El Campo Reflection 1

The next three days of my total nine days in Nicaragua were spent up in the San Ramon area of Matagalpa. For those of you that are not savvy on Nicaragua geography it is roughly located here:

*Image courtesy of Finca Esperanza Verde

We visited the community La Pita. This community was part of a coffee cooperative under CECOCAFEN-- an entity that ensures fair trade and quality of life for their coffee farmers. Before we even made it to La Pita, we were able to meet with a representative from CECOCAFEN who was able to tell us a little about the organization and what exactly it means to be part of a cooperative.After a rough van ride (which included a bus load of people pushing the van across a large creek and up the embankment due to a sketchy bridge), the group of us found ourselves sitting outside the community school being fed a great lunch. We then were told where we would be staying for the next two nights. This may have been one of the most memorable parts of my whole time in Nicaragua. I stayed with a family that lived across a little river from what could be called the center of the community. To the right of our house was the community soccer field which was used rain or shine a couple of times a day. I even got to play in a game for a few minutes! The house itself was basically brick and wood and had a few different sections. There was a kitchen with a room in the back of it. In the rear of that structure there was a newer building that was built by the women of the community for their ecotourism project. Next to the kitchen there was another building that had a family area with a TV, a hammock and pictures all over the wall. In the back of this there seemed to be one or two more sleeping areas. And connected to this structure is where I slept-- another room built for this ecotourism project.Now, to be in the coffee cooperative everyone in the community had to take out large loans. In order to pay back these loans the women of La Pita decided to invest in transforming their community into an ecotourism destination. They, too, took out some loans in order to do this. They took classes on how to serve guests, how to prepare food and make it look presentable and some other "fun" things to create a tourist-friendly atmosphere. With these loans the women had these extra rooms built. Each room had two beds with sheets, mattresses, mosquito nets and pillows. Maybe it is here that I should add that we were expecting nothing more than a place on the earthen floor in their family area and the use of an outdoor latrine. I, honestly, came prepared to rough it for a few days. We did nothing of the sort. The rooms even had a shower and white porcelain toilet installed! I was surprised to see these conditions, as was the rest of the group.It was a little hard to be treated so much like a guest. I so badly wanted to be a fly on the wall that just ate when they did and was not seen as anything special. I know that this can be a lot to ask; especially when crossing cultural boundaries. One could not help but wonder, though, what were the family's sleeping and eating conditions like? Where did they go when nature called? And bathing? I was bummed to hear later that the families did not use these rooms much when there was not a guest staying with them. Sometimes they were used at holidays and when lots of family came to visit, but mostly they sat being unused. And then we learned that the ecotourism venture had not been as successful as the women were hoping. The women were optimistic, well most were, that it would pick up and that they would be able to pay back their loans.
And then the doom of loans kept coming up. Over and over and over again. I found out through my host father, Pastor, that once all the loans were paid back everyone was splitting from the cooperative and were going to manage their own land themselves. He said that it had been too complicated to make decisions and not everyone can agree on the farming practices. He, unlike others, did not seem too worried about paying back his loans, but during out short time there it was made clear that everyone had one goal and that goal was to pay back their loans as soon as possible. And then we started to hear from the other families that some of them were only seeing $1.00 from every one hundred pounds of raw coffee bean they sold-- and they were fair trade. At the time, a one hundred pound coffee sack was going for about $117.00. And this was fair. Hardly. And it was understood why paying back loans was talked about and worried about and talked about some more.
The people in La Pita were welcoming and warm and willing to share these sensitive details with us. These details are what drive my passion for Nicaragua. I would love to work with these communities to pay back loans and help find ways to create a stable income for these families. I would love to see them present their culture the way that they see fit. It broke my heart to hear that they were taught how to better present the food and were taught new dishes to make that foreigners would like. I understand the women want to cater to tourism, but the Nicaraguan culture itself is enough to attract tourism. To have the opportunity to live among a Nica family for a few days is amazing and all I wanted was to see the way that Nicaraguans lived. I did not want to be served. But so many backpackers and tourists do want to be served. I appreciated every second that I was in La Pita. I cherished every bite of gallo pinto and homemade tortilla that I swallowed. Most of all though, I left hoping that this ecotourism thing does work. I would love for the women of this community to succeed. I believe that they will. I just hope and pray that every single person in La Pita realizes the beauty and authenticity in their culture-- and I hope and pray that they keep it. Most of all, though, I hope and pray that the people of La Pita, and the people of all of Nicaragua, never feel ashamed of their lives, their homes, their food, their traditions or their families. There is too much goodness and yumminess and love for shame to creep in.

Another Health Clinic and a Cultural Center

The next day we had the opportunity to visit another health clinic that another woman was running out of her home. Unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me on this outing but more pictures from the other delegates on this trip can be seen here. It was at this health post that we met María, a young mother. She runs the health post out of her home and she has many of the same duties as Yamileth (an amazing woman that you can read about here and here). She gives out different medications, vitamins and supplements. She has scales, nebulizers and other technologies that makes this health clinic run pretty well. She explained to us that doctors come in every week and her house functions as both the waiting room and the examining room. It is hard to keep the clinic running, she explains, because the neighborhood does not have electricity and no potable water. Sometimes, at night, they can get water, but for the most part it is hard to come by.

What I found particularly interesting about this health post is that it is in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Managua. This neighborhood is known for being one of the poorest- think Yamileth's neighborhood had electricity and water- and it is right next to a public hospital. A public hospital that is right around the corner but far too expensive for any of these citizens to afford.

And that is partly why María is willing to open her house up to others as she has. She stresses to her neighbors to not worry about the time of day or whether the clinic is "open" or not; she tells them not to worry about these things and to come and seek help because she, too, knows how it feels to desperately want to help your child. When her only daughter was two years old she became very, very ill. María did what she could to help her daughter's fever go down but it just got worse. Her daughter would have cold chills and hot spells that then lead to her jerking into consciousness. Come to find out, her daughter was having seizures due to her high fever and dehydration. One night she just went limp and María was sure that her daughter had died. She ran into the streets screaming for help. She told us this story through tears with her little daughter standing in front of her. She told us how she was so young and she just did not know what to do. She wishes that she had a health post that she could have taken her daughter. She reflected on how daunting a trip to the hospital seemed because they had no money. María recounted that at this point she passed out and was told after she came to that her father grabbed the girl and took her to a nearby hospital. There, they were able to stabilize the girl, but not easily. It was nearly impossible to get an IV because her veins had basically collapsed. This experience, in the hospital, was also traumatic for María because she did not have anyone explaining to her what they were doing to her daughter. She did not know what was going on and was so frustrated. At one point, she tried to convince a nurse to let her just take her daughter home to die there.

Fortunately, they were able stabilize her daughter but she had to stay in the hospital for a long time. And after she came home she had a few other health problems that came up. Each one was a panic attack and traumatic experience for her mother. All of this convincing María that she needed to man this health post and it was important to her that her neighbors know that she is there to help at any time. Her drive and her story are not unlike Yamileth's. Many of the women in Nicaragua carry their families and communities on their shoulders. María simply sees it as something she must do so others do not have to experience what she experienced. She is now starting school and is hoping to become a nurse. She has hope for herself, her family and her community. Like Yamileth, it was hard to leave her home and not feel as though things can get better.

The last part of our day we visited the Batahola Cultural Center in Managua. The center is filled with beautiful murals that were some of the only ones not destroyed during the Contra War. The murals display the history of Nicaragua and the present the cultural and a beautiful and colorful way. This center also functions as a Liberation Theology church, a music school for the community and has grown to offer classes in cooking, baking, life skills and many other things. I will let the pictures speak for themselves.
**In many of these pictures you see key historical Nicaraguan figures. With attention to detail this whole center can give someone a pretty in depth look into the culture and history of Nicaragua before and after the Contra war.**

La Chureca and Yamileth

The second half of the first full day in Nicaragua, much like the first half of the day, set the stage for the rest of the trip. We had a fast-as-the-speed-of-lightning history lesson of Nicaragua and then met with Yamileth after lunch. We were told that we were going to head over to La Chureca, a community that has formed on/near the municipal dump of Managua near the Acahualinca neighborhood. The children and families living here rummage through the waste and find articles that are worth something, anything and sell or recycle these items.

We all packed ourselves into the bus and Yamileth began to tell us a little about her life and a little about her community. I feel as though her story is one that I cannot exclude from my re-telling of my time in Nicaragua. She is from a more northern area of Nicaragua and decided to journey to Managua. She moved from her home, along with her four daughters, with the hopes for a more prosperous life in Managua. Unfortunately, she found herself living in La Chureca. Through tears she told us of her struggles, but the tears did not seem as though they were out of sadness or grief or even of self pity. The tears were almost out of relief and maybe a little disbelief of where she is now and where she was then. She explained the fear that she had at the time for her children but never once did she seem to have hopelessness. This was not much different than most of the women we met in Nicaragua. Something I will have to expand on more later.
On our ride over to her neighborhood she shared with us what she has done as a community organizer for Acahualinca. First, she told us how her neighborhood and those surrounding her neighborhood are very poor and consequently have a lot of gang violence. To try and alleviate this violence Yamileth put together a community soccer league and was even able to raise money to give trophies to winning teams. She said that this worked for a long time but because she had so much going on she left it up to the community to keep the league together and it has been slowly falling apart. She even mentioned that some of the gang violence had been seen in these soccer games.
Now, I just said that Yamileth moved away from this project because she was busy. That is an understatement. This woman does more for this community than I could ever imagine one person having enough energy to do. She no longer lives in La Chureca and has moved her family to another part of Acualhinca. From her home she has a health clinic. She receives different medicines (mainly for things like diarrhea) and has been given basic knowledge about first aid from different nonprofit organizations in Nicaragua. On top of carrying this large responsibility, she is also a large advocate and activist for policy and legal changes in Managua for the people of La Chureca. In this same van ride she also told us about the time that she kidnapped a few truck drivers that worked for the city dump. Yes, kidnapped them*. Yamileth explained through giggles that the reasoning for this was quite logical-- the city garbage men were stealing the valuables of the trash and leaving the rest of the waste in the streets. Quickly the neighborhoods became overloaded with the trash and nothing was being done about it. So one day Yamileth and others slashed the tires of the trucks and kidnapped the men. In the end, the neighborhood got the justice they deserved and the unharmed drivers were given back to their families.
Apparently, Yamileth also is the Director of the Artisan Program with Esperanza en Accíon and volunteers with other nonprofit organizations in the area. She also is helping with a radio project focused on speaking with the children of La Chureca. Did I mention that she is also a mother of four?** She is unstoppable and truly an inspiration. Mostly, though, she is a reason for hope in the country of Nicaragua. She is an example of the strength you see among the women in this country. I remember her saying things, like, "I wish there were 48 hours in the day because than I could get all my work done," and "When I come home I feel like I'm wasting time that could be used for so much more than if I'm watching TV or listening to music."

How much more could be done for good if we all had this perspective?
The thing that was amazing is that during that van ride and the little walking tour she took us on, she never complained and never told us that she was exhausted or sick of her job. Yes, it was hard because people often came to her instead of trying to solve the problems themselves, but it was okay because things like electricity and running water are being brought to her family and neighbors.
At this point we left Yamileth and her neighborhood and were given a tour of the old downtown Managua. I think my favorite part of this tour was seeing the old cathedral. There are a few things that I find fascinating about this cathedral. First, it is one of the three major buildings that stayed standing after the 1972 earthquake. Virutally all of Managua was destroyed but the cathedral stood tall. Unfortunately, it has not been restored and another cathedral has been built across town. I, personally, love this one. One of my favorite things is that the clock on the clock tower is stuck at about 12:30-something- the time of the last after shocks. No one has changed it and it has stood as a reminder of the earthquake that hit that December night.



*And when I say kidnapped, I mean that they housed these men in the neighborhood. They were given food and sanitary living situations. Yamileth even shared with us that the police would come by often during the month and a half these men were being held and asked if the men were okay. They would respond with something to the effect of, "Yes, yes we are fine! They are treating us well. Just give the woman what she wants."
** Visit this link to also hear an interview with Yamileth

Socioeconomic Contrast Tour

Do you know what a socioeconomic contrast tour is? I didn't. I mean, the name spells it out pretty nicely, but I didn't really know what it was. I got to go on one though. It was interesting. See, in Nicaragua there are a few families that own a lot and have a lot of money. However, most of the country lives on two dollars a day, or about forty Cordobas. Two whole dollars. The point of this "tour" that we went on was to show this extreme in Nicaragua.

The marketplace was full of people of all ages. People were milling around buying and selling all sorts of things. At this one marketplace everything could be found, foods, clothes, hair accessories, toothpaste, the list could go on. And on.

We got into groups, or families, and were given forty Cordobas. We were instructed to use the money that we were given to buy food for a family of four or five for a day. It took finesse to find the best prices for beans and rice, two staples of a Nicaraguan diet (to make yummy gallo pinto), and anything else that could be afforded to add variety to a diet. This exercise was not a new one to me. I did a very similar one when I did a short term missions trip to the inner city of Fresno. This idea of not having nearly enough money to supply a single hearty meal for one's family was something that I have been grappling with since that summer I went to Fresno. What was different about this "tour" was the next stop.


After we purchased the food at the market (which we took back to those that were preparing our food for the week) the whole group headed over to one of the malls in Managua. It was less than a ten minute drive away from the market and it was air conditioned and nicer than some of the malls I have seen in the United States. Did I mention that it was virtually empty? And Sundays, the day of the week that we were there, are the busiest days! The mall only sold clothing, shoes and electronics, like I said not much different than the malls we see in the United States, and interestingly enough the prices were in both dollars and Cordobas. The prices were also well over my own budget for clothes. And the brand names plastered on the advertisements and tags were all too familiar.

This is where my heart started to wander into thought. In my ear I heard that the sad reality is that most of these malls in Nicaragua are a great way to harbor and hide money laundering. That is the only reason that the malls are open air conditioned and serving the wealthy Nicaraguans and tourists. Yet, they are open and shoving a facade into the minds of people. This facade that there are people making enough in Nicaragua to keep this place open, but the reality is that these malls do not need the people of Nicaragua to stay open-- except to be employed by the empty stores.

And then I started to think about my family. What would it be like if they were still in Nicaragua? During this whole trip I was not able to separate myself from my familial identity. I don't know if I would ever be able to. No matter where I am. It was just on hyper-radar while I was there. So, that was the socioeconomic contrast tour. A little un-climatic compared to the rest of the trip. Just like this post.

I Got Back from Nicaragua 17 Days Ago

I meant to have my pictures edited and blog updated 15 days ago, at least. But, of course, I decided to make a quick trip to Seattle; and finishing up my internship and helping plan my sister's wedding took priority. In all honesty, I put it off for an even longer time because I was not sure where to start. I still do not know where to start, but I have decided that chronologically is probably the best for the sake of my memory and the sake of the organization of pictures. And, my photographs often portray things much, much better than I do so I couldn't move forward without them. So, here we go...


I landed in Managua, Nicaragua late on the night of Saturday, August 1, 2009. My flight had been delayed and then customs and grabbing my bag took longer than expected. In the meantime I met a Guatemalan man who was married to a Nica. He was meeting his wife and daughters in Nicaragua to visit her family. They had already been there for two weeks and he was joining them for the last leg of their trip. He and his family live in Oakland, California now. He told me how safe Nicaragua was, how friendly people were and how pretty it was. He said that his country was nice, too, but it is not safe. He said it is so hard to say that about one's own country, but it's the truth. He said it was so hard to say that. I swear those same exact words and feelings have slowly gushed out of my dad's mouth more times than I can count. He told me that his girls were doing well in school and he makes them do extra work in the summer. I told him that they would appreciate it some day. He said he hoped so. I promised him that I had always wished my dad taught me Spanish and I was glad he was teaching his girls. He smirked.

My new Guatemalan friend helped me fill out the customs forms (during my trip, my arrival and my departure I was given all my paperwork in Spanish... I think it's my last name) and walked through customs with me. I was expecting to be nervous throughout all of this, but I felt very comfortable and calm. From the second I boarded that plane in Houston to the time I de-boarded nine days later in Houston that calm stayed.

As we were getting through customs he asked who was picking me up. To which I answered slowly with, "uh, well, I think someone from the organization will be out there with a sign or something."

To which he responded, "you don't know who is picking you up?"

I laughed nervously, "Not exactly." He assured me that his wife had a cell phone I could use if no one was out there with a sign. It's true what they say about the culture of Central Americans, friends quickly become family. It took me years to realize that Alfaro was not me uncle John's last name and he really is not related... at all. He is not even Hispanic. Who knew?

I did end up finding a sign with my name on it, waved good bye to my first friendly encounter and was swiftly taken away by a taxi driver, named Michael, and his wife. We weaved through a parking lot of cars as I answered Michael's questions. He laughed at me when I told him that I didn't know who was picking me up. He couldn't believe no one told me. I got into his blue car and we were off to wherever it was that I was staying. As we drove Michael and his wife conversed as Michael intermittently pointed out various stores and explained the driving, er, etiquette of Nicaragua. Gallo Mas Gallo is one of the best fast food-like places to get chicken, and On the Run (which took me a few minutes to realize that he was literally saying On. The. Run.) was a gas station that had a mini mart with tons of Nicaraguan things, like Flor de Cana, the rum of Nicaragua.

When I finally divulged that my father was Nicaraguan, Michael looked into his rear view mirror at me and said, "Ah, I had a feeling when I saw you that you were Nicaragüense." I laughed. I still don't know if he was trying to be nice or if he really thought that. For my pride's sake, I am going to pretend like he had a feeling I was a a Nica, despite my features and freckles. Michael told me that my group was a bunch of old men. He had met some of them earlier. He thought it was funny that I was going with that group but was sure I would have a good time. Michael also could not believe that I had signed up for the delegation via the Internet. He asked me how I knew it was safe. I didn't know what to tell him. Why do I trust the Internet so much? I mean, it had a .org address. He said he was taking me to CEPAD and asked if that sounded right. Again, I had no idea and said, "sure."

He turns around, looks me in the eye and says, "Natalie, how do you know that I am even the person you are supposed to be with? You don't know anything!"

"Well, you had my full name on the sign didn't you?"

He laughed.
I did end up at the hostel, CEPAD, and found a group of strangers who just happened to be with Witness for Peace. I had arrived. And we were all off to bed after a long day.

Today I am going to Nicaragua

By the time this is being read this statement will be true:

Today I am going to Nicaragua.

I am not entirely sure of everything I will be doing there and I am sure there will be many a blog when I get back. As of right now I know what was given to me in an email that I am passing along here:

While the itinerary will be subject to change, some of our plans include: a contrast tour of Managua; visits to a liberation theology based catholic church and cultural center, a fair trade women's sewing cooperative, an organic coffee farm, and a nature reserve; meetings with a Nicaraguan economist, a government agency that promotes foreign investment in Nicaragua, a community organizer in one of Managua's poorest neighborhoods, members of a coffee cooperative that has been fair trade certified, union organizers in Nicaragua's garment sector, and representatives at the U.S. embassy; and travel to Matagalpa city and homestays with families in a rural coffee-growing community near Matagalpa.

One day

I meant to write this post last weekend. I have meant to write a lot of posts but my mind has been swimming.

July 25th, 2006 is a date that will forever be ingrained in my head. That single day was the catalyst for so much change in my life and I am not sure that I can really illustrate this through my writing. On July 25th, 2006 I returned from a five week mission trip in Ireland and England with 15 other people who quickly became some of my closest friends. After five weeks of a tight-knit family setting I was quickly plunged back into the shallow, materialistic world that I called home for so long. I was nervous to be back and I was sad to have left my new found family behind.

On my way home my phone began to ring. It was my new friend's brother giving me a call. That was the first day that we spoke to one another independently of his sister forcing a phone in my hand and forcing me to. He called because he "just felt like he should." We spoke for a bit and then I lost service. I quickly found myself to be home and heading to the beach with some of my friends. We strolled up to another friend's house and that is when we started to hear tons of sirens blaring down Highway 1. Within minutes my first day home quickly turned sour.

The first news we heard, about a half an hour later, was that some students from our high school had gotten into a crash down the coast. As the night continued on details were being texted, emailed and called around to everyone. By the end of the night we had the final details. Ryan Fields and Alex Robinson had died and the three others in the car had survived but were injured-- some in critical condition.

I had to push that phone call from my friend's brother to the back of my mind and switch into friend mode. We all did. We all had to be there for one another in a way that most of us had not had to do before. The next few days was filled with paddle outs, memory sharing and the numbing of emotions that we were not yet ready to share.

Little did I know that my friend's brother and I would talk every day from July 25th to October and then we would finally meet. And then date. And still be dating, now, three years later. I also entered into my senior year of high school. My final year. I was so done. I was so excited to move on to Seattle and get away from that small town that did not get me.

And now here, today, when I am about to embark on a new adventure to Nicaragua for the next nine days I cannot help but think how when I return my life will be so drastically different. On July 25th, 2006 I had no idea what that date would mean to me three years later. I had no idea that I would remember the date and use it as such a time marker. What will August 9th mean for me? I cannot wait to share that with everyone in my life!

Rest in peace Alex and Ryan. You will always been in the hearts and minds of your friends and family.

July 25th will never be forgotten in this heart.

Funny

I cannot sleep. Maybe it was the coffee--maybe it's my being in denial that it will be an early morning and I am going to hate life when my phone starts making obnoxious noises at 6AM. As I sit here staring at my Flickr photostream and my new blog layout I cannot help but think about the coincidence of writing that blog yesterday and what I spent my day doing.

Carmel-by-the-Sea is full of boutiques. Said boutiques are quite pricey. I never go in them and quite honestly I kind of ignore them as I drive by. Today, I was asked to accompany a friend into one because she had what I thought would be a hefty gift card for $150. I walk in and browse through a few price tags and quickly realize that the gift card will not go a very long way... at all. I was so taken aback. Sixty dollars for a tank top. A tank top that looks just like one I saw at Target last week. Most the price tags had at least three digits, the first digit usually being larger than one. I quickly realized that $150 will not take us very far at all today.

Hello, Carmel. My, my, my you have not changed one bit.

I forget that there used to be a time when I did not think it odd to hear that friends were dropping a couple hundred dollars on a new dress or to be shown a new Juicy outfit. No, I was never the owner of said things but I witnessed it all the time. I never spent much money on clothes, but I was used to these numbers; these prices were once average and normal for me to hear people throw around. And as I walked around this little boutique on Ocean Avenue I kept thinking to myself, "There is no material here" and "I wonder how many children could be fed for a week for the price of this..."

Hello, Self. My, my, my how much you have forgotten.

It's funny to me. You know, that people can be so aware of their surroundings and yet still be shocked. I think the scariest thing about today, though, was that I walked into that store and immediately realized that I was not in my world anymore but was able to instantaneously flip on my Carmel-switch when my mouth opened. I hate that I can do that. I hate that I can make people think that I belong. I want to stick out. I want to look out of my element because I know that I am. I wish people could hear my thoughts and not my words because then maybe they would really know.

I know there has to be a reason that I grew up knowing this couture culture while understanding the rest of the world, but I have not yet figured out that reason. So, for now, this is all just a little bit funny.

Summer in Carmel Valley

I have now been home for 37 days. In those 37 days I have been reminded of the things that I love about being home and the things that I do not love about being home. You can read about some of the things that I love here. I'll tell you though, after 37 days the good things start to deteriorate and the bad weigh down. Alright, it's not that bad. I have loved hanging out with Andrea, Cbear, Katie Fitz, and Leslie. I have loved having the beach less than fifteen minutes away.

BUT

being home also means that everything (no, really, everything) is closed by 7PM-- 9PM if you drive an extra ten minutes. Everything but the beach and hiking (most of the time) costs money. And it takes a butt load of energy to go out anywhere. See, growing up here means that you went to preschool, elementary school, middle school and high school with all of the same people. No, I mean like you graduate with less than 150 students and of those students more than half of them knows way too much about you. And has been to your house and has silly pictures of you from 10 years ago.

Maybe the worst part of being home is being sucked back into the materialistic shallow world of Carmel-by-the-Sea. The other day I was listening to Jack Johnson (a taste I blame on growing up by the beach) and felt as though I had to share the following lyrics because it speaks so clearly to my feelings towards the wealth and the people on this beautiful bay.

{Background found here}
The End.

27 of 365 Days

It's been awhile.

I have felt so... uninspired lately. I have been thinking a lot. Maybe preparing is a better word. No, that does not feel right either. For the first time in weeks I got to talk about something of substance and it gave me this weird lift. I guess that's what best friends are for. You know, talking about things that really matter to the both of you. The whole day was a nice reminder of who I really am and where I came from. I was reminded why we have been friends for so long. Because we do not have to explain things. We can chat. We can talk. She can wake me up early in the morning and I do not care. We can just be. And then not be embarrassed when we share that we have thought about wedding dresses... and they may end up looking exactly the same. Yep. Besties.

{Days 1-13::Top to bottom, left to right::My own photography}

For the past 27 days I have been taking a self portrait every day (and I plan on to do so for the next year*). Okay, I may have cheated once or twice but I do have 27 different self portraits (you can see them larger here and some rejects here). Looking through them was kind of like the day with my best friend. It was revealing. It makes me feel naked and vulnerable but so much more comfortable. I feel inspired again, though. Or I feel more inspired than I did before, at least.

{Days 14-27::Top to bottom, left to right::My own photography}

So here is to 338 more days. 338more pictures. 60 days until I am back in Seattle. 57 days until my sister's wedding day!! 40 days left to apply to graduate from my beloved Seattle Pacific University. And only 20 days until I fly off to Nicaragua for nine days. I guess "preparing" was the right word.

I claim all credits to the photography posted above. Please visit my Flickr site to see more of my photography.

*This project is an ongoing group project on the photo site Flickr where members take a self portrait every day for a year. It's been hard.