I explained the situation over the fire. It’s where I explain most situations.

The ‘situation’ being: I’m not decided on the next time I should go home, a normal question for PCVs worldwide I’m sure. Luckily I’m not all the way in Vietnam because that would mean not going home for 2 years. If your family has means maybe they come visit you. But here in Guaté, the distance is slim and airfare is around $700 if you’re lucky with search engines. Not cheap but could be steeper.

But it’s not the distance and it’s not the price, it’s a matter of the heart. Returning to site feels a bit like leaving a vibrant garden and resettling inside a cardboard box, eyes readjusting to the light. I experienced it for the first time returning from Early IST (In-Service Training). It’s not that site is horrible, uncomfortable or unfriendly but it is unfamiliar. And once you readjust to the temperature, it’s totally doable. But those first days back are brutal, and I didn’t even leave the country. I just went to an office with fancy coffee and a city with amenities and JIF peanut butter for 40q (super cheap in the way of local peanut butter) and the freedoms associated with anonymity which is precious currency and just, not, alcanzable in site. For the attention you’d think I was coming out of a cake some days.

But I chose this life. Sure I didn’t know what I was choosing when I chose it but a married person is still accountable to their vows even if they didn’t know everything marriage entails, right? At least that’s how I understand it. But I’m not married. Tangent. So the question is, do I return to the States for a wedding in July or nah? Looks like I can get a buddy pass through a generous friend for $431. I can get the time off and I can manage it.

But returning to site? That I’m not sure I can manage 6 months into service with 1.5 years left to go. It sounds so dramatic but it the change is pretty dramatic. I tell this to my host family, that it is hard to come back here once I’ve left. I don’t want it to sound like I don’t like Santa Clara because I really do. But this is the life of a foreign volunteer: a veces me cuesta.

And Clara (host sister) nodded with understanding. She said “Oh I know what that was like, going back and forth to the capital for 16 years. My mom would always cry. It was hard to go back and to come home. I understand what you’re saying” and with assured nods she hears me. These people make room for grace when all I pay rent for is a room. The grace is extra, freely given.

My host mom chimes in: “It would give me pena when Clara would leave, Natalia. It’s sure that your mom must feel the same way, must worry for you.” I nod, she probably does. “Mire Natalia, when mi patoja would leave I would sometimes cry and worry because I didn’t know what she was eating there! Here in the house I can make her food, I can make sure that she is eating. But in the capital, saaaaaber. I don’t know what she is eating. I don’t know what kind of food she can eat there. And often times in the capital, they put so much aceite (oil) in the food. Here, you see it Natalia, solo de vez en cuando. Only once in a while do we use oil in the food. But there in the capital, I don’t know what they put in that food!” And this led into a full description of what they put in the food and what they don’t. You see Natalia, we don’t use a lot of aceite. We don’t use a lot of it. We use sugar but not a lot do we put in our atol. And I nod and nod. I’ve heard this upward of ten times. In my culture, one would assume that they think I don’t believe them. But this is just how conversation appears here, in thick layers of paint and there is just to listen as it dries. I knew she was worried over what her daughter was eating in the capital, but I always assumed the underlying meaning is that she missed her daughter. But this repetition about oil had me thinking: maybe it’s food and missing her daughter, baked into the same pie.

And I remembered when I left for Early In-Service Training, they would ask me: What are they going to feed you there? Do they cook the same food as we do? And when I came back, DoRo said “I was worried about you because here you can cook whatever food you like but there in this-this-this como-se-llama Santa Lucía Heaven knows you can’t pick what you eat! And so I cried and I worried..”

And by my calculation, I find this to be two things: A: Absolutely Telling and B: Absolutely Adorable.

“I worried for my daughter because I don’t know what she was eating and they put so much oil in the food there!” Is another way to say “I love you. Don’t leave. And don’t eat too much oil.”