I'm not sure my previous post put my journey to Mozambique in the most positive light, so here is a not-so comprehensive list that I threw together - and keep editing every time I look at it so I'm just going to publish it now - about why I joined the Peace Corps.
1. To become fluent in another language.
2. To challenge myself.
3. To learn community development skills.
4. To put on a grad school application (no more student loans for me)
5. To live in another culture.
6. To understand the idea of culture in a new way. (And then understand myself a bit better)
7. To face my fears…and I don't like roller coasters.
8. To feel a sense of accomplishment.
9. To say that I lived without running water or electricity.
10. To be in a situation where I must trust strangers.
11. To learn how to wash clothes by hand.
12. To teach a class of 60 students.
13. To spend 15 hours sitting on my ass doing nothing.
14. To hug my family when I get back.
15. To eat food I never knew existed.
16. To have a going away party with a small but amazing group of friends.
17. To have no regrets.
18. To have an adventure.
19. Because my gut told me to.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
My first post related to the Peace Corps
For a second I almost forgot my emotions. It's amazing how Facebook instantly seduced me into the neverending flow of status updates. Before I opened my computer, I was feeling the most intense pain and fear; the worst I've felt since making this decision over a year ago. Am I making the right choice? Will this make me happier? Will my nephew forgive me for leaving him? Does he understand? Am I leaving for the right reasons?
A year ago, when I officially turned in my application, I was unhappy. I had recently quit an awful job and had no future prospects. I was in a relationship that, even though I am thankful for, had long surpassed its expiration date. In simplest terms, without seeking pity, I was unhappy.
So - I made a different decision. I joined the Peace Corps. Well, really I applied and 5 months later I was officially accepted. But, let's face it, I was gonna get in. The day that I finally turned in a completed application, I felt nothing. No excitement, no fear. Maybe a bit of anticipation, but really I was still exhausted from the previous school year. I was mostly numb.
Preparing for my interview added a bit of excitement, made the situation seem a bit more real. But only a bit. After all, I didn't wear any shoes for my interview and to the right of my computer screen was a pile of dirty laundry. A week after my interview I was officially accepted and my only thought was Ok, they really did receive my application and that interview wasn't a dream. But that feeling of tangibility was fleeting (transient?) because I had to wait another 4 long months for an invitation. Again, doubts about my placement surfaced. Did my file get lost behind a desk, under a rug? What would I do if no placement was found before September? The later was a favorite question of my parents. One of many questions that I had no answer for.
That invitation did come, and after that many emails and deadlines. My to-do list got longer very quickly. It's still long, but now I have less distractions. And now, 1 month and 15 days before I leave I am having doubts. Like my parents questions these doubts surfaced in a sneak attack. While driving home after a fun relaxing night with a friend, my stomach churned and I thought, I'm happy now. I don't have to go if I don't want to.
And there it was. I'm happy now. The thought was thought and there is no way to unthink it.
I'm still not sure what to do about this thought. But I do know that in 1 month and 15 days I'm going to get on a plane and not come back home for two years. I also know that the reason I have this problem is because one year ago I made a decision that made me happy, and I continued to make more decisions that made me happy. I accepted two amazing jobs: one for an amazing after-school program, and another as an ESL tutor. I moved home with my family and accepted a third job at a yoga studio. I ended my one relationship and invested time in my friendships. I did lots of yoga and color runs.
Earlier today, I practiced Portuguese as my nephew practiced the piano. I took a moment to realize how happy I was to hear him play, and how happy I was to be learning a new language. That was a good moment.
-----------------------------------
I can't leave this post alone. I should be done. Doesn't it just sound beautiful to leave it as "That was a good moment"? If I knew how to edit I would just leave it as is. But something is bothering me. I don't feel like I'm telling you everything. Do you see what I'm not saying? If I was unhappy then, does that mean I applied because I was unhappy? Therefore, if I am happy now, I should not go?
That can't be good. That can't be healthy.
So these two thoughts won't leave me alone. I was unhappy. Now I'm happy. There they are. I was here. Now I'm leaving. There it is.
----------------------------------
After rereading this post I've realized something positive. I'm no longer numb. Yes, I'm sad to leave my family, friends, jobs, and the positive life that I've built over this year. But that's a good thing! I'm extremely lucky to have such an amazing opportunity in Mozambique. And, I am extremely lucky to feel such gut-wrenching sadness when I think of having to say goodbye to my family and friends.
I just have to keep reminding myself of that.
A year ago, when I officially turned in my application, I was unhappy. I had recently quit an awful job and had no future prospects. I was in a relationship that, even though I am thankful for, had long surpassed its expiration date. In simplest terms, without seeking pity, I was unhappy.
So - I made a different decision. I joined the Peace Corps. Well, really I applied and 5 months later I was officially accepted. But, let's face it, I was gonna get in. The day that I finally turned in a completed application, I felt nothing. No excitement, no fear. Maybe a bit of anticipation, but really I was still exhausted from the previous school year. I was mostly numb.
Preparing for my interview added a bit of excitement, made the situation seem a bit more real. But only a bit. After all, I didn't wear any shoes for my interview and to the right of my computer screen was a pile of dirty laundry. A week after my interview I was officially accepted and my only thought was Ok, they really did receive my application and that interview wasn't a dream. But that feeling of tangibility was fleeting (transient?) because I had to wait another 4 long months for an invitation. Again, doubts about my placement surfaced. Did my file get lost behind a desk, under a rug? What would I do if no placement was found before September? The later was a favorite question of my parents. One of many questions that I had no answer for.
That invitation did come, and after that many emails and deadlines. My to-do list got longer very quickly. It's still long, but now I have less distractions. And now, 1 month and 15 days before I leave I am having doubts. Like my parents questions these doubts surfaced in a sneak attack. While driving home after a fun relaxing night with a friend, my stomach churned and I thought, I'm happy now. I don't have to go if I don't want to.
And there it was. I'm happy now. The thought was thought and there is no way to unthink it.
I'm still not sure what to do about this thought. But I do know that in 1 month and 15 days I'm going to get on a plane and not come back home for two years. I also know that the reason I have this problem is because one year ago I made a decision that made me happy, and I continued to make more decisions that made me happy. I accepted two amazing jobs: one for an amazing after-school program, and another as an ESL tutor. I moved home with my family and accepted a third job at a yoga studio. I ended my one relationship and invested time in my friendships. I did lots of yoga and color runs.
Earlier today, I practiced Portuguese as my nephew practiced the piano. I took a moment to realize how happy I was to hear him play, and how happy I was to be learning a new language. That was a good moment.
-----------------------------------
I can't leave this post alone. I should be done. Doesn't it just sound beautiful to leave it as "That was a good moment"? If I knew how to edit I would just leave it as is. But something is bothering me. I don't feel like I'm telling you everything. Do you see what I'm not saying? If I was unhappy then, does that mean I applied because I was unhappy? Therefore, if I am happy now, I should not go?
That can't be good. That can't be healthy.
So these two thoughts won't leave me alone. I was unhappy. Now I'm happy. There they are. I was here. Now I'm leaving. There it is.
----------------------------------
After rereading this post I've realized something positive. I'm no longer numb. Yes, I'm sad to leave my family, friends, jobs, and the positive life that I've built over this year. But that's a good thing! I'm extremely lucky to have such an amazing opportunity in Mozambique. And, I am extremely lucky to feel such gut-wrenching sadness when I think of having to say goodbye to my family and friends.
I just have to keep reminding myself of that.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Journey Poem (written Spring Semester 2010)
Empty bottles, on shelves
hold ships, unable
to travel from sea to shining sea.
Empty bottles becomes
empty with sip
after sip
of Riesling,
which has traveled from
my lips, around my tongue
and through my
knees. You walk
in front of me
but i'm much farther
ahead. Waiting
on the bed, i can't
remember
how i got there
all i know is Time
stopped the moment
the shipped moved.
forward. An ellipses
takes pause in
words, unbeknownst
of their meaning.
And, when the ship returns
to one shore. I'll
have grown old.
white hair,
like my father,
like my mother, dying
to go back to moving
forward...
without words.
hold ships, unable
to travel from sea to shining sea.
Empty bottles becomes
empty with sip
after sip
of Riesling,
which has traveled from
my lips, around my tongue
and through my
knees. You walk
in front of me
but i'm much farther
ahead. Waiting
on the bed, i can't
remember
how i got there
all i know is Time
stopped the moment
the shipped moved.
forward. An ellipses
takes pause in
words, unbeknownst
of their meaning.
And, when the ship returns
to one shore. I'll
have grown old.
white hair,
like my father,
like my mother, dying
to go back to moving
forward...
without words.
Ramblings of a so-called Writer
Traveling. Without fear. Well with some fear, worry, anxiety. I write the same way. I suppose that's why the two seem connected. Travel is the best time for thinking; writing is the act of thinking. To combine the two seems natural. The cultural precedences of the "open road" "on the road" "road trips" "rocky road" the road is already taken by literature, so what do I hope to add to it?
The road is already taken over by semis, motels, inns, rest stops, planted trees, meek- dotted white lines, ferocious thick yellow lines. No, the road has no use for me but I still dare to venture out. With my half-baked plans, the closest I'm willing to go on my required post-graduate adventure. You know the kind, the one that allows me to be the free-spirit that romantic comedies have shown me to be (when my hair is down, not in a pony-tail) .
Where was I? oh yeah, free spirits.
the Adventure. It comes in many packages, RVs, used-Hondas, Euro-rail passes, backpacks. I've been attempting an adventure since 2006, the year of graduation, of growth, of change.
Shitty first drafts, right?
We're doing this. We're gonna write if it kills us.There's a stop that happens, a block. Thoughts are formed independent of writing. Whether it's a pencil or a keyboard, the thoughts stop, the art of language is stifled by the fear of reality.
The Spirit of Adventure. What would it look like? male of female? old or young? black, white, Asian, thick Russian accent? I'd say it's a child. Small hands, large eyes. Giggle at the sight of kitten. Desire to touch the soft fur.
The road is already taken over by semis, motels, inns, rest stops, planted trees, meek- dotted white lines, ferocious thick yellow lines. No, the road has no use for me but I still dare to venture out. With my half-baked plans, the closest I'm willing to go on my required post-graduate adventure. You know the kind, the one that allows me to be the free-spirit that romantic comedies have shown me to be (when my hair is down, not in a pony-tail) .
Where was I? oh yeah, free spirits.
the Adventure. It comes in many packages, RVs, used-Hondas, Euro-rail passes, backpacks. I've been attempting an adventure since 2006, the year of graduation, of growth, of change.
Shitty first drafts, right?
We're doing this. We're gonna write if it kills us.There's a stop that happens, a block. Thoughts are formed independent of writing. Whether it's a pencil or a keyboard, the thoughts stop, the art of language is stifled by the fear of reality.
The Spirit of Adventure. What would it look like? male of female? old or young? black, white, Asian, thick Russian accent? I'd say it's a child. Small hands, large eyes. Giggle at the sight of kitten. Desire to touch the soft fur.
For a Moment
for a moment I wasn't me
I was the girl twirling in her sari
powerful enough to catch the wind
and throw it back to the clouds.
for a moment I wasn't me
I was the boy caught with wisdom
blue eyes stared down the sky
and strong arms welcomed the rain.
for a moment I wasn't me
I was the lost and lonely girl
seaking shelter amongst loving strangers
then she thought of me
and for a moment she was me.
she observed the strangers
awed at their spirit and strength.
I could feel the wind and rain.
I could see the children and the sky.
I could feel their love, and in return
I was the Sun.
I was the girl twirling in her sari
powerful enough to catch the wind
and throw it back to the clouds.
for a moment I wasn't me
I was the boy caught with wisdom
blue eyes stared down the sky
and strong arms welcomed the rain.
for a moment I wasn't me
I was the lost and lonely girl
seaking shelter amongst loving strangers
then she thought of me
and for a moment she was me.
she observed the strangers
awed at their spirit and strength.
I could feel the wind and rain.
I could see the children and the sky.
I could feel their love, and in return
I was the Sun.
Durian
Durian. Is a fruit that smells like stale bread, feels like soft boiled eggs, and tastes of sweet onion and garlic. The outer shells is designed by evolution to defend this treasure. Spikes cover the skin, ready to prick any intruder that dare take this fruits eccentric taste. It understands the treasure it guards.
You have been invited to taste this treasure. Once you've gotten past the cleverly designed fortress, the pungency, similar to used gym socks, fills your lungs. You then grip the skin, which folds easily under the weight of your fingers. With a feeling of haste and insecurity, you bring the fruit to your mouth, unexpectedly your hands find the hard seed in the middle and before the white juicy skin fruit falls from the seed, you toss it between your lips.
Your adventurous eating habits have prepared you for this, yet still you most force your mouth to suck out the seed while the soft fruit fills your throat. Your taste buds quiver in confusion.
Finally, after the initial shock, your throat opens and allows the moistened fruit to fall. You take the seed out of your mouth, the fruit slides down your throat, with very little chewing necessary, and you pause- wondering if you liked or disliked what you just tried.
You look up at the man who introduced you to this strange experience. He's smiling- you smile back, not because you decided you liked the fruit, but because you liked the experience.
You have been invited to taste this treasure. Once you've gotten past the cleverly designed fortress, the pungency, similar to used gym socks, fills your lungs. You then grip the skin, which folds easily under the weight of your fingers. With a feeling of haste and insecurity, you bring the fruit to your mouth, unexpectedly your hands find the hard seed in the middle and before the white juicy skin fruit falls from the seed, you toss it between your lips.
Your adventurous eating habits have prepared you for this, yet still you most force your mouth to suck out the seed while the soft fruit fills your throat. Your taste buds quiver in confusion.
Finally, after the initial shock, your throat opens and allows the moistened fruit to fall. You take the seed out of your mouth, the fruit slides down your throat, with very little chewing necessary, and you pause- wondering if you liked or disliked what you just tried.
You look up at the man who introduced you to this strange experience. He's smiling- you smile back, not because you decided you liked the fruit, but because you liked the experience.
First Meeting
Blake's eyes showed pure joy in the sky blue pupils as he discussed the New Talavana community. His comfortable attitude made me feel equally at home. The silence was not awkward and the conversation not forced. We were two strangers with one thing in common, we were sharing a ride. Best of all our conversation wasn't a search for anything in common. We were OK with being different. Instead we wanted to learn about each other, for a love of each other, for a love of humanity. We asked questions, told stories, stated beliefs with openness and clarity- well, there was more clarity on his part.
His current state of happiness, of pleasure with the life he built, was obvious in every manner. His eyes, his smile, his laughter- they were all those of a man who was joyous in his beliefs and lifestyle. It was in his voice where the pain of his past revealed itself. Not in the intonation, or volume- anything that was affected by the present reflected his current happiness. It was the harsh chiseled throat, that of a smokers voice that gave Blake away. He had not lived at New Talavana his whole life; his past was not one of purity.
"Are you a part of the religious community here." I usually don't ask about faith, but as we headed toward the Hare Krsna community, it seemed relevant.
"I am a believer in Jesus Christ. I believe he died for our sins and comes to us in various ways."
"Oh," I said, not really understanding what he meant, but I'd learn.
"And you."
I sighed, "Well, I consider myself an atheist, " without stopping I quickly offered an explanation. "But I don't think of atheism as a negative, as a staunch belief that God, of gods, don't exist. Rather, I don't make the claim that either exists or doesn't exist. In it's most basic form atheism, means without, a, religion, theism. And that's how I live my life, without religion." I was out of breath.
"Oh," he said.
He's tall, thin, and - I have difficulty saying 'white' because as a person he is too pure to be associated with the historical imperialist state of "white," so let's say -creamy yellow skin. His skin seems to have enveloped the shine of the sun, seen brighter when he smiles and you look into his calm eyes.
***
Without thinking he picks up two flowers and says, "Choose one."
I, with much thought, finally choose the red one- I've got the white one in my cabin. I stare into the flower, marvel at its simple construction that forms into a complex web of beauty. Petals line-up, one after the other, the outside petals growing in strength, hugging the smaller-inside petals.
I lean in to smell. I breath deeply, welcoming the fresh, natural scent. I look up and Blake is smiling. I try not to look directly at him, I'm unsure of why. I don't want him to catch me looking at him, think I'm attracted to him, think I'm scared of him, think I think he's weird. Really when I look at him, look directly at him - which is rare- I feel happy, and I smile, without thinking about it, it's fascinating to see an individual with so much peace.
"Where'd these come from?"
"I picked them this morning. Then sat here and ate fruit."
I smiled. This morning he woke up, picked roses and ate fruit. Would that give me as much happiness as it gives him? Before I could even formulate the question I've already given the answer, "I could never do this forever," and there it is, I ruin the peace. I look down at the flower he gave me and breath in again, hoping to find peace through my nostrils since my brain just pushed it out again.
"Thank you," I say and walk towards my cabin. I should leave him and his peace alone before I ruin it.
His current state of happiness, of pleasure with the life he built, was obvious in every manner. His eyes, his smile, his laughter- they were all those of a man who was joyous in his beliefs and lifestyle. It was in his voice where the pain of his past revealed itself. Not in the intonation, or volume- anything that was affected by the present reflected his current happiness. It was the harsh chiseled throat, that of a smokers voice that gave Blake away. He had not lived at New Talavana his whole life; his past was not one of purity.
"Are you a part of the religious community here." I usually don't ask about faith, but as we headed toward the Hare Krsna community, it seemed relevant.
"I am a believer in Jesus Christ. I believe he died for our sins and comes to us in various ways."
"Oh," I said, not really understanding what he meant, but I'd learn.
"And you."
I sighed, "Well, I consider myself an atheist, " without stopping I quickly offered an explanation. "But I don't think of atheism as a negative, as a staunch belief that God, of gods, don't exist. Rather, I don't make the claim that either exists or doesn't exist. In it's most basic form atheism, means without, a, religion, theism. And that's how I live my life, without religion." I was out of breath.
"Oh," he said.
He's tall, thin, and - I have difficulty saying 'white' because as a person he is too pure to be associated with the historical imperialist state of "white," so let's say -creamy yellow skin. His skin seems to have enveloped the shine of the sun, seen brighter when he smiles and you look into his calm eyes.
***
Without thinking he picks up two flowers and says, "Choose one."
I, with much thought, finally choose the red one- I've got the white one in my cabin. I stare into the flower, marvel at its simple construction that forms into a complex web of beauty. Petals line-up, one after the other, the outside petals growing in strength, hugging the smaller-inside petals.
I lean in to smell. I breath deeply, welcoming the fresh, natural scent. I look up and Blake is smiling. I try not to look directly at him, I'm unsure of why. I don't want him to catch me looking at him, think I'm attracted to him, think I'm scared of him, think I think he's weird. Really when I look at him, look directly at him - which is rare- I feel happy, and I smile, without thinking about it, it's fascinating to see an individual with so much peace.
"Where'd these come from?"
"I picked them this morning. Then sat here and ate fruit."
I smiled. This morning he woke up, picked roses and ate fruit. Would that give me as much happiness as it gives him? Before I could even formulate the question I've already given the answer, "I could never do this forever," and there it is, I ruin the peace. I look down at the flower he gave me and breath in again, hoping to find peace through my nostrils since my brain just pushed it out again.
"Thank you," I say and walk towards my cabin. I should leave him and his peace alone before I ruin it.
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