Feelin' Challenged.

Now, I only say challenged to respect the wishes of my former APCD who asked us to please use the word challenged rather than frustrated. In my opinion the difference is just a matter of semantics and what I’m actually feeling is frustration. Supposedly challenged is more positive but it seems to me that simply saying that “I’m feeling challenged” rather than frustrated does not actually say anything different about my outlook, it just makes me sound like I have a predisposition for being overly anal about my word choices.

So, why should I be frustrated? After all, there’s no doubt that I’m privileged to be living in another country at the expense of my own government—an opportunity no one in my community could ever dream of. The very fact that I can go off for two years and volunteer is proof enough that I’m privileged. In fact, I think this reality probably leads to much of my frustration, albeit indirectly. And this, I believe, is principally because it is such a non-reality to the people in my community that they don’t really know what to make of me.

More specifically, I have now been living here for nearly 5 months and still I would say that the majority of the people here are generally confused about why I’m here. One woman, who I’ve talked to repeatedly, recently exclaimed in the midst of our conversation, “Oh, you’re a volunteer!” Apparently, she was under the impression that I was traveling in Huaca Rivera for TWO years. It’s nice and everything, but two years?!? Another woman thought I was visiting family. Given that all 15 of her children look pretty much the same, I’m not sure what she thought my genetic link to Huaca Rivera was. On a more positive note, visiting each house and conversing with people has helped to resolve a lot of confusion. I would recommend that every PCV come up with some excuse to visit all of the houses in his/her community. Some of the people you would least expect to befriend you will.

As for my own particular house, my feelings toward my host-family fluctuate rapidly. For the most part, it is a really good situation. I feel safe in my house and they give me a lot of freedom to do what I want. Surely they are baffled by many of my oddities but they laugh them off. My sister came back early the other day to find me punching and kicking my way around the main room in the house. Of course I knew I was getting a good cardio workout from the Taebo DVD my Mom sent me, but for all she knew I’d pretty much lost my mind. I think what bothers me the most is that I still don’t feel like part of the family or even like a good friend. Our conversation is still somewhat limited and they demonstrate little interest in my life before my arrival in Huaca Rivera. Not once has my sister entered my room while I’ve been present but on more than occasion she has entered to look through all of my things. A couple months ago I discovered that she had taken a book from my room that I had just purchased. I also discovered a poorly shot video on my camera that ended on my sister’s feet. This week I decided to go look for the book since it still hasn’t reappeared. I didn’t find the book but rather I found Ziploc bags and flashcards. Now certainly, stolen Ziploc bags do not justify an unexpected accusation of theft so instead I took one of the bags back and have remained silent. Surely this passive aggressive action with resolve all of my problems! The thing is that I don’t care one bit about any of the particular items she’s taken. Ziploc bags are not exactly one of my prized possessions. What bothers me is that she had to look long and hard to find them and yet she makes no effort to show an interest in me or my things when I’m around.

Then there is the fact that my only real friend in town is three years old. Five months in and the only confiding I do is in other PCVs and a toddler. Slowly things are starting to change and I feel more comfortable with people all of the time but in the interim it is still difficult when something happens and I can’t share it with anyone. Certainly our realities are different which could partially explain the issue, but more than anything I think it comes down to humans being slow to befriend others when they are already satisfied with their own circles of friends and family. Furthermore, it is not always appropriate to be completely open with the people in my community which to a certain degree inhibits friendship. I’m not going to talk to someone who lives in a house of sticks and cardboard about my ginormous (in-comparison) house back in the states.

I’ve always considered myself to be a very even-tempered person, but I’m starting to realize just how bi-polar my experience is in the Peace Corps. Little things upset me that really don’t even matter. The old woman in my town that thinks I can’t hear may not wave at me and I take it as a personal insult. Or a semi-truck loaded with beer and four men in the cab might follow me for an entire city block while the men yell pick-up lines at me and I find it hilarious rather than infuriatingly degrading. My sister called me the other day and I started crying because I rarely hear from people back at home which I realized even at the time was a bit of an overreaction given that many people do indeed email me. Of course, I’m still pretty mild-mannered. I’m not about to have a conniption fit about plastic bags with special closing mechanisms. The thing is that it is really easy to be overly sensitive to every little thing that happens because I have so much time to think about things and I spend so little time in an environment that is 100% comfortable. And it’s not that I miss the developed aspects of the U.S. In fact, I enjoy taking bucket baths and washing my clothes by hand. But I do think that I lack a certain ability to fully express myself which leads to a certain amount of isolation.

Just to clear up any confusion, I’m not actually manic depressive and I’m actually very content and have not once regretted my decision to join the Peace Corps. However, it would be unrealistic to gloss over the negative aspects of my experience. What’s ridiculous is that at the same time that I acknowledge the things that are upsetting me, I realize that most of my grievances are petty and insignificant in comparison to people with real problems and those who face the injustices of inequality.