Yεbεhyia Bio?

It seems like such a long time ago that I’ve written something about my life today, rather than events that happened weeks previously. If I remember correctly, it was right before I left for Sri Lanka in May that I had last written in the present tense. I suppose I could’ve written about everything else that transpired this past summer, other trips, but most importantly, that time I hung out with Oprah and Mariah Carey at the after party of Lee Daniels’ The Butler’s premiere in NYC, but I don’t need to spend paragraphs detailing how obviously perfect that was. And I guess interning at the State Department this semester is pretty cool. Right? That’s about the pinnacle of every DC student’s dream who’s studying International Affairs/Development.

Since then it’s just been the usual repetition, the familiar blurred days that make up my time  at school. Somehow it’s now the end of October, more than halfway through my second-to-last semester as an undergrad, and I feel like I’m no closer to figuring myself out then I was when I first arrived here. Looks like I’m about 7 months away from becoming part of that unfortunate statistic of graduates who have no clue what they’re going to do next! Such a comforting thought.

But I think I’ve strayed from the point of this post long enough. I am going back to Ghana.

As of this past Sunday evening, I am officially returning to Ghana almost exactly one year after I left, from December 16 to January 6. For those of you who are surprised, who are thinking, “Wow, that’s sudden! What a wack job!” well, you’re basically right. This is extremely sudden. The lag time between deciding this is something I really think I should do and purchasing the plane tickets was about 2 days. I’m really not sure when I became this person who makes massive life choices within a 48 hour period. Or maybe there was just this understanding, this feeling ever since leaving that I had to go back, that made this not that hard to decide.

I could have gone back last summer. I thought about it briefly, before ultimately deciding on Sri Lanka. But I think at that point I might not have been ready, there hadn’t been enough time and distance separating those 140 days yet. I have never been the “returning” type of person. When it comes to endings, endings that are really significant, I tend to want to push it back as far into my mind as it can possibly go, otherwise I’d just end up constantly thinking about it, I would always wish to be somewhere else. I seek out new experiences, new travels as a way to shovel those memories down further, I guess as some self-preservation mechanism. The fact is, leaving Ghana was hard. It was really, really, hard. For those first few months after being home, I really couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to be back there, back at Beacon House and back to a life that left me filled with more purpose than I had ever felt before.

I feel like since I left, since I said those goodbyes, since I heard that final, “Mattee, don’t go,” from Prince, that I’ve just been stuck. Stagnant. There was an incredible rise in vitality during those 6 weeks in Sri Lanka, a jump-start that I desperately needed. Somehow leaving there was worse, and I’ve been trying to figure out why that was the case, why those 6 weeks seemed to have left more of an impact than those 4.5 months in Ghana. And the conclusion that I since came to is that when I came home that day, when I had time to look ahead to this year, all I could think about was the uncertainty and fear that comes with arriving at your final year of college. I think as I was leaving I had thoughts of, “This is it. This is probably the last time I’m going to be able to do something like this before real life comes and removes these possibilities.”

Something must have happened this month to change my outlook, to make me at least want to see things differently. Sometime over this semester I decided that I no longer want to see endings as definite, that some endings really don’t have to be. There are so many times in life when endings are just that, with zero chance to go back. Ghana doesn’t have to be one of those times. I have this opportunity now to step back into a period that brought actual happiness, happiness that was real and unbridled.

And why shouldn’t I take this opportunity? You only have one life to live, one life to fill with worth. Prince has been adopted, he is going home to Washington State soon. I have no idea if he’ll still be at Beacon House when I arrive there, but how wonderful will it be if that reunion can happen? Somehow that kid hasn’t forgotten me over this past year, apparently still referring to me as his brother. I have this chance now to show him and those that are still there that they do matter to me, that they are worth returning to. Maybe I shouldn’t have waited until now to go back, maybe I lost my chance of seeing Prince again. But maybe not. And if he is no longer there, then that’s okay. That means he’s with his new family, a family that will give him the best shot at living a healthy, fulfilling life. And for those I came to know who are still there, I can spend 3 weeks reassuring them that they’re important.

This guy.

This guy.

I don’t really have a plan as of yet, no idea where I’m going to stay or anything. But I’ll figure it out. This is Ghana, after all. Finding a place to stay might take many misunderstanding-filled taxi rides and my poor bargaining skills might lose me out of a few cedis, but I’ll eventually manage to end up somewhere. I wish I could break out my Twi book to refresh myself on some phrases, but lawd knows where that book has since ended up. Probably in an Obruni Trap. I haven’t even begun thinking about everything besides Beacon House I’ll be able to experience again. Umm…those egg sandwiches? I don’t know if the Night Market remains open at the University of Ghana between semesters, but I will be booking it there on Day 1 to eat those $0.75 beauties. And jollof? Plantains? EXCITED. Honestly, there is so much to look forward to I can’t even concentrate on just one long enough to compile a mental list.

Again, this is still just a week of being a reality and there is so much that needs to happen before then, but having this to look forward to will probably be crucial through the rest of this semester. I’ll end by giving my thanks to my dad, who is somehow always willing to let me do these things. Even my mother, who would normally skoff at the idea of me being gone at a time when I could otherwise be home, and is never quick to approve of my travel decisions, seems to understand that this is something that I really need to do. And of course, there will be weekly updates, and none of this “waiting 2 months to share my stories” nonsense that unfortunately happened this summer.

I’m sure you’ll hear from me again before I leave. I’ll probably devote an entire post about how much I’m looking forward to drowning in my own sweat again. But if it results in the kids asking me once again why I’m crying, I’ll take it.

Can’t wait to see how many pounds I’ll sweat away in a three week period! And if The Lord is truly on my side those weeks, One Direction might be there as well.

Back to Normal

Hello! Did you miss me? What’s that? Not really?

I’m alright with that.

I’ve been home from Ghana for exactly one month and it already feels like the past 4.5 months happened to somebody else.  Memories are blurring and experiences seem like folklore that couldn’t have possibly happened to me. Like there’s no way that I willingly rode on the back of multiple motorcycles or hitchhiked or biked for 18 km through sand. On the equator. It can’t possibly be true that I went without bagels for 140 days and lost enough weight to justify being called “emaciated.” What? I was drunk one time? Blasphemy! I spent dozens of hours a week working with kids?! And they liked me?! And I liked them?! HA. I fell into a body of water? Oh. Okay. That I can believe.

So here I am, 30 days later, thrust back into my hectic DC lifestyle of countless hours in Starbucks, devoid of much human contact outside of work. Just the way I like it it’s been for the past 2.5 years. I hadn’t been in DC for over 8 months yet I’ve slipped seamlessly back into my old routines. Starbucks. Class. Work. Starbucks. Sleep. Repeat. I have a meal on occasion and I sometimes even interact with other humans, but that’s usually accidental or grudgingly. I also make sure to squeeze in some Maria Sharapova/Australian Open stalking time. Did anyone really expect that my social preferences or tendencies would be any different after coming home? Case in point: Within the first 2 minutes of being back to school I was described as “flustered” and “nervous.”

Back to normal.

The only remarkable thing about being home is probably how unremarkable my “normal” life is. Every day seemed like a spectacle when I was away and now I’m back and things are so repetitive and so completely uninteresting, and….well I guess if I really cared I could do something about that. I think part of me likes slipping by unnoticed again throughout my daily routine; in Ghana invisibility isn’t something that was easy to come by. Here everybody goes about their lives oblivious to those around them. No more stares, no more being honked at, no more being talked to by random people interested in me just because I’m a ridiculous-looking white boy. Of course I tend to have a few unfortunate encounters with strangers on the streets of DC/in Starbucks, but otherwise I’m back to blending in.

Then there’s the part of me that partially misses the attention. This may come as a surprise to none some of you, but people don’t tend to be interested in anything about me. A major part of that probably has to do with the apathy towards human interaction that just radiates from my being, but there really isn’t much about me that can be deemed intriguing. For those of you who feel that way, just spend some weeks in Africa and you just existing becomes interesting enough for those around you. So what if the major demographic of people who looked forward to seeing me were kids 10 and under? Anyone expressing interest in my company was refreshing, something I’m not likely to encounter again anytime soon.

I really miss the kids I worked with at Beacon House. The good thing about the constant busyness of my life now is that I can go days without thinking about them, without wondering if they’re doing well, if anyone else is close to being adopted, if any of them miss me. I keep myself busy and push these thoughts down and avoid looking at pictures and for a while this is effective. And then I get an email from my former boss telling me that Ben was sad one day and it was because he misses me. And then freakin Mama Irene posts on my Facebook wall in the middle of the night saying, “hi Matthew. greetings from Prince.” Seriously, Mama Irene? That’s not what I wanna see right now. I’m doing the best I can to not think about that kid, and you go and write that to me?!

Of course my attempts at keeping Prince and the others out of my mind isn’t successful for long. Despite my endless efforts of self-preservation that kid slips into my mind and once even in my dreams (we just rolled a ball together. It was wonderful), and everything floods back. I remember that his future is so uncertain and likely difficult, and the overwhelming dread that passes through me is exhausting. All I want for him and for the others is to remain as unburdened and excitable as they were when I left. I don’t want life to jade them the way it tends to, mostly for people (like me) whose lives aren’t anywhere near the level of misfortune that warrants it.

So that’s my Beacon House shpeal, the last one you’ll likely see from me. There’s too much ahead of me that I need to focus on, and maybe (shockingly) look forward to. I started my internship at the Wilson Center  this week, and I’m already wondering how long it’ll take for my co-workers to witness just how incapable I am at communicating. Good thing I’m in the Development office where interacting with people is pretty much all that goes on. I’ve got GW’s Inaugural Ball on Monday night, one of the rare times I’m looking forward to being fancy. I’m mostly just excited to see just how sloppy people will inevitably get. I’m still figuring out what my summer travel plans are, with a trip to Vancouver all that’s pretty much finalized. There’s a 6 week window of travel I’d like to fill with another Projects Abroad stint, and there’s a strong possibility that I may end up in Mongolia. We’ll see!

I completely forgot that I have videos that Ghanaian internet made impossible to upload, and I decided to share a couple that I have of Prince. Just because I don’t think pictures did him justice.

Epilogue: It Is Really Finished

About one week ago I landed in New York wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Why didn’t I change into jeans and put on a sweatshirt before I arrived, you ask? That answer boils down to me just not being all that intelligent. You can probably imagine what that switch from 90 degrees to 35 felt like; I’m trying to come up with something a bit more creative than “COLD! IT WAS SO BLOODY COLD!” but that’s really all I can come up with. Sorry, literary scholars! You’ll just have to give that Greatest Blog of All Time award to somebody else.

I’m going to take this time to offer some praise to British Airways. That airline is by far the classiest airline I’ve ever flown with. All the flight attendants were beautiful, a definite positive correlation to how British they were.  They also serve free wine with meals! My evident shock when I was asked which wine variety I preferred should have indicated to them that I’m underage; Then again, the hairiness of my head/face (lady at the hair salon described it as “so puffy!”) might have thrown them. Red wine in hand, I watched The Lion King for probably the first time in at least 12 years, and had roughly 4 emotional breakdowns. First when Simba was hoisted in the air on Pride Rock, then after Mufasa died, when Nala and Simba reunited, and finally when Simba spoke to Mufasa’s spirit in the stars. I was approaching Ugly Crying Danger Zone at that point.  I’d blame it on the wine, but 4 hours later I still had a substantial amount left over. Per usual.

As it came closer to my arrival, I began to feel increasingly nervous. I’m not sure if that’s a normal state to be in when coming home after 140 days, or if it’s just a side-effect of my general strangeness. Or maybe it was just anxiety over having to go back to my American life, so different from the easiness that comprised Ghana. When I got through customs/immigration, I had hoped to give myself a moment to mentally prepare myself for the crazed family bombardment I anticipated, but my family hasn’t been one to show restraint. Right on cue, I’m met with my mother, sister, and dog (my father knew better) charging at me and there was little I could do but roll over and accept the barrage of hugs and slobbery kisses (unfortunately not just from my dog). I was mercifully spared by a security guard who demanded that we “Take the dog and go!” Ahh…New York. I’ve missed you, buddy. This is what I dealt with when I got home:

...Welcome Home..

…Welcome Home..

Someone's happy to see me...

Someone’s happy to see me…

The next 24 hours consisted of countless exclamations of how much weight I’ve supposedly lost (comments ranged from “You’re so tiny!” to “You’re emaciated!” to “You look like an AIDS victim!”), and how massive my hair had become. Thus commenced Operation: Carbohydrate Binge. My mother armed herself with two bagels to throw at me at the airport (I only ate one of them. I’m not insane!), and an hour after my arrival I was shoving pizza down my throat. I basically ran to Dunkin’ Donuts afterwards to guzzle some hot chocolate, rested for a few hours, and gorged myself with baked ziti.  The next day was more of the same (more pizza!), ending with an IHOP/best friend reunion I’d been fantasizing thinking about for weeks. I got a haircut, commencing the first of probably many painful exchanges about being in Ghana. I predict I’ll be hearing a lot of “Ohhh…how interesting” which would be fine if Long Island accents didn’t sound so much like Lois Griffin.

Am I doing it right?

Am I doing it right?

Here’s a brief summary of various thoughts I’ve had since being home:

  • Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold.
  • Woah…so many white people.
  • Gross…Long Island white people.
  • Where are all the black people? Oh…This is Levittown/Wantagh.
  • Where are all the goats? Eh..I guess I’ve missed squirrels.
  • Why am I not being honked at while walking down the street?
  • Why am I not being stared at?
  • Cold.
  • Why does everyone here suck so much?
  • Ermagherd, hot showers!!
  • Damn, I just wanna buy some water in the middle of the road again.
  • Good God, the price of this meal could feed me for 4 days in Ghana.
  • Why am I not being invited to eat with everybody I come across?
  • Wow, menu items are never finished here!
  • Ermagherd, I’m not sweating profusely all day and night.
  • I MISSED YOU, SMARTPHONE TEXTING. photo
  • Oh no, I forgot to log out of Cloud. So many wasted cedis!! Oh wait. I don’t have to pay for internet anymore.
  • Why are all these babies in strollers and not on the backs of their mothers?!
  • God…I just want to be able to stay up past 10 PM and not wake up at 3:30 AM every morning.  Damn it, body.
  • Cold.

We’re told that reverse culture shock is inevitable, but I seem to be doing alright. Maybe it’s because this wasn’t my first time traveling alone outside America, or maybe readjusting to Long Island isn’t really all that complicated. The challenges might come when I return to Washington, D.C. and the hectic busyness that comprises my life there. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but life tends to not care if you’re ready or not for what comes next.

What comes next? One of the most terrifying thoughts, in my opinion. One of the many things I loved about my life in Ghana was that everything seemed clear, focused, purposeful. This clarity of purpose was refreshing; each day seemed important and the days that weren’t were just a fluke. I could look forward to the week ahead and the weeks after and know that I’d be doing something amazing, whether traveling to a new region of Ghana or jumping on a trampoline with the kids I “worked” with. I looked forward to each day in a way that I never really had before, or at least not for a long time.

That all this purpose and excitement and motivation can just come to an end so suddenly is terrible. That within the span of 24 hours I can switch from a life that was more fulfilling than I can remember to life here and all the uncertainty and all the stress that follows that uncertainty is overwhelming. There was a contentment that was foreign to me, an unexpected sense of calmness and belonging that came with my work at the orphanage. Through all the screaming and shouting and crying and laughter, I felt that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I think about how before coming to Beacon House I had never even held a baby or toddler and it’s hard not to laugh. I remember how terrified I felt that first day, and then hating myself when all I could think of was how similar it was to holding a puppy. For reasons that are beyond me, these kids liked me. They were happy when I came (they chanted my name, for God’s sake) and were disappointed when I left or at least couldn’t watch a movie with them. It was weird. It made zero sense to me. It was beautiful.

Prince. He’s who I worried most about when I left; That kid’s HIV Positive, bow-legged and has the largest head I’ve ever encountered, and the thought of me leaving causing him any sadness…well, it sucked. The rational part of me remembers that he’s just 2 (3? Still don’t know), that to him I was probably just another source of attention and entertainment that any Obruni can provide him with. It’s not like I really offered anything special other than a disproportionate amount of hugs compared to the other children. So I know he’ll be fine. My boss found the letter I left for him and put it in his file, and she told me that there’s potentially a family in Washington thinking of adopting him. That will be the luckiest family in America. If only every family interested in adopting could encounter in person the smiles, the laughs of these children.Prince

I’m not sure if I am different, if Ghana has “changed my life” as some are able to so easily say. I’ve spent a lot of time staring at myself in the mirror, marveling at the subtle changes to my appearance. My clothes no longer fit me, my hair is borderline-ginormous. My cheeks are not nearly as pinch-able as they should be. And I like it. As I was squeezing myself into a jeans size I haven’t fit into in probably 8 years, I decided that my physical appearance isn’t all that repulsive after all. It’s too soon to say how this change of perspective will manifest itself, if maybe some confidence will accompany it. It would be pretty groundbreaking if that were the case, but I won’t be holding my breath.

No, I doubt my physical alterations will be the legacy of these months in Ghana (considering all the pizza I’ve been consuming). I’m not going to sit around thinking about what exactly is different about myself, if anything is at all. I’ll let those differences come to me at their own pace. Some people seem to be able to just list off all that Ghana has changed about them, all that it’s opened their eyes to. Maybe they’re just more self-aware than I am or maybe it’s something else. Maybe I just don’t see change as instantaneous as some people might, but rather as a gradual process, a process that doesn’t start and end at one place. What I love most of all about travel is the exposure to different ways of life, ways that may be better than what I’ve been accustomed to. I’ll take what I love about Ghana—the friendliness and overwhelming generosity and zeal for life—wherever I end up next.

I’m already restless being home and having nothing really planned for the next few months, but hopefully that will change soon. There’s so much more to see, and when I figure out what comes next I’ll let you all know. Until then, happy holidays!

Yεbεhyia bio

“This White Woman Touched My Balloon!”

Week 12’s academic experience was about as thrilling as previous weeks.  However, I did learn that “moustache” in Twi is “mfemfem.” How adorable is that?!  Other than that, the main development of the week was learning that I’ll be presenting a group oral report on Ghanaian media a week earlier than expected (November 7), meaning I’ll have 2 weeks free for traveling before my first final exam.  Good thing we’re about 12% prepared for that presentation. Eh. (But seriously, uh oh).

My day at Beacon House on Thursday began once again with helping Ben work through a Ghanaian short story, one that was about as ridiculous as the last one about a slow-moving bus driver. This week’s featured 6 Ghanaian ladies traveling to a school to help teachers “work harder.”  Women teachers were taught subjects that had generally been instructed by men, like Math, Science…basically anything that isn’t home/baby-related.  Everyone was just ecstatic that women were taught how to “work harder.” Lord. If this story sounds ridiculous, take a look at what next week has in store:

Before lunch, and because I can’t go a day without something comical happening, I had to deal with removing a wild animal from the classroom.  This ordeal lasted for about 30 minutes (23 minutes longer than it probably should have lasted). The damn creature decided to hide in the corner of the classroom where all the 50+ pound rice bags were.  With the help of this beautiful Swiss lady, I hoisted away about  33% 66% of the bags before zeroing in on the target: a small moderately-sized lizard.

Look at this bastard

After almost shitting my pants when seeing how outrageously long the tail was, and after we she stopped hyperventilating, we armed ourselves with brooms and created a pathway for the little dude to escape outside through. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.  I just can’t resist hyperbole always sometimes.  The experience is pretty comparable to this video. Skip to about 1:52, or watch the entire thing because they’re British which means they’re perfect.

I made it back from lunch just in time to watch the conclusion of the original 1966 Batman film starring Adam West.  I had never seen this movie before, but after seeing the concluding fight scene, I think I will need to watch it about 12 more times. I’m not really sure what the purpose of the cat was, but I’m really glad he/she was an integral part of the scene. Bon voyage, pussy!

After the movie finished, and because the day evidently wasn’t jocular enough, I had to help blow up more balloons for the kids. Look. It’s wonderful that the simplest things like balloon sword fights can bring so much entertainment, but after everybody’s balloon eventually met its demise and with all the tears and demands for roughly 126 more balloons that followed, I was just not interested anymore. I decided to sadistically snatch some balloons just because I found their reactions to the slightest inkling of balloon thievery hilarious.

I can’t even with this kid

Is the loss of a balloon for maybe 4 seconds really worth screaming and bursting into tears over? Geesh. Anyway, the real thing to take away from this experience is the following complaint from 4 year old Michael to one of the house mothers: “This white woman touched my balloon!”

My life. On the bright side, I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that day for perhaps the first time in a decade. It was fantastic.

My sandal met its probable permanent demise on the way back to campus that evening. I guess for a $0.25 repair, I shouldn’t be too saddened that it only survived 5 more days.  Rest well, buddy. Maybe we’ll resuscitate you back in New York.

I couldn’t go to work Friday morning because we all had to attend a “lecture” on slavery to “prepare” us for our trip to Cape Coast to visit centuries-old castles where the slave trade was conducted for hundreds of years.  Once the lecturer began by uttering, “The Jews were enslaved by Egypt! Have you heard about that?” I knew my time was about to be wasted. Things deteriorated fairly quickly, culminating in him advising us to not let ourselves be emotionally affected by our visit to the slave castles. He honestly couldn’t understand how people, even those with ancestral connections to the slave trade, could get to the point of tears when walking through the dungeons and seeing the conditions slaves were subjected to.  I could physically feel how offended the entire room was. Pocahontas understands.

Later that afternoon, after acquiring a new pair of sandals by the mall that I struggled immensely expertly bargained down to $12.50, I received a knock on my door. I don’t know what possessed me to open it, but I’m really glad I did because 2 friendly people had come to talk to me! They told me they were just visiting rooms checking up on people, which seemed harmless enough.  After more pleasantries were exchanged, the girl asked me if I knew Jesus Christ. Great. I know where this is going, I thought. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got him on speed dial” I replied in my head.  They didn’t seem too phased when I told them that I was Jewish, and that my Jesus knowledge wasn’t too extensive. “Savior, blah blah” is pretty much what I said when they asked me what I knew about him. After about 20 minutes and they had exhausted the usual nonsense about how nothing done or any accomplishment on Earth matters at all unless I accept Jesus as my Savior, they recommended that I read a book they saw on my roommate’s shelf entitled Hell Is Full of Good People. Yeah. I’ll add that to my damn reading list. They also told me that they’d return shortly with a Bible for me. STILL WAITING! Take it away, April.

We left at around 7:30 Saturday morning for Cape Coast, about 3.5 hours outside of Accra.  We visited Kakum National Park which featured a canopy-walk of 7 bridges, 100-150 (or more. Or less. Not sure) feet above the ground.  This experience was slightly more terrifying than I had expected; the guide told us not to worry if the wood creaked under our feet. I worried. By Bridge 3 my legs were less jelly-like and I was able to enjoy and appreciate the views and moment more.

Just a tad terrifying

The main highlight and real focus of the trip was the visit to Elima and/or Cape Coast Castle. I and a few other people elected to visit just Cape Coast Castle, the youngest of the Ghanaian slave trade castles, constructed in the mid-17thcentury. A reflection session was held after dinner to discuss the trip, and people were able to so eloquently and articulately vocalize their thoughts and feelings, in ways I have never been able to do. 36 hours later I’m still trying to work through exactly how I feel/felt about walking through one of history’s grossest blemishes.  The smells, seeing first-hand the rooms where hundreds of Africans were kept in the dark with no sanitation, hearing the stories of physical abuse and rape…it’s just incomprehensible. The juxtaposition of the beauty of the Castle’s exterior/its location and the understanding of what slaves experienced as they were led through the “Door of No Return” was particularly jarring.

Slaves were led through the Door of No Return, the last door they’d walk through in Africa.

The last view of home the slaves would have.

The beautiful, shiny exterior of Cape Coast Castle.

I don’t know. I went to the Castle having no idea how I would react, or how I would feel. Some experiences take time for its significance to become apparent.  I might not have any direct connection to African slavery, but on a human level, this is an aspect of history that is universally important.  It needs to be understood what drove humanity to conduct these atrocities to help acknowledge or recognize what’s being done today that, while not at the scale of the slave trade, is comparable to the exploitative, power relationships that still exist throughout the world. Oppression didn’t start and end with the Atlantic Slave Trade. My family by virtue of being European Jews suffered through the Holocaust. Minority groups find themselves struggling daily in a society where difference is often equated with inferiority.

I maintain the belief that people aren’t all good or all bad, that seeing and recognizing our own flaws will allow for the acceptance of others.  But acceptance of others can’t come without first accepting and loving yourself. I’ve realized that part of why I have trouble relating to others is because of my unwillingness to let people really know me.  For whatever reason, (fear, I suppose), I came to the conclusion that aspects of my life needed to remain hidden in order to maintain any of the few relationships I have with other people.  While there’s been some progress this past year with self-acceptance, I’m still hindered by lingering distrust and poor self-esteem.  I’ve come across people whom I would love to be open with, but still find myself fearful of them not liking what they see. Them seeing nothing at all has been my preferred solution for so long and breaking from that mindset is something I’ve only recently begun attempting.

If anything, my trip to Cape Coast Castle has helped me recognize the progress humanity has made but also the reality that much more still needs to be done.  It’s helped me recognize this progress in myself and the issues I still grapple with.  It’s helped me appreciate the flawed-nature of humanity, and our privilege that allows us to choose whether or not to overcome these flaws.  Mankind’s unique ability to choose has been humanity’s most detrimental trait. It’s up to current and future generations to make this ability positive, powerful and valuable.

Alright, hope I didn’t lose all of you towards the end there.  To lighten things up, enjoy this scene from last week’s Parks and Recreation. The fact that I cried while laughing during this is a good indication of where my maturity level is:

To my New York/Washington, D.C. family and friends, stay safe and make good decisions!

“Is That Your Bible?” “…No. That’s My Wallet.”

Last week I ventured back into the miserable territory that frequented the first few posts of my blog. I really wanted my writings while here in Ghana to be light and filled with the constant occasional snark. But I also promised that I’d be honest, that I would discuss everything, good, bad, or embarrassing. At the time I wrote last week’s post, I think I really needed to sort out the struggles and concerns I had. God knows I lack the ability to vocalize my thoughts/feelings in an articulate, coherent manner, so writing about them is really therapeutic for me.

I’m not quick to say anything good about myself, but I like to think I’m fairly self-aware and perceptive. Putting words to these issues makes them real, something that I can accept, and hopefully manage. I may not overcome them right away, or at all, but at least I’m not oblivious to them. And that’s an important first step, no?

Alright. Enough of this.

This week during Politics of International Economic Relations, or as I like to now call it, Introduction to Sucks That Y’all Were Born in Ghana! my professor was as charming as ever, spewing beautiful, uplifting remarks such as “When you have more black people, you have more problems,” and “If Ghana were a human being, would you say Ghana was a smart person?” Maybe I’m being a bit hypocritical since I’m not America’s biggest fan, but good God, Bossman. Lighten up! Yeah, Ghana has its fair share of issues, but compared to much of the rest of Africa…things could be worse. In other classroom news, writing “I know papaya!” on my Twi test was basically the best thing I could have done. The professor found it hilarious and he decided to give everybody points for that question since nobody actually knew what the Twi word for papaya is. I don’t really know why this surprised him.

I crossed the 100-hour mark at Beacon House this week! I can’t believe I was ever concerned over reaching 135 hours by the end of the semester. At this point I’ll probably double that. Maybe I’ll receive some kind of “CIEE’s/Africa’s/The World’s Greatest Intern of All Time” Award.

Tuesday afternoon was a little bittersweet because it was the last night for two sisters who left the next day for North Carolina. After spending 20-25 hours per week with these kids, it’s pretty impossible to not become emotionally invested in them. I got to interview them Tuesday night for the blog, and the last question I asked was “Is there anybody you’d like to thank at Beacon House?” and the older sister, Helen, basically just thanked me.

Gonna miss these two. But mostly the older one who wasn’t as annoying.

These girls have been at the orphanage for many years now so I’m sure there are plenty of people who have left a far greater impact than I have, but still..AWW! I’ve been smacked with so much collective love and appreciation since coming to work at Beacon House, but I’m still blown away every time the kids say something like this to me. I’ll give more examples later. But man. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it will be for these girls. Moving from a Ghanaian orphanage to the American South is something I can’t really fathom.

Things got a bit…uncomfortable… on Thursday. Towards the end of the day, either right before or after dinner, I was alone with one of the house mothers, Irene. Here’s how our conversation went down:

Mama Irene: (while examining her Bible) “Do you have one of these?”

Matthew: “Of course! Mine’s a bit smaller, though.”

Mama Irene: “Which books are in it?”

Matthew: “Uhh…all of them?”

Mama Irene: “What’s your favorite Bible passage?”

Matthew: (few seconds of uncomfortable stammering and flipping through pages, pretending to not remember where in the Bible the passage is) : “Uhhh…Uhh…Job!”

Mama Irene gave me a look that reeked of skepticism, but the subject was dropped for the time being. We went through the nightly prayer/singing routine in which we discussed how non-believers go straight to Hell and that you can commit any sin imaginable, but as long as you accept Christ as your Savior you’ll make it to Heaven (seems like a pretty poor system, if you ask me). As I was getting my bag together to leave, Mama Irene saw me take out my wallet to put in my pocket. Here’s a snippet of that glorious exchange:
MI: “Is that your Bible?”
Matthew: “No…this is my wallet. My Bible’s at home.”
MI: “You should have your Bible on you at all times.”
Matthew: “I know. I just don’t wanna lose it.”
MI: “What Church do you go to?”
Matthew: (mumbling) “…Regina..”
MI: “What?”
Matthew: “…Saint…..Joseph…
MI: “Oh. So a Catholic Church.”
Matthew: “…Yup.”
I really don’t know what to do about this. Telling them that I’m Jewish this late in the game seems like the worst idea imaginable, but my lack of any Jesus knowledge is painfully apparent to everybody. If I could go back in time I’d probably reveal my Jew-status immediately, and I would hope that this revelation wouldn’t change how I’m treated there, but…I really don’t want to find out.

On Friday I was looking forward to avoiding further uncomfortable situations at all costs. It was a public holiday (something about Kwame Nkrumah’s birthday), so there wasn’t any class/homework to help with in the morning. I was excited for a relaxing day of playing and watching Beauty and the Beast.

Then a child peed on me.

I don’t know what it is about me that makes kids want to urinate on me/my belongings, but it must be something. The fact that this isn’t my first encounter with child pee is a great indicator of the kind of life experiences I’ve had. The first time, 5 years ago, was pretty rough. The kid decided it would be cool to shower my shoes/bag that I left in the locker room during their swim-time with that gross liquid (trying really hard to not write “pee” over and over, and I’m struggling). Long story short, the fact that he did it on purpose, and that he was 10 at the time (like..seriously?), and that the shoes were brand new and beautiful, brought about an emotional meltdown in the laundry room as I cried/hyperventilated while waiting for my shoes to finish their rinse cycle.

Five years later, I’m proud to say that I responded monumentally better during this “wee wee” (their words, not mine!) encounter. I mean, the kid didn’t do it on purpose (I was basically at the wrong place at the wrong time), and he’s 3, and his life hasn’t been too ideal, so being mad at him would just be silly. I think the fact that I’m not 15 anymore also helped…and the fact that the kid is absurdly adorable. He doesn’t speak much English yet, but we have a secret handshake! And his name is Prince! Love that kid.

Things could have been much worse.

Other orphanage highlights:

This is what I have to put up with

• As if the pee debacle wasn’t enough trauma for one morning, the boys were literally brawling on Friday. At one point Ben (aka my favorite kid of all time) was bitten by another kid and I had to physically restrain Ben from retaliating. This is what happens when I’m left alone to watch the kids.
• When I arrived on Friday morning, the first thing Ben says before hugging me is “You look great today!” So wonderful. I love the implication that I look like a gross mess every other time he’s seen me. It’s basically the truth.
• After we finished Beauty and the Beast I danced with a few of the kids during the end credits while actively forcing myself to not sing along/cry to Celine’s version of the song.
• At dinner on Friday Mama Irene had the kids stand and say what they enjoyed about the day, and Ben and a couple others mostly talked about me. SO GREAT!
• Turns out I’m much better at teaching kids how to add/subtract than how to read simple words. This is probably because my ability to speak/read isn’t too advanced either.

On Saturday most of the CIEE crew were taken to the Eastern Region city of Aburi. As I’ve established on numerous occasions, I’m not fond of too many people my age. After spending hours on a bus with some of them, these feelings haven’t really improved. I’d say I’m pretty open and honest with my friends and on this blog, but some things I keep to myself. Some things should just remain private, right?

Apparently this belief isn’t shared by all of my contemporaries, resulting in some pretty magical conversations. I doubt any of these people I’m about to mock read this blog (If you do, hello! Please remember that when you open your mouth and talk about your various sexual escapades and STD scares on a crowded bus, you open the door to internet ridicule. The only type of ridicule I have the cowardice capability of giving). Anyway, after learning about pregnancy scares and pus-infected peen’s (which turned out to not be an STD. So…what was it?!), my favorite exchange happened on the trip back to campus. Here’s what was uttered:
Girl A: “We still have 88 days!”
Girl B: “Why are you counting down?”
Girl A: “Cause I wanna have sex!”
I’m known for my inability to control my reactions to complete ridiculousness, so it took an inordinate amount of strength for me to not say something bitchy.

This is Tetteh. I bet he fit in pretty nicely.

Anyway, aside from those sloppy bus rides, the trip was really great. Our first stop was the Tetteh Quashie Cocoa Farm, named after the first dude who brought cocoa to Ghana in 1876. Here are the highlights:
• Cocoa trees kind of look like they’re infected with malignant tumors. But those tumors are just the cocoa.
• To remove the cocoa from the trees, you use this spear/whale harpoon called “Go To Hell” to poke them off.
• Tried some cocoa. Tasted like a very bitter dark chocolate. But anything that isn’t rice at this point is delicious.

The cocoa! The yellow ones are ripe!

Our next stop was the Aburi Botanical Gardens. There are many trees, all of which are beautiful. Some highlights:
• I ate some cinnamon-tasting bark. This marks the second time I’ve eaten part of a tree while in Africa.
• We ran into Daniel, the man I mentioned in an earlier post who I met at a Thai restaurant during our Accra “tour.” How ridiculous is that? I mean, Ghana’s pretty small, but randomly seeing him again is mind-blowing to me.
• There was this weed-type plant and if you touch it, the leaves retreat. Is the plant ticklish? Nope! Just a defense mechanism.

Beautiful Tree #1

Beautiful tree #2

Strange tree carving.

Next was the Aburi Wood Carving Village. I made some really practical purchases, including a slingshot. Tempted to bring it to the orphanage and threaten the kids with it. “If any of you goes wee wee on me again, you’ll be sorry!” I just wanted another excuse to write “wee wee”, hopefullyprobably for the last time this decade. I also bought this awesome elephant! According to my mother, if the nose is pointing up, it’s good luck. Unsurprisingly, my elephant’s nose is pointing down. I think this suits me more.

After finding out he’s inherently unlucky, I think I love him even more

Our final stop was TK Bead Village. We were given a quick demonstration of the bead-making process and were brought to the giftshop. Within 10 minutes I picked out a necklace for my mother or sister (likelihood of either of them liking it? Maybe a 45% chance). A swift 90 minutes later (for God’s sake, people. The beads were not expensive. Instead of deciding between two $7.00 necklaces/bracelets for over an hour, just buy both. Lord.), we were finally on our way back to campus.

Alright, that’s all for now. Have a wonderful week, and thank you for continuing to read this nonsense!

In honor of this heavily-religious post, here’s a song called “I Don’t Wanna Pray” by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. They’re great!

Adventure and Slippery Slopes

In this week’s edition of “Classroom Nonsense…With A Smidgen of Embarrassment,” after starting my Monday morning strong by spraying my armpits with bugspray, my Politics of International Economic Relations professor (“Ghanaians have nothing to be proud of!”) decided that out of the class of 200 he would call on me specifically to answer a question.  “Is there a Robert in the class?” he asks while looking directly at me.  After I stare in bewilderment for a couple seconds he asks me what my name is before giving an answer to “What is Intellectual Property?” Luckily this exchange went monumentally better than the first time he asked me a question.  A couple of days later during the “discussion” class for Colonial Rule and African Response, the Teaching Assistant (“What is history?”) asked an equally provocative question: “What is a compass?” Luckily this question was posited about 10 minutes into discussion so I knew I could safely spend the rest of class doodling. I paid attention enough to hear bits and pieces of the discussion; one kid insisted that the Fountain of Youth was a significant reason for exploration, and another girl was outrageously concerned with where the doctors who were brought along during European exploration were kept as the interior of Africa was navigated. The answer? On the damn boat. Good Lord.  On Tuesday I had my first exam since arriving here.  Since it was a Twi test, and since my knowledge of the language so far is infantile, I wrote fun sentences like “I know papaya!” (instead of I eat papaya) and “I have a lot of hats!” (instead of I have a lot of money).  Whatever. At least the professor will be entertained. Hopefully.

On Saturday I traveled with 3 friends for the day to Shai Hills, a wildlife/resource reserve about an hour (hypothetically) outside of Accra.  I don’t think I would trade the over 3 hours/3 tro-tros it took to get there for anything.  Tro-Tro #2 featured a very passionate man selling highly questionable ointments and weight-loss capsules to the van of 28 Ghanaians. I’m only guessing it’s weight-loss related because he made numerous hand gestures that suggested he was talking about reducing stomach girth.

Sitting in the back row at least spared us direct contact with the crazed salesman (front row, white shirt)

The whole time he was looking directly at me which was just a tad uncomfortable. This nonstop selling/sermon went on for at least 50 minutes, and I’m a bit concerned over the amount of people who actually gave him their money.

About 40 minutes into Tro-Tro ride #3 the engine started smoking so we had to pull over pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  The driver told us we were only about a mile away from Shai Hills, so we decided to just walk the rest of the way even though we all agreed that the driver probably had no clue how to estimate distance.

After walking for 25 minutes a car pulled over in front of us and asked us if we wanted

Seemed like a great idea at the time…

a ride.  Because the car seemed to be nice enough (there were leather seats!) and it was a youngish couple offering us the ride (women=safety, right?), we decided it was safe to hitchhike with these wonderful people.  Turns out we underestimated the tro-tro driver’s knowledge because 3 minutes later we finally arrived!

Our guide first brought us to the Ostrich enclosure, where 4 ostriches just run around and do other massive bird activities. Seriously? What do ostriches do all day? We walked a short distance to visit

Look closely at the Ostrich’s butt and tell me you don’t see a Pomeranian coming out of it. Who do I talk to about this?!

a baboon family and to feed them bananas! As we approached I was thinking about the hazard level we were stepping into since there wasn’t anything separating us from them (and baboons are freakin’ terrifying). One baboon leaped from a rooftop onto a tree directly above me, and at that moment, I thought my end had come. As the baboon was soaring through the air seemingly towards my head, I experienced flashes of Steve Irwin and that poor lady who Oprah interviewed whose face was ripped off by a chimpanzee. Dramatic? Yes. Always yes. In the end all was well and having a baboon snatch a banana from my hand was awesome.

What a life

The 4 of us and our guide hopped onto the back of a pickup truck (solidifying this day as the most adventurous ever) to drive to Sayu Bat Cave.   Throughout the ride I couldn’t stop thinking about last summer in Botswana, that my life basically consisted of riding around in a safari car for hours a day in an environment just like Shai Hills. It’s like I was transported back 15 months and I was on one of Legodimo’s Biodiversity Drives; I half-expected to see hordes of impala rushing across the road and an elephant family that we would have to escape from.  While none of that happened, for those 15 minutes I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and appreciation, perhaps more than I’ve felt before, for those 30 days I spent in the “wild.”

These feelings of nostalgia were replaced with revulsion when we first entered the bat cave. Their feces? Not too olfactory-pleasing. This unpleasantness was quickly erased once we saw/heard literally thousands of bats in the cave.

Our next and final stop was Mogo Rock, a place girls were kept for 6 months as part of their rite of passage into womanhood.  After climbing up the rock (which at one point required hoisting ourselves up with rope), and absorbing the beautiful views of the reserve, we agreed that being forced to spend half a year up there didn’t sound too bad.

Always a sucker for a beautiful view

Riding in the back of the pickup truck to the reserve’s entrance was a perfect way to conclude a fantastic day trip.

To make this week even better, I was lucky enough to spend another 25+ hours at the orphanage.  I mentioned last week that I was going to work on Beacon House’s blog, and hopefully the posts I wrote will be finished editing soon.  It isn’t anything too substantial, but hopefully substantial enough to make the supervisors stop asking me to do something that leaves some grand, monumental impact on everybody’s lives there. Again, I just wanna play and help in the classroom.

On Tuesday night, I was asked to lead a prayer. You can imagine how I reacted to that (If you guessed uncomfortable giggling and declarations of embarrassment, then good job!).  Before this happened the kids were read Bible passages about the importance of being honest, so all I could think about at that moment was how disappointed Jesus must be in me.  But telling these people that I’m Jewish after all this time just doesn’t seem like something that needs to happen. Instead I’ll let them think of me as a really bad Christian.  Definitely the safer choice.

On Thursday, I went through the normal morning routine of playing with the preschool-aged kids and babies and helping in the classroom until lunch. I ventured off during naptime to a restaurant called Luscious Temptations (!!!) to indulge in some Western, Oboruni food. In other words, it was the most expensive meal I’ve had since

Food rewards are the best kind of reward

coming here. I spent a hefty $12.00 on pizza and passion fruit iced tea, but damn it, I think I’ve earned this “luxurious” meal.  I devote so much of my time to these kids, and yeah, I really love it, but sometimes, those kids can be a pain in the ass difficult. As Donna from Parks and Recreation would say, Treat Yo Self!

I had 30 minutes to kill in the office before naptime was over so I decided to read…until an unnaturally large cockroach crawled next to me across my bag.  I’m not about to stay in the room with that monster with me!

That night right before it was time to watch a movie, the power went out (again). So much chaos ensued, and I couldn’t resist taking a picture of it:

Oh gross, his tears are all over my shirt

Not everybody was miserable, at least:

Guess this is what kids do these days when the power goes out

Friday’s highlights include me trying to help collapse a baby stroller (does it look like I would know how to do something like that?), reading The Gingerbread Man to the kids, and splurging some more on Chinese Food.  My plan is to just starve myself all week so I can afford these 2 days of extravagance.

We Love Our Matth..er..Class!

(WARNING! SEVERE MELODRAMA FOLLOWS)

I’ve already spent over 70 hours at Beacon House, and it’s been beyond amazing, but I think I need to start worrying about how close I’m getting with some of the kids. I’m finding myself falling into similar patterns that forced me to leave the day camp I spent 10 summers at. I mentioned vaguely a few weeks ago why I left, but I guess I can elaborate more now.

You spend so much time with these kids, and they’re genuinely happy, even ecstatic to see you. (Seriously. So many hugs).  They say the cutest things like  “I want you to come every day.” They start depending on you to help them with whatever they’re learning, and you feel wanted, needed, appreciated.  I’m not really used to feeling these things, and just like I did 5 years ago, I’m getting emotionally attached to a few of them.  I know that this is happening, but I don’t know how to detach myself.

I don’t know why I’m so good at forming relationships with people 10 and under but am completely clueless at forming relationships with people my age.  Maybe it’s because they don’t expect much out of me, and for whatever reason I don’t feel intimidated like I normally am when talking to people.  Maybe it’s because I have some yearning to go back and redo parts my childhood. I see how wild, free, excitable these kids are and I don’t remember ever being like that.  I’m connecting with these kids for the same reasons I did at camp—because they represent aspects of myself that I wish I possessed. I wasn’t able to form many friendships growing up, and I think that jaded me, affected the way I interact with people today. My confidence is…negligible, and I just don’t put in much effort with people because I expect them to automatically not be interested. I’m still always surprised when people seemingly want to talk to me or be around me.  Case in point: My uncle just asked me via Skype if I’m practicing “safe friend.”

So here are these wildly enthusiastic kids who run over and hug me every morning I arrive and again every night I leave, desperately fighting for my (MY!) attention and I just…turn to mush. These feelings of acceptance are so rare for me that I just latch onto them whenever/wherever they come about. I know I’m just making it harder on myself for when I leave. I like to think that three months from now they won’t see me as just another person who has come and gone in their lives, but that is the most likely scenario.  Maybe they’ll miss me for a little while, but they will definitely get over it. And then it’ll be me, five years later, missing yet another kid.

Yikes. Maybe working with kids is just something I should avoid.

If you managed to make it through the messy ending to this post, you’re rewarded with the wisdom of Amy Poehler. I’ll post two videos from her web series “Smart Girls” here, but I seriously recommend watching them all when you get the chance. Thanks for reading!

Alright, one more!

Wait, What? One More Week? Woah.

I kind of thought I’d be the traveling expert by now, but now that I’m just one week away from leaving for Ghana, all of my familiar insecurities, anxieties, fears, and doubts are starting to surface. Study abroad had been the college experience I looked forward to the most over the years, but right now I’m trying to not have thoughts of “What the Hell am I doing?!” implant itself permanently in my mind. It’s probably normal that I’m nervous, that I’m second-guessing myself a little bit. I mean, this is almost 5 months of being away in a completely foreign environment. For somebody who always sometimes  feels awkward in new social situations, this is going to be my biggest test yet. Yes, I’ve traveled alone before, but I’ll be gone for a substantially longer period of time and will have to, you know, study and stuff, at the same time that I make my probable possible social blunders.

Luckily, mingling with my feelings of doom and gloom is excitement. I don’t have many passions, but traveling, visiting new places, experiencing other ways of life top the list. I’m really looking forward to living, learning, and working in Ghana and I know it will be a really amazing experience for me going forward both academically and professionally. Since, ya know,  I’m such an academic and professional person and all. And while I make a big deal about how socially…stunted…I am, I always seem to end up with at least a couple friends wherever I end up…even if it takes a bit longer than most for these friendships to form. I’ll have to be patient, but also make some kind of effort. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and everyone in the program will have a bizarre predilection for borderline-embarrassing 20-year-old boys. Yeah. I’ll go with that.

I’m prepared for this to be hard, at least at first, and it’ll be really important to have and do things that ground me, to help when I’m overwhelmed. Updating this blog frequently will be a part of that, and I can’t wait to share everything! Hopefully I’ll find some time during Orientation/before classes start on August 13 to give an update. I’ll give a detailed explanation of what classes I take, where I end up working, and what else the program has in store for me when I know that myself! Gosh…I really know nothing. Yikes.

Until then…pray for me, thanks for reading! Here’s my current song obsession:

Some Tidbits and Musings…and Turning 20.

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve checked in.  There are a few reasons for this, but about 85% of those reasons have to do with me really not doing anything or having anything to report, since, as we all know, my college life is bursting with endless activity and excitement. But finally, within the past week, I actually have some things to discuss! Try to tone down the excitement.

The other 15% of reason why I haven’t updated is because I received a visit from these two lovely ladies, also known as my mother and sister, this past weekend:

Yes. We're paddle-boating

So much slobber. So much joy.

Besides the normal amount of bickering and drama, it was a really great weekend, coming at a really great time just before things with school start to become extra cray. Activities included: 21 Jump Street (So stupid. So funny. So beautiful.), bulldog stalking and subsequent coddling, paddle-boating (or mostly floating, in our case) in the TIdal Basin, mixed with a lot of lounging. My favorite.

The major development that has come within the past week is that I was accepted to the University of Ghana! I’m someone who is always looking a few months or even years ahead, so not knowing where I would be 4 months from now was honestly starting to cause a lot of stress.  Part of me knew that I didn’t have too much to worry about, since I don’t think Ghana is too many people’s top pick for study abroad, but worrying over nothing is something I’m exceptional at.  So now I have to decide whether or not I want to live with a Ghanaian family or live on campus in a dorm, which definitely won’t be an easy decision.  Other than that, I’m not going to worry about this too much until the semester ends. Way too much else to deal with in the next few weeks!

I thought I’d go off on a slight tangent to offer some praise for my father, known to my friends simply as….Irwin.  Thanks to his awesome job at the Weinstein Company, he I have benefited immensely from his various contacts with sponsors over the years.  I really should have a ton of friends. I might be at the point of being open to being used for free tickets from Irwin. Here’s a sample of a conversation I had with my friend about a week ago, just casually at Starbucks:

Hayley: “The Bruins are playing the Caps in next week in the playoffs. I need to go!     Matthew: “Hmm…Irwin’s good at getting free tickets to stuff. Maybe he can help!”       Hayley:    “STOP. Don’t even tease me with that.”                                                          Matthew: “Whoops, already texted him. He said he’ll work on it.”

So about 5 days later and after extreme anxiety over the tickets being delivered on time, we got to watch the game last night in a luxury suite, equipped with lots of free  food and booze, as I soon found out. It was a really amazing/ridiculous experience, filled with the occasional hockey fight (Lucic is so beautiful and psychotic) and luckily a Bruins victory. I really didn’t want to deal with the wrath of a scorned, mildly intoxicated Bruins fan afterwords. Back to the booze, I opened the refrigerator to get a Coke, sat back down, and quickly realized that I snagged a Budweiser. Whoopsies. I decided to just down that, and then tried a Heineken to compare. The verdict? They both just really suck. But hey, at least I got to do something mildly wild and drink free beer with some fancy people!  THANKS IRWIN!

Back to business. This is my final post as a teenager.  I wish I had a full day to just sit down and reflect on these past 7 years, and maybe I’ll still do that when I’m back home and have time to.  There have been so many embarrassing/sad moments (starting with my unfortunately themed Bar Mitzvah…Hippomattamus…ending with falling into a river and down a tree within a 24 hour span in Africa), there have been many friendships formed and sadly a few that have faded. I’ve been fortunate enough to see so much of the world, to really understand that there is so much beauty in every country. I can’t look back without thinking about some of the regrets I have, mostly when it comes to the people I’ve come across that I let slip away, the few people I didn’t put enough effort into being in their lives.  Maybe I’ll start to take some real risks, not just safety risks with countries I visit, or academic risks when I chose to come to DC.  I need to take some risks in my personal life, to be proactive and not just hope that someone I may want to be friends with comes to me first.  Maybe I’ll decide to not settle on being a B-, that I deserve more.  Maybe I’ll decide to spend less time focusing on where I’ll be a few months from now, or less time thinking about what I wish I had done differently, and just focus on today, on right now. I can accept the past as unchangeable and focus on daily goals and dreams that will make the future something I don’t have to worry about as much.

But seriously. 20. Woah.

P.S. I forgot to mention that I saw Titanic in theaters last week. Even though I saw it so many times at home, seeing it where it was meant to be seen was just…wow. So many tears. My love for Kate Winslet has grown to probably unhealthy levels.

For all of you with upcoming birthdays, here you go! Thanks for reading.