These past two-three weeks have been very hard for me. I knew all summer that this end-of-year stuff was coming and thought I was processing things ok and that I was mentally and emotionally prepared...until it actually arrived. The day the rest of the interns left was my first emotional jolt and the hardest day of my entire year here so far. I cried like a baby and eventually couldn't stand to be on the base; everything was so creepy and empty and quiet and sad. In the afternoon I went to town looking for a diversion and ended up going shopping, and then later that evening Jess and Katie were so sweet and invited me to go watch their volleyball tournament. I was so thankful for that!
Then the next day was the day we single SI girls left for our beach stay. Jess, Katie, myself, Arlene, Amy Green, and Amy Babb had reserved two little beach condos for a whole week and I can't say enough about how wonderful it was! There couldn't possibly be a better way to end the summer! The place we stayed at was called The Nanny (below are a few pictures) and it was such a quiet and peaceful place to unwind and refocus. We spent our 5 1/2 days there eating, sleeping, reading, journaling, walking the beach, watching the kite surfers (Cabarete is a famous beach for kite surfing), and just enjoying each others' company. It was the perfect environment for me to sit and process the experiences of my past year and to just pray and think.
In my re-entry processing and thinking through the past year I was reminded of some blog posts written by other North American staff members that stood out to me when I initially read them. They gave me a lot of food for thought and I feel like they expressed some of my own thoughts and experiences so well that I'm just going to quote them. So, the following excerpts in quotation marks are not my words, but I echo their sentiments.
One experience of the past year that has definitely opened my eyes has been, in the words of Ryan and Caroline Holloway, what it is to: "...be a minority (or more maybe accurately...an immigrant). It's one of those things I've always thought about as probably being tough...and it really is. Either people really are staring at me, or I'm just paranoid that they are because I know I stick out. It sort of feels like my privacy is being invaded while I'm in public because I don't blend in. I was thinking...is part of the reason that races in the US often settle together because they don't want to feel like that all the time?
...be assumed to be rich because I'm white. First, White and American are the same thing, and second American means rich. The funny thing is that we're probably average middle class here. Now they don't have a big middle class, but that's where we'd fit. My thought is this...It feels uncomfortable and even a little hurtful when people assume we're rich, I bet it's way worse to be assumed to be poor."
And this post by my amazing friend Amy Babb (we get to fly out together, which is SO NICE) that she posted six weeks before we were to fly home actually made me cry. I have nothing to add to it; although it's from her own experiences, I understand it and it speaks my heart as well:
"It's a rainy Saturday morning and I am sitting on my bed in my robe looking out the open door to a moss and lichen-covered tree filled with limes. I ache sometimes when I catch these glimpses of exquisite beauty, knowing that soon and very soon I will not have the privilege of seeing this same view again.
I am leaving 6 weeks from today. Writing it gives me a suffocated feeling.
I am going back to America, LAND that I LOOOOVE (from the mountains, to the valleys...) and I often ask my God
WHY?
because I basically have the most awesome life ever. I get to look out my bedroom door at lime trees; listen to children laughing while the rooster crows atop his perch on Ysidro's lawn mower. I get to roll my rumbly old jeep down the ragged road of El Callejon, crammed with 6 or 7 people, a lunch box and some water jugs while kids run toward us calling out my name, "EMI!!!" I get to spend hours mixing paint colors, encouraging muralists to keep on painting amid the heat and bugs and rain and dirt. I get to take profound truths leaving in Spanish from Francisco's lips, translate them and send them on to English hearing ears, watching eyes widen or close depending on how the words are received in the hearts.
Martina squeezes me tight in the mornings on my way to the breakfast line. Natan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not quite ready to greet the day with cheer (or my smile).
I have an incredible life.
Only 6 more weeks of Chinola juice. 6 more weeks of Sancocho. 6 more weeks of dodging motorcycles, of passionate worship, of kisses on the cheeks, of brightly color-coordinated women and waxed and preened men, of copy shops being out of paper and grocery stores being out of bread, of ice cream shops being out of ice cream and restaurants being out of cheese.
6 more weeks of junky old pick-ups loudly selling mattresses, platanos (a do' peso') and mother-in-laws.
And 6 more weeks of my beautiful friends.
I am leaving 6 weeks from today. Writing it gives me a suffocated feeling.
I am going back to America, LAND that I LOOOOVE (from the mountains, to the valleys...) and I often ask my God
WHY?
because I basically have the most awesome life ever. I get to look out my bedroom door at lime trees; listen to children laughing while the rooster crows atop his perch on Ysidro's lawn mower. I get to roll my rumbly old jeep down the ragged road of El Callejon, crammed with 6 or 7 people, a lunch box and some water jugs while kids run toward us calling out my name, "EMI!!!" I get to spend hours mixing paint colors, encouraging muralists to keep on painting amid the heat and bugs and rain and dirt. I get to take profound truths leaving in Spanish from Francisco's lips, translate them and send them on to English hearing ears, watching eyes widen or close depending on how the words are received in the hearts.
Martina squeezes me tight in the mornings on my way to the breakfast line. Natan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not quite ready to greet the day with cheer (or my smile).
I have an incredible life.
Only 6 more weeks of Chinola juice. 6 more weeks of Sancocho. 6 more weeks of dodging motorcycles, of passionate worship, of kisses on the cheeks, of brightly color-coordinated women and waxed and preened men, of copy shops being out of paper and grocery stores being out of bread, of ice cream shops being out of ice cream and restaurants being out of cheese.
6 more weeks of junky old pick-ups loudly selling mattresses, platanos (a do' peso') and mother-in-laws.
And 6 more weeks of my beautiful friends.
O Jarabacoa, what am I going to do without you? I have loved you and I have hated you and I have laughed at you and also with you. I have cried with you, turned my back on you, invited you back in and spilled my heart onto you. I will never be the same."
Thank you, God, for such an incredible year of growth and blessings, of challenging experiences, of wonderful people who touched my heart, of laughter and tears, of learning to love life and learning to live to love for Your name's sake. I, too, will never be the same.
"For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
-Ephesians 3:14-21
No comments:
Post a Comment