A timeline of sorts

Excerpts from my Journal, because I am utterly disorganized.

February 21
And it only hits me now that this feeling-this separation from those who truly love us, know us, appreciate us (that which is familiar) is what makes this an experience. If you have nothing to leave, nothing to wait for you… you can never come full circle. Isnt it true that journeys always have to start somewhere. And maybe it is this beginning which is just as important. I don’t think I could ever take the first step of any of these journeys without always having my beginning: home and family.

February 22
If landscape is to be used as inspiration, then Chile is the place to be. The warmth and the excitement of the 11 other students and directors of the program reaches out to grab you. Everywhere, people want to know who you are and what your story is and will be.

Advice from seat A next to my seat B on the plane: “You might run into an asshole now and then, but assholes are everywhere. There are more nice people in Chile” My first advice from the first Chilean I met. Who would have thought- her favorite state is Pennsylvania!

February 25
I’ve been concentrating so much on the land, I cant lose track of the people I’ve gotten to know it with. And there is so much value in the people in the program… the fun, the adventure, the types of conversations we have so easily slid into. Eating together, going out the first night to the bar, sharing stories on the beach, (whats your favorite scar, thanks GRAB), stretching/yogaing during class breaks. Finding a Common Ground! Yesterday walking back from the seafood restaurant we all felt warm and fuzzy, and for awhile no one could stop laughing. Yes, the pisco sours are strong and tasty here, and they flow until the wee hours. But this night… I felt like we were evincible, this band of people with such hopes and dreams and ambition, giddy with anticipation of what was to come.
There is something to be said for a group of people speaking in the same broken language, in a dimly lit bar in a crowded beach town talking about their favorite pages in the Lonely Planet guide.

March 8
I wish I could see all the things that have been lost in translation. If I could be lost in translation I would never leave… because I get the feeling it would be the funniest place to be. My inspiration for this thought is an email a friend received from a Chilean student we met last night. He wrote in English:
“Hi Lauren. I’m Mauricio, we met yesterday. I was the one with the bag in my pelvis…”
I can only assume he is referring to his black leather fanny pack.

March 18
As it turns out I am utterly, unbelievably disorganized. My thoughts have already passed to become memories and they are all over the place. At least I have managed to save some by pasting them to these pages.