During the first week of PST, we were given a presentation at the Peace Corps Office called: "Panama: A Tale of Two Countries."
It detailed the distribution of wealth in the country, driving home the fact that Panama City is one place, and El Campo (rural Panama) is entirely different. While this discrepancy exists on many levels in many countries, the differences in Panama seem to be quite profound. After visiting Panama City on Saturday this week, I understand that a bit more, and found I related to the idea on a personal level.
The last week overall has been overwhelming, to say the least (I'm finding this is a theme of PST): I lost my voice during a week where we had 20+ hours of language class, I felt seriously homesick for the first time since leaving the states, and I struggled to sleep well every night due to stress, despite feeling exhausted most nights.
I also have had some of the best moments since being in Panama: visiting Panama City, harvesting coconuts from a tree with my host mom, having some epiphanies with learning Spanish, and successfully navigating a conversation about spirituality - in Spanish!
The constant ups and downs of PST have taken a small toll on me; while things are arguably improving every single day, I continue to lack the confidence I'm used to having at home. I'm finding that while Panama is a story of two countries, I'm becoming a story of two people.
Michigan Hannah is loud, bold, and social. She inserts herself comfortably into conversations, articulates herself well, seamlessly transitions between her personal and professional life daily, and prefers to do things independently.
She pole dances and goes out for a beer or a glass of wine regularly. She doesn't hesitate to critique and question the people she works with or the institutions she works for, and she's often praised for it. She's sarcastic and has a questionable sense of humor.
She doesn't let anyone tell her what to do, how to feel, or what to think. She wouldn't hesitate to throw down in an argument about animal rights, the environmental justice movement, or intersectional feminism.
She loves to cook and prides herself on her ability to make vegan cheese from scratch and grow food. She confidently walks around her city in sun, snow, rain, and fog. Despite being introverted, she's often out and about because she knows who her people are.
Panama Hannah is a different story: she's self-censored and hasn't actually told her Panamanian mom why she doesn't eat meat or eggs or dairy (because she doesn't know how to explain the intersectionality of human rights and animal rights in Spanish, and she doesn't know if it's appropriate). She sits in silence among large groups of people and doesn't assert herself into social situations.
She doesn't exercise regularly, let alone dance, and has become awfully sedentary. She hasn't cooked herself a meal since she left the States, even though she really wants to because she loves all of the new foods she has access to here.
She hides her realism and critical nature because she's pretty sure that mindset isn't entirely welcome here. She doesn't speak up at home or in Spanish class because she's really nervous about messing up and embarrassing herself. She's turned into a total home-body and rarely goes out after training.
She's impatient about the learning curve she's been confronted with, and misses being good at the things she's supposed to be good at. She misses a lot of things about home, actually, and she's struggling with the fact that that feeling isn't allowing her to be entirely present in Panama.
I feel like I'm two different people existing in two very different places; under different sets of rules, cultural expectations, and professional guidelines. Being a Peace Corps volunteer, as I've been told about a thousand times, is a 24/7 job. You don't get to go home and stop being a representative of the United States and the Peace Corps, and you don't get to continue living the life you lead at home in your host country. You have to make adjustments and commit to reassessing yourself constantly.
PST is proving to have many challenges. While I'm outwardly happy and excited to be here, internally I have reservations about my progress and ability to adjust well enough to life in Panama. Luckily, it's only week 2.
Over the next 8 weeks of PST, I am going to continue to experience everything from absolute bliss to anxiety-riddled breakdowns every week (if not every day). My mental preparation for this experience, though, is starting to transition from reactive to proactive, and my recognition of routines and opportunities for recharge is improving, as well. I'm learning more about my personal limits related to my comfort, health, and social well being every day.
I'm excited to be in Panama; it's a beautiful place with so many kind people, and being a guest to them has been so rewarding. They continue to teach me about themselves, their country, and my own self. The most important things for me to learn in the coming weeks, though, have less to do with my work and more to do with my perspective. Learning to practice grace, forgiveness, patience, and humility is high on my list.
Here's to another week of making mistakes, feeling uncomfortable, constantly being nervous, and ultimately learning to be okay with it.