Service's End

Recently I had the privilege to visit Pre-service training (PST) for the new group of Peace Corps Volunteers. It made me realize that I had completely forgotten how it felt to begin. Since PST I've seen how expectations are set and unmet again and again. Yet I've seen outcomes that have been more wild than what I hoped. Outcomes like how the Lisu hill tribe girls who would typically get married by high school weren't while I was there, or showing my co-teacher how the class of all boys labeled with learning disabilities could succeed, or how meeting a deep personal darkness made me whole. 

As the two years passed I became a bit jaded, but I can't remember when that happened. It probably started around the "mid-service slump", a time when a lot of volunteers experience an increase in discouragement; or a lack of resolve. Ironically, that time coincided with an increase in projects and progress. I started holding more Sexual Reproductive Health classes and hosted a successful Youth Leadership and Gender Camp, but it was still hard to shake my frustration. I think becoming jaded had to do with the potential I was seeing in my community but grappling with the feeling that I wasn't adequate to bring it to fruition. I'm sure as time passes I'll stop blaming myself or counterparts for my own unmet expectations, but Peace Corps was still hard. And there's so much outside of my control in relation to my service. I don't want to paint this experience in rose or as anything other than it was: a long lonely road with brief flashes of blissful bright light--bright enough to make wandering around in the darkness worth it. Darkness and all, finishing my Peace Corps service is my greatest achievement to date. I know my community loves me and appreciates my efforts, but I still wish I could control how they remember me when I'm gone. I wish that they would only remember how I was when they first felt inspired to invite me into their homes, not when I was at my most frustrated. As much as I wish they'd forget the bad, I do not at any cost want to omit the hard parts of my community from my memory. At the least, I hope we can remember each other as whole. 

There was a not-insignificant amount of time I hated myself during my service. I didn't do well with loneliness and I didn't know how to take care of my mental health. I was unconsciously diminishing myself and my work and didn't know how to undo the negative thoughts. A lot of times I felt incapable. At the worst of times it felt like a mist was descending over my mind, fogging my ability to be fully in the world. I always thought that mental health struggles affected only the person who was struggling, but I guess I'm lucky enough to have friends close enough not only to get splattered by the mess, but to help me clean it up too.  

I didn't think darkness was something I'd meet in the Peace Corps. The Peace Corps experience, and travel as well are often romanticized not only as an opportunity to "save the world" but as a time of unknown adventure and self discovery. But if you truly want to get to know yourself, you must stare the part of yourself you're most afraid of between the eyes until it's integrated into your consciousness. You may not find that part on a beach, but you will find it in your bed at night. I've discovered that you're not allowed to reap the benefits of knowledge without going through the muck you're repressed in a lifetime first. I didn't feel lovable because I didn't love myself. But once I accepted myself deeper, I was able to diffuse the lies of self-hate as they pushed themselves to the surface, both personally and professionally. 

I only want my community to remember me at my best of times because that's how I ultimately wanted to see myself. Now that I have learned what lies underneath my sense of humor, warmth, and openness, I can accept myself more fully. Now I am comfortable with my community doing the same once I leave. 

I don't want to forget the times I felt ignored and forgotten because I know how warm it was to finally sit at someone's table. I want to remember ease in the company of my neighbors, because I remember when it was ridiculously uncomfortable. I want to remember how abundantly everything grows here, and I don't want to forget how many lizards, spiders, mice, and scorpions have scampered, crawled, and limped across my bedroom floor. I want to remember the platonic romance that developed with my 40 year old neighbor who talked to me when no one else had the patience. He would walk me home at night to tell me about how he wanted to become an astronaut so he could visit his parents who have passed. I don't want to forget all the times my students made me feel like my work wasn't important because I know what it was like for them to learn something anyway. I want to remember all the times I held successful classes, because I know what it was like to feel shameful for faking a stomach ache when I wasn't ready to teach. I don't want to forget how scared a young student of mine was in the water because I saw her confidence by the end of the lesson. I don't want to forget my shy students because I saw them grow to love themselves just as I have. In remembering my failures, I can know the truth of my successes as well. 

Through all of this I've learned the value of being genuine to oneself, the mental benefit of sticking up for yourself, and the strength of a community. This community stuck by me for two years even when I felt like a failure. They loved me regardless of how much their kids spoke English or if they learned how to use condoms. The fact that they'll remember all of the uncomfortable times too proves that they actually saw me when I was here in their home in Thailand. I love my community, and because of that I want to remember when I disliked it. This place doesn't deserve a romantic sheen, it deserves multidimensional grit. Thais aren't only generous and open and hospitable, they're also really good at asking for help or company. So I hope my community is also okay with the memories of hardship or frustration because I've come to a place where I can accept them and still tell myself "I love you" at night. 

I want to remember how exhilarating it was to first come here because I don't want to forget how much it hurt to leave.