On love and loss

Hello all,

I hope this post finds you well. January was a strange month. Unfortunately, three community members died in Manzanillo and I spent quite a lot of time deep in reflective conversations about love and loss. Back stateside, two friends from home and college tragically passed away, and a pseudo-brother underwent brain surgery. In the spirit of honoring those who have passed, I want to take a moment to thank each of you for the role you play in my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without you, so I am sending you gratitude, slobbery kisses, and bear hugs. I remind myself to savor the moments I spend with my neighbors, host mothers, siblings, kid-friends, and talking on the phone to you all because...well, life is precious. In reflecting, I also want to be more conscious of the service I am providing here and the ways in which I can do more for myself and others daily. 

Yesterday I found myself in the midst of what I’ve come to call “A Peace Corps Day.” A Peace Corps Day, as I have coined, is a day in which I wake up feeling like I can conquer the world, then around ten o’clock “the worst thing in the world” happens. Examples include: finding out I will have to live with my host family indefinitely because rent in Manzanillo ($80/mth) is too expensive for me to move out on my own, the hospital presentation I’ve been preparing for a week doesn’t happen because the lights go off and 75% of the women speak only Creole, the high schoolers talk during my entire sex ed class on self-esteem, my host mom gives me fried bananas for breakfast and I haven’t pooped in six days, I can’t find the lizard that crawled into my bed with me last night, etc.

The morning progresses and I’m still upset, angry and on the verge of tears. I eat a nice big lunch of rice and beans and things start shaping up. I look at my watch hoping I have time to pop into bed for a siesta, but then, I remember I have something scheduled (a meeting, an English class, a women’s group, a neighbor to visit, a presentation to prepare) and can’t get out of it. So I call a friend to vent before heading to the meeting where low and behold, my day starts shaping up again. I take charge of the meeting, plan something awesome in my youth group, teach two hard lessons in English class, meet a new doña who gives me candy and coffee, or generally just feel the sense of kicking ass coming back. I keep going about my day feeling great. I have a productive conversation with my project partner, take a walk around town and realize that my life is, in fact, amazing. I finally get to eat some mashed platanos for dinner and settle into a peaceful slumber around ten o’clock.

In twelve hours, I’ve managed to feel a ridiculous combination of happy, sad, angry, frustrated, fulfilled, satisfied, and motivated. Looking back on the entire day, it’s a net positive. It’s a Peace Corps Day. It’s a day where I feel thankful to be exactly where I am...living, breathing, serving. While I have minutes and hours where I feel so small, meek and beaten down, at the end of the day I’ve learned something. I’ll be a better person tomorrow because of the challenges I faced today (and in the Peace Corps, I’m finding myself struggling (for better and for worse) more than I ever have before). I can deal with not having water for bathing, reliable electricity or vegetables for weeks at a time because getting carried away with the small frustrations leaves me little time to think about what I really want to accomplish. Life is made of small steps, but taking too many small steps never gives us the chance to leap, bound or make strides. Much of this I have learned from the people here. 

This is a country of riches, not wealth. A country where money is only worth counting when it can be measured by the beans and rice one can buy and the coffee one can toast to her neighbors. I am in a country where the people are smiling, even on a bad day. When even though you can’t buy a bigger house or nicer phone, you always have your family and you always have enough oil to fry some plantains. And if you don’t have enough oil, you’ve got plenty of neighbors who will lend you some.

Time here is not measured or kept in minutes, but in how many chairs one can add to add to a growing group on the street and how many stories you share with friends in a long, lazy afternoon. This is a country where yelling from across the house is the only way to call someone’s attention and whispering should never be done. One can scold a friend’s child herself, or take said child for a walk, motorcycle ride, or ice cream at any time of day without warning. I can show up at a neighbors, friends, grandma’s or the mayor’s house unannounced, and if I don’t stop by at least once a day, I’m in trouble. The sum of these small parts creates a beautiful reality - one I am thankful to be living. 

As my pseudo-brother and three time brain surgery survivor wrote in a recent blog post: "May we always see this world for what it is and truly appreciate whatever we may be so fortunate to find within it."

I hope to hear from you soon, if only to know you're well. Know that I've been thinking about you all in the wake of one of the more challenging months I've been through. 

Sending all kinds of love!