What it feels like to be here, doing this; this work that I love, in a place that I love?
I can't. Every day, I gleefully pass through another unexpected moment in which I am struck with the realization that yes, this is real, and yes, this is my life now.
It's the little things. The little things that seem surreal in the most delicious, indulgent way. Listening to a friend's iPod over the speaker system at a popular restaurant so we can hear our favorite songs by one of our favorite bands from back home. Splashing around for hours in a swimming pool in a gorgeous hotel with eight friends-- in the unforgiving rainy-season downpour. Buying tortillas from a stooped-over little woman passing by my doorstep carrying a massive basket on her head. Serving drinks behind a Guatemalan bar, listening to live Guatemalan music, with Guatemalan friends. Telling a joke that garners a genuine laugh-- IN Spanish. Sitting on my roof after a long, crazy night out, staring over the tops of volcanos to the lightning storms flashing in the distance.
I strongly suspect that the magic of the moments aren't entirely attributable to Guatemala's whimsy and charm. For the first time in my life, I truly feel at peace with where I am, what I'm doing, and, for the mot part, who I am. It's amazing the ease with which you can surrender yourself entirely to each moment when you suddenly find yourself inexplicably free from the weight of your own expectations, disappointments, and past failures.
Here, I just am. I am Amy. I am happy.
Not to say that I don't have moments where I'm stressed, frustrated, anxious, down, despondent, disillusioned, or dissatisfied. I've had plenty. I'll have more.
I think I said it best in my journal entry last night:
"There are headaches and frustrations, but...
I'm happy.
It is not a constant state of mind or an emotion. It is this overarching, all-encompassing sense that finally, I am where I belong, doing what I am meant to do."
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My work has been keeping me incredibly busy. There are most definitely not enough hours in the day to accomplish the many things I want to accomplish each day. There are the day-to-day responsibilities of giving tours and orientations to new and prospective volunteers. Supervising and providing feedback to volunteers to ensure the kids are being safely cared for and supported by the many, MANY people we trust to come in any given week and care for them, with what I feel is woefully minimal preparation (not for long!).
There are the administrative tasks to be completed, which involve tracking down information in medical records written in my non-native language, updating several databases and writing bios and providing information about the kids for our various websites, maintaining the schedule (a complex feat in itself at times), and trying to meet the needs and requests of the staff at CJ and ANA (Casa Jackson and Nuestros Ahijados).
There are the therapeutic moments and purely indulgent playtime I try to cram into my day, between communicating the nurses' requests to the volunteers, picking up any slack due to low volunteer count (hello sweeping, mopping, and laundry in between diaper changes and paperwork), etc.
There are the countless hours I've spent so far developing and writing strategic plans for a new volunteer program structure that benefits the children more fully, and uses the volunteers more effectively. There's the plans for in-house and post-discharge therapeutic services that our director wants to provide; the plans for overhauling the 2nd and 3rd floor play spaces to be more stimulating, motivating areas where our patients can safely explore and play.
There's the sponsor-a-crib program that is in development; the plan for improving the system in place to connect patients with additional medical services and procedures they need that needs to be written (by me); the training material to teach longer-term volunteers about early childhood development, developmental stimulation, and therapeutic play. The internship program that I need to develop and have ready by October 1st when my first "official" intern arrives.
There is the added mental challenge of switching between my native language and my non-native language throughout the day; of standing amongst nurses and staff members and trying desperately to follow and understand what the hell is going on. Of trying to express myself clearly and articulately, when I don't possess the words to do so. Of having a volunteer arrive and speak ONLY Spanish, and suddenly find myself having to translate the general orientation and training into Spanish without a dictionary, google translate, or the like.
I am exhausted. I am drained. Sometimes, after particularly hectic days, I find myself forgetting Spanish by 5pm. The easy banter I sustained only hours before suddenly sounds like gibberish to me, and the thought of even listening closely and TRYING to process the words I hear is enough to make me want to run for the hills and hide out until my brain decides to return from its brief vacation.
I've still got a ways to go, for sure, but my Spanish is at least improving. I keep meaning to sign up for lessons. I have a feeling that I'll make quick progress once I do; heck, if I've gotten this far without lessons, how far and fast can I go WITH them?! Soon enough... I think another week or two of focusing on work is the best idea for now.
There's been a spate of crime recently, both violent and non-violent. Lots of rumors about who's responsible and whether or not it'll happen again. Crime, security, and the upcoming elections deserve their own post. It's an incredibly interesting experience, to be here in the lead-up to the elections. I'm learning so much about Guatemala. Most of it is, unfortunately, a little disheartening and scary. Que sera, sera.
But those things aren't what make or break Guatemala for me. Those things (some profound, some frustrating, some overwhelming) aren't what make me so inconceivably joyful. The responsibilities, and positive changes I'm making for the program, the opportunity I have to truly be involved in this program in a meaningful way... Those aren't the things that make me happy to wake up in the morning (well, happier... I'll never be a morning person).
The best part of my days, by far, is the moment I walk up the stairs to the second floor of Casa Jackson. I see the kids before they see me, through the colored glass square windows on the side of the stairs. I get to see the exact moment when they realize it's me and the happy grins spread across their faces. I get the hugs, the kisses, the cuddles. I'm one of the constants for them now. I'm not just another volunteer, who comes and goes in a week or two or three. I'm there. And somehow, they know it.
It's the simplest moments. It's standing in the laundry space, putting away tiny sleepers and onesies, and singing silly songs and hearing Alison giggle from her bouncy saucer behind me. It's when Estrella puts her feet up in the air during every diaper change so I'll make a phone call on her "piggy phone" (piggy toes, that is). It's the weight of Alberto's tiny, frail arms around my neck and his soft downy head under my chin. It's Magaly's giggle and clap and delight at being able to finally move around on her own. It's Alejandra's love for bubbles and the precocious little chatter that she bombards me with to get more. It's seeing Laura smile and hearing her laugh in between her dissatisfied, fussy-shrieking-mini-tantrums. It's the quick smile and the sweet babbling that I used to get from Naomi when I leaned in very, very close to her face after a diaper change and smiled and talked to her in silly voices.
I can't know what it's like to be a mother. I can't know what profound bond comes of the experience of sharing your body with the tiny being growing inside of you.
I know only that the longer a child is at CJ, the more they become my own. My own flesh, my own blood, my own chid, my own vulnerable little soul that needs protection and nurturing. I am Mama Duck with her brood of ducklings in tow. I am directly responsible for the overall quality of their time at CJ. The medical staff will get them healthy, but it's my responsibility to keep them happy.
I don't take it lightly.
