3 Noviembre, 2011

I begin by offering my overarching lesson learned during these days of holiday for you to think about throughout this entry: the Day of the Dead is really all about what it means to be living.

With some other YAGM, I went last night to Ocotepec, a small municipality very close to Cuernavaca. It took a very long time to figure out where to park because Ocotepec is one of the last places in the country where families who have experienced a death in the family in the past year open their houses to friends, family, and strangers to celebrate the Day of the Dead. Each house welcomes the long line of people in with a path of marigold flower petals, lanterns, endless burning of incense and large arches of more marigolds and streamers. It is customary to present to a family member a candle as a sign of offering, and then each person can take in the beautiful and many times eerie (in my opinion) offering to the lost one. The long lines continue to curve around in the house area and traditional coffee, tea, punch, or atole are served along with tamales – unfortunately all containing meat... There was a tiny folding table outside one of the chapels with handmade signs asking people to purchase their ceramic mugs to use instead of the styrofoam cups that were being discarded everywhere from the rain gutters to the tops of cars. I believe we were the only ones at the table. Anyway, it was so amazing to see the HUGE pots where food and drink were warming over wood fires and observe the hundreds and hundreds of flowers bought to welcome people from near and far. We were welcomed with a smile each time that neither seemed to contain happiness nor sadness, rather a duty of carrying out tradition.

Children, many times carried by their mothers, were trick-or-treating in the streets going from small shop to small shop reciting Spanish sayings and wearing costumes (mostly of skulls, devils, and Chucky). Outside of the large municipality cathedral was a mariachi band singing and playing traditional songs, proudly welcoming everyone to enjoy the town's history. A news reporter suddenly appeared in front of us asking if we were extranjeros (foreigners) and if we would answer a few questions about being here in Mexico. We didn't really know what to say. Then the camera light came on and we decided to take a rain check.

I went with my host family and with a more than healthy dose of Montezuma’s Revenge to a pantión – large and fancy cemetery – today. Such an interesting celebration. The extended family kept asking how our Day of the Dead is different than theirs. It was so difficult for me to explain that this celebration is like a combination of Halloween, Memorial Day, and game day football tailgating. Seriously. Countless families bring picnics and eat them at the site of their deceased one or in the backs of their cars. Kids and adults alike carry large buckets of water and brooms to clean the tombs and grave sites, decorating them with flowers and other offerings. Some are trying to vend food like churros at small stands in the streets. Others sell their cleaning services for the grave sites. Small bands of guitars and accordions wander around and people pull them over to play the favorite song of their lost loved one. Prayers and rosaries are recited. All this is happening at the same time.

One of the many prayers and songs my host family was singing/crying to their deceased mother included the words “We need death to know we are living.” Not sure how I feel about it – truthfully the words rock me and make me want to cry out in protest. But something inside me knows they're right.

23 Octubre, 2011

23 Octubre 2011

A week in el Districto Federal (Mexico City). My eyes are red and ultra sensitive to light as I recover from a week in the worst smog I've ever experienced in my life. The poor, unaccustomed foreigner even needed eyedrops. That being said, what an amazing experience I had. Every day this past week the lady I worked with and I ate at the same cocina (restaurant/kitchen) for comida, and I was the memorable “guerrita” all the cooks grew to know and greet whenever I passed. It was some of the best food I've ever had – tortilla soup, different vegetables stuffed with cheese and covered with eggs and salsa, homemade tortillas, water flavored with different fresh fruits. My boss and I also had some amazing street breakfasts – we either walked to a street vendor who sold atole (a warm drink made of corn and rice or corn and oatmeal or corn and chocolate) and tamales (corn dough with different sauces) or we would go to a market and eat sopes and gorditas with beans or cheeses. Delicious. Mexico City is, of course, huge and prides itself on all the variety in restaurants. Personally, for a big city I still did not see much international food, but I'm sure it has the best Mexican food selection in the world.

I worked at the Diego Rivera museum as my main reason for being in the city, preparing for an art exhibit for the Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) highlighting the beautiful culture of Morelos (the state in which I live). The woman who invited me to help her and observe her work this week is a journalist and has traveled all over Mexico, especially Morelos, studying culture preservation and expression. She told me a lot about her work, her philosophy of life, the relationship between Mexicans and US citizens, and the pride she has in the lifestyle of Mexicans. It was also fascinating to meet her son, who works in the corporate world, in many ways promoting ideas of globalization, but at the same time with a very realistic consciousness of the importance of his mother's work. We had some really interesting conversations about the different perspectives of globalization and what that means especially in Mexico. Priceless, especially from his viewpoint.

It was kind of embarrassing many times when I would comment on something I observed in Mexico City and attributed it to what I know from the lifestyles of people in small town Mexico. For example, when I asked one of the young guys if he goes to church on all his days off (always Sundays) he laughed and said no. When I commented on PDAs in some restaurants and chuckling that everyone lives at home with families and needs to show affection somewhere, my companions looked at me like I was psycho. These things are NOT true in la Ciudad, they said.

I really miss the young people I got to work with this week. By the end of one week, some of us went to a restaurant and had a great time together. They were all so patient with me and eager to listen and answer any questions I had about working in a museum, living as youth in Mexico City, learning other languages, and other topics. We listened to pop music all day while we worked on endless little projects including making and gluing thousands of paper tissue flowers to candle holders, archways, and boxes; putting countless painted skulls and bakery bread in creative arrangements around alters of Marys and Jesuses; and putting up ginormous pictures of different houses, highways, and churches in Morelos.

From this experience, I hope you ALL appreciate the work that goes into museum exhibits, because it is NOT easy and quick work. We were often working from 9:30am to 7:30pm, and as many of you can appreciate because this really says something - I was almost always too tired to even use the FREE INTERNET when I got home. Additionally, I hope that everyone in the world goes to as many culturally-informative events as possible because you can learn so much about the values of people. It struck me as odd that even one state over, cultural knowledge had to be obtained through a museum, not through firsthand knowledge about neighbors or people living within the same country. I admit there are many differences between small town Coatetelco and Mexico City, but they both exist right now, they both share a common country history, they both speak the same language, and they are interrelated in ways they don't even realize. Strange that a museum exhibit has to connect that for some people. Really makes me think about what I am not seeing right next to me all the time. One person told me something that was very interesting to think about – she said she was worried about my experience in Mexico because I am working and living in places that do not have access to a lot of resources, and it is not an accurate portrayal of all of Mexico. Of course she is right that even my experience in Mexico City was much more comfortable and similar to my lifestyle in the US, but does that mean that my placement in an area outside of this is any less of a representation of Mexico? At the same time, I know I get frustrated when people who know only the big cities of the US think they know how life is in Iowa. Does that mean I'm worried about their opinions? I don't know.

I was told by multiple people that I look more European (German when they found out I am German and Norwegian) than US American because of my height, the shape of my face, my clothes, and my serious manner. I was also told I am an intellect needing to find my life's goal so I can pass on all my brilliant observations to others, because right now I just have tons of insight and no way of expressing it.Never stop learning, do we?

12 Octubre 2011

A situation I've always imagined I would react to differently:



I sit on a ledge waiting for my coworkers to show up outside a recycling center in a somewhat-hidden side street. A woman walks up carrying bags ready to go to the market nearby. She asks if it is OK to put on her bra in front of me because it is the only place nearby where she won't be seen. I ask her to repeat partly because I don't really believe she is going to put her bra on in front of me but mainly because I don't catch everything she says. She realizes I am a foreigner. She asks me why I came here from the US. I never mentioned I was a US American. I tell her I am doing social service work and explain what I studied in college. She tells me that's interesting and she is a lawyer (though I believe she is out of work right now). She begins forwardly telling me: Mexico is a rich country with beautiful people, and my country would crash if it did not have Mexican workers picking its apples. How it so incredibly unjust that my people are refusing Mexican workers just prices. She asks me how old I am – seventeen, eighteen? Twenty-two. She nods as if that clarifies something and says she is thirty-four and has seen it all. She asks where my jeans were made as if testing me. I shrug and say, “Probably China.” She shakes her head and says it is due to Mexican labor that I am wearing these jeans. She asks why I (presumably as a US American) am in so much debt, yet can afford to control the world economy. Mexico, so rich in natural resources and so amazing in culture, if it had an infrastructure, could do the same. I reply, embarrassed but mostly angry and feeling totally affronted, “I don't know. I'm not America.” I tell her, “So clearly you're angry. What would you like me to do about it?” (for the books, I was not sassy externally – I made sure of that) She rapidly assures me it is not anger (though I still disagree that anger is entirely lacking), but something she can't exactly pinpoint. She smiles, thanks me for talking, gives me her number, and tells me we should have coffee sometime.
What do you think you would you do in this situation?

6 Octubre, 2011

Worked at a recycling center today, which will most likely be my other work site for the remainder of the year. It was a good place – some awesome people who have already invited me to participate in activities with them and for me to eat at their houses with them in the future. I think I've found a different crowd in Cuernavaca. People who literally dedicate all their time to the environment. Though this program is not at all related to Grail, the women's organization I am supposed to be working for much of the rest of the time here, I feel like the holistic approach these people at the recycling center have fits almost perfectly with the ideals of Grail. For example, I was driving in one of the women's car to pick up some car parts for our 'delivery truck' and she was telling me how impressive it is and how much she approved that a young person was a vegetarian. (She told me she'd make chicken for me, instead, when I came to her house.... beside the point). She said people do not pay attention enough to what they consume, food-wise or material-wise. Another lady told me she's been doing meditation for many years and that it's so important to take care of your body and soul as well as your environment. She also told me she used to live in Mexico City in a community with 500+ people and only 8 people regularly participated in recycling. I am trying to figure out what to think about the fact that the employees seem to think Mexico is especially guilty in its lack of care, culturally, for the environment. Unfortunately, I'm not so sure it's that unique. The 5 employees at this center do SO MUCH work. They have so much tedious separation of products to do that they hardly have time for maintaining logistics of the organization. They also like to go to schools and, occasionally, to other states around Mexico to promote appropriate recycling separation practices (sidenote- I had no idea there were so many types of clear plastic bags). Anyway, I am out of shape for sure, because my back hurts and I had to take many breaks from sorting today. I would love to help them with the education piece. But there is literally so much tedious work to do that we have to wait to get things cleared out so we can even start to think about building an office from which to organize this work. We'll see which way the wind blows from here!

3 Octubre, 2011

It's interesting to observe the ways in which I feel I am experiencing globalization. Among countless other instances, I have seen many examples of cross-cultural marriage here that have taught me so much just by the small interactions I have with people here. This includes people from the US marrying people from Mexico, people from Mexico marrying people from the US, people from Kenya marrying people from Germany, living in Mexico, and more. It is really a beautiful thing. And it makes me laugh at myself because many of my insecurities here in the first few weeks have been trying to figure out how people from different countries view me. Surely, I am judged. Surely, I am foreign. Surely, I am measured. Surely, I am not able to speak all languages. But, when I watch people from all backgrounds embrace; when I hear stories of shared happiness; when I see a Kenyan buying German food in a Mexican grocery store (only made me miss German bakeries a little...), I absolutely laugh at my fears. Obviously, love exists across borders. Obviously, the fact that I literally see cross-cultural love and affection every day means I am not a foreigner of love. Maybe I'm just a person, like everybody else.

25 Septiembre, 2011

The world of dichotomies

Everyone I have met from here talks about someone they know who was killed in some violence in Mexico. At a nursing home I visited – children of the women working toward peace and development in rural Mexico – one of the women who used to work with a cultural center at my work was recently killed, no one really knows why. Sometimes I feel myself wishing I were blind to the newspaper headlines, deaf to the cries of my neighbors, and unable to feel the hands reaching out to me to pull me deeper into this scarred place.

But I turn around and there is beauty. The hermanas at the convent have received me with pure joy and kindness, have set an extra plate at their table and told me their home is my home. They have offered for me to come and relax whenever I want to. They have prayed for my friends and family in the US in a prayer circle and constantly ask about the other volunteers here with me to make sure we are all feeling well.

My host family and I continue to laugh and eat late meals together, entering spaces for love and care together and for one another. Meals are made which are the artistic product of a brother who lives to care for his family, which now includes me. They always ask if I am happy.

I go to conferences in rural towns where the groups who are working on environmental sustainability projects thank me profusely for coming and sharing their town, their ideas, and my time, knowing that I may never return and also that I only understand about half of what they are saying. The power of mere presence is a beautiful thing.

I always get extra hugs and words of encouragement from the members of my church,

asked by people I barely know to have coffee or to join in discussions about which I feel like I have nothing to contribute. Still I am received with smiles.

I get lost often trying to find buses and the stress from feeling lost, physically and metaphorically, is immense. But then I muster up the courage to ask a woman on the corner if I am at the right place and she smiles and points out when the bus I want is coming. People are always looking out for me. Even a woman I met once at a lecture offered for me to knock on her door no matter what time of day or night if I ever got lost or need to get out of a taxi in the neighborhood so far away from my own.

I learn about cultural ambassadors of all sorts – those who have made professions out of this work, those who have married cross-culturally. It has been so helpful for me to have people leading me through these huge times of transition, frustration, and unknowing.

I see beautiful flowers and sunshine everywhere, gorgeous countryside, hills, and ruins that tell me a story about the place I am at present. Sometimes I literally need the wind to slap me in the face to wake me up and see what is right in front of me.

Awesome mariachi music alternating with Pitbull blares from the buses as the bus drivers deck out their buses in all sorts of party gear. Just because they can. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed, and sometimes I have the overwhelming urge to laugh and be slightly frightened at the same time. Like when I got on a bus two days ago that had a huge sign that read “SKULL” on the ceiling but then on the dashboard had a bobble-head frog holding a heart that said “I LOVE YOU” for example What would you think in that situation?

I was invited into the home of one of the women I work with, to come meet her whole family and cook with her, though she hopes I enjoy it because she proclaims her family poor.

The same woman shines with pride as she clarifies that her spirituality will never be poor and that her spirituality always brings her peace when she doesn't have money or the ability to read and write. She is embarrassed when I call her my teacher. But although she is not the one in the room who has been working in a physical classroom for 50 years, I am learning so much from her.

I see the pain of people holding out their sombreros for money on the corner of many streets and feel uncomfortable. And then I hear a man call, “Yessica!” I recognize him but can't remember his name, only that we've met once my first day of work at a reunion. He greets me with a smile and asks if everything is going well. He remembers me and I have somehow made an impact on his life. No idea what that impact is. But it comforts me when I am surrounded by discomfort.

I see huge movements and demonstrations that are very dangerous and risk everything, literally.

But then I feel the importance of these actions and words and it is good.

I hear people tell firsthand accounts of immigrating illegally to the US, how hard it was, how easy it was, how much money meant or means to them. And then some say they really miss the US but cannot go back. People of all ages.

It really puts my judgments into perspective when I find out that everyone in my host family has nieces/nephews/daughters/sons illegally in the US, and their children do not have access to education because of their status. And when I find out that 3 members of my host family, those who I probably trust and rely on the most in this unfamiliar place, who I can talk with about nearly everything and who take such good care of me,

are street vendors, jobs which I have always viewed as 'dirty' or 'bothersome and desperate.' Little did I know.

To live with pain, fear, love, ignorance, joy, wonder, judgment, discomfort, caution, reassurance, happiness. Every step I take is a blind one.

18 Septiembre, 2011

I took a brave step a couple of days ago. I decided to wash my clothes. With a couple minutes downtime one afternoon I thought (after seeing the washing machine the first day I arrived) that I'd ask to put my clothes in and start it, then get to read my book for an hour or so. Little did I know... The machine was plugged in. About 5 cups of laundry detergent powder was poured on top of my clothes. Buckets of water were filled to pour into the machine. And the power button was pushed so that the machine roared to life, splashing a constant ranging rapids of soap suds and water everywhere. It was kind of like taming a beast. I was asking my family member who was showing me how to do this for the third time how much time I needed to wait before coming back to the machine to take the clothes out and hang them out on the line. His third response after failing to be understood  the previous two times was to grab one of my shirts out of the machine, throw it into the bumpy sink, and scrub as fast and as furious as possible, alternating scrubbing a soap bar and tossing buckets of continuous water on the article of clothing with one hand, while rubbing the shirt as vigorously as possible across the bottom of the sink with the other, and then running outside to clip the shirt to the drying line before running back in before the water bucket of constantly-flowing water overflowed in order to keep the process going. It was nothing short of an extreme sport. He gestured for me to take over from there, at which point there was a moment in which neither one of us moved except for a laugh that escaped my mouth; then I spent the next hour running back and forth, alternating throwing buckets of water on each article of clothing, vigorously scrubbing with what I felt was about 100 times more soap than was necessary, and sweating so much that when all was said and done it was almost comical that I had just showered.

15 Septiembre, 2011

Today is Day 1 (of 2) of Mexican Independence Day. This is the actual day independence was achieved but the news wasn't shouted from the town's center until the 16^th. Apparently everywhere is a big party tonight – it was bizarre for me to attend spin class this morning because 3 of the ladies were wearing Mexican jerseys and everyone was really pumped and yelling and Mexican pride music was being blared out of the speakers for the entire class. Everyone just looked so happy and I was trying to also, but it just doesn't mean much to me. I kept trying to imagine that it was the 4^th of July, because that's always exciting right? But it's not the 4^th of July. Though I bet everyone is excited to see friends and family. That's probably where the true excitement of Independence Days comes from. Strange to be in a place where Independence doesn't mean independence for you. I also wonder what Independence means for Mexico versus what it means for the US, especially in current years. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure I know what Independence Day means for the US in modern context. That we can live in comfort? That we can go out after dark? That we have access to college educations? I don't know about you but I don't think about that stuff on the 4^th of July.

Thank God for family and friends. The world is an incomprehensible place.

11 Septiembre, 2011

I laugh, I cry, I wonder, I love

that all of us transition together, alone but together

I believe one big challenge for me this year is realizing how to combine what I experience every day, some things known as home combined with things I've never really been exposed to

Starbucks and machismo

Bananas and the Spanish language

Nike and bustling mercados

Corn flakes and mariachi

American friends and living with extended families

Kindles and scorpions

Televisions and poverty

All overlapping and literally in one place, so familiar but so foreign, like how can these things possibly fit together?

It's such a disconcerting comfort, I don't know what to do with myself.

I expected to leave – to go far away – to lose myself

But I am still here, not quite sure of how to be lost.

Maybe to be lost is to feel completely unsure, so blindly dependent, but still present.

Or perhaps it's always happening, any uncertainty and any discomfort, no matter how strong.

11 Septiembre, 2011

My visit to the Anglican Church in Cuernavaca:

I go to find comfort

You welcome me

We're all the same

Because of our skin

Until I hear your story

and it is not your neighbor's

You write

You laugh

At our denominational differences

You sing

We all sing

You are escaping

from pain

to more isolation

and find freedom?

You have come and gone

a minority

I open my mouth to say the Creed

And hear new words

Unfamiliar praises

in a deceivingly similar setting

What language do you really speak?

Because though I hear you

I do not understand

You are what I am looking for.

8 Septiembre, 2011

I learned how to make sopes for the first time today! It was really fun but it took the cook (from now on to be referred to as Gloria) a few minutes to realize I truly wanted to help her cook. She was like, “really, you don't eat tortillas at home?” and I had to explain that even if I did eat tortillas more than once every two weeks, no one around me would know how to make them. I was also fortunate enough to get to hang out with her daughter all day as well, because my two supervisors were gone. What do you know – I was supposed to be at the house (meeting place) all day because people were supposed to come by and drop off documents. The one task I had prepared for and been trained for and... no one showed up all day. But the time was hardly wasted. I pulled out a guitar from the Maestra's house – she has some random instruments sitting around) and I sang and made up very very basic songs to play with Gloria's daughter. We also played a really entertaining game of write out the full name of all your family members and take turns being really surprised at how unpronounceable each name is and count the letters in the name to see who had the longest name. Mom, you won. Toward the end of my time at the house today, some women started coming in to participate in the 'sewing' i.e. gossip class. Don't get me wrong, they were sewing some amazing looking bags, but not much had been accomplished by the time I left other than me learning the word for 'sinners' as the women laughed and talked about drama in the community. I really would enjoy getting to know these women more, but the limited Spanish frustrates everything.

I had to choose between going to the internet cafe and taking a shower tonight, and I figured since I hadn't showered in 2 days, there really was no choice. But talk about really having to choose here. You really have to figure out your priorities. I'm not only referring to building a fire for half an hour before I shower so I can have warm water (the water felt so much warmer because I successfully built the fire myself today! - I think of how stupid these little celebrations must sound to my host family who has been doing these things for years) and thus not being able to go have internet before nightfall sets in, but also living off minimum wage in Mexico really stresses me out in always thinking about calling and texting and then deciding it's not really worth it, using less soap in the shower, not washing my clothes as much, and nearly eliminating my snack and exploration of food and beverage intake. I've had a couple discussions already with ML (my direct supervisor), la wise elderly Maestra, and other women in rural Mexico about the serious lack of ability to tackle looming issues because entire families are trying to live off what I'm living off of. And I don't have to pay for food or rent. Go figure.

I was riding in the bus today in one of my two hour commutes, and every 10 seconds I saw black fumes grossly emitted from buses. For a fleeting second I was like, “So.... anyone heard of global warming?” and then I grimly laughed at myself and thought, “If I was trying to put sustenance on the table for 6 people, this question would seem totally irrelevant.” Así es. There you have it. Shortly after, a man sitting in front of me threw out two empty bottles into the ditch. Ironic that the organization I'm working with is working with environmental projects, among other things. Then you step back into the real world and everything laughs at you.

Also, as a side note, la Maestra is one of nineteen children.

2 Septiembre, 2011

Happy first of September! I have one more day at the convent in Cuernavaca and then the real work begins here. After meeting my host family and seeing the two sites I'll be working in, I'm excited but also I know there's a lot of learning to do. The two work sites, in Cuentepec and Coateltelco, welcomed our group of volunteers with a HUGE welcome. It was intimidating to have entire communities welcome me into a position where I already know I will not be giving as much as I will be receiving the local knowledge and kindness. What I thought would be a concise tour of the two work placements in each community ended up being a day long, snail-paced meal basically. We spent most of the time at two homes, each of which seem to be the headquarters of basically a community meeting area (I use the term community loosely because it's more like an informal fiesta and work-related topics may or may not pop up in conversation). There were tons of flies and mosquitoes that gave me bites which covered my feet and that worries me a little for the comfort of my work. That being said, these women are already some of the most amazing people I've ever met. They lead community clean-up days where 100 women more or less literally sweep the streets; they teach each other how to make stoves that are easier or more efficient to use; they organize tours of the local school where organic composting and other amazing projects about nutrition and sustainability are happening. The school tour, however, felt really weird because we visitors were being video taped the entire time. Talk about being an outsider. I am grateful that I know have some idea of what it feels like to be a minority. One woman, basically the 85 year old head honcho of one town, said that like 50 years ago she stopped the president of Mexico and made him come visit her small town (by pulling him into a taxi), because she was so upset that her mayor was portraying their pueblo as being fine and everything in order. I have found my grandma, Mexican form. We have been visiting other volunteers' sites every day. This has entailed visiting an organic farm owned by an expat, a center where people ages 10-46 with down's syndrome go, multiple centers for women's domestic and reproductive rights, an AIDS activism program, and retirement communities – just to name a few. It is so inspirational to witness what wonderful work is being done here in Mexico with regard to human rights and community support, especially in a society where it has been made clear to us (by a university professor who came to talk to us one day) that expression of opinions is different than where I am from.

29 Agosto 2011

Hola a todos! It's about time I start recording my orientation experience of the last 2 weeks. I was in Chicago with the 49 other YAGM volunteers August 17-24 and had an absolutely amazing time meeting other volunteers, alumni, and staff of the program. It still blows my mind how quickly deep relationships can form – what a great and beautiful thing! We had many sessions about living abroad, interfaith dialogue, cross-cultural living, and other reflective subjects.

On August 24^th at 5:30am the Mexico group departed for Cuernavaca, Mexico. We were there by lunch time with our only flight being from Chicago to Mexico City. In my program there are 5 young men and 4 young women, and we have been so lucky to have the opportunity to spend LOTS of time together since we got to Mexico. We have been doing a lot of “Art and Story” which includes using clay as props to tell a story of our lives to the group. That and other activities have really allowed for deep community to be built amongst these volunteers and our country coordinator.

The orientation time here has mostly been spent at a convent in Cuernavaca. We've had the amazing opportunity of getting to know the nuns here, not just by being welcomed into their morning worship services which we always read and sing in Spanish and English. The nuns, and the cook here we've had at the Lutheran Center in Mexico City, have made AMAZING food. This includes tostadas, tacos, chile rellenos, avacado and bean combinations, and many delicious spices. We have done a few quick guided tours of the city of Cuernavaca, and it seems wonderful, though it'll still take me awhile to feel adjusted to living there.

We depart from the convent in Cuernavaca for our host families on Saturday at 2:30pm. I will meet my host family (three middle-aged siblings), along with the other host families of people staying in Cuernavaca, on Wednesday evening over a shared meal. I am a bit nervous for it but also after having seen the success of two of the volunteers whose host families from Mexico City got to eat with us last night, I am looking forward to having the stress of not knowing the family gone.

I wish you all much peace in your own exploration!