Wow, blog, you and I have a lot of catching up to do! As they say in Zambia, long time! One reason you haven’t heard from me is because for a while I didn’t think I had anything interesting or worthwhile to tell you. Now that I’ve begun thinking about exactly what it is I want to tell you, however, I realize that I have too much to tell you, don’t know where to begin and am unsure that if I do whether I will know how to stop.
I want to tell you that in the last 12 months my job has been to help teenagers ease the stress and fear of having babies, to learn along with diabetic patients about how to manage their disease, to help parents devise plans of disciplining their children and teach them how to potty train (my least favorite topic of the day), to assist women who want to leave their alcoholic, abusive or unfaithful husbands, to feign the part of a mini-mental health counselor (when I’m in doubt I always resort to discussing deep breathing), and so on. It is a tough job because I’m always out of my comfort zone, I am usually seeing a whole lot of suffering, and I am confined to the indoors all day. It is a good job because it has taught me a lot about myself and what I want for my future "career", has given me many inspirational coworkers as my teachers and it allows me to help others even if I don't always know how to help.
I also think it would be therapeutic, yet undesirable, to tell you about the cloud of anxiety and depression that has hung over my head the last year or so. The simple version is that a little bit of the paragraph above, along with snippets of the paragraph below mixed together to create the perfect conditions for my last months of melancholy. I’ve been learning about how to bring in more sunshine though. My therapy has been spending significant amounts of time in the Colorado mountains, practicing as much yoga, meditation and prayer as possible, reveling in live music, rambling in my journal every day, reminding myself that I don’t have to be brushing my teeth under the moon and stars to gaze at them in wonder, laughing at things that aren’t necessarily so funny, and keeping people that understand me close to my heart. Funny how all of these therapies are exactly what brightened my day in Zambia. How I wish it was as easy here to carve out time for such essential treatments.
Mostly blog, I want to tell you about how much I miss Zambia and how much it aches. I want to tell you how sometimes I will silently whisper Bemba words to myself, simply to make sure I haven't forgotten too much. I want to tell you about the nights I’ll have vividly dreamt about returning there and seeing how much the children from the Mulomo family have grown, and will wake up with a pain in my heart at how quickly time passes by. I want to go back to the girl that wrote entries to you years ago and remind her to savor every moment, even though I know she did her best.
I want to tell you about how grateful I am that a girl named Natalie moved into Fiwila about a year ago, but how jealous I am when I log onto facebook and see photos posted of MY village that I did not post. I am so thankful that Natalie helps me keep in touch with my friend Paxina and because of her every so often I will get bright pink airmail envelopes from Mkushi as proof that I did actually live in Zambia and that no, Paxina has not forgotten about me.
I want to tell you about how much I miss lazy mornings, 30 k bike rides through the African bush, falling asleep to children singing in harmony under a glittering sky, gazing at a fire almost every night, and the ever present feeling of aliveness no matter how uncomfortable, annoying or inconvenient life there could be.
I remind myself that I can choose to carry all of these moments and friendships with me as long as I wish and friendships don’t disappear with distance. But I also remind myself that I am grieving a loss of how things once were and that it is okay to feel sad. That I do not have to apologize of the fact that I have been home for 16 months now and still don’t feel adjusted to American life. I remind myself how thankful I am to have friends from Peace Corps going through the exact same thing that I can laugh with and whine with about how damn difficult and stressful it can be here.
I want to tell you that in the last 12 months my job has been to help teenagers ease the stress and fear of having babies, to learn along with diabetic patients about how to manage their disease, to help parents devise plans of disciplining their children and teach them how to potty train (my least favorite topic of the day), to assist women who want to leave their alcoholic, abusive or unfaithful husbands, to feign the part of a mini-mental health counselor (when I’m in doubt I always resort to discussing deep breathing), and so on. It is a tough job because I’m always out of my comfort zone, I am usually seeing a whole lot of suffering, and I am confined to the indoors all day. It is a good job because it has taught me a lot about myself and what I want for my future "career", has given me many inspirational coworkers as my teachers and it allows me to help others even if I don't always know how to help.
I also think it would be therapeutic, yet undesirable, to tell you about the cloud of anxiety and depression that has hung over my head the last year or so. The simple version is that a little bit of the paragraph above, along with snippets of the paragraph below mixed together to create the perfect conditions for my last months of melancholy. I’ve been learning about how to bring in more sunshine though. My therapy has been spending significant amounts of time in the Colorado mountains, practicing as much yoga, meditation and prayer as possible, reveling in live music, rambling in my journal every day, reminding myself that I don’t have to be brushing my teeth under the moon and stars to gaze at them in wonder, laughing at things that aren’t necessarily so funny, and keeping people that understand me close to my heart. Funny how all of these therapies are exactly what brightened my day in Zambia. How I wish it was as easy here to carve out time for such essential treatments.
Mostly blog, I want to tell you about how much I miss Zambia and how much it aches. I want to tell you how sometimes I will silently whisper Bemba words to myself, simply to make sure I haven't forgotten too much. I want to tell you about the nights I’ll have vividly dreamt about returning there and seeing how much the children from the Mulomo family have grown, and will wake up with a pain in my heart at how quickly time passes by. I want to go back to the girl that wrote entries to you years ago and remind her to savor every moment, even though I know she did her best.
I want to tell you about how grateful I am that a girl named Natalie moved into Fiwila about a year ago, but how jealous I am when I log onto facebook and see photos posted of MY village that I did not post. I am so thankful that Natalie helps me keep in touch with my friend Paxina and because of her every so often I will get bright pink airmail envelopes from Mkushi as proof that I did actually live in Zambia and that no, Paxina has not forgotten about me.
I want to tell you about how much I miss lazy mornings, 30 k bike rides through the African bush, falling asleep to children singing in harmony under a glittering sky, gazing at a fire almost every night, and the ever present feeling of aliveness no matter how uncomfortable, annoying or inconvenient life there could be.
I remind myself that I can choose to carry all of these moments and friendships with me as long as I wish and friendships don’t disappear with distance. But I also remind myself that I am grieving a loss of how things once were and that it is okay to feel sad. That I do not have to apologize of the fact that I have been home for 16 months now and still don’t feel adjusted to American life. I remind myself how thankful I am to have friends from Peace Corps going through the exact same thing that I can laugh with and whine with about how damn difficult and stressful it can be here.
I lastly want to tell you about my feelings of guilt, confusion and helplessness weeks ago as I sat on the cozy couch in my mother's air-conditioned home, eating ice cream and watching CNN. How Anderson Cooper appeared from Somalia and the screen flashed images of children dying from lack of food. How he interviewed Jill Biden urging Americans to donate money to a certain organization which I had seen operate in Zambia and, in my humble opinion, not necessarily use funds appropriately. For everyone else that is interested in how they can help during this crisis, please see the following link to read more about an initiative created by one of my Peace Corps friends:
https://usa.wfp.org/campaign/absurd
So, in a nutshell, blog, this has been my last year. I plan to continue learning about myself and how I can remain a world citizen even if I am no longer considered an expat. In fact, I’d like to talk with you more. I know I could continue telling you about my life curriculum above, but I think I’ll save most of it for my journal.
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