In two days, I will have been home for a month. I have gone back and forth about writing a blog post because in the back of my mind I am hoping to return to Nicaragua and have some new travel stories or reunion recounts to tell. Hoping that this is just a pause in my time there and not an ending. But I honestly have no idea what will happen and I can't hold back on processing any longer. This post is moreso for my own catharsis, so don't expect anything succinct or surface-level in terms of emotion. Feel free to click out or not click on this at all. I just need to speak my peace.
Initially, being home was a relief. It was good to see my family and have them know that I was safe and sound, no longer a cause of worry for them. I got to patronize my favorite local eateries and stores and enjoy being back in "the land of milk and honey" as my mom so aptly described it. Sleeping in, getting some time off, and just waiting for word that the time had come to get back to my beloved Nica.
As the weeks passed however, I struggled more with the intensity of the situation in Nicaragua and my complete helplessness with regards to it. Places I had been or at least heard of were filled with strife and conflict and no matter how pacific, it was still unsettling. I was surprised that my reaction was so delayed and felt that I should've already processed it. Unpacked it with my suitcase, put it on a shelf and just enjoyed being home.
But that wasn't the case. I found myself being sensitive to the littlest occurrences. Subtle comments about food quality or service, random memories coming up, and one ignorant comment about South America from a stranger in a coffee shop that almost put me over the edge. Almost everything reminded me of my life in Nica and how different it was. It was challenging to realize that what I had become content with was something that so many people here would meet with discontent. I couldn't relate to some of the closest people in my life (and sometimes still struggle to do so) and found myself closing off from conversation because my standards and perception were so vastly different from everyone else's.
Another aspect that was hard for me was the guilt I felt. A couple weeks before the evacuation I had been feeling overwhelmed with recent events and while I still loved my work, I was looking for a break. Before I knew it, the break came in the most unexpected way and I found myself wishing for another opportunity to experience the things that I used to find bothersome. I couldn't believe the things that I had taken for granted, the time that I had wasted, and the moments that I had let pass me by.
This guilt really hit me one night at dinner. I remembered one student from my English class who would sing one of my favorite Spanish songs as we walked down the road after class, and he would sing and sing until I joined in. At first it made me smile, but after weeks of it I got a bit annoyed. He would insist I play the song during our carpool and as soon as it started to fade out he would already be chanting at me to play it again. At the time I found this so frustrating. After a long day I would just want to play what I wanted to play without complaints from the peanut gallery. But now I would give anything to be in the micro with that song on repeat for as long as he wanted.
As I recalled this story to my parents (and embarrassingly started to tear up while telling it), my dad made the profound point that in life, closure is often the exception and not the rule. In recent years, closure is something I have been lucky enough to get because of the nature of my experiences. When graduating high school, there is an expected graduation date and timeline, allowing us to schedule goodbyes, and plan clear next steps in life. College is similar. Although a more complex chapter, it has a definitive end, allowing us to wrap up the experience and stick a bow on top, budget time to do certain things one last time with our favorite people, and prepare for the imminent arrival of "real life". Manna was supposed to be like this too. The year is structured so that at the end there is one month overlap with new PDs for transitioning them to their new position. I expected that time to be my time to compartmentalize and process the many things I've felt throughout my time in Nicaragua. The empowerment, the happiness, the gratitude. But also the pain, frustration and sadness. The wealth of experience I've had was something that I always knew would take an immense emotional toll on me. Some of the greatest changes and challenges have occurred over the past year of my life and being denied the processing process is now a part of that list.
How do you get closure for something that you're not sure is closed? How do you move on from something that's still moving itself, and catching up with you mentally all the time?
While I know that this post will undoubtedly strike some as dramatic, overemotional, or verbose (maybe even all three) it is something I have needed. I know my mind will be occupied with thoughts of Nica for quite some time, long after others' interest has subsided. I have already experienced people getting bored with my discussion of it. Half-hearted nods and one word affirmations to confirm that someone is hearing, but not listening. It's hard to know that with some, my reflection time has long past reached its' expiration date.
That's why I needed to type all of this out. I needed to start to understand what it meant to navigate my two lives. The life that I am physically living, and the life that I made for myself and is constantly in my thoughts. In an age where it is easy to feel like catharsis is a burden or unnecessary, I refuse to apologize for my introspection and pensiveness. I thank those who have stuck with me on this literal and emotional journey, hopefully it's not over just yet.
Initially, being home was a relief. It was good to see my family and have them know that I was safe and sound, no longer a cause of worry for them. I got to patronize my favorite local eateries and stores and enjoy being back in "the land of milk and honey" as my mom so aptly described it. Sleeping in, getting some time off, and just waiting for word that the time had come to get back to my beloved Nica.
As the weeks passed however, I struggled more with the intensity of the situation in Nicaragua and my complete helplessness with regards to it. Places I had been or at least heard of were filled with strife and conflict and no matter how pacific, it was still unsettling. I was surprised that my reaction was so delayed and felt that I should've already processed it. Unpacked it with my suitcase, put it on a shelf and just enjoyed being home.
But that wasn't the case. I found myself being sensitive to the littlest occurrences. Subtle comments about food quality or service, random memories coming up, and one ignorant comment about South America from a stranger in a coffee shop that almost put me over the edge. Almost everything reminded me of my life in Nica and how different it was. It was challenging to realize that what I had become content with was something that so many people here would meet with discontent. I couldn't relate to some of the closest people in my life (and sometimes still struggle to do so) and found myself closing off from conversation because my standards and perception were so vastly different from everyone else's.
Another aspect that was hard for me was the guilt I felt. A couple weeks before the evacuation I had been feeling overwhelmed with recent events and while I still loved my work, I was looking for a break. Before I knew it, the break came in the most unexpected way and I found myself wishing for another opportunity to experience the things that I used to find bothersome. I couldn't believe the things that I had taken for granted, the time that I had wasted, and the moments that I had let pass me by.
This guilt really hit me one night at dinner. I remembered one student from my English class who would sing one of my favorite Spanish songs as we walked down the road after class, and he would sing and sing until I joined in. At first it made me smile, but after weeks of it I got a bit annoyed. He would insist I play the song during our carpool and as soon as it started to fade out he would already be chanting at me to play it again. At the time I found this so frustrating. After a long day I would just want to play what I wanted to play without complaints from the peanut gallery. But now I would give anything to be in the micro with that song on repeat for as long as he wanted.
As I recalled this story to my parents (and embarrassingly started to tear up while telling it), my dad made the profound point that in life, closure is often the exception and not the rule. In recent years, closure is something I have been lucky enough to get because of the nature of my experiences. When graduating high school, there is an expected graduation date and timeline, allowing us to schedule goodbyes, and plan clear next steps in life. College is similar. Although a more complex chapter, it has a definitive end, allowing us to wrap up the experience and stick a bow on top, budget time to do certain things one last time with our favorite people, and prepare for the imminent arrival of "real life". Manna was supposed to be like this too. The year is structured so that at the end there is one month overlap with new PDs for transitioning them to their new position. I expected that time to be my time to compartmentalize and process the many things I've felt throughout my time in Nicaragua. The empowerment, the happiness, the gratitude. But also the pain, frustration and sadness. The wealth of experience I've had was something that I always knew would take an immense emotional toll on me. Some of the greatest changes and challenges have occurred over the past year of my life and being denied the processing process is now a part of that list.
How do you get closure for something that you're not sure is closed? How do you move on from something that's still moving itself, and catching up with you mentally all the time?
While I know that this post will undoubtedly strike some as dramatic, overemotional, or verbose (maybe even all three) it is something I have needed. I know my mind will be occupied with thoughts of Nica for quite some time, long after others' interest has subsided. I have already experienced people getting bored with my discussion of it. Half-hearted nods and one word affirmations to confirm that someone is hearing, but not listening. It's hard to know that with some, my reflection time has long past reached its' expiration date.
That's why I needed to type all of this out. I needed to start to understand what it meant to navigate my two lives. The life that I am physically living, and the life that I made for myself and is constantly in my thoughts. In an age where it is easy to feel like catharsis is a burden or unnecessary, I refuse to apologize for my introspection and pensiveness. I thank those who have stuck with me on this literal and emotional journey, hopefully it's not over just yet.
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