This is part of my Seven Heavenly Virtues series, listed in my Masterlist archive post which can be found linked at the top of the blog or here. :)
There’s so many opposites to the 7 deadly sins that I went with one of the general themes of each “virtue” on wikipedia lol.
Temperance- humanity, justice, honor, abstinence
“What the hell is going on on this damn station?!” Jack growled out as he was typing away furiously, angry grimace on his face.
“Do you want me to send another team out, or…?”
“The fucking deck is on fire, the gravity is off in the damn science labs of all places, my guns ended up on Pandora and we’ve got a damn crate of– I don’t even know what kind of mushrooms those are- and my top programmers are locked out of their systems like some goddamn interns!”
“Jack you know I can look into some of this–” Rhys tried to help, only being cut off by more aggravated ranting.
“And I could really go for some pretzels right about now but these pretzels are shitty and I can’t go get good ones because no one can apparently take a shit without me!”
Rhys came up behind the man to work a hand against his shoulder, waves of irritation and frustration coming off the CEO. “Jack, do you want me to start on anything specific? I can handle some of this for you.”
“No. No if I don’t take care of it personally they’ll just fuck it up more,” the older man said with frustrated helplessness.
Regina Ernst is an UNLV MFA student in Fiction currently pursuing the Peace Corps track, fulfilling the international experience emphasis unique to the UNLV MFA program. She spent two years on campus in Las Vegas, and will spend two years abroad as a Peace Corps Volunteer while completing the writing of her MFA thesis. These are some of her musings from abroad.
I’ve been waiting to write something official about my experience as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Colombia until I felt like I had a better idea about what was going on here. I’ve spent the last five months in cities on the North Atlantic coast, I’ve moved permanently to Cartagena, and I’ve realized I may never know what’s going on here. But I do know some things.
Last week, while visiting Barranquilla for official business, I dropped by my old host-mom’s house to say hi. She’s an energetic woman in her sixties who I’d lived with for just over a month during my training. When she saw me through her open door, Sarita jumped from her seat at the dining room table and shuffled to receive me. She stood before me with her arms open absurdly wide. We hugged and kissed and she led me to the table. She didn’t even ask if I wanted lunch before shoving a feast arroz con pollo with avocado in front of me, which I’d learned never to say no to (and also, why would I?). I stayed to chat for a few hours and when I left, she escorted me to the door, lecturing me about how I was welcome at her house any time any day, the same sermon she gives me every time I visit her.
Las Murallas, the walls that surround the “Old City” with Bocagrande’s modern cityscape in the distance.
You’re not a true Cartagenero/a unless you’re carrying around an authentic mochila.
The other day, when I boarded the bus after grocery shopping, my hands filled with tearing bags, I squeezed through a sea of men to stand among them, swaying with the harsh stop-and-go of the bus and gripping onto any bar or shoulder within reach for balance. Within minutes, a seat opened up. These bus rides are lengthy and hot, and these men were here long before I was. Yet, the man closest to the free seat (and therefore entitled to it) reached out to tap my shoulder, and I crowd-surfed to the back of the bus to claim his spot, my bags supported by the hands of strangers until I made it securely into the seat. An hour later, when we were approaching my location, I stood to yell for the driver to stop. He didn’t hear me, so the chorus of men chanted on my behalf and the bus halted abruptly. All of them squished together to make room for me to exit. One took my hand to guide me down the steps.
One of the many plazas that make the Centro the beautiful but confusing labyrinth that it is, la Plaza de San Pedro Claver.
Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje (SENA) in Casa de Marques in la Plaza de la Aduana. I work in this vocational college teaching ESL and ESP to Hospitality and Tourism students. Por eso, I’m a lucky duck.
Last night, when I was walking home from an English Conversation Club that I “co-founded,” I bumped into one of the members of my current host-family on the street. It was my host-uncle, Roberto, a man in his fifties who lives with his sister, his niece, his father, and three other miscellaneous people (myself included). We’ve lived in the same large house together for almost three months. We’ve conversed every day. We’ve worked around each other in the kitchen-space. Yet, when I caught up to him on the street that evening and greeted him, he turned to me surprised. His eyes opened large and he smiled so genuinely. Acting as if he hadn’t seen me in years, he put out his hand to take mine and we kissed cheeks in typical Colombian fashion. Then we shared the rest of the walk home, chatting about our days. My young Spanish only permits me to comment on the basics—where I was, what I was doing, who I was with, my plans for the evening—but every response from him was full of interest and sincere curiosity.
My host-sister, Lilia, and I standing on the shores of Playa Blanca on a nearby Caribbean island.
So, this is what it’s like here. I have new stories everyday about my interactions with people during my time here. Despite the big cultural cities, the heavenly beaches, and the numerous beautiful historical landmarks, the people are what make my time in Colombia feel so right.
Thanks, Regina! Las Vegas misses you. (All photos by the writer)