House, Consuelo
7:35
15 November
At the office of the school district, I met C, an education volunteer. At first, because she’s dark-skinned, I wasn’t sure if she was a volunteer with the Japanese Volunteer Corps, so I talked with her in Spanish. It was a nasty shock when I realized her Spanish was not as good as mine.
She seemed so young, too! I know she’s 22, but she could have been 19!
Anyway, E went her separate way off to the entire house that’s being provided her (I think?) while C and I got in a Land Rover. The roads were flat, unpaved, but somehow rockier than those in Aguacete. We were driven to the Rotary Club training center. La directora, whose name I’m still self-conscious about forgetting, came out and introduced herself in a mix of Spanish and English. She took me off to her very well-appointed concrete/zinc house. I talked with her, her daughter, Mirelli, and her son at some length about language learning, dating, and lifestyle choices in the US. We also talked about recent tragedies involving airplanes and tall buildings.
I was impressed by the level of education. Mirielli is going off to UASD next year. Her older brother and sister also went to college. The house is full of nice furniture and appliances; there is water running in the pipes.
I also noticed that Mirielli was a hottie. It’s that whole bustiness thing I’ve mentioned. This morning she put on a school uniform. Nothing beats a 19-year-old in a school uniform! At any rate, it doesn’t really matter, but I notice that I find her appealing.
Dinner was the richest meal I have had in years. It consisted of fried pork ribs and french fries. Not so sure it settled well, but whatever. My host and I also discussed her opinion that bulla and low socioeconomic status are correlated. She’s correct that when people live in middle-class neighborhoods, they put up with less noise than people who live in poorer neighborhoods. I still want causation instead of correlation.
I had a disturbing dream in which someone told me, convincingly, that I am fat and unattractive. Subsequently, I was unable to do anything to change these facts. This seems to be an ongoing fear that I have, to wit:
- that I am somehow-or-another deficient, and am unaware of my deficiency;
- that everyone else, furthermore, knows about my flaw;
- that this widely-known flaw is being kept from me, even by my most trusted friends;
- that I acted like a fool due to my ignorance of my flaws;
- that, after learning the exact nature of my defects, there would be nothing I could do to spare myself eternal shame.
This is a review of my personal journal from my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Dominican Republic in 2001-2003. Even if I feel differently now or found out later that I what I wrote was factually incorrect, I haven’t changed what I wrote then. Part of the joy of reading old journals is seeing a story arc where I’ve learned new things.
Names have been shortened to initials to provide some privacy. Even though those who were there may be able to use these initials to figure out who it is I wrote about, please remember that my journaling is not about other people or their experience.
- The next entry in this series is Touring the Bateyes
- The previous entry in this series is Meeting my host agency for the first time
- You can see the journal entries as I post them here.
- If you’re just starting, here’s the first entry.
