in the blink of an eye

We've all heard the idiom 'in the blink of any eye'. Usually it's stated in an effort to portray the speed or quickness with which something happens. For example, "Life can change in the blink of an eye". I've heard this phrase used and have thrown it around myself for as long as I can remember. And until now, I had absolutely no idea what the hell it really meant. I was forever changed yesterday and it happened in the a blink of an eye...a literal blink.

I was able to spend the entire day at the refugee camp yesterday. I usually only have the afternoons to spend there, so I was looking forward to observing what a full day of life the camp entails. I arrived as the children were taking their morning porridge and immediately spotted a group of older boys (aged 9-14), whom I have come to know well over the past month. These boys speak English and like most people, I find comfort in the familiar, so I've found myself hanging with this crew a lot.  I had taken with me several remote control helicopters for them to try out. They were SO pumped about the 'flying machines' and immediately started experimenting with them.

There is one boy in particular, Ivan, who I find myself drawn to. This is mostly down to the fact that he has the most incredible laugh. Seriously, it's the best laugh I have ever heard. I want to bottle it up and carry it around with me everyday for the rest of my life. He has 'just made 10 years' and while his story isn't mine to tell, I will say that he has lost both of his parents in this war, in a manner which makes me wonder how he even laughs anymore at all. He was especially thrilled about the helicopters and at one point he pointed to the sky and said, "I see the helicopters flying just there...they go to fight the bad guys".  He finished his turn with the helicopter and happily handed it over so that his friend could give it a go. As he did so, he looked at me with a HUGE smile on his face, one reserved especially for a child, during a moment like that. With a beautiful smile and that infectious laugh he said to me, "That was so cool. I'm going to ask my dad to buy for me...." and then his voice trailed off and he blinked his eyes. I watched as that blink brought with it the harsh realization that his father was no longer alive. In all of his excitement over the flying toy, he had somehow forgotten. I witnessed the look on his face transform from one of pure elation to one of utter devastation--and it literally happened in the blink of an eye. To say it was a sobering moment would be the understatement of my life. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and it took all I had to keep my emotions in check (and, if we're being honest, to not throw up). I had no idea how to comfort this child. The look on his face was one I had never seen before, and one that should NEVER ever be present on the face of a 10 year old child. The feelings he must have been experiencing at that moment far surpass my realm of understanding. So I did the only thing I knew to do--I hugged him and asked him if he wanted go somewhere to talk. He shook his head no. I gave him one last hug, told him I was leaving the helicopters with him and his friends, and he was off to play again. I immediately found my colleague who had accompanied me there and told him that I needed it to be time for us to go.

If you know me, then you know that emotion regulation is not one of my strong suits. I have a tendency to react, rather than respond. I knew that I had to leave. I was teetering on the edge, about to break down and it wouldn't have done anyone a bit of good for me to do it there. I am a self confessed chronic crier. I cry when I'm happy, sad, angry, excited, nervous, anxious, confused, concerned--you name the emotion, and you can be sure that it will bring tears to my eyes. However, I haven't cried since arriving in Congo and yesterday, I finally realized why. I refrained from crying because I was worried that if I allowed myself to start, there was a damn good chance I wouldn't be able to stop.

This first month in Congo has brought with it several instances where I questioned whether or not I was actually cut out for this type of work; all of these moments have taken place during my time at the refugee camp. But it wasn't until the drive back home yesterday that I looked at my colleague through tear-filled eyes and said, "I really don't think I can do this". I was finally having my 'you-are-not-tough-enough-to-handle-this' moment and I was almost certain that I would succumb to it.

Upon arriving home, I immediately sought refuge in my little office and tried to pull myself together. I was able to stop crying long enough to turn on my computer, in hopes of finding that my mom or one of my two best friends were awake and online. The first thing I saw was that my friend Kim, had tagged me in a post. I clicked on the post and found myself face-to-screen with THIS article. I read the first couple of paragraphs andddd, cue the waterworks. As I continued reading, those tears turned to sobs and pretty soon I could no longer see the words on the screen. I was eager to finish the article, so I began frantically trying to blink back my tears. And for the second time that day, my life was changing with the blink of an eye.

This woman was writing all of the words that have eluded me over the past month. She was expressing everything that I wanted to say; everything that I knew I SHOULD be saying. She explained some of the forces which are driving the conflict here. She told of the 6 million lives that have been lost during the course of the war. She wrote about the MILLIONS of Congolese displaced as a result of this war. Those whose lives have been disrupted to the extent that they now call a refugee camp home. She did an excellent job of condensing into one article many of the reasons and effects of a war that can't possibly be fully explained or understood. Most importantly, she told the world of the strength of the Congolese people; the courage that those who are living through this war display in the face of the most dire circumstances.

Yesterday was, to put it mildly, one of the most emotional days of my life. I went to bed with a million thoughts and questions running through my mind--the loudest of them being whether I have what it takes to do this type of work. The work that I have known I was meant to do since I was 10 years old and read a Time Magazine article about the war affected youth in Bosnia. This is my passion; my heart and soul. I truly believe that working with children who have been exposed to and affected by armed conflict is the very reason I was put on this Earth. So, as you can imagine, the idea that I might not have what it takes to do that was terrifying. Had I not spent the better part of the day crying, I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep at all. However, emotional and physical exhaustion lends itself well to sleep and I woke up this morning to two realizations--

1.) It's not about whether or not I'm tough enough to handle this. Because truth be told, I'm not and I never will be. I will ALWAYS come home from a day like yesterday and sob uncontrollably until my head hurts so badly that I have to take a hot shower and go to bed at 6pm. That's just how I'm made. I didn't move to Africa to work on becoming tough enough to deal with life here. This isn't about my strength or my feelings. I'll find the what it takes to deal with the tough parts of this life because they pale in comparison to those around me. I'm here to help make sure that the children who are living through this war and will be left to deal with its devastating consequences are empowered enough to rise above it. To ensure they have the tools necessary to overcome what seem to be insurmountable obstacles. The reason I'm here has absolutely nothing to do with the hardships(if you can even call them that) of my life. But it has everything to do with theirs.

2.) My story isn't the one I want to tell. Up to now, this blog has been used as a means of keeping you all updated on the daily, weekly, monthly happenings of my life here. But, that's exactly what it is now...it's just my life. I've only been here for a month but I can already say, without any hesitation or reservation, that I have finally found EXACTLY where I belong.  I didn't move here to spend a year, have a great experience and then go back to the states. I'm here for the long haul. With each passing day, I become more and more certain that I will never leave. So, at some point, I'm going to have to stop writing about what my life here looks like. Because it looks like just that. It's no more extraordinary or interesting than anyone else's. And there are far more pertinent stories to be told than my own.

I'm going to speak very candidly here and say it can be quite discouraging to see the number of 'likes' that a photo of a cute African child, or a post about a funny incident will receive, but when I post something of real consequence, like THE ARTICLE I shared yesterday, it garners very little interest. It is endlessly frustrating and incredibly disheartening. But it only fuels my fire and gives me the motivation needed to keep at it. So, that's what this blog will be now. It won't be all sunshine and rainbows, but it will be significantly more personal and real. It will serve as a source of information. I will write about the heavy stuff. The stuff that nobody wants to hear about, but everybody NEEDS to hear about. I'll only write about my life and my experiences here, insofar as they pertain to lives of those around me.

I can't stress enough how much I want you all to be involved in every aspect of my life here. But after yesterday, my life will be devoted solely to serving the population and informing others about what is happening in eastern DR Congo. People need to know what is happening in this part of the world; it's the only way they will be moved to act.  I've said it before, the Congolese people deserve to have their story told. Telling of the unimaginable hardships they face and the courage, dignity and super-human strength with which they face it, is a story well worth telling. More importantly, it's a story worth listening to. It is the most personal and significant part of who I am. It's the very reason my heart beats in my chest. I am in complete awe of this place that I get to call home and the people I'm lucky enough to live amongst...and I want nothing more than to share my good fortune with you.

Thank you so much for reading and I do hope you'll continue to do so. And please share this blog with anyone and everyone who will listen

If you haven't had the chance to read THIS ARTICLE (yes this makes the 3rd time I've linked it), I can't encourage you enough to do so. You won't regret it, I promise.

all of my love and happiness,
Bliss xxxx

Atypical day

Today marks the end of my 3rd week in Congo and I am feeling well equipped to address the question I am most frequently asked which is (drumroll please)…”What does a typical day look like for you”? The best answer I have at the moment is, a typical day looks like atypical day. Life in Congo is a many  splendid thing, but typical it is not. For me, typical is synonymous with expected and familiar—and this place is anything but. The familiarity will come with time. The expected might be harder to come by. War does not allow for the expected. Armed conflict, particularly where rebels are concerned, breeds uncertainty and fear. It does not lend itself well to predictability, or anything resembling stability at all.

One of the many things that these first few weeks in Congo, along with my year in Uganda has taught me, is the importance of a having a routine. For the Congolese people in this area, the value of having a routine cannot be overstated. Rebel groups are notorious for having no other motivation for attacking a village than to wreak havoc on the lives of the civilians within that community. They want to disrupt any sense of safety and stability their victims might have. Their mission is to take away any sense of control one might think they have over their lives. Rebels want their victims to feel powerless—it’s what makes them feel powerful.

A routine can offer a sense of comfort and control, in an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable situation. I’ve spoken to people whose routine consists of a morning commute from the transit camp where they have fled to safety, back to their village (often hours away), where they spend the day cultivating their land. After that, they begin their  evening commute back to the transit camp, where they will sleep before starting it all over the next day. For most, those activities would offer no sense of comfort at all. However, the sameness of that activity in and of itself provides them with a sense of control over their circumstances. These are people who have had most of their worldly possessions, as well as their sense of safety and security stolen from them. But that routine is something that truly belongs to them…it’s autonomy disguised as a mundane activity. Some days might render this routine impossible, but that doesn’t negate its importance.

Having a routine has provided me with a sense of comfort in a new and vastly different environment (It’s worth noting that my 'need' for comfort and control is nowhere near as vital as it is for those around me). I’ve found myself in a place where I wake up each morning, not knowing whether or not I’m going to be allowed to go outside (FYI-when the sound of distant gunfire serves as my wake-up call, it’s a pretty safe bet that I’ll be staying inside that day). Thankfully, that isn't the norm and I’ve found myself able to achieve some semblance of a routine. When the stars align and all goes as planned, here’s what my days should look like--

During the week, the first part of my day—7:30am-1:00pm—is spent teaching the children of the employees who work for the organization that hired me. There are 8 of them, and they range in age from 2.5-6 years. These children are lovely, bright and well educated. They are also much more privileged than the children I work with in the refugee camp. Not only do they have their parents, those parents have jobs. They still live in their well-guarded homes, and go to bed each night feeling relatively safe. Thankfully, their daily routine hasn’t experienced the disruption that this war has caused the more vulnerable of the population.

3 days a week and on Saturdays, I spend my afternoons at a refugee camp for children who have been left orphans as a result of the war. My purpose there is to teach them English, which at this stage in the game, looks a lot like just hanging out. If you know me, you know that this is right where my heart is. Working with children who have been exposed to and traumatized by armed conflict is the reason I moved to Africa. So this is kinda a big deal. A dream come true, if you will. Unfortunately, this is also the part of my routine here which will be most sporadic. Due to the conflict, there will be times when the road is too dangerous to pass. So far there has only been one day when we weren’t able to make it out there, which is promising on several fronts.

I have a French tutor, Monsieur Jacques, who comes to the house 3 days a week for 2 hours a day. Poor guy. I suspect a person can only hear «Je ne comprends pas. Parlez plus lentemente, s’il vous plaît» from a student a certain number of times before they give up and say au revoir.  I’m confident that he must be fast approaching his limit.

My diet here is exclusively local food, which in English translates to carbs, carbs, and more carbs. This necessitates that I expend a pretty great amount of energy, so I’ve talked a couple of the men who work here at the factory to go running with me in the mornings. So far, this has worked out well. Although they seem to think that 3 miles, each way, is perfectly reasonable...whereas I’m more of a 3 mile round trip kinda gal. I learned very quickly how to ask,“Can we reduce the speed?” in French and can now say it with the best of them—I’m still working on “I think I’m going to pass out”.

Right now, my main focus is learning French as well and as quickly as possible. I’ve also learned a few phrases in Swahili that I’ve found useful when communicating with the Congolese children in the community and at the refugee camp. I’m also in the process of researching and applying to graduate programs in the US and Europe. It’s a very busy, very exciting time and I truly am loving every second of it. Thanks for reading and for all the love and support! I wouldn’t be where I am today without it.

all my love and happiness,
Bliss xxxx

Grape Expectations

I have been in Congo for 4 days now and every single one of them has been filled to the brim with new experiences. I want to share with you every detail about my journey from Uganda to Congo, and my first few days here. However, if I add every detail about every single thing I've found to be spectacular or curious, I’d have no time for anything else.

Let’s start with the drive, shall we? We drove to the border of Uganda on nicely paved, well maintained roads. of course by ‘drove’ I mean we were driven. Our driver was called Sam. He’s Congolese and one of the nicest human beings I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, then immediately spending an 11 hour drive with. He is also, as the aforementioned drive would reveal, a huge Taylor Swift fan. We arrived at the Uganda-Congo border crossing, which was an old wooden shed with a bamboo pole serving as the gate. On the other side of this barrier was a MASSIVE pot-hole crater in the middle of the road. Sam looked at me, smiled and said, “You see that big hole in the road? That one, just there? That is Congo”. So here I was, crossing over from the comfortable, the familiar, the known, to the mysterious, foreign and complete unknown. This fact was painfully obvious as we were sitting in the immigration office once we had entered Congo and I was called into a room by the immigration officer. Of course, I didn’t know I was being summoned, because the man calling for me was doing so in French. Another man who was travelling with us, called Francis, looked at me and said, “You don’t speak French?”. When I informed him that I did not, he simply said “uh-oh”. Not the most promising of words.

The drive from the Congo border to Beni brought with it some of the most amazingly beautiful landscape I have ever seen. However, having been stopped, searched and questioned by soldiers twice by this point, it really wasn’t the time to pull over for photos. 11 hours, 1 flat tire, 2 military check-points and a whole lotta French later, we arrived at our destination. We got to the house of Eva, the manager of the organization I’ll be working with, just in time for dinner. This dinner came complete with beef stew, mashed irish, greens and for dessert—a security briefing. During this particular course, I was informed that the site of the school where I am to teach is 4km outside of town and, because of the rebel presence, was no longer safe. We decided that the school would be moved into the guest house where I was supposed to stay, and I would be put in the main house with Eva, her husband Francis (aka Mr. Uh-Oh, who as it turns out, doesn’t speak French himself) and their two adorable children, Mathias (5) and Nehemiah (2). I was also told that I had a 5:30pm curfew and that I would need to check-in every morning and they would let me know whether or not I could leave the compound that day. and for the cherry on top, they let me know that the internet connection would be sporadic and when it was there, left much to be desired. Just as I was beginning to wonder how fast I could get back to Uganda, they offered me a hot shower. As it turns out, I hadn’t had a hot shower in several months, so I decided to stay.

The next few days were filled with meetings, talks with parents, shopping for school supplies and getting our makeshift classroom ready for children. Culture shock is not something I expected to encounter coming to Congo. I mean, I was coming from Uganda, it’s neighbor to the East, so it had to be pretty similar, right? WRONG. I stumbled into a country so underdeveloped, it makes Gulu seem like part of the western world. The list of differences between Uganda and Congo is already endless, and I suspect it’s only going to grow. The most obvious difference (and the one I was most prepared for) is that the main language is French, with some Kiswahili thrown in for good meausre. What I wasn’t prepared for is how few people would speak English...and by ‘few’, I literally mean 3. It is because of this that I am dedicating the majority of my free time at the moment to learning French…and learning it fast. The most trivial difference is the internet access. I was used to having it anytime, anywhere in Uganda; Here, I’m lucky to get a couple of hours a day and don’t even think about uploading a picture, let alone video chatting with anyone. And the most jarring difference, by far, is the military presence. There are FARDC soldiers and UN MONUSCO forces EVERYWHERE, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. Trucks filled with military personnel pass on the main street (the only street) in Beni all day and all night. We happen to live right off the main street, so these trucks are just lovely at 2am. This military presence will definitely be one of the biggest adjustments to life here, I should think.

I’d be lying if I said these first few days of being in a new country complete with its very own rebel insurgency, where I don’t speak the language, and having limited contact with family and friends haven’t been hard. And then last night came the conversation I wasn’t prepared to have this soon. The ‘we are going to be on lockdown tomorrow because there are rumors of a rebel attack, oh and have a bag ready in case we need to evacuate’ conversation (more about this in a future blog post—not ready to go there just yet). In the spirit of full disclosure, I went to sleep last night, quite scared and thinking, “What have you gotten yourself into?”. Thankfully, this thought was fleeting and I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and optimistic, and just a tad bit anxious. All of the uncertainty and fear I was feeling was immediately curtailed when I walked to the breakfast table and saw in front of me, a bowl of grapes (I have a picture of said grapes, but don’t have the internet capacity to post it). For many people, the sight of a bowl of grapes will illicit a feeling no greater than that of mild appreciation. However, if you have ever lived in northern Uganda for an extended amount of time, this sight will evoke an emotion no less than pure joy. The sight of the grapes alone was enough to calm my fears; The taste was enough to restore my faith in humanity, if only for a moment.

Sitting on the veranda, eating my grapes (yes, I did eat the entire bowl) I was able to put aside all of the worries I had for my own safety and think of those who didn’t have the protection of armed guards and a 12 foot wall with razor wire lining the top. The civilian population, the innocent women and children, who will have no warning of the impending rebel attack until it is right upon them. I tried (and failed) to imagine what living in constant fear must be like, and knowing that all of those fears would more than likely prove to be all too real. To know that these rebels hold not only guns in their hands, but the fate of you and your children, as well. I cannot imagine what the reality of life for them must be like right now. To pretend that I can even begin to fathom that life is an insult to all those who are currently living that reality. However, it was in this moment that I was able see, with absolute clarity, that I am EXACTLY where I am supposed to be.

I have to find a way to write about the situation here, and the happenings of today, in a way that doesn’t  cause your concern for my safety to overshadow where the most concern should be—with the safety of those who are in the most imminent danger. Until I decide how to go about doing that, rest assured that I am safe and well protected. And PLEASE keep the Congolese people in your constant thoughts and prayers. The danger that the innocent people in the North Kivu province of DRC face on a daily basis cannot be overstated, and the pain they’ve already endured is beyond measure. Again, thank you for all the love and support you continue to show me.

all of my love and happiness,
Bliss xxxx

(ps- I have so many amazing pictures already that I very much want to share. However, as evidenced by the failed grape picture, the internet connection here just won’t allow it. I worry that photo posts might be very few and far between)

conflict junkie

conflict junkie. This is what a friend of mine here in Gulu has dubbed me. While this is not 100% accurate, it’s not altogether untrue. As the conflict in the North Kivu region of DR Congo increases in intensity, so do the questions about my decision to move there. Why in the world would I choose to move to the exact part of the country in which an estimated 400,000 people have fled? As difficult as my decision might be to understand, it is equally difficult to explain my reasoning, while still sounding like a rational human being. I was attempting to explain just this at dinner the other night when my friend jumped in to rescue me with, “She's just a conflict junkie”. While that summation might be sufficient for people over here, it doesn’t pacify those of you at home, who desire a bit more information. So here’s my attempt at explaining my rational.

One of the many things I’ve learned this year living in post-conflict northern Uganda is this--my career choice demands that I be present in a conflict zone. Just as a teacher’s work will lead them into a classroom and a surgeon’s work will lead them into an operating room, my work will inevitably lead me into conflict zones. In order to work with children who have been traumatized by armed conflict, I have to be wherever said conflict is occurring. Simple as that.

With each passing day, come new and increasingly disturbing articles detailing the atrocities taking place in the North Kivu province of DR Congo. There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe the frustration, irritation and quite frankly, absolute disgust I feel at the lack of international attention the conflict in DRC, and countless others like it, receive. Not only do these conflicts deserve international attention, they desperately need it. I’m reading a book right now which explores the ethics of storytelling when it comes to humanitarian work and human rights abuses. Who has the right to tell these stories? How much of these stories should be told? For me personally, the ethics of storytelling comes down to the question of ‘when’. When was the story told? Was it told WHILE the atrocities were taking place? Or was the story told AFTER the fact, as was true with the Rwandan Genocide. Effective relaying of information CAN change the world, as long as the information is shared while we still have a chance to do something about it. The Congolese people deserve to have their story told. More than that, they deserve to have members of the international community listen to these stories. And they NEED the international community to act on their behalf.

I’m not the type of person to be outraged by something and not do anything about it. So my first course of action was to find a job and move to the North Kivu region of DRC, where the conflict is taking place. check. 
The next step is to find a way to tell the story of what’s happening there. I’ve asked myself a lot lately, what good is the work I’m doing if these stories aren’t being told? In order to tell them, I’m going to have to be honest about the danger I’m in living there, which is something family and friends don’t always like to hear. But it’s incredibly important. Because if you are aware of the danger that I’m in, then you can perhaps begin to understand the danger that the Congolese people are in every single day—only you’d have to multiply my risks by at least a million to even get a small glimpse of what they face.

I wrote this in an effort to inform you all of the fact that I will be moving into a conflict zone. I think it’s only fair that I’m honest about that. More than that, I wanted to give you a heads up of what’s to come. I’ve painted a very pretty picture of my life here in Uganda, which has been for the most part, blissful. However, it has also been difficult, heart-wrenching and at times, downright depressing. I made the decision not to write about that part of my life here, instead choosing just to deal with it on my own. I won’t do the same when I move to DRC. The story of the atrocities taking place there is one that needs to be told, so I’m going to tell it. I want to thank you all again, so much, for taking the time to read my blog. Thank you for the endless support and unconditional love that you shower upon me.

You can read about the conflict in DRC here or here. 

You can also read about just a small number of the children traumatized by the conflict here. (Keep in mind that this article tells the story of the children who were able to flee Congo and take refuge in neighboring countries. This doesn’t tell the story of the countless number of children who have been abducted by rebel forces. Or the children who remain in DRC, living in constant fear.)

All of my love and happiness,
Bliss xxxx

from here to there

In the almost 8 months (yikes!) since my last blog post, I have developed a bad habit of thinking way too much about what I want to write. As a result of said habit, I write nothing. Radio silence. I’ve come to view Gulu, Uganda as my home; I’ve settled into a life and a routine here and writing about my normal day-to-day activities feels self-indulgent.  However,  my life here is rapidly changing, and writing about those changes now feels more therapeutic than self-indulgent. 

 As some of you know, I am able to be here in Uganda thanks to the support of Merinda Condra from the organization Adoption Covenant. Merinda graciously pledged to support me financially for a year, while I pursued my dream of living and working in Uganda. Her selflessness and charitable heart has made that dream a reality and I don’t have the words to adequately express my gratitude to her. The year mark is rapidly approaching I am in no way prepared to leave Africa. This year in Uganda has been the best, most rewarding of my life…and it has passed FAR too quickly. As I sit here writing this post, the power is out, the Internet is down and I am battling a never-ending illness, which seems to have taken up permanent residence in my body. Yet, I can’t imagine being any happier than I am in this moment, in this place, surrounded by people whom I have come to love, respect and consider my family. 

This past year, it has become abundantly clear to me that Africa is exactly where I belong and, for the past few months, I have been searching tirelessly for a paying job over here. This has proven to be much more difficult than it sounds and for a while it was looking like it might not happen. 

However, through random chance and some divine intervention, I was recently offered a job to help start a school in Beni, Democratic Republic of the Congo! After careful consideration, and many long talks, I have decided to accept the position!! This means, come September, I will be saying (a temporary) goodbye to Gulu and Jambo/Bonjour to Democratic Republic of the Congo, or DRC. Thus beginning my 2nd year of life in Africa! 

I will be going into greater detail in subsequent blogs about my decision to move from Uganda to DRC, what this means for my future and more about DR Congo itself. For now, I just wanted to share my exciting news with you all and to thank you for all of the encouragement, support and love you have shown me this past year! I could not have done this without all of you—which is why I promise to start showing this blog, and you, the same love which you have shown me! I hope that by sharing my last few months in Uganda with you, I will be able to work through the array of emotions that I know will come with leaving this place I’ve come to call home. And I hope it will help you all better understand why, despite how much I miss all of my family and friends back in the states, Africa is right where I belong. 

side note: I’ve had a lot of people requesting a more updates on my day-to-day life here in Gulu. My most consistent updates are, without question, through pictures. So the best way to get the most consistent and up to date happenings in my life, is to follow me on Instagram—my username is ‘blissg333’. Facebook is a great way as well, or you can ALWAYS email me at bliss.gustafson@gmail.com. I LOVE receiving emails from everyone back in the states, so please feel free to drop me a line now and then :) 

I guess that’s all, for now. Until next time…

all my love and happiness,

Bliss xx