Lost and Found

So, this isn't your typical blog update from me. It's something I have been working on for submission in the coming issue of PCES's magazine, El Camino. Let me know what you think. Thoughts and criticisms are welcome. Enjoy!

Lost and Found

Prior to my arrival here in the land of the Savior, I prided myself on never having lost anything. Really, I’m being completely serious. I never so much as lost a house key or misplaced a homework assignment. I’m one of those obsessive compulsive, anal-retentive people with a superhuman memory for silly, insignificant details. I can even tell you where exactly in my parents’ house my high school graduation dress is stored and that the shoes I originally wore with it have since been donated to Catholic Charities.

But, since I have changed my country code from 001 to 503, I’ve been losing things left and right. Maybe it’s because my mind is often engaged in battles with itself over whether I should have used the imperfect or subjunctive when speaking to my pueblo’s mayor; perhaps it’s because I’m distracted by the man walking a donkey down the street in town while talking on a nicer cell phone than I have; or, possibly it’s from being so mentally exhausted from just trying to get by day by day there is simply no more capacity in my brain for things like where I left my pants. Regardless of the reason, I’ve lost my touch. For someone like me, this is unnerving and infuriating.

Things I Have Lost

Pants: How does one lose pants in El Salvador? That’s a very good question, and though I have managed to misplace not just one, but two pairs of pants, the answer is far less risqué than you might think. The first time, the laundry gnomes at the ENA (Escuela Nacional de Agricultura) commandeered a killer pair of lightweight, sweat wicking, khaki capris. Though the laundry woman at the ENA insisted they were returned with all the other SA/EE ’09 laundry during our PST2, after many fruitless searches, I accepted that my pants were gone. Once again I succumbed to the ever unpleasant, unavoidable swamp ass. More devastatingly, though, I lost my favorite pair of jeans while changing for one of our soccer matches in Sonsonate. Now, you have to understand. These aren’t just any jeans. These are my argyle-stitched pocket Seven Jeans my Mom bought me for Valentine’s Day in 2008. As with any good piece of denim I was and still am completely in love with them and the way they complimented my curves. I had plans for these jeans. We were going to rock out together until the end of time, or at least until they turned into rags. But, this love affair, like so many of the best, wasn’t the forever kind. So, salu, my dear Argyle Sevens. Yo te amo.

ipod: Normally I don’t take my ipod anywhere. Mayra, our Safety and Security Coordinator, did a sufficient job freaking me out in training to prevent me from bringing anything remotely valuable on a bus, but this was Thanksgiving with my SA/EE ’09 family. Along with my show stopping turkey recipe, we were in need of some serious tune-age for the festivities, so the Touch came along, too. Somewhere between the turkey, dessert and the midnight raid of the fridge for leftovers, the Touchster was gone. Some believe it was a large, sneaky black lab that took it for its own, others thought I carelessly dropped it somewhere. Whatever the case may be, it was gone. Much to my surprise, however, this loss didn’t really upset me. Normally I would have been frantically looking under rocks for it, but for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like my relationship with my touch was over…

Memory: Besides forgetting basic English words on a daily basis, I lost my other memory, too: the trusty 16GB flash drive I always carry with me in case of a nerd emergency. One night out in San Salvador while taking in the sweet sounds of El Salvador’s very own Red Hot Chili Peppers’ cover band at La Luna and getting to know members of the RHS/COED ’10 group, my trusty geek gadget jumped ship from my wristlet. Thankfully I always have multiple backups.

Weight: Since I’ve been in this country I have had more weight fluctuations than Oprah during the 90s. During my first two months I dropped a solid eight pounds acclimating to Salvador cuisine. My host mother wasn’t one for cooking (most evening meals, when I opted to eat, were either pasteles, pupusas, fried yucca, or papas fritas) and I refused to eat tortillas. Also, thanks to my fellow Molineros-ers, I was up and running five mornings a week to Verapaz, often followed up by yoga. I hadn’t yet discovered Super Selectos, the Dispensa Familiar, or the killer market in San V, so by the fourth week of training, my drawers were drooping.

My weight loss has also been contributed to by intermittent bouts of giardia, amoebas, and the occasion flu. All equally unpleasant, but part of the reality of PCV life in El Salvador.

Contact: Of all my losses, the loss of contact with my friends and family back in the USA is by far the most devastating. I never seem to have enough saldo for the long catch-up phone calls, and scheduling Skype dates when I have internet access and my loved ones aren’t either working, studying or out participating in (not so) cool pop cultural activities such as “Icing” is nearly impossible. Certainly those relationships most important will endure. Though I may not have daily contact, or even monthly contact, as in the past, the short emails, quick G-Chat sessions and occasional letters will sustain my insatiable hunger to be included in their lives and they in mine. I can only hope and pray that we’ll be able to fall in stride where our relationships left off, both parties drastically changed, but still genuinely dedicated to being part of each other’s lives.

Myself: Now, I’m not just talking about getting lost on my way to the office in San Sal (which I did on my first three visits). More seriously, I often feel like I have lost who I truly am. Having to censor myself, my behaviors, what I wear, and even my sense of humor, I feel like a mere shadow of myself. And, don’t even get me started on the personality-altering effects of machismo. At the same time, though, I feel these losses of my Rosellen-isms, like my sarcasm, are forcing me to grow more as a person as well. I can’t hide behind my humor like I can in the States, I can’t react to unpleasant situations as volatiley as I know I am prone to doing, and it’s honing me into being a better person.

Things I Have Found:

ipod: Like I mentioned, I didn’t feel a devastating loss when the Touchster went missing at Lago Coatepeque in November. For those of you who are regular followers of my blog, you may remember my “Kindness of Strangers” entry. Basically what happened is that my ipod was found and a very nice stranger went out of his way to figure out to whom the ipod belonged, contact me, and return it me. Miguel Ipod, as I have come to call that friendly stranger, renewed my faith in people. Just imagine how much better off our world would be if everyone, just once in their life did something kind for someone else without personal motives or gains to be had.

Weight: Remember those eight pounds I lost during training? Well, I’ve found them and about ten more of their friends. The fluctuations in my figure started when I began to eat tortillas. It turns out freshly milled corn tortillas can be rather delicious, especially with guajara and frijoles revueltos. Also, finding safe, socially acceptable ways to exercise is challenging. In the States, I was one who would eat whatever they wanted, and then just work my butt off at the gym or go for a jog to stay in decent shape. But here, dodging the bravo dogs on a jog, living an hour and a half bus ride from the nearest gym and lacking in-home exercise equipment means there is just more of me to love.

Friends/Family: My oldest friend, Jessica, can attest to this: I was worried about making friends in Peace Corps. I’d classify myself as the preppiest hippy you’ll ever meet, not exactly the stereotypical PCV profile, and I was really concerned I wouldn’t be able to connect with these uber granola, tie-dye wearing hippies that I was so sure were going to be in my group. But, as Jessica reassured me, not only would I make friends, we would become close in a way none of my other friends or family will ever be able to understand. We are sharing this challenging, frustrating, liberating, limiting, amazing experience that only we will understand. No amount of sharing or explanation will ever suffice to explain this Peace Corps life we lead and how it’s forced us to grow. Through training, swearing-in, our first two months in site, PST2, IST and surviving the Sophomore Slump of one year in country and beyond, we were and are there for one another. Truthfully, we are more than friends. We have become family.

Myself: In losing little pieces of my self, like I mentioned above, I feel I am really beginning to find a better, more complete self. I am learning to control my reactions, I am learning to hold my tongue, I am learning to be a kinder person and I am learning to let down my guard. Being able to relate with people in ways I never thought possible, even if we have to use hand gestures to explain things to each other, is pretty amazing. I am discovering I am stronger than I knew and more resilient than I ever thought possible. Peace Corps really is one of those things that you go into with the idea of helping others, but in the end you realize that those with who you have shared your time have helped you so much more.

While I have lost quite a few things, some more valuable than others, I have found quite a few more things, that in the end are far more important than an obsolete piece of technology or clothing. My ipod won’t always work, my jeans won’t always fit (God forbid) but I will always have my Peace Corps Family, my loved ones stateside, and a once in a lifetime, nearly indescribably experience that will forever shape my life.