Hey all,
On Wednesday of this week I received an email of rejection from Dom, the direction of GVI Phoenix. I will not be returning to GVI to work as a project manager, as I had so wanted to do. It is a possibility in the future, he said, but right now I am not quite ready for management.
I like to think I have taken the rejection in stride, but I know it has affted me deeply, and I have been showing my disappointment in the classroom and around the kids. I need to constantly remind myself that I am still here to teach and the rest of my time here, no matter how short, needs to be dedicated to serving them, teaching them, and, above all, loving them. They have become everything and more to me. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing them again, but I have to come to terms with the fact that I never may.
What hurts the most is knowing that I have so much to offer. I know, inside of me, that I could do a better job than anyone else can.
I will push through. I will keep going. I will never stop. My life is for these kids. Maybe, in the future, not these exact kids, but they have touched me in a way that no one else has, provided me with a perspective that I would have otherwise been without.
I believe, and I know, that our fingerprints never disappear from the lives that we touch. They may diminish,they may fade, they may be forgotten, but they never disappear. Our experiences, our past, is held within, is our talisman for all those we have touched and who have touched us. These kids, these simple children with nothing and no one, have left their profound mark on me, and I them. And we are both better for it. They have prepared me to live the life that I know I must, and I have given them love and happiness and hope. Hope.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
A New Beginning
Hey all,
First off, my apologies—I know many of you have anxiously been awaiting this next blog post. Also, I have been quite unreachable to many of you as of late. Fortunately, I have not been silent for so long because there is nothing to say, rather there is so much to say that I do not know how I can possibly express it all in a simple blog post.
The day of my last blog post Jenna, the girl I have been seeing since for a while now, finally left Illinois to come join me in Nicaragua. She arrived in Agosoto C. Sandino International airport a little after noon on the fourth of July. Stephen King once said “that the most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them.” This was one of those moments. I cannot hope to describe the feeling that surfaced in my gut when I saw Jenna wander into the baggage claim, looking around desperately for me. Needless to say, we have spent the last few weeks getting to know each other again. And what a few weeks they have been.
The next day, the fifth of August, the newest GVI school opened up in Chiriza, Nicaragua. Chiriza is breathtakingly beautiful. The community is settled high in the mountains, so high that you feel as if you can reach up into the shy and grab a little piece of cloud for yourself. The children are beautiful. Living so high in the mountains has given them a lighter complexion and it is not surprising to see kids running around with blonde hair and colored eyes. The houses are much like La Thompson—run down shanties with wooden walls, tin roofs, and nor floor. Gang activity is not uncommon in Chiriza. During construction, in broad daylight, two groups of people formed wielding machetes, with a look of bloodlust in their eyes. Thankfully, the gang war was fought through thrown rocks and not machetes, this time.
As Aaron rolled up to the school in a rusted old white pickup (the white rapidly giving way to other, more interesting colors), carrying the first plastic seats and tables, pencils and paper, whiteboard and markers than many of the kids have ever seen, much less used, he was met with applause from afar. As he approached the applause grew louder. Hundreds of people had met under the provisional school in Chiriza, formed with wooden posts, a tin ceiling, and no floor or walls. By the time Aaron pulled up the applause was thundering. He says it was one of the single best moments of his life.
On a rare serious note from me, this is what GVI does and I hope to do—provide hope for those who have never had cause to hope. For the past three weeks Aaron, myself, and all of the GVI volunteers have been working around the clock to ensure this projects success. I have taken over as manager of the old project, while Aaron is supervising Chiriza, and our work load has tripled.
In the first few days of Chiriza’s existence, over two hundred students flooded the half built school. We have had to sit three people on top of tables, two people in little plastic chairs, and have had two kids sharing a single notebook, but you will not find a frown anywhere in Chiriza. The excitement, the hope, is palpable.
This is why Jenna and I have decided to cancel our travels and stay with GVI for an additional three weeks. We owe it to these children to continue to dedicate every available moment we have to them. Their education is their liberation and we have been and will continue to be a part of that. I have also made it clear to Dom, the director of GVI that I want to return, as a manager of a project. We have been talking about it, and if it works out, I will start working for GVI in June of 2011, for about 6,000 dollars a year.
I will write again as soon as possible with more about the past few weeks. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you all.
--Patrick
First off, my apologies—I know many of you have anxiously been awaiting this next blog post. Also, I have been quite unreachable to many of you as of late. Fortunately, I have not been silent for so long because there is nothing to say, rather there is so much to say that I do not know how I can possibly express it all in a simple blog post.
The day of my last blog post Jenna, the girl I have been seeing since for a while now, finally left Illinois to come join me in Nicaragua. She arrived in Agosoto C. Sandino International airport a little after noon on the fourth of July. Stephen King once said “that the most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them.” This was one of those moments. I cannot hope to describe the feeling that surfaced in my gut when I saw Jenna wander into the baggage claim, looking around desperately for me. Needless to say, we have spent the last few weeks getting to know each other again. And what a few weeks they have been.
The next day, the fifth of August, the newest GVI school opened up in Chiriza, Nicaragua. Chiriza is breathtakingly beautiful. The community is settled high in the mountains, so high that you feel as if you can reach up into the shy and grab a little piece of cloud for yourself. The children are beautiful. Living so high in the mountains has given them a lighter complexion and it is not surprising to see kids running around with blonde hair and colored eyes. The houses are much like La Thompson—run down shanties with wooden walls, tin roofs, and nor floor. Gang activity is not uncommon in Chiriza. During construction, in broad daylight, two groups of people formed wielding machetes, with a look of bloodlust in their eyes. Thankfully, the gang war was fought through thrown rocks and not machetes, this time.
As Aaron rolled up to the school in a rusted old white pickup (the white rapidly giving way to other, more interesting colors), carrying the first plastic seats and tables, pencils and paper, whiteboard and markers than many of the kids have ever seen, much less used, he was met with applause from afar. As he approached the applause grew louder. Hundreds of people had met under the provisional school in Chiriza, formed with wooden posts, a tin ceiling, and no floor or walls. By the time Aaron pulled up the applause was thundering. He says it was one of the single best moments of his life.
On a rare serious note from me, this is what GVI does and I hope to do—provide hope for those who have never had cause to hope. For the past three weeks Aaron, myself, and all of the GVI volunteers have been working around the clock to ensure this projects success. I have taken over as manager of the old project, while Aaron is supervising Chiriza, and our work load has tripled.
In the first few days of Chiriza’s existence, over two hundred students flooded the half built school. We have had to sit three people on top of tables, two people in little plastic chairs, and have had two kids sharing a single notebook, but you will not find a frown anywhere in Chiriza. The excitement, the hope, is palpable.
This is why Jenna and I have decided to cancel our travels and stay with GVI for an additional three weeks. We owe it to these children to continue to dedicate every available moment we have to them. Their education is their liberation and we have been and will continue to be a part of that. I have also made it clear to Dom, the director of GVI that I want to return, as a manager of a project. We have been talking about it, and if it works out, I will start working for GVI in June of 2011, for about 6,000 dollars a year.
I will write again as soon as possible with more about the past few weeks. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you all.
--Patrick
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)