arriving in copan ruinas

We hopped off the bus and scrambled to get our big, overstuffed hikers' packs that were being thrown down to us by a guy perched on top of the bus. I looked around. It was already dark. People were staring at us. I could only imagine how much we stuck out- a tall, muscular, scholarly looking white man, and a short, muscular Asian girl standing there, with "Tourist!" written all over us. I was thankful that I was at least covered up and not showing too much skin or wearing any makeup. I didn't want to attract attention to myself.

We tried to look for a sign that could tell us what street we were on. We couldn't find one right away. I asked Paul what hostel he had in mind. We had no idea where it was and how far we had to walk. After walking up an especially steep uphill street, we decided to grab a "tuck-tuck." Our bags were feeling heavier by the minute and I was dying for some food and a beer. A tuck-tuck is a small, covered motorbike that can seat two in the back. As soon as we stopped walking, a tuck-tuck drove by and stopped in front of us, waving for us to hop in. We told him the name of the hostel and he nodded, putting his foot on the pedal and revving some power into his tiny little tuck-tuck engine.

We drove by the "Parque El Centro"- every Spanish-speaking village or city has one. It's the main square that helps us to figure out our bearings. We continued to drive. The village wasn't much. No majestic cathedral like we've seen in Mexico City or Cuzco, Peru. There was a plain-looking church, a square with fountains that didn't run water, and people just standing around, talking and smoking cigarettes. The streets were narrow and bumpy. The driver took us farther away from the main square and continued into a dark neighborhood.

When he finally reached a small building, it was on the outskirts of town, and I saw a big dog sitting in the entrance doorway. A white man came out to greet us. Thick with a Dutch-sounding accent, he welcomed us and asked if we'd like to stay. We asked him if he had any private rooms with hot running water available, and he said yes. We asked him how much. He said $20 a night per person. We read that it should be cheaper than that. We thought about it for a moment, and decided we'd keep looking. Now that we had taken a drive and seen the tiny town a bit, we knew we could start walking back towards the Parque El Centro and get our bearings there. We hopped off the tuck-tuck and began walking back into town.

Just as we saw bright lights again, an old woman walked by us, and then stopped and turned around. She asked, "Necessita hotel?" We said, "Si." She motioned for us to follow her. She led us to a hotel a few buildings away, with a sign that read "Hotel Moises" and took us inside to the reception desk. It was tiny, but I saw many signs with tourist attraction information, so I thought, this would probably work. A younger woman greeted us, and we asked her if there were any rooms available. She nodded and showed us to a room. It was ok, but it had a shared bathroom. We asked if there was anything else. She again nodded and led us upstairs. This room had a private bathroom. I asked her, "Agua as caliente?" She nodded again, "Si. Agua as caliente." The room was small and crowded, but I was tired. It was clean. I nodded to Paul and we agreed to take it. It was only 130 limperas, or about $7 per night.

Finally, we threw our bags down and ventured out into the village of Copan, in search of a restaurant. We were starving. Walking around, we saw that there wasn't much of a night life or scene. A few bars here and there, and a lot of random, skinny stray dogs sniffing around for food. At first I thought I was in dog heaven, thinking I'd pet them all and fall in love, but these dogs were not open to being petted. They stared at me, as if they can tell I didn't have any food, and then moved on without coming close. I tried to follow one, but he didn't let me get close or embrace him.

We walked through the Parque and tried to read the signs. We wondered why the fountains didn't run water.
Here's a picture of the Parque at night:



Here's a picture of one of their streets:



Streets were unfinished and would abruptly end. Paul joked, Tort all over this place. I laughed. I didn't even want to think about law school.

 

Finally we came across a restaurant that looked somewhat lively and had a balcony. We went in and were eager to take a look at their menu. We read in our guidebooks that they have dishes called "El Tipico" which literally just translates to "The Typical" and it consisted of beans, tortillas, eggs, avocados, plaintains, and a piece of salty cheese. We decided to try it out and ordered some "Salva Vidas"- their version of our Budweisers.

Here's my first Honduran meal:



I wasn't aware that it would come with steak, but anyway it was damn good. Here are pictures of us with our first Salva Vidas in Honduras:

 

After our meals, we were exhausted, but we decided to keep walking around as we tried to figure out what we will be doing for the few days we planned on staying in Copan. The first thing on our list was obviously, the Mayan ruins. So we talked about getting up early the next morning, heading straight for the ruins, and taking our time there. After a couple more hours of wandering around under the warm Honduran night sky, we headed back to our hotel and climbed into our bed. We knocked out in no time.

****

The next morning, we got up fairly early and looked for a place to have breakfast. We found another fun looking restaurant with an outdoor patio and ordered another plate of Tipico for each of us.



A little girl came up to me while we waited for our food and tried to sell me a corn-husk doll. It was only 20 limperas. A dollar.



We scarfed on the food and our bellies became full of beans, eggs, and tortillas. Everything tasted fresh and organic- nothing processed, no chemicals.



We paid our bill (dirt cheap) and left, eager to get on with our day. I was getting really really excited.
Here is a shot of the village by day:




Finally, we were headed for the Mayan ruins.

memories of honduras

Ok, so I lost the momentum. Too much happened, one thing after another, upon my return from the wonderful Honduras trip. My life is a constant whirlwind, and I have no time to catch a breath.

Now I'm scared of being stabbed in my sleep at my new place and people t-boning me at intersections. My beanie is missing its top, and I have no idea how it happened.

This morning, as I ran in the cold, I thought about Honduras again. I tried to remember the way their sun felt on my skin, the way the people looked at me and smiled. All the green hills, and the clouds in the sky. The way their bumpy, cobblestone streets felt under my feet.

I have not forgotten. I've been putting it off because there is such a wonderful story to be told. But maybe I'll just have to tell it in bits and pieces.

When we arrived in San Pedro Sula airport after two full days of travel (we stopped off in Houston, Texas), we immediately felt the warmth of their changing season. As a matter of fact, it was hot- the kind of hot with a thick, humid blanket of air that instantly gives you a film of sweat that sits on your forehead and upper lip and doesn't dissipate, no matter how much you fan yourself.

Here's our first glimpse of Honduras as our plane was getting ready to land:


We tightened our grip around our hiker's packs, stuffed full of clothing, hiking food, and other travelers' needs, and rapidly tried to think of Spanish words to strike a deal for a cab ride to the next bus station across town. We've been ripped off by cab drivers before. We wanted a fair price.

We had no idea what a fair price would be, but according to our guidebooks, it shouldn't cost more than a couple of bucks.

"Cuanto cuesta? " we asked. "Tres cien limperas para una persona" they all replied, one after another. "Too much!" we exclaimed. And then we quickly tried to translate, but couldn't remember how to say it. They looked back at us with curious eyes. But their prices did not change. I felt the sudden urge to reach for my iPhone and google what a fair price for a cab ride would be. And then it hit me that my phone was dead, and I had promised myself not to buy a charger or use my phone on this trip at all. I realized I was on my own. No google to help me.

After asking about four cab drivers, we stood there under the beating sun, holding on to our backpacks. We had half a day to get to a bus station and take the long ride to our destination village. Time was ticking.

Finally, we decided we had no choice. Really, it was only $15 and by our standards, that's nothing. We had to get going. So we picked out an elderly looking man who looked kind, and climbed into his Corolla sedan.

As we began driving, Paul asked, "Como estas? Te gusta el Presidente? Es corropto o bueno?" He likes to ask the natives, every country we go, whether they like their president. We get different answers. This guy was honest. "Asi asi. No es bueno, pero no es mal." We laughed quietly and continued our gaze out the window, as our brains racked through more of our broken Spanish words.

Paul continued to think of questions in half-English and messed up Spanish and tried to continue the conversation in scattered efforts, getting really animated as he often does. I kept looking out the window and tried to take it all in. Before us were fields of dead grass, but the hills were lush and green. People were on the streets, and I saw a few policemen standing around with rifles smoking cigarettes. There weren't many buildings, a lot of open land dotted with small shacks. I read "Digicel" and "Coca Cola" on store walls and on doors. We passed by a few buildings that looked like small factories. I thought about Mexico and Peru, and couldn't help comparing Honduras to the previous Spanish-speaking countries I've visited. So far from what little I could see on that drive, I thought to myself it is a lot more "country" here than Mexico and Peru. Far less developed.

The drive was not long, and soon enough we arrived at the Gran Terminal Del Autobuses. It was a big bus station with a lot of commotion. There were at least a hundred buses parked outside and people were getting on and off. Bus attendants- young boys in street clothing- would stand near the buses and shout out the destination city loudly and usher people to their buses quickly and briskly. They would stand by the entrances of the bus station and literally grab people and their bags and rush you on a bus, acting as if the bus was departing in mere seconds. Then once the buses are full, they sit there until departure time. Sometimes a loaded bus would stay parked for an hour before the driver suddenly shows up and starts the engine.

We went into the station to purchase our tickets and found out our departure time. We still had an hour before our bus headed for Copan. We took a look around the waiting area. They all sure were looking at us. There were a few food stands, and we were good and hungry. We picked up a few food items- what looked like a bean burrito, a couple of taquitos, and a piece of fried chicken, and some Tampico-like juices. The food tasted a little stale. I read in the guidebook that Hondurans mainly ate a lot of beans, rice, tortillas, and fried chicken. American influence.

A thin, young girl with dark eyes came up to us with a baby in her arms and began speaking rapidly. We didn't have a clue what she was saying. Paul handed her a bill. She muttered "Gracias" and began to walk away. I asked Paul, what did she say? He answered, I don't know but it was clear what she wanted. I nodded. Paul caught the young girl's eye and motioned for her to come back. She paused and looked back at him. He reached into his bag and took out a few pencils. "Lapiz? Te gusta lapizes?" He held out the pencils to the baby clutched tightly in her arms. The baby began to smile and reach out to grab the pencils. The girl seemed confused and reluctant, but she allowed her baby to take the pencils from Paul's hand. Then she hurriedly walked off.

I decided to venture into the mall that was built inside the bus station, and went on a search to buy a headband to keep my hair from falling on my sweaty face. I couldn't remember how to say headband. As I tried to find the words, I browsed through each store, looking for a decent headband to buy. I found some, but they were either sparkly or too girly. Some of the girls came up to me and asked me questions in Spanish. I couldn't catch all of it, but I imagined they were asking if I needed help finding something. I said, "Tiene bando para mi pello?" I pointed to my hair, and demonstrated with my hands what a headband would do. They cocked their head to the side, thought for a second, and then motioned for me to follow them. They pointed to a few headbands that were bright pink and orange. I asked, "Otra colores?" They paused and then shook their heads no. I said, "No problemo. Gracias!" and kept walking.

I finally found a brown one, with black spots and asked the girl how much it was. "Treinta limperas" she replied. I said, "Ok." and paid her the money. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes left.

I headed back to my bus stop with Paul, and immediately a crowd of boys grabbed my backpack off my back and shouted, Copan? Copan! and hurried me on the bus. We quickly found seats in the back and sat down. It was hot and cramped. I still had winter clothes on from our stop in Houston. I wanted a shower and a clean bed to sleep in but we had a while to go before I'd see a bed.

Peddlers began storming us on the bus. They'd shout prices and the names of their goods. Agua! Agua! Helados! Mangos! They tried to sell all kinds of stuff. One guy came to us and tried his hardest to sell us chiclets. We ended up buying a box. Paul handed him a boligrafo. The peddler smiled and nodded "Gracias!" with a good-natured look in his eyes. Paul and I smiled at each other. Paul had a lot of those to give out.

Slowly the bus filled up and it became packed and crowded. Bus attendants began pulling out stools stacked in the back of the bus and began placing them as seats in the middle aisle. People sat on each others' laps. It was so crowded I was shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounded by human bodies without a single inch of personal bubble space to spare. More than half an hour later, we were on our way. It was 3:15 pm their time. The guidebook told us it will be a four-to-five hour bus ride. We closed our eyes and allowed our tired bodies to nap.

Throughout the ride, we weaved in and out of sleep. I saw a lot of people continuing to get packed on our bus. A little girl was sitting near me with a bright pink princess dress on. She had beautiful brown skin and shiny brown hair. Her eyes were black and sparkly. I looked at her mother. She was thin, with a few wrinkles around her eyes, and her hands were chafed from doing some kind of labor. They both looked at me curiously for a few seconds and quickly diverted their gaze to a different direction. I imagined what that little girl's life was like. I wondered whether she knew about America and whether she compared her life to Americans. I wondered what she would daydream about, what she wanted to be when she grew up. I drifted off to sleep again.

I blinked and looked out the window. We were passing through some cities. The buildings were falling apart, dingy, dirty, in need of a paint job. Rubbles of concrete were piled here and there. Roads were not paved- they were either dirt or half-built with cobblestones or random slabs of cement. All the women wore really skin-tight clothing, no matter their figure. Most of them were curvy, with bellies sticking out but they had thin limbs. All the men were thin and short. I don't think I saw a single overweight man on my entire trip, as I later saw. A lot of peddlers were selling pre-cut fruit, sheets of coconut, bottles of Fanta and Coca Cola. A boy not more than eight or nine years old was standing outside the bus when we stopped to let off a few passengers. Paul asked through his window "Cuanto cuesta?" and pointed to the boy's peeled oranges he was holding in a basket. He eagerly replied, "Cinco limperas!" Paul then took out a pencil and handed it to him along with a bill. The boy had a blank look on his face, but handed Paul the orange and took the bill and the pencil and nodded. I think he didn't really know what to say or do. The bus pulled away and I looked to see where the boy would go. He began walking back to a fruit stand on the side of the road, where I imagined his family worked or lived or both. I felt my eyes getting heavy again.

When I opened my eyes, it was dark. The bus was climbing up a steep hill with dirt roads. I looked at my watch again. We had to be pretty close. Sure enough, a few minutes later we pulled into a small village. A sign read "Copan Ruinas" and the bus stopped about a mile after that sign. We finally arrived in Copan.




It was a small village but we were instantly wide awake, and hungry. But we needed to find lodging first, I couldn't get excited yet. We had no reservations, just a few names of hostels that we read in the guidebook.

**** to be continued.

a whirlwind move into my own apartment sans roommates!

So, I'm still itching and scratching to write about Honduras, and I assure you juicy details and deep insight are soon to come, but I will explain in this entry what is causing the hold up.

I finally moved out of J Street lofts and into my own place in midtown, and for the first time in my entire life, I have no roommates. I have no idea why I didn't do it sooner. Since leaving home at sixteen years of age, I had to budget, and count pennies to scrap by, so my frugal ways just didn't allow for me to pay for a luxury such as living in an apartment all to myself.

But no more. I decided enough is enough, I deserve to pay for liberty and freedom to come home to a place that is all mine and no one else's. I can now prance around in my underwear if I want, and if I have dirty dishes in the sink, I have no one else to blame but myself.

Before I go on and on about how great it is, I'll show you some before and after shots of my little nook. Here is the entrance of the building. It's Spanish-inspired and quaint.



Next, you walk up a flight of stairs and the studio is located on the second story. When you walk in, there is a fair-sized window facing you and a fairly big walk-in closet with french doors to your left. The closet is still not quite big enough to house my insanely huge wardrobe ( more on this later), but it is adequate.

 
 

The small but clean bathroom features a window, which is important to me because I like scalding hot showers and the steam can cause mold if I don't have a window to air it out, and a pedestal sink that adds a unique touch.

 
The kitchen is my favorite part because it has built in bookcases with glass doors. That is pretty much what closed the deal for me. The photo taken here was rushed so I failed to include the archway at the ceiling but that is also a small detail that I appreciate and like most about the kitchen.
 
 

So, I saw the ad on craigslist, and went to see the apartment, literally the night before I left for Honduras. The morning before taking off, I stopped by and submitted an application, the credit check fee, and a list of references. When I got back 13 days later, I had an apartment waiting for me. The day I got back into the country, I had a lease waiting to be signed and a set of keys.

I also had a full week of classes waiting for me, as well as work. Functioning on less than four hours of sleep each night, I plowed through work, classes, homework, packing, and moving the first week I returned to the country from an amazing backpacking trip through the villages and cloud forests of Honduras.

All weekend long with the help of my brother, my parents, and Paul, I managed to get my upright piano to my parents' house, pack all of my wordly belongings, and refused to sleep until every single box was unpacked and thrown into the recycle bins. Now I am all settled in, with most of my law school homework done and loving this new habitat that I've set up for myself. I am longing to catch up on sleep sometime soon, but I have a CASA crab feed and a boatload of more law school homework waiting for me so it is hard to tell when that opportunity will come next. But for now, I am really pleased that I was able to do this.

Go. Go. Go. The craziness just won't stop!

Here is my work in progress:

Ok, so the eliptical machine isn't very fung shui but so what? I use it on rainy days when I don't feel like getting soaked for a workout. 

Below is my closet in progress. The shoes displayed here is not even half of my collection and I haven't color-coordinated them yet. I have two more shoe racks coming. Stay tuned.

 
Actually, as I was organizing the clothes and shoes, I was ashamed of myself. I just got back from a country so poor that some children didn't have shoes on their feet, and here I am huffing and puffing about having too many clothes and shoes. Correction, I was huffing and puffing about not having a closet big enough to house my clothes and shoes. So ridiculous. So I had to take a few big garbage bags and start throwing things in. I had to let go of some of this materiality. Now I have a couple of big fat garbage bags full of designer clothes that still fit me, but don't fit into my closet or dresser. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but my intention is to donate them all to a good cause or a person who really needs it.

 



 
If you can't tell, I decided to take these pictures while in the middle of studying. I needed a break. So please excuse the mess and the beer bottle that is hiding my wonderfully colorful Honduran cloth that I used to decorate my kitchen table.

It's tiny and humble, but this place is my own, and I am satisfied and happy about this move.

Entry on Honduras is soon to follow.

my federal courthouse experience (oh and happy new year)

Happy New Year folks! Wow it's already 2012, time is just flying by. New Year's is my favorite holiday because we celebrate life, and the future ahead of us. It's the day we realize that time keeps going, and we have to enjoy the here and the now and to make goals and live our lives to the fullest.

I just got back to the country four days ago, and it already feels like I never left. I am barely keeping my head above water. Survived my first set of law school exams with B's (disappointing but it's a starting point), started classes in full swing, have a fourth class (crim law) on Thursday nights, and I'm hitting the road running at work, and moving to a new apartment, my very own apartment with absolutely no roommates (!) this weekend and thoughts of Honduras are floating around in my head like crazy. I am literally itching to write about my experience there but there is so much to say, so much reflection that I want to share, that I can't just hurriedly knock it out on my lunch hour at work.

All I have to say for now is that it was once again, much like all of my world travels, a life-altering experience where I feel like I'll never be the same again. And the trip generated more than ever, questions about our role in the world as Americans, our foreign policies, and outside views about the U.S. and to see our own culture from an outside perspective as well as learn about the culture of their country... I will save these insights for later.

Today I want to talk about my tour of the federal courthouse that I went to for a school assignment. This morning, a few of my classmates and I went to the district courthouse and sat in on Judge Morrison England's proceedings and heard about five to six criminal cases being presented before the judge. It was pretty intense in there. There were a lot of black power suits and serious attitudes. When the prisoners were escorted into the room with their orange jumpsuits on, their hands and feet shackled in chains, my skin tingled and a wave of emotion overtook me, pinched my nose and I felt stinging wetness in my eyes.

There was a child pornography case, and a couple of serious drug charges. These were repeat offenders with a long history of convicted crimes, and were there for various reasons like a disposition hearing, or entering into a plea. There was one kid who was facing charges for having in his possession 50 grams of methamphetamine (actual). He is my age. He doesn't speak any English. He had a translator with him, and he entered a plea bargain and gave up his constitutional rights. He will face possible deportation. It broke my heart as I thought about what this means for his life, his family, and his future. What a devestating event in his life, for him to go through this.

I couldn't help but remember my past and how I, too, once stood in court, spoke to a judge, shaking from the fear and anticipation of being there and the outcome to follow. So I knew that although outwardly they seemed calm and quiet, on the inside how fearful they might have been feeling. I don't feel sorry for them, but it was terribly sad the poor decisions they made and how those decisions will now impact their own lives as well as their families.

These are people's lives that are being decided in courthouses, and it makes such a huge impact. Whether they will change for the better or not remains to be seen. Some of them need help, not jailtime. I was once again reminded of how fortunate I was to have a family and a home that welcomed me back after my rebellious stint and helped me to get back on my feet. If I didn't have that, would I be where I am today? And for all of those who don't have that- what are they supposed to do? As my classmate and I walked out of there, he muttered that it isn't the government's role to rehabilitate drug addicts. I bit my tongue. But I managed to control the emotion in my voice when I asked him, so do you think locking them up is the answer? He said, yes, if they do the crime, they need to just go to jail. Although, it's too comfortable in there for them. I got into a restrained explanation of the policy implications about what it means to just lock people up and the costs and effects associated with that, but I knew that I wasn't going to single-handedly convince him otherwise of his views, so I didn't push the matter.

I walked away from that building remembering my own experiences and how far I've come. I remember the fear, and the days of when I hit rock bottom and how hard that was. I saw those prisoners and just felt the emotions they are experiencing at this point in their lives. And my heart hurts for them. It's not sympathy I feel, but I don't feel anger or disgust either. This is life, and we are all human, and we all make mistakes. Once again, I am filled with gratitude for all that I have and all the support I was given along the way to change my life for the better. It gives me renewed inspiration to keep working hard to achieve my goals and stay focused.

Anyway, I think more people should go to the courthouse and see for themselves what the proceedings are like. It definitely adds a human element to see how these cases are affecting people's lives and they are not just numbers or cases, they are people. And what happens to them affects us as a society. If you don't think it has anything to do with you, you're refusing to see the blatant fact that we are all connected. Your tax dollars are paying for that court proceeding and the housing and medical care that the convicts will receive when they are incarcerated. So if you think it's a waste of money to get them treatment or some kind of help, you will be wasting money on incarcerating them. So which would you rather spend your money on?

jingle bells, batman smells

It's been a week and two days since I last walked into a classroom. Last night, I had a dream about school. Actually, I had two dreams, but I'll tell you about the school one first. I got my grade back and it was a 95%!!! God, only in my dreams. My torts professor told me to walk over and deliver some papers to an office and I had to ask three people how to get to the office- and then I woke up. What a weird dream. But I guess it's my brain's way of remembering that I will be returning to school soon enough. The dream before that was an indoor marathon where I had to run around in circles in a gymnasium until I got to 26.2 miles. What a torturous nightmare! Anyway, in my dream, I was back at my middle school in Pleasanton and all the "cool kids" were there. And I was my grown self trying to run this marathon in a gym and the coach didn't put the time chip mat so there was no way for me to know what my time was- and I couldn't run very fast (typically the case in dreams, you can't really run fast for some reason). It was frustrating.

This past week I got to go to the Jay Z and Kanye concert. It was a lot of fun! Jay Z sang a lot of his classic hits, which I especially enjoyed, and Kanye played some of his heavy favorites too. But seeing the happy look on my brother's face- that was the best part of all. He looked so happy. Here's us at the show:



Seeing the rapper that my brother and I have been listening to since we were wee little kids was pretty amazing. My brother has worshipped Jay Z since he was in elementary school, practically. When the show finally started, we saw Kanye and Jay Z on rising stages on either side, rapping and we found ourselves singing along to just about every single song. It was a great ole' time.



On another note, my brother finished his first satellite. It's amazing that he designs and builds things that go to outer space. It will launch on January 29th. I am so proud of him!



Last Friday, we finally had our CDI awards ceremony. I am so glad it's done! Actually it was a very nice event. Commissioner Jones, being his charming self, made the event very sweet and it was good to see so many Department employees being acknowledged for their hard work and helpful personalities. I got to take a few pics with one of my favorite colleagues, Will, and many others:

 

Over the weekend, I felt a cold coming on, but I kept it at bay with plenty of ibuprofen pills and liquids to ward it off. I did some additional holiday shopping with Samira and we went to WEAVE thrift shop, my favorite thrift shop. We had a blast. Of course we both spent more than we intended, and ended up shopping more for ourselves than anyone else, but I managed to find a few useful things for Paul and some other people. We had a really good time trying on things and asking for each others' opinions and totally enabling each other to buy more stuff.

Afterwards, Paul and I went to Jerry and Sylvia's annual holiday party. It was good catching up with our friends that we haven't seen in a while. Their son Wendell put on a wonderful jazz performance playing music by John Legend, Miles Davis, and our personal favorite, "Fly Me To the Moon". It was great seeing everyone there.



We then went to our neighbor Tom's holiday gathering where we met some more of our neighbors and enjoyed seeing their slide show to their African safari trip. I didn't like his wife because she was prancing around wearing lingerie instead of regular clothes and she kept flirting with Paul. I couldn't be absolutely sure until it was time for us to leave and she plants a big wet one on his cheek. Gross! Women can be so slutty.

Other than that, it was fun and we went home and slept. I needed the sleep so bad.
This morning I was able to send off eight Christmas cards in the mail to my dear friends in the bay area. I hope that they get it before Christmas. I'm pretty much done with gift shopping too, except for co-workers and my bosses. My brother thinks a card is sufficient for work folks, but I might want to get a little more. We will see. I have a few more days left so I will see if I can come up with an idea for something small yet thoughtful.



Tonight, I have happy hour with my study mates from school, and that will be fun. I haven't seen them since finals. Tomorrow, I am having happy hour with my former colleagues from Huber's office, Michelle and Tiffany. It will be good seeing them as well. And Sara comes home tomorrow! So I will see her at some point later this week.



I'm spending my break doing exactly what I wanted to do, which is resting, gift shopping, seeing old and new friends, and spending time with family. Next Wednesday, I am leaving for Honduras. It will all happen so fast! And then, BOOM school will start all over again.

I can't wait to see what 2012 will bring.

p.s. I am obsessed with Mariah's new holiday song, "When Christmas Comes". It's been stuck in my head day after day! I would sing it except I don't know all the words yet.

finally... my christmas break!

Yahoo!

Last Friday, I completed my first semester of law school. I am still high! I can't believe I finished. Now I have a few weeks of heavenly bliss before it all starts again.

The studying was intense, all the way up to the very last minute. My study group is amazing. I am glad to have found such a dedicated group. When I went into take the test, I read the problem twice and just attacked it with my brain. Halfway through the test I began to feel the biggest migraine just crack my head into two splitting pieces, but I plowed right through it.



 By the time we were on the multiple choice questions, I was dying, but luckily I had some prescription strength ibuprofen pills so I was ok by the time it was all over.
When it was done, I drove home, ran into the house, dropped all my bags, stood there, and then began laughing with big, wet tears in my eyes. God, it was so hard! But I did it! And man, christmas break has never been so joyous and wonderful. I feel like I can finally breathe again!


In case you're wondering what my impression is of law school so far- all I can say is, they really are training me to be a "lawyer." And every single day through all of the difficulty, I really had to tell myself that I am doing this for my future clients. If I want to help them, I have to learn this. I can think of 10 other things I would rather do with my life besides law school, and it is nothing like undergrad where I absolutely adored each and every one of my classes, but I know that I am learning important things that I will need to know in order to become an attorney. So it's that focus that kept me going, and will keep me going for the next 2-3 more years. And at least I know now what it's all about. I know how to study for the exams, and I know what to expect. I must say, though, all the case-briefing we do for class is a huge waste of time. But the laws are important to know, and it's given me a brand new perspective in looking at a situation with a new pair of eyes to see things in a way I never saw before. I really hope that after first year, I get really good at this. While taking that last exam, I thought to myself, I might just be within the realm of getting an A on this. Boy, it would be SO nice to get an A again. I used to get nothing but As. The pride, the thrill, the satisfaction of getting As. I hope I get to experience that again in law school. Don't get me wrong, it's about learning, not the letter grade. But an "A" represents a full understanding of what was taught, and shows that I was able to master it. I want to know that I mastered what I was taught.

Anyway, it was a great first semester, and as one of my study mates put it, it's "the start of something big." I couldn't agree more.

One of the first things I did after finishing was put all the books I want to read in a row. I started reading a few pages of each book, just to get my feet wet and make a decision on which book I want to dig into. But I'm like a kid with ADD right now. My attention is flying out of control and there is so much I want to do!


I began cooking again and devoured a home cooked meal- cooked just the way I like. Curries, eggplant parmesans, brussels sprouts with garlic and olive oil. Farmer's Market, thrift shops, putting up christmas decorations and decorating the tree, doing the dishes, cleaning the house, running on the bike trail and taking pictures of me jumping and running happily, man I tried to do it all.

 


Paul and I caught a play on Saturday night at the B Street Theatre- "Watching Wynter." It was really good- an oddball, romantic comedy. It was nice to walk over the eight blocks in the nippy, night air and feel the cold on my cheeks. On Sunday, after lying around in bed and running errands and paying a quick visit at my parents' place, I got to watch a DVD on my laptop before going to bed- we saw The Great Debaters- that was a great movie, I highly recommend it if you haven't already seen it. It's just nice to have a life again! Now I can finally start thinking about holiday shopping and what gifts to get my family, and just be normal.

This coming Wednesday, I'm going with my brother and his friends to the Jay Z/ Kanye West concert in HP Pavilion! That should be a lot of fun. My brother has been Jay Z's number one fan for pretty much his whole life so it will be incredibly meaningful to go to the concert with him, even though I despise Kanye.

This coming weekend, Paul and I are hitting up a few holiday parties hosted by our friends and I will get to cook some more. And then, it'll be Christmas in no time. Just a few days after that, we are leaving for Honduras. I haven't even started really planning for that. Lots to do, but all happy fun stuff :) I just feel like jumping up and down and doing twirls and back flips and stuff. It's just so nice to be free. My biggest worries now consist of getting the right gifts for my loved ones, trying to decide what to make for dinner, wondering when I can fit in a hike before we leave the country, and planning happy hours with friends, etc. This very moment, I'm trying to figure out what I am going to make for dinner tonight. Whatever I decide, it's going to be fun cooking it, and it will taste delicious. Another thing I love about the holidays is listening to vintage Mariah before she went nuts...




Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.


Henry David Thoreau

first final down and my 4th full marathon

Wow! I took my Contracts final last Saturday, and I came out of it feeling a high that I cannot fully describe. It was intense. I used every second given to madly type out everything I learned all semester long.



My study group and I must have taken almost a dozen practice tests. I am glad to have found them- they are so committed to getting together and studying with me, and for this I am very grateful.
The morning of the test, my stomache was in complete knots and my palms were sweaty and clammy.
I was so nervous! But finally, when we got started and I read the problem twice- I began typing furiously and didn't pause for a second until they called time. After it was all over, I let out the biggest sigh of relief and happiness. And the high didn't stop. I grabbed a quick lunch, ran errands, and then headed over to the expo to pick up my bib for the California International Marathon! All the anxiety and excitement of studying and taking my final was going to be released in a 26.2 mile run! I couldn't wait!



The next morning, I got up at 4 am and made a pot of coffee and carefully prepared for the run. I put on my running clothes, pinned on my bib, adjusted my socks and brand new Asics, and tried to stay calm. For some reason, I had a bunch of fluttering butterflies flying around crazily in my insides! When we rode our bikes over to the buses, and we jumped on the bus full of fellow marathoners, I could hardly sit still. My palms were sweaty again and my heart kept pounding. I thought to myself, I'm such a big ball of emotion! Here is us getting on the bus at 5:30 am:



As I rode on that bus, I realized that we were running the entire distance back. I've ran this race before, and it was amazing this time as much as it was amazing that first time. It was a long way to run back. I was so excited.

Finally, the bus exited off the freeway and made its way to the start line by Folsom Lake. Police escorts flashed their lights, signaling for us to turn. I felt like shouting to everyone on the bus, Yay runners!

When we got to the start line, I began jumping up and down for joy but also to keep warm. It was a beautiful morning and the sun had just begun to come out off in the distance. It was a cold morning, but it could have been a lot colder.

Here's the crowd at the start line:



As the gun went off, I began to run, and waved to all the firefighters standing on the big fire truck. I felt good. I kept telling myself, take it nice and easy, one mile at a time.

Along the way, we ran by horse stables, and there were two horses standing there in the field, watching us. One of them began anxiously running alongside the fence, looking longingly at all of us runners. I cried out, Aww he wants to run with us! There was scattered laughter and some runners smiled.

We also saw two old dudes wearing shirts that said 28 CIMS. They've run every single CIM that ever existed. That's longer than I've been alive! Paul ran over to to the first man we saw wearing that shirt and congratulated him. He nodded in return. It was an honor to run with him on that course.



I found myself running behind the 4:25 pacer pretty early on, and I told myself to keep up with her. My goal this year was to finish in about 4 and a half hours or so. I would have been happy with something around 4:40. Unfortunately, around mile 7, I felt cramps coming on. I began to worry. I slowly began to realize that I had not trained enough. It's funny how you begin to realize things that you wouldn't otherwise think of, as you're running and you're feeling your body begin to communicate to you.

My body began yelling at me,

"Are you kidding me? When is the last time you went for a run?"
(It's been a while...)

"What have you been eating the last week?"
(Um.... salads and stuff. Been staying on a 1200 calorie a day diet to lose weight.)

"How hard have you been training?"
(Not very hard. I've been studying a lot.)

"Are you crazy? Or just plain stupid?"
(......)

You get the idea. After having these conversations with myself, I drew the conclusion that I didn't respect the marathon enough and I jumped into it overly confident because it was my fourth marathon. Needless to say, it became a harder run a lot sooner than I had anticipated.

I wasn't able to set a PR, and came in at 5:03. (My best time was 4:50 at the Avenue of the Giants marathon.) But, I'm actually really happy with myself! My split times were actually really good! For the halfway point, my time was 2:13 (which also isn't a PR, I've ran a half in 2 hours and 4 minutes) but the 20 mile mark was 3:38! That is cruisin!

After about 21 miles, I knew I only had an hour to run the last 5-6. And usually I know I can run that in much less than an hour. But after running 21 miles with stiff legs that were threatening to cramp, I just didn't care enough to push myself to the point of risking injury to my feet and legs. I think with more training and an adequate diet leading up to the race, I would have been fine. Mentally, 26 miles is something I have gotten used to. But it's truly about conditioning my body enough to be ready for such a big run.

Once again, seeing all the runners out there, throwing their all into this run, and seeing all of those volunteers helping us along the way moved me to tears. And the spectators out there in the cold with signs like "Go Daddy!" and "You're NOT almost there!" were priceless. This one guy around mile 22 in East Sacramento was giving a long, loud speech, telling us how each and every one of us are amazing and how proud he was for what we're accomplishing that day. That guy was cool.

At mile 25 or so, there was a band with the lead singer singing Aretha's "At Last", and normally that would make me cry, but that day I was so irritated, because I was so done with running. I love running so much, I can run all day and be happy, but running 26.2 miles with stiff legs will make even me sick of running.

As I finished that last leg, I still felt great and all the people cheered, as I came into the finish line strong and proud. It was like a dream. It's funny how everytime you can see that finish line, it gives you a sudden burst of energy, and somewhere you find it within yourself to burst into a sprint. I never thought I'd be a runner. But now, I'm not just a runner.  I am a marathoner.




More photos will follow, and I'm already trying to decide which marathon to run next, so stay tuned!
Last final this Friday and then I'm home free for a month! During my month off, I am determined to knock out a few good reads, maybe a hike or two, some holiday shopping, hang out with Sara when she comes home for Christmas, plan my trip to Honduras, and most of all, cook homemade meals again!