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| Water Committee Seminar |
Photos from my water committee seminar in August! Sorry they're so delayed!
Monday, October 3, 2011
The End
At the beginning, two years seemed interminable. I really thought that it would never end. And then, when the end finally came, it was abrupt and surreal. One day I just packed everything up and got on a bus, and that was that. Standing by the road and waiting for the bus with my neighbor Marta, her kids and my friends Yasmila and Rudolpho was the hardest part of the two years. Every second that we stayed on the road, I felt the tears welling up inside of me and knew that the moment I actually climbed onto the bus was going to be a disaster. I cried, Marta cried, Lily (Marta's daughter) cried, Yasmila cried. Then I got on the bus and was gone. The end. Almost like it had never happened.
Except it did.
A couple weeks ago, I was talking to Marta about the end, and going back and all my hopes and fears. She told me that when I first got here, she thought that American's were "special". She said that she thought we were different and better than Panamanians, and how could we have anything in common? What would we talk about? I asked her, with a laugh, whether I had proved that we aren't anything special. She laughed and told me that, by being her friend, I was even more special to her.
But, when I thought about that afterwards, how she thought that all American's were "special", I realized that that's how I thought of myself when I got here. I was special, independent, individual. Not better or worse, but different, unique. However, to live in Panama, or as a Peace Corps volunteer anywhere, I had to learn how to be one of many. I had to unlearn my individuality, and learn how to function as part of a community. Even when it came to selling my house, the house I paid for and for all intents and purposes belonged to me, the community had to decide whether I was allowed to. At the beginning, that would have enraged me and my American sense of entitlement to what's mine. But after two years, it was only mildly irritating.
I may be unique and have my own attributes that I contribute to the world, but I'm not alone in it. I have learned how to appreciate the opportunities that being born in the U.S. has given me and responsibility that comes with that. But more importantly, I've learned in these two years what I missed by being born at the top of the pyramid. I learned the struggle and the joy of living in a developing world. There came a moment in my service when I surrendered to the struggle, when I let go of all my American structure, and just started flowing with the current of Panamanian life. That was the moment that I fell in love with Peace Corps, Panama and my community. And that was the moment when I was able to relate with everyone on a personal level. That was when I stopped being special, and just became another person trying to live.
The life lessons of Peace Corps were plentiful, but I think the humanity and interconnectedness of living in rural Panama (or rural anywhere) is what I will cherish, and miss, the most.
It's been a pleasure, Panama. Thank you.
Except it did.
A couple weeks ago, I was talking to Marta about the end, and going back and all my hopes and fears. She told me that when I first got here, she thought that American's were "special". She said that she thought we were different and better than Panamanians, and how could we have anything in common? What would we talk about? I asked her, with a laugh, whether I had proved that we aren't anything special. She laughed and told me that, by being her friend, I was even more special to her.
But, when I thought about that afterwards, how she thought that all American's were "special", I realized that that's how I thought of myself when I got here. I was special, independent, individual. Not better or worse, but different, unique. However, to live in Panama, or as a Peace Corps volunteer anywhere, I had to learn how to be one of many. I had to unlearn my individuality, and learn how to function as part of a community. Even when it came to selling my house, the house I paid for and for all intents and purposes belonged to me, the community had to decide whether I was allowed to. At the beginning, that would have enraged me and my American sense of entitlement to what's mine. But after two years, it was only mildly irritating.
I may be unique and have my own attributes that I contribute to the world, but I'm not alone in it. I have learned how to appreciate the opportunities that being born in the U.S. has given me and responsibility that comes with that. But more importantly, I've learned in these two years what I missed by being born at the top of the pyramid. I learned the struggle and the joy of living in a developing world. There came a moment in my service when I surrendered to the struggle, when I let go of all my American structure, and just started flowing with the current of Panamanian life. That was the moment that I fell in love with Peace Corps, Panama and my community. And that was the moment when I was able to relate with everyone on a personal level. That was when I stopped being special, and just became another person trying to live.
The life lessons of Peace Corps were plentiful, but I think the humanity and interconnectedness of living in rural Panama (or rural anywhere) is what I will cherish, and miss, the most.
It's been a pleasure, Panama. Thank you.
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