It’s 12:20am and my bed is crawling with ants. My heat exhaustion and sunburn is making me so delirious I keep thinking my shadow is a scurrying rodent. I have two best friends sleeping in other bedrooms—hopefully soundly, since we’re all burned and exhausted from a long day—and I keep jumping the ropes of emotional double-dutch.
I’m quite sad because I have two days left to drink coconuts, pick a vibrant flower from a random bush on the side of the road and pluck it behind my ear, finish paperwork, pack up everything in my house, organize my baggage, and prolong the goodbyes to all my wonderful friends in Tonga.
I’m disappointed because after nearly 16 months of Peace Corps service, mine has been interrupted by the universe or fate or just crappy luck. I feel as though my service never actually took off—my expectations were always in the way, I suppose, but after this second site fell apart, I tried my absolute hardest to secure another site—a supportive one—but it, too, fell.
I’m encouraged by all my friends and staff in PC because they’re convinced that this is my merging lane into another opportunity waiting for me. My Baha’I tutor, a wonderful woman who has more wisdom than any other early-30’s female usually has, told me yesterday, “You know, Jamie, when I think of you, I think of a butterfly. You just float around, flower to flower, knowing when it’s time to move and grow in the universe. And you have beautiful wings.”
I’m excited about future pursuits and endeavors—thinking about student loans and life insurance is a bit more than I can handle, but having the freedom to maneuver as I please without dressing in an oven-like skirt and stifling my opinions on politics, government, and gender issues is this beautiful source of fresh air just waiting to be inhaled. Ohhhh, I can’t wait. I may even drive a car the day I get back. Well, maybe not. (Cars aren’t my thing.)
When I first left ‘Eua, where I lived and taught for 7 months, I became very self-critical, nearly convincing myself that because I switched to the capital with vegetables only minutes away and water that ran every day, I wasn’t a real volunteer and wouldn’t have a legitimate service.
*Lessons Learned:
--I am not a martyr, nor should any volunteer go into service ready to martyr him/herself. It was almost a pride-thing. I’d write home telling of how I survived three weeks without running water or swap scary stories with other volunteers about rats or centipedes on steroids (molokau).
--A fruitful life has nothing to do with where you think you should be, but the people you’re around; the relationships you build; the community you join. Though I developed a wonderful community within Peace Corps, I unfortunately just started building a solid one with amazing people before it got cut short with this Interrupted Service.
--Such is life. I convinced myself I was MEANT to be here, but clearly I’m not. The ticket is booked, my house is packed, my suitcases are nearly filled, and my head is full of plots. I’ve got ideas and plans on strobe-light-mode, so I’m easily overwhelmed, slightly nauseous, and inconsistent with emotional responses, but my effort into coping with this drastic change isn’t so bad.
Then again, it also helps that I’ll get to celebrate my 24th birthday with my wonderful family, and soon after, watch The Hunger Games in a real theatre. Ohhhh, Clean Life, I bequeath my arrival upon you.
