Misadventure #1

My first misadventure was by far my worst. This post was originally only going to highlight the night I arrived in Kirov, but I will actually write about my entire experience flying. I am not an experienced flyer. The only time I had ever flown before coming to Kirov was going in a large group to an FFA convention in Kentucky last October. So saying flying to a foreign country alone was a daunting task is an understatement. I bought a Starbucks and waited for my plane and was already disappointed. My experiences with Starbucks are always on either end of the spectrum, either amazing or, in this case, burnt and nasty. But then the plane came and they upgraded my ticket and it was an amazing flight. I really love planes and flying. But then we landed in JFK. And oh man. I was in New York. I was thrilled beyond belief and the airport was amazing. But there was a catch. My terminal was in the other building. So after a couple minutes of wandering, I finally found the exit. I stepped out into the New York morning and imediatly started choking on the air. It was thick with smoke from the taxi drivers on break. In addition, it was dark outside and I was alone. To be honest, I was scared.

I found the correct terminal and did at least five or six double takes. No way this dump was the same airport as that other palace. But it was. And I had no idea where to go. I was starving though so I bought two dunkin' donuts and a cup of their black coffee. I was in line behind no joke, two GIANT men and their tiny old mom. They realized I was alone and kindly let me cut them so I could get out of line quickly. So I took my carry-on, my back pack, my hot coffee and my donut bag over to the wall so I could charge my phone. I took my chocolate donut with sprinkles out. If you know me, you know that other than a chocolate bismark, it's pretty much my favorite. (Note to self, add sprinkles to a chocolate bismark when I get back to the USA) And to my dismay, there was neither sprinkles nor chocolate on my donut. I would like to say I was dignified and mature, but I totally licked it off the paper bag like a child. I paid for icing!

Anyway, after a few hours a man who I can only describe as an urban cowboy came over and asked if he could sit down. I shrugged and moved my bag and after an awkward silence he asked if he could plug his phone in next to mine. I said sure and he asked if I had been to New York before. I said no, and I was from Oregon, so it was a big change. He told me that he was actually just leaving his family in Colorado. He said they were really close-minded and he didn't get along with them, so he was coming to New York to change his luck. I ended up helping him find a hostel to stay at and then we said our goodbyes. I went upstairs and found that my next flight line wasn't even open yet. The joys of a 9 hour lay-over, am I right? I found a nice little nook in a support beam by where my line would be and fell into a resting-but-still-awake state. That is, until a man stole a woman's purse and jumped between my nook and a garbage can to get away. Thankfully at that point it was late enough I could text a friend of mine to calm me down. I decided that contact with family and friends was necessary until I was safe in my host family's home for the sanity of us all.

After what felt like forever of shifting and drifting around the airport, there was finally only an hour left. I resettled in my nook after fully charging my phone in the doorway while I people watched. I skipped a song and in the time it took Pandora to load I heard a woman who sounded very distressed. I looked up and caught her eye. She asked to borrow my phone so she could call her boss and tell her that she would be late. I decided that she seemed like a good person and I could outrun her even if she tried to pull something, so I handed her my phone. She called her boss and returned my phone. I went back to listening to music until a few minutes later when she returned with a fabric dollar-store fan and a bottle of cheap perfume. She insisted that I choose one as her thanks for letting her use my phone. I chose the fan and it is still one of the most special things I have received so far. I don't know if that's weird, but whatever.

I eventually made it onto my plane. (For my local Rotarians who read my letter, I actually got this flight confused) I spent a long flight squished on a seat next to a rather large Russian man who kept trying to speak to me, with a small crying child across the aisle. She promptly threw up as soon as the plane took off. It was.. less, than wonderful. Then I arrived to the Moscow airport. That was an incredibly overwhelming experience. There were way more people and it was all incredibly different and I had to wait 12 hours and I cried and a man vomited in the middle of the airport. I'm not going to go into detail about that. To be honest, I still get some anxiety thinking about it. But thankfully, it was time to go. I got on a tiny 30-seater plane and flew towards Kirov.

I arrived at the Kirov airport incredibly tired after a long trip. So I was exhausted. The airport was dark and tiny. I had no idea where the luggage was, so I just awkwardly followed the other people. I ended up finding both of my bags and then I waited with the other people for my host family. At first I was only a little cold, but then the other people began to disappear, and there was no one looking for me. I figured they may be inside, so I walked into the dark building which had only one light on. I motioned to the guard to say that I wanted in, so they scanned my luggage and I sat there. I used my pocket phrase book to ask if they had a bathroom and they said that they didn’t. I sat in the airport scared, confused, and unable to call anyone, and really in need of a bathroom. I paced around the two lone rows of chairs and looked for wifi. When I finally got connected I called home. It turns out that my host brother never told my host parents when I would be arriving. An hour or two later, my mom had worked her magic and my host family was on their way. About then, an airport worker walked over and said “toolet” which, is Russian for toilet. In Russia, a room with a bath or shower is a bathroom, but if it only has a toilet, it is called a toilet, which is why they said that they didn’t have one. In the end, all was well and I slept like a rock.

I hoped you enjoyed reading the tale of my first misadventure. Thankfully, this experience has led me to be much calmer about when things don't go as planned here.

пока пока,

Piffy

Unplanned Adventures #3 (#1 and #2 will come soon)

Last week, I did one of the seemingly most common mistakes of exchange students. My host sister has been ill and my host mother had to go to work, so it was up to me to get to school on my own.

Now, buses in Russia are very different from the buses I've rode from Monmouth to Salem. There are usually only about 10 people on my ride to Salem, and I've only had to stand on the bus twice. But in Russia, everyone takes the bus. In the morning, I happen to ride 54 which may be the busiest bus ever. Every morning I am a couple minutes late because I have to wait for 54 to come to the stop twice before there is enough room to squeeze onto the bus. And by squeeze, I mean I can barely fit between the door and the other people.

So wanted to try to avoid the crowded bus by taking a different bus to school. A bus I take home often, 46, also goes to my stop. So it made sense, in my head, that the bus that often takes me home would take me to school. However, as you can probably guess by now, it didn't. I failed to remember that I only take 46 home from my Russian lessons, not home from school.

This mistake caused me to ride the bus to the end of the route, where the woman who collects the bus fare told me to get off (I think. She said something I can't spell, but translates to "of course".) So I donned my backpack and stepped off the bus. My first thought was to check the bus stop and see if I knew a bus there. I saw a sign saying T1. I knew my host sister and I have taken bus 1 home before so I figured I could take the bus home, sleep off my embarrassment and go to school an hour later. It wasn't until the bus arrived, after nearly half an hour in the cold, that I remembered the T meant троллибус 1 and we rode автобус 1. So I narrowly avoided getting more lost and set off on my journey. If I'm completely honest, I expected to panic. I panic over tiny things, like cantering on horses or getting a B in biology. Rationally, being lost in a foreign country where I am not yet able to adequately speak the language, would cause me to panic. But I just walked. The sky was white with snow filled clouds, which seem just as full as rain clouds without the moody grey color. While the snow in the roads was mostly cleared, there was some black slush, but the sidewalks had been so heavily trod upon the snow was packed into ice. I listened to the same two albums I bought, along with a few of the U2 songs I didn't as I walked the empty streets. I didn't say much, a single <<доброе утро>> to an old man. I'll also admit to muttering to myself and repeatedly saying my host-sisters' favorite word блин. I also love this word because the direct translation is pancake, however people often use it as "damn."

So there I was humming Paramore songs and muttering "pancake" over and over until I came across another bus stop. I didn't recognise any of the buses on the side of the street I was on so I crossed to the other side to check the stop there. Still no buses I knew. Then I remembered my sister who was home sick. After a call and a few texts and many "pancakes" later, it was decided I would need to look for another stop. Then, as if it were meant to be, bus 54 drove past the corner. Looking back on it, I should have just kept walking straight and turned left to the stop that bus 54 had just been at, but no! I crossed the street once more and proceeded to walk what turned out to be a little over a mile to the stop 54 was on. I also realized there was again a stop on the other side of the street. Unsure of which direction would take me to home or school, I called my sister. She was confused by what I was asking and bus 54 came and went. Literally when the doors closed, my sister said I was at the right stop, and bus 54 would take me home. Bus 53 would take me to school. At this point I figured I would only have 2 more lessons, so I might as well go home and sleep. I checked the board and saw it would be 8 more minutes before the bus returned. But thanks to traffic, I sat there for half an hour playing Kirby and the Magic Mirror, waiting for the bus.(I am proud I am at 51% complete but the stupid cannon/spike level in one of the castles is so hard!)

When the bus finally arrived, I heard church bells. And I'm not being dramatic, a church was chiming 10 o'clock. With a huge sigh of relief I got onto the crowded, but blissfully less crowded than usual bus. I watched the unfamiliar stops fade as I began to recognise the stops.. Getting closer to school. I could taste my sweet lollipop turn sour, as if my mood made the lemon flavor suddenly over power the sugary goodness. The bus chimed and a woman's voice said улица труда and I got off the bus before I could convince myself to "accidentally miss" it and go home. But I arrived at school and had a good day and an amazing soup for lunch with my friends. All in all, my third unplanned adventure wasn't all that bad. I may write about the second someday, if I ever figure out how to properly capture the feeling of a microwave food diner. The first is sorta traumatic and involves airports. That story will come soon too.

I hope you enjoyed my story, and as always

Пока пока

I'm Sorry..Have A Circus Story

Wow, I am certain you are all loving me right now. It has been a nearly a month since I posted last. I was going to make a post about going to the circus with my host-mama and little brother but issues occured and things happened and it was all a big to-do. So to update you all on that end, I am no longer living with Irina and Ivan. I am now living with Katya and Serge. There were personal issues with my last family, with poor health and development of my younger brother and my host mother’s pregnancy. But now I am living with a girl in one of my classes and her family and they are great. My Russian is improving and it is wonderful. I have a 15 year old sister Lera and a 4 year old sister named Sasha. I will write about them soon(I hope)

But It is now time to write about my trip to the circus. I wrote a little in the moment before deciding to focus on the show so that little bit will be in italics.

I don't know what to say. I've never been to the circus before, and I've only ever really seen them in Big Fish and Madagascar 3. There is an upbeat piano tune somewhere in the back right, and right in the center of this little rotunda is, you guessed it, the big red ring. There are ramps and what looks like a trapeze wire. My mama bought popcorn that is stale and doesn't have nearly enough Carmel to hide the burnt taste, but it's somehow just as I imagined it. It's starting to fill with people :)

A drumming began behind the big red curtain, teasing us into curiosity, what could be back there? Then it stopped as suddenly as it began, replaced with a jazzy mix tune originating from the same place as the piano.

The show began with a roller skating show and it was amazing. Three boys and a girl did amazing tricks off of ramps and I could hardly believe my eyes. I have only been rollerskating once in recent memory, and I was terrible(as everyone there could attest.) And I remember back in the day, when Salem or Corvallis had a rink, I would cling to the bar and slowly inch around the ring. So seeing people who were so amazing was awesome.

Then came the monkeys. Now, I am a huge animal lover and part of me hated this because I knew that the animals in this show were not being treated well and I would often see them yanking them and I was about 5 seconds from leaving, but I do have to admit that the monkeys were incredible smart creatures. They wore stupid sequined little outfits and hats. One wore a gas mask and that was terrifying. No, I’m not your mummy.

A dog came in carrying a charriot with monkeys dressed up as Romans with stick swords and they chased monkeys on scooters. And then monkeys riding dogs were chased by monkeys on mini horses and just wow. Monkeys.

Then came the clowns. So I am used to my mental image of clowns being the scary painted face ones. But these clowns just had lots of blush and they were very cool. I was really happy that they weren’t scary they were just shirtless dorks. One was really short and fat and the other was tall and skinny. Skinny did a bridge and Chubby played his ribs like a xylophone and then the ring-master-lady pulled them out of the ring so a warrior princess and her guard could do cool tricks on a teeter totter.

The clowns came back and played some music, Skinny played the banjo and sang really fast Russian and Chubby stole Skinny’s hat and began playing violin(really, really badly.) So of course in retaliation he broke Chubby’s violin. Chubby suddenly played a really awesome saxaphone song. I also remember a great drum solo.

So sadly my bullet points end there so I don’t have any more specific details but I do remember some awesome horse riding and a trapize show that I will never be able to forget or explain. It was amazing and beautiful and scary and just wow.

My mom just said I have cake and coffee so I’m going to go now. Sorry this took so long but I will try writing again soon. Pictures are on their way.

Happy Birthday ReloD!!

Hello everyone! I am so sorry that I haven't posted in a while, but I'm back!

On Saturday I went to a birthday party for a company owned by my rotary club's president. ReloD (Russian English languages open doors) teaches Russian and English to people in hopes of bettering communication. The company turned 17 this weekend and we "went to nature" for a party. It was like the state parks in Oregon. Lakes and green grass, surrounded by pine and birch trees. At one point I took a short nap and looked around and I thought I was back home.

Let me tell you something about Russians. They know how to eat. I ate some meat and picked through the food until I was full and everyone kept piling on more food.
Russia doesn't have pickles, but they do have pickling cucumbers and they eat them just speared. Of all the food I ate, there wasn't much that I didn't try. I ate oiled mushrooms, a tomato and horseradish-like mix (I of course took a huge bite when they said it was spicy. I think my calm reaction scared them a little), a delicious carrot salad, a cabbage-like salad thing and meat. The only thing I didn't eat was the anchovie/sardine things. Because just no. I love fish, but no.

There was also one of my favorite things at this party. Dessert! The Russian sweet tooth is so strong that even I couldn't keep up with them. There was a traditional cake that was a layer of meringue, a layer of creamy frosting, another layer of meringue another layer of creamy frosting, another layer of meringue and then the entire thing was covered in vanilla buttercream frosting. Yeah. Amazing. There was also chocolate cake and way more candy than I knew what to do with.

I have always loved coffee and tea. And in Russia, I am very happy. While this party just had Lipton, everywhere has amazing tea. I love it so much!

After we ate and

chatted, made
almost a million toasts (I went through two glasses of orange juice and a cup of tea) we had some fun. This is Dima and a boy who I think is named Daniil, but I just call him No-Fish rapping about ReloD (I think.) Dima has some mad dance skills doesn't he!
No-Fish is so named because he doesn't speak English. All he knows is "No fish?" and "Panama Beach!" Needless to say, our conversations were thrilling. "No fish?" "I don't understand." "No fish? Panama Beach!" Then we would laugh and it was great. He knew Spanish but between level one Spanish on my part and a Russian accented probably not castajano spanish, we didn't understand each other. He asked if I knew French and I said not really and he said J'taime, to which I responded in my best Russian, I understand. The entire van full of people on the way home busted up laughing. It was hilarious. We also took some pretty awesome selfies too.

This is No-Fish, Dima, My tutor-Anna, Katya(Sister of No-Fish and I)

No-Fish, Katya and I

Katya and I

People of ReloD

Yeah. I'm short. I know.

 Anyway, that's all I have for you today! I hope to share more with you again soon. And as always,
                                                     пока пока,
                                   Piffy

English Teachers

I have found that in every school I have ever gone to, I have found one teacher that I saw as mine. In elementary school it was Mrs. Mortlock, my 3rd grade teacher. In 6th grade (which I sort of see as separate from the rest of middle school) it was Ms. Rivera. Then in the rest of middle school it was the fabulous Mrs. Swartzendruber. In my American high school it was Mr. Gorman. And you know what all of these teachers have in common? They were all my English teachers. So I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise that here in Kirov, Irina Anatolevna, my English teacher, is also my favorite teacher. We learn together. For instance, today she taught me the word “баба” (ba’ba) which is a Russian term for a homely, peasant girl. One with meat on her bones and rosy cheeks, who can do anything on a farm, from milking cows to butchering one. I taught her the term “rad/radical.” I am translating Russian folk tales and short poems in an attempt to pick up some words before my official Russian lessons start next week and the story of Alladin rhymed rad with Baghdad. Irina then went on to use rad to describe everything, from her students to the weather to her plants.

Without Irina, I think that my exchange would be very different. She is my advisor at school and she allows me to stay in class with her rather than go to boring classes like biology, physics, or maths, so that I can help speak English and learn Russian from her students. The girls in her class are very kind and she encouraged them to ask me questions which led to the discovery that all of the 9th form (grade) listens to the same music as I do. There was even one girl---shy-Lissa, who excitedly spoke to me about music and books---that Irina didn’t know understood English. Of course, happy-Lissa, my guide and (I think) friend, is always very helpful. I am helping her with her English and she is helping to teach me Russian. She and I exchanged phone numbers and we are going to go to the “кафе и синема” (ka’fe ee sin’ema) which is of course, the cafe and cinema, together with a few other girls in my English class.

Irina also took me to the cafeteria, which they call the canteen due to the fact they learn British English, for lunch today. It is one small room with only two rows of tables and a very short line for food. All of the food is prepared by a very sweet woman who cooks all day to provide fresh food for the school. She is very funny and said that she considered her the most important woman because she has the tallest hat.

So I think that the lesson I have learned today is no matter where I am in life, I can trust my English teacher and a good cook!

Пока Пока!

               Piffy

A Short Update

So much has happened since my last post. I was given one city, only to end up in another. I discovered that Russian Tea Cakes are actually Lithuanian(What? Why? How? I don’t know.) I had an interesting experience with my tickets and visa.. but I am tired and I will cut to the chase. You can expect a more in depth/well written post tomorrow.

Today was my first day attending school number 28, one of the best schools in all of Kirov. Kirov is a city of half a million people, so everything is huge. I have to walk 7 flights of stairs to get from my apartment to the ground, and then almost all of my classes are on different floors as well.

For most students, classes vary day to day. My first day I was supposed to have an English class, a Russian class, a Biology class and then two Russian Literature classes. However, the Russian class was in all Russian, plus I detest Biology, so I stayed with my English teacher. It was such an amazing experience. Her first class was around 15 incredibly behaved students who were all very kind to me. Then she had a class of 6 or 7 students who were her “slackers,” but she was very surprised and pleased that they understood me. I think she is too hard on them, they were all very bright in my opinion. And then my favorite class of all, the second formers.  School in Russia is divided into Junior classes- first form through fifth form, and Senior classes-sixth form through eleventh form. After senior classes, students go to College and then University. Forms are essentially grades. So my third class was teaching a group of second graders the alphabet (I also taught my English teacher the word squat, which she pronounces squad.)

I really like my host family, and my “mama” Irina is very kind. She doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Russian, but we are learning to meet in the middle. I learned “хорошо” (khorosho) which means good/well/okay and she learned good. Most of our conversations are “да, нет, *hand gestures* *sigh* IVANNNN.” But today she spent about five hours with me, teaching me to read from Ilya’s books. Tomorrow I am going to translate fairy tales from Russian into English. I will also write a better blog post. But it is late and I am afraid that jet lag and a long day of a foreign language wore me out more than I expected it would. I am too sleepy to revise this so it may disappear after I write a new blog post tomorrow.

Пока Пока,

Piffy

Fear and Food

“The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude.” -Julia Child

 I've never been a picky eater. As a child, I preferred to eat my thanksgiving potatoes mixed with corn and when we went to Los Dos Amigos, my  rice was thoroughly saturated with re-fried beans. I've always been open to eating anything, until I turned about 12 and realized how terrible blueberries, coconut, and raisins were(I'm working on fixing it though). But while I enjoy eating, I have always enjoyed cooking much more.

Good old-fashioned cookie dough!

The first thing I remember ever cooking was chocolate chip cookies with my mom and brother. I was so amazed that something as yucky tasting as flour could become the best cookies ever! I was fascinated with the art of taking simple ingredients and making mouth-wateringly delicious meals. I have made hundreds of dishes, each a little different from the last. I usually only follow a recipe either the first time I cook a dish, or when I bake. I've made things like homemade bread, saffron-brie-egg tart, duck, ratatouille, and many random other things.

Russian Tea Cakes

     I love the freedom that comes with cooking. Especially soups. Its a wonderful feeling to open your fridge and think there is nothing to cook with, only to craft a praise-worthy dinner. And as Julia Child said, you can't be afraid when you cook. You have to be able to forget all your inhibitions and try new things. So as I prepare for my journey to Russia, I can't help but be interested in the country's cuisine.
     Okay, so I have a sweet tooth that would cripple Willy Wonka. Russian Tea Cakes are like the best cookies I have ever had. I had my first one on 13.3.2014, from Konditorei(The best bakery in Salem, OR. If you are ever in the area, stop by and get a slice.). They are moist cookies that have bits of walnuts inside. They are mildly buttery, but not overpoweringly-so. They are rolled in powdered sugar which gives them the perfect amount of sweetness. I haven't made them yet, but when I do, I'll make sure to post about it!

Pirozhki

Don't these look amazing! One might say I have a *bit* of a "bread problem" but I don't care. Pirozhki sounds absolutely perfect to me. It's a loaf of bread stuffed with meat. Does it get any better than that? I have had something similar, but I don't know if they were exactly Pirozhki. I think it is an interesting savory dish that my whole family would enjoy and I wouldn't mind making them someday. *hint hint-MOM*

Syrniki

So this is actually something I found on Pinterest the night I found out I was going to Russia. They are like cheese-fritter/pancake things. I want to make them later in the Spring when fresh goat cheese is available at the farmers' market, as well as Marion berries. It seems like a very easy dish to play around with, and I can't wait to experiment with it!

This is a dish that I want to make for my mom. They are meat filled dumplings(veggie versions are called vareniki). They can be served with many different sauces or just sour cream. My mom really likes my borscht, and I think pelmeni sounds like it would go well with borscht.

Pelmeni 

Borscht

So, back to the idea of fear and food. Something I strongly believe is that you have to be willing to try and fail when you are cooking. I try new things and sometimes I fail. Of course it upsets me when I burn the bacon or mess up with the spices. But my failures are worth it when I make the perfect butternut soup. This is a philosophy I think applies to life and foreign exchange in particular as well. I want to try new things everyday while I am in Russia. I want to learn to do new things, even if I suck at it at first. "The only real stumbling block is fear." During exchange, I want to be fearless. For the rest of my life, I want to live fearlessly and adventurously. I hope you enjoy my blog and the stories I will share with you. Please comment to me and share this blog. Until next time,

                             Пока!(bye-bye)

Piffy

And The Story Begins...

Where does a person’s story begin? Is it when they, as a child, are first placed into their mother’s arms? Or perhaps it is before that, with the meeting of their parents. Maybe it isn’t until they say their first word. Could it be that the first chapter of their life only begins once they make their first adventure into the world?

Whenever you believe that your story began, I choose to think that my first chapter began with my birth. Sure, there is a prologue, but it isn’t a story I am familiar with. My life isn’t easily divided into years, events from one blurring into the next. My life is a story that is best divided into chapters. There is a chapter about my first dog and I’s adventures, one about my first memory in my new home and my last memory in my old one. Everyday is the opportunity for a new chapter and a new adventure in life.

Last year, sitting in the soprano section of choir, I unknowingly began what would become one of the grandest chapters of my life. I was chatting with whomever, when Madison, a girl I don’t remember meeting, ran into the room. She is my brother’s age, and I had, somewhere along the way from Monmouth Elementary School to Central High School, become friendly acquaintances with her.

I asked her what had her so excited and she told me she was accepted into Rotary Youth Exchange. I had only heard of foreign exchange in books and movies, but the idea of it fascinated me. Speaking to her that day planted a seed of wonder and curiosity that would eventually lead me to go on my own journey to Rotary.

I remember waiting until later that day and racing down to the counseling office. My counselor told me that I would have to wait until I was a sophomore and then I would have to apply and interview in order to get in. I waited and waited and waited until summer ended. I ended up being one of three applicants to be interviewed at the local rotary club’s meeting.

Finding out I was accepted was one of the most terrifying and exhilarating experiences of my life. A friend of mine was accepted as my alternate and we were both incredibly excited for our orientation. We had to wait from November to January, a measly two months that seemed like an eternity. It was then that I discovered all of the wonderful and amazing places I could go on exchange.

Later, in the fantastic month of February I went to the Eastern Oregon Discovery Tour... A ski trip. I became friends with fabulous people and I had so many firsts! I learned how to roller skate and snow board. We chose our country by 1:00 pm. It was so nerve-racking. The Rotarians made it very clear that it would be one of the biggest decisions of our life. After we chose I was sick to my stomach. I ended up chatting with some friends about Japan and how badly they wanted to go there(I was absolutely thrilled when they were selected to go to Japan).

That night Chris, the event coordinator, took us to a dance/hangout party that was meant to distract us from worrying. While we all enjoyed dancing and playing pool together(Mariah & Alexa), we were thrilled when some of the Rotarians showed up. I had just bought sugary candy and an amp and all around excited cheers erupted. There were only a few of the Rotarians there, but the knowledge that the moment we would discover our future was so close, our excited cries turned into anxious and nervous chattering.

The in-depth story of selection will be saved for another time. But in short, you choose one first choice and four alternates. After my first choice and three of my alternates passed by, my heart was ready to burst with excitement. After I filled out my ballot I began regretting my first choice, and wished I had chose according to what I want and know what I thought my family would feel safest with. Then my final alternate was coming to select. As the inbound and rebound weaved through the crowd I grew more and more anxious. My friend Emma, who had wanted the country from the beginning was selected and I cheered as loud as I could. Then they began to make their way towards me. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and I began to think that I wouldn’t get it. And then Emma, the Russian rebound told me I was selected. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I think I was laughing, crying, and screaming all at the same time. I was so sleep deprived and exhausted I fell asleep as soon as the room was cleared. That night I dreamed of my next chapter in the story that is my life.

Love, 

Piffy