Wofford College - Study Abroad

I saw nothing, but I was there

Hola everyone. The last time I blogged I was sitting in my room in Santiago, Dominican Republic. As I sit in the nation's capital with my heater pointed directly at me, I realize that I am no longer in my warm, Caribbean home. Nevertheless, words can not express the excitement and events that have transpired in the past few days.

 

If you don't live in a box, you know that  last Tuesday was the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack H. Obama. Because of the historic nature of this election, everyone and their cousin and their best friend were planning to come to Washington to watch Mr.Obama being sworn in. Luckily for me, I just moved here, so I was excited about being closer to the festivities than others. However, as last week passed, I grew less excited about this event. Daily, news reporters would report that crowds and conditions would be worse than expected. I don't like being in crowds—therefore, the thought of enjoying this event from the comfort of my couch began to sound great to me.

 

Nevertheless, I got up on Tuesday morning and walked two miles to the National Mall to witness this historic event. Although I did not see Mr.Obama or even a Megatron broadcasting the event, it was truly a day and a weekend I will never forget.

 

Friday

On Friday, I went to a PreInagural Celebration at Howard Law School. The event featured and honored many Howard Law Alumni who worked for the Obama campaign. To my surprise, there was a special honoree. Senator Burris, the newly appointed Senator from Illinois to replace President Obama's vacated seat and a Howard Law alum spoke at the event. He talked about the challenges that he has faced assuming the seat and the legal battles he would face. Although I am not his biggest fan, he was my first celebrity politician sighting here in DC.

 

Saturday

On Saturday, I attended the DNC's (Democratic National Committee) Inaugural Celebration at the Smithsonian Museum of American History on the National Mall. I had never imagined going to a party in a National Museum but the Democratic Party did not fail to please me. The museum was decorated in red, white, and blue. This event was an invite only event and luckily for me, I have a friend who is semi connected in DC. The celebration centered on former Chairman, Howard Dean's leadership of the Democratic Party. He gave his going away speech and introduced the new chair of the DNC. It was a red carpet event and I was so glad that I was invited.

Sunday

Sunday began the ‘Inaugural madness’ with the opening ceremony of the Inauguration being held at Lincoln Memorial. The Concert was slated to have many big names: John Legend, U2, Usher, Beyonce, Mary J Blige, and Stevie Wonder. Consequently, big crowds were expected to turn out. Not one to stand in the cold for hours for any celebrity, I left my house two hours before the concert began. By the time I arrived to the Lincoln Memorial, security lines to get the park stretched for blocks, and my hopes of seeing the concert faded. After standing in an unmoving line for an hour, we were told that the park was filled to capacity. We were then herded to the Washington Monument where we proceeded to watch the concert on an inflated screen. The concert was good but after two hours, the DC cold overtook my excitement to hear the concert, and we headed home.

Monday

On Monday night, I attended South Carolina State Society’s Inaugural Ball in the National Air and Space Museum. Although this was not one of the official balls hosted by the Presidential Inaugural Committee, it was invaluable chance for me to meet with the ‘big wigs’ of South Carolina. Members of the South Carolina delegation to Congress, SC State Representatives, Former Governor Dick Riley, and other politically important people from South Carolina were present. I had the pleasure of meeting  Bakari Sellars, the youngest member elected to the South Carolina House of Representatives and Congressman Clyburn, with whom I intern for. However, not only were politicians in number at this event, but I also ran into to many current Terriers interning in DC for Interim or Terrier alumni (first picture). We danced the night away and I had a wonderful time, even though President Obama did not stop by.

Tuesday

Tuesday was the big day. I don’t like crowds and I contemplated not attending the ceremony. I set my alarm and planned to get up at 5am to beat the crowds to the National Mall. Well 5am rolled around and then 9am came. At this point, I knew that all the spaces on the National Mall were gone within eyesight of the ceremony. Nevertheless, I felt obligated to go out and be in the moment for all of you who could not make it. A classmate and I left our house, which is normally 10 minutes from the farthest side of the Capitol. It took us 30 minutes on Inauguration day to reach this point and an hour later, we reached the Washington Monument. For those of you not familiar with the National Mall, the Capitol is at one end of the mall, the Washington Monument is in the middle, and the Lincoln Memorial is at the other end. 

We were pushed literally in crowd to the Washington Monument to a valley in which there were no inflated screens broadcasting the inauguration. The worst spot, right? Luckily, we were not the only people stuck in this predicament and even though we could not see the ceremony, the people around me provided equal entertainment. Ten people to the left of me climbed port-a-potties and sat on top of them to view the nearest screen while others climbed in trees to view it! These people were entertainment enough and I spent the ceremony watching them and shushing others so that I could hear what was going on.

After the ceremony, we were caught in the crowd of 2 million people and a normal 30 minute walk home lasted 2 hours. At home, I google mapped our walk and found out that I had walked 2 miles each way to the Inauguration! Needless to say, I stayed in bed for the rest of Tuesday.

In essence, my first Inauguration weekend was fun. Even though I did not see much, I was there.

Regina

Picture 1: Wofford Alumni and I at the SC Ball, Picture 2:DNC Inaugural Event, Picture 3: Crowd on Inauguration day, Picture 4: Me in in the crowd on Inauguration day, Picture 5: Person in tree trying to see Inauguration, Picture 5: Ticket holders line, Picture 6: My room mates, Picture 7: Me posing with a picture of the First Lady Obama in the Smithsonian Musuem of American History

What is your facebook status?

I had been dreading this holiday day for days. I was going to celebrate my first Thanksgiving outside of the country. I was not going to a get weekend off from school, go shopping on Black Friday with my sister, eat my Grandma’s cooking, or spend the day with my loved ones. I was in another world, Dominican world, where Thanksgiving didn’t exist. This was my reality, and it had not bothered me until Wednesday when my world came crashing down.

It began as any other Wednesday, with Senora yelling my name to come and eat breakfast. As I got ready for school, Senora remembered that I had to prepare something for our program’s Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. I had forgotten all about Thanksgiving because it was too painful to think of, but now I had to think of something that I, Regina Fuller, could cook for other human beings to eat. Not being one for a culinary challenge, I decided that I would make brownies as my contribution and gave Senora $500 pesos to buy the mix.

Senora left for the supermarket, and I tried to begin my homework. However, thoughts of Thanksgiving invaded my work. In my email, I received a notice from Wofford Housing about check out and check in times for the holiday weekend. Normally, I was home before this email was sent out, due to the proximity of my house to Wofford’s campus; however, this year I did not beat the email home. I couldn’t check out of my dorm because I was out of the country. Keeping on this track of unproductivity, I checked facebook, doubling my pain. All of my “friends” had updated their statuses: people from the Wofford crew described how they were driving home or how home felt while my high school friends described the excitement of rediscovering their long lost love, Spartanburg. But I couldn’t update my status because I wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving.

The preoccupation of updating my status haunted the rest of my Wednesday. My day proceeded as usual: I went to my Dominican Dance class, two hour Spanish class, and one hour culture class. Although I was physically in class, mentally I was not. My thoughts centered on what I would be doing if I were home. Would I be at my grandmother’s house tasting Thanksgiving food or out with friends from high school catching up on old times? What would be my status if I were in America, I wondered.

After my last class of the day, the surrounding Dominican world closed in on me. I no longer wanted to see PUCMM but Wofford. I no longer wanted to hang out with the strangers in my program whom I had grown to call friends; I wanted to be with my own friends. But most of all, I did not want to go home to the people, my Dominican family, whom I had lived with for the past three months; I wanted to be with my family. These thoughts flooded my head while tears streamed down my cheeks in the taxi ride home. I didn’t care about all the Spanish I had learned or how much I had grown as a person, I wanted to leave right then. I wanted to define my status.

Soon, the taxi arrived at my house and I tried to pull myself together. I couldn’t let Señora see me crying. I hurried into the house and into my room to avoid all human contact. Seconds later, my stupor was interrupted by pounding on the door. Señora informed me that I was being rude and must come out to talk with her and my sister. I grudgingly left my room for the kitchen, only to be surprised by the brownies and cornbread that awaited me. While I was at school, my house mom and sister cooked the brownies and cornbread for me because they knew after seven hours of class, I would not have been the best of cooks. Two people, whom I had known for a little over three months, cared enough about me to spend their whole afternoon doing something I was supposed to be doing. My chore required two trips to the supermarket (because I did not check to see if we had all the ingredients in the house), hours of labor, and dirtied every pan in the house. Moved by the kindness of my Dominican family, I went to bed grateful but still hadn’t solved the riddle of my status.

The next morning was Thanksgiving, and it was more successful than I thought. Our program had a potluck dinner and the food that my classmates cooked was actually good! Everyone loved my brownies and I of course toke credit for Señora’s hard work of baking them. For these two hours, I forgot about my status and what I would be doing in America; I enjoyed the company of my classmates and professors.

After the Thanksgiving dinner, I returned to my house. Once again my mind centered on my status. What is Regina doing right now? I didn’t have the answer. But my status update went far beyond Facebook to my innermost being. What is my status, I pondered. Is my life here fake and my life in America real, even though I have done ‘real’ things here? Am I still a Wofford student even though I live as a PUCMM student? Can I still identify myself as a Southerner even though I am now a Santiguera? Who am I and what is my status?

As the cursor on facebook stared back at me waiting for a response, my friend Kim reminded me that facebook really wasn’t that important, and sometimes it is best to not have a status. Right then, I realized I no longer have a status. Yes, the basics remain defined: Regina Fuller, age 20, South Carolina native, Wofford student, aunt, and daughter, but everything else was now undefined. I had passions and interests before coming to this island, but now, some have changed. I can’t choose my ‘real’ American life over my ‘fake’ Dominican life but must somehow embrace them both. Who I was and who I have become can not be summed up into 50 characters or into any amount of words. I now have a dual identity, in which I am neither purely American nor purely Dominican; I am undefined.

With sleep within my grasp, I began to embrace my new identity and status: undefined.

Regina

Sweet Election Dreams...

I had dreamed of this moment for months. I would be sitting in front of the TV, tallying up electoral votes, with my family and friends, and when Obama was announced as the next president of the United States, I would scream, cry, and rejoice with all of my loved ones after watching CNN all day long. This dream was perfect, and it was on replay in my head. Suddenly, November 4th, the video tape of this dream was ejected by reality. Unlike my dream, I was not in South Carolina; I was out of the country, as I have been for three months, and I would not share this moment with the people I wanted to share it with the most. This realization made me sad and I began to debate how I would spend my election day.

Plan A was to skip class (the Wofford student in me cringed at this idea) and watch CNN all day. This plan was easily plausible because of my location and time zone. Unlike my other classmates studying abroad, I am extremely close to the United States. This means that I have many American news channels, not their international versions, and I am only an hour ahead of the East Coast. Consequently, achieving Plan A wasn’t going to be hard for me. I could watch CNN all day, like I would at home, and come close to fulfilling my fairytale election. But something in this plan was wrong. It did not involve any people and enjoying election results is all about the people around you.

After short contemplation, I decided to scratch Plan A. There was no way I could come close to mimicking the election experience I would have in America without being in America. Instead, I chose the middle path. I wouldn’t let the election consume my entire day nor would I pretend to not care about the election either. I went to class in the morning and came home and began to watch CNN. As I sat in front of the TV (to be obnoxious, I watched it on the big screen, so that everyone in my house could see), mosquitoes began to feast on me and I realized that I would lose my sanity if I saw anymore commentaries on the election.

Luckily for me, my program had scheduled a field trip to a Dominican baseball game this night. I was planning on not going but I knew I couldn’t watch TV anymore without reminiscing on what I would be doing if I were in America, so I decided to go. The baseball game was a good distraction and for two hours, I was just a baseball fan enjoying my favorite team play. However, as the final innings of the game wore on, my classmates and I’s façade of energetic baseball fans wore off. We didn’t care who won the game anymore; we wanted to sit in front of a TV and find out who our next president was.

Soon, meaning 30 minutes later, we were on the bus to go home. Because none of us wanted to find out alone in our homes, we invited ourselves to our resident director’s apartment. It was 12:30am here, 11:30 EST and silence filled the room as we all listened to the CNN broadcaster announce Barack Obama as the presumptive president-elect. The apartment stood still, and no one dared to move as to not interrupt this fairy tale ending. Finally, I pinched myself and screamed at the top of my lungs. My classmates unfroze and shouts of joys and tears awoke our middle class Dominican neighborhood. After watching Obama’s acceptance speech, the ecstasy that filled the room calmed down. CNN showed snapshots of Americans celebrating all over America, in Atlanta, in New York, in California, and in this moment, we all wanted to be home, in our country, to share in this historic national moment, but we couldn’t.

The emotional roller coaster of the American living abroad had reached its lowest point. We were living in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language, and breathing a culture that wasn’t our own. This moment, the moment when Obama was elected President, was an American moment, uniquely ours; it couldn’t be expressed in Spanish or in some ‘Dominicansim.’ We needed English. Normally, I feel guilty about talking in English, but this night, I did not. We talked in English all night and all day on Wednesday; we had to make this moment ours.

Two hours of sleep later, I woke up on Wednesday morning still excited. When I left my bedroom, my Dominican mother greeted me with the biggest smile and a hug from all Dominicans. She could sense my excitement and wanted to share in this American moment. When my doña (maid) came to work, she too greeted me with a hug and “Obama.”

The excitement did not stop here. At school, all of our Dominican professors talked about the election for the first half of class. I had an oral exam in my Dominican-Haitian Relations class and my professor spent the first half of my exam talking with me about the election and its implications. Lastly, I was sitting in the hall outside of a class on my computer. A professor, whom I had never met before, came up to me, asked me if I was norteamericana. After I answered yes, she lifted me up from the couch and gave a hug and told me how proud she was of Americans.

By the end of Wednesday, I was no longer sad that I was not in America or could not achieve my American election dream. News anchors frequently commented that “the world was watching” during the election. For the first time in my life, I was a part of this world watching and felt proud to claim my patria. Dreams are sweet, but reality is so much sweeter.

Regina Fuller

Picture 1: Me hugging the TV on Tuesday night
Picture 2: My classmate Sierra and I modeling our Obama tshirts on Wednesday at school
Picture 3: Two Dominican newspapers on Wednesday morning with Obama on the front

Lost in Translation

Last week, our program had a meeting about our experiences and mistakes we’ve made so far. Some of my classmates told stories of sheer embarrassment of misunderstandings with their Domnician parents or people in the street. They’d said one thing with a clear intention, while their Dominican audience heard something completely different. At the end of this meeting, I counted myself with the lucky because I haven’t had any of these experiences. This is not to say that my Spanish is perfect, because that is farthest from the truth, but I have been able to talk or gesture my way out of these sticky circumstances.

Well, last week, my luck ran out. On Thursday, I accompanied my mom and two Dominican sisters to the salon. In Dominican society, it is a MUST for a woman to go the salon every week to get her hair and nails done. I had previously accompanied my mom on one of these salon trips before, but due to the ever-so-sophisticated vocabulary that goes along with black hair processes, I decided that it was easier to do my hair myself. However, last week I needed a hair trim and decided it was time to make this unavoidable trip.

The lot of us, my mom, two sisters, and fellow study abroader piled into my sister’s car to head to the salon. Butterflies filled my stomach but my friend assured me that it would be fine because my fluent bilingual sisters could pick up where our Spanish stopped. Nevertheless, my friend was wrong. I sat in the chair and told the stylist I wanted a cortito (a small cut) to trim my ends. After the stylist looked at me with perplexity, I yelled this in English to my sister across the room who translated my request into rapid fire Dominican Spanish.

The hair started to fall but my hopes didn’t, until the stylist asked me to explain again what I wanted. I tried to explain to her that I have an A-line cut and my hair is not supposed to be the same length. But thanks to my lovely Spanish, she didn’t understand, and when I left the chair all of my hair was even. Trying not to be the gringa that lost her cool, I left the salon with my family and pretended that everything was ok.

When I arrived home, I told my mom that I looked like a hongcito (a little mushroom); therefore, I wouldn’t be leaving the house until December 16 to catch my plane home. After laughing at my lovely allusion, she assured that my haircut was fine and that in fact, I did not look like a mushroom. Mushroom head or not, this would not be the last time I would lose something in translation.

The following weekend, our program took a group of us on a work retreat. The work retreat, a weekend of community service, was in a batey, a marginalized Haitian community that lives and works within a sugar plantation. The community rarely leaves the confines of the plantation and is therefore isolated from Dominicans and all life outside of the batey. As our bus pulled into this community, I was confronted with poverty of a great magnitude: children without clothes and shoes, mothers younger than me, and men looking for a new way to provide for their families. Our guide for the weekend, Dr. Lesly Manigat, a Haitian doctor who graduated from our university and the hardest working humanitarian for marginalized Haitians living in the DR, told our group that we were going to paint the dilapidated houses.

Upon hearing this, I was upset. I didn’t want to paint over this poverty; instead, I wanted to erase it. But that was not our mission for the weekend. We began to paint and my attitude soon changed. Not wanting to leave the job to the unsteady hand of foreigners, members of this community started to join in with us. I remember talking with a Haitian man in Spanish about Haitians, African-Americans, and the status of people of color in the world. While many of our words were lost in translation from English to Spanish and Creole to Spanish, a shared hope for a better world was not.

Later, when we finished, a group of little girls approached me to play pit-pat (a hand game) and to take pictures with me. As my hands touched theirs to the rhythm of a common childhood melody, I realized that I had it all wrong. These people were marginalized and resource poor but they were human just like me. Even though our paint job could not instantly remove them from poverty, it could lift their hopes for just one more day and this hope propels the human race.

Thoughts of my mushroom head faded. Many things may and will be lost in translation, but a love for humanity never will be.

Regina

(Picutres: 1.) Me in the Batey with my new friends, 2.) the building after we painted it 3.) Dr. Lesly instructing painters)

An Inconvenient Life

I don’t think you can possibly imagine how many times I’ve tried to write this entry. My laziness coupled with the inconveniences of Dominican life have made it seemingly impossible to do what I want to do when I want to do it!

For example, the wireless of PUCMM, the university I attend, goes out every night when I need to blog or Skype (call via internet) home. The electricity goes out a lot but only seems to go out when I need to use high voltage appliances such as a blow dryer or laptop. The water sometimes goes out (I didn’t know this was possible), and only when I want to wash my hair or when I am in dire need of a shower. The satellite goes out when it rains or storms and guess what, it rains just about everyday here!

But wait, the inconveniences do not end here. I have to walk to school through a selvita (a little jungle) and cross a major highway to get to school. Of course, this 15 minute walk is lovelier when I have to do it in 90 degree weather! Riding public transportation is also an inconvenience. Conchos or pubic cars are the only way to get around Santiago without taking a taxi. Most of the conchos are Toyota Corollas or other subcompact cars designed to carry a MAXIUM of 5 people, but are filled to the brim with 8 to 9 people! I remember the first time I rode in a concho, half of my body was out of the window and the other half of my body was on another passenger in the car. It was definitely an exhilarating ride. The greatest inconvenience of all, I must say, is how Off (mosquito repellant) has become my new fragrance of choice. Dominican mosquitoes love foreign blood, therefore I wear Off all the time!

I point these out, not to complain, but to demonstrate how much this place, my new home, has made me so appreciative of things in America that I never really think about. As a matter of fact, I went to Washington DC last weekend and it was thoroughly too convenient. The wireless, electricity, water, and satellite in the hotel I stayed in worked all the time; there were no interruptions in service. The weather was extremely cold and I didn’t see any mosquitoes. There were crosswalks and drivers actually obeyed traffic signals! Everything was too orderly and convenient and boring.

On my plane ride back, I began to realize how much I love this place.  The ‘inconveniences’ that I face on a daily basis are not necessarily inconveniences but breaks in the monotony of this thing we try to control so much, life. Inconveniences or not, I love my new inconvenient home, La Republica Dominicana!

Regina

A week later

Wow. The last time I wrote I was in Spartanburg, SC confused and anticipant of what to expect. Now, a week has passed, and I can’t truthfully say that anything has changed expect for my location. I’m less confused but still aimlessly anticipating my future here in the Dominican Republic. (picture is from orientatio in Jaraboca)

When I arrived last Sunday, I was whisked away with my fellow participants to Camp David Hotel. The Hotel was very nice and it had a great view overlooking the city. On the drive to the hotel, I found myself glued to the window in disbelief that I was actually here.

After one day and night of orientation, we were driven back down to Santiago to meet our host families. We were given a picture of our host family and we were told that our host family had a picture of us to make our first meeting less awkward. Well, CIEE was wrong about this. We arrived at PUCMM (Ponitifica Universidad Catholica Madre y Maestra) and Dominican host families swarmed our buses while we tried to locate our luggage. Thanks to my recent haircut, I was one of the last students to be chosen or recognized by my family. To tell you the truth, it was one of the most awkward moments of my life. I felt like I was the step child sent off to far distant relatives who had never met and I hoped the match would work. (picture is dinner at my house)

Gracias a Dios (Thanks to God), my host family was sent from heaven and we definitely get along. I have a “father” who doesn’t really talk to me, an affectionate mother, and two sisters. My family lived in Brooklyn for 15 years and moved back to the DR 3 years ago; consequently, they are Americanized Dominicans. For example, a typical Dominican family would have one or two televisions in their house; however, we have SEVEN televisions in our house, including a big screen and a Wii. I have humongous room to myself complete with my own personal bathroom. I really can’t complain. To top it off, we have four or five fruit trees in our backyard including a mango tree. Since I am in love with mangos, I have made it my personal goal to eat one everyday. How often does one have a mango tree in their backyard? Thankfully, my mother is glad to feed me mangos all the time.

Speaking of food, Dominican food is good. Being a vegetarian in the Dominican Republic has proved to be a challenge so far. My mother knows I don’t eat meat, but Dominican culture and food is very meat based. Whenever guests are over, I have to explain to them why I don’t eat meat—which can get old quickly! Also, my mother likes to feed me a lot, meaning enough food for three people. When I first got here, I tried to eat it all, but I have given up this task. Now, I just eat what I can and feed the rest to the two dogs we have in our house.

Besides eating and sleeping, CIEE has bombarded us with orientation every day at our university. At this point, I can’t tell you what I have learned because it is all swimming around in my head, but I’m sure that I learned something down the line. However, I am thankful that we have had local Dominican students help us. They are called Estudiantes de Apoyo (students of help) and they have acted as an orientation staff. They showed us around the campus, accompanied us to Jaraboca, and taught us how to salsa/meringue/bachata.

The weather here has proved to be the most challenging part of my adaptation to the Dominican Republic. It has hot and humid all of the time. I thought I would be ok with the weather because South Carolina during the summer feels the same way. However, in South Carolina, we have air conditioning in every building, while here fans and open windows provide the only relief from the heat. Also, I have a twenty minute walk to school everyday in this heat and sometimes it's just unbearable. To not complain too much, the weather has been the exact opposite this week. Because of Hurricane Gustavo, it has rained ALL day everyday. And trust me, when it rains in Santiago, it pours! So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t win with the weather here. It’s going to be Hot and humid or cold and rainy.

Today was my first day of classes and so far I have survived. When I walked on campus this morning, I felt like a freshman but more like an extranjera (foreigner). When I would walk pass a group of Dominican students, they could some how tell that I was not from here. Well, I had a philosophy class this morning at 10 am. I didn’t know the location so I went to our program director’s office. She told me the number in Spanish and I left for class. Ten minutes later, I arrived at my class. However, I was confused to see most of my fellow Dominican classmates with calculators on their desks. I thought “no one needs calculators for philosophy” but nothing else crossed my mind. Ten minutes after this, the professor passed out the syllabus. I was in Calculus 2 for Engineers and not philosophy! Wanting not to disturb the class, I didn’t leave because I thought the class would only last one hour like my philosophy class was. Well, I was wrong again. Calculus 2 meets for two hours and I had absolutely no idea what was going on for two hours! I could remember Calculus from high school but my Spanish mathematics vocabulary is very limited. It was definitely an interesting experience for my first class ever here at PUCMM, but I laughed and still am laughing! Well, I officially have an hour to find my next class, and I am going to start looking now.

Abur, abur y Nos vemos pronto.
Regina

Almost there

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” the old saying goes, and now I finally understand what the author of this quote intended. It seems like yesterday that I decided to go abroad, and tomorrow, or at this point, later on this morning, I am leaving on my voyage to the Dominican Republic. I am still excited about going, but the gravity of being abroad is finally sinking in.

Before I delve into this semester, let me tell you a little about myself. I am a junior and Spanish and Intercultural Studies major with a concentration in African/African-American Studies. I have been bitten by the travel bug at Wofford; accordingly, I have spent two interims in Cuernavaca, Mexico and Cape Town, South Africa. I recently spent my summer in New York City with a program through Bard College. Additionally, I am a native Spartanburgian (?)—making Wofford my home five minutes away from home. Finally, I will be spending my semester in Santiago, Dominican Republic.

As I write this blog, memories of Wofford flash through my mind. On Friday, I visited Wofford for the last time and I actually felt sad. For those of you who know me well, you know that I love Wofford but my greater love is for traveling. Consequently, I hadn’t expected to feel any sadness at the thought of not being there for a semester. Well, I was wrong. As I walked across our beautiful-tree-filled campus, I began to realize all the classes I wouldn’t be taking this fall, all the club meetings I wouldn’t be attending, all the meals I wouldn’t be eating in Burwell (Yes!), and all the conversations I wouldn’t be having at midnight in the dorm when I should be doing homework, and I realized how much I love this place, Wofford and Spartanburg, despite their lack of excitement. So yes, I am officially sad to be leaving Wofford and Spartanburg, but elated about the fall.

Over the past few days, I have been reading as much as I could about the DR: culture, baseball, and etc, and I have met (online) most of the people in my program. Hence, I have been contemplating all the best and the worst things that could happen. My aspirations for my semester abroad are: to be challenged culturally and linguistically, to question my world view, and to stay out of my comfort zone as much as possible. My fears for this semester are: the effects of Dominican racism on me and death by hurricane (It could happen).

Well, as the saying goes, time flies, and I definitely still haven’t finished packing. All the house visits and phone calls have taken a toll on me and my suitcases have suffered. Thanks to everyone who has helped me get this far and the next time you will hear from me, I will be in Santiago, Dominican Republic.

Nos vemos pronto!
Regina