Soundtracks and Other Things

Since high school, I’ve liked to imagine what it’d be like if we could actually walk around, live really, with the soundtrack of our lives blaring out loud, in public, for others to hear. Maybe not even the soundtrack of our lives, maybe just the soundtrack of the moment. That song. That perfect song which seems to encapsulate so much of what we’re feeling and want to say, but cannot for whatever reason. I used to imagine roaming the hallways in slow motion, catching snippets of other people’s soundtracks. How did what they were listening to capture how they were feeling?

My soundtrack has been all over the place lately.

While riding the souk bus for one of the last times in Morocco, I played “Free Bird” on repeat.

Lord knows I can’t change. 
Lord, help me, I can’t change.
Lord, I can’t change.
Won’t you fly high, free bird, yeah?

Cue epic guitar solo.

On my first trip to the commissary last week I heard “New Soul” by Yael Naim. Reminding me that:

I’m a new soul
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit bout how to give and take.
But since I came here,
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake

la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…

There’s also been a little “Graduation (Friends Forever)” by Vitamin C and “Whatever You Like” by T.I., the latter chosen yesterday as I ran around the park in a tank top and shorts basking in the sunshine.

My first week+some back at home has been good. And weird.

I’m enjoying beer and the ease of cooking in my mother’s kitchen and hot water and not having to pay for every text message I send and hi speed internet and wearing cute clothes. I’m adjusting to the weather…and germs. I’m enjoying spending copious amounts of time with my family. Editing my little sister’s papers, hiking with my Dad, helping out in my Mom’s preschool classroom. I’m letting my defenses down. Realizing that kids in America aren’t going to ‘Bon Jour’ me or cuss me out or throw rocks at me. I haven’t been sexually harassed or otherwise bothered once in America.

But I’m also dealing with a bit of awkward social anxiety. I’ve mostly been a hermit since coming home. Restricting myself to preschool hours and family time. Dare I say that I’m kind of afraid to talk to people? As I jokingly said to a friend the other day, I’m nowhere near as charming in English as I was in Arabic.

I’m exhausted. Having finally gotten over my jet lag, the pace of American life is catching up with me. The days feel so long. In Morocco I used to feel accomplished if I did 2-3 things a day. Makes me a little worried about job life.

And I haven’t really had a quiet moment to process things. To declutter my thoughts and organize them into neat little lists. Not for about a month. I hope to do that soon. Probably here on the blog.

To everyone who wrote, called, texted, or otherwise thought of me in this past month I say ‘thank you.’ It’s meant a lot. I promise to start functioning as a real life, 20-something adult soon. I hope.

Gifts from the Bl3d

I spent a really lovely day this week with a household of women out in the bl3d, or countryside. They have chickens and cows and all kinds of fruit trees and flowers and well, just about everything. I felt relaxed and free and happy. (Are you going to hate me if I use the word ‘and’ again?) Like really at peace, which has been hard recently given the upcoming transition. Their property reminded me of something I would’ve loved especially as a kid. I could see myself roaming around out there and making up all kinds of ridiculous stories while ‘playing pretend.’ The women themselves reminded me of the sisters from The Secret Life of Bees. Momma Hadda with all her teeth missing, but the most glorious smile. Hardworking Kbira who hardly takes a break as she oversees the household chores. And schoolteacher Malika, who seems to be the center of it all. These women are strong and like so many Moroccan women I feel safe when I’m with them. Like nothing bad could happen to me.

Anyway, this is what they presented me with upon leaving:

Apricots fresh off the tree, eggs from their chickens, olives from their grove, and homemade butter made by Kbira.

I almost cried.

I’ll never forget the generosity of so many people here.

Coming Full Circle and Appreciation

The greatest gift I could have ever given myself.

That was the rhetoric of my trip back home in December. The chance to experience America as something new. To revel in all its gloriousness. I can’t recall ever having been so grateful, and still grateful in light of my Grandpa’s recent passing. It was a wonderful opportunity to examine my life, the people in it, and how Morocco has played a role in shaping it.

It was a feeling I recognized a few months ago as I laid in my bed at host family’s house in Bhalil. The same bed that I slept in every night for my first two months of Peace Corps training.

Prior to COS conference, my CBT mates and I agreed to travel to Bhalil for a CBT reunion with our host families.

I remember feeling sheer and utter bewilderment at all that happened since the last time I had been there, almost two years ago exactly. The places I’d been, people I’d met, work I’d done. Some things of course were the same. Their incredulity at my still vegetarianism or the fact that there’s really not a whole to do besides sit around, talk, and eat. But even more so than when I was in the States, going back to Bhalil showed me how appreciative I am of this experience.

For all of it. The good times and the bad times. For how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned, and for the people who shaped it.

In a few weeks I’ll pack up my bags, say ‘goodbye,’ and leave Morocco. In a few weeks, I’ll be laying in my bed at home, having come full circle. (Because this is Morocco, I’m gonna throw an ‘inchallah’ in there) What will I feel?

Relief? Bewilderment? Exhaustion? Sadness? Joy?

That remains to be seen.

But I expect to feel appreciation most of all.

Excited/Terrified

I am both excited and terrified to go back to America next  month.

I’m excited…

To see my family. Lauren if you see this, can you forget that you’re mad at me by this time next month?

To reconnect with friends. Celebrate their weddings. Go to  bars. Mariners games. The like.

To wear what I want. Dresses, skirts, tank tops, shorts! All day, err day! If I never have to wear another scarf for the rest of my life, I’ll be okay. Although I know that come next fall, I’ll be donning them again. But not out of necessity.

To dance and sing and run and walk and move about and BE in public. Without fear of repercussions or harassment. Free as a bird. At last.

To be fun-employed. Nobody to report to. No reports to write up. No further need to feel like I’m carrying the weight of my country’s reputation on my shoulders. It’s taken me 25 months to understand what they mean when they say that Peace Corps is a 24/7 job. There’s hardly an escape from the pressures of both formal and informal work.

To blend in. Be one of the crowd. Bask in the glory of anonymity. To walk outside in absolute confidence that no one will shout my name, yell ‘Bon Jour,’ throw rocks, or cuss me out.

To do simple things. Like go to estate sales with my Mom. Read the newspaper. Go hiking with my Dad. Text my friends randomly throughout the day. Watch old movies with my little sister.

To wake up next to Mt. Rainier.

But I’m also terrified.

I’m terrified…

Of stagnancy. Getting caught in the same old scene, time and again. Never progressing, experiencing, or learning. One of the greatest gifts of my Peace Corps experience was this chance to really live day by day. I haven’t stopped learning or exploring since day 1 here. And it’s been so much fun.

Of being bored. Not trying to be elitist. See above.

Of talking to Americans. Of jumping back into that social world. Meeting new people, etc. I know that sounds silly.

Of hating my job or career in America. Humble brag, but I think the work I get to do in Peace Corps is so fucking cool. (Most of the time) I’m worried about finding employment in America that I’ll find as meaningful or worthwhile.

Of reconciling peoples expectations or ideas about me with how much I’ve changed. Fighting against the box people have put me in. And  vice versa.

Of explaining this experience to other people. I’m terrified of, “How was it?”

Of the fact that it’s over. That I’d wanted to Peace Corps for so long and now I’m done. I did it. What if this is the coolest thing I’ll ever get to do in my entire life? I’m only 24.

Of missing Morocco. Missing my fruit man and Ayoub and my girls and Aziz. Missing the thunderstorms and maybe even the 110 degree days. Missing people’s random kindness or sentiments that make me feel like I belong. Missing my Peace Corps friends, who I fear are the only people I’ll ever be able to talk about Morocco with easily. Missing the mountains and the red dirt and the trek to Azilal. Missing the amazing selection of cheap fruits and vegetables at souk. Missing the ‘aha’ moments, and all those times that made it worth it. Waking up on Friday’s and realizing that I won’t get to eat cous cous.