_________ on the __________

There are certain things that I, being some sort of quasi-employee of the federal government representing the US abroad, am not allowed to post here. Things like exact location (I didn't give GPS coordinates, but if you haven't figured out where I live it means you haven't sent me a package full of peanut butter and swedish fish, and in that case you can just go straight to hell), political preferences (I actually didn't even get to vote because of a lost ballot, but I'm sure we all know of the vast right-wing conspiracy to block votes of PC volunteers. And black people. And most definitely black volunteers. My god, can you imagine what'd happen if those commie bastards got into the white house?), and I most certainly can't write about what PC volunteers actually do with their free time, like when I travelled to _____________________________ with _________ and we ______________ when we _________________ with a _____________________ he borrowed from his _______ who one time actually ______________ but it was cool because _______________ without________________ which was incredible to see, because I didn't actually know someone could bend like that and we only paid her _____ CFA. We almost _______ 5 times, one time when the _________ almost went over the edge of the ___________, not to mention drinking way too much ________________ and _____________ while trying to _________________ and I told him it wouldn't work, but then again he is __________ and we all know how F-ed up THAT religion is, right?

So anyway, here are some only mildly incriminating pictures, you fill in the blanks until next fall, when the book will be published. Talk to me if you want international merchandising rights.

Fierte

I was huddled around the small television in our country director's house with about a dozen other volunteers, waiting for Obama to step out to address the crowd in Chicago, after a night of no sleep, too many beers and a lot of laughter - For years now, I have tried to stay apathetic towards politics, hiding firm behind my mantra that no one man can really change anything. Watching Obama's victory speech, I couldn't help myself from tearing up and hoped and prayed to all that I hold dear that I am wrong. When bush was 'elected' I was a senior in high school, what to me seems like a lifetime ago, and these past 8 years have only turned me sour on the political process that I hear my parents and (maybe especially) my grandparents feel so proudly about.

But seeing Obama give that speech, hearing his strong, tersely metered diction, I actually found hope. It may sound silly, but emotions that I never knew existed welled up inside of me. I was ebullient from the shimmering hope of the next 4 years yet infinitely sad at the same moment -- saddened for all the ways that people are going to try and break Barack Obama, tear him down, destroy not only him, but what he stands for in the eyes of so many people in the US and (again, maybe especially) all those others around the world. Will they succeed? My guess is probably. Will Barack Obama's true colors be many dim shades grayer than we all hope? I say no, but he is only a man. Will he ever rise any higher than that 10ft platform he delivered his victory speech upon to the millions of us who felt the falling of tears and scratching at the backs of our throats?

All I can say is that, for me, gone is the oily slickness I feel when I think of my country, gone are the shadows of nepotism and hypocrisy I've always assumed were prerequisites within the government. Us sitting on the floor, lids glued open against impossible fatigue, Obama standing there 10 shades darker than I'll ever tan, and a million times brighter than I'll ever shine, I watched the man who returned my faith in my home take the weight of the world upon his shoulders and for the first time in my life I felt myself able to say that I am truly proud to be an American.