Battle of Who Cares Less, Ben Folds Five

There has not been one moment in my service that I regret, nor any that make me wish I were elsewhere – other than just wishing my friends and family were closer by.  The opportunity of Peace Corps service is a rare one, one that we must not take for granted.  Government funding could disappear depending on elected officials, and the application process is a doozy.  I am lucky to be here, and everyday, I thank whoever is watching over me, whether it’s God, Buddha, the Spaghetti monster, or Zeus, for bringing me here after the long wait.  Each step I have taken has brought me here to work in a field I am so passionate about.

But this is not easy.  I am far away from my friends and family – my support system.  As great as it is to pick up the phone and make a call, diminishing the distance over phone lines, the nuance of conversation is lost.  I hate talking on the phone with most people, and I must constantly make exceptions to speak with any regularity with those I love.  I live in my second language and I still pick up on the nuance of dialect everyday.  This means that, and this and this and that.  I overhear conversations I’m not supposed to, and I make unintentional language mistakes.  I put up with obnoxious comments and veiled threats for doing my job.  Every so often, all I want is a glass of wine, a good friend, and my support system.

So what happens when all that comes crashing down?  When you can’t get a hold of someone you need to and they drop off the face of the earth without a second thought?  I know I cannot be the priority of anyone but myself, but when times get tough, and the person you want to talk to is not available, how are you supposed to cope?

In the past two weeks, I have had a community member openly and directly blame me for ending turtle trafficking, my health begin to flounder, a need to leave my community when I needed to stay, and a visit I was more than excited for fall through.  And on top of it all, my garden is falling apart.

If I were at home, I would be pouring myself into work, working out, distractions.  Here, I can’t do any of that.  Thinking in your second language is hard, and the silence when you can relax forces your mind to race in English - just because it can.  Truth is relative, and my truth and reality is not harder or easier than the next person’s.  But mine is different, even for me.  I am forced to adjust, to give myself up, and to be there for people in my community through the tough times.  My counterpart’s wife left him a second time, leaving him to care for three children.  As I work with him and notice that suddenly, he fades off into his own thoughts, I realize I try to avoid doing the same.

The friendships here, but mostly at home, are what carry me through.  I pick my friends with care, keeping few, but great, friends close to my heart.  Quality over quantity.  It takes time for me to completely trust you with everything, and time to even trust you with anything, and when it all falls apart, I feel broken.  I feel like the support system I worked so carefully to build at home is beginning to crumble.

When in the Peace Corps, your support system is the most important thing.  Distance does weird things to any kind of relationship, and sometimes the friendships don’t work out.  Things change and you’re not there to see it.  People sometimes forget to keep you informed.  But I can always rebuild.  My foundation is strong, and I do not want to leave.  I’m here for the long-run, and the important parts are as well.