Tough job

I’ve spent the last hour or so re-reading my letters on this page. I haven’t ever really gotten to do that since they’ve always been scribbled on dusty notebook paper, spotted with sweat drips, and stuffed into bizarrely stamped AirMail envelopes.

Being here in-country, still a PCV, yet no longer in the village provides an interesting opportunity for reflection. Yes, I have loved the PCV life but it was not without its challenges. There’s such a sacrifice of self involved in integrating into another culture. For starters, there’s the local clothes that always kind of feel like a Halloween costume. There’s the language barrier that constantly blocks your ability to articulate your feelings and make your jokes. There are the gender roles that define how you must react to situations. So now here I am doing work I enjoy, with people I enjoy, in an environment I enjoy and I’m experiencing this remarkable reawakening of my self. Day-to-day emotional survival no longer exhausts my reserves of energy. I’ve got energy to spare! I’m at ease! I’m forever making impish (read: childish) little jokes! I’m back!