Thanksgiving in Costa Rica, part II

I spent the day with my third graders and their parents at the children’s museum in down town San Jose. I tried, as I didn't want it to go by unnoticed, to remain especially grateful this day. Reminding myself every so often how grateful I was to be there, to be sharing this experience with these families, to get little hugs from the kids and have them sleep on me during the ride there. It was to be my second thanksgiving out of the country in a row… and the fact that no one else around me cared what day it was was a little sad and made it hard to remember it was even a holiday. However, I recounted to myself the various thanksgiving I have been a part of; at our houses growing up, at my brother’s house, in a call center, with my grandparents and last year with an Embassy family here in Costa Rica, attempting to keep in holiday spirit.

This year I had the great fortune to be welcomed by another embassy family, the Green’s. After our field trip had come to an end, I parted ways with everyone and set off with Jo to our thanksgiving destiny that would prove quite an adventure.  After two buses, two and a half hours of travel, a lot of " how bad would it be if we never got there", a crabby bus driver, and a “plan b” to go get chicken Philly cheese steaks, cupcakes and a commemorative tattoo of a sad turkey if it all didn't work out later, we got to the house we were meant to be at. When I say I almost cried with happiness ad gratefulness, I’m not exaggerating. I had to stop myself before it got bad. Luckily for me I was starving and had a plate of deliciousness to distract me.

We stuffed our faces and got to know our awesome hosts and their children. The littlest one reminded me of my little mad-face as she pranced around the house asking Patrick, our fellow volunteer, to copy whatever she did, which of course brought her sheer delight. There is one thing, which surprised me last year and snuck up on me again this year; although I miss my family more than they know, spending holidays with families is still a beautiful thing. To just be in the presence of love and togetherness is very special. Like contagious laughter, when you are around it you feel it, even if you didn't hear the joke, you still find yourself laughing.

The pies, yes multiple, ice cream and whipped cream topped off one of my more interesting thanksgivings. After eating until my body could hold no more and after Sarah gave us to go tins (whhhhaaaat I get to have it AGAIN tonight!), we all headed back to our respective beds for the ensuing food coma. I hope one day to be able to return the favor or at very least pass it forward; the space and time for people to feel at home miles away from their actual home, to share the love of good food and holiday spirit. It has been so important to me these past two years. Being away for thanksgiving has made me appreciate it more than ever and has made me more grateful for all the little moments with family and friends, new and old that keeps me going, keep me smiling. This time next year, I'll be home and I won't have to miss my family and I can be grateful to finally be home for the holidays.

We hopped over the physical and metaphoric mid way line.

I recently came back from our groups' mid service training, feeling reconnected to my fellow peace corps volunteers and a deep sense of pride for all we've been through together and separately. There was a sense of connectedness that nothing but time and similar experiences could provide, as well as a stellar collection of tired faces with expressions of learned acquiescence. The last time we were brought together in a formal training was in January of this year, when we thought we knew things.

Now 9 months later, we've all hit a bottom, we've all seen success and failure, and we've all adopted tico-isms for better or worse. There are few words that can express what it is like to hear that not only have your peers stared at walls for countless hours, been crushed by the weight of real life development work, and spent entire days in bed, binge watching whatever they had on their computers to cope, but that they have also done really great and wonderful things, integrating and making friends, doing cool projects in their sites and actually making a difference in the lives they've been a part of for a whole year. And, it gets even better when they are interested in the stuff you've done and say what a good job you’re doing! Imagine my surprise.

It may have happened apart, but we have gone through a lot together in just one year.  I can’t speak for others but I walk away from that training with a fuller heart, a sense of accomplishment and a returned sense of adventure. What is left of our small part here as pcvs ticks away faster and faster. Now that we've set up our routines and comfort zones in places once uncomfortable and new, we try to make the rest count as we count down the time left in this once in a lifetime adventure. 

general acceptance

August 10, 2014

Life abroad is fantastically uneventful. I recently have been catching up on way too much television, which I will choose to blame on having my last wisdom tooth being forcefully removed from its nest, deep in my jaw and then getting dry socket. I can't quite translate into Spanish  but people pretty much get that I've been in a lot of pain this past week. If dry socket is anything close to child birth… I'm seriously never having children, not ever.

Anyway, I made it through as much "Homeland" as I could manage. It’s  a television show about a Marine P.O.W. who’s sort of a terrorist but not really, whatever. Point is, in one episode he talks about what got him through while he was captured and how now that he has returned those things don't really exist any more (granted there is a script writer that makes things sound flowery and better than I can attempt to express my self). Despite never being a P.O.W. or marine, or abroad against my will, I did assume a job, with responsibilities and a lifestyle that has removed me from close access to family and friends and what seems now, an old life. It made me think about all the things that get me through.

This past week, I have wished so much that someone was here to help take care of my sorry ass. Not that there aren't people here who care, because there are. But they aren't my mom, they aren't my friends who would drop what they have for the day and come joke around to help me take my mind off of wanting to cry. The memory of these people and moments of peace I've felt, I realize are just the things that are going to get me through these low and lonely points.

But they are just memories. The world changes, people move, get girlfriends, husbands, pregnant and jobs, and when I come back I’ll have to start all over again, making a place for myself in their lives. Half my nieces and nephews have no clue who I am, even though I think of them every day. Sometimes the sun and wind remind me of my father’s beach house, or Christmas in Florida, and all my little friends here at the school remind me of my first nephew who is probably taller than I am at this point, but this is how I remember him, short and running around, being a kid.

Maybe I am being dramatic, I probably am, it’s been a hard week and I can just now get it together enough to clean my house, which was surpassing its acceptable spider quota.

Being abroad is fantastically unnoteworthy. There is little I have done in a year that I can write on a piece of paper, little forward movement in any one project, and yet I’m reminded at times of how awesome Peace Corps service is, how proud people are of me… although at times I struggle to see what they see. I’m not curing cancer, building orphanages, or even contributing much to the greater good. What I have done is become a member of a community, with a few friends and people I call family, and I do what I can, and who knows if I’m even doing that right.

All I know at this moment is I don’t want to jump off a tall building every 4 hours when the meds wear off. I will continue to do what I think I can do, but part of me feels like I want to do the things I can’t do, that seem impossible; you know the old, reach for the moon quote where you end up with the stars. But then the other part thinks I’m not made of that kind of stuff, that’s not how things work here, that I can’t do it alone and getting other people involved means the dream changes. There is no great scale I even have access to try and tip. I can’t make social change, I’m not a leader, I haven’t reached a vulnerable population and empowered them. I want to be great in the way that really can make people proud, not just that I gave up to years to live abroad and make no money. Turns out I’m finding out exactly how many expectations I walked in with and how hard it is to let go of them.

Super awesome short obligatory one year reflection post:)

In two days, the next group of volunteers flies over the gulf of Mexico to the continental divide, over two toned green mountain farmland and into San Jose….Costa Rica that is. And I (along with my cohort) will have reached a benchmark in Peace Corps service, the one year in country mark. 

I’d like to write a well thought out and really eloquent account of the trials and tribulations of this past year living and working abroad, however as I started writing, it was apparent that this eloquence would not be happening this evening. For this I apologize in advance but feel free to continue reading:)

This past Friday was also the US Independence Day and I celebrated with friends and fellow country-persons here in Costa Rica. After a year of learning and adopting new holiday traditions,  I was overwhelmed and humbled  at the notion that something from my cultural traditions was being celebrated so far from home but with so much fervor and intention. It may have been the most patriotic thing I've done for any Fourth of July, ever. I had popcorn, fro-yo, beer and a hotdog with relish, and I don't even like relish, I just ate it 'cause I could. (It was also a Nathans hotdog, which just made me miss my nephew more). Also fun fact: found out Holland was the first country to recognize the US as a sovereign nation after we declared independence 238 years ago. 

As far as in site happenings, over this past year I've noticed I have gone from a cautious observer to observant participant. I’m less a stranger now to myself and the people around me. I know how to get my point across and I generally feel supported by counterparts. I have even made friends, real ones, and invite myself to cafecitos. Every Tuesday I overcome anxiety of maybe, maybe not facing 10 years olds and teaching them basics of soccer. I have overcome the insecurity of teaching English, which does not mean I am by any means good at it, just that now I’m  less intimidated by it. I get jokes now and when everything planned falls through one day, it doesn't cause a cosmic shift in attitude. I have come a long way from lying in bed for entire days at a time, withering away into a sack of bones and exploring the depths of utter uselessness.

I’m making all sorts of moves, small as they may start out as, they mean the world to me; they are my world. I bought a radio, I’m making a garden, maybe also turning into my grandparents but who cares, they were and are pretty awesome.  

So in short, one year in country, life goes on, and this finally feels like real life. 

11 months in and the roller-coaster is only just beginning

There is something that happens at 10 months when a good friend comes to visit a peace corps volunteer. Or maybe its just me and other people are better at handling extreme nostalgia and extreme happiness at the same time.

There have been moments, with increasing frequency, that pass where I am reminded of certain people, laughs, nieces and/or nephews, foods, and sounds from what feels like a past that is slipping away. Before I hit this stage, whatever we shall call it, I was actually feeling super integrated and content with my new life, as a volunteer, ready to handle the next year and a half doing my thing, right here. Then, like a switch (perhaps catalyzed by the current teachers strike and suspension of most of my current projects/ activities), I started to disconnect.

It’s true, that with this strike I don’t see the kids at the school on a regular basis any more, nor do I get to check in with all my counterparts, especially in the high school. The high school has, for all intents and purposes, become a ghost town staffed by a few teachers, custodial staff, guards and cooks. I don’t see swaths of students milling about. The pulperias are vacant of the young romances that giggle and swoon on the front steps and dark corners of the seating area. The burger place has even closed and all has been replaced with a “what do we do now” feeling. We are only missing tumble weeds to really nail the sense of desertion around here. The teachers on one side, have every right to protest and get paid. The government on the other hand is a democratic one, with interlaced complex systems that prevent any normal citizen from fully comprehending how anything does or doesn't get done. “We shall see” and tired looks are shared as everyone, including the teachers, wait. Some have gone off to San Jose for the marches, blocked streets on busy Fridays and Mondays. They stand in solidarity with their peers who have been denied payments for at least 4 months, not necessarily because the issue effects everyone individually but rather, there is a point they are trying to make together. Get your shit together, perhaps. Seems no matter where you go, this is what the people ask of their governments.

Anyway, we are coming up on three weeks straight of la lucha. Which means if and when classes resume, teachers will be so busy catching up the month gone by, preparing for required tests and covering necessary material that us (yd) volunteers, charged with auxiliary responsibilities, will still have a hot minute to let things return to an equilibrium. Luckily I have a couple projects that hardly require student's direct participation. Well except my girls soccer practices and although I've continued to host it during this time, few have detached the idea of our soccer practices from regular school scheduling. So I have been lucky that a few have shown up at all. And since I don’t have phone numbers, communicating this to them becomes a challenge.

Getting back to my original crisis here, one having little to do with soccer or bureaucratic red tape… I find myself missing things with a depth I was unprepared for. I have had the pleasure of seeing two very good friends from the states over this last month. These two happen to have seen me at some extremes in my life. Kevin has been around since freshman year in university, a first of many periods of emotional roller-coasters. And Nicole lived in the same dorm at SIT and has jointly endured not just the Vermont 8 month long winter and race for a reason, but the under-appreciated hardships of grad school, specifically at SIT. So what happened to my inkling of disconnected-ness? Well that snowflake became the abominable snowman in like .5 seconds. They both know a past part of me that people here just don’t and they've both been exposed to, whether they wanted to or not, some of my more vulnerable moments (some of life's greatest teaching moments but still suck to go through while in them). I’d like to think that so far I have done a good job, in general, of looking forward and adjusting to new things and lifestyles. But this new ache for the familiar is new to me. I don’t miss a home, because its not a place to me. I miss certain sensations and feelings, faces; the ability to do things like drive my car to the beach to watch the sun set, or put things like beer and cheese in my own fridge. The things I thought I’d get sick of I’m actually okay with, like having to speak Spanish all the time and learning how to deal with kids ( learning something new everyday!). It's this other random flip book of images that engage my disconnected mind. Seeing my friends has brought back, in the flesh if you will, very real nostalgia for times and things I thought I've moved away from, some of these “things” I've started to miss ( not that I would trade their visits for anything, I feel very loved :)). Quick example, I never thought I'd miss such a small town in the middle of nowhere Vermont or the smell wet trees in the PNW...apparently I've lied to myself. 

I know what I need to do is reconnect and reinsert myself in my life here. I know this not because Peace Corps tells me so but because I've learned it. Things are not going to get easier or better or less sad by sitting on my crappy couch-bed eating brownie batter, refreshing my Netflix page a billion times until the movie loads. And who knows?! Maybe in a weeks time, this will have passed and I will have quit running again because I’m just toooo tired at the end of the day ( hopefully I also will not have bought more brownie mix). I miss my school actually. I miss the kids. I want to work and I don’t want to be sad. I will continue to keep looking ahead because that’s what we do, and it will be okay that my heart is a little heavy doing so, that is also what we do. 

the anticlimactic benchmark

One third done. 9 out of 27 months have been accounted for. Today was also the first day since December it has rained in our part of the valley. I think about work all the time. Its getting to the point where I need to hold off on saying yes and start digging deeper into the projects I have. Ill be kicking myself if I leave here having done a half assed job on many projects instead of a great job on a few. I had my second site visit yesterday, with Natalia, who will be leaving PC for other greater goods in the world. She told me it was time to start prioritizing so that I don’t wear myself out and so that I can make it worth while, my service. Another one of the few great people I’ve encountered in my life who have a world of knowledge and a smile that can melt any ones heart. She will be missed. 

Next week is semana santa, holy week; A time for reflection and re-connection with your faith, god or saints and/ or a spring break of sorts. School is out, businesses take time off, it’s a time when the overpopulated cities become ghost towns and the tiny beach towns are overrun with people trying to take in as much sun as possible before the rains take over the skies. Being I have no religion to get back to basics with, Ill take the vacation and the beach option. 

For now however, “real life”, I have what I consider, and Natalia would agree, a happy problem. My problem is simply I have too many leads for projects, what some volunteers spend all their service hoping to find. I got lucky, yet again. Not only did I land CR as my country of service, but I have a solid group of people to which I feel understand me and support me as a volunteer. Having made it through a third of my service, I still have a year and a half left, to include 2 semesters at SIT to register for, a trip home, an ameriwedding, some visits from friends and hopefully a small handful of projects under my belt. Every day ticks by slower than I imagine. I’m always surprised when I look at my watch and it isn’t even noon yet. But this 1/3, now that it’s over, looks pretty much like they said it would. 

Joys of language learning

I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about my horrible Spanish. Sometimes when I think, holy crap, I’ve been in country 8 months, mini pat of the back, I do a little jig and smile real big. Then I have those moments when I am communicating how I feel, the things Id like to do, confirming I am on the same page with others, and what happens is the exact opposite of a jig is..maybe die a little on the inside, I don’t know. 

But I realize that my Spanish is nowhere near as good as I want it to be and for being 8 months in, yes I know a lot of Spanish and even say stuff without thinking it out first, but it’s the basic stuff or things I’ve said a million times. And sometimes I say stuff in English in a Spanish format, verbs all switched around. Its like my brain is a drain that occasionally gets rice or oatmeal or whatever stuck in it and can only let some water through. Water gets through, and sometimes all at once, which is like a language high. But then I have moments where nothing gets through at all, nothing new, nothing coherent, correct or understood.

While I say this, I wish not to complain, for there are far too many great things happening at this point, for example, I am loading up on responsibilities left and right, getting sunburned and collapsing on my couch bed from exhaustion and I am eating whatever weird combination of foods I can think of. Also my spirits seems to running high these days and it always makes me smile when I can dance in my living room once a day, mostly to pitbull  and keisha( don’t judge).

I do think it is important though to keep track of language learning and the process, for my own purposes, I suppose no one else really cares as much as I do. But for my own progression I need to know how far I've come and where I can improve. So for now, I will really invest in at least one news paper a week or as often as I can feasible get one. I will read more stuff in general in Spanish and I will text Hazel at least once a month, yay to learning vos form. Also, having started this girls soccer thing, I hope to take advantage of their  (sometimes cruel) honesty and use it for my own learning purposes. I should also sift through my notes a little more often than once every four months to refresh the things I once knew and thought I understood, but have forgotten.

There that is my rant for today, I’m going to be better at Spanish! I promise me:)

daily gratitude

              When I first found out Costa Rica was my placement, I was a student, living on a sleepy mountain in Vermont, sitting at my dorm room style desk. It was the afternoon, when in the middle of reading like it was my job, I checked my email. My jaw literally dropped when I read the first line. My second reaction was to call my mom and freak out a little. Oh my god, what?! Are they for real?! They have to be joking! I then quickly ran and told my housemates. When it sunk in a bit, when the confetti and champagne foam settled, I felt like I was cheating. I was ready to spend 2 years in a hut with no electricity, like my friends had done, in Kenya (and are doing ). They meant to tell me I’d be in a vacation destination country doing development work not even 3 hours from my home state? If I take it, what does that say about me? Am I still, like, a real volunteer? I didn’t even know Costa Rica had Peace Corps! Lucky for me, I had a reserve of RPCV’s that I ran to in order to answer all these questions and over a few key conversations during Sodexo lunches and dinners, they indeed answered them. They reassured me that regardless, I was going to be a peace corps volunteer, a title that is never born lightly no matter where you are. My RPCV Rwanda friend told me I sucked! But the couple that served in Nicaragua said not to worry it was going to be great and not to worry what other people will say, cause they probably will hate me but also it was probably just envy; which was then affirmed by Jeremy (Rwanda). Travis and Kelly, 2 other very good friends that served in Mongolia and Kenya respectively, told me he had all the faith in the world I would be just fine and even better than I knew at the time. By weeks end I was finally convinced I was going to be a real Peace Corps volunteer no matter what and I was ready to accept my fate come what may. (shout out to all my awesome friends who gave me that extra push!)

       Now-a-days:
            Beach corps, posh corps, cuerpo de paseo, and if I were honest, we are all these things. I’m not more than 1 hour from my capitol, or a few other volunteers, or the beach, or a volcano with a lake. My site has wind, all the time, sometimes I’m cold. I live with a Tica, who is awesome, I have two awesome host families I can count on for any possible thing I could ask for. I wash my clothes by hand but in the dry season, they dry in like a day and during vacations, I sit or lay so long, I worry about bed sores. Not lacking too many creature comforts, the words of my friends stay with me from Vermont: regardless of where I am, I will have the peace corps experience. Time spent without talking (in any language), time spent having no idea what is happening, time spent crying (sometimes on street corners), time spent thinking about things you never had time to before, time spent just walking, time spent with complete strangers who are actually your only family for miles, time spent waiting for public transportation, time spent doing absolutely nothing productive, and time spent in your community, attending meetings, being available, hoping one day they may ask you to do something. Clearly it is not the same for every volunteer across the world, as some of my friends can tell you, but the experience we get in working side by side with children, parents, teachers, farmers, representatives, small business owners, community leaders, and women’s organizations is irreplaceable. And it is almost never on our own schedule, or in any way we’d organize it ourselves, but to me that’s the interesting part. To see how it comes together for others, watch the process. It’s so fascinating sometimes I don’t even get mad when nothing is technically “accomplished” except that people got together to talk about the same things over and over again (something I’m aware may get old fast but for now bare with my optimism). It’s like sitting on the bank, learning the rivers current, until you think "hey I can totally swim in that without drowning!" Then you realize you're already knee deep moving away from the shore. It starts off slow, but then you're just in it.

               Some people ask me, "how goes changing the world?". The short answer is “slow”. I’m not changing the world, but if I was, slow is how it would go.  It’s hard enough to deal with myself some days. I do not have the ability to change the world, nor the energy. I have just enough to care about those around me and want what they want that will benefit them, and their community, then make a project out of it. I do however know plenty of mountain movers and these are the people I want to keep in my life to keep lighting that fire I need at times to push me to do more, be better. They seem to be in a high concentration lately in my life, SIT and Peace Corps. When I feel like maybe I am a bit adrift I remember how strategic I have been to place myself in these circles and how the key to my success is surrounding myself with people who are more awesome than me, so I can always try and be more like them. I have amazing and wonderful friends and each and every one of them, I have to thank for getting me here, whether they realized it or not, they have been fuel to my life’s fire that keeps burning and it is only getting bigger and brighter.

its official

When I started this blog, I put a lot of time and thought into the title. I wanted something meaningful but vague enough to last me until writing in a blog was no longer cool or I gave up on it. I did the same with my email address when I was 12 years old; by trying to make an identifier so practical and versatile I could have it til I die and still be ok with it. And, in fact I still have it and use it regularly. The fact that it is a hotmail account is the only give away it was made around the year 2000.  

Anyway, part of the inspiration for the title "Pursuit of happiness and other life adventures" was, admittedly from a Kid Cudi song: "Pursuit of happiness". This and the fact that I was bound and determined to continue my adventure seeking behavior and write about said adventures. 

While the title got the message across, that happiness was important to my stories, it has always bothered me a little, because to me happiness isn't the destination, it's the process I'm writing about. If I were to be really happy then wouldn't I be enjoying the whole thing? Every once and a while, when Kid Cudi plays from my ipod, I revisit this concept. However, lacking in creativity, I eventually stopped worrying about it as my blog title and figured a better one would come to me one day. 

Well ladies and gentleman, it finally came to me, on a bus, where I do my best thinking. I figured my life has been more about my pursuit of adventure and the happiness (or any thing otherwise) that comes from it, not the adventure that comes from trying to find happiness! Done... By switching the only two words I could for it to still makes sense, it finally encapsulates why I do what I do and write about it. I was never looking for happiness like it was elusive or hard to find. I knew it had to come from me and by living the life I love, which just so happens to be full of little and big adventures I enjoy writing about.

So from here on out, until it's not cool anymore, I have officially changed my blog title. That is all. Thank you for your time and for caring about my adventures. 

tis' the season for some reason

           Being a volunteer has become a lifestyle, I no longer think of it as doing something on the side that makes me feel good. I have literally changed out a conventional lifestyle where job benefits and vacation days concern me. Instead, I worry about future projects, partners for these projects, and how I am impacting the kids in my community. I don’t have days off or weekends, nor a 401K. What I do have is a drive so fierce to do what I love that I am working just to cover housing, food and some travel and it doesn't even cross my mind to be anywhere else. My host sister asked me what I would be doing differently at this age if I could; this came after I asked what she wanted to do by 27, to which she gave me some exceptional answers. But all I could think of, was nothing, I wouldn't change a damn thing. I have had a hell of a couple months thus far, integrating, establishing my role, making friends, finding my purpose. And it’s an on-going process that won’t end until I’m no longer here. 

         I have cried more times than I’d like to admit and have thought about going home because I wasn't quite sure I even knew which end was up. But then when I thought about packing my things and leaving of the next plane, back to familiar faces and expectations, I realized I’m not ready, I’m not even close to being done here. I still have an uphill battle and I will have to be at peace with the things I am away from in the mean time, which is getting harder to do the older I get. But I am here for a reason and although sometimes that reason hides from me or avoids my phone calls, it’s always been there and I have to see it through. Being a volunteer has now been a profession of mine for, going on three years; longer than any job I've had and its part of who I am. 

         Peace Corps attracts like minded people because it’s not like we really know what we’re getting into when we come, but we believe it’ll be worth it. All the struggle and inner conflict and external discomforts, it’s the job that keeps us here, knowing that what we are learning you can’t get anywhere else. Who stays in a job that barely covers room, board and travel where you have to live in sub optimal housing, and are faced with constant emotional and spiritual introspection and questioning because if it… we do. Why? Because it’s more than a job. Just as many moments you question your purpose, you find it again when you are invited to hang out more with a group of neighbors, or the kid you thought considered you the weird foreigner girl, grins ear to ear when they see you on the bus after months. Your job is your life and your life is your job, that’s why you stay, that’s why “it’s the hardest job you’ll ever love” because it becomes part of you and your purpose. I’m willing to bet that it also why so many people feel a deep sense of loss when it’s over and decide not to go back to traditional careers paths or punching time clocks afterwards. So for now, I have taken to living in the moment, now only comes around once so I will remind myself to enjoy this moment for the remaining 80 something weeks while I still have it. 

the hopeful upswing

There is this moment, when for a brief minute I feel for sure this is where I should be, but first let me just say, I have had an interesting first couple of months here.

 Here is quick recap. My first month in site was a lot of floundering, figuring out what I was asking from people and why I needed to introduce myself to everyone. I also had to explain why this tica- looking gringa-speaking volunteer was in their community and talking to their kids. I’m still working on an exact answer. The second month I had a schedule of meetings and class times and people that asked for help and I was slowly figuring things out. The third month, December, rolled around, school let out and slowly but surely my daily encounters and routine fizzled out and was replaced with ideas of trips and mini vacations and the holiday season. This sounds like it would be a welcomed change of pace but when you are just getting the hang of your new life as you know it and it switches up on you, things start to unravel before they even came together.

The holidays themselves were a mix because at times it didn’t even feel Christmasy anyway. However, Christmas Eve I was actually really happy. I showed my host family how to make mama’s Christmas cookies and we watched "It’s a Wonderful Life" in Spanish, while I burned some chocolate. Despite a number of interruptions nothing could take my smile away. I got to open presents that were thought out just for me too! (I got slippers cause my extra long sweatpants were getting dirty from mopping the floor with them : ) ). New Years came and went a little different. I spent 4 days with, not my host family but with some teachers and their families, and very nice gesture that made me feel accepted. Unfortunately, I ended up feeling far from anything familiar or comfortable and I was at least a car, ferry and bus ride away from those things. Overall, I was mentally exhausted and had to leave when they suggested another day, as I could not longer wait it out. Despite being at the beach, peace was out of reach. The days that followed included a very difficult break up, a visit from my mom/better half that had it not been for, I would have not made it through this month without, and our IST training. The leaving of a good friend and fellow volunteer and returning from a week long training to no projects and a seemingly small handful of people who care about my return, just rounded out a very long emotional month-ish. The good, the bad, the ugly and all at once.

 December (and this first part of January) has been by far one of the most emotionally precarious periods I have experienced in a long time. It’s very hard to put into words the depths of loneliness that feeling disintegrated can bring. When you don't feel attached to your surrounds you feel detached from everything. It was slow to come about, I never saw it coming. It parallels to nothing I am familiar with. Every time I've moved to a new place by myself, there was always a preexisting system I walked into. Whether it was Tampa for university, Maryland for AmeriCorps or Seattle, I either arrived with clear objectives, direct instructions on my role, or a group of friends I already knew and loved. Here, no previous PCV has served ( so no one else knows what I am doing either), I am still learning the language and the school system in which I am to work, and my job is what I make it, giving me just enough “creative space” to drown in. 

To add insult to injury I've realized the people I have grown to count on for direction and support, besides my own group, will be leaving before we know it, turning their sights on their next big adventures. These are my friends who, above all, understand what I am going through, encourage me, could answer my panicked phones calls, and have been there to reassure me I was doing all the right things. They reminded to have faith in the process and were there when I was at my worst. First to leave is the one person I made my main support, my crutch as the more I needed this connection to someone special, and depended on outside happiness, the harder it was to recuperate or start all over again by myself. I wrapped hope and comfort up in him and felt like there was some level of control I actually had still in my life, not the easiest of good byes. Despite wanting to hang on until the very end, the reality is that we face two very different and separate challenges, and being so much a like, we will ultimately have to do them apart.

It is safe to say that yes, I am going to be fine, this will not last forever. This emotional precipice with the tears already at the surface waiting for a cute picture of a puppy or strong wind to blow for their turn to fall, actually allows for some moments of real clarity. It is through a deeply felt pain that I think we can feel the most ourselves, experiencing all we are capable of. I realize also that I wouldn’t leave now if given the chance, and that must mean something. I am not alone, there are others better and worse off than I, but we have all felt something similar to the stress and pain of integrating, constructing our role within an entire community from the ground up and facing consistent disappointments. The beauty in this, however, is that eventually, when you crawl out of that dark place for some fresh air, go for a walk and see that life is happening for everyone else and you can start to appreciate the freedom you have to create your own dimensions of your world, and yourself.

One of the biggest lessons I have learned through all of this, is it has nothing to do with being alone, but everything to do with what I am doing to take care of myself and that looking to external sources to fill the gaps will only harm me in the end. No one can give you or teach you inner peace; you learn it through practice and relying on yourself to be happy. We can put ourselves out there to make friends, watch comedy, call those who can listen to you, cry if we need to, listen to good outdoor concert bands, learn our limits, leave if we have to, give it our best. But we don’t have to give up.