**NOTE: THIS POST IS GOING TO GET MILDLY POLITICAL. IF YOU ARE NOT PREPARED TO KEEP DISSENTING OPINIONS TO YOURSELF OR TO CONFRONT ME DIRECTLY AND ONLY SEEK TO MAKE A SPECTACLE IN THE COMMENTS SECTION THEN KINDLY LEAVE**
I initially wanted to keep this blog strictly about my daily life and the work I do. And while I will continue to do that, I'd like to do a bit more reflection and documentation on my personal transition and struggles that may come with it. That being said, my blog is not regulated by Manna Project International and in no way is a reflection of its stances, political or otherwise. These are my personal thoughts and musings and any discussion or disagreement should be taken up with me in a private manner.
This hasn't been the most typical week. Technically none of the past four weeks have been, given the move to a new country and all, but this week has been atypical in that I only worked for two days. I returned to the states on Wednesday for the weekend to celebrate my sister's bachelorette party. I arrived Wednesday late at night and was warmly welcomed by my sleepy family and shortly after we all crashed for the night.
We spent the bachelorette weekend on Seneca Lake and enjoyed a wine tour, bridal games, fireworks and plenty of good food and weather. It was so great to see my friends and family and indulging in some U.S. comforts (mostly Panera and McDonald's as well some stunning Rector home cooked breakfast). I couldn't help but be thinking of my friends in Managua and how the week was going. It was like I physically took the weekend off but mentally could only do so in spurts of several hours at a time.
One thing that unfortunately kept me distracted from the weekend festivities was my delayed baggage. When I arrived in Virginia, my suitcase was still in Miami. Since I decided I could manage with clothes I had left at my parent's house and some toiletries from Walmart and left it behind rather than wait for it, I was dealing with the arrival and shipment of my bag all weekend. My parents were incredibly helpful and continue to be as the entire debacle gets sorted out but something interesting when the entire situation arose. When trying to take stock of things I brought or had extra of in Managua I would just say "I have some more at home, I just need to get through the weekend." Some people noticed and it bothered them, some people noticed and thought it was cool. Even today when I fly back to Nicaragua, I realize that for the time being it is my home. But I also feel a level of familiarity and comfort in the states that I attribute with being home.
Coincidentally, this was a horrendous few days for America. Amid all my phone calls and picture sessions with fellow members of the bachelorette party, it was impossible to ignore the news coming out of Virginia. Not only impossible to ignore, but impossible to stomach. Thinking of the awful demonstrations of white supremacy, racism and fascism and thinking of the lack of appropriate response by President Trump made me livid. We all know that Trump can call out anyone he wants on Twitter at any hour fathomable and yet this horrendous display of hatred and violence gets one lousy tweet. One tamely worded tweet with one obligatory exclamation point at the end, which was the singular indicator of any emphasis or severity, but not nearly sufficient given the circumstances.
And so I head back to Managua today, my physical home, that I feel becomes more familiar like a home every day, completely disenfranchised by my home for the last twenty-two years. I'll arrive in one home having the reputation of another. The reputation of a country that lets racists spew hate speech without a single repercussion. I'll go into communities tomorrow with this citizenship. Whether I like it or not, people will know I'm American and judge me based (partly) on that, if they haven't already. So as I sit here in Miami, the cusp of my two homes, I've decided that what I can do is speak out.
Because I am American. I have been my whole life and I always will be. But I will never support these kinds of actions and I will absolutely never support silent complicity with them, no matter where I am in the world.
This week I struggled with knowing which place to call home. I'd been suppressing a feeling because I didn't think it was a valid one. But scrolling through Twitter just now and seeing a video of white supremacists repeatedly screaming "fuck you faggots", a sad conclusion I have reached is that I'm feeling more at home outside of my own country.
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