http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpqvnM_IqFs

Candelario, the 16 year old who risked everything to travel to the US at age 9 to locate his mother who fled Honduras after the worst hurricane in 200 years hit Central America. He endured 6 feet of rain in four days, deathly mudslides, and the loss of many lives in his tiny mountain town of Mar Azul.

To this day, there is no electricity, medical care, or law enforcement in Mar Azul. After all this, Candelario now has a 4.0 GPA in an IB high school. This video will inspire you!

Many Americans say we are invading their country and it is true but it is not our fault we were brought here in a young age where we didn’t have a say. It is not fair most of us were only 3 years old and grew up here and raised like any other child but we can’t do that same like any other child; we cannot attend most universities because lack of money, we can’t subscribe any license to get to point A to point B, we can’t vote or have anyone hear our voice and our rights, we can’t apply for healthcare we have to pay in full, we don’t get the same treatment as a citizen because we are undocumented like as if we were aliens from a different world.

Many politicians and ordinary people say we have taken over, but what they don’t realize is that we increase the economy because the jobs who an American doesn’t want to do we do, even for a minimum wage. Many of these children are here for a good reason they have a good moral, good intentions, and are willing to strive to success but we just need to let the voice be heard, and to give us an opportunity to show you what we can do.

I wanted to immediately run down to search for him. However, my travel companion made me wait a few minutes. We had just climbed the 300 steps to the top of Altar Peter in Munich and she wanted to get her pictures worth. It wasn’t her fault that I accidentally knocked Cedric while trying to take a picture of him in front of Marienplatz. When I was finally allowed to leave, I raced to the bottom prepared to comb the street for him. But I didn’t need to. He was lying on a stone outside of the church, almost as if someone placed him there. However, I wasn’t grateful for long. I was upset by the damage: no legs and he lost his suitcase! Cedric was no longer perfect. How was I going to take pictures of him without legs?

However, the damage to Cedric provides a perfect metaphor for my own study abroad experience. I had arrived in France with the illusion that the entire semester would be perfect. I was so excited by the possibility of studying abroad that I never thought that I would have any problems. But they started immediately. It had been about a year and a half since I had taken any formal French classes or even spoken the language. And unfortunately, it seemed I had forgotten an immense amount of material. During our orientation in Paris, I was completely overwhelmed by our residence director only communicating in French. It also didn’t help that I disembarked the plane with a nasty virus. The language barrier became more pronounced when I arrived in Grenoble. I was living with a host family, attending classes completely in French, and all of the locals spoke French. I was convinced I made the wrong choice. My decision had come down to France or Ireland, and at this point in my experience, I felt that I should have gone to Ireland. I had visited Ireland twice and thought I would feel more comfortable there. France terrified me.

I also didn’t feel comfortable in my host home. I never knew if I was doing the right or the wrong thing and just desperately wanted my host mom to like me. However, I always felt she went back and forth on if she did like me. When home, I usually just stuck to my room and only saw my host family at dinner. Even then, I was always nervous about speaking and finding things to say. While I appreciated the cultural aspect of living with a host family, it caused me a significant amount of stress.

The most difficult thing I dealt with while abroad was my parents’ divorce. About three weeks after my arrival, my mom called to say that she had filed the divorce papers. I was blindsided by this development and felt overwhelmingly alone. While I had made friends within my API group, it was still the beginning and I wasn’t particularly close to anyone. I had told two girls about it, but it wasn’t the support I was looking for. I desperately wanted to be at home or at the very least, my college to be surrounded by my usual support system.

Like Cedric’s accident, it would seem that these problems would set me up to have a horrible semester. My dreams of a perfect study abroad experience were dashed. However, I kept trying. I went to all of my classes and I spoke at dinner. My situation with my biological family was tense, but I was lucky not to be in the midst of it for the moment. As time went on, I did become much more comfortable abroad. My French remarkably improved. I spoke in class, I had conversation with locals when out, and I even bought Harry Potter in French! My host family situation continued to be a constant rollercoaster. It wasn’t the ideal family for me, but I appreciated the French food and learning about the French culture firsthand. By the end of the semester, it felt perfect. I was so distraught about leaving and convinced that I would never be as happy as I was in France. I had moved on from my initial problems and as my dad told me, “completely changed my tune”. He actually had to remind me that I had such a tough time in the beginning!

Like my semester, Cedric required some extra work on my behalf in order to take the pictures. I learned how to prop him up just right so he could stand on his own. At the same time, I learned how to prop myself up so I could also stand on my own. I conquered a new city, in a new country with barely knowing anyone else there. Rather than letting these obstacles define my experience, I made them one aspect and not the entire thing. I may have been naïve to think my experience would be problem-free, but in the end it was perfect to me.

As for the Cedric pictures? Some of my favorite ones are those where he doesn’t have legs. He truly is a testament that imperfect things can be perfect.

I can recall several instances throughout my education when I would stare with an inquisitive face at the laminated pages of textbooks which held pictures of the Circus Maximus, Buckingham Palace, Coliseum, and other monuments which marked the history of human civilization. I would do projects on Greek mythology, be quizzed on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, and practice art of the French Renaissance. However, the array of rich cultures and beliefs taught to me in the confines of my classroom was just not enough; I had a strong urge for a first-hand learning experience.

The summer going into my third year of college, I decided there was nothing to wait for; I had to seize the opportunity to study abroad and fulfill my passion to travel. I was ready to step out of my comfort zone, and submerge myself in an entirely alien environment. Luckily, I found Academic Programs International.

I arrived in Madrid emotionally, mentally, and physically drained. I could not understand it at first, and it frustrated me; I had been waiting for this moment ever since I could remember, and yet there was something mundane inside of me. I put on a great show, seeming enthusiastic to finally be acquainted with all my peers and walk through all the great sites I dreamt of for so long. I kept wishing for this grievance to fade and my journey to begin. However, as time went on, the cultural barrier seemed to only frustrate and alienate me more. Upon arriving in Granada, my host city, I still felt out of my element. It was then I realized that this semester which initially seemed so opportune, was in fact going to be hell.

For the first month, I cried almost every day. I tried to become engaged in the classroom, have fun with my peers, and converse with the new locals I was meeting every day. Although I would go out and experience the nightlife, explore the Moorish barrios, admire the monuments, and sample the cuisine, I felt a void. I did not feel myself, and as much as I knew these scenes should be dazzling me, I just did not feel the emotion. Then one night (February 16th, 2011 to be exact), my friends Allison and Patrick forced me to come out for the night. It was getting warmer in Granada, and they wanted me to come explore the city. I talked with them for hours about all of woes, and once we stepped out, something amazing happened. Suddenly, the lights which gleamed from La Alhambra seemed a bit brighter, the fountains sounded more serene, and there was a certain charm in all the couples walking their dogs through the lit marble walkways which seemed to extend towards the Sierra Nevada mountain range in the background. It was instantaneous, the feeling I had been waiting for; I was in love.

From that point on, I took every bit of culture, knowledge and religion for what it was worth. I attended mass at the most beautiful cathedral each Wednesday evening, and experienced a new restaurant, café or bar with my friends nightly. I became much more engaged in controversial debate within my classroom where I studied the Spanish language intensively, creating an unbreakable bond with my two professors Rosana and Carmen, a bond I kept throughout the four months I was there (I still keep in contact with them, even though I’m back home!) I toured La Alhambra about four times, and spent many sunsets at San Nicholas in the Albayzin with my two best friends. I became genuinely social amongst my peers, and spend the warm afternoons lazily in el Parque García Lorca, reading Spanish literature while speaking with locals, API interns, and other international students.

Without realizing it, something amazing was happening within me throughout these months. I pushed past a language and cultural barrier, and with my settlement in the society of Granada came a sense of accomplishment. I loved how all the Spaniards who had seemed distant from me initially gradually became more personable. The strange stares and frustrated scoffs I would get from the workers, pedestrians, and dorm mates due to these barriers seemed to dissolve as I immersed myself more within the culture. I adored how I could engage in a conversation with my peers, host mothers, or how I would talk casually with the lady who owned the shop I bought coffee at each morning before class. I loved when my American friends and I would only speak Spanish to each other whenever we went out, and all the Spaniards we met and established relationships with together. I learned to accept and adapt to their cultural norms, and celebrated the local holidays with the utmost fervor. I was cheering from the sidewalks at the processions for Semana Santa, watching in awe as gypsies would dance the Flamenco perfectly, and got slightly queasy when I witnessed my first Corrida de Toros. I cheered on the Spanish National Futbol team against the Czech Republic, and ventured to the Costa del Sol a couple times to dip my toes in the Mediterranean. And the most unexpected feeling for me came when I would make my other travels throughout Europe, and would have an urge to return to Spain as soon as I could! Granada became my second home, and it was the best feeling I had ever experienced.

Leaving Granada to come back home left me once again with bittersweet emotions. It was somewhat amusing to me when I arrived in Granada, I dreamt of the day I could return come now that the time had come, I felt as if I was being torn apart from this spectacular lifestyle and environment which I had grown to love and live by. Granada enchanted me in a way which no place has ever before, and I know this past semester was the first of many times I will travel to that beautiful, offbeat, cultured and serene city. I think about the people I met there, and they will always hold a special place in my heart. Not only did I finally embark on the journey of a lifetime, but I learned so much about myself. I now know that not only can I break through a language and cultural barrier under any circumstances, but beyond that I can adapt to any culture which I submerge myself in. I plan to return to Spain upon graduation from college, and hopefully my perseverance will lead me to a career abroad.

My interest in traveling and geography had begun. I took my first airplane trip that same year and was hooked. I longed for the age when I could travel and explore as I wished.

As middle school turned to high school and band practice turned into 8 a.m Monday history lectures, I felt I was on the verge of traveling like I had dreamed since sixth grade. I’d set off for places only known on maps, learn a few languages and live happily ever after.

When my junior year of college arrived and my Spanish began to improve, I decided my time had come. Friends told me stories from semesters in Spain, Peru, Mexico, and I began to think very carefully about my destination. For weeks I read brochures but always felt torn between the Chilean coast, the wildlife of Costa Rica and the sophistication of Buenos Aires.

I researched locations and asked everyone for advice. Mom said Spain, Dad said Peru. That spring my Spanish professor was Argentine. She grew up in Cordoba and incorporated photos of Argentina then and now into her presentations. That was it! I remembered the wall map and was thrilled by the idea of finally seeing Argentina as more than a shaded drawing.

July 17, 2010 was the coldest day in Argentina since 2000. It was also the day that I, a sunburned girl from the humid depths of Alabama, arrived in Buenos Aires. The first week blurred by and I soon fell in step with the metropolitan rhythm. Before long I had conquered the subway system and located the best ice cream shops within ten blocks of my apartment.

A few weeks passed and it was time for our group to begin our weekend excursions. We traveled to Tigre, to Colonia and into the grassy town of Capilla del Señor. As we reached farther into Argentina and deeper into ourselves, it felt as though time sped up. Just as Buenos Aires had begun to transition to summer, it was time for us to pull out our coats and hats again for a trip to the southern tip of Argentina.

As the postcards and penguin souvenirs show, Ushuaia, Argentina is known for being the southernmost city in the world. Hourly tours on the ‘tren al fin del mundo’ (train to the end of the world) give tourists the opportunity to see the frigid landscape that was once home to the Fuegian people, the nomadic descendants of South American tribes who continued exploring southward until they reached land’s end.

During my three days in Ushuaia, I realized that I too had reached an end. After four almost dream-like months in Argentina, I would soon pack, say my goodbyes and return to Alabama. I wandered the streets of Ushuaia just before sunset thinking of my experiences and trying to plan the very day when I would return.

Suddenly, a concrete wall came into view with the words ‘el fin no existe’ (the end doesn’t exist) scrawled in spray paint. It was as if no better words could summarize experience abroad.

Sure, my time in Argentina was winding down, but Argentina’s impact on my life had no end in sight. What started in sixth grade as a little geography trivia had grown into a dream come true with the potential to come true over and over again.

For me, the most important part of traveling is learning about one’s self through the eyes of other people. Trips begin and end but learning continues. I reached land’s end before I learned my journey had just begun.

Although to any average onlooker the picture above may only appear to show a group of uniformed, smiling fourth graders, yet each time I look at it I am reminded and immediately taken back to an incredible learning experience that will forever leave an impact on my life. The four months spent living in and traveling throughout Costa Rica were full of unforgettable adventures, each providing their own opportunities for learning. Along with gaining fluency in the Spanish language, and creating a lifelong relationship with my host family, helping to teach English at the Complejo Educativo San Ángel private school in Heredia was one of my most treasured and valued experiences in Costa Rica. Spending time each week with the students and staff members of the school offered real-life teaching experiences, while I simultaneously gathered insights about myself and the world around me.

First and foremost, teaching English at San Ángel has shown me what teaching English as a Second Language classes might really be like. Each day brought new and exciting challenges. I learned to look at the English language in ways I never had before. I was asked by the English teacher, Lisseth, each week to bring in a small lesson that pertained to the current unit. I enjoyed planning each lesson and thinking of creative ways of making it exciting and easy to understand for the students. The students were very eager each week to ask me cultural questions about life in the United States, just as I had similar questions for them about their lives in Costa Rica. The classroom seemed to harbor a feeling of mutual interest, curiosity and appreciation as the students and I helped each other to learn and grow on a regular basis. This kind of learning I experienced made me incredibly excited at the thought of creating a similar environment in a classroom of my own someday.

Teaching the fourth grade English class at San Ángel also contributed significantly to my own personal growth. Before going to study abroad in Costa Rica I knew I had a passion for the Spanish language and education. I still, however, had my doubts about how effectively I could communicate with, teach or develop relationships with people who natively spoke Spanish. Spending time in Costa Rica and, especially, at San Ángel instilled in me a newfound confidence. I realized that not only was I understood by the local Costa Rican “Ticos,” but that I could impact them in a way that was truly meaningful. I will never forget my last day of volunteer work at the school when the students gave me the warmest hugs and the teacher Lisseth tearfully bid me farewell as she thanked me for teaching the students and her so much. I could only hope that they had learned as much from me as I had learned from them.

Finally, I had come to Costa Rica expecting to learn more about Spanish, the culture and the country itself. What I had not expected, however, was to come away from the experience learning more about my own country and the international community as a whole. The way the students seemed to marvel at my description of a cold, snowy winter in New Hampshire which I always used to dread, made me appreciate its beauty. Listening each day to the Spanish chatter of the students as they filed into the classroom put me in awe of their quickness in speech and their abilities to form sentences with ease. I laughed to myself as the students played hide and seek, kicked a soccer ball, and played “Pulpo,” their own version of the game of “Sharks and Minnows,” on the playground just as I had once done many years ago. It was in those moments I was awakened to the overwhelming thought that, although we may live in different countries, speak different native tongues or come from different backgrounds, we are the same people who are learning together, sharing together and living the opportunities provided by our world.

With two hours left before my plane would take off, I told my closest friend María I could stall no longer and that it was sadly time for me to leave. Walking with María to the street to hail a cab, I turned around to see tears in her eyes growing bigger and falling faster with each blink. After a few moments, she choked out, “I don’t want you to go,” a statement she would continue to repeat until my own eyes were blurred. I looked down at my wrist at the gift she had given me earlier that night. It was a bracelet identical to hers, a bracelet that was the reason we became friends. On my first day of class, I had gone up to her to compliment her on a simple strand of beads around her wrist with hopes that I could spark conversation and make a Spanish friend—the one thing I had deeply desired to do in coming to Spain. Despite my fumbled compliment filled with grammatical errors and quivering words from nerves, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted to hang out that weekend.

From then on, I would spend almost every weekend with her, meeting her friends, seeing all parts of Seville, and learning about her life as she learned about mine. Without that bracelet, I may not have gone up to that girl who had become not just my closest Spanish friend but one of my closest friends ever.

Standing there almost wishing no cab would arrive, she suddenly began pulling everything out of her purse, a purse I had always told her I loved.

“Eileen,” she said, “I want you to have this.”

I stood there shocked, staring at the second gift she had now placed in my hands, this time an item that was part of her life, as it had been her favorite purse that she used daily.

The fact that she was willing to give up something she loved because she knew it would make me happy exemplified just how kind she was and always had been to me. From the times she brought me to barbeques with her friends, helped me with my Spanish, let me borrow a dress to wear for Feria—she had done countless things that were beyond caring and here she was acting more thoughtful than anyone has ever been to me.

With my things now filling María’s purse, I reflected on the symbolism of this purse that would remind me forever of our friendship and keep us connected, just as the bracelet also served to do. In that moment I realized how kindness is not limited to one culture or one people, but is within the capacity of all humans and more importantly can be shown to those who may be the most different from us. I saw then too that what we call language and cultural barriers do not have to hold us back. They can be broken down, hurdled over, and understood.

I chose to double-major in Spanish and Communications for my love of people and connecting with others, as I believe our ability to better understand and relate to one another will lead to a more peaceful world. In my Spanish friend’s selfless act, I witnessed firsthand how important that connection truly is and how powerful it can be. It made me realize I want to continue to make that connection happen, not just for my own personal benefit but on a more global level.

Without having studied abroad, without having pushed myself to talk to a Spaniard on my first day of class, without loving people like María, I would not have learned this amazing lesson that impacted me then and will reside with me forever along with a purse and bracelet I will always treasure.

Eileen Giudice is a senior at the University of Michigan.