What I Lost
Last week, I ran down to Chinatown for the rice cooker that I decided to buy Pretty in Purple for her birthday (in addition to a few other things). The route I ran took me through Logan Circle, which is where I used to live. Though I'm liking my place up here in Columbia Heights, when I was running through my old neighborhood, I felt this pang. A pang of sorrow that I no longer lived in that neighborhood, and that I hadn't fully explored it when I had the chance to.
I just realized then part of what I've been dealing with since coming back from CV is a profound sense of loss. Though your identity changes a bit when you're so immersed in a foreign environment, I always knew that I was still American, which was something in the long term that would never really change. No matter how much pop culture and news I missed, or how many nice amenities I longed for, and no matter how much I wanted to fit into my community, there was something that separated me from the people at my site. Something, as hard as I tried, I knew I would never really lose. Even if I took on some surface attributes and attitudes of CVians (and I did), nothing would never change the fact that I was an American, and that I would eventually return to the U.S. to reclaim it. Heck, if I wanted it bad enough, I could just call Praia and tell them I wanted to go home right away.
But it's not the same here, now that I am back. I cannot simply call someone and be back in CV in 24 hours. America was like a fantasy that I knew I would become reacquainted with, CV is dream that fades slowly away in my mind with every passing day.
Everything that I had gained, everything I had created, everything I had eked out over the course of two years, pretty much ended the day I took that cab out of Mosteiros. No matter how many photos I have (about 6,000) or how many little trinkets that I kept (all stored in a box, though I've placed some panu de terra out for people to admire), or even if I keep up with people from my site (I IM with a few), the truth of the matter is, that I've lost it all. Everything that I had, and everything that I was for those two years. I cannot reclaim it like I would reclaim my "Americaness."
I can accept the idea of lost youth, or acknowledge the fact that as I grow older, I will change and evolve. But CV was something different. That moment I got into the cab, and I drove away, everything became lost, everything started to fade away.
And yes, I say all of this, nor forgetting or dismissing the misery (yes, misery) that I faced while there. But you know what? It was my misery. I embrace it like I embraced every joyful moment that I had on my little pile of dirt in the Atlantic.
When most people ask me about my time in PC, my first instinct is to say that it was tough for me, and start listing out reasons. The other day in the office (yes, for the love of Allah, I am employed again, back with the not-so-evil-empire I ran into a RPCV who had served in the Congo, decades ago. He asked me how my time in CV was, and I had to suppress the urge to say "it sucked and it was tough." Why? Because there was someone else in the room, someone else who (though no fault of her own) would just have taken my words at face value and just possibly left it at that.
I guess I don't even bother to try anymore when it comes to explaining about my time there. I have perfected my stump speech on the matter, and most people are satisfied by it. The depth of emotions is sometimes even too confusing for me to properly sort out, but I just know trying to explain it to an outsider is almost pointless.
Being back has been a struggle in many ways. Though my life has considerably brightened in the past month and a half or so, the illumination also makes me realize what there is in me that's left to face. When I was much more disgruntled, it was easy for me to hide all of my problems and issues behind that. But now, it's no longer an excuse.
So, I can admit it. I lost it all. Every single bit of it. Every artifact I have left from CV only helps to slightly reinforce the ever fading dream of my life there.
Looking forward is never difficult. It's letting go of what you've lost that's the tough part.
I just realized then part of what I've been dealing with since coming back from CV is a profound sense of loss. Though your identity changes a bit when you're so immersed in a foreign environment, I always knew that I was still American, which was something in the long term that would never really change. No matter how much pop culture and news I missed, or how many nice amenities I longed for, and no matter how much I wanted to fit into my community, there was something that separated me from the people at my site. Something, as hard as I tried, I knew I would never really lose. Even if I took on some surface attributes and attitudes of CVians (and I did), nothing would never change the fact that I was an American, and that I would eventually return to the U.S. to reclaim it. Heck, if I wanted it bad enough, I could just call Praia and tell them I wanted to go home right away.
But it's not the same here, now that I am back. I cannot simply call someone and be back in CV in 24 hours. America was like a fantasy that I knew I would become reacquainted with, CV is dream that fades slowly away in my mind with every passing day.
Everything that I had gained, everything I had created, everything I had eked out over the course of two years, pretty much ended the day I took that cab out of Mosteiros. No matter how many photos I have (about 6,000) or how many little trinkets that I kept (all stored in a box, though I've placed some panu de terra out for people to admire), or even if I keep up with people from my site (I IM with a few), the truth of the matter is, that I've lost it all. Everything that I had, and everything that I was for those two years. I cannot reclaim it like I would reclaim my "Americaness."
I can accept the idea of lost youth, or acknowledge the fact that as I grow older, I will change and evolve. But CV was something different. That moment I got into the cab, and I drove away, everything became lost, everything started to fade away.
And yes, I say all of this, nor forgetting or dismissing the misery (yes, misery) that I faced while there. But you know what? It was my misery. I embrace it like I embraced every joyful moment that I had on my little pile of dirt in the Atlantic.
When most people ask me about my time in PC, my first instinct is to say that it was tough for me, and start listing out reasons. The other day in the office (yes, for the love of Allah, I am employed again, back with the not-so-evil-empire I ran into a RPCV who had served in the Congo, decades ago. He asked me how my time in CV was, and I had to suppress the urge to say "it sucked and it was tough." Why? Because there was someone else in the room, someone else who (though no fault of her own) would just have taken my words at face value and just possibly left it at that.
I guess I don't even bother to try anymore when it comes to explaining about my time there. I have perfected my stump speech on the matter, and most people are satisfied by it. The depth of emotions is sometimes even too confusing for me to properly sort out, but I just know trying to explain it to an outsider is almost pointless.
Being back has been a struggle in many ways. Though my life has considerably brightened in the past month and a half or so, the illumination also makes me realize what there is in me that's left to face. When I was much more disgruntled, it was easy for me to hide all of my problems and issues behind that. But now, it's no longer an excuse.
So, I can admit it. I lost it all. Every single bit of it. Every artifact I have left from CV only helps to slightly reinforce the ever fading dream of my life there.
Looking forward is never difficult. It's letting go of what you've lost that's the tough part.
posted by jende turtle at 1:01 AM
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