Home!

I am writing this blog entry from my home in New York, eating a granola bar and basking in the air conditioning. I can’t believe I am here in New York after having served 9 months in the Peace Corps. It is surreal, yet at the same time it feels like I never left at all. I find myself missing a lot about St. Kitts which I think is in anticipation of my final good-bye to the beloved island that has become my home.
Returned Peace Corps volunteers often give us a standard piece of wisdom that we have heard countless times from various different people: only talk about your experience for five minutes, and then move on. It’s not that people aren’t interested, it’s just that there is no way to capture our experiences in words or pictures so it’s best not to bore people while you make an attempt. We cannot convey through words these emotions that are so strong and deeply embedded because they have had the chance to accumulate and calcify over a very prolonged period of time. I cannot adequately describe the catalyzing moment that led to a picture being taken, or the sounds, sights, and smells swirling in the atmosphere of that instant. It is hard to stay grounded in the fact that what we are doing is truly real and significant, especially when some of the most important people in our lives cannot see what we see or fully comprehend what those two years really entailed.
Ever since I can remember, I would go straight home to show my parents a drawing I did at school or a good grade I earned on a test. But what happens when my accomplishments are something only I can understand and appreciate? Such conditions make it very easy to extrapolate what makes an endeavor worthy, as well as the genuine reasons I have taken on the projects that I’ve chosen. Do we commit to these efforts for an internal gratification or for external reassurance?
Even amongst fellow volunteers, it is difficult to find a sense of pure and precise empathy. We are all put in entirely different countries, islands, communities, host families, and job situations that engender unique challenges and experiences which are specific to the individual. We attend different churches, have different neighbors, are assigned to different schools, all of which can create impervious realities for that volunteer and that volunteer alone. All of these factors create one of the most unimaginable feelings of loneliness, yet a very empowering sense of self-reliance and independence arises from the clutter.
Those spontaneous moments of growth and self-realization are not something to be written on a resume or read about in a newspaper, but rather they are absorbed by the deepest, inner-most pockets of a person’s soul. It is a gift given to myself, by myself, that only I can comprehend and appreciate. It remains however an immense challenge to accept this entity as a unique reward rather than a curse of isolation and loneliness.
One of the biggest challenge I and other volunteers in the Caribbean face is not the integration or cultural exchanges we are faced with but rather the de-stigmatization of a Peace Corps experience that is located in a vacation destination spot. We Eastern Caribbean volunteers call this Beach Corps stigma, because many of the other PCV’s call our post “beach corps”. Even before I left for St. Kitts, when I would tell people where I would be serving, I would hear “oh wow! A two year vacation!” or “lucky you!” However, anyone that has ever stayed on a resort in a Caribbean country has been urged not to leave the resort because while the country is beautiful and the people are generally wonderful, it is indeed a developing country and something most likely quite foreign to visitors. I do not live in a Marriott suite. Yes, I have access to internet, but surprisingly, much of the world does too. I’ve wanted to be in the Peace Corps since I was very young, and I always envisioned myself leading a completely different lifestyle. Part of me still wishes I could be hand-washing my laundry and milking my own cows, and it is especially difficult to feel content when other people can’t understand the unique challenges we face at our posts. Yet these emotional battles are all intertwined to the issues I was mentioning previously: the importance of weighing our accomplishments according to our own personal scale rather than the standards of others. Just because we are placed in whatever situations we are in does not mean we cannot extrapolate invaluable worth in what we are doing, even if it is as simple as exchanging a smile with a stranger. When we allow our positions and surroundings to impasse our momentum for life then we have fallen prey to weakness and pessimism.


To update you all on my life this past month and a half, I guess I will tell you about the culmination of projects and experiences that fused together right before I left for New York. Most importantly, my co-worker, Charles Thomas, and I held the launch of a weekend-based program named STYLE (Strength Through Youth Leadership and Empowerment), designed for at-risk youth from the local high school. The turnout exceeded our expectations, and the feedback was positive and inspiring. I also completed and submitted a grant to the Small Project Assistance Committee, which, if accepted, will proved 5,000 USD to the starting budget of STYLE.
Within the spectrum of the primary after-school program, I recently took grades five and six on a field trip to a nearby hotel owned by a Jewish-American couple, where they got to hear a discussion on the Holocaust. Ruth and Art Kirsch, the owners of the hotel, had only just found out that a great uncle had been keeping a diary during the War, and in the diary he documented his realization and the aftermath of the killing of his wife and children. The kids had never heard of the Holocaust, and most of them had never been to the hotel, so it was a rewarding and enriching experience for all of them.
I felt that grade four was too young to learn about the Holocaust, so we instead planned a trash pick-up for the community surrounding the school. There were bags full of garbage after we were through and it took four hours to completely clean one road entirely because the garbage was literally embedded into the topsoil. After we finished cleaning we had an impromptu water fight from the pipe at the school using the surgical gloves that had been donated by the local medical school as water balloons. It was one of those moments that I see pictures of and in my mind can hear the exact laughter and happiness that accompanied the moment. The warmth that such a memory brings me is something so priceless and invaluable that I feel grateful to even be able to experience the residual glow that the day leaves in my mind.
Lifting into the air and seeing St. Kitts shrink beneath me was such an unbelievable, out-of-body experience. It is something I have literally had dreams about since I arrived in St. Kitts and the excitement bombarded me in overwhelming volumes. Landing in Manhattan only amplified those emotions as I quickly rediscovered how flat and far-reaching a stretch of land can be. The sunset looks different when it’s obstructed by sky-scraping buildings rather than sky-scraping mountains and the Kittitian crickets have nothing on the ambulance sirens and honking cab-drivers. After seeing Rya and my dad, I immediately settled into my previous life in New York, however I am continuously aware of the biting reality that this seemingly familiar place has another contender as the place I call home. Being around so many people, hearing so many abrasive noises, feeling my lips become immediately chapped from the dry, concrete air are constant physical and emotional reminders that the time I have spent away is very real and influential. I have missed this place so much, yet I know without my friends and family, this place would seem foreign and overwhelming.

I hope to see everyone I can during my trip, but if I am unable to spend adequate time with you, know that I love you and miss you and can't wait to be home next year to spend sufficient amount of time with you