Please help my friends in South Africa

everyone asks how they can help my friends in South Africa and this is how:

One of my job placements is at an AIDS Respite Unit, a place I have fallen in love with. A co-worker of mine, Cwengi Myeni is one of 15 women nominated to be South Africa's Woman of the year. She is by far one of the most outstanding women I have ever met and deserves this honor.


If she wins our program gets R100,000 and she herself gets R30,000 That is aprox 12,500 US dollars for the program and close to 4000 US dollars for her. THESE ARE HUGE AMOUNTS OF MONEY TO BOTH THE PROGRAM AND TO HER AND HER FAMILY.

Please take one minute to vote for her all you need is an email address.

go to:
www.womenoftheyear.co.za

vote under "Educators" for Cwengi Myeni (You can click on her picture and read more about her)

Please pass this on to anyone and everyone I would greatly greatly appreciate it!

Five months

Being half way though a volunteer is both exciting and frustrating. On Thursday I realized that I had exactly five months until I was boarding an Emirates plane headed back to the States.

There are days that I love being here, I love the culture, the people, I adore my roommates and I am thankful for the distance from everything I have ever known. In those moments five months seems entirely too short.

I scoff at people who tell me that I’m lucky to be able to ‘take a year off from reality’ a sentence that I surprisingly hear quite often. Volunteering is not taking a year off, but rather a year on. In fact I would bet that as a volunteer more work is completed, more hours are put in and more challenges are faced. And to say that we are taking a year away from reality is making an uneducated statement. Reality surrounds me in its rawest form.

There have been days where it takes all my strength to pull myself out of bed. To know that I have to face yet another long day filled with frustration after frustration, death, exhaustion and putting the needs of my roommates before my own. It is in those days that the prospect of five more months is suffocating.

Just as the mid year slump was starting to really take its toll on me I was blessed to have three of my good friends from home visit. Christine, Meg and Liza were a large blessing in disguise. Of course for very selfish reasons I was happy to have them here, but their trip turned out to be much more than just being surrounded by people from home.

They were able to witness my life, something that words on a blog, sentences in an e-mail or conversations on skype can't quite fully capture. They were able to work at all three of my work sites and visit the homes of former patients who have since turned into friends. Through them I was able to remember a side of volunteering that I have recently shuffled under the rug; the joy that this opportunity provides me with.

While the girls observed my interactions with a patient I became embarrassed and frustrated that in her state of confusion it took me 20 minutes to get her to take her medicine at the Respite Unit. To later hear them say that they were impressed with my patience made me re frame my day to day interactions.

During our safari I was beyond irritated that our safari guide was chugging whiskey while driving us back to our hostel, an action that caused us to leave a night early, but to hear the excitement as they recounted seeing elephants five feet from our vehicle was priceless.

I was intimidated by their exhaustion and felt bad that I kept their visit jam packed with activity after activity, but sitting outside under the stars on their last evening in South Africa and seeing their tears when talking about how changed they felt and how sad they were to be going home made it all worth it.

I don't want to lie and say being a volunteer is easy, because it’s not. Every day I struggle. There are moments where I am bored with feeling useless at work, I’m sick of being polite, I’m annoyed I’m not making money and I’m over feeling guilty for spending money I don’t have on a chocolate bar just because I want one. There are moments when I hate coming home after a long day and feeling forced to be present within our household, or feeling like I can’t take the car to just get out of the house because someone else might need it. There are moments during each day (many more then I should so readily admit) that I want to take the easy rode and give it all up and head for home. Every day is a struggle of emotions, love, frustration, sadness, grief, heartache, passion, and contentment, but my friends visiting reminded me that is those emotions which make my time here such a special experience.

I am so thankful that I have roommates like Sinead, Becca and Mary-Kate who allow me to feel the way I feel and to be present and supportive every second of every day. And I am so thankful that I have friends like Christine, Meg and Liza who are willing to spend an outrageous amount of money, take time off from work, travel half way around the world, put up with exhaustion though my crazy itinerary and still find time to love me, to listen to me and to remind me why I am here.

Five months is a number. One that will ultimately approach faster then I can imagine. Just as my friends said before leaving, good day or bad day I am lucky that I have five more months at my disposal deciding where the next five months will take me is the hard part.

Ubuntu rolled out

Today, Sunday July 11th the day of the final 2010 World Cup game I am overcome with emotion. The 2010 World Cup in all of its grandiose scale has managed to take my June and now a good portion of my July days hostage. With do and partially undue intention, being a faithful spectator has taken prescient over numerous other daily factors.

The past five weeks have jostled every aspect of my previous idea of what it means to be a volunteer; I have struggled with balancing the act of working with the poor and then spending a night on the beach front watching games on the largest tv screen imaginable. The past five weeks have flipped my work schedule upside down and then for good measure shaken it around a bit. They have put strain on my bank account and sleeping patterns and pulled my community in a million different directions.

The last five weeks have also encouraged a special unity within my community; nurturing our relationships with each other and the friends we have met here. They have also made me fall even more in love with the Ubuntu Nation and the ease and grace with which South Africa has completed the task of being the host city.

I had initial reservations about the challenges that went behind hosting such a large scale event. Despite a few hiccups, whose importance I do not miscalculate [namely the death of three local children and the missing report of another] I give a hearty congratulations to South Africa for a job very well done.

I have fallen in love with the fans of this sport. Their allegiance to respective countries, their fervour for the game, and most visible- their devotion to dress.

From German fans sporting the ever interestingly tight lederhosens or Australians in good Steve Irwin fashion donning all khaki everything and hats with corks hanging from the brim. Or fans from Ghana wrapped in four piece elaborate patterned traditional beaded outfits, Japanese men and women with full white body paint and a red dot on their forehead, Mexicans and Brazilians hidden behind elaborate (and borderline scary) facemasks , South Africans in a sea of yellow and green or in a unitard showcasing the South African flag colors and Portugal’s dedicated fans with little to no clothes on despite cold temperatures.

On numerous occasions I myself had the honor of wearing red, white and blue

or turning the United States flag into a dress (the thought of prison time and defacement of the flag was a fleeting thought, but was overridden by my desire to be a loyal fan.) I was able to sing alongside hundreds of other fellow Americans as our National Anthem played a moment that as a proud American I will forever cherish.




I was also able to proudly support South Africa, wearing my yellow and green Bafana jersey and dancing like crazy with hoards of other fans as "Africa" (I bless the rains down in Africa) by Toto played.

The people regardless of the team they were supporting have made this experience magical for me. There is a word in the Zulu cuture, “Ubuntu” which has come to define my year here. Its literal meaning “I am because you are” has been showcased over and over though out these five weeks.

In conjunction with a theoretical FIFA red carpet being rolled out on opening day, it is my opinion that on June 11th South Africans also unveiled the Ubuntu carpet and have kept it in the spotlight since. It has been emotional to witness my neighbors come together as a country. Not as self titled white South Africans or black South Africans or Indian South Africans, but rather as unified peoples under one name: South Africans.

I have fallen in love over and over with the unity present. From the South African flags adoring every side mirror on every car, to the Bafana Bafana Fridays where every single person myself included has been adorned head to toe in yellow and green.

I feel so proud to tell people that NO I am not here just for the world cup, I live here or to join the masses at the fan park as the National Anthem is being played. I was overwhelmed with pride as Bafana Bafana tied Mexico in the World Cup opener. I cried tears of joy alongside white – black – colored- young – old – rich –and poor as they beat France and tears of sadness as they were defeated by Uruguay.

I fell madly in love with South Africa as I saw more then ever, Ubuntu at its finest when South Africans after not qualifying to move on continued to be a part of the tournament and united behind Ghana as a continent of proud Africans.

Being here I have often found myself reading Wayne Visser’s poem “I am African.” On an average day his words put me at ease giving me meaning and connecting me to this continent. During the last five weeks of the world cup his words resonated in me everything I feel about my time here.

“I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s…
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of sound
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred”

Today, Sunday July 11th the day of the final 2010 World Cup game I am overcome with emotion. Awe at the execution, fondness for the game, pride for each culture, love for the people and beyond everything I feel blessed for the opportunity to say that I was there, in South Africa, in the stadium, on the beach front at the fan park.


(Durban on the left, stadium in the middle, ocean and pier on the right)

Free ticket and front row seats...

After a successful, fun filled evening at the Fan Park Friday night the girls and I decided to venture back into Durban Saturday for the USA v. England game. Our local paper said the game was supposed to start
at 6:30pm, but upon arrival to Durban we realized it wasn’t until 8:30. The girls and I spent the next two hours talking, dancing and playing cards with fans from all over the world. Playful banter about whose team was better was shared as we taught our new friends how to play all the old American (college) classics; up the river down the river, pyramid and kings.

Our eye-catching RED WHITE AND BLUE outfits attracted quite a crowd, both USA fans and casual spectators most looking to take a picture with us. I’ll have to admit, my very blue frilly tutu really
sealed the deal on patriotism. (Although they don’t celebrate 4th of July here it is one of my favorite holidays back home and I think the skirt will play a large role in my outfit!)



Two of the individuals we met Friday night at the fan park joined us Saturday -Jose a Venezuelan and Hindu who both go to Colombia University. It felt so refreshing to talk with them about New York
City and my life pre Africa in the Bronx. The two told us their extensive travel plans throughout South
Africa – catching various games. They mentioned that they had a spare ticket to Sunday’s game: Germany v. Australia which they offered to me at no charge.

I felt guilty as a volunteer accepting a ticket to a World Cup game, something my patients and students could never afford. After a bit of internal deliberation I graciously accepted knowing that not only would I kick myself later for not going, but I would have a line of others waiting to do so as well.

Walking through security into the stadium was exhilarating to say the least. Everywhere I looked fans were sporting their countries colors, but as I looked closer I realized a large majority were also bearing South African attire – beaded SA flags, or Bafana Bafana face paint. I again was so proud of the way this country has come together for the good of all. Before 11 June I had reservations about the success and safety of everything World Cup related, but after last weekend I couldn’t be more impressed with South Africa for pulling off such an immense undertaking, and doing it really really well..

Jubilation is one of the only words I can think of to describe the game start to finish, and even that doesn’t do it justice. Our seats (and I shouldn’t complain because they were free) were quite high up in the stadium. Before the game started I dragged the boys down to the first level to try and get a better picture of the stadium. I ended up talking with a member of security. One thing led to another and I found myself effortlessly walking through security into the section closest to the field. For part of the game we sat about 10 rows back and as if that wasn’t good enough I tried for a bit closer.

Now, I’m not always a con artist, but exciting times call for exciting measures….I saw an empty front row seat and happened to sit down; telling myself, of course that should the occupant decide to come to the game I would move. They never came, I never moved.






The ambiance that surrounded me quickly gave way to elation, eyes filled with tears of pride and goose bumps on and off through the entire game. Again, I felt so proud to call South Africa my home and so fortunate to be blessed with such a special opportunity.

Viva Vuvuzela

It seems like just yesterday the girls and I were scouring our closets looking for anything and everything yellow and green to wear to our respective worksites in celebration of the 100 Days until the FIFA World Cup kick off. And that ladies and gentlemen was 2 March 2010…exactly 105 days ago.

100 days ago. Even typing the sentence it sounds unreal. It has taken my boss Pat visiting from America and leading a full weekend retreat and then reflecting for the last two weeks to fully recognize that the mid way point in my year has come and gone with the month of June piggybacking closely behind it.

100 days later Enter World Cup Season

South Africa has been transformed. We have been drowning in a sea of flags rivalled by the deafening sound of the beloved vuvuzela for the last few weeks, but both Thursday and Friday of last week were unlike anything I have ever witnessed.

Thursday the girls and I joined Andrew and Gordon at a Johnny Clegg concert (At Gateway Mall- the largest mall in the Southern Hemisphere). Johnny Clegg is a SOuth African legend, not only for his invigorating music but for the way in which he inspired change just by being. Dubbed the “White Zulu”, he took strides in breaking the barrier between blacks and whites even before it was kosher to do so.

The concert opened with a singer from the band Tree63 who ended his performance by signing the three most perfect songs in a row:
-Three Little Birds (don’t worry about a thing cause every little things gunna be all right) By Bob Marley
- Wave Your Flag – the World Cup theme song
-Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika – The South African National Anthem

As I looked around I saw white and blacks together, standing side by side. Swaying their arms back and forth holding South African flags and then signing in unison the national anthem, in Zulu. Sharing together their pride, celebrating together their country. The experience was so powerful and of course I teared up.

After the concert the five of us went out for a Drink in Durban and the mood was just as vibrant. Everyone was excited and jerseys were in abundance. Conversations between cultures flew freely as everyone wanted to know who you were, where you were from and how long you were staying. I spoke with one girl from Germany in the bathroom. She complimented my shirt as I did hers- a long white sweater. I told her I had been looking for a sweater that was white and longer to no avail. At the end of the night she found me, sweater in hand and said “in the spirit of the world uniting, it’s yours”, handed me the sweater and walked out of the bar. The first of many outstanding acts of kindness I was blessed to receive this weekend.

Thursday melted into Friday. THE FRIDAY. June 11th, Kick off day typical life in South Africa has come to a standstill and instead a new vibe has been adopted. Every car has at least one South African flag flying from the window. Most cars actually have an additional South African flag or one representing another country on the other side. All cars have slip covers on their side mirrors with South African flags on them. As Sinead and I drove home from work we had the pleasure of watching a small boy try to stand in the back of a moving truck blowing a vuvuzela while waving a SA flag, not at all safe, but endearing at the same time.

The background melody of my life has transformed from the lulling of voices and cars to the not so lulling chorus of voluble Vuvuzelas (a plastic horn which when blown makes a loud monotone borderline deafening noise) rising from the valley. And somehow everyone’s closet including my own is only producing a wardrobe that consists only of the colors yellow and green.

The atmosphere of Friday evening in Durban for the opening South Africa Bafana Bafana game was unlike anything I have ever witnessed. Driving into Durban every person in every car had a Bafana Bafana jersey on. Walking down the boardwalk toward the fan park among the fans from various Countries was so exciting! The singing the dancing and the flags were everywhere and the whole experience was was so moving. Trees were being wrapped in South African flag colors and the sand was being built into the Moses Mahbida Stadium.





Again as I looked around there were both white and black, old and young donning the Bafana Bafana Jersey, vuvuzelas in hand, celebrating together.

Describing the vibe inside the fan park is so difficult as it in all of its glory was such an indescribable experience. The fragrance of excitement and pride was universal. It reminded me of the Bronx the day after Obama was elected; smiles plastered to the faces of all, everyone excited, everyone talking with each other, a real sense of unity and pride.


As I stood alongside thousands of other fans, feet in the sand; Indian Ocean to my left; Durban city to my right; World Cup Stadium behind me witnessing the dawn of a new chapter in the history of South Africa I realized the significance of that moment. For me an awestruck fan it was an exciting moment and I was proud to be a “resident” of South Africa for the year, but for long time residents it was an opportunity to unite, to see their country start to be healed and their dreams start to actualize.

I’m sure the fans will go home with a vuvuzela or two tucked in their luggage and a little ringing in their ears ...but for me the noise will not just be memories of another good game, but rather of barriers being broken, cultures merging, wake up vuvuzela calls from Embo at 5:30am – which carry on to vuvuzelas being blown on my way to work by fellow drivers or by patients at work – and St. Theresas boys teaching me how to purse my lips to make the right sound –and finally vuvuzelas will always remind me of the transcendence of love and pride.

Comrades Marathon

One of the most moving things about living at 8 Warwickshire Crescent is the location. On one side of our house we have the breath taking views of Embo and the other we have Old Main Road, home to the Comrades Ultra Marathon route.

Now, for those of you who are not in the running world is the world’s biggest ultra marathon. Ultra being the operative word. It is a grand total of 89kms which is 56 miles. I’m not sure what exactly it is that drives someone to run a regular marathon, but that alone is an impressive act and then to run distances beyond that is beyond words.

2010 Comrades details:
Date: Sunday, 29 May 2011
Start: 05h30 in Durban
Finish: 17h30 in Pietermaritzburg
Distance: 89km – 56 miles



A bit of background info on Commrades…this was the 85th year. It started as a group of runner friends daring each other to run between the cities Pietermaritzberg and Durban. The race, which was named for the acts of friendship and camaraderie found among the competitors eventually evolved to include local runners and eventually was opened up to the rest of the running world…typically there are around 14,000 runners.

The direction of the race alternates each year between the two cities Durban and Pietermaritzburg. As the World Cup 2010 “Feel it, it is here” adverts say, it is a special year for South Africa not only for the World Cup, but it was also Comrades 85th year so they extended the entries to 20,000 runners. This year also marked the first time that the run was held going from PMB to Durbs in two consecutive years, 2009 and 2010. They did this so it could end near the new Moses Mabhida Stadium.

Comrades runs through the valley of 1000 Hills, literally hill after hill after hill after hill which makes the run that much more daunting and impressive. Around the half way point on Old Main Road there is a wall of Honor commemorating the runners (I get to drive by it every time I go to 1000 Hills Community Center which is also located along the marathon route.



Watching Comrades was an event in itself. Although the race runs right by our house we decided to watch it from a neighboring town, Kloof alongside friends and family of our friend Richard who ran the race. In order to drive to Kloof, which is maybe 5 minutes away we had to wake up at 5am and be off of our road by 5:30; judging by the blockades that I sweet talked a policeman into moving, 5:30 was a time we narrowly made.

Unfortunately a few days prior my roommate Mary-Kate had her appendix out. She caught it early, the hospital is private and very nice (not some dirt hole in the ground like I’m sure you are thinking), she is doing very very well, but on Comrades morning she wasn’t feeling up to leaving the house so I went with our friends Adam and Andrew. Richards sister Claire did an outstanding job organizing our friends, food and festivities in honor of Rich!

As we settled in along side the 27k to go sign I couldn’t help but be overcome by emotions. The day in itself can be summed up in one world moving. I have never been so moved by witnessing a sporting event before. The amount of runners alone was a sight to behold and the atmosphere was one of complete support, proving the name Comrades to be a kind reality.



The winner won with a time of 5 hours 29 minutes.

I saw runners of all kinds; young and old, some fit and healthy others a bit over weight, some outfitted in barely there running apparel, others wearing outrageous costumes (two in Rhinoceros costumes, Superman and Batman, a man in a full three piece suite) twins, siblings, husband and wife and then Richard.

I started tearing up when I saw Rich. I was so impressed. As I mentioned before I have never been so moved by physical activity before. I was and still am so proud of him.

Comrades is an experience that I will never forget. Is is something that is so South Africa specific that running will be so closely linked with South Africa and my time here.

Rich’s finishing time was 9 hours 30mins and 26 seconds

This is the story of how we begin to remember

The people of South Africa have an unmatched flair for life. Their world is a captivating melody of sights, sounds and smells. Their unfathomable needs are masked by their strong faith and infectious love for one another; a love I have been blessed to witness first hand every single day.

The Kloof parish donates food for 10-12 food parcels each week and Baba Benjie has graciously let me assist him in delivering the parcels to families in the valley.
Every Friday we load up the back of the car, turn the music up and we’re off….deep into the valley. Our first stop: Matta (age 13) and Sma’s (age 21) house then down the road to pick up Andile and Zoleka (both 11).

The four strikingly beautiful Zulu children help us each Friday and I have fallen in love with them at an indecent rate. They have easily become my stand-in cousins. Their giggles are infectious and the more and more time I spend with them the more I realize that despite all the homesickness, all the challenging and exhausting days, just how much I love living in South Africa.

Our journey through the valley takes our car beyond traditional civilization lines, through paths that pedestrians would have a hard time navigating to roads which have no name. We go up wild dirt paths which barely constitute as a roads and down steep inclines to a place unlike any I have ever been before. Abject poverty surrounds us.
As scattered structures woven together with mud and sticks, passion, grief, sweat and tears begin to appear so do little bodies.

Running, racing, battling to be the first to reach our car. Their faces put an explanation behind the powerful pulsing of love in my veins. The red dust which is immeasurable taints everything from the clean clothes on the laundry line to the smirks on the children. Chickens and goats scamper to make room for our car, a luxury that will most likely never be a reality for the faces starting back at me through the glass windows.

Although many wear the duress of their lives in the lines on their faces and their broken hearts on their sleeves an impressive veneer of resiliency encases them. The reality of life is so different than that of my own and I feel so lucky to be afforded the chance to cross the barriers… to reach out and touch those deemed untouchable.

The Gogos, the mothers, the uncles and the babies fill my Friday afternoons, my life and my heart with such love.

I leave the valley at a crossroad of thoughts. Somewhere north of rhyme and reason, just south of details and structure, slightly west of convention and customs and east of old and new. I leave the valley remembering what it is to love, to hold hope so close to the heart and to feel passionate.

I leave the valleys on Fridays full.

Full of understanding that this world will never be what I want it to be, but though kind actions it can be transformed into a world where love flows freely and friendships are not bound by limitations of money, status or skin.


My food parcel route babies....




I do what I do because of theses faces

Under african skies

Dual sunrise and sunset over the Indian Ocean


Sunrise at my house


Sunset at my house



Night time at my house



I mean is this real life?

St. Theresas Salon

Just a typical afternoon at St. Theresas Salon...Shin and I getting our hair done.



Which was nicely followed by MK and I teaching the little guys how to use my camera...Please note how good our hair, outfits and smiles are...



A few kids and 15 minutes later...a bit disheveled


A full camera instructional lesson for 10 boys under the age of 5, lots of photos and 25 minutes later...utter chaos. Literally how we end every single Monday, Tuesday, Thursday at St. Theresas...I mean we look good ya?

Being able to admit your shortcomings is by far one of the most humbling experiences

The last two weeks I have been feeling really discouraged. I have been homesick for awhile and many days work is very challenging, but things really came to a head when I was sick.

The stress of finding a Doctor, feeling guilty for missing work, and feeling like a burden on the community coupled with missing the comforts of home were so overwhelming. I was in pain and more exhausted then I have ever been in my entire life. There were many nights that I came home on the verge of tears and all I wanted to do was go straight to bed.

It took a solid two weeks, medicine, lots of 7pm bedtimes and love from my roommates to begin to feel physically better, but emotionally I still didn’t feel right. I realized that even though my body seemed to be back to normal my heart still hurt.

One of the best things about being a volunteer is the raw aspect of community. Living so closely with others comes with its own wide variety of challenges; it can be frustrating, exasperating, annoying and outright maddening at times, but the sense of love and support is invaluable.

Last week at some point I finally sat down with the girls and through many tears and tissues I told them how unhappy I have felt here. I love them and I love all three of my work sites, but certain aspects of my day to day routine are making life here more challenging… namely my position at 1000 Hills.

1000 Hills is one of the most amazing places I have ever been. Dawn the director is an outstandingly strong, passionate and dedicated woman and role model. She built the center from the ground up and has given her entire life to the care of so many people. Each and every day there I am blessed with smiles and hugs from the Gogos and lots of love from the babies, the one fall back of working there is the days that I am assigned – Monday and Wednesdays.

Tuesday is baby clinic at 1000 Hills and Thursday is general clinic. Even though many people come to the clinic on Monday and Wednesdays, which are my days they are very very slow. I try my best to stay busy and engage those in attendance in conversation and activities, but more often than not I have felt like a burden.

After four months of discerning my options and asking over and over ‘what can I do’ or ‘how can I help’ I made the difficult, yet necessary decision that I needed to change my work schedule. I now work at 1000 Hills only on Mondays. I get frustrated on a daily basis that my initial work schedule didn’t work out. I know I’m not here to be satisfied myself, but at the same time sitting around for hours on end drinking tea was not what I walked myself into either.

Whenever I see the babies precious faces and feel the warmth in their hugs or have a conversation in Zulu with the Gogos at 1000 Hills on Mondays it crushes me. I flit between feeling satisfied with the decision I made and feeling like I disappointed those around me.

I am often nostalgic for the simple comforts that coincide with being somewhere familiar. There are moments every day that I long for people who just get me…who know me…quirks and all. But in the middle of feeling sad I find myself face to face with Becca, Sinéad and Mary-Kate. Without their comfort, support, friendship and love I don’t know where I’d be…