Or, if you are looking for information about Under the African Sky, go here.

The flowers and trees have just started blooming, and it rains a lot. When it is sunny though, the temperature fluctuates between 40 and 70 degrees.  On warmer days, anyone not in class can be found outside reading, biking, hiking, climbing trees, and then jumping from them. One of the trees has a rope swing jump that has to be at least 14 feet up. I’ve done it three times, and it’s still really scary. Today we opened up the dock. This is what it looked like at sunset:

Canoeing

This past weekend I went canoeing with COASTAL, College of the Atlantic’s outdoor program.  We have a small cabin on campus with helpful equipment like tents, dry bags, and sleeping bags, so after packing up Friday night, we set off for adventure early Saturday morning. Although this was a trip for beginners, the winds stirred up 3-4 foot waves, and I struggled constantly to maintain any sort of direction. Our leaders were great though, and despite the cloudy windy cool days, we had a blast.

Highlights for me—skinny-dipping in the starlight (the smooth lake reflected the light of the stars so jumping in was surreal); listening to life dreams around the fire while warming up after the cold plunge; sleeping in a tent with my friends Annie, Andrea, and Bethany; waking up around 4am to the sound of coyotes and wolves howling in the distance and knowing that I had to leave the comfort of my sleeping bag to pee, although I only had to go 20 feet from my tent, I felt very vulnerable in the dark; the challenge getting back with the . Whew.

“Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature…”

I signed up for the trip sure that if I spent Saturday and Sunday outside, I would be more content to spend more time in class and working at the library. I thought the trip would help me focus. But in case you do not already know this, that is not how it works. Once exposed to the raw beauty of nature, it’s difficult to return to artificial temperature and lights.

Thoreau writes, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

I need to go back. Soon.

Anyway,

Thoreau dedicates the second chapter of Walden to “Where I Lived, and What I Lived for.” Wow. How powerful is that chapter line? I’m trying to figure out where I live (besides in my head), and what I live for (besides love, or is that enough?). My class “Great Letters” is forcing me to collect my thoughts. We read letters from authors and notable figures, write our own, and read them out loud to the class. They are personal, but maybe I will share one sometime soon.

My teacher, Candice Stover, tries to cultivate more face-to-face interactions, and refuses to do e-mail. If we want to reach her, we have to call her at home before 10pm, and she promises she’ll call us back. We talk a lot about communication, and what we lose (and gain) with e-mail, facebook, the Internet and cell phones. More on this another time, I’m sure… She seems very skeptical about online privacy. Why do I post little journal entries for anyone in the world to read?  Because I know that my life is important and beautiful, and I love my life and want to share it with everyone. But it’s more than that… it’s personal. Writing on here reminds me of the story I write every day with every conversation, feeling, and decision that I make.

Other stuff I’ve been thinking about recently:

– No one can own land. The land, and all it’s fruits and vegetables and wild creatures belong to all of us, and us (humans) belong to all of them. We don’t get to do whatever we want.  How is this idea of owning land anything more than a faith-based ideology, kind of like money and our economy? Ah, so many thoughts that require much more explaining. The other night when my friend asked me how our economy law is different than religion, the only response I could think of is that people who believe in God and Jesus recognize very openly that it requires faith, unlike our economy and law, which people take for truth. Can we ever really own anything except our love and time and story?

– I have to choose my companions wisely, because they do rub off on me. I am blessed with wonderful friends, and often I see myself in them, and them in me. And now I want nature to be my friend. I need some of the simplicity and innocence to rub off on me, but what can I bring to the relationship? Only my life, devotion, and awe.

– I do not want to let time or my things own me. I try to do things intentionally and I avoid rushing. But never have I been more sure that I cannot do anything that will have me counting down the minutes. I wasted enough time in school (before COA) for a lifetime.

– I can talk to animals, and they can talk to me, and sometimes we can become friends, but they are kind of like people: each one is different and has a different personality, so I don’t think all of them want to be my friend. I’ve been reading up on this, and before you ask, no I don’t think I’m crazy.

– The economy. Wealth. What we value, and don’t value, and how ridiculous it all is.

– When I don’t write it usually means I’m learning or living too much to write it down. I also don’t have internet anymore. I can’t say I miss it that much. I think there will be a big movement beginning soon (if it hasn’t already started) away from technology and the instant information and (sometimes superficial) connection it brings. I want to slow time down, not speed up, and I don’t think I’m alone in this.

All quotes for this entry are from Henry David Thoreau.

P.S. I am working on moving this to juliadesantis.com, a friend convinced me that if I didn’t claim it, someone else would. Apparently there are people out there who will buy your name, just to sell it back at a higher price? Anyway, now that I have it, I kinda want to use it because it gives me more freedom over layout. But if you visit now, be warned—it’s just a work in progress.

Last spring, 20+ of my friends from NYU spent spring break at the Village of Hope, a community for abandoned children. As a faith-based organization, they were open about their faith and agreed to not proselytize anywhere in Morocco; however, they were granted permission to share their faith with their children (as long as they did not try to convert them). The parents are not allowed to officially adopt because they are not Muslim, but they function as parents in every sense of the word. The volunteers, hailing from countries around the world, commit to living in the village until the children are grown. As you may know, I want to design my own sustainable village for orphans so Village of Hope holds a special place in my heart.

A few days ago, I received a text from one of my best friends who visited the orphanage last spring, “authorities have asked the parents to leave, we don’t know what will happen to the children, please pray.” Fearing for the safety of the children, as some have health problems like cerebral palsy, HIV, and asthma, many of my friends have started to act, contacting news media outlets, human rights organizations, and government officials. While here at the United Nations, I am trying to find the delegate from Morocco to share this information.

There is so much more that I want to discus about this—religious aid, the idea of proselytizing, and human rights— but it will have to wait until this Commission on the Status of Women is over (a whole other topic that I can’t WAIT to share about). Right now I just want to get this information out there. I am concerned about the whole proselytizing thing (I don’t really like the idea of anyone trying to convert anyone) but I am MORE worried about these kids. I used to read about things like this happening in the world, and never imagined I would have a personal (although indirect) connection to people suffering from discrimination while trying to do nothing but love kids.

Please read up on the issue and get involved. This is a big deal.

kids from the village

The official statement from the home:

For the past 10 years the Village of Hope has offered an outstanding level of care and love to Moroccan Children.  The unique model of care offered by VOH means that children have been raised in family units with a Mum and Dad rather than the more traditional dormitory style orphanage set up.  VOH has always operated with the full knowledge and agreement of the Moroccan authorities with the overt understanding that the overseas workers are Christian.  It has also always been understood that the children would be raised in a Muslim/Christian environment but would also be fully immersed in their Moroccan culture in terms of love for their country, language, education and knowledge of Islam.

On Monday 8th March, all 16 overseas workers, including 10 parents, and 13 natural-born dependents, were told they were to be evicted from the site and country.  The reason given was that the parents had been proselytizing, with no explanation of who, when, where or how this was alleged to have occurred.  No charges concerning the welfare and care of the children have ever been raised as a concern by the Moroccan authorities in the 10 year history of VOH.

The Moroccan authorities have not produced any evidence of the alleged offence and they gave only a few hours for the parents to pack up belongings and explain to their children that they might never see them again.

This action against VOH was part of a nationwide crackdown against Christians living in Morocco.  VOH fully understands that the Moroccan law prohibits people from promoting a faith other than Islam and has always sought to abide by this law and recognises the right of the authorities to enforce this law.  All parents, volunteers and visitors to VOH were required to sign a declaration stating that they will abide by the Moroccan law prohibiting evangelism. A copy of this declaration is appended below. VOH strongly refutes the allegation made against its staff and confirms that the authorities have always been aware of its Christian ethos and that throughout the 10 years the authorities have placed children into the care of VOH.  It is also a grave concern that no appeal process has been offered to challenge this decision and the action taken.

The eviction process was the most painful situation imaginable.  The Moroccan authorities gathered the children together in the school and told them what was happening in the absence of the parents. After that,  parents had to further explain to the devastated children what was about to happen.  Some of the children have been with their parents for 10 years and the trauma caused was beyond description.  VOH would like to make it very clear that during the eviction process, no member of the Moroccan authorities ill treated any of the staff or children and that the Moroccan authorities had a team of carers, albeit strangers to the children, ready to come in and offer temporary care.  However, parents have no idea what is to happen to their children or how they are coping and have no point of contact with the Moroccan authorities.

VOH understands the action of the authorities in relation to any “missionaries” if there is real evidence against them of preaching the gospel.  However, they feel the action against them was without foundation and completely unjust.  VOH is not a missionary organisation and only exists to offer love, care and education to Moroccan children.  There is a sense that VOH has been included in a nationwide action, but there is absolutely no legal merit to the action taken against VOH.

The parents of VOH want to clearly state their love for the Kingdom and people of Morocco and fear this act by the authorities will cause long term damage to the excellent reputation of Morocco.  Morocco is viewed by the West as a moderate and safe Islamic state with an ever improving response to social issues.  The King has been a driving force behind so much positive reform and he is to be honoured for all he has done for the betterment of his people.  However, actions like this are only likely to tarnish Morocco’s image and have a detrimental effect on inward investment, foreign aid and tourism.  If a perception grows that non-Islamic guests in Morocco and foreign led organisations are being targeted then we fear for the damage that could be caused.  Key relationships with the EU and other trading partners and supporters of Morocco could be affected unless a negotiated settlement can be seen to take place.  VOH, through its international investors, have pumped Millions of Moroccan dirham into infrastructure, care of children, employment of Moroccans and the local economy only to have it taken away in a matter of hours.  What signal does this send to others looking to support the development of Morocco either through trade, aid or simply as a tourist.

The parents only want to be reunited with their children.  Every single set of parents would return to Morocco to continue with the care of the children and continue to live under the law and authority of the State.  Equally, the parents would be willing to negotiate for the release of the children into their care to the parent’s country of origin.  As parents, we plead with the Moroccan authorities to open a dialogue with us as to the future well being and care of our children.

We openly and unashamedly appeal directly to the King, as a Father himself, to act with mercy and help us reach a point of compromise and reunite the 33 children with the only parents they know.

We also appeal to our supporters around the World to not react to this situation and use the internet or any other means to say anything that might be viewed as detrimental about the Moroccan authorities.  We the parents are the only people who carry the authority to speak into this situation on behalf of our children and we are raising up a team of people whom we trust with our message to speak on our behalves.  If you have posted “unauthorised” comments or started campaigns, we would plead with you to stop and remove information you have put into the public domain.

For offers of help and especially if you have access to the people of influence and power, please contact the following people:

USA
Allen Wolf
Tel: 310-314-3960
allen@morningstarpictures.com

UK
Mark Johnston
Pioneer People Wirral
Tel: 0798 654 0930
mcwirral@yahoo.co.uk
To make a donation:
http://www.justgiving.co.uk/pioneerpeople

Holland
Information coming

South Africa
Errol Muller
venita5045@swissmail.org

France
Michael Paita
La Gerbe
Tél : 01 34 75 56 15
michael.paita@lagerbe.org

As parents, we can’t walk away from this situation.  We need to work hard to make sure our children are safe and ultimately given back to us.  We appeal for international support to help us campaign against this unjust decision.  We urgently need finances to provide living costs for displaced families, provision of support for sacked Moroccan workers, legal representation, travel costs for staff to and from home countries and funding to fight this issue for as long as it takes.  Again, please contact the above people to provide your financial support.

We conclude with just one story to make everyone understand the impact of what is happening.

Simo came to VoH as a very sick newborn baby boy. He had been born to a single teenage mother with mental health problems, who abandoned him at VoH on the day of his birth, and in a very unwell state. Within hours of his arrival, he developed breathing problems, and was rushed to hospital, where he stopped breathing and was revived by our Dutch nurse. Simo remained in hospital for eight weeks, and was then returned to VoH care and custody by the Moroccan authorities. He returned malnourished, and extremely unwell. He was unable to feed except through a tube, and then only in very small amounts. He weighed only 2.79kg, less than his original birth weight. Simo required, and received, one-on-one nursing care from our qualified Dutch and British nursing staff 24-7 for several months. Once Simo began putting on weight and his health improved, he was placed permanently with one of the VoH parents, who have provided him with love and all the other essential needs of a little baby. He has remained with his new parents and 9 siblings for the past year, up until the day that they were evicted. Simo was later diagnosed with severe cerebral palsy, and had a number of ongoing related complications. However, with a strict medication and care regime from his parents and our nursing staff, he became a happy, healthy little boy with a future and a hope.

Without VoH’s immediate intervention and action, Simo would have died. But at the time of the parent’s eviction from VoH, he was a happy and very healthy little boy who, whilst very handicapped, was well provided for and continues to be loved as a son and brother by his parents and siblings. We have been informed that Simo had a very bad night after his parents departed, and that within 15 hours of his mum and dad being torn from him, he was taken to a hospital to be cared for, as the temporary Moroccan staff were unable to cope with his needs. We reiterate that Simo was not unwell when his parents were taken away. But he requires a particular regime of medication and special care to ensure that he remains healthy and comfortable. We hope that he continues to receive the special care that he requires, that people will be permitted to visit and hold him, to talk to him and let him know that he is still loved. Ultimately, we want to see Simo back in the arms of his loving parents and siblings, restored to the love and hope that he so deserves.

Rest in Peace Shelley Ann Lisbona 2/23/2010

My heart feels like it is bleeding right now, and I don’t really have any words. The pictures below are from the summer of 2006 when we went to Massachusetts together. I was one of the leaders on the team, and Shelley was one of my kids (but don’t forget, I was kind of a kid too). Shelley challenged me as a leader and really helped me grow. Death in this age of social media and networking is interesting (that’s definitely not the right word here). On Shelley’s page, people are writing letters to her. Part of me wants to write too as a way to make some sort of connection to her and to continue our relationship, but I feel too weird about it. However, I am reading what everyone else posts. What happens to your facebook page after you die? Will Shelley’s facebook page forever say, “i’m shelley. i fence. i sing. i spin flags. i love it all. and without my friends i would probably die.”

I love it all, I love it all, I love it all. I love it all too, Shelley. Except this. I don’t love this. This is scary. But not because of death. I truly believe you are in an amazing place that I cannot even imagine. You are in the arms of a loving God, and my soul smiles and longs to be with you there too. But this is scary. Last year you seemed completely fine, and when we were in Massachusetts, the fact that we wouldn’t have you into old age never crossed my mind. If it had, what would I have done differently? Would I have been more loving? More patient? More kind? More dedicated to appreciating every minute with you? I think so. I hope so. But I didn’t know, and that scares me. Who else doesn’t have a lot of time?  Ah. Here I go, talking to you through my computer. Well, if you can hear me, know that I miss you, and I love you, and I’m praying for your family, and, and, and, I won’t forget you, ever.

Finding solace in nature

After finding out about her death, I went right to campus (I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to be alone) to find my best friend Sarah. I walked in the front door, hair dripping wet, clothes a mess, with a huge bath towel in my hand to cry into, and found her working at admissions. I do love COA and all of the mother figures on campus. Whether it’s Cherie behind the front desk or Amy in the kitchen or Donna or Sarah in admissions or Heather or Bonnie or Karen— they are all amazing. Heather told us about a secret beach and drew us a map, and Sarah and I decided to go for a walk to the other side of the island to find it. The weather wasn’t nice, but it was perfect.

So beautiful!

playing on the frozen river

On Death…

You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

(On Death – Kahlil Gibran)

Ashoka U and TED

I am down here in Washington DC at the Ashoka U Summit. Ashoka U is the college program of Ashoka, the world’s “leading” network for social entrepreneurs (I’m not sure who gets to decide that they are the leading network, but that’s how they brand themselves). Ashoka U envisions a world where universities provide students with access to the resources, learning opportunities, role models, and peers needed to actualize their full potential as changemakers. This year, they’ve selected COA as a Changemaker Campus along with Babson College, the University of Colorado at Boulder, College of the Atlantic, The New School, and Tulane University. This weekend, we are meeting students and faculty from other changemaker campuses to exchange ideas and resources.

This afternoon we participated in a TEDx event at the Google Center. We heard from remarkable people with beautiful stories that I will hopefully share later. We also watched this video:

And because I’m too tired for words, I’ll share some pictures:

Google Center

new friend from Mauritius playing with legos

COA group

The Trash

Whenever I leave Mount Desert Island, I am always shocked the rest of the world does not always compost or recycle. I take it for granted that everyone I know in Maine has a compost bucket next to their trash and at least three separate buckets for metal, plastic, and paper products.

To be perfectly honest, before I joined College of the Atlantic, I don’t think I gave trash a second thought. But then I met people like my friend Lisa. Lisa, a first-year from Sweden, has made it her mission to understand trash and water. Trash and water are threads she weaves through her education (kind of like children and women are themes for me). In every class, she figures out the connections to water and trash. At one point this weekend, she joked that the majority of images on her computer are pictures of trash cans and disposal methods from around the world. Her passion for trash has inspired me to care too. Now whenever I go anywhere (especially conferences focused on making the world a better place!), I always check out the trash as well as the FOOD.

The Google Center prides itself on innovation and green initiatives so it’s funny (and sad) that all of the trash cans looked like this one:

The Food

For the most part, the food available was not healthy. As a group full of vegans, vegetarians, and those just interested in eating non-processed, chemical free food, we really struggled with meals. I know we weren’t the only ones walking around hungry.  My hotel roommates and I made a trip to Trader Joe’s to cook in our room and discussed how it’s “just not okay to serve BAD food at conferences focused on doing GOOD.” Bad food includes not only things with chemicals like MSG and BPA, but also animals who have been treated cruelly.

Whoever provides food for others must share where they got it from. If it’s organic or from a local farmer, broadcast it! Put it on the label next to the plate! Use every opportunity as an opportunity to EDUCATE.

I wish this wasn’t necessary, but right now healthy and nutritious food is considered “special.” Simply: it is not the norm. While it should be the other way around (bad food should have a special CAUTION label), it doesn’t work like that… yet. Although I’m too tired to write about it now, I look forward to a world with improved food and waste disposal systems. I have immense hope because I know a few incredible people working to make this world an actuality.

Excelsia by Sonya Stratfull (click to go to her Etsy shop)

“I bet you’re worried. I was worried. That’s why I began this piece. I was worried about vaginas. I was worried about what we think about vaginas, and even more worried that we don’t think about them. I was worried about my own vagina. It needed a context of other vaginas-a community, a culture of vaginas. There’s so much darkness and secrecy surrounding them-like the Bermuda Triangle. Nobody ever reports back from there.” – Eve Ensler, Vagina Monologues

And continued with girls telling stories about hair, pleasure, and sexual abuse. The play also raises awareness and funds to help end violence against women. Near the end, a video projector came down and showed a video about women in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The war in the DRC has ended, but the violence against women continues, and that’s what I want to focus on today because my mind will not be quiet.

Oh, where to start… Do I tell you how many have been killed? No, I can’t because I don’t know how many have died. I’m not sure anyone does. I will say that the estimated numbers are similar to those associated with the Holocaust.

Do I share about the women who have been raped with guns? Or those forced to watch their young children as they were raped? Or those who had their babies torn out of them and set on fire before their eyes, and then asked to hold them while they burned?

I wonder how it would be different if I changed the language from the passive to the active (I’m taking Advanced Composition right now so I notice these things).

What about the men raping women with guns and other blunt objects? Or the men who force parents to watch as they rape their young children? Or those men who tear babies from mothers’ wombs and set them on fire before the families eyes?

These are very different questions. I know that 1/4 of women are sexually abused before they are 18, but how many men sexually abuse women? And why? What outside (and inside) forces create this behavior, and what can we all do to help heal these hurting men?

Neal. A few years ago in South Africa I became friends with a guy named Neal. He was pretty nice and worked with the community center. When we met, my gut said, “be careful, he’s safe, but…” When he shared his story later in the week, he talked about life in a gang, the women he raped, and the man he killed (the man slept with his gf—shot him 17 or so times).  Then he talked about life in prison. Did I mention I liked this guy? Did I stop liking him after? For a bit, yes, I think I hated him for a moment or two. But after he finished talking, I walked up and gave him a hug; he had tears in his eyes when I pulled away. The hug helped me forgive him, helped me humanize him. But I did not forget, and thinking about Neal now, I know it’s not enough to end violence against women. We need to work towards a world where every creature, man or woman or child or animal, can live free from violence.

We are all capable of evil. Our brains can be manipulated while we are still in the womb by what our mothers eat and inject into our tiny bodies; our behavior determined by how much our caretakers touch us during infancy; our ability to love dictated by how we are loved. And of course there’s hunger, extreme poverty, and the need to belong.

But we do have some ability to choose our actions. Anthropologists call this agency, and Christians, free will. While some men destroy women, others devote their lives to healing them. What will you do? You can either be a light and shine on the invisible and broken, or you can be part of the darkness. There is no middle ground.

Violence against women, from a male perspective. (Definitely read ALL of them).

Stop Rape in the DRC

Panzi Hospital - A hospital in the DRC dedicated to providing care to women.

The City of Joy – A community for survivors to heal.

I am an Emotional Creature – A book about young girls around the world.

The United Nations in the DRC - Because I’ll be heading back to the UN for the Commission on the Status of Women (yay!), I checked out their Mission in the DRC. As of December 31, 2009 they have 20,509 total uniformed personnel and 648 UN Volunteers. These people hail from… wait for it… Bangladesh, Belgium, Benin, Bolivia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Canada, Central African Republic, Chad, China, Côte d’Ivoire, Czech Republic, Denmark, Egypt, France, Ghana, Guatemala, Guinea, India, Indonesia, Ireland, Jordan, Kenya, Madagascar, Malawi, Malaysia, Mali, Mongolia, Morocco, Mozambique, Nepal, Niger, Nigeria, Norway, Pakistan, Paraguay, Peru, Poland, Romania, Russian Federation, Senegal, Serbia, South Africa, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sweden, Switzerland, Togo, Tunisia, Turkey, Ukraine, United Kingdom, Uruguay, Yemen and Zambia. DOES THIS NOT BLOW YOUR MIND? There are people from over fifty countries working in the DRC to help bring peace and stability to the region. Whether or not it’s working is a different question that I do not have the energy to research, but when else in the history of the world have people from around the world come together for peace?

The Olympics – Continuing on the same theme… people from around the world coming together to play games? Oh gosh, I love it so much. The opening ceremony was beautiful (kind of reminded me of Avatar), but the moments of silence for the young boy who died struck a negative cord with me. Please don’t get me wrong, his death is tragic, but at the risk of sounding like a broken record: what about all the people dying every single day from hunger, dirty water, and preventable diseases? Can we have a moment of silence for them?

On World AIDS Day in 2007, I attended the conference Profiles in Courage: Health and Human Rights in Action. The event had been mentioned somewhere and looked interesting so I sent a quick e-mail and RSVP’ed. I woke up early on a Saturday morning (6:30am), and when I walked out of my building, I regretted my decision to go almost immediately. A) It was an especially cold morning and B) what was I thinking, showing up at a professional conference alone, not knowing anyone, and with nothing to contribute. I went anyway, half expecting them to turn me away at the door. But they didn’t, and I had an incredible time. The whole day was designed to honor international health activists and to get professionals together to talk about some of the current issues facing the world. I learned so much about war, health, refugees and survivors of torture. I was so inspired, I came home and changed my schedule for the next semester so I could become a doctor.

But I learned more about myself: I am usually uncomfortable when I have to talk to other people, but I have to reach out to get involved. Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier. I still (usually) hesitate before contacting a “professional” or going to a “professional event.” Whether it’s because I’m not smart enough or I’m not old enough, I’m always terrified someone will talk to me and find out that I’m an impostor. As this hasn’t gone away with age (but hey, I guess there’s still time), I think this side voice might be here to stay. And that’s okay with me, as long as I eventually tell said voice to be quiet so that I can get on with my life!

Just this past week, I woke up extra early, showered, and dressed, fully prepared to arrive at the United Nations on time. But when it was time to leave, I crawled back in bed and fell asleep. (Yeah, I really did. Dad, please don’t cringe). I had convinced myself I was in way over my head, but when I finally arrived (five hours later), I navigated my way through security and registration effortlessly and found a seat on the plenary floor, and then… I had a GREAT time. I knew all of the words they were using and the issues they were talking about, and I actually felt like I belonged. Now, I am looking forward to more commissions in the future. Again and again, I find that those “professionals” who I am always so scared of are usually incredibly welcoming and excited to have a young interested person in the room.

Healing the Unthinkable

This past Friday, I “had the opportunity” to attend Healing the Unthinkable, a benefit to raise money for Bellevue/NYU’s Program for Survivors of Torture.  This is how I had the opportunity: I am signed up on various listserves (because when I find an organization that I like, I e-mail them and request to be added to their mailing list), and this was just one of the many invites I have received as a result. There are so many events, I usually ignore most, but I had heard the doctors speak at Profiles in Courage, so I was especially interested. When I found out I might be in the city at the UN, there was only one thing in my way: the $75 donation. So, I e-mailed the woman in charge and asked if I could volunteer instead. And she wrote back: YES, PLEASE!

The event was hosted at the Tibet House and I met some really cool people. Doctors from the Program for Survivors of Torture spoke about the comprehensive medical, mental health, social and legal services that they provide to survivors of torture and war traumas. They are the only comprehensive center of their kind in NYC, and their team is so successful because it includes all of the people a survivor might need to see (physicians, psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, nurses, administrative staff, community liaisons, and volunteers such as English teachers and client chaperones). Samantha Stewart, the attending psychiatrist for the program, explained that their small size is a great asset; if she’s talking with a survivor about how they can’t sleep at night, and she finds out they are anxious about getting identification papers, she can knock on the lawyer’s door next to hers and ask for help. They provide their services regardless of whether or not a survivor can pay. Right now they really need help financially. If you are in a position to donate or are interested in learning more about the program, please go here.

So, what I was saying before…

As Paulo Coelho wrote in The Alchemist, “When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person realize his dream.” I have found again and again that when my my heart is in the right place, the universe points me in a direction (usually through people), and I might suddenly find myself say, in a room with people from around the world discussing social development on a global scale or listening to doctors speak about survivors of torture.

I know my heart is in the wrong place when my actions are not aligned with my personal values. So that would include doing anything just because “it’s easy” or “it’s what I should do (without a good reason)” or “it’s what’s expected” or “it’ll look good on my resume.” People can usually sense whether or not a person is out for his or her self, or if he or she has the other person’s best interest at heart. When I’m out for myself, I try to stay home because I know I’ll experience cognitive dissonance and be unhappy.

The Plenary Room (it's temporary while they are doing renovations)

Us

If I could tell the world just one thing, it would be that we’re all OK, and not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful and useless in times like these. I won’t be made useless, I won’t be idle with despair. I will gather myself around my faith for light does the darkness most fear. My hands are small, I know. But they’re not yours, they are my own. And I am never broken.

Poverty stole your golden shoes, it didn’t steal your laughter, and heartache came to visit me, but I knew it wasn’t ever after. We’ll fight, not out of spite for someone must stand up for what’s right. ‘Cause where there’s a man who has no voice, there ours shall go singing… In the end only kindness matters… I will get down on my knees, and I will pray. I will get down on my knees, and I will pray. I will get down on my knees, and I will pray. My hands are small I know. But they’re not yours, they are my own. But they’re not yours, they are my own. And I am never broken. We are never broken. - Hands by Jewel

—This has been one of the hardest entries I’ve written so far, but I think I needed to write it. I really just want people to know that these opportunities have less to do with luck, and more to do with me just taking the initiative and e-mailing people.—

Tell me the story…
It was a woman.
You always say that.
There’s always a woman somewhere, child; a princess, a witch, a stepmother, a mermaid, a fairy godmother, or one as wicked as she is beautiful, or as beautiful as she is good.
Is that the complete list?
Then there is the woman you love.
Who’s she?
That’s another story.

- Jeanette Winterson

—-This entry is a work in progress because I left a lot of my notes in the city and won’t be able to get them until later this week! I’ve also put together a special music play list for this entry which you will find at the bottom.—-

Today is Superbowl Sunday and while I don’t watch football, I still recognize the event because of a “fact” that I heard a few years ago: Super Bowl Sunday contains the highest reported domestic violence incidents out of any day of the year. The web has a lot of conflicting data about this “fact.” While some go so far as to call it a “myth” and a “noble lie” (apparently the real days are Christmas and Thanksgiving), others argue that men are more likely to abuse women because of the alcohol, excitement, and stress associated with a day glorifying the testosterone-infatuated violence of professional football. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I do know that regardless of football, every single day women are beaten and killed by the men in their lives. And it’s not okay. Domestic violence should not happen to anybody. Ever.

Right now, I’m very encouraged about the status of women in the world because of a side event I attended this past Thursday at the Commission for Social Development, “Low Fertility and Ageing Society in East Asia.” Organized by The Ministry for Health, Welfare and Family Affairs, Republic of Korea, the event consisted of presentations and then a roundtable discussion. I listened as they solemnly presented graphs and charts detailing the facts about South-east Asia’s declining population and as Mr. Jose Miguel Guzman (UNFPA) and Joo Y Sohn of the Ministry responded to questions.

In short, they are concerned over Korea’s declining population because the rapidly aging demographic will negatively affect the economy. Right now, the current birthrate is around 1.08 (the lowest in the world), and if it continues on the projected rate of decline, Korea will have the oldest population by 2050. While some countries welcome lower fertility and are actively encouraging it through policy planning and family planning programs (China), other countries have reached a point where the growing economic and health care burdens could turn into a crisis.

This low fertility is not a result of chemicals in the water or poor nutrition; it’s directly correlated to the rising number of women attending college and entering the workforce. “You mean if a woman has another option, she might not want to quit her life, put her body through hell, and devote twenty years of her life to cleaning up after her children and husband?” That’s exactly what I mean. As more women wait to get married, they are having less children, and more women are choosing to not marry at all.

Side note: I also learned that men prefer to marry women who are less educated than themselves (and this isn’t surprising, I have just never heard it presented so officially before). Although they were specifically talking about Korea, Japan and China, I wouldn’t be surprised if this is true elsewhere.

Second side note: Last week, an anthropologist from Singapore came to COA and talked about how children are seen as a burden and something to fear in many places in South-east Asia. Historically, children have been viewed as potentially evil and dangerous in many cultures and infanticide has been widely practiced in the past. One of the reasons for this is because some cultures don’t believe that a child is a human being until thirty days after birth or until they’ve cried.

Now, I am not an expert on the social status of women. In fact, I am very new to the field of gender studies; I haven’t even taken any classes on it yet. I can only bring the knowledge I’ve collected from reading and my personal experience as a female for the past 21 years. Still, I’ve always known that women’s empowerment is a great thing. Declining population? I wasn’t so certain.

Sure, I’ve heard how the exponential growth of our population could lead to overpopulation (which means we’d have too many people and not enough resources). I’ve even heard people justify extreme poverty as the earth’s natural way to control the population. But in developed countries, negative population growth creates economic uncertainties. With an aging population and less youth, countries lack the workforce to support the economy. When you have old people, you still need young people to support them.

THIS IDEA MAKES ME SO EXCITED I CAN BARELY GET MY THOUGHTS TOGETHER TO SHARE THEM WITH YOU!

Maybe if societies reach a point where we desperately need women to have children, people will gain a new respect for motherhood and childrearing, and women and children overall. As we see childbirth as a precious gift and not just a woman’s duty or what’s expected, maybe the whole patriarchal system will change. And it NEEDS to change.

According to the organization A Safe World for Women,

• Every minute and a half a woman is raped in the USA.
• In the UK, 40% of victims of serious sexual assault tell nobody.
• 1 in 3 women has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in her lifetime.
• Up to 70% of female murder victims are killed by their male partners.
• Around 800,000 people are trafficked across borders annually.
• In 5 years, violence against women on TV in the USA has increased 60 times more than other violence.
• Children witnessing domestic violence are twice as likely to have serious behavioural problems.
• In Northern Uganda, 60% of women encounter some form of sexual violence.
• In India, every 3rd minute a case of violence against a woman is registered.
• In South Africa, a women is raped every 26 seconds.
• A child seeing dad abusing mum is at the highest risk for passing violence to the next generation.
• More than 130 million girls and women alive today have undergone female genital mutilation.
• In Turkey, Four out of 10 women in Turkey are beaten by their husbands. Almost 90 percent of abused women in Turkey do not seek help from any organization.
• In India, every two hours a ‘bride burning’ occurs.
• In Pakistan over 80% of women face some form of sexual harassment.

Whew. I think it’s obvious that there’s still a lot of work to be done to create a safe world for women.

My idea (that women’s empowerment–>population decline–>fewer children–>more respect for children and women) seems so simple and obvious now that I’ve connected the dots and typed it out. I’m sure I’m missing a lot though.  Please comment if you have any thoughts.

Oh, and enjoy the music I picked!

“Poverty used to have the face of a woman, now poverty has the face of a child.” – Executive Director of UNV

Kathe Kollwitz

——–

In 6th grade I did a project on Lebanon for my social studies class, and many of my sources mentioned the conflict in Israel. When I looked into it further, the multitude of information and conflicting “facts” overwhelmed me so I put down the newspapers and turned to my parents. I asked them to explain the situation simply and clearly, and they did. Then my Dad asked me my thoughts: what did I think should be done? Who should get Israel?  I sympathized with both the Jews and the Palestinians. I had more Jewish friends, and knew all about the Holocaust, but it wasn’t fair that the Palestinian’s had to give up their homes when they weren’t even involved. But now the Jews have lived there for over fifty years, and many called it home. Although my Dad mentioned the divinity claim, I ignored it, unwilling to add yet another factor into a complicated situation. Conflicted, I think I just shrugged. “No answers?” he asked, “that’s exactly the problem, no one has any answers.” Not to be stumped, I explained the obvious,

“Well, we should just get all the smartest people in the world together, tell them all the facts, and let them figure it out.”

….. (dramatic pause so we can all fully appreciate my youthful ignorance) …..

I remember believing in this magical room like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. That conversation took place nearly half a lifetime ago. Maybe I still identify and understand this naive hope because some small part of me still believes it’s a good idea? Two billion living in poverty? Pirates off the coast of Somalia? 300,000 children dragged into armed conflicts? Why don’t we get all the smartest people in the world together, present the facts, and figure out the answers together? Doesn’t that sound good to you? Cause it still sounds good to me.

But I’ve learned that knowledge and intelligence aren’t the only qualities we need present in that room to find answers to the world’s problems. We need the most creative, compassionate, empathetic, dedicated, innovative, energetic, and courageous. We need elders and adults, and we need youth. I’ve also learned that the world is bigger and more complex than I ever could imagine, yet smaller and simpler and more beautiful as well.

I now sit in a conference room at the United Nations attending the 48th Commission for Social Development. Delegates from around the world sit before me, and it’s kind of like that room I used to dream about. The room’s bigger, cleaner, and less official than I had imagined. Delegates talk amongst themselves, surf the web, take pictures of themselves, and occasionally answer cell phones. It’s really just real people. Some even check out my shoes! On my first day here, this behavior shocked me, I thought everyone would be more respectful and shoes wouldn’t matter. It might not help that I’m wearing my most comfortable hiking boots with a dress. Anyway, it’s beautiful to have everyone in the same room, despite the distractions. The translators sit in a closed balcony overlooking the plenary floor, and we all wear headsets to hear their voices.

We are all here to tackle problems associated with Social Development. This year we are focusing on Social Integration. I’m still trying to figure out a simple, clear definition for Social Integration. I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Earlier today, the Secretary-General addressed us and admitted that although it’s been 15 years since the 1995 World Summit on Social Development in Copenhagen where everyone agreed that social integration was key to create “a society for all,” the term has remained elusive. Millions are still living in poverty and cannot meet their basic needs, and we still have a long way to go.

For the first few days, countries just share their opening statements. Almost every country opens by congratulating the Commission Chairperson, Leslie Kojo Christian from Ghana, for attaining such an honorable position (it’s pretty amusing). In their statements, many countries recognize the importance for social integration, and then share what they are doing to create a more inclusive society. For example, Zambia talked about the farms they have set up where people with disabilities can live and grow food. On the other hand, some countries are a little more aggressive, although you would never know it by their tone of voice. Cuba implored developed countries around the world to get their acts together and do more for their own people, and Haiti explained the earthquake conditions and begged for help.  I have notes from every country, but that will take a lot longer to synthesize and will have to wait because now they are very scattered in my notebook.

Love, love, love

At one point earlier today, I found myself sitting next to the delegates from South Africa who happened to be two very beautiful women. I am bad with words, so I had been practicing what I was going to say since Wednesday. But then all of a sudden they started preparing to leave so I quickly wrote them a note. I wrote,

“Hey! A few years ago I had the opportunity to volunteer in a township outside of Port Elizabeth. South Africa is a beautiful country with beautiful people! A few of my friends taught me to say this: Ek is lief vir jou.”

I drew a heart, signed my name, and passed it over. My palms were sweating, and I watched the woman from the corner of my eye while listening to the speaker. When she reached the last line, she laughed, caught my eye, and gave me a huge smile. Taking out a pen, she wrote, “Ek is ook lief vir jou. (I love you too!)” Then she passed my note to the next delegate who read it, smiled, and wrote, “me too.” When the event was over, one of the women taught me more words like Molo which means hello, and we hugged before parting.

I wasn’t expecting them to write I love you too back, and that was pleasantly surprised. This weekend, I think I’ll prepare little notes of love for all the delegates. I’ll thank them for their work and dedication, and I’ll leave them by their desks on the plenary floor. Maybe I could do a special one for Haiti. Maybe my sister will help. If Amanda (one of my best friends who is now gallavanting across India) was home, I know she would help. We used to plan out these kinds of things, and we called them lovebombs (because they were unexpected, came from nowhere, and hopefully exploded into your life). Anyway, back to the UN…

The United Nations Reputation

The United Nations has gained a negative reputation: it’s expensive, the US foots most of the bill, it’s very spread out, and people wonder if it ever gets anything done. I have only been there three days, but I am incredibly encouraged, at least about the people in the room. I can’t say the same for the rest of America. A quick look at the news shows me that most people would prefer to read about pop stars, football and other trivial stuff, and there are very few articles discussing C-Soc-D. However, I’m convinced that there is nothing MORE important to talk about than social development. Social Development encompasses a lot: women, children, education, the economy, wildlife protection, the environment, food distribution, etc. What it doesn’t include is the New Jersey Shore. Well, maybe it does indirectly, idk.

Anyone can request to come as an observer to these meetings. As an observer, you can talk to the delegates, participate in side events and panel discussions. You can gain access to representatives from around the world if you want it! But there are only 70 observers here, and this makes me sad. I’ve found everyone here to be incredibly open and excited about the future and stuff IS happening. Ah. I just want to tell all the skeptics to shut up and get involved.

After exchanging hugs with a few of the delegates, I view this room as one big family reunion, and I feel right at home.

“I don’t think of it as working for world peace, he said. I think of it as just trying to get along in a really big strange family.” (Storypeople)

Next entry:

Ageing and Population Growth/Decline in Korea
Youth Leadership in the Volunteering World
The Benefit for Refugees and Survivors of Torture

I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composed Hallelujah

-Leonard Cohen

I’m back in New York City with so much to write about. I want to get this all out today before I head to the UN. Otherwise I am afraid I’ll have way too many thoughts and I’ll get overwhelmed. I might space these out though and give the UN Commission it’s own entry.

• Bar Harbor, Maine to New York City
• George Orwell vs. Aldous Huxley

Maine to New York

This weekend I left my small community in Bar Harbor, Maine via bus from Bangor to Boston, then Boston to Stamford, CT. The 14-hour trip started out great: the first bus had clean air and a decent temperature, but the second, a local Greyhound, had neither of these two basic things which made for a miserable trip. The air was so hot and dry it hurt to breathe, and the smells made me sick to my stomach. To top it off, the bus driver was mean and the bathroom was really dirty. Maybe I’m just used to Maine temperatures (our house automatically resets itself to 60 degrees every few hours, so yes, maybe my body has adjusted itself accordingly) but after a few minutes, I had shed all my layers and was dressed for the beach.

I know I don’t have much experience traveling by bus, and I know I’m especially sensitive to sounds and smells, but when I was squatting over the toilet in the back with the liquids splashing all around, I couldn’t help but wish for a matatu in Kenya and a hole behind a bush.  The light above my seat didn’t work so I couldn’t read. I buried my head in my pillow and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. As a result, I had a lot of time to myself with no distractions: no camera, no books, no music, no internet, and no cell phone. I tried to meditate, but when I couldn’t quiet the chatter in my brain, I made up stories.

The woman in front of me who smelled like buffalo wings and pizza became a woman who worked in a casino. I imagined her conversations with her patrons as she served food, dripping with fat and grease, to people playing games with their money, all while thinking of her children waiting for her at home. The man to my right became an engineer from Paraguay. He was on his way to Providence to pitch a new model for transportation that could potentially change the way people get around: solar-powered wings (modeled after the Kashaki bird, native to his region). The stories, most of them already forgotten, continued: one for each person within sight. When my creative mind tired, I reflected on the dread welling up inside me as I got further from Maine and closer to NYC. I don’t hate the city, I just find it really hard to think. And then there’s the pollution of every kind, and, and, and… I could go on, but I won’t, because I want to fast forward to some ideas from last night.

Amusing Ourselves to Death

After the Commission at the UN (which I will get to, I promise!) I went to Navs to meet up with some of my friends. Navs is a spiritual group of college kids who meet to discuss life. It’s mostly Christians, but the people who come are from all different faiths. There are Navigator groups all over the world, but I think NYU attracts a more diverse population than say, a bible school in rural Kentucky. Topic for the night: amusing ourselves to death. Peter, one of the leaders, read a passage written by Neil Postman about 1984 and Brave New World (two books that I love).

“We were keeping our eye on 1984. When the year came and the prophecy didn’t, thoughtful Americans sang softly in praise of themselves. The roots of liberal democracy had held. Wherever else the terror had happened, we, at least, had not been visited by Orwellian nightmares.

But we had forgotten that alongside Orwell’s dark vision, there was another – slightly older, slightly less well known, equally chilling: Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing. Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression. But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.

What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny “failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions”. In 1984, Huxley added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us. This book is about the possibility that Huxley, not Orwell, was right.” — (Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business)

He shared some statistics (teenagers now spend an average of 7.5 hours per day engaging with some form of social media), and sat us down with some questions: What distracts us? What do we really want? Are we comfortable with ourselves in silence? Do we listen to our own voices? And to our own needs and desires (and not just what everyone else tells us we should want or need)? Do we listen to God’s? Can we even hear ourselves or God above all the distractions and noise? Interesting questions, especially in light of my recent bus experience. No time for answers right now. I will sign off with this cartoon interpreting the passage above.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

– Mary Oliver

Last night was the full moon, and it was huge! It was the biggest and brightest full moon of 2010, appearing 30 percent brighter and 14 percent larger than any other moon that will follow later this year. Meg (my housemate) and I were driving home from school to prepare for my love-power-outage-accent-going-away themed dessert potluck, and we went down to the water for a better view. Right after we pulled our car to a stop, at least four cars followed us and parked to look out over the water at the sky. Most people stayed in their cars (the temperature+windchill had to make it -20 degrees outside), but I hopped out to take pictures. The sun was just setting, and we watched the moon grow bright over the harbor. Because the tide was down, we ventured out onto the sand bar that goes to Bar Island.

The view of the Moon

Ice meets ocean water (see the foam!)

A frozen fence... yep, I live in Maine!

Around 8pm some of my friends came over with treats. I always want to invite everyone I love, but I also know that then I will not want to be at my own party. So I tried to keep it small. I think 20 people showed up, and that was probably 10 too many for me, but I survived and I got to say goodbye to a lot of people. I am so incredibly blessed.

Just some of the food!

Tomorrow morning I am heading to New York for the UN’s Commission for Social Development. I’m excited to attend the meeting and participate as a world youth with the organization SustainUS. This year is a policy year which means we will draft a document to be reviewed at the General Assembly. By we, I mean the country delegates; I think I’ll just listen. I do not know a lot about UN policy work, so I’m hoping to learn a lot and meet a lot of cool people. This year’s theme is Social Integration. More to follow about this, I promise…

i miss my family a lot & i never want to leave here & i do want to go back and live in eastern Africa & & & all i really want to do is go stay with my grandparents in Kentucky & i miss my friends all around the world, all the time & i could stay here forever.

these past few weeks have been really heavy & my friend’s father, Luiz Carlos da Costa died in Haiti & my heart has been and still is hurting a lot & i’m sad the world has lost such a great man & another friend is very sick, maybe dying & i’m trying to get into the habit of being, but it can be hard & it’s really beautiful outside & that always helps.

pictures taken during a sunday morning hike (click to enlarge for full effect)

Play this beautiful song: Comptine D’un Autre ete : L’ap.

Design and make my own clothes.

Grow my own food.

Plant an herb garden, or work here.

Volunteer at Camp Sunshine (maybe as a photographer?)

Knit so that I can make socks and hats and mittens for my friends.

Live slower.

Only use candles for light at night (for at least a few days).

Live in a tree house forever.

Be here now–

(pictures from a walk with friends after class)

From United Nations Development Programme

The earthquake in Haiti, the Western Hemisphere’s poorest country, seems like a sick joke. How can a country that has already been through so much (nicknamed by some as “hell on earth”), suffer from a 7.0 earthquake 10 miles from the capital city? I can’t venture a guess at the numbers dead.  One media report claims “500,000 people feared dead!” Of course I clicked on it. The worst projections caught my eye, but I think this must be impossible, and maybe just a way for the newspaper to get readers’ attention. The truth is they have NO IDEA how many are dead or will die in the upcoming days. Part of me knows it doesn’t matter.

There are loved ones dying tonight. The numbers     don’t     matter.

500,000

50,000

1,000

1

My friend’s father is among the missing. Luiz Carlos da Costa, my friend Marianna’s father, was working as the second in command of the UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti. I can’t stop crying. Last night while checking the weather, a picture of the quake and a map greeted me. Shocked that I hadn’t heard anything, I immediately sent out an e-mail to my whole school. After hitting the send button, I became self-conscious. Who am I to share this terrible news with 300 students? Later I remembered that here on Mount Desert Island news travels slower; I will not overhear someone on the street or the subway. Four Haitian students just transferred to COA, and they haven’t made contact with their families yet. My God. My friend’s father is among the missing. My beautiful friend’s father… my mom only told me this tonight. Last night it wasn’t this real.  Last night, and even more so tonight, I kept saying, “I can’t imagine what it must be like to not know if your family is alive or not.”

But I can. This brings me right back to September 11th when I couldn’t get in touch with my Dad. For hours we didn’t whether or not he was alive. And this brings me back to how they thought they were going to uncover so many people under the rubble in the following days, but they didn’t. Emergency workers found like 6.

Oh, my God.

Or Mother Earth (I obviously don’t really know who I’m talking to anymore God/Mother Earth- are they the same?), what is going on? Have we failed your people in Haiti? Are you trembling to bring our attention back to a nation in need? Well, I’m on my knees. You’ve got the world’s attention. Where are you right now? I must believe you are in the people there searching for the missing and helping the injured. I believe you are in those giving aid, and those who are grieving for the people of Haiti.

I envision community’s around the world stepping up to help Haiti now. I envision rebuilding the fallen buildings with more sustainable (environmental, physical and social) practices in mind. Maybe redesigning the city, if that’s what needs to be done, in a way that leaves Haiti better than before. But the people right now don’t want better than before, they want their families back, and Father/Mother/Creator that probably doesn’t have a gender please be with them tonight. Hold them now so they can feel you.

One of my best friend’s neighbor’s died in a car crash earlier this week. He was only twenty. Our age. We’ve been grieving their families loss and thinking of all the questions that come up with death. You know, the one’s you ignore until something like this slams you to the ground and leaves you looking up at the sky wondering why. It’s in these moments that agonizing over choosing classes, and talking about friends and boys seems so trivial and silly. But it’s those little things that make up daily life, and if we didn’t have all of that stuff, what would we have?

But then this happens. An earthquake in a place where they don’t even have the infrastructure or the hospitals to treat everyone. And, I just don’t know. Right now I never want to talk again. I just want to sit outside. If it wasn’t 11 degrees, I might, but I think I’ll wait until the morning. See. Even that’s not important compared to what’s going on in Haiti right now. Nothing is. Except everything. The wars, droughts, and kids without families. A mirror can be so hard to hold. Yes, the devastation as a result of the earthquake is important, but so are the factors that worked together to create such a vulnerable country, and so are the other places in the world, some close to home and some far away, that also need our love and attention. I know this. I do. But it’ so overwhelming—I don’t want to think about this kind of stuff. It scares me, and what can I do anyway? What is the right thing to do? What will help the most? I’m just one person and I’m young or old or not educated enough or too busy or in need myself, what should I do? Something. It’s important that we all do something.  The poet Lewis Hyde once said, “We are only alive to the degree that we can let ourselves be moved.” I have had to unlearn a lot to allow myself to be moved, but now I truly believe that’s why we are here on earth. Being moved leads to action, that something. It can be personal, like a prayer or a candle. Right now, I’m remembering to live more, to appreciate my friends and family, to hold them close, and to say I love you. And I’m not really sure how this works well enough to explain it yet, but in this way, I can honor the people in Haiti and around the world who are suffering.

Subject quote: Jon Foreman, I am still running

You remember me  before I learned to run. At the kissing tree before I learned my guns. We were 17, 17 years young. I am still running. I am still running.

I had no idea the pain would be this strong. I had no idea the fight would last this long. In my darkest fears the rights become the wrongs. I am still running, I am still running I am still running I am still running.

Build me a home inside your scars. Build me a home inside your song. Build me a home inside your open arms.
The only place I ever will belong.

So you want to be more crea­tive, in art, in busi­ness, wha­te­ver.

Here are some tips that have wor­ked for me over the years:

1. Ignore every­body.

The more ori­gi­nal your idea is, the less good advice other peo­ple will be able to give you. When I first star­ted with the biz card for­mat, peo­ple thought I was nuts. Why wasn’t I trying to do something more easy for mar­kets to digest i.e. cutey-pie gree­ting cards or wha­te­ver? (more…)

2. The idea doesn’t have to be big. It just has to change the world.

The two are not the same thing.

(more…)

3. Put the hours in.

Doing anything worthwhile takes fore­ver. 90% of what sepa­ra­tes suc­cess­ful peo­ple and fai­led peo­ple is time, effort and sta­mina.

(more…)

4. If your biz plan depends on you sud­denly being “dis­co­ve­red” by some big shot, your plan will pro­bably fail.

Nobody sud­denly dis­co­vers anything. Things are made slowly and in pain.

(more…)

5. You are res­pon­si­ble for your own expe­rience.

Nobody can tell you if what you’re doing is good, mea­ning­ful or worthwhile. The more com­pe­lling the path, the more lonely it is.

(more…)

6. Ever­yone is born crea­tive; ever­yone is given a box of cra­yons in kin­der­gar­ten.

Then when you hit puberty they take the cra­yons away and replace them with books on alge­bra etc. Being sud­denly hit years later with the crea­tive bug is just a wee voice telling you, “I�d like my cra­yons back, please.“

(more…)

7. Keep your day job.

I�m not just saying that for the usual rea­son i.e. because I think your idea will fail. I�m saying it because to sud­denly quit one�s job in a big ol’ crea­tive drama-queen moment is always, always, always in direct con­flict with what I call �The Sex & Cash Theory�.

8. Com­pa­nies that squelch crea­ti­vity can no lon­ger com­pete with com­pa­nies that cham­pion crea­ti­vity.

Nor can you bully a subor­di­nate into beco­ming a genius.

(more…)

9. Every­body has their own pri­vate Mount Eve­rest they were put on this earth to climb.

You may never reach the sum­mit; for that you will be for­gi­ven. But if you don’t make at least one serious attempt to get above the snow-line, years later you will find your­self lying on your death­bed, and all you will feel is emp­ti­ness.

(more…)

10. The more talen­ted some­body is, the less they need the props.

Mee­ting a per­son who wrote a mas­ter­piece on the back of a deli menu would not sur­prise me. Mee­ting a per­son who wrote a mas­ter­piece with a sil­ver Car­tier foun­tain pen on an anti­que wri­ting table in an airy SoHo loft would SERIOUSLY sur­prise me.

(more…)

11. Don’t try to stand out from the crowd; avoid crowds alto­gether.

Your plan for get­ting your work out there has to be as ori­gi­nal as the actual work, perhaps even more so. The work has to create a totally new mar­ket. There’s no point trying to do the same thing as 250,000 other young hope­fuls, wai­ting for a miracle. All exis­ting busi­ness models are wrong. Find a new one.

(more…)

12. If you accept the pain, it can­not hurt you.

The pain of making the neces­sary sac­ri­fi­ces always hurts more than you think it’s going to. I know. It sucks. That being said, doing something seriously crea­tive is one of the most ama­zing expe­rien­ces one can have, in this or any other life­time. If you can pull it off, it’s worth it. Even if you don’t end up pulling it off, you’ll learn many inc­re­di­ble, magi­cal, valua­ble things. It’s NOT doing it when you know you full well you HAD the oppor­tu­nity– that hurts FAR more than any fai­lure.

(more…)

13. Never com­pare your inside with some­body else’s outside.

The more you prac­tice your craft, the less you con­fuse worldly rewards with spi­ri­tual rewards, and vice versa. Even if your path never makes any money or furthers your career, that’s still worth a TON.

(more…)

14. Dying young is ove­rra­ted.

I’ve seen so many young peo­ple take the “Gotta do the drugs and booze thing to make me a bet­ter artist” route over the years. A choice that was neither effec­tive, healthy, smart, ori­gi­nal or ended hap­pily.

(more…)

15. The most impor­tant thing a crea­tive per­son can learn pro­fes­sio­nally is where to draw the red line that sepa­ra­tes what you are willing to do, and what you are not.

Art suf­fers the moment other peo­ple start paying for it. The more you need the money, the more peo­ple will tell you what to do. The less con­trol you will have. The more bullshit you will have to swa­llow. The less joy it will bring. Know this and plan accor­dingly.

(more…)

16. The world is chan­ging.

Some peo­ple are hip to it, others are not. If you want to be able to afford gro­ce­ries in 5 years, I’d recom­mend lis­te­ning clo­sely to the for­mer and avoi­ding the lat­ter. Just my two cents.

(more…)

17. Merit can be bought. Pas­sion can’t.

The only peo­ple who can change the world are peo­ple who want to. And not every­body does.

(more…)

18. Avoid the Water­coo­ler Gang.

They�re a well-meaning bunch, but they get in the way even­tually.

(more…)

19. Sing in your own voice.

Pic­casso was a terri­ble colo­rist. Tur­ner couldn’t paint human beings worth a damn. Saul Steinberg’s for­mal draf­ting skills were appa­lling. TS Eliot had a full-time day job. Henry Miller was a wildly une­ven wri­ter. Bob Dylan can’t sing or play gui­tar.

(more…)

20. The choice of media is irre­le­vant.

Every media’s grea­test strength is also its grea­test weak­ness. Every form of media is a set of fun­de­ma­tal com­pro­mi­ses, one is not “higher” than the other. A pain­ting doesn’t do much, it just sits there on a wall. That’s the best and worst thing thing about it. Film com­bi­nes sound, pho­to­graphy, music, acting. That’s the best and worst thing thing about it. Prose just uses words arran­ged in linear form to get its point across. That’s the best and worst thing thing about it etc.

(more…)

21. Selling out is har­der than it looks.

Dilu­ting your pro­duct to make it more “com­mer­cial” will just make peo­ple like it less.

Many years ago, barely out of college, I star­ted sch­lep­ping around the ad agen­cies, loo­king for my first job.

(more…)

22. Nobody cares. Do it for your­self.

Every­body is too busy with their own lives to give a damn about your book, pain­ting, screen­play etc, espe­cially if you haven’t sold it yet. And the ones that aren’t, you don’t want in your life any­way.

(more…)

23. Worr­ying about “Com­mer­cial vs. Artis­tic” is a com­plete waste of time.

You can argue about “the sha­me­ful state of Ame­ri­can Let­ters” till the cows come home. They were kvetching about it in 1950, they’ll be kvetching about it in 2050.

It’s a path well-trodden, and not a place where one is going to come up with many new, earth-shattering insights.

(more…)

24. Don�t worry about fin­ding ins­pi­ra­tion. It comes even­tually.

Ins­pi­ra­tion pre­ce­des the desire to create, not the other way around.

(more…)

25. You have to find your own sch­tick.

A Picasso always looks like Pic­casso pain­ted it. Heming­way always sounds like Heming­way. A Beetho­ven Symphony always sounds like a Beethoven’s Syynphony. Part of being a mas­ter is lear­ning how to sing in nobody else’s voice but your own.

(more…)

26. Write from the heart.

There is no sil­ver bullet. There is only the love God gave you.

(more…)

27. The best way to get appro­val is not to need it.

This is equally true in art and busi­ness. And love. And sex. And just about everything else worth having.

(more…)

28. Power is never given. Power is taken.

Peo­ple who are “ready” give off a dif­fe­rent vibe than peo­ple who aren’t. Ani­mals can smell fear; maybe that’s it.

(more…)

29. Wha­te­ver choice you make, The Devil gets his due even­tually.

Selling out to Holly­wood comes with a price. So does not selling out. Either way, you pay in full, and yes, it inva­riably hurts like hell.

(more…)

30. The har­dest part of being crea­tive is get­ting used to it.

If you have the crea­tive urge, it isn’t going to go away. But some­ti­mes it takes a while before you accept the fact.

(more…)

Start doing the things you think should be done, and start being what you think society should become. Do you believe in free speech? Then speak freely. Do you love the truth? Then tell it. Do you believe in an open society? Then act in the open. Do you believe in a decent and humane society? Then behave decently and humanely.
– Adam Michnik

Today I had to write the date on something and I looked up and asked the person behind the counter, “do you know what day it is?” With a smile on her face, she hesitated, unsure how to respond. My friend Chelsea quickly helped me out, “It’s December 31st.” The woman behind the counter broke out into laughter. “That only means one thing… you must have no plans for tonight,” she said.

- – - -

On her way out the door a few hours ago, my mom asked me, “Now are you staying home because you are an introvert, or you have work to do, or your friends just aren’t doing anything?” I don’t know.  My parents and siblings are out at various parties, but I am sitting here at the kitchen table eating a gluten-free chocolate chip waffle, and I could not be more content. There’s just nothing I’d rather do than sit here and write and reflect.

One word: Trust.

2009, it’s been a good year. I’ll leave the recapping to this work in progress post and sum it up with one word: Trust.

I spent much of last year putting together my journal from my time in Kenya to share with others. Under the African Sky is now done and available to order here (hardcover, softcover, PDF Version). Like the last-minute trip itself, I had no idea where the project would take me or if it would be “worth it.” Now that I’m done, I know exactly where it took me, well, at least as much as I can know.

But was it worth it? If no one buys it, and if no one contacts me about publishing it (not that I am ever expecting anyone to, heck, if someone did, I’d probably freak out), but more importantly, if no one is inspired, if no little girl decides she someday wants to help little kids, or try to love more… was it still worth it?

Yes. I trust now that creating the book has served a purpose, even if it was only to teach me about dedication, perseverance, and the importance of telling my story. Telling my story—the only one that is mine to tell—with my own voice has been a great challenge for me.

I have a soft voice. When I talk about something I deeply care about, it shakes. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I guess) this is most of the time. But with support from friends and family and teachers, I am starting to trust that what I have to say is not only important, but world changing. In the upcoming months of 2010, I want to speak truthfully even when I’m afraid, sing praise to God even when surrounded by unbelievers, share my needs and hopes and fears, and always always always listen and tell stories. Maybe sometimes even with words. To do this, I’m going to have to give myself time to think, time to dream, and time to explore joy and happiness and sit with my sadness and pain. When I used to live in NYC, I had more excuses and distractions to avoid simply being or thinking. I was always doing. But on January 3^rd, I’ll return to Maine where it’ll be cold, snowy, and dark, but maybe in this darkness I’ll find a place to just be. I trust that I will.

Two words: Me too.

Two days after moving into the peace community, a two-year-old girl moved in named Nina. When she walked in, I knelt down and asked her, “My name’s Julia, will you please be my friend?” From then on although Nina referred to everyone else  simply as a two-year-old version of their own name (Christina became Tina, etc.), she called me, “My fwiend Jewia.” Now, I would even call her one of my best friends.

Nina’s learned more words since then, but my favorite has been these two: me too.

Let me give you examples of how it’s used,

Me, “I’m going to go for a walk.”
Her, “Me too! Me too! Me too!”

Me, “I gotta go to the store.”
Her, “Me too! Me too! Me too!”

Me, “I’m going to go take pictures.”
Her, “Me too! Me too! Me too!”

Me, eating ice cream,
Her, “Me too! Me too! Me too!”
(She eventually even learned to push a chair to could climb up and get silverware, and to push the chair next to me to share the ice cream with her own spoon.)

Nina is not my child, but she is one of my best friends and I often find myself saying, “Me too!”

Packing her bag for our drive from Maine to New York.

Three words: Live with integrity.

In one of my more advanced classes this term, a favorite teacher, Karen, casually dropped the term, “intellectual problem of human ecology.” New to this school, College of the Atlantic, which is founded on the idea of Human Ecology, I had no qualms raising my hand.

“Wait,” I asked the class, “what exactly does that mean… the intellectual problem of human ecology?”

“Well, if human ecologists believe that everything is connected, and you can’t change one thing without changing everything, and if you can never learn everything, where do you begin?”

I sat back. Karen had just summed up one of my biggest questions in my life. I think I muttered out an “Oh,” and class discussion turned back to literary theory. “Wait, wait, wait,” I interjected again. The class paused and turned to me. Since she had a term for this question, maybe she also had an answer. I was hopeful, and it was worth a shot.

“Um… what do you think…”

I felt like that kid at the end of a long lecture who, when the teacher asks if there are anymore questions, jokingly says, “Yeah! What’s the meaning of life!”

“What would you say in response to that?” I ventured.

She thought for a second, “Well, I’d go back to the end of Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities where he talks about the inferno, constant vigilance, and to live with integrity. Live with integrity every day—every minute, live with integrity. And,” she paused, obviously thinking, “always be open to change your idea of integrity if someone shows you a better way.”

What do I think it means to live with integrity? Before I thought about it in these terms, I had come to the conclusion that my answer to “the intellectual problem of human ecology” would be to do everything with love, and I think for me, living with integrity means just that—doing everything from that place of love.

“The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.” – Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

2010,

My word for you will be: Believe.
Believe that my dreams will come true.
Believe in love. (“You don’t believe in love? It’s not like Santa Claus!”)
Believe in myself, my voice, and my stories.
Believe in magic.
Believe in beauty, and grace, and mercy.
Believe in others.
Believe in goodness.
Believe in God.
Believe.

(Other contestants included: Grace Beauty Fearless Elegant Embrace. Believe wasn’t even one of them.)

I love this so much!

I’m still here in Kentucky with my grandparents. My mother’s cousin’s wife died earlier this week, and we drove about an hour and half west today to visit him. He’s heartbroken, of course, and I had the opportunity to hear from his mom (my Great Aunt Sally) about how her health has deteriorated these past few months. This, in conjunction with various repetitive conversations I had with my grandmother who has alzheimer’s really made me think (well, first the story made me cry, but after crying, I thunk). About life and love and death, and well… what else is there really anyway?

Sitting there in the parlor, my grandmother admired my hands and asked me (for the seventh time today), “whose beautiful hands are these?”

“Those are mine, and I get them from my beautiful grandmother.”

“Oh yeah, and who is that sweet thing?”

“That’s you!”

“Who?”

“You! You’re my grandmother!”

“Me?”

I nodded.

Laughing she said, “Well… I’ll be! Ain’t that a beautiful thing?”

“Yes, yes grandmother, yes it is,” I responded, squeezing her hand. I looked over at my mom and smiled, because that’s really all we can do now.

My second cousin sat on the other side of the circle no doubt wondering how he will continue living without his wife. Next to him sat my grandfather who has continued to love and care for my grandmother despite her horrible accusations of him cheating on her and murdering people. One time, she told a delivery person to call the police because she was being held by him against her will. By the time the cops showed up, she had completely forgotten what she had said to the delivery person. Although I wasn’t here for that, I do know that multiple times a day I have to explain how, “No, I can’t eat those cookies. I can’t have gluten.” Two minutes later, “Yes, that cake looks really good, but I’ll pass.” This, along with conversations about my hands, happens again and again, and it’s more than okay, because I love her.

What is real love anyway? As far as I understand it at this current moment (and that’s pretty important), it’s commitment to love (place someone else’s needs above your own) an imperfect person unconditionally. That means that no matter what they do, no matter how sick they get, no matter how crazy or mean or old, you still love them… even when you don’t feel like it.

How much of this love is a choice? I haven’t had the experience of being married, or even a serious relationship, but here’s what I know about loving my family and my friends. It’s not always easy. It’s not always pretty, and sometimes it’s downright difficult and annoying. People often dismiss love as just an emotion, or for weak people or cliche people or grown up people who have time for it or are ready for it. Some think it comes easier for some than others and they make excuses and build walls either keeping Love in or out. I know I do for myself and for others. But when it comes down to it. Love is a choice. It’s a conscious action that we must choose to follow through on. Idk… what do you think?

Despite having grown up in the church and despite the fact that I live my life from a christian worldview (where I strive to worship the creator of the universe, and love my neighbor as myself, etc. etc.) I fight it, question it, and doubt it every step of the way.  But, I read on a friends blog the other day a quote from Tim Keller which only reinforces my agreement with the bible’s description of love, “Therefore what the Bible means by love is a commitment. At some point love is a decision to serve somebody and be committed to somebody regardless of your feelings and regardless of how that person acts…. At some point, you make a decision- I am going to love this person. Your feelings will always come and go but the problem is a lot of people don’t get married because they are sure that if this person is ‘the one’ that my feelings will never ebb. If this is ‘the one’ then I’ll just know it’s ‘the one’ because I’ll never have any problem. I will always feel like giving myself to that person. You will wait ‘til hell freezes over if you wait for that. Love is an action first that leads to feelings not a feeling that leads to an action.”

I’ve seen this in my grandparents life, and today as I watched my cousin grieve from across the room, I watched them both, my cousin and my grandfather, hoping only that someday I will love someone as well as they do, and that you will too, whoever you are.

And that goes for loving life too. People often dismiss me as naive about the world because I choose to wake up every day (or as many days as I can) and love my life despite anything. The people I want to tell this too most likely are not reading this, but just because I love life doesn’t mean my life is easy. Loving (people and life) is a struggle every day. I know these are just words in cyberspace but right now my heart is wanting to take anyone who thinks otherwise by the shoulders and shake them. I’m losing my words and my teeth are starting to really hurt, so I’ll let others say it for me,

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” – Rumi

“The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is to live inside that hope.” – Barbara Kingsolver

“I don’t know how long I can do this, he said. I think the universe has different plans for me & we sat there in silence & I thought to myself that this is the thing we all come to & this is the thing we all fight & if we are lucky enough to lose, our lives become beautiful with mystery again & I sat there silent because that is not something that can be said.” – Storypeople (I don’t know what to make of this one yet…)

Arnica

Witch-hazel

I really want to learn how to grow all different kind of herbs and flowers so that someday I can have a healing garden to treat all my children and friends. Which reminds me, I am SO AMAZED by what I’ve been finding on the internet. There are quite a few people doing exactly what I want to do already. Yes, there are people creating safe homes for abandoned or orphaned children (Katie, Maggie, Bulembu, and SOS villages), but I have so many more dreams. Which are…? You ask.

Well, one of my dreams has been to travel the world to document and share images of hope. The time I’ve spent in different countries, and most recently in Kenya, has taught me that what the news shares with us is rarely the truth, and it is never the whole truth. Most of the news from Africa is negative, but most of what I encountered was greatly uplifting and positive. Yet we almost never hear these stories, instead, we hear the single stories of war, death, and famine. So, one great dream has been to document the amazing things going on around the world in developing countries to share with others. Earlier this week, I stumbled upon the blogs of Jen Lemen and Allesandra de Souza. With a few friends and a grant of $50,000, they are traveling around the world collecting images of hope. This fills my heart with joy, and reminds me that I am not alone.

One of my greatest challenges that I have to overcome on an almost daily basis is this idea that there is so much to do and not enough time to do it all. I am only one person, and there is no way I can accomplish all that I want to do. But the great truth is simple: I am not alone, nor am I the only one who cares. Finding these blogs fills me with so much joy because each one reminds me that there are other people who believe in the power of love, art, creativity, and healing, and the need to strive to live wholly (in this context, I define wholly to mean wholesome and holy) no matter how painful it can get.

I’m simplifying it oh so much, but you should go check them out yourself because everyone’s story is different and every story offers something unique and beautiful.

Before I go, I want to share this with you. I know I’ve posted it in the past, but I think this is the sweetest answer to the question,

Is there a Santa Claus?

December 1 Trip. What was your best trip in 2009? Mississippi!

December 2 Restaurant moment. The night Adam returned from Italy we went on a double date with my roommate and best friend to S’mac (my favorite place to get gluten free mac and cheese). I hadn’t seen him in four months, and I loved sharing the night with Kat and Jon.

December 3 Article.

December 4 Book. The Shack by William P. Young. This book made me think about love and God in a new way.

Papa: “There are millions of reasons to allow pain and hurt and suffering rather than to eradicate them, but most of these reasons can only be understood within each person’s story. I am not evil. You are the ones who embrace fear and pain and power and rights so readily in your relationships. But your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome” (125).

Jesus: “Remember, the people who know me are the ones who are free to live and love without any agenda” (181).

Jesus: “Who said anything about being a Christian? I’m not a Christian” (182).

Sarayu: “Mack, if anything matters then everything matters. Because you are important, everything you do is important. Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again” (235).

December 5 Night out. Halloween!  THE CIRCUS.

December 6 Workshop or conference. I learned a lot about creating change and COA at the Ashoka conference.

December 7 Blog find of the year. Maggie Doyne!

December 8 Moment of peace. Exploring Mount Desert Island!

December 9 Challenge. Moving to Maine. Continuing life in a new place with completely new people. For thirteen years I went to school at Rye Country Day. Then I moved to the city to attend NYU. While NYU was a new beginning, I could always come home on the weekends or meet up with family and old friends in the city. My time in Kenya, while I was alone and in a new place was never something I thought of as permanent. Moving to Maine on the other hand is a new kind of new. I have a new home, and I love it.

December 10 Album of the year. I love Iron & Wine and Taylor Swift.

December 11 The best place. This is way too hard.

December 12 New food. This would have to be quinoa. Quinoa has a protein content of 12-18% and contains a balanced set of essential amino acids! I mix it in with everything-cheese, vegetables, salad… you name it. TRY IT. IT’S SO GOOD FOR YOU.

December 13 What’s the best change you made to the place you live? I really enjoyed decorating our apartment down in Union Square with an underwater scene in one room and the seasons changing in the other. It was funny because right after I finished doing New York City complete with a yellow submarine underneath it, Kat or Puj said, “Gosh, I HATE that song.”

December 14 Rush. Running naked into the ocean after finishing my first term at COA. (Yes in Maine. Yes, in late November).

December 15 Best packaging. Well, my friends all signed a watermelon for my birthday instead of buying a card. I loved that!

December 16 Tea of the year. Idk… but my friend Lucie brings her tea everywhere, and whatever tea she has whenever I’m with her is my favorite.

December 17 Word or phrase. Live with integrity.

December 18 Shop. Anthropologie. I just wish it wasn’t so expensive.

December 19 Car ride. Driving from Maine to New York through the night with a two year old baby (Nina). Unexpected. Last minute. Dark. Exciting. My friend Sarah kept me awake, and at one point we looked at each other and just couldn’t believe the journey we were on.

December 20 New person. Nina. So full of love. Accompanied me on many adventures. Would listen to me sing without complaining. Reminded me to relax, and play, and helped me find beauty and love every day in almost everything.

December 21 Project. My book.

December 22 Startup. Wrap up Africa! Parents struggling to pay for their hospital bills, pay a small fee to learn how to tailor these beautiful dresses. Wrap Up Africa then buys them back and sells them to people in the United States. Although it’s run by American’s and Ugandans, the American’s do what only they can do (create a market in the United States). I think this is a beautiful way for two people from different cultures to meet and work together in a FAIR TRADE sort of way. The money made from the dresses then goes to the hospital to treat more kids with cancer.

December 23 Web tool. GROOVE SHARK. I can make playlists and listen to any song ever.

December 24 Learning experience. What was a lesson you learned this year that changed you?

December 25 Gift. What’s a gift you gave yourself this year that has kept on giving?

December 26 Insight or aha! moment. What was your epiphany of the year?

December 27 Social web moment. Did you meet someone you used to only know from her blog? Did you discover Twitter?

December 28 Stationery. When you touch the paper, your heart melts. The ink flows from the pen. What was your stationery find of the year?

December 29 Laugh. What was your biggest belly laugh of the year?

December 30 Ad. What advertisement made you think this year?

December 31 Resolution you wish you’d stuck with. (You know, there’s always next year…)

I don’t think anyone actually reads this anymore unless they casually click the link on my facebook profile, but I think it’s still important for me to write. Writing makes me reflect on my life, and when I write, I appreciate the positive things in my life and I can examine what holds me back. I hope to have some free time over the next few days to reflect more. I do have a tumblr where I save images/poems/quotes/and songs that I love.

I just returned from a trip to visit a friend in Virginia. We spent one afternoon on top of this windy mountain watching the sunset. Then, we went home and ate a delicious home cooked meal. I never cook, but everything turned out delicious. Love + Adventures + Good Food = Magical.

I’ll leave you with this beautiful view from Reddish Knob overlooking the Shenendoah Valley. Isn’t it something? The camera that I set on the rock to take a self-timer picture almost blew over it was that windy! Oh, and so cold. I’ve also put up some pictures from MDI on facebook.

And oh my gosh! I haven’t posted this yet, but I am completely done with the book! I’ll be posting more details here, and sending out a mass e-mail to anyone who might be interested but if you are interested, you can download the whole thing here.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,

even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble,

it’s a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be.

And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,

keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

(Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952)

Bald Porcupine Island

I turned 21 this past Tuesday! Yay! This is my first birthday away from home (how blessed am I that I got to spend the previous twenty with my family?) and it really didn’t feel like a birthday until a friend encouraged me to have a party. But first, my housemate Fletcher took me out kayaking. Because I shared a kayak with him (he’s a wilderness guide guy so he’s very skilled at this sort of stuff), he did most of the paddling and I could focus on taking pictures. The trip was so special and beautiful. We left the bay area and looped around Bald Porcupine Island (pictured above). Bald Porcupine Island is a nesting ground for Bald eagles, but its name actually came about because there’s a rocky spot in the middle with no trees.

Fletcher, my awesome housemate

We shared the water with the Margaret Todd…

Margaret Todd

After kayaking, I thought I’d invite four or five friends over and we’d sit and eat chocolate all night and maybe go to the playground (sounds great right?). I didn’t think there would be that many who would want to celebrate the birth of me, but ten or so people showed up, including my housemates (that’s like another ten), and we had a great time. And then the next day at school I saw sooo many other people I would’ve wanted to invite, had I known their last names to send them an e-mail on the school server. This week has really made me think of how many friends I’ve already made and how I really, really, really love the people here. It’s such a small school but the people are SO incredible! Everyone I’ve met is just so real. And, I think if I had to put a number on it, I’d say 50% of my friends are from other countries. And THEY ARE SO COOL. Here’s a picture of the night as it winded down.

Spreading out on the floor with lots of desserts!

The little baby is Nina. Her and her mommy Kate live with me .

I made chocolate frosting, and my friends brought things to dip in it!

Of course I had to get one group shot..

Then… we went to the playground.

Getting High. Hah.

Everyone at home, I love and miss you and I put up more pictures at frostt.myphotoalbum.com if you want to go check out those!

“I will write peace on your wings and you will fly all over the world. This is our cry, this is our prayer: peace in the world.” – Sadako Sasaki (佐々木 禎子),

Sadako Sasaki was two years old when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima in 1945. Less than ten years later she was diagnosed with leukemia. There’s a Japanese saying that when one folds 1,000 cranes, they could make a wish that would come true. She only folded 644 before dying, but her friends finished the 1,000 and buried them with her.

Blueberries are to Maine as the Empire State Building is to New York. Yes, really. Everywhere I go–blueberries!! Maine has blueberry scents, blueberry ice cream (and lobster ice cream), blueberry stuffed animals, blueberry pancakes, blueberry maple syrup, blueberry children’s books, blueberry calendars–seriously, anything and everything can be found in blueberry theme! When I found this picture, I couldn’t think of anything more fitting to introduce this town called Bar Harbor. PS if you can click on a picture, it means it’s not mine, and it will take you to where I found it!

Bar Harbor

Before leaving earlier this week, my sister (whom I miss TERRIBLY) remarked too casually to be interpreted as anything less than broken hearted, “Julia. I can’t believe you are moving to a deserted island.” Although the island is technically called Mount Desert Island, she had only heard “desert island,” and I can only imagine what she pictured in her mind. At the time, I took her hand and said, “yep, one person’s heaven is another’s hell.” It’s true. This town isn’t for everyone. We live on an island off the coast of the most northern state in the Continental US. I can walk from one end of town to the other. The stores are all geared towards tourists, so it’s almost impossible to find actual necessities (like a towel!). A store is considered “crowded” when there are more than two people. But my God, is it beautiful.

Hiking Barefoot

Yesterday, I went with a group of kids to Sand Beach. Although some went swimming, I didn’t. Not everyone had bathing suits, but it didn’t matter. A few just went in their underwear. I stood on the shore, fully dressed, not wanting to go in the water because of the temperature, but slightly wishing I was brazen enough to take off all my clothes and just run free around the beach and in the water (we’ll see—maybe before I graduate and after all the tourists leave!). Here is a picture of two of my friends identifying sea weed. On the left is Marketa from the Czech Republic. On the right is Jo from Sweden. I wish I could rotate this for you but  my internet is too slow to upload it again.

Walking down the beach. Left to right, Lindsay (America), Diana (Brazil), Lenka (Czech), Marketa (Czech), Andrea (El Salvador), Jo (Sweden), and two guys I can’t remember.

While exploring the beach, we found a hiking trail. Because it was a spur of the moment decision and no one wanted to run back and get our shoes, all of us ended up going barefoot. 1/5th of the world goes barefoot on a daily basis in weather conditions much less pleasant than Maine in the summer. A few times when the ground looked rocky ahead, or my feet started to hurt, I asked if Lenka wanted to turn around. (Lenka and I got far behind the other girls because we were taking pictures). Lenka, in broken English, said “If the other girls can do it, so can we. It’s also good for your feet.” So we pushed on, barefoot, through the woods. Walking barefoot through the woods is a completely different experience. The twenty minute journey turned into forty minutes as we stepped carefully around the sharpest rocks and sticks. As we walked, I compared our pace and my awareness of the ground to a few days ago when I walked across the sandbar to Bar Island. I had shoes on then, and I trotted through the woods with barely a second glance at where I stepped! This time though, ah, every step had to be carefully planned. There are some kids who do not wear shoes around campus. I see the appeal now. It’s not just freeing your feet, it grounds you. Try it. When I got home, I looked it up to see if it is indeed healthier to go barefoot. Here’s a post in New York Magazine that talks about the benefits of walking barefoot.

This was the view from the top!

Here’s us!

Other things to never forget:

- How I randomly sat down to dinner with students from St. Lucia, Western Sahara, Ethiopia, Tanzania, and Ecuador. Yes, seriously. All at one table. A few were even interested in health and community development. Ah! This is AFTER spending an hour at lunch with friends from the Czech Republic, Sweden, and Mexico talking about the different languages, how and when to say I love you, and public affection in different countries. I am learning so much!

- The Bar Island Swim- a boat took participants (students, faculty and staff) out to the island to jump and swim back to school. Six boats waited in the water to pick people up as they got too tired and cold (imagine 50 degree water). Some made it though. I sat on the shore with a bunch of other students.

- Meeting a student from Swaziland who has heard of Bulembu. Talking to him for hours about Swaziland, orphanages, and sustainable villages.

- I will leave you with this.

July 19th, 2009: I left my team in Mississippi to join my family in Kentucky.

July 19th, 2009-August 1st, 2009: In Kentucky, I took a few days to just recuperate. The trip to Mississippi left me physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Seriously, seriously, seriously exhausted. I couldn’t form sentences. I couldn’t read. I could barely think. For three weeks, I had lived and breathed my Mississippi kids, and that didn’t stop when I boarded the plane for Kentucky. I was completely used up and I had poured out all I had to give, and didn’t have anything left. The team challenged me and pushed me beyond my limits. Where I had drawn boundaries in the sands of my comfort and sanity, the young Mississippites had trotted boldly across, kicking the sands beyond any point of recognition, and leaving me floating completely lost without them. In this state, I did very little. I floated around trying to find the sense of peace I had before going to Mississippi. During this time, and in such a state of internal chaos, I knew I couldn’t return to the city for school. I started thinking about alternative plans. Dreaming of creating a future village for orphans, I wanted to search the world for a good location. Instead, I stumbled upon COA’s website. COA quickly informed me that if I hurried, I might be accepted for the fall term. Skeptical, I sent my references and forwarded my transcript.

August 26th, 2009: The admissions team let me know that I was accepted.

August 27th-August 30th, 2009: I decided to go.

September 2nd, 2009- I found someone on Craig’s list with a room to rent. When I googled the address, I found this description,

“We envision a community that nurtures the individuality of each member. We envision a community that practices a way of living that is sustainable for generations to come, a way of living that defines by practice and direction the meaning of human ecology. We envision a community that strives to work out our personal difficulties between members through its own ingenuity.

Established in 1978 as a collective working to create a whole-grain bakery, the community has evolved into a group of artists and human ecologists. Located in town, we have been a source of housing and support for College of the Atlantic people for 15 years. Some of our members are actively involved in protecting the environment of Maine through grassroots and legislative involvement.

In practice, we are economically independent with an individual contribution toward upkeep and taxes of the building, phone, electric, and recycled paper products. Physically, our community consists of one large commercial building, one large organic garden, and one large shed. We have a complete woodworking shop and dream of a pottery studio.

We have recently purchased 19 acres of woods and blueberries to give the community a larger garden and a retreat in the country. This could possibly lead us to relocate in the future if the way opens.”

September 4th, 2009: Chelsea, Greg, and I drove from NY to ME and moved into the Downeast Friends Community. Chelsea and Greg stayed to check out my living situation and to make sure it’s not a cult, or, as my mom puts it, a bunch of “naval-gazers”—people who sit around looking at their belly buttons in amazement all day. It’s not.

The Downeast Friends Community

My vocabulary is not wide enough to explain this place in all its fullness, so for now, you will have to suffer with cliche’s. I live in a hippie commune, or, as one of my teachers described it today, a “peace community.” I’m here to reclaim the word “hippie” and direct you in a specific direction as I describe my community. Otherwise, I’m doing everyone an injustice by summing it up with a word so quickly stereotyped. I tend to stay away from the term because of its connotation with drug use and free love, but I’m learning that there are so many other kinds of hippies and it’s not a dirty word. The word hippie originally began to describe those living counter to popular culture. Today’s hippies are different because today’s culture is different. The hippies here are not running around naked, getting high, or doing the whole free love thing (or at least are not doing those things in the house). They (we?) are just living counter to popular culture. We eat organically, try to grow some of our own food, or at least be conscious of everything we eat, are nonviolent, and try to live intentionally. Many are artists and musicians, but some are scientists and mathematicians. Many are vegans or vegetarians, and almost all are working towards a better world. That describes College of the Atlantic too.

Joining Downeast Friends

Chelsea, Greg, and I arrived to meet James, the craiglist guy, and Robert, the owner of the house, late Friday afternoon. James gave us a tour of the house. The house looks like it’s two houses that have been connected in the middle. James described one side of the house as the “old person side” and the other side as the “young side.” One side belongs to Robert and Diane, the couple who rent out the rooms. The other side has room for 10-14 tenants spread out over three floors. There is also a large living room and kitchen. My room is on the top floor, and it’s simple, but perfect. The other members of the family (because we are a family) have rooms through out the house. Ian and Christian, however, prefer to sleep outside under the stars, and they have hammocks set up in the garden that they retreat to at night.

When Chelsea and Greg and I arrived, Robert informed us that we were to be guests of the house for two nights to see how it works, and to give us two days to find alternative housing. Sweet deal. If I decide to stay, all the housemembers will “come to consensus” in mid-September and decide that we all want to live together. If we are all “in consensus” we will sign the contract. The contract is not a normal contract.

Instead, it’s a comprehensive guide telling you to cover the TV with a blanket when you are not using it and to let others know before you do use it so they can leave the house if they so desire, and which plants in the garden are for communal use, and how the definition of “sustainable” is NO WASTE. The contract stresses harmony between human beings and the environment. Material goods and work is shared among all members of the community. This desire to live in harmony with each other and the environment is the glue that holds us together.

Explore the Reality of that idea

The others who live here are very interesting characters. One short conversation with any of them leaves you wanting to hear their life story. Maybe with time, those will come. For now, I only have my stories of how things are much more free and flowy here. Structure is loose. For example, when explaining to Robert how Greg could sleep on the floor, Robert put his hand up and slowly said, “well…… why…… don’t you…… explore…… the reality….. of that…… and then… see where that….. takes you……. and just…… go…… from there.” Maybe it wasn’t that slow, and I’m just used to people talking faster. I don’t know.

The next morning at breakfast, we sat out on the porch and ate blue sticky rice with granola and blueberries and talked about the garden, and the imbalance between omega 3′s and omega 6′s in the American diet. At one point, Ian, barefoot (I’ve never seen him wear shoes), wearing overalls, a plaid flannel shirt, and his usual dreads, came out of his hammock to tell us he had found glasses. When he learned someone had left them behind, he put them on and said, “Wow. The trees have actual leaves! I can see how people become addicted to these!” Addicted to glasses? I never thought of it that way. Despite his appearance, which I must admit, initially had me wary (my prejudice labeled Ian a drifter doing nothing with his life). I was SO wrong. Ian is brilliant. He never graduated from COA, but he seems to know everything about food and plants and their interactions with each other and the body. I just want to follow him around with a camera and record everything he says. He’s brilliant.

—

I am perched here in my room on the top floor, looking out over the rest of the town, and enjoying the sun streaming in. In the coming days, I hope I will describe more of the characters and conversations here. But for now, world, I just want to announce that I’m here, and this place already feels like home. Yes, I’m here in this small community of Downeast Friends, living in this big house in this small community on this island off the coast of Maine– I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!

Over the years, I have found myself constantly loving hurting kids. Even when I try to stop myself because it hurts too much- I can’t. As my heart beats and bleeds for all the children (foster kids in the US to children in armies abroad), my head works overtime to try to find solutions to the causes. More than anything, I want to create a safe place for hurting children to live and play and learn and be loved. I dream of making this place a reality through an intentional international community that is fundamentally eco-friendly and sustainable. This community will include family homes (where couples can move in and adopt children and raise their own), a school (which emphasizes arts and music as well as academics), a medical clinic (to provide basic care for the community members), a creative arts therapy program, and a summer camp and retreat center (for children and adults from outside the community to come learn about our way of life). The community will exemplify an alternative way of life for the rest of the world, a life of love and peace. Although the community will be primarily focused on child orphans, we will fully recognize that at some level, every human being is (and acts as) an orphan when separated from Divine love.

The Story:

A few days ago I transferred from NYU to College of the Atlantic, a small school in Bar Harbor, ME to learn about community development, sustainable food systems, sustainable business, and how public health is intertwined with the health of the environment (and how to improve both).  As soon as I get a chance to sit down and write, I will tell you all about the place- it’s amazing. For now, the explanation of why I’m here (up above), and pictures will have to do. Oh, and because future dreams are not enough for me to live on. Here’s what I am trying to do every day.

• *Respect Earth and life in all its diversity.
• Care for the community of life with understanding, compassion, and love.
• Ensure that communities at all levels guarantee human rights and fundamental freedoms and provide everyone an opportunity to realize his or her full potential.
• Promote social and economic justice, enabling al to achieve a secure and meaningful livelihood that is ecologically responsible.
• Eradicate poverty.
• Guarantee clean water, clean air, food security, uncontaminated soil, shelter, and safe sanitation.
• Allocate the national and international resources required.
• Empower every human being with the education and resources to secure a sustainable livelihood.
• Recognize the ignored, protecting the vulnerable, and serving those who suffer.
• Ensure universal access to education and health care.
• Integrate into formal education and life-long learning the knowledge, values, and skills needed for a sustainable way of life.
• Recognize the impotance of moral and spiritual education for sustainable living.
• Treat all living beings with respect and consideration.
• Promote a culture of nonviolence, and peace.
• Recognize that peace is the wholeness created by right relationships with oneself, other persons, other cultures, other life, Earth, and the larger whole of which all are a part.*
• Learn

• And, to ALWAYS LOVE.

Please hold me accountable to this. When I forget, please remind me of my principles and dreams, even if you do not share the same ones! Challenge mine, make me change, and make me grow, and sometimes, please remind me to just be.

* Taken, often word for word from The Earth Charter. Although I just included the goals I am personally working towards and feel passionate about, there are many more. Check it out here.

A quick tour:

Before heading to campus, Greg and Chelsea and I checked out the surrounding area. This is Cadillac Mountain, a few minutes away from campus.

Around campus:

Back on top of the mountain for the sunset!

***

I want to update you on what’s been going on these past few weeks. I apologize if you texted, called, facebooked, or e-mailed me during the month of July and did not hear back from me. On July 4th, I drove down New Jersey to volunteer at training camp with Touch the World. I have joined TTW teams around the world for the past ten years, but this summer, I really wanted to finish my book so I volunteered to train the other teens going out on trips.

My first trip almost ten years ago was very difficult. Training Camp is a boot camp. You wake up at 5:45am, work/learn all day, sleep in tents, and have no running water all in order to prepare you to serve in less privileged areas around the world. TTW’s training camp breaks you down and forces you to work together as a team in order to survive so that when you are on the field you are prepared for anything.

As an eleven year old, I moved through training camp in a daze. I questioned myself every step of the way, “what am I thinking? This is CRAZY!” I spent much of my time at the nurses station treating various aches and pains and retreating from the intense discipline forced upon me (but don’t get me wrong- the stomach ache and painful blisters were real!). When we arrived at our destination, a camp for inner-city kids in Erie, Pennsylvania, my two elderly leaders refused to let us have sugar (and as a sugar-holic I went through a painful withdrawal). One night (probably tossing and turning and dreaming of brownies) I woke up to bears walking through our tent site! Yet the next summer two friends convinced me to go on another trip. Prepared for training camp and one year older, I began to really understand TTW’s mission and values, and I enjoyed my time much more.

TOUCH THE WORLD

TTW is dedicated to moving young people from apathy to energy by exemplifying God’s love through service. Coming from a conservative Presbyterian church (where church is more of a social club than a place to worship the creator of the universe), at first I held back and just watched from afar. Were these the crazy evangelical Christians occasionally shown on the news? People who condemned homosexuality and abortion with signs like, “Jesus hates fags” and brainwashed people? No.

I quickly learned there was something different about these Christians at TTW. TTW is simply dedicated to love of God above all else and a love for people. They take the golden rule to “love your neighbor as yourself” literally and they promote peace around the world by training young people to go out and love others through community service projects and by building relationships.

The training and experiences I received at training camp and in various communities made it possible for me to travel by myself last summer to Kenya, but this summer, I wanted to finish up a multi-media journal so I dedicated four days to training other teens. I really thought that would be it for me. However, when I signed in as a volunteer I (only somewhat jokingly) said to a TTW staff member, “I packed my passport just in case!”

Later that day, another staff member found me and asked, “So about that passport, were you serious? Are you free?” Dreaming of Uganda or India or one of the more exotic trips, I hesitated only a second before answering, “Yes! I mean I would have to figure out if it would be possible. Why, where do you need me to go? Uganda?” He shook his head, “No, but we desperately need another leader for the Mississippi team, and we will cover all the expenses if you can go.” Oh, I thought, travel to the hottest region in the country in the middle of the summer to do construction on roofs? Hmmmm- totally not as exciting as Uganda. I decided to talk to my mom and think it over while TTW tried to see if they could get me a ticket.

A VERY SPECIAL, UNUSUAL TEAM

Later that day, the Mississippi team (all forty of them), arrived at the Drama tent for training. The team was unlike any team I have ever seen before (TTW teams are usually small). They came into our tent and filled up every chair and then scattered out on the ground. I looked at this huge team and stood in awe at the diversity. (Disclaimer: I do not work for TTW so this is not accurate, but this is just what I’ve gathered from observation). TTW teams usually hail youth and teenagers from affluent communities surrounding the metro area. Although there are always some exceptions, most of my teammembers from previous years have been white kids from affluent backgrounds. But, here sat this team of youth of all different ethnicities (is that the politically correct way to say it now? I don’t know. I’m trying to say we had a diverse selection of the human colors represented- especially if you count me as red).  Anyway, the diversity surprised me, and my heart filled and my spirits lifted. Yes, this is the way Touch the World teams should always be, I thought. Yes, I feel more comfortable here now. Yes, the potential for this team is so HUGE. Yes, I want to join them and take on this unexpected challenge/opportunity God has given me. Yes, yes, yes!

After a few minutes of observing the team, I saw past the diversity and could see that again, this was no ordinary team. Some of the kids looked like adults, while some of them looked like really little, little kids. When I asked the leaders, one of them answered, “Yep. The ages range from 11-18!” Wow. What a challenge! (How one leads eleven year olds is very different than how one leads an eighteen year old, and TTW usually splits them up, 11-13, 14-17, 18+).

Long story (and it is a VERY long story) short

I joined the team. Contrary to what one might expect with me, it was not an easy decision. In fact, it was a really difficult one. I had a lot of work to do at home, my family was planning a vacation to see my elderly grandparents, and I was nervous about health issues. After praying about it, and talking with some friends, I decided that I was really meant to join the team. There were too many coincidences and things that were just randomly “working out.” I told myself, “Julia, come on, you can do anything for two weeks, and they need you.” So, I joined the team. Honestly, there was no nobleness here, just: I can do anything for two weeks.

The trip was a lot more challenging than I ever thought possible. Harder than Kenya+SouthAfrica+maybe ever other trip I’ve ever been on… combined! The first week was hell. We were disorganized, unprepared, and overwhelmed with the sheer size and inexperience of the team. NONE of this was our fault, or our kids fault, but by the end of the first week I was read to quit. So I sat down and had some serious conversations with the other leaders and with some of the kids on our team. I wish I could share what happened, but for security reasons, I really can’t. I’ll just say: the team changed directions 180 after some much needed crying, a trip to the hospital, and for me, some real food. Although I left completely exhausted, I also left feeling like, WOW, what else can the world throw at me? I’m ready! Whether this is true or not… well, I guess we’ll see.

Here are some pictures of our team/trip until then! (The quotes are from Brian Andreas)

“I don’t think of it as working for world peace, he said. I think of it as just trying to get along in a really big strange family.”

When do you get to be a grown-up? she said. When you can read & write & lie without laughing, I said & her eyes got big & she said she didn’t know it was that hard

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other’s cooking & say it was good.

In the end, I think that I will like that we were sitting on the bed, talking & wondering where the time had gone.

What if we all got along & people loved each other & sang songs about peace? he said. Would that be a good world? & I said I didn’t know about that, but it would be a good summer camp & he looked at me & shook his head & said, It’s no wonder you’re leaving us with such a mess.

has some sort of disease where you hallucinate & start to not believe in love, but after a year or two, or even sometimes ten or twenty, it cures itself & all that’s left are a few little red spots that twinge & ache whenever you get too near someone else that has the disease & it’s all you can do to stop from reaching out & holding them close.

She said she usually cried at least once each day not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful & life was so short.

I held him close for only a short time, but after he was gone, I’d see his smile on the face of a perfect stranger & I knew he would be there with me all the rest of my days.

I also need to update with fall plans that I am SO EXCITED about! All this- coming soon.

J

• Animal Welfare
• Disaster Response And Relief
• Discrimination
• Education
• Environment
• Health And Fitness
• HIV And Sexuality
• International Human Rights
• Poverty
• Violence And Bullying
• War, Peace And Politics

Now . . . back to the awards! There were five incredible inspiring finalists, and you should check them all out. I mean, you should really, really, really check them all out. The winner, Maggie Doyne, BLEW ME AWAY. Maybe it’s because she’s living my dream and I see myself launching a similar project soon (more on that later), or maybe it’s because of her genuine personality, but she caught my attention immediately. Maggie took a gap year after highschool with the program LeapNow and while trekking through Asia she realized her potential to reach the war-torn orphans of Nepal. After her parents wired her her lifesavings ($5,000 from babysitting), Maggie bought a piece of land and built an orphanage. She is now the proud mother to over twenty kids, and she has sent countless more to school. Check out her journal for more information and ways to get involved!!

I have also been following the story of a girl named Katie in Uganda. My mom has been following her story (via blog entries) religiously for the past year, and has encouraged me (for months) to start reading it. But every time I tried to read it I would end up closing my computer crying. I would then enter my depressed, “why am I not there?” state. Now, I am planning to return in the fall/winter (someway, somehow, most likely to study Post-Conflict Transformation in Uganda/Rwanda), and I can again read about others. Anyway, back to Katie!! Go here. Please. Just do it. I want to write more about her but I’m pressed for time and in the off chance anyone arrives at my blog before I get a chance to finish this post, I want to point you to these two girls.

And go here to read about the other finalists!

Short answer- Twitter is a social networking cite that facilitates communication by allowing people to say what they are doing in 140 characters or less.

Long answer- Twitter is whatever the user wants it to be! Some use Twitter as a way to keep friends updated on events and social gatherings, while others use Twitter to share life moments. For example, someone might tweet, “At the hospital, the new baby is on the way!” and then follow up later with a picture and health details about the baby. Used this way, twitter helps people feel more connected despite distance.

Companies also turn to twitter as a way to connect with customers. For example, Whole Foods uses twitter to respond to customer questions, suggestions, and concerns, and to alert customers to new products and health information. The uses for Twitter continue to evolve. Just yesterday, I received an e-mail from twitter informing me that the user “wholefoods” is now following me. It made sense for me to follow them, for the reasons I mentioned above, but why would they follow me? Isn’t that just creepy? Well, I can’t speak on Whole Foods behalf, but I can say this. Twitter provides invaluable information about what people are talking about. Businesses  can track (literally) the thoughts of large groups of people and use the data to make smart business decisions about products and marketing strategies.

Using Technology to Create Social Change

Twitter and its uses (both socially and commercially) are really cool, but I am especially excited about what Twitter can do for GOOD. This past week, the world saw a new kind of protest in Moldova– a protest organized, and implemented with the help of Twitter. On Tuesday April 7th, more than 10,000 young protesters showed up to protest against Moldova’s Communist leadership and proceeded to vandalize government facilities. I don’t know, nor have the time to figure out the current state of affairs in Moldova, so I will keep this short and not focus on WHAT they protested but HOW they protested.

Using technology, Moldovans organized this huge protest primarily through text-messaging, Facebook and Twitter. By creating a searchable tag on Twitter, people around the world could learn about the protest, join the protect, or follow from afar. As the protest was happening, people on the ground uploaded firsthand accounts to share with the world. This is not the first time technology has been utilized to facilitate protests. In Kenya earlier this year, in Ukraine in 2004, and in Belarus in 2006, people turned to text messages and cell phones to send messages to large audiences.

What is so great about Twitter?

Mr. Moscovici, the man who managed the tweets in English, told the New York Times that he believed many people made an account for themselves just for the event. When asked why he thought Twitter was effective, he said, “When you follow somebody, you usually know this person, so you trust this person — it is coming from a real person, not an institution.”

Mr. Moscovici’s comment deeply resonates with me.  With all of this technology advancing at such a rapid pace, I have a hard time figuring out what to believe! We really must learn to question everything. People can create and alter sound with strokes on a keyboard, digitally alter pictures beyond recognition, and edit video. This means we have the ability to create sound bytes, images, and events that never happened! When used as a source for entertainment, like the film and TV industry, this isn’t really an issue. It becomes an issue when people distort facts, and use technology to create a reality that does not exist to incite a reaction, or to prevent action.

The news, where many of us turn to find out what’s happening around the world, cannot be trusted as a sole source for information. With all the politics and economics behind every opinion, people are careful about what they say. Using certain rhetoric to describe an event influences how millions around the world perceive it and react to it. On top of that, newspapers have their own agendas. They pick and choose what they consider newsworthy and pass it along to the public. This is just one of probably many reasons why horrific situations can grow out of control before anyone takes action to stop it. During the Holocaust, for example, the death of thousands (which turned into the death of millions) could be found in the back section of American newspapers. Ah. I have to write more often, I have so much to say on this and so little time! I’ll finish up by going back to Twitter.

Where can we turn for the truth? Well, real people are good places to start! Governments can prevent journalists from entering into a country, but the people are always there. Therefore, it is crucial for connections to stay open. The internet and twitter and facebook are just more ways to connect. Of course, I am skipping over the fact that a government can censor the internet, or just plain shut it off. For now, I will leave you with two moving videos. The first, “Did you know?” mixes statistics with some techno music. I am not sure whether the purpose of the video is to inspire or to frighten, but regardless, it will make you think! Some quesitons to keep in mind as you watch: Do you believe it? Just some of it, or all of it? How does the presentation affect how you receive and process the information? And of course, “what does this all mean?”

This next one is from a Dove commercial.

Today, Kaing Guek Eav (Duch), the Khmer Rouge’s chief torturer, took the stand.  Duch was in charge of one of the prisons that orchestrated as many as 16,000 deaths. The leaders of the prison were systematic- they took a picture of each victim before torturing them to death. The evidence is there. After the tribunal read through gruesome details, Duch was given an opportunity to speak. He took the time to apologize to his nation for the crimes he committed. Hundreds of people watched from behind a glass window. Among them sat victims, and family members of victims who did not survive.

Cambodia has no death penalty, but Duch is facing life in prison for war crimes, crimes against humanity, torture, and murder. After his apology, Duch explained that he carried out his “duty” to protect his family, but that he takes “responsibility for crimes committed at S-21, especially the tortures and executions of the people there.” He also requested the people to “leave an open window for [him] to seek forgiveness.”

Duch’s lawyer argued that Duch is a scapegoat, and the court should turn its attention to those with more blood on their hands.

The Cambodian Prime Minister has been accused of limiting the tribunal because of politics. Hun Sen, the Prime Minister and a former Khmer Rouge officer (yes, really?), said that he does not approve of the court and hopes that it runs of out of money “as soon as possible.”

The Prime Minister’s attitude represents a greater issue facing Cambodia- the entire country’s apparent lack of understanding, knowledge, and justice regarding the genocide. Children growing up in Cambodia do not learn about the tragedy in school although it is vital to their history, and one teenager went so far as to say, “I’m not interested… I’m busy and I don’t want to know.”

What does this do for the survivors, and how will this affect the next generation? This tribunal is monumental, and of the utmost importance, and I will continue to follow it. I urge you to do the same, and to learn about what happened. There are many different kinds of genocide, and the genocide that occurred in Cambodia was unique and led to the term “autogenocide” which means the extermination of country’s citizens by its own people or government. Autogenocide differs from “genocide” in that people are not targeted and killed as the “other” as was the case in Nazi Germany, but as the same.

I wish I had time to share more about Cambodia’s history (after taking a class on Genocide a few months ago I had hoped to write a paper on what I learned, and that’s still in the works) but this is a great website to learn about the history.

I have to be totally honest. A few months ago when Barack Obama became the President-elect, immediately the news stations started talking about African-American progress. It seemed every channel I flipped to had people crying and going on and on about race. So, here’s where it kind of hurts to be honest. The stories made me frustrated, and I naively turned to my roommates and complained, “why aren’t we past this yet? I hate that it’s even still an issue!” Because I truly feel like its not among my closest friends here at NYU and at home. I grew up in New York, at a (diverse) private school that taught the importance and equality of every human. Many of my best friends growing up didn’t look like me or share my faith, and I never really noticed. But I didn’t have to try to not notice either- it wasn’t purposefully “politically correctly” ignored. It just didn’t matter, and it never crossed my mind to categorize people by the color of their skin or religion. So, when I sat there watching TV, I became frustrated. The newscasters celebrating, and continually talking about race, came across as blatantly racist. Until I really started listening to the stories. Racial injustice isn’t history. Yes there was slavery and Jim Crow laws, and the KKK, but there’s still more college age black males in prison than in college. Older folks can recall memories of segregated schools and water fountains, and while I can’t resonate with that- I can look at the South Bronx and know that something is still deeply wrong. Which is when I stopped myself and joined the celebrating. Inner-city black kids, when asked who they want to be when they grow up, don’t have to look to 50 cent, or fifty years back at Martin Luther King Jr. They can proudly say, “the president of the United States,” and believe its a possibility. We must continue addressing racial injustice in the world. As much as I like to pretend it doesn’t exist, I know it does. You can’t spend two weeks intensively learning about Genocide and pretend it’s not still an issue.

On to Genocide… Why should we care?

I can only attempt to understand the horrors of genocide, but I have to make every effort to understand the incomprehensible. It’s necessary for the victims, for the perpetrators, for the future, and for myself. Just listening to the facts and to the stories of survivors is an act of courage. I ask you to join me. “Why?” you might ask, “what’s in it for me?” Well, besides sleepless nights and interesting dinner conversations, I’m not really sure. But I can guess.

Learning about genocide is the same as any painful experience; it will either make you a stronger, better person, or a bitter person. You might find a new appreciation for life, beauty, and good, or become disheartened, depressed about the world, and build up walls so as to not hurt again. I’m struggling right now- I want to just crawl in bed. In the back of my head, I know that ignoring pain does not make life easier; ignoring pain greatly inhibits ones ability to love and to live life to the fullest. Blah blah blah- so cliche! But I think C.S. Lewis said it very well,

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one. Wrap it around carefully with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket of your self-ishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

Pain happens. Genocide happens. People are slaughtered and raped and we can choose to ignore it. It’s easy because we never have to see it. We can just change the channel when anything makes us uncomfortable. Smile and nod to people on the street handing out flyers, but keep walking. Mark the e-mails from “savedarfur.org” as junk. It’s really, really easy to ignore, but we do humanity and ourselves a disservice when we look the other way. It lets the violence continue. After the Holocaust, the world vowed “never again.” Never again would the world sit idly by while people were systematically murdered. But it has happened again- more than once, and it will continue to happen unless we ask the tough questions: Why does genocide happen? How are some people so cruel? Are some people evil and some good?  Or do each of us have the same capacity for acting as an agent for good or for evil? Are circumstances and events in our childhood the deciding factor for who we become? Should I really use the two categories of good and evil, or should there be more? What is wrong in the world? What is wrong in my country? What is wrong in my community? What can I change within myself? What can we all do to make this world a better place?

By caring and learning about the atrocities committed around the world, we will hurt, but we will also be freer to live. Hm. Let me explain with an example. Remembering, and letting ourselves feel for humanity is essential for our survival of the self. When one person suffers from a traumatic event, he or she recovers fastest when letting themselves feel it. Studies show that Holocaust victims who later are hospitalized for psychosis are silent of their days during the Holocaust. It’s as if their memories have been erased, and they refuse to talk. On the other hand, survivors who were not hospitalized share clear memories of their experience. There is no denial or repression evident. click here for more information about the study. Suzanne Kaplan interviewed one survivor who explained that memory let him keep a sense of self during his time in the concentration camp. Those who could keep a narrative of their trauma went on to lead relatively normal lives, while those who lost their story, lost themselves. The connection to humanity at large might not seem apparent at first and I know I’m kind of stretching it, but.. If humanity’s one body, and we choose to ignore feeling for the people of Rwanda, or Cambodia, or Bosnia, or the victims of Hurricane Katrina or the Tsunami- then we risk our sanity.

At some point in life, most people experience a huge “oh.” It can come early, after some childhood abuse, or it can come after a near death experience, a trip to a third world country, or the death of a family member. It’s an “oh” that makes one ask, “what is the point?”or “how could this happen?” Some choose to ignore the questions, others silence them with alcohol, drugs, sex, and hobbies. These questions are especially poignant when talking about genocide. They are hard questions, but I have to address them to keep my sanity. Maybe at the end of this journey I’ll share my own thoughts of “why,” and I would love to hear yours. But, for humanity’s sake, I plead with you: learn with me; care with me; hurt with me, and ask the hard questions.

This is the just the first entry in a series.

1. Genocide, what is it?
2. Genocide, psychoanalytical thoughts
3. 1915-1918 Armenians in Turkey (1,500,000 deaths)
4. 1932-1933 Stalin’s Forced Famine (7,000,000 deaths)
5. 1938-1945 Nazi Holocaust (6,000,000 deaths)
6. 1975-1979 Pol Pot in Cambodia (2,000,000 deaths)
7. 1994 Rwanda (800,000 deaths)
8. 1992-1995 Bosnia/Herzegovina (200,000 deaths)
9. 2004-2008 Darfur
10. Heroes
11. Trying to make sense of everything

What is Genocide?

Genocide, as defined by Article 2 of the Genocide Convention, is as follows:

Any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnicity, racial or religious group, as such:
•    Killing members of the group;
•    Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group;
•    Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.
•    Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group;
•    Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.

We immediately face some tough questions: how do we measure intent? Does the whole group, or just part of the group have to be targeted? How big or small is “part” of a group? Do we measure “parts of groups” by percentages or numbers? For example, if there are only two individuals of an ethnic group alive (as is the case for one tribe in Alaska), if you murder one person, you’ve wiped out 50% of their population. Genocide? Where do the Native Americans fit into this? If colonists/explorers killed 90% of their population, isn’t that Genocide?

How do we evaluate Genocide?

Through strategy (does the perpetrator slaughter the people with machetes or in concentration camps, by denying food or water, through rape or forced deportation, or just with dehumanization), the group (national, ethnicity, racial, or religious groups, but what about political, sexual, tribal, social, economic or cultural groups?), the perpetrator (is it the government, citizens, or an outside strong force?), by the outcomes (does the perpetrator just have to kill a few people or succeed, or what if the perpetrator is stopped before going through with the plans? Is intent all that’s important?), or the level of intent (permissive policy, systematic plan, but no evidence?).

Are bystanders innocent?

What about human rights?

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights contains thirty articles that define human rights for everyone in the world. However, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is only a declaration, and contains no laws. One cannot use the articles to accuse people of any crimes. The end of the document contains group rights, but what constitutes a group? The Amish and Christian Scientists are obvious groups. The Amish went to court and won the right to teach their children in local schools up until age 15. In this case, the group wants to keep their culture and teach what they think is right, but is it infringing on the children’s right to a good education?

We face a similar, but more serious problem with Christian scientists. Christian scientists believe that everything comes from God, and anything that comes from God is good, including diseases.  But what happens when a three year old has a disease and the child dies from lack of medical care. Neutrality is not possible here. Inaction is an action. The government must either step in and require medical treatment, or sit idly by.  Would stepping in and taking the child away from the parents be an infringement on rights if not doing anything means that kids might die?

International Law (history)

After World War I, the League of Nations was established to monitor aggression between countries. The Permanent Court of International Justice was also established as an international court to settle disagreements between countries.

After World War II, the world established the United Nations. Now, almost two hundred nations are members of the UN. (more on the UN later)

The International Court of Justice is a court for state nations and the primary judicial organ of the United Nations. The ICJ (or world court) functions legal disputes between countries or agencies and the UN General Assembly. For example, Bosnia filed a complaint against Serbia for genocide. In 2007, the court came back and ruled that Serbia did not commit genocide because they couldn’t find any intent. The court agreed that there was a genocide, but they weren’t sure who to blame for it.

The International Criminal Court was established in 2002 through the Rome Statue of the International Criminal Court to prosecute individuals for crimes against humanity, war crimes, crimes of aggression, and genocide. 108 nation states are members, but the United States, China, Russia and India have not joined yet.

International Human Rights laws just deal with how governments treat their own people.

International Humanitarian Law

Geneva and Hague conventions began as early as the early 19th century to make rules about behavior during times of war. Initially only concerned with wars between states, laws concerning civil wars have been added more recently. The laws protect civilians, medics, aid workers, the wounded and prisoners of war.

The Geneva Conventions of 1863,1864,1868 said what kind of weapons you could have, banned land minds, cluster bombs, gasses, and anything that inflicts too much damage. Also made a rule that one cannot attack populations that are not armed. Soldiers are only allowed to attack people in uniforms. You don’t attack medical personnel and you must let medical personnel in to help. Naval agreements- can’t mine harbors.

War Crimes

A war crime can happen anywhere and they are just crimes committed during times of war. One must go look at international humanitarian law to see what to charge against someone who has committed war crimes. A genocide is an accumulation of all of these crimes against a type of people.

War of Aggression

A war of aggression is when a country goes to war for self-interest and its not in the best interest of other people. A war of aggression means there was no good reason to go to war. A war of aggression might be when a country goes in for territory. No one has been called on a war of aggression since Germany. Germany was charged with a war of aggression, war crimes, crimes against peace, and crimes against humanity. The UN withheld the phrase when Iraq attacked Kuwait. Today, some try to argue that the US in Afghanistan or the US in Iraq is a war of aggression, however the UN has never claimed the US is perpetrating a war of aggression. So what are good reasons to go to war? Security, self-protection, and when people are suffering from gross human rights violations.

3. 1915-1918 Armenians in Turkey (1,500,000+ deaths)

It’s only appropriate to start with the first genocide of the 20th century- “The Armenian Genocide.” This may come as a surprise or it may not, but the Holocaust was not the first nor the last genocide. Between 1915-1923, Ottoman Turks killed more than 1.5 million Armenians through forced deportation, expropriation, abduction, torture, massacre, and starvation. The vast majority of the Armenian population was removed to Syria where they were sent into the desert to die of thirst and hunger.

Who was responsible for the Armenian Genocide?
The political party in power, the Committee of Union and Progress (the Young Turks) made the decision to carry out a genocide against the Armenian people.  After World War I, there was a brief period of calm, but between 1920 and 1923, Turkish Nationalists took up the cause and began the massacres again to promote ethnic exclusivity.

How did the international community respond to the Armenian Genocide?

Although the Young Turks tried to keep journalists and photographers out of the area, the international community did know what was happening. U.S. diplomatic representatives and American missionaries reported home, and the international community condemned the Armenian Genocide. In the U.S., there was a public outcry against the genocide. After the war, relief efforts were made to save those left. No reparations were ever made to the people who lost everything, and the Young Turks were never held accountable.

Are the Armenian massacres acknowledged today as a Genocide according to the United Nations Genocide Convention?

Genocide is defined as, “acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group.”  Armenians have sought for acknowledgment of the crimes committed during W.W.I. but only countries where survivors live, like France, Argentina, Greece, and Russia, have officially recognized the Armenian Genocide.

Why is the Armenian Genocide especially important today?

The present-day Republic of Turkey adamantly denies that a genocide was committed against the Armenians during W.W.I.. Considering Turkey is Israel’s strongest Muslim ally, and it adamantly denies it’s own Holocaust-like behavior- it’s an interesting friendship. Furthermore, for the past 18 years, Turkey has been petitioning to join the EU. How can a country that has yet to compensate, much less recognize the slaughtering of 1.5 million of it’s own people be allowed to claim it has European values?

Click here for more information.

Captain Sullenberger, 57, brought the wounded Airbus A320 passenger plane to rest on the Hudson leading all the passengers on board to safety after something knocked out both engines in the plane. Captain Sullenberger checked the cabin twice for anyone left behind before he left the sinking plane himself. When both engines erupted in flames, Captain Sullenberger did not panic. Instead, in a split second he told the passengers to prepare for impact, and he landed the plane beautifully on the Hudson River.

155 people waiting to be rescued Thursday afternoon

For more information, click here.

The potential benefits are numerous, and I think most have yet to be discovered. The trend tracking system could be used to track other infectious diseases and predict the future. People are starting to turn to Google before visiting their doctor, and if a new virus emerges with unusual symptoms, Google might notice a trend and alert authorities. An early warning system can accelerate the response to outbreaks and reduce the spread anywhere in the world. HealthMap, backed by Google, also uses the Web to track infectious diseases around the world, but in a different way. HealthMap looks for news articles, blog posts and electronic newsletters to track diseases whereas Google Trends uses search engines.

Google Flu might be part of the movement toward EHR (electronic health records) where everyone would have their health records online. As of right now, most doctors continue to write everything on paper. Lists of immunizations and previous conditions and treatments have to be faxed or sent by mail. Why do we still do it this way? (There are reasons but for lack of time I’m not going to go into them- and in my opinion they do not outweigh the benefits, but just know that they exist). The collected data could help identify the best care options. The EHR system would benefit hospitals seeking to treat patients who have they know nothing about. I think EHR would increase physician efficiency overall (faster and more accurate diagnosis). The electronic health records would also reduce cost.

The trend tracking system of taking Internet user’s searches and using them to predict the future could alarm privacy advocates. However, Google Flu Trends uses data that cannot be used to identify individual users. One of my friends brought up another problem as I excitedly told her of the possibilities, she asked, “As more people find out about the system, won’t they go right to the tracker first, instead of typing in their symptoms, to find out if the flu is a likely culprit ailing them?” The executive director of Google.org does caution that the data will need to be monitored to ensure correlation with the flu remains valid. Using technology to track and change factors relating to health is obviously just the next step towards the future of public health. However, it is most certainly an exciting one.

Helft, Miguel. “Google Uses Searches to Track Flu’s Spread.” New York Times 11 Nov. 2008.

I am working so hard on putting together a professional looking book. So far I have taught myself Adobe Photoshop and Adobe InDesign. Two incredible programs. Right now, I am editing my writing and very slowly organizing the pictures with the text. It’s a long process!! After working on a page for a few hours, I sometimes just have to scratch it and start over. The subject matter is also not the easiest. What words does one use to describe a baby dying? Working on this book brings up so many memories and emotions. On top of that, I’m not exactly sure what I am hoping to accomplish. I’m following my instincts though and this just feels right. Today, I received a message from an old friend thanking me for getting him interested in Darfur. Since that day back in high school, he’s helped raise thousands of dollars for refugees in Sudan. I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the situation, but ideally, that’s what this book will do. I want the stories and photographs to inspire other young people to act, and to bring the stories from abroad home. I do not think I’ll ever regret spending so much time on this.

I’ve always just dabbled in art. I love painting, drawing, playing the piano, and taking photographs. But this project has brought a new respect for artists. I’ve been at this two months now and the creative process is a lonely one. I’ve tried bringing other people into it. I ask for opinions and look through books for inspiration, but as Don Gray explains, “The inner drama, the complex ebb and flow of feelings, hints and glimpses of images and ideas, the inner drive, urges, promptings and doubts — the often fierce, undeniable, gut-deep need to create — are those of individual artists alone, that they must somehow deal with through visions of the beauty and torment of the world. Artists are meant to probe heaven and hell, good and evil, beauty and ugliness — the full dimension of life on earth, humanity’s relations with itself, with nature, with God, and the universe, as their personal needs and interests dictate.” And I must do it alone.

When I get frustrated, I look for encouragement from friends and artists. An appropriate mix of music and silence are my companions, and every once in a while I stumble on something that inspires me. Here’s one quote that has me dreaming again. Author Robert Fulghum writes,

Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A Beauty Bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one first—before we tried anything else. It would explode high in the air—explode softly—and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth—boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn’t go cheap, either—not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination instead of death.

I close my eyes and picture this and try not to think of the real world alternatives. My mind goes to images of children with missing limbs from landminds. I remember Paul Farmer sharing a story last year about  two children playing in a field. One of them saw a toy on the ground and leaned down to pick it up. The toy was a grenade (manufactured to look like a toy to attract attention) and the explosion threw the two kids back. They arrived at PF’s hospital battered and in great pain. The boy lost his arm. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone’s creativity leads them to produce a bomb disguised as a child’s toy, but it’s reality. Which leads me to end with another Robert Fulghum quote,

The line between good and evil, hope and despair, does not divide the world between “us” and “them”.  It runs down the middle of every one of us.  I do not want to talk about what you understand about this world.  I want to know what you will do about it.  I do not want to know what you hope.  I want to know what you will work for.  I do not want your sympathy for the needs of humanity.  I want your muscle.  As the wagon driver said when they came to a long hard hill,  “Them that’s going on with us, get out and push.  Them that ain’t, get out of the way.”

show me the world

I made this one while listening to the Jon Foreman song “Behind Your Eyes”. It’s my first photoshop creation, and a little dramatic with the skeletons praying the corner.

just playing around

ken-ya believe it?

Last weekend I had some friends up to celebrate my birthday. I’m twenty. Crazy!! I have the best friends in the world, and we had so much fun. I’ll expand on this update later, I promise!

my girls!

jimmy and i

At the age of twelve, he fled attacking rebels and wandered a land rendered unrecognizable by violence. By thirteen, he’d been picked up by the government army, and Beah, at heart a gentle boy, found that he was capable of truly terrible acts. Eventually released by the army and sent to a UNICEF rehabilitation center, he struggled to regain his humanity and to reenter the world of civilians, who viewed him with fear and suspicion. This is, at last, a story of redemption and hope.

New York City, 1998

My high school friends have begun to suspect I haven’t told them the full story of my life.

“Why did you leave Sierra Leone?”

“Because there is a war.”

“Did you witness some of the fighting?”

“Everyone in the country did.”

“You mean you saw people running around with guns and shooting each other?”

“Yes, all the time.”

“Cool.”

I smile a little.

“You should tell us about it sometime.”

“Yes, sometime.”

Ishmael Beah

This is how wars are fought now: by children, traumatized, hopped-up on drugs and wielding AK-47s. Children have become the soldiers of choice. In the more than fifty conflicts going on worldwide, it is estimated that there are some 300,000 child soldiers. Ishmael Beah used to be one of them.

What does war look like through the eyes of a child soldier? How does one become a killer? How does one stop? Child soldiers have been profiled by journalists, and novelists have struggled to imagine their lives. But it is rare to find a first-person account from someone who endured this hell and survived.

In A LONG WAY GONE: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, Beah, now twenty-six years old, tells a powerfully gripping story: At the age of twelve, he fled attacking rebels and wandered a land rendered unrecognizable by violence. By thirteen, he’d been picked up by the government army, and Beah, at heart a gentle boy, found that he was capable of truly terrible acts. At sixteen, he was removed from fighting by UNICEF, and through the help of the staff at his rehabilitation center, he learned how to forgive himself, to regain his humanity, and, finally, to heal.

This is an extraordinary and mesmerizing account, told with real literary force and heartbreaking honesty.

- Click here for more. Or click the picture for the nytimes article.

“the depth of your white privilege is astounding.  a poor black neighborhood is not a zoo or an art exhibit for suburban white kids.  you are taking up space that should go to someone who actually lives in that neighborhood and lacks the economic privilege to move away to a better neighborhood.  this is how gentrification gets started.

i don’t even know what else to say, i’m just floored by how patronizing this is and so uncomfortable i can no longer even look at this.  ugh.” – Kaya

My reply,

Please let me explain. I think you have the wrong impression from reading my update about the South Bronx. I agree, the depth of my white privilege IS astounding, and I don’t like it and it makes me feel physically sick. A black neighborhood is not a zoo nor an art exhibit. We are not treating it as such in ANY way. As of right now, I am not living there, but the girls who are living there have goals that have nothing to do with self-gain, or some sort of school project. They are living there because they are appalled at the differences in socio-economic living situations in the United States. They want to change things. What is a better way to change something than working from the heart of it? They have made incredible friendships from living there. One girl spends her days tutoring at schools in the area and she runs a non-profit connecting other college kids to Mott Haven students for tutoring. Another one works there as a teacher! Kids from the buildings around the apartment come and get help on their homework. What is so wrong about this? Taking it to a deeper level, they are trying to follow Jesus’s instruction to love their neighbors as themselves. They are not religious nutcases moving in trying to convert people. They are just living and loving people who think they have been “forgotten about” by the system, and the rest of the world (quoting a woman I met on the street).

I, personally, am still just a student. I am trying to learn everything I can. That’s why I want to live in the area- so that I can understand the problems on a deeper level to eventually change things. I want to put my white privileged education to good use. I’ve met some really cool people that I would otherwise never have met. I am not living there because it’s cheaper, nor because I’m fascinated by the people, and certainly not because I want to start to kick people who “deserve” to live there out (as you implied with gentrification. No one deserves to live there anyway.) I’m sorry if that was not clear enough in my entry.

I’m confused at the statement that I will be “taking up space that should go to someone who actually lives in that neighborhood.” Please explain more. I am not living in low-cost housing nor am I mooching off the welfare system. I do come from a very wealthy area, but why do you condemn me for wanting to move away from excess wealth? The situation in the South Bronx is a crisis. When New Orleans needed help (as I know it still does), volunteers went down to help people clean up. Some left “better” areas to move there to devote more time to helping. The same goes for many other places around the world. What is so wrong about people loving other people? Because when it comes down to it… that is really the ONLY goal.

May I ask where you are from and what your background is? Do you know the area? I am taking your comment very seriously and want to understand more. Thank you.

- Julia

I am eagerly awaiting her response, but none has come yet. I have re-read over the entry and do not find anything patronizing about it. In fact, I make it very clear that my goal is to treat the people with dignity and respect, become friends with them, and understand the situation from the inside. I wrote, “Who am I to help these people? I have NO idea what they really need or what I have to offer. Sure, I can do the things like tutor, or serve at a soup kitchen, but there’s no way to know about the long-term effects of said help without joining the people and becoming one of them.”

I also described the house very clearly as, “We want our house to be a hospitality house full of love… We want to know our neighbors and just become part of the community on Beekman Ave. We want to treat the people with respect and worth. I’m hoping we will have kids over for game nights and tutoring nights, and friends from the neighborhood over for dinner. One room, the hang out room, is full of games and books. People can bring a book in exchange for another (obviously people who don’t have books can just take one). And already, we are putting together a closet with our friends extra clothes and toys.”

I am trying to understand how this is patronizing. Please help me if you read this. When she implies that we are treating the people as zoo animals, is it because of my writing? I recorded some of my experience that day almost word for word. It’s just how my day went. Yes, I throw in some opinions and feelings that are certainly from an outsider’s point of view (the view of a white woman from a wealthy area), but that’s because I think they are important. Some of them I might not be proud of. In a few years, I might look back and laugh at how ignorant I am right now. It’s all part of the learning process on this journey of mine. A journey where few people go. I think a lot in my life will be learned through trial and error because there isn’t a “how-to” for many of the things I want to do (trust me, I’ve looked!). This move (that as of right now I am not taking anyway) might be an error, but I don’t think it is.

Anyway. Why I’m not actually living there. (This is long over-due). I love the girls who are living there very much. Our vision for the apartment was very much the same, but I stopped feeling comfortable with my decision to live there. Not safety wise- just if that’s where I’m supposed to be. I lost the peace (but not the excitement) of living there, and did not want to follow through with something that didn’t feel right. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it ended with two weeks of hard-core prayer and contemplation. And maybe a few fights with God. I don’t understand why I felt so sure about living there (I hadn’t made the decision lightly the first time) for so many months. Then, all of a sudden, thing’s felt very different. Something wasn’t right about it. I yelled at God, “God, I am trying to do what You want me to do. I am trying to spread Your love. This was all for YOU. I thought this was what you wanted!! Why would You take it away now before I’ve even started!!!” After a few sleepless nights, I stopped talking and just started listening. All I could hear was just trust me. So, I still don’t understand it all. What good could come out of living at home? I’m away from my friends. Not living in the South Bronx- ah, my year just looks entirely different. I will update on how it’s going in another entry though.

Right now I want to ask you what you think of all of this. I still don’t think anyone reads this, but if you are reading- please leave a little comment about everything you’ve read. Thank you.

By Paulo Coelho

“I am willing to give up everything”, said the prince to the master. “Please accept me as your disciple.”

“How does a man choose his path?” asked the master.

“Through sacrifice,” answered the prince. “A path which demands sacrifice, is a true path.”

The master bumped into some shelves. A precious vase fell, and the prince threw himself down in order to grab hold of it. He fell badly and broke his arm, but managed to save the vase.

“What is the greater sacrifice: to watch the vase smash, or break one’s arm in order to save it?” asked the master.

“I do not know,” said the prince.

“Then how can you guide your choice for sacrifice? The true path is chosen by our ability to love it, not to suffer for it.”

People are unreasonable, illogical and self-centered.
Love them anyway!
If you do good, people will accuse you
of selfish, ulterior motives.
Do good anyway!
If you are successful, you will win
false friends and enemies.
Succeed anyway!
The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway!
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway!
What you spend years building may be
destroyed overnight.
Build anyway!
People really need help
but may attack you if you help them.
Help them anyway!
Give the world the best you have
and you’ll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you’ve got anyway!

Written by: Mother Teresa

On Mott Haven, Bronx, NYC, New York, United States, America

When you enter the subway in Manhattan, you are in the seventh richest congressional district in the nation. When you leave, you are in the poorest (3). One woman’s reflections: “There are pockets of hell in our inner cities, and that even as an entire sector of America is condemned to burn in them, we insist on looking the other way.” Mott Haven is stuck in poverty. Most of the housing is low income housing the government sticks poor people in to get them out of Manhattan. Originally, I think it was supposed to be a temporary fix, but they’ve been here for years. With poverty and lack of education comes the crime of robberies, jumping’s, shootings, and drugs.

“It’s not like, ‘Well, these babies just aren’t dying fast enough. Let’s figure our a way to kill some more.’ It’s not like that at all. It’s like—I don’t know how to say this…” She holds a Styrofoam cup in her hand and turns it slowly for a moment. “If you weave enough bad things into the fibers of a person’s life—sickness and filth, old mattresses and other junk thrown in the streets and other ugly ruined things, and ruined people, a prison here, a sewage there, drug dealers here, the homeless people over there, then give us the very worst schools anyone could think of, hospitals that keep you waiting for ten hours, police that don’t show up when someone’s dying, take the train that’s underneath the street in the good neighborhoods and put it up above where it shuts out the sun, you can guess that life will not be very nice and children will not have much sense of being glad of who they are. Sometimes it feels like we’ve been buried six feet under their perceptions.” (p. 39)

My first full day in the South Bronx…

Denny, a tall strong friend, who could be mistaken for Puerto Rican with his Indian skin, keeps me company for the day. He is one of the many friends worried about four white girls living in the south bronx, in the worst police precinct, in New York. We get off the subway at Brooke Avenue, and walk up to 139^th street. We stand for a few minutes, just taking in the sunlight and activity.

“Welcome home.” I look up at him and smile, and he looks back at me with a face stuck between a grimace and a smile. As we walk, I point out that there are no white or Indian people in sight. Finding a person who is neither black nor Hispanic becomes a game neither of us win. We pass an elderly man, tall and big wearing shorts and white socks rolled all the way up. He carries a bright pink backpack and is moving slightly to the beat from his headphones. We keep walking.

We stop two over-weight policewomen walking down the street to ask the location of the police station. The women are clearly curious as to how we got so lost that we ended up on “this” side of town. The woman on the right smiles and says, “Just one block up and two avenues over, on the corner of 138^th and Alexander. You’ll see it.” After pointing us in the right direction, they leave us and continue their stroll. We follow them before cutting over at the school on Willis Avenue. Before we arrive at 138^th and Alexander, we see the police cars parked along the street and know we must be getting close. It’s a busy cross road, but a woman in beat-up green car stops to let us all cross. The light is green for her, and there’s a big red hand telling us not to walk, but she waves us across anyway. Denny pulls open the big double doors and we walk into the police station.

The police station for Precinct 40 is a happening place. We wait at the huge sign five feet from the door that says:

UPON ENTRY, STATE YOUR BUSINESS HERE.

There are two women in front of us and a few people waiting over to the right. There’s a young man and a pretty woman behind the desk. When it’s our turn, we tell them the address and ask about the neighborhood. The man looks at the woman and looks back and says, “It’s a pretty rough block.” Denny and I nod. I hesitate, but Denny doesn’t, and he tries to get him to say more. “Can you give us any more information on the safety there? You know- what precautions they should take. Will they be targeted because they are four white girls living in a predominantly black and Puerto Rican neighborhood?” I continue, and ask specifically about how worried we should be about someone breaking in, murder, rape, and the gang situation. The policeman shrugs and tries again, “Well, it’s a really rough block. Me telling you that is a lot. Take every precaution you can. Don’t be stupid and use common sense. Be careful.” But I want more, so I push harder. It seems like he’s holding a lot back. “Listen, all I can tell you if you want the honest truth is that it’s one of the worst streets in our precinct. Our precinct stretches from (insert here) and Beekman Ave. is one of the worst blocks. It isn’t suburbia.” I look to the pretty woman and ask if she has anything to add about ways to stay safe. She smiles and apologizes and says she just moved there. I laugh and ask if she’s just using that as an easy way out. She laughs too, but looks at me and says “maybe. I heard there was a homicide or stabbing or something there a few days ago. That’s all I know.”

We walk out the front doors. I’m frustrated. I feel like they haven’t told us anything. I complain to Denny that we just wasted our time. Denny stops a man and woman just getting into their cruiser and asks if he can have a minute of their time. The older man ignores him, climbs in and buckles his seat belt, but the woman gets back out of the car and asks what’s up. We tell her the situation and explain how we are worried about moving in on Beekman Ave and we want the honest truth about the area and advice we can give them on how to stay safe.

“Which side of Beekman are we talking about?” I tell her the apartment is at 321 Beekman right at the corner of 141^st and Beekman. She nodes, “Yep, that’s the bad corner. I’ve been here for eighteen years, and that side of Beekman has given us a lot of trouble. The area is picking up though. Things were definitely a lot worse when I first started here. In the past twenty years we’ve been doing a lot of work to clean up the area and most of the gang leaders who control the drug trade have been arrested. But there are still problems. Right now, we have someone there around the clock because of the shooting a few days ago.”

I ask about safety measures, and she decided we should definitely talk to the officers in charge of community affairs- Mira or Cortez. She leans down and asks her partner if they are in the station. He thinks so, so we run back inside. Someone tells us Cortez was the man walking by us as we walk in, so we run back out to catch him before he goes for lunch. We can’t find him anywhere. We come back inside and ask for Mira. After waiting for a few minutes, a young, really pretty woman comes over and asks how she can help us. I share with her the situation and she looks at us and just shakes her head. I ask her to please not hold anything back.

“Honestly, I would tell my friends to stay away from there. I’m not going to tell you not to move there, but I will tell you that it’s a dangerous block. Which side are you on?” Again I tell her our exact location and she shakes her head some more. “We’ve had a lot of trouble with that corner.” We just did a sweep though and kicked out 60 people with felonies that had drugs in their place from the housing projects. So that’s good. You know, always be aware and careful. Don’t go out at night. Always use the buddy system. Be careful going in and out of your door. Look outside if you can before going out to see what’s up. It’s good that you have your own apartment and are not in a building. I don’t know what else I can tell you. Call us if you have any problems. We patrol the area, but we don’t see everything.”

I ask if I should carry pepper spray with me when I’m walking around. She shrugs and says, “Well I understand if you decide to, but I can’t tell you to.” I asked her why not and she looks at me and laughs and explains, “it’s illegal!!!” Denny and I start laughing and thank her for her time. She wishes us luck.

We walk to 321 Beekman and I give him a quick tour of the place. We lock it back up and go for a walk to St. Mary’s park. We pass a few people on the way. It’s not yet three o’clock and there aren’t many kids sitting outside. A few old men sit by the corner store chatting and nod at us as we walk by. Before getting to the end of Beekman Ave. the shouts of young children can be heard drifting over from the playground. Their sounds make me walk a little faster. When I turn the corner, I see little children with their mothers running around. Their laughter and squeals energize me and I climb up to the highest peak in the park and look out. I feel like Simba from the Lion King standing atop Pride Rock and remember the line of advice from Simba’s father, “being brave does not mean you go out looking for trouble.”

Denny climbs a little slower and stands back a ways. I always forget he’s scared of heights, but I’m not budging. The view is too beautiful.

Two kids go by on bikes. They are clearly racing, and we make sure to stay out of their way. Over to the right, there’s a pipe pointed up that sprays water everywhere. While the mothers watch from a distance, the kids run around and get totally soaked. To my left, I can still see Beekman Ave. It’s such a short block, I can’t stop the chills when I think of how many people have died on the street.

We continue on our walk around and pass a quarter jogging track. Inside, there are young men on the work out equipment doing push-ups and throwing a ball around.

That brings me to the gangs…

I’m looking out for the colors I now know symbolize different gangs. The Bloods started in Los Angeles in the 1960’s and focused mainly on neighborhood protection and opposing their rivals the Crips. A founding Blood member, Omar Portee, started the gaing for the purpose of “brothers getting together, people getting together, fighting oppression.” The original intent was not to create trouble, but now the gang deals in murder, conspiracy, credit card fraud, extortion, prostitution, and drugs. In 1993, the Bloods started up on the east coast and now control most of the prisons in New York. There are hundreds of factions of the Bloods. One of which is the “Treyside Bloods” named after the 300 side of Beekman Avenue where they operate their drug network. In 2005, 28 members of the “Treyside Bloods” were indicted.

Our apartment is located at 321 Beekman, so we are most definitely on the “300” side. Everyone keeps asking (as a joke) if I’ve chosen a gang to align myself with- the crips or the bloods. I haven’t, of course, and I hope we don’t have to. But when I look out my window the Treyside Bloods are the ones who control our end of the block.

The Wild Cowboys also dominated our block for a long time in the 90’s. In one sweep everyone was arrested from the top leaders to the lookouts. The gang went to trial for 30 grisly murders (think disembowelment and torture). They held a seven-year reign of terror over Mott Haven, and their headquarters at 348 Beekman Ave. made $16 million a year in drug trafficking.

But that’s all history. More recently (2005), 600 police officers, F.B.I. agents and other investigators fanned out across the Diego-Beekman housing complexes and dismantled 12 violent drug gangs. Almost a hundred people were arrested that year. Good stuff.

So what do we hope to accomplish.

We want our house to be a hospitality house full of love in this place of such corruption and death (not necessarily dead people, but just dead futures for too many). We want to know our neighbors and just  become part of the community on Beekman Ave. We want to treat the people with respect and worth. I’m hoping we will have kids over for game nights and tutoring nights, and friends from the neighborhood over for dinner. One room, the hang out room, is full of games and books. People can bring a book in exchange for another (obviously people who don’t have books can just take one). And already, we are putting together a closet with our friends extra clothes and toys. I made the point that we shouldn’t just be handing out stuff (because I’ve seen how that can go wrong), but let’s say we have our neighbor over for tea and she’s sad that she can’t buy her daughter a sweater and it’s getting cold, that’s when we would be like, “well, I have some of my sister’s clothes that she’s outgrown, maybe they would fit your daughter.”

Please pray

I want to be a part of this community so badly but I don’t know if it’s the right thing for me right now. It’s my dream to live in a place like this, but i don’t feel at peace with the decision to live there. I am having trouble putting my finger on why. I don’t know if it’s the danger that’s scaring me, or that my parents don’t want me living there, or that it’s just where i’m supposed to be right now, but it’s really frustrating. I’ve moved all my stuff in, and right now the plan is to hang around a lot, maybe sleep there a few nights, and get a better feel for the neighborhood, and everything. Tomorrow I’m going to church at Promiseland, a few blocks away from us. Pray that I can figure out what I’m supposed to do.

“I don’t think of it as working for world peace. I think of it as just trying to get along in a really big strange family.”

“Justice at its best is love correcting all that stands against love.” – MLK Jr.

On Me…

Many years ago I figured out where I am happiest. It’s Africa. I don’t know if it will always be Africa, but right now it’s Africa. This summer’s experience in Kenya reinforced what I knew to be true but did not want to believe. I had to return home to learn more before committing fully to a life of service abroad. I know I have more to learn before I can go back. I want to accomplish the most that I can in this short life.

As George Bernard Shaw said, “This is the true joy in life … being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one … being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy … I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. For the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It’s a sort of splendid torch which I’ve got to hold up for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing on to future generations.”

A year ago, I figured out where I want to live while I’m in the US preparing to go elsewhere. I believe we are all made to live in fellowship and close communion with each other and we ARE our brother’s keepers. What does that mean? Well, according to Jesus it means that we are supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves. Except it’s more than that too, it’s putting others needs and desires before my own. Always thinking about what is in the best interest of others- even at my own expense. So that’s what I’m trying to do with my life. I know it sounds difficult, but sit for a second and think of how different the world would be if everyone loved everyone and everyone put everyone else’s best interest first. Wow. What would that look like, and would it even work? That’s what I want to find out.

How does this translate into every day things? Well, if I want food to eat, I have to be just as concerned that all my neighbors have food too. Or shelter, a good education, safety, loving relationships, you name it. Some people think a neighbor is someone living next door, or in the neighborhood, or even in the country. I like to think of the world as one place, and the human population as one big family where we are all brothers and sisters just trying to get along.

So, I figured I’d go to the poorest area I could find. Well, with three friends, I found it! Mott Haven, located in the South Bronx, is less than 20 miles from my home in Rye, New York. More than 50% live below the poverty line. More than 35% of them are children. The idea was to move in, live very simply, make many friends, really get to know the people and become a part of the community, all while going to school. Why? We can accomplish more that way. By living in the community, and becoming part of the community, we aren’t just coming in and saying, “ok, here I am, let me help!” and then packing up and leaving a few hours, days, or weeks later. Who am I to help these people? I have NO idea what they really need or what I have to offer. Sure, I can do the things like tutor, or serve at a soup kitchen, but there’s no way to know about the long-term effects of said help without joining the people and becoming one of them.

Here are some examples from around the world to illustrate what I mean. In the winter of 2002, I handed out Christmas gifts to the children living in the garbage dumps of Mexico. These kids live in cardboard boxes or abandoned cars, and live on what they can salvage of other people’s trash. So, I go and hand out whatever I have to give them- little toys and food. The kids and the mothers are thrilled. They give us hugs while murmuring “gracias” over and over again with tears in their eyes. Sounds great, right? Wrong- really wrong. The 500 toys we handed out that Christmas had a negative effect on the community as a whole. While the kids went to bed happy that night, the father’s (the providers for the family) lost respect in the eyes of the children. We stepped in, took the father’s place, and gave the family’s more than the father’s could- thus usurping them of the power and respect father’s need to raise a family. There was an easier way we could’ve done this, and a better way for the community as a whole. The next year, the Christmas toys were kept at the community center, and a few nights before Christmas, the father’s came, bought their children Christmas gifts (for a very low price), wrapped the gifts themselves, and then gave them to their kids Christmas morning. Problem solved. Because Tim lives there all the time, he could see the effects of our “help” and make changes accordingly.

Very few people need hand outs- people need hands! Many times, handouts just reinforce the cycle of poverty and the power divisions between the haves and the have-not’s.

One missionary friend brings me stories from Honduras where do-gooders come in with toothbrushes and pens and pencils to build a school building. They hand out their gifts to the children; take lots of pictures, and leave. The long-term missionaries are left fixing the wreckage left behind. The next day kids whack each other with their new gifts and fight over them. The children who did not get any are upset and mad that God has been so unfair. Next time visitors come, the kids ask for more. If the new visitors are unprepared to give out gifts, the kids ask, “What’s wrong? Do you not love us? The visitors before gave us gifts.” If a mission team builds a long-term relationship with people, they must be careful NOT to reinforce a cycle of have and have-nots.

In Kenya, the kids on the side of the road have gotten so used to receiving sweets from visitors. Whenever you walk by, hundreds of kids run out screaming, “sweets, sweets, sweets please!” I look and smile and shake my head and keep walking.

What I’d like to do is live in one community for a few years before tackling social problems that right now, I am only beginning to understand (poverty, welfare, drugs, gang warfare, school drop-out rates, health issues, etc.). In the meantime, I just want to learn, learn, learn, and learn some more! And love all the people I meet.

Jillian, who is a total saint, spent the summer finding the perfect place. Our apartment is located at Beekman Avenue at 141^st street. Beekman’s notorious for being one of the deadliest and most dangerous streets in the city- and it’s a very short block! In the past few days I’ve spent time walking around and getting to know the people. The next entry will contain what I’ve learned from my conversations, observations, and the book “Amazing Grace” by Jonathan Kozol.

Because we are only here for a week this year, I put my computer and phone away. I’ve decided that this age of communication and technology is really incredible, but it’s dangerous! Yes, dangerous. And not because someone might post negative pictures of me or because someone could stalk my every move and murder me. Don’t get me wrong, I think the benefits of technology far out-weigh the negatives. The internet, social networking, cell phones and digital v/cameras connect people and information around the world. But, for over-users like me, it’s a distraction from life. My aunt Rosemary calls it “the sin of over-communication.” When I’m using my phone, I am too distracted to fully focus on the people around me! I might be in touch with more people at once through texts and facebook, but I’m never fully present.

Same thing goes for when I try to follow the news. This year, I started waking up early to give myself time to read through the New York Times and the Drudge Report. At first, I was so excited (and dare I say it, proud) to be up on all the current events around the world. I could spend all afternoon reading and not get anything productive done. I thought what I was doing was VERY productive. But, I could only read so many articles talking about the rising price of oil, the declining economy, political conflicts, natural disasters, diseases, and political speeches before things started sounding pretty repetitive. What’s the point of knowledge without action? Who cares if I know Mugabe or Kibaki’s most recent activities or the death toll from the Tsunami if I’m not acting on what I’m learning. I’ve decided that while the news is important, it takes a back-seat to my life and my dreams.

I love the idea of always being connected, but it’s too much. I have enjoyed spending time with my immediate and extended family and friends without my cell phone/computer/the news distracting me. When I get home, I am going to keep my cell phone on vibrate for emergencies, but I will only pick up/read and respond to texts when I am alone or it’s important. No more dinners or hanging-out conversations where I apologize while I look down to text someone back. I can imagine this might be really frustrating for someone trying to get in touch with me, but it’s just the way it’s going to be. If I don’t text back immediately, I’m not trying to be rude- I just am busy! You’ll have to leave a message and I will call you back when I have time- same thing goes for e-mail.

Anyway, I am SO sore from water-skiing and tubing down on the lake so today I visited the local bookstore. It’s nothing like Barnes & Noble, but there was still a good plethora of books to look at. I let myself wander over to the self-help section. You know, the area of the bookstore with titles like, “Ten Steps to a New You!” “Hottest Sex Positions” “Why Men Cheat” or “The Secret to Happiness.” I looked specifically for books about young women and men making a difference (with an eye out for anything on Africa). There were plenty of books about losing weight, thinking positively, and how to live a better life, but I certainly did not find what I was looking for. Where are the books about changing the world? Three of my favorite books ever are Mountains Beyond Mountains, Three Cups of Tea, and Infidel. But those three are all about older folks, and the other ones about teens are fictional (Angel of Mercy). Please recommend any books you can think of! Anyway, after looking around the bookstore for one such book, I am thinking I should write my own. Of course I’m not a writer, and I’ve never really taken any advanced writing classes- but I could try. Here’s what it could say on the back:
I am on a quest to save the world.
It’s an impossible quest.
But the journey is unlike anything else.
I am not alone.
There are many who have gone before me.
Many who are with me now.
And many will come after I die.
It’s a hell of a trip.

What are the goals?
There’s only one-
Love.

Does the quest sound hard?
It’s easier than you might think.

Join me?

Haha, does it sound like something you might want to read- or is it just totally corny? I want to share my experiences and the stories of those I’ve met. I don’t care so much how. I just want to bring attention to real people with real need and the importance of LOVE/God. It could be through writing, video, photography, or presentations. All four would be cool too. And I want to encourage other people to follow their dreams. Is there anything else more important?

My sister (age 10) just picked up a book- How to Win Friends and Influence People. She really does not need any help with either of those BUT she just looked at me and said, “Julia, did you know, people are most interested in themselves? Not other people. I don’t think you knew that. You always tell me to do the opposite. Well, the New York telephone company made a detailed study of telephone conversations to find out which word is the most frequently used. It is the personal pronoun- I, I, I. It was used 3,900 times in five hundred telephone conversations. Think about it, when you look at a picture, who is the first person you look for?” I looked at her and was like oh, hm… because I was busy writing. Then, I made her repeat the whole thing again. I told her that’s true, but that it’s possible, and more fulfilling to think about others first. Ohhhhh man…

When you judge someone else, you do not speak anything to who they are, but only speak volumes about yourself. (idk)

There ain’t no use in right or wrong, a heart must go where it belongs. – Thriving Ivory

It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another to think that yours is the only path. – Paulo Coelho

I can’t accept that there are people around the world suffering needlessly. That’s the keyword- needlessly. Suffering is inevitable. Pain happens. We hurt. But, people dying from lack of clean water? From a curable disease? This is unnecessary! And it’s impossible for me to accept that “that’s just the way it is.” But, what I find unacceptable others might not think twice about. In fact, they might even think about it, shrug and say “that’s just the way it is.” Whatever they do or do not do to help out their brothers and sisters around the world, it is not my place to judge. And really, I don’t. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and if we end up going the same way, it’s beautiful, and if not, that can be beautiful too.

A friend and I discussed this a few weeks ago in London, and I couldn’t express this right, but now I think I’ve got it. The conversation started from talking about whether or not gender inequality is wrong. She argued that I cannot say what is “right” or “wrong” for anyone else, only myself, and that gender inequality is often a cultural thing. I disagreed, giving an example of a man who rapes his three-year old daughter, then brings her to the hospital because she won’t stop bleeding, and he doesn’t see anything wrong with his actions. He considers his daughter his property. I do not hesitate to say that the man raping his daughter is wrong. She asked who gets to decide then what’s wrong and right? I said God. And she said, “And if not God, who for those who don’t believe in God?” I said, “I don’t know, I guess they let themselves decide… maybe society? But, society can be wrong. Even if a community or society thinks something is right, if it’s not, then they’re wrong.” Talk about confusing myself! Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I believe there is a God. I feel very strongly that there are right and wrong things in this world.

Love is good, hate is bad- but that in no way means that things are black and white or that people are either good or bad. What about the abused child who grows up to abuse? The hungry who steal food? The husband who “murders” his terminally ill, suffering wife? I’m getting off topic, but my point is just that things are never black and white, we live in a world of not only gray, but a world of color! When we are approached by the unknown, it’s human nature to feel afraid (unless we condition ourselves otherwise- which is definitely possible). We want to label and categorize things to help ourselves understand and know how to act.

By embracing it, we’re opening our minds and seeing more in life.

I’m not really sure how we finished our conversation, but, this was where I was getting confused. She asked who gave me the right to judge other people, and I’m not sure I had anything to say back. But now I do, I don’t judge others. I judge other people’s actions, and not the people. Therefore I do not hesitate to say when someone is doing something wrong because it is their action I am judging. Killing someone because of their race, gender, sexual orientation – whatever, is wrong. Abusing kids- wrong. Of course not everything is as clear- but some things are. It’s time we stand up and talk about what’s wrong with our world, because things are not right, and we need to change.

“I wasn’t conscious of overwhelming fear I was just conscious that I must do what they told me to do and I must remain calm and have my mind about me so I would know how to cut myself free and so that I could figure out how to save my husband.” – Eloise

Some of the Bergens children and grandchildren are flying to Nairobi to convince their loved ones to return to Canada. But the couple has already forgiven their attackers.

“Despite this terrifying ordeal, she and John have no plans to return home to Canada. This crisis has given her more strength to help those in need. “When I woke up this morning, I was picturing the time will come when John and I are physically well again,” Eloise said. “It’s in both of our hearts to go to the prison and tell them about our forgiveness.”

What makes two people, brutally attacked and left for dead, forgive? Only one thing. Love. God. Jesus. I know many who would call them crazy and stupid. I don’t. I think their stories are beautiful examples of God’s love. I pray that I will have the courage to make the same sacrifices. They will definitely be in my prayers as they recover and return to work.

I really enjoyed my time in London. When I booked my ticket, I found it cheaper if I stopped over in London for a few days before going home. Having never seen Europe, and with a best friend offering a place to stay, I booked a six day layover. I also hoped London would ease the pain of leaving Kenya. I’m not sure it did anything about the pain, but London DID give me a chance to rest and reflect before heading back to New York. I planned to dedicate my short time in London to hard core exploring, learning, and sightseeing. Instead, I spent more time in the parks watching the clouds and drawing flowers. Every minute was wonderful. One morning I decided there were some things I really DID want to see so I found a “music of london” tour that went to all the important places of famous musicians (namely the Beatles). But, I missed it. So I started out on my own walking tour with a few long reading breaks in various parks. I chose my direction at random depending on the beat of the song playing. I was pleasantly surprised to find that London’s a really small city and I ended up accidentally wandering into exactly where I wanted to be. Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Thames River, the old Shakespeare theatre, and more.

I’m missing Kenya, and I spent yesterday thinking about why I must go back. I’ve come to no conclusions, but I know it has everything to do with love. There’s love in the United States. I am surrounded by the love of my parents, my brothers, my sister, my friends, and my entire family. But it’s harder to find a different kind of love- the love of life. Every time I’ve returned home from a trip, I’ve told people about how these people have nothing, yet they are happier than my friends who have everything. But they are DYING, so how are they happy? Money does not bring always bring happiness. It’s not like that’s groundbreaking news to anyone. But can you have happiness with no money? I mean no money for food, shelter, clean water, or education.

Psychologists say poor people are happy because our happiness is a result of measuring our success to the success of those around us. In Westchester, there is no lack of very rich, successful people and everyone always has more “successful” people to compare themselves to. People are not happy. People certainly appear to be happy, because that’s part of the whole facade. People have three or four houses, memberships at multiple country clubs, more than a few cars, and outfits that could send a kid to the most expensive US colleges, but no love for life! Somewhere along the way we’ve lost it.

We are “slaves to luxury, to the appearance of luxury, to the appearance of the appearance of luxury. Slaves to a life not chosen, but which we have decided to live because someone has managed to convince us that it is all for the best. And so our identical days and nights pass, days and nights in which adventure is just a word in a book or an image on the television that is always on, and whenever a door opens, we say: ‘I’m not interested. I’m not in the mood.’ How could we possibly know if they we are in the mood or not if we have never tried? But there was no point in asking; the truth is we are afraid of any change that would upset the world we have grown used to… I know that freedom has a high price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears.” (The Zahir, 10)

That’s from a book I’m reading right now by Paulo Coelho. He brings up the question of happiness, and can we ever find true happiness. I agree with his thinking that the only way to achieve happiness is by fully embracing the divine energy that is Love. This leads to joy- which is a kind of happiness so pure that it withstands tragedy and sadness. But, it’s not easy, and it’s really not easy in New York. We are so busy and distracted from the simple things. It takes a consistent effort to remember to relax and enjoy life every day. It’s so difficult to remember to thank God for the gift of life every single day we wake up. If you haven’t stopped reading yet, I apologize, but I’m going to keep going.

My experience in Kenya was in no way an easy one. The things I saw on a daily basis were heartbreaking and frustrating. But, while I was there, I felt such a peace. I lived in the moment- I celebrated the moment, and I never took a minute for granted. Spending a few hours every evening in the hospital made me constantly aware of my brothers and sisters dying around me. While I was in a place where death is REAL and present (it’s real for everyone in the world but in the Western World we have ways of delaying it, hiding it, and forgetting about it), my life has meaning. I joined an amazing team of people who work every day so that others may have basic needs for survival and that makes me live, really live. I mean, loving every minute, every second of every day. There’s no room for sadness, doubts, nothing; there’s just a great love for life. “It’s as if there was a divine light shining in the midst of that worst of all possible situations. Fear exists before and after, but not while you are living it. You see men at their very limit, capable of the most heroic of actions and the most inhumane. The world has meaning. Total power or sacrificing themselves for a cause gives meaning to their life. They are capable of limitless love, because they no longer have anything to lose. We’re always at war with death, and we know that death will win in the end. In armed conflicts or developing countries, this is simply more obvious, but the same thing happens in daily life. We can’t allow ourselves the luxury of being unhappy all the time. Pure, absolute love must flow through our bodies and spread around us. The love of God manifested – is shown through a man loving his neighbor or one sacrificing his or her life for another. If a man or woman loves his or her neighbour, he or she will love himself or herself. If he loves himself, then everything returns to its proper place. History changes. “

I have so much more to say, but it will have to wait. All quotes are from Paulo Coelho!

“It is the pleasure of searching and the pleasure of the adventure. You are nourishing something that’s very important-your dreams. We must never stop dreaming. Dreams provide nourishment for the soul, just as a meal does for the body. Many times in our lives we see our dreams shattered and our desires frustrated, but we have to continue dreaming. If we don’t, our soul dies… …The Good fight is the one we fight because our heart asks it of us… …The Good fight is the one that’s fought in the name of our dreams. When we’re young our dreams first explode inside us with all of their force, we are very courageous, but we haven’t yet learned how to fight. With great effort, we learn how to fight, but by then we no longer have the courage to go into combat. So we turn against ourselves and do battle within. We become our own worst enemy. We say that our dreams were childish, or too difficult to realize, or the result of our not having known enough about life. We kill our dreams because we are afraid to fight the good fight.

The first symptom of the process of killing our dreams is lack of time… The Busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The Truth is, they are afraid to fight the good fight…

The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what’s important is only that they are fighting the good fight.

And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams-we have refused to fight the good fight. When we renounce our dreams and find peace, we go through a period of tranquility. But the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being. We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves…What we sought to avoid in combat-disappointment and defeat-came upon us because of our cowardice. And one day, the dead, spoiled dreams make it difficult to breath, and we actually seek death. It’s death that frees us from out certainties, from our work, and from that terrible peace of Sunday afternoons.” The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho P. 58

Song: Colin Hay – Waiting for my real life to begin

Finding Chelsea wasn’t too hard. I wrongly assumed I’d get a chance to check the internet for an e-mail or fb message with the address on it. Even at the airport the internet wouldn’t work down in the security/baggage claim. So, I grabbed all my stuff and headed down to the tube. I looked at the  map to figure out how to get to Brixton. Carrying all my stuff was the hard part- and definitely a reason to get luggage with wheels!! I arrived in Brixton and asked for my way to the nearest internet cafe. The man behind the desk laughed when I walked in (I mean it’s definitely at least 60-70 pounds of stuff). I found a phone and called her cell phone, and sent an e-mail home telling my mom I’d arrived safely. She and Molly were two streets down and found me pretty quickly

I will definitely be updating some more when I get home. Just reflections. I’m looking forward to seeing my family, but, I did not want to leave Kenya. That’s usually true anywhere I go, but this time it was a different feeling. This time, I realized I could stay.