I had a whole idea to tie the title of this specific blog post to the Lion King but it doesn’t really work at all if this blog isn’t posted in the morning, which just meant I was going to post it where it was most likely morning time in the ol’ America but then I missed that up as well and it’s like afternoon so I’m starting from scratch and making this up as I go along. Was that a run on sentence? Of course it was but I’m in a pickle here, the title is what makes the blog. You guys might not think that except it’s not like any of you are professionals so your opinion doesn’t really matter much. And I know you expect narrative structures out of my blogs because it’s more entertaining and people are more entranced by that than just a plain listing of facts. But I can’t always appease your needs, sometimes I don’t always have a story to tell and I just need to give y’all some information. I want to make sure that people think my time in Morocco isn’t just trials and tribulations. Initially, not ideal. Though that was then, and this is now. Has it gotten better like I said it would? Of course it has. It couldn’t get much worse unless than cab driver came back to find me and stab me like he originally intended. I don’t think he ever actually intended that. He seemed nice. Though he was a Barcelona fan and I did say Real Madrid. Only because I bought a backpack from them. I’d still choose Messi in a heartbeat. Oh deary, there’s me getting distracted again. Let’s see. Volunteering! I did spend the first four months working with spanish toddlers and now I’ve kind of done a bit of a 180. Now I’m working with severely disabled children that range from probably around 3-40. Disabled both mentally and physically, the director of the Morocco program apparently threw up twice the first time he ever worked with the children. That seems a bit extreme to me but I’m not here to judge. It was quite the sight, but hey, these kids are people too. Not implying he didn’t think they weren’t people. Who cares? Moving on. It does seem being a boy helps you out in these places though. Or at least the boys do like me. Though I’ll be the first to admit, because the other woman volunteer did too, we can’t exactly tell all of which are boys and which are girls. All the hair is cut short and with some of the deformities, it’s a bit hard to recognize. The walking ones like me is what I’m saying. The walking ones, that sounds also like a bad descriptor of people that are much more than what their legs can do but it is true that around 85-90% of these people are wheelchair bound or immobile without the use of a wheelchair. We feed them, we push them around in wheelchairs and I contemplate my life with them, I play tag, I play with legos, sometimes painting is involved, sometimes a good ol’ toss of a stuffed frog. Am I being shown up in tag? I am. I even try and a boy with an extreme limp, that walks in ways I can’t even imagine being humanly possible runs faster than I do. And Nadir. Nimble Nadir. The true lover of tag. The lover of hugs. The lover of kisses. The master of sign language. Very quick. Very into grabbing me by the hand and taking me to a variety of different people just so he can chat with them, or attempt to, and then rush after me anytime I try to excuse myself. Or Nadia. Nadia who loves high fives and thinks even pointing a finger is so hilarious. Or all the other kids of whose names I don’t know yet because I’ve only been there a few days and Arabic names are a lot harder to remember than Spanish. Oh, and speaking of Arabic…when you’re a white person, they seem to assume that you don’t know Arabic (which would be correct) and instead that you know French (which would not be correct.) So I’m just the white guy that they know they can’t communicate with in language #1, so then they bust out #2 and I’m still just as lost as before. I know how to say thanks and hello in both languages and that’s about my extent in regards to either one. I never was fluent in Spanish, but by the end of my four months I had a decent grasp and I could string sentences and have an idea what people were saying. Now I’m completely lost just doing what I can to pretend to look like I can comprehend something. What else? What else? Moroccan food is great. I’m finding myself eating foods I haven’t eaten on the regular before except for that that could apply to almost my whole trip. Olives though. I had them for the first time in Madrid, real fancy nice ones at a wine/bar restaurant and they weren’t half bad. Realizing the green ones aren’t still that good but they aren’t as disgusting as I thought. Radishes. I’ve had them before but I actually ate them. Mushrooms? No. Still gross. Peppers, I mean they’re not as bad as I’ve always thought. Spices my mother hates? Sure, why not? Lather them on me. I feel I just listed some pretty basic foods but c’mon man, I’m not a picky eater but some things I just despise. Those being the main ones. I’d eat guinea pig in a heartbeat but a mushroom? No thanks. I’m going on a trip this weekend. I’m going on a trip next weekend too! I’d list the cities but I know I’d just end up spelling the names wrong so I won’t. I’ll write about them later after the fact and actually tell their names. Anything else? Hmm. Madrid was great fun. I’m sitting on a top bunk now. That’s interesting. To someone. Maybe. I could understand it not being interesting to anyone either. Any Asian recommendations? I’m open to all possibilities. This content isn’t up to my journalistic standards. Let’s quit before I ramble on too much more. So it goes.

Or it has gotten better. Yesterday when I arrived I had a moment where I thought I would just break down and cry. Which probably occurred as I walking through the line for immigration, fruitlessly attempting to call my parents and being unable, and wondering how I was going to get a hotel for the night. Then yes, it did get worse when I walked aimlessly around the airport in a haze hoping and hoping to find WiFi only to fail endlessly. It wasn’t until I randomly wandered into the train station where a man was urging me to run to catch it did I find I could get the internet in some cafe waiting area for the next trains. Then began my journey of waiting two hours to get a cab in which that ride took twice as long as it should have as well. I’m not sure what happened entirely on that cab, but I did fear for my life once or twice. Maybe I was overreacting a bit when looking at it with a clear head, but in the moment I was scared. First, the guy told me a price. Cash only. I told him I didn’t have cash and he showed me an ATM machine. So I got the cash. It was in the Moroccan currency. Makes sense as we are in Morocco. We’re driving along and he pulls over to a gas station which to my knowledge appears empty. It’s not at least because a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness to fill up his tank, which miraculously does not run out later in the journey even when it’s on E for a half hour and I feel like I’m going to die all over again. The thing is though, he then asks for me the cab fare. Like 15 minutes into our journey which doesn’t sound very normal but as it’s an hour ride and the airport was practically empty I’m doing what I can to keep this guy driving me. We start arguing though when I don’t have euros. It wasn’t even an option at the dang ATM! I’m like “Hey man, you told me this ATM, this is all they have, I can pay you in this.” And he just kept repeating “Euro.” I’m thinking that I’m about to be stranded on the side of this road in this horror film inspired gas station until he finally seems to understand that I have 0 euros and gives me the price in Moroccan. We keep on driving. I eventually decide to take a nap as it’s almost one am and he even proceeds to push the seat back for me, and roll a knob to recline the seat. Not sure why he had to do these things himself as they were attached to the seat I was sitting in but he did. I should mention that I also told him I spoke Spanish because I couldn’t speak Arabic or French and that might have even been true had he not spoken Spanish mixed with French. That provided quite difficult to decipher, and the reason I didn’t not correct him when he thought I was from Inglaterra (England). I did repeatedly tell him that yes, I was from there, because he asked and I didn’t want to keep changing answers. The second time I thought I was going to die though, for some reason I did think he was going to lean over and stab me while I slept because he saw me pull out more money than he asked for when I gave him the fare and I probably reeked of desperation anyway. He did not. I was given two phone numbers to call a security guard at the house in Morocco, and the first number did not seem to be the correct one. I was lucky to be able to reference an email in which I had another number that seemed to work. However, it wasn’t that simple. He apparently had to go buy a phone card for his own cell phone to work, which was then followed by him talking to random cars and then police officers in order to find out where he needed to go. He drove around on empty for quite a while before we found the security guard on a bicycle who pedaled his way back to the house showing us the way. I should also mention that every time on the phone he referred to me as Harriet. He said many other words that I did not understand in the slightest. The cab ride should have taken an hour, it took two, and I was entirely surprised that we made it there at all. Then, because I had to take a cab and missed my flight, I had to go the airport today to get my bag. Long story short, I did end up getting it even if waiting an hour there just because there was one guy working for the airline and he was nowhere to be seen. The only really bad part about the whole plane process last night is apparently there’s a relatively simple explanation. It seems that because they didn’t print both boarding passes in Madrid, of which I have no reason as to why not, they were attempting to tell me to go through immigration and then go back to the initial check in for the airline to have them print my boarding pass. How I was supposed to understand that when all they said was “Follow the red line, have your passport stamped, and ask for accommodation” is beyond me. Because to me accommodation means a hotel and when I seemed to ask for clarification, all they did was repeat that. Regardless, it ended up with me going through that ordeal from hell but I did make it out alive. I did make it to the house. I did get my luggage. I did acquire some facewash covered in arabic script. Morocco, we got off to a rocky start, but I see a lot of smooth sailing for us in the future. So it goes.

After being in Madrid for just these last few days, I don’t know if the attraction level of people here is just the normal global average and Peru and Costa Rica were just ugly, or if they’re on a different stratosphere of superficial hotness. Or maybe there was just a collective gathering of the upper echelon of hotness and there meeting point was just the local museums. Because culture is important right? It is. I’m not going to rave on and on about the beauty about the women of Madrid though. Beauty. What a word. A word I would have much preferred over hotness but as I’ve said before, or I tell myself in my head that I’ve said before, I leave the flaws in my blog exposed to show I’m not perfect no matter what you, my dear readers, believe. I originally was supposed to a visit a far off land today. Far off in that it would only take a 30 minute train ride, but that’s especially far off had I attempted to walk to it. That didn’t come to be. I’m not sure entirely why my cards did not seem to work all too well at the kiosk or why it thought my credit card had a pin number but that is what happened. With technology scoffing at me, I felt like a little wind had left my sails, that the universe was telling me, “Hank, we want you to be a bum.” Not one to stand for that kind of behavior, I scoffed right back. I said, “Hey universe. You’re messing with the wrong fella.” And then I punched the air. Only a couple of times lest they confuse me with a bloke who’s not all with it in the head. Off I ventured to see the museums that Madrid was noted for. Sorry museum of anthropology, or agriculture, or some C word, I just hadn’t heard any rave reviews about you. So I passed it. I kept walking. That was a big theme of today. Walking. Like for instance, I visited two museums which I think are only around five minutes away from one another. My journey just to get from one to the other took over an hour. Without breaks! I don’t know where I went, I don’t know how I ended up even where I planned to go, I just kept walking and eventually it all worked out. I mean I had my issues while in the museums too obviously. Like it took me a half hour from arriving at the museum to buying a ticket to get in it. Did I stand in line and wonder but continue queueing when I noticed everyone else had some form of ticket? Sure, I did. It all worked out in the end. And maybe I did have some problem by not understanding that I had to coat check my backpack and I just kept taking things off and putting things back on in order to walk through a metal detector. What happens is that I got through them, what happened is that I enjoyed the museums. One, the museum of Jesus getting crucified and all that artist’s interpretations of it, and two, the cool one. Cool because it had Picasso, Dali, Magritte, and other artists that I no idea what their names were, but they still did some cool stuff. It also had the “art” which I loathe like here’s three boxes and I gave it some pretentious title to make it seem captivating and thought provoking but it’s really just lame but that’s what ya get with modern art. And a lot of projectors showing films in Spanish which I would only sit at because I needed to not walk for a minute or two. I mean, I did get to see a guy slice open his own eye with a razor though. Thanks a lot, Dali! It was a good time though. I got to see what amateur parkour enthusiasts look like and that was fun. If you like watching people think they can do cool jumps and they can’t. Poor girl. She tried. Not her fault she was horrible. Practice makes perfect. I saw babies on the train that stared at me because they were probably thinking the same about Spanish beauty as I was upon glancing upon my frame. Now, now I am sitting while my cousin cooks food. It’s not like I forced her to. She offered. It’s great! And if she ever reads this post, she’ll know that I’m giving her a very, very rare gift. A blog shout out. So Sara, Happy 27th birthday tomorrow. I hope it’s a great one and I won’t even think, or try not to think how close to thirty that actually makes you. You’ve been a gracious host and I’m glad we get to share this event together. Party, party, party. Or as the Spanish people say: fiesta. So it goes.

What’s today? Tuesday. I don’t know how time functions anymore. I figured I might as well blog once or twice from Spain because even though I’m not doing any life changing, revolutionary things here, I still might as well keep my loyal fans up to date on what’s going on. I just got back from the gym. Yeah, that’s right. You thought I’d quit? Nah. Not that easy. One week pass baby. Was it expensive? Yes. Yes, it was. But at least I get to see all the short shorts and shaved body hair of the Spanish mean. Obviously, my two favorite things. That’s a joke. This blog has not lightened up on the humor, don’t you worry. So what have I done, what have I done…Walked around the city yesterday, eating tapas and drinking sangria. I say drinking sangria like I had a lot. I had one. My first night of arrival I did have quite a few drinks. Then yesterday morning, I realized that hangovers don’t feel too nice and barely drinking for two months might have actually been a good thing. Apparently alcohol is illegal in Morocco too? If that’s the case then fine, I’ll get to be healthy again for another two months or so. I’ll come back looking just like an Adonis figure. Today, I’ll be going out with one of my cousin’s friends shortly and I’m not entirely sure what we’re doing so keep reading day after day for the possibility of details being exposed about that event. If not, re read what I already wrote. Because why not? Friday is a birthday for my dear cousin. And the next two days I’m going to attempt to do day trips to little cities outside of Madrid. At the very least I’ll get to one of them. Ideally, I get both. Has a lot more happened? Not really. I got a package that I’d been trying to get for months. So I finally got that new computer charger and gel pens. Yes. Gel pens. If you’re going to write, you might as well write with style. And we all know that style is my forte. They don’t call me Swag City for nothing. Who is they? If you don’t know, then there’s a reason you don’t know. Other than that, Madrid is a pretty cool city and I am digging it. Sure, in one day I’ve probably talked to my cousin’s neighbor more than she ever has due to door related issues and I pissed off a delivery boy because I thought the button to open the door downstairs was the same button that actually just hangs up the phone. Other than that though, it’s been smooth sailing. It’s just weird trying to contact people and then realizing that they’re all sleeping because I’m six hours ahead or so. That’s why this blog exists. I might not be able to have human conversations now or in Morocco, but at least you can know I still exist and read my words. Because as Nana Hank so eloquently put it “He sure writes better than he speaks.” So it goes.

I know I’ve posted a couple of these. Maybe only two or three. So I’m probably at four for the count but I’m not sure and I don’t want to be dishonest with you guys so we’ll just keep it like this. I could have written this tomorrow. I could have written this at the airport when I’m waiting for my flight for a few hours. I figure there’s no time like the present though. Costa Rica, you’ve been fun. You’ve had your ups and downs just like any place but as always, (always being one country beforehand) it was more ups than downs. These last few weeks were definitely more difficult as I’ve mentioned a couple of times with less support from the staff of the placement and less structure in general, but hey, it’s done! And at the very least, I can say that I left a positive mark on those kids. Maybe I didn’t teach them the english alphabet and maybe they aren’t going to be famous mathematicians because of me but they had a good time. And sometimes, I think that’s the most important thing. When you’re there for a few weeks, you can’t really enact sweeping changes. You can make small changes but you’re not going to change a core of someone’s being. In the case of these kids, they just wanted someone that would treat them like they deserved to be treated and who seemed to enjoy being around them. I know I won’t go down as the best volunteer ever, that sure I could have been a bit harsher on them at times, and I could have spent a little more time preparing activities but I made sure that when I was there, or when were there that the kids were having fun and that they were doing something. I just didn’t want them to be bored. I see how the Tias treat them, or ignore them, and I just made sure that that wouldn’t happen. My main goal when I was a volunteer, at least in situations like these is that when I arrive the kids are happy and when I leave the kids are sad. And I want to be in that same boat. Arrive happy, leave sad. I did that. I managed that. When a kid came back from school, and chanted my name because he was so excited to see me, ignoring another volunteer just to get to me, I knew I was doing things the right way. Or at least the way that I wanted to do them. I cater my techniques to the situation I’m in. If I’m at a school, I taught, I was more the bad guy, but when I’m in a free for all, let’s just make sure these kids have fun in their own house situation, I’m gonna do that. Doing now three different placements, it’s been good to know that I can cater my style to the others ones. I did clash a couple of times with my laissez-faire attitude but I don’t regret the ways I handled myself. I wanted to make sure the kids had a positive experience and I feel comfortable in that I did so. Sure, we started off with hanging baby dolls and stoning them but we ended with art projects and sports. Plus, I feel good. Which is also a big part of what I’m doing this. Of course working with children and helping in these dilapidated communities is a rewarding experience and it’s nice to reap some of those rewards. I wish that I could be completely altruistic but I can’t. No one can. So I’m glad that I’ve had these experiences, I’m glad I’m continuing to have them, and I’m glad they’re seemingly making a positive experience on me too. It’s a good feeling. It’s just a sad feeling to go. I mean, I’m not done. I still got a few more months left. It’s sad but it’s exciting. I’ve really enjoyed Costa Rica and I’m going to miss it. But I am ready to go. Yes, it’ll be nice to have a week long break in Spain and connect with some actual family and see some sights that I’ve never seen but I’m also just as ready to continue the next leg of the journey in Africa. Each place I’m finding more out about myself, growing as a person, and growing just as a volunteer. It’s been good, it’s been great, and I expect it just to get better. I’m not perfect. I’m going to make mistakes. Like for instance, I have no idea where I was going with that thought. Maybe it would have worked far better earlier in the piece? I don’t even know. Yet I’ll leave it. Just cause. I’ll just end with saying it’s been a damn good four months so far. I’ve experienced more than I thought, and learned more than I imagined I would. I’m not sad to be leaving Costa Rica (okay, again I kinda am), I’m excited to be starting the next part. I’m ready for it. I’m being redundant making this same point over and over. I’m also going to feel stupid when I end up waiting at the airport tomorrow and wish I could have done this as a way to pass the time. That doesn’t matter. Spain, here we come. Then Morocco. Let’s do this. So it goes.

“Have you been here before? It seems that the kids just gravitate right towards you.” That comment struck a chord in me. A chord which has been struck many times over during these past four months but it might have finally been the straw the broke the camel’s back. I can’t, or rather don’t want to envision a reality in which I don’t work with children. I had said that ideally I wanted to work with kids before or that was always something I considered but I didn’t have much experience to back up that claim. Now, I just can’t see myself doing something else. I enjoy writing, I’m glad that I have been writing, but writing is also something I might like to do for fun just because. I thought that but I never was writing much of anything. Because I didn’t ever feel inspired to do so. Sure, now I feel I can pull words out of thin air sometimes and make stories out of nothing but it’s because I feel things now. I feel inspired. And why do I feel inspired? Because of these damn little rascals. They may be little terrors and they may murder birds (that’s a story for another day), but as much as they torment me, I can’t see myself being away from them for too long. I had other plans to write a much different blog today except we went to visit an orphanage this afternoon. I know that I work in an “orphanage” but as I’ve said before it’s a transitory home, with a max staying time of six months, and if their parents get better then they go back home and if they don’t then they go the real orphanage like I visited today. Upon arriving to the orphanage, I instantly had a cute little fella come up to me and tell me to lift him up and then he proceeded to call me Papa. Instantaneously. This happened with another boy who rode me like a horse and who rode my shoulders and who just rode around on however my body could transport him. I’m not sure if I give off that fatherly vibe, but hey man, I’ll take it. If these kids have gone through some stuff and they don’t have a dad around then I’ll gladly try to provide a positive influence for as long as I can. It just sucks when you have to leave them. This was only a few hours there and by the end, you’re like “Man, so how do I go about adopting one of these spry young chicos?” I’m not saying I want to be a dad, or at least at the moment. I just do like having that influence, being a good figure if I can be. Just like later during the trip when a girl remarked, “These kids just really seem to like you. Wherever you go, the young ones are always drawn to you.” And that’s true. I’ve always said that I get along with young children compared to people my own age and maybe they can see that I’m just like them but in a larger, doughier body. This is another post that’s more just vague thoughts than concrete ideas and that’s okay. Okay with me at least. Like I wouldn’t tell you I want to be a teacher, because I don’t even know if I can do that. I love working with kids, I love interacting with kids, I love being like a kid. What I don’t like is disciplining a child, it’s just not me, and especially when they’re coming from a bleak background (like I’ve mentioned before.) It’s like I want to be the cool uncle. Maybe I can work on being the harsh but cool dad too. See, now I’m trying to think of ideas of things I could do with kids and I’m going off the rails. I remember long ago, during a late night chat when I just said I want to work with children from maybe more dilapidated communities and introduce culture into their life. Movies, theatre, books, music, bring those things to get them to truly appreciate the things that also matter and can brighten up their existence in some way. Let’s not get into that. Let’s just get into this being a moment where again, things are coming into place. Maybe not logistical plans but for me, even having a semblance of an idea is better than what I’ve done for the past couple of years. I’m just trying to say I love these kids and they seem to love me. I wasn’t even called a monster today. That’s not true. But I was also told I have beautiful eyes so I think they cancel each other out. I also don’t even know if I finished my thoughts about writing and inspiration and all that jazz. The kids are great, the kids make me feel great, when I feel great I write about it because sometimes I believe my blog has the capacity to make others feel great. That was the gist of it. Let’s not get too deep here. Let’s just say, I’m really glad I’m doing what I’m doing and kids are great and people that think they’re gross are foreign to me but now I sound like a xenophobic person but you know what I mean. So it goes.

I should have told them. I should have told them when they invited me to watch the game. I should have told them that as soon as I saw a TV with a live showing of that Wisconsin-Duke game that whoever they wanted to win would lose. I should have told them. I didn’t tell them. Then Wisconsin lost. I’m glad I didn’t make mention of the blue sweater I was wearing. It wasn’t intentional. I was rooting for Wisconsin. The curse is real. I’m giving up sports. I say that everytime and look what happens. Another team loses because of me. So it goes.

When I left Peru, I thought I’d never get over Patti. Scratch that, even when I was in Peru I thought I’d never get out of Patty. I did write love letters to other staff members at Inabif but everyone knew my heart wasn’t really in it. I just did it because I thought maybe there reciprocated loving would cure me of the pain that she caused me. In the end, they didn’t reciprocate any of the love thus never even potentially curing me of my heartache and that’s okay too. It was the thought that counts. Obviously I have lots of thoughts about them and they think I’m that weird white guy. That’s giving them a lot of credit that they even thought about me period but I digress. The point isn’t Peru. The point isn’t Patty. The point is the future. The future is glue. Is glue a euphemism you ask? Is glue some spanish word for a sexy chica? It’s not. You know what glue is? It’s what Elmer has. It’s white and you use it to stick things together. I don’t think I need to describe what glue is. People know what glue is. But people probably don’t know that you can love the inanimate. Actually, not entirely sure what audience I have for the blog so it might be people who specifically only know how to love the inanimate. Those people are weird. We’re not talking about them. We’re talking about me. A person who’s evolved to such a plane of existence where he doesn’t need the love of a woman who spurned him, I’ve found that I can just be as happy with glue. What’s so good about glue you ask? Have you gotten glue on you? If so, continue reading. If not, get the hell off this page. Pulling that dried glue off your hand is like a snake shedding it’s skin. Underneath is pristine, brand new, baby esque skin. Don’t ask the science behind this because I’d probably be contradicted if you did. The only downside to glue is that it sure does take a while to dry. I noticed this especially when I wrote out my entire name in glue on my hand and then some child had the audacity to grab my hand. She did not look too happy when she got to enjoy the gift of glue alongside me. Her loss. Getting glue on your hand should never be met with disgust. If you weren’t expecting in the slightest though? Who cares? Still glue! Still elicits joy. And yes, I did have quite a few moments where I just thought about that all I need for happiness is a big bowl and a big ol’ glob of glue. Just stick my hands in there and then set them under a heat lamp (or whatever dries glue the fastest) and then get to peeling. Oh golly, that peeling. Oh golly, I say! Oh golly, I’m essentially screaming from the rooftops for glue. Sorry Patty. You’ve been glued. That is really not on the level of an Arnold Schwarzenegger one liner that I had hoped it would be. Either way, I finally feel free. I feel like my heart both magically repaired itself and then opened today. I’ve let glue into my heart. And you know what? It’s pretty sticky. I don’t think it’s going anywhere. So it goes.

Here at Hank Wolf Industries, we hold ourselves to a high standard. That standard? (Because there is only one.) To not be boring. I already feel that that last blog was too boring. I said sometimes I write just because I want to write and that’s true, but what’s also true is that this blog isn’t held to a certain style, a certain template, a certain topic, it can be about literally anything. This is for me to both illustrate what I’m doing on this trip and let my creative juices flow. Nothing flowed in that last blog. A slight trickle at best, maybe an ooze. My goal is to offer an exploding dam every time I write something. A tsunami. A nonfatal tsunami. It might cause billions of dollars in structural damage but everyone is going to survive and they’re going to be like “Wow, what a great tsunami.” I apologize to any and all of my Asian readers who are having traumatic flashbacks after reading those last couple of sentences. I just want you to know that we are not taking this situation lightly and we will be doing our best to make sure this problem never happens again. We are problem solvers. Not problem makers. Please forgive us and know that your best interests are our goal and our priority. Exciting blogs are coming. Just you wait. So it goes.

I can’t believe it’s already been seven weeks in Costa Rica. I felt like just yesterday I was arriving here and thinking that I would never feel comfortable here because I’d become so used to Peru. Now I’m so used to Costa Rica and the idea of going to freaking Africa of all places in two weeks is quite astounding to me. Sure, I guess Spain will be sandwiched in there as well but that’ll just be such a week of debauchery and fun that I don’t even care to mention it. Because I’m about changing the world, not eating delicious food and imbibing tasty cocktails. I mean, I’m all about that too but I don’t need to write a blog about that to make it sound appealing. Although, I probably don’t need to write a blog to make traveling abroad and helping people sound appealing either. Happy Easter too! I’ll just throw that in there so if I ever read this back one day I’ll at least know what month I’m in when I was writing this. I’ll also just throw in many more random lines because sometimes I just write this just to write it. I don’t have that many interesting things to say right now, I just feel I had a pretty complete day and this would be the cherry on top of it all. I just want to write to write and just put ideas onto paper because if I get out of the habit of it, you’ll see fewer and fewer posts and I know all my dearest readers couldn’t handle that. It’s true that I have a week left. It’s true that tomorrow I start my final week volunteering alone all over again. It’s true that the Earth isn’t flat and it’s true that the universe is expanding. Do you need to know more facts? I’m here to lay ’em on ya. I don’t want to reminisce to much on Costa Rica just yet because I still have a few days left and I know I’ll write a long blog post about that later anyway. Instead I’m just going to enjoy my last week here, I’m going to impart my gringo mark on the country and I’m gonna hit the gym up as many times as humanly possible so I can get started from the get go in Morocco. At the very least, I’ll bench press a camel or something. Eh, I might as well also try to make some headway on some of the thoughts I alluded to on the “I feel good” blog and try to be more proactive because time is running out. Tomorrow I hit four months abroad. Sure, I’m probably staying somewhere for the next three months or so but I’m over the halfway point. I’m over the hump. That’s crazy. Just yesterday, I was…no. That is a lie. I can’t even say I remember a world where I can walk somewhere and everyone will speak English. That idea is just so foreign to me right now. Welp, I better make sure to enjoy my last two weeks of Spanish speaking then. Soon I’ll be even more lost than I ever was before. Good grief. So it goes.