Writing Conference

I like to think of myself as a pretty good writer. Not the kind that goes on to win a Pulitzer Prize, but a decent writer. However, when I found out that a paper I had written had been chosen to be read at a college-level conference I may have thought of myself as a little better than just a good writer and may or may not have patted myself on the shoulder because someone else read my work and found it had some potential. When I first wrote the selected paper I had no idea that it would potentially be chosen for an activity within the university's English Department. But, after all was said and done I preferred it that way because it took some of the pressure off of having to write the actual essay. 

The day of the conference arrived and I told myself I wouldn't get nervous. But, once I sat at the table alongside my peers with a microphone in front of me, the nerves started to creep in. Luckily, I wasn't the first to go so I had some time to warm up to the idea of reading my work to a crowd. Although I thought the audience would be much larger than it was, I was thankful that most of the people were my classmates, who've listened to me over and over again in the classroom. When it was finally my turn my heart literally sank into my stomach, but I had no choice but to read. After the first couple of sentences the nerves were gone and I just kept reading my work with ease. At the end I was parched, yet filled with pride because I felt I had written a really good essay worth listening to.

In the end, I really enjoyed the experience. I would have wished that the activity would have been filled with more audience and professors to hear my work, but maybe a small crowd helped to ease the nerves. Personally, I took a program with me for a keepsake, but a participation or recognition document would have been a nice touch for the students to proudly display their accomplishments to their families or even future professors. All in all, I'm really grateful for the opportunity and would not hesitate to participate in another conference if given the chance. 

The Golden State

After taking a Journey in Literature class and learning about traveling, tourists and travelers, I can't help but to see a potential adventure in the most trivial matters. I also can't help but want to travel. So much so that I decided to go to Poland over the Summer, but not before making a family trip to California. I've been to California twice before when I was younger, and still manage to remember bits and pieces. However, my younger sister wasn't even born for those trips. This time around, she is a lot older than I was when I first visited the state and she will surely remember it for a very long time. The reason for this trip is that my cousin is pregnant and she's due sometime mid-June. My dad's brother is my cousin's dad so of course he's coming on the trip too! We are going to visit my cousin in L.A. and eventually making our way to San Francisco. We did this the last time we visited Cali, for my cousin's college graduation. But, besides from spending time with my family, I had a secret reason I didn't want to miss this trip. 

Ever since I graduated high-school my parents wanted me to check out schools in the West Coast, but I was too much of a home dweller to actually have the guts to move out there to study. But, time has passed since then and I feel that I may want to check out potential grad schools for my master's in California. I am almost done with my bachelor's degree and, although I have no idea what I want to pursue a master's in or even where I would want to achieve one, I want to start looking for options. After a failed attempt at Boston, maybe the East Coast/New England area wasn't right for me, but sunny and warm California just might be what I need. I've been doing some research and there are some extremely high-ranked colleges in the state of California that I would definitely not mind being a part of. Our trip is roughly two-weeks long and we're making a road trip from South to North so maybe I'll convince my family to make some detours along the way to scout for my future alma mater. 

An awesome vintage postcard from California

"I Live Where You Vacation"

My sisters and I were practically swimming before we learned how to walk. My grandfather on my father's side always had a boat and he would make sure the whole family went on trips all year round. By default my dad too grew up on boats and wanted to share that experience onto his daughters, so my family also bought a boat. Being girls didn't stop us from learning all the maritime laws, the sea's do's and don'ts, how to properly make knots, steer the boat, and throw an anchor correctly. We had a blast doing everything all the other boys did and probably showed off to my dad's friends from time to time. As a family we would take the boat out to Palomino, Icacos, Culebra, St. Thomas, Tortola, Virgin Gorda and so on. We would swim in the ocean until the sun set and got a nice tan without even trying. Eventually the bliss came to an abrupt end and we had to get rid of the boat because it cost too much to maintain. 

All those years of taking in the salty sea and playing in the sand are very near and dear memories for my family so we try to take a couple of trips at least to Culebra to relive the good old days. This past weekend we made one of these trips. The last time we went for me and my sister's birthday weekend (our birthdays are a day apart so we celebrate them together from time to time) and my mom, dad, and younger sister got to kayak and snorkel with my uncle and his family. My uncle's dad recently set up a kayak and snorkel rental adventure in Culebra called Culebra Island Adventures, and they all came back talking about all the fun they had had that this time I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to go. 

I got paired with my sister on the kayak and we were off into the Atlantic Ocean, just as we remembered. About 15 minutes later we put on our snorkeling gear, got rid of our life jackets, and dove into the water. The first thing we saw was a stingray making its way through the seagrass and I was already impressed! During the swim we saw the corral reefs and all the different types of fishes, even a lobster!! It was unbelievable to think that there was so much exotic life just an hour outside of the mainland. Puerto Rico may be an island, but it's so full of life that no wonder so many tourists pick us a tourist destination. I was so excited to get to experience nature in that state that I didn't want to leave. However, I wasn't feeling well from the day before and had to leave the trip early. I was bummed because the kayak/snorkel adventure was literally just beginning, but I had to stay on the beach while the rest of the group continued. My younger sister volunteered to fill my spot and off they went to see the Carey sea turtles, starfish and even more stingrays.

My dad and the sea turtle I didn't get to see :( 

Blog Experience

When I was little I used to keep a diary where I would rant about the silly fights with my sisters or the total tragedy of a boy not liking me back in the ever so dramatic third grade -ahh, those were the days... Flash forward 12 years up until the beginning of the semester and I had no clue how to express my feelings so freely as my 9-year old self could. 

As part of the Journey in Literature class, the students had to set up a blog, and apart from an amateur Tumblr page, I had no idea how to write and maintain a proper blog that people would actually want to read. I decided to keep it simple and clean and write as I normally did. Since I do like writing assignments and especially enjoy them in English, I thought of the blog experience as writing bits and pieces of a never-ending essay with the main topic being "journeys". As I kept writing post after post, I thought the project to act as a good therapy session (much like the journal entries!). Although I mainly focused on the class topics and assigned themes, a comment by a fellow classmate and blogger (shout-out to Armando!) triggered the idea that I could keep up said blog and narrate all of the other journeys that await for me in the near future. 

I have a lot on my mind and ideas I like sharing with people, and by setting up a blog I feel as though there are other people out there in the world that may agree or disagree with me and I would absolutely love to read about what they would have to say. The internet is the new social scene and one can connect with another person in a whole different continent without ever leaving the comfort of your room! I wonder if people from different places would like to read my blog for the class or continue reading any other adventure blogs I might come up with after being introduced to the blogging world by a literature class. 

Journey Journal

As part of the Journey in Literature class, the professor had the students develop a journal in which we were to write in each day. The writing process had to be a reflection of each of the student's stream of consciousness and had to flow naturally, including mistakes, misspelled words, randoms thoughts, and so on. To make our journals even more personal, we had to decorate the cover and back-cover with pictures that represented us and our different journeys. 

I sat down with a bunch of magazines trying to figure what pictures represented me the most. After a while I noticed that I was having a much easier time when I focused on phrases and words that meant something to me. I did, however find some pictures of places that were meaningful to me and so, the first area of my journal are either places that I have visited, like California and New York, or places I want to visit, such as Paris, England and Holland. Even though I haven't had that much travel experience, my dream is to take a year off and go everywhere I've always dreamed of going to take in different cultures and gain so many different experiences in life. 

The second area of my journal is focused mainly on my internal journeys -past, present and future. To represent these I cut different phrases or words that stood out to me. Some of these were: renewal, now, change, what's ahead, driven by dreams, "search for: ", and unravel. I am in the midst of figuring out who I am and who I ultimately want to become. I've slowly grown and started making that transition from being a naïve adolescent to a young adult that still makes plenty of mistakes along the way, but tries to learn from them as much as possible.

The third area is mostly centered around the things I want to accomplish in life while I still have the passion and drive to do them, such as: save for a once-in-a-lifetime family trip, ride a vespa, start something curious, learn a new language, among many others. I strongly believe that by stepping out of my comfort zone I can discover what I truly want out of life. By trying new things I can also get to know myself a little bit better along the way. Through the class I learned that a person can change so much just by stepping out of their bubble and traveling. A journey is so much more than just taking a plane; you grow as a person mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and sometimes even physically if you just allow yourself to be open to change and all its magic.

This is how the journal finally turned out!

Greetings from Poland

- "Czy znasz polski?" 
- (lets out a nervous laugh) "Oh yeah yeah I eat there all the time!"

Even though I am utterly and completely terrified that I'll find myself nodding with a stupid grin on my face to every Polish sentence I hear (like said example), there is something magically wonderful about just being thrown into a new country without knowing a single word of its language. Also, applying class concepts and ideas about tourist vs. traveler to the real world and practicing what I have been so fervently preaching in the classroom will be an experience by itself. Hopefully, one I will be forever fond of. 

I had been planning on traveling soon and at this specific time in my life I felt compelled to take a leap of faith and just do it. As part of a new member of a global community outreach program, I sent out applications to various countries hoping that they would find my résumé appealing enough to allow me to fly halfway across the world to intern for them. I applied to Australia, Poland, and Bulgaria for Summer internships related to psychology. After narrowing my options to these three, I dared to hit the send button on the applications. 

The first to respond was Poland, thus the Polish introduction above, that for all of those who are curious translates into English as a simple "Do you speak Polish?". This specific internship was working with children and teenagers in schools, camps and orphanages to further develop their English skills all the while learning about each of the intern's culture. There are interns applying from all around the world, something beneficial to the children and to the interns as well. I am terribly excited and completely ecstatic to potentially fly out to Poland to have this experience this Summer that will hopefully broaden my worldly knowledge, all the while contributing my grain of sand towards helping the good in the world to peek through all the negative things that have been happening lately.

Emergency Room

It was the middle of the night when I opened my eyes and began to visually scan the dark room in vain. Then, the pain started seeping in all at once. All of a sudden my abdomen was being attacked by a very sharp pain; a pain I could only close my eyes very tightly and hope for it to pass. I tossed and turned in my sheets as the hours passed by until the night slowly went by and dawn was now creeping through my window. I dared to open my eyes once more only to be horrified that the pain had worsened. As I crawled out of my bed I could not bring myself to stand up straight because the pain would stab me immediately, reminding me of the restless night I had just awoken from. 

Truth be told, I had had these stomach aches for around three days, but they were not strong enough to make me slouch around my house instead of walking upright. This was definitely more than an ordinary stomach bug, so I decided to go to the doctor. Unfortunately for me it was a Friday and my two primary doctors do not work on Fridays. My mom suggested I go to the emergency room at the local hospital so I would get a somewhat speedy service. Very unfortunately for me, I had a Biopsychology test in an hour that I simply could not miss. But how was I to drive in my condition? Luckily, my mom offered to take me to the university so I could take my test. After I took the test in my personal best time in this class of 45 minutes, I slouched my way back to the car and drifted in and out of sleep all the way to the hospital. 

It was a small hospital, very quaint and all too familiar since about a year and a half ago my grandfather passed away in the same emergency room I was walking through. I still remember every detail of that day because I stood there in awe of what was happening and took everything in. I was abruptly shook out of this flashback by the screeching sound of a woman's screams. She was an older woman in a wheelchair with eyes that weren't all there. She seemed to be frantically searching for a reason for her being in a hospital and after observing her body language, I believe she never quite understood why. The sound of my name brought me back once more. I was swiftly taken into another room for my vitals to be checked. After I was cleared, the hospital protocol demanded I be hooked to an I.V. -still not knowing what was wrong with me. As I looked the other way while my blood was being drawn I heard my name being called once more. This time, there was an obese woman in mint green scrubs holding a chart and pointing at me to come and sit in the wheelchair she was trotting around. With my blood drawn and tightly sealed in a tiny crystal tube, I made my way to the wheelchair and the impatient woman behind it.

As the woman in the mint green scrubs turned my wheelchair around I could see the beds where sick people that where laying there, hoping to get an answer to their sickly prayers. I dared to take a look at the bed where my grandfather passed away. It was taken by an old man that reminded me of my grandfather. It was still the same bed, it was still in the same position, it was still in the same hospital, yet it had been through so many stories and patients-before and after my grandpa died- that it seemed very different now. The moment we passed by the bed and unleashed very vivid memories seemed like a long time, when in reality it was a mere instant. 

After waiting for X-Rays, blood results, urinary specimens, and whatnot, I was exhausted. I was still in a wheelchair, but I felt strong enough to sit down in a normal chair. However, hospital protocol reminded me that I would continue to be in the wheelchair for the rest of my visit. I was wheeled into the emergency room once more and started to look around me at the people who where coming and going. I wondered why were they visiting the hospital? What did they stop doing midday to come to the emergency room? Why where some of these people alone? None of them looked deathly ill or in dire need of medical attention, yet again neither did I and I was the one in a wheelchair. After attempting to do a complete sociology and psychology report on ER patients, I was wheeled back to another room only for the doctor to inform me that I just had a infection. I waited six hours to find out I was not being stabbed in the stomach, but was just fighting a very simple and treatable infection. In the end, I was left with a fifty-dollar emergency bill, a prescription for antibiotics and a amateur, yet complete analysis of the patients that visited the hospital's ER that day. 

To Tour or Not to Tour?

tour noun

A journey for business, pleasure, or education 

often involving a series of stops and ending at the starting point. 

tour•ist noun

One that makes a tour for pleasure or culture.

When you look up the definition of tour and tourist in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, you will end up with the entries above. To the person doing the tour, this definition adequately fits all the criteria they think of when they hear the words tour or tourist; give or take a few snorkeling adventures and piña colada-filled afternoons. For the tourist, a vacation is a mean of relaxation from their boring day jobs back in the big city. At the simple mention of a trip, the Caribbean may usually pop into their minds. There is an association between sandy beaches and down-time that a person almost automatically makes at the mention of an exotic getaway. However, this person almost never stops to take a look around at the social, political and economical status of the destination he or she fled to. 

In her book, "A Small Place", Jamaica Kincaid criticizes the concept of a tourist almost as soon as the book begins. She argues the tourists are interested in the tropical and exotic clichés of Antigua, and do not reflect upon the real issues at hand. For Kincaid, the foreigner is too narrow-minded to really learn about the new culture, the customs, traditions, folklore, relevant topics, currents government status, and so on, of the place they're traveling to. There is an idealized notion of a vacation that has not been broken ever since the bored office worker decided that he needed a recreational activity to ease his mind on. Not once did this person dare to put himself in the position of the native and be sympathetic towards the fact that not everyone can escape their reality. 

So much England in so Little Antigua

I come from a tiny island amidst the Caribbean, right in between the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. It is very small in comparison to huge modern empires like The United States or most of Eurasia. And so, like the tropical island Antigua, I share the same feeling of helplessness when faced with a mighty political giant, such as England was to Antiguans. In her novel, "A Small Place", Jamaica Kincaid writes very openly about the strained relationship between Antigua and England. Antigua was considered, like Puerto Rico, a colony and its people were expected to kneel before the new regime. However, after many years of colonization, Antigua managed to achieve its independence from England. Puerto Rico only did so from Spain by a war that passed on the island from one empire to the next: The United States. We were handed to U.S.A as if the whole island population were a piece in a game of chess. No one ever asked about the culture that was already in the island pre-Spain or post-Spain, no one bothered with the people's concerns with the English language, and no one cared if Puerto Rico wanted indepedence: we were, essentially, a geographical advantage and strategic piece of land to The United States. In Antigua, England implemented its laws, customs, language, and even street names, among others. They even had holidays that revered political figures- does that upcoming February 18th holiday sound familiar to this situation? Exactly. In Puerto Rico we have roads and avenues that refer to American icons, that God knows what they did to deserve such honors. We celebrate President's Day for crying out loud, when we can't even vote for the candidate.


Where does the boundary that divides Puerto Rican and   American culture start and where does it end? To this day, it is a very blurry line. We, as a whole, have had to assimilate to a new culture, language and customs in order to fit into the American territory standards. We mimic their every move in hopes that maybe one day they'll notice us and let us join them as a state. But, is it truly natural to want to be a state or has that idea been inculcated in our belief system because we've grown up idolizing the powerful U.S.A? I believe we want to be recognized as worthy of greatness and we desperately want to make America responsible for helping us achieve it. 

A Reflection on Holy Cow by Sarah Macdonald

Youth is spent on figuring out who we want to be for the rest of our lives. Most people in their twenties feel the sudden urge to travel in order to get a sense of who they really are. Some, more privileged than others, get that chance and fly to meaningful places that will ultimately impact them so much that they’ll return home a changed person. Luckily, Sarah Macdonald had the unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime chance of traveling early in her youth, however this did not mean she enjoyed every bit of it. She traveled to India and got the tourist experience deluxe she didn’t sign up for. Macdonald and a friend spent a year abroad traveling through many different countries until taking a two-month tour of India. I believe they wanted a post card version of India, but instead got the real deal and didn’t want it after all. They had an awful time and could not wait to go back home to Australia. Sarah knew her time spent abroad was an escape from her reality, and escape that had a clear deadline and soon enough she would come back to the normality that was her life. Although her experience was life altering, it was not memorable in the way she had hoped for, to the point where she vowed never to return again. But, as fate would have it, eleven years later she found herself boarding on a plane to India.

Although India would be her new home, upon arriving she felt more of a tourist than a traveler and potential Indian adoptee. She was a tourist in the sense of when one enters a new country where you know little to noting about the culture or the language, and you are genuinely overwhelmed by it all. However as her inner traveler slowly peeks out, Sarah starts to notice everything around her. She takes in the good as well as the bad, noticing the diversity of people and their sometimes eccentric personalities, the beaten, yet traffic-filled roads, the old and run-down houses, the animals in their sickly state, and the overall smog-filled environment she couldn’t get away from fast enough last time around. In her descriptions and experiences, Sarah doesn’t try to glamorize her new life or glorify India in any way, instead she opts for stating the facts. This way of looking at things could be considered as a traveler in a way because she gets to live the real India, not the one sold to you in a package over at the tourist agency. She isn’t living in a vacation bubble, knowing she will come back to the safety of her home and to the comforting feeling of knowing beforehand what to expect. India was her reality so she described it, as it was, smog and all.

Early upon Sarah’s arrival to India, she and Jonathan explored a bit of India: they went to the Ganges River, drank chai tea, got lost, went to the Himalayan footsteps, rang in the New Year, and drank some more chai. She was treated mostly as a tourist because she acted like one, although she was there to stay for quite some time. Just as she started to show a glimmer of actually enjoying herself, Sarah was bed-ridden with pneumonia in one of India’s most contaminated cities. Forced to stay home, she started to engage in a more traveler-like mentality. She developed a relationship with various members of her staff, knew about certain aspects of the city’s inner workings, and learned many new things about the language, culture, tradition and the role of the woman in India. She even got to attend a true Indian wedding in its entire luxurious and culturally rich splendor. She definitely got out of her comfort zone and (reluctantly) accepted to, at least, dip her feet in what India wanted to offer her since the very first trip she made to the country.

Traveler or Tourist?

When the word tourist pops into my head I can't help but to think of the stereotypical idea of a man or woman with khaki shorts, socks with sandals, a floral print shirt, burnt nose, and a camera in hand. However, when I think of a traveler I imagine a citizen of the world, trekking through different cities without an agenda and not a care in the world because he or she is on a journey to find a new meaning out of life and experience new cultures, customs, and people. Although these two concepts are without a doubt correlated with one another, I believe that there are subtle differences that set them apart. For example, a tourist might want to stay within the boundaries of what is safe to explore, whereas a traveler might want to see absolutely everything and scatter away from the constraints of being on a tight schedule to go see typical tourist sights.

In the film adaptation of E.M. Forester's novel, A Room with a View (1985), the protagonist is a young English girl named Lucy Honeychurch that travels to Italy as a tourist. With her much older cousin and chaperone, Ms. Charlotte Bartlett, Lucy lives in an Italian pensione in Florence. They are surrounded mostly by other English people and engage in little to none interaction with authentic Italians. The English group does, on one occasion, take a trip to the countryside to see the view, where with exception of the drivers, they are amongst themselves. Lucy does try to take a tour of an old church, where she is accompanied by a rather larger group that resembles those huge tours that companies offer of distinct sites that might seem appealing to a foreigner on vacation. However, Ms. Eleanor Lavish's character, an English novelist, takes the time to get lost in the city streets and doesn't really mind it because she understands the beauty of being in an unknown city with no clear path to roam upon. Other than this, Lucy's trip to Italy can be mainly  as a tour. However, she does take a journey of her own, but  within herself. It is through Italy and falling in love with an unconventional man in an exotic place, that she understands more about herself and her stance in society. When she goes back to her home in England she takes all that she experienced in Italy and applies it in order to redefine her life. 

Lucy started out as a tourist, and ended up as a traveler in the sense that she discovered and experienced things abroad that made her find new sense and meaning out of life. Although she was certainly confused about her time spent in Italy, when she arrives back home, she learns that she can be an independent women, very much capable of producing her own ideas and thoughts among a very strict Edwardian era in England. Of course, her falling in love with George Emerson, a very open-minded man himself, helped her acquire a refreshing perspective on a lot of aspects of her life. 

Personally, I want to be mostly a traveler and a bit of a tourist. Of course I want to see the typical sights: the Eiffel Tower, Thames River, the Parthenon, and the Roman Coliseum, among many others. But, I also want to get lost in the mysteries and wonders of these cities without much care for an agenda that I must follow to a tee. I would very much like to take a year off and simply go wherever I may. The World is too big of a place to stick to routines and schedules. I believe everyone should at least go on a mini journey to find meaning to their lives and acquire different perspectives that would ultimately open their minds about the idea that the World is a much bigger place than the originally thought.

Helping

"Helping" is not the same as giving out the answer to your friend on a test. Helping is arranging study groups or mock tests that prepare the struggling student for an upcoming assignment or exam. I do, however, completely understand where a "helping" situation might have presented itself when Jim Cooper wrote about it. Learning a new language is a hard task, and more so when you're simply thrown into a classroom and expected to walk out a fluent speaker. It can easily become frustrating trying to understand this new and strange language, and so the concept of "helping" can enter the picture. The term "copying" is more exact, but Puerto Ricans tend to strongly differ, as Cooper narrated. 

During the 1950's English was making its way to the Puerto Rican classroom and trying to hold its ground as a second language. For college level students, trying to learn this language proved to be a rather difficult task specially when it was so unfamiliar in many different ways. Since English was proving to make a long lasting appearance, the curriculum had to be formatted in order to accommodate it. Elementary students still had a fighting chance to learn it because their age made the learning quite easier. But, college and university level students had a much harder time trying to comprehend the language. And so, the ones that didn't understand stuck together and the ones that did helped in any way they could. If this meant "helping" them on tests and assignments, they were all for it. It was and probably still is a cultural thing to help out those in need no matter the cirmunstance. We, as Puerto Ricans, tend to give out a helping hand in any way possible to serve those that show they need the extra help. 

I've grown up with "helping" in classes all my life, and although I do understand the true and sincere intentions behind it, it think that the concept has gone through alterations through time. In the present, helping means that one person knows the material by heart and the one being helped is simply too lazy to study. He or she is probably likely to not have studied for the test and now wants a good grade; the solution presents itself in the form of copying from the teacher's pet or the nerd that spent the week before studying. And this is the part where I strongly disagree. Maybe I was the geeky nerd who studied the week away and that's why I dislike people that try to copy off of my test. I did all the hard work for somebody, who doesn't care, to cheat off of my test? I don't think so. As you can see I wasn't the easiest one to copy off of, but I always held my ground. I'm not trying to justify that copying back then was fair and now it isn't. All I'm trying to explain is that circumstances have changed and now English comes in a more natural way to us, so cheating should not come along so often. 

A Day in the Life of

Every day can start out ordinary and somehow orchestrate itself into becoming a journey. Day-to-day activities that most people would think nothing of can represent a pivotal moment in a person's day. Since journeys are personal and unique to each person's surrounding or specific context, variability is bound to emerge about what each person considers to be or not to be an adventure. For me, waking up before sunlight is an experience by itself. I wake up before anyone else in my house is up and leave before they even notice I'm gone. The real chaos of my day begins with the impossible mission that has become driving and getting around in the city. The reason I wake up so early is mainly to avoid traffic. I only live fifteen minutes away from the university where I study, but I have to leave an hour or more in advance in order to arrive on time. I also have to take into consideration the time wasted searching for a parking spot once I finally arrive on campus. 

7:00 a.m. classes are not fun; they make you drowsy, and try all you might, you will start to doze off with your eyes still completely open. Next worst thing after a 7:00 a.m. class? An 8:30 a.m. class right after. Sleepiness will surely tag along and try to persuade you to just close your eyes for a bit. I have to admit that I've caught myself going cross-eyed from trying to shoo off that nagging, sleepy feeling once or twice. Third worst thing? A three-hour, no break, no dozing-off class. Now, hunger will make an appearance and naturally I have to respond appropriately by snacking the class away. After this on-going ordeal I finally get to go home. But first, I have to get through the 2:30p.m. traffic jam because this is when most schools get out. Half an hour of slow moving cars later and I am finally home and too exhausted to even take my jeans off to take a proper nap. A long day demands a long nap; only to start the day again tomorrow. 

A Day as a Journey

I believe that an important part of traveling to a new place and experiencing a different culture is being able to look at said place and culture through the local's eyes, as well as taking into account the novelty of it all as a traveler. I tried to combine both by picturing myself being an exchange student in Puerto Rico. My little project started as soon as I left class. The campus was certainly different from the concrete jungle of wherever I pictured myself being from. Although the campus had some modern architecture, it was generally overwhelmed by nature. There was an air of serenity that no Ivy-league college could possibly offer. On my tour of the UPR I sat down to have lunch by the tower. As I ate a mouthful of a mix of mashed plantain and onions called mangú, I watched the people that passed me by. I couldn't help but wonder about their life-stories: Where were they from? Where were they going? What classes were they taking?, and so on. Each of their faces were so different from one another that it served me as a constant reminder that I was in the Caribbean: where mixed races and ethnicities could all enjoy the tropical shade. 

After lunch, I took my car out, since I had to visit my mom at the hospital because she was bitten by a mosquito with Dengue. Since traffic tends to vary from place to place in a lot of way in different countries, as a tourist in Puerto Rico, I expected to drive down a few beaten down dirt roads. Instead, I found myself in a five-lane freeway fending off on-coming cars. For an island, Puerto Rican roads are more city-like than I could have ever imagined them to be. However, when I got to the hospital, I expected to find a modern structure. I was surprised to be surrounded yet again by tropical plants and trees, and the soothing sound of the tiny, yet melodious coquí when I peeked over the hospital window. Although the hospital wasn't a hut in the middle of the tropical rainforest, it kept its connection to nature. Through my journey as a tourist in my own country I learned to stop and take a  moment to appreciate the little things my island had that a lot of places lack: diversity in every sense; from the people to the food, nature everywhere, and a mix of modern and old cultures and values. 

Journeys I have Taken

I suppose most journeys start deep within a person's need for adventure. I believe that sometimes the day-to-day dullness can become too much to bear and one feels the urge to break free. I also like to believe that there lies a voyager somewhere inside all of us wanting to escape said monotony. If what I believe is true, my journey started out as most: feeling the need to run away to find myself. In my country, going away to the continental United States is a right of passage every other young adult goes through. As high school and my first two years in college flew by, I thought I was part of the ones that stayed behind on the island, and I was content with this. However, as the second semester of my sophomore year was starting I woke up one day wanting to know what else was out there for me. Was I going to wake up early each day to go to school, study, come back home, study some more, and sleep my college years away? Who was I kidding, monotony had struck and it got me good. Somewhere between graduating high school and enrolling in college I followed the general flow and ended up going to the college that was closest to my high school and where everybody else from my graduating class was going. Don't get me wrong, I love my university, but I couldn't help myself from thinking if I had made the right choice or if I even had choices.

I did not waste any more time pondering on the what-ifs in my life and immediately applied for colleges in the New England area. When I mention New England I really mean Massachusetts, and when I say Massachusetts I really only mean Boston. After giving it careful thought I narrowed my choices down to two: Boston University or Northeastern University. In the end BU won by a landslide. In the blink of an eye my sophomore year ended, Summer was over, and I found myself in a Boston supermarket buying cereal for my room. It all happened so fast that I didn't really have time to have it all sink in. I was moving away from my tiny island, the only place I've every truly been comfortable living in, and living on my own. I only knew my boyfriend, who was starting the semester at Lasell College in Newton, Massachusetts, about half an hour train ride outside of Boston. Other than that and my new room mates, I was pretty much alone. Still, I kept an open, yet anxious mind about BU and Boston itself. What really had me excited was the fact that I was about to start writing a completely new chapter in my life, where I would finally discover myself and know what I wanted to do with my life. Before doing the actual move, I had planned a long list of all the things I wanted to do, like: join a club, study a semester abroad in Spain, catch a Red-Sox game, explore the coast of New England, learn French, eat a big bowl of clam chowda' like a true Bostonian, go to museums, and live the life of a student in one of the states with the most exciting college life. After catching that Sox game and devouring the bowl of chowder, things weren't looking as good as they did all the way from Puerto Rico. Since I was there to study I pictured my classes being absolutely life-changing, and in a way I guess they were. After taking an eighty plus student-filled class, I learned to appreciate the warmth and individual attention I had received as a student back home. In Boston, I felt as if though I was just a student number filling a spot in a cold and impersonal room where no one knew who I was or where I came from. On top of cold people, the cold and harsh weather killed my otherwise joyous personality. Bottom line: I wanted out. I acted quickly and was out as soon as I took my last final in December. Some tell me that I didn't give it a good try or that a semester was too short of a time to make the decision of coming back, but I truly believe that the time I spent was enough for me to know that what I wanted to get out life was not located on 157 Bay State Road, Boston University.