Don't Think Twice, It's Alright; Bob Dylan

There are moments in my life that I look back on, the ones that in the moment they hurt, or seemed insignificant, but they orchestrated a change in me that still lasts today. Some of them are small, like playing in the redwoods with my brother. Some of them are larger, like the first time I saw a sea turtle, on the quiet beach in Costa Rica. Some of them hurt, like the endings of past relationships, goodbyes and deaths. Some of them, I felt nothing at all, though it changed me.

The ones where I felt nothing are the strangest, because I can’t tell you exactly why they changed me, though they altered my actions in the future. They helped to mold me in a way that the big moments, the painful moments and the small moments, couldn’t. They’re the ones that helped me realize who I am, in quiet times. Who I am with my friends, and who I want my friends to be.

I’ve always placed a high premium on honesty between friends, and the times when that is broken, I lose faith. But a moment has come to me where I know that losing certain people doesn’t matter anymore. A moment of clarity, that the ones who I lose, I now know I’ve lost them because they are no longer important. Maybe they out-grew me. Maybe I out-grew them. But what is true, no matter the why, is that the time they had in my life, I changed, hopefully for the better.

But the moral of the story is that for every person who comes into my life, I hope that I grow through them. And if I can’t, and the friendship withers and dies, then that’s okay. For someone who has held onto friendships and relationships for far too long every time, I’m finally learning the freedom of letting go.

Temporary Like Achilles, Bob Dylan

“Where are you from?” has become the question I dread. One of the beautiful things about traveling is that everyone is from somewhere, and most people are going back to that somewhere. But there are those who are just on the road. Roaming from one place to another until it seems like home. I don’t think I’ve ever truly traveled like this – I’ve always lived in the places I’ve been. And the question isn’t asked as to say, where are you from, where are you born. It is asked as, where are you coming from. Where are you going back to. Those places are not the same for me, and I’m not sure if they will ever be the same again. So where am I from?

I’m from Oakland, California. The place I was born, the place I was raised, though there is now a disconnect. When I went home for Christmas this past year, I discovered how different I am than the girl who left over two years ago. I will always love the bay area and I will always have that connection to it. My family is all there – in fact I am one of two members who are not there, and it is a fact I am never let to forget. I am from Oakland, California, but I am wandering until I can go home.

I’ve been living in Panama. More than that, I am Santena. I identify with Los Santos, with my small town in the middle of nowhere, thirty minutes down on a dirt road that is not cared for. I am a part of that town, in a way I will never lose. I am a member of their community, of their family. I have my Panamanian parents, my aunts and uncles, my nieces and nephews, my brothers and sisters. They send me love, they send me hugs and they send me guidance, from far away. Outside of my blood family, I have never felt this way about a group of people, and I know, the minute they disappear from my life, I will have lost something special. But I am not Panamanian, I am reminded. I am only a transfer into the life.

I’m on the road, now. I am one of the mad people, of Jack Kerouac, of Dean Moriarty, of Neal Cassidy. I have no true home, except for the people I interact with. Except for my families, except for those who open their hearts to me.

The people I’ve met on the road have changed me further. I hope they can say the same about me. I am coming closer to the person who can connect these factions of my life, Panamanian and Californian, but I am not there yet. They are still separate entities and I am afraid of returning and losing a part of myself. In the Peace Corps, I had an identity, a persona outside of who I am, and the last time I was home, it hit me in the heart that when I lose Peace Corps, when I lose Panama as a core of my identity, I run the risk of becoming a person who works because she has to, who has no passion for what she does and loses herself because she does not know who she is. The last time I was home, I saw my friends in the same places they were when I left, but I also saw the huge connections and changes that they made within themselves, without me. I was left out of their changes the same way they were left out of mine.

I have become closer to the people that I’ve met in the past 3 months than most of the people I left behind. The friends I refer to when I think about them – only a small number are remnants from my life before Panama. And only two of them are still in California. The friends I refer to are the ones from Panama, both Volunteer and Panamanian; the ones from Belize, my roommates and co-workers and students; the ones from the road. The ones who understand why I stumble when I answer the simple question: “Where are you from?”

Blackbird, The Beatles

I’m an RPCV. I’ve been an RPCV for 45 days. I have never felt stranger in my life.

I haven’t been back to the United States yet – that will probably change how I feel, although I’m fairly certain I’ll still feel strange without the connection to Peace Corps past the RPCV networks in my area. I left for Belize shortly after my Close of Service for an internship in environmental education. My roommates each told me something separately that shocked me: “You don’t seem like a Peace Corps Volunteer.”

For two years, I saw myself as a Volunteer – nothing else. Being a Peace Corps Volunteer defined me and when I left, when I COS’d, I lost my identity. But what does “seeming like a Volunteer” mean? I decided to ask them. One told me that compared to the Volunteer she lived near, I was much more serious – I took my internship seriously, I worked hard and I focused on my projects. The Volunteer she knew took the two years as a vacation with few projects, few local friends and few of the things that defined my service. Another simply said that I didn’t fit the “type”. He didn’t expand.

So now that I’m not a Volunteer, but also not really a returned Volunteer, I have to think. How exactly did I change in Panama? How has that affected me? What will I carry with me?

In Panama, I was a leader in my community; hard earned, but a leader. Outside of Panama, I’m a sponge. I’m learning about new things, new ideas and new principles. It’s all I can do, until I earn that position of leadership again. In Panama, I was unguarded, open and available at any time. Outside of Panama, I am guarded, but not closed off.

When I moved to Belize, I was followed down the street, a young woman from a local high school beside me, with a young man shouting piropos at me. Panama kicked in and I turned around and shouted at him to stop. The young woman turned to me and said, “Thank you.”

I know I changed in Panama, I know that the Peace Corps changed me – through my friendships, my relationships and my work. What I don’t know still is how that affected me.

I know what I will carry with me. I’ll carry the thank you of the young Belizean woman, the love of my community, one of the last conversations I had with a community member before I left. I will carry with me forever the words of my ten year old best friend from my site, as we returned to my town after a Frisbee camp all the way across the country: “Ana, te voy a extranar demasiado. Eres como mi hermana.” Annie, I’ll miss you so much. You’re like my sister.

I’ve Seen All Good People: Your Move; Yes

“I’m no good at goodbyes” – Penny Lane, Almost Famous

And so begins another round of goodbyes. Again, it’s not the forever kind, it’s so long, see you later, but when?

When I left for the Peace Corps, everything I left was uncertain. The only certainty was that I would be here, in Panama, for 2 years. I didn’t know where things would stand when I arrived home, I didn’t know who I would be. As it turns out, everything is left alone at home, and it is only me returning changed.

I’m now in the slow process of saying goodbye. I’m now in the process of bidding farewell to the people and places I have come to know so well. Some are staying another year, some are leaving with me, but for different locations.

I said goodbye to my community. As the children ran up to me, hugging me, asking to dance, I held my breath and tried not to cry. When one of my best friends and a group of kids sang me a song they wrote at my despedida, a few of the tears snuck through. I held onto Buster, my Panamutt, my Dad’s hand and let them fall. When my neighbors swept me up and began dancing with me, I decided to laugh through the tears. I know I will see these people again. This is just a goodbye for now.

When I went to Panama City, my dad and my dog in tow, I held off tears, instead retreating into my mind, going over memories and thoughts of my time in my site. When I saw my dad and Buster off, and I gave my puppy – the puppy given to me by a close friend at two weeks old who I had to bottle feed for two more weeks – his last hug in Panama, my dad placed his hand on my shoulder, “Don’t let him see you cry: it will stress him out.”

I didn’t, but the minute his crate was carried off, I broke down and started crying. My dad hugged me, and said, “We’ll see you soon.” I might have the most amazing parents – they’re caring for my puppy for two and a half months until I come home. And now, whenever we skype, they let me talk to him and he perks up at my voice.

When I finally left Panama, boarding the plane, more tears pushed through and I feel bad for the woman sitting next to me. Belize was a welcome respite from my farewells, until I left Belize.

I’m no good at goodbyes.

End, The Beatles

During my last full month in site, I was at my wonderful neighbors’ house finalizing some of the paperwork for their son and I to go to Chiriqui for the Ultimate Frisbee Camp. My neighbor had just been in attendance at my final community meeting, and spoke with my boss privately, commending my time in Peace Corps there, saying that I had not only changed his life, but changed the life of his entire family. I was not there for that conversation, but he relayed to me what he had told him. He said that without me, his son would not have opened up as he has in the past 2 years - and would not have had the desire to continue his education. His oldest son is even going on to study biology because of a class I did in his class about endangered species. He also told me that his family has stopped consumption of turtle eggs in their own home and I had supported his ability, though visitors and recommendations, to become a commercial fisherman. He told me yesterday that fishing on big boats had always been a dream of his and I've helped him realize that small scale fishing with tourists and locals, using ecology and his own knowledge of the area, is more profitable and more rewarding. He is able to tell his customers more about the area, understand the interactions between different kinds of fish and marine mammals - like how dolphins and tuna use each other to find feeding grounds.

More applicable, though, is that he said the same thing my father has often told me - parenting is hard, but every moment is worth it. Seeing his kids grow, even his oldest, who isn't even his and came into his life at 4 years old, is life changing and affirming and he's become a conservationist and environmentalist because of them. He wants to protect their future. He told me that I gave him a way to do that.

And here I was, thinking that all I did for that family was hang out with their kids, talk to their father about fishing, surfing, the sea and my own (amazing) family, but he learned from me. It's moments like that that make the entire two years more than worth it. I never thought for a second I would have this kind of impact on anyone, let alone a family. Peace Corps, to me, was a way to build my resume, impact on a larger scale, learn how to teach, do agriculture and about myself, and be immersed in a culture. I can't believe how much more it's been and I'm so grateful to everyone who supported me in this time and being able and willing to come down and share it with me. I can't believe it's been the two years already. The family’s mother loves my mom because of how hard she searched for Buster one day we were fishing and she asked if Buster gets to come home with me, because my own mother feels guilty about almost losing my baby. She said that not only am I lucky to have such a beautiful family who loves me (and she hopes that she is able to have the kind of relationship with her adult kids as I have with my parents), but I'm even more lucky that when my brother and I start our families, we're are lucky to have a mother like her who will support us through it all.

After my neighbor got pregnant at 18, her mother stopped talking to her, and she was completely on her own until she found her husband. Only then would her mother start talking to her again because he went over to her mother’s house and said, publicly, that his son is now his child and she can be a part of his life, and the lives of their kids in the future if she wants, but if she doesn't then it will be her loss. My neighbor is an amazing woman and an amazing mother - and she sees the strength in everything around her. She even told me how hard it is to see your kids grow up and not need you anymore. I told her that we (the kids) will always need our parents, because without them, we aren't who we are. And I really mean that.

My neighbors finished the conversation by saying that if I don't come down again before the year is out, he'll be hurt.

I’m sorry for that cheesy story, but it was something I needed to share, with all of you who spend time and read this blog. I was recently asked if there was anything I disliked or would have changed about my service and I realized that even through all the ups and downs, in my community, in my life, etc, I wouldn't change a thing. I learned from every experience and every moment of discomfort. And thank you to everyone who supported me through those moments of discomfort and dismay.

Monty Got a Raw Deal, R.E.M.

For the past two years, I’ve been here, dreading the days that are now coming closely. For the past two years, I’ve been aware that in two years, these days would come and I couldn’t do anything about it. I could prolong them, yes, but that’s about it.

I leave my site as their Peace Corps Volunteer in 19 days. I end my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer completely in 24 days. I leave Panama in 35 days. I begin the next chapter in 35 days. And I’m stuck in a place of denial.

I tried not to go into this experience with any expectations. Expectations create disappointments and I did not want disappointments out of this. I constantly remember my second placement interview to enter the Peace Corps, and the woman who interviewed me hesitated. “You may be too idealistic for this,” she said. “You will be disappointed by what can happen.” At that moment, I dropped my expectations and entered a realm of my mind that was purely for the experience. The experience became one to build my resume, and anything else that came out of it would just be an added benefit.

And everything I experienced was the added benefit. This whole experience is everything that you make it. I made it into everything I wanted – I started a study, I taught kids how to surf, I played soccer and Frisbee with them, I fished with the men, I cooked with the women. I created a family around myself and in 19 days, I’ll be leaving.

I struggle to find the words that explain how I feel. I know this goodbye isn’t forever. It’s only a temporary “see you later”. I know I’ll be back here, and I’ll be back here soon. I’ll be around my community and my family again, but never again as their Peace Corps Volunteer.

Becoming a Volunteer is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. Not for the reasons they say in the pamphlets, or for the stories and tales you hear about from parents and friends of Volunteers. It’s hard because it’s temporary. You create these relationships with people, you create these bonds and you know, from the start, it’s temporary. No matter how hard you want to, no matter how hard you try, you are their Volunteer for only a time. After you, comes another. And after her, comes another. I’m 3^rd in a line of nearly consecutive Volunteers. I can come back as often as I want, I could even move here for the rest of my life if I wanted, but it would be different. I would no longer be their Volunteer.

The stories my town tells about their Volunteer in a year’s time won’t be about me. They’ll be about whoever comes next. My projects, my inside jokes, my life here might be remembered for a long time, but soon, their Volunteer will be someone else. Soon, the stories they tell will be about someone else.

Just like for them, this is the end of a chapter, the end of my chapter as a Peace Corps Volunteer. These people will never leave my life, nor will I leave theirs, but our relationship will change in 19 days. And in 25 days, I will change from Volunteer to just another American in Panama. Just another American traveling through countries I don’t know, but will learn about.

Ocean of Noise, Arcade Fire

On January 14, I arrived at a dock, waiting for a boat. I looked at the ships that were coming and going, my skirt flapping in the wind. The boats were bigger than I was used to. I was used to small fishing boats and what were passing by me were large ships, cargo ships, carrying things from one side of the world to the other. The boat I was waiting for arrived, and I stepped on, forgetting to pass my things to the waiting man. Not because I wanted to be rude, or even seem self-reliant, but because I wasn’t used to this being what you do.

The boat was to take me to a yacht carrying over 60 Americans collected from all of the country. I finally realized what the man was waiting for and I passed him my backpack, holding onto my other bag for the moment. He took me into the transport boat, for once, under a roof on a boat. We sped off and I began to feel sick. I stood to look out the window.

Before I knew it, we were alongside the yacht. The huge, imposing yacht. Crowds were gathered along the edges of each of the 3 levels and I stepped to the outside of the small boat. What was I doing? For the second time in two years, I walked into a situation that was completely out of my element. I walked aboard the ship, my feet sure despite the lapping waves beneath me and everyone smiled and cheered. I looked behind me to see if I could back out now, walk away and return to my small town, my small fishing boats, my small life. I was welcomed with open arms, for the second time in two years, into a place I was completely uncomfortable in. I reminded myself that I adjusted to my small town, and I could adjust to this as well.

The President of the Oceanic Society welcomed me first, seeing in my eyes the complete ill-ease I felt. He helped with my bags, introduced me and told me to calm down. I laughed and sat. He had invited me onto this ship more than a month before to speak on my project and to help him raise awareness of our oceans.

The next day, we spoke. He began, explaining the work of his organization – aiming primarily at research and community development. He showed maps of the world’s turtles and explained the connection between sea turtle populations and ocean health. Turtles are becoming the flagship species of cleaning our worlds oceans – water is the key of our own health. Everything, from the mountains of the Himalayas to the forests of the Pacific Northwest of North America, is connected to the oceans.

And then it was my turn. I talked about my projects and those around me. I talked about the problems we encounter regularly, from poaching, to agency intervention and community disinterest. I talked about the successes we had, from using tourism to create another source of income to youth education. I talked about my surf club, creating a relationship between local youth and the oceans. And then we started taking questions.

For the first time, I spoke and presented in English on a subject I have spent two years studying. And I was well received. Whereas before I thought questions after a presentation were because you did not explain something clearly, it became clear to me that questions were a result of interest. And the attendees on the cruise were interested. For the first time, outside of Peace Corps, outside of my small town, I actually felt like a turtle biologist. I finally feel as though I am on my way to where I want to be.