Goodbye sucks, and other revelations

Two plus years of service crammed into two bags plus a backpack

I can't believe it, but this blog post is being written in the USA as I am now officially a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. I finished my service in Peru on July 24th, I'm home visiting family and friends, and I've been back on US soil for a week. And it's weird. I really wanted to post one last time in Peru before I left because I anticipated there would be a storm of new emotions and things going on the second I left that would be stories of their own, but this will have to do. It's just too much for one post to talk about the end of one life and the beginning of a new one.

My last week in site was overwhelming and filled with parties and teary goodbyes, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to everyone I wanted to. It's so hard to just get up and leave from two-years of relationships and experiences, so of course it didn't go exactly as I wanted, but I left with my heart overfilled. I had a series of farewell parties thrown for me ranging from the high school, to a friend's host family in a neighboring town, to the municipality. The last week in my site was one big party filled with kind words, occasionally booze, and tears. Lots and lots of tears. (Pictures below--yes, even of the tears).

Of course some people were harder to say goodbye to than others. My host family, my really good counterparts who became my friends, my volunteer friends, and the kids from my health promoters youth group. Saying goodbye to 14 and 15 year-olds is hard because you just don't know what's going to be next for them. I can't be there for the graduation of my oldest students, I can't be with the other students as they get older and move closer to their graduation. Are they going to stay out of trouble? Are they going to finish high school? What are they going to do after high school? What is going to happen to them? I invested a lot of time and energy into relationships with these kids who are still very much in the development stage of figuring themselves out and anything could tip them in a different direction. The adult friends I made will probably have very few differences between now and the next time I see them, but the kids could become completely different people. 

This if course spun me off into thinking of all the things I could've done better during my service. No matter what you have done, there is always a way to do it better. My last week of service was filled with a lot of strong feelings and emotions, but battling off the feeling of regret was something I dealt with constantly. Did I do everything I could have? Did I try hard enough? 

Could I have ever done enough?

Like I said, it was (and still is) a battle, but I know I did what I could with what I had and what's done is done. Also, it helped to have people in my community tell me a lot of nice things I never expected to hear. A friend of mine who finished service before me said in the end of your service a bunch of people come out of the woodwork and you find out how people have felt about you and your work that you didn't know before. I've said it before, but being a volunteer is a pretty thankless job and you almost never get any sort of accolades. However in my last week of service I received more than I ever expected. Teachers whom I barely worked with told me with ernest how much of an impact I had on the students. Mother's from my escuela de padres told me how important my work was and how lucky their kids were to have me working in the school. People showered me with presents and kind words and it kept going on like that as people learned I was leaving.

But more than the kind words and presents I received as I was parting, the relationships I created in my last two years are a testament to what my time spent in Peru has meant. The people in my site and my host family will always be in my heart, and I think I'll be the same for them. Of course saying goodbye to my host family was extremely difficult. My host mom gets pretty emotional pretty easy (she always calls herself "llorona") so a lot of tears were shed there. My host dad stayed stoic to the end only demonstrating his emotional strife through excessive household projects that he worked on constantly up until the minute I left the house. He did leave me with various parting words, all of which came back to the same theme: I'm part of the family, and I am always welcomed (and expected) back at the house in the future. 

Saying goodbye sucks. And being separated from a life and friendships that you built from basically nothing over a two-year span in a foreign country is jarring and sad. Preparing yourself to leave and return home where people may not understand all of that is also hard.

All of this sadness in leaving just goes to show how much of a positive experience I've had in Peace Corps, and I really do think it goes both ways. One day I was sitting with my good friend Lupe, the obstetrician who worked with me in my health promoters youth group, and she was talking about how sad it was that I was leaving (Peruvians really like to drag out the "How sad that you're leaving. Oh how terribly sad, you're leaving a hole in our hearts, etc etc"). I was just nodding and agreeing and trying not to bawl my eyes out, and then she said something that I didn't expect but really stuck. She said, "Everyone is going to miss you so much. Did you know that everyone really likes you? I don't know a single person that can say anything bad about you. Before you came everyone thought [US] americans were rude, cold, disinterested people. But now that everyone has met you they can see that isn't true."

I know it isn't much, but that is Peace Corps Goal #2! "Helping promote a better understanding of Americans." Somehow knowing that helped me battle back some of the regret. I told Lupe how that is one of Peace Corps' goals, and now I'm heading home to work on goal #3, to promote understanding of Peru to my fellow Americans. 

On paper that is Peace Corps; three simple goals, two years, one country. But it's all the stuff in between that makes a Peace Corps service, and it's different for every single person who has done it over the last 52 years. Do I think I'll ever be able to do it justice in writing? Will I ever be able to give a "five-minute elevator speech" that truly conveys what my service was about?

Simply put, no. But maybe I'm not supposed to. Nothing will change what my time in Peru has meant for me, and I can only do so much to explain things to others who have never been there. But if I can get my small Peruvian town to think US Americans aren't a bunch of jerks, then maybe I can get the US Americans I know to understand a little about Peru and it's people and what my life was like there. The beauty of it is while I closed the chapter of my life when I was a PCV, I will forever be an RPCV, so I have time. 

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The multiple despedidas thrown for me and the kind words said about me were more than I ever expected, and too varied to go into detail. Here are some pictures from a few of them.

My despedida at the high school. I'm sitting at the head table with one of my main counterparts and the director of the school. 

The students arranged some different performances for me. 

The back chalkboard was decorated and signed by all the teachers

Some of my favorite students dancing 

Dancing with my best teacher friends

Williams performed some songs

Another typical dance. It rounded out my experience at the school very well.

Lunch with my site mate Zack's host family plus friends (Kike and Sue!)

My health promoters youth group, Pasos Adelante, meeting one last time

One of the gifts made for me (by Gerardo)

A formal farewell at the town municipality

My host mom gave a very nice speech about me

Receiving ridiculously nice gifts I didn't expect

A plaque thanking me for my service in Mocupe 

Giving my teary farewell speech

Last dinner in site-- arroz con pato (duck and rice)-- my favorite!

My host family checking out my going away present for them-- a photo album with photos from the last two years

The host family at my host grandma's house. L-R- Host mom, host grandma, host uncle, host cousin, me, host dad, host brother, host sister

My host family! Our only photo of all of us together

My Peace Corps Family-- an ode to my fellow volunteers

When it's time to say goodbye, you have to do it right. And in Peru that means having despedidas, or, going away parties. Obviously in the States this is something we do as well, but in Peru it's pretty much a requirement. I have something like six despedidas planned for my last week in site, including the day I have to get on a night bus to head to Lima. I will literally be partying until my last hours. Last night I had my first despedida, and that was with all of the Lambayeque volunteers for those in group 17.

In case I haven't made this completely clear, Lambayeque is the department I live in and there are something around 30 volunteers here (over 200 volunteers in all of Peru including all of the departments). My training group, 17, is the group I arrived to Peru with which is comprised of small business and youth volunteers, and there were five of us from group 17 that moved to Lambayeque. In Lambayeque we also have volunteers from other programs, like environment and community health.

Site assignment day in training, we found out we'd be new Lambayeque volunteers August 2011

Lambayeque 17ers at COS May 2013

I don't think I've ever taken the proper amount of time to explain just how important the other volunteers have been in my service. I mean, these people are my people. I think that no matter what, no matter where I am in the world, when I meet another RPCV (returned peace corps volunteer) I will have an automatic connection to that person. Doubly if they were in Latin America. Triply if they were in Peru. My fellow 17ers, well, they're like the equivalent of my graduating high school class; a lot of really close friends, some acquaintances, some people I don't really know but in the end I'm still going to care about where they end up in life. And my Lambayequanos? The Lambaysexy crew? These people are my family.

Before I joined Peace Corps I was pretty sure that I would be making lifelong friends in Peace Corps. In fact, I counted on it. And when I first met my training group I was like, "Okay...these people will be my best friends eventually...right?" You know, it's really weird to meet a bunch of strangers from all over the US and to suddenly be stuck with them for 9 hours a day, day-in-and-day-out, and have them be your only compatriots in a completely foreign land while you're dealing with a lot of stressful adjustments. You bond quickly, but you also get on each other's nerves real quick. In fact, many times during training all I could think was "get me away from these people!"

Peru 17 from beginning to end. From Sabrina!

I made good friends in my training group, but many of us were separated amongst different departments, making it so we only saw each other on vacations or in-service trainings. I called all of my training group friends regularly, but within my department it took longer to get to know people and have friends to meet up with.

I couldn't even pinpoint exactly when it happened, but there came this point when the people who were once strangers and acquaintances that seemingly had nothing in common with me prior to Peace Corps suddenly became the people who understood and appreciated my feelings and experiences better than anyone else. The "older" generations of volunteers gave sage advice, while my fellow 17ers empathized with me as we seemingly went through all the same phases of ups and downs. And soon after that it wasn't just that we could bond over how tiny the poop-sample cups were at the lab, or funny parts of being a foreigner in Peruvian culture-- like judging beauty pageants and drinking endless cups of hot chocolate at parties on hot summer days-- but I came to appreciate their company, understand and admire their strengths, and love their quirks.

I don't know if I could ever write anything to do justice the strength that is the volunteer connection, how great my friends are from Arequipa to Tumbes (two opposite ends of Peru) or just how truly proud and honored I am to have worked and lived in Lambayeque with such hard-working, dedicated volunteers. All I can say is we have shared a part of this life that has forever changed me and I have learned many lessons from them.

So to my fellow volunteers: you have been there for me when I was down, you've celebrated with me when I was up, and you've weaseled your way into my heart over boxes of Gato and fuentes of ceviche chatting about life, love, Peru, and poop. I have made connections and friendships in my Peruvian community that have been life changing, but this experience wouldn't have been what it was without you. And honestly, I don't think I could've done this without you.

And now the hard part-- returning home where we will all be spread out over the span of a country that is far bigger than Peru!

To my predecessors, thank you for all the advice and friendship you've given which has made a huge impact on my service. I totally expect to continue receiving it as I embark back into US territory. To my 17ers, NAILED IT. I don't care how far apart we'll be, lets talk real soon and road trip, mmkay? To my 17ers staying for a 3rd year or extending, you guys are badass and I have mad respect for you and know you're going to continue to rock it. To my Lambaysexies, keep up the Lamba-legacy of awesomeness and success! 18ers, soon this will be you so aprovechan this experience all you can, the last months fly by fast! 19ers and 20ers, I'm so glad great people keep joining Peace Corps so that even halfway through my service I could make fast friends with awesome people like you! One more year, and you guys are going to rock it! You're the old and wise ones now, wear that badge proudly.

I won't be able to see a lot of volunteers again before I leave Peru, and that is really hard to believe and I get pretty emotional just thinking about it. But it's all going to be okay. Just remember, it's not "adios," it's "hasta luego."

a photo so good I need to post it on my blog twice! Love you Lambayeque!

You say Goodbye, I say Hello

On top of the Duomo overlooking Florence, Italy in January of 2008

My heart is pounding, my legs aching, stomach churning, and my face is sticky with drying tears as I race along the corridor. Justin is in front of me, a backpacking bag on his back, backpack on his front, and two rolling-suitcases bumping along behind him. I, too, have a backpacking bag as well as backpack on the front, one roller-suitcase behind me. My feet pound on concrete and tile, fluorescent lights shine coldly on the sides of the corridor. I feel like I've been running for forever, like this is the hardest race I've ever run. But I can't stop. Not with two terminals to go. Not with my international flight to San Francisco leaving in 45 minutes.

We are in the Heathrow airport, and we have just finished two-weeks traveling through Italy and London. From here, we go our separate ways. He goes on to travel through Austria, Germany, and Switzerland before heading to South Africa for a year of studying engineering. I go back to the U.S. to continue my education in Boise.

We get to the ticket counter and they tell me I'm just in time; in five minutes they were going to start turning people away. However, I still have to get through security and to my gate. No time to waste.

We run around the corner and Justin is stopped by a man; passengers only beyond this point. I look at him with anguish as the dry tears are refreshed with new ones and I am dwindled to a sobbing, sniffling mess. We hug, I shake, we whisper into each others' ears, and we kiss one last time as I smear tears and snot all over both our faces. I was given two minutes to say goodbye to someone who would be gone a year. I had no idea when I would be able to kiss and hold the person I have loved more than anyone again, and it scared me. We let go and he stood and watched as I went through security, and waved with his entire arm as I had no choice but to continue on as fast as I could to find my departing gate.

Fast forward six months.

It is June, but it's hovering around 55 to 60 degrees outside, and the sun sits low in the sky readying to set as it has been at 6:00 P.M.. It is winter in South Africa, after all. I'm sitting in a tiny Volkswagen Rabbit, the car Justin rented for my visit, and I have hardly gotten used to the passenger seat on the left side of the vehicle. We are parked in the parking lot of the Cape Town Airport, and we are sitting in silence holding hands. The half-hour car ride from Stellenbosch was pretty quiet. I try to make a joke or say something light-hearted, and Justin is silent, turned away. "Hello? Are you going to say anything?" He turns and looks at me and tears are running down his face into his beard.

By the grace of my parents, they granted me an early graduation present-- a plane ticket to visit Justin. Before I left on my 36-hour trek to see him, we had spent six-months communicating via Skype, which meant grainy internet video with echoing robotic feedback, and specific hours for talking due to time differences. They were late night chats for me, early morning for him.

While the trip hadn't been all sunshine and roses (Justin was very sick while I was there, and I also invaded his tiny space), it had been two-weeks of adventure. Justin drove me through wine country, taught me how to rock climb, and we hiked through mountains and stood where the Indian Ocean crashed into the Atlantic. We let our hearts soften just enough to get used to the others company again, only to be ripped apart once more.

In the airport we stand once more at the axis that will separate us for an undetermined amount of time. The security is in front of us, only this time I don't have to run to catch the plane, I'm not running out of time for a goodbye. We have a half-hour to sit and stare at eachother, miserably counting down the minutes to our separation. The wait is worse than when we had no time to say goodbye at all.

"Someday, we won't have to do this anymore," I say. "There will be no more goodbyes."

On the airplane I look back at the building I just left Justin in, and I see a figure jumping frantically in the window. It's like a black stick figure, jumping like crazy and waving its arms all over the place. I realize it's my black stick figure, my boyfriend, and I wave out the small airplane window wondering if he can see me waving at all.

We have had more goodbyes since then. We said goodbye in the Boise Airport as I left for Spain for five months, after he'd only been back from South Africa for three weeks. We've spent weeks apart during work and study before living together. For the last year we've been lucky enough to only have to say goodbye for weekends apart or in the morning as we run to our respective duties. For a long time it was strange to say stuff like, "See you later this afternoon."

Some people look at us as this "power couple". To them we have this unbreakable bond of commitment that is so strong it's crossed the Atlantic--twice-- and held steadfast. I have been told how miraculous it is we are still together. Well, it is a miracle, because it was not easy.

A lot went into keeping us together. Stubbornness, mostly. Neither of us was willing to let go until we felt it was the right thing to do, and so far we haven't felt that way. But aside from that, a lot of our relationship could be understood in these goodbyes. We were saying goodbye over and over again for long periods of time, cursing the distance between us, aching for normalcy and the day when it would end. At the same time we knew we had to say goodbye because we were meant to do something else with our lives that the other person couldn't join us for. And that was okay. Because if we didn't separate for these vast amounts of time, we wouldn't have accomplished our personal goals. We wouldn't be who we are today. And honestly, I don't think we would have been able to look at the other person without resenting them for taking that away. We allowed eachother to do what we had to do, and I love Justin even more for it. Each goodbye was punctuated with a promise for a future together, and expressed with only the kind of love that will let you go because it trusts you will return.

This doesn't mean that the upcoming goodbye won't be just as painful-- don't think that for a minute. It is looming over my head, closing its cold grip on my stomach, and haunting my thoughts every spare, silent moment. What we've been through before will be chump change compared to this. A 27 month commitment in another country means a 27 month commitment overseas to the person I love back home. It's 20 more months than the longest time we spent apart. It is also far more likely that I won't have Skype, internet, or reliable mail. It is the scariest goodbye I will have to say to date.

I am so excited about the opportunity to join the Peace Corps, it probably sounds like leaving Justin behind is the last thing on my mind. That couldn't be further from the truth. It is one of the first things on my mind, which is why I don't talk about it. If I discussed it often, I would always be talking about the scariest part of leaving. Justin is so supportive, he is only positive about my steps towards joining the Peace Corps. To openly discuss how afraid I am to say goodbye would only rip the courage out from under my feet. We aren't in a relationship to dash eachothers' dreams, we want to foster and encourage them.

We aren't a super couple with magical commitment powers, and we aren't any stronger than anyone else. We just know goodbye isn't forever, and the power behind letting the person you love do what makes them happy. Sometimes that means going out on a limb and taking a big risk. Sometimes that means doing the scariest thing you could imagine. Isn't that what love is?