I have this theory about mermaids...

There are a lot of reasons why I love the Summer. Warm weather, Italian Ice, and being tan are three of my favorite things. I love that for 3 months, all my friends are home from school. I love camping out and watching meteor showers. I cherish my Sunday brunch dates with my dear friends.
But the number one thing I love about Summer is living at the beach.
I am one of the luckiest people on Earth, because I grew up ten minutes from the beach. And now I live three blocks away from the Ocean and my backyard is a lagoon.
I open my front door in the morning and smell the salty air, and I whisper a prayer of gratitude for this life of mine.


I have this theory that the closest thing to a real mermaid is a Jersey girl. (Or I guess a girl who grew up at any beach, but I grew up in Jersey, so that's what we're going with here.)
We've been swimming in the Ocean since before we could walk.
For us, the beach is not a vacation, it's our home. It's where we spent all of our days when we were kids and all of our nights as we got older. We catch jellyfish and build sand castles and bury our brothers, and try to dig to china.


At one point or another, we have all been almost killed in a rip current, heads scraping against the ocean floor, tumbling through the waves, not sure when we will ever get to breathe again. But that doesn't scare us away. We know the dangers and downsides, but we also know that there is this thing that happens in the ocean. There is this one moment, however fleeting, when you're standing in the ocean, and a wave comes, and you jump into it. And for one second, this tiny, rushing wave of a split second, when you are at the top of the wave, your hands in the air, a bubbly feeling in the pit of your stomach, where you are above the ocean. And just for that second, you are flying. The ocean is vast and unknown, but we keep returning to its open arms. It is our biggest threat and our oldest friend.


Whenever I leave New Jersey, the first thing I want to do when I come back is go to the beach. I don't feel like I'm truly home until I have greeted my old friend, the Atlantic, by dipping my toes in and watching the dolphins jump across the sunrise.
And even when it's not summer, the Ocean is my dearest confidant. When the Bennys return  to New York until Memorial Day, and the grime on the boardwalk begins to harden and freeze, I head over the bridge in a hoodie and jeans, with my Wawa coffee in hand, and I work out my problems on the empty beach in the salty breeze. I love sitting on the beach in the cold, by myself. It's my favorite place to have a good cry, or a good think, or a good conversation with a friend.
There is salt water in my veins and sand in my soul. I am a mermaid who never grew a tail. And sometimes, the ocean is the only thing that makes sense to me.

An Open Letter to John Green: It's not okay, okay?

Dear John Green,

      I was going to write "Dear John", but I decided against it.
I have a few things to say to you. You will probably never read this but I'm writing it anyway, because this is the internet and I can do what I want.

      For the past decade, my "favorite book" has been a two-way tie between To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower. While I have read and loved many books, the position of "my favorite" has never faltered or changed. Until about two years ago. This wonderful author whose books I thoroughly enjoyed and whose Youtube videos I watched, wrote a novel called The Fault in Our Stars. In all honesty, I wasn't going to read it. I didn't really want to read a "cancer book." Fortunately, my mother knows everything and she knew that TFIOS was exactly what I needed and convinced me to give it a chance. So I picked it up, and didn't put it down until I was finished. So many things in my life changed that day. I screamed a lot. I yelled at my mom for making me read "this god-forsaken book! This is the most terrible book I've ever read, I love it!"
The position of "my favorite book" shifted into a three-way tie, now including this novel that tore my heart into a million pieces and then glued it back together again.

      In 2008, my best friend Caiti lost her battle with osteosarcoma. It first took her femur, a few years before, and then came back for the rest. I see her in Gus. I see her in Isaac: funny, but also scared, and sometimes heart broken, and unexpectedly wise. I see her in Hazel: Intelligent, and hilarious, and beautiful, and also an insecure teenage girl.

      Oblivion is inevitable, as you know, and one day, no one will know who Hazel or Gus, or John Green are. But I want you to know what you've given the world right now. Maybe you already understand what a gift it is, but I'm going to tell you anyway, because this is the internet and I can do what I want.

      More than three years after losing one of the most important people in my world, you gave her back to me for a little while. You let me see her again, and hear her laugh. And that's probably not what you meant to do, because you've never even heard of her. But you would have loved her John. And I can't speak for everyone, but I will, because again, this is the internet and I can do what I want. I think that everyone who has ever lost someone way too young to cancer feels the same way. The only thing worse than biting it from cancer is having a (loved one) bite it from cancer. It causes a HUGE amount of world-suck. But each of the three times that I've closed myself off from the world and immersed my whole being in TFIOS, it has been this amazing experience of glimpsing my friend again. John, you gave us more time with our loved ones.

      For most of us, the world will never know our deceased friends and family. Most of them never became Youtube famous. Most of them never wrote a book. Most of them never had a documentary made about them. Most of them won't be remembered by everyone. They were important to us, but the world will never see them. You wrote them into your characters, even if you didn't mean to. Because of TFIOS, when the world sees Gus and Hazel, they see my friend Caiti, even if they don't know it. They see peoples's daughters, people's cousins, brothers, sisters, sons, grandchildren, and friends. You made it so that they are recognized and remembered.

      Last night, I sat in a movie theater and watched this incredible thing happen on screen where this piece of literary magic turned into a piece of cinematic magic. I was sobbing, which is not unusual for me to do in a movie theater, but it is unusual for everyone else in the theater to be sobbing with me. My dear friend Korrie held my hand with the grip of a grieving teenager, just like she did five and a half years ago when we said goodbye to Caiti. I fell asleep last night with tears in my eyes which both stung and soothed, as I realized that my infinity with my friend was much bigger than I had realized. Thank you for that.

      I am not a book or movie critic. Just a nerdfighter who wants you to know the full impact of what you've done. At least in my life. At least for me.  Thank you John Green. Thank you so much. DFTBA.
       (and Hank, I'll see you on Friday.)
                                        Your friend,
                                         -Katrinah

*** My heart in writing this post was to let people know what this book means to me. How important I think it is. And I know this is a long shot, but I would love John to hear these words. I would love to be able to tell him what he did for me. So if you want to, please share this. On Facebook, or on Twitter (@realjohngreen) Thanks so much, family, friends, strangers, and fellow nerdfighters! LoveLoveLove

The hairdresser who doesn't use shampoo.

My whole life, I've been one of those people who have had to wash their hair everyday.

It would get so greasy and oily that within a day of washing it, I would look like someone who had never heard of shampoo. 

It was a vicious cycle, shampooing every morning, looking like I rubbed my head on a pizza by dinner time.

Until about about 4 years ago.

I was in Kenya for a month doing some volunteer work.

We had no running water and I wasn't able to properly wash my hair for four weeks.

It was TERRIBLE. 

I would braid my bangs and put my hair in a bun everyday, and at night when I took it out, it didn't move.

After a month overseas, I came home and had the greatest shower of my life. I washed my hair and it was a glorious, glorious day!

And do you know what happened then?

It STAYED clean.

FOR ALMOST A WEEK.

For someone like me, that's amazing. 

Like, seriously, I would have enough oil in my hair to make 3 Rachael Ray recipes. 

Sorry that was gross.

But kind of true.

So after that, I tried washing my hair less, like only every other day, and I thought it was pretty nice, but I wondered why using shampoo more often made my hair dirty more quickly.

That September, I went to beauty school and studied Trichology. 

That's the study of the hair and scalp.

You're welcome for the vocabulary lesson.

So to fast forward a few years, I am now a professional hairdresser.

A hairdresser who no longer uses shampoo.

SHOCKING.

There are a few reasons. 

Shampoo strips your hair completely of it's natural oils, causing your body to produce more oil to compensate.

Also, my hair and scalp are my body parts. I want to be sure of what I'm putting on them.

I still wash my hair, but I don't use shampoo.

Shampoo is not the best way to get hair clean.

I do this CRAZY thing, where I wash my hair with baking soda and condition with Apple Cider Vinegar.

I mix a small handful of baking soda with water in my hand and put it on my scalp. It takes me about five small handfuls (approx 2tbsp total) to cover my whole scalp. Then I massage it into my scalp for about two minutes and rinse well.

In a bottle, I mix about 1tbsp ACV with about a half cup of water and pour it over all my hair, excluding my roots. Leave it about two minutes and RINSE FREAKING WELL.

It makes my hair feel great.

My head does NOT smell like a salad.

My hair is shiny.

The thorough scalp massage is GREAT for promoting quick hair growth.

AND I now only wash my hair twice a week.

In my professional opinion, this stuff is awesome!

"The wrong doing of another does not cancel out the blessings you brought"

I rarely post blogs two days in a row, but I just have something to say.
Yesterday, I posted a blog expressing some negative feelings.
I mean like, sit-in-a-dark-room-listening-to-Sarah-McLachlan kind of feelings.
(You should go read that before you read this, or you'll be totes confused)
Within the past twenty-four hours, the responses I have received have been overwhelming.
Knowing my precious friends and family, I expected people to try to encourage me.
I never expected the heart felt, honest responses which I got to my post.

When I was in Tanzania, every time I posted a blog I had people telling me how proud they were and how "awesome" I am. That makes me a little uncomfortable. It's super nice and I know that the people who wrote those things meant them, but that's not why I do what I do.
And I would trade every compliment and "atta girl" I've ever received, just to know that Rosie will walk one day, or that my students don't go to sleep hungry.
But that's not a thing. You don't get to trade.

After I posted my blog yesterday, I almost deleted it. For two reasons. (1) I thought it was too whiny. (2) I didn't think anyone would truly understand, and I feared people would think I was just plain-old being too hard on myself.
Rarely in my life have I felt so understood.
I have gotten responses from friends who were in Africa with me, friends who have done similar things in different places, and friends who have never experienced what I went through.
And every single one of them gave me hope.
While I was gone, I shared a lot of my experiences on facebook and my blog, so while my friends know a lot of what I went through, they weren't there. They didn't experience it with me, but many of them felt it with me.
But I learned today, that the struggle is universal.
You don't have to be an international wanderer to feel inconsequential.
At some point, we all feel like a grain of sand on a massive beach.

In the past day, I have had people both encourage me, and berate me. Both in a good way.
I've been encouraged to keep my head up, and I've been berated for doubting myself and the power of Love.
I have had people say the most honest, loving things to me, making me feel that it truly is worth it.
Am I still sad? Yes. I wish that I could know full well that Rosie's future is bright.
I don't know that. But I do know that Rosie is bright. I do know that I put my heart into my time with her and no one, including her own mother, has permission to take that away from me.
I learned that from my friend Lauren. She said to me, "The wrongdoing of another does not cancel out the blessings you brought." She's so smart. And she even has an English accent, which makes her sound even smarter.
From my friend Rachel, I learned that I have no idea what "could have been" and I just need to rest in the peace of knowing that I truly did what I could.
From my friend Noraa, I learned that my actions are significant, and that I have no right to blame myself for issues that have existed since the dawn of time.
From my friends Katie and Juliette and Emily, I learned that I have a support system and friends who are willing to understand me.
From my friend Michelle, I learned what the word dichotomy means.
From Rosie, I learned that we don't choose what we get in this life. But we have the power to choose what we do with what we get.
And do you know what I got in this life? I got a hell of a lot more than I could ever possibly deserve. Not only did I get financial blessings and a first-world life, but I got a heart that hurts for others.
Until yesterday, I've always seen this as a curse. I am so glad that my heart is not okay with complacency. I got a family and friends who stand beside me and hold me up when I cannot stand on my own two feet. I have learned that I am a tiny part of this huge, beautiful, awesome, scary, ugly, terrifying, amazing thing called humanity.
And I am so blessed by that.
So to my friends and family, to my roommates and house mates from Tanzania, to Rosie, to her Mother:
Thank you.
It hurts. But thank you for teaching me.

This isn't funny. Just kind of real.

Today, I had a lovely Skype session with my dear friend Megan.
She was my roommate in Tanzania and has just returned to spend a month there.
When she arrived, I asked her to check on Rosie.  (The little girl with Spina Bifida, she's adorable, cute cheeks, wheel chair, watched her stand up for the first time. Refer to 80% of my blog posts)
Today, Megan told me that Rosie is no longer attending school at Hill Crest.
Her mother was taking the money intended to bring Rosie to rehab, and using it to buy a shop.  So Rosie is also no longer attending rehab.
My heart sank.
I think it sank even deeper because I wasn't surprised to hear this news.
Taking care of Rosie was something I felt I was meant to do.
But what was it worth?

My mom once told me a story from when she was a kid.
(At least this is how I remember the story, my mom will probably read this and then inform me that I told it wrong. But here's how it goes as best as I can recall)
Her mom, my granny, saw some stray puppies on the side of the road.
She brought them home, gave them a bath, de-fleed them, fed them, and let the kids play with them.
And then she put them back on the side of the  road.
For a day, the puppies had a home.
But then they returned to their inevitable fate.
Now, don't go getting angry at Granny, this was the 60's and she just wanted to bring her kids some joy. And she thought she was doing right by the puppies by giving them a meal.

Everything looks different in retrospect.
I look back on my time with Rosie, and I wonder if I treated her like she was a stray puppy. Did I just delay the inevitable? After standing up for the first time at 5 years old, and finally getting leg braces, will she now just live her life as a person with no use of her legs? Did I help her or did I hurt her?

I have the sweetest friends and family. I am constantly being encouraged and supported. I appreciate that. But I am anticipating that when I post this, I will have people commenting on it, blindly saying, "no, you did the right thing!"  And that is so nice, but I truly don't know if I did. Before I left Tanzania, I was talking to my friend Melissa, whom I greatly respect. She said, "you know, what we're doing here is really mean. We come here for a few months , and we love these kids. And we let them love us. And then we leave. We tell them we care and we leave. That sucks." She was right. That does suck.

And I don't actually expect to come to any conclusions here. And I don't even have some poignant philosophical thought. And my heart hasn't changed. I still miss those kids. I'm still so glad I went. I still want to go back.
But it's all selfishly.
It's all selfish.
I spent the most amazing months of my life on Tanzania, living with little and loving my kids.
Now I am sitting on my couch writing this on my iPhone.
I drove to work in my brand new car, and I got myself Starbucks this morning.
And it is in these moments that I hate myself.
Just a little.
Just the tiniest bit.
And not in a self loathing, I-really-hate-myself kind of way.

I just hate that I am more of a product than a human being.
I hate that Rosie's life has returned to even worse than what it was when I got there. At least she was  in school before I met her. If I hadn't tried to help her, she  might still be there.
I hate that I haven't changed the world, like I planned to.
And more than anything, I hate that the world has changed me.  

We'll see where the wind takes me.

For so long, my life has been "Africa"
Months before I left, Africa was all that I spoke about, all that I thought about. I spent all my time preparing and getting ready.
Now that I'm home, everyone has been asking me how it was, what I did, if I miss it, everything.
I've been home a month and a half now, and the questions are coming less frequently, but the flashbacks are not.
I think of my home in Tanzania almost constantly.
I look through the pictures of my kids every chance I get, and not a night has gone by where i haven't dreamed of at least one of my wonderful housemates.
My suitcase still sits on my floor, waiting to be emptied.
I understand that is ridiculous, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. Emptying my suitcase is the final step to completely transitioning into life here. (Symbolically, that is. Realistically, it's just a mess in my room.)
The difficulty I am faced with right now is that, for the past year or so, my life has revolved around Africa, and now it doesn't.
The most common question I get asked is, "what next?"
My response is, "Well, next, I'm going to PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE for asking me questions I cant answer!" ...I mean "Oh, I don't know yet, we'll see where the wind takes me."
There are very few things I know for sure in this life.
Those things include:
1. God watches over me and I am never left hanging for long.
2. Yelling at a person is never the best option.
3. If you get too adventurous with the toaster oven, it will start a fire.

Everything else is a maybe.
Hopefully I'll see my kids again, hopefully I'll be back in Africa soon.
Those are the things I'm planning for, but I have learned to see where life takes me. And I've learned to trust life. So far, it has taken me to some pretty incredible places.

For now, I am just biding my time, working, cultivating my wonderful friendships, watching Downton Abbey, taking pictures of my dog, and training for a half marathon.

We'll see where the wind takes me.

Somebody call the WAHmbulance.

I've spent the past week and a half avoiding writing this, because I don't want to face the fact that this part of my journey is over and I am actually in New Jersey.

I cannot believe it was almost two weeks ago that I got into that taxi and drove away from the place I've come to call home.
After the countless times that I've watched other people leave Arusha, I was completely unprepared for my own departure.
My housemates were incredible and sweet, and made me feel so loved.
The cab ride to the airport felt like a dream. Like a really weird dream where you know you're dreaming and you're trying so hard to wake up but you just can't.
Holy crap, I didn't think I would get this emotional writing this.
But there is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina who would not be surprised at all that I'm sobbing.
There is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina whom I just want to hug and sit on the porch with and talk about our days and play stupid pranks with.

Time moves so strangely here. I feel like I just got home, and in some ways, I feel like I've been home for months. But I do not feel like I never left. I will never feel that way.
There are things that changed in my heart that are irreversible.
Never again will I be the same girl I was six months ago.
I came home with a lot of scars.
46 bug bite scars.
scars on my legs, on my knees, elbows, arms, face, and multiple bruises I have no explanation for.

But the real scars are the ones inside of me.
The ones that formed on my heart when I walked away from my kids.
The ones that represent all the memories I made, and the hard times I went through with my friends by my side.

My dear friend and room mate, Mane, wrote me a letter, and in it, she said;
      "I believe scars are the marks life leaves behind to help us remember what we have learned and lived, to remind us that we are strong and can overcome anything. They are the marks people we meet leave when they walk away, and help to remind us how important it is that they were present in that time."

She is so right.
I have scars.
All over my body.
And I also have a scar on the inside for ever single child that I love and every single mzungu I lived with who became like family to me.
I am so grateful for these scars.
They say all scars have a story, right?
I got a lot of stories.

This will be a process, living at home.
It is not easy to leave Africa and live in New Jersey.
It's weird.
That's the only word I can think of. I've been feeling weird since I got here.
But weird's not bad, and I know I'll be okay.
I have all my scars to get me through it.