No One Knows Me

I’m terribly sorry I haven’t written in two weeks or so. I’ve been busy and then that busyness has been mixed with some laziness and for that, I apologize. Now let us continue with this week’s blog post.

             “No one knows me.” How many times have you thought these exact words? I’ve thought it so many times and you know, I still think it. Yes people know me as the girl at church, the girl at school, the girl at that retreat I went to last year. People don’t know me at a deeper level though. People barely know what I’m thinking or feeling. They think they do, but they really don’t. If you ask the people I know, very rarely could they tell you whether or not I’m truly happy or not. Very rarely could they tell you about the real me and not just the usual, “the girl with brown/blonde hair, blue eyes…” story. People don’t actually know me.



The worst sometimes is when someone thinks they know me and they try to tell me about myself. I have a friend who thinks they know me more than I know me. She told me “everything” about me that I apparently didn’t know. Half of what she said was false. I don’t know what the purpose of this was except that it made me feel so alone. How could someone I call my friend actually try to tell me things about me that I don’t already know or that aren’t true? I do know that there are times that a friend can tell you things that you might not have noticed about yourself but this wasn’t one of those times. I don’t mind being told things about myself that I might not have noticed but don’t tell me who I am. That was what got me angry. She tried to tell me who I am when I’m supposed to be the one to define that. I tell me who I’m supposed to be. I become who I want to be. No one else does. She definitely did not know me. This realization was saddening. I thought she knew me when she really knew nothing about me.

I don’t like that no one really knows me because it makes me feel alone. If I’m feeling sad or lonely it feels like I have no one to go to. No one knows me so who do I go to when I’m feeling down and out? I’m not trying to hide who I am; it’s just hard for me to trust people with things. Maybe it’s just me but I really have a hard time being vulnerable and telling someone everything, even if it is my best friend. I feel bad that I don’t tell my best friends everything; I wish I could but I’m scared of telling people things. There are certain things that I’m embarrassed to tell or that I really, really don’t want anyone knowing. In fact I was recently talking with my sister and I mentioned that not one person in the world knows everything about me. I have four best friends and several close friends and none of them know everything there is to know about me. Each of my best and closest friends knows parts of me that the others don’t. I don’t mean to keep secrets but I’ve had too many times where the best secret keeper is myself. Thus, I remain with this feeling of being alone in the world.

In John 1:10 it says, “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.” This passage shows us that even Jesus felt this feeling of not being known. We think of Jesus as this man of God who people knew and loved yet He too, felt that no one knew Him. At least, they didn’t know the real Him. They didn’t know what was going on in his head several times throughout His life. One of the biggest examples is when He was in the Garden of Gethsemane; He was sweating blood because of the stress He felt about what was to occur the following day. He told His disciples to pray yet they fell asleep. They did not know Him. They didn’t know He was going through incredible emotional pain. They did not know He would be crucified for their sins. They did not know Him even if He created the very world they lived in. This passage can give us encouragement. We are not alone. Jesus felt the very same thing that we feel. Even better, He knows us. He knows everything about us. So even when I’ve felt alone and like no one knows me, He does; He knows me.

In John 17:16 it says, “They are not of the world, even as I am not of it.” This passage can also give us encouragement. God tells us that we are not supposed to be of this world. We are not necessarily supposed to be known by this world, just like Jesus was not known by this world. It is okay to not be known by those of this world. Although this is difficult because we wish that people did know us, we don’t have to be known by the world. God knows us. That should be enough. I know how hard it is to remember this or to accept it even. Nonetheless it is true. I sometimes forget that He knows and loves us but when I do remember, I am at peace. I would love for people to know me but I must not complain when they don’t. This is not an excuse to not be vulnerable, however, there are times when we need to be vulnerable and trust people. This is merely a reminder that when we feel like no one knows us; it isn’t true for Someone does know us. It’s okay if we do feel like people know us and it is okay to want for people to know us. But we also must try to remember that the next time we think, “no one knows me,” Someone does. We are not alone.

Goodbye, until next time!

Senior Will of 2015

Since I was required to write a senior will for the yearbook saying goodbye to the school, family, and mainly my friends and classmates, I decided to share it here. I got inspired and wrote a really long will just to find out that I could only have 190 words or so. I was really bummed and had to shorten my will dramatically, but now I can share the original here. This is the only time I'll ever say names of people in my blog. I have many other people to thank other than the ones mentioned in this will. I also need to remind that God is the reason why I am where I am today and I thank Him above all others especially for allowing me the opportunity to meet and love these wonderful people that I can call friends. I'm so thankful and happy to have known all of these marvelous individuals. Without further ado, here is my will:

I will always remember the impact that Discovery School has made on my life. I am forever grateful that I had the opportunity to attend Discovery for as long as I did. I’ve met so many amazing people from all around the world. I’ve learned so many things that I don’t think I could have learned anywhere else. I will miss Discovery terribly. I hope it continues to be the wonderful school that I attended for the past five years. I will always appreciate the small class sizes and the wonderful teachers who work here. I am thankful for all the teachers who have helped me in becoming the student I am today. I also thank my parents for always giving me support through school. I thank my siblings for being my closest companions at times, I love you guys. I finally want to thank my Senior Class for giving me an awesome year. Cata, I hope you become all that you want to be in life and I know you’ll do amazingly in anything you aspire to do. I can’t wait to see ‘Baked,’ I’m sure it’ll come out as good as the title! Never forget our Loki and Thor adventures and all of our stupid, loud arguments. I love you Cata and I’ll miss you, I wish you the best! Sophia, I hope you like the quote notebook, it’s coming out wonderfully. I’ll miss you a whole lot and I wish you the best wherever you go in life. I will always remember San Francisco and mainly that one night when we got ice cream wasted! I love you, Sophia! Andreita, what am I going to do without your randomness and blondeness? I’m going to miss you so much! It has been wonderful getting to know you over the past two years. I enjoyed the medical brigade with you, especially in regards to Nancy… haha! I love you, Andreita, hope you enjoy yourself! Vickie, I wish you the best in your future endeavors. I know you will succeed with anything you put your mind to. I hope you have a wonderful time in college and you enjoy your future life. It’s been great knowing you. Thank you for all the fun times in Model UN and ABSH Music festivals. Good luck Vickie, have fun! Jessica, even though we’ve only just met, it’s been great getting to know you! I wish you the best in whatever you plan on doing in the future. Take care, Jessica! Antonio, even though you’re really quiet, the times we’ve talked you’re a really fun person. I’ve only known you for a while but it’s been great knowing you! I wish you happiness and success in your future. I hope you have a great time wherever you go in life. Take care, Antonio! Dylan, I’ve known you for so long, I’m going to miss you a lot. I’ll miss you being annoying, which right now is hard to believe. I hope you have fun in life, no matter where you go. I can’t wait to see your face on a billboard saying you invented some weird kind of robot that does something really cool. You’re a great person and I’m glad I got to know you! Love you Dylan, I wish you the best of the best in your future! I’ll miss you a whole lot! Santiago, crazy Colombian, it’s been amazing getting to know you. I hope you have fun in college and you enjoy the rest of your life to its fullest. I’ll miss your teasing and your awful puns and you in general. I know you’ll go far in life and I wish you the best. I love you Santi and I’ll miss you, take care! This is going to be hard, saying goodbye to all of you guys, some of my closest friends. I’ll miss you all terribly, including all of your teasing (maybe you’ll forget about my pinky toe by the next time we meet). Have fun guys, love your life. Do what you’re passionate about and makes you happy because the world needs more happiness and passion. I love all of you dearly. Une Vie Extraordinaire: An Extraordinary Life (**Eventually**). Live that extraordinary life guys, you’ve only got one (Try not to procrastinate it)! 

Goodbye, until next time! 

Maturity

Growing up as an MK it is hard to act my age sometimes. Several people see me and think I act older than I am. I personally think I’m very childish in my actions at times. I then think that the people who see me as older must be blind. They aren’t blind and I do appear older than many kids my age.

                When I return to the States, I am much shorter than the people around me and I look younger than most people as well. My appearance seeming to be younger is due to all the make-up 12 year olds wear these days and my height is due to my genes, thanks mom and dad. Once you place me next to kids my age though, even though I don’t look their age, I act older than them most of the time. This is a very confusing time for me because I never know how to act like them.

Here in Honduras I don’t necessarily act my age nor do I act older than it. I’m in between the two. Sometimes when placed with certain people, I’ll appear to be older than I am and the same goes that if I’m with other people I can act my age. In the States I constantly seem to be more mature than the kids my age. My theory is that because of the move to Honduras at 10, I’ve had to go through with things that many kids won’t go through. Just the moving away from everything familiar into somewhere foreign, several kids won’t go through that until they move away to attend college. Most kids my age haven’t had to say goodbye as many times as I have. Most kids my age don’t speak two languages. This is all based off of kids in the States; most of them wouldn’t have experienced what I have while kids from other countries might have.

Maybe I am more mature because of all I’ve gone through in my MK life. I don’t know. I do know that it’s hard to connect with kids my age from the States because they’re immature compared to me. Not everyone is but a lot are. One of my best friends who moved back to the States tells me how hard it is for her to connect with people in her church because they are immature compared to her. She has a hard time interacting with them because she acts older than they do. Another best friend who also moved back says how much fun the kids at her church are and how they made great friends when they went back. I guess it depends where you go and who you meet. It just stinks when you seem to not be able to find anyone who you can have a mature conversation with.

Maturity is all about perspective. I act very immaturely at times (in a good way of course) and other times I act very mature. There are a lot of factors that come into play here. Several things may change depending on the circumstances you are in. I do feel though that adults look at MKs as if they are more mature sometimes and maybe that makes it worse. We can’t connect all the more because the adults are expecting something of us. Either way, I can act either immature or mature and I’m sure all MKs can, just takes the right circumstance to bring it out.

Goodbye, until next time!

Seatbelts and Pick-Up Trucks

                When driving in Honduras, there are a couple rules that don’t apply here as they do in the States. There are no seatbelt laws for the back seats, only the front two seats need seatbelts. If there is some law that says there needs to be seatbelts, than I can guarantee that there are very few people who follow it. There are very few cars that actually have seatbelts in the back of the car that work; some cars might not have them built in at all. This sounds super dangerous and maybe it is, but I don’t think so. I haven’t seen a difference in accidents with seatbelts versus accidents without them. But I’m not an expert.

I remember when I first came to Honduras, I was surprised that there were no seatbelts but I was also happy. Seatbelts are so uncomfortable and not having to wear them was awesome. I never really thought about the danger and I can’t recall a time when we’ve needed seatbelts in the back for protection or anything. We’ve gotten along fine without seatbelts, no problems. It made longer trips more comfortable because you could sit normally without something jabbing into your neck, waist, or chest. We could sleep easier too.

Another rule that’s different that I enjoyed the most about driving here is riding in the back of a pick-up truck. In the States, apparently, you aren’t allowed to ride in the back of a pick-up, which is weird to me because what’s the point of having it then if you can’t carry more people? But I guess it is a bit more dangerous. It’s also a lot more fun though. My siblings and I always loved riding in the back of the truck. We sat on the edges most of the time or stood up at the front, always holding on though. We’d sit on the inside of the edges if it was on the highway between Zambrano and another village called San Francisco. We never rode in the back in the city, it was dangerous. We had heard of stories of people getting hurt by being in the back of a truck and such, but we were careful and the situations that were described to us didn’t usually apply to our situation. For example, one person told us that his truck was full of people and he hit a bump, someone apparently fell out and got extremely hurt, for us though, our truck was never that full. Either way, even though it was “dangerous” it was a lot of fun.

In the back of the truck, my sisters and I would sing songs, make jokes, wave to people; occasionally we made faces at people who stared at us for too long but mom told us to stop that. It was a lot of fun. The wind in our hair, it felt like we were flying in a way. My best friend had a big white pick-up and it had bars all around the edges, so we could stand on all sides without fear of falling out, even if you didn’t hold on to those edges. That was awesome because we would play games where you couldn’t touch the edges or you couldn’t fall down or you were out. It might be dangerous but it was an amazing experience. I loved riding in the back of the truck.

There are several weird things about Honduran driving but I mainly wanted to stress these two things because people think it’s so dangerous. I don’t think it’s as dangerous as people make it out to be, it’s actually fun and more comfortable sometimes. When driving in Honduras, don’t be scared to not have a seatbelt and don’t be afraid to ride in the back of a pick-up. It’s a lot of fun and you’d be missing out if you stayed in your “comfort zone.”

Goodbye, until next time.  

Discrimination

Discrimination. This is always a hard topic to discuss because people take it the wrong way. So, before we begin this blog post, I’m not trying to offend anyone; I am merely telling a story of discrimination from my personal experience. Discrimination is defined as “the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex.” Here I’ll be discussing a true story about the discrimination of race.

                If you’ve read my previous blog posts then you know I moved to Honduras from the United States when I was ten. I am a white, blue eyed, brown-blondish hair, freckled, short (about 5’4’’-ish), and thin, girl. Many people don’t think that white people can be discriminated; and I’m sorry if saying I’m white is racist but I’m not going into the topic of whether or not there is race or whatever. I am only telling my story. When I moved here I was stared at for the color of my skin, nothing else. I was looked at as if I was a new exhibit in the zoo and it was so weird. I have never been stared at in the States because we’re told since we are young that staring is rude. In Honduras, no one tells their kids not to stare, they join in. No matter where I went, people would openly stare. Sometimes you might see a mouth or two open wide in shock if you’re lucky. It’s such a weird feeling to be stared at like that. It’s not like we were little green people from Mars or something. On top of that there are quite a few white, blue-eyed, blonde-haired, Hondurans and they didn’t get stared at. Somehow people would just know that we were gringos (Americans).

                Being white also opened doors to the jacked-up prices at street vendor’s tables or mechanics shops. People apparently think that we’re walking ATMs because we’re white. We’ve had to ask our Honduran friends sometimes to go and ask for the price of such-and-such thing so we wouldn’t get the gringo price. I think I dislike this more than I dislike being stared at. I am not rich, not even close. We’re a missionary family and we might not be poor but we don’t walk around with money filling up our jean pockets. I don’t like when people assume I’m rich because I’m white. It’s not fair and there is no reasoning behind it. It’s especially hard when I’m here with my family to help people and people expect us to just dish out money because we’re white and apparently that’s what we do. I’m not angry because of this, it just stinks to be treated differently because I’m white and white equals money.

                Thankfully we were never persecuted for being white; we just weren’t treated the same way as Hondurans treated each other. I dislike it when people don’t think that white people are also discriminated. Yes, the black peoples have been treated awfully for a very, very long time. I’m horrified by what happens to this people group when they are the same as white people. They shouldn’t be discriminated because of the color of their skin and I hate hearing about another time when someone was discriminating someone else because he/she was black. However, I also dislike when now, when someone says that so-and-so was discriminated we assume that person was black and the person discriminating was white. That isn’t always the case. Or when someone is racist, he/she is going to be white. The reason why I’m saying the ‘colors’ that people are in this post is because that’s the way I’m going to describe someone. In Honduras, if you are white you’re called: chele, gringo, blanco, all words that mean white. When someone is black they are called negro (black), Chinese-looking/Asians are called chino or asiatico or sometimes amarillo (yellow), brown or what would be typical Honduran would be called trigueño (translated corn color, I always assumed it meant brownish) or indígeno (indigenous). Either way, I like how in Honduras people call you by what you look like. In the States all of these terms would be considered racist or rude. Here, it’s a way of describing a person. In my mind it makes sense, if you’re telling your friend about that guy in the movie who was white, black, brown, purple even, you’re going to say his color.

                In conclusion, it sucks to be discriminated but by just telling a person that, “He was white,” does not make what you said wrong. If I was to treat you differently because of that fact, then it would be wrong. We can’t be ‘colorblind’ to what’s going on. We also can’t get angry at people for saying the color of your skin. If you’re white then gosh darn it, that’s how people should be able to describe you. They shouldn’t have to avoid the topic of what color or ethnicity you are because it’s considered racist or discriminatory. Yes, I get treated differently because of my skin color but you know what, my friends call me gringa or they describe me starting with, “she’s white” or something along those lines. I’m white and that’s fine to call me such, to treat me differently because I’m white is not. If we want the problem of discrimination to go away, I believe we need to recognize that people look differently from us and that’s perfectly okay. We need to treat people all the same, we shouldn’t have to side-step differences in appearance because it’s “racist.” I should be able to describe a black person as such and a white person as such without the fear of being called racist. I won’t treat any person differently because their appearance is not the same as mine. I think this would be the best way to rid ourselves of racial discrimination. Becoming ‘colorblind’ won’t help. Calling people racists because they say he/she was black, white, pink, or purple won’t help. Complaining about the problem and not doing anything about it won’t help. Finally, saying that because I am blank color I’m treated worse than blank color won’t help. You want to help? Notice the problem and strive to treat people fairly and don’t become ‘colorblind.’

                Goodbye, until next time! 

The Best Part of Being an MK

The best part of being an MK is being able to have a story that is unique. There are very few others who share this same title, and those that do don’t have the same background. Some people have lived in five other countries, others have lived in three, others are MKs in their passport country, and still others have lived longer than I have in Honduras, others less. No matter what, your MK story is yours. The only people who come close to having the same story are your family members, but my view on being an MK is going to differ from that of my little brother.

                I’ve always loved the idea of being unique. When I think of being unique, I think of myself as special. I guess that’s the point but still, I love being unique. Thus, it makes it all the more wonderful to be a MK. I’m unique for just being me, but now I’m unique because of where I am and why. When people ask where I’m from I take a deep breath and say, “Well I was born in Texas, raised in Connecticut and moved to Honduras when I was ten.” Even though it might be bother sometimes to have to explain that, I secretly like it because it makes a great conversation starter. I don’t know, I just find it so cool to be able to call myself an MK. There’s a certain thrill to saying it: I’m an MK.

                This is a short blog post but I’ve been out of inspiration the past few weeks, to be honest. Plus, I figured I had already given the worst part of being an MK, it was time to give the best part of being an MK. So, I hope you enjoy this little blog post!

                Goodbye, until next time! 

Guanacaste Medical Brigade

My school has been cooperating with Cape Cares, an organization that sends medical and dental brigades to remote areas in Honduras, for several years. My school will send two translators and a chaperone to accompany the team of doctors and dentists who come on the brigade. I have been on two of these brigades before to a place called Los Encinitos in both ninth and tenth grade. This year I signed up to go on another brigade to a place called Guanacaste. I went with my friend and my mom on Saturday January 17 and I came back home on Friday January 23. This is the story of what happened each day in Guanacaste as a translator.

               

Sorting medicine with my friend. 

On Saturday my mom and I arrived at my friend’s house and we waited there until the time we were supposed to go to the airport to meet the team. We were accidentally early to my friend’s house and ended up waiting from ten-thirty until around one. We drove to the airport and we waited for a while until our team of seven came out. There were two doctors, one psychiatrist, one nurse, one dentist, and two others who helped out with whatever. We had to pile into this little van for the two to three hour drive to San Lorenzo, the place we would be staying in was thirty minutes away from Guanacaste. We had to squeeze in three military men as well that the government sends with every brigade to ensure the team’s safety. Once we got to the place we unpacked and settled into our temporary home. We then helped sort medicines before dinner. Once we ate dinner we went to bed, getting rest for the next day.

Me translating for the pediatrician. 

                We woke up at six-thirty, on Sunday January 18, to be ready for seven-thirty when we would be leaving for Guanacaste. We arrived at the medical clinic we would be working in at eight and we started to unpack. Sadly my friend, my mom, and I couldn’t really help since we were just translators and we didn’t know how the team wanted their rooms to set up. Right before we started, I helped translate for the dentist as she was the only one ready to begin. And once the team was settled in, my friend and I decided that I would translate for the pediatrician and she would translate for the nurse in triage. If we wanted to switch later on we would. The morning was quite slow, not many people came. I soon didn’t have anything to do and since my friend wasn’t feeling well, I went to translate in triage. After lunch which came at around two, which I didn’t like, we started up again and I think I went back to triage but I’m not positive. We had many people arrive in the afternoon which made for a hard first day. We stayed until six and we got ready to leave. It was a tiring first day since we had a slow morning and a fast afternoon, the scorching heat did not help.

Me as more of an assistant than translator. 

                On Monday January 19, we woke up and left at the same time. We started earlier than the day before because we didn’t have to set anything up. This day I began with the pediatrician again and my friend went in triage, my mom went with the dentist. That day I didn’t translate much because we had a medical student from Tegucigalpa there to do her required community service  and thus she was able to translate and work for the pediatrician. I became an assistant that day, bringing cards places and leading people into the room and to the pharmacy. That day we didn’t have that many people and we finished at around four. Lunch came at one-thirty which was still too late in my opinion but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. That day we got to the house and the electricity was out. It was awful. The heat was just too much, I was sitting and sweating at the house. At the clinic we had fans and the electricity did go out but it didn’t feel as bad as it was at the house. I was so looking forward to going to the house and sitting in the wonderful AC that they had there. It was terrible because no matter what I did, I was too hot. Thankfully the electricity came back on when we were eating dinner and we were able to sit in the house without dying.

Me in triage.  

                On Tuesday January 20, I was in triage. From that day on, I was only in triage and my friend was with the pediatrician. I really didn’t enjoy not translating on Monday and I wanted to be in a place where I could be translating, so I stayed in triage. That was a good day, it was slow paced but we had quite a bit of people come down. We didn’t have nearly as many people that came to Los Encinitos, but quite a few came. I really enjoyed working in triage, I got used to the types of questions that were being asked and I was able to ask the questions before the nurse had to ask me to ask the patient. I would ask general questions about why they came, what hurt most, etc. and we took blood pressure, temperature, weight, and sometime blood sugar, which I always looked away for that part. We ended at around three or four that day, it was a good day. That evening we had a presentation of the foundation that we were working with called Agrolíbano and we found out about all the wonderful things this foundation is doing in the south of Honduras. It was pretty amazing although the presentation was too long and the slides weren’t presented well. My friend translated for the presentation.

The interview. 

                On Wednesday January 21 I was in triage and all of a sudden cameras started coming into the clinic. Apparently there was a TV interview that was going to be going on at the clinic to promote the brigade. As I was translating several different TV stations and newspaper reporters came and went with cameras. We took a break for the interview and once they interview was done, we went back to work. After lunch we weren’t receiving any patients, just a few stragglers. And so we finished early. We left earlier than any other day, I don’t remember exactly when. It was hard because we were tired but we didn’t do a lot of work. Not as many people came which was kind of discouraging because we expected the TV special to draw in a lot of people. Once we got to the house we had plans to visit the San Lorenzo hospital. When we got to the hospital, they showed us around and I was the translator. It was very interesting to see how it was run. It wasn’t very sanitary but apparently it wasn’t as bad a Hospital Escuela in Tegucigalpa, according to my mom. I hated the maternity ward; the way it was set up looked so uncomfortable for the soon-to-be-mothers. That, for me, was the worst part of the hospital. After the tour we went back to the house for our dinner and to go to sleep.

My friend, me, and the crazy kid! 

                On Thursday January 22, our last day at the clinic, I was in triage. This day went super slow and we ended at around eleven because no more people came. It was very disheartening because we really wanted more people to come. The team started packing right after we ate lunch and once everything was put away we were ready to go at around two-thirty. We went back to the house and we waited around until it was time for dinner, where we would go out to eat in San Lorenzo with the ladies that we worked with at the clinic. The foundation Agrolíbano was taking us to dinner. We went to dinner and my friend and I had a little boy who talked with us while we were waiting for the food. This was a mistake because this kid was crazy. He was hilarious but he was crazy. He talked to us about several things, he swung us in the hammock where we almost crashed into a bird cage, he then (at the table) tried to bite us and he attacked us. At the end he lay on the ground and started crying as if I hurt him. I didn’t touch him but he was angry with me and ended up kicking me in the leg (not very hard) and the military man scolded him. It was very odd and when we were leaving though, the kid was okay and he ran out to say goodbye. I yelled goodbye out the window and waved, no hard feelings. My friend and I couldn’t stop laughing at the whole situation. We actually laughed way too much the whole week due to some things that happened during it.

                On Friday January 23 we woke up earlier because we were going to be visiting the foundation’s schooling and farming programs. I again was the translator as we toured the foundation’s amazing programs to help the south of Honduras. We went back to the house and we then packed up to go back to Tegucigalpa. We went to Valley of Angels so the team could shop. We got there at one and we left at around three. They dropped my mom and I at our house in Santa Lucia and then went back into the city to go to the hotel the team would be staying at. That evening at around seven we went to dinner with the team that Cape Cares funds. That was a fun time but when we went back to their hotel we had to say our goodbyes. We said our goodbyes and then my mom and I went back home, my friend went back to hers, the team would fly out on Saturday January 24.

Here is the clinic we worked at all week. 

                Overall it was a wonderful experience. I really had a great time with the team and with my mom and friend. I had fun even though it wasn’t as I expected. I was disappointed that not a lot of people came but I had an awesome time so I can’t complain. This is my last medical brigade with Cape Cares and I will remember it always.

                Goodbye, until next time!