A Piece of Peace

If I could’ve hand created my friends from a workshop like Build-A-Bear except it was called Build-A-Friend and I could personally hand stuff them with my sense of humor, hobbies, and passions, give them names and even insert individual voice sayings complimenting my personality; my friends here would still be better than my own Build-A-Friend version. And that my friend, is something only a divine type of guy who I call God can create. I have experienced a day of pure contentment and happiness with these Build-A-Friends. This day was like Gandhi on drugs in its perfect simplicity.

Greg called me while Arcena and I were chatting away in her room and told me, “Grab your poetry, tell Arcena to grab her guitar and meet me outside in ten minutes.”

We followed his instructions and soon we were strolling Malecon, the ocean front strip that leads to a pier on the Caribbean Sea, with our music and poetry. We sat on an empty bench facing the Sea and Arcena pulled out her guitar and started singing her own songs. We watched the blue wave’s crash against the rocks as we vibed to the guitar strings being plucked to create harmonic vibrations that blended perfectly with the sound of the sea. Arcena’s voice carried God’s words like the wings of angels, her voice floated gracefully with lessons that life had taught her about her Creator and her faith that was inspiring and beautiful. Greg sat on the sidewalk in front of us with his legs crossed and arms folded; bouncing his LA cap fitted head and started spitting poetry. His words were rocks dropped in a pond hitting your ear drums with a splash and then leaving ripples in your mind. Arcena would then sing the chorus and then I would share my words. And that was the rotation of our art. We were sharing bits of our past that still thrived in our souls in our own creative forms, getting to know each other on a whole new level.

Afterwards, we walked up the pier and grabbed some food to eat. DOMINICAN CULTURE INSIGHT: Dominicans don’t like Americans. Almost every time me and my friends do something where we have to pay, they try and jip us. That day when I went to the pier and bought a pizza, the pizza combo was 80 pesos. I gave them 100 pesos and the guy didn’t give me my change. I had to ask for it after patiently waiting and he replied with an “oh!” This has not only happened this one time. When we are riding in public cars, they try and keep the change. And if you ask “Cuento cuesta?” to something that has a known Dominican price, they may tell you more than what they would tell a Dominican. This bothers me. I would never try and take advantage of someone from a different country in the States. That’s not loving your neighbor like you would love yourself at all.

But regardless of that little incident, I got my change so all was good. We ate outside under an umbrella so relaxed and at ease. Back home I use to dream about doing these simple things: hanging with friends by the ocean, reading and writing poetry, talking and laughing about nothing. All of us just on the same page. I sent a pray up to God in thanks for the opportunity to experience complete satisfaction and content in this moment of simplicity with my friends. I’ve never had people who just fit me so perfectly. How random is it for me to discover these people on an island in the Caribbean by complete acts of faith without me even searching or expecting to meet such amazing friends.

This thought was further explored when Arcena and I had Bible study in her room later that night. The topic was forgiveness but we ended up roaming to other biblical ideas including surrender. We discussed how when you give your life to God and give up worldly obsessions, God will give you better blessings than you could have ever imagined. My entire life I have prayed for friends like Arcena and Greg. Friends that understood me, respected me, loved me, and liked to do the same fun, crazy, simple, lovely things that I liked to do. And after I stopped chasing that dream, and redirected my focus to chasing God and His splendor, that is the moment my biggest wish was granted. God is good.

I believe that the key to happiness is contentment. We Americans are always striving for more. We’re constantly working and waiting until we’re older or until we have more money or until we lose 10 pounds, etc. Most of us (and I know there are some exceptions to this generalization) don’t live in the NOW. We are constantly dwelling on the past or planning our future instead of just enjoying the moment. Every day here thus far I have been making a deliberate effort to be in the present, to be happy, to be content, and to love me in my current state no matter what it is because this moment will never return again. It’s like what Brad Pitt said in Troy,

“The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal. Because any moment might be our last. Everything's more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”

-The Girl with the Monkey Mind


[edit: I forgot to add in the last post that Greg also steps, skates, dances, and is an LA biker]

"Christopher Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue-"

Every girl wants to dance. To be swept off her feet by a man that leads, as she follows the pulls that turn into twists and the twists that turn into turns that result in blissful laughter and safety: or at least the safety found in laughter. Dancing, to a woman, is freedom. Life’s hardships and turmoil pushed out of her head and replaced with more concerning issues like, which foot do I step with? And, are my hips moving with the beat? I think it’s interesting how despite your culture, some desires (like a girl dancing with a handsome charming man) remain the same. We all want to be desired, we all want to love, we all want to be free, we all want to dance.

I noticed this the night myself and some other students from the study abroad program decided to all go out one night after our all day excursion. We spent the day exploring the historic side of Santo Domingo, the oldest modern city in the Western hemisphere. A tour bus took the other 15 students and me in the program around to various sites while an older Dominican tour guide broke down the historic significance.

The first place we visited was a museum that foretold the story of the Dominican culture through three statues placed outside its doors. The first statue was of an Arwak Native American warrior with a noble face and a tall spear gripped firmly in his right hand. The second, a Spaniard Catholic clothed in robes while thrusting a cross forward and clutching the Bible in his other hand. And the last statue, a strong beautiful half naked African slave with his arms outreached over his head to God with chains on his wrists and nothing but his own fists in his hands. The Dominican Republic today is the product of the combination of these three symbols of unique cultures that have blended over the centuries.

Since I myself am “mixed” (my mother is Dutch-American and my father is African-American), I find this a good fact to know because to me skin color is only important as we chose to make it. A Labrador retriever is still a Labrador retriever despite its fur being white, gold, brown or black. Humans aren’t less or greater because of a color. Color is simply the reflection of light. In darkness our hearts all beat to the same rhythm.

<-- (President's office)

During our excursion we also visited the place where the first recognized speech about human rights was given by this pastor who was giving a speech to the Spaniards to discourage using Native Americans as slaves. He argued that Native Americans human beings just like them. It still boggles my mind that we as people could look into another person’s eyes and say that because we spoke different languages, wore different clothes, and didn’t look exactly the same that we weren’t of the same species. Didn’t we both walk on two legs? But anyway, I won’t bore you with the other history we learned that day because if that was your interest I’m sure Google could do a much better job at explaining Hispaniola, Christopher Columbus,, and the constant dispute between the Dominican Republic and Haiti than I can. Plus, my friends and I were more concerned about taking pictures of each other than listening to the tour guide talk about the year Juan Pablo Duarte died so I honestly don’t remember much of what was said.


But any-who, let me introduce you to two of my closest friends down in the DR so far. First there’s Arcena also known as mi prima. Arcena lives right next door to me, so we have developed that old fashioned kind of friendship. That God pre-destined and if heaven forbid we lived in a world where cell phones didn’t exist nor was there a Facebook, we would still be friends because we don’t communicate that way. We meet up, go to school together, walk around, talk, and explore via foot! I’ll use my host mom’s word and describe Arcena as “sweet”. Arcena is my same age and is a God Girl. She always puts God first. Even with her boyfriend, Michael, she says that she told him from the beginning, “You can be my boo on the side, but Jesus is already and will always be my first boyfriend.” Arcena is dark and slender with a flower permanently attached to her head aside her natural curly hair. She’s a singer with a unique voice that is hard to even find artists to compare her with. Try and imagine a Chrisette Michelle, Janelle Monae, but with more spirituality. And to my envy, she also plays the guitar. She has morals and values that she holds to high regards with a smile on her face and a laugh preparing to escape her lips at any moment (and if something is funny enough, maybe a snort too). She’s beautiful, natural, with bright eyes and a bright soul. What I love about Arcena and me is that we didn’t force our friendship. It just sort of happened.

And that’s sort of what happened to our other primo, Gregorio. Greg also lives in our vicinity and Greg, (I smile while trying to find a way to describe Greg). Greg is like an iPhone in a world full of Nokias. He’s a completely different breed. Greg is that one person you know who can do everything. He speaks amazing Spanish, writes speeches, travels with the Mayor, acts, cooks, does spoken word poetry, performs magic card tricks and on top of all that, he told us that miming is his “spiritual gift.” Greg is a character to say the least. Like me he wants to become and International Correspondent so that automatically makes me ready to befriend him. Some people find these over the top and overly boisterous people annoying, but I can see the light of his good heart and spirit shining brighter than any of his other qualities.

So Alyssa, Arcena, and Greg, that’s the trio. My quest for whatever just came with two companions. Each here for their own divine purposes as well. Good to know I’m not in this solo, and if I ever need a break from Spanish I have people to keep me company in a comfortable language. Columbus had three ships, I have two friends.

And I don’t think I mentioned this, but I’m trying to film a documentary while I’m down here. Still haven’t found a topic. Hopefully I’ll find some inspiration soon! If you have any ideas please let me know. What do you think would be interesting to film in the DR or what type of issues intrigue you? Also check out more picturess from my Santo Domingo outing on FB.

Adios!

-The Girl with the Monkey Mind

Cold Showers, Mangoo, and a Ceiling Fan

So what’s it like living down here?

Well, looking out the window while landing in the plane you see beautiful palm trees swaying, the blue ocean shimmering and you think you’ve just arrived to paradise. However as soon as you step out of the airport and into the humidity, your hair may tell you otherwise as it begins to frizz. It’s hot. And I don’t mean regular hot because normally I love the heat. I mean it is so hot that you may cool off some by sticking your head inside an oven. It’s sticky and humid to the point where you need to take at least two showers a day because when night time hits and you’re scratching your skin from all the mosquito bites, you can see the dirt piling up underneath your nails. But even with the extreme heat, I love it here! Mi familia that I am living with has to be the best host family ever (although my new friend Greg would probably beg to differ).

The abuela who I call my “Mama” has to be the sweetest lady I’ve ever met. She no more than 5 foot tall and always welcomes me with hugs and kisses while pinching my cheeks and crying out “Que linda! Que linda!” (How cute!) She doesn’t speak a word of English but is extremely patient, kind, and loving to me despite my inability to understand what she is saying half the time.

There is mi hermana, DarJennie, who can sing her ass off! She is 14, skinny, and has a voice bigger than Christina Aguilera’s. I love her to death. It’s so easy to forget that she doesn’t speak English because she looks like a regular 14 year old American girl you would see in the States, Miley Cyrus fan and all. Then there’s the 2 year old boy, Hosea, and the 3 month baby boy, whose name I forget at the moment honestly.

My room is WAY better than I expected. It’s bigger than my dorm room at school so that should speak volumes. I have a full size bed, a vanity dresser, a full length mirror, and (thank the Lord) a ceiling fan. By the end of the first day my head was pounding so vigorously from trying to understand all this Spanish being thrown at me I thought it was going to explode. When the working mom came home and spoke in English I almost cried in relief.

The next day, all of the students in the study abroad program had to take a Spanish placement test to see what level our Spanish is on for the classes we will be taking this semester. There are three levels: Basic, Intermediate, and Advanced. I was placed in Intermediate which isn’t so bad considering I haven’t taken a single Spanish class since high school.

After class, most of us bombard the computer lab to connect to our family and friends so they can know that we are alive and safe. I never saw the importance of social media until now (I always saw it as egotistical and narcissistic but that’s a different topic) but it really is an asset when out of the country and your phone company is trying to charge you an international fee of $3 per minute. There is another girl who is living in the same apartment complex as me named, Arcena, so we take a taxi that her host mom pre-paid for back to the house.

At my new house the family is very warm and receptive. Catering to me like I’m a hotel guest and they’re expecting tips, but I try not to make a fuss out of anything. Dinner was a traditional Dominican dish called Mangoo. Mangoo is mashed plantains with white cheese on top. The plantains tasted like mashed potatoes and the cheese was so thick I thought it was meat at first. It tasted alright. The water cuts off after around 8:30 ish so I took a shower (a COLD shower, no hot water fyi) and as soon as I hit the bed, I was knocked out! The sun wears you out down here so most people wake up early and go to bed early.

With so much stuff to take in I honestly have barely had time to do anything else but just that. Just sit back and figure out how everything operates down here and then after that I can spread my own wings and try to fly. But it’s only the beginning of my two months and so I have time to first observe from my branch on this beautiful, humid island.


Hasta lluego!

-The Girl with the Monkey Mind

So what do you think, could you live with a family in a different culture who don’t even speak your language? It’s honestly not as weird as I thought it would be, but I think a lot of us are too afraid to try. What do you think?

What did you call me?!

The toilet won’t flush. I tried at least three times to stop the white toilet paper floating in its own demise from staring up at me, but it refuses. The paper blatantly declines to take its route down the wet pipe path to who knows where and instead seems to find it okay to float in the toilet bowl, even though the water surrounding it has already ventured onward. I guess it wants to be difficult. And that would be okay if I was at home, but I’m in a house with my new family in the Dominican Republic and I don’t want to leave a bad first impression.

Let me explain. Today is day three of my summer in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republican. I will be living here for two months through a study abroad program with my school, Howard University, where I will be studying the Spanish language and the Dominican culture.

For a place with no hot water, no air-conditioning and no Wi-Fi, it’s not so bad. The whole island isn’t like this of course but my host family’s apartment is. For two months I will be living with a family that barely speaks English, but exudes a warmth and kind spirit that transcends our language barrier. But before I get into my new life here, let me debrief you a little.

My name is Alyssa McLendon and I have just finished my sophomore year at Howard University in Washington, DC. I am a Journalism major with a concentration in Broadcast News, on paper my minor is Psychology but that’s only because I had to pick one. In reality my minor is Undecided. Long term, I want to become an international correspondent for a major network television station. In other words, travel the world for free while doing something I love: reporting.

I decided to study abroad in la Republica Dominica to (as I so eloquently phrased it in my application letter) “immerse myself in the culture and language and become a fluent Spanish speaker and an international student.” A few days before I ventured off on my trip, I wandered into this little book collection on the third floor in my school’s library while on my way to turn in a late paper to a professor. I entered the medium sized room with wide eyes wondering why I never noticed it before. The small library was full of colorful pictures and quotes from legends like Gandhi, Toni Morrison, and my favorite, Malcolm X.

“May I help you?”

An older man with a near bald head and round glasses asked me. Without removing my thirsty eyes from the stacks of books I replied, “What is this place?”

I never knew this secret room even existed and all the books! My knees grow weak at the sight of books like a child would at the sight of a Chucky Cheese building. I absolutely love to read.

The man sat peacefully at his desk and proceeded to tell me that it was his private collection of books as well as the African-American department’s library. I eagerly asked if the books were available to check out and he firmly replied, “No.”

“See. That never makes any sense to me,” I started to say. I felt the familiar feeling of one of my famous tangents of philosophical questioning that my Aquarian nature is prone to pump through my veins. “What is the point of having books if they aren’t allowed to be read? They aren’t fulfilling their purpose. Books are meant to be read, not sit on a shelf and collect dust.”

This statement being said to any librarian any where would naturally spark a conversation, however I was soon to find out that this wasn’t your typical librarian and therefore this wasn’t your normal conversation. My statement created more than a spark; it started a forest fire that quickly spread from the topic of books, to school, to my summer plans, to a complete psychoanalysis of my life. The best therapy session I ever had wasn’t with a psychologist, but was with E. Ethelbert Miller, this extremely interesting writer, poet, librarian guy who’s blog you may be reading this from now. Unlike your average librarian whom most of us picture as some old woman with wiry gray hair, thin round spectacles, a pointy nose and a “shhh” permanently attached to her lips, he was quite the opposite (except for the round spectacles). Instead of silencing me, he encouraged me to talk. And being a Broadcast Journalism major I naturally love to talk, so I did.

He listened and laughed and asked questioned until he finally arrived at my diagnosis.

“You have a monkey mind,” Mr. Miller declared matter-of-factly.

“A monkey mind?” I repeated with my face scrunched.

“Yes.” He spoke calmly as he turned his chair to face me. His hands lay gently on his lap as he explained. “You know how a monkey swings from branch to branch? That’s how your mind works. You go from one idea to the next without stopping to fully develop the idea into a product. You need to learn how to focus.”

And that’s how I got started writing this blog. Over the next 2 months I will be journaling my experience and sharing it with whomever stumbles across my entries, in the same way that I stumbled across this opportunity. It may be by luck, choice, or fate. I honestly don’t know. This summer I will try to learn how to decide (and hopefully learn to speak Spanish too) while also making new friends, eating new food, exploring a new country, and if I’m lucky, I’ll leave the Dominican Republic with not only a nice tan, but with a clear realization of myself.


Hasta luego!

-The Girl with the Monkey Mind

p.s. I later found out they don't flush the toilet paper here. You wipe and then throw the paper away in a trash can....


The ocean is 2 blocks away from my host families apartment.






And of course I have WAY more pictures so check back soon or on Facebook :)