So I know this is out of order, but...

I don't really care at this point.

We have to journal for our class with the SMC coordinator, and i really want to post what I wrote (which was hugely frustrating, by the way...)

Reflection on 10-9-10

Details:

   I woke up sick, and really wasn't looking forward to going on the tour. After being sick and bedridden for five days, the idea of walking around did not appeal to me. I took a shower, praying that I would be able to make it through the day...or even make it to the bus.
 I actually did make it to the bus. Deep breathing helps a lot. The rolling of the bus in motion, however, does not. Thankfully, the tour was worth it.
  My favorite part of the day was the Maynum Cemetery. Well...after lunch, anyway. (Which I did manage to keep down, thank God.) Anyway, Seamus, our tour guide, asked people if they knew their Irish surname, and I told him that my Irish name was O'Toole.
  He freaked out. There is no simpler way to describe it. It was as if his whole body quivered in excitement. He asked for my hand, and proceeded to vault over burial plots, pulling me with him.
      His best friend was an O'Toole.
  I will never forget the look of joy on his face as he told me the story of my family; the story of his best friend.
       I know where I come from.
          Someone else knows where I come from.


And somehow, I matter to someone I've only met once because bonds of history, and bonds of friendship last much longer than death. 

         

            I will never forget.