Drastic New Haircut

Alright, so I had my haircut on Friday (10/13) and I was feeling adventurous, so I decided to get rid of a lot of it. Now, I have naturally curly hair so having chopped it all off (well, let's be honest- I didn't choose to have it shaved off again, once is more than enough for me on that count) results in my curly hair bouncing up close to my ears! There are definitely many advantages (like, it doesn't take me ANY time to do my hair) but I'm still having those occasional habits of just wishing that I could be lazy and throw my hair up into a ponytail. Hmm, not so possible anymore. Well, technically it's possible, but a lot of my hair doesn't want to remain in the ponytail and ends up falling down around my face. Well, looks like I'll be shopping for some fun and cute thick headbands to decorate my new "-do".

Birthday with brother

OK, so I do realize that my birthday was about 4 months ago, but my birthday present from Ryan and Lailah was a gift certificate to a California Windsurfing company. No, don't be worried!! Windsurfing is in the title, but the company actually offers multiple rentals. I did a little bit of research online to see what exactly this gift certificate qualified for... Through researching the company I actually realized that multiple options were available to me. They actually rent multiple forms of water entertainment including paddle boards, kayaks, pedal boats, water bikes and windsurfing boards. Initially I was intrigued by the idea of attempting a "water bike" which essentially appears to be a bike which as you pedal it, it moves the propeller so you can navigate the lagoon easily and comfortably. This idea intrigued me, but I hadn't made any hard and fast decisions.

So, then Ryan and I headed into Foster City, (he's essentially a brilliant kayak-er), but he left the decision entirely up to me. We ended up renting two kayaks for about 2 hours. Now, considering my family's issue with sun exposure and all, I made sure to layer myself in sunscreen so that I was essentially protecting myself from the sun as much as possible. I had a true blast navigating the Foster City lagoon with Ryan and I even managed to capture a number of photos of him and the scenery with my phone! I would definitely show these pictures right now, except that when we had rowed our way essentially to below 92 Ryan had asked me a question (because I was riding a sit-on-top kayak whereas he was riding a legit kayak) about how wet my rear-end must have become because of my seat... I told Ryan that my butt didn't feel wet at all because there was simply a stagnant little puddle close to my butt but not under me. I felt as though I needed to prove this to him, so I sat up in my little kayak to show that I hadn't become excessively wet- JAMIE'S BIG MISTAKE! because when I stood up all of the water moved from the puddle to right below my butt and then my cell phone popped out of my shorts' pocket and fell into the lagoon. So, as a result I have zero pictures documenting our fabulous birthday excursion, but losing my phone and having to get it replaced didn't put any damper on one of the best birthday presents that I've received in quite some time!

Feel free to ask any questions, but I realized last night that I should write about this wonderful excursion because it was absolutely ideal and I love my brother for coming up with a phenomenal birthday present idea which we both truly enjoyed!

Day with nieces

Today I was excited to be able to spend a handful of time with my nieces! Collette is 3 and her big sister is a whopping 5... and Lailah had given me a few ideas of activities which I could absorb them in to catch their interest.

Lailah knows about my love of art and painting so today I helped my nieces create paintings of their own. Her exact words were that "Amelia will be able to listen, but Collette may just slather the paint on". Her words could not have been more appropriate! Technically the assignment was they were creating a painting for Lailah's sister Gihan (whose birthday is actually today), and I essentially gave them free reign regarding what they were going to paint. (As it's best if the painter actually cares about what they are actually painting)

Amelia really wanted to paint a cat for Gigi and Collette decided to go the more traditional birthday route and I sketched an easy birthday cake for her to fill in. I made a mistake... I sketched the outline of their painting subjects so that they would simply paint around the predetermined lines. But, I realized after the fact that I probably should have followed Lailah's advice and actually began the painting for them- essentially paint the beginning lines instead of using colored pencil. Oh well!

We had a blast together and I'm looking forward to this routine possibly becoming a little more regular during my summer. First of all I was able to give Martha (Lailah's mom) a little break from feeling as though she must keep them busy and entertained all on her own AND I completely enjoyed my morning/afternoon with my wonderful nieces.

Enjoy my captured photos/videos from today!!

Life These Days

Alrighty, I figured that I'd update the couple of readers that I may have. So, I may have graduated from UC Davis in December of 2006, but with my current complicated lifestyle (and essentially empty calendar) I've decided to go back to school.

Don't worry, because I don't need these credits for anything I am able to look at the catalog and essentially sign up for whichever classes look the most entertaining/enjoyable. So, I have taken classes at two college campuses now. I started taking classes close to home (In Redwood City at Cañada) and essentially ended up taking all of the classes there which interested me, so now I've transferred to the College of San Mateo.

At CSM I began by taking Oil Painting and some Creative Writing classes. Well, eventually I took every single creative writing course offered, so now I'm still taking Oil Painting, but I became interested in photography classes as well. Last semester I enrolled in Beginning Digital Photography, and this semester (due largely in part to scheduling) I've enrolled in Beginning Black and White Photography.

This photography class is definitely new and exciting. We are actually using film cameras and we purchased black and white film and we have begun taking our cameras out and photographing the world. I actually enjoy going to my classes this semester because I'm learning new techniques and I'm actually experiencing something (film photography) which I don't recall having completed in YEARS!

So, nothing new and exhilarating, but considering that it has now been 7 years since my life-altering event I've been finding enjoyable ways to spend my days. Please, if anyone has any recommendations on things which I could be doing to continue to keep myself entertained, feel free to share them with me!!

So, in the past few days I learned that I have a very unhappy neighbor living below me. Apparently this downstairs neighbor is about 6 months pregnant and didn't feel comfortable confronting my parents or myself about this complaint, so they went directly to the condo president. She complained that because her doctors have essentially placed her on "bed rest" (or whatever) she is home ALL THE TIME and she complained that my walking around my condo was too stressful on her and the baby-to-be. Hmm, well maybe you should have considered confronting the person who was actually completing this "harsh walking" so that we could have arranged another way in which to protect your sensitive pregnant self. But, I'm attempting to be considerate so my dad suggested that I try walking slowly around my place (because yup, I tend to walk very quickly all the time). So, I'm trying everything to be as quiet as possible when I'm at home, and to ignore the frustrated screams going on inside of my own head in the midst of this all.

With that frustrating hiccup aside, and school still continuing very successfully, I truly feel as though I have essentially zero complaints and that life is pursuing exceptionally well.

However, I do have one brief question for you all... Alright, for 7 years I have not driven- my license expired and in order to begin driving again I would have to go to the DMV and get retested. Honestly, this hasn't been a concern of mine as I have become proficient at using public transit. Curiosity questions whether this is an event which I should consider completing at some point. It would be fabulous to have the ability to drive myself places from time to time, but I'm not sure where I would actually drive because I am SO good at using public transit. Honestly, I consider when I'm older (40s, 50s, etc.) that maybe it would be desirable to be able to get places on my own. Please, if anyone reads this, share your thoughts on this matter please!! Thanks!

Neccos (All For Nothing)

--Alright, this is a story I wrote (with the help of my Aunt Carla), which tells a true and somewhat humorous story about my dad and uncle when they were 3 years old. If you have any questions/comments please feel free to share your thoughts!--

All for Nothing

Looking down on her gullible little brothers, she quietly smirks. Upon calling them over to her, they turn slowly and begin sauntering in her direction. As she holds up the package they begin racing to her side. Upon reaching their sister, their eyes are mesmerized by the roll of candy. She shakes it in her hand and sits on the back steps. Both brothers plop themselves on either side of her, nudging up against her tiny thighs. She begins tearing the wrapping away from the precious candies, telling them how Daddy had bought only one package for the three of them and they needed to split it up evenly.

Carla begins by placing one Necco in her own lap, “one for me,” she explains. She turns to her right and places a candy in her brother’s eagerly awaiting hands, “one for you.” She places a second Necco in her own lap, “one for me”. Then turning to her left, she sees Lee almost quivering he is so excited. She drops a Necco in his outstretched hands, “one for you”. Herself again, “one for me”, her right, “one for you”, “one for me”, “one for you”, and continues in this fashion until the last Necco is placed in her own lap, “last one… for me”.

The little boys’ eyes were locked on the small pile of candies within their cupped hands. As Carla picks through her slightly larger pile, she pulls out all of the purple Neccos, being sure to remind her little brothers how good the purple ones are. They each nod, knowingly. Ron pulls out two of his non-purple Neccos and trades his two for one of Carla’s purples. She smiles greedily and turns to her other brother. Lee waits with two of his treasures and places them delicately into his loving sister’s hand, in return for her purple one.

Carla grabs her stack of candy and goes back inside the house, leaving her brothers to enjoy their pathetically sized piles. She closes the back door behind her, leaning against it she sighs. It is such a great relief to have gotten rid of the nasty licorice flavored Neccos.

Outside, Lee and Ron pick at their piles smiling from ear to ear with every piece of candy they throw into their tiny mouths. Ron hurriedly throws three or four candy pieces into his mouth at once, leaving a sole Necco in the palm of his hand. Meanwhile, Lee has chosen to savor the taste of each one, sucking slowly on each as he places them in his mouth.

Although identical in appearance, these three year olds were definitely unique in their mannerisms and many other aspects of their personalities. Ron was usually more reserved and calm, especially when he was by himself, whereas Lee was quite a rambunctious little child always coming up with new ways to get into trouble. When the two boys were together for long enough, trouble was unavoidable.

Ron holds that last piece of candy in his sweaty little palm until he is sure Lee has devoured all of his Neccos. He then tosses the candy into his mouth and chews vigorously, having awaited the taste of that precious candy for the last two entire minutes. Swallowing, he looks up, only to find that Lee has already run off towards the playhouse Daddy had made. Ron wipes his palms on his old, dirty cowboy jeans and gallops after his brother. Chasing him up the ladder to the attic of their little house, just far enough behind to get ridiculed by Lee once he finally reaches the top.

“Won, you slow poke!” Lee teases, in his three-year-old speech.

“I’m not a slow poke, you’we a slow poke!” Ron retaliates.

“Nah-uh!” Lee defends.

“Uh-huh!”

“Nah-uh!” Lee’s mind begins to wander, and suddenly he comes up with a brilliant idea. “Let’s pway ‘Cowboys ‘n Injuns’, Won! Come on! I’m da Cowboy, you can be da Injun.”

Ron hates being the Indian, but recognizing that the game really is pretty fun, he runs down the ladder after Lee once again. Lee begins galloping about on his imaginary horse, Lightning, as Ron runs frantically away from him, clapping his hand over his mouth making supposed Indian chanting noises. They carry on with this charade for an impressive amount of time, until Ron grows tired and collapses on the weedy grass in the backyard. Lee ignores the presence of his valiant steed Lightning and immediately falls down beside his brother. They lie there silently staring up at the cloudy blue sky for quite some time. As their panting mellows into a rhythmic breathing pattern, Lee turns his head towards his brother.

“I wanna have some mo’ Neccos. ‘Dere sooo good,” sounding more like a three-year-old than ever. His eyes twinkle as his memory reminds him of the treat they enjoyed so much just a little earlier.

“Cawla said Daddy only gave ‘er one woll,” Ron reminds his brother.

“Oh yeah, well wha’ we gonna do? I wan’ some,” he complains.

“Well, when Daddy gets home we could ask ‘im for anotha woll.”

“I can’t wait fo’ so long,” Lee whines. Pausing to let his mind focus on the severe problem at hand, his eyes light up as he comes to the solution, “I know, we could go to da gwocewie sto’ now, and gwab a woll.”

Ron instantly sits up in his place. His little forehead scrunches up followed by his eyebrows that do all of the questioning for him. Lee instantly begins to explain the logic in this wonderful plan. Their trusty tricycles are behind the playhouse, underneath the carport. They could jump on the tricycles and go to the store just a few blocks away. It won’t take very long and then they can enjoy more of their precious Neccos. Lee convinces Ron that he knows the way to the grocery store perfectly. It was fool-proof. Ron is hesitant at first but thinking of all the Neccos they could eat once they got there, his stomach takes over, and he is definitely in. Lee lets out a celebratory cry and begins running to the tricycles. He stops midway to make sure Ron is coming, and just as he pauses, Ron comes flying past him on his way to the trikes. As Ron reaches them he hops on the blue one, and begins pedaling away from his brother who has just reached the red tricycle.

“You slow poke!” Ron yells from the front of the carport. His face is lit up with a huge grin. He begins pedaling faster as he sees his brother rapidly approaching from the other side of the car.

The two three-year-old boys ride off towards the local grocery store, with only Neccos on their mind.

            The boys’ mother Velora leans over the stove and ignites the back burner. Placing the lid over the pot of water, she turns towards the refrigerator. Carla comes in from the living room and pokes her head over the open refrigerator door. Velora, now partially immersed in the chill of the fridge, looks up slightly confused, “What do you need Honey?”

            “Nothing. I’m just bored. Leave it to Beaver just ended.” Carla has a look on her face that Velora clearly recognizes as one of wanting motherly sympathy and companionship. But she has lunch to prepare and doesn’t have time right now to entertain her six-year-old. Nonetheless, she puts on a loving face and continues to listen to Carla pry. “Whatcha’ doin’ Ma?”

            “I’m trying to get your lunch together for you guys to eat. Why don’t you go play with the boys?” Velora was hoping to get her daughter to do something else for a while.

            “They are so boring, you know that Ma. All they do is play these dumb games and run around chasing each other. No thanks,” Carla states indignantly.

            “Don’t say ‘dumb’ Carla.”

            “Sorry Ma. I’m going to go get something from my room. I’ll be right back.”

            Carla leaves the kitchen and races towards her room. Velora continues getting lunch together as she places the eggs into the bowl of water. She can hear Carla rustling around in her room above the kitchen. As the ceiling becomes silent, it appears as though she may have found something to do up there. A slight sigh of relief.

            After whipping up the egg salad and making two sandwiches, she calls for Carla. She slices one of the sandwiches in half, and places each half on a separate plate. Then, takes the third sandwich and the third plate, and sets all the food on the kitchen table next to the back door. She can hear Carla rushing down the stairs and around the hallway towards the kitchen. She is pouring three glasses of milk when Carla skids into the kitchen.

            “Would you mind getting the boys? It’s time for lunch,” Velora requests.

            “Fine,” Carla mutters. She opens the back door and calls as loudly as possible, “Boys! Let’s go! It’s time for lunch!” She doesn’t wait for a response, instead immediately turns around and comes back into the kitchen.

            Velora glances out the kitchen window to check for a reaction. There are no little boys running towards the kitchen. She walks towards the back door and steps onto the porch. “Boys! I’ve got egg-salad sandwiches on the table for you!” There is still no response. She walks over towards the playhouse her husband had made and stands next to it. Her eyes glare into the square-shaped hole in the wall that is the window for the little attic. No little boys. She walks around to the front of the mini-house and peeks through the door. Still no three-year-olds. Her stomach begins to rise up in her body as she calls out, “Ron? Lee! You’re scaring Mommy.” Panic begins to fill up her body along with her still rising stomach. She walks around the backyard in a fury searching every nook and cranny.

            By this time Carla has left the kitchen. She now stands on the back porch with her half eaten egg-salad sandwich squeezed in her little hands, bits of egg dropping onto the wooden floor beneath her. With a mouthful of sandwich she mumbles, “Where did they go Ma?”

            Velora ignores her daughter and runs to the side of the house, and opens the gate. She scans the front yard but there is no sign of her boys. They wouldn’t have been able to open the gate anyways; her husband had purposely put the latch too high for any of the kids to reach. She returns to the back of the house, approaching hysteria. As she runs towards the carport she notices the red and blue tricycles are missing. She can feel her heart beating outside of her body. Running into the alley behind their house she stares in both directions, but her sons are nowhere to be found.

Velora rushes back into the house, flying past her daughter who still stands on the back porch. With trembling hands she reaches for the phone. She is trying to push all of the horrible thoughts out of her head, ignore the wretched possibilities. As she places her index finger inside of the circle that reads ‘9’ she twirls it rapidly counter-clockwise until it begins clicking back towards its initial position. She then shoves her finger inside of the ‘1’ spinning quickly and then spins once again. The operator picks up, “What’s your emergency?”

---

            Lee and Ron round the corner coming out of the alley behind their house. As they turn onto Elm Street Ron glances back towards their house slightly afraid. Then the vision of Neccos dancing in his head turns his attention to the treacherous journey ahead of him and his brother.

Lee pedals as fast as he can, remaining just far enough ahead of his brother to be in first place; literally a couple of inches. As they pedal quickly down the sidewalk, an older woman sitting on her porch stares at the three-year-olds zooming by her front lawn. Confused, she gets out of her chair and walks off of her porch onto the front walk. Watching the little boys pedal on at full speed she grins, never having seen such a sight before.

Lee and Ron turn one more corner and the local supermarket comes into sight not too far in the distance. As the boys realize that they have successfully made their way, they both slow their pace, so as to conserve some energy for the ride home. Chatting it up, they talk of all the fun they are going to have when Carla sees the roll of Neccos that they have gotten for her; by this point they have decided they are going to get three rolls, so each of them can have one. Maybe this way they can even get more purple prizes from Carla. Three more blocks to go.

---

            Carla sits in the living room quietly watching TV as her mother has sternly instructed her. Velora paces back in forth in the kitchen fidgeting with the dish towel, unaware of what to do with herself. She wanted to get in her car and go looking for her boys but the operator told her to stay put and wait for the policeman to come to her home. Carla leans over on the couch to peek around the corner into the kitchen, watching as her mother appears and then disappears repeatedly behind the wall. Suddenly, a loud knock at the front door startles her onto the floor. Velora comes running into the front room and the two of them race to the door.

            After answering a bunch of questions about her sons, Velora is reassured that they will be fine, and the policeman will find them soon. However, her heart is still pounding in her chest, and her fingers remain quivering. How could she have lost her sons? Why did she let them out of her sight for even a second? The questions and accusations she directs at herself are bombarding her now. She is no longer able to ignore the possibilities, allowing her body to collapse onto the couch.

            Carla chases the policeman down the front walk. As he climbs into the car, she stands at the passenger door, nosed pressed against the window, awed by the multitude of gadgets inside. He waves her away from the car with a smile on his face. As Carla stands away from the car, the trees and houses nearby begin flashing blue. The policeman waves behind him to the little six-year-old hopping on the sidewalk.

            He drives slowly to make sure he doesn’t miss the little boys. Turning onto Elm Street he sees an older woman sitting on her front porch. He pulls the car to the side of the road and climbs out, leaving the engine running. The woman stands up out of her chair. “Have you seen two twin boys, about three years old, riding past here?” The woman nods and points in the direction they headed. “Thank you.” Climbing back into his car, he prepares to drive away, when he hears a knock on the passenger side window. Startled, he accidentally honks the horn. The woman at the window jumps. Confused, he begins to roll down the window.

            “They turned left onto Cherry Street, that’s a couple of blocks up. That was about ten minutes ago, and they were riding pretty fast,” she clarifies.

            “Thank you ma’am.”

            “Anything I can do to help, Officer.”

            The policeman quickens his pace as he continues on the path of the three year olds. Rapidly turning the corner he sees two tiny figures about five blocks ahead, on the right side of the road. He moves his hand to turn on the siren, but decides against it, afraid that he may frighten the little boys. As he approaches the two tricycles he pulls the car to the side of the road, noticing the innocent little faces staring up at him.

---

            One more block. Five houses until they reach the parking lot of the supermarket. Lee commands Ron to quicken his pace. They’re almost there. Suddenly Ron notices the supermarket flashing blue. Confused, he spins his head around to all sides. Noticing the police car on the road, he calls to Lee, “Lee! Guess wha’? ‘Dere’s a cop on a powice chase behind us! Wook!”

            Lee’s head spins around and his eyes light up. His smile reflects the flashing blue lights. Ron smiles, “See!”

            Lee yells back, “Wonder where he’s goin’.”

            “Maybe a money wobber!” Ron suggests.

            As the police car pulls up along side the boys, they look up at the policeman with admiration. As the car stops the huge smiles fade from their faces. The first thought going through Lee’s head, is the fact that they might not get their Neccos after all this work. The policeman explains the trouble to Lee and Ron as he throws their tricycles in the trunk of his car. Lee is tempted to ask him if they can grab some Neccos before they head back home, but he holds himself back as the cop opens the passenger door and motions for Lee to climb in. Disappointed and slightly frightened he cautiously climbs into the front seat. The policeman buckles him in, and shuts the door behind him. Looking comfortingly into Ron’s eyes he then opens the back door of the police car. Ron’s face drops. No Neccos and the prisoner’s seat. The policeman motions him in, and Ron hesitantly saunters over to the door and slowly gets in. Looking miserably into the policeman’s eyes, his vision goes slightly blurry as he gets buckled in. A tear drops on his cheek.

            “Don’t worry kiddo, everything’s gonna be alright,” confirms the policeman.

            Ron looks through the bars separating the front seat from the back. He lifts himself slightly from the seat to admire the cool gadgets in the front. Just as he lines himself up for a perfect view of the gun, Lee’s head pops in the way. His face is smeared with a gigantic grin as he motions towards all of the gadgets next to him. Ron’s face goes numb. As the policeman climbs in, Ron struggles to watch him through the metal bars that separate them. As the car turns around and they drive slowly away from the supermarket, Ron watches as it fades into nothing. He reaches his tiny little hand towards the back window in a final attempt at receiving some Neccos. The drive home is wretched for Ron, and a dream come true for Lee who has apparently forgotten all about the Neccos at this point and sits in the front seat chatting away with the policeman. As they pull up to their house on Ankeny Street, the boys see their mother and sister come running out of the front door. Mommy looks so unhappy…

            

My Drastically Changing Life

Alright, so this is the short story that I just completed for my Creative Writing class. It basically summarizes my (traumatic) story... I understand that there might be a better way to attach a file to a blog, but I don't really feel like attempting to figure that out tonight...

My Drastically Changing Life

Having accomplished a fairly large number of tasks in my life, I am constantly struggling with remembering (which will be explained later) exactly when certain events occurred and how they occurred. Just this last week, I couldn’t truly or fully remember what I had accomplished the prior week. I’ve learned to use some slightly “techy” tactics to aid me with my memory and I’ve also grown quite accustomed to not fearing asking others for help in remembering certain things. To aid me in compiling this story I’ve requested the help of my family, other Peace Corps volunteers and relying on my own blog which I kept during my time living abroad. I’ve become very assured in relying on my own words in my blog, which was primarily used to update friends and family back in the United States regarding what I was doing during my time in the Peace Corps. So, this story begins a few years ago and as a result you will temporarily be traveling back in time with me and my faulty memory.

Immediately after graduating from high school I began college which as far as my faulty memory can recall, was quite fabulous. After having successfully graduated from UC Davis with a BA in English in December 2006, I found myself at a sort of standstill because I hadn’t yet figured out what all of my education had prepared me for professionally. Searching the internet for possible ways to entertain myself during my post-collegiate life, I discovered the Peace Corps. Frankly, I basically knew nothing about the Peace Corps, but it seemed as though it could provide me with the desired time I needed to figure out the next steps in my life. Considering that I was entirely unaware of the specific location where I wanted to serve, I was able to select a box on my application that stated, “Send me where I’m most needed.” My family was impressed and slightly overwhelmed by this decision of mine because I was relinquishing all of my potential control in this new situation. As a result, the individuals working for the Peace Corps were allowed to place me in whichever country they felt an English major would be desired. Technically, a college degree is not required because opportunities are available where relevant job experience is allowed, but most opportunities require a college degree.

So, in May 2008, I had to travel to the doctor in order to complete all of my required medical examinations. This involved me acquiring a handful of doctor’s signatures and lab reports. And another important fact to mention is that I don’t really enjoy needles. As in, I generally have to look over the doctor’s shoulder to a fixed spot on the wall merely because I do not desire to watch the needle make contact with my skin. On May 28, 2008 I received my rejection notice from the Peace Corps because they declared that I was HIV negative-positive. Being classified as HIV positive (which implies that I was carrying the human immunodeficiency virus that potentially may lead to AIDs and would be carried by my body indefinitely) meant that I would have to return to the horrible doctor situation. My doctor then provided me with another lab report officially proclaiming me HIV negative. Being rejected because I was potentially carrying a deadly disease was frustrating. I don’t technically remember exactly how I felt at the time, due to the memory issues, but common sense would suggest that I was most certainly frustrated. I had never even remotely considered this whole HIV situation before attempting to join the Peace Corps. I suppose that this entire situation demonstrates how potentially ridiculous our medical system can appear at times. When the Peace Corps reviewed my doctor’s amendment to my medical information there was no further application required. They simply accepted what I had initially submitted and continued proceeding forward as they would have if the entire HIV situation had not been brought up. Obviously, I would have rather avoided this entire situation. However, I respect and appreciate the Peace Corps acting so diligently regarding their potential employees.

So, based on my current searching these days, the internet claims that the Peace Corps sends Americans abroad to tackle the most pressing needs of people around the world. As a fresh college graduate I found myself at a standstill. I majored in English, but I had not found a profession where I felt as though my intellect and education were being used. As a result, I figured that I’d try some other tasks and I hoped that if I joined the Peace Corps, then during that time I would hopefully establish a possible future career for myself.

Unfortunately for me, the Peace Corps completely ignored (and possibly rightfully so) my strong knowledge of the French language and instead sent me to some less-known area of the world. Looking back on this, I can thoroughly realize the importance of not sending Americans to well-known areas of the world where they would more than likely find themselves enjoying a relaxing vacation as opposed to working hard for the underprivileged people of that chosen location.

In June 2008 I received my official acceptance to join the Peace Corps for the United States. Having studied abroad in the country of France and considering myself slightly fluent, or at least exceptionally aware of that language, I was secretly hoping that I would be placed in a country where I would be able to use my French language knowledge, but I specifically didn’t make any requirements during my initial interviews. I mean, this is the Peace Corps, which I was simply interested in pursuing; I wasn’t in any position to begin making demands regarding location. Thus, having checked that box that stated that I could be sent wherever the Peace Corps felt as though I was needed, I had virtually relinquished control entirely. So, in June I received my Peace Corps invitation (having been Fed-Exed to me) declaring the information that I was thus far entirely unaware of. My packet stated the following crucial information: Country of Service- Kazakhstan, Dates of service: August 18, 2008- November 7, 2010. Having traveled to numerous countries during my year studying abroad in France (including France, Spain, England, Ireland, Switzerland, Germany, Greece, Denmark and the Netherlands) I had honestly never heard of this country, but I was still excited to be doing my part in continuing to explore the world. After googling Kazakhstan, I found that it is south of Russia and west of China. It is the ninth largest country in the world.

Before being situated in my final location (or really before even leaving the United States) all of the Peace Corps volunteers met in Philadelphia for our “staging” process. This group of future volunteers spent three days completing campy get to know you activities. This initial trip to Philadelphia provided us each with an opportunity to become familiar with the other volunteers which helped to make the entire Peace Corps experience slightly less daunting and which I found more enjoyable because I derive energy from other people. In addition to becoming familiar with the other volunteers and Peace Corps, we were all instructed on a lot of safety issues. This is crucial in making sure that each of the volunteers will be prepared for a wide variety of potentially unsafe (or non-American) situations. For example, all of the volunteers were drilled on don’t drink the water otherwise you’ll potentially become ill. Also, we were told not to be out at night as it is unsafe. We were also told to use taxis as our means of transportation and to wear our seatbelts even though the locals didn’t. While all of us volunteers were located in Philadelphia we were placed at an upscale Sheraton hotel in the downtown Philadelphia area with a small allowance (a per diem). Our group of volunteers enjoyed our per diem and ended up utilizing it by going to a nice restaurant and bar for dinner.

On our third day in Philadelphia all of the volunteers boarded a bus in Philadelphia and headed towards New York City. I found myself quite excited to be riding the bus with one of my favorite volunteers. When we boarded our bus, he and I spent the majority of our trip (where we were placed alphabetically) making comments about the various people that we were reading about in my small collection of fashion magazines. Joe ridiculed the model with her potential thoughts.

“It’s unfortunate,” Joe declared in a feminine voice “the way that this yellow color washes out my skin so terribly! I’ll bet that the other models aren’t being forced to wear these outfits.”

“Bob must’ve had it out for me,” I taunted “when he decided to have me make this particular facial expression. Did he genuinely feel as though having me appear as though I am sucking on a lemon would work well for this shoot?”

After this bus ride our flight from New York brought our entire group of volunteers to Frankfurt, Germany. The flight was unfortunately delayed about twelve hours so we actually wasted time at the airport entirely exhausted from our journey thus far and beyond excited to arrive in our assigned country. After the heinous delay in Germany we did arrive in Kazakhstan. Then, once we had arrived in Kazakhstan we had six more weeks of training to accomplish. This was to learn the local customs, the language, our assignments and even more safety issues. Literally, being exhausted from our staging session and then the delay in Germany, we began our in country training. Literally, no rest for the weary.

Upon arriving in Kazakhstan, each of the volunteers were assigned a home to live in, with the locals. The first family that I was assigned to live with, the Peace Corps made a colossal mistake and stated on the paperwork that I was a male, so the first family that I arrived at was beyond confused because they had been preparing to host an American boy as opposed to an American girl. My first family consisted of a married couple and their two children. Initially not a single person in my new host family knew a single word of English, except for the son who proudly knew about five words and insisted on using them over and over again.

“Hello!” Azamat robotically remarked from the breakfast table.

“Good morning Azamat,” knowing that his vocabulary was sadly quite limited we sat at the breakfast table in absolute silence.

“Thank You!” he eventually responded.

I would then leave the house to head to the school and he would proudly proclaim, “Goodbye” to me as I left the house.

Aside from his customary hello and goodbye Azamat also proudly knew a few adjectives. When I would return home after teaching and I was attempting to use a tiny amount of English around the house I’d question my host brother simply.

“Hello Azamat!” I greeted, “How are you today?”

“Good” He responded. “Thank you!”

A few weeks later the Peace Corps realized what an awkward living situation they had placed me in since the family had expected a boy. The Peace Corps moved me to my second home. The second family apparently disagreed with the entire idea of bedroom doors, so when I would be sitting at my desk writing a letter to one of my friends back home in America, my 23-year-old host brother liked to come into my room and simply watch me write my personal letters back home. The interest that this younger guy took in me and my habits became very discomforting and felt unsafe. The Peace Corps was so fabulous to me, a volunteer, during these times so very shortly after moving in with my second family they abruptly moved me into my third host living situation. Now, I was living in a home with three host brothers ages 15-21 and I had my own bedroom with a door that locked. My new host mother was the vice principal at the new school which I was training at, because the entire idea behind this Peace Corps position was supposed to be that I would be teaching English to students.

When I moved in with this family with three boys one of the sons would go for a run with me so that I would be safe. This same family had a basketball hoop set up in their yard covering their Jaguar which they owned. It became highly entertaining to listen to the Kazakh students attempt to converse in English with native English speakers.

“Where you from?” a local would politely ask me.

I would respond simply with “America” and about eight times out of ten the Kazakh would respond with, “Oh, California!”

Unfortunately, I was actually from California so these unfortunate Kazakhs rarely learned from me about the other 49 states in America. Whenever someone learned that I was actually from California the response became sadly slightly familiar.

“Oh,” they replied “Arnold Shwarzeneggar.” This was always followed by hysterical laughter.

I spent a fair amount of time waiting to become situated in my own place and location to live that began to feel somewhat permanent. I was finally located to my final location. The city where I began to teach English to students was Merke, Kazakhstan. After having lived with multiple host families I finally found myself a house where I could live independently, which I began to call the farm. I have trouble remembering my house exactly, but I vaguely recall that it didn’t consist of very much. The other volunteers and I had essentially decided that it felt like a place with not very much to it that you could potentially find in the southern United States so therefore we deemed it “the farm”. I’ve asked my parents why exactly my home was deemed “the farm” because considering that I definitely do not remember, I hoped that they might recall why my new home had acquired this name. Unfortunately, they mimicked the entire idea that it was an essentially desolate area consisting of very little and it became simply entertaining for me and the other volunteers to happily nickname it “the farm”.

The other Peace Corps volunteers and I managed to find ways to visit one another, which was a saving grace amidst all of our hours of working and teaching English to younger students (about fifth grade). I always cherished the days where I was able to be amidst other Americans.

I did have a break from the farm when I was able to travel to Sweden for my old college roommate’s wedding. It was an absolutely fabulous vacation from teaching English almost nonstop since arriving in Merke. I had an absolute blast seeing some of my American friends during this wedding and also for traveling outside of Kazakhstan for a brief period of time.

I had been planning to temporarily adopt a puppy. Another teacher, Saltanat owned a dog who had a litter of seven puppies and she asked if I'd like to keep one of them at my house until I moved back to America. This sounded great for a number of reasons, the main one being that I get bored and puppies are cute! I had planned to pick the puppy up from Saltanat's after my trip to Sweden. However, when I made my way over there the puppy was much less excited about me than I was about her. She was the last of the litter left and she had seen all of her brothers and sisters shipped off. When Saltanat even tried to approach her she ran screaming and crying into the garden. We spent 20 minutes trying to catch the puppy and every time we got close she sounded as though someone had stepped on her - yelping and squealing.

After 20 minutes, I was feeling pretty unwanted and Saltanat was pretty tired. She told me she would try and catch the dog and bring it to my house whenever she caught it. Well, a week passed and no dog showed up at my front door. I had resigned myself to the fact that the puppy and I were not meant to be, but made jokes about how the puppy had no idea how good she would have had it if she had simply wanted to be loved by me. 

After a trip to the "white house" (the toilets at our school), Saltanat, Dinara (the other amazing new and young English teacher) and I came across an adorable little puppy on the school grounds. I crouched down and called him to me and he came galloping across the path up to my legs. He wasn't afraid of me at all. Saltanat eyed me (knowing full well what I was thinking). I asked her if the puppy was a stray and she asked the groundskeeper (who was standing nearby). Sure enough, he had no home. Saltanat and Dinara encouraged me to adopt him and I decided that when my lessons were finished I would think about taking this dog home with me.

I spent one entire lesson just looking out the window for the puppy. I was terrified he was going to run off and I wouldn't be able to take him home. After the lesson, I told Saltanat that I must go look for 'my' puppy. I had already claimed him, apparently. When I got outside a bunch of 7th or 8th grade boys were working in the yard (something they have to do in Kazakhstan). The puppy was just wandering around them, trying to be one of the boys. I walked excitedly over to him and pet him furiously. The boys got very excited about the puppy and started asking me to translate things about him in Russian. He's black. He's a boy, etc. Then they started picking on him, as Kazakh boys like to do. Dogs are not pets. They are wild animals and can be dangerous. I was discussing with the groundskeeper that I wanted to take the puppy home after classes. The boys literally began tossing the puppy around and kicking him when I wasn't looking. I scolded them and decided right then and there that the puppy was coming home with me. I rescued the puppy from those boys and took him home with me.

And so, I provided a home for this adorable homeless puppy. It took me a day (and an hour-long Skype conversation with my friend Sarah) but I finally named him. Kairu (kai-roo). It means "little black one" in Kenyan and while it may be a little peculiar, I just couldn't escape the name. He's going to be one cultured little puppy, let me tell you. He's already learning both English and Russian ('come' in English, and the equivalent of 'no, stop that!' in Russian) and he has a Kenyan name and I thought that he could one day visit America. He began providing me with much entertainment and a lot more chores around the house. I no longer came home and spent hours watching movies or reading books. Now, I had to feed the dog, make sure he doesn't have any fleas, potty-train and (if I ever got my hands on a collar/leash) I would take him for walks. Kairu became a very welcome addition to The Farm. I grew to absolutely love having a pet dog during my time in Kazakhstan.

Kazakh schools have random breaks which are quite similar to holiday breaks and Spring breaks in America. During one of these breaks some other fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I took a quick trip to Thailand, during which I took a fair number of pictures and remember thoroughly enjoying. In Thailand, where I and three other volunteers traveled together, our group ended up temporarily splitting up in order to find our own forms of enjoyment. I spent my time in Thailand primarily with one of my favorite volunteer friends Andy. He and I decided that we’d really enjoy doing some different and potentially exciting things. Andy and I decided that we definitely wanted to explore Thailand in different ways. The other couple who we had traveled with really desired to spend their entire time on the Thai beaches, but Andy and I are from California so beaches aren’t nearly as exciting. The two of us decided to partake on an elephant tour which also included a river raft trip. The two of us were seated on the back of an elephant, where a metal box was situated strapped around their stomachs. We held on and enjoyed our slightly bumpy ride feeding the elephant some bananas periodically when he threw his long trunk back gladly accepting his treats of bananas. At the end of our trek on the elephant Andy and I disembarked from our elephant and then we partnered up with a couple of other travelers for the river portion of our journey. The four of us were placed on a bamboo raft that appeared as though it had been designed that very morning. The four of us attempted to mimic our captain who was essentially surfing down the river by standing on his feet the entire time. Our group truly enjoyed this activity. Each of us successfully managed to escape falling off of our raft and into the river. After Andy and I had shared about four days together without our other volunteer friends we decided to reconvene with them in Koh Samet where the four of us enjoyed simply laying around on the beach and playing some Thai foot-volleyball.

Shortly after our return from Thailand I traveled to another city in Kazakhstan, Shymkent, to visit one of my other Peace Corps friends and we had an absolute blast just catching up and enjoying some good old American company. I truly enjoyed all of my vacations, but even though Kazakhstan and America differ on quite a large number of things, one being that seatbelts are practically never used in Kazakhstan, I am still and probably always will be, an American at heart, so even if no one in Kazakhstan ever wears their seatbelts I always insist on wearing my own. So, when I hailed a taxi I always wore my seatbelt as was required by the Peace Corps. Upon returning back to my home, I boarded a taxi which had two other passengers already in it. On the road home the taxi encountered a semi-truck headed in the opposite direction. The driver of the semi was clearly (and unfortunately) intoxicated and as a result of his less than sober driving his semi ended up crashing into our taxi, where I was the only individual wearing a seatbelt. The accident unfortunately ended the lives of the three other people in the taxi, including the driver, as I was the single individual who left the scene of the accident alive. The semi-truck driver was eventually sentenced to seven years in prison.

So, the positive (which I recognize that it is nearly impossible to find a single positive thing out of this catastrophic car accident) result of this life ending collision is that I was basically flown out of Kazakhstan and fundamentally out of the Peace Corps because even though I had been the sole survivor of the car accident, it had resulted in me being left brain-injured. The Peace Corps contacted my family and then ambulanced me to the next country the Kyrgyz Republic where the United States had a transit center with U.S. Air Force doctors on staff for the war in Afghanistan. The Peace Corps asked if the Air Force would help a Peace Corps volunteer. They replied, “Yes, she’s one of our own.” They proceeded to save my life. I was then flown to Afghanistan to pick up wounded soldiers. My family flew to Germany to meet with me, even though I was in a coma. We were then all flown to the largest US military hospital in Europe, which is Landstuhl Hospital outside of Frankfurt, Germany.

Ultimately the United States Air Force flew my family and I back to the United States. We were flying on an airplane designated for injured soldiers. I was still in my coma and there were four doctors surrounding me to ensure that I was stable during the flight.

Once we had flown back to the United States, I was stationed at the George Washington University hospital in Washington DC. The nurses and my best friend Sarah had cut off my all of my long hair because of all of the glass embedded in it. I also had a tracheostomy as I could not breathe on my own. After three to four weeks in ICU I began to come out of my coma. I was airvaced across the United States. We were able to finally return to my home in California. Once I was situated in California again I began a slew of therapies associated with brain injury. My parents mentioned the fact that as a result of the brain injury I was no longer certain of which language I should be speaking in. I had been speaking Russian in the Peace Corps and when I studied abroad I became proficient in French. As a result of the brain injury I wasn’t finding myself defaulting to English. There was one nurse who was working with me and she actually knew Russian, so when I was blabbing in my incoherent language she would

thankfully inform my family if she recognized any Russian.

“How are you feeling today sweetie?” my mother questioned.

“Hello! Je suis fatigué,” I began to reply, “Comment allez vous? Zdrastvootsyeh!” stringing together English, French and Russian at once.

So, as a result of the brain injury, I found that it was the equivalent to being placed back in preschool again. I no longer knew how to complete basic human function. I could no longer walk or eat and my speech was difficult to comprehend for those around me. Since the brain injury in 2010 I had to work extra hard to simply complete normal tasks. I’ve learned that although I may be well educated and fairly intelligent, it takes me twice as long to accomplish simple tasks because I’m actually being forced to work twice as hard.

The therapies became an unfortunate semi-regular occurrence in my new life. These included speech therapy, physical therapy and occupational therapy and there were fifty professionals working with me daily. These therapies threw me for a loop because I was having to learn how to accomplish simple tasks like brushing my hair and teeth, how to shower, read and write, and math. 

Sometimes I would even become angry because everyone was treating me as though I had never been exposed to any of these instructions during my lifetime. For example, it was very annoying to have my own mother ask me to look both ways while crossing the street, like I was a kid again.

When I arrived in California, I was placed at the Santa Clara Valley Medical Center for four months and then from there I was sent to live (temporarily) in Southern California in a city called Bakersfield. I was living in Bakersfield attending the Centre for Neuro Skills (CNS). I lived in Bakersfield for 9 months. This location ended up being nice for me because for a short period of time, before I became completely comfortable walking on my own two legs, I had been riding around in a wheelchair. CNS definitely tested me in multiple ways making me feel entirely comfortable and confident living my new life. I grew to truly enjoy the other patients in Bakersfield because in that situation I didn’t need to feel self-conscious because everyone living there had also experienced a life altering situation resulting in requiring neurological help. Fortunately, during these nine months my mother and I realized how fortunate I had been in my recovery. Many of the other patients in Bakersfield had been physically or mentally altered. Some may consider my brain injury a mentally altering situation, but I’m a fighter and I haven’t let this situation overcome me. After all, I have always faced certain challenges and I’ve fought hard to overcome them. I am learning that I’m stronger than I thought I was and even though there are many challenges that I continue to face, I will not give up.

Anniversary

So, some big news... Today is my 5 year anniversary. I know, generally that term is associated with excitement, but there is zero excitement associated with the day which I was brain-injured. That tragic day was January 18, 2010. However my parents have associated the date with MLK Jr. day, which technically isn't until tomorrow. Either way, I'm ecstatic about how much I have accomplished in these past 5 years. So, temporary excited moment for myself... YAY!

If anyone feels as though they may be able to add additional excitement, please share. Thanks everyone for being a fabulous support system and for truly making me feel 100% loved and cherished! Here's to even more continued improvements!