Missing...

Although seven months hardly feels like it merits the reward of a trip back home to Minnesota (when compared to the twenty months that remain), return home I did – the pretense was a close friend’s wedding. I arrived on a Wednesday afternoon to a sister dancing to see me in the airport, dinner at Kay’s Kitchen, ending by visiting with grandparents next door late into the evening. And that right there is a small sampling of the kinds of things I did for those ten days I was home, the kinds of things a true-blue Minnesotan does to… well, enjoy limited time in Minnesota! And it seemed odd, this oasis of all things familiar and comfortable spliced into my otherwise foreign current life. Such a brief and fleeting reality! But a wonderful one. Going home really felt like I just slipped back into myself. I’ve heard it said that culture is like the water fish swim in: we don’t realize we’re in it, until we’re not. Grampa, this one’s for you: I felt like Big Mouth Billy Bass, and someone finally took me to the river and plopped me back in the water!
I think on any adventure there are times when we wish like hell we were home. Kids at summer camp feel like that, no matter how much fun they’re having; Voyageurs trips feel this way; I’d guess most folks serving overseas in the military probably know what I mean. We start wondering what we’d be doing if we were home, making mental lists of the things we miss, maybe pondering the first thing we’ll do when we get there. Yes, I feel like that sometimes here in Guatemala, too. And think, Oh! How wonderful it will be to be home, sweet home! And, well… it was! It was absolutely perfect – or pretty dang close.
But this was the first time in my life that I’ve had that wish granted of going home in the middle of one of those adventures only to hit the trail again, so to speak, and pick up where I left off. And maybe it’s good that we are rarely granted that wish, to abort the mission and return, however briefly, to whatever place or person or state of mind that is “home”- you might find yourself wishing you were still adventuring or, conversely, you may find your resolve to return to the task at hand considerably weakened. I think both happened to me. The time spent with family and friends was so meaningful and filled me up overflowing with gratitude for the blessings I’ve received in my life, particularly the people in it, that I started to wonder what’s the point in abandoning all of this to try and make a life in Guatemala. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? Wouldn’t it be great to just stay here, and continue to have great conversations with siblings, grandparents, neighbors, old friends, to continue making these great memories instead of only remembering ones from long ago and far away?
I’m no authority on the typical emotional processing of ex-pats or PCVs in specific, visiting home… but I would say that’s probably THE question that they ask themselves when the vacation home comes to a close.
But I’m nowhere near ready to be done with Guatemala! Strange as it sounds, I missed my host family the whole time I was in Minnesota. I woke up the first several mornings around 6, late for me in my Guatemala life, and found myself longing for the bustle of activity and flurry of humorous conversations normally filling up that time of day. I was almost waiting to hear Arnulfo say “Good morning!”and make me laugh, and I missed having somebody (i.e. him) to run with. I missed the way Guatemalans say “Buen Provecho!”after every meal to give closure and thank everyone for the good food and good company. I missed the humor and irony of certain commonly-used Guatemalan phrases and ended up teaching them to my family because they kept slipping out! (and then I’d just get funny looks from people when Spanish accidentally came out… actually, when in an American restroom once, someone rapped on my stall and asked if it was occupied and I responded with an emphatic Sí!) I missed the cooperativeness of making food together and learning from each other, maybe especially because everyone in my host family takes a lot of interest in good food and how to prepare it. I missed hugs from my host siblings (and I got REALLY good ones from Ixchel and José Arnulfo when I arrived home on Sunday!) I missed mountains and crazy erratic topography – I actually caught myself staring at the Minnesota horizon and thinking, Now wouldn’t this be better if there were some mountains over there? just more interesting, just one little mountain range over there in the distance? I missed the slanting afternoon light in the mountains and how cool it looks when it sometimes filters through the clouds clinging to the hills down below my house, and the way clouds sometimes crest the mountain and come cascading down on our house like a waterfall. And though I complain about the cold, I missed the cozy thickness of my 3-4 blankets and snuggling in for the night.
Speaking of nights, Minnesota nights are so still and quiet! I was astounded to awake in the morning and think – I didn’t hear a single thing all night! Boy, I tell you what, I did NOT miss those dogs barking up a war outside my windows or the roosters announcing a dawn that’s still 3 hours away, nor the cats pouncing on mice and making a racket in my ceiling. And I didn’t miss the fleas!! (They’re breaking records now: I think it took them a day and a half to find me anew, bug repellent lotion and spray apparently irrelevant.)
And while I will surely sit and ponder homesickness and absence and the heart growing fonder these next few months – weighing these against fleas, barking dogs, and numb toes, mind you – it has become apparent just how much Guatemala is becoming part of me. or how much I am becoming part of Guatemala. I surely have innumerable days at the Roske Cabin at the lake, countless visits to Kay’s Kitchen or the SJU Refectory if I want them, many a chat with grandparents and neighbors and friends awaiting me in my future. But how many times do I get to play in a rock-paper-scissors double-elimination tournament with Hugo, Ixchel, and José Arnulfo? How many opportunities will I have to listen to Emiliana’s stories of all the protesting and campaigning she did back in the day to win women’s rights or get funding for public education? How many more chances will I have to go running with Arnulfo in the mornings? How many deluxe-chocolate birthday cakes will be baked before it’s time for me to return to my American reality for good? Not all that many, in the grand scheme of things. In the end it’s all about counting one’s blessings… and I’m blessed enough to have plenty to count both in Guatemala and in Minnesota. It’s nice to be reminded of them now and again, and thinking of it that way helps me not miss home too much. Besides, spend all my time missing things that are somewhere else, and I’m sure to find I’ve missed out on life here.