Here's to the Present Tense.

I have been in Spanish school for 8 days now. Things are going pretty well. I can talk in complete sentences, conjugate irregular verbs, and translate paragraphs. Except there is one problem: I can only do it in the present tense, the implications of which I am just now realizing.

Think about it: I will have no way to communicate where I have been in life or where I am planning on going. No way to tell my story, my history, or plan out my next move. I will truly be living in the present. Which, for me, is going to be a huge adjustment. If I am not reliving the past, I am constantly looking forward to the next step.

Although it is going to be a huge change, I cannot express how excited I am to only be able to speak about the present. Perhaps it will teach me that ever important life lesson of learning to live in this moment, relishing what this day has to offer, and living without past regrets or future expectations. If that's truly the case, then maybe we should all quit speaking in past and future tenses. Try it for a day, and let me know what you think.

Here's to the present tense.

We Can Relate to the Pain, but Not to the Hope.

For the past ten days, I have been living in La Antigua, Guatemala, the former Spanish colonial capital of the country. My experiences have been riddled with lots of learning, lots of fun, and lots of new faces and friends. My days are filled with conjugating Spanish verbs and memorizing vocabulary, while my evenings are filled with wandering the streets and frequenting bars with new amigos.

One thing that you hear a lot about here in Antigua is Semana Santa,the Holy Week festivities. The streets are lined with alfombras, natural carpets of flower petals and pine needles, something which is a holdover from indigenous Mayan beliefs. Cofraidas, religious brotherhoods, parade through the streets with processions bearing the images of Christ and the Madonna. The trial and sentencing of Christ is re-enacted every Good Friday, and at about 4:30 pm, the town is decorated with black crepe paper. The residents dress in all black, and somber processions are held down the streets, waving black banners that are engraved with the last words of Christ. The processions are held in silence, and an image of Christ is "laid to rest" in the church at about 11 pm. Funeral processions continue on Holy Saturday, although all becomes quiet for Easter Sunday. There is nothing that grand to commemorate the resurrection of Christ.

I asked my teacher about this reversal from our typical Easter celebrations: a quiet and reflective week, followed by a joyous celebration. And all she said was: "We can relate to the pain, but not to the hope."

Contradictions and Juxtapositions.

Guatemala is a country full of contradictions and juxtapositions. As a person who has been told often that she is a walking contradiction, I can't help but to notice them. This is a country that is full of fear and hope, of love and violence, of tradition and technology. And it keeps me always in a state of limbo, not sure which to abide by and believe in.

We spent the last four days in the Northeast region of Guatemala, a very, very poor region surrounding Lake Izabal, which is the largest lake in the country, if I am not mistaken. And in this region, I found all of these contradictions to be very present. The women still wear the traditional Mayan costume, but have cell phones, drive cars, and use computers. As I am writing this right now, I can hear roosters crowing. It is an unusual mix of thousand year old traditions and the modern world which is at the same time to be expected, and a surprise. The police force here consists of men who look like they are twelve standing in the streets with uzis, in front of stores, post offices, banks. Many women are beaten by their husbands. We even saw a guy relaxing with his friends by the lake who had a pistol stuck in the back pocket of his swim trunks! And yet despite all this fear and violence, there is so much love and hope. You see it in the faces of the children, and in the way that mothers take care of their children. It's in the way that the kids are communally parented, and in the way that old Mayan women hug me and call me their daughter.

And yes, you can't have hope without fear or love without violence. I suppose that to have such hope and love, there must be the same amount of the contridiction. But my goodness, do you need that much? However, it does make the good very good, and the bad very, very bad. And don't get me wrong, there are these exact same contradictions in the U.S. I guess it is either more pronounced here, or at home, I am living it, and just don't notice. It is everywhere, which just blows my mind. I cannot fathom living in a situation like theirs and being able to still believe that life is good. But they do. And I pray that I will still be able to believe that life is good after living here for the next 10 months and seeing how life treats them.

Saying Goodbye to Home.

Three days. That is all that stands between me and Guatemala now. And the goodbyes have started.

One of my oldest and dearest friends from high school in KY came to visit me Saturday evening. He was on his way through to Baltimore, and luckily made a pit stop to see me before I left. You know those people in your life where nothing big in your life seems to happen unless it involves them, or until you tell them ALL about it? Well, that's him. So now it's official: something big is about to happen. I rarely get to see him anymore, and after just 2 hours we had to say goodbye. And that was the hardest part.

Church this morning was incredibly difficult as well. With my father being the priest and all, I have about 100 different families. Seriously. And my dad, slick as he is, stealthily put my absolute favorite hymn into the service. Well, that just started my mom crying while I was trying to scoot as far away from her in the pew as I could. It's funny, though. I have been pretty okay lately, not freaking out too much, or crying a whole ton. But it seems now that my parents are breaking down. And once that happens, I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of keeping it together.

Then there was the impromptu going away party this evening. Filled with friends and neighbors, it was beautiful. Lots of reminiscing, funny stories told, and of course lots of watching the Eagles beat the Vikings in the playoffs. But then, one by one, people left. It was hug after hug with people whispering beautifully inspirational things into my ear, and me trying to just break down. And if you had told me three years ago when we moved here that it would be this hard for me to leave, I never would have believed you. I hated this place at first, and now, part of me doesn't want to leave. It has taken this journey and process of leaving to realize that I have, in fact, made a home here for myself. And that is why the goodbyes have been so difficult this time around: not because of where I am going, or how long I will be gone, but because this is home.

So this is Christmas.

So this is Christmas. Or, as everyone around my house is calling it, my "last" Christmas. A little surreal, since that can't actually be -- I don't plan on dying anytime in the next 12 months. And I am such a homebody that no matter where I am in the world, there's a 99.9% chance that I would come home at least around the holidays, if not for the actual date. But I kind of like the special treatment, getting to do all the "special" jobs that my brother and I always fought about as kids and to this day, at the ages off 22 and 25, still have to take turns doing: setting up the creche, putting the angel at the top of the tree, deciding which church service to go to on Christmas Eve. And even though Christmas this year in the Marsh household has pretty much been by my design, something is slightly off.

The family traditions were all followed exactly, as, of course, they absolutely need to be. Egg nog was consumed at the tree decorating, pajamas were given on Christmas Eve. So that's not it. Maybe it's the realization that once you graduate college, you are crossed of a lot of extended family's gift lists. Bummer. But I don't really think that's it either. I did get everything I needed, everything I asked Santa for: a new digital camera and a sweet backpacking pack to take on my adventures. :) More than anything, I think that it's the fact this year I seem to be very sensitive to the situations of others at this time of year. I have friends all over the country and the world -- Bangkok, Israel, Tokyo -- who are not with their families this year. And with the impending move to a highly economically depressed neighborhood of Guatemala City, I can't help but feel like these motions that my family has been going on with for weeks now is somehow incredibly showy and terrible waste. And for the first time in my entire life, I feel guilty about having Christmas. And that, coupled with this tiny twinge of fear that this may, in fact, be my last Christmas as I know it, is making for a very weird mix of emotions, and subsequently a very abnormal Christmas. But hey, welcome to my life these days. :)

So on that note, Merry Christmahanakwanzukah. Hope your holidays are guilt and fear free. Well, except for the guilt of eating too many holiday goodies, and the fear of what that may do to your waistline. :)

And so it Begins.

I am a worrier. Always have been, and figure I always will be. It runs in the family, so at least I come by it honestly. With less than 3 weeks (18 days to be exact!) until I move to a women's co-op in Guatemala City, UPAVIM, you can imagine all the material that my ever-worrying my mind has to work with. It started just the other night, lying in bed thinking of to-do lists, making sure that I have all my bases covered while I am away for the better part of next year. And so it begins.

Funny thing is, I am not worried about all of the normal things that you would think of. I am not worried about packing, or forgetting something important. I am not worried about how I am going to pay my loan payments while I am away, nor am I worried about communicating with loved ones at home and across the globe. I am not worried about how hard the goodbyes are going to be, or about how I am going to survive the culture shock of no washing machines or dryers, no drinking anything unless it is out of a bottle, and getting used to a shower head rigged up to electricity for hot water.

Instead, I am most worried about what effect the entire experience will have on me as a person. When I first tell people about what I am doing, their first exclamation is usually along the lines of, "Oh! What a life-changing experience that will be!" To consciously make a decision to go into an experience that will undeniably alter my entire being for the rest of my life is quite daunting...especially since at the ripe old age of 22, I am still not entirely sure who that person is. Hopefully, this experience will make me more sure of my identity, and who I really am.

I am worried that there might be someone else out there who is better equipped to give this community of La Esperanza what they need. I am worried that I will go through this experience and somehow not take in every second. I am worried that I will get too caught up in my own life's needs, wants, hopes, and dreams and not give enough care and attention to the community. I am worried that I won't be able to do it. I am worried that I will not change for the better, as everyone is predicting. I am worried that I will not live up to the expectations of the women and children of UPAVIM.

And despite all this anxiety, emotional ups and downs, and sleepless nights, I am thankful for the worry. I am thankful for this process. I am thankful for this opportunity, one that will not only benefit UPAVIM and La Esperanza, but will selfishly serve myself as well.

And hey, if it doesn't work out, I'll at least have gotten some killer guacamole. :)