heck to we do!?

9You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you.

Oooohhh.... If the what lives in where? So, how does the Spirit of God end up living in me? What do I have to do to convince Him to take up residence there?

ASK.

28And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
29For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.
30And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

Um, so if God starts doing stuff for me because He loves me, He must also be pleased with me then. But what's this about a purpose, and the foreknowing, and the predestinations, and being the firstborn, etc. I'm confused. So, first I gotta love God and if I love Him, apparently I have been "called" - a "call" is defined as a special disposition to pursue a particular course - according to His purpose. Oh. This purpose must be the 'particular course.'

But we still haven't sorted through the foreknowing and firstborn and predestined stuff... Who did God foreknow (who did He know before they even existed)? Well, for argument's sake, He's God, He created us in His own image, He is infinite which means time does not hinder Him, which probably means he knows our past as well as our future. Sooo, then according to this He must then "foreknow" everyone! I think I can live with that.

Then he predestined (pre-arranged) that we conform to the likeness of Jesus. Wait, wait. What was Jesus like anyway? If God decided before we were even born that we should be like Him, I should know what He was like right? Well, we know He loved everyone, even the folks who were deemed "untouchable" by everyone else. We know He had the power to control the storms, we know he had the ability to see through a person to their spirit and without blinking an eye He knew the needs of a broken heart. We also know he gave up His life so that there would be no more of this unavoidable condemnation because of sin. Skipping back to earlier verses in this chapter, this has already been established:

1Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,
2because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.
3For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering...

Ooohhh.... so to be in His likeness, I have to love God and people enough to give up my life for them, no matter who they be. I don't know if I can do that, I mean I have so many other things to worry about in life. I don't think it's that important to live for God or give my life for the poor and the heartbroken... what? But why should I get to decide what's important and what isn't? I'm certainly not God and usually I end up deciding things the wrong way anyway!

31What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? 33Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.

All things? All things... so why do I resist?

38For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So why do I resist?

life and death.... and life

The father of an old special friend passed away the other day. I had the privilege of knowing the man, a wonderful, happy, loving, great wit, and a big joker. He also loved Jesus and lived accordingly. The family had a great idea, that they would set up small notebooks in the vestibule of the church and ask that everyone whose life had been influenced by the life of this wonderful man would simply write in what way that influence had impacted their lives. It was amazing how many people said the same things - he was full of joy, ready to love just everyone, and as patient as they come. The family will suffer this loss more than anyone, for not only was he the shining example of what a follower of Christ should be for them, and not only did he love them all beyond measure or do anything in his power to help them.... he was also their cook. There are cook-offs now to see who can make the spaghetti even just remotely like the spaghetti that Dad used to make... they still joke around with him, even though he isn't there. This is the legacy he left behind: a pile of people who loved him and who will love Jesus the way he taught them to. What better legacy to leave a family?

para que sepan....

Just so you know I've created an entirely new blog that is my spanish version of this same blog. It might differ sometimes, but mostly I'd like to keep this new creation a true translation of what is going on in this one....

Para que sepan, he creado un blog nuevo que es la version español de este mismo. Quiza se diferencian a veces pero por lo general me gustaria que esta version nueva sea una traduccion verdadera de este.

http://lalunadesaparecida.blogspot.com/

separated from me

I'm in the middle of a book called "Brokenness" or some such translation (it's in Spanish). Sometimes I don't like that God made being a Christian so basic. There really isn't anything to it! First, it's the best therapy compared to many thousands of therapists and shrinks and counselors combined. Second, the gifts he gives are worth more than many thousands of gifts ever given on earth: peace in time of tragedy, unconditional fatherly love, eternal joy... the list doesn't end there, but He says these are the best He has to offer (the greatest of these being love, of course).

Getting back to my book. This book isn't trying to make things difficult for me, it's an attempt to clarify something that we've had confused for a long time. The difference between our spirit and our worldly self. I've always been able to accept the fact that my spirit is something seperate from the world - no questions there - but the fact that my spirit is something also seperate from me is something else. What?! How can something that is inside of me be seperate from me? What I mean to say, is there are two "MEs" One is spiritual, the other is the one that thinks, breathes, sees and feels everything that happens in this world. It's obvious at this point that this spirit self has been asleep for a while - the proverbial 'couch potato.' It's comparative to those who can't wiggle their ears or curl their tongue. It's not that they are unable to do it, it's simply that they don't even know how to use those muscles that make it possible to excersise them. So, the trick is to figure out which muscle works the spirit, wake it up and do some crunches and squats - eventually I'll make it to the jumping jacks and then hopefully, one day, a marathon!

For now, I'm still discovering how to use the muscle.

omitting the juicy parts, eh?

I guess it's been a while since I was in Puebla, but I feel like the blog that I wrote for Esperanza Viva was not a whole-hearted go. I thought I'd sit back, reminisce and tell a tale or two.... or three... or four...

The first thing I remember we stepped out onto the tarmack and over the threshold of customs and we were greeted by a small contingent of orphanage personnel. One in particular was a pretty girl, youngish and looked serious but ready to take a joke. I was surprised to hear her speak English comfortably since she had the trademark face of a Mexican. I soon found that she was born in the states and her grandparents (generation numero uno) wouldn't speak spanish to their children and the children - the lovely girl's parents - therefore spoke only English, therefore she only spoke... English. She is still the current coordinator of short-term mission-visitors or some such thing. The second thing I remember was a young man. He was quiet, reserved, serious, and had a haircut from 1997. The thing that I noticed was that he didn't take notice of any of us. At first I thought he was shy, but as the week went on I realized that is pretty much who he is. Chuey, they called him. I also noticed his heart was 100% totally completely committed to Esperanza Viva... amazing heart.

The first morning we were there I was surprised to find a nearly-empty orphanage, but apparently - as I had forgotten at the time - they also attend classes in the mornings. I did see a couple of under-agers and in my boldness (thinking I knew spanish) I sauntered right up to a cluster of little boys huddled on the edge of a picnic-style bench under the mess tent. They looked at me like I was an alien at first, but I straightened them out with a few tactful questions and a comment or two. In a matter of two and one half minutes I had two little boys about four years old take me by the hand, sat me down under the awning of one of the main buildings and sidled right up to me with puppy dog expressions and one didn't hesitate when I offered a lap. I felt that these precious little blessings wrapped in the cutest little boy disguises ever had a million hugs to give and there were simply not enough people around for the surplus.

I remember the rush of knocking on someone's door saying, "We're out in the basketball courts down the street, come check out our performing art!" And seeing most of them show up, and many of them scattered around the youth of La Vina praying with them. I was standing under a tree with a lovely little blonde companion and our mutual company was that of two young girls. One of these had a thousand questions about what constituted a sin or if something she saw her friend do once was bad... The conversation ended too soon and we invited her to church just a short distance away called Naciones. I remember her earnest interest in doing what God wanted her to do, even though she clearly had a hard time dealing with everyday life. I hope she went to Naciones.

On the way to church one day - on the bus of 70 passengers holding about a hundred - I squished next to a girl in the back, she was maybe 11. That look in her eye still haunts me, but in a wonderful way. The glimmer - nay, the gleam! - in her eye reflected the kind of relationship she had with Jesus. I always called myself a Christian, but I'm sure that unlike this girl, my life and/or attitude was never a large neon, blinking, obvious signal pointing to my heart saying, "FYI, this girl lives for Jesus." We talked the whole way about a couple of prophetic experiences she had and her desire to se Mexico's corrupt president and politicians come to Jesus. I will pray that she gets her wish of an audience with the President to tell him about the precious gift she carries in her own heart. Her passion was contagious! I felt her spirit lifting mine up to such a blissful peace and joy for what she knew should not be taken as a casual "religion," but the greatest love this girl - and the world - has ever known.

I remember a young man coming to the small but cheery house they provided for us to stay in. He came to lead our devotion, but they had overlooked one tiny detail - the interpreter. Not really thinking of the ramifications of choosing to do so, I offered to interpret his devotion. He was with us for about 45 minutes, but for me it was one of the many confirmations, affirmations and convictions that I had been needing for a long time. I remember a story he told about an evangelist who filled the stadiums of the city he preached in. This same man who led thousands to Christ turned his back first on God then on his ministry and as a result he became an alcoholic and miserable. I don't want to trade my destiny for anything so meaningless... and not only alcohol, there are other vices too.

I remember feeling more convicted in my heart during church when I heard the Spanish translation of the sermon, and I was surprised to find that I could feel close to Jesus while I worshipped in Spanish as well as in English. I remember feeling that I had found the purpose for my quirk in obsessing over the language for so long.

I remember the night we tried to invite all the kids over for a bonfire. We got the bonfire pit set up, sans the fire, and big huge drops of wet rain fell. There was a long debate before this whether the kids should come since it looked like rain, but we all defied the heavens and they came anyway. It ended up being a very large yet surprisingly intimate indoor party with about sixty souls crammed into a 12-soul house. We played a couple of games, we worshipped, I thought that I would be followed-up by someone, but I ended up being the only one who shared my heart that evening... I think I mentioned the shining for Jesus moment in the house.... how we came to teach them, but they taught me more than I ever dreamed I could comprehend about the subject.

I remember the feeling when we left. I remember the same quiet, shy Chuey loaded the truck with our empty luggages and feeling that my heart was the same - an empty piece of suitcase thrown into the back of a rusty pickup in the darkness and cold of the early morning. I just wanted to hide - only long enough so that I knew we would miss our flight - and step out into the sunshine outside that door again, walk the dusty streets to the orphanage and hug every little one in sight, and never look back....

what's that you say? Pride? No, not me.

Pride. Lately this has been a tricky subject for me. You know the saying, "Pride always comes just before a fall" ? Well, I think that my greatest fear should be falling. I'm going to be honest with you, humility is not something that I wear well. I don't know how! I wish that I could somehow simply "get it," and go on, in perfect humility. And then I think of how great I would be if I were humble and perfect... I think there is a vicious cycle here and that I should learn to jump off that proverbial merry-go-round. In my recent self-searches I've begun to see who it is I really am inside, not only as a person, but as a Christian. Whoa, it's not pretty. I think the most important thing is to conquer pride and be able to really say that I value my brothers and sisters more than I do my own life, and that I should now more than ever esteem them as above me in every respect. This, my brothers and sisters, is easier said than done. I feel like a jerk for having said even a few words - even if they were out of concern - with respect to the situations of a couple of friends of mine. I know how I would feel if my friends were concerned about me in the same way -- "Emily is beginning to drink too much," or "Emily is a really depressing person to be around." I would not feel like that friend cared about me, in fact I would feel that this friend in particular thought that she was better than me and esteemed her character as better or above my own. It's easy to talk. It's not so easy to face myself in the mirror and say, "I love my brothers and sisters, and I would do anything to humble myself for their benefit."

This is a struggle for me. I'm actually praying for a way that God could provide a humbling situation, a moment where I realize that nothing is about me, and nothing can be done without the help of others or my God. I'm praying for not only humility, but a monumental space in time where I am shown how to wear this new hat.

impatience

The sister's wedding is coming up soon, and the responsabilities of the sister not getting married are being called upon - during finals week. Although I have to say that since my last test in my Portuguese class (for which I have an oral exam amanã), I haven't really felt the same urgency as usual to get an 'A.' I think it might have something to do with this newfound passion for missions in Mexico. Have I mentioned this yet? ... well, if you know me I've told you, if not, surprise! My growing impatience for all things academic is really starting to get on my nerves - really it's getting in the way of my academic success, but hey, you win some you lose some.

The big ugly head has finally reared. I need a job. I can't pay for tuition this semester and doubt the prospects much more for paying for the next... that is, if I don't get in gear and start job hunting. Too bad I have a one-year gap on my record, but hey! Who are they to judge? Oh yeah, employee recruiters. Crap.

A little P.S. note from the almost-married sis:
"Emily...just wait...your day is coming and you will see how wonderful it is to have a sister that is willing and happy to assist you in any and every way in your most happy and at the same time, most stressful, hairpulling, wanna acream and cry at the same time, and driving everyone else crazy even though you always said you would never be one of those brides...moments"

spanglish/espangles

Fui a una iglesia en que predican en español hoy. Fue muy interesante ver las diferentes personas. De todo tipo! Creo que es lo que Dios quiere para todas las iglesias: diversidad de personas de diferentes culturas, colores y pasados. Me gustó mucho... Claro que hablaba sobre el dar gracias a Dios por el dia feriado que se acerca. Estuve pensando de eso, no le digo con muchisima frequencia que aprecio a mi vida, mi aliento, mi seguridad, mi familia... todo lo simple que nunca pienso.

GRACIAS SENOR!!

Me quede con mucho pensamiento ultimamente... Ojala pudiera perdonarme por lo que dije en uno de mis ultimos (hard times... ), pero la verdad es que la Palabra no me lo permite: 2 Timoteo 1:8 8 "Por tanto, no te averguences de dar testimonio de nuestro Señor..." Lo unico de que me arrepiento es que alguna gente no me entendi bien, o sea lo escribi mal, y habian personas que lo tomaron por un insulto personal. Quiero que esa gente sepa que eso no fue lo que queria con esas palabras que puse ahi (y si lo ves, lo cambie con respeto a los nombres y algunos terminos)... Lo que quiero es que yo sea un ejemplo que no da verguenza a mi Jesus, ni con mis acciones ni mis palabras. Hay que saber que dice Romanos 3:23 "por cuanto todos pecaron y están destituidos de la gloria de Dios." Incluso a mi...

Tentador

Mateo 4:3 Se le acercó el tentador y le dijo:
--Si eres Hijo de Dios, di que estas piedras se conviertan en pan.
4 Él respondió y dijo:
--Escrito está: "No solo de pan vivirá el hombre, sino de toda palabra que sale de la boca de Dios".

Es un cuento conocido por todos, pero siempre me intriga la pasión de Jesus cuando satanás enfrenta a El allí en el desierto. Incluso depués de cuarenta días de un ayuno vigilente dice a satanás que la Palabra es más importante que la comida... que la vida humana que tenemos que seguir viviendo. Siempre me intriga también cuando leo la Palabra el mismo versículo puede tener un efecto diferente cada vez que lo leo. Es un señal indudable que la Palabra está viva. Es muy como la poesía, que cuando lo lees una vez no te puede afectar, pero un mes o un año después y lees el mismo poema, tiene un significado tan profundo que te preguntas por qué no lo viste antes?

Por qué no lo vi antes?

Mi flamenco

Just so my adoring public knows, these are not my works of art, rather these are my work in progress, so ease up on the criticisms. ;0)

Mis monos

Todo

encuentrame aqui
hablame a mi
quiero sentirte
necesito oirte
eres la luz
que me guia
al lugar donde hallo la paz de nuevo

eres la fuerza por la que sigo andando
eres la esperanza por la que sigo confiando
eres la luz para
mi alma
eres mi todo

Como puedo estar aqui contigo y no estarme movida por ti?
Me podrias decir como pudiera ser mejor que esto?

Tu calmas las tormentas y me das descanso
me tienes en las manos y no vas a dejar que caigo
Me robas el corazon y me quitas el aliento
Me aceptarias? Me llevarias a lo mas profundo?

Como puedo estar aqui contigo y no estarme movida por ti?
Me podrias decir como pudiera ser mejor que esto?

Porque eres todo lo que quiero, todo lo que necesito
Tu eres todo, todo
Eres todo lo que quiero, todo lo que necesito
Tu eres todo... todo

Me podrias decir como pudiera ser mejor que esto?

trying my hand...

This is the first poem I've ever written - ever. Se hizo una oración cuando la empezé no tenía eso en mi mente pero a veces la poesía escribe sí misma.

Como el río al gijarro

Quiero que me conozcas
quiero que me comprendas
como el río al guijarro
quiero que entiendas
todo lo que quiero

Quiero aprender de ti
quiero vivir por ti
como la llama por el aire
quiero ver te a ti
sé que lo haré

Quiero que me ames
quiero que me guardes
en el pozo de tu corazón
quiero que abres
el mío como un cajón

Quiero recordar tus palabras
quiero saber lo que quieras
para mi
quiero ver que darás
por parte de ti

lessons of life

I Corintios 7:32-35
Quisiera, pues, que estuvierais sin congoja. El soltero se preocupa por las cosas del Señor, de cómo agradar al Señor; pero el casado se preocupa por las cosas del mundo, de cómo agradar a su mujer.
Hay asimismo diferencia entre la casada y la doncella. La doncella se preocupa por las cosas del Señor, para ser santa tanto en cuerpo como en espíritu;^[v] pero la casada se preocupa por las cosas del mundo, de cómo agradar a su marido.
Esto lo digo para vuestro provecho; no para tenderos lazo, sino para lo honesto y decente, y para que sin impedimento os acerquéis al Señor.

Quiero enfocarme más y "preocuparme de las cosas de Dios." ... y si es la voluntad de El que me case, quiero ser la hija que da todo el honor a Dios por estar siempre en Cristo cuando tomo cualquier decisión. Es escrito en la tabla de mi corazon esto:

cantares 3:5 Yo os conjuro, oh doncellas de Jerusalén,
Por los corzos y por las ciervas del campo,
Que no despertéis ni hagáis velar al amor,
Hasta que quiera.

Hay un monton de traducciones de este versiculo pero pienso que dice que no deberíamos despertar al amor hasta que estemos listos, o sea, hasta que estemos contentos en el amor de nuestro Padre (contentos siendo solteros) y crecidos en El, maduros en el Espiritu.

Hard times...

The more I think about how difficult my life is, the more I have to try to laugh about it. Not that it's funny in any way, but it's that the things I consider a "problem" or a "tough time" are really only fractions of a fraction of what the rest of the world has to endure. I feel like I'm talking in code, I'm sorry. My point is, my problems seem like a splinter in my toe compared to the logs some people have rammed through their hearts.

I would love for certain people in this world to know that I pray for them everyday, and not just one of those cheesy "bless 'em, keep 'em" prayers, but real, full-on, 100% desire for joy in their lives, peace in their hearts, and a life living for Jesus. Since my recent experiences, I know now that the only way to true unadulterated joy and happiness (that small little thing we search for all our lives, kill for and die for on a regular basis, etc) lies with Jesus. And not just for me. Many people, the ones whose problems loom like big giant shadows over my own, often say "everyone prays to the same God, and in the end that's cool for them and it all probably leads to the same place anyway." If I could, I would have people try on Jesus like a sweater and the world would be so different. One moment of a deep meaningful relationship with the God that I know (sans-the-religion) , and we would have a revival on our hands.

I want to emphasize that I have a long way to go as a person. I don't consider myself better, or perfect or even worthy over anyone else. In fact, knowing myself as well as I do, I feel ashamed to start talking about God and how He's a part of my life that is growing into becoming my life. Not only am I not perfect, I'm probably a horrendous representation of what I would consider a good example of a Christian.... such a horrendous misfortune that the word comes with so much history, baggage, negative connotations, and me.

The funny thing is, even God's chosen people sucked... as people. They were prostitutes, murderers, cheaters, liars, incestuous, horrendous people. I think for a good reason though. Life is not about "being a good person" like I've heard a thousand times before. Being good is good, but it has nothing to do with how to live a life.

I feel I'm offending people with this blog.

It has nothing to do with how to live life!!!

You can be horrendous, awful, horrible, evil, mean, grotesquely sinful, and still have a place in heaven because of a not-so-simple sacrifice that the world insists on taking lightly and brushing off and ignoring or insisting on pluralism. Of course once the moment of revelation smacks you between the eyes its an automatic 180 and the horrendous, awful, horrible, evil, mean, grotesquely sinful (or just the regular white-lying, cheating here-and there, not-so-bad) person doesn't want to be the person they were before.

Picture this: You choose to die for someone you love to save their life and then that person turns away from your bloody, beaten, broken and dying body and says, "I never saw you. I don't know you."

Aw geez, not again...

I thought now that it has had time to sink in and seep out again I'd talk a little more about my beloved country, México. I went, it conquered me, and I left with everything. I haven't had a chance to really write my feelings on the subject. I suppose feelings are a real bore to most readers, but hey, I'TS MY BLOG!

First, I want to talk about honesty. In Mexico I was really working hard to deceive myself into thinking the things I have wanted the most were what I really wanted. The biggest example would be Argentina. I'm pretty sure Argentina was an experience that changed my life. It's enchanting, I love the city, I love the country! I love the ocean... I didn't feel like it was mine. I didn't feel that my spirit could connect onto anything... like a slippery ship deck when it's sinking... you want to grab onto something, anything, you would be happy with a thread of resistance before you feel you're going to fall in the water and struggle, kick, flail, until the end. That's a pretty bleak picture of what a beautiful, enchanting place could be for a person, but if I were honest with myself, I would have known that the ship isn't in my future.

Interesting... I thought I was going to talk about México...

Let's talk about humility. I realized on this trip to my homeland that I can be, sometimes, possibly, a bit ... self-righteous and proud. This trip helped me to realize that problem, if not cured me of it. There were two, if I may say, three very beautiful young girls on this trip... to begin, and to be honest, I may have had a little crumb of jealousy towards them. I had brought my dingiest T-shirts and warmest sweaters and they brought half of Vogue magazine and Revlon's complete collection. Needless to say, they were cute and I was not, but in the same moment I would think, "wow they are so vain," I would also be thinking, "I should have brought mine." I struggled with my conscience about it, and struggled with a few mean-spirited comments like, "you're so vain." Eventually, I stopped, I should have apologized, but sometimes the truth rings true even if it is spoken meanly... again, I'm still struggling with this a bit.

A small committment

I've been in touch with some of the folks from the orphanage and it's been more than encouraging to know that there are one or seventeen people out there who know my state of mind and share the same idea of Jesus. A wonderful example is M. She is the picture of what I hope my path will lead me to be. She wrote the faith statement below and I asked if I could adopt it as my own.

MI COMPROMISO COMO JOVEN CRISTIANO

Yo soy parte de los que no serán avergonzados nunca. Tengo el poder del Espíritu Santo. Mi suerte ha sido echada y he cruzado la línea divisoria; he tomado la decisión: Soy un discípulo de Jesús. No cedo, ni retrocedo, ni disminuyo la velocidad, ni me detengo, ni miro hacia atrás.

Mi pasado ha sido redimido, mi presente es bueno y mi futuro esta seguro. He cesado con el vivir la vida ligera, he terminado con el pasear como turista por la experiencia humana, con los placeres pequeños, con el tener las rodillas suaves, con los sueños en blanco y negro, con las visiones limitadas, con el hablar mundano, la tacañería al dar y con el posponer los proyectos para otra ocasión.

Ya no requiero de la adulación de la gente, ni me domina la ambición por cosas materiales, no necesito ser reconocido a la fuerza, ni me inquieta el no ganar concursos de popularidad. No tengo que tener la razón, ni ser el primero, ni ser alabado, considerado o recompensado. Ahora vivo por la Fe, me apoyo en Dios, camino pacientemente, me levanta el ánimo la oración y me apasiona trabajar para el Señor.

Mi rostro está afirmado, mi pulso es firme, me destino el cielo; el camino es angosto, los acompañantes pocos.

Mi guía confiable, la misión clara. No puedo ser sobornado, ni desviado, ni derrotado. Fracasan los que intentan detenerme. No me intimida el sacrificio, no me agotan los reverses, ni el enemigo me hace vacilar. No entro en negociaciones de paz con el adversario, ni me siento en su mesa, ni medito en sus éxitos, ni me atrae su mediocridad.

No me rendiré, no callaré, ni cesaré hasta que haya perseverado totalmente, orado sin cesar y gastado mi vida en servir a Dios. Yo soy un discípulo de Jesucristo. Debo ir hasta que Él regrese, dar hasta que lo haya dado todo, predicar hasta que todos sepan y trabajar hasta que Él me detenga y cuando Él regrese por los suyos, no tendrá dificultad en reconocerme, mi estandarte estará reluciente.

Speaking of homesick

I began reading for this class that I have, just after coming home from this Mexico experience. I think my mind has done a 180 along with my life... Everything I come into contact with seems to be meant for me. The funny part is I'm nearly constantly praying that God will steady Himself in my mind and heart. I read this poem and couldn't help feeling homesick again. It also happens to compare in almost every characteristic to the book of Solomon.


La noche oscura

[ Canciones del alma que se goza de haber llegado al
alto estado de la perfección, que es la unión con Dios,
por el camino espiritual. ]

En una noche oscura,
con ansias en amores inflamada,
(¡oh dichosa ventura!)
salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.

A oscuras y segura,
por la secreta escala disfrazada,
(¡oh dichosa ventura!)
a oscuras y en celada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.

En la noche dichosa,
en secreto, que nadie me veía,
ni yo miraba cosa,
sin otra luz ni guía
sino la que en el corazón ardía.

Aquésta me guïaba
más cierta que la luz del mediodía,
adonde me esperaba
quien yo bien me sabía,
en parte donde nadie parecía.

¡Oh noche que me guiaste!,
¡oh noche amable más que el alborada!,
¡oh noche que juntaste
Amado con amada,
amada en el Amado transformada!

En mi pecho florido,
que entero para él solo se guardaba,
allí quedó dormido,
y yo le regalaba,
y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.

El aire de la almena,
cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,
con su mano serena
en mi cuello hería,
y todos mis sentidos suspendía.

Quedéme y olvidéme,
el rostro recliné sobre el Amado,
cesó todo, y dejéme,
dejando mi cuidado
entre las azucenas olvidado.

Homesick

I came home from Mexico a few days ago. They say you should always write as things happen because the impression of juicy wears off. I disagree. I think the impression has been pushing its way through my heart, through to the core of my whole self, and through to my spirit... with each morning I wake up I feel this impression deeper and deeper...

I knew that God had it in for me, but I didn't know for what and I didn't know for when. It's funny, I was always the one who tried to convince myself that I loved the things that only fascinated me the way a shiny object fascinates a cat (only temporarily, and its just an illusion of beauty, not beauty itself), but there have only been two everlasting passions in my life, a third if you count my Jesus: 1) spanish and the latino culture and 2) writing. I sometimes dislike admitting that writing is a passion, especially on a blog, since I feel humbled by my mediocre talents. But if I were honest with myself and with God, I'll have to stick to my guns on this one.

Mexico was ... indiscribable. There is something about being able to look into the eyes of nearly a hundred children with nothing but love and acceptance in their eyes - for you - its hard to believe that anyone would think to leave that treasure behind or make decisions that would lead them to the jail cells that separate them from their children. But then, if they weren't sent to Esperanza Viva, it's likely they never would have developed that natural glow of the love of Jesus inside them shining more brilliant than any light.

I was able to share with the older kids (13-18) on one of the last evenings just what the impact of their lives had been on me. I couldn't hold it in any longer! I began a little rusty, but it had been more than a week since we showed up with light gear, flashy gadgets and glowing doohickies. Our theme for the week was Shine for Jesus. We came with the idea of teaching this concept to them. I became emotional, which I discovered is supposed to be a gift from God, and began to confess that at least for my part, I learned more from them about the Light of Jesus in them then I ever could have dreamed of teaching.

It was emotional, spiritual, and life-changing, and I know that there will be challenges and the world to distract me from what I know God has appointed me for: Mexico. However, I will be praying daily and diving a little deeper everyday into the Word and practicing my church-terms in spanish until I hear orders from the Jefe that it's time to go.

Am I lying???

Ok, I admit, I've been sounding a lot like a hypocondriach except I'm constantly sick ... uh, life-wise. Today, the day, I was rushing through portugues, my exam, my paper(s), my school-related posts, etc... and I'm now to the point where all of its importance has diminished a little bit and turned into what it really is: a regular ol' life. I finished most of the work, sure I have some things to finish and others to start, but with any luck and a little God, I think I'll handle it all and maybe with a little grace by midnight tonight.

How to Explode in a Week or Less

This week has been the clincher: I'm the biggest doofus to roam this planet. First, I'd like to say that there has been a lot on my mind. My sister is getting married and I'm the maid of honor, my brother is in Iraq, I don't have a job and I'm in a world of debt from school loans, my fiancee is 4 million miles away and my mom suddently decided she didn't quiiite approve of the plan to - you know, MARRY my fiancee, on top of it all I have midterms the week before I'm supposed to spend 10 days in Mexico with less-fortunate orphan children. So as you can see, a lot going on in my life now, lots of things to occupy my mind and make me create unlikely run-on sentences!

Starting two weeks ago I was dropped at my favorite bus stop on a chilly morning and taking my handy-dandy Argentina leather jacket with me headed out to conquer the world - or at least Hispanic Literature. An hour later, hot and hungry I stop by a place that I assumed would automatically become my favorite lunch-spot since it serves sushi and bubble tea. I order my sushi and bubble tea and sit down, placing my prized jacket on the back of my chair. Long story short, the sushi was waaaaaay below par and when I got up to leave I twisted out of my chair, tray in hand and breezed out the door, rushed to the bus stop and halfway home.... Shiiiiiiiiiit! I left my lovely, black, highly inexpensive leather blazer hanging like a big piece of juicy cow-skin candy for anyone to help themselves. Stranded on the bus, I 411ed the place and begged the manager to see if it was still hanging on its gourmet candy display... no.

A week later, I'm stressing out and thinking all has simply gone wrong in the world - at least the world surrounding events in my life - and my dad blesses my socks off with this lovely flash drive.... a 512er and... *holding back a tear... one day last week in the language lab, in a hurry to write a paper and a bit late to class, distracted by a classmate, I left it there. Sticking out of the computer's USB port like a big chunk of licorice for the first unsuspecting gluttonous fat-kid bully to pull it out and take it home to mistreat or over-eat it or whatever.

Then a few days ago (this one, thank God, has a happy ending), my sister was gracious enough to give me a ride to my favorite bus stop... again. I hop out of the car, umbrella in hand, and wildly wave the bus down while trying to dig in my wallet for my bus pass.... wait, my bus pass? Where was the stupid thing? Not in my wallet!?! Since when? Dejected, sad, slowly breaking down, a little wet and late for class, I waved the bus on by and with my head hanging dangerously low, slodged my way the 15 blocks to my class.

Some people say I'm just a whiner... I say I'm cursed. PRAY EVERYONE! For meeeeeee

Confessions are good for the soul... and my homework

P.S. As a little add-on to my blessings for the day, the email that I thought was lost in cyber-space showed up after all. I have my 3 hours worth of genius literary analysis.... I'm thanking God right now with all my meager might! Plus, to add to the too-much-already my dad heard my rantings about it and handed me a 512mg USB device.

Pride comes before the fall

Today was spent in constant reflection over the events of the past 10 hours. In that time I have become a firm believer in the Bible's wisdom concerning pride. My last post was a bit unabashedly prideful (I mean really, "I win!" ?) and in many ways spiteful. Granted I posted it knowing full well that the ex in question is completely oblivious to the fact that I even have a blog, but it does not alter the principle.

Today, my shiny old Escort died on the freeway on my way to class where an assignment was due. I called my own version of AAA (daddy) and he was already full swing into business meetings. Near the exit ramp of such-and-such, sweltering hot for 9am, and flustered by the thought that I wouldn't have a car for the rest of my stay here in the U.S., I called my real hero(ine).

T came to my rescue no questions asked beyond: "Where are you?" She is my saving grace and my shining star and all the other cliché sounding adjectives.

Back to complaining: I am without a car, I don't have a ride home, I go to the language center for a portuguese assignment that can't be completed because of the bus schedule, I'm dropped off in dumping/pouring sheets of rain, and when I get home an assignment I had worked on all afternoon (3 hours of work) did not make it to the other side of cyberspace to my email inbox and I have to start all over again.

Now that I've vented, during all this nonsense I've literally counted the blessings of my day:

1) I got to help T with her hija while she took an Ojibwe test. We went to the playground where we rode the train to a wedding where she (the magician princess) married a ghost named Africa.

2) Her roommate deemed it necessary and/or a pleasure to buy my lunch at Holy Land - Cannot express the pleasure I get from that place's food. THANKS J!!!

3) I bumped into T in the language lab and after listening to my sob-story she offered a ride and a place to stay in the city on Saturday - our party night.

4) I was worried about showing up late to my first class, but it didn't matter much. And the same professor will allow late assignments due to my trip to Mexico.

5) I was also planning to skip a film class in order to enjoy my ethnic lunch thinking I would walk in during the post-film discussion. Turns out I walked in on the last 5 minutes of the film itself, avoided the notice of the profesor, collected my graded homework and got full credit for attendance.

6) My dad did come pick me up from the bus stop and saved me from the dumping/pouring sheets of rain... even though 2 minutes later than desired.

7) My mom is "making" me go to Mexico.

8) I have fabulous friends, a fabulous fiancé and a fabulous dad/family who will lend cars and rides at the drop of the proverbial hat.

9) I don't have to worry about car insurance anymore, and now I know my next job will be downtown :) - just within walking distance of the nearest bus stop.

10) I'm alive.

So, in comparison, although I might be flustered and a little stressed by the thought of walking to a bus stop in the freezing cold or snow or dumping/pouring sheets of rain... I'm not so bad off.

I win...

I know you all will relate to what I have to say if you've ever had one of those depressing break-ups. I haven't seen my ex since months before I even left for the beautiful Argentina and now, more than a year later and only due to a mutual friend's party I ran into him there.

I thought that I was going to go suddenly retarded when T warned me he would be coming up to the appartment and I looked to a friend and said, "Girl, if I go boob on y'all can you drag me out of this place for a bit?" She looked at me like I was on crack - and it turns out I must have been. He walked in and I was thoroughly satisfied.

This is more or less one of those saw-my-ex success stories.

He walked in and kinda looked skinnier than I remembered him normally being... My taste has evolved to the meatier types. He looked at me a bit surprised (my big hair does that to folks, I've learned) and said hello. I said hello back and continued my conversation with T. He went medio wacko and started walking back and forth, saying something to me, walking away again, coming back, saying something, saying nothing...

He tried leaning in, tried to get close (not too successful there), I leaned away and stepped back and tried to gracefully dodge an attempted hug - like we were suddenly old friends... riiight - and it ended up being one of those awkward why-are-you-touching-me, arm-draped-on-the-shoulder "hugs" that lasted three-quarters of a second. He asked general or random questions and I politely answered and returned to the various conversations he had consequently interrupted.

He was there only 10 or 15 minutes and then left with his uncharacteristically cool friends who had made normal conversation with me and went out the door, stood there in the hall and came back inside to say good-bye to me... In the end I was not that confused about his behavior. One girl said it with flair: "He wants on you like white-on-rice," but my sis' phrased it just right, "He wanted you to want him and you obviously didn't."

I win.

It's everyone's fantasy to see the ex years later and be better off, satisfied with life, engaged to be married or better and more... I was one of the lucky ones.

the daily grind

There are a few major things worth mentioning these days... although I don't think many people would find them that entertaining, so I think I will bullet-point the main scruff and then say what I really wanna say.

• I am engaged to be married in June to a wonderful, handsome, loving Argentine man and I'm excited and nervous because he's so wonderful, but I will soon move from my home country.
• School started and I'm excited and nervous because school rocks, but I will soon have to pay student loans.
• I got a job and I'm excited and nervous because the job rocks, but I am paid on commission only.
• I'm back in my social swing here in the good ol' ***polis. Going to FDs every week to get my hispanic roots a good waterin' and the weekends are always an up-in-the-air adventure.

I guess that's all that really matters to me these days... I'm obsessed with getting a dog. I want an American Blue Pit Bull with that lush gold-like fur. Thanks a lot "Dog Whisperer"!!!

is that a blemish on my blog?

I've been struggling with the idea of posting on a blog that was really meant for my adventures in South America. That whole isolation, denial, reverse culture-shock thing is still in high-gear and showing no signs of ebbing. I've been pushing myself to go out, do something, go somewhere, write something... Ah, people and public places are overrated anyway.

I'm still getting married to that hunky mono in Buenos Aires, I've applied for jobs here and there (in MN and in BsAs) - with not too bad o' luck if I do say so. My excel-sheets of schedules and budgets are all in place: my wallet, my laptop, my pin-board thingy, laminated on the front of my 3-ring binder... I'm ready to begin the new school year - I think.

I did, in my bouts of isolation and anti-social behavior take up drawing again. I will update this blog with my recent pride - a mono - when I get the chance. There seems to be a pattern building in my brain, but who's to judge? When you're in love, you do crazy things! Like draw a monkey in your spare time....

inspiration

I guess you could call me a sucker for kids flicks, but whatever you want to call me I will openly and honestly admit: Ratatouille inspired me! Lately I took over Sebas' kitchen and the grocery shopping duties and I have to say that my favorite thing to do as of late - you guessed it - is cook. The inspiration part comes from the scene where Little Chef pukes a little in his mouth because he passes by the aroma of a toxic soup and before he escapes he tosses in three or four different herbs and spices until he makes the restaurant's famous soup.

I have now become an online pupil and experiment specialist at the herb and spice academy of Emily and I plan to take over the family kitchen when I come home too. Get ready fools, 'cause here comes the crazy cook!

10 days and counting

I was reminded today that the end is near... I'm handling it well -all things considered. I only cry once a day, I eat at least one meal, and I sleep 10 hours. The sleeping doesn't make sense to me since I should be drinking in every minute of this city before I leave. I think I'll revise my lifestyle in a day or two before it's too late.

Such is life...

There is a story to tell. This is a rather short story that has begun, but that may also continue on for the rest of time:

Once there was a girl who lived far far away and she was walking the streets between the looming tall buildings of a grand city called Buenos Aires. She thought to herself that day, what am I doing here? This thought was logical since she had moved away from everything and everyone she knew to live in this city with no connection to anyone there except one red-headed friend who had proved to be the best most loyal friend any girl could ask for.

Some days later, after beginning to feel quite confident that she was ready to face the endless streets of Buenos Aires, she went with her red-headed friend to an asado (an argentinian-style barbeque except instead of hotdogs there is a half of a cow on the grill). There her attention was caught by a young man with a bright smile that scrunched up his whole face and his dark brown eyes would sort of squint and make a little upsidedown smile of themselves. In the 10 hours that they were in the same space sharing the same company they excahnged very few words privately. Though the young girl didn't know it, her blue-gray eyes and wild brown curls had captured the young man and at the end of the day, after the cow was settling in to the stomachs of the happy people there, a phone number was offered and taken.

In the weeks that followed, the young man would rush to the door of the girl almost every night at 10:30 to go to a movie or for a drink or simply to be in her company. And each night the girl became more and more aware of her eager state of mind as she ate her dinner and watched the clock strike 10 then 10:20, 10:25... until she received a message with a simple, "toy abajo." She smiled, threw on her coat, kissed her host good-bye and fumbled with the keys as she locked the door. The elevator was irritatingly slow.

She stepped off the elevator and decided that after several weeks of going out in this manner, it was possible that maybe he would kiss her tonight... just maybe. The first stop was the movie theater, but in the previous weeks that had by then exhausted all the good movies and decided to move on to another venue. They began to walk and under the street lights she lightly wrapped her arm around his to block some of the cold wind as they walked, chatting, joking, and laughing for an hour until they eventually came to a plaza. The man mentioned that there was a place he had wanted to take her that evening and they walked across the plaza, turned up a street and found themselves at the door of and Irish pub called Kilkenny.

The mode of the evening ensued pretty much just as it had before and after her second Guinness, the girl felt tired and happy, wishing the night would stretch on forever... Then, as she leaned in to respond to some comment, or to comment on something herself, his head turned and she simply - and without much hesitation - continued to lean until their lips met.

**************************

A little less than two months later, the girl and man were relaxing watching the game at his apartment when they decided they were to lazy to go out in the bitter cold that evening and it was far too much work to try to find something to cook... it was not a normal attitude that either normally adopted, but they went a little crazy and decided to call McDonald's for delivery (in Buenos Aires, if you don't deliver you are the oddity of the universe). This evening however, the lines were busy and the pair was getting hungrier by the minute. They decided to bear the cold and walk the 4 blocks to the McDonald's. By the way, McDonald's in that city is similar to going to a backyard barbeque. They don't serve the flat gray patties of mystery-meat between a bun like in the States, but a real, thick, juicy burger with real cheese...

After ordering they sat down and began their now-established routine of talking about life, the future, plans, dreams, and what they planned to do that week. The conversation turned to the aftermath of the girl's upcoming departure. They were convinced that they loved one another and they were also convinced that a trivial hardship like distance couldn't affect their commitment to one another.

The girl, with little doubt and no hesitation requested a promise: That if their relationship can endure a year of separation with only holiday visits here and there, that he would consider marrying her. His expression changed from surprise to such a glorious thrill that she didn't need him to answer, but he exclaimed anyway, "Of course!" and hugged her hard.

Peli-Q-La

The other day I was just thinking of whether or not I would rather go home or try to stick it out here for another couple of years. My poor ear is not cooperating with the training it has received in the past 4 months and I still find myself zoning out and saying "¿como?" a few times a day... Sebas has been wonderful and I feel like I can talk like a fool in front of him, and when he gently corrects the stupidest mistakes I make I don't feel I'm being made fun of or that he thinks I'm dumb for slipping and saying "patriota" instead of "compatriota". In any other situation I either keep my mouth shut terrified of failing to remember that an article is feminine or that an indirect object comes before the direct object...

Yesterday, watching the game for example, I wanted to say "Probate el valor" meaning to say "prove your worth" ... to this moment it sounds right to me, but I would never say it outloud for fear it was just a silly (wrong) guess. Then I don't have to worry about being in a situation similar to that of who I will call "Pili-Q-la". While this person is the sweetest thing on earth, there was no avoiding a few jabs behind her back about her horrendous pronunciation and grammar.

I had Ogi and Seb over for lunch at our house the other day, Pili-Q-la, Mom, and my sister and her boyfriend were all there. Pili-Q-la and I were the only ones not native to the language (along with Ogi)... and everyone believed poor Pili-Q-la was speaking spanish, but she may as well have been speaking Chinese or Arabic judging from the looks on the faces of everyone there - you know the one: squinted eyes, head cocked to the side a little with an ear turned slightly towards the speaker... as if you must not be hearing the person right because it was so ridiculous.

This is my fear. I live with this fear, and I wish to overcome it.

The NorthEastWestSouth of Buenos Aires

First, election day has come and gone thank God. The plazas are safe again... whew! I felt a bit nervous saying "If I could vote for Ibarra...." when someone gave me this side-glance that said I'd be a tonta if I did. Well, he was the only one with a respectable looking side-kick and nice hair, so I couldn't pass up mentioning my triumph to those who would listen (2 people and only one a porteño - such a coward!). And now the city is back to normal: dog poo on the sidewalk, construction always half-finished, hiccupping public transportation, beggars with children in the street, vendors of sweet sent-from-heaven peanuts, and jugglers at every intersection.


Drink in the city and its delights for they will last... forever.

But there is no denying the true beauty of Buenos Aires: the wine. Even the imported wines from Uruguay and Chile taste better in Buenos Aires. Maybe its because the scent and taste of the wine drives away the smell and grit in your teeth from the pollution... Ok ok, I will admit reluctantly that I have not been one-hundred percent happy with this city in the past few weeks. I said once that Buenos Aires is the great kid I want to be friends with more than anything but for some reason he's just not interested in getting to know me. I was hoping it was just election-week blues, but it seems to be going beyond that. I heard that sometimes culture shock and homesickness can take months to kick in and months to go away again once they do... It is quite possible that there are only 2 cures for my blues: 1) stay for another few years in Buenos Aires or until the feeling is overcome or 2) go home, which is not something I've been too excited to do lately. Mucho quilombo en esa casa ahora, pero bueno... así es mi vida.

Una de las cosas que me da animo ahora es el maestro de JewJitSue. El tiene buena onda y creo que piensa lo mismo de mi así que "colgamos afuera" muchisimo. Eso fue para vos, Flaco!

Disculpenme, please...

Ok picky readers, I understand that my blogs have been fewer and farther between and it seems that my efforts to impress have slackened a bit. Please, excuse the sloppiness. I hope to write something worth your proverbial while in the next bout of blogging frenzy, so keep your sock suspenders fastened and as gramma always says, "hang on to your britches."

Finding myself in an Art Bath

I went to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes today. Before I did I ran into my host mom, Irene, whom I have to say again is one of the most beautiful people inside and out that I've ever met. She stopped me in the hall today and simply asked if I was ok. The funny thing is, everyone and their dog will ask, "Que tal?" but Irene, when she asks with this serious tone and a sincere glimmer of concern in her eye I tore down my tough-girl facade and talked. It felt good, first to have someone in my near physical vicinity actually care enough to say, "lately you've been a little different, anything up?"

There's been a lot for me to think about this past week. I started fasting and doing devotions, Mel and Sebas are in Brazil, my girlfriends (who are still way cool) simply don't find a good friend in me, so I haven't seen them outside of school much. That was a crisis I was going through two days ago and I was going to blog about how horrible a person I can be to my friends, but really... I don't see my bluntness, frankness, honesty and saying what I think as entirely brutal. My only message to all my friends at this juncture is:

If I'm your friend it's because I think you're great, if I say something you don't like just say so and I will be happy to apologize and continue living, and if my personality comes on a bit strong, blunt, too honest or a bit offensive - "friend, MEET EMILY." Take it or leave it. I get it from my Grandma Rosie and I think she's gravy!

I shared my concerns about losing friends with Irene and bless her, she is always willing to offer a word of counsel. The outcome of our conversation is reflected in the above message to my friends :) Being on my own this past week has really been a blessing wrapped in melancholy and I'm starting to realize that although my own skin sometimes feels like a too-tight shirt or a scratchy wool sweater, I'm still me at the end of the day and I happen to like the Emily of late. She's the chick who doesn't try too hard for anyone, who likes to go to museums, musicals and salsa venues, who writes incessantly, who thinks she's Mexican, who has a few real true friends and is happier that way, the one who thinks too much, the one who finds beauty in the grotesque and takes too many photos of it... She's the one that took me a whole 23 years to define and redefinition is by this time out of the question.

In any case, I've moved on and I'm anxious to start anew. My ritual for this new beginning was going to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. It's hard to know how I spent three hours in a place where the collection there is relatively small. I took my time today with a real eye out for "gusto", I studied the unique brush strokes of Monet, the mythical nymphs of Manet, the delicately carved curves of the innumerous sculptures of the human body, the whimsy and spirit of Degas' ballet dancers, the rebellious crudeness of Picasso during his vanguardía phase, and the incredible landscapes of Corot.... It was nearly endless for being such a short stroll through the museum.

It was the most refreshing art bath I've had in a long time.

whoa baby, now I´m home

We took our first exam today. It was a stresser before the class began since we had no idea what to look for in our text book. Apparently they don't believe in telling you test format or in giving reviews or a study guide here. That is something strictly U.S. of A-esque. In any case, I think I survived it... we'll see after dinner if I don't think of something I forgot and go, "CRAP!" keel over and die of a stress-attack. I think that is a million years away from happening since, just this afternoon I was discussing the incredible differences between how our universities work here and I think the words I specifically used were, "slack" and "bull-s#*t" to describe the Argentine system. Some days I sit and have to revel in the extensive organization of my country, and I think when I do finally start participating in that system again I won't say a word ever again about how much paperwork there is to fill out on forms, requests, data entry, major purchases and simple returns, basic necesities require PAPER. Today, our test was four questions scratched on the black board. That is what I call preservation of resources!

dancing queen

Saturday night though, I have to say was a riot! The whole bunch of us including Guille and Gustavo went out to this club where it seemed like half the tiny province-town of Iguazu showed up on Saturday nights. When we first arrived we were handed the ever-famous free trago coupon, we walked throught the doors at midnight at first to find the joint nearly completely empty. We filled the little place up fast and 20 minutes into it I realized they were not passing one or 2 songs of salsa, but that the early part of the night is dedicated to the genre. I about died when I thought of how seriously lacking the place was with actual salsa dancers. Just as my ganas to dance were about to make my chest explode I spotted a skinny black dude near the bar who was grooving to the music in an obviously rythmically educated manner. My first thought was "Cuban" since I'd seen him earlier behind the DJ booth when I recalled "Represent" by Orishas (a famous cubas hiphop group).

Oh well, what the heck. I stood up from a complicated position in the midst of 10 or so ISA students and without a word about my intentions I walked straight up to him - after being confusedly intervened by the mozo asking if I needed a drink - to be greeted with a dropped jaw and amused black eyes.

"Quieres bailar conmigo?"

"Si!"

We were the only two fools on the dance floor and we were there a straight 15 minutes bailando como si no viniera manana, sweating, exerting energy, laughing at my rusty steps, and impressing the whole room.

Such a great moment!

where the water falls

We went on Saturday to Las Cataratas de Iguazu on Agentina and Brazil's border. We began the day right (though leaning on the wrong foot - I'd forgotten to pack socks for a long day's walk). We got on our Omnibus, all 20-or-so ISA students, Guillermo and Gonzalo our ISA bosses, Margarita (Maggie) our National Park guide and Ormiga our bus driver, plus myself. I sat with Gonzalo during most of the trip because he was the only one who didn't speak much English, "more for me I say." We arrived at the Park around 9:15 disembarked the big 'ol bus and began our long trek through the dense subtropic forest of Northern Argentina in a province called Misiones.

The day started off wonderfully and if I could justifiably describe the numbers and colors of the butterflies we saw the entire day it would still not bring you to understand the magical beauty of it all. I said "magical." That means I'm nuts, a dork, or the scene really resembled a bit of the mystic.

We first walked a short stretch to a train yard specially constructed for National Park transport, took several photos of butterflies while we waited and finally choo-chooed to Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat). Our guide said the name was ironic: an ugly name for such a beautiful scene. When we arrived I could see both the irony and logic. It was incredible, yes, but just as I would never want to go anywhere near the throat of the devil, nor would I want to find myself in close proximity to this monster. We'd walked a good 1/4 mile to arrive at the lookout of the falls, through selva, on a man-made mesh-metal bridge-walkway. We turned a corner around the lower-growing greenery and we were met with first the sight of huge clouds of mist dancing and changing shape in the sunshine. Soon after we encountered that sight we came upon the source: The Devil's Throat. The only way to describe the giant is to say it was very nearly indescribable, powerful, loud, and hugely panoramic. You could feel, hear, taste, touch and even smell the majesty. The spray on my face was a refreshing reminder of how good it is to be living in a moment so worth treasuring.

The vision of the Swifts (birds) flying in and out of the wall of water as though they were super flying fish was another cause for wonder. I thanked God in that moment for allowing me to see, touch and experience such beauty.

We also walked along the same constructed metal pathway built seemingly right smack in the middle of the river to see the rest of the falls. At one point near the end of the tour we were nearly just below one of the smaller rushes of water and we in effect took a shower togther - clothes on, camera in hand - under the loud cascade of millions of liters of water. Afterwards we strolled down down down the metal constructed path that was now in the form of a gigantic staircase to a boat launch area. We strapped on our life vests (the size of two watermelons across your chest), climbed in a 30-seater speed boat for one of the best "waterpark" amusement rides of my life. Speeding through the rapids as close to the falls as the experienced driver dared was a rush I had never imagined experiencing. Gustavo and I were the only fools brave enough to sit all the way in the back of the boat - where our driver was decked out in rubber - since we knew that was were we would get the wettest, and we did! :)

Trying hard

There came a point in my experiences here where in my mind it was difficult to see through the fog of socializing with buddies, going on a date here and there, concerts, shopping, school, studying, drinking mate, etc. I stopped the other day to meditate on my reasons again for coming here. The funny thing is, I can't answer the question, "why did I come here?" When people ask usually I just say it was because I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and there was nothing more to keep me at home and besides, hey, my best friend was already here! Except you and I both know that there are a million things that caused me to make this decision even if they are difficult to define to the roaming public.

I think I decided a while back that the purpose was going unfulfilled and I decided then to take things into my own hands. I joined a psychodrama course at the local cultural center. It kinda freaks me out since after the first class this week I still couldn't really tell you what it is. Basically I'm forced out of my comfort zone and forced to talk and listen to other people and contribute to a weird dramatic concoction of skits and plays in a setting of only 10 people. It was really quite fantastic, but I think I will have more to tell after a few weeks.

I've been yelled at before for not blogging, but I believe this entry will both suffice and leave something wanting. In any case, I've got a bus to catch!

Birthday Blues...

I wouldn't normally publicize some things online especially when being honest usually means being discovered for who I really am, or in some cases for who I really am not, but who I've been acting like. My birthday was Sunday though the celebrations began on Friday night. We went to a great little resto-bar with white leather seating and an ambience to set the mood for a sophisticated grown-up birthday. Everyone I had wanted to come was there and really I did have a wonderful time that evening, but at the same time my soul was like the dog barking at the coming storm when the sun is still shining... I felt it brooding and I told Irene, "me voy a querer quedar en casa para mi cumple porque siento que voy a estar un poco triste ese dia." Sure enough, the feeling grew and grew and I ran away on Saturday morning (after being kicked out of my room by the cleaning lady) to my datey-friend's apartment and when I got there I spent the whole afternoon blogging, writing, and talking to Jods on Skype. Later that day I made plans with a lovely fellow from Uruguay whom I met in Montevideo, Gorgonzola, who reminds me so much of Johnny: the kid who has all the patience and talent of being my best friend and who sees right through me like a hobo's hankerchief and isn't afraid -when asked- to point out exactly what he sees... The light drizzle began here. He (Gorgi) started talking about my datey-friend and my past relationships, broken hearts... and not-surprisingly, Johnny came up. I started to feel uncomfortable being analyzed so, but if there is one thing I've learned in life, it's that if I do feel uncomfortable with someone analyzing me, it's probably because there is something within me that causes the discomfort.

I became serious and while Gorgi was talking I heard a phrase that I had heard before from Jod's mouth, but for some reason the words didn't stick the last time I heard them. It was a simple question followed by a stunning-yet-not statement, "Why do you do that? Make those crazy dramatic gestures I mean? It makes you seem so fake, like you're not being you." [he said this just after I swept my whole arm over my face, which I'm sure had some contorted expression on it, and up over head to simply move some crazy out of control frizzy curl out of my eyes.] I stopped, and after thinking Jod's gone an inhabited this poor fellow's body, I couldn't help but glance - for the first time in a long time, and only for a moment - hacia adentro de mi misma.... Then there was the rain and I could hear a little thunder in the background.

Continuing in our conversation I discovered that everytime he would say something with an undertone of the proverbial accusatory finger I would first get defensive and then I was forced to concede his point - reluctantly. Then I began to fear what more he could see in me and I suddenly stopped talking and stopped looking him in the eye. I could tell there were definately things in me that had grown a few cob webs and needed a bit of a scrub down... Then I saw the lightning flash. I sat straight up and thought to myself that these things are not really a part of me. Like Gorgi said, "these things don't fit your personality." I remembered Brother Ward's words of wisdom from forever ago: "That is not who I am, it's just what I've done."

I know you are all wondering what kind of monster I've really become and are wondering what has caused me such conviction, but please don't preoccupy your minds with such nonsense, it would only be food for gossip and I'm the last that would place myself in a position to be disected by the masses.

The clock strikes 12 and so begins my Sunday. My BIRTHDAY. I'm out at another bloke's birthday party and I feel much like Jim Craig in the low country surrounded by strangers and spaniards. I left. It's raining, hardly anyone's called, I'd left my favorite pair of shoes on the bus (don't ask, it's the most emotional trigger right now), along with my umbrella - these things are gone forever - and I was standing at the bus stop 7 blocks away from my house with a young man who, right then I had no desire to be standing in the rain (nor anywhere else) with, and as the raindrops the size of a man's fist fall on me I accidentally remind myself that I'm not home. I crawl in my bed, wet, crying, missing my shoes and my beloved twin brother and sleep, blessed sleep invades my consciousness... It's morning. And I wake up, take of my sleep mask, look at my clock and the birthday waterworks begin and the tormentuous storm would not subside until April 23.

more BsAs

I've been an irresponsible tourist here in BsAs, but there is still so much to account for from what I see every day. I see after going through some of my old entries that there lacks quite a bit of description of BsAs. I could send a postcard, but a) what a hassle and b) this is free!

I live on the corner of two of some of the busiest streets in the city, which is awesomely chalk-full of people no matter what time of day or night, and the noise... I would normally complain about all the noise, but I've been here so long now I hardly notice it, though I'm sure it will cause problems in my old age. There are articles in the newspaper and commentary on the "tele" about how much noise there is in the streets here. Normal people step outside of restaurants or clubs to hear on their cell phones better, but here it would be similar to stepping from a noisy boliche to right next to a racing freight train.

The shopping is addictive too. There is no way to avoid shopping on my way to school, on my way home, on my way to a movie, to a friend's house, or even on my way to the pharmacy for some toothpaste. There are a total (I counted) of 10 shoe stores within a 4 block radius of my appartment building, 3 pharmacies, at least 15 "tiendas de moda," 2 hardware stores, a furniture store, 3 cafes, and right accross the street is the equivalent of a $1 store.... I could go on! And this is just the few blocks around where I live. Further down the street there is a huge shopping center, a movie theater, ritzy shops (furs and skins) for the sopihsticated ladies of my neighborhood, an organic pasta shop, pastry shops, restaurants of all calibers and sizes, wine and cheese specialty shops, cyber cafes, convenience kiosks... and the people! So many people.

The one thing that has been almost unbearable is the weather and that which comes along with it. It is insufferably hot when the sun is out, and humid. It builds and builds until it doesn't matter how many times you take a cold shower, you still can't avoid the sweat- or the mosquitos. It's become somewhat of a plague here and there are excerpts on the news about spraying down the plazas to rid the city of the unbearable invasion. I'm a little leary of the plazas now though, wondering how much and what kinds of pesticides are floating around there these days. Although walking down the street wet with sweat and being occasionally eaten alive is still better than just about every other day where it is inevitable that the building moisture falls unheaded and mercilessly on top of us and in a city full of taxis and "collectivos" it is still next to impossible to find a comfortable mode of transportation if any at all - either full sweaty buses or 20 minutes of standing in the rain anyway waiting for a freed-up taxi.

I wish I could recount more of the things I should be doing, like going to see the oldest opera house in the city, going to plays and productions, exhibitions and museums. I've taken quickly to doing the things the normal people do: rock concerts, boliches, the annual book fair, movies, taking mate in the park, among others.

I promised myself I would see at least a few famous things in the city, like the Evita Peron museum and that opera house, and that I would save every penny possible to be able to go to Bariloche for a ski trip before I come home in July. I'm also determined to go all by my lonesome this time. Enjoy some of my trip without the distraction of socializing, which is highly diverting and amazing to do in the city, but out on the trail and on a mountain in winter, I want that selfishly all to myself.

Friends... what was I thinking!

I told the girl I would post her letter to home without editing it, but we can't follow through with ALL our promises now can we? Here I've made a few friends but only a couple really merit mention in my sacred blog, one of which is Milner. Since the letter sort of draaaaaags on at some points I decided to include only the high points. Except with Milner everything is a highpoint, so I guess here's the whole pie.

Meet my friend Milner:

"So as promised here is the update from Buenos Aires (from here on known asBsAs). Although let's face it, you all really don't deserve an email considering the piss poor response ya'll [Milner is from Alabama] have shown in my absence. So, I live with Inez e Ivan, who are the biggest hippies. I walked into the kitchen the other day and Ivan was scraping a somewhat amorphous white clumpy thing into a bowl. When asked what he was doing, he responded, "I am making yogurt from the jar of bacteria I cultivate on our counter all the time." Oh, so that is what that was. We do have good food, however, because Ivan is in the forestry equivalent masters program here and he has this enormous garden with fresh-grown veggies and fruits. They are extremely good cooks and we always have fresh bread, which may or may not be good for my figure. I live in a little room upstairs with orange shag carpet that is amazingly 70's--let's face it, it kind of fulfills my dream of living in a shag-covered apartment someday. I guessI'll check that off my list. My window opens up onto the street, whereoften at night I can hear the neighbor talking to her cats (at last countshe has about 40, no lie) as well as the drunks walking home. I can also hear the roars from the nearby stadium on Sundays or other nights depending on whether or not River Plate (my now favorite soccer team, though Boca always kicks ass, sorry Moo [Mil's mom] for the explicative) is playing that day. Other times, it is a huge concert, like the first Sunday I was here and Ricky Martin came. He was quite popular to judge from the roars of the crowd after Shake Your Bon Bon. But all in all, though the house is somewhat old, and I am forbidden to enter the mysterious room downstairs, which I have come to call "The Living Room," which rumour has it contains a rather old TV (next time everyone is out, I think I am going to race in there and take pictures).

So, I am attending classes at the University, all with international people. and I am beginning to feel a little bit like Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles. The teachers, especially this one who is a little efeminite and likes to use his hands and somewhat has a lisp, all talk really fast and I usually end up with my mouth open, eyes narrowed during the whole class (which lasts two hours) until they say, "Estamos terminados." I understand that one! And when I finally do get the nerve to ask a question, the teacher inevitably either dismisses it or looks at me with mouth open and eyes narrowed and says, "Otra Vez" about six times.

Oh and I am taking tango dance classes, yes, I can move across the floor like a cat now, which we happen to practice for twenty minutes every class. It is a slide and snap move very similar to that of the bendand snap if I may reference Legally Blond. Very seductive. Although each class it is like re-living a junior high dance mainly because the class is a little disproportionate in terms of the amount of boys versus girls in the class. Thus, all the girls kind of group into a ball and the guys awkwardly walk up and then don't even say ¨May I have this dance¨? or ¨Shall we¨? but¨Hey, uh, yeah.¨ Very sexy, really. And then most of the time they count the steps out loud.

On a positive note, the shopping is unbelievable as is the food. Today I got a little carried away and bought two pairs of shoes, both leather and very flat, which is very good considering I live in the land of Lilliputwhere most of the guys are very short --or does this mean I am Gulliver andam just really enormously tall? No, surely not. Anway, most of the clothing is made for anorexics, no really. The eating disorder rate here issomething like twice as high or more than that in the U.S. So all the shirts are this clingy material and let's face it, beer and clingy clothes do not mix. But, to my credit, I have not given in yet to the raging fashion of leggings that are baggy with cuffs at the bottom that cling to your legs and give you the M.C. Hammer, poopoo in your pants look, though that is all the it girls wear down hear. That and shirts that show your undergarments, so I'll be buying really attractive bras with lots of patterns down here (just teasing, I like to keep my bra under the shirt or don´t wear one at all - hahaha).

The weather, also, is unbelievable. The sky can be so clear and the parks all are really well kept for so it is like living in a really tame jungle, complete with several types of camels, giraffes, birds, monkeys, elephants,and other assortment of wildlife kept in the middle of the city in the oh-so-famous zoo. Sometimes I like to go running (ok, one time I went running and ended up walking and running more like four blocks, but that four blocks was totally by the zoo) and pretend that the animals and I are great pals. I think we would be if it were for the fact that if I stopped to talk to them I would get run over by the constant pedestrian traffic heeded by the peanut carts that roll down the street selling this amazingly divine manna-from-heaven kind of peanut. So really, the peanut vendors are a huge deal in the movement of people and goods in this city.

Last but not least, I have taken to smoking (I mean drinking, silly me) yerba mate in the park during the weekend afternoons. You drink hot water run through a bunch of crunched up green leaves through a silver straw with a little bubble on the end (sound familiar?) Pretty much all the citydoes it and everyone is spread out and couples are making out (which is totally common and doesn´t seem to bother anyone at all*) and I usually go barefoot and sit on this woven blanket and inevitably I totally fulfill my dream of being this huge hippie who never cares what is going to happen next. And then I put on my shoes and race home and read my homework so I can write a paper and edit it. (hahaha, yes, I still have OCD).

*Making out in public is like a status symbol here. Everyone does it because it is the popular trend to live with your parents until you are finished with school, including post graduate, which makes you about 26-30. Sweet! So instead of being able to go to someone's house, chill out, smooch in private, inevitably the five o'clock rush hour ride on the bus and subte is filled with couples, old ones including, grubbing next to the guy in the business suit who politely acts like nothing is going on as they roll onto his lap -- only a slight exaggeration."

I love here talent for description of our city here, and since I've been the worse of all of us in keeping you posted on the goings on and culture of Buenos Aires I saw this as the perfect opportunity to elaborate a bit on the subjet. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!