The Bookseller of Kabul 11.30.08

I finally finished The Bookseller of Kabul, for the second time! I will be the first to say it took me way too long but that's beside the point. I remembered a lot of the book when I reread it, however this time I took it in with a deeper understanding. The entire time I was reading it, the story unfolded in such a way that it kept me hooked. Especially as I got to the last few chapters, I just couldn't put the book down because I had to know what was happening to the Khan family. Most of the characters evolved so much from the beginning of the book, and this growth was well written and explained through Seierstad's watchful eyes and ears. Although I found the ending of the book to be a bit abrupt, I think its appropriate because Seierstad was staying with a real family. It wasn't a made up story, written to have a fairytale ending. In the real world and especially in Afghanistan, fairytale endings don't exist. The story ended; Seierstad stopped observing the Khan family life. The two are linked together. The relationship that she had built up with the family is incredible and is proven by the way Seierstad represents each person so well. She is capable of making a strong connection with each person and relay it in her writing so well that one must wonder if it was all true. I think the thing that amazes me most is that while Seierstad writes about all the struggles the people of Afghanistan go through, she,a woman from a foreign country, is able to gain such respect within a Islamic family and travel and record many different experiences.

The Bookseller of Kabul 11.24. 08

So yet it again appears that in some ways the lives of the women in this book lead the better lives. Unlike Fazil, they are not experiencing such pain and question. Nor are they experiencing the pure boredom, that Aimal, Sultan's youngest son experiences daily. Like many of Sultan's sons or brothers, Aimal is forced to work in a hotel shop. Everyday for twelve hours he works or rather sits in boredom. With the lack of demand for hotels in Kabul(among many other things), the once beautiful and popular hotel is now a quiet and sleepy business trying to stay alive. Working in a shop right in the middle of the lobby of a once thriving area pains Aimal. He remembers the days of the hotel being full of tourists and American journalists, willing to pay any price for the goodies inside. It was during this time that he would dream of becoming a big shot businessman. But once the war ended, the journalists left, once again leaving Aimal in his lonely stall.
I find it interesting that Seierstad chose to introduce these two sad, young boys into the book so close to the end, but at the same time I can kind of understand why. Although the boys might both lead very difficult lives, I think they have a bit of muffled hope lying in them. I think that Seierstad included the boys in her story because they are who she discovered along her journey of writing this novel but also perhaps saw them as motivational or wished to have their story closely be told.

The Bookseller of Kabul 11.24. 08

In my most recent readings, the bad side of Sultan's personality has truly come out. Fazil, Sultan's nephew, has worked for Sultan most of his young, eleven year old life. One day however, Sultan grew tired of his nephew, who was a hard worker and needed to work for his uncle as a way to help his mother look after the family. Now living back at home in the outskirts of Kabul, he attends school but suffers quite painfully in his religion class. Despite the fact that religion is or seems like it would have to be a huge part of every Muslim's life in Afghanistan, little Fazil just can't seem to get a grip on it. Everyday he is assigned more homework about God.."God is the creator, God is eternal, God is almighty", etc. During the class he is asked similar questions.."Can God Die?, Can God talk?, Can God see?". Yet, no matter how much he studies, he just can't seem to obtain the courage to speak up and share the correct answer. His failure to comply with the teacher's requests makes him more shy and unfortunately, a victim of punishment. He is even threatened to discontinue the class if he can't learn everything. This strict demand for all, big and small to follow Islam and be completely aware is understood in such a conservative country but makes me sad to see such a young boy pressured to understand something so huge. I wonder how this will shape him as he grows, hopefully I can find out soon before the book ends, whether or not his is even still a Muslim. Did this painful and stressful time push him away from this religion?

The Bookseller of Kabul 11.17.08

Hopefully you read the post I posted just before this one because they are slightly related. But..I'm sure you can follow along anyways.

I just finished a section after Mansur has come home from his pilgrimage and everyone is at home. Leila, Bibi Gul's last child is still living at home, unmarried and is treated as the family slave. She is fed up with being treated this way and whats to leave the house when with her mother when Yunus got married. However, Yunus' engagement continues to drag on. Yunus is her only brother that doesn't treat with her with complete disrespect and expects her to kiss his feet.
Everyday Leila wakes up before the sun to start breakfast and prepares the house for the day. She works all day doing mindless chores and then stays up late into the morning cleaning up the last parts of the house and dinner. As Seierstad writes Leila story, the anger and anticipation to leave the house can be felt building up. So finally Leila lets go and secretly attends an English lesson at school without the knowlegde or permission from any of the men in the house. She uses a random village boy to escort her and is nervous but excited to attend the class. Unfortunately, when she arrives, she discovers that the class is very westernized. Few women wearing burkas and the ever more shocking...there are boys in the class! Shocked and upset by the people attending the class Leila barely sits throught the whole class and then rushes home, sharing the awful news to the fellow women in the house.

The Bookseller of Kabul 11.17.08

In response to a question I was asked...do you think the author is entirely objective in presenting the events, or do you detect some element of author response? How is she making you sympathetic with the characters and which ones?

Throughout the entire book, although Seierstad is completely immersioned in another culture and living with another family that is very inviting, she isn't able to capture the full story. The family is very interested in helping her write the book but she can only get so far into the workings of their minds. She can only write what she is told from an individual, the rest, she must interpret. Because of this simple lack of the ability to mind read, I think that Seierstad had to input part of herself in the writing because she was observing the interpreting the scenes her way. This also is what leads me to have sympathy towards certain characters and the need to know what is happening in their life throughout the entire book. I can't really say that there is one particular character that is my favorite, however my favorite parts of the book are the ones about the women in the family. A major intrest of mine is the people and culture of the Middle East, espeically Afghanistan and Pakistan. I have come to discover that the culture and way of life for the women of these countries is what really grabs my interest. The women live such different lifestyles from the one I know and also have such an unknown and hidden presense in the Muslin world and Seierstad is able to se past the burkas and bring out their true personalities.

The Booksellerof Kabul 11.10.08

As summertime approaches in Afghanistan, Sultan unexpectedly brought his first wife, Sharifa, home from Pakistan. Although he claims she is only staying for the summer, She is hopeful that she and her son will become new house members. Despite the differences between Sharifa and his younger second wife, Sonya, Sharifa's arrival brought them closer together. Having not seen or spoken to each other in over a year, they have much to catch up on. Although Sonya's stories are about city life in Kabul, Sharifa manages to still relate her stories from refugee life. Both have gossip about the weddings they attended, the dresses worn, the engagements, and which girls are unfortunately forced to marry lousy men. Sharifa tells them about Saliqa, someone they all formally knew who became quite a scandalous woman upon taking refuge in Pakistan. During the preparations for her engagement party, her husband was such a "poverty-stricken layabout" that his family wasn't able to pay for it. The engagement party is one of the most expensive and meaningful parts of a marriage. However she had no choice but to continue with the marriage because of a secret meeting they had in the park one day, that didn't remain a secret for very long. She had ruined her own reputation and would lose everything if the wedding was called off.

The Bookseller of Kabul 11.9.08

After finally getting through a large chunk of my book, I feel as if I have witnessed the growth and development of each character. This growth is especially emphasized in the chapters I just finished, in which Seierstad follows Mansur, Sultan's son, on his New Year's pilgrimage to Ali's tomb in Mazar-i-Sharif. As the new year approaches, thousands of Muslims have gathered here to ask for forgiveness of their sins and be healed to welcome the new year.
Mansur was once just a young fellow working in his father's bookstore, but very quickly matures from a young, misbehaving boy to a balanced and responsible man. His epiphany comes after becoming disgusted with himself for sinning against a child by standing quietly aside while his book selling neighbor abuses a young girl. He transforms his shame and disgrace into an incentive to go on the pilgrimage. Although Sultan doesn't allow it, Mansur believes if Ali really wants him to go, signs will be given to prove it. Low and behold, Mansur receives his signs. He is able to take the trip along with two other young men as they make the trip through mine covered mountains and dangerous villages. Once arrived in Mazar-i-Sharif, the experiences Mansur has are heart warming. He feels like a happy child, finding it difficult to control his emotions yet somehow manages, while bustling along through the holy city. He attends prayer and asks for forgiveness, but does however forget the little girl from back home. Despite his one minor mistake, he continues feeling invigorated by the city and all the food, shopping and religious aspects of the whole trip. His growth from a little boy in the bookstore to the grown man who takes the religious pilgrimage is truly amazing and he takes as much back as he can from experiences to education.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.27.08

My favorite passage from the book so far has to be the chapter "Billowing, Fluttering, Winding". In this sixteen page chapter, Seierstad describes a trip to bazaar completely through the eyes of a burka. She doesn't use any names when describing the group of three women shopping together, however it seems that it is the newly engaged sister. Because of her anonymity this perspective could represent any burka clad women. In reading the entire chapter, I felt as if it was I walking through the bazaar, viewing my world with a permanent grille and sweating like pig. Her analogy of burka women to horses with blinkers is perfect; a detailed look into the lives of these women.

Although the shopping trip is the same as any other, the way it happens is what makes the difference. Instead of looking ahead, the head is pointed down, focusing on your own shoes and the shoes around you. Your eyesight is limited to whatever is straight in front, and only after "a bit of head rotating...and weave[ing] their heads around in all directions to see better" can you gain a true sense of your surroundings. There is sight joy in bearing the weight of the burka however. The women risk a little to flirt with the storekeepers and vendors to get the price down on their purchase. With a quick flash of the wrist or the more daring removal of the headpiece almost guarantees a bargain. When all the haggling is said and done, there is no greater relief expressed then finally coming back home to restore their faces.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.27.08

Having been reunited with my book after a brief loss, I can say I truly missed Seierstad's amazing ability to completely hide her contribution to the book. As I read more and became more attached to Sultan and his family, I find it hard to believe that Seirestad was present during almost every part of the story. Some chapters of the book are very intimate moments within in the family, making it hard to imagine a stranger sitting in on these things is very difficult for me. She is there when Sultan travels to Pakistan, crossing dangerous borders and taking many unsafe back roads to visit with his wife. When the two are reunited it becomes very clear the happy and relaxed relationship Sultan has with his first wife, Sharifa. At their dinner together, they laugh, gossip and exchange stories like two best friends, the entire time having a strange foreigner sitting in on their reunion. Its in these moments that where it becomes very clear that Seierstad's relationship with Sultan's family and the unfamiliar territory she lives in is one of great friendless and comfort.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.20.08

As I continue to read more and more in this book, it amazes me the mass amount of differences in woman's lives in Afghanistan and here in the United States. Women in the United States, for the most part, are treated fairly and are given equal respect and rights as the men. We can own our property, live alone, go out and about with our girlfriends, guy friends, and even by ourselves if we chose. Women are not a different species and are (or at least should be in all places, however there are some exceptions...) no different from any other American citizen. However, once crossing the big pond, all of this changes.

The lives of women in the Middle East and more specifically Afghanistan are quite different. Up until recently everything they did was regulated, even down to what they wore. From burkas to being chosen for marriage and then becoming second or third best to a younger wife, these women have it tough. Yet, through all the hardships, they manage to still kept their chin up. Although all the cooking for the family is what's excepted, many seem to enjoy these moments in the kitchen or gossip hours in the courtyard. But some less fortunate are left behind in the mountains or in neighboring Pakistan until the husband finds it safe for them to reenter, this sometimes taking years. As I continue to get deeper involved with the story I hope to learn more about this opposite lifestyle from the one I and most American women know.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.20.08

In the foreword, Seierstad gives shares many experiences or things that could be her purpose for writing this book. To me however, the part that stood out the most throughout the entire foreword was when she begin to describe Sultan Kahn, the main character...

"I spent hours listening to the bookseller's stories...he was a man who had tried to save the art and literature of his country while a string of dictators did their best to destroy them. I realized that he was himself a living piece of Afghan cultural history: a history book on two feet."

Seierstad's goal with this book was to crack open the spine on this real life history book and share the story of one man and his family. To reveal Afghanistan in a whole new way that most don't think about. And this story and all the tales that came with it are definitely told in the best way possible. Her method of retelling her experiences almost seems like she is a storyteller. The whole book as a togetherness to it with each part of their lives fitting together to form one collective book, but she also squeezes in factual tidbits that tie in with whatever is happening. Each chapter is like another story being told, and almost always comes from a different family member's perspective. It is hard to not feel connected to each character as their life unravels before you. Seierstad achieves her purpose in more ways then imagined, by sharing this historical and informational life story, spreading knowledge of this misunderstood region and building emotion connects to the people.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.14.08

Within just the first few chapters of the book, I have noticed a subject that Seierstad continues to bring up. In some cases it is brought up discreetly but sometimes she is rather blatant and writes an entire chapter on it. This subject or problem is the condition of woman's lives in Afghanistan. Without having to spend much time on this subject or devoting a special space for attention here, it can be noticed. Of course, part of this book takes place under the rule of the Taliban where women basically had no freedom. But even once the Taliban had collapsed, many basic and everyday actions remained regulated. They can't own their property, all they do in their homes is cook, clean, and please their husbands or masters to be more accurately named. They don't have any say in their marriages. The entire arrangement is just that, arranged. If a man happens to have a liking towards a woman, she is utterly defenseless in marrying the man even if she despises of him. Rarely do the woman get saved from this unfair and wrong tradition but if the man is not rich enough or from a good family he is sent away. Although the women of Afghanistan don't have much of a voice, they make themselves heard through songs and poetry. Even though these songs and poem mean someone's voice is being heard, most of them are not very uplifting or positive or up lifting. They write about the hatred towards their husbands to a secret lover to the depressing feeling of not being heard or noticed...

I was beautiful like a rose.
Beneath you I turned yellow like an orange.

The Bookseller of Kabul 10.13.08

The Bookseller of Kabul
Asne Seierstad
2002


This is actually not my first time reading The Bookseller of Kabul. My first time was a few years ago...in middle school I believe. I don't remember much of anything from the story except that I really liked the book. In the beginning of the semester when we received the list of recommended nonfiction books to read, I noticed that this book was on the list. When I had originally read this book, I didn't exactly notice that it was nonfiction. I'm sure that when I was reading it I was conscience of the fact that it was nonfiction, but I don't remember it as being a nonfiction novel now. It is because of this that I am reading it again. To take in all the facts and truths of the story but also to appreciate the story with better understanding. Stories like this one are truly my favorite. The stories that are either nonfiction or fiction and take place in the middle east and more specifically, Afghanistan and Pakistan. They allow me to learn about these areas in an different retrospect than most Americans (and most people of the world) do. The culture and people of these regions have an amazing spirit and are incredibly interesting. As I read more of this book, I hope to expand my knowledge of this people and their way of life, as Seierstad experienced herself and intended for the readers to do so as well.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things...

Running. The Outdoors. Camping. Fishing. Swimming. The Beach. The West (partially the four corner states). White Water Rafting. Hiking. Traveling. Greece. Spanish Speaking Countries. Honduras Outreach. Japan. Food. Baking. Cakes. Baking Techniques. Other Countries' Culture. Music. Being with Animals. Dogs. The 80's. Making Jewelry...

...When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad!

After Dark 9.29.08

Murakami certainly has some talent. I read this book in three days, putting it down only when absolutely necessary. But I have to say. It wasn't my favorite book, nor was it really satisfying. Okay so I won't sit here and tell you it was a bad book, because then I would be lying. It wasn't bad, in fact it was rather good and really had me hooked. Until the end. Each character has his or her own little story taking place at the same time and place as the other characters. The entire book leads you to think that these stories are going to come together at the end to answer all of your big questions. These stories however, don't do anything of the sort. Each one ends (or doesn't end) almost completely unrelated to the next. It was because I thought they would come together that I feel dissatisfied. Perhaps had I known that it was a collection of somewhat related stories from the very beginning I would have been much better off in the end.

This doesn't mean I'm not going to give more of Murakami's books a go. In fact I'm looking forward to reading another, hoping to have a completely different experience with it. But for now as I begin my next book, I hope it is one, unlike the last two that doesn't have a slightly disappointing ending. Maybe I'm being to critical or expecting to much. Or maybe this is a good thing. For not every book read is going to become my favorite book or be the best book I've ever read. Every book also doesn't have to have a happy ending. A happily ever after. Although I was left with the bitter taste of displeasure about the ending of the story, the rest of the book was quite imaginative. It is definitely fiction but lingers on the line of crazy out there alien fiction stories and the everyday normal fiction. It is this uncertainty that I loved about the book.

After Dark 9.23.08

As I mentioned in my last post, Murakami writes with a very interesting perspective. He really connects with the audience by using the eye or camera as his way of telling the story. I feel as if he is speaking to me directly and telling me what to look for and how to look at it when reading the story. It is this connection that leads me to believe that his relationship with the reader is a friendly one.

Of the six or so characters that this book revolves around, about four or five of them could be considered the main characters. Each one has a different story but all of their stories come together to form the overall story. As you watch each story come together, Murakami writes this in a relaxed and easy to navigate manner. This is also what leads me to believe that he wants the readers to relate to the characters and connect to their problems. Each chapter or rather time check completely brings you into the situation of the night. The combination of the description of our eyes and where they are looking with these time checks and details of the characters truly makes one feel as if they are part of the story. Murakami is certainly wanting the reader to feel included and therefore friendly but the overall relationship might have been intended to be more of a creepy passer-by or fly on the wall observing a strange situation.

After Dark 9.22.08

Haruki Murakami
After Dark
2007

Well I decided to read my first Murakami book yesterday. Both of my parents have always been a fan of his, especially my dad. He has read just about every book of his so I've always had them in my grasp but for some reason have never bothered to pick one up. So let me just say how glad I am that I did. This book is one of those that is impossible to put down. I started it just yesterday and am already about 3/4 into it. Whenever I read a book like this one, where I take it with me everywhere I go using any spare second to read, I often wonder why it is so good. When pondering this about After Dark I decided the reason for its incredible ability to keep me connected is because of the way Murakami writes. The story is told as if the reader is a film director deciding how he wants to film the movie; what camera angles would get the best shot. Taking place in Tokyo during the magical time of midnight till dawn, the first page has you visualizing the city from a bird's eye view and then slowly zooming in on the details of the story. Each chapter is time progressing through the night and the scene is set first with the location of the our imaginary camera or rather as he puts it, eyes. The feeling is as if we are in the room with the characters but they can't see us. We can't interact with them but we can watch everything they do. Our eyes follow the lives of two opposite sisters, one, a beautiful model since middle school, who is always mysteriously sleeping and the other who is out at all night meeting a crew of interesting people. Each sister's story is equally interesting with its own strange twist to it.

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly 9.22.08

Alas. I have finished reading the "memoir of life in death" as stated in the cover page. It took me a little while longer to finish it then I had anticipated, but that is besides the point for now I am done and plenty pleased.

The book definitely came to a satisfactory closure for me, however the closure did not happen until the very last chapter. I still enjoyed the ending because Dominique has finally come to accept his new life. His first summer spent in the hospital is over and he has made progress with his recovery. He can hum a short four line song about kangaroos and has written page after page for his book over the past two months. Although the ending is a bit abrupt, what can you do but enjoy the story presented. Dominique's death was abrupt, thankfully putting him out of his misery but at the same time, saddening. I finished the story, glad that it was over but yet a certain sadness hangs over me because of all my unanswered questions and "what if" thoughts. I've wondered if he made anymore progress in his recovery after the book ends but before his death..this I'm sure I could research but it would have been nice if there was an epilogue written by the translator or something. But I guess reading an epilogue on his death and all that he did/did not get to accomplish would be upsetting. I also would have liked to have a better concept of time during the book. Each chapter is more of a story than a chapter in a book, coming from different times in his life. However everything not included or the strange writing styles found in this book are what make the book what it is. Even now, after I have finished the book and seen the movie I can't get over the foundation of the story. A man with one eye as his only way of communication, his only moving body part bewilders me.

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly 9.15.08

Of the several different anecdotes that make up the chapters of this book, I have a few that I really like, from his humorous interpretation of the other patients at the hospital to his gratitude towards his "guardian angel" or speech therapist who brings him back into the world with a communication code; my favorite chapter is one called My Lucky Day. It actually isn't a cheery or happy story of luck. In fact it is just the opposite. Dominique's humor and sarcasm really shows through in this passage when he retells the story of one morning when everything goes wrong. His feeding machine has broken, alerting anyone around (himself) with a constant beep beep beep that it needs fixing, his eyelashes are ticking his pupil and he has wet himself are all components to his awful morning. While waiting for a nurse to come he hums to himself the song, "Don't you fret, baby, it'll be all right". The arrival of the nurse brings hope to the reader's mind, that finally he will be put out of his misery, when instead, the dreaded "lucky" moment happens.
"Automatically, she turns on the TV. A commercial, with a personal computer spelling out the question: "Were you born lucky?"

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly 9.15.08

It's about time I got back on board with this journal business. Yes, I am still reading The Diving Bell and The Butterfly, or rather I am starting it back up. I took an unintentional break from it but I'm back.

As you may know from reading my other posts about this book, the author's goal of writing this story is to share his experiences before and after being diagnosed with locked-in syndrome. Unlike many books I have read in the past, Dominique states his purpose in the first four pages of the book. With a quick summary of what has happened to him to leave him in this condition, he launches into a brief but explanatory explanation of his purpose.
"My main task now is to compose the first of these bedridden travel notes so that I shall be ready when my publisher's emissary arrives to take my dictation, letter by letter."
This is then followed by his pitiful thoughts of obsessing over every sentence, deleting words, the right adjectives, and memorizing the text word for word, paragraph by paragraph so that his story may be ready and told correctly. From this point on, the story doesn't talk about his purpose but rather is a series of anecdotes of his time in the hospital and his time before the accident. With each chapter, Dominique's life is revealed, achieving his purpose with the book. The chapter's follow a chronological order, for the most part, starting with his admittance to the hospital to his last moments in the hospital, but occasionally jumps back to a memory from the week before or 5 years before. Most of time the chapters don't transition well, however this style works because each chapter is a new story. Each short story is personal and therefore his purpose is achieved by informing the reader, piece by piece of his life's experiences.

the world is alive now, in AND outside our home

Whether or not you have taken a mission trip to a third world country, you probably know someone who has. Plenty of people take these trips; unfortunately, I think that the right intentions can get lost somewhere between the comforting American boarding gates and hearing foreign gibberish going through immigration in your destined country. This ignorance of entering a new country thankfully did not become the ringleader during my mission trip to Honduras. I went to Honduras in late July and honestly, didn't really know what to expect. I did know to expect a good experience; I could practice my Spanish and travel to a new country. I didn't know that meeting some amazing people, not only within my church group but the people of Honduras, experiencing many new things and my favorite, and connecting with the adults and children who had so much less then me would all contribute greatly to the experience. From the moment we touched ground at the San Pedro Sula airport, it became apparent of the different lifestyles.

The program we took the mission trip with had a ranch in Northeastern Honduras where we stayed. They kept the ranch up and it had a nice rustic feel to it. However compared to the other small towns and villages around the ranch, it could have been a Ritz Carlton. From this ranch we would daily take a precarious journey down dusty, pot-hole filled dirt roads to our villages to work. Our village, La Higuera, a small, undeveloped village had about forty children and perhaps twenty to thirty adults. We did all kinds of work at the village from constructing a house from scratch to pouring concrete floors and mudding walls. The work I did, however, didn’t require much hard labor, at least not of the muscles.

The women of our group worked in the village's school, or rather small pavilion, hosting a laid back vacation bible school. Almost every child from the village would come to the school and lead by us, these strange foreigners. They put me in a state of awe the entire week, because of their trust in us and ability to have joy in the simplest things we give them. What could never please an American child pleased not only these children but also entertained the women and some men of the village. All week, brown bag sheep puppets, glittery king's crowns and plastic beaded necklaces became daily sights throughout the village. If not on the children, then in the homes themselves, like prized possessions waiting their turn at show and tell. The children also liked to show off, constantly coming up to you, showing you their latest piece of artwork or rambling off in Spanish about who knows what.

Speaking to the adults of the villages in Spanish became a difficult task for me, straining my summer vacationed brain to remember every little ounce of the language I could muster. I hated to sound like a fool but my broken Spanish didn't matter to them. The very fact that I even attempted to communicate with them impressed them. The feeling I got when I spoke successfully quickly became indescribable, regardless of to whom I spoke to. The adults would get really into the conversation, trying to understand my Spanish and perhaps also learn a little English. The children on the other hand had no concept of our lack of language skills and would just go off hoping you could catch on. Some of my favorite conversations I had with the little ones, once we got to the point of actually having a conversation, of course. They helped me with my Spanish and seemed very mature even though most of them that I talked must have been ten years old or younger. Although I had moments of utter helplessness, I remember the entire trip as an eye opening experience, but one that I still struggle to explain because of the constant indescribable state I found myself in all week because of La Higuera’s people.

the world is alive now, in AND outside our home

(Alright so let me start this off with a little disclaimer; I know that writing my personal narrative about the time I went on a mission trip to a third world country seems so, oh you know. Cliché. Typical. Taking the easy way out. But seriously, it was an amazing experience. However I am a little concerned I won't be able to fully explain myself and the trip because it was such an Experience. But I'll do what I can so bare with me.)


Whether or not you have taken a mission trip to a third world country ,the chances are that you at least know someone who has. Plenty of people take these trips; unfortunately, I think that the right intentions can get lost somewhere between the boarding gates in the United States and going through immigration in your destined country. I have witnessed this unfortunate incident when I traveled to Honduras this past summer with my church. Luckily, no one from our group lost their common sense or became an obnoxious American with great, unrealistic intentions to solve all of Honduras' problems. We did however meet plenty of groups during our travels from other churches who believed they were the answer to all of the problems. With a quick flash of their cameras, a butchered Ho-la to every Honduran in sight and a wheel of their overly large suitcases they went off to save the country in matching "Honduras Mission Trip 2008" t-shirts.

This unrealistic and chauvinistic viewpoint thankfully did not become the ringleader during my mission trip to Honduras. I went to Honduras in late July and honestly, didn't really know what to expect. I knew that it was going to be a good experience; I could practice my Spanish and travel to a new country. What I didn't know was that I was going to meet some amazing people, not only within my church group but the people of Honduras, experience many new things, and my favorite, connect with the adults and children who had so much less then me,but that was never an issue. From the moment we touched ground at the San Pedro Sula airport, the difference in lifestyles was prevalent.

The program we took the mission trip with had a ranch in Northeastern Honduras where we stayed. The ranch was well kept and had a nice rustic feel to it. However compared to the other small towns and villages around the ranch, it could similar to a Ritz Carlton. From this ranch we would daily take a precarious journey down dusty, pot-hole filled dirt roads to our villages to work. Our village, La Higuera, was a small, very undeveloped village with about forty children and perhaps twenty to thirty adults. We did all kinds of work at the village from constructing a house from scratch to pouring concrete floors and mudding walls. The work I did however wasn't hard labor, of the muscles at least.

The women of our group worked in the village's school, which was more of a tiny pavilion, hosting a laid back vacation bible school. Almost every child from the village would come to the school to be under watch by us, these strange foreigners. They put me in a state of awe the entire week, because of their trust in us and ability to have joy in the simplest things we give them. What would never be able to please an American child pleased not only these children but also entertained the women and some men of the village. All week, brown bag sheep puppets, glittery king's crowns and plastic beaded necklaces would be seen throughout the village. If not on the children, then in the homes themselves like prized possessions to be shown off. The children also weren't afraid to show off, constantly coming up to you, showing you their latest piece of artwork or rambling off in Spanish about who knows what.

Speaking to the adults of the villages in Spanish was always a task for me, straining my summer vacationed brain to remember every little ounce of the language I could muster. I hated to sound like a fool but my broken Spanish didn't matter to them. The very fact that I even attempted to communicate with them impressed them.The feeling I got when I spoke successfully quickly became indescribable, regardless if it was to a child or an adult. The adults would get really into the conversation, trying to understand my Spanish and perhaps also learn a little English. The children on the other hand had no concept of our lack of language skills and would just go off hoping you could catch on. Some of my favorite conversations were with the little ones, once we got to the point of actually having a conversation, of course. Even though I was talking to people under the age of ten, they seemed much more mature and still helped me with my Spanish. Although I had moments of utter helplessness, the entire trip was an eye opening experience, one that I still struggle to explain because of the constant indescribable state I was in when around the people of La Higuera.



Ps. to whom ever is reading/commenting/editing this: I apologize for the length. It will get shorten, don't worry!

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly 8.26.2008

Whenever I find myself caught in the situation of having to explain to someone the book I'm reading, I get nervous. Not because I'm afraid I won't give a good explanation, but rather because explaining The Diving Bell and The Butterfly makes it sound a little freaky. But I promise you, it's not a freaky book. In fact, it's a rather sad story, or at least the story behind the story is. It was because of the this background story, the way the book was written, that I chose to read it.

I saw the movie before starting the book, and I have to say, my exceptions of the book have changed sense I started reading the book. The movie put a certain image and viewpoint of how the story gets played out, that I am discovering is different from my viewpoint. When I reach the next chapter, I'm constantly thinking it will be a different part of the story because of the movie. Or I picture what happens in the movie and then read the same scene only to have completely different feelings about it. I wouldn't call it disappointment, but I am a little upset that I have this preconceived notation in my head. The more I read, the stronger my own ideas form about the book, building new expectations. I think that as I read more, my own expectations will be formed and some meet, but for now I'm in an awkward little spot of comparing it to the movie and creating my own thoughts.

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly 8.21.08

Jean-Dominique Bauby
The Diving Bell and The Butterfly
1997

For those of you reading this who saw the movie but have not read the book (yet, I hope), like myself, then you are aware of the remarkable way this book or rather memoir was written. Jean-Dominique Bauby was the editor-in-chief of the French Elle and at the age of 43 he suffered from a stroke that resulted in locked-in syndrome. He was a very rare case, because the normality with this syndrome was that you were a step away from being the ever degrading vegetable. Bauby however, was able to blink his left eye. It is through this rare ability that his story unfolds.

Considering his condition he starts the book off quite descriptively, describing everything in his hospital room he is capable of seeing. His personality comes through in his writing as does his perspective on life through one eye. Although I am only a few pages into the story, I can already feel a relationship building between Bauby and the story itself. He begins to truly appreciate so many of the little things in life that the rest of us pass over. His state makes you feel terribly sympathetic towards him but he doesn't write for sympathy, he writes to let others know what has happened. The most amazing and strongest connection that I feel towards the story is the incredible obstacles he jumped to write this. Using his left blinking eye he works with a translator and blinks his way through the French alphabet spelling words and forming sentences letter by letter. The time and patience that must have gone into writing this amazes me. It puts me in a state of awe as I read each little memory he tells, each having a stronger meaning to it then expected.