Links & Photos - Writing Contest - 2003-2004 winners

First Place: $100
Title: "Miguel"
Student: Damon Brown
Program: Winter 2004 Costa Rica Philosophy

You meet Miguel. You meet him, in Spanish. But the irony doesn't make sense yet.

"Hola!" you say. "Como estas?"

"Bien," he says.

Miguel is fourteen. He lives in La Gamba, a small town on the Osa Peninsula. It is southern Costa Rica.

"Are you our guide to the waterfall?" you ask Miguel in Spanish.

"Si," he says. His hat covers his hair and most of his forehead. Miguel's boots are rubber because the floor of the rainforest is wet and muddy.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" you ask.

He looks at you and his right eyebrow raises. "Tres," he says with three fingers held up. The two of you laugh-between the whispers of swarming trees.

The forest is thick with life. Its colors-green mostly, yellow, azure, red-play hide-and-seek with you while you walk the trails between the hanging leaves.

Miguel's feet are quick with experience through the brush. You watch his boots follow each other without hesitation like the hands on a clock. But in the jungle there is not time-there is only life and heat. You wipe the sweat from your face.

You ask Miguel about his family. He has two brother and two sisters. One of his brothers is younger than him. If you want, he will show you his house when the hike is over.

"But only you," he says.

It is a small waterfall. The water is cold but feels good this close to the equator. You take a rock by the edge and move it from where it was. You are a creator, you think, for once. The rock may never move again. You look at your guide who is looking into a red flower. You will never see him again.

In town, after the hike, you walk with Miguel to his house a couple hundred meters down a dirt road. He tells you the names of trees and plants, and dying fruit on the ground.

"How do you say amigo, in English?" he asks.

"Friend," you say.

He stutters a little. "F-friend?"

"Perfecto," you say.

Miguel's house is nestled behind and within bushes and lavender-flowered trees. It is strong and made of wood. It reminds you a little of your house at home, but around back there are chickens and a family of pigs.

"Parents," he says as he points at two of the bigger pigs. "Babies and grandparents." You laugh together at the old grandparents-no more time for them, like the jungle.

"Venga," he says and you walk inside his house. He grabs something from the refrigerator and hands it to you.

"Cocoa," he says.

The fresh cocoa is sweet in your mouth and smooth down your throat.

"Gracias," you say.

The house is small and well-kept. The have a television and a stereo and a Christmas tree in the living room. The floors are hardwood and there are no doors for the rooms, only curtains. Miguel shares his room with his two brothers. He shows you a tee-shirt of his that say New York on it.

"I will go there some day," he says.

"Muy grande," you say and you both smile.

You eat more cocoa and he asks if you want to go fishing. You can't you say because you are leaving in a few minutes. His face falls and he gives you more cocoa.

"Gracias," you say again.

You walk back to where the others are. It is quiet except for symphony of the jungle that will play on through the night, too. You don't want to think you will never see him again. You tell him next time you will go fishing. You tell him you will see him in New York because you live close to there. You don't tell him anything else.

Miguel's boots follow the road like time follows a clock. Your lives, so different connected for a moment on the road. You kick a dead apple to the side of the road.

You take a picture together. Miguel doesn't smile.

"Amigo," you say as you put your arm around him.

"F-friend," he says.

You grab your life and your hiking pack to leave. Miguel takes off his hat to wipe a drop of sweat from his face. His hair is long like yours.

Second Place: $75
Title: "Wanderings (Reflections of Study Abroad New Zealand Art)"
Student: Ben Pinder
Program: Winter 2004 New Zealand Art

I find myself wondering what drives me to search for unknown answers.
Why does my heart lie abroad while my head looks for home?
Home is a content comfort that familiar faces bring.
I chase discovery only challenge can show.
I hike green lit forests and golden fields,
Wade under waterfalls,
Soak in sapphire springs and seas,
Creep close to roaring seals and nipping ducks,
And stare at foreign nighttime skies.
In the ever changing surroundings I'm left alone
So in far off places I gaze in still silence
And feel the world.
Home always calls me back again, and I wonder why I pursue departure when the destination is always the same.
Maybe I seek a home of my own.
So why around every corner, just out of sight, lay my memories of home?
Why in every face do I catch a hope of friends far away?
These unseen apparitions are reflections of myself radiated out.
In a dream somewhere sits my memory of home that exists where the building is not.
Through quiet stillness I see the residual presence of home and I realize;
I study worlds looking for what I already am.
I am home no matter where I go.

Third Place: $50
Title: "Life's little-but important-moments -- Developing myself as a person"
Student: Sarah Margiotta
Program: Winter 2004 Hawaii

As they stood with tense muscles, their toes desperately grasped the border between familiarity and an unknown that they would soon become a part of. The length of the ledge accommodated thirty hesitant bodies, each suppressing their anxiety by the assurance that their thoughts also intruded the minds of the others who peered into the murky water. Never daring to look up, for fear of falling before the action was demanded, the ledge huggers observed a reflection of the man who insisted on their present position. His sturdy stance and folded arms conveyed his knowledge of their destiny. With questions unanswered, they awaited their cue. The image in the water opened his lips and uttered the two syllables that determined their fate, "O-K." Looking like a many-appendaged insect, parallel legs led the thirty bodies into the unfamiliar territory. The now rippled water reflected a smirk on the previously expressionless man. He delighted in the wide eyes of his new taro patch cultivators. No longer worried if the mud covered their shorts, smiles demonstrated the willingness to engage in Hawaiian culture.

A ledge hugger in the scene described, my introduction to Hawaiian culture was contrary to all of my expectations. Arrival on the islands quickly precipitated knowledge of a foreign culture within my own. Although observation assisted in this understanding, it was only through the process of "getting my feet wet" that I was able to understand the uniqueness of the people of Hawaii. Hawaiian culture is a continuum that not only illustrates the present variations in society, but the development of the land and its people from its roots to the modern day state. The society as it exists today consists of very primitive to industrialized lifestyles. This primitive living mirrors the society of the early Hawaiians.

Wai'anae, located on the Western-most part of the island of O'ahu, is the poorest of places sustaining the richest of people. It was at the Ka'ala Cultural Center where we were introduced to Butch, a member of this wealthily humble population. As our five vans neared our destination, our surroundings consisted solely of vertically endless mountains and arid cracked land. Although we came to a sign that unmistakably stated "dead end street," our path continued past the warning. After several minutes of headache-producing bumpy trails, we came to a halt in a valley of the mountainous landscape. A significantly small-framed Caucasian man, standing approximately five feet three inches tall while barefoot, wrinkled and tanned by the sun, greeted us as we unloaded from our havens of modernization and familiarity. He wore a grin that said, "Does life get any better?" I wondered how delusional he really was.

Butch led us up the valley of Mount Ka'ala. His callous feet, although bare, worked with much greater efficiency than our sneakers of guaranteed durability and excellence in performance. We stopped where the trees ended and endless grass began. When our deep breaths subsided after the unexpected effort previously exerted, we awaited our cue to commence in the chanting that would allow us to enter Butch's place of refuge. Expecting to be welcomed by a large dark Hawaiian native, Butch's presence was calming. The chant emitted from the semicircle formed by our bodies, created a droning that echoed in the mountains such as that which would be heard in a bee hive. Although the power of our voices was lacking, they carried throughout the open land. His smile and returned chant ensured us of our welcoming.

Prematurely fatigued due to our newly established relationship with the beaming Hawaiian sun, Butch led us into his man-made shelter. Its walls, weaved with taro leaves and coconut string, strategically blocked the sun and provided shade to its visitors. Two open ends not only served the purpose of a means to enter and exit, but allowed the regularly hidden breeze to pass through the triangular structure and cool the shaded area. Butch situated himself at the head of the shelter and revealed his history. We soon learned that the physical characteristics he possessed that were similar to our own and unlike the native Hawaiians were a result of his birth and earlier years in Wisconsin. Butch was not of Hawaiian descent as was his wife. Upon Butch's moving to Wai'anae, he was educated by the Hawaiian elders. His unique education stressed the land and its great value. Butch conveyed an important ideal that was emphasized to him, "Think before doing." In relating this message, he informed us of the current depletion of the land's water. The early Hawaiians constructed elaborate systems down the mountainside to ensure that all water was recycled, from the sky to the land to the ocean. Butch did not plead with us to revert back to the primitiveness that he demonstrated so well, but to be responsible with our advances. He did, however, beg us to take the morals of the ancient Hawaiian's, ideas that prove to be more advanced than all of the technological breakthroughs of the future.

"Our job is something that we have to do. Our work is something that we love to do. Then we need to bring these together." If I had closed my eyes, my imagination would not have allowed me to believe that the words spoken were being projected from the mouth of a little white man from Wisconsin. Butch is a tiny man, yet he cultivated so much land-alone. I admire small people who do great things, as I am not blessed with height and strive to do more than is expected of me. His wish was that our experience would result in a new feeling complementing the sights experienced by our eyes. More aware of how much was needed to preserve necessities such as water and how little is required to live comfortably, I grew a desire to help him-and so we did.

Hawaii's growing season started early this year. Although the time demanded only the turning of the taro patches for cultivation, our steps into the muddy pit resulted in new roots. As we trudged through the slimy pool, we strove to hold on to all that surrounded us, like roots grasping the land to provide a strong foundation for their fruit. Despite his ancient lifestyle, Butch possessed a love for all that surrounded him, understanding that his survival would not be possible without it. His smile was no longer mysterious, but realized as the definitiveness of the Aloha that resided in him.

Through Butch's living example, it became evident that Aloha was the mutual respect between an individual and his surroundings. Butch's primitive ways and ideals conveyed the ethics of the ancient Hawaiians. Although not all present-day Hawaiians live as humbly as Butch, Aloha exists in all. Perhaps the common cliché that insists on walking a mile in another's shoes to encapsulate a better understanding of the individual should be modified. A plot of land the size of a backyard swimming pool and your own two feet are all that is needed. Amongst the muck of a taro patch, Hawaii was found in its purest form.

Honorable Mention
Title: "Hi, My Name is Chrissy and I am a Study Abroad Addict"
Student: Christine DeRiso
Programs: Winter 2004 Australia/New Zealand
Winter 2003 Italy
Winter 2001 France

My addiction began at the early age of twelve, much too young for this type of addiction to begin. I started out small spending my spring breaks in Mexico or Jamaica, but I was hardly out of control. The real trouble began in college my freshman year. I was sitting in French class when the first lightening bolt hit; my professor handed out study abroad pamphlets. I had no idea at the time the effect this would have on my life.

That year, I decided to test my limitations and go to France. It sounded like a great idea until the moment reality set in. I was sitting in the airport awaiting my journey and I realized that I was about to go to a foreign country with a group of students I had never met with a professor I had never had and live with a host family of an entirely different culture. Instantly, I was sick to my stomach. "What was I thinking? I cannot do this! Who do I think I am?" But, I got up, got on the plane and so the experience began.

My trip that year had some bittersweet memories but a few stand out more than others. I mean how many people can say they got sick on the floor of the Louvre Museum? Another one is how I accidentally overflowed the shower at my host family's house. Then the father came running up the stairs screaming 'FLOOD!' in French and I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I especially loved when the host family's five- year old son told his parents I was weird because I didn't speak his language. Perhaps, it was the fact that when I played pretend with the kids, it took me a week to figure out we were playing 'store'. Or my personal favorite, how three days after my return home, I found out I had caught the chicken pox from their three year old son.

Every show must have its bloopers and in comparison, they were well worth it. Today, I can tell you what the Eiffel Tower, the Royal Jewels, the Mona Lisa, and the London Bridge look like. I can tell you that when I was nineteen I took a weekend trip to go from Northern France to London with five other girls. I can say I've seen the changing of the guards outside Buckingham Palace and fit six people in a British phone booth. I can say I've stood in a German bunker and cried on the beaches of Normandy. I can say that for a brief but significant amount of time I lived in France with a family eating their meals, enjoying their celebrations and learning their customs. I can be one of those grandparents who say "When I was girl, I had to walk uphill alone everyday in the snow to my school in France".

This trip gave me a greater appreciation for people who come to our country and don't speak the language. It's amazing how little you can say or how little you want to say when you are bound to fifty words. It's incredible how influential ethnocentrism is and how hard it hits when you realize that your out of your comfort zone. I gained an enormous respect for history and felt a real connection to people that have passed. I now know that life is very different in other parts of the world but that humanity is so very similar. Most importantly, I learned a great deal about myself, my county, and the world at large. This trip taught me how to think.

My addiction continued on through my sophomore year until I finally snapped and decided to go again the winter of my junior year. Mostly, I blame my roommate for this one. She said she wanted to study abroad one day but that her parents probably wouldn't be comfortable with her going alone. There it was; the second lightening bolt. Without any composure I screamed out, "I'll go with you! Where do you want to go?" Italy seemed like a perfect choice for us; two Italian girls from New Jersey. So I did what any addicted traveler would do; I rearranged my schedule to graduate a semester early and propositioned my parents to help fit the bill.

We went exploring Italy: Roma, Venezia, Firenze, Napoli, L'Aquila and Sicilia; not to mention all of our day trips. We saw the Roman ruins and The Colosseum and I finally realized what my high school Latin teacher had been talking about all that time. We went to the Vatican and saw the Pope, which was an overwhelming experience, and I'm not even Catholic. We played on the snowcapped mountains of Gran Sasso and walked through the apartment where Mussolini hid out. We took a gondola ride around Venice, walked through the Sistine Chapel, and saw Michelangelo's David. We learned about the Siena horse races and the death of Pompeii. In Venice, we went to the Jewish ghetto where the Jews were cast away during World War II. It was my first time stepping foot into a synagogue. We studied the culture from different angles by attending a rowdy, chanting soccer game and a polished, high class opera, but the single most valuable memory I have from Italy is riding through Naples where my family is rooted and passing a storefront called "DERISO'S" (my family name). I secretly thought to myself, "I'm rich."

This trip challenged me on a different level than before. It took endurance to handle the bus rides and the constancy of being with the group. It took adaptation to mold from one city's culture to the next. I learned that while I may say I'm Italian in America, in Italy, I am blatantly American and most of what I had believed to be 'Italian' wasn't at all. Being that the trip was for political science, I was surrounded by politically- minded students who gave an interesting twist to my own perceptions. We were in another country at a time when our own country was at war and many Italians wanted to get our opinion on the situation. It was a primetime in history to be abroad because we were both insiders looking out and outsiders looking in. This trip taught me how to see.

By senior year, I was a full- blown addict and there was no denying it. I was already graduating in the fall and knew I would not need the winter session credits but felt it was an opportunity too good to pass up; a common rationale for an addiction sufferer. I decided that if I could work everyday over the summer to pay for my third study abroad trip, then I could go. The trip of choice had a rigorous acceptance process and a beautiful itinerary. Like the ultimate pot for a gambler, it was my dream come true: Australia, New Zealand and Fiji. I signed up for an interview and told myself that fate would decide if I should go or not. I will forever thank fate for my acceptance for that amazing experience.

Although I had met everyone, I didn't know anyone. I asked to be placed with two random roommates and hoped for the best. The trip was unlike anything I've ever done. The concept was for the students to work as an organization; to make their own rules and set their own agenda and more importantly, to function through group conflict. Because of the selectivity of the admissions process, the group was full of eager- minded, well-rounded young leaders out for adventure and adrenaline. We hiked mountains for hours on end. We went skydiving, bridge climbing, and bungee jumping for thrills. We took rocky boat trips for whale watching in New Zealand and massive cruise ships to snorkel the Great Barrier Reef. I held a koala bear, threw a boomerang, and watched a Cane Toad Race all in one day. We were like little kids again having a scavenger hunt, dressing the guys up as girls and playing childhood swimming pool games. I swam anywhere I could find water; waterfalls, volcanic craters, the ocean. In total, we went on eleven flights, checked into sixteen hotels, went through customs four times and learned about five different cultures. We were on the go so much so that we had it down to a science; check in, make reservations for activities and go explore the town. We became so accustomed to our drill that when we'd stay in a city for three nights we considered that too long. We found it interesting that a country so far from us looked and acted so similar. It was like being in a alternate universe; a backwards United States, like we found the long lost sister of our very our country. Everything was so much like home except with a south pacific persuasion. Life was laid back and all 'no worries mate'. This trip taught me to live.