Well, it finally happened.

I cried.

I sobbed.

At the dinner table.

In front of my entire host family.

While they had company.

Hahaha, it's a bit comical looking back on it, but I was so upset at the time!  I think everything just kind of hit me all at once, and all of the stress combined with lack of sleep finally took its toll on me.  I've been creating a presentation, along with giving numerous charlas and Spanish interviews, throughout the past month of training.  I also had to prepare to leave for my site visit yesterday, which meant packing up all of my stuff and reorganizing all of my belongings.  Anyways, I spent all day yesterday in Spanish class, and after class, I had to travel to the nearby municipality of Jinotepe in order to go the bank because my debit card had stopped working.  Traveling to Jinotepe is a headache in itself; the packed, scary microbuses are always very hot and crowded, and walking through the streets in Jinotepe as a gringa, I feel as though I'm on display in some sort of zoo.  It's very uncomfortable.  I do have to mention that the bankers at Bancentro were BEYOND pleasant and had no problem understanding my accent as I slowly explained to them in Spanish that the ATM wouldn't accept my card.  Finally getting that taken care of was a relief, and I decided to head to a nearby comedor and celebrate my mini-accomplishment with a cup of coffee.  That all went well, and I actually ended up meeting two Peace Corps friends there.  Talking to them was great, but I started to get a headache soon after.  The bus ride back to Santa Theresa was terrible, and when I walked into the door of my casa, I could barely see straight.  My head was pounding, I was sweating, and I thought I was going to throw up.  I sat down for dinner, and immediately my host mom asked me what was wrong.

That's when I started crying, and I couldn't stop.

In all honest, this is the hardest thing I've ever done.  Yes, it's wonderful and great and I'm embracing this opportunity.  I'm learning MORE than I've ever learned in any class or school or seminar.  I LOVE talking to Nicaraguans, and I really believe that's why I'm beginning to feel confident with Spanish.  The more I talk, the faster I learn.  However, I've never been so busy in my life; I've never been so tired in my life.  Everyday, I get up at 6:15 (an hour earlier if I have to do laundry), so I try to get to bed early.  The problem is that I can't sleep.  My mind never stops racing; I'm constantly thinking about Spanish or wondering how my charla will go the next day or worrying about the world.  Sometimes I just can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm here, and that I'm able to be here.  What I mean by that is that I've met so many Nicaraguans who have spent their lives trying to travel to the United States.  It's nearly impossible for them.  Yet as los Estadosunidenses, we can travel almost anywhere in the world.  We can go to school on loans.  We can buy new shoes.  We can eat when we want.  We can drink our water.  I just don't get it, and it's thoughts like these that keep me up at night.

My host mom was so amable when she saw I was upset.  She took me into the other room and told me that it's normal to be sad every now and then; she's hosted ELEVEN volunteers before me, and apparently all of them have cried at one point or another (phew).  She insisted that I go and take a bucket shower and then head to bed, which I did.

I love being here; I really do.  Nicaragua is a really poor country, but the people have giant hearts.  You can see it when you're talking to them.  I can see it when I'm walking around Santa Theresa trying to find someone to help me with my tarea because I can't understand how a certain aspect of their health system operates.  They want to platicar and explain things to me.  They want to help.  I feel so fortunate to be here.

But it's hard.

My heart goes out to Japan.
And to everyone in the world that is hungry right now.

A man goes out on the beach and sees that it is covered with starfish that have washed up in the tide.  A little boy is walking along, picking them up and throwing them back into the water.
   "What are you doing, son?" the man asks.  "You see how many starfish there are?  You'll never make a difference."
   The boy paused thoughtfully, and picked up another starfish and threw it in the ocean.
   "It sure made a difference to that one," he said.

                                                                                                      -Hawaiian parable