Peace Corps service functions as a wormhole. Not to be confused with blackholes or buttholes, a wormhole is described by this nerdy website as
"a theoretical passage through space-time that could create shortcuts for long journeys across the universe. Wormholes are predicted by the theory of general relativity. But be wary: wormholes bring with them the dangers of sudden collapse, high radiation and dangerous contact with exotic matter."
It all starts like this- you're so proud to get your official PC invitation. Finally months if not years of applications and medical appointments pay off and you begin the intensely emotional process of detaching yourself from your current life. Everyone goes about this differently, but based on my unscientific case study of our COED 2013 group the future PCV's final months in America boil down to overindulgence in comfort food and stocking up on that special brand of soap you use. You say your goodbyes, whisper outlandish promises to your significant other, and pay your credit card bills. This is it, hunny. We're going in!
If this was a low-budget scifi film our spaceship would be slowly approaching a blueish swirly thing that looks kinda like this:
 |
| Oooooo, hyperspace. |
We're sucked in to the wormhole, lured to the edge with promises of life-changing experiences and a great résumé builder. You get to Pre-Service Training and suddenly you lose all personal control over your life. You don't get to decide what you do during the day, what you eat for lunch, when you go to bed. You're at the mercy of the training manager and your new host family. And everything is different: the food, climate, language, customs, safety procedures. Bathing is even different. You struggle to communicate basic things like "Please, don't put that moldy bag in with my nice clothes!" You get diarrhea more than a couple times. You break down crying when you hear 'One More Night' by Phil Collins because your mom likes Phil Collins and the fact that no one here knows what he's even saying makes you feel lonely. You're so damn lonely.
You experience all these low times with equal parts happiness. It's exhausting to sob on the phone with your best friend, convinced you'll never be loved like Gerry loves Holly in P.S. I Love You, then the next day you have an amazing dance party with your fellow PCT's and make plans to go to the beach. The acting director visits your country and you cry some more, but this time you're filled with purpose and resolve.
 |
| Scientific "tubey part" |
Swear-in. Move to site. Meet some people and climb a mountain. We're in the tubey part of the wormhole, the part where you get all integrated into the host community, and you start to think "Woo, the PC wormhole is great! What a perfect shortcut through the turbulent post-graduation downward spiral into a desk job! It's gonna spit me out into my dream job! I have a higher calling because I'm learning Spanish!"
But the PC wormhole shortcut is dangerous. Where, exactly, will it spit you out? The question isn't where, constable, but when.
 |
| Blorgons! Just go with me on this one, OK? |
Fast forward a few months into service. Life is different. Peace Corps is said to change people, gain more patience and appreciation of this and that. But you're still you, right? The wormhole is just transporting you through the boring stuff, but it's not changing your fundamental building blocks?
Well, let's see. You listen to Alanis Morissette unironically. You've watched every episode of the recent NBC comedies. You read hundreds of pages of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones in one sitting. You keep peanut butter hidden in your room. You miss fluoride in your water supply and deli meat in your supermarket. You can't remember which bug bites you put the hydrocortisone cream on last, so you just slather it on like lotion. Your diet has gone to hell. Your shoes are covered in cow crap. You spend 3 hours writing one blog post. The highlight of your week is talking to your parents.
None of these things are necessarily bad. It's just that your idea of a "good time" changes. And reflecting on how different the "good times" are now makes you feel weird, like suspended in time. But only two years and you'll be back to your American life- strip malls, parking tickets and all.
The sudden collapse? Spending days on end alone in your room because you feel like you can't be yourself here, not like you were before. The culture is too conservative, you're not confident in the new language. You just want to share a cheeseburger and beer with your best friend.
 |
| Chewie, are we ever gonna get home? |
High radiation? You start to get sick of spending time with yourself. Symptoms include boredom, anger, apathy, and guilt. This kind of radiation doesn't create super powers.
And dangerous contact with exotic matter? You might think this is amoebas or other diarrhea inducing creatures, but you'd be wrong. The PCV's most dangerous threat is the person they become in the two-year long wormhole.
You see, Peace Corps service breaks you down to your most basic self. People here think of you as the gringa with silly nerd glasses, 6th in a line of other PCV gringos to come to their village and, ultimately, leave.
You start seeing yourself as a one-dimensional stranger, and it's scary. You forget what you used to do for fun or what you'd talk about with other people. Ya know, before the biggest news you had was that the papusa lady upped her prices. Three for a dollar? Gimme a break!
You don't like the wormhole anymore. You don't completely understand what's happening to you, but you want to go back to your old life, back to what makes sense and what's comfortable.
They don't tell you about this stuff. Sure, they say "PC isn't for everyone. You have to be a really strong person to make it." But they don't tell you why it's so hard. Why it really sucks sometimes.
I hope this wormhole spits me out put-back-together and whole. I don't even care where or when. I just wanna feel whole.
No comments:
Post a Comment