A Letter to You

Day 284 in Mexico

Dear Family, Friends, and All Others,

This is a letter written for you, whoever you are or whatever relation you are to me (family member, friend, friend of a friend, former teacher, acquaintance, what have you). It has come to my attention, as you might have guessed, that it’s June, my last full month here in Mexico. It’s hard for me to believe that my time here is coming to an end. There were days or weeks here and there where time dragged, times when it seemed like the end of my service would never come, but here we are, less than six weeks from my homecoming. I want to thank you for continuing to take an interest in what I’m doing here, and for all the kindness, well wishes, and support that you’ve provided me throughout these 9+ months. Believe me, they’ve been very much appreciated.

A couple of weeks ago, our volunteer group had our spring retreat, where we gathered together for four days at a convent in northern Cuernavaca. We did many interesting things, including spending 24 hours in contemplative silence, taking a fun day trip to a balneario (natural water park), and watching Peter have an allergic reaction to a sulfa based drug (that was an interesting experience that we could probably all have done without). The overarching theme of those days, however, was going home – where we’re at emotionally, what we’d like to do to make sure our time here ends well, what makes us excited or nervous about arriving home once again. To help us process some of these emotions, our coordinator Andrea suggested we write a letter to someone back home, more for ourselves than the recipient, explaining in the rawest and most honest of terms how we’re feeling about the whole repatriation ordeal. I’ve been through reverse culture shock once before, coming home from my study abroad experience, and it honestly wasn’t that bad. I remember being very surprised at how big the shopping carts were (Buenos Aires supermarkets had these tiny little carts) and how unfriendly I was to people passing on the streets; for at least a couple of months it would never occur to me to smile at them or greet them, and I eyed those that did so to me with a great deal of suspicion; living in a huge, bustling mega-city temporarily killed my small town kindness instincts. However, this year has definitely been different than studying abroad, and given my lifestyle changes and the longer time I’ve spend abroad, I’m thinking that there’s a greater chance for difficulties. Hence, my letter to you; I’d like to try to express some of those feelings; maybe by doing so, the whole coming home process will be easier for both of us.

In all honesty, my feelings about coming home are best described as ambivalent. Like I said, there have been, and still are, days when I can’t wait to get on that plane, and many others when I don’t know how I’ll be able to leave. The truth is that I don’t know how I’ll feel being back home. Yes, I’ll be excited to see you, but I’m guessing I’ll also be pretty sad about having just ended what has been a fantastic, eye-opening, experience of a lifetime year. The relationships I’ve formed here have been hard-earned, created through baby steps and missteps and a lot of time. It took a while for me to feel really established here, like I belonged, and there are some days when I still don’t feel like I do. However, the thought of leaving behind those relationships that I’ve fought so hard to make is really painful. The moms that I work with are already saying, “You’re leaving so soon,” “Please don’t go,” or “We have to make sure to do this soon, before you leave.” Every time I hear that, I feel a pang in my chest, and I hasten to either change the subject or dismiss it; after all I’m not leaving just yet. Those statements are hard, both because they make it more difficult to stay fully present, able to enjoy my last weeks here, but also because they’re a reminder of how much I will miss all of the women and children that I’ve met here, and how in so many ways I’m not ready to leave them behind. So, I ask of you that you be sensitive to this. I don’t know exactly what my emotional reaction will be in my first weeks (maybe even months) back in the US, but as of now homecoming is looking to be a bittersweet experience. If I do feel a little low, or talk about how much I miss Mexico, don’t take it personally. I am excited to come back, but I’m also going to be grieving the loss of relationships with really amazing people with whom it’ll be hard to stay in good contact.

Coming home from Mexico seems to present its own special homecoming issues. I haven’t been living in the bush for the past year; it’s not like I’ve been bathing once a week out of a bucket or living without electricity. I have wireless Internet in my house, I pass the Walmart every day on my way to work, and I’ve been to Starbucks and the mall and a 3-D movie during my time here. Some of these parts of my life don’t seem that different from home, meaning when I talk about “repatriation,” I don’t think I’ll have a heart attack walking into Target. Also, when you really think about it, I’m physically not that far away. My flight home is only a few hours; it’s no further from Tucson to Cuernavaca than it is from Tucson to Chicago. However, I think that presents some possible challenges in coming back, in that you and I might underestimate the difficulty of me making the switch between living in Mexico and living in the US. Sure it’s a short flight, but I think that might actually be harder. I won’t have any time to process the switch. I leave Mexico City early morning, and including transfers and everything, I should be in Tucson by 1 p.m. How is it possible that I really haven’t been that far away this whole time, and yet my life is so radically different? How is it that I’ve been living in a country that struggles with so many issues – desperate poverty, widespread drug violence, corruption at every level – and in a few hours I can be home, leaving those problems on the other side of the border? The truth is, I might not be that far away, but my life here does have significant differences. I live differently, I spend less, I speak a different language. To dismiss those differences would not make my homecoming easy by any means. Furthermore, Mexico has the distinction of being something of a hot-button subject as far as countries go, thanks to strained US-Mexico relations and illegal immigration issues. I'm very open to discussing these issues or my opinions on the matter. However, slurs or cuts taken at Mexico or its people, especially coming from someone like you, someone who cares about me, will not be well received. Know that I've formed deep bonds and loyalties to the people here; I really don't want to get defensive. Even while recognizing that it's an unhealthy and pointless reaction, if there was an insensitive comment made about the people who've cared for me the past year, I'd be quick to speak up in their defense.

My lifestyle is not the only thing that’s changed; I’ve changed. I can’t even really tell you how, or to what degree; maybe you’ll think I’m the same, or perhaps that I’m radically different. There’s no way of telling. At our retreat, we were each sharing parts of our letters, and something that Peter said really seemed to fit for me. I’m going to use some of his words loosely here: this year has changed me, and those changes are going to manifest themselves in myself, my actions, and my attitudes when I get back; I just don’t know how. I’m guessing I’m going to talk a lot about Mexico upon my return, as in “When I was in Mexico,” or “This one time in Mexico.” This is for two reasons (maybe more, but two for sure). One, all of my most recent experiences have, obviously, happened in Mexico, so until I spend a little time back stateside, those are the stories and insights that I have to offer. Secondly, living here has now become part of my identity. I can identify myself as someone who’s lived in Mexico for a year, that’s had a Mexican “family,” someone that’s familiar with the language and the people and the customs (even those that still baffle me). I’ll need that new identity to be recognized; otherwise, it’ll be like this year never happened at all. How might you do this? First, be patient with my Mexico stories; maybe they’ll get old, but I’m hoping if you have the interest level to read my blogs, you won’t mind listening to a yarn or two about a crazy bus driver or something amazing my kids did in the kindergarten one day. Questions would be good, although please just don’t ask, “How was Mexico?” when I see you again. I won’t be able to answer such a thing. I won’t be able to share my entire experience in one word, or even one sitting; it’s going to have to come out gradually. I’ll probably never be able to tell or express all that I’ve done and seen and learned here, but any way that you can show that you’re interested will be greatly appreciated.

I can’t reiterate enough that I just don’t know how I’ll feel. At the end of my study abroad, I got very ill and actually left a couple weeks early; at that point, I was so ready to be done that coming home was a relief. Barring any unforeseen sicknesses, I think this time around could be very different. There will probably be good days and bad days, just as there were when I arrived here. Maybe I’ll feel like I never left, or perhaps I’ll feel like I just don’t fit in in my own country. Maybe I’ll be relieved to be able to speak in English and have myself fully and clearly understood, or depressed at the lack of opportunities to use my Spanish. It’s really impossible to say at this point. I think the greatest thing I ask of you is to be patient. If Mexico is all I can talk about, be patient. If I can’t stand to buy something because I converted the price into pesos in my head and the price now seems astronomical, be patient. If I try to put salsa on everything because I think non-spicy food has no flavor, be patient. If I’m moody, be patient. If I run out into traffic to pick a dime off the road because, after all, a dime is like a whole peso… okay, that’s a little extreme. But you get my point.

Maybe this will be an incredibly smooth transition, and maybe not. Know that despite the difficulties that may await, I have missed home, and you, and will be very happy to see you. Again, thank you for your love and support. I will see you (in person!) very soon.

Peace and blessings,

Katherine

P.S. Andrea, my coordinator, wrote a similar letter last year to the families of returning YAGMs, filled with suggestions on understanding this transition and making it easier. Check it out on her blog: http://andreaandluke.blogspot.com/2009/05/open-letter-to-friends-families-of.html