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31 July 2010

Life on the other side of The Wall

So...I have had a really weird few days. A few of us took our first trip out of the West Bank and had a really interesting 24hours. I'll try to recount it here- you may want to grab a snack.

We started Thursday morning in the clinics, as usual. It was a really slow day at the clinic (different from the last one), but we managed to get a handful of surveys filled out and shadowed a really friendly doctor. We headed home a bit early and only half-prepped for our afternoon with the kids at the camp. We've started getting lazy - they are a handful and sadly, we've gotten to the point every now and then where we just drag our feet to get to them. We got cheap falafels before hand, then headed to the center to find a group of kids, half of them new to us, that were eager to see us. In general, we had a blast that afternoon. Some kids made bracelets out of beads, others colored, some played hot potato, and we were all happy. Everyone had fun, not much fussing, and a whole lot of love. Funny - we were kind of shocked.

We left a little early and half of us left for the checkpoint. It's a funny thing, that checkpoint. You basically follow this long, narrow, gated pathway until you reach a metal revolving door. You pass through, then walk up and down some ramps. We placed our bags on a scanner, walked through a metal detector, and chuckled at the Israeli soldiers that were chowing down on food as we passed through their "security check." Again we walked through a one-way small revolving passage where we flashed our fancy foreign passports in order to get out before any Palestinians could get in. Yeah, it makes you feel horrible. It wasn't the first time either - nearly every checkpoint we go through, we are able to cut to the front or bypass certain security points because we are foreigners. During a previous journey through the same checkpoint, I said outloud that I felt bad for cutting all the locals that stood in front of me in line. A man at the front of the line told me not to feel bad. His tone seemed to reassure me that he was just used to it already.

We grabbed a bus to Jerusalem. There, we found what we had come there for - a gay pride parade. Yes, you read it right. A gay pride parade in the Holy Land. It was marking the one year anniversary of a fatal shooting at a gay youth center in Tel Aviv. We weren't sure what to expect, but we found thousands of Israeli and foreign gays, lesbians, trans, and straight folks marching to a band (with a cow bell!), donning their rainbow flags and politically incorrect shirts. Security was ridiculously tight, with police and army personel at every corner of the lengthy route. It was muted for what you might expect of a gay parade, but it was definitely an interesting site. It all occurred in West Jerusalem (pretty sure I didn't see any Muslims participating), marching from near the Old City and ending at the Knesset, the Israeli legislative building. There, they had a rather dull rally, emceed by a drag queen in a flowing black gown, speaking Hebrew to the crowd that had gathered with their neon light-stick bracelets and random assortment of instruments. The whole thing was kind of surreal, but terribly intriguing. I sat there thinking, how different is this from the Palestinian refugee camp I was sitting in only hours ago. Alas, to think of this territorial problem is not to forget about the discrimination gays face. There are just too many problems in the world to keep track of, if you ask me.

We backtracked after a while, then passed through a rather swanky part of Jerusalem with westernized restaurants and "Super-Jew" t-shirts. We made it to the sherut pickup and grabbed a mini-bus to Tel Aviv. It felt like forever, but by the time we made it to Tel Aviv it was only 10:30p. The night was still young.

We managed to find our way to Rothschild St, a very hip and happening spot where we met up with Maija's friend who has lived in the area for some months now. We were disgusting after having played and walked around all day. Furthermore we were all carrying our backpacks. Amongst all the 20-somethings in their short dresses, bare shoulders and strappy sandals, we looked absolutely ridiculous. We managed to find a bar anway, some folks had drinks, and we sat and started chatting.

Maija's friend brought along 2 others when they met up with us - one was an American. Sometimes, I gotta tell ya - it's not fun sharing the same nationality as other Americans. I'm too lazy to elaborate (i.e. complain) about her though. Another boy was an ex-soldier (in fact, all young Israelis, boys and girls, are required to serve after high school so they all end up being ex-soldiers). He was an interesting cat to say the least. He was under the impression that all Arabs wanted to kill him. He also mentioned to the others that the IDF had the highest moral code of all militaries because they called the folks in Gaza before they bombed their homes. One in a million, that guy (I hope). We heard some of them talk about the recent flotilla attack, defending Israel from what they perceived to be a lying international media, saying that the boat contained terrorists and therefore Israel was not wrong by attacking. Maija pointed out several times that the attack happened in international waters - "But that was the only thing they did wrong," was the rebuttal.

We ended up on the Mediterranean beach not much later, hanging with other Israelis, enjoying the scenes and just chatting. I stood by the seaside for a moment, alone, futily trying to find the stars that were hidden by the bright lights. I recalled my recent July 4th miracle night, and got a little homesick. The new Israeli boys that came to hang out were a friendly lot. Whenever they mentioned things about the West Bank (they don't refer to it as Palestine), they just seemed ill-informed, perhaps as much so as we were about the Israeli viewpoint. They seemed to have the impression that they would be killed in the West Bank. Maybe they're right, but from our viewpoint, we have never felt the least bit unsafe during our long stay here. I couldn't help but think, if only they could see what the other side was like. But, like the Palestinians who lack blue permits, the Israelis can't cross into certian parts of the WB for security reasons. Seems as though they may not know what it's like for a while.

We finally crashed at Maija's friend's ridiculously expensive 1-room flat at 4:30 in the morning. Waking up lazily the next morning, we made our way through a vibrant market full of fancy crafts, more olives than I knew existed, and plenty of bare skin. We ate at a great little restaurant that gave me the most delicious westernized gauda cheese sandwich, costing me a mere 12 bucks (in case you missed the sarcasm, that equals expensive). We ate till we were stuffed, then all parted ways to see different things. I walked along the beach with the Recap boys to Jaffa, an old city on the shore that was quiet but serene with a great view of Tel Aviv. It was there that it really donned on me just how strange this side of the wall was. If I had dropped into Tel Aviv unaware of any of the conflict going on behind government doors and 8 meter concrete slabs, I would probably love that place. It was so western, so NYC but on a warm beach. You could walk between skyscraper hotels and find bustling markets, you could walk along the beach and see perfectly tanned bodies soaking in the sun. Not even 24hours before that, we were in Bethlehem, surrounded by scarved women in long trechcoats, kids running up against a concrete wall colorful with grafitti, and men selling olive wood carvings on every block. Now, we were in one of the most expensive cities in the world, where girls flaunted their great fashion sense, the booze always flowed, and the sun bounced its rays off the spotless windows of 40-story tourist spots. We were not far at all from Bethlehem, yet it seemed as though we were worlds away. It almost felt wrong being there, and it felt more wrong liking the place.

I mean really, Tel Aviv is a pretty sweet city. I could probably live in a town like that if it wasn't so damn expensive - and if I didn't know at what cost it was built. It was such a culture shock, to go from one end of the earth to another in just an hour. From a conservative, modest society to a vibrant party scene. From people that suffered from an age-old conflict and thought it about it everyday as it pervaded every aspect of their life, to people who had no clue about the place we had just come from.

I dont even know how to keep writing about this. Understand this much - it was hella confusing. It was the first time we'd ventured that far from The Wall, and I though I had a great time, part of me was ready to go back. I think I am getting a little homesick. That never usually happens but this trip has just been a rollercoaster of information and emotions and I can never seem to sort out my feelings. Including now. So, I leave it at this.

24 July 2010

Childhood songs, while Living under occupation

I'll write more extensively about the kids at the camp later, but I wanted to take a brief moment to share a story from today. We were playing with the kids at the Lajee Center in the Aida refugee camp, as we do most afternoons. Katie and I had managed to get some of the most aggressive, loud, and chaos-causing girls into a room making bracelets out of string and tiny beads. It was amazing how much they enjoyed it - and how much we enjoyed it as well. All week, these girls had been the hardest group to keep entertained, keep from becoming violent, and keep happy. Finally, we'd found an activity that, though it took some effort to get started, seemed to be working pretty well. Sure, they were still loud, still a little fussy over the beads and the lone pair of scissors. But they were sitting down. They were concentrating. They were being productive. Proud mama moment, for sure.

At one point, our Palestinian friends had joined us and we were having a great big girl party, locked in a room making jewelry. The girls love to be loud (have I mentioned that yet?) and decided to sing songs. They sang at the top of their lungs while they strung their beads, not missing a beat. I didn't understand the Arabic, but the song felt uplifting, happy. It felt like any other childhood song, like Itsy Bitsy Spider or There's a Hole in My Bucket.

Rudaina, one of our local friends, then translated the songs and I was shocked. One talked about an Israeli soldier promising all of life's necessities to a Palestinian family, so long as the family gave up their land. The family wouldn't have it. The other song talked about martyrdom, achieved automatically when one is killed by an Israeli.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Is anybody reading this?!?

That is some intense shit. Rudaina says that many (perhaps most) childhood songs have such themes. A quick Google on the topic seems to agree with that notion. Tons of sites describe Palestinian children being bred for jihad early on, taught to hate the Israelis (and thus Jews?) and value martyrdom even if it comes in childhood. Other sites are sympathetic towards the Palestinians, expressing sadness that their childhood has come to this.

I mean...I'm still shocked. Those songs are a far cry from Mary had a Little Lamb and Row Row Row Your Boat. Can you imagine? Is it bad? Does it breed hatred and further the war? Can you blame them?

23 July 2010

Clinics servicing the Lives of refugees

So I thought the best way to relay all that I've seen in the clinic this week is just to type out the notes I took while I was there. First, a little background. The clinic I was in this week was an UNRWA clinic, servicing the Bethlehem and Beit Jala area. It provides primary care free of charge to any registered Palestinian refugee that comes through the door. Medications are also free, unless of course the clinic runs out, at which point the patient must buy it from another pharmacy. This particular UNRWA clinic had an "ante-natal" or pre-natal clinic, a non-communicable disease clinic for diabetes and hypertension, a vaccination clinic, and a general "I'm sick, help me" clinic.

My notes are typed out exactly as I've written them, in case you're into that kind of thing (you can imagine it scribbled onto a half-sheet yellow notepad). Therefore, it'll all be in weird orders and may not make any sense, but you'll deal. I'll try to explain things that are confusing in italics, also bearing in mind that many of you reading this don't have a medical background. Enjoy!

Vaccine Clinic
  • use cotton doused c alcohol as "wipe" (c = with)
  • no gloves (hardly)
  • hardly any handwashing
  • BCG/Hep B given at birth (vaccines; BCG = TB vaccine)
  • Mom's not tested for HIV/STIs during pregnancy
  • All boys are circumcised
  • IUDs = #1 family planning (IUD = intrauterine device; implantable contraceptive)
  • Nursing shortage (& only 3 doctors)
  • 300/400 pts/day (pt = patient)
  • avg 6 kids/family for refugees
  • clinic = free (for refugees)
"Ante-natal" (Prenatal)
  • "You are very nice. We love Indian style!" - nurse
  • To get age of baby, measure from symphisis to fundus (rather than using ultrasound)
  • Use sonogram to find fetal heartbeat - placental sound is like ocean waves
  • 3 forms --> family planning, preconception, and ante-natal
  • IUDs/condoms = most common
  • Women deliver @ Holy Family HOspital c a referral - UNRWA pays 50%
  • There are nuns who supervise the midwives --> from the Franciscan church
  • Currently a non-smoking debate - 10 yr old kids smoing, "All bad things come from America"
  • Just felt the head of the baby in a 35wk preg mom!
  • Intercourse is good for contractions because of prostaglandins
  • Cleaned the tape measure/sonogram c hand sanitizer on gauze - after like 7 pts
  • Woman c warts/fingernail fungus - started crying as hey spoke to her
  • Avg 18 yrs @ marriage, 19/20 for g1 (g = gravida = # of pregnancies)
  • More women study/work now bc occupation caused men to be jailed/have less opps for jobs bc cant go past wall
  • Just saw a baby c Downs - pretty young woman (20 yrs) - Mom got progesterone shot, stops preg for 3 mo.
  • JUST SAW AN IUD PLACED! 14 yr IUD for woman c 5 children
  • Most common problems c pregnancy: Anemia (give ferrous sulfate --> compliance issues taking c milk; also shortage for past 6 mo.). Also have UTIs, gest. diab., HT, etc.
  • C-sxns --> doesn't know the # but thinks sometimes docs do more to get $ from UNRWA, or to get practice. "Doctors think about $ more than human life"
GP (General Physician/Practitioner)
  • Literally people are flying through this lady's office! Pts are in & out in 5 min (they've already had vitals/labs elsewhere). GP = dx-ing machine (dx = diagnosis)
  • Doesn't change spec when checking ears bc wax is not patho? Says its sterile, so no need to change out (observed nose s it) (s = without)
  • So far seen: pharyngitis, tonsilitis, vag. candida, otitis media, well baby checks for vaccines, allergies, etc.
  • Def no hand hygiene here.
  • Brief note about doc: female Palestinian, studied in Ukraine, can speak Hindi. Super helpful, despite the hectic sched, she explains everything to me.
  • And now we have 2 docs @ 1 desk c 2 pts. Still going a mile/min.
  • "1 x 3 x 7" = 1 tablet, 3x a day, 7 days
  • Pts line up @ door (more or less) - Try to keep privacy by having people stand in doorway behind bookshelf.
  • "drop foot" --> SX = urinary incontinence, areflexia, and one more Sx
  • Also seen: atrophied tonsils, taken BPs of preg. women, slip disc, SNHL, fractured trochanter, chest x-ray of slightly enlarged aorta
  • Doc's got a pocket Bates'
That's all for now. More later about our first few days at the Lajee Center with the kids.

20 July 2010

Refugee Life

So I thought about writing a short synopsis of the conflict and what I've learned but then I realized "short" was impossible. So, I've found a decent timeline here: http://www.mideastweb.org/timeline.htm. If you have time, it takes only a few minutes to read.

Since my time here is mainly concerned with refugee health, I'll add a blurb about that - its actually not mentioned in the timeline. The war in 1948 displaced hundreds of thousands of Arabs in Palestine. They were pushed out of their homes and found themselves in refugee camps in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and within Palestine itself. Over the years, that number has grown into the millions as more people are displaced and as the camps continue to serve as a home for the original population's posterity. Furthermore, a war in 1967 displaces hundreds of thousands mjore. Most of these people are holding out within these now permanent camps for their "right to return." This right, established by international law, grants them the ability to return to their original homes and/or receive compensation. Many fear that leaving the refugee camp will be considered giving up that right, and so they stay. Nearly 4 generations have passed since that first war.

The refugee situation is, as you might imagine, a bad one. They live in tough economic situations with few resources and even fewer rights. Those in Palestine receive little help from Israel, but they are not the only ones in a predicament. Refugees in surrounding Arab countries also live without many rights. It is hard for them to leave their camps, they face tough financial situations, and they are not allowed to practice certain professions, such as being a physician or lawyer. Why? Arab countries support an independent Palestine so why do they not treat their Palestinian residents better? Many say it is because these countries fear that by giving the refugees full rights, they will permanently change the demographic of their nation - there are often more Palestinians in the area/country than natives. Palestinians are also Sunni Muslims, and would tip many Shi'a Muslim governments in their favor if given citizenship.

As you can see, its a bad situation. Refugees don't want to give up their long held right of return, but they are not given any rights as refugees. The UNRWA (United Nations Relief & Work Agency for Palestinian Refugees, pronounced "uhn-ruhwah") has set up schools, clinics, and the likes to help the refugees. This week, I am shadowing at an UNRWA clinic that service AIDA Refugee Camp in Bethlehem. They provide pre-natal care, vaccinations, ongoing care for patients with non-communicable diseases (mainly diabetes and hypertension), and sick checks for children. Healthcare for the refugees here is free but resources are waning as the UNRWA looks to make budget cuts (supposedly, the average refugee family has 6 children - that's loads of people to look after).

We had our first day in the clinic this morning, and will go back for the rest of the week before we rotate to another UNRWA clinic, then to the government hospital. I'll blog more at the end of the week to sum up my time at this particular UNRWA clinic. Stay on board!

18 July 2010

The hard life

As promised, a list of a few things we've experienced while traveling in Palestine. Don't expect any sort of flow - I'm just writing them as they come to mind.


- When going to the Dead Sea with our Palestinian friends, we were denied entrance at a non-tourist location because Palestinians were not allowed through the Israeli gate. Keep in mind, we were in the West Bank which is Palestinian territory. The WB is divided into 3 areas - Oslo A, B, and C - the latter is controlled solely by Israelis. Obviously, it was quite reminscent of a scene from pre-civil rights era Black history.

- We saw a group of foreigners tagging the "Wall of Separation" in Bethlehem. The wall was built as a "security measure" by the Israelis and has basically proven to be a huge obstacle for Palestinians traveling throughout the West Bank. The foreigners spray painted a "USAID" logo, with an inscription below that read: "Partners with Israel in Ethnic Cleansing/Apartheid in Palestine." They have a point.

- The Wall towers 8-9 meters high, running within the Green Line boundary of the West Bank. Palestinians living inside the WB hold green Palestinian ID cards. To travel to Jerusalem (which is on the border, and itself split by the wall), green card holders must have a permit. Several medical students at our university were denied the permit this year, and cannot travel to Jerusalem hospitals for their rotations. They express feelings of lonliness and anger.

- Before the wall, it took 10 minutes to walk from Al-Quds University to our friend Rudaina's home in Jerusalem. Now, she travels 1 hour each way by bus, around the Wall and through a checkpoint.

- Nearly every person we've talked to can recount a story of violence in their recent past. The other night, us foreign girls were waiting with 2 Palestinian men for our gate to be unlocked to our dorm. It was late at night, and a man approached us and told us to hide ourselves behind a brick wall, away from street view. Israeli soldiers were patrolling, he said. One of our Palestinian friends then told us, somewhat jokingly, that he had "bad experiences with the soldiers." Not too long ago, he was walking alone at night from the university when 6 blue soldiers stopped him, threw him up against a wall, and beat him. Then, they left.

- Watch the documentary "To Shoot an Elephant," about the attack on Gaza. Have your tissues ready. One quote from the movie that I wrote down - "Anyway, we did not think that the color of a president's skin would change US foreign policy." True.

And this is just a sampling folks. Let me know how you feel - I know it makes me feel like crap.

17 July 2010

Dead Sea = Sea of Life

So I decided after my poorly written awkward first post about Palestine, that I will try to post one idea/thought/story at a time. Today, I thought I'd liven it up a bit with a story about our travels in the past few days in the Holy Land.


The past 2 days we traveled in Jerusalem and Jericho. In Jerusalem, we went through the Old City, this large expanse enclosed by a towering stone wall. We followed "Via Dolorosa," the path that Jesus took when he was sentenced to die. It was ... strange, but interesting and kind of cool. Being there, with so much history! It's kind of amazing, definitely surreal. We followed different "stations," first where he was sentenced to die, where he received his cross, several places where he stumbled or where he comforted onlookers, where he met Mary, and finally where he died. In the Holy Church of Sepulchre, there is a long rectangular slab on the floor, lying underneath a row of candles. It is said that if you put yourself or your possessions on the slab, it absorbs the oil of Jesus and can bring luck. So, people were lined up to kneel at the stone, putting bags of small trinkets and clothes on it as well to absorb as much good fortune as they could to pass on to their loved ones. It was loud and crowded in the church, but that was everyone's silent moment. Whether they participated or just observed as I did, it was a spiritual experience to say the least.


Okay so I said this wouldn't be a somber post - talking about Jesus's death seems bit somber, so I'll change it up. The Dead Sea!!!!!!!!


Okay not to get ahead of myself... First Jericho. Crazy hot city. Home to the oldest city in the world (10,000yrs). Also home to the lowest point on earth! I think its 413m below sea level. And it was at least a 100 degrees. But - it's so low that apparently something funky happens with the UV rays to the point where they can't actually burn you. They don't reach? or something. So no tan and no sun burn! No need for sun screen at all!! Weird.


Okay I've been itching to talk about the Dead Sea, so I'll just do it now. It is the coolest thing ever. It has 8x the salt concentration of the ocean, so basically everyone floats. Great news for someone like me that can barely keep her head above water sometimes. I was sitting - and floating. I was STANDING - and FLOATING. Yes, at the same time. I was running through the water, doing fancy spins, ab exercises, you name it - and floating. It was the best water aerobic workout I could ask for. Now I got a little taste in my mouth and it was like drinking acid. So that wasn't fun. And I was lucky enough not to get any in my eye - my friends that did suffered a few excruciting minutes. I did have a burning sensation on my legs, since I'd shaved the day before. Yes, the expression "pouring salt on an open wound" is based on fact. It hurts. However, the Dead Sea is famous for their mud, and you can find it all across the bottom. Slimy greyish-green mud. The best stuff on Earth. We took hand fulls and gave ourselves mud masks, exfoliated our arms, and tossed it around. It was magnificent. Floating in the Dead Sea rubbing mud on ourselves. Yeah, it's as cool as it sounds. People sell the mud in stores, in fancy bottles for up to $92!! For bout 4oz!! So, being the smart med students we are, we took an empty 2L bottle and filled it with mud. We plan on having facials for the rest of the month.


So, I leave you with that image. A bunch of foreign girls, all from different countries, bobbing in the Dead Sea caked with mud, feeling rejuvinated after having "escaped." Next time, I plan on list of short snippets about some of the insane things we've experienced (i.e. back to things that may or may not be so happy, but are reality nonetheless). For now, bask in the non-cancer producing rays that is my memory of traveling.

14 July 2010

A Palestinian's Life

is too difficult to begin explaining. Yet at the same time, it is very simple to understand.

I've been in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT) for a few days now - first in East Jerusalem, now on its outskirts in Abu Dis. The past two days I have heard from local students, lecturers, and people about what they face as Palestinians every day.

I have to be honest. I have only been here a few days, and can't profess to knowing much about the conflict in this area up until now. But what I've learned in the past 2 days, from personal accounts to facts and figures, it is overwhelming to discover that though the political issue runs deep throughout this region and the world, the humanistic one is so severely undertold and ignored that is crazy.

Palestine is under "occupation." Today we learned that the words "colonialization" and "apartheid" or a far greater representation of what is actually happening here. We learned that the United Nations has in recent years described it as such, and have recommended action to be taken. Israel has committed international crimes by forcibly removing Palestinians from their homes, withholding their right to return, and controling many aspects of their life, of their freedom. This is just the surface.

I know my post already sounds anti-Israeli. A lot of that, surely, is that I have only heard these things from Palestinians themselves. I will attempt to remain open minded throughout this process - it is hard, but that is how one must approach something like this in order to fully understand the roots of the problem. For now, my thoughts are this: whether or not Zionists pursue what they believe to be their Promised Land, or whether other countries support these odd claims (odd, because no where else would you ever consider "this used to be mine, so now its mine" an argument for stealing people's land) for political, strategic, or economic reasons - what I have come to understand is that despite all of these reasons for occupation, crimes against humanity are not a justifiable means to an end.

This is quite the rambling post, a far cry from what I wrote previously about my wonderful July 4th weekend. That weekend, I was enjoying the luxury of a beautiful and quiet night sky, full of stars and people celebrating their independence and freedom. The next weekend, I landed in a virtual prison of Palestinians with few rights and no freedom to celebrate. I just can't even come to terms with all that is racing through my head and through my heart. Trying to let my head lead is hard - the history alone is extensive and exhausting to try and comprehend, but slowly, I am learning.

My apologies if this made no sense at all - at least, for me, it is a way to start putting things in writing in the hopes of figuring it out before I can properly explain it.

07 July 2010

The good life

This summer has been a whirlwind of events so far. Carol and Allison both got married in gorgeous ceremonies with love and friends and family all around them. Sheila graduated from high school (hooray!). And I had a great 4th of July.

That's today's entry - how awesome my July 4th weekend was. It was one of those moments, rather a series of moments, that was just so serene and fun and breathtaking that I felt compelled to write. And so I write.

After a seemingly endless summer of party planning and execution, I decided I needed a weekend at the beach before I left for my big trip. Lucky me that Ray has a beach house - and that it was open. We headed to Oak island, her and I accompanied by J.Moe, Poon, and Jimmy. We spent our first afternoon lounging at the beach, eventually getting in the water because it was too damn hot outside. The water. Was. Amazing. We grilled out, ate, napped, ate. J.Moe had to leave but the rest of us continued - eating, napping, etc.

That night, July 4th, we decided to head to the beach. Ray offered up the idea of biking down to the beach - hell, we had no idea she had bikes, so that right there coulda made our night. That was Sweet Moment #1. The four of us, best friends, biking down the strip towards the beach at 9pm. It was a cool 70-something degrees out, quiet, dark, and a bit breezy. We biked about 10 blocks to the public access point, using the headlights of the few passing cars to light our way. We were lucky to find the shore only sprinkled with people, and we quickly pushed our bikes to a sandy spot with no one around. We set up shop by the light of a cell phone - a blanket on the ground, held down at the corners by backpacks and shoes; a disposable grill in a small foil tray set up nearby with flames creeping from beneath the coals; fireworks placed in the sand, angled towards an ocean we could hardly see.

As we waited for the flames to die down, we lit 3-foot sparklers and pranced around in the sand like teenagers, waving our wands and lighting the air in front of us with spirals, ribbons, and hearts. We lit Roman Candles and shot them in different directions, capturing it with a long exposure time on Jimmy's camera. Eventually, the mini-grill was hot and ready, and we rolled marshmallows around until they were gooey and s'more-ready. We stuffed our faces with dark chocolate, cinnamon graham s'mores until we just couldn't anymore. Then we shot off more fireworks, lightheartedly competing with others down the beach whose purchase of fireworks was far superior to ours - we didn't care. We lit the soft waves with our reds and greens and blues, as the fireworks glittered over the water. Our own dark Eden.

And then at some point during all that fun, someone happened to look up and just stopped. We all followed suit and what we saw was breathtaking - and endless sea of stars. There were no clouds, no moon, and no bright pollution from the shore. Just stars. It seemed so unreal, something so unattainable that the only place I'd ever seen anything like it was in a planetarium. I got giddy looking at them, even started to count. I scoured the sky for shooting stars to wish on, eventually just laying back and soaking in the scene without asking for more than what was in front of me. It was beautiful. It was a moment. It was a night full of moments culminating in that one spectacular view. And it was wonderful.

In fact, I fell asleep. Seems a little odd, falling asleep in that moment but it felt amazing. Lying back in the sand, somehow shaking my very real fear of crabs crawling from up underneath me, and letting the stars, that actually twinkled, lull me to sleep.

Eventually when we woke up, we gathered our things and biked back to the house. A perfect ending. We woke up lazily the next morning and headed back for one last hoorah at the beach. We laid in the sand till the heat was too much to bare, then rode the waves until we finally dragged ourselves out. Then we came home.

And all I can think about is how wonderful that night was. Spent with some of my greatest friends, on a perfect night, having perfect fun. We decided to make it a tradition. I hope that takes hold - I love them all dearly.