“In wildness is the preservation of the world.”

~Thoreau

Black bellied whistling ducks and other migratory birds at Palo Verde National Park.

Wednesday, March 15^th

10:00 PM

I just took a night walk from our cabins to the docks above the wetland in Palo Verde National Park. There is very little light pollution here so I can actually write with the light of the full moon. Walking by myself in front of the group without a flashlight I feel completely drawn to the moon. I’m not sure why, but I feel certain that she’s female and should be worshipped. Yes, I know that the moon is a giant rock orbiting our earth but I feel magnetized. I walk toward her along the dusty stone path. After chatting with Siobhan and Yoshi about the San Francisco Zodiac Killer, I feel so happy to be away from major cities and down in the tropical dry forest.

A daytime view of the Palo Verde wetland from the dock.

Upon reaching the open wetland, I stopped by the fence and soaked in the rhythmic beats of thousands of birds, bats, bugs, and frogs. I felt like I was hiding in the corner at a giant dance party, I stretched my arms upward and absorbed the moon, the stars, and the singing silhouettes of Palo Verde.

This iguana represents one of the many wild creatures around me.

After the rest of the people from my group passed by me with their flashlights, I danced. Not the typical dance from a club or a party but a joyful swinging dance because I am so glad to be exactly where I am dancing with the tropical party that may welcome me but most likely doesn’t care about my existence. Katie, my UMBC roommate who is currently studying abroad in Spain, has the same habit of dancing when no one else is watching. I think most people probably do to, but don’t let on about it.

A young Crested Cara rests on a branch in the shade.

This ides of March is a bittersweet moment because it means I am halfway through my time here. Why is life so fast?

The baby above will soon grow into an adult like this one. In Spanish it is called Quebranto huesos, which means "bone breaker" because it drops its prey from high heights.

Twenty-one years is a blink of an eye but it is also the time of all my memories. Ibit, a visiting professor from University of Vermont, called me a “young woman of the world.” I find the term striking.

Though I have scratched merely a fraction of the Earth’s surface, I am a young woman of the world. My Spanish could still use much improvement but I feel functionally bilingual, I’m able to identify a decent amount of birds and wildlife here, I can get an A on a 14 page (including graphs) economics paper that I wrote in one night (with the help of yummy coffee), and I have been able to share a lot of what I’ve seen and learned with you.

As someone who has never kept a diary and may end up graduating college without taking any English besides a bs technical writing class, sharing this blog with you has been extremely meaningful.

As a young woman of the world, I am startled by both how much there is left to learn, see, and do and by the amount of emotional baggage I already carry with me everywhere I go. I sit here in the dark of the tropical dry forest in hiking boots, a long sleeved T-shirt from Becky, and zip off pants. I write against my soggy banana paper notebook (which flew off the dock into the wetland this afternoon). I use no flashlight because I am waiting along by the waterhole in hopes of seeing a mammal come and take a drink. So far I have seen two white-tailed deer.

Even after spying the small deer drinking…

Boom! Crash!

Ha, after an hour of patiently waiting to see an animal that’s more exciting than the two deer, something large comes crashing down from the trees (potentially a Howler Monkey) and I bolt. Do you think Jane Goodall ever got scared and ran away? I was getting ready to tell you about my emotional baggage but that feels funny to do as my heart is racing and I laugh at myself. Oh, well.

No matter where I am my mind wanders back home to my friends and family; I wonder what they’re up to. I also wonder about the “what ifs?” and the “woulda, shoulda, couldas.” For my limited romantic experience, I spend way to much time second guessing relationship decisions. I also think about a friend who suffered depression and who I feel I let down and I think about what a shame it is that my Grandma lives by herself in a nursing home. It seriously bothers me how our elderly are treated in this country. I resolve that when I return to the states I will spend a week living out of my brother’s dorm in Gettysburg and visit her everyday because I cannot take for granted that she will always be there.

I sit writing close to this Senisa tree (Pithecellobium sama) that Brenna and I sat in earlier.

My other major anxiety is what to do with myself this summer and after I graduate from UMBC because I’m going to need to make some money and I want to do it in a fulfilling way.

This view shows you a bit more of the gorgeous Senisa tree which is used for fine furniture because it's dark, rich color. (Brenna and I serve as a scale).

I bring up my personal worries to let future study abroad students know that when you go away to your host country, you start a new life for yourself, but you still carry with you all your previous anxieties and heartaches. Some of them hurt more sorely because in a foreign country you are impotent to do anything about such problems.