SO A Year, ALREADY?!

I found this entry somewhat buried within my computer. I know I’m posting it a little later (only 3 months lol) than originally planned, but I promised I would do better about keeping the updates fresh, so here’s me keeping my word. Enjoy!

4/19/2012

I’m in utter disbelief. Exactly one year ago to the date, I boarded a colectivo (bus) with Jaime (G-mate/neighboring volunteer), half my luggage, and a very nervous anticipation of what awaited me in my new (and permanent) home of Isla Pucú. 12 MONTHS AGO.  To say it doesn’t feel like 365 days worth of time has gone by at all would be an understatement. The clocks ticked away painfully slow during training (my first 3 months living here), but have flown by ever since.  I’m looking back and trying to remember how I got to where I am now. In short, I’d have to say my host family the Gonzalez-Diazs’ have played a huge part. Generally speaking many Peace Corps volunteers would probably agree that after already been required to live with a host family for 3 months, the thought of living under the roof of another one isn’t exactly thrilling. And it’s nothing against host families or anything, really. Most are as guiding and supportive as a family away from home can possibly be, some even more so. The groaning and heavy sighing has more to do with a craving for privacy (complete privacy) in conjunction with independence. We sat uncomfortably through somewhat informative sessions for days on end longing all the while to put our new skills to instant good use and explore our surroundings with uninhibited curiosity. Instead, however we were restricted under a different (but equally as watchful) eye for yet another 3 months. It’s sort of like training a bird to fly within a cage then sending it off with your blessing….to an aviary. I mean is it ever truly gonna be able to soar or learn on it’s own within confinement? Of course not, but rules are rules which means some of us (whether we like it or not) have to remain sheltered beneath a protective wing just a little longer than planned.  So, I shook off my dissatisfaction and braced myself for more awkward encounters where due to a lack of confidence I consistently stifled thoughts like: “It’s not that I don’t speak Spanish, it’s that you talk so fast I can’t understand you” and “The reason a third party isn’t necessary to inquire about my personal life is because I’m sitting right beside you.” Oh the good ol’ days when my only worry was whether I rolled that last “r” audibly enough seem like only a distant memory now.  And in a way, they kinda are. I’m proud to say that within a year’s time, I’ve overcome my verguenza (embarrassment) and there is significantly less gesturing from my host mother when I stop by for my weekly visits (although she does throw one in there every now and then, for old time’s sake).  Since I moved out and have been living on my own, I have come to appreciate her all the more. When something went awry before it was simply added to the topics of conversation at mealtime, but in my own household I have to either be my own hero or go retrieve the nearest neighbor (which is not at all easy being Paraguayans never seem to run low on excuses, ever). Presently, I better understand and fully respect the Peace Corps policy and the importance stressed in community integration beginning with host families. It’s through them that we learn how to “blend in” (despite the book bags we lug around that are an obvious giveaway). We arrived here lost and in a daze (that is if you aren’t fluent, which I was not), but host families help to ease the initial shock. They are our very first, and if we’re lucky a continuous support system. At the end of the day, we all just want to be accepted and if not, knowing there is at least one person in this foreign land rooting for us is encouraging.  Sincerely speaking, there are days when I’d rather pack my bags and book the next flight out, but I’d hate to look back at this experience and have the dreaded “what ifs’’” haunt me.  On top of that, it’s true we are our own worse critics, but imagining the disappointment of TWO moms as well is probably, unbearable. And it’s wise of me to not desire to test that theory, agreed? Plus I’m no quitter, so I shove the reoccurring thought of giving up without a fight to the back of my mind and press on. I mean, I made it this far, didn’t I? It seems I’ve proven to others and (most importantly) to myself that I am capable of pushing the limits and any doubts only add fuel the fire. So, I look forward to what this coming year brings with hope rather than hesitance. I spent the majority of my service thus far learning there are things you just can’t influence a person to change, but for the remainder of it I expect to learn of the things I can. Crazy as it sounds I may have arrived over 365 days ago, but it feels like I’ve only just found my niche. We’re assigned for a two-year term for a reason after all, and I’m told year two is when the ball truly gets rolling. That being said, I can’t wait to see what the second half of my service holds and share what more I’ve experienced after another year. I’m sure my friends and loved ones are just as eager as I am, but I wouldn’t wish time to pass any faster than it already is. I can barely keep track of the memories I'm making as it is!

PS- Check out the photos below of Rose and I’s cookout to commemorate this significant accomplishment. We’re halfway done whoo-hoo! J

About to cook up some Tilapia!

Jose saved the day by helping us start up the grill :)

Broken House Blues

If I remember correctly, I believe I squealed when I read about the possibility of owning a casa before officially moving here. Of course I'd never done so before (squealed without warning nor been a homeowner) and the idea of having something of my own made me ecstatic. Like most women, I was fully prepared to bring forth my best decorating skills and put them to good use (call it the "domesticating" gene programmed within us I suppose). I was not however, prepared for the mountain of responsibility that comes with a house. Sure, I was aware that any home (no matter the size) needs upkeep and a few repairs every now and then, but in another country (specifically an economically challenged one) it's just different. Resources and building materials are limited, and as a result houses are constructed with either too much or too little ventilation/insulation, faulty electricity, and mediocre plumbing. Now don't get me wrong, this is what I signed up for after all. I want to be clear that I'm very grateful for my house flaws and all, because at the end of the day I'm one of the lucky ones. I've never had to stitch or pin fabric together for climate protection and privacy nor drawn water from a well or river to bathe in, so the concept of things like indoor plumbing and 4 walls is only for the privileged. Simply put, I definitely count my blessings more times that not. However, there are often times I fantasize about throwing my hands up, dragging my belongings back downhill, and pleading with my host family to take the “helpless Americana” in once more. Of course I’d have to explain myself, and the best answer I’d give would probably be something along the lines of “I just miss my worry-free days of residing in your household.” (Or “Es que extraño mucho viviendo aquí sin problemas” is how they’d hear it.) When I come back to reality, I am comforted by the fact that being such kind people, the Diazs’ would surely take me in again, but I have to quickly remind myself that I wanted this. While living amongst them, I felt there was this itch for my own space and true privacy that I couldn’t quite scratch. The decision to give complete independence a shot was solely my own. Maybe the stubbornness in me sees returning there again as the easy way out, the obvious result of my failed attempt at adult responsibility. Maybe this is a far too Americanized mindset to have in the first place. I mean in order to start over you have to revert to the beginning, don’t you? And I’ve found in the Latin American culture this is understood. Only Americans take failure to heart and consider going back home to be a disappointment to everyone (oneself included). Here, however, children of all ages are welcomed again and again with open arms and contagious grins. I could be one of them, but the thought of deserting what I put my hard-earned money into and created for myself just doesn’t make sense (considering the factors that would be driving me away). True, technically I'm just a tenant, but my dueños (landlords) were kind enough to allow me to paint and nail a few things to the walls so it feels like a home away from home. If a problem comes up, I attempt (and usually succeed) to fix it myself. If a bigger problem comes up, I call on my dueños for help. And if there is a problem that neither of us can solve, I adjust as needed. Honestly, it can be very frustrating at times but I'm learning from the experience, and by living alone I'm learning even more. I've become more resourceful and appreciate what little I have. It may not be much or the most beautiful residence to ever exist, but its mine for now and the struggles I've encountered (and listed below) only make me stronger, right?

-No water all summer (3 months); The theory goes it's because my house is located uphill so water is sort of at a standstill but runs freely downhill. I personally think it's because my pipes are old and need to be replaced, otherwise what explains the rusty looking and smelling water? Also I might add that I could not boil anything, water my garden nor clean dishes, and had to shower at my host family's home (they live about 3 blocks away). Even now I keep a lot of bottled water around and fill up the empty ones to be boiled later if ever necessary.

-No electricity; When it's a scorching hot day or down-pouring the electricity goes without fail. I've learned to always have something on hand that doesn't require cooking (i.e. sandwich stuff) or if it looks cloudy to opt for an early lunch or dinner. Asi es (that's just the way it is).

-No air; Having a/c is a luxury that I cannot afford, so all I have to survive the highs of 105 degree weather during the summertime here are ceiling fans and an abundant stock of ice in the freezer. It’s not so bad. The real problem however, is the humidity of which I cannot escape even in my own home. (Paraguay is a tropical climate so it comes with the territory, literally) As a result of this, the plaster/paint from the ceilings in every room started to crumble about two months ago, and now leaves dusty clusters wherever it lands (on my and the guest beds, in the shower, on the kitchen table, etc.). My friends and I jokingly call it “snow” because it falls leisurely and also happens to be white. There isn’t much to be done about this except to leave the windows open when I’m present, and dust off my bed before I climb into it at night. The more permanent solution would be to have all of the ceilings scraped clean which is both not a quick-fix and also time-consuming so therefore probably not going to happen. (Shrugs).

Now on the days I have to face all of these misfortunes at the same time, I’m a wreck and don’t find being a homeowner to be worth it (lol). Yet, on the days I’m prepared and calm, I sometimes surprise myself with my patient responsiveness.  I’ll always have the old “Americanized” part of myself that’s got the “never give up” mantra deeply engrained within me. However, the newly enlightened side of me (since living in the “other” America) knows even when I make a mistake or a rash decision that I have to live with (literally), there will always be someone not too far away willing to take me in or help if I’m not too proud to ask. For the moment though I plan to tough out my blues, that way if a "blizzard" hits at least my neighbors will say I died trying, ha.