Life is short, but sweet for certain

My "second semester" here in the land of Pura Vida is experiencing an unexpected break this weekend.  As I write this post, I sit in SJO waiting for my flight.  When I checked in, the attendant informed me that my flight was delayed and wouldn't arrive until about half an hour before the plane in Houston was set to take off.  She put me on an earlier (delayed) flight, which I will board about 45 minutes after I was supposed to depart.

Should I be freaking out?  Probably.  Am I?  No, and it isn't the first time I've experienced this today.  This afternoon, I set out for the airport having almost no idea where to catch the bus.  I've been there twice before, but both times I had been in a cab and couldn't remember where we went.  Today I went by bus, confident that my feet and some friendly strangers would get me there safely and on time (which, as you're starting to notice, may be more or less a relative term around here).

I'm calling this phenomenon "Pura Vida" syndrome, and while I've always been a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy this condition has augmented itself in me over the last few months.  It happens organically when everything's half an hour late and phone calls aren't returned for a day or two.  Is it problematic?  Of course, if you're focused on the future.

You see, it isn't that Costa Ricans are by nature tardy or lazy or anything else - corporately, they choose to focus on the present.  Anything that hasn't already happened is eligible to be moved to mañana, and whatever is happening now is more important than those plans along with whatever happened yesterday.

This contrast or conflict has never been starker than over the last few weeks.  I tell my neighbors my girlfriend of one year is coming, and only a few believe me because the idea of maintaining a remote yet romantic relationship seems impossible.  I show them our rapid-fire itinerary and they look at me like I'm insane.  I talk about the five year process which has finally come to fruition in my newly adopted sister, Kristina, and people shake their heads in disbelief.  How could we maintain ourselves for so long based on hope or expectation?

But here comes the tough part: I don't actually espouse "our way" as better.  In fact, I've learned a ton from a worldview like nothing I'd ever seen before, and it's profoundly changed my own.  Sure, a society oriented around enjoying the present may never solve world hunger or invent an iPod or build an atomic bomb, but maybe that's not a bad thing.  Aristotle defines the goal of human existence as something like "flourishing" - doing whatever it is you do well.  I would argue that the Bible defines it as "loving."  I think my own perspective involves both definitions, but also both worldviews.  To be human to the fullest is to plan, but it is also to enjoy.  It is to love, and to do so to the the best of our imperfect ability.  This involves working, playing, cooking, eating, praying, meditating, sleeping, and laughing in the fullest sense of every word, and doing so is certainly an impossibility.  How can we unreservedly enjoy a present on which our future vitality depends?  How can we find fulfillment in a future we know will ultimately be taken away by our own mortality?

Where does this leave us?  I'm not really sure, but I think that very confusion is a more accurate perception of what life is all about than the one I had when I started this post.  Here's what I do know: I'm excited about my future and thankful for my past, but so far as it is possible I am going to try and focus on the present.  Right now, that means making sure I get on this plane so I can meet my new little sister (right after the first class passengers).  See you stateside.

Todo Cambia

Sums it up nicely.

There's this stubborn stereotype that Lutherans just don't (or can't, or won't) change.  We like our coffee and our hymnals and our organs.  That isn't necessarily a bad thing: all three of those things are important common ground on which a whole lot of valuable relationships are founded.  That said, I'm not convinced it's true.  Not in the slightest.

I remember telling some of my "higher" music friends at Valpo about learning to use a microphone and play my guitar in front of my home church and the perplexed look I would sometime receive in return.  It was almost as if to say, "...but you care about Bach and music theory and vocal pedagogy - you can't possibly come from a contemporary church."

I was inspired this morning by my breakfast (yes, you read that correctly).  It consisted of three components; eggs, gallo pinto (that link won't work today - a whole separate issue - feel free to sign the petition), and coffee.  First, I lit the stove and put on a tea kettle to make my coffee.  I love listening to tea kettles - first the gassy simmer, then the bubbling, then the screaming whistle.  It's almost exactly like telling a little child a secret; it starts as a whisper, threatens to boil out of them, and finally bursts out loud enough for the whole world to hear.  Next, I heated up my refrigerated gallo pinto.  As you can imagine, it sort of clumps together in a big block in the refrigerator.  I put it in the microwave on 80% for 4 minutes (write that down if you ever plan on living in Costa Rica) and lit another burner for the eggs.  I cracked them onto the pan, watching them slowly change from a clear and yellow liquid to a white and yellow solid.

As I ladled the coffee grounds into the filter, I began to think about what was really happening in my now cacophonous kitchenette.  The solid I had put in the microwave was becoming more like a liquid.  The liquids I had emptied into the pan were becoming solid, at different rates.  One was changing in color, the other was not.  Perhaps most amazing, the liquid I had poured into the kettle was becoming a gas to signal me that the remaining liquid could be combined with a solid to form a deliciously energizing liquid.  I was providing them all the same basic energy (heat), but each substance was drastically changing its physical makeup based on its chemical blueprint.  Some were capable of returning to their former state (or very close to it).  Some were dramatically and irreversibly changed forever.

You see, change isn't a variable.  It's a constant.  It happens whenever a stimulus acts on an element, a substance, or even a human being.  What defines us is not whether we change, but how.

I think this is one of the things Costa Rican (or Nicaraguan) Lutherans may understand better than their North American counterparts.  I'm not saying they've got it all together or even that they're better off on the whole; any of you who've spoken with me about this subject know I have my reservations, but I remember vividly one of the first hymns or songs I learned here.  It simply translates, "Everything Changes."  Click here for a full translation.

I've been wrestling with this idea myself, especially since coming back on December 30th from an incredible few weeks in my home country.  I have to have changed.  It would be impossible not to, and I think trying to understand those changes is vastly superior to denying their existence.  I feel very much like the poet who penned this song: my loves have never wavered, but the fabric of my being (or at least its expression) must have.  The last few weeks have been a bit dramatic; a fallen soldier, a suicide among my high school graduating class, a (distant) young relative being diagnosed with lymphoma, a week of new friends and rewarding work, and the vacation of a lifetime.  It feels less like I'm on a roller coaster and more like I've gone through a washer/dryer combo.  I'm trying to understand the inevitable changes through my own pen, and I'm sorry for those of you getting caught in the crossfire.  It is my prayer that a disjointed rambling like this post will give you clarity or confusion: whichever will bring you closer to a greater awareness of yourself, your creator, and the world he put you into.

Uphill Slalom (In Review)

I can't really put into words just how incredible that trip really was, so I'm just going to give all of you a quick rundown of our itinerary and try to let the pictures do the talking.

Monday

Heather gets into town (sometime around 9, I think).  Gregorio drove me, so she gets her first chance to meet a Nicaraguan within about 30 seconds of leaving the airport.  We go home and try to catch some sleep.

Yes, she always looks this fantastic when she flies.

Tuesday

We catch the 6am bus to Sixaola, the border town with Panama.  It's a total sham at the crossing - tons of people pretending to help you and offering you "the best prices" on cab fares and making you pay fake tourist stamp fees.  They even make you buy a bus ticked back out of Panama in order to prove you intend to leave...pretty absurd, considering Heather already had a flight booked from San José the next week.  Add to that the old fruit bridge you have to cross, and it makes for an interesting if a bit nerve-racking experience.  Eventually, we made it to the coast via taxi, which was just flat out terrifying.  From there, we took a water taxi out to Bocas del Toro on Isla Colón, where we would be staying for the next few days.  We were hanging out at the hotel when Heather made a new friend (Mali), and we decided to have a simple little supper of bread, ham, cheese, a tomato, Ritz, and apples.

Those are actually candles (not beverages).

Wednesday

"Oh thank God...I'm not a guy."

This was our one year anniversary, and I think I'd say we made the most of it.  After breakfast at a little sea-side diner, we went over to Bastimentos island for a zipline (or canopy) tour.  It wasn't as long or high as some of the really big ones in central and Western Costa Rica, but it was really cool to zip through the rainforest and the ropes course was certainly a challenge.  Our guides were very funny and made the prospect of launching oneself off a 100 foot-tall platform much more comfortable than the harnesses (especially for the male participants...I'm wearing some kind of protection next time).

Heather, clinging to that safety strap for sweet life.

Worth it?  Yepsolutely.  Lawyered.

After that little adventure, we finished off our supper from the night before and decided to ride our free rental bikes up to Bluff Beach, which was supposed to be something like 8 or 9 kilometers up the shoreline.  At least an hour and some sandy bike tires later, we made it.  We hung out there for a few hours, then set out for the hostel.  Unfortunately, my bike couldn't quite handle a 200+ pound gringo determined to make it up a pretty large hill and the chain slipped off, lodging itself under the bolts that held the wheel to the frame.  I could still ride it downhill (without any brakes whatsoever), so we decided to ride it to a hotel/restaurant we'd seen on our way with what looked like an incredible view.

The view and rum punch were
equally breathtaking.

We'd brought $50 cash along and decided we'd treat ourselves to a nice supper, it being our one year and everything.  The food was incredible, especially the nachos I insisted we try.  They were very worth the $7 until the check came.  Between those, our two fajita entrées, and our rum punches, the bill came out to $49.18.  Perfect, right?  Except for the fact that we were still several miles and a dark beach away from the hostel.  We called a cab (all the cabs out there are crew cab pickups) and, after a little sweet talking, he agreed to take us to the hostel on good faith.

She wasn't quite this happy about the nachos.

Thursday

Yes, that rope is for a hammock.
Yes, I took a nap in it.

We decided to try and catch a private shuttle to Puerto Viejo instead of taking the same route we had used before in reverse, but we waited for the shuttle at the wrong office and consequentially missed it.  We just rolled with the punches and made our way back to Changuinola, the border, and eventually Puerto Viejo in decent time.  PV is a beautiful little Caribbean town complete with dive shops, a black beach, and plenty of Rastafarians.  I finally got Heather to try a pipa (which she loved) and we spent the day walking around town, laying on the beach, and trying to snorkel (the waves were pretty bad).  I'm sorry we didn't get a picture of the latter two - that black sand was really cool.  We went out for sushi and pasta at a place called Flip Flop which I'd definitely recommend to any potential visitors and then went out for a drink or two.  It would have been really fun with a bigger group, but I think it just kind of made us feel old.  We came back early and got ready for a big day.


Friday

I kept this day a surprise until just a day or two before Heather came down, but eventually I had to tell her because I'm not sure how to trick someone into bringing the right clothes for white water rafting.  We had an absolute blast with Exploradores Outdoors on the Pecuare river - I'd definitely recommend them.  They picked us up outside our hostel at 6:30 and drove us to base camp.  There, we had a few minutes to eat a delicious breakfast before heading up to the entry point.  In total, we rafted for about four hours with an hour lunch break in the middle - I couldn't take any pictures for obvious reasons.  Your free tip on this one: don't wear any shoes other than sandals, no matter how waterproof you think they are.  They may never dry out.

At base camp, wearing the clothes I should have worn on the raft.

After we had dried off (sort of), we hopped in a van and were driven to La Fortuna.  It was a pretty substantial drive, so we stopped at a nice little soda for supper before catching a cab up to Arenal Paraiso, an awesome hotel complex with its own hot springs and zipline (we only tried the former).  The joke about the whole thing was that we added an additional eight hours or so of travel time just so we could see the Arenal volcano, but it was raining when we got into town.  I woke up at around 6am the next morning and saw it, but Heather slept in until about 8:30.  By the time she looked, the clouds had moved back in - she never saw the thing!

Fortunately, she did like the hot springs.

Saturday

We ate breakfast at the hotel, then went into La Fortuna to catch the bus home.  This was probably the least fun 5.5 hours of our trip and one of very few things I regret about it.  The bus ride was obscenely long and twisty for the actual distance we traveled (approximately 75 miles if we hadn't made any other stops).  It took us approximately the same amount of time as the bus to Sixaola, which is about twice the distance.

Our seating was less than ideal, but that ice cream was good.

Eventually, we made it back to San José, where Heather and I learned/re-learned how to make homemade tortillas and arroz con leche (lit. rice with milk, kind of like sweet rice).  We ate with Gregorio's family and met a bunch of the kids in the neighborhood during their youth group time.  Afterward, we went out with a few of my friends from work for a few beers but called it a pretty early night.

Sunday

At Central Park.

We went to church, which starts at 10am.  By "went to church, which starts at 10am," I mean we walked by the church and sat around with Gregorio's family until people started arriving to set up the sanctuary at about 10:20.  Heather did really well with her Spanish, in and outside the church service.  I think everyone (especially the kids) really liked her.  After church, we went into San José to do a little sightseeing, souvenir shopping, and hot chocolate drinking, then we came back to pack and eat supper.  I made a simple little meal of rice, beans, salchichón, yuca, and salad.

Yum.

Monday

Luckily for me, Heather's flight got delayed for a few hours, which meant waking up at 7 rather than 4.  We went to the airport, had one last cup of Costa Rican cocoa, and she was off.  I can't believe that trip lasted a week - it felt like it went by in a blink.  We made some memories we will never forget and some we've already forgotten, but on the whole I can't think of a better way to celebrate a year together.  That happened coincidentally, it being the only time she could come down to Costa Rica with her academic schedule, but there was something ironically appropriate about her hopping on a plane to come see me in a city she had never known to commemorate the miracle that was the birth of our relationship.

It's back to the grind this week - while a vacation was very needed, I think it will feel good to get back in the swing of things.  I'm looking forward to seeing you all again in April or so, but I have plenty of work to do in the meantime.

¡Ciao!

Uphill Slalom

1/10, 6:00 am
Well, we're officially on the bus and on our way! Heather's worried about the weird little bugs she's been trying to kill potentially running up her legs, but other than that we can't complain. We should be in Limón for a quick break in a couple of hours.

1/11, 2:00 pm
We've been in Bocas del toro for almost 24 hours already - what a whirlwind. Yesterday, we went and bought groceries for a couple simple meals, picked up our bikes, and tried to catch up on as much sleep as possible. This morning, we went zip lining on Bastimentos island, which was quite the experience. I felt very safe the whole time (though I think Heather was a little iffy about the ropes course). The guides were knowledgable, helpful, and hilarious. 5 stars.

Anyway, we're about to have a quick snack/lunch and then head out for the beach. Today is our one year anniversary - I don't think either of us could have imagined being here today, and we'd like to thank all of you reading this who've made it possible.

Hasta luego,
Jake and Heather

Requiem

Date: Jan 7, 2012
Listening to:  Robert Buckley Farlee - Requiem

In Latin, the word simply means, "rest."  I can't think of a more applicable way to resume a blog I've left to smolder for over a month now, but unfortunately there's a more poignant meaning behind it right now.  My friend and fellow member of Chorale and VuVox at Valpo, Christopher Patterson, was serving as a Combat Engineer in the Indiana National Guard in Afghanistan when he was killed in action.  I don't know exactly when, where, or how, but the story broke yesterday and my prayers go out to his family, his ΦΜΑ brothers, and the rest of us who were touched by his voice and his heart.  I personally had the privelege to sing with him in Chorale and VuVox.  You will be sorely missed, but I look forward to singing with you again someday.

Colonial Museum

You see, it isn't that I haven't wanted to write or even that I haven't been doing so.  Rather, whenever I've tried, I've come up with a horribly pessimistic draft that I can't revise into civility.  My heart was aching for home when I wrote my last post.  I went home and loved the time I was able to spend with my family and friends.  I came back and couldn't help but wonder why I was doing so.  Even after 2.5 months, finding an apartment, finding a job I love, and helping at least one young man pass his English tests against many odds, I still felt like I was floundering, looking for something or someone to impact in the name of Christ, humanity, or at least productivity.  I spent New Years' Eve curled up in my bed because my stomach decided to react to all that negativity in ways I had forgot it knew how to do.

Ripe coffee beans

Last week, a group came from Sesquehanna University on their "Central America Service Adventure," which is themed around the Images of Christ in Central America.  Yesterday, they left for Nicaragua, but from Monday through Thursday I worked with them as a translator at Sola Fe and in Pavas.  It was some of the most fun I've had since I came here.  I worked with VBS, construction, and medical teams throughout the week, and it was pretty incredible to watch what 30 or so people could do where 1 person (namely, me) had been trying for so long.  It really humbled me - I realized that I'm not going to be able to have that kind of heavy impact because I'm just one man, and there's something very freeing in seeing the comparison.  If any of you (Sesquehanna students) are reading this, look me up on Facebook - I want to see those pictures!  In addition to working in the communities, I also got the chance to visit a few new places like the Biblical Latin American University, Our Lady of the Angels Basilica, a Columbian-era art museum, and a coffee plantation.

Colonial Church

I'm exponentially more excited about this "semester" than I was about the last three months because I'm finally going to get the chance to travel outside San Jose starting next week.  I can't wait.  I also get the chance to work with another group from Valpo for two weeks, and with that group I actually get to go to Nicaragua for about half the time.  Add in the fact that Heather (and hopefully my family) will be visiting me along the way, and March 29 is going to be here very, very quickly.

So, to come full circle, I apologize to any of you who had been reading this blog regularly for my little Christmas hiatus.  I hope to be updating it much more regularly over the next few months with many more details and photos, though it may come in big chunks after I travel.  On a more serious note, Chris's passing has made me think about my own family and friends quite a bit over the last few hours.  I'm so incredibly thankful for each and every one of you, and if you're one of the 99% of that group who I don't tell this to enough, I love you and I'm so glad to share this life with you.  ¡Hasta la vista!

Happy Revolution Day

After a little consultation with a friend, I decided this doesn't really sound all that negative (and I think it's pretty good :), so I'll post it.  Happy New Year!

-----

Date: December 31, 2011
Listening to: fireworks, absurdly bassy music, and the other noises around my apartment.

Tonight will be one of the toughest nights of my time in Costa Rica, I think.  I’ve never been that big of a New Year’s person, but I’ve never spent one without family and friends.  A year ago, I spent what will probably be the best one of my life staring into the eyes of this girl I barely knew who, God knows how or why, had agreed to fly to Nebraska and come to a wedding on under two weeks’ notice.  It was all so strange - how do you introduce a girl you aren’t dating to your family under those circumstances?  Needless to say, she fit right in no matter which house, church, bar, or reception hall I threw her into.  She was unflappable and seemed like she was actually enjoying herself.  I guess the rest is history.

I was listening to a recent “Stuff You Should Know” podcast on daylight saving time (no, there’s no “s”) when something perked up my ears.  Apparently, some of the major opponents to this shift were farmers who appealed that “God’s Time” shouldn’t be meddled with.  At first, that seemed to make sense to me, but then I started to think about it.  Time, at least as far as the daylight saving variety is concerned, was not invented by God but was certainly based on creation.  The rhythms of life are based on the sun, the seasons, and the obsessive human need to organize.  I suppose that makes sense; Genesis seems to indicate that we were made in the image of a being who organized the creation of everything into seven distinct days.

The difference I see between God’s time and Man’s time is not repetition, but rigidity.  I’m not going to go into long-day creation or anything like that here because I don’t need to.  What “clocks” does God (or nature, if you like) provide humanity?  I see two: rotation and revolution.  The day and the year seem quite regular to the observant human being.  The same goes for the phases of the moon and the tide of the oceans.  Throughout the history of the world these markers seem to have dictated almost every important activity within our control.  Every morning, the sun comes up, and every night it disappears again.  It gives our world order, the fourth human necessity, and makes a scary world feel slightly more predictable.  Yet even this obvious and consistent measure of time is flexible.  How terrified must our ancestors have been to notice the days were contracting and expanding before they realized the cycle would repeat itself?  “This will never do,” they said.  “We need something more regular.”

You see, we’ve never been all that good at accepting change or disorder, especially when it lies outside the control of our species or ourselves.  God knows that, which means he knew it before time came to be.  Why, then, did he tilt the earth’s axis and confound our internal clocks?  Why did he make planets that spin backwards?  Why can water be supercooled or superheated, and why on earth does the platypus lay eggs?  I believe the answer isn’t all that hard; I think he wants us to remember who we are.  We didn’t make the earth, the sun it spins around, the force which holds the two together, or the tilt we see as a flaw in the system, and therefore we don’t get to make the rules.  We are not the masters of this universe, and even as amazing as Apple makes our ingenuity look, we never will be.  Those things are the way they are to remind us of two things: one, that all our creative, observational, communicative, and other capacities are imperfect, and second, that they come from a perfect source.

So as this year, an imperfect measurement of a once perfect world, passes into its successor, take a moment to reflect on your place in its story.  Think of your years in the context of natural history.  Feel small.  Relieve yourself of the perception that you are in some way more significant than your neighbor, and then consider a simple fact: despite your smallness, your weakness, your faults, and your pains, the being and force behind the creation of everything - everything - loved you enough to come into a dusty world and die an excruciating death at the demands of people just like you out of the extreme desire to offer each of us salvation.  Christ isn’t just the reason for the Christmas season; he’s the reason for every season.  After all, they were his idea.

You Never Miss It 'Till It's Gone

12/6/2011
Listening to: Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 3 - Klavierconzert, Op.30

Well, the ICE finally shut off my internet account.  I’ve tried to pay them twice, but each time the agents have told me different numbers or information that I need in order to do it.  Here’s hoping I can figure it out tomorrow and post this sometime in the near future.  It’s strange; I think I’ve actually used the internet more here than at any prior point in my life.

Hi, Laura!

I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea recently, particularly over the last weekend.  By all accounts, the Valparaiso University Chorale gave a wonderful performance in their first Christmas concert since I left the ensemble.  Many of my friends were there and jealousy doesn’t begin to describe my emotion concerning my absence.  I think it’s more like heartbreak.  Even after deciding to essentially major in choral singing, I never valued those people or that music to the degree I do today while I was an active member.  I thought the emotional highs (and lows), the physical gratification (and exhaustion), and the spiritual edification (and quandary) I experienced were the result of great music writ large.  While that is certainly true to an extent, I never sufficiently valued the people with whom I worked and the degree to which they contributed to that experience.  It is pure, unadulterated synergy when the fervor of Berlioz, the profundity of Bach, the lyricism of Brahms, the grace of Parker, the clarity of Shaw, the intricacy of DFC, the love of a national hero (Ballou) set to music, or simply the shimmering beauty of a perfectly tuned open fifth (or minor second) is cooperatively realized by the minds, bodies, and souls of more than forty other individuals singularly devoted to that mutual objective.  Sharing the experience with your best friend(s) is a privilege beyond words.  It is a life I covet daily and a memory I hope I will never forget.

As I believe I mentioned in my last post, I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m doing here.  I don’t say that out of any kind of spite: I’m feeling lost but trying hard to enjoy the view.  I have spent more time thinking about theology, politics, and my true sense of self than I ever did in college, something I did not anticipate.  I feel like I’m spending less and less time at the church even though my hours are static because I am struggling to feel effective in that capacity, while I look forward to my three weekly classes as the highlights of my week.  I would have predicted the reverse.  Rather than engineering a six month personal mission, I feel like I’m along for a ride on someone else’s bike.  Pedaling isn’t doing me any good and I don’t feel like I have much control, but I nonetheless get the feeling that my destination is intentional.  I’m even ambivalent about coming home - on the one hand, I miss my family and friends more than I previously knew to be possible.  On the other, I don’t feel like I’m leaving a legacy worthy of the 2.5 months I’ve invested here.  All in all, I’m very excited about it, but it’s not without its hitches.  Confused yet?  Me too.

This picture actually from Madrid, but
it gives you a good idea.

Again, I’m sure that all sounds much more gloomy than I intend.  The weather is finally becoming sunny (yes, it’s turning into summer down here) and the town is dressed to the nines for Christmas.  Just this evening I walked through San José’s parque central and marveled at the work done by whoever had decorated that part of town.  It’s beautiful, though I certainly wish the light were bouncing off a fresh bed of snow at times.  Maybe even the internet going out on me is beautiful.  Maybe I’ll start running every morning or playing my guitar every afternoon as a result.  Maybe I’ll finally catch up on my Bible reading.  Maybe I’ll re-learn Lao Tzu so I can talk about the intersection of Christianity and Taoism with my boss.  Maybe.

One celebratory note: on Sunday, Job and his family gave a little farewell concert at another little Lutheran church nearby.  He is a Peruvian pastor who has been finishing up his studies at the Universidad Biblico Latinoamericano since April and he’s returning to Peru the same day I return to the USA (though he won’t be coming back in January).  While we’re sad to see him go, I’m excited to hear about his future exploits in his home country and Wendy, Katis, Prax, and myself were privileged to play Salmo 8, Clama a Mi, and several other songs with him and Gabriel another time on Sunday.  You can see videos by clicking on those titles.

--

Ok, now I'm sitting in an internet cafe in San Pedro.  Gregorio and I are going to the ICE tomorrow to try and fix my lack of internet - we'll see how that goes.  I'm feeling a bit better than yesterday, partially because I did take that early morning run a few hours ago.  Unfortunately, it hasn't been perfect; today was also the first day I've gotten fed up enough to kick out my entire English class over their lack of attention.  Anyway, I'm very excited to say I'll be coming home in 7 days.  If I'll see you then, see you soon!  If not, thanks for reading.