September

"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.