This is an essay I just wrote for my lit class. Has some more of what went on at end of stay camp. Changed a few names and countries, to not shed light on those who chose to be in the dark.
There comes a time when it all has to end
That day had been filled with the usual AFS (an international student exchange and volunteer company) activities. Which were getting into groups and describing how our trip had been. When really all we did was just chat, because we could not handle the reality of the situation. In the back of our minds we all were replaying the year and all that it held. The depression, tears, parties, languages, fun and homesickness that we all had felt and were feeling.
In a week we all knew what was coming. Of course we did. We had been looking forward to that moment for almost an entire year. And now that it had arrived we were simply shell shocked. We wanted to rewind the last eleven months and take back all the negative things we had felt and said towards our new home. Because, we all knew that we were never going to return. And for the select few who are going to, it will never be the same.
We sat there. Not knowing what to was coming, but hopping it would be over soon because we had a great night ahead of us. The room was silent. Not an awkward silence, but the silence we had all learned to be comfortable with. The focus on the surroundings and moment, no need to shatter the perfection with words.
Javi, the head volunteer leading the send away camp, walked into the middle of the circle. Looking like a god, to some extent, with the light all around being broken by his presence. He began to speak in spanish, as usual, about how our time had come to an end and we must understand this. After his first sentence he had addressed the idea that we had all been avoiding. I saw every pair of eyes in the dimly lit room cast to the floor, along with many people bitting their lips. He also said that we were going to go around, if you wanted, and choose one person that has held you up, and allowed you to grow in the past year. Many of the Italians called on each other, because that is how they spent their year. Not only connected by their language but, their common values and cultures that they had no desire to stray from.
The words were fading past me until one after another, my two best friends stepped forward and called my name. My heart clattered the floor, thankfully it was not my body. My one friend from Sarah, with her blond hair sticking in every direction and her parachute pants flowing with her every movement, stepped forward. She said that I had helped her find herself again. Tears filled my eyes because I had thought that she had only done that for me. Then my other friend Lily stepped forward to me as well, I could barely hear her words. Shyly as always she entered the circle, but more confidence than when she had arrived, she said, in her spanish, thick with Italian accent, that I had helped her become a stronger person. The weight of what was happening to us, was all crashing down on me.
All day long as we chatted about this night club and that trip, we never once spoke the words of going home. Which is why we were all gathered together. Because, our time had come, to go home. After the past eleven months, leaning on each other as family, friends, translators, and body guards, it was over. Our year abroad in Paraguay had finally ended. Not only was our time up in that enchanting, dirty, friendly, stereotypical, loving, lazy, caring and misogynistic country. But, also our time was up being together. No matter what we said, we all knew deep down that being separated by school, work and continents, would never allow for our relationships and deep bonds to ever be the same again.
Leaving everything you know to go to a place of complete mystery, poverty, and corruption breaks you down. Constantly being approached by kids age two to twenty, with black feet from the filth and ripped brown clothing asking for anything. Or being screamed at on the streets by men ages ten to ninety “rubia” or blonde making you feel like a walking billboard, because fitting it would never happen for “the white girl.” But, we stuck together and fought back. We laughed instead of crying, danced instead of moping and smiled instead of fighting back when people accused us of being a product of our country, rather than our country being a part of us. The bonds created in exchange are beautiful, you trust people with your life. They become your home away from home. Weather we were sitting in a park or a mall, we only needed each other presence for comfort.
No longer would we have Thursday afternoons in San Lorenzo, in the Heladera, eating ice cream and playing Presidents, a Belgium card game, together for hours. Nor would we be able to simply drop everything and travel around Argentina or Brazil for weeks at a time. As this all sunk, in we grew not just silent, but morose. In the small room with eighty people, we all became restless. With all the candles and bodies it was becoming warm. Some people were melting the wax to the floor in order for their candles to stick, but it was all movements of teenagers that did not want to face their reality, yet again.
Once everyone whom had wanted to speak in the circle was done, most everyone was in tears. There were the select few who had wasted their year away with gossip, drugs and alcohol who had no sadness on returning to their “home.” Though they were the minority. There were others with dry faces that simply could not comprehend what was really happening. Many were embracing each other. Because we knew, this was not the last time in the following weeks to see each other. However, it was the last time we would be honest with one another. We knew we could never be this close to each other again. In addition, we would never be this close with anyone in our lives again. We all knew the relationship we had made was once in a life time.
Going through the struggles and triumphs of exchange together is only something you can experience once. We faced times of helping to load our friends things into bags and buses to get them away from their host father that was abusing them sexually, because the program was oblivious to our situations. But, we also shared, standing at the edge of Cararatas Del Iguazú, hearing the roaring water of the fifth largest waterfall in the world and realizing together how we are so insignificant to this earth compared to nature. We have been built up by our intelligence of the world, culture and street smarts of South America. And torn down by robbery, deception and betrayal.
We headed back to the hotel. Feet dragging on the dirt path, all clumped together like penguins do to keep warm, to survive. No one spoke, we barely breathed. Arms tight across our chests not because it was cold, but as if to hold ourselves together, and make sure our hearts could not jump free from our chests, if they already hadn’t.
My group, or family, all headed to one room. We needed time to be together as much as we could, before we left. Four beds stretched across the hotel room, a large picture window on the west side took up the entire wall. The view outside was the slums at dusk, a sight you never get used to. Seeings the tin and tarp huts with dirt and trash all around, was something we could not face that night. We all made sure our backs were toward the window or someone tall was obstructing our view. The pops and clanks of glass told us all it was happy hour, or just hour. Hands filled with cocktails, beers and for others, hard liquor, we all sat around talking about our year. It was such a beautiful tragedy. It was so beautiful that our best friends were all part of this bigger picture of peace in the world and that we all represent different parts. Between all of us we are from: USA, Sweden, Norway, Belgium, Iceland, Germany, Holland, Italy, but together it did not matter, together we learned from each other and with each other. I was sad because I knew I would have to go back to the USA and face once again a place where I did not belong, and would never have friends like I had in Paraguay. I knew once again that real friendship exists. That there are people in the world that just want to hold you up and never let you fall down. So I could not be sad that it was all over. I had to be happy and thankful for the opportunities that I had been given for that trip because without it I do not think I would have made it to this part of my life.
Finally, we decided to have a traditional round of Presidents, to end our time like it all began. Cards were spread across the sheets, along with ten bodies in awkward positions to make room for the next person. Mostly, just to make an excuse to lean on each other, because we did not want to forget what being close was like. Shushing each other every so often when we heard foot steps in the hall, then snorting from trying to hold in the laughter. We talked about our futures. Some being exact like mine, how I want to study Environmental Policy. My dream in life is to work for the United Nations. Along with others that they simply want to be more than just a wife. But, all of our futures were impacted by our times together. Everyone had shifted their dreams to bigger and smaller ideals. We all wanted to give back and educate people about women's rights, environment or just that the world has other opportunities than only surviving.
By the end of that night, we all realized who we were. We were a family together and had dual homes in our birth country and our home country. I had grown to be a person who I wanted to be and wanted to pursue.
One thing none of us knew, was that the road was not over. We had to do a even harder exchange in the weeks to come. That was the exchange of returning home. Seeing a country you once only knew to be a completely different place. Getting excited about super markets, clothing dryers, understanding everything, air conditioning and no stench in the air. Also, returning to a family, much like a host family. People who no longer knew anything about you, but think that you are still the same person, when you are not. These are the challenges we had no idea we would have to face.
As the night was coming to an end, with droopy eyes from exhaustion and tears. The fluorescent lights cast deeper shadows on our already dark bags under our eyes, that no longer were twinkling with the buzz of the hour. No one wanted to leave each other. If it were up to us we would have stayed lying next to each other for the rest of that week. But, like every good thing, it came to an end. We started to tidy up the room. Wiping up spilled drinks and dreams. Working very slowly. We returned one by one to our rooms, taking more time than needed to exit. We were saying “good night” over and over again, until it was slightly absurd.
Lying in bed, the day whirling through my head, sleep was coming upon me. I clasped my hands together, and prayed to what ever is up above “please let me see them again,” holding back tears of sadness and happiness I drifted off. That was the best night.
