Thursday, 11 May 2017

Open Letter on My Senior Year

Lightness. Weightlessness. Freedom. I cling to these ideals as I sift through the years-old clutter of my senior year dorm room, vowing to throw away the accumulation of “things” I have collected over my last four years here at Harvard. I aim to shed myself of the old, packing into my suitcases only the necessities that I wish to accompany me on my journey into adulthood. What do I take with me?

A one-way plane ticket. In a spurt of faith in myself and my ability, I booked my trip to Washington, D.C., the city I have decided to make my home for the next however many years. Do I have a job? Nope. Do I have a place to stay? Negatory. Any family down there? Okay, can you stop asking questions, you’re starting to give me anxiety. I decided to forgo the easy route of heading home to Southern California, lounging in my childhood bedroom and waiting for my dream job to somehow materialize without my presence. Instead, I’m taking a risk—just like that risk of moving to Montana last summer with just my dog and a hell of a load of emotional baggage from a distressing semester abroad; just like when I went on that first Bumble date last semester that worked out well (and that second one that didn’t go too well); just like when I wore that dress, and those shoes, and that shirt which I wasn’t too sure I could pull off but flaunted anyway. That ticket is a symbol, of the risks I’ve taken and the ones I’m willing to take with this confidence in myself.

The dozens of notes and letters I’ve received this past year. Friends and family have written me everything from letters of adoration, to “good luck!” wishes on finals and papers I approached with ease, to appreciative “thank yous” for deeds I have fulfilled with the utmost affection for the receiver. They are taped haphazardly to the wall above my bed; I stare at the names fondly every day. Buried deep in the drawer under my desk are the letters from the man with whom I fell in love this year, the man who broke my heart. I bring those, too, because the doubts and the pain instigated by the end of a relationship do not detract from the happiness and the silliness and the appreciation and the joy that I felt during it. The memories are worth keeping, as are the words that meant so much to me in the moment. The writings of love, from friends, from family, from my past, come with me to remind me that I’m not alone nor am I forgotten.

A gently used Dunster House champagne flute. How apt that my final gift from the House that has become home is a vessel of celebration, a token of appreciation for accomplishment and good deeds. Dunster House has given me so much in the past three years: I met my best friends in the elevators of the Harvard Inn; I found in my senior year roommates soul sisters whom I love and appreciate beyond words (and with whom I’ll be travelling the world in a matter of weeks); I found a place in which I could go to the dining hall by myself and see at least half a dozen individuals at whom I could smile, with whom I could exchange pleasantries, with whom I could share a meal. I love Dunster. I love its courtyard, the swings in which I sit to enjoy the stars, the gym in which I pretend to workout but mostly just stare at myself in the full-length mirrors (I’m about to graduate, I can finally tell my secret!), the front office in which I pretend to run the House but actually just do homework and spy on the athletes walking in from morning practice (another secret gone to hell). This place has been home. And it is the people that inhabit it that make it so special. Every time I take a sip of champagne out of this flute, I will celebrate the friends and the memories made in this House.

A badass new haircut. I went for it, guys. I got a bob. My hair barely makes it into a ponytail now, and I can’t do that twisty bun I’m oh-so-fond of, but I snipped off my dead ends and my half-hearted attempt at butt-length hair to embrace a professional, mature, sleek-as-hell cut. I feel bold, and daring, and kinda sexy, too. I didn’t know if acquaintances would don that barely-covered grimace (“It looks great! And it’ll grow out so soon.”), or if boys would still think I was pretty, but I decided I just didn’t really care. And guess what—I freaking love it. I love my short hair, and I love the way it makes me feel and look. And so I guess along with those dry split ends and my childhood dream of a mermaid mane, I cut off my need for the approval of others. I don’t need to care about what other people think—I only need to care about what I think.

And most importantly—and most cheesily, of course—I bring with me from Harvard College and into the real world a love and an appreciation for myself. Seriously, though. For the first time that I can remember in my life, I like myself. I like that I pet every dog I pass in the street and ask for its name and breed. I like that I bust my ass in Soul Cycle and strip down to a sports bra when it gets too hot in the room. I like that I cry at history books, and Goethe poems, and my namesake (it’s a song called “Aubrey,” check it out), and basically everything that even slightly excites my emotions. I like that I love passionately, and deeply, and without fear of embarrassment. I like that I extend kindness to people who may not deserve it. And I like the fact that I just made it through four years at one of the most prestigious colleges in the world with only more respect for myself and for others along with excitement for the places, and people, and opportunities that I’ll encounter. I don’t know whether Harvard instigated or facilitated or even actively hindered this newfound self-love—but here I am, and here it is, and I have to give Harvard credit for being the place at which it flourished.


I zip up my suitcase. I take stock, and I revel in what has been the best four years of my life. I hope that I don’t miss too much the things I’ve decided to leave behind. And then, I move forth into the world, walking through Johnston Gate, smiling at my future.

Sunday, 8 May 2016

Home Sweet Home

Exactly a week ago, I sat restless on a speedy jet, heading for Johannesburg, in the fourth hour of what would be a 32-hour trek back up and across the world to get back to my favorite place on Earth—home.

Was my 32-hour odyssey all fun and games? OF COURSE NOT. There was the dressing disaster, in which South Africa’s TSA agents made me pour my tiny plastic container of balsamic all over my steak salad because, ya know, no liquids. There was the TV terror, reminiscent of the flight to South Africa, in which my TV and the TV of the fellow next to me (did I just use the word fellow…?) completely broke one hour in to our sixteen hour flight. It got fixed, but I was frightened for a good half hour. And finally, the crying calamity, in which I sobbed openly at the JetBlue check-in counter at JFK airport, changing my flight to three hours EARLIER in order to surprise my family.

Yes, I flew into LAX at 2 PM instead of Long Beach at 5 PM so that my grandmother could pick me up and shuttle me to my parents and sisters in order to shock and please them. While there weren’t any immediate tears (direct quote from Sierra: “what are you doing here?”), emotions began to flow a little later after the reality of my presence sunk in.

It’s been a week of dogs, family time, unbelievable food, and relaxation. The normalcy of being home makes me feel as though these past four months were a blurry, hard-to-grasp dream. Was I really in India? Did I actually see Iguassu? It seems absolutely unbelievable, and my ease in settling back in to my old routine sometimes eclipses the emotional, physical, mental journey I’ve undertaken.

But there are moments that remind me of my transformation and of my new world outlook and experience. My ability to have a frank and educated conversation about my best friend’s grandmother’s homeland (India), and the differences between Delhi, Mumbai, and Ahmedabad. My impassioned defenses of a black township a few miles outside of Cape Town, and my own observations of systemic racism in South Africa. My flashbacks to Sao Paulo, and the gorgeous sunsets and sunrises, as well as the stunning physical beauty of Brazil.

Adults and peers look at me differently; I’m a little more respected, and they’re a little more attentive. It’s exciting, as I love that I can speak about issues, circumstances, locales, and ideas that are important to me, and people will really listen. But it’s also stressful—do I actually even know that much? Am I a fraud? I find myself picking and choosing my battles, attempting to discern which statements I should defend, in which instances I should remain silent, because maybe I’m wrong. I need to work on engaging in conversations and accepting that I may have a long debate and either fail to convince my listener or fail to make my argument effectively—and that’s okay. It’s about learning and trying and, yeah, failing every once in a while. I’ll figure it out soon.

Honestly, though, I’m just enjoying being back with the people whom I love the most, in the place I love most. I am using every moment to appreciate the blessings that I have, especially those which I have recently realized are utter blessings (i.e. flushing toilet paper). I haven’t quite figured out yet how I’m going to utilize everything I’ve seen and heard and learned, but I know I won’t forget it. And I think (I hope) that it’s already made me a better daughter, friend, world citizen, individual. I think that I can say with confidence that I must be the luckiest person in the world.

But hey—that’s about enough for now. Depending on how exciting my summer is, I may be posting more about my adventures over the next few months in a rather surprising place: Montana! I’ll be interning with a judge in Billings for all of June and July, and I’m hoping to take a few road trips through the mountain states with my favorite companion--Socks, the sassy but sweet ten-year-old daschund-chihuahua mix.

Thank you so, so much for reading over the last four months, and thank you for laughing with (at) me, crying with me, and living my journey with me. I’ll be back soon!

With all of the love in my wanderlusting heart,

Aubrey Stoddard

Monday, 2 May 2016

Well, Hell.

(From April 30)

Well. What to even say about these past few days… As I wrote previously, I was expecting a relaxing bonding experience with my close friends on this program. Boy was I wrong.

I don’t want to go into details, partly to protect the privacy of those on my program, and partly because I don’t think I can handle reliving all of the events of the last sixty or so hours, but it was, to be blunt, the retreat from hell. The literal plague hit; there was fighting, there was debauchery, there was betrayal… It was an episode out of some apocalyptic horror drama movie. I thought it’d be rejuvenating, but I’m just more exhausted and homesick and ready to be away from the majority of these individuals than ever before.

On the bright side, I solidified the friendships that I knew were true and really found out who my dearest friends are. I have deep admiration for so many people on this program (not all, but many), and that’s a dear gift.

I leave tomorrow on a plane, heading back to the States and to home and to those whom I love most in the world. The WiFi at the hostel of course doesn’t work (duh), so I’ll be chatting with friends and sleeping all night with few distractions.

I can’t wait to be home.


Aubrey

Sinking In, Staying Afloat

(From April 27)

It’s really beginning to sink in. That I’m leaving. That this experience is ending. That I’m about to become an alumna of a program that has shaped, transformed, shocked, overwhelmed me. These past few days have provided ample free time to chill and giggle with friends, to process my past four months and to begin an attempt to understand what I’ve seen. So I’ll give you a little rundown.

Monday lacked any scheduled programming, as we were given the entire day to work on our final papers. I headed into Observatory, the nearby neighborhood, around 10 AM with three of my core five, and one of the others joined around 11. We procrastinated heavily for a few hours, laughing over brunch and savoring the delicious French toast along with the sweet company. I honestly fritted my time away on YouTube, and Facebook, and Twitter until, like, 3 PM, which I think I totally deserve, given my (forced) abstinence from social media sites during this WiFi drought. But more than anything, I enjoyed an entire free day with the people whom I adore. They’re funny, headstrong, humorous, compassionate, and loyal—these women are by far some of the best friends that I’ve ever had, and ever will have. I’m so lucky to have met them on this journey.

I finished my CA on Monday, but more importantly, I finished producing an unbelievable music video of my safari to the song “Africa” by Toto. I literally watch it five times a day, it’s beautiful.

Tuesday was technically my last day of spring semester. We turned in our final assignment at 9 AM and academically became seniors in college. WOW. How emotional to finish my second to last year of college in a foreign country, away from my university and school friends and normal environment. It was, funnily enough, one of the most meaningful moments that I shared with my peers on IHP. That made me happy.

What did not make me happy was the next four hours of class following the turning in of this final assignment. I’m totally not used to just sitting around in a classroom (or sitting around in general) following the finale of my academics. I’m usually on a flight within five hours of my last final or paper. Last semester, I was on a plane five days before my last take-home final!!! So, I was extremely restless in the classroom, wistfully contemplating the fact that it’s technically my summer and I’m still adhering to pretty rigorous programming. But finally, class sessions had finished, and I shared a congratulatory lunch with good friends. (See above for descriptions of such friends).

Dorothy, Cait, and I headed into the City Center a few hours later to shop for books (wahoo!!!) at the Book Lounge. We had an incredibly intriguing experience. First of all, we walked through the entrance to discover that an author was present, about to give a talk on her book. The first floor was absolutely packed with people, so we retreated to the basement for some space to search for novels. We found below free appetizers and wine. Now that’s my kind of book store. As I hovered by the hors d’oeuvres, distracted from literature by cream cheese and strawberries (separately), the introductory speaker began the talk, which we could hear over the intercom. Only a few seconds in, what sounded like a heckler began chirping in the background. Cait and I glanced at each other quizzically. Surely there was not a heckler at a book signing.

But indeed there was. Oh, there was. The introductory talker kept chuckling awkwardly as the heckler denounced, yes DENOUNCED (his word, not mine), the speaker. The speaker explained, nervously laughing, that this man was a “stalker” whom he’d convicted in court presiding as judge. Caitlin hurried up the stairs to catch sight of the confrontation, I stuck by the food table, taking advantage of the distraction to grab a handful of crackers and spread.

The man was eventually escorted out by security, and with the excitement dying down, the three of us checked out and made our way out of the Book Lounge. We headed to Long Street, the main road in town, for quick celebration of the end of the semester, then called an Uber to go home.

We ended up having an extremely frustrating and rather saddening experience. Now, we have been taking Uber incessantly over the past two and a half weeks, and drivers never fail to be surprised that they are picking up random white girls from Langa. Langa, yes, is historically black—indeed, was created specifically for the segregation of blacks from the whites in the City Center—so surprise isn’t that, well, surprising. However, last night, a driver refused—yes, refused—to take us back to Langa, because it was, in his opinion, “unsafe.”

Um okay what? I was angry for multiple reasons. First of all, how insulting to the individuals that live there (less even to the three of us customers) to refuse service simply because of a stereotype of a place you’ve probably never been. Second of all, helloooo, we are three twenty-something girls going to the place that we live. We’ve been residing there for weeks, and nothing has happened. And now you, a middle-aged man, are too nervous to drive in and out of a residential neighborhood on a Tuesday because of safety? Give me a break. FINALLY—what place is not unsafe??? As a woman, or as a man, when are you ever able to completely let down your guard and just live with abandon? Show me one city in the world (besides Singapore, apparently, which hasn’t had a murder in two decades) that is “safe.” Refuse to drive me to Boston, refuse to drive me to LA or Manhattan or Tel Aviv, because those are all “unsafe.” Pathetic. Lose me business, and enjoy your one-star rating. Rant over.

I woke up multiple times throughout the night, because I was simply so excited for the dawn of a day closer to the day I go home. But first—retreat.

My entire program, professors, students, and faculty, are on an apple orchard/vineyard about an hour out of Cape Town. For miles all around is only gorgeous rolling hills and farmland. We moved into our dorms (replete with eleven beds per room) and settled in for three days of decompressing, synthesis, and preparation for reentry into our home countries after four months abroad.

Wow. Tall order.

Today actually was really great, though. I read my book, napped, went on a jog for the first time in months, ate food, watched movies, and chatted with dear friends. But as I relax, I begin to feel melancholy and anxiety and loneliness set in. It’s kind of like I’ve only been able to store the past four months in my short-term memory; I’ve been living day to day, attempting to just stay afloat. Now, I have the time to actually breathe and think and reflect, and I’m beginning to put all of these memories into the hard drive of my brain (sorry, mixing metaphors here). And, as I do so, I’m forced to confront the discomfort of my failures over the past four months, as well as the dejection of leaving behind all of the wonderful things I’ve encountered and done. I’m quite tired, and I’m unable to lay out details about those two categories, but I definitely feel quite lonely in thinking about how I’m going to deal with all of the upcoming emotions and stages of memory/regret/sadness/etc. in the coming weeks and months. Hopefully, though, I can shed some of this instinctual introversion over the next few days in order to live fully in the moment and appreciate those around me.

But now… It’s time for sleep.

All my love,

Aubrey

Monday, 25 April 2016

Trams, Turtles, and Tapping Out

(From April 24)

And just like that—your favorite blogger is twenty years old!! I’ve entered what could be one of the craziest, most exciting, most transformative decades of my life, but I’ll tell ya, it’s got a lot to live up to!

This weekend was hilarious and fun and exactly what I wanted. Yesterday was the day of my birthday celebration, and five friends and I ventured inland to Franschhoek (or French Corner in Afrikaans) wine country. Sally, Jenn, Caitlin, Dorothy, Izzy, and I booked tickets for a hop-on, hop-off wine tram through multiple vineyards tucked away in the mountains. We hopped in an Uber around 9:30 AM, donned with birthday hats and blowy-whistle things, courtesy of SalGal. Our tram left the station at 10:45 AM, and we arrived just a few minutes too late—we watched it pull away with our six empty seats. We rushed to the ticket stand, waiting for a worker to aid us, but they were honesty giving a ton of sass for being less than five minutes late for departure. In my personal opinion, they were way too uptight, considering their business depends on people who are willing to start drinking at 11 in the morning, but whatever. It ended up working out, and we hopped on an “overflow” tram to our first vineyard, Rickety Bridge. We enjoyed four wine tastings for only ten rand a person—that comes out to about sixty cents in US currency. Yes—sixty cents. We were off to a fabulous start.

We then hopped back on the tram with some extremely obnoxious, very offensive Cape Townians, but we ignored them as we enjoyed the flawless weather and sunshiney day. Remember, it’s the middle of fall here, so there’s a slight chill in the air as winter begins to creep up on the country. Since autumn is actually my favorite season, it was really nice to have my birthday be a fall birthday for once!

Our next stop was Chamonix, a stunning vineyard with a roaring fireplace and trees growing through the building. We enjoyed a delectable, five-star lunch with three bottles of wine between us and some complementary dessert for the birthday girl.

From there… things start to get a bit fuzzy. We engaged in another wine tasting, accompanied by a group of Cape Townians that included another 4/24 birthday person. We celebrated together, and they bought me a shot, and it was fine and dandy until drama began. I, of course, acquire rose-colored glasses after a few glasses of rosè, if you get what I mean, so I was completely unaware of the brewing disaster.

We stumbled back to the wine tram and boarded for our next vineyard, Dieu Donnes (or something). My group of six began to lose our composure, as one girl developed an allergic reaction and began sneezing on other individuals, another attempted to begin a conversation on touchy subjects with a man at our table, and two others raced down the vineyard rows with one toppling over after only a few steps. We were beginning our descent into madness.

We braved the scorn and stares and anger and began our trip to the final vineyard. Unbeknownst to me, one of the members of our group had a little incident upon which I shall not elaborate but which did lead to some yelling and the threat of being kicked off. Meanwhile, I snapchat videoed myself and Jenn dancing to music, completely unaware of any issues. By the time we arrived at Maison vineyard, our group had decisively been kicked off of the wine tour… But I still did not realize there was an issue, and I waltzed into the vineyard for my complimentary glass of wine. It wasn’t until 15 minutes later, when Dorothy came to retrieve me that the issue of expulsion dawned on me. I quickly chugged my final glass and skipped out to meet my friends.

Anyway, suffice it to say, we all got home safely and soundly, with scarcely a stain that a quick wash won’t take care of. I woke up this morning to some hilarious videos and photos that sent our group into peals of laughter.

I celebrated today (my real birthday!) with brunch, accompanied by four of yesterday’s companions. We experienced profoundly awful service and decisively adequate food, but the company was superb. Dorothy and I then rushed home to pick up our host sister, Liyema, to take her to the aquarium. Though she’d seemed excited the entire week, she lost all enthusiasm as soon as she entered the Uber. She spoke maybe five words over the next three hours, and Dorothy and I were pretty bummed that she didn’t show any enthusiasm at all whatsoever. So, that wasn’t too great, but hey—I still loved the aquarium, even though I’m 20 now!

Upon arriving back home, Dorothy and I both passed out completely and enjoyed a nap that was hours long. I also got to speak with my mom and dad on the phone, which was absolutely lovely and the best birthday present I received! Our entire program then attended a ceremony dinner to celebrate our homestay families from both Bo’kaap and Langa. It was slightly awkward, considering I’m 95% convinced my Bo’kaap homestay mother does not like me (she insulted/teased me, then didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night), but I love my Bo’kaap Papa and it was nice to hang out with friends. I didn’t particularly enjoy having Indian food for my birthday dinner, but I think that Thursday’s world-class, five-course meal and yesterday’s delicious lunch are my “real” birthday meals. I’m now home, hanging out and considering the craziness that I’ll be home, in my own bed, in eight short days.

Wow. I feel like I’ve been gone forever, and I can’t even begin to imagine what has changed since I’ve been home. I can’t wait to see my family’s faces and give them giant hugs and kiss my puppies. I think I’ll check out now, post a birthday Instagram, read my book, and think about how mature I am now that I’m 20 years old.

Cheers,

Aubrey

Mid-week Musings, Moscow Mules, and Matzah

(From April 22)

Wow—three entire days without a blog post! I have so much to catch you up on, but I’m also exhausted. So, this post may be more the bare facts with less elaboration than usual.

WEDNESDAY: A day I’d really been looking forward to. Our entire day of classes and site visits would revolve around public art, which had been one of my favorite units in Sao Paulo. I jumped out of bed, excited for the lecture and eventual drive to Woodstock, an adorable hippie/bourgeois area right outside the city center (and also site of the Old Biscuit Mill!). Unfortunately, the lecturer was less than stellar; she was one of those people that seemed to make edgy statements meant to make her seem intellectual that instead left me questioning her ability to actually engage in a sensible thought process. For example, she told us that “human beings are not always rational. Sometimes, they act in accordance to their wants and needs.” Such a comment leaves me wondering what exactly she thinks “rational” means if not acting to further one’s wants and needs.

But okay. Whatever. I can handle a screwy lecture (I’ve had enough of them on this trip to have cultivated a resistance, that’s for sure), and I was still looking forward to our walking tour on the art of Woodstock. We started with a highly intriguing discussion with a business owner in the area. He is about 180 degrees opposite from our normal speakers on IHP; he was pro-business, pro-capitalism, and pro-“pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” While I think I would have been absolutely wooed by his argument pre-IHP, I found myself mustering up criticism and remaining as critical of him as I have been of our past speakers. It’s incredible to me that I’ve gained this new honed ability to critically analyze everything I see, and hear, and experience, but it scares me a lot. I’m going home to my favorite place in the entire world in nine short days, and I’m terrified that my new way of seeing the world will leave me unsatisfied with home. But maybe such dissatisfaction will give me the passion and drive necessary to fix and change and improve the places around me. I don’t know—I’m conflicted, and anxious, and there are many too many thoughts whirling in my head.

Back to Woodstock.

Our walk about was okay, and I enjoyed seeing some of the art, but I wasn’t nearly as inspired as I had been in Sao Mateus, Brazil. We ended the afternoon at a Mexican restaurant with stale chips and sour guac, and all I wanted was to be back at Antonio’s in Anaheim, California. We began to wander the cafes of Woodstock on the hunt for functioning WiFi, and we were consistently left disappointed. I seriously could not connect to enough WiFi to upload my blog, and I attempted for about an hour and a half. I was left disgusted with my inability to connect to the world and to home—I still don’t understand how businesses and a country can function when they cannot even reliably contact and interface with one another and within itself.

I got back home so frustrated that I begged my mother to call me for just a few minutes on the (very expensive) international minutes package. “A few minutes” turned into a half hour, but I asked her to consider it an early birthday present to me. I got to talk to my entire fam, which was absolutely lovely and restored a bit of my sanity.

I finished my paper draft over the course of about an hour and a half, and I felt way less stressed after completing my final assignment of the semester. Woah.

THURSDAY: An extremely long day with the sweetest of endings. The entire class period of about eight hours was spent listening to eight-minute presentations by every single member of the class on his or her paper topic. While I opted to speak for very little time and keep it vague, as I didn’t want anybody to give feedback that would force me to actually change or edit my paper, others spoke overtime, and our day dragged on a bit. By the time I actually got back home, it was 4:30 PM, and I only had an hour to nap before what would turn out to be one of the coolest experiences of my life.

Sally, Geneva, Nina, and I booked reservations for this incredible underground restaurant called Spasie. Every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, about twenty people sit for a fixed-course menu by an up-and-coming South African chef. These chefs rotate every single week, so you’re never actually sure of who is going to cook your food and what you’ll eat. We were excited for the adventure, but we never could have guessed just how delectable this would be!

We got lost in our attempts to find the restaurant, until our Uber driver called out to a random security guard in the street, who directed us to an unbelievably indescript building with only an [S] symbol to indicate that it was Spasie. We were ushered down a dim hallway lit only by very romantic and mystical candles until entering into a stunning warehouse-turned restaurant with wood paneling, whimsical decorations, and more candles lighting the room. We sat down at our seats and read the amazing five-course menu with wine pairings. We enjoyed a smoked salmon appetizer, a roasted butternut and basil pesto soup, fish, roasted lamb, and brownie dessert with coffee ice cream—as well as five glasses of wine each, half a Moscow Mule, and a surprise Tequila Sunrise (brought out after a lovely rendition of Happy Birthday arranged by Sally and Geneva). I was literally scraping my plate after every single dish, and the wine loosened our tongues and inspired peals of laughter and increasingly chancy dares. At one point, we changed the music from Michael Buble to Rihanna’s “Work” and were immediately chastised by our waiters when we began to dance to the displeasure of many. The dancing was the displeasure, not the chastisement, for clarification. Over all, though, this was the best culinary experience of my entire life. And it cost only… Drumroll, please… SIXTY US DOLLARS. Unbelievable!!!

The wine and cocktails hit me hard though, and I distinctly remember lying in bed after getting home and being in awe at the ability of the window to spin with such velocity.

FRIDAY: I woke up this morning still slightly under the influence, but it faded quickly as I walked outside into the chilly air. It’s the ideal weather to cuddle at home under some blankets, and I was quite tempted to stay in my warm little enclave, but today was the day of the last lecture with one of my favorite leaders on our program, so I dragged myself out of bed. Kate, our lecturer today, gave an outstanding talk on Health in South Africa, which I found important in understanding not only this country but also my own. Wow, this program rocks sometimes.

We had a super short day today, and we finished with class by 11 AM. After a quick drop of my belongings and a bath (and one short episode of Sex in the City with SalGal), I headed into Observatory (a nearby WiFi-enabled neighborhood) with Sally and Geneva. We enjoyed connectivity for a few hours before heading back to Langa.

I dropped into bed for a twenty-minute nap before heading over to Alyssa’s house for a Passover meal. I felt myself slipping into the comfort of Israeli Shabbat, and the traditions and Hebrew songs made me yearn for the Morris household. They truly became my family!!! And I like to consider myself an honorary Jew at times. Maddy, one of the awesome people on my program and a fellow blogger, said something really touching at our dinner: this is her favorite holiday, she remarked, and though it’s hard to be away from home on this day, she feels as though we’ve become like family, and she truly appreciated our presence.

OKAY MADDY, I’M NOT CRYING OR ANYTHING.

It was really sweet, though, and it made me realize that these people really are like family. They drive me crazy, they make me roll my eyes, we disagree often—but they’re loyal, and funny, and adventurous; they make me smile and laugh and think; they dry my tears and validate my concerns and ideas; they are home in a far-away country. I will really miss these people…. But maybe only after a few months away from them!

I spent a few hours at Michael and Takudzwa’s house after the dinner, catching up on gossip and discussing this week’s lectures before I headed home. Dorothy and I had some good bonding—I can talk to her about anything!—and I’m about to catch some z’s before my birthday weekend!!! Wee!!!

Getting close to the end… Wow.

Love,

Aubrey

Thursday, 21 April 2016

The Beginning of the Lasts

(From April 19)

Just like that I finish my last Monday and Tuesday as a teenager—WOW. This week will be chockfull of silly statements like that—last dinner, last chocolate bar, last shower, etc. Can you believe I’ll be 20 on Sunday? I surely can’t.

This is a week of “lasts” beyond that of the sunset of my childhood. It’s also our last week of classes, our last week of assignments, our last week of the real program… But that doesn’t mean they’re going easy on us. Indeed, it means pretty much the opposite.

Yesterday, we began a little after 8:30 AM and turned in our final Culture and Societies paper. I wrote a paper that could be seen as slightly controversial, considering it didn’t directly align with the Marxist agenda of my professor, but I can’t get myself to write such a paper even for a grade. Gotta stick by my ideals at least a bit, right? We enjoyed two lectures on Water and on the Environment, which fascinated me.

That’s been one really fabulous thing about these guest lectures through IHP—I’ve discovered numerous areas of study that I am engrossed by and which I may have never caught a glimpse of otherwise. Environmental conservation and studies, Latin American politics and history, African history… I’m so glad I have a final year at Harvard to explore all of these topics!

Our day wasn’t over after three full hours of lectures, though; after a long lunch in a WiFi-enabled town about fifteen minutes away, we returned for a three-hour lecture from some University of Cape Town graduate students. I felt completely ill about an hour and a half in and had to plead out of the final part of the discussion. I walked back home in a bit of a daze and collapsed into bed for two full hours. Luckily, after a filling and delectable dinner (per usual in this household), I felt much better.

I later skipped over to Sally’s house to hang out with her, Geneva, and their host brother, Neba. That kid is seriously hilarious. He is so mischievous—he’d throw a pillow at me or Sally and then pretend the other had thrown it, just trying to “rile” us up. He even hit me with a pillow right as I was walking out his door. But he’s also so sweet—after hearing that Sally hadn’t had the chance to watch the latest episode of her favorite soap opera, Neba rushed to put on the recording of the show for her pleasure. So cute!! Dorothy and I have also been getting along really well with our host sister, Liyema. Though she was extremely shy and quiet for the first week—I think I heard her speak a max of three words before Friday—she’s totally come out of her shell and now makes funny voices and tries to teach us Xhosa and is an all-around character. Dorothy and I can’t wait to take her to the aquarium on Sunday!

Though I’ve been venturing out of the house a bit to both the boys’ house (three of the five guys on our program) and to Sally’s house, I can never stay long. The houses are literally next door and across the street from mine, but my host mom comes to fetch me from their homes at 8:30 PM without fail. One night, I needed to drop off a converter at Michael, Takudza, and Alex’s home (the boys obv), and when I asked if it was okay for me to walk over (literally five seconds tops) she looked at me, horrified, and asked “do you feel safe???” I was completely taken aback and responded, “I don’t know—should I not??!” She ordered my nine-year-old host sister to accompany me for my own safety! Apparently, a girl on last semester’s program got mugged right in front of Sally and Geneva’s house—crazy. So, although it can be sad to say goodbye to my friends so early in the evening, it’s kind of funny and comforting to feel like a little kid again and to be so constantly watched out for by a mother figure.

Today was an interesting and cool but exhausting day. We started with a lecture on Labor this morning, followed by a three hour site visit to a clothing manufacturing factory just down the road. Being in this factory surprisingly felt a lot like home—the sound of sewing machines, the sights of cutting fabric—it was my mom’s sewing room! I knew quite a bit about the process of sewing and designing, which was rewarding.

Later, we had a big class discussion about labor—which, with the socialist/communist bend of the class and Michael’s extremely outspoken, positive views of free-market capitalism made for an *invigorating* debate. I hate confrontation of basically all types and prefer to absorb others’ comments and digest/grapple with them on my own time. That’s probably a terrible habit, as I should be more willing to debate others, but I don’t think it’s worth it with this group. The constant back-and-forth was honestly exhausting, and I dragged myself out of the room an hour and a half later planning on a nap. Instead, I ended up hanging out with Michael and Takudzwa for two hours until being joined by Sally for another full hour. I’ve realized with a start and with a great deal of sadness that saying hello to home and to the States and to sanity means saying goodbye some of my closest friends. I therefore aim to spend the next week and a half taking full advantage of their presence and relishing their humor, intellect, and adventurousness before we part ways.

I got home before dark (therefore, I wasn’t escorted) and I enjoyed my favorite soap opera and an awesome dinner before crawling into bed to write both this blog and my Open Letter for my Junior Year. It’s part three in my ongoing series that I obv won’t finish until next year. Get ready for another blog post all about me! (Surprise, surprise.)

Checking out now, though, for a full night’s sleep. Sweet dreams, dear friends!

Love,

Aubs