Whenever I come home, this thing happens where I go, "Oh! I have a whole free week! How bored I shall be!" and then, two hours later, I go, "Oh! I now have a full week! Whenever shall I have time to rest?" Does this mean I'm finally popular? I'm not entirely sure.
I kind of feel like I'm having two summers in a row and they are complete opposites of one another. Africa? I went to Africa? No, surely not. I'm doing a million and one things here. Whenever would I have had time to go to Africa?
Actually, the way God planned it out is really funny. I went to a place where I was the outsider (major outsider, actually, being extra-white as I am) working with children to a place where I was the native working with outsiders my own age. Since arriving back in Sevierville, I've gotten involved in a ministry called "La Puerta". It's for foreign university students working in Pigeon Forge for the summer. At first, it was really awkward because I arrived at the student center and the director told me "just go talk to students". Um, ok. Now, this is a small place with computers and washing machines and not much else. So I awkwardly plopped myself down beside a Russian and started making intrusive small talk. Fast forward a couple weeks. I've been to the center a few times, and a Thai lady that helps out there calls me and asks if I can go with her and some students to Cherokee. I say sure that would be fun......The day before we go, I get a call from her.
Laura: Oh yeah, I'm still planning on going with you guys!
Ladda: Good! I need yo heyp! I cannot drive!
Laura: .....you need me to drive then?
Ladda: Oh thank you!
Laura: Do you have directions? What will we do?
Ladda: You get on internet and find directions! We see when we get there!
Last Friday, therefore, found me with one talkative Russian in my front seat and three Mongolians in my back seat singing to Shania Twain on a one and a half hour drive to Cherokee, North Carolina....minus one Thai lady leader. However, we still managed to have a blast. Magically, we all also managed to match outfits. Guess who the obnoxious American tour guide is?
On the ride up, Julia (the Russian girl) asked me if she could come to church with me on Sunday. God made that one wayyyy too easy. So, a couple days later, I took her and another Russian girl, Masha, to church and then to my house. They really enjoyed it and dad took a fun picture of us.
Doing this has been such a learning experience. I actually know some things about Mongolia now (because who ever gives much thought to Mongolia?) and I've had to draw from my experience in Africa--how I would have wanted to be treated when I was the outsider. I've made friends with people from Russia, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, and Azerbaijan. And I've gotten to share the love of Christ with people from another culture without having to raise money and hop on a plane. COOL. Hence, the words international and semper gumby (always flexible...and no, gumby is not Latin for flexible).
I have also made a new gay friend named Chris! Morgan has known him for a while already, and we've gotten to hang out several times since I've been back. Being friends with him has really caused me to think (as if I wasn't doing enough of that already with all my other new friends....) about how I treat those that Christian society usually shuns. I had a gay friend before, but we didn't have to opportunity to stay close. This time it's different because Chris believes in God, but he's still gay. I'm trying to figure that out. I do love him though and he makes me laugh hysterically. Hence GBF, aka "gay best friend"
I have seen Morgan nearly every other day since I've been back. She's basically my other sister. When we were with Chris, we began doing "the raptor". How-to: make a two-fingered raptor talon with each hand, pull elbows into chest, and squeal "REEEE!" Hence, raptor.
My sister began high school two days ago and she's already getting crazier. She was convinced that she would meet her dream man husband on the first day, but was then hit with the cold reality that those don't exist in high school. Hence, angst.
You know what I love about Africa? They value a woman with a figure, which is why it's ok for women to eat thick food like men do and show off some curve. You know what I hate about America? Boys here have been made to think that a beautiful body doesn't have a lot of curve. My best guy friend makes me feel like a giant when he points out the girls he thinks are attractive and my brother makes me feel ugly when he talks about the girls he likes. I don't look like those girls. My anatomy will never permit me to look like those girls. Does that mean I'm ugly? I didn't see it as much until I left America for a while, but now that I do, it really does hurt. Hence, ideal woman. I am not the American version of this.
Last, but not least, anaplastic astrocytoma. Fancy words for a special kind of brain tumor. NO, I do not have one. But, if you recall, this summer I have acquired the aspiration of becoming a children's author. In my next story, one of my characters will have said brain tumor. Therefore, I'm trying to do research on it, even though doing this makes me really depressed. Cancer is not a happy subject and I hurt for all the children I've read about that died from this tumor.
I go back to school on Tuesday. I am less popular there. Yay.
Song of the day: Man, I Feel Like a Woman. Oh, Shania.
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