Last night my third month anniversary passed without observance. When I noticed the date early this morning, I took a moment to play a slow-motion montage in my mind, recounting hilarities and touching moments to the tune of a popular Merengue song. After I finished the playful mosaic of memories, I came to the conclusion today would be a good time for a new post on my blog. In fact an update is past due. So let me start off with a question my mother asks me every time I call:
So Konrad, How are you?
I’m good. I have fun. I enjoy my work. I no longer wake up completely submerged in a melancholy homesickness, greatly brought on by vivid dreams of my friends and family. The annoying sudden realization that, “Oh right, I’m in Honduras…” has ceased. My mood has stabilized and my feelings are less impressionable. I have achieved casual contentment, a characteristic of the summer before, which is great by the way.
This progression was subtle. Another way that I look at it, is that my days here feel finally like life. It feels normal to be in Honduras. I now am able to wake up and go into Los Laureles without looking uninvolved with my head lost in some reverie. It’s a shame it took two months to start shedding the melancholy overtone. Now I wish I could just take those two first months and stick them at the end of my term, adding winter months to summer.
The days, however, have lost some of the excitement and spontaneity they once held. When I couldn’t catch the jist of conversations and when events appeared unconnected, it felt more like an adventure. Now our actions and plans have obvious motivations and consequences. We have goals and grants and official documents that must be faxed. It has been frustrating to see my attitude change from idealistic super-enthusiasm, to a grind, however pleasant it may be.
My Spanish has improved dramatically. And while I still routinely work myself into conversations and sentences where I simply don’t know the vocabulary and my voice drops off abruptly, I am can be proud that at least I got that far. I continue to fumble over words. I haven’t perfected the rolling of my “r’s.” But during the day, while I’m immersed in the language, I’ll catch myself replying to questions or adding comments to dialogue without thinking through the translation. It was an exhilarating feeling the first few times when I got it right sans all the meticulous worrying about verb tense, subject placement, or if I should be adding emphasis on the second to last vowel because I the verb is in the present. That feeling faded quickly, however, when I realized I still truly know nothing.
With improved Spanish and several months under my belt came deeper relationships, not just shallow head nods and hand shakes. I have established meaningful relationships with many of the kids and a few families in particular. I think about the kids when I’m home away from the community. I look forward to spending my Saturdays simply watching Spanish-dubbed movies crowded under the television with two or more adolescent Hondurans. My name is now called out a forth of the time that Matt’s is when we walk the streets of Los Laureles. Yet sometimes the younger ones do say Matt’s name in acknowledge of my presence, when I’m obviously alone, but I don’t hold them to it.
I also now know the frustration of dealing with children. I’ve been aggravated when children acted unreasonable and behaved contrary, unresponsive to everything I said in a firm voice while looking directly in their eyes. The worst experiences have been when I’m ignored. A child may be entrapped with jealousy because Matt and I didn’t take them to the mall yesterday and now they won’t laugh or smile. When their laughter usually gave you a sung soul glow, and instead you’re welcomed with a sweeping glance and they walk away, that hurts.
Those disappointments make me forget every substantive achievement Matt and I have accomplished in the community. However obvious and solid medicine and private education may be, when people disappoint, including myself, the skepticism festers. Progress on a week-by-week, even month-by-month basis in Los Laureles is ambiguous and vague. It isn’t something Matt and I talk about. That topic is left to nighttime reflection, when sleep can quickly push it out of your mind.
But then I’ll wake up, forgetting the pensive tone of the night before, and eat a bowl of cereal before leaving to the community. Upon arriving, Chiro will shyly give me a hug and Chigua will come over for a fist bump. Then I’ll climb into a tree to accompany Chita among the leaves. There’s nothing like a little childhood absurdity to start the day.
konrad, you write beautifully! post again!
that was me, kate, by the way. your favorite Alabamian.