Seis dias en mi pais ahora...

Six days in my country now...

I've just returned home from the grocery store, where I bought eggs and bacon and milk and english muffins and orange juice because my sister and her husband are coming for the weekend and we have nothing in the house to feed them. (Oh my god, my sister and her HUSBAND. I haven't seen them since the wedding weekend... how weird!) On the way to the grocery store, I was thinking about how strange it is, and how normal it is to be here, at home, in the United States.

Leaving Asuncion wasn't easy. Some friends from G21 had come to the city from their sites to say goodbye. We had a fun last night, drinking beers and eating fries covered in cheese and onions and garlic at the Brit Pub. Poor Kimberly had had a medical appointment that day to help stop her bloody noses, so she was tired and went home early. Jim and Orlando, Brad and Maggie and I stayed out for a while longer and then headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.

I hadn't thought a lot about how our departure would affect the other people in our Muni group. It had crossed my mind, but only for a moment in the flurry of ETing. There were only 7 of us, and now there would be only 5. We were meant to be each others' support, each others' family for 2 whole years. Kimberly, Jim and Orlando shared that they were sad and upset about it. Kimberly bravely shared that she was angry. She had invested time and energy into a relationship with me (I was closest to her during training) and now I was leaving her. I appreciated her ability to share that feeling that night. Jim and Orlando felt differently. Sad, homesick, and the difficulty of settling into site was compounded by our decisions. The next morning, saying goodbye, there were tears. Orlando had sent me a text earlier in the week saying "You'll always be part of G21, Boss." I hadn't really thought about that, about losing the group, until then.

Taking off from Asuncion, almost seven days ago now, looking down at the city from the air for the first time (we had arrived at night), I was listening to my iPod and Mary Chapin Carpenter came on, singing "Almost Home." The beginning, and the refrain goes like this:

...holding on for such dear life,
Here's where I let go.
I'm not running,
I'm not hiding,
I'm not reaching,
I'm just resting in the arms of the great wide open,
Gonna pull my soul in,
And I'm almost home.

I cried a couple of tears in the moment, thinking a bit of what could have been. What would have been? I didn't know then, and I don't know now. But I know I'm here, and I'm fine, and I still feel good about my decision, almost two weeks after I made it.

I would never have survived in Paraguay. Soy el opuesto de tranquilo (I am the opposite of tranquilo). It's frightening how much. I arrived home on a flight on Sunday, September 3 at 10:30 a.m. By Monday at 11, I was already looking at cars for sale on Craigslist. Not just reading the ads, but actually driving to the next towns over to test drive two. My mom, thank god, understands me enough to know that I needed to do this to feel in control of my life, and came with me. By Tuesday night, I owned a new car and by Wednesday afternoon, it was registered. My biggest accomplishment since leaving Paraguay? Driving a stick shift for the first time in my life. With confidence. Through downtown Boston!

Now that I own a car again, I've chilled out a little. I'm spending time online, looking at job ads and trying to figure out what I'm going to do next. I applied to three restaurants for full-time server work while I do a job search. I was offered one job today and am going to follow up on the one I want tomorrow and then make a decision. Both would be okay money to tide me over. Yesterday, I hung out for a while on the ABC website doing electronic Lost puzzles, had dinner with my roommate and today I went to a farm with my best friend and her two kids. This Sunday, I'm going back to NYC with my sister and her husband for three days. I've definitely chilled a little.

My roommate and very good friend, god-love-her-and-fate, was not able to rent my room during the three months I was gone. She had 4 people make appointments and never show up and two more weirdos look at it. This month was the month she was going to freak out if she didn't find someone. Well, she did. I move back in on September 16. Today, I was thinking about that for the first time, really, and all of a sudden realized how estatically happy I am that I don't have look for a place to live or live with strangers or live with my parents. I can move right back into my room and my friendship and my wonderful home with her. What a gift.

I've received dozens of emails from people since I decided to come home. All, en serio, ALL, have been supportive and wonderful, and some even made me cry a little more. (I am seriously sick of crying.) Friends who I love dearly, but never expected poetry from, created messages worthy of publishing. Friends I hadn't heard from in a long time took a moment to write me a note. People I wasn't even sure were friends wrote messages that touched my heart, at its core.

And even more people are helping me with requests during this work transition. People I haven't talked to in years are emailing and asking if I need help connecting with jobs or help with my resume. This experience really has reminded me that I am surrounded by people who care. People are willing to take a moment from the busy-ness of their lives to help me. And I'm finding myself willing to ask for help, which is unusual for me. In this instance though, in this moment in my life, it is necessary. So I have given myself over to the universe a little and am hoping for the best. I think it will come. If it doesn't, at least I know I have the guts to make a decision, push through, and take charge of it myself. People who know me best would probably say I didn't need any reminding about this, but I doubt myself more than people know, and often need reminding...

My mom, standing in the kitchen at 6 a.m. one morning this week, said, "I seriously need to go on a diet. I've been eating like crazy because I was so worried about you coming home." I asked why, saying I thought she was happy about it. She said she was, but thought I'd have a hard tranisition and would be all upset and would need lots of support. I said, "Huh. But I'm fine." She said, "Yeah, you are. It's weird." It is weird. She's right. I've been thinking about that ever since we had that conversation. I'm wondering actually, if I'll have a delayed reaction. Will I be "fine" for 5 weeks, like I was in the beginning in Paraguay and then it will hit me? That I've given up being a PCV, given up fluency in Spanish, given up what I'll never know I've given up? Don't know, but that moment with Mom in the kitchen was funny.

2006 will be a year of winters for me. This calendar year, I will have 3. Tres inviernos. The first winter was spent applying to the Peace Corps. It was spent explaning to family and friends why I wanted to leave the U.S. again. Why I thought the Peace Corps was perfect for me. The second winter, my South American winter, was spent learning to be a Peace Corps trainee. It was spent speaking Spanish, riding in buses with holes in the floor, eating sugar and fried foods, and learning a new culture and then deciding to leave all that. And now, the third winter. I don't know yet what it will bring, but if you stay with me, we'll find out together. Three Winters. Tres Inviernos. What's next? Vamos a ver. We'll see.

Nos vemos. See you later.