Ground Control to Major Tom

This is going to be a short entry and by short I mean kinda short. Shorter than before. It’s been a struggle to write this entry, even though I have been thinking about it. I have come to the point where my brain is a muddled pile of goo. I can’t think in either Spanish or English. I was in fact yelled at twice for speaking emailing in pure misspelled Spanglish. I just wanted to get something out before I ship off to field based training for the next 4 days. Don’t worry I just watched the Hangover to ensure my brain was thinking in English.

So this is a feeling every Peace Corps Trainee will feel and or has felt. It is a complete lack of control over their own lives. It is a curious change to go from being completely independent to having little to no freedom. It has come to the point that none of us actually know what is happening we just move like a heard of turtles. Generally getting yelled at for being late because we are sitting outside of the room we need to be in. Also whenever we travel outside of the center I get the general sense that no one really knows what is going on. I know that the trainees sure as hell have no clue what is happening and some of the times the trainers are blindsided with change. So there is a lot of standing and then changing locations. Then standing. Attempting to speak in Spanish. And changing locations. And standing.

The funny thing that the over controlled feeling I get daily from my professional life extends into my personal life as well. I was told by the Peace Crops roughly a million times that girls in Latin America don’t wear shorts. This didn’t pose much if any problem to my life until last weekend when I was trying to do P90X (a work out video) in my room. My host brother told me that we were going to have lunch ahorita (a little bit of now). Tragically I learned that a little bit of now is not the same as ahora (now) because for the next 60 min I kept doing something and then changing out of my exercise shorts and into jeans to go outside to see if the table had been set. I think I much have switched my pans about 93 times. It came to the point that I was so frustrated about having to change my pants every 77 seconds that I went into my room and put on my work out shorts and then laid there on the floor with frustration. That’ll show em. I was exhausted from changing, hungry because I thought I was going to eat about 2 hours so I effectively did nothing besides reassure myself that I indeed did know how to button and unbutton my jeans.

Attempting to avoid the same pants fiasco this weekend I rebelled and just wore shorts. I am glad for the decision. It was no big deal. It’s just bizarre because my house is one with the Internet café so I am always inside and outside at the same time. I also decided to not wait to go running after lunch and just go before. I had to trust that lunch would come when it came and peanut butter would have to suffice for a snack. Lunch came at 3 pm. I think I went through about 1 pound of my 3 pounds of peanut butter on Sunday. Which, fun fact, I have had to lace with fiber because of my jam-packed diet of potatoes on potatoes with a side of rice. Let me tell you peanut butter and fiber tastes like joy and saw dust. Speaking of joy and sawdust I cooked dinner for the first time. I made the Mexican classic fajitas, because my mother failed to teach me how to cook anything American. If you would like to hear more on this issue, please speak to Jessie Campbell-Morrison. My fajitas weren’t exactly what you would think of instead it was a modified version because not all of the ingredients were available. But either way it was delicious. My little sister Alejandra was less than a fan but my brother like it, or at least fained interest which is all I can really hope for. I also made guacamole; I thought I was being innovative. False. My brother Limber said that in fact all 7 of the Peace Crops volunteers before me have made guacamole. Apparently I’m the least innovative on that one.

The only other real moment in my life I felt like I had absolutely no control over my life was when I was with my friend Monica and going to Santa eulaial, another city to a cultural festival. We got lost on the way to the festival and as the combi (which is a terrifying small version of a bus) turned off to a dirt road we asked a mother on the combi where we should get off. She gave us very strict instructions about where to go and what to do. The one thing she was very explicit was not to take a mototaxi (a terrifying small three wheel box of horror not meant to hold more than one American at a time). When we got off the combi after being yelled at several times about not taking a mototaxi the combi driver called a mototaxi over, escorted us into sed mototaxi and placed us in it. We attempted to argue and not get in the mototaxi, but at the end of the day we had no choice. We were ushered into the mototaxi and sent up the hill. Generally I have realized I have absolutely no control over my life at this moment and pretty soon I’m gong to have tot much.

My boss recently said that this is the adjusting moment. Like standing at the beach with your feet in the ocean before you jump in to swim. Naturally I responded expect we are about to be dropped into the middle of the ocean with no paddle. Tactful KCM. Tactful.

1/2 The Story

Sorry it has taken me so long to write. I had every intention of writing sooner but there was a world cup qualifier game, Peru vs. Ecuador. We lost 4-2, but after we lost My Little Man clapped and said “que triste, well since we lost we should have more beer.” How can you say no to a little old man clapping about beer? Fact: You can’t. Then he commented ”que rico es cervesa.” The man loves his futbol and cervesa con Coca-Cola (yes I mixed beer with coke, better than you would think). Anyways after drinking a beer to celebrate Peru’s loss and then Venezuela’s win over Argentina, My Little Man and I casually entered into a conversation about religion… where I had to to explain the origins of the three Abrahamic religions. Now keep in mind I don’t know the word for the Bible in Spanish. So I think in a round about way I explained it. But there are no guarantees if it translated correctly. I roughly said there was the old book and Jesus and Muhammad. Who knows what he did with that nugget of information. Then we moved on to the evangelicals and the Prosperity Gospel. Of course I completely forgot the English name for the Prosperity Gospel so I said the “creecimento en las platas”- the belief in coins. I sincerely apologize to all evangelicals for that one.

The greatest struggle I have had in the past two weeks only getting about half the story here. Either people don’t quite understand what I am saying or vice versa. And I say “si” a lot with no clue to what I am actually agreeing to. For instance, when My Little Man was reminding me to lock the door or else I would get robbed and killed (it seemed a bit aggressive since earlier he said there was not much crime in Tres de Octubre, but who am I to judge?) I just kept saying “si.” Roughly 5 minutes later I realized I was agreeing to wanting to get robbed and killed. No wonder he got so concerned and explained how to lock the doors 10 times.

In gerenal my language skills have been improving, I just jump 2 language groups because I’m just that stellar but some basic things still escape me. My Little Man just let me know that I have been miss pronouncing “todo” (all) this whole time. I have been saying “toro” (bull). That really explained why he always looked so perplexed when I was talking about “todos los x, y and z.” He was hearing “bull the x, y and z.” I’m pretty sure Sunday I said a sentence that roughly translated to “bull the volunteers went to go to the agriculture university to believe organic gardens.” I only make sense roughly 50% of the time I speak in English but this sentence is just down right ridiculous. Why the hell would bulls be believing organic garden? They wouldn’t. Probably should have learned how to speak in English before coming to Peru. Minor details.

Anyways, then I used my wondrous grammatical skills to talk to my host mom in Argentina. Yes she does exist. When I was handed the phone to talk to her I was so taken off guard by this magical, mythical contraption called a telephone all I managed was “hola, como estas?” Completely forgot all the necessities like “your house and family are so nice,” “thank you for letting me stay here,” “cant wait to meet you.” Just stood there in the kitchen holding the phone as if it was a dead rat and My Little Man whispering “Cuando vas a venir?’ (when are you going to return). My Little Man gave me one of those “oh honey its ok” looks. It goes along well with the giggle in your face look that is pretty standard. My family makes a solid effort to help me speak Spanish but sometimes they just cant help laughing at me. I would be offended but I run into walls so its happened before.

Now the prime example miscommunication skills is an incident that happened Monday at dinner. Limber, my host brother, left after dinner. The woman who comes over to help cook, who I call My Nanny, said he was going to see “su flaca.” Side note: you may be wondering why I call her my nanny. It’s because she helps me with my homework, feeds me, packs my lunch and occasionally reads out loud to me. Yup I’m 5. Anyways, the entire time My Nanny was talking about this illusive “flaca” she was quite the little miss sassy-pants. Not quite understanding why she was saying “flaca” the way 13 year-old-girls say “boooyyyfffrrriiieennndd” I asked what a “flaca” was. She replied “la mujer con (or para, missed that one) el dinero.” This left me even more confused. So naturally I jumped to the conclusion that my brother was going to see a prostitute or going grocery shopping. These were the only two options. I’m quite the logical one, its undeniable. Bewildered by the casual mention of my brother going to visit a prostitute I asked my language teacher Monica, what “flaca” meant. It means skinny girl, and colloquially it is often used to signify friend or girlfriend. She laughed at me when I asked if it could mean prostitute. So we are left with grocery. Or the way more likely option that he was going to see a friend who is a really skinny girl. But I’m sticking to prostitute. It’s more entertaining.

My other favorite example of my perpetual bewilderment was the fact that I used a shirt as a towel for roughly a week. When I arrived after I had taken my first shower I asked my dad if there was a towel I could use and he said I would have to buy one. Now I had already taken a shower so he seemed perplexed that I asked him after I was already dry for a towel. I felt as if he would know that I used a shirt-towel. But after a brief moment of judgment he asked me if I wanted to go to the market that night to buy one. I was so awkward about the fact I was asking for a towel after my first shower I ate my words and said we can go later in the week or on the weekend. I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking because if he wasn’t judging me (lets get serious he wasn’t) for using a shirt towel after my first shower he sure as hell was after I turned down an opportunity to solve my towel dilemma. He was probably thinking “what is wrong with her? Is she not going to shower?” or “what on earth is she using to dry herself if she clearly doesn’t have a towel but doesn’t want to go get one?” I did in fact shower and used my long sleeve thermal to dry off. For some unknown reason did not remedy this whole towel predicament for a week, even though I went to the market, twice. It wasn’t until I washed the shirt and actually contemplated using it permanently that I realized I was being silly. Also, I’m 99% sure the only reason I didn’t continue to use shirt-towel was the fact it got cold and shirt-towel was my only warm long sleeve. I am just chock full of magnificent life moments.

Training is still going along. Sometimes there are distinct moments where I am shocked or only get half the story. Like getting lost and hopping curbs and becoming airborne in the Peace Corps vans on the way to Lima. Everyone has figured out that I am clumsy. I think it startled them at first that someone of my caliber of skill exists, but it was probably just jealousy. Or confusion. 6 in one half dozen in the other really. But now when I run into a pole it comes as no shock. Sometimes I think the technical trainers and language tutors don’t know what to do with me. it doesn’t help that I inevidably accidently blurt out super inappropriate things in front of them roughly daily. Such as “mother-fucking shit what the hell is going on?” That happened. I was startled. So naturally I screamed Profanities into the Assistant Country Directors ear. Also I accidently knocked into the country directors glasses when going in for the Peruvian kiss (a kiss on the cheek). Pure class. Apparently when he went for the Peruvian kiss with the next girl with glasses he was timid, scared of a repeat. Luckily my skills are unrepeatable. And yesterday, two fellow Trainees tied my shoes for me in front of my boss Katrin and I had my shirt on inside out. Really proving my competency skills. Katrin said “awe, they really take care of you.” And then laughed. I asked her if she was laughing at me. She tried to lie and say she wasn’t but she couldn’t hold it together through the lie. I would like to have you know I do know how to tie my shoes. They just bent down before I did.

So that’s all for now boys and girls! I am going to turn off my headlamp and go to bed. Yes I do have my headlamp strapped over my Bose headphones. Undeniably awesome fashion right there.

Xoxo

KCM

Woah There Sparky

I have officially been bitten by my first dog, it was named Gringo. Go figure a dog named white boy biting a white girl. Don’t worry no skin was punctured. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Dr. Jorge- the Peru Peace Corps doctor- told us all that we would all be bitten and should bring rocks when we go running. I have to admit I was still residing in the “yeah I’ll get bitten but way later camp.” Not the I’ll go next door and be bitten by the dog who poops inside camp.

The dogs in Peru are quite a mystery to me. for starters the majority of them either live in a posy on the street or on the roof. Now I understand the street posies but the roof gets me nearly every time. I recently found out that I actually have a dog in my house not just a cat. One day I was walking home from school and there was just a dog on my roof. Clearly. Her name is Presciosa, and all I really know about her is that she is blonde and lives upstairs or on the roof. Anyhoo when I was hanging my laundry Presciosa seemed less than pleased with my presence and was attempting to bark at me. I say attempting because she was standing near the ledge and doing a sort of scared snarl thing. I’m pretty sure she was scared if she actually barked she would fall off the ledge. I respect that decision- because what would I have done, leap over a water cooler and catch a dog? I wish I had that skill. Since I don’t I would inevitably have to tell My Little Man, by the way while you were in the Sierras you dog fell off the roof in front of me. (On a fun note My Little Man has officially gone to the Sierras, hypothetically he will be back tomorrow, no word on my mysterious mother.)

Last week was filled with a lot of strange moments. Like finally looking at the decorations in my house. The photos of the roosters are actually next to Jesus. I reckon roosters are next to godliness in Peru. Also there are some random billboards upstairs. Probably for the next time we have a makeup sale at our house. Gotta have the promotion material.

I’ll admit it: I have begun to realize that I am going to be in Peru for the next two years. Took a while to hit but it actually did. And sadly the thing that did it was Grey’s Anatomy. In my head the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy was September 28^th. Upon looking at a calendar I realized that September 28^th was a Wednesday so I can’t really justify my sorrow. But anyways on September 28^th I was quite distraught that I was not going to be able to see the Grey’s Anatomy season premiere. No judgment but a tear was shed. In reality I am much sadder about missing The Daily Show or Bones or not having the 1^st season of Grey’s with me, but it was Grey’s Anatomy 2011 is what got me. Then I thought it would be a super logical idea to listen to Adele. Nope. Do not follow this plan. If you are ever in Peru and sad about not being able to see Grey’s Anatomy do not listen to Adele, it will be counter productive. Try The Office or Transformers or Tangled. I know I’m really selling my movie and TV taste right now. But anyways the point of this whole melodramatic paragraph about Grey’s and Adele was to tell you that this was the first time that I have come to terms with the fact that I will actually be in Peru for 2 years. As in 2 years. Grey’s Anatomy will go on without me.

And then there is the general communication quandary. My comprehension and grammar is getting better. I am actually trying a new thing called grammatical correctness in speech. I know I have just blown your mind. KCM speaking grammatically correct. I can barely do it in English how the hell am I supposed to do it in Spanish. So I’m trying to do this whole conjugation thing and integrate all my fancy new vocabulary like hombre is shoulder into phrases but I am now struggling for a new problem I will dub “blankness.” It is a point in conversation where I think I am going along well. I have actually formed roughly 6 sentences and then I come upon a word I don’t know like “handle” and I get so befuddled that I cant find the word I try to go about saying it in another way but its all just blank. I don’t know the word in Spanish and I completely lose track of what I am trying to say in English or in Spanish. It is just blank. No words, no concepts, just a void where language used to be. It’s a struggle that inevitably dissolves into me saying “what the fuck am I trying to say?” After My host family laughs at my inability to speak and I either pointing at the object, coming up with a logical explanation or simply just switching to a different topic of conversation. It would probably be easier to whip out my dictionary but why make it that easy for myself.

Luckily training has turned into more technical things recently. The first few days of last week it was totally theoretical. I began to feel like I had entered 3^rd grade. Don’t get me wrong all the information was quite useful, but when one of my friends got asked to move to the other side of the room because she was giggling too much I literally had no other reaction but to burst out laughing. She had to bring her chair. In front of the whole class. It was enjoyable. At some points it felt as if there was all the great idea of things. The great idea of speaking Spanish; the great idea of what it meant to be a Peace Corps Volunteer but nothing tangible. Luckily I think that is beginning to change and we are coming to the actual functional points in how to do things like do early childhood stimulation. Because lets get real my understanding of early childhood stimulation goes about as far as put in the Baby Einstein DVD and prevent the child from falling down the stairs. I know I’m supes qualified. You now all want me to train all your babys how to be upstanding citizens.

In general week 2 has proven to be a balancing act between being a person, a student, a host daughter and a language learner. High school in a different country and legal beer. Sometimes you are presented with unexpected things like how to be someone’s daughter with no cell phone. It makes it very difficult to do things like change plans. I don’t know if any of you have met me but sticking to a plan for an evening is not exactly my strong suit. Occasionally I get distracted by shiny objects. I’m pretty sure my father would be roughly dead if I didn’t have a cell phone in high school. Don’t know how people before 1990 did it. I guess you just had to make a plan and stick to it but that seems like a lot of work. Or there are those outdated house phone things.

Well this was one long ass entry. I am impressed if you have made it this far. Championship status. So Boys and Girls love and kisses from Peru. You should probs DVR Grey’s over the next two years. And use all your storage space for me. A duh. Or you could send me something. I’ll allow it. Now I’m just getting greedy. Miss you all

Xoxo

KCM

Lessons in How to be Conspicuous in Peru:

1.) Be a 5’10” white girl

2.) Go out into your barrio (neighborhood) and take photos of La Fiesta Para La Virgin

3.) Slip on a driveway and fall flat on your ass in front of all of the people you were just photographing.

After you make a fool of yourself in front of everyone hopefully you will be handed a beer and asked to dance. Because you know there was a 30-hour party with dancing in neon versions of traditional outfits and beer to celebrate the Virgin. Although I’m not sure which Virgin, apparently there is more than one. Silly me majoring in Religion and thinking the only Virgin was Mary.

My first week in Peru has been filled with bewilderment, minor miscommunication and friendly Peruvians making a valiant effort to talk to the giant gringo. My host father, or my little man (don’t worry I do not call him this to his face) comes up roughly to my boobs and has had seven volunteers before me. Every time I say something that is downright incorrect he says he had a volunteer who could only say “hola!” and now lives in Peru. Poco a Poco. I’m glad he is so forgiving because roughly every time he tells me plans and pertinent details they either completely changes or I totally miss what is actually going on.

For instance- I thought that all of his 6 daughters live in Argentina. This is in fact false. So when one of his daughters casually showed up for dinner I asked her how her trip from Argentina was. She didn’t exactly know how to respond to this and said I live near the Peace Corps Center, roughly a 7-minute drive away. Not the 7-day bus trek I had imagined. Or the mysterious whereabouts of my host mother- she is in Argentina visiting her 5 daughters that live there and every 3 days or so her return date changes dramatically and she may or may not have found a job. Who knows. I’m just waiting for her to appear one day when I get home.

And then there are the rules of the house. After the first 2 days I asked my little man if there were any rule I should abide by. When he was talking he just sat back stoically in his chair and began speaking in a very profound tone. Honestly all I got was “nothing bad happens here.” The whole time he talked instead of translating Spanish in my head all I could focus on was how he reminded me of a munchkin mixed with The Godfather. I know none of the rules of the house. Since I had a well-rounded dinner of beer on Saturday night, followed by a 2am serving of my actual dinner I’m not the most concerned I didn’t understand what he said.

My normal morning consists of waking up to café con leche, which is instant coffee, condensed milk and lots of sugar. About as good as it sounds. And whatever my little man cooks for me in the morning. He makes a valiant effort but the only thing he really knows how to cook for breakfast is fried eggs. So my breakfast is either a fried egg with juice and coffee or something far far more interesting such as bread with olives, a bowl of warm milk, bread with some sort of caramel spread. You just never know. At least we discuss all the light apolitical topics bright and early such as genocide in Sudan, the houses of Congress, crystal meth, the cocaine trade and prostitution, just to name a few. You know the fluffy topics that are easy to talk about in a different language at 6:30am. And don’t worry I told him there are 500 states in the USA instead of 50. I amended my error after I realized someone should not be so startled by 50 states in one nation.

Finally, the past week was also filled with an exorbitant amount of bathroom talk. I know you are all dyyyiiiinnngggg to know what I’m talking about so I’ll enlighten you. No worries. It started out with the Peace Corps telling us that we should ask our host family how to flush the toilet during the first hour of our stay because all bathrooms are not created equally. Mine is a pour flush toilet; which literally means that I am supposed to pour water into the bowl aiming at the center and it will hypothetically disappear. Its terrifying. I avoid it like the plague.

And then there was the 45 min lecture about diarrhea. Ya know how I said that the Peace Corps said you would poop your pants. I wasn’t lying. At all. There was a 45 min lecture discussing how I would poop my pants that included video testimony and songs discussing this pending doom from volunteers. Yup this is my life. Pretending I can speak Spanish, having 8 hours of class a day that sometimes leave me more perplexed than the day before and worrying about pooping my pants. It’s like high school with a splash of preschool.

Oh and don’t worry I just got a lecture from my 5 year old host sister about how I have too many cuts on my lets and need to be more careful. This coming from the girl who has 3 cuts on her face from slinging the cat over her shoulder like a purse.

Safely in Peru

I just wanted to let you all know that I have safely arrived in Peru!

Prior to arriving to Peru we had one day of staging in DC. In my head I imagined staging as all of the volunteers standing in a long line, getting their passports, 100 vaccines and then being shipped off on a plane. In reality it was more of a meet and greet and informational session. Far less interesting if you ask me.

The travel was nothing noteworthy besides the plane turning into a sauna before take off to thaw out the air conditioners. There was a point where I was seriously considering breaking the window because it was a struggle to breathe. But then the problem was resolved so far the other direction that I was wrapped in a wool sweater and blanket. But enough about planes.

Today we were in a retreat center in a valley with palm trees and parakeets surrounded by mountains that I can only describe as large piles of dirt. It legitimately looks like someone took a massive bulldozer and just dumped enough dirt to create a mountain. The retreat is placed just off the highway where the traffic is psychotic. Lots of honking and minimal street lights. I decided it was unwise to go on a casual stroll next to such traffic.

The beginning to Pre-Service Training has unexpectedly been filled with a lot of dancing, not arguing with that one. After training we played pick up volleyball and naturally I have already bruised my wrist, finger and ripped my pants. Standard.

Well thats all for now.

Buenos Noche!

KCM

Are You Ready?

People often ask me what made me apply for the Peace Corps. I generally give them the virtuous answer- my dad was in the Peace Corps, the economy is terrible and I want a great opportunity, I love to travel and want immerse myself in another culture, blah, blah, blah.... But let’s get serious for a moment, the reason I applied was my friend Jane Farrell. Don’t get me wrong everything I say in my stock political answer is true, but Jane was the reason I actually began my application. Jane is the definition of an over-achiever. She is the girl who would read the entire New York Times, Washington Post, Economist and Wall Street Journal, go to 3 classes and 14 meetings, run a marathon and write a 35 page paper in one day. During the summer between junior and senior year of college she started to apply for things. And by apply I mean apply for everything I had ever heard of and 30 things I had never heard of. It came to the point that I couldn’t go to happy hour with her because I would have a panic attack just talking to her. So in order to preserve my social life and not feel like an epic underachiever I decided to start my Peace Corps application.

Now the applying for the Peace Corps and making it all the way though to your invitation is no easy feat. You are dealing with the federal government so by nature everything seems to take way longer and be way more convoluted than it needs to be. Also the wording of nearly every Peace Corps document seems to be hell bent on confusing and moderately terrifying you. For instance the Peace Corps medical packet is roughly 30 pages long. Somehow while filling out my forms I managed to tell the Peace Corps that I have braces, am on blood thinners and am morbidly obese- none of which are in fact true.

And then comes the glorious day that you get your invitation… For the first time the Peace Corps seems real because dates and names are placed with a mythical idea. Not that chilling in a retirement community in Cleveland, Ohio after graduation wasn’t the most riveting thing I have ever done with my life, finding out I was leaving for Peru was a necessary change of pace. When I got my welcome packet and felt like probably the coolest person ever until I read the plethora of booklets. To sum up the Peace Corps packs in a few simple bullet points:

· You will poop your pants- get over it.

· You are representing America always- no pressure.

· You will struggle- get over it.

· You will not change the world- get over it.

· You will have extreme emotional highs and lows- shit sucks.

· You will hate America when you return- get over it.

· You will spend all your money on long distance calls calling fellow Peace Corps Volunteers upon your return. (Clearly this point has not been updated since the invention of nationwide long-distance plans).

Exciting right. I know you all want to join now. I inspired you. Admit it.

The weeks and days leading up to my departure were filled with family, continuously eating myself into a food coma, friends, packing and the perpetual questions: Are you scared? Excited? Nervous? Literally every person asks this question, being sure to jumble all three emotions into one question. The answer. Obviously. Duh. Wouldn’t you be all of the above if you were leaving the country for 2 and a half years? And what am I supposed to say, no, I’m a such a bad ass I don’t feel fear. False. And in case you were wondering no I’m not fluent in Spanish. I’m roughly passable but when asked in my Spanish language interview what I did on a daily basis I said I read a book, go swimming, go to the movies, go dancing with friends, eat dinner with my family and drive to DC. It’s a jam-packed life I lead.

Why not ask questions like what is the most random thing you packed? Answer: a headlamp and Johnson & Johnson No More Tangles. Or how will you feel about a cold bucket shower for the next two years? Answer: mildly less than ecstatic. What was your most ridiculous freak out? Answer: being really concerned about Selena Gomez being on the radio, and being anxious everyone would think I’m boring because my shoes are all black or tan. If you know my shoe collection at all you can understand why all black and tan shoes would lead me to this incredibly logical conclusion. So anyways, next time you encounter a Peace Corps volunteer on the brink of leaving don’t ask the obvious questions because you will get the obvious rehearsed answers- try asking them a question they won’t have answered a million times.

So to sum it all up, yes leaving for the Peace Corps is an exciting and daunting task but I’ve had a year to begin to wrap my mind around it. And either way I’m going to be completely clueless upon arrival. I don’t even know what part of Peru I’ll be in past November 15^th. So I think am as prepared as I could be, which is basically a passable state of unprepared. I am thoroughly prepared to go to Peru and I noooooo clue what’s in store. But then again when do you have any idea what’s in store? When do I really ever fully know what’s going on? I generally lead my life in a mild state of cluelessness, so that feeling will come as no shock, and the rest will come when it comes. And hey, why not go to the Peace Corps? Your only 22 once.