I think I have been home for exactly 3 weeks now. The parasites are slowly dissolving, my body temperature is adjusting to New York’s warm winter, and I have omitted every “ah vaya” from my daily conversations.
So that’s it, huh, Peace Corps? Two years of an adventure, two years struggling on those dusty roads, two years crying and laughing my heart out...and then it’s over. You just tear me from that fertile ground where I was just starting to blossom and try to replant me here in this concrete jungle. Well, what did you expect? My early leaf is surely not a flower.
Don’t fret, just yet. My homecoming has been a welcoming experience. My whole family was waiting for me at the airport, 3 chelita sisters, a big Italian Dad and my rubia Mom and we walked into my balloon decorated home where our jolly chucha greeted me with whimpers and elated yelps at the disbelief that there was once again 4 of us.
The first week is great, long chats on the sofa, great meals and awesome showers. Your blow drier creates an entirely new head of hair. You don’t sweat immediately upon leaving your front door and you can sit right down upon that floor inside your house (so cool!)
But then Mom goes to work, sisters to school or whatever they do inside those big, tall office buildings that clutter NYC. Even your dog abandons you for a good bone.
And you are left rummaging through photos from the good ole days. Yup, the chicken bus rides, the eggs, the beans, the rice, the skin rashes and eye inflammations. You see your hammock, not hung happily from wall to wall, but plopped in a bundle on the closet shelf. You share some phone conversations with the kids you became buddies with, but their Spanish voices break your now weak corazon.
What do you do now? I tried twiddling my thumbs, but it gets old after a few hours.
I am actually one of the very lucky ones. I wasn’t just uprooted and thrown into a Nursery, I had my own container. I could crash back at my parents’ house. My community has been an amazing support system and many have offered to help me in the job search. Plus, NYC has Volunteer groups, culture, personality and options.
So what’s the problem? The problem is: ME.
I don’t want to take that 9-5 job! I have developed a head full of ideas while living in El Salvador. If there is one thing that 4 blank walls and a dirt flood is good for (besides making you crazy) it is conjuring up some good thoughts. Okay, maybe I should give my Salvadoran host families some credit.
But, I see the world differently now. And I would like you all to take a look through my lens. So please keep following me, through my blog, or quite literally, as I use my new vision on a very important mission.
