Despues de

Afterward. Past. Beyond.

     I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Heavy thinking. For a year and a half, I had been planning this adventure in Chile, and now it is done. That's a weird feeling.

     I haven't necessarily been present lately. The first week especially, I was not here. I was still in Chile, in those waves and in the lab and the little aquarium. Down by the beach searching for seashells with my little dog friend, sitting in the frigid office with a turtleneck, sweater, and mittens on with Adam Young Scores and Ghost Stories by Coldplay playing softly in the background, out photographing at sunset on a Saturday evening. Out in the field, the sun in my eyes and the few strands of hair that had fallen out of my messy bun whipping across my cheeks. I wasn't here in this miserable heat with the realities of life crashing down on me.

But she was there, I wasn't. I was in turmoil and no one seemed to truly understand me. 

     I still had a lot of data that needed to get done when I first arrived. I still do. I've been working all day and late into the night trying to finish it. I've barely had a break, and I know, I know how bad that is. Part of it is I feel like I have to. It goes back to feeling addicted to feeling like I had to work all the time. I'm fighting that feeling, but it is hard. I felt like to make up for my inexperience, the mistakes I had made, and the time I wasn't there, I had to move like a machine through my data and get it done as soon as humanly possible. I realized I can't think like that. It's so unhealthy and I am fighting it daily, but it's still hard. What has made it worse is that I feel as though I am alone. Trapped in my room, starring at a computer for hours and hours, clunking out data without the sound of the sea but instead with the smothering heat, I am trapped starring at data that screams at me that I'm no longer there and throws memories at me left and right. I am alone in this. Or am I?

    It is easier to process something once you are out of it, once it is done and gone and you have been distanced from it. Of course you process during the event, but you don't process it quite as honestly or as much as when it is over. I've been processing everything that happened, both the good and the bad, since I've been back. As I sift through thousands of lines of data, my mind drifts to the station, to my memories, my thoughts, my feelings. What really happened, how did I really feel?

     My experience in Chile was wonderful. I learned so very much. I experienced and gained so many things from the people around me, but most of my experience and learning came from my time on my own. Those late hours alone in the dead of night in a cold outdoor lab willing myself to stay awake and keep going taught me the most. Going hours and hours and hours without seeing a single, solitary person, no one knowing what I was going through except myself truly helped to build a strength within me. Those moments alone in the office late at night, doing all forms of work and the guard telling me to go to sleep at a decent time tonight with me knowing I was only going back to my room to continue working, those moments working late into the night to set up my experiment and make sure that my animals were cared for, or those moments in the sun on Saturday mornings with just myself, my camera, and my tripod as I braved the nearby beaches were the bulk of my experience. Alone. Learning about myself with myself. Internal processing and thinking, planning, learning.

     Those times when I was with people, though, I learned a lot. I learned how to be more open, how to really, truly encourage people, how to communicate when we spoke different languages, how to move a little out of my introverted comfort zone, how to deal with toxic people. The people of ECIM helped to make my experience and truly helped to better it, and I am thankful to all of them.

But this trip wasn't all sunshine.

     I was dead exhausted, overworked, strained, stressed. Sometimes I was so nervous I felt sick. I was nervous about a lot of things: my project, my ability as a scientist, my relationships with others, my inexperience and what that made me look like to others. People don't see the strain, the growing pains and the struggles. I didn't want them to, either; I desperately wanted to hide it. But even if they did know, people who aren't fully immersed in your situation can never truly understand what you are going through. Even if they do, they will never truly understand. You can never fully comprehend what someone is going through; everyone experiences life differently. The key is to just be there for them. There were thankfully people who were there for me, even though they didn't fully comprehend what I was going through. But that was ok. I appreciated them dearly regardless because they showed they cared. But, that didn't mean it wasn't hard, that there weren't things that I regretted, moments I hated, moments that made me feel so sick. 

     It can be very easy to forget your difficulties and only remember the good things that happened when you have an experience like this. Life, however, is a combination of everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly, the precious moments and the ones you'd like to forget. This trip was just a small part of life, a combination of all those things. But it is still precious to me.

    I have to look at the whole picture, everything I went through. I can't remember only the good and forget all the bad because the entire trip was what changed me. I felt so different when I came back to the States; I felt happier, more positive, more reflective and stronger. It was all of those moments that made me who I became, and I have to take them all and remember the whole.  

Maybe I'm just too sentimental.

     There are many things I learned there that I can carry with me throughout life. Many of those things were addressed in my "The Things I Learned In Chile" post, but a few of them were not. All of the things combined that I learned made everything, the pain, the exhaustion, the nerves, so very worth it. My overall experience was beautiful; I lavish my time there. I lavish the learning experiences, the people that I grew close to, the places that I saw, the language that I learned. It can be easy to allow yourself to fall into a slump after such a fantastic experience. Some days I get by with no problems at all, grinding through data and pushing myself with the end in sight. Other days are so, so very difficult. Those moments of missing that place often hit me unexpectedly; sometimes they are only a faint pain, other times it knocks the wind out of me. But, if it hurts, it meant something. If I miss it, if it still affects me and moves me, it was important.  

     What happens next? Where do I go from here? It's a strange feeling to be at the end of something that was years in the works. The end is just the beginning, though. I'm not done yet. There is so much left in life that I want to do, so many places that I want to travel to, distant lands that are calling. I think that life is made up of many small adventures, paragraphs and chapters that build up to make your life story. Each one is integral, shapes you, changes you. Each one happens in its due time, and you will experience the things that you are supposed to when you are supposed to. As a wonderful friend said on a comment on one of my Instagram posts, "This is a story of how we find out where we are called to be. Also where we are not." I can't dwell on my sadness about not being able to stay just a little longer in Chile this time or how much I miss it. I was there for amount of time I was supposed to be there. That chapter happened when it was supposed to and how it was supposed to. "You don't need more time. You had your experience, and you had a good one."

    But, I do see Chile in my future, too. This isn't the last that the marine station will see of me, that is for sure. I'll be back someday. But for now, I am thankful for the time I was given there. For all those late nights where I found an inner strength I never knew I had within me, for all those moments when I did things that scared me, for those times when I connected with people in a manner in which I never had before, I am thankful. For now, I continue moving forward. "You'll go on new adventures, Brookie," one of my dearest, closest friends sent me in a beautiful text message. She's right. There's so much ahead. This is not the end, only the turn of a page.

     I will never forget this experience. "Don't forget Chile, Brooke." How could I? Sometimes the thought creeps into my mind that they will forget me, that I'll be whisper on the wind that came and went in a brief second and then is forgotten. I can't think like that. Even if I am forgotten, I won't forget. Regardless of what others feel or remember, this moment in time was so significant to me, and I have to learn that it doesn't matter so much what it means to others so much as what it meant to me personally. I did my best work, I was kind, I was open, I did what I could. That's all that anyone could ever ask for and I can't let fear or uncertainty destroy something so beautiful.

    I still have a lot of work to do. I have to finish analyzing data, go through the statistical analysis, and write my thesis. It's a lot, but I know I can do it. I've come this far already, so why stop now? I'm ready to continue onward and keep pushing forward to see this thing to its end. As I move forward with this thesis, I'll know, too, behind each data point, behind each line and paragraph of my thesis lies a story. A story about snorkeling, a story about fighting to stay awake, a story about finding inner strength, a story about connecting to other people. This thesis will be a collection of moments, stories, feelings, and learning experiences. A study about life. I'll have this to carry with me forever, and that is truly all I could ever ask for.

This is the afterward. But, this is also just the very start. I can't wait to see what comes next.

Aquariums and Tide Pools

     I absolutely love to photograph in aquariums. They are magical places; windows into worlds we might otherwise be too far away from or would never be able to see otherwise. When the sea is only a distant memory and too far out of my reach, aquariums soothe my ache like a poultice, alleviating my cry for saltwater air. 

     I remember as a little girl being utterly fascinated by the aquarium. I used to live in Maryland, and we used to go to The National Aquarium in Baltimore fairly often. I used to beg to go, and I would always be so excited that I would hardly be able to sleep the night before. That place was magical. Neon blue lighting shaped like abstract waves hung high on the ceiling over open tanks where sting rays glided by like they were flying. Ascending into the rainforest exhibit, descending into the shark exhibit, coming eye to eye with animals I might not be able to see otherwise, I was simply captivated. I am certain this place had a little something to do with my career choice.

   The marine station has a cute little "aquarium" for outreach programs. It's lovely, the children come and gasp as they see what secrets lie beneath the waves that run all along the side of Chile. I, too, was beside myself that there was an aquarium because it gave me the opportunity to photograph it. I spent a lot of time in there, far more than anyone would ever realize. Late at night during my 24/72 hour runs, I would sit and watch the little waves of light dance along the ceiling and watch as the little pintarroja bebes swam along the side of the glass. Whenever I needed a breather, whenever I was so exhausted or stressed to my core, I would sit on the steps and watch the little windows into the marine world. 

I spent a lot of time in that little place. I inevitably took a lot of photos in there, too.

     A place I had never previously had access to for photography was tide pools. Tide pools can range in size, diversity, and location. Some are so very small, others are huge. Some can be easily reached, others are tricky to get to or require a wetsuit. Exploring the nearby tide pools became one of my favorite activities in Chile, and being able to photograph marine life in its natural habitat was beyond exciting to me. There is so much life in these pools and so much diversity that you could easily miss if you don't look. There is beauty to be found everywhere, you just have to be willing to look for it.

     I miss those moments by myself photographing in the little aquarium and along the coast. I miss the sound of the water running, the waves crashing nearby. I even miss the never-ending sound of seagulls calling overhead. One day, though, I will return. This isn't the last time I'll be beside the sea. I won't be trapped in an oceanless place forever, but until then, there are always nearby aquariums to explore. 

Voy a nuevas aventuras. 

The Things I Learned in Chile

     You can learn so much in college, the technical jargon, the mathematics of research, the methodology to it, but nothing can quite teach you like actual experience can. There is something about physically doing it, about placing your hands in that freezing cold water and moving the pieces and animals around yourself and writing down data at 3:00 in the morning with nothing more than a dim red light to see by while the ever present sound of water and air running encompass the entire lab in a blanket of inescapable sound. You just don't get that in a classroom. You can also never, never receive the life lessons that an experience like this gives you when you are in a classroom. 

     My time in Chile taught me a great deal, about science, about myself, about relationships, about life. I could never relay all of the things that Chile gave me, but I'd at least like to relay a few of the most important lessons that I learned in the hopes that I may be able to impart some of those lessons to you.

Working in science

     Working on your first research project can be a little daunting. I felt relatively prepared, but at the same time, I only had two years of college under my belt an had no idea what to expect. There were things I was unsure of, things I had no idea how to do, things I'd never even heard of. That's ok. You're not expected to know everything at the start. Even if someone gives you attitude about it or is a little clipped with you because you don't fully know what you are doing, just remember that you can't know how to do everything, even when you've gone through all your schooling or you've had your PhD for 30 years. Everyone is learning. Science is a process, and it takes time to learn it. If you aren't learning something new all the time as a scientist, you're not doing it right. I had to learn to breathe and take it one step at a time. There were so many things that I forgot to do, so many things that I had never even heard of and didn't know needed to be done. But, I do now. Sometimes you learn better by making mistakes. If I mess up once, I'll remember it later. When I did a few things wrong the first run, I absolutely made sure not to do the same things the next run. Mistakes are a part of learning, and sometimes mistakes can be the best teachers. For all the things that you will do wrong, though, there will be things that you will do just right. You can't focus on all the things you've done incorrectly due to inexperience because it will cripple you. At one point, I had several issues at the same time, and when I had an instance where I accidentally placed animals in freshwater due to poor labeling, I couldn't take it anymore. I had placed so much pressure on myself, too much, and I broke down crying behind one of the labs. Sometimes things are out of your control or there was no way that you could have known, and in those instances you can't blame yourself. They can happen to anyone, and most of the time they really aren't your fault, so you can't take all that stress on. Take ownership for the mistake, but remedy it and solve it for the future. I told the people I was terrified to tell that the circumstance had happened, and immediately after that I labeled everything in the lab to remedy the problem. I actually saw someone almost use the freshwater for more animals until they saw the sign that I had made. I learned that mistakes can feel horrible, but as bad as they are, they can do a world of good.

     Another thing I learned was that you have to not be afraid to ask. They wanted to see a lot of independence, so I was terrified to ask anything, and so I didn't. This came back to bite me. You don't need someone to hold your hand, you just have to ask when you are unsure or don't know what you are doing. I learned that you desperately need to have good communication. A lot of the issues came up because people assumed that I knew a lot more than I did and I was just too nervous to ask or didn't think to ask or sometimes didn't know to ask. Sometimes you have to learn to shove that feeling of worry about what people will think of you for asking and just ask because otherwise you might mess up something very important.

Dealing with toxic people

     There is nothing quite as unraveling or terrifying as walking to meet your project mentor and overhearing a co-researcher tell that same project mentor every single "horrible" thing they feel you've ever done to them. Everyone at some point has someone in their life who is both toxic and unavoidable. They can be smothering and dangerous, a poison that just keeps trying to pull the life out of you. You can't allow them to do that, though. One of the hardest things for me during this trip was dealing with a toxic person. She and I were the exact opposites of each other, two very different people who were forced to share the same spaces and be in such close contact with one another for long periods of time. She was everywhere, and her toxic energy and behavior were smothering me. Toxic people can be relatively friendly to you one minute and then tear you to shreds the next, and these drastically different actions can be unpredictable. You want to rationalize their behavior, but the thing is that you can't because their behavior is precisely irrational. You have acknowledge that and move on. I had to learn to not waste my energy on her. She was like a vacuum, sucking in all your energy and joy. This journey, this experience was just too powerful and good of a thing for me to allow her to make me miserable. I learned that people's behavior towards you and others can bother and upset you, but you have to not grant them the ability to take your happiness away from you. You have to make a conscious effort to focus on yourself and what you need and to ignore their irrational and sometimes downright hateful behavior towards you.

    Just because people talk about you behind your back or treat you unkindly doesn't give you the right to do the same. I learned to be the bigger person and go about my life. It would have been so easy and perhaps even a relief for me to talk about her behind her back, but I didn't. However, on the same token, it's always good to have a support group to help you deal with people who are toxic. Talk with people you really trust and let them know how these people make you feel, but also seek advice on how to deal with them. A lot of people helped me to learn how to push off the toxins and how to go about my day and encouraged me when I was a little down.

     I also had to learn how to find time to get away from her. If you are constantly surrounded by a toxin, it will make you sick, and the same goes for toxic people. Find ways to get away from them and have time to yourself. Even if you just have to quietly get up and leave the room for a few minutes to take a breath and a break, do that. Those breaks, whether they be for a few minutes or a few hours, helped me to regain my composure and keep going. I learned that sometimes I would have to make time to get away because my mental and emotional health were important and I deserved to be healthy in both realms. I could not allow her negativity and her toxins to infect me and ruin such a beautiful experience, and I am happy to say that they didn't.

Learning a new language

     I could write an entire blog post on this topic alone, but I will go ahead and just give the highlights. Learning a new language can be very difficult, whether you are learning Spanish or English or any other language. First and foremost, I learned that the only way to really learn another language was to not be afraid of it and jump in. The more that I tried, the better and more comfortable I became. I learned so much more when I stopped being nervous of speaking and just started actually speaking the language. People appreciate you for it, too. They like to see that you want take the time to learn their culture and to speak to them in their own language.

     I also learned that a little encouragement can go a long way. Virtually everyone at ECIM was in the process of learning a language, so we all had that shared understanding about the difficulty of the task. I felt so much better and encouraged when people would tell me that "my Spanish was coming along," and I made sure to return the favor often. Having that shared experience brings people closer together but also creates a more learning-conducive environment that helps everyone to succeed.

     There were a few tricks to learning a new language that I learned as well. I absolutely hate looking people in the eye, but I found that if you look directly into someone's eyes when they are speaking another language to you, it helps you to focus immensely more. Listening in on conversations and looking at the person who is talking when they are talking was also really great practice. I didn't always know what they were saying, but the more I listened, the more I started to understand. I sometimes felt a little awkward or "bad" for listening in on people's conversations, but the thing is, if they were saying those same conversations in English while we were all in a car or an office together, I would have "overheard" and understood them, so it wasn't an issue at all if I did the same thing to help me learn Spanish. Another way that I practiced Spanish was by listening to a conversation in Spanish or reading a sign, piece of paper, email, ect., and then repeating in English what was said or what I read to someone that I was comfortable with. I would then ask if my translation was correct. A lot of times I felt like I understood what was said or what I had read, but it was so much better if I asked if I understood correctly just to make sure. Once you learn something incorrectly, it's hard to unlearn it, so it is better to ask and make sure than to just assume that it's correct and learn something incorrectly. Not to mention, it's really encouraging to hear that you are actually understanding what is being said, not just that you think that you might be.

     One of the most difficult things for me was to not be afraid to tell someone when I didn't understand something. Most people's first response when someone throws them off guard by saying a large amount of words that they don't understand yet is to just quietly nod their head and move on. However, if you continue to do this, you will make the other person think that you understand those words when you really don't, and you'll never get a chance to understand the things you don't if you don't tell someone that you don't understand. I had to start actively forcing myself to stop someone and tell them when I didn't understand what they were saying. This also goes both ways, so when I was with people who were also learning another language, after I was finished talking to them, I would ask if they understood me. This forced them to say whether or not they actually understood me or not, and I found that this greatly advanced our level of communication. I would also tell them to tell me if they didn't understand me. "Si tu no entiendes a mi, tu hablar a mi." It might irritate them a little if you always ask if they understand, but it saved me and others several times and really helps everyone involved in the conversation.

Don't worry so much about what other people think of you

     I have always struggled with self-esteem issues. What made it worse this time is that I felt like I had to impress these people because I was representing my university and my country, so I wanted them to think that I was a good scientist and that I was a good person so that they would want more students from my university. I didn't want to ruin someone else's opportunity because I didn't do so well. When I first arrived, I told myself to just be me and I had almost no worries about what people thought of me; I just did what I needed to do and figured the rest would fall into place. A few weeks in, though, the stress got to me and my fear of what other people thought of me began to cripple me. I didn't feel like a good scientist at all, I just felt lost and helpless and like I was just someone who was good at photography and not so much at science. I thought people would think I was in the wrong field or just had a weak chance of being a scientist and I was in a lot of despair. At this point, I had to pull myself up by my bootstraps and tell myself to, quite frankly, shut up and ignore those bad thoughts. If they didn't think I should be a scientist or that I wasn't very good, then so be it. I knew that I was passionate about biology, especially marine biology, and that I was just new and didn't have a full grasp of what I was doing, but that experiences like this would help me to become a better scientist. If I forgot something or didn't know how to do it, I just had to tell myself it was due to inexperience and remind myself that I was doing this project by myself, and there were a lot of things to remember and know and it wasn't expected that I would know it all. It was, however, expected that I do my very best and go above and beyond what was needed, and I made sure to do that. "Have confidence in your work, Brooke, you are doing just fine" someone told me. I had to take a deep breath, look at what I had done, and be proud of it, regardless of how I felt others looked at me and my work.

     I was also very concerned that people wouldn't like me. Would they think I was needy, annoying, would they be relieved when I left? Was I just a burden to them, someone they couldn't wait to get out of their hair? Thoughts like that could ruin an entire experience, and I could't allow it. People were so kind to me and even expressed to me at the end how much they cared about me and would miss me, and I had to force myself to look back on those moments and not worry about my feelings of insecurity about whether or not they really liked me. What if I really didn't get as close to some of these people as I thought I did, what if they just didn't like me but didn't have the heart to shoo me away? I realized that if I thought like this all the time, I would make myself miserable. So, I stopped reflecting on my fear and instead reflected on all the nice things they had done for me and how they had treated me. I then had to think about what I personally liked about myself and that other people would like me for the same reasons.  

People pay attention

     People are not blind. They pay attention. I worked all the time, more than I should have. WAY more than I should have. However, I felt like part of it was unavoidable. I had a lot to do because I had both the project to work on but I was also the photographer for the trip. I had to work endlessly on my project to get it done in time, photograph for my university and myself, write articles for my university, send email updates, write blog posts for donors and for people back home to keep them involved (I have loved doing these, though, as time consuming as they are; they help me to organize my thoughts, get them out there, and have even really encouraged me), and various other things. I hardly had time to eat, to sleep, to breathe. I was overworked. Part of it was because in the beginning I was unsure of how much work I needed to do to be "acceptable," so I just went above and beyond the call of duty to make sure I was on par, and part of it was that I became addicted to it. I had set a precedent, and I felt I had to continue it. When I wasn't working, I felt like I needed to be or like I wasn't doing my job or what I was supposed to be doing. I've always struggled with it. I was so very proud of the work I had accomplished, though. I was so proud of how I was able to pull myself through time and time again during those long and arduous behavior monitor runs. I had done that, and I could hardly believe it. I really did feel like la machina, but I also felt like a survivor, a mountaineer who had made it to the top of Everest several times. 

     I have never been one to say all the things I have worked on or brag about all the work I've done (I say as I write a whole blog post on it). I always felt like if you do the work you are supposed to do, people will notice, and even if they don't, at least you know. At the same time, though, sometimes after weeks and weeks of working yourself into the ground, sometimes it is a little upsetting when you feel like no one has noticed your efforts. However, I learned that they do. One time while doing the last run and sitting on the wet concrete edge in the lab (my lab was outside, by the way) with the computer on my lap as I scrolled through data the 15 minutes before I had to get up and do another run, one of my dear friends looked at me and said, "You work too hard." I was so glad that someone noticed, that people could see that I was working my tail off to get done what needed to be done. Mind you, though, I wasn't working my tail off to impress anyone, I was working my tail off for me, for this project, because I could see the importance of it. One time while I was about ready to kill over and didn't know how much more I could take, I just looked down at the ocean view from my lab and thought, "I'm not doing this for just me. I'm not even doing it for the station. This is for everyone who will go on after me, so that they, too, can have precious moments like these to see the ocean still alive and well." 

     Several people began to tell me that they could see my efforts. I learned about my nickname, La Machina, and had people consistently tell me to take a break, that I had been working too hard. I learned that people do notice and they do care, even if you don't think they do. People notice other things, too. I thought no one noticed about my struggle with my toxic person. I had been quietly riding through it, trying not to rock the boat and make a big deal about it because that wasn't why I was here. People saw it, though, and they were encouraging about it. They knew I was struggling. Someone gave me such a great piece of advice that I wish I had heard earlier. "Don't apologize for her behavior. She can take care of herself. You just focus on you." Whether you feel like they do or not, people notice you and your struggles, and some will even be kind enough to let you know you're not alone. 

~

     There are still so many things I learned that I would love to relay, but I could never tell them all. Maybe some other time I'll post about more, but these were the things I learned the most. I am so, so grateful for this experience and what it gave me. I am grateful for the experience and knowledge that I gained, the people I formed bonds with, the lessons learned. And of course, I am very, very grateful for all of the photographs I was able to take and all the photo tricks I learned. I'll be able to take these lessons, both from life, science, and photography, anywhere I go now, and for that, I am eternally thankful. This trip was truly life-changing, and I know it will stay with me for as long as I live.

Nos Vemos

This is it. The end. I'm wrestling with emotions today.

     Yesterday I left Chile. Before arriving, I was terrified of staying there for seven weeks. Could I handle it? I wasn't sure. It was a very, very big deal for me to do this, to leave home for so long and go somewhere abroad by myself nonetheless. Not being home, not having time to myself, having to meet new people, and having the stress of working non-stop on my project for so long were all worries for me. I never in a million years imagined that I wouldn't want to leave. But here I am.

     You never expect for a place to take you in so much. The station did that for me, and as a matter of fact, it went above and beyond. I felt so welcome. The sea also seemed to take me in, too, enrapturing me in its embrace every single day. In the night, it sang me to sleep, and in the morning it gently awakened me. It pulled me in, gave me happiness when I needed it most. Having the sea there all the time was like a constant companion, a best friend I could always go see. The thought that I wouldn't be able to go see it everyday was killing me.

     Saturday night was my very last night in Chile, so I went out to photograph sunset one last time. Normally when I went out, I knew exactly what and where I wanted to photograph. This time, though, I found myself just wandering the beach. I had no path in mind, I just walked through the beach and over the intertidal rocks I had come to know so well. My feet carried me to one of my favorite spots and I took a few shots, but I suddenly found myself just standing there, watching, trying to soak in those last few rays of evening light before I left them. I watched the waves, the sun, the birds. Everything I knew and had grown to love was soon to be only a memory, and I was trying desperately to soak in those last few moments before they were gone. As I slowly made my way back to the station, I felt my heart racing as the tears welled and I looked back one last time. It felt like I had been here forever, but at the same time it felt as though I had only been here for a whisper of time. Here I was, my last sunset, and I was truly sad to see it go. That was one of the hardest goodbyes I had to say. Heart pounding, my breath coming out in heaves, and the tears coming down slowly, I turned back towards the station and left my love behind.

     I knew already it would be a hard goodbye, but there were circumstances that made it significantly more difficult for me. I never expected to want to stay so very badly, and the thought of staying two extra weeks at least was tempting. However, it was outrageously expensive for me to change my flight, and plus I'd have to pay for longer room and board and for more food. The truth was I just didn't have the funds. My university graciously gave me a great deal of funding for my trip and I am eternally grateful to all of the people who donated to me via GoFundMe and even in person, and I had just enough to be able to go for the time allotted. I got exactly what I needed and I am so unbelievably grateful to everyone who helped me to go. But, it was still just enough for me to stay for the time we had planned for, so I decided it would have been a nice idea but that it wasn't something I could afford. However, the other girl who went on the trip had previous research experience, meaning she was able to get more money for her trip. She had twice the amount I had, and she was already staying a week and a half longer than I was. I was a little sad that she was staying longer than me because I didn't want to miss anything and wanted to stay with the place and people I had grown to love, but what was done was done and I was staying for the amount of time I had planned for. It would be all right.

     She had been considering staying extra since her project was going significantly slower than mine, but I was secretly hoping that she would decide not to stay longer. She could afford it since she got so much more money, but the idea that she would be here all that time and I wouldn't be absolutely killed me. If she was here, I should be, too. I was silently, desperately hoping that she would decide not to stay longer. One night while I was grinding through pages and pages of data, she came in, elated, and said, "I'M EXTENDING MY STAY!" My heart dropped. I had been able to push this off, but now I couldn't anymore. I was visibly upset, and as she bubbled over about staying, I sat in my chair and looked at the floor in despair. I was in shambles. 

     Someone in my lab noticed something was wrong and asked, and as soon as she left, I did something I hadn't been able to do previously: I opened up. I moved my swivel chair over to his desk. I couldn't even look at him, and quietly said, "I really wish that I could stay longer, but I can't and I'm sorry." I just looked down at the floor, trying my hardest not to cry and to hold myself together, but then I knew that I couldn't hold it in any longer. I had to tell him. I looked him in the eyes and told him everything, how I was scared to come initially and was concerned that seven weeks would be too long, that I had grown to love and cherish the place, that I wasn't ready to leave, and that the thought that she would be staying so much longer and that I wouldn't be here, too, was absolutely killing me and that I was heartbroken. He just looked at me and said, "Brooke. You don't need two more weeks. These seven have been such a good experience for you, you've done a lot and you enjoyed it. You won't miss anything. You've had your experience. It's ok, and I will miss you. You'll be back someday, and I'll be here." You never really realize how much people care about you. They can really and truly surprise you in the best way possible. I needed to hear that. I needed to know that I would be missed, that I wouldn't be forgotten when I wouldn't be here for so long. Never underestimate the power of someone's encouragement and words. It can really change your perspective.

     After talking to him, I felt so much better. I was still upset, but the sting wasn't nearly as bitter. The next day, though, it apparently clicked with him just how much longer she was staying. I was a bit upset because after having that heart to heart conversation, I thought we understood each other, but I realized we didn't and that I'd have to let him really, really know how I was feeling. As much as I hated it, I had to use Google Translate to make sure he understood me, and I wrote him a pretty long message with everything I needed to say to make sure he understood me. I quietly handed him my computer and sat awkwardly as he read through it. This was rough for me. This was personal, it was hard for me to go that deep. But, I knew I had to do it, and so I did. After he read through it, he held my arm and looked me in the eye and told me he understood everything now and that it would be ok. I had a great experience, had done well, I would not be forgotten and would be missed. "You will be back." I know I will be, too. Somehow, someway, I will return. In that moment, I dearly appreciated him. I needed someone to help me, and he did.

     His encouragement really helped me, but I am still struggling. All weekend, all yesterday, all today, I have gone through moments of just standing and staring and remembering. Moments of wishing I was back there, of feeling heartbroken that I was not able to stay a little longer. It still hurts, a lot. People don't seem to understand it. "You'll get over it, just don't think about it. You're home now!" Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be home. I finally, finally get to rest, to see my family, to see my animals. I finally have time to breathe and have a few moments to myself. But, that doesn't mean I don't dearly, desperately miss Chile and that it doesn't hurt that she can still stay there and I can't. That last part makes it worse. But, I can rest easy knowing that my time was wonderful, fulfilling, and life-changing. It will be a hard next few weeks, but I have so much to look back on and remember. I am thankful and happy for my time there, for all the things I learned, for everything I experienced, for the people I met. 

    People will surprise you with how much they care. Various people I didn't expect came and said very heartfelt goodbyes to me. There were many hugs given, many final kisses on the cheek, many hard goodbyes. It filled me to the brim with happiness to know people cared about me leaving that much, that they had loved having me around and that they would really miss me. Their goodbyes meant the world to me. I had to say some very difficult goodbyes, one of which left me in tears as we embraced for the last time and I watched him leave. To be near someone all the time like that and then suddenly be thousands of miles away from them is so very difficult. I don't wish that on anyone. It's rough. I know we will all see each other again, but sometimes you wonder, "Is this the last time I will ever see these people?" Make sure that you say goodbyes in a way that you would be content with if you never saw them again. I hope to see these people again and believe I will, but you never know, so you have to make them count. Let people know you care and let them feel appreciated before it is too late.

      Yesterday, after inspecting my portion of the lab to make double sure that everything was in place, I did something I had never had time to do previously, I sat on the stairs and watched the sea. For twenty minutes, I just sat and soaked in those last few rays. I had to take it in just a little more. Tears and all, I breathed in the saltwater air and listened to the sound of the waves washing up on the beach. Like a sponge, I soaked it all in, trying to keep it there. This was it. My last time.

But, I know I will be back.

     In Chile, they don't usually say adios. It's too final. Instead, they say nos vemos (see you). So, to Chile, to the station, to everyone there, I say nos vemos. This isn't goodbye, just see you later. Until we meet again.

Saludos, Chile, y nos vemos.

Vamos!

Some moments can never be captured on a camera. Some moments are too precious.

     This week, I have been able to have some of the best, happiest days of my stay here. We've been able to finally go out into the field due to better sea conditions, so I was able to see far more of Chile than I had beforehand. 

     On Sunday, I was admittedly in low spirits. I had finally finished my behavioral run, but I was so worn out that I could hardly move, think, or do anything. They apparently have a nickname around here for me, "La Machina" (The Machine), because I just "keep going and going and going." I do have to agree with them, I do feel a bit like a machine. Part of it is because I push myself so hard and keep the end in sight, so it allows me to continue moving onward. Part of it is also because I am cautious to reveal my inner exhaustion because if I continue to stay positive in front of them, it also helps me to remain positive as well. That day, though, I wasn't feeling it at all. 

     The next day, though, something happened that lifted my spirits. We would be going out into the field, and not just right outside of it or a few minutes away, but an hour long drive out to the location. I was elated. My spirits were instantly lifted and finally I would be able to go on one of the field excursions that I had been dying to go on. 

     All of us packed into the truck and went out towards the field. I'm fairly petite so as usual, I had to sit in the middle seat. Here's the secret, though: the middle is the best seat. You have the best view and you are able to see both the driver and the passenger and it makes communication much easier. I saw the Chilean landscape unfold before me, complete with snow-capped Andes Mountains and tree-lined roads and was able to listen in and practice Spanish with them. Suddenly, I realized something: I was content. I was comfortable and happy to sit there in the truck with two people I had grown comfortable with and take in all the views. It was wonderful, and I was just lavishing that feeling as we drove through the tree-lined roads with the sun peeking through them.

     They had told me the first location was gorgeous. "It is so beautiful. You will love it." They did not disappoint and as we rounded the bend, I saw one of the most gorgeous expanses of sea I'd ever seen. The sea was in an arch around the land and surrounded by tall, majestic cliffs. It almost looked tropical (despite the outside temperature). I couldn't help but gasp.

     The cliffs were where we would be going for field work. They had warned me that it was a very, very dangerous location due to the steepness of the rocks and how slick they were, so I was not able to actually go down into the field but rather had to watch out for large waves to make sure that the others were safe. They weren't kidding about the rocks, it was a steep climb both down and back up, but the view was absolutely worth everything. The sun glowed from behind the cliffs and bathed the brilliant blue waves and I was awestruck.

     After leaving this location, we drove through Valparaiso, a Chilean port city that is densely-packed but very colorful and vibrant. It was evening and the sky was a lovely shade of pastel pink and purple and made the most beautiful backdrop for the little colorful buildings. The evening light cast a pink glow in the car, and in that moment I was so, so happy. I couldn't stop smiling and could hardly contain my joy in that moment. Sitting in a car with two people you've grown close to while taking in beautiful views is one of the most wonderful feelings. I have difficulty growing close to people, bonding with them, or feeling comfortable with them, but in this moment I felt all three. I didn't want to leave it, I wanted to taste it just a little longer and soak it all in. 

     Due to awful traffic, we made it to the next location, Montemar (near Vina del Mar), right after the sun had gone down and the stars began to peek out. We had to climb on the rocks in the dark and I had to hold a flashlight as far above me as possible to allow the other person to see the organisms that he had to count for his data. Even though it was dark, it was beautiful. A line of color still hugged the top of the ocean horizon and the stars began to appear more and more as we climbed back towards shore. Afterward we went out to dinner together and it was wonderful. The whole day was wonderful. It was my favorite day here in Chile and I will remember it forever. Some moments stick with you and I know this one will.

    The next day, we went into the field again, but this time with another girl who was unfortunately sick, so it was basically just myself and the other guy from the day before. We were going to Pichilemu, and it was a two and a half hour drive to get there. I was comfortable with silence and looking out the window, especially since I was tired, but I knew this was the perfect opportunity to practice my Spanish. I wasn't quite sure what to talk about, it can be difficult to hold an actual, real conversation with someone in another language when you are still learning, so often the conversations won't follow or are about very trivial things. However, these sometimes awkward conversations are important for learning and are truly very helpful, so I spoke almost entirely in Spanish about the most random things just to get in some practice. I was worried I was boring or bothering him, but I knew I had to work on my Spanish and I kept going. He is learning English more, so I would talk to him in Spanish and he would respond in English. At one point I tried to ask him if I was boring him and he squinted his eyes and cocked his head in confusion. "Boring, boring, boring... I don't know what that means." I didn't have any clue how to say it in Spanish, so I had to think of something close enough. The best I could come up with was "Do you like talking with me" (except I said it in Spanish). It was significantly worse than saying "Am I boring you," but unfortunately that was the best I could come up with. That's the thing about it when you are first learning, you can't always say quite what you'd like. He just laughed and said, "Yes, Brooke, I like talking to you" in his thick Chilean accent. Sometimes you just have to say what you can even though that's not what you meant to say just to get at least some of the point across. 

     I was so proud of myself for speaking in so much Spanish, this was a feat that I wouldn't have been able to accomplish when I first arrived. Now, though, I could do it, and I was able to sometimes even speak in Spanish without having to translate in my head before saying it. I was elated.

     Pichilemu is a long, expansive beach with waves that are perfect for surfing. It is a huge beach and a lot to take in, but it is absolutely beautiful. Once again we arrived at the location later in the day, so we only had a little time to do what we needed. This time, much to my relief, I had a job to do, so for the short period of time we had before the sun went down, I scoured rocks looking for sea stars. I really enjoyed it, too, it's far more enlivening than circling rows of tanks doing monitors. When I go out into the field, I want to be able to actually WORK, not just stand around awkwardly or "help" do some little remedial task. I don't like not being able to work when everyone else is working; if you're working, I should be, too. Today, though, I finally had a job to do, and even though I was very new and hardly knew what I was doing, I tried my best and did it.

     The sun began to go down and cast the world in a glow I have loved so dearly. The other girl had returned to the car because she was cold and feeling very sick (I felt so bad for her!), so it was just me and the person from my lab with whom I have grown the closest to. After finishing our work, we left the rocks and headed back to the car, but he stopped for a moment and turned around to look at the sea. "Say goodbye to Chile, Brooke. This is the prettiest place here." I begged to differ as I considered the place from the day before to be the prettiest, but I agreed that it was still beautiful. As we looked on at the setting sun, he gently remarked, "Don't forget Chile, Brooke." I told him I never would, and how could I? I also told him to never forget me and he replied, "I'll never forget you. Never!"

     I didn't have my camera with me. Not even my phone. Both were sitting snug in the car, so I have no photos of that day or moment. I had a phone photo and a few shots from the day before, but none of them really captured the view. But, it's ok. Some moments can never be captured on a camera. Some moments are too precious. The two of us standing there with that view and those tender emotions could never be captured. They could only be experienced, and that was how it should have been. As the two of us walked back in the evening glow, stopping here and there to watch the sunset just a little longer, I didn't regret not having a camera with me. This was special, and it was captured raw and organically. I will always remember those colors, his words and energy, the wind, the feeling of the chill on my cheeks, the view. It will always be a part of me. 

     I am so grateful for those two days. They were two of my favorite days of the whole trip, and I will treasure them always and forever. For all of the difficult days that you have in life, there will be days that will make everything else fade in comparison and will enliven you. Reach for those days. Cling to those days. Recount those days. They are worth everything, I promise.