the days i just want to be home

Yes, I admit, I have those days. They are frequent in fact, probably more than you think. I have a hard time writing about those days though, maybe partly because I don’t want tot think about it, but also, who wants to read a bitter, angry, and depressed blog? No one, probably, and I don’t feel like publishing that stuff anyway. But I have many days that don’t go so well emotionally, and I feel like my blog would somehow be incomplete if I didn’t at least share a part of that.

The longer I’m here, the easier it gets, but at the same time, the longer I’m here, the harder it gets. I have now been in country fro 10 months (that leaves 17 for those of you counting down) and the magic and newness has worn off and some of the initial charms are no longer there. It gets easier for me not to see my family and talk to my friends, but I miss them more specifically and more dearly and am trying to brace myself for a Christmas season without them. I get along quite well without access to many familiar and comforting American foods and products, but it has produced a strange, glutton-type of attitude that has caused me to do strange things like, eat a pound of dried mangoes in 4 days, make pancakes with peanut butter every day for a week, or eat an entire Pringle’s super stack in approximately 3 hours. I could have eaten it faster, but I was in fact restraining myself. I am used to my form of communication with almost everyone I care about being reduced to emails and am used to my internet not working, but that incredible gift of internet often makes me feel more alone and isolated when I sign online to have my gmail tell me, “your inbox is empty.” I have adapted very well to speaking Spanish every day, and don’t find Guarani quite as tiring, but I now struggle to know how to communicate in my own language, now knowing which vocabulary words to use or grammar rules to follow.

Is it obvious that the most trying things are not the physical challenges which are so easy to describe and write about, but the emotional challenges that are often bottled up, too confusing and painful to let out? I truly don’t mind my rickety, wooden house with holes in it, and I can take a cold shower or bucket bathe without complaints. I can live with the dozens of bug bites that itch so badly, I wake myself up in the middle of the night, scratching until I bleed. I can deal with walking to my neighbors well 8 times in a day so that I can wash my clothes when the water goes out. I can laugh at the red dirt that lodges itself in every crevice, staining my bug-bite-scarred legs, and barbed-wire-torn clothes. Those are the easy things.

But what is hard for me is that regardless of how much I have given up to be here, people still expect me to be an endless supply of money, able and willing to take on any expense they might have. I fight indignation when people walk into my house or yard uninvited (and sometimes unwanted), and have no qualms in touching my things, making commentary on what I have, asking how much my things cost, and asking whether I will give them my things when I leave. I have even been asked for the shirt off my back. I can not help but feel angry and insulted by the overwhelming amount of catcalls, sexual references, and general rude comments I get from ignorant machista men. I struggle to feel that I am worthy of something better than that. I don’t now how not to be offended and greatly hurt when people say one thing to me and I later discover they are talking behind my back, saying something different. I also don’t know how to keep from being angry when I hear gossip about me that is not only not true, but puts me in a negative light. It has become normal for me to feel like an idiot in front of large groups of people, but that doesn’t make me eel less uncomfortable or less hurt when they laugh at me. I don’t know how to describe to you the absolute frustration and hopelessness I often feel when I find myself wondering if there is even a point in me being here, if I am making even the smallest difference in these people’s lives. And maybe what hurts the most is wondering if people back home have forgotten about me, if they care anymore, if they will be able to understand me. Are they even reading this?

You see, my life is not all exciting and grand adventures. It is however, most often like the Peace Corps slogan, “the toughest job you’ll ever love,” emphasis on the tough. I do not know how to write well about those tough days, and instead typically get bogged down in my own bitterness and anger, not understanding how to communicate it clearly or without putting a negative light on my host country. I have come to love this country and the people in it, but when I face new challenges, I often find myself silently cursing Paraguay as if the entire country was the source of my personal problems. So I tell you these things not to make you think badly of this truly unique and beautiful country, but to hopefully communicate some of my own weaknesses and true frustrations.

So yes, I do have days when I just wish I was home and free from all my problems situated in the Southern Hemisphere. I often fight the ugly and unwanted feelings of depression, bitterness, loneliness, and anger. I am not always happy to be here, and don’t always have the positive attitude that I try to show on my blogs. But lest I emphasize my hopelessness and loneliness too much, let me end with this: true, there are days when I wish I could be at home, but in spite of that, I’m not ready to leave. I often have the desire to escape, but I am not ready to give up and the thought of packing my bags and catching the soonest flight for Los Angeles is not ever a serious thought or real temptation. I might sometimes be angry with the people here and the country in general, but I still see the good and beautiful things here. I am often lonely and feel friendless and misunderstood, but this experience has taught me invaluable lessons about myself and taught me to love people better, to value and treasure dearly the people that do care about me. So there you go, I give you the good, the bad, and the ugly; the parts of this experience that are the most undesirable, the most unspeakable, but also the parts that are the truest and most growing for me.