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Today after watching Bolivia sadly lose to Argentina in their beloved futbol, my family, Jenn, and I took the micro home. It was my first experience riding the micro in Bolivia and it certainly had an impact. While there is no comparison between Guatemala buses and the Bolivian micros, I certainly prefer the chaotic nature of guat buses!
But that's really not all that noteworthy, or at least journal-worthy. I saw something different today, in me and in this grand city that I'm living in. At one point our micro was passing through a higher middle class barrio, characterized by the fancy, sprawling grounds, and massive walls covered in wildflowers. I felt a twinge of jealousy for that five minutes I wanted to wish away my collage loans, and pretend I had the resources to someday live in a house that beautiful. It was somewhat of an oasis, in the middle of poverty, there it was. The middle class, in all it's glory.
Meanwhile (as I stood silently berating my financial situation)
I realized where we were. Hello low class, hello poor neighborhood.
I couldn't help but be mesmerized by what I saw beyond the bus
windows; because beyond the dilapidated houses swamped with
trash stood the women and children, with their worn clothes
and tired faces. This is reality, this is the sad truth. No
longer could I have any feelings of deficiency, I'm rich beyond
description; I'm an American citizen, I have clean clothes,
a home to return to, an education, and ultimately-
(none of which I rightly deserve.)