12 Kilometers

Standing at the Zopenka for nearly 30 minutes waiting for the Marshrutka to pass by, my mama kept hinting at how I should have worn an extra layer to fight the cold. The Sunday morning was windy, but the sunny sky seemed to promise a warm day. So I went along with it and agreed that it was pretty windy to be wearing my workout clothes; an 80% polyester 20% spandex Nike t-shirt, black yoga tights and a coat. In my head, there was no need for an extra layer because in a matter of minutes I’d be sweating. Finally the marshrutka to Ivanivka arrived and my mama hugged me goodbye.

Ivanivka is a village right next to Kolychivka, about a 5 minute bus ride. Everything about this place is identical to my village the only difference is it has a higher population (not by much).

By the time I reached the village, the Ivanivka cluster had been waiting a good 20 minutes for my arrival and I felt really bad when I saw them from a distance waiting at the Zopenka. How typical, the Latina arriving late (they didn’t say that but it’s true). With no time to waste, we began our morning jog to Chris’ house to drop off our coats and start our journey. About 15 minutes into the jog, Kurt surprised me with the news of where our run was heading to. “We’re going to the Desna River” he said. I gasped while running (it is possible) because this river is pretty far, at least in my opinion it is. I see it all the time when driving into the city. Occasionally, when the Marshrutka drives over the bridge you can see someone fishing or picnicking.

(Now, it’s important to know that at one point in life I was pretty athletic. Playing soccer in high school kept me active and fit. I was a fast runner, but sadly, didn’t have much endurance to maintain the speed (hence my position as defense). I regret not sticking with it throughout college because I think I could have gotten better. But that’s just me… can’t commit to one thing and moving on to the next.)

Deep into the wilderness of Ivanivka, I could not believe my eyes at the site of this beauty. The sun shone perfectly on the golden leaves surrounding the forest. The almost concreted road led to an even more beautiful site as we exited the forest and entered the vast plain. There was no house in site, just trees, plants, and the blue sky. Everything about this run was incredible. The salsa music playing on my mp3, the company that kept me motivated to continue running and not stop at any moment, the sun keeping me warm against the gushing wind. It was by far the perfect run, all of which left me soar immediately after we ran back from the river.

(Danny and Jasmine high-fiving)
My body was screaming at me to go home and lie down. It had not received such intense running in a long time. I probably ran more than I ever did in a soccer game. “Was the river worth the run?” Chris asked. It sure was, but there was no time to rest this tired body. I had less than an hour to ride back home, clean up, eat and head out to the city. Normally I’d just be lazy after a workout but earlier during the week, I had made plans to meet up with Jasmine and some of her cluster mates to tour the city. For once I wanted to site see instead of doing the usual; using the internet, shop at the bazaar/supermarket and meet other PC volunteers.

(the monastery)
So there I was, dragging my legs across town and it didn’t help that Jasmine knew a “shortcut” to the church she was taking us to. The real killer was the hike, I truly felt like an old lady. But once again it was all worth it because when we arrived at top, the place was quite beautiful. It turned out to be a monastery (it was obvious we didn’t know where we were going) and it had an amazing view of part of the city. Every part of me just wanted to stay there, mainly because I was too tired to keep walking. There was still more of the city to see but we decided to call it a day... Perhaps next time I won't be exhausted from 12 kilometers of running/walking.

Smiling for Kolychivka (Oct 10)

(the main bus stop)

One of the things I remember from the mini Ukrainian study session Victor organized for those left behind in D.C. was that “Ukrainians don’t smile”. If we walk down the street and smile politely to the people passing by as a courteous “hello”, they will look at us strange and know we’re foreigners. But how can you hide a smile? I may be good at forcing a smile but not hiding it, especially when the emotions within me are trying to find its way out.

So as I walk back home from Andy’s house, all I could do was just smile. Smiling at how beautiful the day looked, the sun shining on my cold face. For some reason I am extra happy today and I can’t explain why. Never have I smiled so much to myself as I did this day, walking down the dirt road of Kolychivka. I started thinking of how free I felt being so far from home (wherever that is anymore) and on my own… literally. I know most people get frightened at the thought of being away from family/loved ones. Not to say I don’t miss them, because I truly do. But there’s something here that I can’t explain… something that brings me joy even though there are tough days of irritation and frustration.

(my lovely house)

Perhaps it’s the idea of helping a community that otherwise would go unseen. Kolychivka is such a small village. It’s definitely smaller than CSULB, a bit bigger than Calvary Chapel South Bay, and about the same size as Christian Academy of Guatemala. There’s no internet, no restaurant (forcing us to eat at the school’s cafeteria almost every week day), 2 bus stops, lots of cows, and a few mini markets. I can see why not many people would pay attention to such a place. But I love it out here.

(the post office)

Seeing the sunrise and sunset is priceless, hearing the cows moo their way home around 5:30pm makes me giggle, cramming in a “marshrutka” to go to the nearest city is adventurous, and most importantly, seeing the somewhat blank look on the faces of my 7th graders is challenging. They may not understand me now, but hopefully with time they will remember me (and the rest of my cluster) as the ones who cared enough to stay here till the end.
(the school i work at)

Screw Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie’s reality show “the simple life”… THIS, right here, is the simple life and there’s nothing I want more than to keep smiling for Kolychivka.

Culture is Pride (Oct. 5)

As a kid, I never paid attention to racial differences. Growing up in California, there really was no “minority” so to say. In fact, the “minority” was a majority where I grew up, therefore never paying attention to my race being a minority in society. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until I went to Guatemala that I began to notice these racial differences and began to question my own identity. What’s the difference between race, ethnicity, and nationality and how does it make me different from anyone else who was raised in the United States? Recently I’ve asked myself this question only because I feel like I stand out so much being in Ukraine.

Mene zvaty Janira I ya z-ameriki shatat kalifornia…. Do they doubt me saying this because I don’t look “American” enough? But surely I am, I was born and (partially) raised in sunny California and I have papers to prove it. As a kid, everything about me screamed American made; clothes, speech, toys, you name it. Then… Guatemala happened and completely changed my perspective on life, culture, and identity.
(my cluster and link cluster @ the bus stop)

“I look like one of them, I somewhat understand them, but I can’t possibly be like them”, thoughts that would run through my head when meeting distant relatives and family friends. What is this culture that is supposed to define who I am? Well… it took me a while to completely understand and appreciate my roots. Even to them I stood out, with my accent and “weird” American ways; Funny how I look back and say “My own culture was a culture shock”. But after years of living there and truly learning about my heritage, I could somewhat identify myself….

My race is Latino (I don’t like the word Hispanic), my ethnicity is Guatemalan/Argentinean, my nationality is American/Guatemalan and my culture is…. A bit of all three.

Now, as I’m faced with being probably the only Latina from Peace Corps in group 39, I am not only representing America but also Latina women. It is not often that a woman, and more specifically a minority woman, gets the opportunity to leave the bubble that so many of their families have created for them. I know friends who are brilliant yet don’t take advantage of their talents/abilities to do something great with it for fear of bringing disappointment to the families. I detest the unwritten rule that girls are supposed to stay in the household until they get married, only then to STILL stay in the household as wives/caretakers. Some rules are meant to be broken, and only then will taking such risks lead to a better life, or at least an adventurous one.

For that reason I’m so happy my parents weren’t that traditional in the sense that they’d hold me back from doing what it is I want to do in life. It does suck sometimes being the only one of “my” people out here in the middle of nowhere, but it actually makes the feeling even sweeter. I’m not ashamed of who I am and where I’ve come from. If anything, I like the fact that I can stand out from the rest because I have something else to offer, a dual (or triple) culture to share with others. Physically I may stand alone but in heart and spirit, I know this spot where I stand has hundreds of footprints beside me; of those who I have brought with me and perhaps of those could not be here. And of course with God’s help, there’s nothing that can stop this Chapina from reaching her goals.

“Cultura is orgullo, orgullo es exito” (Culture is pride, pride is success)

Family Away from Home (Oct. 2)

When I think of family, I think of the mother who pushed me out into this world, the father who raised me and provided for me, the siblings who fought, loved, and looked out for me, and the grandparents who spoiled me. Of course there’s the extended family like the uncles who disciplined me for my bad behavior, the aunts who mothered me when my mother wasn’t around, and the cousins who kept me company at family gatherings and would play with me since I was one of the youngest. But I didn’t comprehend that family could be more than just blood lineage.

I’d always hear about “the family” at the church, and didn’t really appreciate it until recently when their actions spoke louder than their words. I could always (and still can) count on my brothers and sisters because they have prayed for me through my trailing moments as well as for my praises in life. They’ve never turned their back on me even when I’ve done so on them… they’ve shown me mercy when I’ve deserved it the least and for that, I am grateful to have such a family.

(from L to R. Vetalik, his wife Anya, my mama, her grandson Sasha and the other sister in law Marina)

Then there are my “sisters” in the sorority. During our pledging stage, we all surprisingly became close for reasons that will go unsaid, but the point is we were there for each other through the good and the bad. Granted, I can’t say that I have the same close relationship with each one because even blood sisters don’t always get along. But in a way, I have created a close and tight family with a few of my sorority sisters and those who are a part of it can reciprocate the love and affection I have for them.

In this new chapter of my life, I have adopted yet another family, but this one is the one I didn’t expect much from and have gotten quite the opposite. Mama Valentina is a retired woman who used to make/inspect parts for rockets that were shipped to Moscow… or at least that’s what we understood. That reminded me of my dad’s career inspecting aircraft parts for Boeing. What a nice connection. Now, Valentina works at home milking the cow, feeding the pigs, rabbits, ducks and chickens, harvesting potatoes, pumpkins and peppers, and still going into the city to sell the milk from that day’s squeeze. I don’t see much of my tato, I think he works in the city but haven’t figured out what it is he does. All I know is he’s in bed by the time I come downstairs for dinner at 7pm. What I learn about mama Valentina is that she enjoys listening to pop music, which I think is the funniest thing when we’re eating dinner and I hear Britney Spears, Ricky Martin and Ace of Base playing on the radio.



Just like they (P.C.) have warned us, the personal questions take over the dinner table, but I am not shy to answer them since it’s only her and I enjoying the moment. She asks if I have a boyfriend and why not if I’m very pretty. She tells me my host brother Sasha has a very attractive friend, 30 years old, good job and single…. How do I respond to this? Laughter fills the room. I know I’ve talked to guys and relationships with my real mom and I think that’s the connection I begin to have with mama Valentina. Such a subject is personal and can’t be talked about with just anyone, or least that’s how I feel. Yet the way mama Valentina worries for me when I don’t come home at the time I tell her (and starts blowing up my phone), or telling me about her life and family, allowing me to experience her life by helping out with tasks around the house…. She feels like a real mama and I appreciate her even more. She tells me she wants to meet all my friends, not just the ones from my cluster; that she will teach me how to prepare a Ukrainian meal so that I can invite them over and let her into my life by making her feel a part of it. It’s hard for me to let people in, but there’s something about her genuine character and her motherly care that allows me to do so in the way that I can… pictures, stories, laughter.

Lost in Translation

We went for an amazing run on our only day off of the week, Sunday. Tammela, Andrew and I met up at the bus stop to explore the little village of Kolychivka and boy, were we in for a surprise. Deep into the small road off the highway there was nothing but green vegetation and the smell of clean air. I absolutely fell in love with the tranquility of the place and have decided to make this run a two or three times a week thing (before it starts getting too cold). It’s amazing to see God’s beauty in not material things, but in nature. Kind of reminded me of Guatemala and seeing its natural beauty for the first time.



I know I haven’t been in Ukraine for long, but I’m finding it extremely hard to pick up the language (also having smart people in my cluster doesn’t help as they make me feel incompetent in my language skills). No matter how frustrated I feel though, I must keep going forward. So in the mean time, I’m having fun with the idea of charades and mime games as a form of communication.



Who knew a lot could be said without using words. So is the case between me and my host mama. The only time I get to see Valentina and spend time with her is at the dining table (what a surprise) and our conversations are enthusiastic. Somehow I’ve managed to tell her about my family back home in “Ameriki” and my fascination for cats (since she has one in the house). She tells me she has 2 sons, Vetelik, 27 and Sasha, 32 whom I met on Sunday afternoon. Both were very nice but did not speak a word of English, therefore forcing me to play the mime game with them. It was interesting to experience the younger son cook for us, but this was only because Valentina was not home and it was lunch time. I have no idea what I ate, but it was good.

Speaking of food…

Being a picky eater since birth has not helped me much in life, especially now. Peace Corps recommend their volunteers to be open minded in almost every aspect during service. Food etiquette applies to this and has now become my biggest enemy since lately I’ve been challenged to eat food I have never seen before.

Today (Sept. 30) after my cluster and I met up at my house to bake cookies for the 1st time (which came out delicious considering the fact that some ingredients were improvised), Andy and I experienced something unordinary. My mama served us (and herself) milk but it had a funky texture to it. I paid no attention to it since I figured it was the milk squeezed right out of the cow (which I have tasted already and it’s delicious) only when we tasted it, it was kind of SOUR. Apparently drinking sour milk is not considered an un-healthy thing or gross, or at least not in this family, but it was the most awkward thing in my mouth. Andy threw it out when she wasn’t looking… I took as many sips as I could before she realized that Americans don’t drink sour milk. I suppose I didn’t mind so much since I’ve accidentally done it a few times (once intentionally because I was craving cereal and there was no milk besides the expired one), but I wouldn’t do it on a daily basis.

Unfortunately this wasn’t the 1st time I encountered something unpleasant. When eating breakfast one morning, my mama had various foods at the table from which to pick. There was salami, Russian cheese, bread, oatmeal, and some other kind of cheese. I saw her grab a piece of bread and sliced a huge piece of the “kind of cheese” called Maslow, she served me a slice as well. When I went to bite into it, I realized this wasn’t another kind of cheese called Maslow; Maslow is the Ukrainian name for butter. I had a mouth full of butter with a piece of bread. I hid the face of disgust as I chewed into this butter sandwich and watched her happily add more butter to her bread. Not a spread, nor a sliver but a huge slice of it… no wonder I thought it was cheese.

I wonder what other unpleasant surprises I’ll encounter, but for now… you can never go wrong with chocolate.

Ласкаво просимо в Україну (Welcome to Ukraine)

At this point both Andys and I are excited to FINALLY be leaving D.C. and start our Eastern Europe experience. The 2 always make fun of my oversize luggage, which the lady in Lufthangsa was SUPER nice to excuse the excess 4lbs in each bag. When we arrived in Frankfurt for our connection, we experienced the most random things. Security lines closing down for 15 minutes and dozens of people angrily waiting to be the first back in line, and taking a shuttle to the plane (no terminals in Frankfurt, you literally take a tram to the plane) were by far very interesting. Andy is hilarious though and always kept me laughing so the 12 hour flight wasn’t all that bad.

The cool three-
Yeah, it sucked being the only 3 left behind, but it had its advantages. When we arrived to Kyiv, we didn’t have a bus waiting for us to take us to the retreat center… we had a PC SUV pick us up and take us to a hotel in Kyiv, blocks away from the PC office. That same day we met Ukrainian PC staff, one who was Dr. Valerie and was happy to stab us with Hepatitis A, B, C shots. Afterward a volunteer getting ready to complete her 2 year service took us out to dinner and gave us all these tips on survival in Ukraine…. Must thank her greatly for that.

It’s now Friday September 24, 2010 and somehow it doesn’t even feel it’s the weekend. Granted, we lost a whole day on the plane, and we’re still jet lagged so we don’t know what’s going on anymore, except today we’re going out to our villages to meet our host family… we’re both excited and nervous.

I learn that Andrew & Tammela are in my cluster group along with 2 other, so there are familiar faces and I feel at ease. We’re going to be 2 hours out of Kyiv in a “town” called Kolychivka, studying Ukrainian & teacher training for the next 3 months.

My host mom is this 52 year old woman named Valentina, a very nice and humble woman. Her husband on the other hand…. I didn’t meet him until Saturday, (I’m curious where he was) and he didn’t give off a good first impression. Maybe it’s because he’s sick, or that’s what she says. By the way, I DON’T understand Ukrainian just yet so our communicating methods are sign language and some form of Pictionary. We manage though and we’ve both learned about each other.

The next day was Andrew and I’s first day at our cluster group and I meet the other 2 people I’ll be seeing a lot of. Kate and another Andrew, both really nice & chill people. Today we went into Chernigov which is a 10 minute bus ride from our town (Chernigov is a bigger city with a lot of amenities I don’t have access to in my village) and to my surprise, we run into at least 4 other clusters. I’m so happy to see some of these people and we quickly exchange numbers as soon as our phones are activated. Unfortunately I didn’t get to run into some of the people I would have liked to have seen and ask them how they’re doing. But I’m sure they’re doing great. Perhaps someday it’ll happen and we’ll get to discuss the content of this awesome book I’m reading.

Stranded in D.C. (Sept 17- 23)

It was 9:55pm when my plane landed at Dulles airport in Washington D.C. Sept 16, 2010. Starving from not being able to eat anything all day from the nerves, I arrived at the Holiday Inn hotel in Georgetown with only one thing on my mind… Comida. Unfortunately by the time I checked in and lugged my “body bags” (literally can fit a body in it) of luggage to my room, it was close to 11pm and find out that almost everything in Georgetown is closed at that time on a week night. But it wasn’t so bad, for by the time I unlocked the door to my hotel room, the adventure of Peace Corps volunteer began.

Her name is Meredith Maynard and she’s my roommate for the night. I learn from she’s from Arizona, so we’re on the same time zone. We both talk about how nervous we are for tomorrow’s staging, we have no idea what to expect other than “bring your registration forms”… I feel like I’m in school again.

Rise and shine, its 8:30am and we need to get ready and eat breakfast before we meet down in the conference room area at 11:30am. When we head down to the lobby, there are quite a few people barely checking in (since only a few were fortunate to fly in the night before). After breakfast, we meet back in the lobby, where at by this point there are 20-something people meeting and greeting. Finally we head in to do our paperwork and get split up into alphabetical order… which reminds me how I detest being categorized almost towards the end of the alphabet with my R last name (and you’ll see why).

After almost 6 hours long of staging (peace corps pre-training), the staff is so kindly to inform us that not everyone in both groups (A-L & L-Z) were able to get their visas cleared on time, therefore staying behind… guess who was in that group???? I’m not going to lie, I wasn’t all that disappointed because that just meant an all expense paid vacation touring D.C by P.C., I’m down for that. I was a little sad to be separated from Meredith though, since she was the first person to meet on such a nerve wrecking day. You always remember your first ANYTHING. So 50ish left and 30-something stayed behind.

Making a negative into a positive-
By Saturday afternoon, the bigger group had left, leaving us 32 (I think) time to bond and hang out. So a few of us figured out the bus system and visited Capitol Hill. Eventually I wondered off to meet up with one of my uncle’s old time friends (who has known me since I was at least 8) and went our separate ways. It was great to see Olga, especially since I hadn’t seen her in over 10 years. But since I didn’t want to miss out on the PCV (Peace Corps volunteer) bonding, so I stuck around the next day and visited the Holocaust Museum and Washington Monument with Danny & Jackie.

Monday rolls around and we’re eager to hear back from staff about what’s going on with our visas. Fortunately, they got a few more in BUT only 14 visas out of the 32 people. Guess who wasn’t in that 14??? So shortly after the mini conference, a few of us decided to relieve our stress with a picnic and Frisbee games… I mean there’s only so much touring you can do in a city till you get tired and just want to relax.

By sun down, I had realized that in the short period of time, I had gotten close to a handful of people, one person I did more so that night. It really is amazing to hear about people’s background, learn of where they come from, where they’ve been, what they’ve done and what they wish to do next. Such people inspire me and motivate me… which I think is highly important while encountering challenging situations.

Is it possible to miss someone you hardly know?? –
Tuesday rolls around and I am confident we’re ALL leaving today. Meeting at noon in the bar/lounge and there’s good news… they got more visas. At this point there’s only 18 of us left so there’s no way some are left behind. Come to my surprise, 3 are left behind and guess who’s in the bottom 3???? I feel like I’m on a game show of survival in D.C. and I’m one of the last contestants standing. When I heard this news, my heart broke a little. It broke for various reasons, but like Summer says in that movie (500 days of Summer)… “Life happened”.

Will I see them all again now that we’ve been separated? Will I be able to bond just as well with the first group of people that left on Saturday (original day of departure)?? It is now Wednesday September 23, 2010, almost a week later and Andy, Andrew and I are finally taking off with are visas/passport. All I know is if its meant to be, it’ll happen… because that’s how life works.