So I have now arrived home....so many different feelings and stresses surround this.
I will continue to blog on my personal blog, uncorrectedproofs
http://mimneufeld.blogspot.com/
if you are interested.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
some thinking....
The poetry will not come to me
Like a book too big to open
Its mysteries remain
intact
Brushing up against my heart
And then fading
Leaving a few patches of coloured dye
Fluttering wings
Limp
My head falls to the ground once more
Tired of churning
spinning whirring
Hurting.
The poetry will not come to me
Hidden in these waters and caves
it shivers knowing how it could
Change things
Bounce around in someone's head
(or heart, more likely)
And touch them deeper than ever before.
Like a book too big to open
Its mysteries remain
intact
Brushing up against my heart
And then fading
Leaving a few patches of coloured dye
Fluttering wings
Limp
My head falls to the ground once more
Tired of churning
spinning whirring
Hurting.
The poetry will not come to me
Hidden in these waters and caves
it shivers knowing how it could
Change things
Bounce around in someone's head
(or heart, more likely)
And touch them deeper than ever before.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
yuck
Today I feel ugly and sad and useless and small. I'm sick of not being able to communicate with people and I'm sick of living with so many people I barely know.
Teaching English is hard. And it's not what I came here to do. I'm frustrated with the way this program is run, with the political system of Peru, with the language barriers, with myself for being so pessimistic. I'm frustrated that I get harsh words for doing things with the boys without 'authorization' but that when I ask for authorization, my request is forgotten. I'm frustrated that I have so little time left here, and my time feels so unprofound, so insignificant. I wanted to come home with so many wonderful stories, and yet my trip seems so normal, so run of the mill, so boring. This is life I suppose.
I feel small and insignificant. At times unwanted. What am I doing here? What does this even mean and what does it matter? I feel all that has happened is that my heart here has been terribly tainted.
Of course I know that today is just a sad day...a day full of missing, missing Celia, Colleen, Marie and Justin. Missing hugs that are given to me, not that I give, where I can hold on and feel safe. Missing family and stability and safety and the absence of tension. Missing a strong control of my diet.
Whatever, I'm tired and emotional and trying so very hard not to think about leaving this place because that, too, makes me desperately want to cry.
This probably should have been a journal entry, but it ended up here.
Teaching English is hard. And it's not what I came here to do. I'm frustrated with the way this program is run, with the political system of Peru, with the language barriers, with myself for being so pessimistic. I'm frustrated that I get harsh words for doing things with the boys without 'authorization' but that when I ask for authorization, my request is forgotten. I'm frustrated that I have so little time left here, and my time feels so unprofound, so insignificant. I wanted to come home with so many wonderful stories, and yet my trip seems so normal, so run of the mill, so boring. This is life I suppose.
I feel small and insignificant. At times unwanted. What am I doing here? What does this even mean and what does it matter? I feel all that has happened is that my heart here has been terribly tainted.
Of course I know that today is just a sad day...a day full of missing, missing Celia, Colleen, Marie and Justin. Missing hugs that are given to me, not that I give, where I can hold on and feel safe. Missing family and stability and safety and the absence of tension. Missing a strong control of my diet.
Whatever, I'm tired and emotional and trying so very hard not to think about leaving this place because that, too, makes me desperately want to cry.
This probably should have been a journal entry, but it ended up here.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
tired
I am beginning to feel exhausted. The constant emotional and mental drains of working with people I cannot communicate with, people who need so much love, people who are broken and hurting. I feel as though I constantly need to give more. And I'm beginning to hit a point where I am doubting if I can do that. I sometimes get so tired that I decline the special needs' requests to dance or play. I feel bad about it, but at times it is just hard for me to continue giving.
I can't believe I've known these people for only six weeks, but I also can't believe I've already known them for six weeks. Things here seem timeless, other worldly and, at times, incredibly unimaginable (in both the best and worst ways). The beginning of this week has felt lonely and somewhat lost. Awkward. Things just don't seem to be flowing.
Monday night Shilu and I went to hogar to give Ivonneth some money for university as well as a textbook she needed. When she was walking us back to the bus stop with Pablo they were telling us that they didn't get anything to eat that evening. I just can't believe that. Even after everything that I know, it still blows my mind that these children and young adults are left without food, frequently. Shilu and I of course went and bought them dinner to bring back to all the boys, but I just have trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that a man who goes on exotic trips and drives some sort of fancy car and plays volleyball at the community fundraiser for his orphanage doesn't pay his employees and doesn't feed the children for whom he is supposedly 'taking care'. Although even the idea that he takes care of them is laughable.
English in Pachacutec this week went alright this week. The kids are so BAD but I think it's funny most of the time. Usually either Mary or I has to be constantly walking around the room disciplining while the other one teaches at the front, but it works for the most part. I love teaching with Mary! She just finished her teaching degree so she really likes it and she has such a good sense of humour but still manages to keep the kids in line, generally.
La Punta this week was good, the girls there say I'm getting better at dancing, so that's good haha. They listen to the funniest music but always make me smile. Joseline, one of the girls in my english group, is so sweet. I love her so much. I don't really know what her story is, but she is so bright and smart and I really hope that she manages to finish high school and get to uni.
This weekend is a long weekend for us volunteers because of Easter. Tomorrow we are all heading to Lunajuana, a town south of Lima, for a daytrip with the whole family. From there Mary and Shilu and I are busing down to Ica for the rest of the weekend to sandboard and see the Nasca lines. It should be fun, I'm excited but I'll miss the boys. Next week on Monday we are having a birthday party at La Punta and on Saturday we are hopefully taking some of the boys to the SCIENCE MUSEUM!!! Wow, Shilu and I are SO excited about that.
I'm continuing to grow and learn. I am being stretched in many new and uncomfortable ways.
I can't believe I've known these people for only six weeks, but I also can't believe I've already known them for six weeks. Things here seem timeless, other worldly and, at times, incredibly unimaginable (in both the best and worst ways). The beginning of this week has felt lonely and somewhat lost. Awkward. Things just don't seem to be flowing.
Monday night Shilu and I went to hogar to give Ivonneth some money for university as well as a textbook she needed. When she was walking us back to the bus stop with Pablo they were telling us that they didn't get anything to eat that evening. I just can't believe that. Even after everything that I know, it still blows my mind that these children and young adults are left without food, frequently. Shilu and I of course went and bought them dinner to bring back to all the boys, but I just have trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that a man who goes on exotic trips and drives some sort of fancy car and plays volleyball at the community fundraiser for his orphanage doesn't pay his employees and doesn't feed the children for whom he is supposedly 'taking care'. Although even the idea that he takes care of them is laughable.
English in Pachacutec this week went alright this week. The kids are so BAD but I think it's funny most of the time. Usually either Mary or I has to be constantly walking around the room disciplining while the other one teaches at the front, but it works for the most part. I love teaching with Mary! She just finished her teaching degree so she really likes it and she has such a good sense of humour but still manages to keep the kids in line, generally.
La Punta this week was good, the girls there say I'm getting better at dancing, so that's good haha. They listen to the funniest music but always make me smile. Joseline, one of the girls in my english group, is so sweet. I love her so much. I don't really know what her story is, but she is so bright and smart and I really hope that she manages to finish high school and get to uni.
This weekend is a long weekend for us volunteers because of Easter. Tomorrow we are all heading to Lunajuana, a town south of Lima, for a daytrip with the whole family. From there Mary and Shilu and I are busing down to Ica for the rest of the weekend to sandboard and see the Nasca lines. It should be fun, I'm excited but I'll miss the boys. Next week on Monday we are having a birthday party at La Punta and on Saturday we are hopefully taking some of the boys to the SCIENCE MUSEUM!!! Wow, Shilu and I are SO excited about that.
I'm continuing to grow and learn. I am being stretched in many new and uncomfortable ways.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
This Saturday
We woke up saturday rather earlier than usual and managed to drag ourselves onto a bus to Pachacutec by 10:30. Whilst we were all still drooling at the modern-ness of the bus on which we were traveling, on came a man carrying an amp and sporting a microphone/earpiece headset as well as a large fanny pack full of cds he was selling. As the bus picked up speed, on came the music. Laura and I made eye contact as he started SINGING along really intensely with actions and the typical mariah carey earplugging. It was amazing, and amazingly hard to make it look like we weren't blatantly laughing in his face.
This particular morning we were heading to a new daycare-ish place that is being run by a pastor and his wife in a different part of Pachacutec than we usually frequent. Due to our different destination, we had to make a transfer of buses so we jumped off in ventanilla and sadly said goodbye to our comfy seats and spacious legroom (singing man had jumped off after about song three). We waited a decent amount of time until Lidia beckoned us over to a little combie (basically twelve passenger vans that act as buses) that was already entirely full. I just kind of raised one eyebrow and looked at the nine of us who were supposedly still going to fit in this vehicle and smiled. Only in Peru.
On we went, one after another somehow managing to push our bodies into the smallest corners of the combie and all getting in. About half of us were literally standing up with our backs pressed against the ceiling so that we wouldn't fall and the other half were piled in the small area where there were no seats. The driver had told Lidia that lots of people were getting off at the next stop. Which, of course, was a complete lie. By the time we stopped to let ONE person off, it had been at least fifteen minutes. There was a little girl who thought Celia and I were really interesting because we had white skin so while we were crammed up against the ceiling we had some fun playing with her.
When we arrived at the church, we were greeted by a room full of beautiful bright children working on school work. One of them jumped onto my lap and we proceeded to play some game that I still don't understand that was like hitting all my fingers and then I would say 'si' and then I would say someone's name and then they'd try to spell it or something and then crack my knuckles. Ha. The kids were also OBSESSED with our sunglasses. They all are, actually. I gave mine away to a little girl at the school at Pachacutec last week so I was wearing a pair of Laura's, but they all wanted 'foto con lentes'. We ate lunch with them which was, of course, a mix of rice, potatoes and some sort of meat. Lidia told us some of the stories of the children who were there; the little girl who was sitting on my lap had four brothers and her older brother, who is ten, takes care of them. Their mom comes home every few days apparently but doesn't actually do anything. They often don't have food. The pastor and his wife were so amazing, they were so loving and open and real. The wife is this big, dark, I almost want to say jolly, Peruvian woman who was wearing an apron and kept hugging kids and wiping their mouths and being their mom for the day. It was so beautiful. But so sad at the same time. Two of the teenage girls kept poking my hands and laughing at my skin because when you poke it, it changes colour. Their skin doesn't do that and they thought it was really funny.
By the time we arrived home I was nearly too late to get to the 'clinco antirrabico' for my daily shot. Last tuesday Laura and I went on a bike tour of lima (which was awesome, if anyone ever goes anywhere, you should take a bike tour of the city, so cool and our guide was so knowledgable and awesome). We were just biking down this street with a bunch of gated homes and even more aggressive dogs when one of the barking dogs just ran up and bit me. I was so shocked I kind of screamed and yelled to Jose, our tour guide, 'the dog just bit me!' So we stopped and cleaned it up and later went to the hospital where it was properly cleaned and I got antibiotics and now I'm almost done getting all my shots. I think tomorrow is my last day but I don't really understand the nurses at the clinic so hopefully someone who speaks spanish will come with me tomorrow just to make sure.
The past week or so has just been a sad week. I'm overcome with sadness and wanting to cry (and wanting my own space in order to be able to cry) at least once a day. The things I see every day are exhausting in so many ways. Teaching english today was so hard. I realized that I am really good at being friends with kids, regardless of our language differences, but I'm really bad at disciplining them in spanish (yeah, newsflash, I know). Some of the girls at La Punta have left; where, we're not entirely sure, but they aren't there anymore. Justin, Celia, Colleen, and Laura all leave this week. The specials seem out of sorts recently, Enrique, a 13 year old down's syndrome boy, ran away on Monday and I miss the boys at the orphanage since they've been in school.
I am trying to re-motivate myself. And to rejuvenate the feeling of empowerment and hopefulness that was so present in my self when I first arrived.
I will try to post some pictures soon.
love always.
We woke up saturday rather earlier than usual and managed to drag ourselves onto a bus to Pachacutec by 10:30. Whilst we were all still drooling at the modern-ness of the bus on which we were traveling, on came a man carrying an amp and sporting a microphone/earpiece headset as well as a large fanny pack full of cds he was selling. As the bus picked up speed, on came the music. Laura and I made eye contact as he started SINGING along really intensely with actions and the typical mariah carey earplugging. It was amazing, and amazingly hard to make it look like we weren't blatantly laughing in his face.
This particular morning we were heading to a new daycare-ish place that is being run by a pastor and his wife in a different part of Pachacutec than we usually frequent. Due to our different destination, we had to make a transfer of buses so we jumped off in ventanilla and sadly said goodbye to our comfy seats and spacious legroom (singing man had jumped off after about song three). We waited a decent amount of time until Lidia beckoned us over to a little combie (basically twelve passenger vans that act as buses) that was already entirely full. I just kind of raised one eyebrow and looked at the nine of us who were supposedly still going to fit in this vehicle and smiled. Only in Peru.
On we went, one after another somehow managing to push our bodies into the smallest corners of the combie and all getting in. About half of us were literally standing up with our backs pressed against the ceiling so that we wouldn't fall and the other half were piled in the small area where there were no seats. The driver had told Lidia that lots of people were getting off at the next stop. Which, of course, was a complete lie. By the time we stopped to let ONE person off, it had been at least fifteen minutes. There was a little girl who thought Celia and I were really interesting because we had white skin so while we were crammed up against the ceiling we had some fun playing with her.
When we arrived at the church, we were greeted by a room full of beautiful bright children working on school work. One of them jumped onto my lap and we proceeded to play some game that I still don't understand that was like hitting all my fingers and then I would say 'si' and then I would say someone's name and then they'd try to spell it or something and then crack my knuckles. Ha. The kids were also OBSESSED with our sunglasses. They all are, actually. I gave mine away to a little girl at the school at Pachacutec last week so I was wearing a pair of Laura's, but they all wanted 'foto con lentes'. We ate lunch with them which was, of course, a mix of rice, potatoes and some sort of meat. Lidia told us some of the stories of the children who were there; the little girl who was sitting on my lap had four brothers and her older brother, who is ten, takes care of them. Their mom comes home every few days apparently but doesn't actually do anything. They often don't have food. The pastor and his wife were so amazing, they were so loving and open and real. The wife is this big, dark, I almost want to say jolly, Peruvian woman who was wearing an apron and kept hugging kids and wiping their mouths and being their mom for the day. It was so beautiful. But so sad at the same time. Two of the teenage girls kept poking my hands and laughing at my skin because when you poke it, it changes colour. Their skin doesn't do that and they thought it was really funny.
By the time we arrived home I was nearly too late to get to the 'clinco antirrabico' for my daily shot. Last tuesday Laura and I went on a bike tour of lima (which was awesome, if anyone ever goes anywhere, you should take a bike tour of the city, so cool and our guide was so knowledgable and awesome). We were just biking down this street with a bunch of gated homes and even more aggressive dogs when one of the barking dogs just ran up and bit me. I was so shocked I kind of screamed and yelled to Jose, our tour guide, 'the dog just bit me!' So we stopped and cleaned it up and later went to the hospital where it was properly cleaned and I got antibiotics and now I'm almost done getting all my shots. I think tomorrow is my last day but I don't really understand the nurses at the clinic so hopefully someone who speaks spanish will come with me tomorrow just to make sure.
The past week or so has just been a sad week. I'm overcome with sadness and wanting to cry (and wanting my own space in order to be able to cry) at least once a day. The things I see every day are exhausting in so many ways. Teaching english today was so hard. I realized that I am really good at being friends with kids, regardless of our language differences, but I'm really bad at disciplining them in spanish (yeah, newsflash, I know). Some of the girls at La Punta have left; where, we're not entirely sure, but they aren't there anymore. Justin, Celia, Colleen, and Laura all leave this week. The specials seem out of sorts recently, Enrique, a 13 year old down's syndrome boy, ran away on Monday and I miss the boys at the orphanage since they've been in school.
I am trying to re-motivate myself. And to rejuvenate the feeling of empowerment and hopefulness that was so present in my self when I first arrived.
I will try to post some pictures soon.
love always.
Monday, March 8, 2010
sad eyes
These past few days I often am overcome with the feeling that I am walking around constantly wearing those goggles we used to wear at basketball practice, the ones that had tape on the bottom so you could only look up and not look down.
I really don't know where I'm going here, or even where I'm stepping, but I am moving forward and maybe that's all I need to be doing here.
Peru is teaching me a lot. As cliche as it is, the saying 'the more I see the less I know' is ridiculously true. This leaves me feeling, at times, incredibly lost and sad and hopeless. This past weekend I went to Arequipa, here we met three young boys (age 12, 9 and 4) who lived on the street and sold little candies every day. Colleen and I decided to buy them dinner and had fun talking to them while they devoured their pizzas and made sure to package up every morsel they didn't eat. At a Much later hour, when we exited from a bar, there were the boys, still trying to sell their chocolates. As sad as this made me, I still wondered if the boys at the orphanage back home are better off than they are. I suppose they do have a bit of a community, as messed up as it is, but I don't know if they're happy. Little boys deserve to be happy, they deserve to have someone tuck them in at night and sing to them.
Last week I started volunteering at a temporary home for girls who were on the streets either for prostitution or because they had been sexually abused, or both. Some of us go there twice a week for about an hour. We dance with them and I always laugh, a lot, because the language barrier is just more hilarious with them. Sometimes we dance and this is even funnier because they have some serious moves and all of us are awkward white girls who can barely move our hips. But they hate it there. Whenever we ask them, they tell us how much they hate it. I wonder if this is because it's just not very nice there or because they miss their family or friends, or what. I know they all have the mental capacity to recognize that being on the streets isn't a great way to live, but I also know that they are all smart enough to realize when they have been stripped of their freedom.
There is so much confusion in my heart and my mind here. I have a feeling this is the sort of confusion that comes and never leaves. An, albeit small, realization about the way that the world works. Some of the things I'm learning make me sick to my stomach, others are some of the most beautiful realizations I've ever come to....more on this later. I'm off to buy a birthday gift.
And when you smile those sad eyes look sadder and sadder still
*bat for lashes
I really don't know where I'm going here, or even where I'm stepping, but I am moving forward and maybe that's all I need to be doing here.
Peru is teaching me a lot. As cliche as it is, the saying 'the more I see the less I know' is ridiculously true. This leaves me feeling, at times, incredibly lost and sad and hopeless. This past weekend I went to Arequipa, here we met three young boys (age 12, 9 and 4) who lived on the street and sold little candies every day. Colleen and I decided to buy them dinner and had fun talking to them while they devoured their pizzas and made sure to package up every morsel they didn't eat. At a Much later hour, when we exited from a bar, there were the boys, still trying to sell their chocolates. As sad as this made me, I still wondered if the boys at the orphanage back home are better off than they are. I suppose they do have a bit of a community, as messed up as it is, but I don't know if they're happy. Little boys deserve to be happy, they deserve to have someone tuck them in at night and sing to them.
Last week I started volunteering at a temporary home for girls who were on the streets either for prostitution or because they had been sexually abused, or both. Some of us go there twice a week for about an hour. We dance with them and I always laugh, a lot, because the language barrier is just more hilarious with them. Sometimes we dance and this is even funnier because they have some serious moves and all of us are awkward white girls who can barely move our hips. But they hate it there. Whenever we ask them, they tell us how much they hate it. I wonder if this is because it's just not very nice there or because they miss their family or friends, or what. I know they all have the mental capacity to recognize that being on the streets isn't a great way to live, but I also know that they are all smart enough to realize when they have been stripped of their freedom.
There is so much confusion in my heart and my mind here. I have a feeling this is the sort of confusion that comes and never leaves. An, albeit small, realization about the way that the world works. Some of the things I'm learning make me sick to my stomach, others are some of the most beautiful realizations I've ever come to....more on this later. I'm off to buy a birthday gift.
And when you smile those sad eyes look sadder and sadder still
*bat for lashes
Thursday, February 25, 2010
plaid flannel shirt
My eyes are tired and my heart often beats with the fear that I am missing something...something big here in Peru. It feels much too easy to fall into a routine here than the live-out-loud experience I 'wanted' this to be. But I suppose that's what I get for having expectations and beliefs about what I could really do here...to help, and to travel. Fatigue is a nearly constant companion of mine these days, but so is happiness.
Yes, I am happy here. I find myself laughing and smiling at so many things each day; the orphan boys tipping each other out of the hammock, one of the children at Pachacutec flanking a volleyball into the neighbouring 'yard' so that we have to recruit one of the younger children to squeeze in between two of the boards used to separate properties in this shantytown to retrieve our ball or Marie and me singing "We are the Champions" after our first successful bus trip alone.
Although it has taken me awhile, I am beginning to find some peace here. And I truly think it is because I am starting to see a clearer reality of where I fit and how I can help. It is still hard for me to see past the overwhelming (correct) stereotype of myself as a wealthy white girl coming to 'help' the cute brown children, but as I begin to form relationships with the people I am trying to help, I am realizing that my money will run out, and can only go so far, but that the love I can give them will, hopefully, make an even bigger impression on them. Celia told me the other day how she really tries to be a mother figure for the orphan boys at Hogar because they don't really have any female role models, and that everything we do for them is a memory in their childhood. Just like I have memories of camping and road trips and Brandon Fair, if we make an effort to do special things with the boys, it will hopefully help them to look back on their childhoods a little bit more fondly. There was a little girl at Pachacutec on Tuesday who would not stop clinging to me. Everytime I looked at her I saw only sadness and loss in her eyes. We sat for a long time while I sang to her.
I think one of the biggest things I can do here is simply listen to people. I know that sounds ridiculous because I don't even speak Spanish, but it seems to me that many of the people with whom I am working are in desperate need of a listening ear, a back rub, and a hug. On Wednesday one of the special needs ladies at Hogar (she calls me Mama) came up to me and was crying about something. We just sat and for a while she told me what was going on (yeah, I had no clue what she was saying, although I can't say for sure I would have even if I WAS fluent in Spanish) and then I held her hand and rubbed her back and we sang together for a little while. Later on when one of the other ladies was crying, she was brought to me to 'release her burdens'. I find it rather amusing that someone as lost and confused as myself can seem like such a stable comforter to anyone, but these women are in desperate need of people they can trust and who love them and who are willing to take time to sit down and listen to them, to feel with them. I can do that.
Yes, I am happy here. I find myself laughing and smiling at so many things each day; the orphan boys tipping each other out of the hammock, one of the children at Pachacutec flanking a volleyball into the neighbouring 'yard' so that we have to recruit one of the younger children to squeeze in between two of the boards used to separate properties in this shantytown to retrieve our ball or Marie and me singing "We are the Champions" after our first successful bus trip alone.
Although it has taken me awhile, I am beginning to find some peace here. And I truly think it is because I am starting to see a clearer reality of where I fit and how I can help. It is still hard for me to see past the overwhelming (correct) stereotype of myself as a wealthy white girl coming to 'help' the cute brown children, but as I begin to form relationships with the people I am trying to help, I am realizing that my money will run out, and can only go so far, but that the love I can give them will, hopefully, make an even bigger impression on them. Celia told me the other day how she really tries to be a mother figure for the orphan boys at Hogar because they don't really have any female role models, and that everything we do for them is a memory in their childhood. Just like I have memories of camping and road trips and Brandon Fair, if we make an effort to do special things with the boys, it will hopefully help them to look back on their childhoods a little bit more fondly. There was a little girl at Pachacutec on Tuesday who would not stop clinging to me. Everytime I looked at her I saw only sadness and loss in her eyes. We sat for a long time while I sang to her.
I think one of the biggest things I can do here is simply listen to people. I know that sounds ridiculous because I don't even speak Spanish, but it seems to me that many of the people with whom I am working are in desperate need of a listening ear, a back rub, and a hug. On Wednesday one of the special needs ladies at Hogar (she calls me Mama) came up to me and was crying about something. We just sat and for a while she told me what was going on (yeah, I had no clue what she was saying, although I can't say for sure I would have even if I WAS fluent in Spanish) and then I held her hand and rubbed her back and we sang together for a little while. Later on when one of the other ladies was crying, she was brought to me to 'release her burdens'. I find it rather amusing that someone as lost and confused as myself can seem like such a stable comforter to anyone, but these women are in desperate need of people they can trust and who love them and who are willing to take time to sit down and listen to them, to feel with them. I can do that.
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