Since I landed in Savannah on August 8, 2010, I've known that my last day of work at the Good Samaritan Clinic was going to be July 15, 2011. It has been one of those dates that seemed like it would never arrive, but last night, as my community members and I sat in anticipation of the final Harry Potter movie to begin, we uncomfortably watched our cell phones change from July 14 to July 15 at midnight.
In 12 hours, I'll be on a plane home. In a week, I'll be on a plane to Los Angeles. In 18 days, I'll be on a plane to Philly. And in four weeks, I'll be heading back to Georgia to begin orientation at Emory.
Time is a very strange thing. For the past few weeks, I've been wishing it away, but today, as I was trying to shove a year's worth of stuff into suitcases, the whole thing just didn't seem real. It probably won't hit me that I'm not going to work at Good Sam or live with Linda, Regina, and Mike again until sometime next week.
Moving forward, I wonder how this year is going to look in hindsight. Will it just be a small blip in my life that I describe as "that year I lived in Savannah"? Will the frustrations I have with certain members of the hospital administration here fade dramatically as time goes on? Will I forget the original expectations I had for my relationship with Mercy this year and simply see it for what it was?
If one thing is certain, it is that I have learned a lot about myself this year. I am more confident in what I want to do with my life, and I have the patients and volunteers from the clinic to thank for that.
I've had several amazing goodbye parties and received many beautiful gifts and notes over the past week. It's hard to imagine my daily life without many of the people I've grown to love here, but I'm also very excited and ready to begin my Master's program.
So I guess this is my last blog entry. Thank you to those of you who read this and who have supported me through the good and bad of my year with Mercy Volunteer Corps!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Las relaciones
I only have five more days of work!!! I'm pretty sure this is the first time that I've ever been extremely excited to have an experience come to an end, but some very bad experiences with the hierarchy of my clinic lately have made me realize I probably couldn't survive more than another week in Savannah.
This week, I have been even more grateful than usual for the positive relationships that have grown out of my year with MVC. My roommates and several volunteers at the clinic have become like a family to me. Even though the structured support for my program did not work out at all, many people here have gone out of their way to be supportive of me in this experience. Furthermore, many of my patients have strengthened me in ways that words truly cannot express (I hate that phrase, but I don't know how else to explain it). Today, as I was literally sobbing after being yelled at during an eye clinic, one of my patients gave me a hug (she thought I was crying because I was going to miss Savannah...but I didn't feel the need to correct her) and said that I shouldn't cry because God was using me to make the world a better place for people. Needless to say, that comment made me cry harder, but in a good way.
I guess this year has reminded me of how inter-personal relationships run our world. Many of us are where we are because of who we know, and it is our interactions with others that help us become who we are. So, to all of you who are actually reading this blog, thank you for being part of my life.
This week, I have been even more grateful than usual for the positive relationships that have grown out of my year with MVC. My roommates and several volunteers at the clinic have become like a family to me. Even though the structured support for my program did not work out at all, many people here have gone out of their way to be supportive of me in this experience. Furthermore, many of my patients have strengthened me in ways that words truly cannot express (I hate that phrase, but I don't know how else to explain it). Today, as I was literally sobbing after being yelled at during an eye clinic, one of my patients gave me a hug (she thought I was crying because I was going to miss Savannah...but I didn't feel the need to correct her) and said that I shouldn't cry because God was using me to make the world a better place for people. Needless to say, that comment made me cry harder, but in a good way.
I guess this year has reminded me of how inter-personal relationships run our world. Many of us are where we are because of who we know, and it is our interactions with others that help us become who we are. So, to all of you who are actually reading this blog, thank you for being part of my life.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
La religión
I just got back from possibly the most ridiculous experience I've had in Savannah. I went to what was advertised as a vigil called "United in Prayer for Immigration Reform" in Port Wentworth, right down the street from my church.
To start, I got there at the actual time it was set to start because I was told there would be lots of groups there and since I didn't know where the building was, I didn't want to be ridiculously late. However, when I arrived, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot and I was very obviously the only gringa to be found. I'm kind of used to looking like "a beacon of white in a sea of brown" (as I've been described by a friend), but this was the first time in many months where I didn't know any of the Hispanics around me. A nice Colombian man started chatting it up with me as we waited for nearly an hour for other people to arrive.
As I looked around the community gymnasium that we were using, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was completely decorated in red, white, and blue, presumably for the celebration of Independence Day tomorrow. The podium where I assumed our speakers would be had a plaque that said "Port Wentworth, the Stand Up for America City." I even learned that Port Wentworth's team name is the Patriots, and they use the exact same emblem as my favorite football team.
When the service finally started (I don't think I'll ever adjust to Latin time...), it immediately became clear to me that this was going to be more about prayer and less about immigration reform. The opening speaker was yelling into the microphone about the liberation of God's people while a Latino man strummed a guitar behind her and the majority of the audience was standing with their arms raised, mumbling prayers to themselves. Most of the individuals in the small group were holding their bibles and wearing rosary beads. To our left was a small adoration chapel, where one of the 5 people who was there from my parish was reminding people to sign up so as not to "leave the Lord alone." I found it pretty amusing that there was a sign outside the little make-shift chapel that said "Silencio", even though there were microphones and musical instruments set up about 100 yards from the door.
As people were saying their amens and wiping away tears, I was reminded of an article I recently read in my "Reader in Latina Feminist Theology" entitled "Perception Matters: Pentecostal Latinas in Allentown, PA." It seems that many economically poor Hispanics/Latinos are becoming divided in their faith. While some are leaning towards a more leftist theology of liberation, others are joining more conservative religious factions. The article points out that although some people (such as myself) think the latter group is crazy, it attracts many because of its focus on participation in the private sphere of home life and forsaking the private sphere of potential vices.
I used to consider myself a conservative, slightly charismatic Catholic. In high school and even into my first year of college, I loved praise and worship, Eucharistic adoration, daily Mass, etc. My own faith changed for a variety of reasons, but even still, I can understand how easy it is to get wrapped up in the song, dance, and overwhelming feeling of love that a big group of people praising God can yield.
This evening, being in the gymnasium utterly frightened me. After the speaker gave a little testimony, a group called "La Música de Dios" (or something similar) started playing some pretty intense Christian music. As people were becoming captivated, all I could think about was how religion really can become an opiate of the masses. I certainly believe in prayer and in the importance of community, but this was going a bit over-board for me. Maybe people are convinced that if they worship God in a particular way, then they will be spared from things like unjust immigration policies. I don't really know, but that's kind of what it seemed like to me tonight.
I've been struggling with how to define my faith lately. I don't know if I can consider myself Catholic, since I disagree with more tenets than I agree with. I feel like I'm searching for a sense of belonging for my spirituality, yet keep coming up empty-handed. (Funny story: my boss told me in my final evaluation that I need to improve my relationship with God. I wish I could describe how awkward the moment was, since she knows absolutely nothing about my faith life...) All I know, though, is that waves of very fundamentalist Christians scare me and make me uncomfortable in a way that is very rare.
To start, I got there at the actual time it was set to start because I was told there would be lots of groups there and since I didn't know where the building was, I didn't want to be ridiculously late. However, when I arrived, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot and I was very obviously the only gringa to be found. I'm kind of used to looking like "a beacon of white in a sea of brown" (as I've been described by a friend), but this was the first time in many months where I didn't know any of the Hispanics around me. A nice Colombian man started chatting it up with me as we waited for nearly an hour for other people to arrive.
As I looked around the community gymnasium that we were using, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was completely decorated in red, white, and blue, presumably for the celebration of Independence Day tomorrow. The podium where I assumed our speakers would be had a plaque that said "Port Wentworth, the Stand Up for America City." I even learned that Port Wentworth's team name is the Patriots, and they use the exact same emblem as my favorite football team.
When the service finally started (I don't think I'll ever adjust to Latin time...), it immediately became clear to me that this was going to be more about prayer and less about immigration reform. The opening speaker was yelling into the microphone about the liberation of God's people while a Latino man strummed a guitar behind her and the majority of the audience was standing with their arms raised, mumbling prayers to themselves. Most of the individuals in the small group were holding their bibles and wearing rosary beads. To our left was a small adoration chapel, where one of the 5 people who was there from my parish was reminding people to sign up so as not to "leave the Lord alone." I found it pretty amusing that there was a sign outside the little make-shift chapel that said "Silencio", even though there were microphones and musical instruments set up about 100 yards from the door.
As people were saying their amens and wiping away tears, I was reminded of an article I recently read in my "Reader in Latina Feminist Theology" entitled "Perception Matters: Pentecostal Latinas in Allentown, PA." It seems that many economically poor Hispanics/Latinos are becoming divided in their faith. While some are leaning towards a more leftist theology of liberation, others are joining more conservative religious factions. The article points out that although some people (such as myself) think the latter group is crazy, it attracts many because of its focus on participation in the private sphere of home life and forsaking the private sphere of potential vices.
I used to consider myself a conservative, slightly charismatic Catholic. In high school and even into my first year of college, I loved praise and worship, Eucharistic adoration, daily Mass, etc. My own faith changed for a variety of reasons, but even still, I can understand how easy it is to get wrapped up in the song, dance, and overwhelming feeling of love that a big group of people praising God can yield.
This evening, being in the gymnasium utterly frightened me. After the speaker gave a little testimony, a group called "La Música de Dios" (or something similar) started playing some pretty intense Christian music. As people were becoming captivated, all I could think about was how religion really can become an opiate of the masses. I certainly believe in prayer and in the importance of community, but this was going a bit over-board for me. Maybe people are convinced that if they worship God in a particular way, then they will be spared from things like unjust immigration policies. I don't really know, but that's kind of what it seemed like to me tonight.
I've been struggling with how to define my faith lately. I don't know if I can consider myself Catholic, since I disagree with more tenets than I agree with. I feel like I'm searching for a sense of belonging for my spirituality, yet keep coming up empty-handed. (Funny story: my boss told me in my final evaluation that I need to improve my relationship with God. I wish I could describe how awkward the moment was, since she knows absolutely nothing about my faith life...) All I know, though, is that waves of very fundamentalist Christians scare me and make me uncomfortable in a way that is very rare.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Se fue el mes
I can't believe I didn't blog once during the month of June. It was a pretty crazy couple of weeks, though. I had to go to Gwynedd Valley, PA for the MVC Transition Retreat the second weekend in June, and then the following two weekends I had friends from SJU visiting.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I will be home in Massachusetts. That means that I have 9 days of work left, thanks to the 3-day weekend.
I have been anxiously anticipating today, July 1, since the middle of May when Gov. Deal signed HB 87 into law in Georgia. However, this past Monday, an injunction was placed on the state, blocking the anti-immigrant law from going into effect today.
Everything lately seems very anti-climactic. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.
This week I started training the girl who will be replacing me, and I just find myself slowly counting down the moments until I can leave Savannah. I think this is the first time in my life that I'm not trying to fight transition. I feel ready to leave this experience and begin my next one.
Two weeks from tomorrow, I will be home in Massachusetts. That means that I have 9 days of work left, thanks to the 3-day weekend.
I have been anxiously anticipating today, July 1, since the middle of May when Gov. Deal signed HB 87 into law in Georgia. However, this past Monday, an injunction was placed on the state, blocking the anti-immigrant law from going into effect today.
Everything lately seems very anti-climactic. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.
This week I started training the girl who will be replacing me, and I just find myself slowly counting down the moments until I can leave Savannah. I think this is the first time in my life that I'm not trying to fight transition. I feel ready to leave this experience and begin my next one.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Dar y Recibir
The past couple of weeks have been emotional for me. I miss my friends from home/college a lot more than usual, and I feel like I should be in Latin America right now (especially thanks to all the SIP pictures and status posts that are inundating my Facebook newsfeed). I know I'm where I'm supposed to be at this moment, working with immigrants in a society that overwhelmingly mistreats them. I know that I'm learning a lot about myself while improving my Spanish and being somewhat useful at the clinic. But I also know that I'm being called elsewhere. I am extremely excited to start graduate school and begin studying global public health in a more academic way. I am also starting to look forward to hopefully going abroad next summer to do my thesis research and then joining the Peace Corps the summer after I graduate. Mercy Volunteer Corps has given me an amazing opportunity this year to take a step back and discover where my passions truly lie, but now I'm in an awkward period of being phased out of my job while anticipating my next steps.
In order to calm my sense of restlessness lately, I decided to spend the majority of my money on plane tickets for the summer. I'll be going to Pasadena, CA from July 22 to July 26 and then to Philadelphia from August 2 to August 8. That leaves me nearly three weeks to spend time at home to see friends and family, have jury duty, and go to like 4 doctor's appointments. I can already feel my time before entering grad school slipping away. I have plans for nearly every weekend until then, but I guess that's just how I tend to cope with big life changes.
Anyway, I've been reflecting a lot this weekend on my ability to give and receive mercy/love/kindness/whatever you want to call it freely. It's sometimes really strange to have all the people I know here in Savannah be aware of the fact that I only make $100/month for spending. People always offer to give me food or to pay for an outing, and they never fail to bring something (usually wine) if I invite them over to my house. It's certainly nice to be rid of the pressure to always reciprocate gifts but I still find myself feeling somewhat awkward when people just pick up my check at a restaurant or take me on special excursions.
Yesterday I arrived at Mass a few minutes late, and when I got in I awkwardly stood in the back. Barely 30 seconds later, a man carrying a "hand baby" (that is definitely one of my favorite Savannah terms) got up out of his pew, found a folding chair, carried it down the side aisle of the church, and plopped it down, motioning me to go sit. There were a few young men sitting on the floor behind where my new chair was, and I felt extremely awkward, like a "gringa princess" or something. I know the man was trying to be polite, and I certainly appreciated the gesture, but I still felt uncomfortable for some reason.
As I try to grapple with why I have such a hard time accepting other peoples' "random acts of kindness", I guess I should start also considering how many other people I have made feel uncomfortable by trying to "help" them.
In order to calm my sense of restlessness lately, I decided to spend the majority of my money on plane tickets for the summer. I'll be going to Pasadena, CA from July 22 to July 26 and then to Philadelphia from August 2 to August 8. That leaves me nearly three weeks to spend time at home to see friends and family, have jury duty, and go to like 4 doctor's appointments. I can already feel my time before entering grad school slipping away. I have plans for nearly every weekend until then, but I guess that's just how I tend to cope with big life changes.
Anyway, I've been reflecting a lot this weekend on my ability to give and receive mercy/love/kindness/whatever you want to call it freely. It's sometimes really strange to have all the people I know here in Savannah be aware of the fact that I only make $100/month for spending. People always offer to give me food or to pay for an outing, and they never fail to bring something (usually wine) if I invite them over to my house. It's certainly nice to be rid of the pressure to always reciprocate gifts but I still find myself feeling somewhat awkward when people just pick up my check at a restaurant or take me on special excursions.
Yesterday I arrived at Mass a few minutes late, and when I got in I awkwardly stood in the back. Barely 30 seconds later, a man carrying a "hand baby" (that is definitely one of my favorite Savannah terms) got up out of his pew, found a folding chair, carried it down the side aisle of the church, and plopped it down, motioning me to go sit. There were a few young men sitting on the floor behind where my new chair was, and I felt extremely awkward, like a "gringa princess" or something. I know the man was trying to be polite, and I certainly appreciated the gesture, but I still felt uncomfortable for some reason.
As I try to grapple with why I have such a hard time accepting other peoples' "random acts of kindness", I guess I should start also considering how many other people I have made feel uncomfortable by trying to "help" them.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Mi otro trabajo: trabajadora social
This morning, one of the first patients I saw at eye clinic was Mr. J. I asked if he has refilled his diabetic medications, and he shamefully said no because he didn't have the money. I lectured him about how he needs to call me when this happens because his health is very important, but then he politely apologized and explained that he didn't have the money because he had to pay an $800 ticket. I asked why, and he explained that he was pulled over last week for running a traffic light that the cop said was red by that Mr. J. said was green-turning-yellow. Mr. J. is undocumented, and when he was unable to produce a driver's license, he was held overnight in jail and then given an $800 ticket to pay. That is normally how much Mr. J. makes in a month doing manual labor in the Savannah area. However, the conversation was kind of bitterly sweet because we had both heard talk that Gov. Deal of Georgia was going to sign HB 87 into law later today; if Mr. J. had been pulled over for "driving while brown" after July 1, he would be sitting in a detention center awaiting a deportation trial.
A few minutes after this conversation, I talked to Mrs. S. and her 4-year-old son. I asked if the son goes to pre-school and she said no because in order to go to a state-funded program (paid for by the Georgia Lottery by the way), her son would need proof of residency. He is a U.S. citizen by birth, but she lives in a trailer that is owned by someone else and the bills are made out to that other person. This is an issue that many trailer park owners near my clinic are trying to crack down on, but I don't really know what they're going to do because most of the parks would be empty if they only allowed people with documentos buenos to stay. I emphasized to Mrs. S. the importance of children going to school, but the other problem is that buses won't pick up the kids and she doesn't have a car. She has a neighbor that will charge her $40 round-trip to wherever she needs to go, but that's not exactly sustainable for a school year. I asked her what she's planning on doing, and she said that it probably didn't matter because if HB 87 was signed today, she probably wouldn't be staying in Georgia much longer anyway "because of the risk of being separated from my son." I told her that she needs to at least wait the 6 weeks it'll take for her glasses to arrive, but I'm not too confident in that decision...
A few minutes after this conversation, I talked to Mrs. S. and her 4-year-old son. I asked if the son goes to pre-school and she said no because in order to go to a state-funded program (paid for by the Georgia Lottery by the way), her son would need proof of residency. He is a U.S. citizen by birth, but she lives in a trailer that is owned by someone else and the bills are made out to that other person. This is an issue that many trailer park owners near my clinic are trying to crack down on, but I don't really know what they're going to do because most of the parks would be empty if they only allowed people with documentos buenos to stay. I emphasized to Mrs. S. the importance of children going to school, but the other problem is that buses won't pick up the kids and she doesn't have a car. She has a neighbor that will charge her $40 round-trip to wherever she needs to go, but that's not exactly sustainable for a school year. I asked her what she's planning on doing, and she said that it probably didn't matter because if HB 87 was signed today, she probably wouldn't be staying in Georgia much longer anyway "because of the risk of being separated from my son." I told her that she needs to at least wait the 6 weeks it'll take for her glasses to arrive, but I'm not too confident in that decision...
After spending 3 hours interpreting at the eye clinic, I drove to my regular clinic and listened to all 15 messages that had arrived between 5:30pm yesterday and 11am today. One was from the medical director of the local cancer center, so I obviously called him back first. There’s this woman, Mrs. Z. (I’m starting to run out of letters to use for these examples) who was diagnosed with breast cancer about 6 months ago out in the boondocks of Georgia. Mrs. Z.’s one aunt died of breast cancer, and her other aunt survived after a serious set of treatments. Mrs. Z. is 38 and has a 3-year-old, 6-year-old, and 9-year-old. She is undocumented, but all three children are U.S. citizens by birth. Anyway, she had a mammogram, breast ultrasound, breast biopsy, and right mastectomy at a little community hospital, with the last appointment being the beginning of March. She was then told that she would need several rounds of intense chemotherapy beginning sometime in the next three months, but that she’d have to find somewhere else for that to take place. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal and called “dumping”, but since she’s undocumented and speaks about 5 words of English, who was going to file a complaint? She has a parish priest trying to advocate for her, but his Spanish is far from perfect and he is a very busy man. Unfortunately, the cancer center here came to the difficult decision not to accept the case because the medical director feels like the other oncologist never should’ve started the treatment without being willing to follow-through with it. The medical director here is a very kind and generous man who has accepted every case I’ve given to him, but he said this was a much larger community issue for the county somewhere in the middle of Georgia. I just hate to think of Mrs. Z.’s life being sacrificed so that people could “learn a lesson” about how to treat cancer patients.
Amidst trying to clear off my desk today, scheduling a neurology appointment, multiple surgeries, and some specialized imaging orders, I got a call from a community member who talked at me for about 15 minutes about how his throat is closing up and how he’s living on Ensure because he hasn’t been able to swallow solid foods in several years. He went on and on about he paid taxes for 30 years and now he’s going to die because no one will help him. I obviously feel bad for this guy, but my patience was kind of low at this point in the afternoon after a long week. I suggested he call a general surgeon who will do a consult for $168. He said he didn’t have any money and that he’d just die waiting. I wish there was something else I could do, but there aren’t any surgeons who will do things for free around here. The guy probably needs his esophagus expanded, but he has other medical issues, and every procedure has risks. That’s not something my clinic can handle, and I’d be giving him false hope if I made him an appointment. Still, it sucks to feel like another person who’s just not helpful in a very cruel society.
I thought my job this year was "office coordinator"?
I thought my job this year was "office coordinator"?
Saturday, May 7, 2011
La cuenta hacia atrás
10 weeks from right now, I will be at home in Massachusetts, most likely getting ready to eat dinner.
I hate looking forward to the next chapter instead of living in the moment, but to be honest, the present is kind of boring. I don't have any updates about my work, and I still have the rest of May to get through before my incredible line-up of guests come to visit in June.
I guess it makes sense to feel ready for transition at this point; for the past four years of my life, the first weekend in May meant the end of school and the beginning of summer. Granted, it's been "summer" in Savannah since like February, but I think seeing the Facebook statuses of my friends getting ready for graduation and other adventures has me longing to also get going on my new journey. Besides, I signed a lease in Atlanta last week, so I feel like I have one foot out the door even though I still have so much time left here. And although I'm sure June and July are going to fly by, May just seems SO long.
I think the other part of my antsy-ness is that I just don't like living in Savannah. I feel very isolated here, and lately my feelings of not belonging have been exacerbated by the incredible conservatism that I've never witnessed before this year.
As an example, after Osama bin Laden was killed on Sunday, a sign on one of the main streets in Savannah was changed to say "Osama is no more. US military...score. We will never forget 9/11." Sure, Savannah is a military town and almost every sign here says something along the lines of "We love the military! Go USA!". But the way people were talking about the conclusion to this almost-ten-year-old mission made me want to throw up. It was if everyone was blind to the trillions of dollars spent and the thousands of innocent lives lost to capture one man. And it's not like that money was being used to further understand why people like members of al Qaeda hate the U.S. so much. The U.S. military doesn't focus on how to create better-educated and better-developed communities, even though every research article regarding development demonstrates the correlation between violent crimes and poverty/its counter-parts.
I realize that Savannah is not the only city in the U.S. that was blindly celebrating the death of bin Laden. In fact, most of the northeast was party central, claiming that it made up for those feelings of horror that I remember so clearly from September 11, 2001. Watching clips of celebrations in some of my favorite cities made my stomach churn, but it was at least good to see some well-written responses to those celebrations. Here in Georgia, I felt like I had no one to even converse with about the topic without being accused for the umpteenth time this year of being a communist hippie.
So, the countdown is on. I imagine I'll eventually get nostalgic about leaving MVC, but right now I'm just way too excited about going home and seeing my friends and family.
I hate looking forward to the next chapter instead of living in the moment, but to be honest, the present is kind of boring. I don't have any updates about my work, and I still have the rest of May to get through before my incredible line-up of guests come to visit in June.
I guess it makes sense to feel ready for transition at this point; for the past four years of my life, the first weekend in May meant the end of school and the beginning of summer. Granted, it's been "summer" in Savannah since like February, but I think seeing the Facebook statuses of my friends getting ready for graduation and other adventures has me longing to also get going on my new journey. Besides, I signed a lease in Atlanta last week, so I feel like I have one foot out the door even though I still have so much time left here. And although I'm sure June and July are going to fly by, May just seems SO long.
I think the other part of my antsy-ness is that I just don't like living in Savannah. I feel very isolated here, and lately my feelings of not belonging have been exacerbated by the incredible conservatism that I've never witnessed before this year.
As an example, after Osama bin Laden was killed on Sunday, a sign on one of the main streets in Savannah was changed to say "Osama is no more. US military...score. We will never forget 9/11." Sure, Savannah is a military town and almost every sign here says something along the lines of "We love the military! Go USA!". But the way people were talking about the conclusion to this almost-ten-year-old mission made me want to throw up. It was if everyone was blind to the trillions of dollars spent and the thousands of innocent lives lost to capture one man. And it's not like that money was being used to further understand why people like members of al Qaeda hate the U.S. so much. The U.S. military doesn't focus on how to create better-educated and better-developed communities, even though every research article regarding development demonstrates the correlation between violent crimes and poverty/its counter-parts.
I realize that Savannah is not the only city in the U.S. that was blindly celebrating the death of bin Laden. In fact, most of the northeast was party central, claiming that it made up for those feelings of horror that I remember so clearly from September 11, 2001. Watching clips of celebrations in some of my favorite cities made my stomach churn, but it was at least good to see some well-written responses to those celebrations. Here in Georgia, I felt like I had no one to even converse with about the topic without being accused for the umpteenth time this year of being a communist hippie.
So, the countdown is on. I imagine I'll eventually get nostalgic about leaving MVC, but right now I'm just way too excited about going home and seeing my friends and family.
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