Wow...I mean wow. It is ridiculously late on a Friday night for me to begin writing this column and I don't even have the slightest clue where to begin. So much has happened in the last week that I could easily fill at least three columns!

I guess tonight will be my first so-called "college" experience: coming in late from sightseeing in Santa Monica, going back to my dorm, grabbing an apple and an energy drink and turning on my computer to start working. Eck, I really don't want to get used to this.

The drive to Los Angeles took my mom, dad and I three days. It can technically be done in about one and a half but that's if you're insane. By spreading the drive out we managed to keep the stress of travel to a minimum, though tempers were still flaring by the end of our trip.

Early morning after our arrival in LA. was my dorm check-in. To put it lightly, the whole ordeal was like a great big obstacle course with clues, loops and dead ends.

First we were supposed to go to housing registration - I'm moving into my dorm so this makes sense, right? The gate guard told us to turn at the second stop sign. One problem, the school was under construction and the road was littered with temporary stop signs. It was like one of those computer games where you have to weed out the treasure from the booby traps in disguise. Needless to say, this got us nowhere.

Next we were aided by one of the construction workers who adamantly told us that we couldn't turn left at a certain intersection - there were even violent hand signals involved. When it turned out that that was where we were supposed to turn, he just shrugged and said he was only a construction worker and didn't know what was going on. THEN WHY DID YOU TELL US WE COULDN'T TURN THERE?!

Anyway, we finally made it to housing registration only to find out that I needed a special student "One Card" before I could register. For that I needed to go to another office across campus. Great. Off to the One Card office - yatta, yatta, yatta.

Eventually I was set to move into my dorm. We (my boyfriend was a big help too!) parked in the back lot, loaded up with my stuff and trekked to my dorm room. IT WAS A TRICK!

I couldn't get into my dorm. A few returning students told me to go to housing registration to fix the problem. WRONG AGAIN! They then sent me to the One Card office because my card had apparently been programmed with the wrong expiration date. How the %$*@ did they manage to do that?

Regardless, after several hours I was moved in. But the chaos didn't end there. Students in the honors program were to go to Tijuana, Mexico to help build houses as both a community service project and as a bonding experience. So at 2 p.m. that afternoon we all piled into a handful of vans and took off (because I so wanted to take another road trip). Four-ish hours - and a terrifying public restroom experience at Chicano Park - later we arrived at a tiny, three-room community center that had been previously built by students of my college.

This experience should really be a topic all its own and not just one section of a brief column. Tijuana was as beautiful as it was tragic. Its caring and familial community was warm and encircling, while the actual environment and condition of the city was shockingly dilapidated. All of us in the honors program knew what we were seeing but politely labeled it "different." Only one person in our group had the guts to call it "dirty."

I was one of the only people in the entire group who couldn't speak any Spanish. I have never before felt that intense of a language barrier. I made friends with this one little girl and I vividly remember how frustrated she would get with me when I couldn't understand her. Hand gestures and facial expressions don't work nearly as well with children as they do with adults for communicating the little things. I made a habit of keeping one of the Spanish-speaking students nearby to act as interpreter.

Being completely isolated by language was a unique experience that I really am at a loss to describe. In several instances I was overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness and uselessness. At the same time, it didn't take any words to make friends. Play is universal and children really do make the best initial ambassadors.

We spent the night at that community center and then drove to the work site in the morning. For four-plus hours we worked in the blazing Mexican sun mixing and pouring concrete. It was grueling work. Very few of us were used to the heat and keeping up with the Mexican volunteers was out of the question. By the end of it we were dirty, disgusting, hungry and exhausted. I don't know if I've even been that dirty in my life - I'm such a wimp.

Our hard work was rewarded with some absolutely terrific food, including the best cake I've ever had in my life, before we were sent on our way. There was no soap and certainly no showers. We were so gross - best bonding ever.

We didn't go directly back to the school and several fun little adventures took place that I have no room to describe in this column. If you would like to know more about any of my experiences mentioned here, please e-mail me and I will be happy to elaborate. As it is, I've already nearly doubled my word limit and I didn't even get to any of the actual orientation activities.

One more column left. Classes start this coming Monday, and that is going to be another whole can of worms.

Editor's Note: I wrote Kyra-Lin an e-mail asking when she finally got that shower. I hope she will forgive me, but her answer deserves to be added to this column:

We were only in Tijuana for two days and one night. It was one heck of an interesting night, lol. We didn't all fit inside the community center - that's how small it was - so the adults pulled the vans up into the courtyard area and people slept in the courtyard or in the vans! I opted to stay inside the community center, which turns out to have been a good idea since wild dogs, roosters, and loud children make for a sleepless night.

After we did the community service we went to an immigration house run by Jesuit priests to learn about border issues and have dinner. Then we trucked it back to LA to our dorms about 9:30 p.m.. I freaking ran to that shower, lol. Cement really doesn't come off skin unless you have good soap and scrub. It was like nails on a chalkboard for me to even touch anything before I'd washed up, lol.

It really pulled all of us together though because it wasn't until afterward that we really learned about each other's different styles and whatnot. No matter how much money people have or how different we are from each other, we all were there pouring concrete together.

Kyra-lin Hom may be reached at kl_hom@yahoo.com