All Caught Up

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written something. I don’t know what has been keeping me away —not really anyway. I mean, I haven’t had a laptop for a few months, so that certainly hasn’t been helping, but I know that’s not the reason I’ve avoided writing to you all. I’m not unhappy, really. I have made some great friends here, and I took an amazing, relaxing New Year’s vacation. But today, I sat myself down and figured it’s about time I wrote. Even if it isn’t well written, the people in my life whom I love and who love me deserve to know what’s been going on in my life. So, here it is. Here is what has been going on:

November

The majority of November I spent expecting to go home afterward. My classes had been canceled too many times, due to riots or strikes, to find myself significant; I’d lost purpose. A few weeks before, I’d had a falling out with one of my closest friends (literally: by distance), and things withered from there. “Why am I even here?” I often asked myself.

Unfortunately, “why” abounds with disillusionment, and “Why” became my question.

Granted, I don’t think you should ever stop asking “why.” It’s likely one of the best things you can ask because it broadens your perspective more than the other question words.

Take some of the most provocative questions, and change the question word to “why:” “What is the meaning of life,” becomes, “Why is the meaning of life” (grammatically problematic, but a compelling question (or a fascinating answer to the question)); “How am I alive,” becomes, “Why am I alive,” which I find much more interesting and purposeful. See, I can’t change the fact that I’ve been. And, though it’s interesting to speculate creation, I can’t change how I’ve been either. But knowing why I am gives me reason to be who I am, changes how I am, and shows me what I am here for.

Still, these questions aren’t easily answered. And depression makes the answers darker than they probably are. And loneliness makes the answers less meaningful than they really are. And laziness makes the answers irrelevant.

It took a long conversation with my parents to pull me out of my slump. Especially when my dad said, “Look, Luke: you made a commitment to stay two years, so you have to do it.” And, of course, he was right. And with the support of my mom and dad, I realized that my purpose isn’t handed to me, but it’s fought for. So I fought for it. Thus the library project was born.

December

December was a dichotomy of laziness and days where I worked non-stop from dawn to dusk. I’d have sprints of energy every so often where I’d make strides on the library project. In one week I’d signed up volunteer cleaners from the student body, found the cost estimates, gained the support of various community members and COTR members, got a promise from the school director to write a heartfelt letter to donors, and drafted and got approval of sketches of the library renovation. Then, the next week, I learned that Peace Corps Washington requires all projects, even ones self funded, to be approved. I had to fill out pages of documents and put verbal discussions into written explanations for the “why” of the project. The project stalled, and, like it often happens when someone working twice as hard as they should sits down, I became inert.

Besides, the person in charge of signing off on the project was on vacation in America, so even if I finished everything in a timely manner, I’d not be able to gain approval before she returned in January. I was stuck. I was angry for working so hard and not seeing that work reciprocated by others. I needed a break, so I took one. As a Christmas present, my parents (and grandparents) paid for me to go to a beautiful sister island and stay in a nice hotel. I was there for a week and could write (and probably will write) a blog post on it. And, for the first time in six months, I let myself forget responsibilities and just relax.

January

We spent the first minutes of the new year swimming in the Indian Ocean. It was low tide, and the shoreline didn’t meet water for 100 meters, and the water remained knee deep for another 100. Still, we took to the dark ocean and lay back in the shallow water, eyes at the stars. I waved my hands to face them upward. Water muffled my ears, and tiny lights caught my peripheral vision. I sat up with bits of blue and green moving to the sway of my body: bioluminescent plankton.

Five friends and two British visitors we’d met that night joined me, and we talked about the ocean, and culture, and each-other. And, after an hour or so, we went to bed. No fights, no stress, no mess. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t stressed out to find someone to kiss (though a friend and I did have a playful peck as per tradition). I wasn’t thinking of the past year or the next one. Just us, the ocean, and the tiny, lit-up, life-breathing (literally) plankton.

The next day I met Edna (number 306) and her other giant sea turtle buddy, Dottie. They were laying hundreds of eggs like troopers in hopes that one would survive all of the predators. And for the next three days after that, I locked myself in my air-conditioned room with semi-consistent electricity, running water, and sheets I didn’t have to wash myself (by hand). I watched a dozen movies, napped a lot, and took some much needed alone time. Alone. With no obligations to talk to anyone. It was amazing, and I truly felt rejuvenated and ready to get back to work.

So, that’s where I am now. Well, not right now, but this week anyway. Teaching kids, and actually enjoying it for the first time in awhile. And you’re officially caught up. I promise I’ll give more details in later posts, and I’ll do my best to write more often, too. It’s just hard to write when your mind isn’t in the right place, and it’s easy to blame headspace for keeping me from doing something that should be second nature to me by now.