A Cup of Coffee Has Magical Powers

Heard about my family in Guatemala yesterday, they are all ok. The rest of the country is picking up the pieces.


Let me just inform the world that I love to dance. I like to pride myself of knowing how to dance, fairly well, in merengue and salsa. So when the dance instructor was trying to re-teach me the dance steps yesterday in front of all my students, you can imagine the horror I felt. Let’s just say by the end of the class, I redeemed myself and moved my hips like ya.

The students loved the class. They learned the basic steps of merengue and all the twists and turns. The dance instructor provided a little cultural context explaining how the dance floor is more like a "war zone" with “Latin Lovers” competing for the space and the girl. As soon as he said that, my students looked at me and I responded with an affirming nod. The dance floor is where the magic happens. If you can get down tonight, then it’s all over. The instructor claimed that most Latino couple meets on the dance floor. I wouldn’t doubt it.

I’m pretty sure most of the students blushed a little when he explained the concept of “Latin Lover”. Then he busted some smooth moves that left some of the students with their eyes wide opened. I just smiled.


After that eventful afternoon, I calmed down with cafecito. Ah, yes...pure bliss. One of the main reasons why I love being in Latin America is cafecito. Believe it or not, I think we have the same concept in the states in an American context. Instead of meeting in a house, we would go to Starbucks or a local coffee shop. Of course, it’s not the same experience but there are very similar concepts.


Number one, coffee is involved. Hands down, boom.


Number two, loud noises are involved. In a coffee shop/Starbucks settings, it’s the noise of the espresso maker and/or coffee orders being shouted. In the Latin American setting, it’s the chattering of 3 or 4 people speaking over each other and/or children running around playing.


Number three, discussion. In both contexts, talking has to happen. It depends on the people you are meeting with. From business to love to relationships to the exchange of recipes or the latest weight loss tip, people are talking.


Number four, with people you love. In both contexts, you are spending time with people you care about. You are making an effort to continue to develop the relationship with that person. You are spending it with your family, neighbor or a close family friend. It’s like a cup of coffee has magical powers of bonding the two or more people together. Weird.


You can see why I enjoy cafecito time. It’s not only to feed my caffeine addiction, but also to take the time to stop and enjoy life.


Stop, drink some coffee, talk and listen.

With Her Skinny Jeans

Just a little worship: God is so good. One of Ecuador’s volcano erupted the day after we arrived in Cuenca. If it erupted while we were in Quito or on our 10 hour bus ride to Cuenca, we would have been in a pickle. All the time, God is good. God is good, all the time.

Some random thoughts I had yesterday and into the morning:

On our ride from Spanish classes, I noticed how Cuenca is surrounded with mountains. This is something that I took for granted when I first got here. Indiana is flat. Texas is flat. Since my family moved from New England to Texas, I have longed to be surrounded by the mountains. Here in Ecuador they are everywhere. I love it. It’s crazy how much nature has an effect on us humans. Whenever we are faced with different scenery, we are amazed of how beautiful it is. I think it’s great that we are always reminded of God’s beauty and His masterwork. A problem that I have every day is that I do not recognize it. Every day should be a day of His creation. We should be marveled of God’s handiwork in the mountains, trees, sunsets, starts, flowers and so on. (Sure, you can make the snide remark of calling me a “tree hugger”) My point is that I am guilty of not recognizing God’s beauty every day. I complain too much of how the cornfields of Indiana are boring. Yet, I forgot of how resourceful they are. I complain of how hot Texas can get, yet I forget how beautiful Texas’ sunsets are. I complained of how cold it got in New England, yet I forgot how beautiful the leaves turned colors in autumn. I have no reason to complain, I actually have no right to complain. Every place God sends me has a beautiful aspect to it. The problem is that I become so blinded by the negative parts of the place that I do not see the beauty. Beauty is everywhere. We just have to humble ourselves to see the true and raw beauty. That’s where God shines the most in His creation…in the hidden beauty.

I have a list of people that I would like to be when I grow up. I have never kept track of this list but I’m pretty sure that it’s about 20 people on it. I’ll admit that as I go on in my “adventures”, as some like to say it, that I will come in contact with more people that I would love to be when I grow up. Right now I would like to write about one person that I recently added to list. (Don’t worry I will go back to the list and elaborate more)

When I grow up, I would like to be my Ecuadorian host mom, Janet Abad. I have only lived with her and her family for 4 days, and I already have such a respect for her. She is probably in her young 40’s and skinny. She is a mother of two lovely daughters and a wife of a crazy husband. She also is a working woman. Right now, as I type this, she is on a business call and making lasagna. She has her cell phone on one hand and the mozzarella cheese on the other. I would like to add that she is also a cute sense of style. With her skinny jeans and cute tops, my host mom can out dress me any day. She has a soft voice, yet can be stern when she knows when to be heard. I found myself talking to her into the late night about all different aspects of life. From marriage to family, she always know the right things to say. She listens with true honestly.

Yesterday I had a hard conversation with one of the staff members from the program. We talked about how in America there is more of an opportunity for a successful future. Higher education in the states is more valuable and respectable. She struggles with the fact that her son may not come back to Ecuador to live. Why? Because in America is where her son can be more successful. It’s crazy how now in the 21st century; America is still seen as the land of dreams. My parents believed in the American dream in the 70’s when they immigrated in the states and there is still that influence here. Life is hard, especially when resources are thousands of miles away.
As I talked with her, she began to tear up of how hard it was to have her son graduate without her being there. I could just feel the mother’s love pour from her heart into my soul. For a moment, I could feel how much a mother loves her child. I was beginning to understand how hard it is to let go of your children, especially to go to another country. She loves her son and wants the best for him. Yet she misses him and I saw that. What was I to say when she asked me for my advice about higher education in the states?

How could I reassure her that God will provide to pay off school loans, when I myself struggle with that promise?

How could I encourage her that her son will always be true to his roots here in Ecuador while embracing life in America?

She told me that once I will have children of my own, I will understand...I can’t wait for that revelation to happen.

As I listened to her, I thought of my mom. I was given a glimpse of how much my mom misses me while I’m in Indiana or on one of my crazy travels. Now I’m beginning to understand why my mom would randomly call me just to say Hi. I was also reminded of how much my mom worked so hard to stay in the states to provide a better life for me. I easily forget that even with culture shock and being separate from family, my mom's love for me was greater. She wanted me to have what she didn’t have…an education, a career, a respected job, a healthy family...a successful American life.

Yesterday afternoon/evening we had a mini tour of down town Cuenca. Since the church and our host families lived in the “new” part of Cuenca, we made the trip to down town “old” Cuenca to gain a deeper understanding of the city we are staying in. We were able to see the colonial house they are lined alongside the river (the river is significant because it separates the “old” Cuenca from the “new” Cuenca). That was pretty cool. We then visited the main cathedral downtown. The cathedral is not as “golden” as the one in Quito, but it’s still pretty awesome. My favorite part is seeing the Santa Rosa de Lima. Yes, that is right…Santa Rosa de Lima. It’s a saint of roses that originated from the city of Lima in Peru. (From what I know, It’s placed here because there must be some faithful followers) Not only does it have the name Lima in it, which is an automatically 100 million cool points, but it’s the Saint of roses. My mom’s name is Rosa and my favorite flower is the rose…for that reason. I was pretty excited about that saint. Plus, I think it was the prettiest one in the cathedral.

I have a confession to make. When I was a little girl, I was deathly afraid of cathedrals and catholic churches. The statues and images of the gothic looking Jesus’ and saints scared me. When we would visit Guatemala, my family will make a road trip to the biggest cathedral in Guatemala. I dreaded that trip. My mom and I would have to wait outside while my family would do their thing inside. As I got older, I gained enough courage to enter them. My mom would always whisper to me that to see it all as art work. Now I still have to brace myself before I enter a cathedral. I am always amazed of the beautiful painting and statues that are made out of devotion for a belief. Everytime I watch the locals kneel and with their eyes closed whispering prayers, I can never fight the urge to pray to my Savior above.

Now I'm hearing news about the deadly storm that is hitting Guatemala and other Central American countries. I haven't heard anything about my family yet, if they are ok or not. It's in times like these that I continue to hold on to the promise that God knows what He is doing, despite how painful the situation is.

They Like to Call Me Pacha Mama

It’s officially been a week since I have been in Ecuador. I know…it’s been a long time for me to post my first Ecuadoran entry. It has been a bit crazy for the first week, and today is the first day of classes for my students. So now I have some time to catch up on emails/Facebook/blogs/news. For the past week, we have been non-stop immersed in tours and sightseeing of Ecuador. Our tour guide is a fountain of knowledge and knew exactly what every building and statue had significance. Since traveling take a toll on humans, I could tell that my students were dragging as the tour guide trailed on about the significance of a plant or a rock.

For those who are interested in the details of the trip, well, here you go (I’ll get into the touchy feely stuff of reflection part later): Our first day, we took a tour of the city of Quito. We saw everything from cathedrals to government buildings to fountains. Then later on the day we were able to visit the equator. That was pretty cool. Apparently, before the existence of the GPS, a “fake” equator was made and there was a monument built on it. Now, one can visit that “fake” equator and buy t-shirts that say “I straddled the equator today. What did you do?” That monument is now surrounded with touristy restaurants and shops where you can buy hand bags and bracelets with Ecuador on it that look very similar to ones that you can buy in another Latin American country with a different country printed on it. We then went to the real equator according the GPS. There we were able to see the touristy demonstrations of trying to balance an egg, walk in a straight line and watch which way the water goes down a hole. For a moment, I thought that I was going to feel this cosmo power through my veins as I straddled the equator, but I just felt dumb because of the forces (some science thing) I could not walk on a straight line. I would have failed the drunken driving test. After a full day of being tourists, we had a late Ecuadorian dinner at a local restaurant where many of us where first faced with different foods.

The next touristy day we went to Otavalo, where we spent most of the day sightseeing and shopping. Many students had their first experience of bartering. Some walked away with a great deal, others were ripped off…although I didn’t have the heart to tell them. Throughout the day we were able to see how the textiles were made, learned about the different volcanoes, and embraced different aspects of Ecuadorian culture. I felt that my head was going to explode from culture and allergies. Quito gave me the give of allergies, which till this day I am still fighting. Thank you, pollution and pressure. On the way back from Otavalo and once we arrived in Quito, things started to pick up. We had a Ecuadorian traditional ballet to attend that night and we were pressured for time. With traffic and miscommunication, we were getting deeper and deeper in our time crunch. To top things off, our bus broke down. Great. We were about a 10 minute ride to our hotel. So what did we do? We grabbed taxis, which took forever. We had to find taxis that were willing to drive into downtown and then divide our students up. The students were great. Actually, I think they were excited for this little adventure. All in all, we ended up at the hotel, grabbed a quick pizza and changed for the ballet. Again, we had another taxi adventure and ended up at the ballet 5 minutes late. Right on time. The traditional dance was great. Probably a little overwhelming for some of the students, but they enjoyed it. Again, culture hit all of us that ended the night was exhaustion.

Thursday we made the 10 hour bus ride to Cuenca. Yup. Despite my head about to explode with snot, the scenery was beautiful. About 75% of the bus ride, I watched Ecuador’s beautiful mountains and people ride by. With my headphones on, I was able to see the beauty of Ecuador and embrace more of the uniqueness of the country. My students were also amazed of the Ecuador’s beauty and also able to catch up on their sleep. On the way to Cuenca, we stopped at Ingapirca to see some ruins. I was given the privilege to translate. Let’s just say I was a little rocky at first due to the guide’s accent and my lack of translation practice. We took some fun pictures with dusty rocks and make some jokes. It was a good time. That night we meet our host families. Students were anxious and nervous about meeting them. I was more excited to meet mine. Right off the bat, my family was so warm and accepting.

Friday morning was spent with students telling stories of their first night with their families. There was a lot of laughter while stories being exchanged. That is the key to traveling. You have to be willing to laugh at situations and at yourself. We had three hours of culture classes and then the students were tested on their Spanish. The day ended with us chilling in downtown and grabbing some ice cream.

Saturday we went to Gualaceo, which is known for cheap jewelry. We spent the day exploring the little city and looking at the beautiful creations. Yes, I did a little shopping. I was embracing the culture.

Sunday was church day. It felt great worshipping in Spanish again. The church here is very similar to my church in Houston, which made me feel right at home. It was great.

Now the touchy feely reflection part: I am thankful for this opportunity. My students are great. Yes, they ask a billion questions a day and most of the time I say “I don’t know”. Yet, they are willing to learn and laugh at themselves. They are honest and open about certain things. They also are eager to embrace what Ecuador has to offer to them. I’m already being quoted and made fun of, which means that we are bonding well. Oh and they like to call me Pacha Mama…which means Mother Earth in Ecuador. Yup, that’s how it is.

My host family is great. My host dad loves, probably a little too much, about how I will find my guy here. I keep reassuring him that I don’t have good luck with guys, yet he doesn’t believe me. He also likes to listen to Kei$ha, reggaeton and dances around the house. He also likes to pride himself of having Facebook and a Twitter account. My host dad is nuts and I love it. My host mom is just as great. She is willing to listen. She is easy to talk to and very encouraging. She also likes to share her amount of jokes as well. I have two younger sisters, 16 and 9 years old. Gabi, my 16 year old sister, is just as crazy as I am. She loves to talk and loves to dance. Amelia, my other sister, can talk all day without getting tired, which means I pretend to listen half of the time. I could not ask for a better host family. We have already had some bonding moments and our share of jokes. Of course, we have danced in the living room and shared our food. Yup, it’s going to be a good month with them.

It’s been a week and I’m already feeling at home. Funny, I feel more comfortable here than I do in Indiana. Things are starting to slow down here and we are starting to develop our relationships with our families. I am beginning to see the other side of the study abroad experience. Memories from my study abroad experience fills my mind. I remember when one of my professors would always say parte de la experiencia, which means “part of the experience”. I would always cringe when he would say that. Now I completely understand. I appreciate him more.

Funny, now I’m the one saying that to my students….parte de la experiencia.

Taylor, one of my students, looking out the bus window at one of Ecuador's volcanoes

Purpose of the Study

Today I have been spending over 4 hours straight in the library, and I’m expecting to spend 324,989,843,839 hours more. This lovely thesis is keeping me engrossed with numerous books and articles about identity. It’s funny how I am having the hardest time coming up with the benefits and reasons why my thesis topic of ethnic identity development is important to research. You would think that I would know the answer right away. Wrong. Well, at least I thought I knew all the reasons. Frustrated I went to the restroom for the 100th time in order to clear my mind.

After doing my duty, I looked up into the mirror while washing my hands. Well, there it is, my reflection staring right back at me. I noticed my black curly hair surrounding my face and my brown eyes staring right into my own soul.

I was looking at my identity.

My heritage was screaming from my features.Taking a deep breath, I freaked myself out and walked, very fast, out of the bathroom.

Strolling back to my seat through the bookshelves, I was looking at all the titles and noticed I was in Anthropology section. Then the Latin American books popped out at me. I couldn’t resist. I sat for about 20 minutes flipping page after page of images of the beauties of Latin America. At the same time, my mind began to fill with my own memories. Then I picked up the Guatemala book.

I seconded guessed if it was wise to go through that book. “Oh, what the hell”, I said to myself.

The images of the Maya Indians and the scenery pictures did more justice that I thought it would. With a pull at my heart, I placed the book on the self and walked back to my seat.

Papa Lima is driving from Guatemala to Houston as I type this. I was so jealous that he was able to go back to the Motherland. Reconciliation needed to happen. The next time that I will go back to Guatemala, it will be by myself. No external influences; just me, the motherland, and anti-diarrhea medicine.

My obsession with Identity development started in my senior year of undergrad, right after my study abroad experience (hence the thesis topic). I was doing an independent study in Cultural Anthropology, which then added fuel to the fire. When I read this quote in Anthropological Insights for Missionaries, by Paul G. Hiebert, it all made sense to me:

“We who live in the bicultural community are generally marginal people who in many ways do not fit anywhere. Since we live on the borderline between different worlds, we find that no matter where we are, we are not quite at home. We are never fully assimilated into our second culture, but after a while we no longer fit our first culture either, because we have been changed and influenced by our experiences... This loss of identity in our first culture is not only social. It is also cultural. When we return, we can no longer identify uncritically with our home culture, nation, or even denomination. Consequently, when we criticize them, we so arouse the suspicions of our relatives and friends that they accuse us of disloyalty and even heresy…


Psychologically, because we internalize two persons belonging to two worlds, we face an identity crisis and need to find out who we really are. As we have already seen, we may choose to reject one or the other of our two identities, but thereby we kill part of who we really are. We can compartmentalize our existences, living as one person in one world and as the other person in another world. The result is cultural schizophrenia. Or we can seek to integrate our two selves into a single integrated whole, but this is a difficult process, for we must find a resolution to the fundamental differences that do exist between our two cultural selves.”

As I am on this journey of finding my cultural identity, I know that I have one identity which beats out all theories or studies. My true identity is in Christ. Hands down. Yes, I have dark crazy hair and can't say all the English vowels correctly, but I am a child of God.

I am His daughter. I am His beloved. I am called to live that out every day.

My friends here in Indiana are His too. It’s not just my identity in Christ but they have it in Him too. We are called to come together and “become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.”

I Eat Baby Carrots Instead

(Note: This is a second post on little insights into my life. Also they are in no particular order.)

1) I prefer to be called Lima. Even though I have a pretty cool first name, Melissa, being called Lima brings another sense of identity. It may have to do with the fact that Lima is the capital of Peru, and I like it when people think I’m from Peru. Then they get confused of where I am from and then I look mysterious to them. (Side note: some people actually do call me Peru for that reason…which is also one of my favorite nicknames) “Lima” is shorter and it sounds cooler. It sounds triple cool when a two year old says it.

2) Just to clarify, when I say “I miss Texas”, it’s more of I miss the people that are currently located in Texas. The state itself does have some unique and beautiful things about it, but it’s not the “greatest nation” in the world. Officially, I am from Texas since I have been “living” there for four years. Yet when people ask me where I am from…I have no idea what to say, but that’s a different story. I miss my people down in Texas. Although, the Mexican food down there is not as bad. Oh yeah, and I have blood family down there. That would do it for me.

3) Pet peeve: When people chew with their mouth open and talk with food in their mouth. Close your mouth when you eat. It’s gross…I don’t want to see it. Ew.

4) I’m addicted to coffee. Enough said.

5) I watch too much TV and movies. Society also puts a damper on how bad it is for watching TV and movies in mass quantities. It’s not like I sit all day on the couch with a bag of potatoes chips and watch reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond”…I eat baby carrots instead. I will admit that I like to watch the wittiness of Juno and listen to the melodies of Grease.

6) I get this high satisfaction feeling when I find a new favorite song. I will listen to that song over and over again until I can sing it in my sleep. I would like to take this time to thank Starbucks and itunes for providing free “discovery” music.

7) I hate wearing wet clothes. They stick to your body. Then they get damp and it gets more uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t touch anything. I don’t want to sit anywhere. I just feel stuck.

8) I think in both English and Spanish. I also dream in both languages. Side note: if I am yelling at you in Spanish that means that I’m too upset to translate it in English.

9) I love books and art.

10) I do not like living alone. It’s creepy. It’s boring. It’s lame.

Me trying to be artisty at a museum in Dallas, TX.

With the Uncles Making Jokes

Sitting here in my office on this Saturday night, I am fighting the urge of jumping in my car and driving the 18 hours to Houston. This lovely thing called a thesis, has been keeping me occupied with research and writing. Yet no matter how consumed I am in identity development theories and the effects of study abroad, my mind still wanders home. I did not realize how much family means to me until this past week. Receiving a phone call from my mom on Tuesday night, turned my world upside down. The family is going through a rough time, she said. What is going on, I thought to myself.

Why is this happening? Why am I here in Indiana when I want to be in Guatemala and Houston? When my mom informed me of the news, my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt hurt, dissapointed and pain, but also powerless. I knew that no matter how emotional I was, I had no control over the situation.

Just pray, my mom said. I want to go home, I responded. I know, she replied.

Driving past the cornfields that Tuesday night, my mind flooded with memories of my childhood and Guatemala. I recalled the times I spent playing marbles with the neighborhood boys. I remembered how I would go to the market every day with my grandma to get tomatoes and beans. I remembered the beauty of Guatemala’s scenery. I remembered snuggling close to my grandfather while he rambled on about politics. I remembered squeezing between my cousins on the overcrowded bus. I remembered picking mangoes off my great grandparent’s trees in their garden. I remembered the smell of coffee overflowing my aunt’s kitchen. I remembered the parties that lasted till 3am. I remembered eating tamales. I remembered falling on my butt while playing soccer in the mud and how all the boys laughed at me. I remembered walking through the streets of my dad’s small hometown and looking up at the stars. I remembered how blissful it was to be a child in the beautiful country of Guatemala.

I am thankful for the community that Taylor University provides. I have gracious and compassionate professors who say that “there are some things in life that are more important than a thesis.”

I love my family. I get frustrated with them. I am frustrated with them. They make mistakes. We do not have similar views and perceptions about life, but I make mistakes too. They are my family. They were there for my surprise quinceañera party. They love me even though I am the “odd ball” of the family. They will do anything for me in heartbeat, just like I would.

My mind wandered for a bit while I was writing my thesis earlier this evening. I started looking over my pictures of Costa Rica. Love that place. It was there that I started to embrace who I was. (Hence, my thesis topic) In Costa Rica, I realized how much I appreciate my family and how much they keep me grounded. I can easily get so consumed with life here in Indiana. My family keeps me true to my roots. They remind me that love is all I need. In Costa Rica, I witnessed different family interactions that were similar to my family. It was there that I missed my family. I missed the yelling at each other in Spanglish. The babies crying. The loud aunts nagging. The rosters. The uncles making jokes. The tile floors. The grandpa talking about who knows what. The cousins picking on each other. The heat of Guatemala. The food. The smell. The laughter. The tears. The comfort. The love. I miss it all.

The pops and I trying to catch our breath while "walking" through a rainforest in Costa Rica.

Only a Week

I have been back in the states for only 5 days and I’m still processing my week in El Salvador. Its funny how even though I was there for a week, I am still taking a good while to process what happened. (Yes, there is a popular conversation among Christian circles about short-term missions and if they are still effective or not, but that is a whole another can of worms) I am talking about how in that short week and the relationships I started can spark a week or even a month of me reflecting and basking in the memories. I found myself zoning out in the beauty of the view of the volcanoes and wondering how I could be looking at God’s beauty and not be awed. I caught myself several times to stop the tears whenever a flashback from my childhood overwhelmed my mind. I questioned myself what was I do now that I have heard different voices.

What am I to do with all this knowledge? What am I to do with all this experience?

We arrived back in Indiana on Tuesday morning at 1:30am. I had class all day from 9am to 4pm. At 10:30am, I found myself lying on my bed. I hit a wall. Physically and emotionally, I was done.

What was I suppose to do? What just happened? What do I do now?

I was back to asking myself the same questions a year ago when I was experiencing re-entry from my semester abroad. Yes, it was only a week. Technically a week is not even a scratch on the service when it comes to culture shock. It will take at least a month for the “touristic” feeling to wear off and reality hits you in the face. But in this specif past week, different emotions and memories were triggered. Lying on my bed, I couldn’t move. Not only was I sick to my stomach but my mind was stuck. I felt frustrated.

Shouldn’t I be use to this? My whole life I have been faced with cross-cultural experiences. Ever since I was 6 months old, my mother would take me back to my roots in Guatemala. Now I am 23 years old and still seeking out my identity. I should be a pro at this. The funny thing is I am not.

Fast forward a couple of days, I am back to my “old self” again. I am even working out again and taking warm showers. But I’m still wondering. I’m still thinking. I’m still processing. I have this incredible desire to throw my thesis into the garbage, fill my backpack with clean underwear and anti-diarrhea pills and jump on the next plane to Guatemala or Costa Rica. Yet a part of me is so relieved to be back in my comfy bed and carpeted floors. I guess what my main point is that I feel as though I am split into two different people. The adventurous Lima that says “Pura Vida” and backpacks through Latin America and then there is the settled Lima that enjoys easy access to materialism and Starbucks. I am not stating that balances these both sides is not a major struggle. Yes, it’s hard but it’s who I am. It is who I am created to be. What I am required to do is embrace them and continue to seek out how to live these two sides in the will of God.

He has placed me in this context for a reason. His glory shines through all of this.

There is a reason why my parents immigrated to the states in the 70’s.

There is a reason why I was born in southern California and raised in New Hampshire.

There is a reason why I am a first-generation graduate student.

There is a reason why I am in Indiana.