"Part of my debt repaid"

I want to give a shout out to my PCV friend Rachel who recently published a wonderful blog post. Rachel just participated in the GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) camp that I'm supremely jealous of. As PCVs do, Rachel had some post-camp reflections about the state of El Salvador, women, and the purpose of Peace Corps.

There's a part in Rachel's post where she talks about why she chose to serve in the Peace Corps. She mentions her childhood and the boundless activities, sports, and educational opportunities she had. Our childhoods are remarkably similar, even down to the saxophone lessons and swim practice. (Though, I must admit, Rachel is much smarter and challenged herself academically way more!)

Rachel captures a true and beautiful reason for coming to a country like El Salvador where these opportunities for children are virtually nonexistent:

Peace Corps is, in some small way, part of my debt repaid. I want to be that camp counselor, that sports coach, that arts and crafts guru, and that teacher for the kids in my community that opened my mind, taught me about myself and about the world, and motivated me to make something of myself when I was a kid.

This message resonates so greatly with me. Throughout my service I've been trying to explain exactly why it was that I wanted to do this. I've given pathetically vague answers like, "I just wanted to have the experience" or "I wanted to give back." But now that I've been in it for what feels like a very long time, I'm starting to realize that what I thought of PC before applying and what I think now are completely different. I can't even recognize the person who wrote my letter of intent to serve. She seems so wildly hopeful to the point of being downright naive. She sounds impractical, a little calculated, and self-serving in such a condescending way. And yes, we're talking about someone who wants to serve in the Peace Corps.

I realize now that the indicators and objectives just aren't my thing. Especially not in a place that needs hope more than anything else. That's where I believe our place is as Peace Corps Volunteers- sharing joy and spreading some hope. I never thought I would be teaching an art class before I came to ES, but it's turned out to be the best part of my service. I'm so proud and genuinely impressed by my kids, and Leo has become a great working partner.

It's not what I expected when I applied 3 years ago, but deep down it's what I wanted to do. Like Rachel, I feel like in some small way I'm paying back, or dare I say, paying forward the love and generosity I was given as a child.

So thanks everyone. You've done more good than you'll ever know.

Please read Rachel's amazing blog post here.

The Peace Corps Wormhole

At the risk of jumping the shark on my PC blog, here is what they don't tell you about Peace Corps. I'm gonna explain this the only way I know how- with scifi. 

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.

Prepare for take off

Well, I did it. Bags are packed. Boarding pass is printed. Tears are shed. The past few days have been a whirlwind of nerves, last goodbyes and overall excitement. I am absolutely exhausted, but the world deserves an update! 

If you're reading this and thinking, "Wow, Alex, way to NOT respond to my well thought out and incredibly touching text, email and/or Facebook message," please don't be mad. I loved it, and thank you. I've honestly just been going nonstop all week, and I'm sorry. You're awesome! 

On that note, I am truly amazed by the incredible amount of love and support I have from my friends and family. You bring me to tears (though at this point it really doesn't take much). I had an amazing send off party with lots of my dad's famous pizza, American beer, pictures, embarrassing stories, and love, love, love. I would never be able to do this without each and every one of you. Thank you. 

I've thought about my last night at home a lot over the past few months. Would I cry myself to sleep thinking about all the little things I'd miss? Would I have a gigantic meltdown and call it quits? The time's finally come, and to my relief, I'm doing just fine. For the most part. I'm doing as well as I possibly can knowing that tomorrow when I wake up I have to say goodbye to all my creature comforts, my big, comfy bed, and my family. I just gotta remind myself that everything's gonna stay right here for me. No one and nothing is going anywhere. That's the thought that's calming me down tonight. 

I can hear the rain patters outside my window, and I swear Mother Nature chose tonight at 1am to lull me into a deep, peaceful sleep. Goodnight, muchachos! Next time I write, I'll be an official Peace Corps Trainee! 

Me teaching my cousin how to play my favorite song, Sweet Home Chicago, at my send off party.