Genesis 1:1: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

In the beginning (anew), I moved to Guatemala.

I remember when I started my big Euroventure and I also had no idea what I was doing, so I slept.

I remember when I moved to Alaska (for the summer) and well, I had no idea what I was doing, so I hid. 

I remember when I started the first week of Peace Corps, and I still had no idea what I was doing, so I hovered. 

Rolling my suitcase and frantically hoping that I had everything I’d need for 2+ years in my maletas, I wasn’t actually on the ground. My body was in in dress code business casual, my heart was in postal code 99901, and my stuff was in area code 770. 

I was somewhere yet to be identified, in transit: hovering. 

Where am I going to live, what am I going to eat, who am I going to love, what words am I going to use, who am I going to work with, who will I remember and who will I forget? What am I doing? 

The good news is: I was not very concerned about the outcome, maybe because I wasn’t as invested as the others. I don’t mean this to say that I didn’t care. But I was not very concerned about how it was all going to unfold. I knew it was all going to happen and I didn’t know how. I’d been to Guatemala, as fate would have it, twice before. I had simply blown up the mental images in my head from those two trips until they were pixelated and nestled my expectations inside the pixels. I remembered beautiful old church buildings, humble houses, lovely women in Indigenous ropa tap tap tapping to make tortillas. I remember seeing them kill the chickens for our soup. I remember Hugo and Hadal, two boys of the woman in charge of serving food to our group. I remember that we weren’t supposed to throw our toilet paper in the toilets, that’s what the trash cans are for. I remember glorious trees and flowers and the beautiful hotel we stayed in before we left. I also remember the most delicious pizza I ever ate was in Guatemala. Riddle me that. 

I remembered. 

One day, not as far as it seems, I am going to think of this experience as another “I remember.” It will be deposited into a bank of remembers.

As this new adventure started, I wished in the moment that I was more prepared. I wished, for the sake of comparison, that I was leaving a stable, repetitive life to splash into unknown streams. Instead, I was leaving the most glorious summer of my life: flavored with mystery, surprise, harbor seals and underscored by early mornings in rain gear.

I was bewildered by the very timeframe: touch-down in Atlanta and take-off into los cielos in 6 days. 

Whatever: I spent 2 lifeless years behind a glossy desk. My retro-misery still propels me to seek new discomforts because nothing is worse than the comfort of misery.

So, as I walked into this new, giant question mark and massive time commitment, I was leaping from one unanchored lily pad to the next. 

I’m still stressed when I think about those six days in Atlanta. Packing, visiting, recognizing the emptiness of my parents house without Nana, celebrating my Mom’s birthday, fishing in Georgia (a physical manifestation of my cratered heart after Alaska- we caught nothing). I was not anxious about what I was leaving behind- I’ve spent enough misspent hours in that place to know that it will hardly change between every return. I’ve stayed in hopes that it would somehow spark into a flash mob but it never did. Maybe it’s the hot humidity that slows everything down for me. I cannot say. Atlanta: the building ground for so much love and grounds for so much dislike. 

But no matter the temperature, it doesn’t match my biorhythm. I must pack, I must go. 

That’s more or less the height of my motivation to save the world, to change a life. I needed a place to go and I needed for my basic needs to be covered. With this knowledge in my back pocket, I blindly rolled into a hotel in Houston and stood in line with soon-to-be-new-friend strangers. 

Tuesday September 27- Tuesday October 4

Tuesday: 9:36am: Leave Atlanta, Get to Houston, Take cab to hotel, register at 12pm, check-in room, Peace Corps Staging 2pm-7pm, Hotel salad (overpriced, underdelicious), Had my Last Beer of All Time in Lobby while I Caught up on Writing While I Still Had Wifi, Sleep.

The volunteers all met, we identified faces from our facebook group.

I met the two Peace Corps reps who were training us: Rachel and Constance. They prompted us to check a long list: has your last name changed since you applied, have you been arrested since you applied?

We did a long training session with flip charts and post-its and water bottles, the usual hotel dance. We went over Peace Corps’ Mission Statement and the 12 things Peace Corps Volunteers are Expected to Do. I don’t remember what they were called.

All the while, I was taking copious notes of all the volunteers, soaking them in.Our group was already gelling: both our large trainee group (28 people) and our small language group (4 people). I made friends and got to know the group. I wrote little heart-notes to the goodies, as the moment struck.

Sight unseen, I’ve dropped down-payments on these people. In 14 hours, I’d be getting on a plane bound for Central America with 27 people I know 2-minute introductory videos about (in Spanish). Of all the livestock, I hope they’re the good corn because only Heaven knows we will be eating a lifetime supply of maize together. 

I remember that I observed everyone’s energy and cast my mental ballots. Who will be my friends? Who will be my likes-but-not-loves? Who will be my buddies. Will anyone be a lifetimer? 

I fill in the mental friend ballots with pencil the first week, because I need to make adjustments as everyone reveals their colors. Some people give excellent first impressions but then you realize they are simply different than their prologues. Others have a way of cloaking their grandeur and miming bushes in the landscape. Then out of the blue of a normal forecast they bloom vibrant colors like shooting stars in Japanese animation and you have to adjust your vote. 

Thusly: week one, pencil.

Wednesday: Leave Houston at 4am with group in private bus, Check luggage in large groups, Arrive to Guatemala City airport, Ride to Office in large bus, receive snacks on bus, Sit for Preliminary Training in office, Check-in to hotel, Seek out hotel wifi with so success, Dinner at Hotel, Group Games at Night (Stay in Hotel), Use someone else’s phone to email family: I am here!, Early sleep in room with Teawan and Cristina.

As far as my own energy, I came out swinging. Like I said, I wasn’t too invested in how the chips would fall but: I know this is going to be an eternal poker game, so I just flashed my cards at the front. No sunglasses. I spoke my mind but playfully.

Our group’s outpouring of questions nearly made me drown. I was not worried about getting all the answers and I was annoyed that everyone else needed to know things they did not need to know. “We are not here because we have everything planned”. I thought “We are here embracing the mystery, in all the senses. SO STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT DUMB THINGS LIKE ALL THE DUMB THINGS.” But don’t mind My Royal Impatience, Circumstance and I are working on untangling her from my hair, strand by strand.

Thursday: Training all day: 7am Breakfast at hotel, Medical session (statistics, potential issues, tips- don’t drink the water, sleep with a mosquito net), Tour of office, Meet Project Managers, Stumble-through Language Assessment with Private Instructor, Lunch at Office, Dinner at hotel, Group Games at Night, Sleep.

I quickly learned the faces of the leadership and staff. I fell instantly in love with the hydrangeas at the office and the beautifully maintained courtyard. I didn’t know who spoke Spanish and who spoke English and who spoke both. I just knew a few Spanish words and watched the powerpoints slide by as I refilled my small, porcelain coffee cup.

The first three days in training emphasized: Medical, Safety, Gender Roles, Food, and What to Wear. We did a lot of sitting but I didn’t care: I was happy to finally be here and starting to see the picture. I was happy to be in Guatemala and not answering questions to family and friends which I could not answer: Where are you going? Who will you live with? What will you do there? Can you come home? Can I come visit? Can I send you mail? All well-intentioned and difficult to sort. I was beginning to feel like a road sign pointing in multiple directions. 

In the back of my mind, I was anticipating leaving the hotel and meeting my host family. A little nervous and a little excited, but mostly ready for the anticipation to go away.

I was tired by the end of each day. 

Friday: Training all day. Breakfast at hotel, Preliminary Language Class, Meeting staff, Safety Training, Lunch at office,  Dinner at Hotel, Group Games at Night and Group Discussion on Diversity in Peace Corps

By the night, I was ready for some time to myself. I decided our group was awesome and we had a great energy. I liked the hotel and the experience so far but something was coming over me: I would meet my first host family ever the next morning. I’ve stayed in homes in all kinds of places and been hosted a bunch, but I’ve never had a host family. I was nervous. I needed to process. I went to the room early to try to do that.

Saturday: HOST FAMILY! MOVING IN! LANGUAGE! Pack-up bags, leave hotel, Morning Training (Medical/Safety) You will have diarrhea, Language Professor Assignment (Eduardo!), Meet Host Mom in courtyard, Have lunch with host mom, get to know each other in very basic Spanish, Go with small group to get dropped off in communities: (Ciudad Vieja), Get a tour of Host family house, Meet Host Family, Unpack, Eat Dinner with Host Family, Go to Sleep, Ask WHERE AM I?

On Saturday morning I finally found my host mom in the crowd, we hugged and she told me I would be her new daughter because she only has three sons. I knew that my relationship with my host mom was going to be great. I just knew it. But I didn’t expect that she herself would be such a knock-out. Rosa Maria is a jewel among humans and I just hope that we share wonderful memories in this life, one language or another. 

New House For Training:

I spent the afternoon taking in my new house for 9 weeks. The bathroom, the pila, the comedor. My bedroom. I unpacked and arranged everything I brought from home. Shortly after I unpacked and sat down, my mom entered the room and asked me to go to the comedor/dining room so my mosquitero could get hung up. I didn’t know why I couldn’t stay and help, but I just did what she told me. Her sons and a construction worker came in the room with a drill and ladders and hung the mosquito net above my bed. When I returned, Rosa Maria was wiping dust off of all my things.

Language:

At dinner, it was awkward. I kept thinking of Carolyn’s words (our training director): Be comfortable in the discomfort. Before I got to the house, I waved it off, “I can smile in another language. They will be kind to me. I’ve done this before..” etc.. But… it was hard to grasp for words I used to know. Mostly it was hard to sit in quiet and just not understand as Spanish flew by like mystery meat in a cafeteria food fight. Where did that A+ Spanish student go? And did the rest of the family want me there, or was it just something the mom imposed and I was some awkward foreigner sitting at their dinner table? 

Internet:

My house had internet which was both wonderful and not wonderful. I didn’t want to engage in social media, I wanted to unplug and plant myself firmly between the volcanoes. I didn’t want to be responsible to respond to texts on time or be tempted to send them. But I was also happy. Wifi is inviting, social media likes are familiar, instagram is comforting.

But I didn’t want to see any of it, at the same time.

It felt strange to be far away and connected. I wondered if my friends at home would think I was here taking it easy since I was liking pics on instagram.

Sunday: The Wedding Shower. Spend time with Host Family: 4.5 Hour Wedding Shower, Ask WHERE AM I?, Go to Sleep.

My host family is: Rosa Maria and her three sons Francisco, Fernando and Javier (and her dog Hoch).

In the afternoon, my mom knocked on my door and told me I was going to a lunch. I asked her if what I was wearing está bien to which she simply responded: “No” with her head cocked to one side. Her ‘no’ was gentle, not harsh at all. “Una blusa” she said, as she tugged on her sleeve as an example. I hopped up and said: “Ok! Es demasiado casual.” And she said “Sí” and I said “Okay!” I changed into a blouse I’d wear to work. Too formal for a lunch, in my mind, but I don’t have in-between close.

My first social outing:

I sat for 4.5 hours and watched one activity after the other. It was like watching a foreign film without subtitles. Every game started to feel like a threat instead of an experience. I felt trapped. The pace was inescapably slow. In retrospect, I was hyper-absorbent of everything around me and brand-spanking new. New to Spanish, new to Guatemala, new to everything, and everything was new right back to me. I tried to smile and take pictures and be the person I am at home, but without having the luxury of understood speech. Body language was a whole new currency.. in addition to the quetzales.

Monday: Language Class Starts! Sit, Speak Broken Spanish and Grasp for Words, Eat Lunch at Home, Return for afternoon class, Eat dinner at home, go to sleep.

By Monday, I was having my first breakfast before class, a las 7:20, and Rosa Maria walked me to the gas station. My teacher Eduardo was waiting there. I saw Amanda’s house and host family, it was very different from mine (I was relieved to be staying with my host family- no offense to Amanda’s). My first day of training “in community.” 

I was already flipping through a Spanish dictionary, getting used to beans, taking coffee without my beloved half-and-half, sipping warm liquid oatmeal concoctions with vitamins, bananos, bananos, bananos, and of course tortillas.

At the end of the first week:

I didn’t know where I was on a map, but I saw mountains, I saw indigenous skirts and women walking the streets with baskets on their heads, I saw donkeys unironically transporting straw on their backs and colorfully painted American school buses-gone-public transport buses flying down the street coughing out clouds of black, smelly smoke. I knew I had a class to go to and a home. I had a new mom. I knew we would be friends. I could tell that she was accustomed to hosting people because she was excellent at including me in conversation through slower Spanish, helping me grasp for words like dancing balloons out of my reach, smiling, always smiling.

I still had no sense of where my stomach was. You know how your stomach can sort of guide you ever so subconsciously? I don’t know if it’s your overall hunger for living that directs you, but I was entire buildings apart from my stomach. My heart was distantly pounding from some mountain in Alaska, on mute, and my mind was easing into Guatemala, poco a poco. My gut was still in transit. I talked to my parents on FaceTime and told them I was safe and things were going well. What else do you say? “I actually have no idea where I am yet. But the pictures look nice.”

Physically and metaphysically: I was simply a person in a new place trying to remember not to throw the toilet paper in the toilet.