Office of Off-Campus Study
Center for Global Education
Claremont McKenna College
Volume 7, Issue 1
Fall 2015
Contributing Authors
Katherine Krey………….……………….…2
Stephanie Doi……………………………….4
Fiona Bare………..………..………………..6
Nedim Filipovic…………………………....8
Anoush Baghdassarian………………...11
Edited by
OCS Peer Ambassador Jenya Green
2016, International Relations
The CMC Globetrotter
LOST AND FOUND IN ULAANBAATAR
I walk home from class every day in Ulaanbaatar. I could take
the bus, if I bothered to figure out which of the completely irrationally numbered Korean hand-me-down trolleys ran south from
Chinggis Square to my apartment. But I feel very little desire to
do so, even as the temperature drops below freezing more and
more regularly, and the PM10 and PM2.5 count rise rapidly
around the city. I walk because every day, I see myself a little bit
more in UB, and I see UB a little bit more in myself.
KATHERINE KREY,
2017
ECONOMICS &
INTERNATIONAL
RELATIONS
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
SIT: Geopolitics & the
Environment
“Each new,
random,
unrelated
experience
builds together,
helping me to
develop as a
traveler and a
person.”
2
In many ways, Ulaanbaatar makes no sense. A city designed by
the Soviets for 500,000 that now holds more than half of Mongolia’s three million people, things pop up here as they are needed. Socialist rhyme and reason is gone, reflected only in the perfect north-south, east-west grid of the original ten blocks of the
city. The rest of the city, an eclectic scatter of alleys and roundabouts, spreads throughout the valley, reminiscent of a time when
Chinggis Khan ruled the steppe. Hotels shaped like sails, Mexican-Indian fusion restaurants, monuments to Buddha and the
Beatles -- I’ve spent 2.5 months trying to find the rhyme and reason to UB, and so far I’ve come up empty.
As I walk, the randomness translates from landmarks to experiences. Men swing sledgehammers at strangers in underpasses
while women in deels, traditional Mongolian robes, attempt to
convince me to let them repair my shoes in their Shrek-themed
aluminum sheds. In a confused role reversal, old women grab
my arm in an effort to help me across the street. I run the risk of
getting a ticket for yawning in a crosswalk, while police officers
pay no mind to drivers running reds on the wrong side of the
road.
Yet each new, random, unrelated experience builds together, helping me to develop as a traveler and a person. Since I’ve arrived in
UB, I’ve learned to trust more – to be smart, yes, but also to perhaps shed my American fear of the unknown. I still know better
than to walk through underpasses at night alone. But perhaps my
instinctive distrust of the man who has been yelling “Cain baina
uu!” (hello!) since I first walked past him is exaggerated; maybe
he isn’t trying to harass me but is instead merely curious about
what this strange white girl is doing wandering around his neighborhood. As I turn stealthily to look over my shoulder, I see his
answering grin and huge wave, and I find myself responding in
kind, chipping away at my fear of the unfamiliar one brief interaction at a time.
In Ulaanbaatar, I’ve learned endless amounts of patience: patience
for Mongolians who, even in the city, operate on a time schedule
seemingly more tied to seasons than clocks. Patience with the cars
who care not one bit that the crosswalk light is green, and will get
where they are going whether I am in their way or not. Patience as
the ever-increasing pollution coats my lungs, a side effect of locals
in gers burning coal to make it through yet another Mongolian
winter.
More than anything, though, Ulaanbaatar has piqued my curiosity,
my desire to learn and explore and chase the edges of my comfort
zone. Even in its frustration, the randomness of the city calls on
me to ask questions, discover and learn. More than once, I have
boarded a bus whose number tells me it will take me home, only to
find myself awakening from a daydream to a completely unfamiliar neighborhood. With no sense of where I am, or how to get
back, I wander through apartment blocks and ger districts, responding to shocked stares of schoolchildren utterly perplexed by
my presence in this neighborhood where tourists rarely venture
with an enthusiastic “Cain baina uu?” and a laugh at the rapidly
growing crowd of befuddled faces. I duck into butcher shops, using my rudimentary Mongolian in an effort to find the evasive
camel meat I know they sell somewhere in this city. I wander, and
watch the direction of the sun, and eventually find myself
back in the relative comfort of Chinggis Khan Square,
with a clear route home, but a less clear sense of why I
was headed there in the first place.
“More than
anything,
though,
Ulaanbaatar
has piqued my
curiosity, my
desire to learn
and explore
and chase the
edges of my
comfort zone.
Even in its
frustration, the
randomness of
the city calls on
me to ask
questions,
discover and
learn.”
I came to Mongolia desperately in search of a break to my
routine. What I was unprepared for is the notion that, in
Ulaanbaatar, routine itself is an unfamiliar concept. The
struggle now lies in the inevitable transition back to a time
-conscious, well-labeled town in America. But I’ll leave
those thoughts for my walks around Claremont. ♦
3
HYGGE IS A WARM HUG ON A COLD DAY
STEPHANIE DOI
2017
PSYCHOLOGY
Copenhagen, Denmark
DIS: Psychology
“One
moment I
was feeling
the abroad
high and the
next
moment I
was feeling
something
much more
Danish and
special.”
4
Before leaving CMC, I attended an abroad orientation meeting. I
remember the meeting well. When everyone settled in, we were
instructed to introduce ourselves—the usual introduction with
name, grade, major, etc. However, we also were instructed to include the abroad program we chose, a fact we knew about our
abroad country, and something we were excited to experience
there. I had no trouble coming up with my fact and experience.
When it was my turn, I started to describe “hygge” and how I
knew it existed in Denmark and that I was excited to experience
it. First, I butchered the pronunciation, and then I butchered the
meaning. Hygge, in case you were wondering, is pronounced
“who-guh.” It, like most Danish words, does not look anything
like how it is spelled, and it certainly does not translate well into
English. I translated it as “cozy” at the orientation meeting.
Though not technically wrong, especially because most people do
translate it to “cozy,” I had no clue what it really meant back
then. I do not regret being excited about experiencing hygge
though. It has become one of the best parts of my abroad experience.
When I first came to Denmark, I did not actively seek out hygge,
mostly because I didn’t know that I should have been looking for it
in the first place. Hygge just snuck up on me though. It happened,
and I moved on. Now that it’s nearing the end of my time here, I
think about all of the little moments that were “hyggelig,” the adjective form of hygge. I cannot remember when the first time I felt
hygge was, but I just know that one moment I was feeling the
abroad high and the next moment I was feeling something much
more Danish and special. The abroad high might be a concept I
came up with on my own. It could very well be the product of never having traveled outside the US. The abroad high was the upward
elation, the roller coaster that kept climbing, and the anticipation of
culture shock that I felt upon arrival. Suddenly though, I was feeling settled and intimately closer to the Danish vibes that most, if
not all, Danes emanate. Hygge, to me, is not cozy. It is not tangible, nor is it exactly a feeling. It could be the atmosphere in the
room or the food eaten. You can feel it with a large group or simply by yourself. It’s a very odd thing. I have come to accept hygge
and yearn for it to happen wherever I am and whatever I am doing.
“All I really know is that when I feel it, I
get the tingling sensation that makes me
think of home, family, friends, and
everything I love. “
Hygge is lit candles, adequate but darkened lighting, sofas with
blankets, laughter, talking, silence, food, tea, friends, host families,
and soft music. It is feeling like you belong, feeling like you are
cared for, feeling like there is always light where there is darkness.
I wish I could be more precise when I talk about hygge. I wish I
could pinpoint exactly what it is that makes something hygge rather than not. I wish I could say how it has made me feel. All I really know is that when I feel it, I get the tingling sensation that
makes me think of home, family, friends, and everything I love.
One day I’ll be able to categorize hygge, but for now, I am allowing hygge to embrace me in its warm and trusting hug, sheltering
me from the unknown, cold, loneliness, and dark. Hygge is a warm
hug on a cold day. ♦
5
FIONA BARE, 2017
PHILOSOPHY,
POLITICS &
ECONOMICS
Amman, Jordan
SIT: Modernization
and Social Change
“When I first arrived to
Jordan, my nerves
suddenly multiplied and
little fears arose
regarding each new
obstacle.”
FIGHTING FEAR WITH SWEET TEA AND SUNSETS
As the sun moves lazily towards the horizon, the sky is suddenly
illuminated with pinks, blues, and oranges. All the colors swirl
and dance in the sky, while the evening call to prayer begins
slowly at first and then increases in both volume and intensity.
The sounds rising from multiple mosques mix in the air, creating
a beautiful echo of voices.
At this time of day, I am usually headed home after studying at a
café or sometimes I am sitting outside at a restaurant smoking
argheeleh to enjoy the transition from the warmth of day to the
cool of night. Evenings are my favorite time in Amman; they are
calm and beautiful in a way that the city is often not. It doesn’t
matter if the intense colors of the sky are partially caused by pollution drifting up from the thousands of cars clogging the busy
streets, or if the occasional taxi honk breaks through the echo of
the call to prayer – this mixture of grit and beauty is the Jordan I
know.
I was met with an interesting mixture of resistance and encouragement when I decided to study abroad in the Middle East. Unsurprisingly, many people in my life questioned the safety of the
region and did not understand why I would choose to spend 4
months in a country surrounded by Syria, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Palestine, and Israel. My answer to these questions was “I want to
improve my Arabic through an immersive experience. I’m interested in international relations
and the politics of the region.
It’s an area of the world that I
have never seen so I wanted to
go.” Now that I have spent
about 2 months here, the big
answer to the question “why
Jordan?” is still the same, but
there is so much more to studying here than Arabic and international relations.
When I first arrived to Jordan,
my nerves suddenly multiplied
and little fears arose regarding
each new obstacle. Seemingly
mundane tasks like hailing a
taxi became challenging, as I
had to use a new language and
attempt to appear savvy in a
brand new city to avoid get-
6
ting ripped off. At CMC, I studied Modern Standard Arabic, but here that sounds like the equivalent
of Old English to most people on the street so simple conversations quickly became embarrassing. I
moved in with a new family and simple tasks like doing my laundry became daunting as I learned
to manage a new language and strict water conservation practices. To be honest, the first couple of
weeks were overwhelming and I felt wholly incompetent most of the time, questioning why I traveled to Jordan and if this place would ever feel familiar.
“I am here for the traditional Jordanian dance called
dabke and sweet Bedouin tea. I study in Jordan for
the deep calm of Wadi Rum, rainy adventures in
Petra, and nights out in Amman with new friends.”
I soon realized that if I did not just close my eyes and jump wholeheartedly into the culture and life in Jordan, nothing would ever
change. I began speaking more Arabic, which meant I made more
mistakes but also that I began to really learn and improve my language skills. I became less tentative around my host family, joined in
with the friendly sibling teasing, and suddenly felt like part of the
family. I haggled over scarves and jewelry in Downtown Amman,
tried amazing fried treats from a tiny sweet shop near Second Circle,
went to a wedding with Jordanian friends, hiked through a scenic wadi, and Jordan finally began to feel like home.
It is too easy for fear to take over and prevent exploration and understanding. Most rhetoric used in the United States and the Western
World regarding the Middle East is a language of fear. People fear
the politics, the people, the religion, and the land. I won’t deny that
there are things to fear in the Middle East, but a point of understanding and peace is impossible with the current attitudes towards the
region. Studying abroad forces me to challenge fears and assumptions on a daily basis. I think if more people questioned their worries,
suspicions, and biases on a daily basis, the world would be a different place.
Ask me why I study in Jordan today and I will tell you that I want to
study Arabic and learn about regional politics. I will also describe the
magical evenings in Amman and the sound of the call to prayer. I
study in Jordan because of warm, spicy falafel sandwiches, sweet
and sticky knafeh, and sprawling mezze breakfasts with my host
family on the weekends when I gorge myself on zaatar, olives, hummus, baba ghanouj, yogurt and olive oil, salty cheese, and fresh
bread. I am here for the traditional Jordanian dance called dabke and
sweet Bedouin tea. I study in Jordan for the deep calm of Wadi Rum,
rainy adventures in Petra, and nights out in Amman with new
friends. Jordan challenges my expectations daily; it’s hard but I am
so thankful to be here. ♦
7
NEDIM FILIPOVIC,
2017
SCIENCE &
MANAGEMENT
Serbia, Bosnia, and
Kosovo
SIT: Peace and
Conflict Studies
THE BALKANS: A YOUNG BOSNIAN’S PERSPECTIVE
I was told that my SIT program shared a building with the local
Faculty for Media and Communications (FMK). I was also told
that the building was across the street from Belgrade’s bus station
and a beautiful park. When I got off the bus, on my way to my
first class, I didn’t see a park. All I saw was a sea of tents.
Hundreds of thousands of people fleeing wars in the Middle East
and Asia have crossed the Aegean Sea, and are travelling through
the Balkans toward Germany and other EU countries where they
seek better lives. Belgrade is a stop along that journey. The refugees set up camp in the park by the bus stations while they wait
for transport out of the country.
That was my first impression of the city. I realized, then, that this
program would be more than a look at the regional conflict of the
1990s, and the subsequent peace processes. It would also place
me face to face with current global crises and issues.
During the 1990s, the once prosperous Socialist Federal Republic
of Yugoslavia (SFRY) collapsed into war. In the following years
the SFRY fractured into present day’s Bosnia and Herzegovina
(BiH), Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Slovenia, and
the disputed territory of Kosovo.
Serbia
“This program would be more than a look at the
regional conflict of the 1990s... It would also place
me face to face with current global crises and
issues.”
This was my first destination. Belgrade, the capital, is
a bustling, eccentric, exciting metropolitan. Located
on the confluence of the Sava and Danube rivers, it is
a major cultural center – the rivers also house some of
the best nightlife, party boats called splavs. Street art
covers the city. Some is goofy. Other pieces serve as
memorials (there is one for the late Robin Williams).
Yet others are political statements (one glorifying
Gavrilo Princip). Most importantly Belgrade feels incredibly safe, not only to me but also to my fellow
students. I became painfully aware of the presence of
anti-American sentiment that is rooted in the NATO
intervention and bombing of the city in 1999. In a
taxi, as we passed the ruins of ex-Yugoslavia’s Defense ministry, the driver turned and claimed, “You
guys did that.” It was not ill-intended, for him it was
simply the truth. For me, his words were an eyeopener to say the least.
8
Kosovo
We went to Kosovo for a week. Kosovo declared unilateral independence from Serbia in
2008, an independence that Serbia continues to dispute. If one was to say that people in
Belgrade are mainly anti-American or ambivalent, then people in Prishtina, Kosovo’s capital, are head over heels in love with America. The NATO intervention of 1999 had a different effect here, what Kosovars would call “liberation.” The city boasts a Bill Clinton statue
(we don’t even have a Bill Clinton statue!). Another product of NATO presence is the massive international community that has been left behind. UN cars cruise down the streets.
English is spoken frequently. I even ate delicious Nepalese food in the middle of the Balkans. I attended the viewing of the Albania vs. Serbia European Championship qualifier
soccer game. Kosovo has a large Albanian population. In light of the past conflicts between
Kosovo Albanians and Serbians, this was a tense affair. We decided to go anyways. It was
pouring, yet no one seemed to mind. People were happily drinking their beers under umbrellas as rain poured down on thousands of people. There was insane energy in that crowd,
electrifying. When Serbia did score two late goals, however, we decided to pack up and
leave. You do not want to leave anything to risk, especially when it comes to disappointed
European soccer fans
Bosnia and Herzegovina
We also spent a week in Bosnia (I’m going to refer to Bosnia as BiH for convenience). This
is my home; my parents are both from Banja Luka in the country’s north. I’m going to
avoid getting into the political atmosphere here; it is too complicated and not a good repre9
sentation of this beautiful country. I truly did feel at home in Bosnia.
Beautiful landscapes, geography, people, and food surrounded me. In
Sarajevo’s, the capital of the country, old Turkish neighborhood, Bascarsija, one can find people making, and detailing copper
platters, and people drinking traditional Turkish coffee – my
personal favorite. The Islamic call to prayer blankets the city
five times a day, a soundtrack serenading people as they go
about their business. Sarajevo has the feel of a capital, metropolitan city and a tight-knit, cozy suburb. An athletic escapade with my friend featuring a soccer ball and the busiest
pedestrian street in the city led to wonderfully friendly and
engaged interactions with city dwellers. When the ball rolled
beyond our reach and hit someone in the legs, almost everybody’s response was to smile and play the ball back. This
was true of children and the elderly. People from Bosnia are
known for their warm hospitality, but more importantly for
their love of fudbal.
“I don’t see any
refugees on my
way to class
now. All that is
left is an empty
park and some
trodden dirt.
While they are
no longer
visible, they
will not fall
back
into invisibility.
Not here, not in
the States.”
10
10
Just as the effects of the breakup of Yugoslavia still permeate the Balkans,
so too has the refugee crisis had a strong impact in the region. While politicians from the ex-Yugoslav states battle and bring up arguments used during the 90s, the people, at least in Serbia, have embraced this humanitarian
challenge. Belgrade has opened a number of refugee centers. One even focuses on helping families and children travelling alone. Locals from Belgrade have donated food, clothing, and medical supplies. People are stepping up to the plate amidst the resurgence of tensions between Balkan
states.
The refugee crisis has also had a noticeable impact on my studies here. During the first few weeks we met with humanitarian aid workers. I wrote an
article about a refugee center in Belgrade for my journalism track. Everyday, I would pass the park on my way to class. Everyday, I faced the reality
of the crisis.
When I mentioned the issue to my friends in the States, many didn’t know
just how serious it had become. While it was almost invisible to them, it unsettlingly present in my life. Thankfully, recent media coverage has helped
the refugees’ story attain global prominence.
It is winter now. The park is mostly empty these days. The refugees have
not stopped coming. The cold has simply driven them out of park. They are
being provided for by various refugee centers and humanitarian agencies.
Belgrade has responded phenomenally to the refugees’ cries for help – one
of the few cities in the region to do so.
I don’t see any refugees on my way to class now. All that is left is an empty
park and some trodden dirt. While they are no longer visible, they will not
fall back into invisibility. Not here, not in the States. At least, that is what I
hope. I know they will not for me. ♦
ANOUSH
BAGHDASSARIAN,
2017
PSYCHOLOGY &
LITERATURE
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Middlebury
“I set the
expectation for
myself that I would
dance through my
experience in
Argentina
gracefully, gleefully, and beautifully,
but I didn’t
account for the fact
that when learning
new pasos—dance
steps—you are
bound to lose your
balance now and
then, and that’s
ok.”
HIGH EXPECTATIONS — VENTAJA O DESVENTAJA?
Perfection: we all strive for it, and while we may settle for less
because we know it’s not a realistic or healthy goal, or because
we settle and go with the “this is good enough” attitude, we still
idolize the concept and go into asuntos (matters) with the high
expectations that we believe we can achieve. But what happens
when our expectations are too high? Are we disheartened or
disilusionados when we can’t alcanzar those metas (reach those
goals)? Or are we proud that we’ve at least completed the task or
gotten better and improved in some way? Is it a flaw to set expectations too high? A vice? Or is it a ventaja, an advantage, because
it makes us try harder and reach higher?
Before I arrived in Argentina, I set a plethora of goals for myself
and had many expectations. First, I was going to become fluent in
Spanish. Next, I was going to ace my classes and be the organized, dedicated, hard-working student I am in Claremont. Then,
I was going to make many Argentinian friends and always have
someone with whom to hang out. Lastly, I was going to find my
Armenian-Argentinian husband just like my mom found hers
when she moved to New York from Uruguay for a year (this was
a real expectation—don’t laugh).
I was excited; I had set all these goals and had no doubt I would
achieve them. My study abroad experience was going to be an
experience of pure bliss and excitement. From what I had imagined and heard from others, it is a dream to go abroad, and in
dreams, everything is perfect, only in nightmares do problems
appear, so of course, I thought I would not face any problems.
When I look back on my past four months in Argentina, I do see
my experiences here as a dream. I see myself as having remained
confidently standing in the face of challenge and as having
achieved my goals. However, in my reflection, I forget the moments in which I almost fell. I forget the subtle changes in culture
and reality I faced, and how they felt like small earth-shaking
moments and pushed me to adapt. I set the expectation for myself
that I would dance through my experience in Argentina gracefully, gleefully, and beautifully, but I didn’t account for the fact that
when learning new pasos—dance steps—you are bound to lose
your balance now and then, and that’s ok.
The most distinct experience in which I lost my balance was in
response to the tranquila atmosphere here. Tranquila is a new
concept that has struck me over and over again in Argentina.
Tranquila is the motto of everyone here. Tranquila is the way
Argentinians live their lives, take on their business, and go about
their daily activities. Tranquila lies in the air in Argentina. How11
ever, tranquila is the very quality that stresses me out. Tranquila is the embodiment of everything I am not. Tranquila drove me crazy!!
I’m sure by now if you don’t speak Spanish you’re wondering what tranquila means. In
English, tranquila is equivalent to “relax” or “calm down” or the mentality of “don’t worry
about it, we’ll figure it out later, it’ll all fall into place.” No, no, no. Thank you very much
but I can’t do that—my energetic and anxious self would never allow it. How would I reach
all of my expectations and goals if I had to sit passively and relax while letting life take its
course instead of actively pushing and working to achieve all that I want? I need plans and
structure and schedules, and the absence of that left me feeling uneasy and unsettled much
of the time. Struggling to find this structure in, and control over, my life here felt as if I
were swimming against the current where I could not move forward or even remain standing unless I embraced the opposition. If I wanted to reach my goals and fulfill the expectations I had set, I had to relax and let the current take me where it wanted instead of trying to
swim against it. If I didn’t want to drown, I had to adapt. Many of my friends in my Middlebury study abroad program felt this same choque—crash—with the culture, because it is
the very opposite of the active, go-getter, overachiever, mentality we have been exposed to
our whole lives. It was difficult to understand that in order to succeed we had to take it easy
instead of anxiously preoccupying ourselves with tasks and efforts: in other words, we had
to give up some control and I think that is one of the hardest tasks we could have been given. When we would discuss our uneasiness, each of our conversations ended in a reflection
of our society and ourselves, with a consciousness that Argentina is different, and with a
desire to adapt. Each of our conversations ended with the desire to be more tranquila.
Before embracing tranquila, I would volverme loca when I tried to make plans with friends
here because no one knew what they were doing the next day, let alone that weekend. I
needed them to know because I needed to plan my schedule to make the most of my time in
Argentina. This uncertainty made me uneasy and while I couldn’t change how they lived
their lives, I could change how I reacted to this uneasiness. I realized that if I wanted to
12
reach my goal of making many friends here, I
had to adapt to being okay with not hyperscheduling my whole life (not only is this not
healthy, but I also just looked like a crazy person to them). I had to learn to take a deep
breath, and let things play themselves out instead of meticulously planning out every moment and being on top of every detail. I lost a
bit of the control I loved, but learning to live
without that was an invaluable lesson in adaptation. This transformation and adaptation was
necessary in order to reach each of my outlined expectations. In order to do well in class,
I had to try not to control every moment and
become anxious when class lost its structure
and I lost my understanding. Instead of worrying, I felt much better and understood much
more if I just let things be than when I panicked. The same was true in regards to my
Spanish expectations—embracing the tranquila attitude I was able to
speak more fluently with the porteños without the pressure that I would
mess up every phrase and conjugation, which initially prevented me from
speaking with fluidez, fluency. When I let go of the control of trying to be
perfect, I got closer to perfection. This adaptation, which I was so opposed
to initially, was what ultimately helped me fulfill my expectations. This
adaptation allowed me to learn about myself, the way I am, the way I act,
“If we can embrace
and learn from each
experience, we will
accomplish
something from each
journey we take.”
and why. In reflecting on those aspects I learned of my strengths and
weaknesses, and realized that there is not only one way to be. We are all
able to change and adapt and succeed in whatever situation we may be
put. With that knowledge and capability we are better equipped to achieve
the expectations we set for ourselves.
After speaking with many friends abroad, I realized that we all set expectations for ourselves, and in setting our expectations high we have challenged ourselves and dared ourselves to go higher and further—to cross
internal and external boundaries we had never faced. In setting our expectations high, we gave ourselves a purpose for which we were willing to
struggle. Expectations give us purpose and this purpose gives us motivation—motivation to look forward to something at the end, a reason to
keep on working until we reach our goals. However, I have realized that
true success is when you realize that there is no end—that there are no expectations to meet. There is no limit, no ceiling, no shore to reach, only an
ocean of possibilities to keep navigating and finding your way through.
Every expectation we create for ourselves is a way of drawing our map of
life a little larger because we are allowing ourselves to explore new areas,
new limits of our capabilities. Of course there will be paths that don’t help
us further reach our goals in the way we would have liked, but these paths
are still useful experiences because they help us expand the boundaries of
our map and better know our own limits. These paths help us draw our
maps just as much as the paths that get us closer to the goals we set for
ourselves. If we can embrace and learn from each experience, we will accomplish something from each journey we take. ♦
“We are all able
to change and
adapt and succeed in whatever
situation we may
be put. With that
knowledge and
capability we are
better equipped
to achieve the expectations we set
for ourselves.”
13