The Girl with the Monkey Mind: 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....