Asi es

Down the street from my house. Pretty typical sight on any day of the week.

In my first months in site a few fellow volunteers were passing around a link to a blog called, “Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like,” which both pinpointed and poked fun at some common traits of the aforementioned.

One of the posts was titled, “#44 Blogging for the folks back home,” where it discussed all the usual posts and subjects typical in a blog of a person volunteering in a developing country. The similarities between what they say is “typical” and my own blog are uncanny, and thus quite embarrassing. (For example: “Your blog is where you rail against the gender discrimination you find around you.” Have you read my post Machismo?)

After it lists endless stories you are bound to tell (and I’ve already told) it says:

“Over time, your blog will change in tone, or perhaps you’ll stop blogging for the folks back home altogether, as culture shock ebbs and you go about your normal business and things don’t stand out as strange anymore.”

Life in Peru has become just that—life. I have become so used to everyday things that I have a hard time thinking of stuff to write about.

I would never stop blogging about my time down here in Peru because that’s not who I am. A writer always finds something to write about. But as we are in the midst of September and I haven’t posted a blog yet I keep wondering, “What do I say?”

I’ve considered writing more in depth about what I’m going through on a personal level aside from projects and anecdotes, but something about that seems too, well...boring.

And let's be honest here, when life starts to feel comfortable and normal, what is it if not a little boring?

I am somewhat grateful for that, because I know it won't last long. Over one year in and I have less than one year left in service. In the midst of the biggest adventure I’ve ever been on I am able to look back at how much I’ve grown but still the future looms ahead, larger yet. I am more or less comfortable with where I stand in my community and with my work, yet still have anxiety and doubts.

Sometimes (or a lot of times) I worry about my time left.

Will I achieve everything I want to? And what should my focus of achievement be? Numbers and figures, or relationships and memorable moments?

How many more girls will get pregnant and have to quit high school before the sex-ed program runs its course? Will the parents in my “escuela para padres” ever actually improve their communication with their teens?

Will my English students ever remember how to respond when I say, “Hi, how are you?”

Will my host family ever stop giving me the best cut of meat or the largest plate of food, an offering typically given to guests?

A lot of times I worry about going back home.

I have anxiety about social situations with people I will not have seen in over two years. About how the first words out of my mouth for a long time will be, “One time, in Peru…” and everyone’s eyes will glaze over.

I have anxiety about speaking Spanglish or Spanish on accident and how people won’t understand or might even think I’m pretentious for using a 2^nd language in everyday conversation. I also worry about not speaking Spanish and forgetting it.

I worry about jobs. About transitioning into the fast and furious lifestyle American’s have and not being able to catch up.

I worry about technology and the advancements I’ve missed out on.

I know the only people who will truly empathize will be spread out all over the USA as we return to our homes, once living “close” in our country of service.

But, I still have 11 months left. 11 months that maybe look like a lot but I know will be gone in a blink of an eye.

So in the meantime, I’m here living life in Peru. I’m working and living in a community in which I was once a stranger and now am an honorary member. And I’m still writing, but I guess I need to be more creative, or at least force myself into more uncomfortable situations to have more to write about.