Goodbye

This is my last blog post as a Peace Corps Volunteer; and so I say, “Goodbye.”  As words of farewell have passed through my lips this past week, I have felt physically ill with a loss appetite and general feelings queasiness.  Saying goodbye is hard.  I am saying goodbye to people, to places, to a way of life… here are a few of those goodbyes. 

My Goodbye to the Children of Lloa

Dear Children of Lloa,

What did you feel as you were walking down the red carpet?  Did you feel like a rock star?  Did you feel as beautiful as I assure you, you are?  Before you entered the room your wide eyes looked up at me, they seemed to ask, “What is inside?  What is going on?”  I smiled at you thrilled by your wonder; I placed my hand on your shoulder and guided you in.  Looking back to where you had been another one of you looked up with excitement and confusion in your eyes.  I guided you through the door as well.  In total, 85 of your quizzical eyes locked with mine and then passed me by.  After all of you had entered the room, I followed in your steps.  Did your steps bounce as mine did as you walked down the red carpet?  I’m left eager with the mystery of knowing what you felt as 18 Peace Corps Trainee’s, other Peace Corps Staff, and members of the community of Lloa lined the both sides of the carpet and cheered and shouted celebrating you.  This moment had been created for you and by you.  The book you had helped to write, “Ratoncita Sisa,” did you realize finally the significance of your efforts.  You were an author; you were an illustrator of a beautiful story.

Each of you sat in your seat, you watched a movie of the creation of your story, you stood up and presented a summary of the book, you walked across the stage and I handed you your book and a cupcake, you came back on the stage to say thank you to me, and I stood up and said thank you to you.  In the chaos of moving here to there, in your chatter and shifting in your seat, in your heart felt words to me, in all of this you gave me one more opportunity to be with you and to appreciate all that you are; each one of you so beautiful and unique. 

In my thank you to you I told you how like Sisa the little mouse (the main character in our story) you did not need to eat a magic wedge of cheese to be able to accomplish your dreams, the magic to make that happen already existed inside of you.  I told you that I would carry the memory of each of you in my heart forever.  I told you how I was leaving now, to become a teacher.  But what I could not express through words in a way you could understand was how standing before you in that moment there was so much more to the person that I was because of your presence in my life.  You revealed to me a part of myself, the part of me destine to be with you, destine to be a teacher.  To influence the transformations of your smiles and your discoveries, to guide you down the path to realize your own beauty.  You showed me that moments like those are the reason I am here; you have shown me my path to my truest happiness.  Every student I work with for the rest of my life will remind me of you, everyday for the rest of my life I will carry you with me. 

Thank you my little friends.

(Here is the video of the making of the story, "Sisa the Little Mouse," that my PC friend, Ryan Rodriguez made to play at the event.)

My Goodbye to the Mountains and Clouds

Dear Mountains and Clouds,

There has not been a moment in the past two years where you have ceased to amaze me.  To the mountains, I have written so many words trying to describe you.  I have described you as the topping to a lemon meringue pie, for it seems as if someone took a spatula and artistically twirled your folds, peaks, and valleys into place and I have to say, to my eyes you are delicious.  I have described you as a vibrant green ocean, your waves of green rising high and unforgiving as if you where frozen into place within the fiercest of storms.  I have described you as quilt, patchwork shades of vibrant green draped in perfect angles here and there. 

To the clouds you make me anxious.  Excitement rises in my every day as you creep toward me.  You ooze, tumble, and stampede in eerily slow speed toward me like a massive herd of divine horses.  Closer and closer you come from the moment I open my eyes until… I am in your belly and you have consumed me.  Clouds, I have to complain, your belly is cold.  You vale the mountains from my view and you leave my hands and feet begging for warmth.  But I will take the cold in return to sit witness of your chemistry with the mountains. 

How many bus rides have I been on from Quito to Lloa?  Too many to count, but still each ride I get excited for the moment I reach the ridgeline and can look upon your dance, mountains and clouds.  Going home to New England we have mountains, we have clouds… but not like you.  Skyscrapers are built and planes fly high, but nothing will replace the magnificence of living with you.  Your dramatic presence humbles and inspires… I will miss you Lloa.  I will miss so much.  I will miss waking up and dedicating my entire day to marvel at your beauty.  Mountains and clouds you have changed me.  You are a picture and a feeling I will hold dear within me forever.  

When I left my bedroom window with my bags packed to travel I cried and I cried knowing I was leaving you.   

My Goodbye to Mayra

Dear Mayra,

Culturally and individually we all create our own concepts of beauty.  To me that which is beautiful is not something I see, but rather feel inside.  You Mayra are my beacon, my example of what it feels like to be in the proximity of the purest of beauties.  Throughout my life this feeling will remain cemented to my soul and act as a lighthouse watching over the rocky shore where my life and the rest of the world collide.  You Mayra are the light I will look to through the fog of chaos that life sometimes throws my way.  

As I hugged you goodbye I marveled as I have from the moment I met you at all the harsh realities that have tore through your life.  Abuse from your father, your siblings were taken away to an orphanage, some psychologist handed you a paper which stated you have retardation, another doctor told you of a disease in your lungs.  Through it all Mayra you continue on, you greet the day as the day before with a smile.  Mayra, you are good at hiding your emotions, and so I know it was a big gift from you to me when you whisper in my ear as we loosened our arms from our final embrace, “te quiero.”  I love you too my beautiful Mayra.

And so Mayra, I leave you with this book, this story I wrote about my life and how you have impacted the person I am.  Through the words and pictures I hope you can see how special you are, especially to me.
  
Follow the link to Mayra's story: http://www.blurb.com/books/5268549-lessons-from-my-beating-heart

My Goodbye to You

Finally I say goodbye to this blog, and if you are reading this, then that includes you.  I didn’t know what this blog was going to be, but it has turned out to be an adventure in and of itself.  I do not remember very many literary rules or this and that about writing… but this blog has given me an opportunity to play with words.  Thank you for reading it and thank you for inspiring me to want to write more.  I don’t know who reads this, but if you have maybe you will send me a note… it would be nice to know who has been friends to these words.

If you’ve kept up with this blog you know that this experience has not been easy.  The Peace Corps slogan captures it perfectly… “The hardest job you’ll ever love.”  Throughout this experience I often asked myself, why the heck did I sign up for this… this is horrible.  Sometimes I blamed it on other people.  I would tell myself, I am doing it for all the people who care for me and who I felt were vicariously living through me in a way.  In the end I know this to be a lie.  I did this for myself.  I did this for the kids of Lloa, my host family, and for the opportunity to meet people like Diana my Spanish tutor and now one of my closet friends. 

There is always more to learn and more to reach for… I have learned of the longevity of my reach, I have learned of the power of perseverance and what happens within you when you pull yourself out of feelings of insignificance and don’t give up.  Through this experience I have grown stronger, but also feel smaller having expanded my view to the immensity of the world. 

From this moment on my Peace Corps experience and Lloa will remain as the most tender and fierce memory that will live on in the whole person that I am.  I could not have asked for a better two years.  They have been so hard but so vitally important in my life.  That little girl in high school looking to add depth to her eyes… she made a promise to herself in her first trip to Ecuador in 2003 that she was going to live in a place like Ecuador for a period in her life.  Well she did.  Is it too self absorbed to say, I am so proud of myself.  It is the most incredible feeling in the world to know you have followed through with a promise to yourself; especially one so big and so difficult. 

I felt confident in the person that I was, coming into this experience, but that confidence was shattered quickly upon arrival to Lloa.  Throughout these two years I have rebuilt myself.  I now feel that same confidence inside me, I rebuilt myself to be exactly who I was, but now through the context of a different landscape and a different culture. 

So, “Door in the Wind,” maybe this blog has unfolded for you as an interesting kind of story wound by the hand of some writers dream.  Or maybe it has done as I set out to do and shared with you a little bit about the culture of Ecuador.  For me this blog has tried to put words to my life in Lloa, a place that now exists in my spirit and soul.

And now, here at the end I know confidently that Lloa will always remain in the strength of my drifting thoughts and humbled steps.  A beautiful land where dreams are born, where I met beautiful Mayra, where I sat in the clouds on the side of a mountain, where there lives a little mouse named Sisa, where there exists a room where I hit my lowest lows and highest bouts of inspiration, my beautiful Lloa, the treasure beyond the door in the wind.

Thank you for going there with me.

Higher

On May 3^rd and 4^th I climbed Cotopaxi.  I had been planning to climb the volcano ever since I arrived in Ecuador and now with less than two months left, it was time.  My two good Peace Corps friends Talia and Ryan signed up for the challenge with me.  Our adventure started Saturday morning the 3^rd when we met our guide, Diego, in front of a mall in the south of Quito.  Diego then drove us to Machachi, (the closest town to Cotopaxi) where he checked our gear and provided us with further equipment to rent where we fell short.  Ice axes, crampons, and helmets shoved into our packs we then drove an hour to Cotopaxi National Park, where we would be resting before the climb.  On the way to the park we picked up Segundo, Diego’s uncle who would be our second guide. 

Talia, Ryan and I with our motivational t-shirts  "Hasta La Cumbre"

The refuge at the base of the glacier is the normal point to start the climb up Cotopaxi, but because it was closed for construction we stayed at a little lodge a half an hour drive from the parking lot and an hour climb from the normal starting point of the refuge.  This meant we would be starting our climb an hour earlier than planned.  At 5:00pm Diego and Segundo served us a wonderful dinner of quinoa soup and steak and then we tried to sleep from 6:30-9:45pm.  By 10:00pm we were dressed in all our equipment and eating a good breakfast of granola and yogurt.  By 11:00pm we were in the truck and by 11:30 we arrived at the parking lot.  As soon as we stepped out of the truck it was clear this was not going to be easy.  The wind was so strong that it would blow away your gloves if you placed them on the ground and the sideways gusting snow instantly drenched everything in cold, wetness.  Because it was the weekend there were at least 8 other groups attempting the climb with their respective guides.  Our group was ready first so we started up in a single final line at a very gentle pace.

By the time we reached the refuge an hour later we had drifted to the back of the line of all the groups.  Diego approached me and asked if it would be okay if we split up into two groups so as to respect our different rhythms.  I said okay, and we split up.  I continued with Diego and Talia and Ryan with Segundo.  Hugging Ryan and Talia I turned to follow Diego carrying with me a familiar feeling I have had throughout my Peace Corps service, a feeling of being very much alone.  And so now I shift my perspective from the past to the present because I don’t know that I have ever been so present in a moment as I was in this climb…   

Walking up, up, up stars slip into my gaze for a moment and then are almost instantly replaced by clouds and I continue up, up.  For a moment I see the lights of Quito in the distance, and then again, blackness.  My headlamp illuminates a spot of snow at my feet, my right hand holds the rope tied to my harness linking Diego and I together and my left hand clutches my ice axe.  Diego tells me to follow in his footsteps keeping the line between us taut.  As we move slowly up the mountain I think for a moment that I feel lighter than air; this is not so hard, I just have to breath.  Diego leads me past one group of bobbing headlamps, then past another, up, up.  I am alarmed at how steep it is; I thought we would be zigzagging a bit more.  The snake of headlamps up the volcano makes me appreciate the verticality of the slope.  I feel exposed in the darkness and I am struck by a moment of fear as I realize that I am in fact clinging to the side of a slippery cone.  But Diego has confidence in me; he must, because he doesn’t stop.  Up, up.  He looks back and asks, “How are you?”  “Good,” I say with deceptive enthusiasm.  “Okay,” he says and we continue up.  For a moment we stop to catch our breath, and once it is caught we continue.  Diego assumes I don’t need a longer break.  The truth is, I do, but I am afraid that if we stop I will lose my momentum to start again.

We silently switch our ice axes to our right hands; my left hand now clutches the ice-covered rope.  Finally we reach a spot a little less steep so we stop for a ten-minute break.  The armor of ice that has built on my jacket cracks as I shrug my backpack off.  I sip my icy cold water and munch on a cookie.  Another group is coming, Diego wants to be in the lead so I throw on my pack and squeeze my hands into my mittens, which are now frozen solid.  Up, up, up we start again; there is no relief from the steady up. 

It was cold but now it is colder.  Every step is harder now.  My legs aren’t tired, but my body is.  I suddenly feel a wave of nausea and the cookie I ate lingers ominously in my throat.  I realize that if I keep pushing as I am I will not be able to make it.  I need to listen to my body.  I stop ever five steps, I breath, then I allow myself two more.  I become acutely aware that it is just Diego and me.  Why am I doing this?  What is my motivation?  I start to realize that I am completely miserable.  I am so tired.  I just want to cuddle up in a ball and sleep.  I want to stop lifting my feet, but I also know that if I stop I will be shocked to defeat by the icy cold.

I lingered for a moment; Diego turns and asks, “What is wrong?”  This is my moment to tell him I feel sick and want to turn around, but… “I’m just tired,” I say and we continued on.

What started as a physical battle becomes a mental one.  I realize the misery I feel is something I have felt before.  There have been moments in the past two years where I have felt helpless bouts of misery.  In these moments I had felt completely alone, unable to relate to my family in the states and my family in Ecuador, unable to get past venomous thoughts of my perceived insignificance to my counterpart organization.  On Cotopaxi I feel this same misery.  But I also realize that every day of my two years in Ecuador I had worked to make things better.  I had pulled myself out of darkness into thoughts of beauty and promise.  I had made it two years when there were so many moments that I didn’t want to or thought that I couldn’t.  But I had.  If I had completed two years in the Peace Corps, I could do anything.  This is what I told myself. 

So up, up, up… ice axe, left foot, right foot, left foot… fight the nausea, brace my head against the wind, ignore the snot frozen to my cheek… ice axe, left foot, right foot, left foot.  There is a battle within me but I am surrounded by silence.  Diego does not say a word; he stands patiently in front of me gently tugging on the rope when it is time for me to move.  By the last steep ascent I want to turn back with every fiber of my being.  I want to push on, but I can’t.  Every step I am fighting nausea.  With two hands now I plant my ice axe firmly into the slope before me I kick my left foot then right foot into the snow I brace myself and then climb up.  As the cone I am clinging to becomes increasingly smaller in diameter the wind becomes less forgiving.  Up.  

Each step is a battle.  I forced myself to think beyond my body and pull strength from a part of me I had not known before.  My legs remain loyal to thoughts of movement but altitude has made me a stranger in my skin.  I directed my thoughts only onto the volcano and myself and I find strength within me that I did not know I had.  Ice axe, step, step… I concentrate my thoughts into a tangible entity and I hurl them to the top of the volcano.  My thoughts are now waiting for me there at the summit, knowing that they are resting at the top planning my celebration I find new motivation to climb.

At 6:30am we make it to the summit.  The sun has risen but everything remains grey as we are standing in a cloud.  I try to turn off my headlamp but can’t when I discover the button is covered in a thick sheet of ice.  Diego turns to me and gives me a hug.  I pull out two snickers bars to eat in celebration but to my disappointment they are rock solid frozen.  “I didn’t think I could make it,” I admit to Diego.  He turns to me and tells me that he has done this for a long time and didn’t question that I would.  I wonder if others battle as I did to make it to the top.  The Peace Corps was the mirror that showed me I could persevere and endure with patience and strength in vision.  I wondered what mirror others used to look into their soul to know that they could.

Our steps that took six and half-hours up were retraced in two hours down.  On the way down I noticed for the first time all the beautiful and strange icicle and snow formations we had passed on the way up. 

In reflecting on climbing Cotopaxi I’ve asked myself, was there a moment in the past two years when I reached the summit, the zenith of my Peace Corps experience?  And I’ve realized that June 10th, the day I board the plane home, that will be when I finally reach the top.  Walking down from that mountain will be a journey that will extend throughout of the rest of my life.  Not distracted by the hard climb I will be able to look more closely and appreciate in a deeper way the beauty that has surrounded me these past two years.  I am only just reaching the sweet victory of the summit.  As I am getting there I can now tell you that in the past two years I have climbed higher than I ever have in my life, emotionally, mentally, and now physically... 19,347ft / 5,897m, yeah!      

      

The Subjunctive

In Spanish the subjunctive verb tense has always given me the greatest trouble.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this tense, a simple definition from my computer is:

subjunctive |səbˈjəNG(k)tiv| Grammar

adjective

relating to or denoting a mood of verbs expressing what is imagined or wished or possible.

In middle school, in high school, in college, this tense was presented to me.  I sat trying to memorize all the irregular forms and the basics of its verb structure in future and past tense.  Tests and quizzes revealed that maybe in a moment I was able to remember from intentional cramming the day before how to use the subjective.  But really, I learned how to thematically piece together letters; every sentence it’s own puzzle.  What I did not understand was that the subjunctive is not simply a riddle to be solved when writing or speaking.  The subjunctive is a way of looking at the world.  The subjunctive is beautiful. 

In English we speak of wishes, desires, and possibilities, but this feeling of the hypothetical, the unknown is not actively acknowledge in the structure of the verb.  In English we might say a sentence like… “It may stop raining before you arrive.”  In Spanish the same sentence would read… “Puede dejar de llover antes de que llegue.”  “Llegue,”is the subjunctive form of the word “llegar” which means, “to arrive.”  By structuring the verb in this way you are actively acknowledging the free will of the other individual.  It is out of your control when they will arrive or if they will at all.  Though structuring the subjunctive still leaves me at times tongue tied in conversations, over the past few years I have started to feel the truth of it’s form in my interactions with others…

I was inspired to write this now, because as I am getting ready to transition home I have been more and more involved in sending emails and letters to people, planning and organizing my life for when I return.  As I have written these emails I’ve caught myself head cocked sideways in concern mid-sentence.  Writing “you” feels disrespectful, as does the absence of the subjective in the formation of verbs.  These perplexing moments have helped me realize that I really knew nothing of Spanish when I arrived two years ago.  Spanish as a language and a subject cannot be understood through memorization alone, it must be felt.  The brain cannot hold all the puzzles we try to cram in it.  But the soul and the spirit, when engaged in learning shape our perspective, our entire being, our perceptions, and so now I can tell you that Spanish now has a major role in shaping my everyday perspectives of myself and the world. 

While I have noticed that my thoughts are more frequently narrated in Spanish, when I turn to my best friend, English words flow.  And my best friend these past few years has been my journal.  My journal has helped me de-tangle my thoughts and feeling in a way no one else has been able to.  Submerged in feelings of nostalgia for Lloa that I have prevailed upon my future self, my journal has more and more recorded the simple beauties that have filled my days the past two years.  An excerpt:

            Sitting here in my space I dare a hot mug of tea to burn my hands.

           

Through my two paneled, bug guts smeared window I smile at the dance of shadows put on by the sun and the clouds.

Quite within, quiet is the space around me, but a dog barks from the street challenging the quiet within me, this quiet only reaches so far.

Hum of the fridge hands me a thought, dinner is coming… a warm bowl of Quinoa sounds nice.

Water sloshes, water swirls, a bucket is dropped… through the wall Isabel must be washing clothes.

Slowly two feet drag across the floor, gentle and soft they contrast with the loud slam of a door, and the feet are gone.  Goodbye Alonso.

The sun sinks lower in the sea of clouds.  It reaches a place it reaches every day at this moment blinding the peripheral vision of my eye.

My eyes are burning, they have been open all day, my bed looks nice, maybe I will lie down for a moment…

May is coming.  May is going to be a big month.  More thoughts soon.

Reading from the story "Ratoncita Sisa" for a video we're making

Panama Hat Museum in Cuenca

Training for Cotopaxi, Guagua Pichincha 15,000ft

Creative Writing

Puppet Workshop I helped with 15 hour south in Loja

My Wonderful Friend, Stacey came to visit!

Three, Two, One...

Walking through the school gate I am greeted with chaos as children run out of classrooms to come and give me a hug.  On the playground kids swing like monkeys on a tired swing set with broken swings and a collapsed foot bridge.  Puddles are jumped in, hair is pulled, and out of the corner of my eye I see one kid give another one a nice smack on the head.  I tune out the chaos, greet the teachers with the proper formalities and encourage the kids back into their classrooms.  After a year and a half, I am well known as the token Gringa, Rebe, though most of the children call me “teacher” when I see them in the school.  I have come for various projects throughout my service equipped with my guitar, a paintbrush, a teambuilding activity or a plan to make a fool of myself.  Now with three months left of service I enter the school ground equipped with a story. 

And this truly amazes me.  With my guitar, with bottles of paint, with a plan to make a fool of myself… with all of these things I have not been able to control the chaos.  I have muted it, but I have not controlled it.  But, when I open a book and I read a story, I look out at the students and watch as the energy that had fueled the chaos slips away to be replaced with curious eyes, eager ears, and steady hearts.  What a luxury to have someone reading you a story.  The story I have brought to the school over the past few months has been that of “Ratoncita Sisa.”

Maybe you remember a blog post from last June… it was about a project I was doing with a group of kids after school to write and illustrate a story about Lloa.  The group created the character, a little mouse named Sisa, who was on a quest to travel to all parts of Lloa in search of a magic wedge of cheese that would give her confidence and vision to work toward her dreams.  For two months last spring this project had great momentum and a consistent turnout of participants, but then summer hit, the children dispersed and when school started up again in September momentum for the project had slipped away.

I don’t know if the children shared in this experience, but every time I walked by the fountain in the park where Sisa was said to have lived, I felt a little defeated… UNTIL, I was given the opportunity to work on this project in the schools instead of in after school hours.  And so Sisa has continued her journey for that magic wedge of cheese this time involving the children from the school in the center of Lloa as well as the children from the schools of two neighboring communities. 

San Luis

I work in the community of San Louis that has 22 students every Wednesday.  It is an hour walk to and from the school… an hour walk amongst the clouds, the cows, and the green patchwork mountains.  As I walk I soak up the morning sun with an unconscious smile and my mind whirls through thoughts heavily tainted with the presence of a feeling of transition.  In three months Lloa will not be the home I walk back to at the end of my day.  

The puzzled together illustration for our book by the students of San Luis

Thursday I go with a driver 45 minutes to the school of Urauco that has 13 students.  This community is breathtaking.  It is on a mini plateau that slants up toward the mouth of the volcano Guagua Pichincha.  I arrive with my hands deep in my pockets and shutter from both the cold and amazement that I should be so lucky to have stumbled upon what feels like one of the world’s secret.  It’s beauty gives character to the word, magic.  Green, blue, white, soft, sharp, gentle, fierce, ancient, bulging, wise… Urauco is so many things.  I encourage the children to find their own words to describe their home; I encourage them to feel these words within themselves.  Ratoncita Sisa is a lucky mouse to be able to travel throughout a land of such beauty.  This is one of the goals we have in this project.  Trying to get the children to take pride in their beautiful home.  

Puzzled together illustration for our book by the students in Urauco

Hours I am not working on this project are filled with a personal project I am working on to create something special for Mayra for when I leave in June.  I am also starting to get deeper into studying Rudolf Steiner’s books which has been transformative on top of everything else I am experiencing. 

3,2,1… I will be on US soil before I know it.  Is that right?  Did I arrive yesterday or was that 2 years ago.  3,2,1.

Molly came to visit in February.  Here we are with by best Ecuadorian friend and Spanish tutor, Diana and her mom.

My host mom Isabel, selling "Rico Mote con Chicharron" at the market on Sunday.

Don't Let Me Curdle

Surprise, I came home for Christmas.  I baked and ate more cookies in a week than I have eaten in my lifetime, I laughed wildly at the hot water that came out of the faucet, and I cried joyous tears sleeping under a down comforter that must have been made from feathers sent down from angel’s wings in heaven… exuberant, palpable joy.  As did my travels in August, removing myself from one environment for another and then heading back again lent to some interesting reflection.  Two things really have stuck with me to share with you now.

First, surprising your family by coming home from your Peace Corps post in Lloa Ecuador does not guarantee that you will be greeted with loud, happy screams and tears of happiness.  To the contrary, all my surprises were very quiet and I guess that is what shock does to you, it leaves you frozen.

Second, being able to come home once in August and now again over Christmas has helped me gain perspective of the impact this experience is having on the development of who I am.  I think my transition home in 5 months will be made easier because of it.  It is like tempering an egg.  When you are cooking something like custard you need to add an egg to a warm sauce, but you can’t just crack it in, the egg would cook instantly and it would curdle.  So, you remove a bit of the sauce adding it to the egg.  Little by little you continue to do this until the egg is sufficiently warmed up and ready to mix in the sauce.  My soul is the egg in this analogy and through my two trips home my soul has slowly been tempered to understand the challenges I will face when I go home.

And I am trying to prepare myself now to challenges in adjustment not to technological, material, or environmental differences, but challenges in effectively navigating through difficult questions and assumptions expressed by others.

For instance… assumptions of what the reality must be in a land that has been labeled third world and developing.  What do you think of when you hear these things?  In reference to Ecuador these labels make me cringe.  I’m sure someone could give me a very good politically charged explanation of why Ecuador has these labels, but in the basics of life, working, eating, walking, talking… Ecuador is awesome.  How is it developing in a way any more or less than my beautiful country of the United States?  It is developing; sure, we are all developing.  First world and third world… what does that mean?  Is it a race?  Is the first world winning?  I don’t know.  Looking at the news over the past few years, and I am not speaking about anything political, but just looking at the behavior of people… the United States seems to have been hit with a lot of evil from its own citizens. 

Bracelets Made by Ms. Seiler's Class

Another assumption… The Peace Corps, what is it?  I know there are Peace Corps haters out there.  I ran into one woman in particular while visiting home in August who had a lot of negative things to say about the Peace Corps.  Although I know I shouldn't let it get to me, she has left a lasting impression on me.  What I was taken aback with was the amount of rage and what felt like hate toward my participation in the Peace Corps.  Although her point resonated in my mind, I cannot disagree more with the criticism she threw upon me.  For two years I have been working in social development through art, music, education... these things are hard to measure with facts and figures and charts and maps… but I hope that in realizing one’s self worth, will, and passions the internal result would be something sustainable.  Yes, it has been very difficult to work and motivate my counterpart; yes at times I have felt more than insignificant, but this is a feeling I now know very intimately and I can tell you it is a feeling I know I don’t want to feel.  I have never been so wound up to want to fight for my dreams and encourage others to fight for theirs.  And a second point of criticism I have occasionally heard is the question of why I am dedicating two years to another country when within our own country there is so much need.  To this I say I am a citizen of the United States, yes, but I am also a citizen of the world.  Ecuador has been my teacher.  I am not dedicating my life to her, just two years, and when I come back it will be with a set of lessons that I could not have found anywhere else.

Learning how to make Tamales!

The personally gratifying fruits of my service have not been something I have been able to taste.  It is when I return home that my service, in a way, will finally begin…  to share these stories throughout my lifetime.

When this experience started, 27 months stretched before me as a kind of eternity.  I don’t know that I will ever come as close to feeling the weight of eternity as I did when I first got off the plane in Ecuador.  BUT, now I tell you, eternity does end… well, maybe just in a physical sense.  Five months.  That is what I am looking at now.  Five months until I will be coming home.  And so I am glad I have tempered my soul through my visits home.  My time now is filled with less anxiety.  I will not race to the finish line, I can take more time to enjoy the energy of the farmers market behind my house each Sunday, to enjoy the clouds constant dance with the mountains, and to enjoy making bread with Mayra every Saturday morning.        

Peace

From August to December this site has sat missing the touch of new thoughts and experiences.  Now in December with 7 months left of my service, I am determined to finish how I started, with more frequent updates on my life in the Peace Corps in Ecuador.  So, looking back to August, here is an update.

Julie and Dad

Sunrise from TODARO with Gettysburg Friends

In August my sister Julie got married.  In my visit home to the states for her wedding I felt like I had stepped into a mystical land filled with unimaginable sweets and goodness, like the land presented in the film “Big Rock Candy Mountain” that I used to envision myself in as a little girl.  In the film, you enter into the land of the Big Rock Candy Mountain by going down a slide, and once there, you are surrounded by trees that grow candy and lakes of soda and everywhere there is amazing food, creatures and colors.  The sweets I found in my visit home where not all edible as the land of the Big Rock Candy Mountain, but they were just as delicious.  A few of these treasure where:  Sitting on the porch in Maine with Gramsie enjoying the quiet, watching the sunrise out of the ocean with some of my closest friends, meeting my cousins beautiful daughters Kaia and Penny Brown, seeing my Dad escort my sister Julie down the lawn toward Kevin... never in my life have I been so startled by someone´s radiant beauty as I was at the sight of Julie.  I had an amazing two weeks home and at the end of it I was ready to travel back to Ecuador.   

For the duration of the flight from Miami to Quito I wrote in my journal.  An excerpt from the rambling of my pen… “Being home felt different then I thought it might.  I kept telling people it was easy to be back because my life in the US and Ecuador where so distinctly different.  I had my life in the US and my life in Ecuador and I could not relate them in that moment.  But was this really true?  Was the ease I felt in transitioning born from the stark contrasts I experienced in the two places or the blunt fact that these two places where not that different from one another.  I did not leave one civilization to enter into another.  You can find in Ecuador and the United States many of the same material things… in both of these places people live their lives with similar routines and aspirations. 

Feeling at peace, I landed in Ecuador refreshed and inspired.  But, a week into my return to Lloa I hit my worst slump yet.  On my 26^th birthday I found myself reflecting on a year’s volunteer work in my community and I felt I had not accomplished all that I had wanted to and I felt in a very real way the passing of a year of my life in which I had spent too many hours alone in my thoughts.  I had left for the Peace Corps when I was 24 and I would be returning home weeks away from my 27^th birthday.  My head throbbed with difficult questions.  I missed proximity to family and friends and I missed the freedom and options I felt to develop who I was living amongst a culture in which I knew how to better manage my actions.  I felt sad and I reflected very intensely on all the other times I had felt sad the previous year.  I was in a bad place, and then I went to our mid-service training.

Talking with all the other volunteers and taking time to think about my goals and motivations I realized that my negativity had completely dominated my being and I was not thinking rationally.  In one of our mid-service training activities we presented for the rest of our group all that we had accomplished in the previous year.  Showing pictures of my life in Lloa I realized I had had a year full of activities and joys in new friendships... and while I felt fulfilled with all that I had done, I wanted to be even more involved the following year.  Sharing these thoughts with my program manager, the Peace Corps helped me find further work in Quito at an orphanage.  I now split my time between volunteering at an orphanage in Quito and the Faro del Saber in Lloa.  

Working in the orphanage has been an amazing experience providing me with hope and a much needed boost in my feelings of motivation and positive energy.  At my third day working in the orphanage I walked to the gate to find a 6 year old boy standing anxiously with a little gift bag filled with toys.  The woman standing with him told me he was waiting for a car to pick him up which would be taking him to meet his new family in the states who had adopted him.  He seemed very excited and nervous and kept looking down at a book his new family had sent him filled with pictures of his new home, community, and brothers and sisters he would soon meet.  It was an amazing moment to stumble upon, and I think about it every time I walk through the gate into the orphanage to work with the kids.  

Creating the Shield of Arms

October flew as most months have, except that I had a surprise visit from my college friend Tara.  She came on Halloween which in Ecuador coincided with the day in which they honor the shield of arms on their flag.  The school in Lloa put on a program presenting the significance of the shield of arms and Tara and I whipped together a quick presentation on Halloween.  I realized in the moment I didn´t completely understand how Halloween transitioned into what it is… something to investigate.

Yolanda and I at a Crisfe Workshop

November was a month I will remember for developing a stronger relationship with the staff and kids in the orphanage and for a three-day workshop I participated in with my Lloa counterpart, Yolanda.  November also brought a great joy as my host family received verification that Mayra (my host sister who has lived with my family for the past four year, but who is neither adopted or related by blood) would be allowed to continue living with my family.  Looking back again to September… my host family received difficult news that Mayra’s legal siblings where going to be sent to an orphanage on account of Mayra’s real families inability to properly care for the children.  Mayra was going to be looped into the deal, as she was not legally adopted into my family.  My family fought hard to be able to adopt Mayra legally as she really is a part of my family here, and Adamaris my 5-year-old host sister looks up to Mayra as her older sister.  I supported my family from the distance that I could, and am now overwhelmed with happiness knowing that Mayra will stay.

Now December… Christmas is on the horizon; I LOVE Christmas.  I love baking cookies, being with my family, and creating interesting gifts.  I love familiar music, the smell of pine, to wish for snow… Last year in Ecuador and in the past few weeks Christmas has been celebrated in Lloa as different organization have come into the schools and given plastic bags filled with sweet crackers, caramels, and chocolates to the kids.  Christmas lights fill the windows of a select few homes so that I am not missing twinkling Christmas lights, but the overwhelming warmness that has marked the holiday season I grew up with in the states I cannot feel here.  The illusion of Santa Clause, the North Pole, and elves working hard in their workshop to make gifts for all the good girls and boys… they do not adventure to Lloa, Ecuador.  But that is not to say that it is a sad.  It is just a day leading to another day.  Joys and peace are found in the day as they can be found in everyday.

Adamaris, Mayra and I... a day at the movies

So the holiday season is much more mellow here and I find myself missing the dazzle of the Holiday season despite my efforts to give into the peace that Christmas provides in Lloa.  There are so many Christmas songs that speak of peace.  Here it is peaceful.

Speaking of peace, have I mentioned that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer?  As is the case, the word “peace” pops out of songs and conversations and hits me in an interesting way.  I have thought a lot about this word, and now around Christmas time I see it EVERYWHERE… “Peace” “Paz” “Peace on Earth”…   

This word is complicated.  I have tried to break it apart and get a better grasp of it so that I can better embrace the role of a volunteer in an organization whose mission is to promote world peace and friendship.  I have come to realize that maybe I have taken this word for granted, I talk about peace but do I understand what it means and if I can’t understand it how can I promote it.  So I have had to take a step back to first understand what peace feels like within myself.  That has been a major part of my experience.  Finding internal peace so that my work and interactions are ones in which peace can naturally flow.  

Last year at this time I wrote that I was making it a life resolution to never lose sight of the potential, imagination, and unguarded love that I knew as a little girl.  I have kept that thought close to my heart all year and because of this I have been able to understand on a deeper level who I am and a new understanding of peace has blossomed within me.  I have gained a self-awareness to know what makes me happy, what inspires me, and what challenges me in a compelling way.  Knowing this, I have thought about my future and what comes next.  The fact stands that throughout my life, in all my pastimes, travels, work, and studies, I always end up working with children and art.  Becoming a teacher by profession has always loomed in the back of my mind as something I was meant to do.  Now, I really believe this with all of who I am.  As is the case in October I was accepted into Antioch University of New England’s Masters in Ecuadation with a specialization in Waldorf Education program.  So, what comes next is what has always come next, becoming a Waldorf Teacher.  Knowing this, I really do feel at peace.

I wish you a happy holiday season.  2014 marks the beginning of my last quarter of service.  I can promise AT LEAST one more post.

PEACE,

Becky

Peace Corps Friends visit Quilatoa after Mid-service Training

Mayra bakes some bread

Recycled arts crafts

Recycled art workshop I helped with in Guayaquil

You never know what you'll find in Lloa

Halloween activity with Tara and the schools in Lloa

More from our day at the movies, my Christmas gift to my beautiful sisters!

Ecuador is beautiful

Tara in Lloa for Halloween