How Low Can You Go?!

It didn’t even begin to sink in until the morning after.

“Did that really happen?” I thought…

….street lights flashing down a desert highway kept flashing through my memory…

 “...no…” I kept saying in denial.

“…so I have a question…” sigh “…I’m just gonna ask…”

I kept replaying the scene in my mind; I kept trying to wrap my head around it; and I couldn’t 

“…ummmm…have you ever…”

I couldn’t escape it; I couldn’t shake it!

“…ummm, do you want to…”

“How could he?!” I thought.

“…the offer still stands if ya wanna…”

“I thought he was my friend!!!” I screamed in my mind.

Later that night I stood in the kitchen making small talk with my roommate before unpacking the scene from the previous night with her. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and it was the first time I was saying it out loud. As I unfolded the scenario to her, the look of disgust on her face confirmed my instincts and feelings.

“Barbs, NO!  Are you serious?! What did you do?!”

“I mean, I was so thrown off; it caught me off guard! I was tired from the day; and he’s my friend; I just kinda laughed it off and changed the subject; I wasn’t expecting him to ask me that kind of favor. Part of me wants to legitimately punch him; like uh! I literally confided to him about my breakup from just two weeks ago and he asked me to do what? TWICE?! And Kelli, the other part of me wants to hug him and ask him what is going on that he would think that’s okay behavior to ask of me! I’m so torn Kelli!  What do I do?!  Do I address it with him? Do I let it slide; and if it comes up again, then do I say something?”

“I don’t know Barbs. It’s tough, because you two share some common friends. This is going to complicate things; it’s a tough position you’re in. I don’t envy you at all right now.” 
At that point my feelings and thoughts were confirmed: what happened in that car ride wasn’t okay. The dilemma I faced was: what do I do about it? At the very least, I knew I needed more perspective and advice - and advice from friends that don't have ties to him. I needed objective perspective. 

Days later I rehashed the situation over the phone with my adopted big brother, Jason. His male perspective aligned consistent with my roommate.

“Nah, B; that’s pretty low level shit! He’s an asshole! It would have been less fucked up if he had suggested something that offered you BOTH some benefit – I mean, it still would’ve been low considering you’re fresh from a breakup! But at the very least there would have been a sliver of a redeeming factor – something! Make no mistake, it still would’ve been low level douche baggery - but this…nah! He literally would have been the only one getting any kind of satisfaction! And in a time where you’re vulnerable – that’s pretty deplorable! I know it’s tough because you two have been friends for a while and share a core group of friends, but no! What I might do is keep your distance from him.”

“Yea Jason, but I’m a forgiving person, maybe if I just talk to him, mayb….”

“No Barbs, no! Yes you’re a forgiving person, but he’s not even coming to you and asking for your for forgiveness! Don’t go chasing him to give him your forgiveness!” 
And that line hit me: “Don’t go chasing him to give him your forgiveness.” He hadn’t acknowledged how out of line he was. The situation was sinking in further.

On yet another night I found myself in the apartment of my married friends, who will remain nameless. “Hey _____ can I tell you something?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

And as I echoed the scene from that late night drive that I couldn’t shake, her face told me how appalled and livid she was with this guy.

“Barbara! Are you serious?! He asked you to do what?! Twice?!  WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That is so...no...I can’t! You need to cut him out!”

As I talked it out and sifted through the situation, and a bit of bias due to friendship, her husband chimed in from his computer.

“Barbs, do not, under any circumstance try to ‘talk to him’ about it. Don’t be that woman who thinks you can change a man by rationally talking to him! He needs to be punished; guys learn through punishment.  So here are your options. Option one: ya physically beat him! Option two: humiliate him and publicly call him out on it! And option three: leave, just walk away, and don’t look back.”

“But, I care about him, he’s my friend, what if there’s something deeper going on?”

“Barbs, if you really care about him, you’ll leave. Because, if you stick around, he’ll simply look at you as an option, a toy, and it’ll happen again.  You’ll be enabling him. What if my daughter came to you with this situation, what would you tell her to do?”

As I thought of his daughter - my goddaughter - it really started to sink in. I had my clarity as I said with a sigh, “I’d tell her to leave.”

As the severity of what happened that night in March hit me even heavier after talking to my married friends, I realized: this is going to change everything! And three and half years of friendship with this guy was weighing on my chest, as it was all about to come to an end. 

Now, at the risk of exposing myself, please let me be completely transparent – there is an important piece to this situation. And if I am to write with integrity, honesty is important. I’m not that innocent. Growing up in a fairly sheltered and conservative Catholic household; retaining my innocence was something my parents emphasized - as well as my church community. And while I’ve been able to retain most of it as a 31 year old woman, I have fallen short; I have walked the line; and I have crossed and re-crossed that line multiple times. It’s not something I'm necessarily proud of, yet it’s something I also don’t regret. It’s a part of my life I have struggled with; evaluated; and reevaluated. I’ve had in depth conversations with friends, family members, and even a priest and my former spiritual director - who's a nun – about this line I’ve crossed. During this time of exploration (for lack of better words) this former friend made a move on me, and we crossed into the realm of past “just friends.” Now while we didn’t work out romantically it was through the mediation of a mutual friend that we were able to “smooth things over,” or so I thought! Nevertheless that was a decent time ago; it wasn't one-sided; and I wasn’t fresh from a breakup either.

Regardless of our “history,” the demeaning request he asked of me was just that: demeaning, degrading, disrespectful and unacceptable. Two weeks after a breakup, with the combined fact that I had confided with him that morning the circumstances of the breakup: add a layer of insensitivity and disregard! The fact that his request would benefit him only: toss in a layer of selfishness! And while some might tell me: “well, I can see where you’re coming from, but that’s kind of normal in today's’ society.” You know what else is “normal?” Shootings, racism, corruption and lack of manners - but like these examples, it doesn’t make the behavior any more permissible; it doesn't make it right; or least of all – okay!  Bottom line: no woman deserves to be preyed on with such degrading requests; particularly when she’s vulnerable; least of all from a “friend.” Bottom BOTTOM line: it’s disrespectful!   

It’s true what they say: when it rains it pours. And my storm certainly was clouding my judgement. Perhaps it was the three and a half years of friendship that was clouding my judgement; or maybe it’s the fact that we do in fact have history; possibly it’s the fact we share a handful of common friends (which exponentially complicated the situation); I don’t know if it was the fact I was fresh from a breakup and simultaneously dealing with those emotions; or the stressful push of preparing for a 4 hour exam for my master’s program; or the hectic grind of day to day teaching and grad school midterms; or a car accident I faced; maybe it was an argument I had with my mom and the frustration I felt from that; as all this was happening all at once I was sufficiently overwhelmed! My cup runneth over! Yet after talking to Kelli, Jason and my married friends, I had the clarity I needed as everything was confirmed as they each helped me to realize what I already knew and felt to be true.  

Despite the clarity, advice and counsel they happily gave me, the severity of that car ride truly did not hit me till about a month after the fact. One afternoon, as I’m running errands on a Saturday, driving down the 57 freeway with the Angels Stadium to my right as I’m exiting, a common phrase that’s used as an insult pops in my head out of nowhere, and my mind goes right back to that late night car ride with him in the driver’s seat as he asked a favor of me, not once, but twice. And the connotation of the common insult rushes to my mind! It hit me: I was resorted to an insult – a vile, vile insult! Like a ton of bricks, rage takes over and I erupt in a fit of whaling and sobbing tears! The slow dripping bucket of severity finally tipped over and drenched my consciousness! And the rage of tears continued for several minutes in my car! Amidst the slow tedious process of wrestling with the severity of the situation certain hard and painful realizations occurred to me.

...The sight of his name popping up on my phone from a group chat caused my blood pressure to increase tenfold. I can’t stay in the chat. I had to remove myself from the chat.

...This is going to make the others in the group question me – what do I tell them?

...After leaving this group chat, how will this affect my friendship with the others in the group?

...Will my friendship with the others be able to stay resilient?

...Do I even disclose what happened with the others? Will they justify his actions?

...With my graduation around the corner, I could not justify sending him a graduation announcement or invitation – hell no! If I’m just an object to him, how could I expect him to respect the level of education I worked so hard to achieve?!

And as these things all unfolded I was questioned by our shared friends. Had it not been for the others’ questioning about the situation, and their push, I would have been content NOT telling him why I was removing myself from his life. And as much as I wished he had simply owned up to his behavior and been humble and apologetic about his actions – he wasn’t!

Doesn't remember that part of the car ride? That’s convenient! I call bullshit! He seemed to remember everything else from the day. Even as he approached my house and woke me up (as a car ride nap was the only thing I could think to do, to escape the uncomfortable situation), his mannerisms in waking me up were so rude and so cold. Was his ego and confidence bruised; is that why he subtly lashed out at me? Oh, but he remembers that; and simply says I was passed out cold, and thought smacking my leg would do the trick in waking me from my nap. Be a little kinder, and think a little harder next time. Regardless I wish I could also block that out of my memory – but I can’t. As a woman, getting a degrading request like that – twice – while being trapped in a car won’t be something I forget easily. But truly, I wish I could block it out as easily as he did. Perhaps my refusal made it easy to block out; perhaps and just maybe.

And while his feelings are hurt and ego bruised from hearing through the grapevine that he didn’t get an invitation to my graduation and felt like I treated him like a stranger, my response is layered. My understanding side says: okay, perhaps I could have told him directly rather than him hearing through the grapevine. On that note, he had an opportunity to hear it from me directly, but dropping the ball on talking face to face is on him; and following up four days later (close to midnight) with a half-baked apology and passive aggressive line to follow isn’t exactly my idea of keeping your word; much less showing me any level of consideration or respect. My self-respecting side says: oh well, then treat me at a level that’s worthy of a graduate level graduate. Treat me like a lady – not a street walker! And at the very least, own up to the behavior and try not to hide behind selective memory, or use pride as a shield. Lastly, don't try and bruise me with blame as a means to defect and escape the guilt of those actions. Simply put – man up!

After a very abrupt ending to the conversation I showed him the door, as the deafening silence of our tense footsteps echoed the hall of my place before I locked the door behind him without a word of goodbye. I stood utterly dumbfounded! He coped out with selective memory, and hid behind his pride; he tried to turn it around on me and make himself out to be the victim; he couldn’t even man up…damn!

As time and space has allowed me to reflect further on this fallout, I’m left with a few thoughts. First, is (God forbid) this ever happen again with another male friend I’ll know better how to react in the moment: “pull over; I’ll call a damn Lyft or Uber to take me home!” Through experience comes wisdom; and through wisdom comes prudence in how to react in situations. In this case, I am grateful for four individuals who helped me respond with the proper prudence. Second thought is despite the inevitable change in dynamics of that group of friends, and my change in friendship with each of them, I am grateful that there is some resilience with them. Undoubtedly it won’t be the same with my absence from the group. Yet, all the same I am glad to still have them in my life in some capacity. Third is – be it divine intervention or timing or life – I am grateful for new friendships; and friendships of people who share my Catholic faith. Short tangent: it was after the new year I made a New Year’s resolution to become more active in my faith and thus started exploring Catholic young adult groups in Orange County. Through that – and right before all this transpired – I had started to make and develop new friendships that share my faith, and my place in life as a single 30 something year old women with a healthy level of sarcastic humor. Amid the emotional chaos, it’s been refreshing and quite a blessing when I consider the timing of these new friendships that came about. God truly has impeccable timing, and it has been a source of refreshing hope! But I digress. Lastly, I hope this guy never does anything like this again - to any other woman. I hope he thinks of his sister and his mother, if they were to face a similar situation, and how he might feel if they were ever treated the way he treated me. And at the risk of letting go of his pride - and even though he couldn’t admit it to me (and likely nobody else) - I hope he can at least admit to himself at night when he goes to sleep that he does in fact remember his actions, and that he was out of line, on so many levels. For at the end of the day, pride is a lonely companion to lie to. And while I can forgive him for his actions, I won’t ever forget. And thus he has lost my respect and my trust; and without these two elements there is no reason to continue. To him I say take care but I won’t be there to see him through!

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Beautiful Goodbye

I can’t…

I can’t stop…

I can’t stop going back to us…

As much as I wish...

And as much as I try…

I can’t erase the memories…

I can’t erase those stupid, wonderful memories of us…

It seemed so right; our connection was so tight. The moment we met - that silly mix up of a first encounter. I mistook a stranger for you; because what are the odds two couples would meet for the first time on the same street corner? I took it as a funny first time mix up - like a good luck sign. Silly me! Stupid me! You were so kind - a gentle soul I could tell. And five hours later it was the most natural I have felt on a first date. Was it your spell?

Tell me…

Tell me please…

Do you think about me…

Do you think about me, like I think about you…?

The way you enchanted me on that third date; I thought: was it fate? The soft subtle look of seduction in your eyes as you looked at me over your Ray Bans as I opened the door in response to your text, “I’m here.”  Butterflies - sweet butterflies. Those damn sweet butterflies! A creative date that started in the warm, bright presence of the sun. And as the ten hours flew by, we bid goodbye as you walked me to my door, and kissed me goodnight at midnight.  It was our first, and I was glowing. You had me hooked. Was that real as you think of your repeal?

How could...

How could I forget...

How could I forget how you made me feel…

You never pressured me and were always a gentleman. Your chivalry was unparalleled. Every door you opened; every bill you insisted on footing; the compliments ever flowing and pure; you initiated so many of our steps. And the respect; you never treated me like an object! A man who took me to Mass every week. You even welcomed the opportunity to pray with me - I was all but in grateful glee! A man who not only told me how beautiful I was, but didn’t shy away from real conversations with controversy; with dirt and grime; and talks that wasn’t always pretty or easy. You were always willing to roll up your sleeves. And all the same, you still came after me. It seemed genuine and true. Was it; was it genuine then? Or was I the fool in this game for two?

I wish…

I wish I could…

I wish I could ease...

I wish I could ease the reminiscence of you…

You weren’t just kind in word and deed; you were generous with time and treasure! And it always seemed to be your pleasure! You really did take the lead! Certainly a romantic at heart! That night you asked me. It was perfect! A stormy night, and we had each other to ourselves. We cooked together; ate and toasted together; and cozied up and watched a rental together. Credits proceeded and as we were wrapped in each others embrace, listing to the soft lyrics of Michael Buble as the sound of the rain wrapped us in that moment, we sighed in content; without a single word. And it was good; it was so, so good. As we soaked up the moment with each other, you proceeded by reaching for a box, before presenting it to me. A gift? For me? That necklace (sigh) that necklace had so much meaning and thought. The pearls; the leather strand; and the Catholic hallmark icon. A bit of you, a bit of me; and our Catholic faith at the center of it all. As I sat, listening to you - not knowing what time it was - you asked me to be yours. And in that moment, I smiled with a sigh. My answer was yes. We were so happy then. Tell me please, was that real? Or was it just perhaps a facade and I was simply your cough syrup, or perhaps your distraction?

If only...

If only I could stop…

If only I could stop thinking…

If only I could stop thinking of us….

The night you met my mother; let’s not forget you meeting my brother. They were so excited to meet you.  And the way Joey’s face lit up; and the way his face perked up when you told him you’d play video games with him. You can’t understand how much that gesture meant to him, and how much that gesture meant to me. Yet again - you fooled me! I was the sucker! And you’ll never know the face of disappointment I faced on him when I told him you wouldn't be playing with him. “What…? But...why? I was really looking forward to playing with him. What happened between you two Barbara?!” “I’m sorry Joey, I was looking forward to a lot with him too Joey...believe me.” Let’s not forget how I met your brother and his significant other. They were so warm and welcoming. We had such a lovely time chatting and munching! And their little boy - your nephew - he was so cute to hold! I felt so content and at ease with them - I thought for sure I received their confirmation and their affirmation.

Does…

Does the feeling…

Does the feeling of my touch…

...does it linger the way yours lingers on me?

Your touch; the memory of your touch still is haunting. It was so kind; it was so gentle and sweet; and it was so comforting and curing. Yet, this task of letting it fade is daunting; as I feel it to be taunting. I felt safe in your arms. You had a way about you. The way you’d play with the rings on my fingers; and the way you’d caress my fingers - slowly...one by one, gently and slowly. It was so sweet. The times you held my face; the moments you ran your fingers through my hair in your firm embrace; in your safe warm embrace. I miss your sweet, firm affection; it was so sensual. Feeling the rhythm of your breath, and the trace of your scent. When our eyes locked, and you gazed into my eyes; and it put you in awe. I thought maybe I was putting a spell on you as well. But I suppose I was the only one that fell. How do I undo the feeling and the impact of your touch?  

Do you…

Do you remember…

Do you remember the feeling from that night…?

The night in the rain. A moment so plain. I walked you out to bid you goodnight. You took me in so close, and pulled my hood over my head before you did your own; and our foreheads kissed before our lips touched, and touched again, and again and again. And as the drops from the evening sky began to soak us with each passing moment, neither one of us had the slightest care of it at all. Surly time must have slowed down in that plain moment; that simple beautiful plain moment. How could I forget your nervous question for permission in that moment as well! It was so playful; and it was so funny and sweet. And as I gave you my consent, and we both smiled in simple joy; I thought: he likes what he sees.

If only…

If only I could

If only I could have a case of amnesia.

It would…

It would fade away…

It would fade away the bittersweet memories…

Tell me, where is the stop button on this track? Then maybe I can take your words off repeat. Please, tell me how to make ‘em stop playing back to back. They were such sweet words you said to me. Do you recall? Did you consider those words before you served them to me? “I treasure you.” Did you mean it? “Being next to you is so lively and warm. Your company is really nice and warm hearted and I appreciate it." Were those words you said genuine and true; or was it just lip service too? “I care about you.” “You are so sweet, thoughtful, supportive and understanding.” Were those words honest and true too? “I can’t wait to see you and be with you,” “I’m here for you.” and "I'm happy you're in my life." Tell me, were those sayings bona fide? Even the pet names…”babe,” “sunshine” “Barbara Jean,” and my favorite “my darling.” Tell me, was the intentionality in your spoken affection true? Because their effect has reversed and now making me blue.    

The image...

The image of you

The image of you walking towards me…

...it remains...

The flashbacks of you walking towards me, and the feeling of weakness I felt. Your presence undeniably made me melt. The glow in your handsome smile; the look of your dapper style; the sweet glow in your eyes; the smooth comb of your suave hair; and your devenere physique; and to recall that image of you wanting me. Your pursuit of me; and your desire of me was heartwarming. Was it authentic; was it legitimate?   

And…

And that long…

And that long, lasting goodbye…

It came out of thin air; that night you ended our love affair. You had me convinced; you had me hooked; and I never saw it coming. You really did have me blind sighted. Everything was going so smooth and swell! Yet as you started the beginning to our end, I couldn’t believe it. No! Why?! It’s not fair - we were such a great pair! I was so numb; dumbfounded and hurt. What could I say? Was it me? What did I do wrong? I was so shattered - because for the first time I really thought I had found a special someone. You really built my hopes up. I begged and bargained, and I asked all the questions. And as you sat with me - patient and kind - I knew the one reason why was indeed significant. And your one reason why...was my one and only red flag, as I moved forward with you. It finally caught up to you. I didn’t care though; I didn’t want to let you go! And as I asked all kinds of questions, and you answered every single one; the reality was weighing stronger and heavier; till finally the tears came rushing out and I buried my face. I buried my heartbroken face next to you, and I wept in sorrowful tears! That last meal we shared I don’t regret; even if it was under a different mindset. A beautiful location, and a delicious meal; and even though we were both somber, the space and the view combined with the presence of you made it somehow sweet. And for what it’s worth, thank you for that generous gift - it was truly bittersweet!

And as much as you still cross my mind; and as much as I miss you; and as much I struggle with letting your memory fade; and as much as I am still sad that we had to end, I know you were still a gift to me - even if it was brief. Perhaps God knew that I needed you for the short time we had; to show me what it truly means to be treated like a lady; and what it truly looks like to be pursued with intentionality, romance and respect; and to know what that all really, authentically feels like. And maybe God put you in my life to show me how a true man (and true gentleman) treats and pursues a woman. You truly have set the bar high - and for that I am grateful! Despite our end, I am still grateful for my time with you, and our time together!

And maybe - just maybe - I was a gift to you as well. Maybe God knew you needed me - even for that short time. In a time when you were so bruised and battered; your heart had been stretched to it’s limits and taken for granted. In your words, “you’re such a breath of fresh air.” For what it’s worth, I am glad; and I am grateful that I could be a comforting presence to you. I am glad to have shared our faith and prayer together, and for it to feel so true!. I am grateful to be open, honest and willing to ease your worries, and redefine some status quos too. I am glad to be a woman to be supportive of you; to be a woman to show you care, faith and humor. I’m honored to be this kind of comforting woman to you; for our time to be a way for you to renew. I am happy to act in a way that was heartwarming and healing for you. And for what it’s worth, I sincerely hope you take our time and treasure it the way I do, and take it to know how you deserve to be treated and treasured!  

And please…

And please know…

Please know that I meant...

I meant every word that I said; and I still do. You have a good heart and a kind soul. And as the days pass one by one, since we said our last goodbye, I still think of you; and I wonder do you too? Does the memory of me still idle, perhaps like fleeting deja vu? I wonder how you are, and I sincerely hope and pray you are doing well to take care and be true. I know you have a long road ahead, but remember that God has you. Keep your head up, and that faithful heart up times one hundred and two! The clouds will clear and the warm sun will shine on you again; of this I have no doubt to be true!

With warm caring affection,

Your Barbara Jean  

Are You Out of Your Mind?!

I’ll be honest, maybe there was a part of me that was just a bit out of my mind when I made the decision to travel solo to South America. 

It’s been over two months since coming home from my Peru and Ecuador adventures, but the memories are still very fresh and remarkable! To friends, family and acquaintances alike that shook their head at my recklessness, and others who scratched their head out of curiosity in my somewhat impulsive decision to become a vagabond for the summer: I attempt to shed light on my reasons why. 


To begin, I should preface the fact that I love to travel, and it’s something I did a fair amount of in my 20's. The travel bug first bit me in my early college years after studying aboard in Rome, Italy back in 2006. That turning point inspired me to make the decision to transfer colleges after my completion at Fullerton Community College, up to San Francisco State University. I moved from the Orange County that I knew from birth, to a very different urban setting filled with cable cars and hipsters. Then, after graduating with my bachelor’s degree from San Francisco State University I made the decision to pack up and move again; only this time I moved clear across the country to the east coast! I found myself teaching in the “Fresh Prince” territory of West Philadelphia! Through the Sisters of Saint Joseph I served as a year-long volunteer teacher through their mission corps program, where I taught various classes of lively junior high school students at a Catholic school. And after my year term was up, I signed a contract with the same school for another year before moving back to Southern California. Needless to say I have an itch to travel and explore!

Now, I can say firsthand the positive impact traveling and exploring has had on me – but that is for another post.  Yet, it was shortly after the New Year (this year), as I stood in the shadow of a recent tragedy. A college friend had passed away very suddenly, and his death marked the 5^th death of someone close to me in a five year time span.  Let me reiterate that: in the span of five years (while in the latter half of my 20's) five people close to me passed away.  Definitely not something anyone anticipates in their 20's - maybe in their 60's or 70's - but defiantly not their 20's! 

Knowing the patterns of grief all too well, and feeling its grip slowing clenching on me again, I kept thinking I needed to do something drastic, yet something that was somewhat familiar. Travel was familiar, yet as a lone ranger to foreign country; now that was drastic! In other words I had to “get the hell outta dodge!”

After contacting my academic advisor through LMU about travel opportunities for graduate students, I without question or hesitancy applied to their 10 day accelerated summer session course in Ecuador. It was a quick and confident decision to book a flight to Peru, and scheduling my arrival to Peru three weeks before I would land in Ecuador for my studies. As excited as I was, I definitely was not excited to break the news to my mother. Needless to say the conversation didn’t go well! I’ll let your imaginations paint that picture of a conversation yourself! 

My mother and plenty of others alike had their slew of questions and discouraging statements for me.  
“It’s dangerous down there!” 
“You don’t know enough Spanish!” 
“You’re a women, traveling alone!” 
“Do you have a plan?” 
"Do you know anyone down there?” 
“What if you get murdered or raped?” 
“Why don’t you travel with someone?”  
“What are you looking for or hoping to find?”
These and plenty of other questions and discouraging statements came my way. And my answer to what I was hoping to find? Nothing! Nothing was my answer; and not that I literally was expecting nothing. Rather I didn’t place any sort of expectations or preconceived notions of what my travels would be like. For lack of better terms, I was truly flying by the seat of my pants. Because traveling alone wasn’t crazy enough – right? But to have no plan or itinerary of my day to day travels – just a general idea – seemed even more impossible to explain to people. Believe me when I say, I had a bucket list of sights to hit up, and a general order of how I would make my way to each spot, but a detailed itinerary wasn’t something I planned for or made! After being questioned by a friend about specific plans and sharing with her I had my flights, lodging in Lima and Machu Picchu hike booked (and nothing else) her head cocked back and her eyes grew to the size of golf balls as her reaction told me just how crazy I knew she thought I was. Trust me, when I say, I was almost as surprised in myself as she was in me.

To all of this: I knew it was coming. Yet there was a drive to go that weighed heavier than the reasons why I shouldn’t. The cliché phrase that is often hashtaged “you only live once,” rained hard and true!

...Because, when you’re 29 and have to bury your college friend, who suddenly dropped dead while exercising; you might understand my need to hop on a plane to the southern hemisphere to search for meaning behind a death that makes no sense. 
...When you’re 27 and lose a parent; you might grasp my desire to search and wonder the streets of foreign cities and meet locals and fellow travelers for new wisdom!   
...When you witness the effects of cancer and chemotherapy, and watch it destroy your father over a year’s time, before the disease finally claimed him; you might begin to comprehend my necessity to explore churches, catacombs and holy grounds for spiritual enlightenment.  
...When you’re 28, and your aunt dies from the same disease that stole your father; you maybe can grasp my itch to explore and slide down the sand dunes of Huacachina, as a means to rejuvenate my heavy soul!  
...When you’re 25 and get a call at 5 in the morning in Philadelphia that your uncle dropped dead from a massive heart attack while on the phone with his daughter (my cousin), and you drive 13 hours from Philly to his funeral in Bowling Green, Indiana; you might appreciate my yearning to venture to the floating islands of Lake Titicaca and mingle with locals who speak the indigenous language of Quechua in search for the serenity they gracefully exude!  
...When you’re 24 and your grandmother passes away just two months after you move to the east coast; and you take that flight to Kansas for the funeral; and you watch your father get emotional over his mother for the first time (a father that was emotionally stoic); you possibly could recognize my impulse to wonder the streets of the capitol of the ancient Inca empire in search for a sign that might grant me continued reason and comfort for his emotional detachment growing up and how his mother had much to do with it.  
...When all this happens in the latter half of your 20's, when really, your biggest stress should be heartache from breakups or career goal struggles; yet instead you find yourself writing the words of your father's eulogy, as you struggle to sleep at night, as the image of your father’s dead body haunts your mind and dreams for months; you probably can fathom my need to explore the ancient ruins of the Incas all the way to the ancient city of Machu Picchu  as a dose of cough syrup to my father’s death. 

Because how does it make sense that I would lose a loved one (on average) once a year?! Because nobody should get a phone call clear across the country as your father utters the words “I have 12 months to live,” before your legs give out and you collapse in sobbing tears before packing up your life in Philly!! Because how is it fair that I watch my father struggle with chemotherapy – powerless to stop it - only to have him taken from me at 27 years old?! And why should my cousin have to remember the sound of her father collapsing over the phone as a massive heart attack instantly claimed him?!  And why is it right that I would have to take a phone call at work from a friend telling me our mutual friend died on a run; and have to walk the halls of my work just as I did in the wake of my father’s death just two years before?! I can't tell you how many flashbacks I had from the wake of my father's death, as I walked those school halls after receiving the news of my friend's death; and how much it took me to not collapse in tears! It was an ominous parallel of events!  In those years I can’t express how much I struggled with my faith, and my faith in God!  

The anger I felt towards God was violent and toxic! Anytime talk of God’s love for us came up in Mass, my blood would boil! And as I sat in the church pew, there were a handful of times it took so much of my willpower to NOT get up, walk out, and leave. Yet luckily for us, God’s grace is patient, gentle and everlasting. It took plenty of sessions in therapy, and many more tears in spiritual direction before the serenity began to heal my soul and renew my sense of hope, as Grace began to piece my shattered heart back together. 

All my ranting boils down to this: I had to make my life make sense and repaint the colors of my world; a world that was quickly turning grey after my fifth causality – not including my grandfather who died a month before I went to Peru! Could anyone really understand my need to be a vagabond and go so far out of my comfort zone; to be stripped of anything familiar; probably not! Yet, again after wrestling with the death of my father, the depression that came with it, then taking hit after hit as another loved one bit the dust, I found myself beside myself! What the hell God?! Cut me some slack and give me a break! I was feeling hopeful again, and You knock me back down?    

If I’m being completely honest, as I prepared for this month long trip, I wasn’t even sure what exactly I was searching for, or hoping to find on the road, or in the streets of Peru. Nevertheless, as clueless as I was in the vague search for meaning in the midst of my life, as I struggled to make sense of death and loss, I did find some meaning and a bit more moments of grace! 

The grace came when the woman I sat next to from LAX to Lima crossed paths with me days later in a church in Lima. The grace came when I realized I made it to the top of Machu Picchu on my grandfather’s birthday (who had passed just  month prior to my departure).  The grace came when on the day I hiked to Rainbow Mountain, I met someone that looked like my deceased friend’s twin, and after talking to him, it was as if I was literally talking to my friend Justin. The grace came when I dodged danger and a frightful night with the help of my grandfather’s rosary ring and some strength from above.  

And meaning came in moments of pure joy! The joy came after one too many drinks and a fun night out in Cusco with other travelers! The joy came when my Lima host went above and beyond to make my stay comfortable, safe and eventful! The joy came on a night out in Lima as my host, his old school mate and I sang way too loud – windows down and all – at 2 in the morning as we cruised down their version of PCH. The joy came when I shoved myself in a cab with another Orange County family as we exchanged stories and commonalities on our way to a tourist spot! The joy came as I met other travelers from around the world. The joy came as I fed and met live llamas and alpacas. And the joy came when I would just sit in a town square, taking in the sights, taking in the people as I wrote it all down in my journal to crystallize the memories of their faces, voices and my healing heart!

Maybe I was crazy for traveling to Peru on my own, but considering the steady loss that kept coming my way, and the weight of despair that might have prevailed, I can honestly say I would have been crazier NOT to go!    

A Kind of Love That Transcends

“Children hold our hands a while and our hearts forever”

~unknown

Captain’s Log: July 12^th 2016

It was the last day at the educational foundation where other LMU graduate students and I had worked for 3 days.  In the middle of a basketball court, about mid-afternoon I struggled to understand the meaning of a message a 9 year old girl, by the name of Lady, was trying to tell me.  As I lean into her, with my hand on her shoulder, I say one of the few phases I did know in Spanish: “Uno momento.”  This angelic 9 year old had a serious look on her face as she spoke to me in Spanish.  Knowing enough tonality and body language, I knew it was of some seriousness, so I quickly got the attention of a peer friend of mine to translate.  

Before I continue, let me give you some background information on this young girl!  This child was one of the first children I met about a week prior, while sanding everything inside and outside of the school building.  We played peek-a-boo through the school building windows with 3 other friends of hers; I later played on a makeshift jungle gym (wooden pillars and just old flat tires) with her and those same friends; I taught them some patty-cake hand slapping games I played when I was a young school girl – that yes I could remember as a 30 year old women.   In another instance, other peers and I played classic tag games paired nicely with red light/green light (or rather luz rojo/luz verde) on a strip of concrete adjacent to the basketball court.  And in the midst of this entire interval running, there were more moments I’d like to admit that I had to catch my adult breath in the high altitude. Meanwhile, these girls never seemed to run outta breath!  Here I am (avid runner) bent over with my hands on my knees taking in deep breaths saying “uno momento,” in the middle of heavy heaving; as I had to catch my breath in between each game that required any level of running.  I am an active person – I promise!   

As that first afternoon progressed and the other days spent at the foundation proceeded, it became clear to me that this girl was showing a sweet kind of disposition to me!  I don’t know if it was all the snapchat selfie filters I introduced her to and the obsession she had with the dog filter; I don’t know if it was how she would stroke my redhead hair and say under her breath “que bonita” or show fascination with my blue/green eyes or maybe just the fact that I would happily play with her; whatever the reason, she became attached to me quickly! Anytime we played as a large group with the other LMU students, foundation staff and students of the foundation there, Lady was right beside me holding my arm.  This angelic and sweet girl even asked for me by name on other occasions: “donde esta Barbara.”  Sweet and endearing indeed!  Maybe it is my disposition and skill to interact with kids and youth, or maybe it was something else; either way this girl’s disposition to me began to melt my heart. 

Honestly speaking as much as this child showed attachment to me, I was just as curious about her.  For all intents purposes, we could not communicate.  My Spanish is limited and her English is none.  The best we could do was gesture, and type simple sentences in my Google translator app – got to love technology these days!  Jokes aside though, something transcended verbal communication and magnetized us together. 

Furthermore, as a white woman who comes from a certain level of white privilege, from a developed country, I was intrigued and inspired by this child’s level of joy; it radiated! By any other standards, she has nothing (or very little) but showed a kind of genuine happiness that seemed boundless.  Then, noticing burn marks on her hands and face, I had suspected this 9 year old had experienced some accident, or worse - abuse.  I hoped it was the prior.  It wasn’t until exchanging emails back and forth between the directors that I learned Lady was rescued from a fire at the age of 4 years old.  With all the economic and physical adversities she’s experienced in her 9 years, I was moved by the joy that trumped her adversities and radiated from her!

Now a mere moments before this child tried to convey something serious to me (on the last day spent at the foundation) I sat with many others in a circle on their soccer field, legs crosses – crisscross applesauce style – and listened to the director of the foundation talk about her gratitude to us as students and to LMU as the university and the contribution we made by the work we did.  She proceeded to bring up 5 young children (4 or 5 years old) and mention how these boys and girls were in need of sponsorship for the year to fund their education there at the foundation.  The annual cost to educate a child at this foundation is $350. Relatively speaking, it's about the monthly payment of a car.  After a group pow-wow the other grad students and I agreed to pitch in money as a class of 20 to sponsor the 5 children.  

Now as I lean in to this girl (hand on her shoulder) saying “uno momento,” I simultaneously turn my head up and around to find a classmate of mine.  “Hey, Anabel; can you translate for me?”  “Yea, sure.” Now as the three of us stood close together, I waited and listened to the fluid Spanish, and time began to slow down.  I watched the expression of kindness paint itself across both my peer and this child as they conversed with ease; the late afternoon glow from the sun peeked through the nearby tree branches and the afternoon breeze kissed our faces.  I stood listening and waiting for Anabel to convey to me what this child was trying to express to me.  With a surprised looked on her face my classmate utters: “Oh, okay,” and turns to me and says: “She’s asking you to sponsor her.”

It took me about half a second to think about my answer before I responded with a heartfelt: “YES!” There’s only been a handful of times in my life that I had said yes so quickly; this instance being one of them.  With a touched heart, I bend down and hugged Lady.  For the amount of work I did and what I know about the foundation (first hand) and spending time with this child, and for about the cost of a monthly car payment, I simply could not say no!  The amount of money, honestly, seemed so trivial in comparison to what I know it is going towards! 

After the initial yes, and hug I walked with Lady to the director to speak of my desire to sponsor Lady, give her my contact information, and hear some instructions with how to send the sponsorship amount.  As I stood in between the director and this child, I gaze down at this 9 year old with sweet admiration; I felt such an overwhelming feeling of love and humility from her.  The kind of courage to ask a stranger (and a foreign one for that matter) for sponsorship was beyond me!  When I was her age, I didn’t dare ask my parents for anything in that price range – much less a new face like myself!  

In the mild weather of this same afternoon a woman approaches me with tears in her eyes as she reaches out in gratitude to hug me.  It was Lady’s mother.  Through joyful tears I make out the words: “Muchas gracias senorita!” And I reply with a phrase I knew in return: “Claro que si!” We exchange more half English and half Spanish words in the brief moment I had with the woman and Lady’s aunt.  In a comical exchange, Lady’s mother then asks: “Tienes Facebook?”  I chuckle, and say: “Si, yo tango Facebook.”  After exchanging Facebook contacts the mother quickly weaves a bracelet in front of me and hands it to Lady to tie on my wrist. 

In that moment I felt like I received more than I was pledging to give.  I cannot explain it.  Maybe it was the labor of love in the work I put in with the other LMU graduate students as we worked in solidarity with the fellow staff and students; or perhaps learning about the deep and profound happiness and gratitude these people with so little have that I struggle to keep; or quite possibly the universal human connection I had with this child, her mother and aunt in the short and few moments, had something to do with how my heart was profoundly moved.  In the words of a famous quote: "life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”  And I would venture to say, the moments, we cannot quite explain with reason or portray with justice. I cannot explain this experience with justice! 

And in the short time I had left with Lady, we could not stop hugging each other!  While I know her and her family is grateful for my pledge, I truly felt like they gave me more as my heart was so full and even overflowing with love for this child in my arms; and a child not my own!  Despite the language barrier; despite the cultural differences; and despite the generational divide, walls were broken and a profound human connection was shared between this 9 year old girl from Ecuador, and this 30 year old woman from the United States!  In that moment, I didn’t want the moment to end; I wanted to freeze that moment in time.  So when our bus came to pick our group up and drive us back to the Hacienda on the other end of Otavalo, I never wanted to leave less than I did in that moment.  Believe me, I wasn’t the only one either.  My peers and me groaned and sighed in unison when we saw the bus, because we all knew our last time with these kids – kids who totally and completely captured our hearts with their joy, gratitude and innocence – was coming to an end.  With full but heavy hearts we dragged our feet towards the bus.  Every single one of us from LMU delayed boarding that bus!  Goodbyes, on top of one more picture, with just one more hug; and I was no different!  As I made my final steps to the bus door, Lady walked with me (hand and hand) and we hugged each other with the kind of love just shy of mother and daughter. 

As I sat in the small and stuffy, old and rickety bus jammed in with the other grown adults from Los Angeles, California I couldn’t take my eyes off this child who had positioned herself on my window side.  With the start of the engine, we began playing - air version - the same patty-cake game I had taught her and her friends just days before.  Proceeding down the dirt road, as the dirt picked up and clouded my vision through the bus window I watch Lady run alongside, and we did not break eye contact till she disappeared into the dust and distance, and we physically couldn’t see each other anymore.  I left part of my heart in Otavalo that day with a 9 year old girl by the name of Lady! 

"When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew." 

~ William Shakespeare 

No Means No

Captain’s Log: June 23^th 2016

Let me be completely honest right now; I went back and forth on publicly sharing what I'm about to share! Ultimately, I decided to do so for a number of reasons. For one: I strive to be an authentic person. Two: so many other women don’t share about these experiences out of shame and public guilt. And three: the people who read my blog I don't think are the ones who will judge me and place the blame on me for what happened to me.  

My first night in Cusco, I was almost raped!  

“Hail Mary, full of grace the Lord is with you! You are blessed among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen!” As I clutched the rosary ring from my late grandfather, reciting loud and proud the words to this prayer, I hung on to every single word as I stared down the man sitting across from me in the small room I found myself in. 

Let me back track a bit. This man I found myself with is a Couchsurfing host in Cusco, Peru. And by every standard – every single one – he checked out well, as a safe, reliable and courteous host. However, my experience with him was a far cry from that! And after such a great experience with my host in Lima, this was such a stark contrast, and came at such a terrifying surprise. 

It started after my Peru Hop bus dropped me off outside Cusco’s center. The few minutes I had to connect to wifi, I was able to message this host. After he told me to meet him on the church steps of San Blass square at 7pm, I flagged down a cab and was sitting on those church steps by 6:30pm. I waited for 45 minutes on those church steps, and I began to get worried. And without wifi to connect to, there was no way for my host to contact me or vice versa. By 7:20pm I managed to find a business nearby that allowed me to connect and message this host. By 7:30pm we met for the first time and I thought we would proceed to his place. After being on the road all day from Puno, Peru, I was exhausted! Surly anyone can understand my need to just eat, unwind and relax; right?  Well, that isn't what happened. As we walked the narrow cobble stoned streets he tells me in his broken English that he has a gig to play music at, and that I will go with him, and “have a great time.” He failed to mention this to me prior to this moment! Thanks for the heads up dude - not! And I did not have a great time. I couldn't socialize with anyone; everyone was either drinking or on something; I was wiped; hungry and felt stuck! But that was the least of my worries that night.  

“How long will we be?” I ask.  

In his broken English: “Oh maybe one hour or two hour and a half.”

It is 11pm before we leave. I hadn't had a decent meal all day; I felt the fatigue from the day of being on the road; I felt grungy and just craved a hot shower; I was cold and extremely irritated with someone I could barely communicate with. After taking a cab to his apartment my irritation morphs to hesitation, and hesitation quickly turns into fear – the kind of fear as a women, I have never felt until that night. As we walk into his apartment complex my nose was greeted by a powerful stench of cat urine! Whoever lives in that first apartment room with a feline friend paid that pet no mind – and the uninviting aroma was proof of the negligence. As we continue down the hallway towards his apartment, I realize I was stepping on broken glass and think: oh God! After turning the corner and standing behind him as he unlocked the door to his apartment, I stared horrified to what I saw behind the door.  Literally a room – a single room – that was utterly filthy! No kitchen, no bathroom; it was one, single, room - a box really. A room about 10 by 10 feet covered with dirty laundry, books, magazines and garbage. There was no empty floor space to speak of; no furniture to be had, much less a bed to speak of. It was literally a dump! As I look around, I notice the one window in his one room apartment was broken and all the cold air was coming in. Fantastic - I thought with a deep sigh and an eye roll! 

"Where's your bathroom," I ask. Discovering the bathroom was some kind of shared dorm space restroom, that everyone on the floor shared, my horrified feelings was paired with disgust! As I surveyed the restroom, I saw a broken toilet seat, a broken shower door and yet another broken window, wet substances on the floor, and surfaces that looked like they haven’t been cleaned in over a year. I touched no part of my skin to any surface in that bathroom. Ladies, know the squat well, and this situation called for it.

After returning to the room, I asked where I would be sleeping.  Remember, there was no furniture in his 10 foot by 10 foot room. I kid you not; he literally pulls a raggedy mattress from the ally of the hallway, moves some trash and dirty laundry from the floor and plops down the disease ridden rag of a sleeping device on the newly cleared floor space. After the initial "eww" thought, I think: how did he have such great reviews?! This doesn't match anything on his profile. Wide eyed, I am well beyond the point of: what have I gotten myself into; I’m already at the point of: how the hell do I get myself out of this situation – now?! A quick thought process concludes that I am in a catch 22 situation. If I stay, I stay at my own risk. Or I venture into the night; after midnight; in a foreign city, where I have never been before; I don’t know my way around, and my wifi wouldn’t even work to tell me where to go; I don’t know anyone else to come save me. My options are none and I feel unsafe either way - I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't.  Truly I was stuck.

 

So I proceed to sit on a pile of blankets that cover this repulsive mattress and open a school book, and pretend to read.
“You should relax.” He says to me, as he has a certain seductive look in his eyes.
“No, I want to read right now.” I say very sternly with a kind of bitch look on my face. 

Everything I knew about rape, and rape victims, and rape culprits comes to my mind...
Don’t feel like you have to be polite; 
Look them in the eye; 
Be stern; 
Don’t appear as vulnerable or easily tricked; 
Have something at hands reach in the event I have to attack; 
And all the self-defense moves I learned when I was 10 years old I was digging out of my memory bank. 

Some minuets later he tries again.  “You seem tense; you should let me give you a massage.” As he stands and walks towards me, with that same seductive look on his face, I immediately stand too, put my hand out and say: “No, stop! I don’t want you to touch me!” I look him straight in the eye and hold back the fearful tears I am sensing just behind my eyes.  All the while I'm thinking, do not show weakness!  “Com’on senorita,” as he reaches for my hand, I whip back the hand he tried to grab, and with my other hand I whip out a weapon I had in my pocket, and hold it to the side, and say again: “No, stop! I said no; no means no!”

He looks at my weapon hand and backs up. His expression of desire is replaced with hesitation.  Proceeding to sit down in his corner I keep my weapon hand out and with the other hand take my rosary ring off and begin to pray – out loud. After making the sign of the cross I began with the Our Father, saying every word of the prayer staring at him from across the room, thinking, “God, protect me, keep me strong tonight.” After one decade of the rosary (one Our Father, 10 Hail Mary’s, and a Glory Be), he begins to look at me like I’m crazy. By all means, I’d rather that look, than him looking at me as his sexual object or target. After other failed attempts to get me to let my guard down, he realizes he's not getting anywhere with me; literally calls me a “loca gringa,” and with a grumble falls asleep.  Goes without saying, I decided NOT to sleep that night. 

With his sleeping body blocking the only way in or out, I couldn't go anywhere. I had to wait till the mornings light to make my move and break out of there. It was one of the longest nights of my life, and I couldn’t help but think my grandfather and father must’ve been just a couple of my guardian angels in that moment when I really don’t know where the strength came from. Because the truth is all I wanted to do that night was cry; something would not let me.

 

The next morning after gathering my bags at 7am, and waking this guy up, I told him that I was leaving. Not knowing the area, I sternly told him to walk me to the nearest square so I could find some hostels as options for lodging. After walking the early morning cobble stoned streets and reaching sight of the square, I turned to him and said, “okay, I can take it from here.  Bye!”  He looks at me as if I owed him something, and I kept walking, and walked towards to the nearest hostel before sitting, and watching from the window for about 30 minuets before choosing a different hostel. While Couchsuring offers travelers to stay with hosts for free, I knew at that point my sense of safety and security were more valuable than any amount of money I would be saving. So I checked myself into a private room and bathroom in a decent hostel for the rest of my stay in Cusco. 

After sharing this experience with one of my housemates she later finds a news article where a solo woman traveler found a couchsurfing host (who by every standard checked out as safe, reliable and courteous) and was raped and murdered by that same host. My housemate's caption to the article she sent me was, “I ban you from doing this ever again.” The article gave me chills - it could have been me in that news report! Knowing I had to make a honest review on this guy, on the Couchsurfing website, I decided to wait until after I left Cusco for Ecuador and I'd be with other graduate students from LMU. At that point my solo time would be over; I'd be in a controlled setting; and he’d have no way of tracking me down and doing God knows what to me. The moment I landed in Ecuador, I went on to Couchsurfing to make that review on him, and his profile somehow didn’t exist anymore – interesting.  So now, I must navigate Couchsurfing, so that this guy doesn’t target any other unsuspecting women.  

When I was deciding whether or not I would share this, I thought about the rape culture we live in, and how it is still very taboo to talk about it. Also, I thought about how rape victims (still) are shamed and blamed for what happens to them. Even though I wasn’t raped, the experience could have lead itself to that point, and I am sure some people who will read this will still find a way to place the blame on me.
Why would you Couchsurf Barbara?  
They are strangers you stayed with?  
How safe is couchsurfing, really?  
Why didn’t you leave that night?  
You really put yourself in that situation Barbara. 
You kinda brought it on yourself.”  
And while I can call all the lines people may have for placing blame on me, I have to ask: did you ask these critical hypothetical questions to me before or after you placed that same blame and shame on this man for the advances he came at me with? And while, other rape situations are all very different, the bottom line comes down to consent. If a women is held responsible for “asking for it,” by wearing skimpy clothing (which I was not guilty of), why is the man not held responsible for practicing self control? If a woman is held responsible because she is "not drinking responsibly" (I am also not guilty of this argument) why is the man not held to a high standard, and getting her a cab home, or at the very least finding people who she came out with that can take care of her?  Whatever the situation entitles; why are men’s actions in the case of rape dismissed as: well you can’t blame him if the woman – fill in the blank with any rape victim blame line.  This train of thought implies that men can’t practice self-control; this is to say they have too many animalistic instincts to control themselves. This without a doubt is an insult to men; and I know too many great men (young and old) to say this societal assumption holds ANY credence!  

Now, I know – without a doubt in my mind – I was very lucky to end that night and leave the situation the next morning with nothing more than a racing fearful heart and a memory that will be branded in my mind. Goes without saying (and despite my feelings of hunger, cold and uneasiness) I am grateful and truly feel blessed that I had a few things on my side: my wits, my weapon, my rosary ring and not least of all my late father and grandfather by my side, as I’m sure they were providing me strength that night.