Being Home Missing Home

I have been meaning to write this post for a couple of months now. I was hoping that by putting it off, time would slow down for just a second. I want to stay in this sweet spot of, "Oh, I just got back from Peace Corps service," for as long as possible. It makes blowing my readjustment allowance and sitting on my parents couch okay. It makes it okay that I don't have a job yet. I hope it makes it okay that I'm not really looking for one that hard.

Some things are still okay and acceptable because I lived in the jungle for two years. I'm okay with that. I will be working for the rest of my life, so I'm not rushing the job thing. I mean, my roommates are okay—they feed me and periodically drop me off to meet friends. Basically I'm a middle schooler that can drink beer. Admittedly, it's possible I'm a little too comfortable with my current lifestyle.

I love being back in America, but the longer I've been back, the longer I've been away from Suriname. The longer I've been away from Suriname, the longer I've been away from my village and Beta and the kids. I worry that with the passage of time comes forgetting. I chatted with Beta a couple of days ago, and I was so nervous because I thought maybe I had forgotten how to speak Saramaccan. I haven't, but it definitely isn't as fluid as it was six months ago. The longer I've been away from those kiddos I love so much, the more they've grown. Selfishly, I don't want them to forget me. I hope they think of me every day, because I sure do think of them all the time. It's hard knowing the time since I've seen my village is only going to get longer.

I have talked about my experience so much since I've been home. I've discussed it formally on three occasions and whole lot more over dinner and drinks. It seems like everyone wants to know what I miss most about the Peace Corps and Suriname.

Here are the top 3:

The people. I miss my village and the friendships I have there. Which is hilarious, because if you had asked me nine months ago what my biggest frustration was, the short answer would have been the same. Our lifestyles are so different. It was sometimes hard to integrate into a new culture and maintain my sanity, but the people and the relationships are the reasons I survived two years in the jungle and completed my Peace Corps service. I didn't cry climbing into that boat for the last time because I was saying goodbye to my latrine and bucket baths. It was the people. Loving them is what made it easy to stay when staying was the hardest thing to do. I miss them most.

The WOW moments. I miss those moments when the reality of what I was doing would smack me in the face. In those moments I could take my mind's eye high above where I was and picture myself so tiny in the scheme of the world. I remember in those moments thinking that nothing else this cool could possibly be happening anywhere else. I remember being so thankful that of all the places in the world, I was right there, experiencing that exact moment. These moments weren't always ones of achievement or success, in fact they hardly ever were. They were almost always quiet moments with people. Moments like traditional ceremonies and getting all dressed up in traditional clothes. Moments in a dugout canoe floating through Amazon jungle. Moments of sweet calm with children on my porch, even if it didn't last that long. Moments of sewing and shelling peanuts with Beta. Moments of holding and kissing new babies. And every little moment of people stopping by my house as I prepared to move away.

SUR 17. I miss my Volunteer friends. We are bonded by something unique. I miss complaining, rejoicing, and dancing with them.

I also really miss this chicken sandwich I used to eat in the city. The restaurant was being remodeled when I was there last. I'm still not over it.

I don't think time is going to slow down, so I will embrace it. I will embrace it with the continued support of hot showers, brunches, and all the other stuff that makes America the Beautiful.