Such a long, long time to be gone and a short time to be there.
-The Grateful Dead
It’s been coming at an alarming rate, the end of this time here in El Salvador. I was hoping to slip out of this place without feeling compelled to put time into staring at this hp mini and putting my life here into a concluding paragraph. Alas, I don’t know what sort of justice I would be serving to my ever dwindling population of avid followers if I didn’t offer up a proper farewell to the country that has treated me as one of its own since February 3rd, 2010.
So here goes.
They always tell us the same old clichés.
Allow me to clarify: ‘They’ are the people who have experienced going home after such a long time abroad and ‘us’ are we people who do not yet know what it is like to go home after such a long time abroad.
They say things like ‘You’re going to freak out when you turn the hot water on.’ They tell us ‘I know you don’t believe me, but you’re going to miss the roosters in the mornings. I mean, dude, don’t get me wrong, there is no way in hell you’ll miss the dogs barking in the middle of the night, but I am serious, you will miss the roosters.’ I’ve heard ‘You might seriously want to wear a helmet when you walk into the cereal aisle at the supermarket just in case you faint at the sight of such a colorful cultural abomination.’ Believe me; I’ve heard so many I really do think that I could write a book of them that anyone who has spent enough time away from home would truly understand. I’ll save you all a trip to Amazon.com (sell outs), though, and simply write a final blog absolutely teeming with the clichés.
Sandwiched between moments of complete elation (at the idea of seeing friends and family who I have not seen in almost two and a half years) and utter fear (of leaving a life that my family and friends here have made so comfortable for me) are conversations about weather, about los bichos que ya se fueron pa’l norte, and how damn upset the entire country is that Pancho Lopez and his Familia con Suerte ya no va salir del tele. It is in these moments when my responses aren’t thought out, when words roll right off my tongue, when laughter fills dusty rooms with a suffocating desire to freeze that moment in our minds and never forget it. I’ve regularly thought of how great it would be to bottle that emotion and that carefree ambiance, to capture those moments in a way that photos never can, into a jug large enough to never need refilling but small enough to take with me everywhere I go. Alas, I cannot, so I sit back, wrap an arm around the nearest shoulder, and enjoy the ride.
If I may loosely (mejor dicho ‘incorrectly’) quote one of my all-time favorite films, Almost Famous: The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone when you genuinely understand each other.
In over two years in La Peña I have naturally had my ups and downs. (If you’ll allow for that cliché to go unnoticed I would sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.) I have gotten stitches, broken fingers, made a complete ass of myself due to my bilingual shortcomings, found myself in an empty bus in Santa Ana in the middle of a nighttime downpour unaware of where exactly I was, been robbed by the police, relieved myself on a mountainside in the weeds for months on end, bribed my way into Guatemala from Mexico, bribed my way into Guatemala from El Salvador, gotten dengue, and even lost my dog, Guanaco, to intentional poisoning. I can honestly say that I have run the gauntlet of absurdities until the bitter end, never once looking back.
Life here has its own set of rules, its own set of disappointments, its own rhythms, and a twist of fate that could make your head spin. Like last Friday, the 25th of May, when I saw off two of my closest friends on their way illegally northward.
On Thursday the 24th of May I was in the local store in town chotiando with my good friend Antonio when I got a text message from his cousin, Rina, asking for help with her English homework. Antonio and I, up to this point, had been talking about Friday the 25th for a few weeks now – me trying to motivate him to use all the English he’s learned, meet a nice gringa, and marry her, him telling me that it would be much more difficult than it sounds. Rina showed up with many a question and I put Antonio to work. Antonio, despite not being able to be a Lifting La Peña scholar due to the fact that he only completed 3rd grade before dropping out of school, is a brilliant kid and without a doubt the most devoted student I had for the two years I taught English in La Peña. Within about a half an hour Antonio had shaken off the rust of not having studied English in about 5 months and helped fill up all 5 of Rina’s blank pages with answers that would eventually be deemed correct (by me). Antonio then got up to relieve himself behind the house and Rina asked me ‘Hey, why isn’t Antonio working?’ I knew the answer, that he was being a lazy ass knowing that the next day he was setting off on a trip Siempre al Norte, but I played dumb, ‘I don’t know, maybe he’s just lazy.’
By the time Antonio had come back Rina had gone. I immediately asked him ‘Hey, dude, does Rina not know that you are leaving tomorrow?’ ‘No,’ he told me, ‘Nobody knows except my parents, my brothers, Tito, Jorge, and you.’
The next morning, the day of departure for Tito and Antonio, we heard the news that was resonating throughout the entire community: that of the 6 people who had gone north the month before one 20 year old girl had been left in Mexico, one boy, a minor, was being held in juvenile detention in Houston, and two others were grabbed at the border, one of whom had already been deported once and was sure to face a rather extensive prison sentence before inevitably being sent back to El Salvador – back to square one.
In Metapán we sat at a table eating fried chicken at 8 AM; Tito, my brother, Antonio, my best friend, our friend Jorge, and I. ‘Ni modo,’ says Jorge seeing in the eyes of Tito and Antonio that the terrible news of the morning was not deterring them, ‘Los que no se arriesgan no ganan.’
Those that don’t take risks don’t win.
We ate heartily and happily if not nerously, Jorge potentially saying goodbye to two of his closest friends for the last time in his life, and me knowing that with any luck I would see my friends very soon upon their arrivals to New York and Boston. We got up and I paid, the least I could do after Tito’s and Antonio’s parents had filled by belly innumerable times these past few years, and made way for the door. We walked along the street until we finally reached an intersection; I was going up the hill and them down.
No hugs, no tears. Two ‘good luck’s, two Salvadoran handshakes, and a surprisingly curt ‘Nos miramos, bichos,’ before I did an about-face and headed up the hill, not allowing the overwhelming awkwardness of saying goodbye to get the best of me. After a few paces I did take a look back to see, despite my bird’s eye view, that all three of them were completely lost in the chaotic morning crowd in the Metapán market. Moving farther and farther away from them I thought of whether or not I did a disservice to all of us by avoiding any and all sentiment in saying goodbye. I hopped on my bike and, riding through the streets of the pueblo, paid attention to little more than the ropes of thoughts, as thick as smoke, filling my helmet with positive premonitions (the only sort I would allow myself) of eating Chinese food with Antonio in NYC, inviting Tito to the beach in Rhode Island, and knowing that no matter the outcome of their month-long trip of outrageously dangerous uncertainty I had just parted ways with two of the best friends a kid can find in today’s world.
‘Mi patria son los amigos.’
-Alfredo Bryce Echenique
These past two years have gone by in a blur; time traveling so fast that it seems like the only thing you can do in order to catch up with it is to slow yourself down, take control of the sensory overload. I know that in these 854 days that I missed some opportunities, that I took steps in the wrong direction, that I ignored some responsibilities to friends, to family, or to my work, that I spent what little money I had frivolously, that I took stupid risks, that I cut corners, and that I was not necessarily as culturally sensitive as I could have been.
Despite it all, despite all my shortcomings, despite all missed opportunities, the one thing that I can say with enough pride to humble the noontime sun is that I put every ounce of me into the time that I have spent here in El Salvador, that I never shied away from the moment, and in return have made friends and have been adopted into families that make me proud to be called ‘mi hijo.’
If you can’t tell from my goodbye with Tito and Antonio, I am awful with goodbyes and these next two days are going to be no different. I am genuinely scared to leave…
…but I’ve got a beautiful niece who is going to be waiting for me at the airport and I owe her two and half years worth of hugs that I intend to repay in one sweeping dance across Logan Airport, tears flowing, knowing that no matter how hard leaving all of this is that I am going home to be with people I love, people I adore, people I miss.
I may be woeful at goodbyes, but I am great at hellos.
Shameless plug:
Please, please, please continue to donate to Lifting La Peña! Our funds are running low and will not, at this rate, last through the end of the school year in November. We would like to continue raising funds in order for these kids to have the opportunity to continue their educations in local universities next year! Why stop at high school, right?
Please, please, please donate. No donation is too small. No donation is insignificant.
On top of that they threw me a party last night in my own house and made me realize that these kids really, truly deserve the opportunities that we can help provide them. They truly are, if you'll take my word for it, wonderful people.
