Remembering What We Must Not Forget

        I remember seeing photos across newspapers and seeing the covered grandmothers.  Their cheeks were hollowed out and they wore scarves around their heads and their hearts under layers of clothes.  I remember noticing lines of people lining up for food and making a connection to the great depression.         And there were nightly newscasts with sirens, and bomb blasts and cloudy skies, and yet, I had no idea what was happening in Bosnia Herzegovina in 1992 and why.  I was 12 years old and well, I would like to say I was sensitive and alert to what was happening in the world and astute for a pre-teen, I was only so much, in my own little self-absorbed world.  And yet, as an adolescent, it´s not an excuse but it does provide some background justice to my ignorance.  Meanwhile,  I don´t know what the adult (10 years my senior) world´s response would be to that statement, but I am not sure how anyone who actually knew what was happening and wasn´t directly involved could justify their turning of a cheek, as the world did, more or less, during the 90s war of the Balkans.

       I have been lucky enough in my life to be able to dive into some history, that was taught to me, through landmarks and living histories of people who experienced war, injustice, poverty and the woes of the world.  Across South Africa, Laos, Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia; Salvador, Brazil;  Singapore and India, I was able to learn more from my visits to castles, forts, food tours, cooking classes, tunnel tours, theatre presentations, dance troupes, long chats and much more, I learned more about the history and cultures of these place then I ever did in history class or in a museum.   And yet, in Bosnia Herzegovina, a museum was really all I had, because 20 years later, there are very few people who want to talk about it.  Furthermore, a museum gives you half of what you should know or want to know, but it also melts your heart because you are formulating an idea about a history that is not yours without any true personal understanding or monumental understanding to help expand your knowledge. 

      As I travelled from Dubrovnik to Mostar, up the tree-lined coasts with turquoise waters, with light creating sparkling diamonds, into the rolling hills with water clear as glass and green lush, I was drawn to the simple, untouched landscape with a mere windy road and a few cities sporadically laid throughout the Bosnian countryside.  

     In Mostar, even though it took us two hours to find our charming guesthouse, everyone in the city was at our service with little or no English.  When there was a will, there was a way.  As we walked around Mostar, lined with old buildings labeled "Dangerous ruins" do not enter and cemeteries the size of small lakes, one couldn´t immediately fight the wave of sadness flooding your core.  A city not rebuilt, bursting 100s of tourists during the day and turning into a ghost town at night, the whole idea of hope comes in like the wave and and lulls and rises of a tide. 

    "These cities have been killed by indifference, by our conviction that somebody else- the government,  the party, those "above" are -- in charge of it. Not us.. How can we be in charge of it, if we are not in charge of our own lives?" Slavenka Drakulic 

     How right Slavenka was, our tour guide Admir, explained to us.  "The Bosnian government has received billions of dollars of aide to rebuild this country and yet, there´s a 50% unemployment rate, little industry and no physical sign of where the money has gone.  Corruption is rampant and no one knows what is next."   

      I did some research. Admir was right. 5.3 billion Euros have been invested into the country and yet, in Sarajevo, building corners lay shackled with bullet holes; new architecture is only represented in the reconstructions of old architecture or in the art deco buildings that barely survived the war.  Where has the money gone and what can we do to make sure history doesn´t repeat itself as people want to eat, live, work, worship and more independently?  Rights, most of us, rarely consider desires but fundamentals to our everyday existence. 

   I just finished a book, written by Croatian author, Slavenka Drakulic.  It was titled, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed.  She, herself, said, in an epilogue that the title was not appropriate, given that her country and many other former Yugolsavian states entered a whole other war, shortly after it was finished. A war that was not worth laughing about.  A war, that I know, as a 30 something, I need to understand better to understand the world better.  It was a war that is being mirrored in Syria right now, and a war in which the world let hundreds of thousands people die.  

    After my trip to Bosnia, I am not laughing.  I yearn to learn more and I want to better understand how the world continues to let these wars, civil or what have you, continue where people are continuously killing each other or fearing for their lives.  I´ll end on a quote that inspired me to speak up and out and if nothing, try to encourage a re-education of the events of Bosnia.  

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Edmund Burke

Here´s to the crazy ones.

Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do. Steve Jobs

  Yesterday, I watched a TED talk that inspired me to be each one of my students´

champion. Every kid needs a champion! 

   Contemplating this, it´s quite a big task, but somebody´s gotta do it, right.  I challenged myself the the last 30 days of teaching to be extraordinary.  To be a teacher that shared new things on a daily basis that weren´t necessarily relevant to the coursework or units, but relevant to life on a whole new level. And maybe, I am a rebel for it, and maybe I just see things differently and meaning differently like Steve Jobs suggested.  However, for now, this is a mission and an important one, because inspiration is integral to our lives as human beings.  We dance around happiness, looking for love, looking for light but really, we just need something to believe in and something to move us forward into action. 

   When I think back of all my professors, the ones that truly inspired.  I think of Lavada Nicholls, my photography teacher, from High school, who stood by my side as I fumbled towards photographic ecstasy over 4 years and came out with a small but developing eye for beautiful things, but probably more, particularly, the need for human beings to interact with each other and art.  

  I think of Mr. Kennedy, who asked me to stay after class in Expressive writing class.  Everyone knows that terror of having to stay after class and I immediately though I had done something wrong, when in fact, he wanted to praise me and encourage me to publish my work in a mainstream magazine.  My kwirky writing had hit the right note and sent me soaring into believing I was finally, a capable writer.

  When I think of the crazy ones, I think of Chandra Mohanty, who told me, "maybe Hamilton isn´t right for you, maybe you need something way out of your comfort zone."  Looking back, I know she knew me way before I knew myself.  

  You need to know that Bob Palusky, my pottery teacher, who watched me meticulously try to master the art of throwing pots and centering clay, stood by me, knowing that all that ridiculous pneumonia filled passion that I spent in the studio, would one day lead to some powerful hand sculptures.  Our professors that make us good don´t only push us to be funnier and smarter, they push us to go way outside of where we knew existed.  They push us to work harder even when we aren´t good at things.  They push us to want to be successful in things that are initially impossible.  What a big job they had.  What a bigger one I have nowadays with social media, globalism and increasing economic gaps in every small crack surrounding us.  

  Facebook rumor has it, it´s National teachers week and I have to say that being a teacher for the last 11 years hasn´t been a ride in the park.  It´s been a turbulent filled ride around the world, filled with tears, romance, depression, captivation, awe, beauty and sadness, but writing about it, makes me realize, how much I myself embody all those feelings on a daily or weekly basis.  Being surrounded by these emotions only really makes me feel more human. So, in honor of National teachers week, I fully support Steve Jobs´wise words because I would be aimlessly feeling for the light in the dark without those teachers that made me "think different." Without good teachers,making me smile until my face hurt, or smiling and nodding and knowing I would find my path, I would be still wandering through the fields looking for my part to share.  Because of good teachers, I have been blessed to share the love and adventures I find around the world with each one of my students in a hope to inspire equally, magic. 

I want to break free

This past weekend I went away to a technology conference in London. 

 I thought nothing of going to it.  It was just another conference in something that I am interested in.  And yet, going back to Barcelona I feel like I've been on Jupiter and had this somewhat life altering experience.  

I have mixed feelings about the whole experience. Leaving your comfort zone isn't what I would call fun.  I mean there are moments when you learn or do something you couldn't dream possible or when you are intoxicated by cold, fresh air like you would be from taking a shot of tequila or 3, but the word fun isn't what comes to mind.  I think challenged would be the positive side of it but confused would be the opposite side of things.

I guess that was what was scary, how lost and confused I felt after, after feeling confident and secure before I arrived. Now, I don't know where to go or what to do with my life, with my career as an educator.  I feel a little bit more sad about the world and really just unsure of what's the next step, when in the back of my mind I know that I need to be stimulated and inspired by my work which must on some level involve a good deal of intellectual research and discourse, but also involve working with people of varying levels of education, class, race, etc. 

  That being said, everything that I have seen in the last 2 days awakened me to a few clarities:

A) Even though our school doesn't have tons of resources it is a supportive environment for giving its staff the opportunity to develop professionally. I feel I am on the right track and my independent motivation combined with a pretty supportive community has allowed me to personally advance in my understanding of technology, and 75% of what we have finished have aided in students understanding of themselves as individuals and collaborators

B) The bells and the whistles of all these technological ipad/ android apps in the world are beginning to overlap and finding the ones that help push critical thinking skills, and which also have a real and forward set of real world application and lastly, produce something which shows a comprehension of content and ability to understand and explain, are far and few between

C) Asb has to start honing in on one implementation strategy or all of them are going to implode

D) Kids are losing out on some core understandings of basic economics in the world due to all these gadgets and gizmos and all this incessant consumerism largely influenced by the extreme increase of technological devices over the last ten years

E) I have to solve some issues of the world, whether that happens by actually going out into underdeveloped countries and teaching OR by starting to design some projects in school with technology  that actually help people in developing countries gain access to some of the basic human resources we have; something has got to change and quickly.

When we don't know, we are free, but when we know, we inherit chains limiting our freedom.  And the knowledge brings a whole different set of powers, because we have the privilege to choose what we do with this knowledge, do we break free from the chains and try to pretend like we don´t know, or do we summon up all the courage we have and do something.  

Sometimes, especially when I think of my time in Senegal or Southern Venezuela or in the mountains of Chiang Mai, I feel like not knowing is power. The smiles on those faces in those places stemmed from smoking corn cigarettes and playing 3, 6, 9 in a variety of languages; or how about a foreign couple entering the local bar located in the living room of another foreigner; or laughing at the four foreigners sleeping together in solidarity to avoid the danger of a single rat, all of these generate energy you can´t get from an Ipad. 

Often I feel as if our Westernized worries and fears only bring laughter to the poorest people in the world and when we think about them, they can bring laughter to even us and the ridiculousness of our reactions.  

On the contrary our westernized wealthier cultures often bring worry and stress as people travel or immigrate to our countries and sadly this repeats twice as much on our side.  We aim to accommodate but cultural norms sometimes close down communication ending commonly in misunderstanding.

In the end I come back to the Macy Gray lyrics and aim to be bigger, better and bolder in the days to come.

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

Don't let the days of your life pass you by

You got to

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

How will you make it if you never even try

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

Can't spend your whole life tryin' to get high

You got to get up, get out

And do somethin'

'Cause you and I have to do

For you and I

2013 Vision Boarding..

If you could cook up your life, what would it look like? 

Everyday I go in and outside of my life, through my work, through my relationship, through my commute, and through my doings and I wonder if this is what it´s all supposed to be. 

Of course, we all have these waves that we crest and float safely into sure, smoothly, on days that we feel loved and proud of our lives and our work.  And, we have agonizing ones for sure, that seem to take us forever to get into shore, swimming across currents instead of with them, getting sucked down by a huge wave and trying to fight your way out of it.  It´s nothing new and yet, at times, I wonder if I get worse or better at dealing with it all. 

If I could cook up my life, here´s what I imagine it would look like. 

I´d be in love with someone who makes me laugh when we are intimate, challenges my patience levels outside of the classroom, brings my lows to highs and smiles from ear to ear when my highs are on the horizon.  I´d have my life and he´d have his, but we´d meet in between for wondrous voyages and mouthwatering meals.   And to be honest, this is an area which I am comfortable with, but am still trying to challenge completely as well.  I want to be married to amazement and the only place I know I will find that initially is with me.  Making it with another person is a whole different ride in the park. 

I´d be in a job which I feel like I give to the world.  Check on 9/10 teaching posts so far..

But I´d also be in a job where I feel like I am creating.  Less on the artistic side but much more on the literacy/ technology side, I must keep moving forward and pushing those ideas through... Sometimes check... 

And a job where I could make a little bit of money to pursue bigger dreams or crazy ideas.  Negative check.

Finally, I´d be in a job where people take me seriously and respect my ideas, don´t patronize me and value my experience.  A veces, si, A veces, no....

Finally, my life in 2013 and what it would ideally look like.

My commute would be less than 20 minutes.

I would run at least 3 times a week and run a marathon. (in the cards friends)

I would play volleyball on the beach or court twice a week and actually play the whole time.

I would fulfill at least one of the crazy prophecies I have once a week. 

I would cook 3 times a week at home and maybe do the Barcelona Eat with Friends thing..

I would speak Spanish better than I do now.. 

I would break the 50 country mark.. 5 more to go and a couple hundred plus days to do it this year.. 

I would complete some version of "Before the end" project in Spain this year.

Here we go 2013.. Here´s to you, here´s to me and here´s to not only thinking but really doing.. 

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
e. e. cummings 

We remember. We celebrate. We believe.

This title comes from a song we sang in church a lot growing up and I found it an intriguing way to start a post-holiday reflection.

I remember arriving in Banjul, eyes half-open, a smirk on my face and as we walked dreamily through the airport, our entrance into Africa wasn´t so different than any other country I have traveled to.   When we walked out, the completely normal row of drivers holding papers, as to be expected at 3:30 am,  but where was Buba?  Nowhere to be found and hence the adventures with public transport began.  Our first taxi, a small green 1970s version of the Ford focus, rattled up, and so we hopped in.  As we travelled down the smooth Gambian roads, with a cool breath of air blowing through the window and a cute, cozy Spaniard snuggling into me, I felt Africa welcoming me with open arms.
I remember diving into the Atlantic off Gambia for the first time, feeling baptized by the water, a little bit colder than my liking but nevertheless, it was as if I had been cleansed of my sins and resurrected from the hard work of the last few months.  I splashed around, and rode the waves, my mind secretly swimming back to childhood moments of getting lost in the water for hours upon end.

I remember arriving in Ziguinchor, which seemed like a scene from the movie District 9.  It was like a junk yard/ trash deposit that had come alive with old cars dominating the scene.  Men of all colors haggling, stores constructed of car hoods, rope, and plastic bottles selling anything you could imagine and a lingering odor of urine and farm animals.
I remember being thirsty and confused when Andrés directed me to a house in Kartong and said, "This is the bar."
And, we rocked up and a small Guinean man came out and said "What do you need?"
"We can get a cold beer here?" We asked.
"Sure, come in."
And sitting in the cozy living room of this man´s house/ bar, I couldn´t help but laugh about how important it is our definitions are always changing while traveling.

I remember getting told that "Bisous son interdit," otherwise known as "Kissing is forbidden" in the street while getting in some make out magic on the streets of Cap Skerring.


I celebrate the voices, dancing, costs, access to entertainment, energy of the Abene music festival.  While watching African women shake their booties and move their legs dancing like crickets would, I watched, hand in hand with a small African child who had grabbed my hand and insisted we were dance partners, shaking our hips with broad smiles and wide eyes.
I celebrate the fireworks and chaos of Place de Independence in Dakar on New Year´s eve.  Firecrackers flew in every direction.  By some people´s definition, a war zone, energy flew around and lit up people´s faces and hearts.

I celebrate the island of Goree and the ability to walk around freely exploring like it was your grandfather´s old farm house.  Every corner lied photo opportunities people dream of and the tranquility of the island left room for your imagination to create independent accounts of people´s experiences and adventures in this island.

I celebrate a good boogie in Cap Skerring and holding my own in the African discotheque.  I was never a hip hop star.  But somehow, on that magical evening, I was surrounded by a crew of Senegalese men,    busting a move to Sean Paul and somehow, for a moment channeled Rihanna.  We all have moments when we fool ourselves into thinking we are cool.
I celebrate the Saigonesse in Saint Louis.  In general, Vietnamese food makes my world go around; nevertheless, I will be dreaming of the pho we had at the Saigonesse for awhile until something else nurtures my culinary spirit like that again.  Here´s hoping.

I believe that I had the best tiger prawns yet along the Cap Skerring coast, at a fly-infested hut along the beach.  Always reiterating beggars can´t be choosers and expect the unexpected.
I believe that sharing experiences makes color disappear in front of your face.  As we sat in the crowded bus, and more people climbed, kids on every lap possible, a bench and people basically sitting on our laps in the back and finally 5 people holding onto the luggage rack and ladder along the back of the bus as we cruised down the road towards Saint Louis.  You can´t help but share nods, expressions that say "I know, this sucks" or "Respect that we can do this."

I believe in the healing power of hot water and really, how it can make everything better, when you are traveling out of your comfort zone.
I believe from the happiness of the people in Senegal with so little that we all must take a step back and look a little bit closer at appreciating what we have.
I believe that trips like this help us to reflect, laugh, grow, develop patience and to appreciate and value our existence, our partners, our families, our lives.

I encourage you to remember, celebrate and believe.

Hopeful wanderer

My space heater, the size of a microwave with less power than my hairdryer sits behind me, as I long for a warmer place, I sit with a cup of tea, momentarily content at the same time. 

Winter has arrived in Barcelona and after a year and a half here that pinge of anxiousness of where I am in the world and life, lingers.  Nevertheless, for once, in 7 years, I am fairly content and excited about the possibilities of another year or two or three or more in Barcelona. 

Last night, I went to my first football match and though the brisk air and ruthless wind made me think twice about attending, it paled in comparison to the energy in Camp Nou.  For the first time in months, after protests, national strikes, salary discussions and a generally low staff morale at work, I felt a surge of hope. 

And, I really realized that is what Barcelona, ASB, and myself all need at the moment, a little hope.  And the puzzle pieces started to surface in my fingers: a project impossible card, an email from a friend who helped me light up some people´s lives in Venezuela and a hard drive, that miraculously contains some photos that we thought had gotten lost in cyberspace or in a move which multiple people did. 

The project I did in Venezuela changed my life.  It got me reengaged in life and also made me connect with a country that I had generally given up hope on.  

I am not losing faith in Spain.  When I look back at all my wanderings this year, I smile warmly at my two favorite trips I did this past year, both in Spain.  One to Sevilla, with three very different but amazing, inspirational and powerful thinking women.  And then, of course, there was the Camino, something that I will recommend to anyone who enjoys hopefully wandering across a country, across people´s journeys, across one´s individual path and existence in the world. 

So, as 2012 comes to a near close, I am looking forward to taking my wanderlust to a new part of the world, Western Africa, with someone who smiles at the unique world and gets as much satisfaction from random adventures as I do.  I look forward to wandering hopefully in 2013 and getting lost within the possibility of a photography project in Barcelona that might rejuvenate some people´s hope within themselves and connect people who need to know that they are not alone at all right now in this time of crises and change in Spain.  

What lies before me builds a mystery, but the current cold air awakens me to opportunities that creep in corners waiting to come into the light. 

Dear Mr. Chavez

Dear Mr. Chavez,

      I am not sure where to start.  You see, I lived in your unbelievable country for 14 months.  I had the opportunity to travel to the amazing islands, beaches, to Angel falls; one of the natural wonders of the world.  A country with green waves of forest, a country with beaches untouched and charismatic, a country with people who love to dance, sing and hope for a better time.  A country I believe has the potential to be the Thailand and Maldives of the Western hemisphere, and yet, I hugely respect you not wanting to share this because you want Venezuela to be for Venezuelans and that is something that many of the westernized countries I have lived in, including my own, could learn from.
      I worked with the most elitist and also with many of your supporters.  Working at Escuela Campo Alegre, I had the opportunity to meet some of the most educated and professional people I have met in the field of education.  Completing the project "Antes del fin," I worked with pilots, sociologists, photographers, artists, all who have contributed and will contribute more to your country.  I dated a Chavista who idolized your views like you were a God, so much that I started to see some of them as potential truths for a better world, in ways.
      I was fortunate enough to live in a posh area of Caracas, surrounded by green and beautiful housing.  On the contrary, I was lucky enough to travel into the barrios to watch theatre and see how the other side lives.  I am confident that you are a good influence on the people in the barrios.  Their lives seemed comfortable and not much different from mine in Las Mercedes, but still something lingered.   I ran through neighborhoods my colleagues were scared of during the half marathon.  I regularly took public transportation both buses and the metro and walked around during the day.
     And yet, I stand here wishing that it had been the other man who was elected.  Why you might ask, if you have experienced some of the wonders of Venezuela?  And why, if you hold socialist principles like you have stated?
    The thing is, I was terrified.  I was unconfident to let someone, I wanted to employ, a way to help out the underprivileged in your country, clean my house, because I felt that they would steal from me.   And both times, they did.  On top of this, I was robbed on the street for a $20 phone.  If these were only my stories, you could say I was paranoid or stereotyping a country, but the horrors I heard exceed any of any other countries I have lived in or my friends have lived in. Double robberies within hours on the walk to work, babies lives being threatened, airport kidnappings, murders at pharmacies.   And it is not okay that people live in fear; preferring to get in a taxi with someone who has been drinking, then a taxi driver who might kidnap them.  It is not alright that I was terrified to take out my phone in public in fear that anyone might come up to me on the street and take it away.  I was frustrated for my Spanish friend who could not take her son out for a walk during the day because another friend´s baby was held at gunpoint.  This is not how people live; socialism or not.  This is not what we "humans" call living.
    They say you have 6 more years.  It is your time to make Venezuela for Venezuelans.  That means making it a place where people can take back the streets, take back the night and demonstrate everything that their country is to the world.
    So, Mr. Chavez, I challenge you to rise to the occasion and make it the place people want to call home.  You have a long way to go.  45% of your country does not believe you can do it.
   For them and the rest of the world, I do hope you can.

Saludos,
Heather Onderick