Set Free

Nothing has prepared me for this moment, but I feel as if I’ve lived my whole life for the very next 30 seconds that await me. The countless pairs of unfamiliar hands, which have nurtured me and brought me to this launching pad, now applaud my best efforts to crawl my way into this vast abyss they call my future.

Lead. I will follow.

Not a single soul, including myself, has any idea what awaits me, and despite the tumultuous waves collapsing before me like the brittle walls of a gingerbread home rotting in late March, I feel the serene repose of what lies deep beneath the ostensible turmoil. A deep emptiness lies before me asking me to fill it - and I will.

Costa del Sol, El Salvador

Something innate pushes me to the brink. Something intrinsic assures me that I am ready to take this plunge. It’s as if the millions of others who have come before me sing a sweet chorus in unison with the rhythmically swelling waters that hypnotically lulls me into the salty embrace of the ocean. You lead, I will follow. I am blissfully blind.

Beware: The Water

The weighty burden of each grain of sand upon my arms makes this otherwise simple task rather onerous. But upon second thought, what now seems to sap every last bit of energy as I maladroitly squirm to accomplish this Herculean task is but a small taste of the exhaustion that awaits me as I set out into this world of the unknown.

Palatial Castles

Convinced you’ve done the world a favor, I’ve finally made my way to the sea. An extra round of applause for yourself under the guise of your jubilation for my feats today, you take solace in telling yourself you’ve done something good; however, we all know I will be dead soon. You brought me here knowing that I would not succeed.

My, how the ocean has a peaceful way of soothing a guilty conscience.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday El Salvador (and Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua)!

Like any proud American, I celebrate American Independence with great fervor. When asked by foreigners what exactly July 4^th is or how exactly our independence came about I can rattle off the highlights, main characters, and key points as if they were details from my favorite movie. Taxation without representation, King George III, the Boston Tea Party, George Washington and the Founding Fathers, the Battles at Lexington & Concord, the American Revolution, the Declaration of Independence, and all the other gems of American History.

Yes, Lightsabers were used.

I know these things because a) I love the United States and b) our public schools (for the most part) do one hell of a job making sure you eat, drink, and sleep this info. Initially, it’s rote learning stored simply for the regurgitation on your upcoming 6th grade social studies test, but with time and maturity it becomes who you are as an American. Further, and as corny as the cliché might be, “you can never know where you are going until you know where you have been.”

With this in mind I was shocked while chit-chatting with my students the other day when, in an effort to spark some conversation in English class, I was met with dumbfounded looks upon asking, “Who can tell me about El Salvadoran independence?”

A few mumbled words later and we confirmed the date: September 15, 1821. “Good, that’s a start…” I thought. However, when pressed for further details the most we established was that independence was proclaimed from Spain.

“Great!” I exclaimed, “But how? Why? Who played important roles? Tell me the story.”

*Crickets*

Determined to get the kids talking and to keep class moving along, I spoon-fed them questions that kept the storyline moving and gave their minds a mental workout. My favorite part of course being the fire in one student’s response when I put the issues of the early 19^th Century independence movement into today’s terms in an attempt to make history relatable. “Let’s say the country today is overtaken by the maras, or the gangs, of El Salvador. They control everything and all the common people are left to live how they dictate. What would you do?”

“I KILL THEM ALL!”

 These guys have chainsaws for testicles.

Perhaps my small class, mostly between the ages of 16-20, is made of students just at the perfect, apathetic age where no amount of prodding or excitement can get them to share their knowledge. I know they’re more concerned with deciding what to “like” on their Facebook accounts than who Manuel José Arce was, but I get the sense this goes beyond any apathetic disregard for being in class on a Saturday morning. I can see this isn’t about them being too shy or to lazy to give an answer. The proverbial light bulbs above the heads’ of even my brightest students go dim. They simply do not know the finer details of their independence. 

When the month of September rolls around, the country is in a fit of patriotism. Cars and buildings all around town don flags, blue & white balloons decorate doorways everywhere, and Independence Day sales draw in customers to every store. With such hoopla surrounding the holiday, I’ve given a lot of thought on how independence could be so prevalent in the populace’s mind yet its history so unknown by so many.

¡Viva El Pulgarcito (El Savlador)!

Perhaps I am searching for much more to the story than exists. With the American Revolution in mind, perhaps my expectations are skewed. Maybe there isn’t much more to really say about the independence from the Spanish Crown. Maybe with all the waves the American and French revolutions made around the world beforehand, the independence of Central America was an overlooked sideshow playing second fiddle on the second stage. Maybe the Central American countries were able to ride on the coattails of those movements with relative ease. With everyone else in the New World gaining independence and the Spanish Crown having already lost the bulk of its territory in South America, as well as finding itself bogged down by everyone's favorite Emperor (Napoleon), maybe it was just time for Spain to give up.

A world power cedes nearly all of its territory in the New World, leaving you – to this day – with a language, culture, DNA, and influencing who you are; and we’ll just chalk it up to them giving up? I don’t think so. Of course, the finer details are beyond me, but my point is this: shouldn't those living here now at least understand the gist of what happened? Maybe not everyone can cite the exact years, place, and people of these events, but at least build a general understanding.

It is paramount that a country and its people understand where they come from. It is a cornerstone of life and how we are molded to live it. It dictates how societies and the world have existed since the evolution of man, and will continue to dictate our societies until the sun explodes and takes us all down with it in a solar apocalypse. The lack of one’s history is not only troubling, but crippling to all of society.

I’m all for a barbeque, parades, and unfettered patriotism today, but starting next week I say we all hit the books.

"I Am Here"

A morning a person I am not.

Drudging myself from the warm, cozy confines of my bed only to attack (or be attacked by) the day that lies ahead can often, I find, not be worth the effort. Not to be a Dougie Downer for the rest of you who are high on sunshine, but I’d just as soon like to step back in time and meet the genius that perpetuated this “early bird gets the worm business.”

I’d give the guy an “A” for effort, a nice pat on the back for exhibiting such enthusiasm, but then I’d slip him some Xanax to take his life from a The-World-Is-My-Oyster-&-I’m-Gonna-Eat-The-Shit-Out-Of-It high to a much more appropriate I-Lead-A-Mediocre-Existence-That-Allows-Me-To-Live-Within-My-Means-&-I’m-OK-With-That reality. Come down from the rainbow infused, unicorn tear based, hippy drug of happiness with a side of dancing Oompa-Loompas that you’ve been free basing, and join the rest of us on this rock of cold, hard, Earth.

Yes, I see that the sun is up, but no, that alone is not reason enough for me to put a smile on my face and pretend that it has not done that same exact action each and every day of my 28-year existence.

That parlor trick has worn off, my friend. The sun hasn’t fooled anyone with that one since the days of Copernicus, so it’s about time for some new, updated material.  I’m ready to be inspired.

Heliocentric: represent!

Anyhow, the rant against morning people, geocentrism, and those not sharing unicorn tears with the rest of us aside; I find it very odd when I am met with a response to a question from someone that fails to make any sense, fails to even acknowledge that a question was asked, or even goes so far as to respond to my inquiry with yet another question.

Firstly, as far away from the morning spectrum of “chipper” as one can be, it takes a bit of effort and gusto on my behalf to eke out such salutations anywhere between the hours of 6 - 11 AM. Should I find the Herculean strength and Rocky Bolboan resolve to garner a “How are you?” the last thing I need is the confusion of a response, “Good morning.” Wait, you’ve failed to answer my question….or did you? I’m confused.

Ok, perhaps it’s my fault for jumping the gun and immediately using a question in my greeting as opposed to a simple salutation. After all, 99.9% of the time I ask this question I tune out the response as I am often, very simply, uninterested.

And perhaps I am exaggerating a bit; I understand the give and take between a friendly morning exchange of hellos, how-ya-doings, good mornings, and the like. Of course, a straight answer is not mandatory to an inquiry of one’s state, but I can’t help but feel as if it’s like I am asking something as simple as “What is your name?” and the best response mustered is an asinine, “Wicket.” Unless one were raised by croquet fanatics, avid cricket players, or maybe a pair of Star Wars faithful obsessed with Ewoks, I doubt your name is wicket and thus, you’ve failed epically to respond to my question. And don’t respond to my “How ya doing?” with a hearty, “How’s it going?” I asked you first, chief. You don’t want to get into that battle with me – it’s one you will surely lose.

Wicket the Ewok

All of this is to say that the subtly of simply ignoring your greeter’s query and responding with something a bit off-the-wall is not unique to English speakers. Over the years I have found many words, phrases, and sayings in Spanish to be just as entertaining, and a common phrase that one will hear often in El Salvador is among that list.

Question: “How are you doing?”

Response: “I’m here.”

I simply love it. It’s simple, it’s quick, and it about completely avoids the question. Of course, context considered, it is understood to be a neutral response, much like I might respond to the same question in English, “Oh, you know, just hanging around.” I haven't answered how I am feeling or doing, but in general there is nothing too exciting neither here nor there; things are a bit stagnant. Translated literally, however, the response always brings a smile to my face, and that might just be worth waking up for.

La Mirada

I spend night after night wondering what it is that my love is looking for.

Has she been so broken by despair that the faintest glint of sunshine illuminates her whole being? A brighter future illuminated, a future free of the pains and disappointments of today? Is the breaking sunshine over the horizon igniting the hope of 100 Olympic torches in the whites of my beloved’s eyes? The whites of her eyes - the tiniest flecks are comical amidst the sea of pitch-black irises - just barely flicker, like the moonlight’s reflection off the oceans in the night’s sky when no one is watching.

Her eyes, as dark and mysterious to me as the untold stories of the millions before her, are an open sea. Serene and placid in calming waves of endless beauty on the surface, yet tumultuous, unrelenting, and unsettling as I reach depths never before explored by others. I think back to all the times that I have wanted to turn back – take to the safety and familiarity of the surface where I can again breathe – but deep within is where I am tempted to remain, and so I do.

Certainly my beloved knows by now that the pains and disappointments of today will never surrender, does she not? For her these pains have been as certain as the endless fields of corn that grow with every season, as certain as the pain of hunger in her abdomen as if her stomach has grown teeth and tried to eat itself, as certain as the emptiness left behind by a family that never existed.

Of course she knows this. She, more than anyone I have ever known, understands this. She, bored with the indifference and ignorance of the world, knows nothing more than hope; a hope I never want to understand. A hope I do not long to need so desperately.

To me, her gaze seems permanent and maybe it is. A gaze unfettered by neither anything on this Earth nor in its heavens. A gaze to forever remind me that things will never change.

I am not presumptuous nor am I disillusioned. I am simply a butterfly - changing once, but never again. 

Lago Coatepeque

Cheeseburgers, the sound of pattering rain dancing on my windowsill, the aroma of freshly baked bread that envelops you upon entering a bakery, and the pleasure that courses throughout your exhausted body in the morning when you awake before your alarm sounds only to find you still have another 1 hour of sleep ahead of you – these are the sorts of things that I truly love.

Snakes are not anywhere near the top of that list and would rather fall somewhere far down on that list in between 5 mile runs and watching the WNBA. So, when I ventured to Lake Coatepeque to enjoy some sunshine, I was a little hesitant upon discovering that “Coatepeque” means “snake hill” in Nahuatl. “Then again,” I asked myself, “what’s in a name?”

Lake Coatepeque lies only a quick 1.5 hour drive due west from San Salvador in the department of Santa Ana. A rather flat and uneventful drive, but with a few snacks and a blaring iPod on your side, a drive worth making to reach this treasure.

At first I love every bit of scenery around me. My synapses fire millions by the second, but still quite not quickly enough to keep up with the visual stimuli all around me.  As we make our descent into the caldera (the lake was formed by volcanic eruptions up to 72,000 years ago) I am charmed by roadside restaurants offering picturesque views of the lake, but not nearly enough to patronize them. I’m far too excited to get up close and personal with this gem and dip my big toe into her placid waters.

Lake Coatapeque

Upon descent my mood quickly sours, like a mid-summer’s storm wreaking havoc on a sunny day without any warning. My disposition becomes a swath of gray storm clouds as I reach ground level from the hills above, only to discover that the genius planning around the lake has been done in a fashion best described as "Late 19^th Century Boomer/Sooner." For 15 minutes we slowly drive around the lake and I am given a view of nothing more than walls and gates of private residences and condos, separated only by the occasional store or hotel peppered in between them. So, this beautiful land around this amazing lake has all been grabbed up and passed on from progeny leaving the rest of the population locked out? The social benefits of the many sacrificed for the comfort of the few as I am left with no public access to this national treasure? My own, personal Trail of Tears continues until we spot a small oasis among the private access drives.

A small restaurant offers a parking space and a dock that leads right out into the lake, complete with a lifeguard to keep watch should you choose to test the waters. Not exactly the public access lakeside complete with picnic tables and empty space to drown myself in, but the waiters and cold beers will see to it that I leave this place never imagining visiting the lake any other way.

A few cold drinks, a fresh plate of grilled meats to snack on, and enough sunshine to give me a pinkish hue and we decide it’s time to move on to the surrounding hills of Lake Coatepeque.

This drive is far more splendid as the winding roads lead you further above the lake into the hills, allowing you to see the stunning blue waters of the lake slowly reduced to the size of a pond that, from this perspective, you could cup into the palms of your hands.

From above

Reaching the top of Cerro Verde at 2,030 meters above sea level offers nice views in the late afternoon, but none of which compare to the picture-perfect views of Izalco Volcano in the setting July sun. Izalco spanned nearly 200 years of mild activity, creating an amazing site of natural beauty to see as it lightly erupted lava like clockwork. As such, a hotel was constructed on Cerro Verde overlooking Izalco in the 1950s to lure guests and promote tourism in the area. However, a bad stroke of luck, or perhaps a knee-slapper for the gods, Izalco became quiescent shortly before the hotel’s completion and has been dormant ever since; a fate similarly met by the hotel.

Ruins of the Hotel de Montaña - Cerro Verde

Izalco Volcano (Foreground: Kisses from Cerro Verde)

The hotel construction was completed, but business was essentially done before it even started. Without the draw of the active Izalco Volcano, the hotel was abandoned. The remains of a once promising hotel can be visited, but appear more like discarded ancient ruins than a 4-star hotel of the mid-20^th Century. As the stunning view of the volcano remains, a sight unlikely to change for thousands of years, it perplexes me that the hotel was scratched completely. Myself as evidence, people still visit this spot for the amazing view, so why not maintain a restaurant/bar for the visitors (which, by the way, were plenty)? My only other option for a drink or something to eat at that altitude was an old lady selling baked goods and bottled water near the park bathrooms. 

Izalco Volcano

Endless Skies: View from Cerro Verde

Should you find yourself exploring the tiny country of El Salvador and needing an escape from the hustle & bustle of the capital city – which you will – I highly recommend the jaunt out to Coatepeque. And hey, there aren’t any snakes to be scared of. 

Happy Birthday, Zack!

Today is your birthday, Zack. Happy Birthday. I know that wherever you are now you are keeping a watchful eye over me, all your friends, and your loving family.

It has been nearly 1 year since you passed away and literally not a single day goes by where I do not think of you and the endless memories we share together. It is amazing - the little details I had long forgotten about - until one random day they all come flooding back to me. Since your passing I have played over and over again in my head the endless thoughts, pains, feelings, and memories like a broken record; rehashing the time we spent together and what – if anything – I could or should have done differently. For months I kept my true feelings bottled up, pushed the whole situation out of mind, and forced myself to move on. Not because I did not care, but to the contrary, because I cared too much.

However, I have slowly come to realize and accept that no matter how much time I take to think things over or how much care I put into choosing my words, there is absolutely no way I will ever be able to perfectly express what it is that you mean to me. There is no more sense in hiding from what I have been too afraid to face, there is no more reason in feeling like what I have to say will never mean enough.

Zack, since you passed it seems that around every corner lie even the smallest, most insignificant things that remind me of you, but within these small details is the remarkable power to trigger the most overwhelming inundation of memories and emotions that I have ever known. Even as I escape the conscious and shut off my mind to sleep you seep into my dreams. I have reoccurring dreams that surround real moments from our childhood where it is impossible not to feel like everything is happening in real life. Dreams that have us playing football, going on road trips, laughing until our sides hurt, and playing music together – dreams that are so real that I wish I could stay in that dream world forever.

At first, these constant reminders of you were painful pinpricks to my delicately healing scars in the wake of your absence, but I have now come to welcome and relish the daily reminders of you that are the highlight of my day.

I could truly go on and on about all the memories and the important role that you played in my life. That special bond that kids share growing up together: playing sports, causing trouble, spending every possible minute together, weathering the growing pains and simple joys of adolescence. From things as simple and innocent as an overnight stay watching movies and playing video games as 13 year old kids to issues as heavy and life altering as dealing with schizophrenia as a young adult – you and I truly covered the whole gamut together.

When you were with us you were my best friend, Zack. This alone is extremely important and special to me, but to quantify that further, you were my best friend during the absolute most crucial and developmental time in our lives. A time when – for better or worse – who your friends are defines you nearly as much as you yourself do. A time when adolescence and innocence slowly evolve into adulthood as we mature at the hands of defining - and often painful - life lessons. It is impossible for me to look back on these formative years and to not immediately think of you, as you were at my side all the while. It is impossible for me to look back on these years and not think of your parents, who loved me as one of their own. At a time when teenagers inexplicably ignore their own parents and seek solace, understanding, and acceptance from outside their own homes, your family was a constant source of reassurance and care. Likewise, I know you felt the same within my family as my loving parents treated you as their own in our home too. In that sense, you and I were truly like brothers.

Of course, you and I had more than our fair share of childish, mischievous run-ins growing up. Getting into trouble around the neighborhood and at school, our parents certainly gave us our fair dosage of tough love. However, as we got older we straightened out for the best. As we matured and came to learn the error of our childish ways, I saw deep down that within you there was never any malice in your heart. You never did wrong by anyone and you were a genuinely good and pure person. Your only objective in life seemed to be to make others laugh, which you did without fail.

No matter what was going on in your life you took advantage of every opportunity to make others laugh. Growing up, you never abandoned your silly, carefree demeanor and after looking back on all the time we spent together, I honestly cannot think of one moment when I saw you genuinely angry or upset. Among our friends you were - without a question – the funniest of the bunch. It is innumerable the times that our group of friends sat around, joking with each other and telling funny stories that ended with tears in my eyes and pain in my sides from laughing so hard from your antics and anecdotes.

You truly lived to make people laugh Zack, yet ironically, you were cursed with having to battle such sad illnesses with depression and Schizophrenia. Diseases I never quite understood, but even more frustrating, never understood why you were unlucky as to have to battle such a tough life situation. 

I have often tried imagining being dealt the same hand in life that you were Zack and when I really let it sink in - when I really put myself in your shoes - and when I become completely honest with myself, I am often scared at what I discover. It would be too much to cope with, it would be too confusing, it would be too unfair. “Why me?” I would wonder. I do not know that I would be strong enough to take on the same challenges that you faced.

Of course, all the empathy in the world will never allow me to truly understand your - or anyone else’s - situation in life, but attempting this always helps paint the larger picture of just how amazingly strong you were, Zack. I had seen you during some of your weaker moments, but over roughly the past 7 years of your life you battled that tough situation with great courage and strength – the same situation that I can hardly bear to fictitiously place myself in for 10 minutes.

There is no question that dealing with depression and Schizophrenia took a lot out of you, Zack. There were times that I saw you at extreme lows that attest to that. But even during those lows, you were battling and making all of your loved ones proud by helping those unknown to you through public channels, such as the newspaper and on your website, regarding these illnesses. Although shy and bottled up in your own way as you dealt with these problems internally, you were always thinking of others and you were a voice for others struggling with similar life situations. That is nothing short of admirable, my friend.

Looking back, it is impossible not to feel like there was more I could or should have done, no matter how much I know no one can blame themselves in moments like these. As can happen with childhood friends, we grew apart over the past 7 years - we went to different universities, you moved back home to deal with health issues, and I moved to cities and countries far from home. However, whenever I wonder what more I could have done for you, I am reminded of a special moment between my mother and I that I hope will serve as advice for everyone in all of their relationships.

When I first learned of your diagnosis of Schizophrenia, I talked with my mom in our kitchen and I will never forget the words she said to me that day.

“Never stop reaching out to him. Never let him feel that he is alone.”

As my mother grew up with two brothers with similar mental health issues, she spoke from the heart with not only experience, but conviction. To this day I cannot recall hearing any words sung so true and full from my mother’s complete being. I took those words to heart and I feel I did do the best that I could as time and space pulled you and I apart, as can often happen to old friends. Sometimes months would go by without a hello, but I never once stopped reaching out to you and I know you truly appreciated that.

Most recently was in January 2011 right before I moved to Guatemala. You were looking the best I had seen you in years: you were focused, happy, and all around together. You, your mom, and I talked about your plans to go back to school to study psychology, we reminisced about the old days, and you brought me up to speed on everything new with you and the family. Before I left I said goodbye and gave you both a big hug and then shipped off to Guatemala the next day. Unbeknownst to me, that would be the last time I would see you, friend.

So, as my mom pointed out to me many years ago, never stop reaching out. Never take for granted the important people in your life and never let yourself be content with silence when those you care about long to feel your friendship and love. Not only to those you know are in need of a friend, but to everyone you care about. If there is anything I have learned, it is that just when life seems to grow monotonous, unexpected changes happen in the blink of an eye.

Zack, your time with us may have been just the blink of an eye in the grand scheme of the universe and time, but your memory, your infectious laugh, and your spirit will live with me for eternity.