I'm now past the halfway point of my time here. It is beyond freaky to think about how I'm now counting down. I've been wanting to blog more, but other things are taking precedence over this. But never fear, I have a thick journal. I have a million stories and a million experiences that have made this month and a half more progressive and and eye-opening for myself than most of the years that I've been here on this little world. I mean, I can do French braids and change diapers--two things I'd never done before my time here. Look at me go!
I love these children. They make my days worth living.
I love my fellow volunteers. Never did I think they would be so crucial to my experience here, but I have learned so much about true friendship (and so much more) because of them.
I love my parents. Some much needed appreciation has come because of my experiences here. There's not a day I don't think about how blessed I am to have such incredible padres that are so involved in my life. They care. Some parents don't, but mine do.
I love my siblings. They are and always will be some of the most important relationships to me. I wouldn't be here in Ecuador without my sister. And I wouldn't be as confident and level-headed without my brother.
and I love a million other things (nature, telephones, soccer, God, brain power, Spanish, cameras, journals, bodies, communicating, Ecuadorians, fruit, taxis, hugs, volleyball, showers, writing, chocolate covered cinnamon bears (I'll always be grateful for these even though they're not actually here (feel free to ship me some whenever you'd like)), facebook, energy, a warm bed, parentheses, yada yada yada), but I'll spare you the gush fest and keep those thoughts to myself (bahaha).
...I'm experiencing Meg-B-Syndrome. I don't know how to end this.With a story? Claro.
A few days ago, I got into a vicious battle with a bunch of foam blocks and a bunch of three year olds. I was tragically shot in the chest and spent the last few moments of my imaginary life clinging to my knight in shining armor after he crawled through the wreckage screaming "ANNITA!" He tried his best to save me, noticed that his big boy muscles couldn't actually move a 20 year old, and resorted to laying on top of me to try and protect me. Unfortunately, my life actually flashed before my eyes when a very large seven year old jumped butt first onto my unprotected head. It turns out that three year olds can only protect so much. But it's the thought that counts. Right?