Yes. Yes, I had wanted to use that title for a while now. I think it’s great. I know it’s simple, but I can’t help that I still love it. Just wanted to make a post about how that I am only human. I know, recently, that people have begun to think I’m super human and may have ingested some radioactivity which turned me into a psychotic green (or white) monster. I was beginning to think the same thing about myself. Until, until…football came around. No, no, you ignorant americans I’m not talking about football where you throw a spiral ball with your hand. That doesn’t even make sense to be called that. I’m talking of the game you refer to as soccer. Let me back track though. The day started with volleyball. A new sport you say? Oh I bet Hank would dominate at that one too. You bet your ass I did. I don’t even think I really dominated but I put such a fear into them that I wasn’t even allowed to serve. Because I’m not nicknamed Ace for nothing. [Editor’s Note: We’ve never heard him referred to as Ace before but he pays us so we let him say whatever he wants.] Did we win regardless of that? Of course we did. I was on the team. I don’t play with losers. Soccer though. Soccer. Football. Am I the loser? I believe I may have been. Did we win the game? Of course we still did but it wasn’t because of me. It was because for the last three goals, I’m pretty sure it was 5v1. And we still only won 7-6. I started off as goalie because I think they thought with my large frame and adept quickness I’d easily be able to swat off any incoming balls. They were wrong. I let  goals in. Three I believe before I was benched. Or rather sent out into the battlefield. How did I respond? By promptly assisting on a goal only to immediately score on my own team. Being giant doesn’t do you any favors in soccer. Being able to continually run sure does though. Which children ten years my junior seem to have a better grasp of. Again, we won, let’s not forget that. Sure, I didn’t include that a teacher joined in and may have scored two of the goals himself while also playing goalie. I can’t help I was never taught how to dribble! Or run without heaving. Let’s make this abundantly clear, I won. We won. I’m still the  best. I just apparently am not as excellent as I originally thought. Eh, it’s fine though. I’d rather be a bench player on a champion team than a loser anyday. So it goes.

The White Hulk. For you, dear readers, who can’t easily comprehend basic spanish, so basic in fact that one third of those words are in English. No actually called me that. It was more a name that I was trying to get to gain traction. The Hulk though. The Hulk, I was called. Okay, okay, maybe there wasn’t a The in front of it but the point was made. Hulk. Hunk. Hank. All words that describe me to a T. A T followed by an He and then Hulk. Get it? The Hulk. My humor is sophisticated, I understand if everyone can’t keep up. There’s been a new thing during this volunteering where now I’m working with more older kids than younger. It’s pretty nice. Especially because I’ve been with the younger children for so long that it’s nice to have a change of pace and even nicer to get out of the classroom while doing so. The only drawback is that my skin is noticeably different colors depending on how often you lift up my shirt but that’s not the point either. For one, farmer’s tans are in right now. For two, I’m a freaking super hero. The benefit of working with older kids that aren’t well too much older is twofold. That they’re small enough where I can still give them rides on my shoulders and that I’m big enough where I can excel at sports compared to their puny frames. I’ve probably mentioned the sport excelling before. Of course I have because it never gets old. I was a goalie in handball today and I spiked away an incoming shot so hard that it sailed past the entire length of the court. When it was over, children complained that I was too big. I was so good that I annoyed tween children. Know who loved me though? My team mates. We shut the other team out. Of course did. I wasn’t going to allow a pipsqueak to score on me. I have pride. One student who doesn’t have nearly the amount of pride as me? Larry. Classic ol’ Larry. I imagine every classroom has a Larry. Probably more than one. The Larry archetype just stands out a bit more when you’re forced to do physical activity for two or three hours at a time. Larry is what you think about when you think of a person named Larry. A loner, a person who refuses to participate, a boy who always wears a hoodie when it’s ninety degrees out and pines after the girl who always wears a coat in the same heat. A boy that sure doesn’t like when the teacher puts her arm around him, a boy that sure doesn’t like being forced to interact with the other students, a boy that is somehow named Larry in an area where other children are named Jorel and Tanisha. And those are the easy to spell examples! The other ones I could think of were so difficult I didn’t even want to attempt to spell them because I know I would mangle them so. At one point the teacher sat on his head. Larry accepted it. It’s a classic Larry move. He also refused to back down when he made up his mind to sit down during an entire game of capture the flag. At one point, he did join the game just to wear the flag as a cape and have it fall off after he walked two steps. He then promptly quit. That’s the kind of Larry humor that helps you get through the day. Though it’s not all about Larry, all the kids are great. I’d list them by name but I don’t know all their names. I call them “Oh wow, that girl is super fast and man I wish I had picked her for my team” and “This kid thinks all these flags of the United States are actually Peru.” Nonetheless, it’s not like they know my name either. I live in a new reality where I am officially Hans. Hans. Hans and Franz. Han Solo. It’s close enough. I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t correct it but man, they sure can say Rebecca well. That’s not a common Spanish name. It’s fine. I’m over it. What else has happened this week? That’s about the extent of it so far. I’m now becoming a super athlete that averages over three hours of strenuous effort a day. I probably sweat out the weight of a small baby every day. I don’t know how to properly shoot a basketball but some of the kids can’t even hit the backboard so I think I’m doing alright. And yes, dear readers, there will be more confessions of love in the coming days. I have my sights set on certain women, my hypothetical fake interests that will get their own specific posts. Though yes, there are also enemies abrewing like the people that take the spoons that I specifically counted out for my class and then ruin the whole arrangement. Will those people get the blog treatment? No they aren’t even worth my time. I’m the bigger man. They’re in my thoughts though. It isn’t pretty. So it goes.

I was going to post this in a couple posts but then I realized, why? Either way it’s going to be lots of words. If it’s too many words you’re not going to read two posts, so why not just combine it all together? And yes. Another classic moment of I wrote something and it got deleted so I’m starting all over again. What’s worse is that I know that’ll happen but I don’t go to any means to prevent it. It makes it more exciting.

A wise man once told me that I should schedule a mini vacation in the middle of my volunteering because I’ll return recharged and with a newfound energy. He may have been right. Or he may just have been right because I felt like I was going on my honeymoon just without the well, wife. I can’t help that when I’m in a hotel room and there are two bathrobes that I feel it’s a subtle hint that I shouldn’t be there alone. That I should be enjoying this with a sweet relationship or a close friend that loves chilling in robes. Which is almost every friend from what I would imagine. Quite simply, my journey to Arequipa was a beautiful, green, relaxing experience. Where I was able to see green again, where I was able to see rain for the first time, where I was able to enjoy natural hot springs on my lonesome, and where I was able to feel awkward as the only guy on the tour bus that needed the guide to speak to him in English. At least he’s earning the tip. Or he earned it. We are not in contact any more. The only thing I wish I knew is if he was so vocal about the potential for the volcano (one of three) to explode at literally any second. It’s okay. He at least said it with a smile that at some point in these people’s lifetimes that the volcano, Misti, would explode and kill every last one of them. Great sense of humor this guy. I’m getting ahead of myself though, there were other days before that. Days spent touring convents of nuns and having happy hour drinks in the middle of the day. Arequipa, the white city, where buildings are covered by layers of ash and nunneries are prevalent. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure nunnery was a word. Glad it was. Oh right! I even went to a llama museum. Llamas and alpacas. I didn’t even know cashmere came from a goat. And wild alpaca is even better than the darn goat hair. 1000$ for a sweater? Fashion is expensive. To show how much I appreciated seeing the museum, I ate alpaca later that day. Based off how expensive the fibers are, I expected a little more from the meat. At least I got 7 different types of potatoes alongside it. Honest opinion? I couldn’t tell the difference between six of them. That’s your fun potato fact of the day. Just because it’s a different color, doesn’t mean that it tastes much different.

From Arequipa, I went deeper into the Colca Valley which I believe is still part of Arequipa. I say that, yet it was a pretty long van ride so it could be completely different areas for all I know. I might have missed out on a little bit with my limited Spanish expertise. Still, it was nice to see such green. My hotel was amazing, it was surrounded by mountains and greens and hot springs and just amazing views. Another fun fact? Apparently, I’ve taken around 350+ photos on my camera alone while I’ve been here. Before I leave Peru in a couple of weeks I will upload those photos somewhere and post a link to find them. I know that I probably paint picturesque scenes in your mind with my prose but it might be nice for a few people to see what I’ve been seeing at least. Mountains are cool. Amazing views are cool. Green stuff is cool when you’re used to a desert. Just those two robes though. They robes even had hoods! Were they are bit short in the arms…and everywhere else? Sure. But it was a robe. With a hood. It was also extremely warm and I only wore it for about twenty minutes until a lady brought me chocolates and told me good night. That’s the kind of place I was staying at. That’s how I can come back refreshed. Other than having to wake up earlier and earlier each subsequent morning, it was the definition of relaxing. Though I saw a condor. Or two. I think. It was a big bird and it had big wings. Seeing as how the condor is a super special animal to Peru, I’m going to go along with me seeing it. Though there are no photos. I even saw a boy vomiting from altitude sickness. I do have photos of that. I have photos of lots of things. Now I just hope that when I do upload these photos they can even compare to seeing some of this stuff in person. Probably not. It’s just better than nothing I suppose.

Listen up. Peru has been great. I’m on the final stretch. I have three more weeks left here and that includes one that’ll be all about Machu Picchu and more of the Andes. I only have another two weeks of volunteering. And because I’m writing this on a Monday night I have even less than that. It’s the final stretch. I’m ready for it. I’ve really loved Peru and I’m glad I’ve been here so long. I could write on specific minute details about what I did over this four day trip or I could just write that it was a helluva good time on a journey full of them. I’ll try to keep writing about the more trivial matters until I leave because I don’t want all my posts to be rambling, broad pieces. There will be more love letters, there will be more references to me being a human tomato (Have I even used any yet? I will.) Let’s just finish this strong. So it goes.

(I’m just going to be randomly posting musings and notes I wrote during this 4 day excursion I had these past few days. Sure, I’m going to flesh out some of the posts but some will be short and simple like this.)

It rained. The sky produced water molecules and they fell on my head. Not even a drop or two. I’m talking like three hours of constant downpour. I hadn’t seen rain that was more than a sprinkle, that barely lasted a minute, in two months. I had forgotten what rain was. Thank you Colca Canyon for showing me that forces of nature still existed other than extreme sunlight. It was appreciated.

Elsa, if you’re reading this…then I’m sorry. I’m more sorry to Patty to you but I’ll be sorry to you too by the time this post is over. I had no idea my blog was a worldwide phenomenon. That can be easily established by my specific posts regarding how local Peruvians do not read my blog. But Patty. But Patty did. She read it. How she read it, I’m not sure. And because I am not sure, I have decided to dedicate numerous entries confessing my love for the staff of Inabif. I’d like to let Patty know that my post was all in good fun and obviously exaggerated for comedic effect. Granted, if someone from a new country that barely spoke my language wrote an entire ode about their love for me I’d probably be freaked out by it as well. Patty, if you’re reading this, or if you ever hear this off hand, know I said that all as a joke. A running joke. Marlene, which is probably spelled wrong, made me promise that Patty and I would at least be amigos. I believe I’ve noted that. Just from that I spun a narrative of love and loss because it was entertaining and I thought people back home would get a kick out of it. I don’t know if that was the case but at the very least it confused people. It confused and creeped out people. My blog everyone! Just know this Patty, you’re probably an exceptional person because most of the staff at Inabif is. But I don’t have a sense of longing for you, your eyes are bright with or without me, and I’ll accept a reality in which we are not an item. The post was a farce. You get it. I’m not that weird.

Moving on. I love you, Elsa. When I first heard your name aloud, I dreamt of all the adventures we could have. Making snowmen in the desert city of Lima. Riding slow sleds in the desert city of Lima. Fighting ice monsters in the desert city of Lima. And whatever the hell else happened during the plot of that movie. I more remember the songs. They were catchy songs. I also remember the one time that I was moving boxes into a room where you were just sitting at a desk writing things on a piece of paper. What were you writing? I don’t know. Probably “Wow, look at this gringo, what a fine piece of man. He’s all that I could ever want in a human. Wow. Wow. Wow.” At one point, your primal instincts came over and that was all you could muster. You were at a loss for words. You just knew love. You just knew the overwhelming feelings of lust. I know you and I, we don’t even work near each other. Sometimes we see each other in passing. Sometimes you see me casually flexing my muscles. Sometimes you see me bathing myself in hose water and covering my luscious locks in a fine mist. Those things are inescapable. Just like our pairing is. We’re the same age! Something  I did not even know for the first five weeks but it does help to explain the deep connection I’ve felt even before I came to Peru. I can be your Anna, Elsa. Or…the prince equivalent from the movie. Maybe it was a poor choice of words to choose being your sister. That’s just how I am though. I show my flaws. I show my flaws because if you can’t handle me at my worst then you don’t deserve me at my best. Elsa though, you do deserve me at all my times. We can make it happen. We’ll make that snowman.

P.S. If anyone from Inabif actually reads this, this is also in the same vein as the Patty post. It is not real. It is for my entertainment. I do not love you. Yet.

Ha. You probably think I’m referring to myself in this situation don’t you? No. Or at least not in this first part of the story. As some of us volunteers are young, we like to party. Is that being ageist? Is ageist a word? I do not have a squiggly red line underneath it so I’m going to assume yes. Every once in a while humans like to imbibe some and sometimes they imbibe a bit too much and it affects them the next day. This isn’t some anti drinking post. I’ve never seen anyone skip work or have their work compromised due to alcohol while I’ve been here. I’m more commenting on how the universe finds a way to specifically screw with a person during this hangover experience. Let’s say today for example, a certain volunteer may have felt a bit under the weather. (This really isn’t about me! Sure, I have my own story about my own hangover but I’ll get to that later, okay?) What happens during this day? We get recruited to play “basketball for 20 minutes.” Which apparently means run laps, and do athletic drills, and then play a very long game of Keep Away which morphed into competitive team handball. I was fine with it. Because (here’s my story), I got to redeem myself from playing lackadaisical soccer when I thought I was going to throw up. I have no idea how I got involved in an hour long soccer game when I was in my own state of duress but that happened. I didn’t do too well in that soccer game. Today though? I felt like an Olympian. That might be a bit strong. It was just nice to actually feel athletic and that my presence actually swang the outcome of the game. Put me in a pickup game of basketball and I’m probably only good for fouling a player and I might mess up that too. Put me in a game where I’m 6’3″ and I’m playing with 11 and 12 year olds and I’m like Lebron vs. a high school junior varsity team. It felt good man. It even feels better when the competition you’re facing is undergoing their own personal hell. Do I look like a tomato now? Yes. I didn’t expect to be outside for so long dominating the competition and leaving everyone in my dust. Is my nose burning as I type this? Sure. It’s burning with the fire of the heart of a champion. Did I rip my pants? No. Thank you for asking. Maybe hangovers don’t suck. Maybe hangovers are just creations meant to make one person feel athletically superior for a day. When I dealt with mine, the other volunteer had a field day in that soccer game. He didn’t know he’d be dealing with a Floridian Messi if I was at full strength. Wow. Keep drinking people, keep drinking to make us less athletically inclined folks have our day in the spotlight. Sure, one could argue that it’s probably more to do with playing with people half my age and a foot or two shorter than me. They’d probably win that argument. Except I’m not here to argue. I’m here to state opinions. And in this case, my opinions are facts because that is in fact my opinion. So it goes.

I said I wasn’t going to blog about sports anymore. That’s probably not true. I have months left to go. However, another night out, another team I supported biting the dust. Sorry Colts, you tried your best. Actually, if that was your best then your best was pretty damn bad. Who cares? There’s a reason college football is the best sport anyway. You know who did win though yesterday? America. The World. Humanity. Shout out to Nana Hank! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to give you a phone call and wish you a happy birthday on your exact day but not everyone gets a specific blog shout out. 90 frickin’ 2 years old!

Onto new things though that aren’t strictly Patty related or related to my inability to even post a coherent though, we did get some new people this weekend. You know you’ve been in a country for quite some time when you finally new members of an arriving group are the same people that you’re going to be leaving with. All I wanted was one person to be here for at least three weeks and I lucked out with two. I shouldn’t say lucked out. We’ll see if I lucked out. Oh no, that sounds pessimistic. But one of them did say that they hated show tunes. An impossible sentence to ever utter if you ask me. The point is that I’m starting to be able to see the finish line in Peru and that’s just a crazy thought. Three weeks is still a long time but the end point is in sight. Now just gotta hold my head close to the ground and finish it up. No. No. I’m not looking forward to the end. The end of Peru is just the beginning of the journey anyway. Gotta love nice, vague comments like that that don’t say much at all.

Just while I’m on this home run stretch, I’m going to try to be more active in actually talking about what I’m doing here. Or talking in general. Patty needed that ode, it’s true but it doesn’t really convey much of what’s going on here. One inside joke does not a blog make. I’ll be the first to admit that I also have no idea if that last sentence makes any sense. I’ll also be the first and second to admit that this blog is actually just maybe more words than what I’ve been used to writing but not actually coherent thoughts. Which is fine. So stop complaining, ya dingus. I write how I think. In a long, rambling, stream of consciousness that might not make a bunch of sense but neither did James Joyce and look how well he’s regarded nowadays. I am James Joyce. Junior. This is coming from a guy who gave up on Ulysses.

The moral of the story is this, I got new people, I got new people at my volunteer placement, I’m in my final stretch, and I’m going to visit Arequipa this weekend. I’m going to see the Colca Canyon. I’m going to see some condors. I’m going to go on a four day adventure by myself and hope I can make out what I’m doing. I’m going to take a lot of pictures. I’m going to write a lot of stuff. And it’s going to be posted eventually. Trust in me, dear readers. I’ll keep you entertained.

I planned on writing more than what I just wrote. I can’t help that when I was writing this, I found out that two of my good friends from Alabama passed away in a car accident this past week. I had seen statuses on Facebook about the whereabouts of one of the guys but I thought it had just been a joke. Apparently, they both died at the result of a drunk driving accident just a few days ago. One of them was basically a room mate of mine for an entire semester of college. Sure, technically he was “homeless” and lived in my dorm room on the downlow but that’s crazy. I wanted to say something else but I don’t even know what to say. I last saw the both of them at one of my good friend’s weddings this past May. They were always crazy, they did love to party, but they were some pretty damn good men. They were good friends. They were good people. They’re going to be missed and I’m sending condolences to their family and all those impacted by their loss. I’m gonna miss those guys. I wish I had seen ya sooner Matt and JT. Shit. That’s rough. So it goes.

My entire last blog was about how I write posts and then they end up magically deleted. It’s usually not because of magic, it’s more because I hit the wrong button. You know how many times I’ve tried to post this? Four times now. Do I even care if this has any relevant or topical information? Hell no. I just want to make sure I get it posted. Did I have greats full of hilarious commentary and excellent analysis? You bet your tooty kabootie I did. That’s all gone now. That’s all gone. You take what you get. I’m just tired of seeing my ode to Patty on the front page. I just wanted something to replace it. Maybe this isn’t the peak of my ability but it’s better than just blank space (shout out to my girl, Taylor Swift). Take it or leave it. I just wanted to see some semblance of an update. Here it is. It gets better. I’ll post eloquent new stuff don’t you worry. It’ll surpass all that I’ve done so far. Is that true? Who cares. I’m living in the now baby! I’m living in the now. The spectacular now. So it goes.

Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty. Patty.

IT WAS ALWAYS PATTY. IT WAS NEVER PATTI. TODAY. TODAY, I FOUND THAT OUT. TODAY, MY HEART SUNK EVEN LOWER THAN IT ALREADY HAD BEEN. GOODBYE PATTY. I’LL MISS YOU. I GUESS WE WEREN’T MEANT FOR EACH OTHER IF I CAN’T EVEN SPELL YOUR DAMN NAME RIGHT. I FAILED YOU.

But a few weeks ago, a young Peruvian lass sauntered into my classroom and proclaimed to the world, “Hank, I love you and I’m going to make you mine.” Or at the very least that’s how I remember it. In reality, it probably was a bit more like I walked into the classroom and this random girl was there and I never was entirely sure who she was but I learned her name was Patti and she was ‘”timido.” Google Chrome keeps telling me I should spell it Patty. Screw off Google. Patti is probably the worst guess after Patty and Pattie but this is my story and I make the rules. The teacher, my original teacher who has since left, made me promise that I would at the very least be amigos with Patti. She seemed to make a point to say at the very least. I wasn’t sure if she was hoping for wedding bells and yet that’s how I took it. Why not? I’m a white man, I’m hugely successful, I have the body of a younger Ryan Gosling, and I volunteer in run down areas on my own accord. She would have been making a great choice. She still could. I just think that the passion that used to be unspoken is still unspoken, just even more unspoken. Had we actually spoken since the teacher left? A few words here and there, a greeting, an asking for some paper, a silent nod of desire. I could see it in her eyes when I glanced upon the room at her and saw her not even looking in my direction that there was a burning fire of romance brewing. However, every rose has it’s thorn. Does that make any sense in the context of this? No. It doesn’t. But Bret Michael had one good song and I wish to celebrate it from time to time. Reading this I know everyone is wondering, “Hank, why are you talking about this era like it’s over? From what I’ve gathered, Patti is deeply into you and your silent courtship is going along flawlessly. You’ll be married in no time.” Sadly, you just may be wrong. This week Patti was moved to a new classroom. 2 years old. Me? I’m with 4 year olds. I was shocked by the news. Devastated even. I walk into the classroom to find this Rosie in her place. How could they do that to me? I wasn’t even consulted. Who is this Rosie? She doesn’t compare. She doesn’t have that vibrant youth of Patti where she’s confused from anywhere from 14-18. She’s 20.  It doesn’t matter anymore. When I look at Patti now, I see a dullness in her eyes. What used to be bright and brown is now…dull and brown. The passion for life, the passion for me has disappated. Has she told me this? No. But her body language does. I see a dejected, defeated woman. Does she smile more? Does she seem to be enjoying her new area? She does. Only I seem to know it’s a mask she wears to hide her true sadness. It’s okay Patti. I still care. I apparently don’t care enough to have not given up on us but I’ll never forget you. You are my one and only Patti. Or you were. Now I’ll just have to move onto girls I meet from the internet or something. I guess that can work out too if you find the right person. We’ll see. It was a tumultuous love affair but all affairs tend to end one day. It was good while it lasted. So it goes.

P.S. Yes, yes, I’ll chronicle the wall painting experience some more tomorrow once we complete it. I’ll describe all the kids putting their hands, big and small, and making our efforts their efforts with their own contributions. I could go on and on about how cute it is. I will. Eventually. I just had to write this ode to Patti, because dammit, she deserved it.