After spending weeks finishing up our papers and studying for finals, everything school-related came to and end. To celebrate our success we headed out for 27 Charcos (puddles) last Friday. 27 Charcos is a collection of 27 waterfalls that you climb up and then proceed to jump down. Decked in swim suits, life jackets and helmets we made it all the way to 27 after paddling against rapid currents, scrambling up slippery rocks and heaving ourselves on top of each waterfall. Once I did the first jump, the rest were a breeze. The whole experience was a great community builder, not that we needed any assistance – we just really helped each other out and had an amazing time. It was such a liberating feeling, letting myself go and just fall; I could feel all the stress, anxiety and worries fly out of me each time I jumped. And everyone made it out alive with just a few scrapes and bruises and even more good memories.
In the same way that I enjoyed the refreshing water of the waterfalls at 27 Charcos, I was thankful for the Caribbean downpours that masked the tears that spilled from my broken heart all week.
Saturday we spent the night at our first campo, Sabana de San Isidro and had some time to say goodbye. Sunday was one of the best mornings I ever had at San Isidro. It consisted of some serious dominó, coffee and some tears. Saying goodbye to them was the hardest goodbye I had this week, bringing us all to heaving sobs and tears so thick we could hardly speak. Deep inside I know that I will go back, and I know that I will always have a home in San Isidro, but I can’t catch my breath when I think of the reality that I won’t be able to just hop on a gua-gua next week to go see them. Driving home from the campo, a few of us opted to ride in the bed of Kyle’s truck (despite the down pour) in order to lessen the number of trips Kyle would have to take to get us all to a bus. It was the best decision I made that day. It was exactly what I needed, for I was what you might call a “train-wreck,” putting on the usual Amanda-water-works, but at top notch. The rain joined my tears, combining as they both poured down and soaked my clothes.
Saying goodbye to Hato Viejo, the second campo, on Tuesday was not as emotional for me. In a sense, that family feels more like an aunt and uncle than a mom and dad. We played some dominó, visited the new house, took some pictures and ate before we headed back to ILAC. The tears that came this time were more due to the sinking reality that I was leaving the country.
Wednesday we said goodbye to our service sites. It was a pretty normal day. I read a story at the end of class and then said my goodbye. The kids were so adorable as they blessed me and sent me off with God, just like little grown-up Dominicans; “Te vaya con Dios.” (Go with God) I got a little choked up when I finally broke out of the mob that tried to hold me there and keep me in the classroom, “¡No te vayas!” (Don’t go!) Another one of those sinking-in moments.
We had a few despedida (goodbye) moments with the ILAC staff. A dance in the comedor (cafeteria) consisted of the 10 girls dancing for hours with about 5 male staff members; bless their hearts. Thursday before lunch we had a small final blessing in the church when the staff took turns placing their hands on our heads and sending us off with God’s love. We exchanged gifts and nice words before we all ate together for the last meal. Even though each of us has our own Dominican family in one campo or the other, we still feel at home with the ILAC staff. We share a home with them and spend time with them in everyday settings. Their parting words left tears in our eyes and goosebumps on our skin.
Undoubtedly the most impactful goodbye was the one we had together as Comunidad 7. I feel that this is going to be one of the most noticeable differences between the DR and life at our homes in the states. The 13 of us spent honeslty every second together, for as you may recall there is little-to-no privacy in the DR. We were never alone this semester and shared so much; laughs, memories, struggles, frustrations, tears, hugs, cloths, beds, jokes and relationships that will last a lifetime. One thing we learned during reorientation is that we cannot do this transition alone. But another, stronger message we learned… we are never alone. We are always there for each other and I think that we will be leaning on each other a lot. But, then again, what is family for?
“Bendito Dios por encontrarnos en el camino y de quitarme esta soledad de mi destino…” (Bless God for finding us along the path and for keeling me from being alone in my destiny…)
Speaking of the transition; I am expecting it to be interesting and probably quite difficult. I am sure that I will cry. I am sure that I will cry A LOT – you know me, would you expect anything different? But it’s not you, it’s definitely me!! It’s undeniable that life in the DR is incredibly different than life in the US. I know that I will miss everything about the DR, so I will be constantly longing for that. But, know that I am excited to be home. Without you, I would not have had this experience. Without you I will not be able to take this next step. I can’t do it alone. Be patient with me. Let me cry.
So what’s next? It’s tradition for the Comunidad to continue their work for the DR. We are seeking a project or a need that can be met by us up here, for our familias down there. We are waiting on a word form Kyle, but until then we will be brainstorming and fundraising as we stay in constant contact with each other. We will lean on each other. “My love will follow you, stay with you, baby you’re never alone.”
“Being torn between the First World and the Third World is a part of who I am… without it, I wouldn’t be me. I am more authentically me because of it.”
“We must learn to embrace the tension we find ourselves in, and we must see the grace in our silence, our solitude, and our communities. In this space, we can truly see the grace, even as we are pulled apart.”
As far as personally, I am open. I am sticking with education and Spanish, but I don’t know what I’ll add on. This experience has opened my eyes to so many more possibilities, and it has made me aware that there are even more out there, waiting for me to uncover. I’m excited and motivated, for I want to capitalize on the passion alive inside of me now, but not stressed… “Don’t worry, you have 9 months. 9 months is the time of a pregnancy, enough time to create an entirely new life.” So I guess I have at least 9 months, right?
It started with a powerful, open-minded step off the plane into the warmth of the Dominican Republic. It ended with a heavy, painful, teary step (and a little, encouraging shove from behind) onto a plane headed North. But that was not the last step, it was the first of many to come…
“Feel the rain on your skin,
No one else can feel it for you,
Only you can let it in.
No one else can speak the words on your lips.
Put yourself in words unspoken.
Live your life with arms wide open.
Today is where your book begins.
The rest is still unwritten…”
