"Sólo una cosa hace imposible un
sueño: el miedo de fracasar."
There
is only one thing that makes dream impossible: The fear of failure.
September.
What a long time ago. How is it that time flies faster than a jet plane? But
hey, I'm not going to lie and pretend that I didn't know that already. So. Back
to September. It was weird getting slowly but surely to the point where I would
have left Bolivia had I not extended my contract.
At
work we had more than much to do because the yearly fundraiser was coming up the
second weekend of September, bringing with it not only the invitations and
preparations for the food that we would be selling, but also figuring out the
prizes for the lottery, studying dances that would be demonstrated. On top of
the fundraiser, we organized a soccer tournament that would take place Saturday,
with the final on Sunday. Finally, the last few things had to be done like
fixing and hanging up a big sign with information about the fundraiser, building
up tents for the visitors to sit under, arrange tables and chairs, and most of
all GET PREPPED!!!!!!!
There
was nothing more satisfying to actually start the fundraising weekend after
having pulled through with the organization. Obviously, the whole team of
Plataforma was exited and ready to start working. We started out Saturday
afternoon with the soccer games that ended up dragging out until late into the
night. This gave us the chance to start selling drinks and hot dogs. At the end
of the night we went home tired but ready to give everything to make the next
day - the day of the actual fundraiser - a full success. Taking up that
positive energy, I started out Sunday morning with my Batukada group (that now
has T-shirts!) to make some noise out by the entrance to Plataforma and then at
the corner of the street where the Micros pass by. After a more or less ok
performance the evening before during the soccer games it was at first not easy
to motivate my kids. After a while they did give in to my request to play even
though the sun was already burning down, and in the end we even walked a few
blocks before turning around tired. While I was busy making noise in the
streets, Julian drove around the barrio with a mic and boom boxes to remind the
neighbors of the fundraiser. In Plataforma, the preparation for the different
Lunch offers where running on full. I helped out where I could, and took a
break to eat lunch. Throughout the whole morning the vibes were more than good,
with everyone in the team working at 100% but smiling. A detail that maybe
brought even more unity to the team was the brand new PLATAFORMA SOLIDARIA
T-shirts that had been delivered.
After
lunch we started out with the first creative demonstrations. First, Pedro led
the group of kids and volunteers to show the choreography that we had studied
so hard before. Next, two more groups that we had invited performed their shows.
I must say that a group of girls that danced Chacadera, a dance form
Chuquisaca, more than impressed me.
Of
course, we also had to finish the soccer tournament and name the winner before the
big lottery where the luckiest one of the winners would take home a film
camera. What positive reinforcement to
see the pride in the eyes of the kids that won the tournament, especially as
they received the soccer ball that we gave away as a prize. The lottery was
also a success, even though I was a bit disappointed that so many of the prizes
went to people who had bought their ticket in advance, mostly from the
better-off schools and universities, people who were not personally present at
the Fundraiser.
As we
finished up the day Manuela and I made cuñapés as an appetizer. I never thought
that I would be able to sell all of them so fast, but after five minutes of
walking around I had sold 65 cuñapés. For you who don´t know: Cuñapé are round,
salty cheese cookies, in the form of a ball and made with Yuca flour and
cheese. They are delicious and very typical in Santa Cruz.
After
a day full of activities, the whole team was happy when the guests left and we
could sit down to drink a cool beer. We danced some more and we the volunteers
stayed a bit later when everyone else had gone home. It was lovely to watch the
moon rise over Plataforma laughing and telling stories, and just sharing the
moment of joint happiness. For me this evening was the end of a year full of
experiences, full of highs and lows, but mostly highs because I decided to stay
four more months.
Looking
back on it for now, I think it was the best thing I could have done to extend
my contract, because there are still things I have to do in Bolivia, mostly
regarding my work.
I
flew back to Germany with the other 28 German Volunteers of the BKHW. I thought
there would be more tears, but there were hardly any.
*That
weekend I also went out to dance for the first time in a long time to take my
mind off of few things and I had a good
time even though it was the good bye party of my co-volunteers.*
My
crazy travel plans were to visit my grandma in the north of Germany and go to the
island Wangerooge with her. Flashback to the beginning of my journey through life:
"I
also went on "vacation" from my travels to a small island in the
North Sea with my grandma "Oma". I loved the peace and quiet of
the dunes as well as the busier beaches. And the sunsets were beautiful."
(4. September
2013)
This
year sadly the weather was not as kind and I half froze to death, so used to
the heat of Santa Cruz. Nevertheless, it was sunny and did not rain so that we
had a nice time altogether. Time with Oma is sacred and I value every minute I
got to spend with her, even though I did note her getting older.
To
fully appreciate the wonderful, fresh ocean air, I went for a run alongside the
shore. I concentrated on my feet stepping down firmly on the sand, on the waves
rolling in and subsiding in a steady rhythm, and it felt like flying when all I
saw was the clouds reflecting in the puddles on the sand, and the bright sky
above.
What
was even more astonishing, though, was that I found a little seal baby that had
been washed onto shore and apparently hurt. It was desperately trying to get
back to the water and it was all I could do to not lift it up and carry it to
the water. Luckily, an elderly couple passed by. They had a cell phone on them
and called the animal control. I felt a bit bad to leave them, but if seemed
there was nothing we could do and I was getting chilly from the cold wind that
always stirs up the air around the ocean. I would never have dreamed to see a seal, and
on top a baby seal on my little trip to Germany.
Apart
from spending time with my grandma, I came to an insight that maybe had been in
my mind for a while, but that never appeared as more than an unclear form. The
first night on the island we went to mass. Unlike normally, Oma did not push me
to go, rather let me decide freely whether I want to go or not. And unlike
normally, I actually wanted to go to mass.
The
first thing that I saw as I entered the darkish church was a black and white
picture projected on the wall, displaying a scene that I only was able to put
in place as the father started to preach. The picture depicted a scene of utter
chaos, of destruction and horror. I was wondering initially not about what the
scene was, but rather if what I was seeing was a painting or a photograph. Then
the father started his sermon. "Is humanity evil? Why so much war, so much
destruction?" He was referring to 9/11. Just like the picture projected on
the wall. And I had not picked up on it. I had simply overlooked a date crucial
to modern history. I can´t even say that I had not looked at the day´s date
because I had planned my trip and was aware on what date I would be where. A
wave of shame rolled over me, just like now, a sense of disappointment in
myself. How is it that we can live every day untouched by horror without taking
even a second to think in those not as lucky? Not to make up for anything, but
rather to reflect and question, I started to pray for all hoses who had lost their lives to violence,
to unnecessary crimes; to their families left with a hole in their lives too
big to ever fill. I closed my eyes that had filled with tears and let the few,
thoughtful words of the father rain down on me. Never had I experienced such a meditative,
calm, and at the same time emotionally moving mass. On top of the carefully selected words the
father said, he started to play the piano accompanied by violin. He started singing
a song that said "the blind stay blind until someone gets up to see for
them". Now, this could very well be taken literally, but I see it much
more abstract, even more so seen in context with what the father had said in
his sermon before. Have we, as mankind, maybe not "seen" what damage
we are doing and have done to life - not only our own but everyone´s? Will we
only wake up when it is too late? Or have we just not learned to see yet?
The
sermon took me by complete surprise and left me thinking and pondering over
questions that I have asked myself over and over, but never come to a
conclusion. They are the same questions the father had asked as he started
mass. Is humanity evil?
Back
to my vacation. I felt that by the time that Oma and I had to pack our bags and
say goodbye to the island, she was happy to back on her way back home. And,
even though I will never get enough of the salty air and the sound of the
ocean, the prospect of seeing Pia made me anticipate our arrival.
In
fact, Pia was waiting for us on the doorstep when we got back to Oma´s house after
a tiring journey home. It was so good to see her I cannot describe how happy
and complete I felt when I saw her. It is absolutely amazing how our friendship
exists and flourished, based on seeing each other not more than once a year. We
both change, but we can still giggle just like we did in 5h grade and even more
so about the most basic and unimportant details. I don´t think I will ever find
a friend as loyal as Pia, nor will I ever find a friendship with laws unspoken,
but more natural than life itself. The simple fact of snuggling up to Pia at
night like we have done for with 365-day-gaps of not seeing each other means
the world to me. I remember a bit more than a year ago, the night before I had
to say goodbye to my dad, I was lying on the grass with Pia star gazing when
emotions overcame me and she just held me and petted my head without saying a
word, without needing to say a word.
The
next day mom came to visit, another person who I could not live without, whose
tight hugs I would miss, and whose irreplaceable, wise advices I would not know
how to replace. My mom knows me, sometimes better than I know myself. And even
though I have gotten to the point of my life where I start to be independent
and fly free, it is (even more so) important to feel that she is there for me
whatever happens. I could not wish for a better mom, I could not wish for a
more understanding and loving mom, and I could not wish for a happier, healthier
relationship between us two. Love you mom. Thank you for everything.
Talking
to my family I reflected upon my year in Bolivia. What stuck to me were the definitions
of poverty that "we" (speaking about a generalized, oversimplified
western culture) think are set in stone. Many of my relatives asked me about
poverty - whether there is enough food, whether there is water and light. Hearing
this, I was reminded that the picture of poverty that I find myself confronted
with every day is not one of poverty as it might be seen by the "us".
Typing in poverty in Google Images, what pops up? The first few links show
children on piles of trash, with empty bowls in their hands, and so
malnourished that their ribs stand out. But the poverty that I deal with is not
one marked by malnutrition. I see kids abandoned by their families, kids that
prefer to walk around the streets or work in the little stores called tiendas
instead of going to school, with our without their parent´s consent. I hear six
year old girls in a phase crucial to learning say that their mom does not want
them to go to school. I see third graders who have still not learned how to
read. I see a four year old who does not want to go home because her older
brother hits her. And I have to look into a ten year old girl´s eyes and tell
her that I might not come back to Bolivia once I leave after she asks me what I
will bring for her because I have agreed to be her Godmother. This is the
poverty that I see every day. Poverty not so much linked to the lack of food,
nor the material, even though this might go hand in hand, but rather poverty
marked by the deficit of love.
Love.
I am the last person to say that I have not been loved. I have received love
from my parents from the second that I was born, from my grandmothers, from my
aunts and uncles, from my friends and occasional boyfriends...but back to the
story
I
was lucky enough to meet my other grandma Nana at the Frankfurt airport and
then fly to Chicago with her. I was grateful to see her. Just like Oma, she is
a role model, a woman who knows what is good in the world and who has fought to
achieve great things in life, most of all to build up a loving family and give
love to all the people around her, me being one of them. I could not be more
proud of her to make the long journey from Germany to Chicago to see my family
at an age where not all would be happy to hop on plane for seven to eight hours.
Happiness overcame me when I saw my dad
waiting for us at the airport. So many people to be grateful for, so many
people to thank for a life so fulfilling. Dad was always there. I might have a more intimate relationship with my mom, but I
feel closer to my dad in the sense that I can rely on him to be there, to be
around, to console me and tell me everything is fixable. Where my mom gives me
advices on the psychological aspect of life, my dad will always be there for me
to help me figure out the practical part of life. And I will be there so we can
enjoy the nature and take beautiful pictures of the sunrise. And give him the
chance to sit on the passenger seat ;)
Next
thing to say about being home (because in the end home is where my family is),
is how amazing it feels to ride a bike down Greenleaf, take a left on Lakeshore
Blv. And go straight, straight, straight, with the wind in my hair and sun on
my face, with my hands stretched out like wings, the handlebars dangerously
free, but my heart and mind even freer.
My destination?
Jenny´s house. And how could I not be beaming with happiness to see my best
friend who I hadn´t seen in nine months, and who will always make me feel
special with just one long hug. It was SO good to see you! And I now know that
our friendship won´t just fade away like so many others, that I will always be
able to talk to you about anything, and then laugh even more so about the silly
things in life. I love our special Lena Jenny nights and your family is like
the mine. Sister at heart. I will always be there for you. And it hurts me to
see you hurt, like the pain where my own. If you read this please know that I
think of Kasper often and that I give my condolences to everyone in your
family. It won´t be the same without him. I´m glad I got to see him one last
time. RIP.
All
this time I should not be forgetting my little brother, now not that little
anymore, but rather pretty grown up. I am sad that I only got to see him one
evening, but I did enjoy his company playing games and as always learning from
him. I am proud that he is becoming such a handsome gentleman and seems like
taking the right steps into the direction of a responsible, forcoming, young
man. Even though we fight and without doubt have our differences, I could not
wish for a better brother.
My
visit to Chicago was not all fun and recreation. I also went to Loyola to check
out if everything is ok with my application so that I would not have more difficulties
in January when I start my studies. Good thing I did so because it turned out
that I had to redo my application.
The
only person I did not get to see was Annik. Miss you girl. It´s been too long.
Being
at home was great, but it also made me feel incredibly lost. Lost, because I
knew that I would return to this environment for at least a good while and I
would leave behind a world so upside down and opposite in Bolivia. I would
leave behind a life and a love. Because in the end long distance relationships
don´t work if there is no clear future for the relationship. Good thing that
the lake is made up of water.
Water.
Water. Water. Sand. Sand. Sand. You don´t know what you had until it´s gone.
I
also met up with Lily. Changes change people, but friendships stay the same
when they are set in stone. I love how easily we can talk and how much trust
there is in our relationship. I can´t wait for all the photo shoots in January
when I come back.
Again,
I had to get on a plane. Back to Bolivia. Still with the hope that someone
would be waiting for me at the airport when I landed. Someone did pick me up,
it just wasn´t who I was hoping for. I spent the night with coworkers because
they live near the airport and from there went straight to work. How amazing to
see my kids again, how amazing to hug all of them, to see that they had missed
me the same that I had missed them.
I
got to meet the two new German volunteers, Julius and Jakob; both super great
even though they are just as lost in Bolivia as I was at the beginning of my
time. They´ll learn :)
I learned
that sometimes all it takes is one look to reignite feelings, to remember how
much you can love a person and nevertheless how necessary it is to be honest
before being anything else, on top of everything with oneself. I have never
said words that I meant more and that at the same time hurt the double. But I
was honest with him and with myself, and I am proud that I pulled through with
that. Because if one of us isn´t happy, love is not enough to keep a
relationship alive. So for now I have two and a half more months to enjoy a
life that I will not get back as easily.