An unlikely gratitude list

In November, as leaves fall and pumpkins rest in porches and front yards, gratitude lists pop up in school hallways, Pinterest boards, and neighborhood magazines. People are grateful for families, jobs, and good health. Not many, though, include pain and disease in their list.

Austin Pruitt is one of the few who do. At 24, he has experienced almost five years of constant pain. Intracranial Hypertension causes him severe, chronic headaches that prevent him from living a normal life. However, he credits this rare illness as the key that unlocked his outpouring of gratitude. “From the early days of the disease, I started noticing that lots of people loved me. Being in pain allowed me also to realize that everyone hurts in one way or another. Because I have experienced physical and emotional pain, I can truly sympathize,” he explained one afternoon not long ago.

From his home in Dallas, Mr. Pruitt grew up planning to follow his father’s footsteps. He enrolled in college at 18, and was counting on going to medical school. It was studying at Harding University, during his freshman year, when he started to experience severe headaches. Soon, the pain became so strong, that he could not go on. One strong episode marked the first of several visits to the Emergency Room. In 2009, Pruitt traded his life in college for a full time cycle between emergency rooms, doctors’ offices, and recovery units. That was also the beginning of his journey towards thankfulness.

“I am grateful because I am not alone”, he expressed. His father, a plastic surgeon, is committed to finding a cure to this rare disease. Together, they have researched and visited lots of specialists around the country to discuss treatment options. Mr. Pruitt credited his family with providing the love, strength, and faith he has needed to go on.

Pruitt also appreciates the opportunity to share his experience and hope with thousands who have the same condition around the world. Besides participating in online support groups, he started his own YouTube channel. It includes original piano compositions, as well as chats about spreading joy, loving unconditionally, and living stress free. “This condition has given me the opportunity to think about topics greater than myself”, he expressed.

Last October, Pruitt delivered a sermon at his home church about the difference between pain and suffering. “Those who suffer from chronic pain can tell exactly what level of discomfort they feel at any given time. It is a fact. It is there. Suffering, on the other hand, is the feeling attached to the pain,” he indicated. “I cannot control the pain, but I can choose to either grumble, or shift my focus.”

His strategy for coping with constant pain is living in the moment: “It takes away the weariness of yesterday’s pain, and the fear of tomorrow’s. I found that playing the piano takes away the urgency of concentrating on the pain,” he stated.

For Mr. Pruitt, a daily gratitude list is also an effective antidote to both physical and emotional pain. “Even during the worst days of my pain, I have joy. I know that God has a plan, and that Intracranial Hypertension is not all there is” hinted Pruitt with a wink.

As he admitted that living in pain has aged him prematurely, he noted that his priorities have changed. That is why he advocates living with the less fortunate in mind, soothing hurting hearts, and pursuing a meaningful life. “This condition took away my career, but gave me the opportunity to tutor, teach piano, and even to write a book”.   

Drawing from his love for baseball, which he played throughout high school, Mr. Pruitt suggested that one decides whether or not to hit the balls that life throws. “Some try to hit a homerun with every opportunity, while others stay still, waiting that circumstances decide their game. This is the ball I got. It is a difficult one, but I will swing at it the best I can. So far, this disease has allowed me to take my music seriously, compose, and even give piano lessons,” explained Mr. Pruitt.

Not surprisingly, Mr. Pruitt conceded that Intracranial Hypertension has brought yet another gift to his life. While sharing his strength with groups of people, he discovered that he enjoys public speaking. I might be good at it too!” he concluded with a wide smile.    

The purpose of a journey

It takes courage to wake up every day and go to a job that does not fit the one you had dreamed. It takes maturity to understand that a job pays for living expenses, and that not everyone is lucky enough to do what they love and get paid for doing it. As the saying goes, work sucks, and that is why you get paid to do it.

It seems like many of us live in that reality. It takes a daily resolution to try and do one's job as good as possible. The natural thing to do is complain and wish for a better opportunity; the harder one is to persevere and appreciate all the advantages that come with employment.

Government data from 2013 revealed that just by having a career, one belongs to a privileged group of people. In the United States alone, 33% of the population have a college degree, a number that increased sharply from the late nineties, when 24% of the population obtained a diploma. In other parts of the world these numbers shrink radically.  

While it is easy to spend time comparing our careers to those of more notorious college peers, it takes a little more effort to see the perils of others, who with degrees or without them have had to deal with much more than an unfulfilling job.

Last week I met one of such people. His name is Austin. He is a good looking twenty-something who should be enjoying college and getting ready for a successful career in medicine. Instead, for the last three years, he has battled headaches so severe that caused him to drop out of school. After 18 surgeries, lots of prayer, and a precocious maturity caused by pain, Austin has learned to see God’s purpose for his life. He might not be able to read an anatomy book because his eyes hurt constantly, but he can understand people’s pain and suffering.

Another great warrior is my aunt Olga Lucía. For the last two years, she has been balancing on a thin line between life and death. After beating all odds, she survived a sepsis, and at least 10 surgeries to restore her colon functionality. Through her disease, though, the family has gotten closer to each other and, most importantly, to a God who heals, strengthens, and comforts.

Everyone is fighting a battle. Yours might be against disease, laziness, or world values… or, why not, against a job that does not fulfill. Looking at other’s suffering won’t solve our problems. It might, however, cause us to be more empathetic, to look at the positive side of things, and to think more realistically about the ultimate purpose of our journey.  

Sightseeing from the heart

We followed these African ladies just to hear them chat.

Summer memories are the sweetest. For my mom, though, memories about the people she met on vacation are the best. She is a curious person, and an observant one too. She takes lessons from cities' laws and customs, from restaurant menus and decoration, but mostly, from people's actions and behavior. 

For a few years, she has wanted to go to the east coast. Even though she could have gone on her own, she waited until an opportunity opened up so we could go together.

This was a busy summer for both of us. She spent over a month visiting her children and grandchildren; I had a memorable trip with my husband overseas. A week before starting school, though, she offered me an airplane ticket and convinced me to visit Washington D.C. and New York with her.

As we sat at the airport's waiting room, I chuckled to notice that a kindle, a cellphone or a magazine were of no use to her. She wanted to spend her time looking at the by passers: parents going on vacation with their children, couples quarreling over little things, and businessmen ignoring everything that goes around them. When I suggested to stop looking because she may appear nosy, she clarified that she was just witnessing what happened in front of her.

We bookedrental properties instead of hotel rooms, so we stayed in residential neighborhoods and took public transportation to see the sights. After all, sights are secondary to her. She wants to see how the locals live; to feel the city's heartbeat, to hear its rhythm. The commute, then, is part of the sightseeing.

Visitors at Arlington Cemetery

In DC, we were 45 minutes away from the Washington Mall. Every morning, as our bus filled up with students and office workers, she noticed their interaction with the bus driver and other passengers. From her window seat, she spotted popular breakfast places and pointed out possible dinner choices. She also identified additional bus routes to navigate the neighborhoods. 

While visiting the monuments around the mall, my mom's ears were tuned to people's accents and languages. We found ourselves following groups of African women and Chinese teens in order to hear their chatting. 

A tourist filled Lincoln Memorial

In two places, however, she closed her eyes and listened inside. At the Lincoln Memorial, memories of her father, a studious fan of Lincoln's life, came to mind. As we walked around Arlington’s Cemetery she grieved, not only for all the lives lost during the wars, but also for the many loved ones she has lost.

The Spanish speaking Lebanese 

Her favorite memory of DC, however, came from Union Station’s parking lot. As we waited for our New York bound bus, a Lebanese man in a green and orange vest shared with us, in fluent Spanish, the highlights of his life. As he checked the passenger’s tickets, he talked to us about the rise and fall of his businesses, his journey to America, and even the loss of his precious son. We waved goodbye after singing along a few songs from the Mexican singer Emmanuel.

In the heart of the Big Apple

We knew that our rental inNew York City was not precisely convenient for sightseeing. We were ready for our daily 45 minute subway ride to Manhattan. We chose it, though, because this particular place has excellent reviews form previous visitors, and because the neighborhood seemed safe and convenient. What we did not know was that we were in for the greatest treat of our trip: without expecting it, we found our home away from home.

Our home away from home

Visiting the Statue of Liberty was inspiring; walking through Central Park, relaxing; strolling in Broadway, dazzling. Getting home each night, however, was the best part of our visit to New York.

Reading time

The hosts, Miriam and her son Alex, were usually home. Despite her long days at work, Miriam prepared a drink for us every evening, and even bought pastries to share. We sat in their kitchen table and talked about our families, our country, and our lives in the States. For a 19 year old, Alex was an excellent host. He shared his street smart tips, quietly listened to our conversation, and graciously took our advice for improving his bilingual skills. We missed Gildardo, the household head. He works night shifts, but is the one who makes sure the rental is as clean as any room at the Four Seasons hotel.

This time I followed suit. Instead of planning our next day’s itinerary, I leaned on the locals’ advice; my book stayed closed, and my cellphone was turned off. I also started sightseeing from the heart: enjoying conversations with strangers, learning from the behavior of the commuters, and looking for the rhythm of a city that emanates life.

Summer sunset at Coney Island. 

   

An epic fundraiser

Students made posters announcing their pledges to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. 

After what I will call an epic fundraiser, my students and I are getting ready to enjoy a pasta dish at a popular food chain. Out from their own pockets, 23 children collected about 300 dollars for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. How did we accomplish the task? It was part day dreaming, part personal conviction.

During a school wide presentation, a representative from the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society gave a brief explanation about cancer cells and gave away piggy banks to collect money for a few days. Teachers would gather the money and submit it. As a reward, the class that accumulated the most funds would be given a meal at a restaurant. Easy enough.

In my case, however, it became an opportunity to teach the kids a few lessons.

My brother Juan Jose and his children

My brother Juan Jose is a cancer survivor. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma three years ago. It was a time of trial for all of us. Thankfully, after a year of treatment and a lot of prayers, he is healed. Also, two of my aunts have died from leukemia related diseases.

Aurora, one of my 23 students, had a cancerous tumor in her right hand. She had surgery to remove the mass, and she also had bone implanted between her thumb and her index fingers. We prayed over her as a class, and she is now recovering successfully.

Aurora, after the surgery

As the students assembled their piggy banks, I told them about my brother, and explained again that the funds would go to help children like our own Aurora.

—On top of that—I said, if we collect enough money, we might eat pasta in a nice restaurant.

The kids went crazy. Half of them rarely go to a place that does not offer fast food, and a few hardly ever eat out at all. They wanted to know if they could dress up, if we would take the school bus, if their parents would go with them… they even asked if they could order pasta Alfredo!

—We first have to collect the money— I reminded them.

The next day they came to school with full piggy banks: 25 dollars in quarters, 16 dollars in pennies, nickels, and dimes, lots of boxes with 5 and 6 dollar amounts. It was all well. We still had the weekend to collect, and some kids were promising big amounts here and there.

After Memorial Day weekend, the kids came back with surprising boxes: 30 dollars from parents’ and grandparents’ donations; 45 dollars collected at dad’s restaurant; 10 dollars from a lemonade stand, 16 dollars from grandpa’s old coin jar… some children added to their original donation and one, whose mother is a widow with 5 children to take care for, brought a few coins she had saved over the last months.

As the students counted and added their bills and coins, I saw their self-esteem rising, their pride mounting, and satisfaction shining on their faces. We discussed, again and again, the possibility of not winning. They seemed to understand that, in any case, it was a worthwhile cause.   

From the beginning I felt compelled to donate. I told the class that I would bring my coins too, but did not pledge a specific amount. When everything was added up, I opened my wallet and matched the highest individual donation.

We had collected 345 dollars! We were all aghast. I had never experienced generosity of this kind. To make it memorable, we weighed the money, created word problems, and practiced multiplication facts using the coins. We had learned lots of nice lessons out of this fundraising event!

Still humbled, I got to school early the next day. Hopefully, they would announce the winners and all the frenzy would come to an end. However, as I opened my email account, a possibility that had not even crossed my mind became a reality: one of the highest donors in the class took money for the fundraising without mom’s permission. It was my turn to learn a lesson. I apologized to the mother for not being more inquisitive about the amount, I had to talk to the whole class about it, and we had to return a significant chunk of the money that would probably have made us winners.

I decided to have a private conversation with the student. Then, the whole class had a lecture about honesty. Nobody knew who the delinquent was, nor the amount that was to be returned. We waited patiently until an announcement was made.

In time we learned that not only did we win the fundraiser, but we provided almost half of the school’s total collection. We would go to the dinner after all!
I don't know what lessons these students will take with them for the rest of their lives. Maybe some will continue to be generous. Hopefully some will learn not to steal from mom, even if it is for a worthwhile cause. They all learned that teamwork is a powerful thing, even when not all of them participate (not all the students came back with piggy banks).

I definitely learned that children are easily influenced —even gullible— and that a teacher’s word can be taken to heart for a lifetime… but most importantly, that the classroom is a place for learning a lot more than academic standards. 

Adding with regrouping had never been as fun as when the kids were adding the money for the fundraising. 

A colorful ribbon of highway

Winding Stair Mountain, Ouachita National Forest.  

There is an equal feeling of awe and sadness when visiting Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas and Oklahoma.
Awe, because coming from North Texas it is extraordinary to encounter such an immense mountainous territory covered by pine, white oak, cedar, elm, and cherry trees. Is in this region where the eastern forests meet the endless prairies of the American Midwest.
Sadness, because the most common sight on the highways around this sea of green are gigantic trucks carrying hundreds of tree logs to nearby mills. The feeling, though, quickly turns into quiet meditation when considering the hundreds of wood and wood pulp items used in daily life, most notably toilet paper! It is also encouraging to learn that there has been a sustainable wood production in the area since the 1960s.
It was not always like this, though. During the early 1900s, millions after millions of trees were cut, not only to build miles of railroad, but to feed the hungry mills that popped up in the region shortly after the end of the Civil War. Today, the National Forest keeps a booming business that produces around 27 million cubic feet of wood every year. In fact, their ecosystem management includes wildlife restoration, the effects of human interaction, and recreation opportunities.  

Talimena Scenic Byway

The forest, that covers almost 2 million acres of land in central Arkansas and Southeast Oklahoma, sits atop Ouachita Mountain range, the only horizontal mountain range in the continent. An easy and quick way to appreciate its majesty is through a scenic drive. The Talimena Scenic byway is a 54 mile sinuous road that includes historic sites, trailheads, an arboretum, a resort, and a variety of mesmerizing vistas.
Starting in Talihina, Oklahoma, the roads ascends to a series of rounded, colorful mountains called Winding Stair. In the Spring and Fall months, backpackers and campers abund. They drop off around here to hike Horsethief Springs Trail, once used by real thieves who smuggled wild horses from Oklahoma into Texas.
As the road ascends, the wind becomes a main character in the history of this unique landscape. Majestic miniature white oaks, yellow buckeyes, and short-leaf pines cover the soil on the mountain ridge. Constant wind and extreme soil conditions deny these trees the possibility to grow more than 7 feet tall. The result is a surreal landscape of dwarfed trees where the wind blows hard and the water slips down to feed the trees at the mountain base.
Driving east, past Arkansas' state line, Queen Wilhelmina's resort offers yet another surprise. Built in the early 20th century by Dutch investors, this european style resort delighted railroad travelers for a few years, but it quickly proved financially unsuccessful. After years of neglect, it was restored in the
1980s, and it is again being renewed to host outdoors lovers and bikers alike. A few miles forward, a fire tower signals the highest point of the drive. An old picture of the fireman's family, some picnic tables and a mighty wind bid a quick farewell to visitors. The road, then, descends towards a few more spectacular vistas of the ridge and the communities around.
Luckily for the neighbors, there is still a veil of mystery around it. Most visitors are outdoor enthusiasts from Oklahoma, Texas, and Arkansas. During the fall, however, the highway becomes a pilgrimage for photography enthusiasts and landscape lovers. The beauty that Ouachita National Forest offers through its hiking trails, campsites, and water reservoirs is a gem waiting to be found.

Vastness, wilderness, and silence converge in Big Bend National Park

“Wild country, completely untamed by man, but a good place to come to get your problems in perspective.” Lady Bird Johnson.

Used as we are to the commodities of the United States Highway System, my mom and I drove to Big Bend National Park without much thought. “It is lonely out there. Make sure you have extra gas and blankets” a close friend warned us before we left San Antonio. Winking at each other, we thanked her and went away.

Agave, also called Century plant. 

We had been to west Texas before. We had studied the map (or so we thought!) We knew that we would find a gas station and a hotel in any town along the road, as we had always experienced. Highway 10 lead us west to Kerrville, Junction, Ozona, and Fort Stockton. Yes, it was lonely. Yes, it was a long road. But as we had predicted, the town had its share of hotels and motels. Since it was early in the evening, we ditched motel row in Fort Stockton and headed south, to Marathon.

Weathering and erosion carved the park's mountains. 

Road 385 showed us a new shade of solitude. We did not see a car, a truck or a motorcycle during the whole drive. It seemed unusual, since the estimated 300.00 visitors to Big Bend start arriving in November. Their busy season, we had read, runs from Thanksgiving through April.

Although the sunset greeted us with warm hues of orange, pink and purple, the threat of darkness was looming in the air. Luckily, as the sun disappeared, the first houses of Marathon popped up.

Loneliness was then a thing from the past. People gathered around the historic Gage Hotel; motorcycles roamed the main road, and the smell of grilled food filled the night. Even though Marathon’s population does not exceed 500, visitors seemed to make up for all the activity around.  

Cactus and the Mule's Ears Mountains.  

This exciting scene, however, was not for us. We could not find a room in town. We then headed west, towards Alpine, where plenty of nice rooms awaited hikers, hunters, and workers alike.

In the vastness of the Texas landscape, the sun shone early. We drove the empty road towards the park entrance on the west, and after a quick glance to the map, took the road to Santa Elena Canyon. The landscape welcomed us with its desert vegetation and eroded mountains resembling effigies, ruined castles, or mule ears. The end of the road is the beginning of Santa Elena trail, a rewarding moderate hike that reminded us of the power of water and time.

The end of Santa Elena Canyon trail. 

As a whisper, the canyon walls reminded us also that a whole different country lies behind them. For centuries, Mexican vaqueros and early American settlers made a living there. Farmers, hunters, and cattlemen were the lords of the land before 1944, when the territory became a National Park.

As the sunset light shone against the Chisos Mountains, we headed to the lodge. On the road, a javelina, a roadrunner, a skunk and a coyote showed up. We missed, though, the wild donkeys that sometimes roam from one frontier to the other through the park.  

After dinner, the Milky Way guided our thoughts as we sat quietly in the balcony of our room.

We woke up early, eager to hike Window Trail. However, the possibility of running into mountain lions or bears deterred us from completing the mission. Going downhill, the solitude, the sound of cracking leaves nearby, and our lack of experience convinced us to change our plans. We had heard enough of mountain lion and bear attacks. The Chisos basin loop trail looked like a rewarding, yet safe alternative to being in the wild. The expanse visible through the many views on the trail explained the solitude we felt, despite the fact that the lodge was full.

We left Big Bend longing to see more of the intriguing weathered mountains, the wilderness of the desert and the abundant life around the Rio Grande. 

A sparkle in the land of Kim Jong Un

Yoo Yoon talks to the orphans during lunch time in Wonsan, North Korea

While most of the public see North Korea as an obscure nation ruled by a totalitarian regime, Yoo Yoon sees it as nation of hungry people. When the media focuses on a capricious leader, this South Korean missionary concentrates on what he estimates to be 22 million that live in extreme poverty. That is why, year round, his work concentrates on fundraising to deliver corn and a few other supplies twice a year.

The beneficiaries are about 1200 students from three schools for orphans, and the patients of a medical center in Wonsan, a city located in the Kangwon province, two hours east of Pyongyang. When he is in town, Yoon visits with students, meets with teachers, and quietly prays for the myriad of needs that he sees around. “We are very limited in the kinds of supplies that we can bring. Government policies make it very difficult to reach those in need”, he explains.

While the orphanages are run by the government through a local school district, the supplies are very limited. These 1200 children live and study in buildings that lack refrigerators, washing or drying machines, and even balls for playtime. Besides corn, Yoon is allowed to deliver powder milk and soup, children’s vitamins, appliances, and recreational items like balls and musical instruments. “The teachers would really like to have one or two accordions to teach the children”, he points out.  

Yoon narrates the story of Jesus 'the Great Physician' . 

Yoon’s words for North Korea’s regime and policies are scarce. He is closely followed by intelligence agencies of both the United States and North Korea. “I am working for the people, not for a government”, he tells officers every time they interview him. “I have to concentrate on the ways we can help these children, who need food, shelter, and love”, he adds. 

Yoo Yoon worked for the Korean community in Dallas for 27 years before starting his work with orphans. The North Korean Christian Federation —through North Korea’s UN office in New York— contacted him, along with 20 other ministers, to help the hungry.

“We went to North Korea for the first time in 1995. Severe flooding had ruined their crops for the previous years, and the Soviet Union was not subsidizing them anymore”, he clarifies. Today, only one other minister who started the relief effort still raise funds for the people of North Korea. As Yoon explains, the aid sent by the World Food Program (WFO) does not reach everyone. “The orphans and the sick in Wonsan are the focus of our mission”.

According to a document from the Congressional Research Service, sending food to North Korea represents a serious dilemma for the United States. On one side, it is likely that the supplies end up being sold in markets, instead of being distributed to the people in need. On the other side, it allows the North Korean government to allocate money in other activities, neglecting the obligation to feed their own people.

So far, Yoon has been able to deliver about 60 tons of corn twice a year. It all goes to the orphanages and the clinic. Other supplies are difficult to come by, since it all depends on the generosity of people.

June Yoon visits with some of the 300 preschoolers at the orphanage.  

During her second visit to Wonsan, Yoon’s wife, June Yoon, met with teachers from the elementary school. They asked for a freezer to store the produce that local fishermen donate during the summer months. “It was very painful for her to experience how easy it is to see their needs, but how difficult it is to ask for the money” recalls Yoon. Currently, one church in Dallas and the Korean-American Sharing Movement of Dallas contribute to the mission.

Noodles produced with corn shipped by Yoon's mission. 

Besides collecting money for North Korea, Yoon works with impoverished communities in Cambodia, Vietnam and the Philippines. “It is a joy to visit with them. There is poverty, but they have freedom to worship their God. There is hope in the people of Southeast Asia”, he declared. 

 An unlikely encounter

Yoon’s latest visit to North Korea coincided with the ceremonies honoring Kim Jung Il in the second anniversary of his death. He received an invitation to the services and stayed to see a memorial. While waiting in the hotel’s lobby, he saw Dennis Rodman with his bodyguards. “Without thinking, I ran towards him, greeted him, and said that I was also a Texan wanting to help the North Korean people”, he explained. Even though the encounter was brief, it fueled Yoon’s ideas on how to form alliances to better serve the orphans. Thanks to donations from churches in Texas, Yoon bought 500 soccer balls along with 60 tons of corn in December. The teachers at the schools know that physical activity will benefit the children in Wonsan. “I pray that my encounter with Rodman will be the first step in forming new alliances to reach the people of North Korea”, he concluded.

Yoon's plans to deliver soccer balls and basketballs to the orphanages. 

For more information on Yoo Yoon’s mission, contact kasmdallas@hanmail.net, yyoon6254@gmail.com or glorychurch@sbcglobal.net the phone numbers are 972-897-9830 or 214-587-6254. 

Origami Magic Ball

Thousands of creases are needed to start developing this Origami Magic Ball. 

This is an Origami Magic Ball. Worldwide enthusiasts spend hours folding a rectangular piece of paper to accomplish a unique effect: a flexible sphere that can be molded in several different ways.

This particular model was completed by my brother Ricardo, a medical doctor passionate about origami, films, and nature. After spending many hours interpreting the folding method, he embarked in the project of making a big ball; one he could use as a lamp, or as a standing sculpture.

People who are brave enough to follow origami instructions, either from a book or an online source, understand the challenge that lies ahead. Not only should they be fluent in origami language, but they also need precision, perseverance, discipline, and a lot of patience. Besides, it is crucial to understand paper’s properties in order to use the right one for every piece.

To do this particular origami figure, Ricardo used two full size sheets of paper that he folded over a few days, when time allowed. When finished, he had a gorgeous origami sculpture that could be displayed in different shapes: a sphere, a cylinder, and a V shape design. During the holidays, the magic ball was at my dad’s home. Visitors paid compliments to my brother’s work every time they saw it.

After several conversations about the future of this ball, Ricardo decided that I could have it.  Undoubtedly, it was an act of love and selflessness, since it was his valued treasure because of the time and effort it represented.

In order to maintain its shape during the 2200 miles that separate Medellin from Dallas, he carefully and precisely folded the magic ball. We could not find sturdy enough material to wrap it up, so I it was decided that I would take it alongside my carry-on bag. 

We successfully passed through security checkups, lines, boarding areas, throngs of people coming back from vacation, and two of the flights we had to take. However, between the excitement of using my American passport for the first time, filling the customs form, meeting my mother, and locating the checked bags, I committed the unthinkable: I left the origami magic ball on the airplane’s chair.   

As I waited for my luggage, I remembered the ball. However, according to the United Airlines personnel, it was too late to recover my art piece. They said that the airplane had been cleaned and there were not recovered objects. Despite describing the ball and its value, neither security agents, baggage employees, nor customer service representatives were able to help.

My heart still aches when I think about it. I have not even had the courage to tell Ricardo about it, though I suspect that he knows because he has not asked about it. I have already filled two reports for lost items, but I know my chances of recovering it are dimming. I can only find relief in knowing that my brother has the skill to recreate this sculpture and many more, and that these photographs will always talk about his enthusiasm for creating art with paper.  

Ricardo enjoys spreading around the joy of origami! 

52

I could also write about what I saw that morning of January 1st, 2014

That is the goal. Starting today, I will post a weekly writing on the blogs. There are 52 weeks in a year, each one with 7 perfect days for writing... There is also my full time job, my running goals, dinner time, and saturdays with my mom. But I have procrastinated for too long. Sometimes I take three weeks, sometimes six months to update the blogs. That won't do anymore.
During the last two weeks, only, I have had the opportunity to write about the unplanned lessons that my teachers taught; about Kosin, a man who loved with his smile; about the nostalgia of the disappearing countryside in my childhood neighborhood, and even about the most terrorific flight in my life so far.
Every artist has said it and I should know it by now: Inspiration exists, but it has to find you writing.