There are fireflies here.

While looking for another file on my computer, I stumbled across a short text that I wrote in July 2017. As I've done for every summer (except this last one), I was visiting my family in Missouri when I wrote it.

There are fireflies here. Where I grew up there were no fireflies; they existed only in books. I remember thinking places where fireflies exist must be magical. It seemed unreal that something living could produce a brilliant yellow glow of light. There were so many things I discovered in books, that I used to wonder if one day I would see them for myself. Although Missouri might seem like the edge of nowhere, even Missouri has magical things. Even here I’m given the chance to discover something new, to have something that once existed only in my imagination become visible to my physical eye.  That’s a thought I want hold on to: that even in the most mundane places, even just beyond our porch, we always have a chance discover something new. The adventure only stops when we stop discovering the wonder in everything.

My sister, who’s been living here for several years now, showed me how to make a “living lantern” (as she calls it) by sticking fireflies in a glass jar. I was a little skeptical that it would work, but it does. According to my sister, you have to have both boy and girl fireflies in the mix for the fireflies to light up the jar. Though she might be making that up. Even now my sister still seems to by trying to teach me about the birds and bees.  I suspect that her motive has always been to make me blush. It used to be enormously successful. 

Discovering the World Cup in 2008

I saw my first World Cup match in July of 2008. On a military base. In Kyrgyzstan. Having never been in the military, only a series of strange events would have put me there that summer.

From July 2008 to August 2010 I was a Peace Corps volunteer in a small mountain village in Kyrgyzstan. In early summer of 2010 peaceful protests began with the goal of forcing the president of Kyrgyzstan out of office. The protests were met with violent government repression. Hoping to deter the protestors, the president contracted snipers who stationed themselves on the rooftops around the capital city. As the protestors, mostly university students, marched down the streets, the snipers aimed and fired. 81 Kyrgyz youth were killed over several days, and violence broke out across the country. The Peace Corps program determined that the volunteers were at risk, and the evacuation plan was set into motion.

A military base is the last place on earth you would expect to find a group of Peace Corps volunteers. And it would have been the last place on earth we wanted to be, except that there was lots of food there. After surviving for two years on very meager village diets, most of us would have done just about anything for a balanced meal.

I don’t want to paint an inaccurate picture here. I definitely hadn’t been starving. But I had been hungry. A lot. My primary diet consisted of bread and tea. Breakfast was bread and tea, lunch was bread and tea, and dinner was bread and tea. The next day started out the same, with bread and tea, except that lunch was boiled sheep meat and potatoes. While the male volunteers lost lots of weight and started to look gaunt, the female volunteers didn’t. Apparently male and female bodies metabolize carbohydrates differently. So while their malnutrition was obvious, ours wasn’t.

That was our physical state when we were evacuated to the military base. We were a motley group of about 30 malnourished volunteers, who had become used to bucket-bathing on a weekly basis during the summer (and less often during the winter). I can only imagine what the military men and women thought of us. We often spoke Kyrgyz or Russian among ourselves, made constant reference to strange Kyrgyz village traditions, and gorged ourselves on the mess hall food. And we were shameless about it. When you’ve been an outsider long enough, you get used to being ‘strange,’ to the point where you stop caring what others think of you. So we got seconds on Steak Night in the mess hall and took multiple showers a day. It was hard not to when the food was free and we had almost forgotten what running water felt like.

Then one night, one of the massive tents on the base was particularly loud. I remember standing outside in the dark and wondering what was going on there. The sound drew us in, and when we entered the tent, we saw hundreds of men and women in uniform seated facing a large screen, where a soccer match was being projected. The U.S. team was playing. Looking back now, I wonder how many of the people there knew the rules of the game. Certainly less than half. Probably less than a quarter. I definitely didn’t. But when the U.S. team scored a goal, the room erupted into cheers. A round of “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” chants began and didn’t stop for a full minute. While I cringe when I hear a “U.S.A.!” chant now, at that moment it made me grin ear-to-ear.

Today was the last semi-final match of the 2018 World Cup, and while I watched the game (well done, Croatia!), I couldn’t help but think back to my first World Cup match back in 2008. Although almost everything about my life is different, the happiness that the World Cup ignites in me remains the same. 

Why I Love and Hate Colombia

***(Ver la traducción al español abajo)

Recently, in the span of about an hour, I experienced the best and worst of Colombia.

My phone was stolen 2 weeks after I moved to Medellín. That’s not the “worst” part of this story; it’s just the context for the rest of the story. Shortly after buying a new phone at a fancy electronics store, I began to receive messages from my service provider, informing me that I needed to register my phone by Nov. 4th or it would be disabled. I guessed that it was new anti-theft law, so I accepted that I needed to register my phone. I tried to do it online, but the system rejected my passport number.

So on Nov. 3^rd I went to one of the three “help centers” in this city of 3 million. I took a number, waited about 25 minutes, and then approached the desk where my number was shown. The representative, a young woman, greeted me without a smile and asked, “What can I do for you today?”

Me: “I need to register my phone so that it's not shut off. I received a message that I needed to register it by Nov. 4^th.”

Woman: “Of course. May I see your local ID?”

Me: “I don’t have a local ID, but I have my passport.”

Woman: “We can’t register your phone with a passport.”

Me: “Of course you can. I purchased the phone with my passport number and foreigners are legally allowed to buy phones here.”

Woman: “We can only register phones with local IDs.”

Me: “So you’re saying that I can buy a phone here but not register it?”

Woman: “You didn’t buy it here, in this store. Did you?”

Me: “No, but I bought it at an official store. I’m certain that you can register it with my passport.”

The woman sighs to display her annoyance at my insistence, turns to the representative on her left and asks, “Can we register a phone with a passport?”

The other woman responds with a simple, “Yes.”

The woman turns back to me, with no apology, smile or sheepish look, says, "Your passport."

 I hand it to her. 

Then I sign a series of documents that give the company the right to do whatever they like with my information. Once again, perhaps for the hundredth time, I reflect on how Colombian laws provide almost no protection for consumers.

As we’re finishing, I feel the need to validate what we’ve done.

Me: "So now that I have registered my phone, it won’t be shut off tomorrow, right?”

Woman: “Oh, no. You’ve only begun the process of registering your phone. It will take 10-15 days to finish the registration process.”

Me: “What? How can I have until Nov. 4^th to register my phone when really I needed to have registered it 2 weeks ago? I didn’t even own this phone 2 weeks ago!”

Woman: “That’s not our fault. You came to register it, and that’s what we’re doing.”

 In my frustration I repeatedly try to explain to her the unfairness and illogic of all of this, but she merely shrugs. It’s not her fault, not her problem. 

I fume and then I leave.

As I’m riding my bike home, my head swirls will all the arguments against such a ridiculous process and complaints about the lack of professionalism displayed by the woman. Then my bike chain falls off the chain-ring. I stop on the sidewalk and flip my bike over to put it back on.

While I’m putting the chain back on the ring, a pair of senior citizens stop beside me. They’re tiny, with white hair and they’re holding hands.

The woman puts her face close to mine as she whispers, “You shouldn’t stop here. They could rob you.” She motions with her head toward some men in the park next to us. As I turn to look, she quickly adds, “Don’t look at them!” I’m not in the best mood and now I feel like I’m being criticized for choosing the wrong place to have my chain come off. I whisper back, “I’m sorry, but I need to get my chain back on before I can leave.”

The woman takes in my words and looks concerned.

“We’ll stand guard then,” she states, matter-of-factly.

 I glance at the man and the woman again. Now it seems like they’ve locked arms and have managed to create a defiant air. I smile. They couldn’t fend off a stiff breeze, but the gesture is melting my heart.

Moments later my chain is on, I thank the couple for their kindness, and we both go on our own ways. But my pissed-off attitude is shattered.

They didn’t have to stop and warn me.

Once they had warned me and I ignored their warning, they could have shrugged and continued on their way.

They didn’t have to stay.

They didn’t have to do anything and nobody would have criticized them.

In Colombia there are a million ways that life is more difficult than it has to be because of senseless laws, stupid regulations, and endless corruption. Then there are millions of people who set aside their interests and extend a hand to a stranger like me.




------------------------------------PORQUE AMO Y ODIO A COLOMBIA-----------------------------------------

Hace poco, en solo una hora, experimenté lo mejor y lo peor de Colombia.

Me robaron el celular 2 semanas después de llegar a Medellín. Eso no es “lo peor” de esta historia. Solo es el contexto en el cual se desarrolla el resto. Un poco después de comprar un celular nuevo en una tienda en un centro comercial, me empezaron a llegar mensajes de Claro, informándome que tenía que registrar mi celular antes del 4 de noviembre or sería bloqueado. Supuse que existía una nueva ley antirrobo y acepté que tenía que registrar mi celular. Intenté hacerlo por internet, pero el sistema rechazó el número de mi pasaporte.

Entonces, el 3 de noviembre fui a uno de las tres Centros de Atención al Cliente (en esta ciudad de 3 millones de personas). Cogí un número, esperé unos 25 minutos, y me presenté en la ventana donde se mostraba mi número. El representante, una mujer joven, me saludó sin sonrisa y me preguntó, “¿Cómo te puede servir el día de hoy?”

Yo: “Necesito registrar mi celular para que no se bloquee. Recibí un mensaje que decía que lo tengo que registrar antes del 4 de noviembre.”

Ella: “Claro, ¿puedo ver tu carné de identidad?”

Yo: “No tengo carné, pero tengo mi pasaporte.”

Ella: “No podemos registrar el celular sin un carné.”

Yo: “Claro que pueden. Compré este celular con el número de mi pasaporte y los extranjeros estamos permitidos comprar celulares aquí.”

Ella: “Solo podemos registrar los celulares con carné de identidad.”

Yo: “¿Me estás diciendo que puedo comprar un celular pero no puedo registrarlo?”

Ella: “No lo compraste aquí en esta tienda. ¿O sí?”

Yo: “No, pero lo compré en una tienda oficial. Estoy segura que lo puedes registrar con mi pasaporte.”

Ella respira profundamente para mostrar la molestia que me tiene por la insistencia, gira al representante a su lado y le pregunta, “¿Podemos registrar un celular con solo un pasaporte?”

El otro representante le responde con un sencillo, “Sí.”

Ella me vuelve a mirar y, sin pedir disculpas, sonreír, o mostrarse apenado por su error, me dice, “Tu pasaporte.”

Se lo entrego.

Y empiezo a firmar una serie de documentos que le da a la empresa el derecho de hacer lo que quieren con mi información. Una vez más, por lo que puede ser la centésima vez, pienso que las leyes colombianas favorecen siempre la empresa y no protegen nunca al cliente.

Cuando casi terminamos, se me ocurre que debo validar lo que hemos hecho

Yo: “Ahora que hemos registrado mi celular, ¿no lo van a bloquear mañana, cierto?”

Mujer: “No... Apenas empezaste el proceso de registrar tu celular. Puede demorar 10-15 días para terminar el proceso.”

Yo: “¡¿Cómo?! ¿Por qué me dicen que tengo hasta el 4 para registrarlo cuando realmente lo tenía que registrar hace 2 semanas? ¡Ni siquiera tenía este celular hace 2 semanas!”

Mujer: “No es nuestra responsabilidad. Viniste a registrarlo y lo estamos haciendo.”

En mi frustración, una y otra vez le intento explicar la falta de lógica y la injusticia de lo que está pasando. Ella se encoge de hombros. No es su problema, no es su culpa.

Me enojo y salgo de la tienda.

Mientras estoy manejando mi bicicleta hacia mi casa, todos los argumentos en contra de ese proceso ridículo me dan vueltas en la cabeza. Silenciosamente me quejo de la falta de profesionalismo de la mujer. Y, en ese momento, la cadena se me sale de la bicicleta. Me paro en el anden y le voy una vuelta a mi bici para tener mejor acceso a la cadena.

Mientras intento devolver la cadena a su lugar, una pareja de ancianos paran a mi lado. Son súper bajitos, con cabello blanco, y se toman de la mano.

La mujer se acerca su cara a la mía y me susurra, “No deberías parar aquí. Te pueden robar.” Con su cabeza indica a unos hombres en el parque a nuestro lado. Giro a mirarlos y ella me dice rápidamente, “¡No los mires!”

No estoy de buen humor y ahora siento que me están criticando por escoger el lugar equivocado en el cual permitir que se me salga la cadena. En voz baja le digo a la señora, “Disculpe, pero necesito arreglar la cadena antes de irme.”

La mujer me escucha y se ve preocupada.

“Entonces nos quedamos aquí hasta que termines,” ella dice, directa y francamente.

Le doy una mirada al señor y la señora. Ahora parece que se han entrelazado los brazos y tienen un aire de desafío. Me sonrío. Son tan débiles que no podrían con una brisa fuerte, pero el gesto me hace derretir el corazón.

Poco tiempo después la cadena está en su lugar, les agradezco a la pareja por su amabilidad, y todos nos vamos por nuestros caminos.  Mi mala actitud está destrozada.

No tenían que pararse y advertirme sobre el peligro.

Después de advertirme y cuando ignoré su advertencia, podrían haberse encogido los hombros y seguido el camino.

No tenían que quedarse conmigo.

No tenían que hacer nada y nadie les habría criticado.

En Colombia hay un millón de maneras en las cuales la vida es mas difícil de lo que debería ser debido a muchas leyes sin sentido, reglamentos absurdos, y corrupción extensa. Pero también hay millones de personas que se olviden de sus intereses y les extienden la mano a desconocidos como yo.

Fear Paralyzes

I’m afraid. And that scares me. Fear paralyzes. It makes us stay when we should go. It keeps us silent when we should speak. It keeps us running when we should stop.

This isn’t my usual state. Despite regular failures, I try to live fearlessly. But too often I let my fears cage me. Right now I fear not finding a job that I love, not finding someone to share my happiness with, not finding the right place to put down roots. That’s a lot of fear.

Luckily, at this point in my life, uncertainty is not a rarity. A quick look back provides a lot of perspective:

10 years ago (2007): I was in university and I didn’t know what I’d do with my degree (International Studies) after I finished.

5 years ago (2012): I was teaching in Colombia. I love teaching, but I wanted to do something different in the area of education. I just didn’t know what or how.

Now (2017): I’ve got the degrees and experience necessary to do the work that I’m passionate about. 

If this trend continues, in 5 years I’ll probably look back and wonder why I let myself worry or stress about the next step. Whatever it is, it will help me continue to grow. Between now and then I might have many relationships or I might have just one.  I may live in just one country or a half dozen.

There are a lot of things that we can’t control. But we can control how we live each day.

I want to be more kind, curious, knowledgeable and courageous each day. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, whoever I’m with – there’s nothing that can stop me from reaching those goals.

Fear paralyzes; hope strengthens.