A Time to Kill

Well, who's been a giant bum lately? Oh right, that would be me. I know...there are plenty of you who have been living vicariously through my blog and I haven't even been updating it. Opps!

So, here I am, updating the blog--just for YOU! First off I need to give a few shout outs:

Happy Birthday to Stacey Nassauer, Caroline Walthall, Debbie Erland, and Briana Lapadula! And Happy Bar Mitzvah to Robby!

Moving on...I know I haven't written anything about Thailand yet, but my experiences there were more "Spring Break" than "Study Abroad." I went on an independent trip with a TON of SAS kids to Phuket--aka the Cancun of Thailand. I'm going to sum up my time there in just a few key phrases. We traveled from Bangkok to Phuket, where we could have visited Pee-Pee Island. Let me just say it was an extremely sexually charged location. Hookers on the street corners, Thai massage parlors that offered...well, "Happy Endings", if you know what I mean...drinks galore and the beach. I mean, who could ask for more? We rode elephants, played with tiger cubs, took tours of the "Bat Cave"--literally, and stopped at James Bond Island. It wasn't the most academically influenced experience, but I'll say I did have a really great time.

But now, with our tour more than half way over I'm in Vietnam with Hong Kong as our next port of call. For people my age Vietnam is nothing more than a history lesson...just another place on the map. We never really covered the Vietnam War in history, so I wasn't sure what to expect from the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Ming. But after being here...my eyes have been opened and I don't think I can begin to describe the heartbreaking, emotional torment I've been put through. Now I'm not going to be able to do express my feelings to you at all. But I'll try my hardest...and I might need a little inspiration from John Grisham's A Time to Kill.

"I want to tell you a story. I'm going to ask you all to close your eyes while I tell you the story. I want you to listen to me. I want you to listen to yourselves. Go head. Close your eyes, please. This si a story about a litter girl walking home from the grocery store one sunny afternoon. I want you to picture this little girl. Suddenly a helicopter swoops down and a platoon of soldiers marches in. Men, speaking a foreign language, she doesn't understand, are yelling and screaming and grabbing at her. They drag her into a nearby field along with the rest of her family. Neighbors and friends are running for cover, away from the men and into their houses. She watches her mother and sister get raped; then it's her turn. And when they're done they use her for target practice. Bullets are flying past her ears and arms, tearing flesh all the way to her bones. The houses are going up in flames as grenaged are exploding all around her. Instead running away she bows down to the soldiers, hoping for mercy; praying for a chance of survival. They torture her instead. They use their fists to beat her senseless. Imagine the feeling of the rifle butt against her skull and with a crack she is blinded; the pain throbbing through her entire body. So they pick her up and liner her up. A soldier comes by and picks off each person in line by shooting them in the chest or head with his .45. Bodies are lying on the ground. Homes are burning in the background. The smell of death is overwhelming. With tears streaming down her face she is the last one alive--and then they shoot her too. Can you see her? Her raped, beaten, broken boyd soaked in their semen, soaked in her blood, left to die. Can you see her? I want you to picture that little girl. Now imagine she's an American."

I'll blog about my more positive experiences tomorrow. I want to let you chew on that for a few hours at least.