Photos Tagged

Hey y’all, I’m back. Quick, over-simplified recap: I’m back in America safely and happily, I quickly visited home in Wisconsin, drove back to Texas, and graduated college.

My last guest has left Texas. This afternoon I dropped my same-faced little brother off at the airport. After I drove back down to Austin, it wasn’t even two days before my best friends from high school flew down for a fun-filled five days. A few days after their visit, the graduation guests including Grandma and Grandpa, Dad, Mom, 2 brothers, my sister, and my brother-in-law began trickling into town. I have been in euphoria, reacquainting myself with my favorite city and letting friends and family in on what my life has been. Now everyone has left, and my weeks of constant recreation and over-stimulation have come to a close. I guess you could say that about my last four months. I guess you could even say that about my last four years.

Last night, I went through my tagged pictures on Facebook. The Communication major in me likes Facebook least of all social media I use (#Twitter4lyfe), but after last night I’ve realized how thankful I am for it. Particularly because of my photos tagged. As I clicked through I felt a longing for the excitement each day of adventure brought in Costa Rica. I smiled as I associated memories along with nights out with friends and student activities throughout my Concordia years. I reminisced on who I went into college knowing, who I went through college meeting, and who I’m leaving college loving.

What if four years ago… when I was a senior in high school without a clue of what the future would hold, I could take a glimpse at all my current photos tagged? I would have been able to see all the stages of Apartment 1912 which I called “home” for the last three years. Why did I wear that on the first day of school? These friends of mine are the most beautiful people I have ever seen. Wow that looks like a cool restaurant. When did my brother get so tall. Wait I’m going to live in Costa Rica?!?

What if right now… I could go to my Facebook and look at all of the photos tagged of me in the next four years ahead? Wait, I’m living where? Wow, so thoooose are all the jobs I’m going to have. Thank goodness I haven’t cut my hair yet. Maybe that shirt is a new trend or something… I can’t wait to meet that person! Oh, so everything is going to be okay.

Yes, Rachel, everything is going to be okay. Just like when you were in high school and didn’t know you would be moving to Texas. Just like when you were getting on the plane to Costa Rica. Just like when you’ve just graduated college, and you’re sitting at Starbucks blogging, and your cute-pie little brother was the last guest to leave Texas.

I am glad I didn’t see those photos tagged four years ago, and I don’t want to see them now. Even if I think I am able to make my own plans and determine my own life, I know God laughs and says, “Ha! Rachel. Are you kidding me? I have something way bigger, and way different, and much more special in store. Don’t even try to guess your future photos tagged.”

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” Proverbs 19:21

Recent(ish) Happenings

Recent(ish) Happenings unblogged about are as follows…

 Abi’s Mom and Aunt came to visit and we had a blast showing them around the city of San Jose, bringing them to Hospital de Niños, touring Universidad Veritas, competing in that 10k I told y’all about here, and spending the weekend in Manuel Antonio. They brought a little piece of home to all of our hearts.Image

As mentioned, we spent a weekend in Manuel Antonio (on the Pacific side) and it was one of my favorite beaches to date! We did the whole hostel life again (instead of hammocks it was super “Camp LuWiSoMo”), and I’m really inspired to attempt to maybe eventually pull off the look of a “hostel girl”. We’ll see.ImageImage

Doc’s wife and daughter were in town the same weekend we were in Manuel Antonio, and one night we all met up to meet them and have dinner!Image

We have been entertained by the host family time and time again. Amanda and I went out with our older sister one night spontaneously, getting ready in 20 minutes because we had been at Burger King getting ice cream with Dani and Jose. Jose made me carry him piggy back style for 3 blocks, but it was okay because I’m buff and he weighs 3 lbs. Mama Tica continues to encourage our desire “para bailar” and still loves making boyfriend jokes. My five year old “nephew” is the cutest thing my eyes can comprehend (see March 9th’s instagram), even when he wakes me up early on the weekends by way of nurfgun-to-the-face. Its funny to live with a family again, having to “make sure you’re home for dinner” or dealing with “little brother heckling” are foreign concepts in good old Apartment #1912 in Austin, Texas. Just sayin, this lock on my door does not go unused.

The power went out one night, and here, that means its gone for at least two hours. Cue the Pintrest style candle holders! It was almost a really bad thing because I had a huge test the next day, but Jose gave me like an hour long massage (bless his HEART) and I did swimmingly anyways on the test, so it all worked out.Image

I have been attending this church up the street from me called Iglesia El Olivo. You would not know that it was a church from the side of the busy road where it perches, right next to the KFC, but this place is so special. The people are unbelievably kind and welcoming and they worship God with all that they have. I have grown to love singing and praising in Spanish. The melodies are the same but the words are all new, and as I translate while I’m singing. When translating, God is constantly communicating to me, “See Rachel. Everyone in My family is different in the languages they speak, in their style of worship, and in the country they live. But the content of the messages I communicate is same for them as it is for you.. That I am your Savior, that I died for you, and that I love you. The words are different but the meaning is the same.” Seriously can not wait to hang out with these people in heaven!

FINALLY a member of the Fanny Pack Ownership AssociationImage

Shina, Amanda, and I had a Thrift Shop Friday Roommate Day in San Jose a couple of weeks ago before departing for Panama. It was LOVELY because we join in the city scramble and hustle every morning rushing to El Hospital de Niños and midday rushing home for food and classes or meetings or Bible Study. That Friday, we got to take our time, let our noses decide where we would eat lunch, chased gringo pigeons, licked on some POPS ice cream cones, and laugh at each other trying on crazy things in the second-hand clothes stores. I actually had a stroke of luck with two tank tops and a long… tweed feeling… plaid skirt. We’ll see where the confidence is as when that thing gets worn.

Last weekend in San Jose there was a festival called Transitarte. It was a festival in the middle of downtown where four parks within blocks from each other hosted concerts and food trailers, and tons local artists sold their work. Aka, Transitarte is Chachy heaven (very “First Thursday” for all you Austinites.) We checked it out Friday night to listen to the music and returned again Saturday to explore the vendors’ tents. May or may have bought some souvenir gifts…

PUBLIC APOLOGY. I wrote in an email to my biddy Adriana how I have become the person I never wanted to be… an inconsistent blogger... **international student catastropheeeee!!!!** Yall would not believe how insane the month of February has ended and the month of March has been! Just kidding, I’m sure you can believe it because don’t all of our lives seem to be stuck on Fast Forward? These Recent Happenings are instead Recent(ish) Happenings because this post was drafted 10 days ago.

Expect higher frequency for my remaining three weeks… oh my lanta three weeks?! Where is the remote control? PAUSE. STOP. REWIND. SLOW DOWN. SOMETHING.

Panadamonium

Panama Pandamonium. I have had a lot of inner conflict this week about my lack of blogging (sorry Britt), but half of that is due to the fact that we took a trip to Panama from Saturday to Tuesday. It was Panadamonium and I’m going to tell you why. (The other half of the week is unaccounted for… If anyone can find it let me know. Why is time flying?)

Panadamonium. This was our final trip through ISA, and we left early Saturday morning to begin our 7/8ish hour bus ride to the border of Panama. Drugged up on the provided Dramamine to prevent charter bus motion sickness, we crawled off the bus into the drizzle. Fanny-packed and knot-bun on top of my head, I didn’t enter just a different country, I entered a different world. The Border had a lot of convenience stores filled with crackers, raw meats, and $1 toothpaste (bought some). With Rihanna’s new CD, Unapologetic, bumpin in the streets, I couldn’t find a bathroom for the life of me. I was doing the gotta-go dance along with the -cant-help-but-dance-to-hiphop dance. It was hard enough not to just pop a squat as I carefully balanced walking across the plywood bridge over the river that divided Costa Rica and Panama. Eventually I paid a dollar to go in a Chinese restaurant, when they should have paid ME to use that thing. The Chinese restaurant owners, like Rihanna, were Unapologetic. I guess I’ll call it even because Chinese fortune cookies have treated me nicely throughout my life. Eventually they permitted our herd into the country of Panama, and away we went.

Panadamonium. About an hour later we arrived to the water taxi station that would transport us from the mainland to Isle Colón in Bocas Del Toro where we stayed. It was there that I met Julio, who later asked me to marry him so he could move to America. My Spanish ain’t the bomb but I know a proposal when I hear one. After respectfully declining, we got on our little boat and I dripped with both glee out of excitement/love for boat rides and dripped with water because I accidentally sat in the only seat that would get wet. We arrived to our little island and walked along the main drag to our trusty hotel, Swan’s Cay. Promotors flocked our group with flyers for that night’s happenings and what we ought to do if we wanted The Ultimate Bocas Experience. Upon arriving to trusty Swan’s Cay our friend Todd, Amanda, Abi and I threw our bags down and set off for an island jog before dinner. We were about 10 minutes in when a group of local kids playing in the street decided to run with us/race us. The children ranged from size 1 foot tall to 5 feet and squealed with delight as we ran through the streets. I squealed with delight because it was basically as magical as the scene from a movie. Super cute.

Panadamonium. There were a lot of interesting people on the island. The combination of locals with vacationers was a hilarious mix. Its funny because by day 4, I would walk down the main drag and every 30 feet I’d be waving to someone I had already met. There was a man on a bike with a pet squirrel, I two-stepped to an Elvis song with a UT graduate, chatted with Australians in Spanish (Spanish with and Australian accent… top 50 funniest moments of life), fished with locals by way of string and some free shrimp heads, gave high fives to by standers during my runs, and had a dance battle to reggaeton with the DJ in a Lakers jersey. The best part about traveling for me is the people I meet along the way, and Bocas certainly did not disappoint. We also went to a little concert at a place next to Swans Cay called the Book Bar, where the Comic Hamburgers (?? I think was their name) were performing. They were actually pretty good and weren’t even offended when I accidentally called them the “Cosmic Cheeseburgers”. They knew one country song, Wagon Wheel (typical), so they played it for us and we turned the Book Bar into a two-steppin dance hall for five minutes. Another magical moment.

Panadamonium. So really, we almost did not make it out of Panama. It was raining for about 83% of our stay which is not ideal for a four day stay on an island, but never the less it was unforgettable. Because of the weather on top of a cold front moving through all of Central America, the waves were bigger than usual. This did not stop the boat tour agency from taking us out on our tour Sunday… but maybe it should have. We loaded on to a rinkerdink 12 person boat and set off for some dolphin watching, snorkeling, and island hopping. We had to cut the trip short because it started pouring while we snorkeled and the waves were so strong they were pushing us way off shore. Amanda and I figured this out the hard way when we looked up from our masks and panicked friends were screaming our names from the dock. We saw some sweet fish, though, covered in colors I never knew existed! We loaded back into our boat, shivering and soaking, and set off for the hour long commute back to our Isle Colón. Tom Hanks may not have been present and we were each others’ “Wilson’s” instead of volleyballs, but I described this trip in an email to my parents as “the potential filming for Castaway 2,” and I am not playin yall. I love being on boats, I’m not scared of water, and seaweed doesn’t freak me out. But when you’re in the middle of the ocean, the waves are higher than your boat and crashing just before they reach you, and the group is making the decision of “which island should we swim to and meet at if we go overboard?!!?” YOU’RE GONNA GET A LITTLE SCARED. The guy driving the boat was just smiling his little head off as he drove the boat in the back and watched us get pummeled with salt water and scream at the waves, but there were times I glanced back and saw some glimpses of fear in his eyes. When we made it to land I mentally kissed the ground because my shakey legs wouldn’t let me do it in real life. There’s a video on Sami’s camera to document this, I’ll be sure to post it if or when possible.

What I learned in Panama; there are 2.5 major things. The first .5 thing is that I love making up freestyle raps. I already knew this back in high school but I had forgotten until Shina, Amanda, and I stayed up late as we laid in our beds dropping rhymes and beats. A whole thing I learned/realized is how much I love this group I’m here with from CTX. We have become a family, and we share so many unforgettable memories with each other that will always make me smile for as long as I have a memory. I’m don’t know what I’m going to do when I no longer see them each and every day. Studying, eating, traveling, living, and being with the same people all of the time has potential for some catastrophes, but we grab the reigns and ride out catastrophes together like a little boat in the middle of the Caribbean during a rainstorm. The third thing I learned was only an opportunity that came because of the rain. “Rainy day” “Clouds” and “Storms” are all similes used for bad situations and negativity, but the storms of Panama are what brought about some of my warmest memories. One of these is from Monday morning, when it was raining particularly hard, we had a long devotion as a group and Doc shared his life story. We talked about the difficult things in life, the thorns in our flesh, that God gives us to maintain focus. The rain could be seen as a thorn as it prohibited me from getting my tan on, seeing more islands, and almost capsizing. But without the “thorn” of rain we would not have had the devotion, keeping us focused on our purpose no matter what country we are visiting or living in.

“Rain is a good thing.” Luke Bryan is so profound AND he can do the Dougie (seen it with my own eyes). I have a friend who lived in Costa Rica during this “winter” and she said it rained every single day. They have two seasons here, summer and rainy. We have been hit with sunshine everyday for the first two months so we were due for some thorn-in-flesh storms to keeps us focused. Rain is a good thing in Panama, in Costa Rica, in the United States, in any country. Rain gives life, and it makes our pandemoniac sunny day schedules come to a halt and forces us to slow down. Its on rainy days that we take time to refocus so that when the pandemoniac days start back up again, we won’t drown in them.

Mark 4:41b “‘Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey Him.’

IMG_4140The Border.

IMG_3923Crossing the border into Panama on this super sturdy bridge.

IMG_3934Dysfunction from the start.

IMG_3978Money on my Mind” Literally, had to figure out another currency as Panamanians used “Balboa” coins in their change.

IMG_3989Polly

IMG_3996Got a plastic bag on my head, but don’t call me a plasticbaghead.

IMG_3999We found love in a rainy street

IMG_4012Shoppin and show stoppin, Abi and Amanda

IMG_4025The Main Drag

IMG_4035Cliché lovey water pic with Kels

IMG_4047Squirrel man…… was nuts

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Oh yeah…. this happened. Lol forever

IMG_4070Group pic! <3

Sweet Notes

We hold Letters, Songs, Conversations filled with sweet notes close to our hearts. They make us feel warm, make us smile, make us happy. Sweet notes caffeinate my day like café, no artificial sweeteners needed.

Letters. Sweet handwritten letters in the mail trump everything else you might find in that mailbox. Reminders that you care in the form of a simple post-it note can hit your roommate or co-workers sweet spot. I look forward to reading personal emails from my parents. Sometimes, red bubbles on my Facebook homepage alert me of messages from friends sweetly “stoping in” just to see how I am. I love when yall leave sweet comments on my blog posts. I enjoy writing sweet notes in the form of post cards to loved ones with pictures of coffee beans and cityscapes and sunsets on the front. Amanda needed the sweet note from her mother in a care package she received the same day she was sick with the flu. Adriana sent me to Costa Rica with 59 4×6 pictures of memories, each with a sweet note written on the back. In high school we exchange joy through exchanged notes between classes with our sweetest friends. Letters, messages, texts, post-it notes, gum wrappers, whatever, pull our heartstrings in a way to hit the sweet notes.

Songs. There are some songs whose combination of sweet notes just get me. Maybe its the whole song, maybe its the refrain, maybe its just the hook, but sometimes sweet notes are all I need to hear to put me in a magnificent mood. Listening to live, beautiful singing voices evoke tears to my eyes. My little host brother is full of sweet notes as he gives impromptu One Direction concerts. I love writing down the new songs I hear in Costa Rica if I can figure out the name or artist so I can go back and try to translate the meanings. My sweet notes aren’t all categorized within the same genre. Sometimes (all the time) its the first twelve second’s of Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and sometimes listening from 1:31-1:41 of Alain Clark’s sweet notes in This Ain’t Gonna Work make me wonder, “Why aren’t we dancing, Alain?!” Something about the refrain in Yo Creo got me hype in church last Sunday. No one gets me like You get me. It’s no secret I could listen to Sunday Morning every morning. “Are you looking for peace of mind?” Black Eyed Peas make me never want to lie again with this refrain. And if you haven’t clicked on any of these links (which I’m disappointed in you if you haven’t unless you are currently suffering through the side effects of a weak wifi signal) then please at least listen to this song, because you look so much better when you smile. I could go on forever, yall. If this was the Truman Show, and I was the director, life would be musical. Let me quickly point out that “life as a musical” is my brothers’ worst nightmare, so I’m willing to settle for a life with a constant background soundtrack.

Conversations. Whenever I get a true, genuine compliment I think of it in the form of sustenance. “Wow. That was really nice of you. I’m going to live off that compliment for a good two weeks.” It’s true! Sweet things said fill us up more than sweet things eaten, even sweet bread (“Thanks for the sweet bread.“). My friends and I in Texas like to have affirmation circles where we literally sit in a circle and verbalize things we love about each other. Talk about sustenance, those things last me months. Conversations that hit the sweet notes aren’t easily forgotten. Sometimes my conversations with professors hit the sweet notes. Sometimes conversations with strangers, like taxi drivers or restaurant workers, hit the sweet notes. Sometimes conversations with my host family and roommates hit the sweet notes. Sometimes my conversations with the ladies in the Ropería hit the sweet notes. Sometimes long bus ride convos to and from travel weekends hit the sweet notes.

I must admit that I am not the director of life, so yeah, life is not a musical.. Wipe your foreheads in relief, brothers. But even when music isn’t audible or when Marvin Gaye isn’t on repeat, sweet notes are being played all around– through us and to us.

What letters, songs, conversations hit your sweet notes?

¿10 que? ¡10K!

10(K)ILOMETERS! This morning I ran my first 10(.5)K in Heredia, which is a city about 25 minutes outside of San Jose via bus (public trans life). I’m being especially exuberant because A) runner’s high (endorphins) B) This 10k was way sups more fun than I thought it would be! Originally I only signed up for the 11th annual Carrera de las Flores (Run of the Flowers) for the free tshirt. Come on y’all don’t judge me, we do lots of crazy stuff for free tshirts.. gift card- nah, free trial- maybe tomorrow, free tshirt- omg sure, do you have a medium?

10 Highlights from This Morning’s 10K

1) Free Tshirt. Yes, we’ve covered this base. AND its a jersey covered in flowers which is even better than a tshirt! (See picture below for further understanding) (My sis wants it as her souvenir)

2) Pre-Race Music. These people were zumba-ing to some Pop Reggae and Pitbull’s “Gasolina” up until the last five seconds before take-off. Talk about getting hype.

3) 6:30min. Okay funny story. So in my first kilometer I found myself among the 6:30 pacers. I was HYPED like wow this is super easy and I’m running 6:30′s?? 30 seconds later my ego popped as if it were one of the balloons the pacers held reading “1:08″. 6:30min pace per kilometer, not mile. Welcome to the metric system, Rachel.

4) 6:30min. Despite our early feud, the 6:30 pace and I got along quite well. I only run a couple of miles a day so I wasn’t sure how 6.5244 miles was going to go in +30º Celsius temperature (metric system shoutout number 2). I really just wanted to not trip, not faint, not get lost, and beat that 6:30 pace crew. Missions accomplished.

5) “¡Vamos!” & “¡Si, se puede!” Let’s go! You can do it! Two things I heard unceasingly. So much confidence from my fellow runners and street corner strangers.

6) Costa Rican Running Community. It was so fun for me to experience this, coming from a family of running addicts. We go to races all of the time (I prefer to cheer), so experiencing the running community of a different country was entertaining for me.

7) Water. Hoses. Race neighbors, yall saved me with your hoses.

8) Amanda’s post-race braid. It was just funny.

9) Our little crew of participants. Abi’s host mom, Beatriz, is a running-lover and does a race every Sunday morning. She brought myself, Amanda, Abi, and Abi’s mom and aunt who are in town. We were the only 5 gringos out of 3,000 runners, holla.

10) Post-Race snacks and drinks. Watermelon. Bananas. Yogurt gram cracker things. Powerade. Coffee. You catch my drift.

11) BONUS HIGHLIGHT.. The finish line.ImagePost Race Face

ImageMandy-poo’s Braid lol Beatriz thought it made her look “RASTA” (why this picture is huge I could not tell you, but it helps to get the “full” effect ;) )

Happy Running, readers!

Living on a Prayer

“Wooah, we’re halfway there!” I find it possible that Bon Jovs made this song just for people going on trips so they could sing it halfway through. Once in high school, we went on a band field trip (I repped the flute) to DisneyWorld in a caravan of coach busses. My friend Kolo felt the need to belt this song out halfway through our journey, it didn’t matter that it was 2:00am. February 21st marks the median of my stay in this beautiful country, so today this song is on repeat on my internal karaoke player. I arrived on January 5th, and am taking a red-eye back to the U.S. the morning of April 11. I’m in shock mode. Halfway done? Is this a mean joke? Did I just use the words mean, median, and mode in the same paragraph?

Things I do here in halves. I share half avocados with Amanda. We take “6 minute breaks” half way through our 2 hour Doc classes. I go to Wednesday night church half way through the week. I fold towels into halves in the Ropería with my clique. I’m half awake during 5am morning runs. I think in half Spanish half English. I comprehend the cost of things by dividing them in half in my head ($1= 500 colónes). My lotion is halfway gone. I cross the street halfway, see that I’m about to get hit by a speeding taxi, bus, or motorcycle, and either commit or run back to where I started (“Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear,” we say to each other). I halfway am a vegetarian now… . Cold showers, body only half in the water. I drink my coffee black (no half-and-half). I half blend in as a tica because my skin is getting darker.

“We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got.” I know I’ve written before that I’m not I’m not a stranger to saying goodbyes. It happens to someone a lot when her school is 1,200 miles from her home, or her siblings live all over the country (now world, waddup Drew), or her friends graduate and get grown up jobs and graduate school acceptances. Between my blog, weekly essays due for my internship, quiet time, and my online class, I spend a lot of time reflecting. It’s a really good thing. As stated in “Paved Paradise“, I know what I’ve got here, and I’ve going to hold on to it while I half it.

Living on a prayer. Living by prayer. Thanking God for this time here through prayer. Asking for yall’s prayers for my half-remaining time here.

Making this post half as short as usual, it’s only fitting. What are things you do in halves?

Dancing Through Life

In loving memory of Valentine’s Day last week, I’m going to write about this one thing that I really love: Dancing. Dancing is very relevant to my life in Costa Rica because I do it alllltheeetiiiime. Also, I know information about my dance class has been much alluded to and much anticipated (Meredith), so bust out that green highlighter and mark a shamrock on your calendar because Febs 17th is your lucky day! It will look nice close to that heart you had around the 14th… or the giant X.

Dancing Through Life! Dance lessons were not a huge part of my childhood. I only took them from age 4-6, and my mother thought my bowl cut hairstyle complemented the recital tu-tu’s quite well, thank you very much. Lessons or not, my first aol instant messenger screenname was “dancequeenre” (re- Rachel Elizabeth), and when my sister and I had a play date with our best childhood friend Ashlyn (hey girl), some sort of dance was always recorded on the camcorder. Always. I’m talking swingset dances, jump5 routines, and Britney Spears music videos up the wahzoo. CAN’T FORGET those times our rhetoric skills lured our brothers into key roles for Jock Jams athlete-inspired dancing and S Club 7 reenactments. Growing up, I did liturgical dances in church, danced my way through a few musicals, looked forward to school dances months in advance, and never sat down at a wedding reception. When I was sitting (in car seats, passengers seats, or driver’s seats), I was dancing then, too. During holiday family get togethers, Uncle Tom always told me with a smile, “Rachel. Stop Dancing.” (I wrote “told” instead of “tells” because I’m embarrassed it still happens.) It’s just hard for me to keep it in! My blood is half platelets, red/white blood cells, plasma and half dancing juice.

Method to my madness? It has always usually just been madness, but now I’m learning methods. My roommates and I are taking a dance course at Veritas called “Latin American Tropical Dance”. Why yes, it is as good as it sounds. We give presentations and demonstrations on dances throughout the world (most are specifically from Latin America); move aside the desks to practice Cumbia, Salsa, Merengue, and Bachata with one another; and wish our lives were as magical as the movies we watch like Take the Lead or Dirty Dancing Havana Nights. Our class is in the evenings on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and our professor, Rosi,  offers a dance class afterwards in the courtyard for all of the students in case we ever feel like getting in some extra practice.

“Class cancelled. Course observation at the discotheque.” Have you ever read that on your syllabus? As if these three college credits weren’t already doing me a favor. We went on a field trip to Castro’s week before last, a notorious establishment for latin dancing in San Jose. Our mama tica met us there and looked better than the three of us combined. “Dude, I just salsa danced with your mama tica,” said my friend from class. Never thought I’d hear that sentence in my lifetime. We closed the place down with her, long after the school shuttle had carried away our fellow classmates. In fact, we returned to Castro’s for Vday with mama tica and her friend to spin and dip the night away with latin men rather than spinning and dipping some strawberries into chocolate with our non-existent boyfriends (besides Shina (“Equipo Novio Milagro“)). It’s only fitting that I spend a day about love doing something that I love… which is dancing (in case you haven’t been listening). Exclusive secret, limited only to readers– I like to tell the muchachos I dance with that I don’t really know what I’m doing (when I kind of do) so that they think I’m a really fast learner.

I don’t know why dancing is so fun for me, but I do know that it makes me happy. It made me happy when I shook my ten-year-old tush around the living room with my family as dad cranked Lyle Lovett and Paul Simon jams. It makes me happy when I put my boots on and go two-stepping with my friends while I’m at school in Texas. It makes me happy when María Paula in Medicína 1 encourages me to keep dancing by saying, “Baile, baile, baile!” just so she can laugh at my attempts at the robot. It makes me happy that every place we go and anytime we’re dancing, Amanda makes everyone clear the floor so she can do a catwalk. It makes me happy that we live in a salon, because then at night we can use the mirrors as a dance studio for Shina to teach us dances from India. It makes me happy to watch people dance, because there’s something about dancing that’s freeing. You have to put your inhibitions aside if you want to really do it right. Dancing is associated with positivity; It’s what we do when we’re happy or in times of celebration. How couldn’t I love it?

“It’s everybody’s duty to give the world a reason to dance.” -Kid President.

Catching my homies in the act..

IMG_2379Dancing through Day 2 at the Zapote Festival

IMG_2428Dancing through brother bonding

IMG_3061Dancing through excursion dinners

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Dancing through Spanish class breaks like 7th graders

IMG_3259Dancing through dance class

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Dancing through the ISA building

IMG_3553Dancing through weekend mornings