Back to the States...

At this point, I’m just damn confused. Everyone just left me, and now I’m sitting in the President’s Club in Houston Airport with Mom. Amy, Cara, and Katie just left on their flights back home, and before my mom arrived here at the airport, we parted from Ryan and then finally from Jenn.

It was a rough morning, to say the least. We left at 4:50 am, about 35 minutes after schedule. None of us had really slept that night, so we left very tired and very sad. It wasn’t quite a happy scene being the first group to leave and having to say goodbye to that many people at once. We stayed up all night telling stories, writing letters to each other, playing a great game of truth or dare, all kinds of things. On Monday morning early, we left our houses to spend the last two days of our time in El Salvador at the retreat house, on a “disorienation retreat,” which was supposed to prepare us for re-entry in the States. There’s really nothing that could’ve prepared us for all that we have seen thus far and what we will continue to see—I’ll hit more of this later.

I had an annoying time trying to change my ticket this morning, which cost about 50 bucks to take care of, but thank the Lord I chose to go with it. I would’ve had a terrible time waiting around for my next flight for four hours, without some of my closest friends who were on the earlier flight. Initially, I was on the 12:20 flight instead of the early-morning 7:15. At the last minute, I figured it would be easy to change to the morning one at the airport, and it turns out that it was relatively harmless except that I had to pay an unexpected fee to change. Oh well, I just went with it after some consideration. Too tired, sad, and beat to wait around for so long at that miserable airport. Anyway, we get through security and get on the plane, of course with me in a completely different area of seats than my friends. After sitting down by myself, I finally saw that I was able to grab the window seat next to Amy and Katie. Much better. That flight was a lot of fun, I must say. We were tired and delirious, and we told stories and jokes and had a blast. It’s so much better to travel with a group of friends through all this crap than by one’s lonesome.

We get here in Houston and pass through Customs and Immigration unscathed. I had some problems getting my connecting flight ironed out, because it was initially 6:40 pm and I realized (with the help of my companions) that when I changed the early one, they changed the late one. That was not good, I knew, because my mom was going to meet me in Houston for the later flight and that my dad wouldn’t be able to get me till later that night. So, that was fun to deal with, but it got taken care of pretty easily. It was just one event after another, seemingly, but it’s worked out all day long. At this point, I just want to teleport home instead of dealing with a three-hour plane ordeal.

Culture shock. Reverse culture shock? I can’t really explain what it is. We were used to four months of living relatively simply, of witnessing people on the margins, and of rarely experiencing that upper crest Salvadoran society that so much mimics that we find here in the States. I thank the Lord that I don’t have the feeling as bad as some of my friends were suffering, but I feel that it’s still going to be a struggle trying to understand this society in reference to that in which I have lived for four months. I look around this room in the President’s Club, watching all these people and all this excess in so many ways, and it’s tough to comprehend. I’m a part of it, as a Jesuit priest at the UCA, Dean Brackley, says, part of the “middle class tribe.”

It was tough leaving; I was ready, but the people were pulling me back, in a good way. I didn’t want to leave the people with whom I had become so close for so long. I still had conflicts until the end and I still didn’t really like my place within the Casa, but leaving tends to wipe away those negative sentiments. The Casa is fresh on my mind, and I’m really going to try hard to understand its significance in my life from the other side, from my situation in the States. For me, I think that that will be the most valuable aspect of my time in Salvador, that of what I need to do with it afterwards, in the society I know best and in environments that give me life.

For now, though, like many of my program companions have already asked their loved ones, please let me process better everything that I have just experienced. It’s been a whirlwind of time, and I’m sure you’ll all hear about what it means to me at a later date—just not now. I’ll be happy to share stories and thoughts here and there, but for overall understanding or insight, it just ain’t coming right now. What I can do is be amazingly excited to see all my loved ones and share some “sacred spaces” (Casa lingo) with all of you.

It’s good to be back, but it’s confusing as hell. I’ve left the planet of Mars (what I’ve nicknamed El Salvador) only to return to this crazy culture. How? Why? I’ll continue asking these questions, and I’d be delighted to share it with whomever cares to listen. Thanks for reading, and God bless. Que Dios te guíe y te bendiga! Con todo amor—

AMDG,
Anthony

Two Old Posts

27 abril 2007

Last night, we had two choices for community night: a 90s dance or going to Zach’s show at a bar in Zona Rosa. The show was supposed to start around 9:30, and the dance was slated for 8ish, so we could go to both if we so chose. However, the night before I got about and hour and a half of sleep, if I was lucky. We have been working on our sociology papers that were due yesterday at midnight, so I’m just beat. They’re partner papers, and I’m working with Amy, with a topic of political parties and how they’re represented in the Salvadoran news media, pretty much in two newspapers. It was an article analysis mixed with the stuff he’s tried to teach us in class this whole semester. Anyway, I went to go eat pupusas while Amy finished the conclusion, as she told me that I had written more than she (even though our work was technically even), and then brought her pupusas back so I could take over and do some editing. The dance started, and the 90s music started bumpin. It started to rain, actually a bit harder than usual, but that didn’t inhibit anyone from bustin the move, as we had the dance outside on our patio. I finally finished editing, and then threw on my dancing attire. The theme had originally been “anything but clothes (just not naked!)” but it gradually just turned into whatever people wanted to wear, as no one had the time to make clothes and other people said they were just gonna dress normally. But, I figured I had to take it up a notch. Our last week’s community night was tie-dye, and because I didn’t have any white shirts, I decided to dye some other clothes: a light blue t-shirt, and two pairs of whitey-tighties (boxer briefs and some regular ones). So, with the encouragement of Ryan (of course he would tell me to do something), I rocked the tie-dyed t-shirt and the boxer briefs, quite a wonderful combination of color, I must say. So, I had quite a bit of fun dancing to ridiculous songs from middle-school, out in the rain, with my compañeros en crimen. Finally, though, it was time to leave for Zach’s show, and I thought that was a good idea going on an hour of sleep. So, I changed (yes, it was a shame), and about 12 of us headed over to watch him play guitar and sing. This place is in Zona Rosa, the section of the city that is the ritziest and has the most nightlife. I knew where we were going, since we pass the place every day we go to praxis, and I half knew what I was getting myself into. However, it hit me a little differently when we actually arrived. Like I’ve talked about before, El Salvador is a huge dichotomy—really, as I say, we live on Mars, cuz this can’t be real. This place was very nice and scattered with people who could have been in New York, drinking mixed drinks and trying to appear worldly. It gave me a weird feeling the whole night, not necessarily negative or even me judging them for acting in such a way with their surroundings of El Salvador.

I guess part of the reason it got me thinking was my own personal state for the past weeks. I’ve been evaluating a lot what I want to do, how I want to live, my vocation—and how all this plays into what I see and experience here in El Salvador. Sometimes, there are conversations here about how one could live in luxury here, surrounded by all this poverty—how could one shop and have a nice house and “safe” life? But it’s not different than in the States, except the poverty and danger doesn’t confront you in such a harsh way. The reality isn’t in so many places, depending on where you live, obviously. So, if you’re going to make that argument about well-off Salvadorans, you’ll have to do the same about well-off North Americans. However, take some of the middle-class Salvadorans and compare them to some extremely poor people in Haiti or sub-Saharan Africa. Then, don’t you have to condemn them too? Basically, if you follow the argument, you would! Basically, then, everyone would have to lower his/her standard of living to that of the poorest person on the earth? Well, that isn’t making much sense, so we can’t really condemn these well-off Salvadorans like we’re doing and for the reasons we’re using. Instead, let’s think about what we can do and how we can understand the situation. Are we not allowed to have a car or a computer because the grand majority of the people in this world don’t have them? I’m gonna have to say no to that one, not just because I composed this on my MacBook or because you’re reading it from your own computer. I think this whole thing goes back to my last entry about being personally liberated, about doing things for yourself and not being influenced by others. Furthermore, I think that we must be very careful how we say that we and others need to live their lives. In the very least, we could always be criticized by someone else for some luxury item we possess. And for some, the shoes on your feet are a luxury item.

Part of this whole process, for me at least, is understand the personal degree of all this, of all this knowledge and experience I’m collecting, of my understanding of the world and others. This is part of my being liberated, as our theology professor would phrase it. I’m discovering my own personal belief system, how I want to live out my vocation. Those choices about what you want to have and what you choose to deny is yours. We can be encouraged by other people to change our actions, but in the end of the day, we have to take credit for what we do, what we have, who we are. Someone else can’t tell me how to be in solidarity with the downtrodden and how to live a simple life. Sure, I can take their suggestions, follow their example, or even feel the pressure to live a better life through their way of living. However, I will not let others try to tell me how to live my life, and on the other side, I cannot allow myself to tell others how to live their lives.

27 abril 2007 21:39
This morning, after theology class, I left the building with Chris. At a certain point, he went to split off the path back home, saying he was going to the Chapel (at the UCA). My plan after class was to get in a good hour nap before lunch, but when he said that, it reminded me of how much I had been wanting to go to the Chapel, to go to the Rose Garden—reminding me of my intention at the beginning of the year to visit those two places as much as I could. Let’s just say that I haven’t held up that promise to myself, when Chris told that to me, I went for the opportunity and skipped the nap.

When we arrived, the Chapel smelled of beautiful flowers, and as we got closer, I remembered that the massive amount of flowers covering the front of the church were for the recent death of an older Jesuit beloved by so many people down here. It was a strange sensation, sitting down to pray among the smell of these flowers—which in that situation was really the smell of death. Everything in the Chapel and its surroundings was reminding me of the realities of El Salvador, and I lost myself in thought. That happens more than usual here in El Salvador, just getting lost in memories and old experiences especially. Something about this place just makes me think of my past, and evidently that happens with a lot of students, as one of our directors told me. Especially last semester in Spain—my thoughts come from then. I have flash memories all the time from experiences during last semester. Basically, just how I’m writing here was how the thoughts came out of me. The people in my praxis site, my compañeros here, my successes and failures, my future (hell, even this summer), and so much more.

I left the Chapel and went to the Rose Garden, still completely lost. I was just praying, pleading with God to help me understand this place, to understand this experience, to help all this make sense in my life. We really do live on Mars, as this experience here has been so weird I can’t even explain it. Salvador really makes no sense, and now I’m beginning to understand why—and I think this process will continue throughout my time after I leave.

I want to return to normalcy—or at least what I’ve come to understand—and try to piece everything together. With my life.