Friday, September 30, 2011

Always the cows

Not for the first time, my bus was substantially delayed today because there was a herd of cattle in the road.

So, what's up? It's been a long time since I asked how any of y'all are doing in the U.S. My apologies, for real. I guess that's the trap with blogs, probably. They can sometimes be self-centered little debbie-downers. No more of that now, I promise. There's plenty of things going on...small, big, complicated, terrible and beautiful without focusing in on the nitty gritty (and boring, now that I've re read it) social dynamics of a teeeeeny itty bitty part of my work.  I want to know how y'all are doing...if you know my email, cool, hit me up.  If not, then post a comment and I'll see if I think you're someone I really know or not.  And then give it to you if you are deemed to be, in fact, legit.

SO excited – tomorrow we're doing a fundraiser for the folk dance group. Lily's gonna learn how to make tamales! And then I'm going to walk 5 kilometers to go sell them in Guaitil, where apparently tamales sell like hot cakes. Or. Wait. This analogy has less power when it's used referring to food. Anyway, hopefully I'll get some photos up of that this weekend.

Speaking of photos, I just added my favorites to an album on my Facebook called, ''Las Fotos Favoritas''. Check 'em out, previously unreleased material here, haha. And I suppose they're limited edition as well...not until after Thanksgiving will I have a new camera to keep taking pictures.

Technology's funny, ain't it? Yesterday I was talking to my sister for the first time in a while and she asked if now that I had internet I wanted an iPad or a Kindle. Such a sweet offer, I was kind of like, ''Whoa, your purchasing power so far exceeds my own that I am actually intimidated.'' I think it'd be nice to have one in the future and y'all best believe that I'm going to hit up my sister for a gadget when I get home in 2013 if she's still offering. But a few minutes later as I was drifting off to sleep all I could think to myself was like...''You dummy! Why didn't you ask her for an extension cord for the fan!?''

And Sarah, if you're reading...I'm not indirectly asking you to send an extension cord, it just crossed my mind how much my priorities have changed, lol. And how I'm due for another shift in priorities again once I get back.

So close but yet so far. More like so far but yet so close. I keep having mini panic attacks when I realize that 2012 is not so far away. And after that, 2013 is not so far away. There's so much to accomplish before then. It was kind of a surprise, but a really good one a few days ago talking with a young woman in my town. She's a regular in my English classes, really dedicated and seriously trying to take advantage of all the opportunities she can to further her education. I'm gonna guess she's like...25 maybe? I started having English class in my house because so few people come now and afterward she stayed awhile and we were chatting in my ''living room''. She asked how long I'm going to be staying in my town. I said, ''Just a little less than two years now.''

Usually people are like, ''Woooow, what a long time!'' Like, why on earth would you want to spend that much time here? But this woman actually put on a playful kind of sad face and said, ''Oh no, so little?'' It made me want to hug her and I really appreciated this type of reaction that was based on her interactions with me, not the concept that she has of her own hometown. She wants me around because we get along well, not because I'm a development worker. It was a nice change.

Oh my word, I think this is what they call making a friend, haha. Not part of my host family. Not someone I met by attending meetings. Probably not someone who will turn into a stalker if I encourage friendship. I could probably even go over to her house for cafecito if I wanted to. I will, actually, just to see if my hunch is right.
Cafecito was probably the only lie that Peace Corps told me during training. That everyone would say, ''Come over some time!'' It's an open-ended invite to come over any day to drink coffee around two or three p.m. So I kept my ears open and I'll tell you what, I have had cafecito like...two times out of my house in four months. And they were at the houses of other family members in the same compound. I've gone walking around my town a few times at three p.m. just to see if anyone invites me in when I say ''¡Adiós!'' or ''¡Hola!'' or ''¡Woooo!'' as I pass, the last one being an acceptable greeting to get someone's attention when their back is to you. Nada. But really, unless you're elderly and wandering, no one's having cafecito outside their own homes in my town.

I think that's what I like best about having English class in my house. It's a lot more intimate of a setting and I feel like the few people who are coming have a better chance of getting to know me this way. For instance, today we talked about clothing and colors. I just popped into my room, grabbed some clothes and was like, ''Okay, now let's talk about these.'' Maybe I'm a lot more comfortable which makes everyone more comfortable. It's just a good mix of elements right now in the class – a small group of dedicated people that participate, a relaxed teacher who now has some experience teaching and couches instead of desks built for ten year-olds.

Another rambling post with no overall theme concluded.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

A small revolution, except I have nothing to do with it.

I have internet access! I got a jump drive with a SIM card or whatever the hell the technology may be and now I'm connected, 24/7, to the whole world yet again.

Still debating if this is a good thing or not, but enjoying my restored daily doses of online comics.

Things here have calmed down. Doubts have cleared up. I'm still here, for the long haul, all two years of it. And it's time to get down to business.

This Friday my community diagnostic is due and I'm trying desperately to finish that on time. I probably won't, but it'll at least be about 90%, probably mostly lacking in the health and demographics sections. AKA, the sections that have required the most work. Erm, I have a ton of excuses. But my Dad has a particular saying about excuses that makes me not want to indulge. I bungled the deadline and now I'm going to have to hustle. Period.

Tomorrow I'll try for the third time to meet with my DINADECO local representative. My town has called for early elections to the development association which is my counterpart organization, and the local rep is going to come and monitor the selection process for the new members. It sucks because at a time when I should be hitting my stride and starting projects, all the people in town are waiting to see who's going to be on the new committee. If we'll even choose a new one or if the current one will make their case. Stuff as simple as asking to use the town hall for workshops (like, say, a project design and management workshop that I wanted to do next week) has been put on hold. It doesn't make sense to train a group of people who will be so pissed off at being deposed that they don't continue to attend. And it doesn't make sense that the new development association should get the second half of PDM.

And I'm really staking a lot on PDM. I want this to go smoothly, I want to do it to the same level of excellence and preparedness that Peace Corps administrative and training staff did it for us. So I'm holding out until the storm dies down. And then, time will be of the essence before the new association gets too far ahead of themselves.

But man, I talk a lot about work. What else is there...something not necessarily Peace Corps related...ohhh yeaahhhh...

I guess I should start making plans for what I want to do when I come home for Thanksgiving (all dependent on me finishing the diagnostic. Yup, I can lose vacation for failing to turn it in). So, I already have got NYC for a day on tap with my Dad. Also, potentially playing at Steel City on the 30th of November with Nervous Nikki and the Chill Pills. I'd like to go to Target. Take a nap in the middle of my living room floor, where the sun comes in through the window and makes the carpet really warm. Take a bath. Take a shower with hot water. Black Friday shopping. Skype the boyfriend a few times. Wear a sweater.

BUFFALO CHICKEN CHEESE STEAK. 'Nuff said.

It's kind of weird, I guess I thought originally that I wouldn't come home, that I'd be okay. It's not the first time, I thought kind of snobbily, that I've lived out of the country. Yeah, the counter argument though is that as of August, it's the longest time that I've been away from home without seeing my parents. And dammit, I really do like them despite everything (juuuust kidding Mom. I know you're the only one that reads my blog anyway). Also, at 9 months in Bolivia I was only two months away from coming home and seeing all the people that I'm so fond of.
Speaking of people that I'm fond of...everyone wants to know if I'm taking my significant other with me. When I say ''everyone'' I mostly mean all of the citizens in my town between the ages of 5 and 15. I try to explain to them about how complicated visa processes are, how expensive tickets can be, how right now is maybe not the right time. Blank stares.

''Well, he's too tall and just doesn't fit in my suitcase.'' Ohhhhhh, okay. We get it. And then I tell them to go to bed or I'll call the duendes (evil leprechauns). Kids'll believe anything except what's easiest to believe.

Footloose.

Well. I made the leap and I'm part of the folkloric dance group.

Did everyone else see that coming? People in my town are all like, ''About time, gringa!'' It was partially strategic...My counterpart and I formed the group initially, and since then I've attended practices while he teaches. There was the presentation on the 14th of September that we coordinated. But now that it comes to fund-raising and having the big traditional skirts made...well...we formed a committee of parents and dancers to do that. I want to offer Project Design and Management to this group, but for logistical reasons that has to be in the beginning of November. So how does this explain my decision for late entry into the group? I wanted to see if there was enough of a desire to continue without me being a part of it. Or in other words, I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be babysitting anybody and trying to rally people to come to practice – or their parents to participate in supporting the group – much more so because now big sums of money were involved (our development association lent the group $200 to buy the fabric for the skirts which we are now fund-raising slowly to pay back).

And it worked! I mean, I don't think anybody is saying, ''Wow, Lily was hands off for a couple weeks and look at us, the group is still going strong.'' I don't deserve that much credit for what I was doing before the 14th, as if I were the glue. But I wanted to make sure, and it turns out that without me in front of the whole thing with my counterpart, the group in charge of the dancers has done really well in getting the materials that the group needs. So when my host sister was like, ''You should come to the practice today,'' I was like, ''Yeah, I think I will.''

It's fun but also exhausting. To be honest, exhaustion is something that I've talked about with several parents. I had a conversation with a few parents who were like, ''Keep wearing 'em out in dance practice so that they're too tired to light up later,'' not in reference to their own children, of course. I was like, ''Uhhhh, okay.'' I mean, I remember that as a teenager I'd sacrifice however much sleep was necessary to do the things I had my mind set on doing (usually watching Late Night with Conan). And further, none of the pot smokers that I know of have joined the dance group. But, that is not to underestimate the value of giving the kids something to do that sparks their creativity and imagination. And later, when we go to different places in Costa Rica (maybe even Nicaragua and Panama if we can find sponsors), then the kids' worlds get bigger. They see things, they begin to get curious about others. I don't think I focus so much on the drug prevention aspect that maybe these parents do, but I can see how much more confident and proud these young people are now. And we haven't even left town.

Blurg, what else is going on...I moved the furniture in my room. It feels more ''mine'' than it did before. Also, the new arrangement gives me the option of turning off my light once I am tucked in beneath my mosquito net. Before, I had to turn the light off and then try not to touch anything alive that might have appeared as soon as it went black, then try to tuck in the net under my mattress in the dark. It was hell. Now, I release my net from the place where I roll it up and get into bed, tuck it in, read for an hour, and then turn out the light through the net. It's a much better situation and I have greater peace of mind that I'm not sharing my bed with critters.

Also, I've been enjoying the Cheez-Its that Aunt Cindy and Uncle Joe sent me. Tomorrow when I go into Santa Cruz I'm going to buy some juice boxes to accompany them. It's amazing how college still shapes my eating habits, that it doesn't feel right to eat Cheez-Its without juice made from concentrate.

Doky's doing great...you can check out my Facebook for a picture that a friend took of him. People in town say that he looks skinny, but he's just been doing a lot of growing in the last month. He's three and a half months old and bigger than his mother. So even though I feed him twice a day (not to mention, a lot of dog food), yeah...he's shedding his baby fat and turning into a real dog. Still a cutie pa-tootie.

Gearing up for several out of community trips...October 7th I'm headed into San José for some medical appointments which hopefully won't last too long. The 15th some friends are heading into my pueblo and we're going to hang out and go hiking to some places nearby that weekend before going to All Volunteer conference on the 18th. I think it's the 18th, I should check to make sure. That's pretty exciting, it's at the Crowne Plaza again which was none too shabby. Then a few weeks in which to do Project Design and Management and...home for Thanksgiving. It's crazy how close it seems and how busy I am until then. Just like the dance group, though, Thanksgiving is going to be a time after PDM when I say to my communities various committees, ''Okay. We've worked on a plan here for each of you. Let's see who does what in the next two weeks according to their plan.'' And by definition, I'll be hands off during vacation. My host sister is familiar with PDM from the Peace Corps workshop that she attended with me and I've gone through it all with my counterpart, who will also be taking it when I offer it. I'll leave the book behind. All this to say that the resources that people need to continue will be available. It's up to them to decide to make the most of them. So then when I get back we'll all move on from there and if I've done this stuff right, then I'll just be consulted with for pretty minor things.

Mrrrrggghhhh...''...if I've done this stuff right.''

Monday, September 19, 2011

High highs and low lows...the low had to come sometime.

Last night I had my first nightmare in Costa Rica.  It was pretty strange as far as nightmares go.  I think maybe it's a sign of being an adult when your nightmares don't have mythical monsters in them.

I was eating at a pizza place with my friends in the U.S. although some of the other volunteers were there with me, too.  I really wanted the buffalo chicken pizza, which Austin had ordered.  He knew he would eat the whole thing, so I couldn't split his and I was really stressed about buying a whole one for myself.  Then he said, ''You don't have to eat the whole thing tonight...save two slices for breakfast tomorrow.''  So then I was really happy about pizza the next morning, too, and ordered a whole pizza.  The guy behind the counter treated me kind of weird.

I guess this is kind of like an episode of the Simpson's where the first few minutes have absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the story.

We were all sitting eating pizza at some tables and benches outside, but I could see the T.V. that was above the counter.  And suddenly something on the T.V. clued me in that I was a wanted person.  Like, by the police and the government and everybody.  So I snatched up what was left of my food and started to run to my car.  People were like, ''What's going on?'' and I was like, ''I have to go, I have to leave.''  One of the girls came with me, I'm not sure who it was but it was like a combination of all my girl friends.  I started driving.  I ripped the E-Z Pass from the spot below the mirror and threw it out the window.  My friend still didn't understand and neither did I, so I couldn't explain it.  Before we got to a toll road I pulled over at an emergency stop and she helped me move everything that was necessary to keep into the trunk.  Everything else we left on the side of the road.  And I kept driving.

Now that I'm awake, however terrified I was in the dream, I'm really happy my subconscious thinks about constitutional law and how an overeager police officer might screw up the case against me by not getting a warrant before opening my trunk.  I know there's ways around a warrant if need be, but at least I was trying to slow some people down.

So wow...paranoia much?

In my defense, last night before I went to sleep was kind of rough and may even explain the dream in some way.  I was sitting at my computer writing (as usual, right) and waiting for my host sister to be ready to go out dancing...we were going just the next town over, walking distance.  It was kind of late, 10:30, but our lights were on and the door was open a crack because we were going out.

Well.  I'll be damned if I ever leave my door open again.  I heard a knocking on my door and so I asked, of course, who is it.  I thought maybe one of the little kids at first, but no, that'd be weird because it's too late for them to be up.  Then I thought that it was the first drunk guy who had ever bothered me.  He comes over to my host mom's house a lot when he's sloshed and she gives him fruit juice so I thought, okay, he's just confused but at least we have a repertoire.  I have my development association (my work counterparts in town) on his ass because of the first time he bothered me.  So I got up to go shut the door in his face and tell him to go away.

Before I got completely to the door, it opened and there was a man there that I have never ever seen before.  I caught the door about halfway open and stood there with my arm out for all the rest of what follows.  He started making some apologies and saying stuff that I didn't really understand because he was so drunk.  Then he slipped into my house and stood up against the inside of the little bit of wall between the door opening and where we have a chair.  He kept talking.  He asked if he could come in and I said no, goodbye, you've already been here too long.  He kept talking.  I kept saying goodbye.  After five minutes of this, after telling me I have a pretty mouth and I'm the prettiest girl he's ever seen (''You're still young, give it time,'' I said) and asking me to shake hands with him (which I did not do), he stumbled out of my house and away.

I had called for my host sister at the beginning.  Because she didn't respond, I thought she had maybe gone over to the other house while I was typing, before this all started and so I thought I was alone.  I only knew that she was really in her room after I started crying and she came out to see if I was okay.

So...I always say, it's like a catchphrase, ''Okay and the worst part is...''  Most times it's joking, relating some horribly awkward situation that I make less embarrassing by taking control of it and retelling it with humor.  What is the worst part of this?  How can I possibly take control of this situation?  I'm not talking about the actual situation, because I feel like I handled that alright.  Not showing fear, being firm, maintaining a friendly disposition but at the same time not giving an inch.  That's how you should deal with an unpredictable drunk stranger when you're all alone and all you have to help you is how fast your brain can work, right?  So I handled it.  I'm capable.  But the situation in the big scheme of things, that men get so drunk that they can use it as an excuse for anything.  And that my house is as secure as it can be, but it's not foolproof.

Is that what every person thinks before something truly awful happens?  Something that they can't control?  Because okay, I handled it this time but does that mean that I should stick around waiting for something worse to happen to see if I can handle that?  This isn't the first time I've felt threatened in my community.  And it's escalating, maybe that's the worst part.  Peace Corps staff has been doing their job, they've listened to me and taken measures to protect me – that's why my development association is on this other guy's case because my program manager talked to them, asked them what they were willing to do to keep the volunteer working in their town.  But there's only so much they can do, they're in San José and it would be silly to expect them to...what?  That's the thing, after a certain point, there's nothing anyone can do.

No, maybe the worst part is that while my host mom seems to be really concerned, my host sister keeps repeating, ''No se precupe, ese no hace nada, don't worry, this guy doesn't do anything.''  And I know this is the general sentiment in rural Costa Rica, maybe all of Costa Rica, when talking about men who drink too much.  But, um, excuse me?  Maybe the front door isn't as sacred a boundary for her as it is for me, but yeah, he did something by crossing that line and coming into my home and threatening me with his presence.  So don't tell me he doesn't do anything.  She is pretty upset that he came in when he thought I was alone, that he doesn't know me and she confirms that he had no right to do or say any of the things he did.  But she maintains that nothing would have happened.

This time.  This time.

And that's the worst part, I go back to the worst part being that it's escalating.  Where in Costa Rica would it be any different unless I lived in a metaphoric jail?  I can go to another town to work, leave the solid foundation for effective work and a good social life that I've established in my town.  But that would be an enormous sacrifice not just for Peace Corps, but also for me personally.  And where am I going to go, start work as a volunteer in another town, where I won't be blonde?  Where I won't be a gringa?  Where I'll know immediately who's dangerous and who isn't?

So if there's nowhere to go in Costa Rica, what...do I go home?  That's laughable.  There's no honorable discharge from the Peace Corps as far as I'm aware.  Applying for scholarships for grad school would be impossible.  Imagine sitting in front of a board of people, asking for money for something that lasts for two years.  ''No, I swear that this time I can make the commitment.''  Anyway, if I had a perfect track record of making well-reasoned decisions and using perfect judgment, I might trust my initial reaction and just pick up and leave.  Unfortunately, not only do I not trust my surroundings, I don't trust myself.  Is this whole situation a scape goat so that I don't have to fail as a volunteer?  So that I can blame something, somebody else and not myself because I'm scared I can't be a successful volunteer?

Cumpleaños feliz...

Today, someone pooped on me.

I forgive her, my year-old niece.  I have to say that until today, I'd never even seen baby poop period.  Much less on my leg.  And perhaps it was my fault given that not moments before she dropped a big one on my thigh I had been tossing her up into the air.  She just giggles so beautifully that I had to keep doing it...five, six times and then the moment I sat her on my lap, splat.

Recovery may take a while, but the prognosis is good.  It was a character building experience at the very least.  And I didn't throw her on the ground when it happened, so at least we know that I'm not as bad with kids as I thought.

Today was the birthday party for my cousins...brother and sister, they had a combined 1st and 4th birthday party respectively.  It was kind of interesting to see the mash up of 1 year-old boy themes and Disney princesses, but I got ice cream by attending so I was a very happy Lily.

I've been to a couple of kid's birthdays and so far they're all pretty much the same.  I am not a young teenager who came to do crowd control.  I am not a mother or an aunt who brought a child to the party.  I am not a child invitee.  I'm basically invited because people don't want me to feel left out, I guess.  So what kind of role does that give me at one of these shindigs?  Maybe...Oh, I dunno, maybe I can claim fairy godmother or something.  Yeah, fairy godmothers all hang around the edge of the part, hugging walls and wondering what type of ice cream is being served.  Oh, and judging dance competitions amongst the children attending.  That's always fun because no kid EVER feels cheated during a contest in which the winnings are based purely on an unquantifiable ‘good’ and the completely subjective eye of the judge.

Also, I know intellectually that the concept of a piñata is vicious.  But actually seeing it is terrifying.  Not only that, but some of the adults get into it and I just try not to watch.  Only a lot of times I’m the only person that people trust to give their camera to at a party, and everyone wants photos of the piñata event.  It’s like what the Discovery Channel videographers must feel like when they capture a lion mauling a wildebeest.

The party ended and everything went back to normal, but it did kind of emphasize yet again that sometimes I still feel like an anomaly.  But at least I’m getting invited to things, so I can’t really complain.

Not that big of a deal and not worthy of a blog post, in retrospect.

Officially the 17th, although it is a tragedy that today has not ended for me yet.  I can't fathom the events that have just passed just yet.  Sleep.  Write tomorrow.  Good night.

Right.  Last night was ridiculous.

Where...do I begin?  I guess since I first got here it's no secret that I like to dance.  I'm not particularly good at it, but I'm better than everyone thinks I will be before they see me.  So naturally, a la gringa le encanta bailar, the gringa loves to dance.  Merengue, cumbia, salsa...maybe not so much bachata, but I'm trying.  It is true that I love to dance but man, that was in the beginning before I got marked.

Marked, like...a wildcat peed on me?  Not quite, but it's the closest thing I can think of when I try to describe what happened in terms of territorialism and just how frustrated and wierded out I was (just imagining...if a trigrito, a puma peed on me, I might feel like this).  Ok so the first month in my town, my host sister and I would catch a ride from a guy in the next town over, my ''cousin''.  I happen to take the host family relationship more on the serious side, so the first time he said he was in love with me – the fourth time we had spoken to each other – I was kind of grossed out.  ''Mae,  you're my cousin.''

He's also the only family member under 40 with a mode of transportation.  I told my host sister that our cousin had confessed his undying passion for me and we had two or three weeks of talking about whether or not I felt the same.  Or rather, she kept asking if I was absolutely sure I didn't like him.  That was the gist of every conversation we had about him.

But, because he had promised not to make any advances after I told him in a rather blunt and ergo rude fashion that I was only interested in being friends, the three of us kept going out to dance on the weekends.  Only I realized that slowly, my partners were dwindling.  What the hell, I thought, How come the same guys from a few weeks ago won't take me out on the floor?  I asked my sister if I looked alright when I was dancing, if I was doing anything wrong and she knew exactly why I was asking.  She said that the reason why these guys had stopped asking was because our cousin was making it seem like he and I were an item.

This information on the heels of yet another text from this guy telling me I had him going crazy.  My commitment to not go dancing with this guy ever again was concrete.  How long would it take me to distance myself from him so people wouldn't believe we were together?  When would I be able to go out dancing again and have someone other than my cousin ask me to dance?

Well, then I started dating my boyfriend and he doesn't like the bar atmosphere where most of the dancing takes place, so I took a break for awhile.  But my sister really likes dancing and I felt kind of guilty I hadn't been her partner in crime for awhile, so we (by that, I mean she) decided to go out last night.  She told me, Great, you can call our cousin and get a ride.  Ahhhhhhm, I said.  No, I really don't like owing that guy favors.  You call him and arrange everything and I'll go, but I'm not about to ask him for a ride.  I realized why my sister was so desperate that I not reject him at first...I think she was afraid that he would start to avoid me if I was harsh and that as a consequence she would lose her ride to dances.  Oops.

Just to kind of shed some light on his character and the situation, real quick:  I don't think he's a bad guy by any stretch of the imagination.  He's totally respectable and well liked in his town and ours.  It's just that for every three times we talk, the fourth time he all but proposes marriage.  My host sister says it's because I haven't told him yet that I have a boyfriend.  I say, Should I have to?  Should I have to have a boyfriend or another love interest to not be head over heels for our cousin?  Because obviously I must want him if I'm single.

Anyway.

Last night my boyfriend leaves my house because he knows we're going out and about five minutes later this guy shows up and we get going, around 10:00 pm.  When we get to the bar/dance floor that's about ten minutes away we realize that because it's a rainy Friday and the band is not particularly well known, NO ONE IS THERE.  On a good night, the dance floors are so crowded that you can't move.  On an okay night, there's maybe ten couples dancing.  On a shitty night when it's drizzling and you could be in your pajamas and in your house reading One City, there was one couple dancing.  One.  Eight people total inside up towards the bar.  And maybe ten people outside, debating whether or not to go in.  We were three out of the ten and we stood and chatted for awhile.  I didn't think it was a big deal that I didn't eat dinner – I was hungry, but we clearly were not going to be staying here for long.  I'd be back home by 10:45 and grab something quick from the fridge before snuggling into my couch with my book.

WE STAYED STANDING OUTSIDE IN THE RAIN FOR TWO HOURS.

Two hours.  Watching a movie starts to get old at two hours, much less watching this one couple dance.  Conversation lasted twenty minutes.  I'd forgotten my cell phone, so I couldn't even be maintaining a text conversation to take my mind off the minutes that were ticking by, smacking me in the forehead one at a time in little bursts of agony like some kind of invisible Chinese water torture.  After we hit the hour mark, I made all the physical signals that show boredom, sleepiness, incredulity and impatience.  Finally, at two hours, I just walked away to sit on some nearby benches, put my head between my knees and tried to block everything out.  Maybe I could sleep sitting here, forgetting that I'm hungry, forgetting that it's raining, forgetting that I could have spent more time with my boyfriend if I'd stayed at home, forgetting how awesome my friends at home are and how we don't say at a place if we're bored out of our minds, forgetting that I don't have my own car and thus am trapped here by this guy who thinks that face time is the equivalent of MiracleGro on our budding romance.

My host sister came over to tell me that she was going to go for a walk to talk about some things with a guy she's been interested in for awhile who was over at the bar.  I told her not to worry, that the weather was great and she should take as much time as she needed, that the bench was really comfortable and I could probably spend the night here if need be.  She said, ''Ay, Lily, haha...'', what people say to me nervously when they're not sure if what I'm saying is supposed to be funny, usually accompanied by eyes darting around to the other people in the group to see what their reactions are.  I was the only person there, though, and I'm pretty sure she gathered from my expression that I did not think anything was funny at that point.  Whatever, the music was loud enough and I was sitting close enough that no one heard me scream, ''This is

SO.

DUMB!

GAAAAAAAAH!!!!!''

But never fear, there was still someone hanging around who took it upon himself to come over and keep me company.  My cousin came over and joked about my host sister's romantic entanglement with this dude she was walking with and as much as I was like, don't say anything back, just ignore him, silent treatment, don't do anything that could be considered flirtatious...I mean, what am I going to do?  The night had been so miserable.  I laughed.  I laughed because everything until that point had been so ridiculously uncomfortable and hellish and because what else am I going to do.  I made my own joke and he laughed.  He asked me if I wanted to go into dance and I said sure.  It was 12:30, so there was only a half hour left before the band would pack up and go home, so what was the harm.

At 1:15 my host sister showed up from her walk.  My cousin and I were sitting outside, silent, and I asked her...So, wow, you had a 45 minute walk, you worked things out, right?  No, she replied.  But we agreed that he would come over on Tuesday and we'd talk about things.

A deep breath.  ''Okay.''

And then we're at the top of this blog post.  What lessons have I learned from this... Something about how dangerously passive I am, how I need to speak up when I'm not having a good time.  Need to speak up and say, ''No, I'm  not going out tonight, I don't want to.''  That it's within my power to choose the direction my life will go and that this is an excellent example when I failed to take control.  Yet another reminder that I need to tap my inner Alcock and stay firmly in control...or is it just as Alcock to suffer in silence and be righteously angry that no one is paying attention to the way I want to do things?  Well, whatever.  Maybe it's one of those things.

Or maybe I just need to start carrying cookies in my purse for when I get cranky.

Noble Patria

Happy Independence Day!  Yes, lucky me, I now celebrate double holidays.  Peace Corps will only officially give me the day ''off'' for select U.S. holidays but the Tico holidays might as well be days off as well.  Without any activities in town today, September 15th, my pueblo was absolutely dead instead of just a kind and euphemistic ''sleepy''.  So I didn't do anything and, for a change, didn't feel guilty for doing nothing.  Either way today I would have done nothing and felt okay about it because last night totally justified a descanso, a rest.

About three months ago, not too long after I got to my town, my counterpart suggested that there might be some interest in forming a folkloric dance group in our town.  I wasn't really sure about the older kids in town, but I got a good response from the little kids and so we started practicing.  My counterpart was the teacher because he's danced baile típico before.  It didn't take a week for older kids, some even in their early twenties, to start badgering for him to form a group for them, too.

So for two and half months the group memorized choreography, we removed people who were causing problems and met with parents.  I may have also experienced temporary deafness from all the yipping, a strange and addictive folk custom of short, high pitched and long range shouting in Guanacaste.  Er, or short range, I guess it depends on how far away you're standing and I was definitely standing too close to people sometimes when they let it fly.  Anyway, about three weeks ago there started an idea of pulling together a community event to celebrate Independence Day.  I can't teach folkloric dance, but yeah...I can organize a party.

I met with the parent teacher association and the development association (together!  In the same room, it was a miracle) and got some time, ideas and money donated to our cause.  The ideas were great – we should give a prize to the best homemade lantern.  We should get gifts for the little kids that are dancing to encourage them to keep dancing.  The offering of time was a blessing because then I didn't have to ask my host sister to help me prepare the sandwiches that attendees would receive.  And finally, the money.  My counterpart and I went shopping for the sandwich stuff and the gifts the day before the party which would not have been possible without the teamwork of both our Asociación (the development group) and the Patronato (the parent-teacher group).

And it was awesome.  Truly.  From what I gather, in past years it's just the school kids and the moms that come out to the school, sing the national anthem while holding their lanterns and then everyone goes home.  Oh no wait, high schoolers who go to high school out of town have to get the elementary school teacher's signature to hand in the next day to prove they did their civic duty.  Then everyone goes home.  Not this year.  This year, we opened up the town hall, decorated with palm leaves and Costa Rican flags and national emblems.  We had close to 100 people come to our town hall at 6 pm.  That's a third of my town's population and no mean feat.  There were people I hadn't seen before and I thought by now I knew everybody haha.

Just a quick run-down of the activities: the national anthem was sung and people filed out of the building to have a parade with their lanterns around the soccer field.  When the parade trickled back into the town hall, one of the boys in our little kid dance group was ready with his marimba and he played songs to entertain the crowd while the dancers were finishing their pre-debut prep.  Oh!  And there was also a contest for the best homemade lantern – with prizes!  Big grin on my face.  Finally, the big moment when the dancers came out.

I don't think I've ever felt more like a member of my community.  First just the small children came out and I mean, of course the crowd went wild.  They danced their two dances with the people hootin' and hollerin' every time the choreography changed.  It was great.  And then the big kids came out to show what they could do.  It was incredible, these guys didn't know anything about baile típico more than three months ago and now they're performing in front of their family and neighbors?  The Tico personality shies away from exposition, performance and personal glory and here these dancers are doing just that but it's so great because all the pride that they embody is pure Guanacaste and pure Costa Rica.  I mean, if you're going to get over your own sense of shame you might as well go big and show yourself off for love of your country.

It wasn't perfect dancing and we don't have matching uniforms or anything...we're just starting off.  But watching them dance I realized that this was more than a celebration of Independence Day as some abstract concept.  This group of young people were celebrating lo nuestro, ''that which is ours''.  The first baile típico group in my town in a generation.  It blows me away the power they have to change their community through the outlets they choose, the power that I crave for them to discover they own.  

COOKIEEEEEES OM NOM NOM NOM NOM!

...I wonder if the Cookie Monster is single.  We have a lot in common.

Well, I made chocolate chip cookies from a bag today and it took more than three hours.  All those neat little ''prep time'' and ''bake time'' labels are convenient if you have a conventional oven.  There's even high altitude directions.  But where are the Guanacaste directions?  I don't think the Betty Crocker research and development takes into consideration that a Peace Corps Volunteer in Costa Rica will have to build a fire before baking the cookies.

And if only it were as easy as building the fire, like making s'mores in your best friend's back yard.  Nope, can't bake over an open fire like that.  So here's the process and just keep in mind...I did this all myself today.  My host mom poked her head outside while I was washing off the baking sheets I was going to use to tell me that if I needed anything, she was taking a nap but I should just come get her.  Well, I decided.  I'm only using the small oven that they built for the previous volunteer and my host mom never gets a break.  Time to buckle up and do it to it, alone.

First, like I said, I washed off the baking sheets that she uses for bread.  Not all of them, she has over fifty I think, so just like, four of them.  Then I went to the back of our shed, checking in corners for snakes like any good country girl, and loaded up on firewood.  I placed it inside the clay oven in the formation my host sister taught me, kind of like building a house out of Lincoln Logs but with some tinder in the middle.  To actually start the fire, I thought it would be pretty simple.  I've seen my host mom do it before.  She soaks an old, dry corn cob in camphor oil, lights it on fire and sticks it in the middle of the Lincoln Log cabin where the tinder is.  To my initial surprise, a little camphor oil and matches don't automatically mean that you can make a bonfire if your firewood is stacked poorly.  A lot of camphor oil and matches will do the trick, though.

So now that the fire is merrily burning, I need to go get an egg and a stick of margarine at the convenience store.  But I bring the machete because before I go into the store I can go behind it to cut some of the weeds that make good oven broom material (oven broom?!?  Just wait, I'm getting there).  So I step into the waist high weeds and try not to look too inept at using the same machete I've seen my six year-old cousin wield.  My personal victory in the field of being able to cut enough plants to make a broom is tempered only by the vast quantity of ant bites that are all over my feet.  I get the egg and the margarine and head home.  It's raining now, but I can't be deterred.

To the side of the bigger oven that I'm not using, I find a long branch with a pointed end that my host mom cuts to make oven brooms.  I also locate some metal wire and, grouping the weeds together at their cut ends, I wrap the wire tightly around the stems like I were making a really big, ugly bouquet.  So now that they're not falling apart I shove the pointy end of the stick into the bottom of the bouquet (that's what she said!  Heyooo!).  Thus, my oven broom is accomplished.  But the fire has not died yet, so I might as well go ahead and mix up my cookie dough.

Pretty straight forward.  Egg, air temp margarine, Betty Crocker chocolate chip cookie mix.  My host mom has a hand mixer a lot like the one I have in the U.S.  I know the back of the bag says an un-greased cookie sheet but really...how much of what I'm describing is what the average cookie baker experiences?  So I grease the cookie sheets because my host mom gets upset when neighbors borrow them and return the sheets with crap all over them.  Make my rounded spoonfuls.  Check the oven.

Ready – the fire is burned down and now I have big glowing hunks of near-coals.  I take a stick and break up the firewood into small coals and distribute them over the bottom of the oven.  The oven itself is a half sphere shape sitting on a big blue metal trashcan.  Start sweating like crazy because it's still eighty degrees out even if it's raining.  As the coals heat the furthest recesses of the oven, I contemplate that because it's on a trashcan I might be baking a-la-hobo.  I also have time to ponder the sound of the Independence Day high school band marching.  In the United States too, I might have heard the drum line from the high school parking lot practicing at this time of year.

It's been a few minutes, so I go get the broom and stick it in the square opening on the front of the oven.  Using a sideways sweeping motion, I move all the embers towards the opening that's on the left side of the oven.  Once they're all more or less in the same spot I can reposition the broom to start shoving them out onto the ground.  Once they're all out, I take a bucket of water that I had on hand to pour on top of the hot coals that are now on the ground – unlike the big oven, there's no clay receptacle for the coals, just the dirt and the wall of the shed that is made of wood and dangerously close.  Not to mention that I've set my flip flops on fire before by standing too long on a live coal and it didn't help to convince my host mom and sister that I'm particularly competent using the oven.  I don't care to give a repeat performance.

I get three leaves from a tree close to the house and I throw the first one in and see how fast it burns.  Too fast.  I have to let the oven cool off or anything I put in it now will carbonize.  Might as well get a book.  I do, and I grab a stool so that I can stay outside close to the oven.  Some time goes by and I throw in the second leaf.  It takes a much longer time before it starts to curl and burn at the edges.  It's just about right (I guess?  I dunno, it seems like my host mom would say it's right) and I put up a sheet of metal to cover the hole on the left side so that heat doesn't escape.  Now, using a long wooden paddle I place the baking sheets with the cookies on them into the oven one at a time and put another sheet of metal on the front opening.

The first time I made cookies, I stupidly told my host sister it would take fifteen to eighteen minutes exactly for the cookies to bake.  It's what the package said.  That was before I considered that clay ovens in the shape of half spheres act like convection ovens.  There's heat from all sides and all at once.  Oh my word, I miss 30 Rock.  But yeah, every time that I've made cookies it takes a maximum of five minutes to bake and today was the same.  Once they were all golden-brown I used the wooden paddle to lift them out and place them on one of many work tables we have.

Let 'em cool, wash what needs washed, try not to get rained on (I'll get yelled at if my host mom awakes to see me sweaty and in the rain...something to do with drastic body temp changes and how it'll kill me.  Ticos have interesting concepts of cause and effect regarding illness).  And...I'm done!  I started at two o'clock and now it's about five thirty.  As I test a cookie to see how it turned out I realize that the whole process was absolutely worth it.

I set aside five or six for my family and the rest are for my boyfriend...celebrating the success of the Independence Day event, his new job in the Fuerza Pública and that we'll have been dating two months this Sunday.  Celebrating the completion of months as a couple is like, a big deal here and I did not know that until a month ago...oops.  It was just a good day to bake some cookies for my boy.

As a side note, I got to talk to my mom on the phone tonight and she said, ''Well, did you get to eat your chocolate chip cookie with a nice glass of milk?''  Nope.  Learning how to milk a cow is for another day in which I did not spend three and a half hours making two dozen cookies.

My grandmother and the Virgin Mary. This better be the truth.

I never really figured that charisma could be that dangerous of a quality in somebody.  Usually when I think of someone as charismatic, I'm grateful that they are only in my life through the television – some fringe politician that I can dismiss along with his loony, blind followers.  All of my jobs have been in sales or food service and both at the ground level, so I was never in a situation where charisma was being used as a tool in my professional environment.  Can't say I've met too many people who have won me over with their charisma, I guess is where this is going.  There's always something like education, wisdom, strength of character or just plain hierarchy that demands my respect.  I don't think I've ever liked anyone because they've spent their time persuading me that they were likeable.

Dangerous though, in the countryside of Costa Rica.  Before we go any further, I should say that I was not the victim of a duping.  Rather, I think I may have witnessed one.  Or can you be duped if it's for your own good?  Is that considered ''duped''?  Because then I might have been duped.  Also, why do we have such a silly sounding word in English?  Exploring the answers to these questions and more in the paragraphs to come.

Apparently, people in my community have been pretty upset with the local water committee.  They also believe that a guy from the regional water regulatory agency has been taking bribes from guy in town.  All hearsay, and if you heard it from someone in my town this same information would take a half hour in the telling.  But with the gossip you heard right here, you have an adequate understanding of why that same regional water guy came to the meeting in my town when we elected new people to be on our local water committee.  He didn't come just to oversee fair elections, in fact, I'd say that was only the secondary purpose.  First and foremost, he came to clear his name in front of all the people that had been talking about him.

And what a job he did!  Invoking God as his only witness and judge.  Claiming the provision of potable water for our town as his only humble intention.  Making half-humorous references about the little grandmothers in town (what the fuck?  Yeah, it confused me, too, when he brought them into it).  Stating again and again that he canceled the wardrobe that he had commissioned our water committee president to make for him to avoid a conflict of interests.  It was fiery, but maybe it was all just hot air?...That's what's so frustrating!  For all the times that I suppressed an exaggerated eye-roll, I was equally impressed that he could get up in front of a group of people who had reported him to his bosses and claim absolute innocence.  Which means he must not be guilty of accepting chorizo (bribes, literally ''sausage'') from our water committee prez.  The guy is obviously just trying to restore his good name to a bunch of backwards people from the country who don't know any better than to assume that people are always taking advantage of them because they're just so uneducated and paranoid.  Seriously though, he's just out for our town's best interest or he wouldn't be here now to supervise elections.

So...did you all catch that switch in there?  Right about halfway through the paragraph?  Yeah.  That's the scary charismatic part, when I started to believe that it would be impossible that a government official could be capable of accepting a bribe.

And ohhhhh my Goooooood but a Tico with an iota of power loves to talk.  Especially a Tico man.  Especially a bureaucrat Tico man whose honor has been impugned.  After awhile, part of the reason I started to believe him was because physically it was impossible not to cave in to his opinion of himself when I'm sitting for forty minutes on a small wooden stool in a town hall that's like a massive oven.  Rain on a tin roof sounds nice.  Heat on a tin roof will KILL YOU.  Or substantially weaken your sensibilities.  Yes, you're a good man.  Yes, you're trying to help us and yes we're grateful.  Yes, my grandmother would be ashamed if she knew I denounced a government emplo – holy mother of JESUS, where do they keep the WATER in this place?!?
Long story short – I know why charisma works now.  An audience with a flair for drama, a torture facility and a man who is probably a wolf in sheep's clothing.  But is he?  Is he really bad?  I'm not sure, I think he might be a good guy deep down.  Awfully defensive for no reason, but damn I mean...it's ballsy to mention the Virgin Mary if you're not telling the truth.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day...and I'm feelin' good.

Promises are such a scary concept!  Now that IST is over, I realized how careful I was not to make promises in my first three months.  I did a lot of, ''Let me know what I can do to help and I'll do what I can,'' but not actually any real promises.  Definitely the best decision ever.

Today I wrote my work plan for the next two years, the confidence in my abilities as a volunteer spilling over from IST and into my ''real life''.  It's ambitious.  I want to give a project design workshop to all the organized groups in town and also form a new committee to watch out for the rights of children in our town.  I want to teach little kids English, provide particular organizational and leadership training to the folk dance group and make extensive repairs to our current school or – si Dios quiere – build a new one and make the current one into a library and cultural center.  Finally, I want to form a youth group in my town that is oriented towards environmental education through volunteerism.

Bam.  Anyone who thinks that Peace Corps volunteers in Costa Rica take it easy...well...ok, I have running potable water and pretty much my own house and a very beautiful natural environment.  My grass is pretty green on this side of the fence.  But I also have big things I want to accomplish.  I'd argue that there's more responsibility and expectation to succeed with projects in a country where so many resources are available.  So yeah.  Bam.

I'm thinking I still shouldn't make promises, you know?  But as I was writing my work plan I was like, ''Wow, glad I'm not tied down to anything from before.''  I felt like I came back from IST with some great ideas that meet needs that there are in the community, but perhaps no one in my community had thought of.  So I wrote my work plan, I'll present it to my two main organizations within the community that I hope to work with and see if they like it before I solidify it by putting it in my community diagnostic.


Holy Cheese-Us!  I presented my work plan today to the two groups I want to work with – the local development organization in my town and the parent-teacher's association and guess what...I'm kind of an awesome volunteer today.  I gave a concise, informative presentation about the work I want to pursue, answered questions, cleared up doubts and I believe I may have been more than a tad bit inspirational.

If I'm interpreting their reaction correctly, this will be the first time in my LIFE that I said something idealistic and people were really pumped about it instead of just dismissing it as the word of an inexperienced, yet-to-be-jaded young person.  I was duly cautious about the results that we can see in two years, but also firm about staying positive.  The ''feeling positive'' part is key because it really is lacking in our community, a place where family conflict reigns supreme.  Family conflict has reached a point where it has stunted not just personal growth, but also that of the community as a whole.  For example, due to psychological warfare and some character assassinating that was going down, there was a real possibility this past month that the national water regulatory agency from the regional level would have to intervene and take control of our water supply.  This would have been a huge step backwards for my town, and gracias a Dios (thank goodness), the heat was turned down long enough that a new, local directive board for the water committee was elected by the people and we could keep control of our water.

In other words, the time is right and people are ready to receive the message of faction-less teamwork, conditions for positive change for which I cannot take the credit.  However, I really liked feeling like I could rally people around a cause.   After I finished speaking today, there was at least ten minutes of talking about working together for the common good.  And if nothing else happens in these two years at least I got these two organizations to further imagine a community where people don't have to act like they're living in fair Verona.  At least I can say that my presence is not being divisive in any way, a direction I feared my service was leaning before my presentation today.

The Corobici etc.

So.  The past two weeks or so have been kind of whirlwind.  Understatement – the past two weeks have been a hurricane of information and demands both work-related and personal.  Today felt like the first time I had to breathe and...if I'm being honest...the first time that things seemed to just click.  A friend texted me yesterday to say, ''Huh, upon coming home, I actually feel like a real volunteer now.''  And I texted back, ''I think it's because this time we are not so bewildered by everything that we forget how capable we are.''

I'm not sure if he agrees with me because he never texted me back.  But I'm going to run with it because I think it's absolutely true.  So bear with me while I talk about training because I swear I'll come back to the great realization that we're legitimate volunteers.

It's true that during In Service Training all the volunteers had pretty sweet accommodations at the Crowne Plaza in San Jose.  But if I didn't get to snuggle down at night into white downy comforters that kept out the chill from the air conditioning unit, IST could have been really bad instead of just...overwhelming.  The first three days were a workshop to which we were asked to bring a community counterpart.  I brought my host sister which turned out to be a good choice.  Some volunteers didn't have as much confidence interacting with their counterparts, I noticed.  Bummer.  We make a good team, though, so I was happy.  The week after that was dedicated to further technical and language training.  That was all kind of a blur until I checked my email today and saw all the documents that backed up the sessions.  Then I was like, ''Oh yeah, ok, I remember listening to this.''

Then I got robbed with some broken glass and lost my camera.  Dammit.

Ok, but then a bunch of the Rural Community Development volunteers went to Quepos/Manuel Antonio.  This is a national forest/beach with a pretty decent town on a harbor.  It's absolutely beautiful and (shhh!  I'm about to be unfaithful to my adopted regional identity) I'd prefer it any day to the beaches of Guanacaste.  Too bad I didn't have a camera or I'd post some photos.  But is anyone familiar with the verse about nature and alcohol from the song Big Rock Candy Mountain?  It can give you a mental picture of what it was like.  I'll give it a go...
In the big rock candy mountains
you never change your socks
and the little streams of alcohol
come a-trickling down the rocks.
I'm just saying, it sounds like a parallel experience.  Magical, verdant mountains, no clean clothes and never ending rum.

Ok, so how does this transform the perception I have of myself into a ''real'' volunteer...I'll tell you: It was good to detox (erm, or maybe ''tox'' just a little) after IST and absorb some rays.  It was probably the first thing I'd label as a vacation since I got here.  And then, because it felt like vacation, I went back to work at the end of it.  Getting into my town I realized that I finally feel like I have something to offer.  That IST didn't just numb my brain and make me crave the shoreline, that I really took away solid information and built some of the skills I was needing.

And when I got back to town, I really thought, ''Que dicha, I'm home.''  I'm not starting from square one and I know this town better than any other person who wasn't born within a five mile radius of it.  Also, I learned some pretty sweet things I can do to um...well, to do my job.  I reviewed the RCD project goals and thought...wow.  Everything that I've talked about with my town about what we can do fits under these goals, which is a great sign, right?  So I gotta get crackin' because I've only got so much time left.  The magical transformation I was waiting for didn't feel magical, it felt like someone constantly squeezing my brain every day for ten days.  Correction: every day for six months.  But it happened.  I'm confident now that if I apply myself, cool things can happen in conjunction with my community member's interest and participation.

Not that I'll never have doubts about my own abilities again, but I have stopped feeling lost and stopped asking myself what I'm supposed to be doing here.

buckle up, lots of new posts haha

Today was one of the high highs, I believe.  I woke up at 7 am and went to the school around 8 to plant some baby trees with the students.  They liked being outdoors and I only burdened them with the shortest discussion of why trees are important.  We took some nice pictures to send all over the place, including the Centro Agrícola de Nicoya to whom we will be writing a thank you note for the free black garden bags.  I went home, sat outside for an hour (there was a breeze which is rare and definitely should be taken advantage of), showered, planned my English lesson, ate lunch.  Then I kind of hit a low low in the afternoon.  No one from my development association showed up to do an activity for my diagnostic.  This was the rescheduled date because only two people came the first time.  But I thought that there was no way this was going to ruin my day.  I gave the English class and once I am done with the folk dance group tomorrow, Saturday, and finish typing up exams for the school's principal...I will mentally check out of my community and check into In-Service-Training.  Even though the physical check in isn't until Tuesday.

An interesting phenom that made today's blessed seemingly normal-ness all the more welcome.  About a week and a half ago I was informed of some chisme or gossip that's been going around town about me.  Someone told me that they were talking to people and apparently I a) like to stay inside my house and b) do not like to play with the children in my community.  The evidence is the following: In regards to the first charge, people notice that I am often in my house and I do not walk around town.  They can tell I do not like to play with the children because I am not ever out on the soccer field with them during the afternoon pick-up games.

What do I have to say in response?  A defense based on the weather, for surely it is hard to walk around town when it is always pouring in my afternoon free-time.  Should I mention that the days that I do take a stroll I hardly see anyone outside their own houses because it's just too damn hot?  Perhaps a scathing commentary about how if I wanted to play with children in foreign countries I would have applied to be an au pair?  Or remind my fellow townspeople that some people Just.  Hate.  Running.

I'm pretty sure I could royally screw up my work if I said any of that.  Please remember that not only is none of what I blog about the official position of the Peace Corps or the United States government, but also that my id never goes public.  So I think Nordstrom.  What did I always do at Nordstrom when the customer thought it was a great idea to root out or my perceived flaws, someone they'd known for less than ten minutes, and report them up to Customer Service?

I took it.  I remembered the commission that I was getting paid and that this customer was one among many others who had been most pleased with their purchase.

So, I take it.  I remember my oath, the gringo tax-payers and the good-hearted Ticos – the ones that don't care if I'm a carbon copy of the last Volunteer in my town (I really can't be too judgmental, either.  She was blonde, her name ended in a “-y” and she also smiled a lot.  We're goddam twins).  Everyone else in my town...I mean, I'm here for a reason, and it's not to be angry at anybody.  Cathartic sarcasm officially over.

The weird part is, I always thought gossip was supposed to be false.  But this chisme is unequivocally true.  Once I get over my low and mean, “Oh, you really want to talk about the person who came here to help you?!?” streak, I feel...kind of nothing.  They're absolutely right – I like spending time alone, I need it to stay sane and effective.  And I really do hate physical activity, so much the more in group settings with screaming children.  So what, I should keep being mad at people who have correctly judged me?  Nah.  I mean, I feel weird that in their estimation I am strange because of it.  But to actually stay mad or something...no way.