FRO Presentation <——Click Here to see the pictures!
I love telling stories. I have a great story about a time I went to a storytelling festival. Ask me about it sometime.
I love stories because I feel that they can say so much about the person telling them. I felt like a knew those storytellers at the festival as if I had been best friends with them my whole life, even though I’d never even met them. Instead of giving you my background, family history, etc., I’ve decided to tell a few brief stories in the hope that you’ll glean a greater understanding of the type of lad I am.
Slide 2: Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem
I lived in Israel for a few months. During that time, my best friend, Mikey, snuck me into the holy Islamic building. One isn’t allowed inside during prayer times unless s/he is a Muslim (which I am not), but Mikey is an Arabic-speaking Muslim who looks quite similar to me. We pretended we were cousins from America and that I was trying to learn about my heritage. It worked (just barely) and I had to recite the first verse of the Quran to prove myself, which Mikey thoughtfully sung to me in advance. It was one of the most beautiful structures I have ever had the privilege of seeing with my own eyes.
Slide 3: Ukrainian Protest, Kiev
During a 9-hour layover in Kiev, my buddy Alex and I resolved that we wouldn’t sit in the airport and do nothing. Instead, we rode into the center of the city and saw the St. Sophia church. As we were climbing the bell tower, Alex kept on telling me that there were big protests and riots in Kiev at the time (this was in January before Ukraine was really in the news). I didn’t believe him until I heard the chanting. From a mile away at the top of the tower, we could see the mass of over 15,000 people crowding in the city square. Of course we had to go and see it for ourselves, which is how I got the picture. We made our flight with but a few minutes to spare.
Slide 7: Indian Railway, Mumbai
This picture is perhaps my favorite of all. While in Mumbai, I decided that I wanted to buy a Tabla (an Indian drum). I hopped on the train and stood around for a bit. After the first station, I noticed that the train never came to a complete stop. Rather, it kind of slowed down and allowed for people to disembark or board. As we approached the third station and began to slow down, I witnessed a spectacle that words can hardly begin to describe: the men dove, headfirst, onto the moving train. It was still moving quite quickly, but that didn’t deter these guys from trying to nab a spot on the train. It was so hot and crowded and the doors remained open the entire time. I thought I’d be squeezed out for sure, but luckily I made it to my station unscathed and bought my Tabla.
The ride back? Well, that’s another story.
