I’m 9 months away from closing my service and I’m already
starting to freak out. What’s the next step? Where am I going to live? What am
I going to do? And most importantly, how will I interact with real human beings
after two years of being the center of attention and having everyone laugh at
my bad jokes.
Center of attention, Annie? Really? How conceited can you
really be? But those of us who have been Volunteers know it – everyone in your
town knows you. They talk about you. They know what you ate for lunch, that you
went to Chitre two months ago for a meeting. They worry about you living alone,
they worry that your friends leave, and you are all alone. If you sleep more
often than usual, they worry that you’re sick. It’s a smothering version of
love, but you know they really care. In my community, they vie for the ability
to call themselves my “Panamanian parents” – I have at least 3 just here, and
another few families scattered around the country. And they all really do love
me like I’m their daughter, niece, etc.
Other Volunteers are starting to plan their lives post
service. I’m still putting that off, and will probably continue to do so for as
long as I can. I’m even considering staying longer to keep putting it off. But
it’s not just my professional life I’m afraid to think about; it’s my regular
life as well. I have such a routine here, wake up, go to the beach, hang out
with my friends, write, work. Even when I have visitors here, I can’t seem to
incorporate them into it without messing up their own routines. What will I do
when I no longer have a beach seven minutes from my door, and close friends
less than two minutes away.
More than that, what’s going to happen to my Peace Corps
friendships? Not just with the Volunteers in the same country as me, but my
community members as well. My old host mom, who I still refer to as Tia Mumi (Tia, or Aunt, is an affectionate preface for any older woman you
feel close with), once lamented to me that once her gringas (hers because she acted as our mother for any time) leave
and they forget about her.
“Y tu, Ana? Cuando te
vas a olvidar?”
Never, I wanted to say, never. This time in my life is so
important. It’s already changed me and is continuing to do so and I can’t stop
it. How could I forget these people? Well, I can already see the answer in my friendships
with other Volunteers who are far from me. People who I consider close friends,
but I only really contact them when we run into each other. In the Volunteers
outside of my region, I only really talk to one or two. I want to consider so
many more my friends, but the distance, our schedules and my lack of motivation
hinder that. Will I pull the same crap when I’m leaving Panama and heading back
to the US? I can even add more excuses to my list when it comes to keeping in
touch with my Panamanian family Stateside.
I’m afraid of going back to the states and not being able to
leave my door open and have friends simply drop by. I’m afraid of not being
able to visit friends in neighboring towns with the ease of a bus ride, and the
excuse to spend the night. I’m afraid of being thousands of miles from my new
friends – and possibly losing them because of it. I’ll miss the dogs that
simply stop by and wag their tails, looking only for an affectionate pat on the
head. I’ll miss the attention paid to every detail of my life, from the visitor
I had three months ago to what I ate for lunch. I’ll miss the tiny children
riding bikes made for adults and doing it successfully. I’ll even miss the
questions about my friends and family back home, about whether or not I miss
them. The questions that make me miss them even more.
Going home is going to be harder than I thought. Maybe I
just won’t do it.
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