November 26, 2014

"I Would Rather Be Ashes Than Dust"

Dear Reader,

My journey began in math class last week, when I overheard some friends talking about tryouts for our school's basketball team. After considering their conversation for a moment, a radical thought came to my mind. Why don't I try out for the team? I decided I would give it a shot and gave my word to my friends that I would try out.

I'll be frank here, my dear Reader. Aside from 4th grade Physical Education class, I have had little experience on the court. Before going to my first open gym last week, I considered my strengths and weaknesses. "Can I make shots consistently? No. Can I read an opponent and determine what they're about to do? No. Do I have mad ball-handling skillz? No. But can I try my best despite my shortcomings? Yes. Yes, I can."

This last thought carried me through the entire tryout process. Did I miss a bunch of shots? Yes. Did I have to look at the ball as I dribbled? Yes. Did I make tons of mistakes? Yes.

But I powered through and did my best. Though I knew the odds of making the team were slim to none, I went hard to the very end.

These words, attributed to Jack London, help explain why I even tried in the first place.

"I would rather be ashes than dust! 
I would rather that my spark should burn out 
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. 
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom 
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. 
The function of man is to live, not to exist. 
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. 
I shall use my time."

Though I didn't make our school's basketball team, I am glad that I seized this opportunity to step outside of my comfort zone. I would rather be ashes than dust. 

NM

(Congratulations to those who made the team! ROCK the court this year, y'all. Rock it.)


November 20, 2014

"The Couch"

Dear Reader,

My friend, Catelyn Critchfield and I have a study hall period where we use our time very wisely. Please enjoy this short story that we wrote, passing her computer back and forth for each paragraph. Also, enjoy any typos, because this art is UNEDITED! All the best, NM

A man comes home from work one evening to find that his couch is missing. Where did it go?

He fumbled with his keys at the door. When he had opened it up, he stumbled into his small apartment. He threw his bag over to the couch but heard a crash. “What?” He said. “Where the crap is my freakin’ couch?” He crouched down and studied the dusty outline of where his worn out upholstery had been before. That’s when he heard a noise.

When he turned around he noticed that the bedroom door was ajar. A scraping sound followed by a wooden crunch came from his room. He opened the door to find his window open, the breeze that smelled faintly like motor oil and couch stuffing filled his nose. He noticed a scrap of fabric clinging to the windowsill that matched his couch exactly. He poked his head out the window to looked down the three stories to the city street. That’s when he saw it, his couch scuttling down the sidewalk like it belonged there. But how had it suddenly gained the ability to jump out a window and onto the street?

In a flash he grabbed his keys and sprinted out of his apartment. He went for the elevator but it was down for maintenance, so he crashed through the metal door to the emergency stairwell and began sprinting down. People stared at him as he broke through the lobby at a dead run. Outside, his feet slapped the ground harder as the couch came into view.

He made a grab for the couch but it saw him, as well as any couch without the optical advantages us humans posses can see, and it scuttled faster. He’d managed to chase it to the street corner; people were staring at the strange scene and laughing, probably thinking that it was some elaborate joke. When the couch stopped at a red light at a cross walk he grabbed the cushions and catapulted onto the seat. The couch squirmed under his weight but eventually settled onto the pavement. He looked under the couch to see if it had somehow sprouted legs and noticed something glinting on the wooden underside of his comfortable couch he’d gotten for $5.99 at a yard sale in Oregon.

The next thing he knew, he was pulling himself up off of the pavement. What was going on? Why had the couch bucked him off? HOW had the couch bucked him off? He saw it further down the street and he drew his pistol. After the war, he never felt safe without his handgun. Dodging traffic, he bolted down the road and caught up with the runaway upholstery. It stopped when it sensed the weapon in his hands.

“Get in the alley.” He ordered the couch. The couch wiggled its arm rests in an attempt to surrender as it shuffled back into the empty alley. He advanced with his gun, the war flashed briefly in his mind… yes world war fifteen. It was hard to forget the war with google, the war they said could not be won with mere guns. He focused on the couch again, it stopped moving and sat there as a couch ought too, still and without somewhat demonic movements, a quality inanimate objects should not possess He pushed the muzzle of the gun against the plush back of the couch and felt something vaguely firm. He poked it again and felt whatever it was pushing back.

He didn’t even hear the ottoman sneaking up behind him until it was nearly upon him. In a flash he turned and emptied a clip into the soft leather of the ottoman. Each round entered with a dull smack and the job was finished well before he fired his last shot. When he turned back to the couch, it had vanished again. “I won’t let it get away.” He vowed as he loaded another clip into his pistol. With cold steel in hand, he started into the winding alleys of New York City.

The quickest way through NYC in 3045 was of course through the abandoned sewers. He opened the manhole at his feet and dropped inside, listening to the bustle above him. He heard a familiar scraping and followed it until he saw light coming through another manhole. He opened it and crawled outside to see his couch enter an abandoned warehouse nearing the edge of town. He thought he heard music faintly playing and He followed it at a distance and peeked in through a window. What he saw was both terrifying and awesome.

He tightened his grip on the pistol as he moved to an entrance to get a closer look. Once inside, he quietly climbed a steel ladder to the catwalk above the warehouse floor. He held his breath and watched the strange ceremony. Couches. Hundreds of couches. Moving in a circle around an object. But what? His foot hit a pipe and the noise echoed through the warehouse. All movement stopped and he knew what had to be done.

He backed up a few steps and launched over the rail and fell into the pile of ferocious and extremely soft couches. His gun was firing before he had a chance to think about it. He climbed to his feet and fired as he ran towards the object in the middle of the room. Couches went flying left and right as they tried to claw him with their tassels or softened arms. He barely reached the center of the room when he saw what they were surrounding. It was a statue standing proudly on a plush rug; all the couches fell into a hushed silence as they surrounded him.

One stepped forward. It was his own couch. He saw now that the metal he had seen before was a gun. “So.” He said softly. “It will end this way.” He slapped a fresh clip into his weapon and steadied himself. The other couches stayed far back to watch the duel. He and the couch ran at each other, wildly firing at everything and hitting nothing. But the couches last round caught him squarely in the shoulder. In a blind rage, he threw himself at the couch and started punching. The soft cushions absorbed all of his blows. When he went to pull back his hand, he couldn’t. The couch had grabbed him. He threw his other hand into the cushion but it got stuck too. In desperation, he cried out. “Have mercy!” Silence reigned as his voice echoed through the vast warehouse. “PLEASE LET ME G-“ His cry was cut short when the couches closed in and ended him.

November 12, 2014

"Confession and Resolution"

Dear Reader,

On the seventh day of September, I messed up big time. It was late at night and I should've gone to bed, but I just couldn't stop myself. The water, the scissors, the cold porcelain sink, the gleaming razor. It happened so fast. After the deed was done, I looked up at myself in the mirror. I brought my hand to my chin and felt nothing at first. But then, I felt regret.

My dear Reader. That fateful September night, I caved. That fateful September night, I shaved. For 61 days, I nurtured and cared for my nose neighbor and awkward chin strap...but then I jus-.....

...I can't write about it anymore. What's past is past. I can't go back and tell myself to drop that razor. I can't save my first "beard".

But what I can do is grow another. I have to admit that seeing my friends and teachers with their incredibly awkward and nasty facial hair has me missing my own.

I, Nicholas David Merrill, have committed to grow my facial hair out for ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DAYS. I started growin' on November 11th, 2014, so that means that I'm going to keep growin' until April 10th, 2015. You may be asking, "Why 150 days, Nick?" I don't know. Why try growing a beard when you know you really can't?

Extreme patience and an unnatural amount of tolerance, my dear Reader. That's all I'm asking for.

Thank you.

NM

November 10, 2014

"An Unsettling Experience"

Dear Reader,

I didn't want any trouble...I just wanted to buy a dictionary.

On June 25th, My friends and I were sitting on the green grass in front of the parliament building in Rabat, Morocco. We were waiting for some other friends because we all wanted to go buy Arabic-English dictionaries at the bookstore together. As we sat there, someone asked "Were there that many police in front of parliament the other day?" I looked over to see a line of about 20 policemen standing with riot helmets on. No. They weren't there before. Why are there so many now? My train of thought derailed when Shunhe and Shaheen (who we'd been waiting for) walked up to us. We all stood up and started strolling down the street towards the bookstore. And that's when we saw the crowd.

A bunch of chanting protesters were working their way up the street towards the parliament building... and towards us. Crap! I thought, That's why there are all these freaky, helmeted policemen! We'd been warned to steer clear of any sort of demonstrations by our program facilitators, but I was curious. The other students and I walked over and stood under an arch across the street to consider the situation. "Why don't we just stay and watch what happens from here?" I suggested. It seemed like we were a safe distance away. Anli Zhang reminded me then of the warning we had been given and said that we really ought to leave quickly and go home. As the main mass of protesters drew closer, I tried one last time to convince everyone to stay back. I shut my mouth as soon as another crowd materialized from the city behind us. They were chanting and pushing towards the parliament building in a path that would take them under the arch where we stood. When we suddenly found ourselves caught directly between the protesters and the line of riot police, the game changed. The adrenalin started flowing. The chanting grew louder. And we moved out of there. Fast. 

I turned back in time to see riot police that were hidden rush out from a building with their batons raised and fall on the angry crowd. When the protesters broke and fled, the riot police chased and beat them straight through the arch where we had been standing moments before. As soon as we'd moved far enough down the street, we all caught taxis home.

Although the rush and excitement was fun in the moment, the whole experience was unsettling.

I'm glad we got out of there when we did.

NM

(I didn't share this before because I didn't want anyone to worry about me in Morocco. Please don't let this account turn you off from visiting the country. Though this experience was unsettling, it was certainly the exception. The people there are wonderful. I highly recommend Rabat as a travel destination.)


August 30, 2014

"Confessions"

Dear Reader,

I have to tell you something that's been on my mind a lot these past few days. It's going to sound crazy, but here's the truth.......

It's great to be back in Abu Dhabi. I really missed being here. I used to hate living in a city, but now it doesn't bother me. I used to despise having to take taxis, but now I'm used to them. I've learned my way around town, I can read all of the signs that are in Arabic, and I've already had some shawarma. I have my own bedroom, a nice apartment, and a great view. I go to school with an incredible bunch of kids. I love my classes. I love my school. I even love the nasty weather! (Okay....I tolerate the weather.)

I don't know if I ever imagined that I would feel this way about coming back to Abu Dhabi, but I must confess...

I love it here.

Also, here's another confession.......










I like my awkward chin beard. It's really grown on me. Here's a shameless elevator selfie of Day 52.




Rock on. NM

August 3, 2014

"The Consequences"

Dear Reader,

"While you are free to choose your course of action, you are not free to choose the consequences. Whether for good or bad, consequences follow as a natural result of the choices you make." -FTSOY

I made a big decision on July 9th, 2014. I handed my razor over to Shunhe Wang and pledged to commit to growing a raggedy, nasty, tasteless "beard". The first few days were just fantastic. It was Christmas morning every day. I would wake up early and run to the mirror, excited to see some incremental progress. I would write a little update in my journal every day, commenting on how things were growing.  

Later on in my journey, I found myself having to lean heavily on my contract and accountabilibuddy for support. The first signs of trouble appeared on Day 12. Here's an excerpt from my journal:

"Committing to this facial hair experiment is a lot harder than I thought it might be...WOW. I can't imagine a facial hair future where I want to keep what's currently growing on the sides of my face."

By Day 16, things were looking bleak.

"My logic at the beginning of this endeavor was infallible....'I can't grow a beard in the future! Why not now?'...Now my thoughts are more like 'Thank goodness razors exist on planet Earth.'"

It was really hard for me around that time. When I saw advertisements for Gillette razors, I wanted to run into the store, buy one, and shave immediately. I had to keep reminding myself that I knew that this process was going to be hard. Suddenly (and to my great joy) I realized that there was a loop-hole in my contract. I said that I would commit to growing a "beard", but by putting "beard" in quotation marks, I unintentionally gave myself a lot of room for interpretation. As I looked in the mirror at the sides of my face and considered this loophole, I knew what I was going to do. On our weekend excursion to Fes, I had an informal, but incredibly important meeting with the majority of the guys on the program with me. We discussed and deliberated if shaving the scraggly nastiness off my cheeks would violate my contract. The definition of "beard" was Googled. Tempers flared. Friendships were ended on the spot.

Actually, we just chatted about it and determined that it was my flipping face, and that I could do what I wanted. With Shunhe's permission, I took the razor to my shameful cheeks and made them smooth again. Cleaning things up was a great idea, and I have no regrets about that night. With renewed confidence, I continued growing my facial hair out. On Day 22, something strange happened.

I felt for the first time that I actually wanted to keep my whiskers. I broke the news to my parents in an email. I told them flat out that I'd fallen in love with my raggedy lip rug and awkward chin beard. Then, humbly, I asked for their blessing to continue my personal journey after August 5th, 2014. The next day, my dad replied.

"Yes, you have my permission. Keep it growing.  (I'd write more but my PC is wigging out)...
Love Dad"

I was ecstatic. The journey could CONTINUE! Nothing was going to stop me fro-...

But wait. My mom didn't reply. She didn't reply for days. After a while, I sent her a series of Facebook messages, begging for the smallest amount of approval. The tension as I waited for her response was incredible. Reluctantly, she said yes, but that she didn't like it.

Well..............a yes is a yes. 

I've come to terms with my awkward facial hair. I feel like it's become a part of me. This whole process has been incredibly educational. I've learned that with proper support and resolve, hard things become bearable. The unattainable somehow comes within reach. The impossible becomes reality.

 This journey will continue past my original target date of August 5th. Wish me luck. NM



Here's a photo of Day 26.

(Also, my chin beard is coming in red. Isn't that bizarre?! Genetics, man. Genetics.)



July 30, 2014

"Get. Out. Now."

Dear Reader,

We beat the system, man. We beat it.

Karin, Andrew, and I started our day off by working on our project about the call to prayer. As we thought of great places to film, Andrew suggested that we go to a look-out point that the locals love. Barricaded and guarded to prevent tourists from spoiling the spot, there was no way we were going to get in. At least not.........conventionally.

With a plan in mind, we walked down and around the fortress to the sea. Taking the lead, Andrew started to slowly work his way across a wall above the ocean. He picked his way across the flat surface carefully and almost slipped into the water only twice. After some effort, he made it to a place where he could stand. I removed my shoes, rolled up my jeans, and walked through the shallows to get to where he was. Karin, sporting water shoes, did the same.

Andrew led the way across the sharp rocks and through the surf. We reached another point where we had to pause and think. "Should we turn back? NO. Swim?...Again, no. Cling to this sketchy wall and shuffle to the other side?...Sure, let's go." It took awhile, but we made it across that gap mostly dry. After hopping around tidal pools, we ducked through a large hole that had been carved out by the ocean and started to move along a cliff face. Unprotected, my feet were rubbed raw by the rough rocks. (Fun fact...the sewage from the city runs down part of the cliff we were on.) It was a difficult, painful, slow process for me.

Eventually, we saw some Moroccan kids that were diving into the sea off of the tall rocks and they acknowledged us. When they saw us trying to move across another wall above the sea, they cried out and said that that way was not a good idea. One of them swam over to where we were to help us out. (What a bro!) Andrew went first, walking in the most shallow parts of the ocean. When he hit the deeper part, the Moroccan guy motioned for him to take a piggy back ride over to the other side. So, Andrew climbed on and was ferried safely across the water. Karin and I repeated the same process as the rest of the young Moroccans looked on and laughed at us. Our friendly helper didn't ask for anything in return for his service, and he welcomed us to the location. He pointed up to some stairs near the fortress and we climbed up.

As we relaxed and took photos, we realized that there was a reason the locals guarded the place so well. The views there were absolutely incredible. After finishing up, we decided to walk up to the upper level where the unofficial guard was stationed. His face when he saw us was priceless. Furious, he started angrily clapping and calling at us like we were animals. To make him more angry, we pretended not to see or hear him. He kept clapping as he moved towards us. What did he think we were going to do? Scurry away from him? "No way, man." I thought to myself. "I got my jeans all squidgy for this, and I ain't leavin' just yet." Andrew started talking to him in the local Arabic dialect and asked what he wanted. The guy said something like "This place is off limits!!!"....but then Andrew motioned to the few Moroccans milling around the place and commented "What about them?" Owned, the guy started clapping and barking at the others as well. After waiting just a little bit longer to make him angry, we moved to the exit and walked past the barriers. As we strolled away, I couldn't help but laugh. We beat the system, man. We snuck around back, scurried across cliffs, and rode on the shoulders of a stranger to get there, but we beat the flipping system. It was great.

Especially that guy's face, man. That was the best.

NM

July 13, 2014

"An Awful Decision"

Dear Reader,

A few days ago, I woke up early in the morning and made an awful decision. I thought about my choice all the way to school, and as soon as I could, I sat down to pen the following wretched words.

"I, Nicholas David Merrill, on this the ninth day of the seventh month of the year 2014, do fully commit myself to growin' a raggedy, nasty, tasteless "beard" until August 5th, 2014. I pledge to deal with all discomfort, every snide remark, and all social repercussions that will inevitably come up as a result of my awful decision. I have selected Shunhe Wang as my accountabilibuddy on this journey towards unattractiveness. To him, I surrender my razor and my dignity. By signing below, I pledge to go ALL THE WAY......and so it begins. -Nicholas David Merrill."

My friend Shaheen took the completed document and read it out loud to everyone present.  After the reading, Shunhe Wang accepted my razor and took on the role of "accountabilibuddy" to help me on my journey. It was a great and terrible moment. You see, I've always wanted to grow out my nasty facial whiskers, but my mom is 1000% opposed to any sort of facial hair growth. Well..............she isn't here in Morocco with me. (Sorry, mom.)

It's been a test of my will, but I'm on Day 5, and things are going just fine.

I really want it to turn out well. And if not "well", I just want it to be bearable. And if it ain't "bearable", I'll just shoot for a beard that doesn't bring tears of shame and disgust to all who behold it.

Don't expect pictures any time soon....I'll shave those for later.

NM


July 4, 2014

"Independence Day"

Dear Reader,

I freaking love the United States of America.

Living abroad is great, but I miss being able to say what I want to say about the government. I miss being able to go out shooting with my family and friends. I miss Fahrenheit, inches, gallons, and miles per hour. So, if you're in the USA this 4th of July, set off some fireworks for me. Play the Star-Spangled banner loud and proud. Remember all of the people who have sacrificed their lives for your freedom.

'MERICA!

NM

June 29, 2014

"Moments in Morocco"

Dear Reader,

I have put off writing my first post about life and study in the capital of Morocco because frankly, I don't know that I possess the skills as a writer to do my experiences here any justice. My moments in Morocco have been truly amazing. The dramatic experiences really leave an impression. I loved going to the Sahara, riding camels over the dunes, and spending the night under the stars. Those grand experiences are great, but they're only a small part of the bigger picture. The simple moments really matter to me the most. Laughing with the taxi driver on the way to school, complimenting my host mother's cooking correctly, driving down the coast at midnight. These simple and short lived experiences can be easily forgotten, but they are the threads that make up the colorful fabric of life. Throughout my time here, I have had so many good times that I could not possibly capture them all and wrestle them into a blog post. I could take the time to tell you all about life here, but really, I'd rather that you would go and experience things for yourself. Above all, please remember to take the time to treasure life's fleeting moments.

They are beautiful.

Also, here's a selfie of me with a camel, just because.


Rock on. NM

June 15, 2014

"An Accident and Arabic"

Dear Reader,

As soon as I climbed into the car, we were hit.

The other driver was worried about getting her kid to school on time, not about avoiding our parked car. She tried to pull into a spot in front of us, but she cut it way too close and her mirror carved a big black streak into the side of our car. I took pictures, and our flustered friend apologized before quickly ushering her child into the school. While she was inside, my mom told me to call the police.

I called, excited to finally use my Arabic to say things other than "I want to eat shawarma today." The first man I spoke with didn't seem very happy to take my call. He got our basic information, muttered something, and hung up. My mom and I weren't sure what to do after that. Soon, though, the phone rang and I answered, greeting the caller in Arabic right off the bat.

"Peace upon you." 

"............And upon you peace. How are you?"

"Good, thank God. And you?"

"Thanks and praise to God. Where are you?"

"Next to the American School in Khalidiya."

"Near the Ambassador's house?"

"Yes."

"We will be there in 10 minutes, God willing."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The man on the phone seemed to be very happy that I had talked with him in Arabic. Sure enough, when the officers showed up and got out of their vehicle, they had big smiles on their faces. We all walked up to greet the officers and as I shook hands with both of them, we spoke again in Arabic. With all of the pleasantries taken care of, the two men got down to business and wrapped everything up quickly. "With peace!" I called out to the officers as they walked back to their car. "With peace." They replied.


Wow...


I've said it before and I'll say it again. And again. And again and again and again. I love to converse with people in their native language. It makes me want to high five everyone on earth. Twice.

And in just a few short days, I'll begin six weeks of intensive Arabic study and immersion in Rabat, Morocco.


NM



May 26, 2014

"The Road to Rabat"

Dear Reader,

In the summer of 2012, I had the opportunity to sojourn to Cancun with my family. Yes, the beaches in that part of Mexico were beautiful. Yes, the weather was perfect. But my favorite part about that trip started with "Hola" and ended with "Adios".  With two years of Spanish classes under my belt, I was able to converse in broken Spanish with the locals. Those short conversations in Mexico started an addiction, triggered a hunger, sparked a fire within me. There is nothing quite as richly satisfying as being able to converse with another person in their own language. I can hardly put the feeling into words, so imagine that you've just won a billion dollars. That's how it feels. (At least for me.)

After returning to Texas, that fire within me kept burning strong and got me searching for ways that I could travel and learn languages. My search immediately brought me to a program called the YES Abroad program which is sponsored by the U.S. Department of State. As I filled out the application essays, I just wrote how much I really really really REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted to go and travel abroad and learn another language. I don't think that I was prepared at that point to actually study abroad. The desire was there, but I didn't have any solid reasoning to support my application. I received a rejection letter from the YES Abroad program in the spring of 2013, and it was good for me. I redoubled my efforts to find a way to get abroad and I started doing more research.

That's when I came across the State Department careers page. I started reading all about jobs in the Foreign Service and I found my dream job. Everything about working as an FSO (Foreign Service Officer) seemed to match up with my passions. A few clicks later, I found myself on the NSLI-Y homepage.

"If you have a passion for learning languages and want to immerse yourself in a foreign culture, this program may be for you!"

This sentence caught me, and I read on. The more I researched, the more I realized that THIS was the program I had been searching for. THIS was what I truly wanted to do. So, I waited for the application to open up.

Then, my dad started talking about Abu Dhabi. It was very casual talk at first. "Oh yeah. We may or may not pack up everything and move to the Middle East." And it remained loose all the way until the week before the move. "Oh yeah. We may or may not be leaving this Friday. Say goodbye and get packing."

Because our move was so unsure, I decided to continue pursuing the NSLI-Y scholarship. (You know what they say..."The best way to predict the future is to create it.") Well, we moved to Abu Dhabi on September 9th, 2013, and the application opened up a few days later. Even though I had already moved abroad, I wanted more. The fire wasn't put out yet. So, sitting on a rock hard hotel room bed, battling jet lag and culture shock, I began filling out an application that would hopefully bring me to another hotel room bed where I could battle jet lag and culture shock.

As I filled out my application, everything became crystal clear. The reason I wanted to study abroad stemmed from my desire to work for the State Department and to gain valuable experience for a job as a diplomat. Also, as I started learning Arabic in school, I realized that if I were able to study Arabic in the summer of 2014, I would be able to return to Abu Dhabi and continue my language study during my senior year. These reasons, combined with the intense passion I had for what the program stood for, allowed me to craft a rockin' application.

I clicked that submit button with relative confidence and quite a bit of hope. The wait began. Eventually, and to my great joy, I received an email that notified me of my "semi-finalist status" for the scholarship. We filled out forms. (SO MANY FORMS.) Then the waiting began again, but this time, it was a little more intense.

On March 15th, I checked my email, opened up the attachment sent from the NSLI-Y team, and read the words "We are pleased to inform you that you ha-".

I stopped reading and started dancing. And running through the house.

After calming myself enough to be able to return to my computer, I read on. "Arabic, Summer Program, Rabat, Morocco." You can just imagine the next couple of minutes.

Since then, I....well...."we" have prepared to depart for Morocco. (I say "we" because after a phone conference, almost every single one of the Rabat summer program participants linked up on Facebook. We all started chatting and learning about each other, and that really hasn't stopped since we've met up. I already really really like the people I'll be travelling with.)

On the 18th of June, I'll get on a plane and eventually reach New York, New York, where we'll have a pre-program briefing. Then as a group, we'll fly to Rabat and begin.

I have enjoyed every single step of the way (except for all of the paperwork) and I am sure that I'll be feeling like a billion bucks during my time in Rabat.

If there's anything I've learned from this journey so far, it's that you shouldn't give up if you experience setbacks. Allow them to help you refocus on what you really want. Try to recognize that just because one door closes in your face, doesn't mean there aren't other opportunities out there.

Rock on. (...or should I say moRoccOn...) NM

May 10, 2014

"Back in Texas!"

Dear Reader,

I was back in Tomball, Texas earlier this morning.

Seriously. I just wandered around my hometown. I went to the front of my old house and saw our ugly Chrysler parked there. I also went and had a look at Tomball Memorial High School. It looks brand new. I decided to leave town after visiting the Sonic near Walmart. Everything was beautiful. The green grass, the stoplights hanging sideways, the nasty pine trees.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that if you ever want to feel really homesick when you're abroad, just go to Google Maps and engage street view. It's as painful as it is beautiful.

...I'll be home someday.

NM


April 24, 2014

"An Incredible Experience"

Dear Reader,

At 4:45 a.m. I jumped out of bed, completely awake. I checked and double checked what I had already packed and then threw in some final necessities. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven't already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. Please make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full u-OKAY. Let's go.

We landed in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan in the early afternoon. After a long wait inside the airport, we got a cell phone working and a rental Jeep Wrangler that smelled faintly of cigarettes. We maneuvered that rental through the city of Amman for a long time and eventually found the restaurant that was highly recommended by a Jordanian from my dad's workplace. It was delectable, and worth the trouble.

We spent our first two nights in a relatively small town named Madaba. It took us a solid hour to finally figure out how to get to our hotel. It's not that we couldn't see it or that we didn't know where it was.......it just proved to be inexplicably difficult to get to. The whole ordeal was fun. And exhausting. After such a long day of travel, Sam and Mom decided to crash in the hotel room while Pops and I hit the town. Together, we walked the narrow, busy streets until we came to a church that stood on the highest ground in Madaba. A man welcomed us in and showed us a staircase. The sign above the staircase read "To the Bell Tower". With boyish enthusiasm, we started climbing. The normal stairs started getting steeper. Then they began to twist. Then we started ducking under support beams. Then I had to make sure I didn't ring a bell with my forehead. Then the stairs became metal ladders. Eventually, we clambered up into a small, square room. "Okay," I thought. "Now how do I get onto the balcony?" I looked down in the corner and saw the way out. With considerable discomfort, I made it through the 2' by 3' opening in the wall. The cool wind flapped my shirt as I walked all around the balcony and took in the view of Madaba from it's tallest tower. Minarets and steeples rose above the dusty city, and in the distance, rolling green hills could be seen. It was a beautiful view. The icing on the cake was that I got to test out some of my rudimentary language skills with a German couple that was also enjoying the view. "Ich bin eine Kartoffel....Ich mache was ich will." (Thanks Eli Larsen and Lisa Rathgeber!) We ducked and wound our way back down through the interior of the bell tower. Once we had made it back into the church, pops found a staircase that descended into the humid space underneath the church. There was an ancient well down there, and we could hear drops of water echoing from deep inside the earth. After exploring for a little bit longer, we went back to the hotel, where we woke up Mom and Sam. We all took the elevator up to the top floor of the hotel and ate at the restaurant there........let's just say that the view was better than the food. After dinner, Sam and I quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, we wasted no time in getting to the hotel's breakfast buffet. I filled up on a delicious cross between a shawarma and a breakfast burrito. This combination of my own creation gave me the full stomach I was going to need for a full day of exploration. After the most important meal of the day, the family climbed in the Jeep and we started driving to the place of Jesus' baptism in the river Jordan. On the way, we passed many, many shepherds that were tending their flocks in the fields. At one point, we hit a military checkpoint. After a brief stop, the men with cold machine-guns and warm smiles waved us on. We reached the site's parking lot and then took an aged shuttle towards the river. "This is a military zone, so don't wander..." Our guide warned us. The bus stopped and we walked through some scrub to the exact spot of Jesus' baptism. The river has shifted with time, so the exact spot is actually some really nasty stagnant water now. We kept walking until we hit the actual river, which was much more beautiful. It was really special to be there next to that river, to swish my hand around in the cold water. There were at least three different Christian denominations doing baptisms there, and a group of tourists in matching hats were singing hymns. After watching them for a bit, I scanned the crowd on the far bank. One man stood out from the others. Standing in full gear, armed with a heavy machine gun was an Israeli soldier. I looked to my right and saw a Jordanian troop with his own black metal. It was just weird, standing there observing those soldiers. The strangest thing was that in between those two uniformed men, there were dozens of people being baptized.

Later, we drove to Mount Nebo and parked the jeep. When we got out and started looking around, we noticed that there were a lot of teenage Jordanian schoolgirls walking around. They started strolling slowly around Sam and I and staring. A group of them approached Sam and started chatting it up. I walked over and joined the conversation, which I knew would be interesting. "How long have you been in Jordan?" one of them asked. "3 days maybe." I said, unsure of how long it had actually been. (I was tired.)...."How do you like it?" She questioned with a smile..."I love it! It's a beautiful country!" I replied sincerely. "You need to go to the Dead Sea, and see Petra." She advised. "I could be your tour guide..." She smiled at Sam and I and all of her friends giggled. Thanks, but no thanks. We said goodbye and walked over to another exhibition area. Sam kept catching them staring at him. Eventually, I got uncomfortable with the attention and I sat near the wide gate we entered. As I rested in the shade of a tree, a Jordanian man sitting next to a friend of his called out from across the exit road. "Are you British?" He asked. "No. American." I answered. "Welcome to Jordan!" He said cordially.  After a pause, I decided to ask a question about what Arabic greetings were most commonly used in Jordan. They couldn't hear well, so I got up, walked over, and sat next to them. They answered my Arabic question and then we talked about what I thought about the country and the people. I said that I loved both. They smiled real big and let me know that they really loved tourists coming in to see Jordan. We exchanged names and parted ways. After stuffing ourselves at a buffet, the Merrills went to a museum with a bunch of animatronic people that were hilarious and creepy. We then went back to Madaba to explore the city again, but this time, with Sam and Mom. I took Sam to the top of the bell tower at sunset. There were a bunch of other people up there in that small space, and that made things quite interesting. Eventually, they all cleared out except for two Italian men that let me photobomb one of their pictures. Sam and I visually documented the beautiful sunset, explored the space beneath the church, and then met back up with the parents. That evening, we went to a different restaurant that was in the middle of town. The food was fantastic. My only complaint was the Arab woman blowing shisha smoke in my face the whole night, but that unpleasantness was offset by the man that played the oud as we ate. With full tummies, we strolled back to the hotel and got another good night's sleep.

The next day, we were set to roll out of Madaba by 7:30 a.m., and at 7:10, Sam and I went to go throw our bags into the back of the Wrangler. Strangely, the front door of the hotel was locked. Sam spotted the door keys on the front desk and unlocked it for us. (You'd think the staff would be awake...) We drove to Umm ar-Rasas, a world heritage site which contains ruins from the Roman, Byzantine, and early Muslim civilizations. (Thanks, Google.) The whole place has hardly been excavated. There are no ropes. No barriers. No guards. Sam and I walked all over the site, through the ruins, under the arches, on top of beautiful mosaics. I even found a pottery handle! ('nuff said about that...) We left that site and tried to find our way to Herod's castle. The smooth-talking navigation man beguiled us into taking an extremely long, scenic route through a wadi. It was beautiful, but quite remote. At one point, an unaccompanied herd of goats sprinted across the road in front of us. After we thought they had all passed, one straggler appeared and trotted across the asphalt. "You've goat to be kidding me, man. Hurry up!"

We reached Herod's castle during the hottest part of the day. Before Sam and I climbed up to the ruins, we walked around the base of the hill and explored some caves carved into the rock. Three French women showed up and one of them said "Hello" to me. I responded "Bonjour." Surprised, they asked in French if I spoke French and I said I didn't flipping know French, in French. (Pardon my French.) Later, as Sam and I were climbing the hill, we saw the ladies again. From behind, I called out "Je suis fatigué" and they replied "Moi aussi!" Then they were like "Wait...you do know French..." I told them that I'd only learned a little bit on my own, and that the phrase "Je suis fatigué" had really stuck with me. Once we reached the top of the hill, I noticed that Herod had good taste for location. You could see the Dead Sea and all around. After a long, hot walk down to the car, we drove back to Madaba the fast way. Because we were so hungry, we pulled over at a.....uh.......foodstuff establishment to buy some processed nastiness. I wandered a little and found a small, ultra-sketchy "restaurant" staffed by two Arab men. I ordered some falafel sandwiches and as they prepared the food, we conversed. They asked me where I was from and I told them. 'MERICA! Then I asked where they were from, and one of them replied "Egypt." I immediately said "مصر" which is Egypt in Arabic and he smiled real big and shook my hand just for knowing that. We ate those delicious, dirt cheap sandwiches on our way to our next city. The best part? They didn't make us sick at all.

Early the next morning, I was riding a horse into another world heritage site, Petra. The man who was leading the horse kept talking about some sort of back path into Petra. "I swear, you see the best of Petra. I can show you top view. Best of Petra. Short time in the back way, best of Petra." He said with a big smile. I was thinking that he was just going to show us the trail head and say goodbye, but I was mistaken. He talked the whole family into the alternate route, and we followed him away from the crowd. I understood why we had to have a guide pretty quickly, because the path was not clearly marked. I walked close behind him until I caught a lot of second-hand from his cigarette. (Our friendly guide ended up being a chain-smoker.) I was a little bit skeptical about the thing I had pressured the rest of the family into, until the man walked us right up to the edge of a cliff. Beneath us, carved into the rock wall was Al Khanzeh, or "The Treasury". Here's a photo of Sam and I with it in the background.


We spent the entire day walking around, exploring the site. The Treasury was a neat introduction to Petra, but the rest of the city was shockingly impressive. It's such a big place that it took us two full days of walking in order to see all that we wanted to see. After the second day, I was so tired and whacked out that I wasn't sure if I could make it out of the ancient city. One thing I clearly remember about that second day is that as Sam and I were about to walk out of the city, we encountered Marcella Kukulka, a sophomore that goes to ACS Abu Dhabi with us. Seeing her there was kind of strange, but really fun. 

The last leg of our trip was spent relaxing at a guesthouse in the small village of Dana. Getting away from all the touristy craziness of Petra was really special, because we were able to meet Jordanians that don't always interact with foreigners. When we were trying to find Dana, we stopped and asked a man on the side of the road for directions. He was eager to help out with directions. He even invited us to come into his home and have some tea. We declined, but it was a very kind offer. The crumbling village of Dana is right next to Jordan's largest nature preserve, and it is a quiet, peaceful place. Later in that day, after getting our stuff loaded into the guesthouse, we took the Jeep out to locate a campsite that had hiking trails around it. On our way to the campsite, a spray-painted arrow on a rock turned us onto "the road less travelled." More arrows directed us, but as we continued, it became apparent that we were not heading in the right direction. Eventually we came to a cliff, and the last arrow in sight pointed off the edge. That's when we knew it was time to turn around. At long last, we found the correct place. We parked the Jeep at a station and rode in the back of a truck down to the campsite. For the next few hours, we hiked around and appreciated the natural beauty of Jordan. After tiring ourselves out, we returned to the campsite. 

As we sat in the shade of a building waiting for the shuttle, Dad asked Sam for a pair of his really nice sunglasses. Sam put up a little bit of a struggle just for fun, but eventually he let Dad take a pair. An Arab man who had seen this exchange came over and started to talk to Sam. He told him very seriously that he ought to respect his father more, and then he related several stories related to parental respect. After he ran out of stories, he asked his friend if there were any more stories with that theme. Halfway through a tale about a famous war leader and his long cloak, the shuttle arrived. I wish that it hadn't. Honestly, I could've laid there in the shade for hours listening to that old Arab man tell stories. Life goes on, though. We made it back to the guesthouse and relaxed there for the rest of the trip. No driving around. No crazy sightseeing. Just beds, books, and a beautiful view of Wadi Dana. 

In summary, the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan was magnificent. The people were warm. The food was delicious. The sites were breathtaking. The experience was truly incredible.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. NM

March 22, 2014

"One Way or Another!"


Dear Reader,

I wasn't sure how I was going to study abroad, but in 10th grade, I made my first attempt. With high hopes, I applied for the Kennedy-Lugar scholarship program which would allow me to spend my Junior year of high school outside of the United States. After an excruciatingly long wait, I found out that I didn't make the cut. Although I was crushed by the rejection, I had the feeling that I would get another chance. 

Not long after getting that disappointing email, my dad first mentioned the Middle East. For his job in the oil business, he had traveled the UAE to help out some companies. When he did his engineering thing, he made a good impression on his coworkers. As soon as he hinted at that whole "Hey, let's move to the Middle East!" thing, I wrote a persuasive essay to convince him to take the overseas job. After reading it, he said that he'd see what he could do. So, while that was still way up in the air, I continued searching for alternate ways that I could get myself abroad. After a little bit of research, I discovered the NSLI-Y program. (Here's part of the official description of the program...)

"The National Security Language Initiative for Youth (NSLI-Y) program, sponsored by the U.S. Department of State, provides merit-based scholarships for eligible high school students and recent high school graduates to learn less commonly taught languages in summer and academic-year overseas immersion programs."

The more I read about the program, the more certain I became that it was created for people like me. As I waited for the application to open, my dad started mentioning Abu Dhabi a little more often. Slowly, we started to get more information about that overseas job. For the next few months, time seemed to move at a dying snail's pace. At long last, everything started to fall in place for the move to the UAE. In September 2013, the trigger was pulled and we moved overseas. 

So, I was now studying abroad. Sweet! But I hadn't forgotten about NSLI-Y. I filled out the application in the hotel, hit that submit button, and waited in anticipation once again to find out if I was a semi-finalist. This time, I was not disappointed by the email I received. As a semi-finalist, I completed medical forms, did a video interview, and started waiting again. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait very long. The much anticipated email came surprisingly early. As soon as I opened it up and read "We are pleased to inform y-" I ran through the house dancing. Later, I sat down and read the specifics. "Your scholarship is for Summer in the Arabic language. Your program will take place in Rabat, Morocco."

Don't give up when setbacks occur. Be persistent. Work hard. Remember that the best way to predict your future is to create it. 

Rock on. NM

March 9, 2014

"Zumba and Moments of Reflection"

Dear Reader,

I often find myself in situations where I stop and wonder at where life has taken me. A little over a week ago, I was in Oman at a choral festival. During the final concert of that festival, as the choir swelled in unison and filled the auditorium with sweet music, I had a reflective moment. Here I am in Muscat, singing a Mormon Tabernacle Choir piece with kids from Africa, the Middle East, and India. Two days ago, I was journeying in the dunes outside of Abu Dhabi with the youth from the Abu Dhabi Stake. A while after the sun sank behind the sloping sand, I laid down on a chill dune and gazed up into the night sky. As I listened to the fire crackle, I had another one of those reflective moments. Here I am in the Emirates, camping under the starry sky in good company. Just today, my P.E. teacher brought in a Zumba instructor to lead our class in some spicy exercise. As my peers and I rocked our hips to the beat, I couldn't help but smile as I reflected on the absurdity of the situation. Here I am in gym class, shimmying with people from all over the world. 

These moments happen often and serve as sweet reminders that the world is full of possibilities, full of opportunities for personal growth, and full of moments to remember. I'm grateful for the chance I've had to live and grow here in the Emirates. My experiences abroad have shaped me. Humbled me.

It's been six months since our plane first touched down in Dubai. Life is good. Rock on. NM

February 2, 2014

"Dubai and I"

Dear Reader,

This morning, I slipped onto Bus 05 on 10th street and rode it deeper into the city of Abu Dhabi. At a stop, I squeezed through the tight mass of men, hopped off the bus, and immediately climbed into another. I took that bus to Abu Dhabi's main terminal. I busted my butt bussing to the bus station because I wanted to buy a bus ticket to Dubai. I walked up to the Emirati selling tickets, said السلام عليكم and handed him 25 dirhams. He responded وعليكم السلام with a half smile and a ticket. With ticket in hand, I walked out to my ride. "Dubai or bussed!"

Well, I was comfortably bussed all the way there.

From drop-off point, I took the city's super fancy metro to the world's tallest building, the Burj Khalifa. Honestly, the Burj impressed me much more than when I initially saw it.  Right after the 15 hour flight into the Emirates, I was too whacked to appreciate just how tall the building really is. Just standing at the base of the Burj was fantastic. It really deserves all the hype.

Dubai Mall, however, wasn't that great. It's the largest mall in the entire world, but you know what they say.....once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall. (I guess I'm just not a 'mall person'. I'd rather go desert camping or wake-boarding.) 

That being said, I went to the Mall of the Emirates after Dubai Mall. I only want to go to the MotE because it has the famed ski slope and snow park in it. Although I could only see parts of it from the outside, it looked pretty cool. I'm not a huge fan of snow or snow sports, so after I'd seen the slopes for a second, I left. On my way back to the metro, my ankle started hurting from all of the walking. Well, I thought, I guess it's time to say Dubye. So, I metroed, bussed, and taxied all the way home to Abu Dhabi Mall. (Maybe I'm not a mall person because I live above one.....)

I enjoyed Dubai, but it was a lively city. There was too much happening and all of the folks there seemed like they had to hurry and go somewhere, do something. There are lots of folks I know that love big cities. If you are one of those people, then do yourself a favor and travel to Dubai. I just don't like the city life. Give me some peace, quiet, and a place where there aren't a bunch of people puffing on their cigarettes.

Dubai and I are not meant to be. I hope you enjoyed the puns....I mean...everybody likes a good pun, emiright? -NM




A photo I took of the Burj Khalifa


January 18, 2014

"We Go Together"

Dear Reader,

Last night, our school put on its third and final performance of the musical "Grease". In the past, I've had experiences as a performer that are hard to beat. I've danced with the Houston Ballet, shimmied on the stage at Miller Outdoor Theatre, and broken it down in various school-related venues. But being a part of "Grease" was a singular experience.

I find it funny that I can't name all of the nationalities of my fellow cast and crew members. (German, Ecuadorian, Swedish, Russian, Lebanese, Italian, Korean, Swiss, Danish, Irish, etc.) Spending time with kids from all over the world was more entertaining than the show itself. I learned some basic Swedish when we had downtime during rehearsals from Maria, Emma, and Felicia, incorrectly complained about my cough in Spanish to Vicky, and repeatedly reminded Alex that the only German I know is "Ich bin eine Kartoffel!"

There were also location-specific difficulties that we overcame. Obtaining props for a show that takes place in the late 1950's in America is not easy when you're in the Middle East. Also, we couldn't rehearse at all during winter break because almost everyone had flown back to their home countries. So, when we all came back, we had only a few final rehearsals before the show itself. The funniest moment of all for me took place each night of the show, when the call to prayer could be heard faintly in the background just before "Freddy My Love."

At the end of it all, I have to smile at the absurdity and beauty of what we pulled off. I just want to say, truly, in all sincerity, that I love the people that I've had the privilege of working with these past few months. I guess this whole experience goes to show that whether you're in the USA or the UAE, you can still be part of something greater than yourself.

"Ohhh yeah!!!" NM