Things are quickly coming to a close in PST; in less than one week I'll be sworn in as a volunteer and heading to my community in Chiriquí to meet my new host family, explore the place I'll call home for two years, and finally get a handle on what being a PCV is actually like (as opposed to a PCT, or Peace Corps Trainee, which is what I currently am).
I was trying to think about writing my last blog of PST, reflecting on how to conclude the journey that has been training to serve in the Peace Corps. I came up with about 12 really deep, unnecessarily heavy topics to write about, all having to do with the constant transitioning that PCT/Vs go through: making friends and leaving friends, finding comfort and navigating discomfort, building trust and losing confidence, your pants fitting one week and not making it past mid-thigh the next week...there are hundreds of examples. However, I want to promote positivity, both for myself and for you all reading, so instead I'm just going to tell you a story.
My last week in my host community has been rather relaxing, which wasn't what I expected, but I'm grateful for it. Some highlights involved my last language interview and receiving my results (I went up one more level in Spanish!), some hilarious dinner time conversation with Mabel, and our despedida on Friday - basically a going away party for us trainees with our all of our host families. It's been full of the highs of feeling right at home and the lows of having to pack up and leave. Even today, packing my bags to head out tomorrow, I felt pangs of sadness penetrating my excitement.
Yesterday was Saturday, April 21, 2018. It was a pretty normal day overall, and I didn't have much to do. Mabel asked if I wanted to go to her daughter's house. This is a pretty regular activity during the weekend, so of course I said yes. I grabbed my wallet and keys and we locked up the house, climbed into the car, and drove 7 minutes to her daughter's house.
When we arrived, my family of women was there, and they all started fussing over me leaving on Monday. We sat on the patio and chatted for a bit, and then Mabel's granddaughter of eight years old emerged from the house, backpack on and a remote control car in hand, and announced she was ready. Mabel said "Vamos!" and we made our way back into the car to leave. As we pulled out of the driveway, I asked where we might be going, and I was told we were headed to the City. I was shocked, as it was already 2:30 pm and the city was a 1-2 hour drive depending on traffic. I just sat tight though, and we slowly made our way East toward the City. After some confusion, we ended up arriving at a mall - a really nice mall - and meandering around for a bit.
We met up with Mabel's son and his wife, and the five of us walked to our destination, which was hilariously a Chuck E. Cheese. Never in a million years did I think I would spend even one second of my Peace Corps service in a Chuck E. Cheese, but I spent two whole hours in one, watching kids run around and get overly excited about a person in a creepy mouse costume.
After Chuck E. Cheese, we got ice cream in the mall and shopped around, departing around 8:45 pm. On our way home, we stopped in El Pueblo (a grocery store) in La Chorerra. We roamed through every aisle in the store, picking out a lot of things we didn't really need, just to put them back the next time we passed through that section, and then I heard it:
"Oh, the weather outside is frightful..."
No, that can't be right.
"But the fire is so delightful..."
Where am I?
"And since we've no place to go..."
What month is it?
"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"
NO WAY.
Michael Buble's voice came through the grocery store speakers loud and clear, and not a single other person took notice, because why would Panamanians notice "Let it Snow" playing in English on the radio? I was absolutely cracking up; like peeing-my-pants-doubled-over-in-the-aisle-can't-breathe cracking up. Mabel turned to look at me: "Qué pasó, Hannah?!"
I began to tell her that this was a song that was really popular in the United States around Christmas time, and Mabel responded with a confused look. "Mabel, es Abril!"
I told her this song was about snow, like A LOT of snow. Her response? "Nunca nieve en Panamá, Hannah!"
I started translating random lines of the song as we moved through the store, other Panamanians hearing me and giving me confused looks as I babbled on and on about snow when it was over 80 degrees outside. Finally, Mabel asked me why they would play that on the radio in Panamá, and we both stared at each out for a second and then more peeing-our-pants laughing ensued, gripping the cart for stability, because she knew it was absurd.
As we made our way to check out, I sang along to the remainder of the song in English, replacing "Let it snow" with "Que nieve" and eliciting both looks of confusion and applause from the women working the registers.
As I opened the doors to the parking lot, I raised my voice and finished the song in English, belting out a loud and out-of-key "LET IT SNOWWWWW!" Mabel met my eyes and we burst out in laughter again, making our way to the car to drive home, with our bellies aching from laughing too hard.
It's a silly story, and maybe you don't find it funny. Maybe it's weird to you that I sang a Christmas song in a supermarket in Panamá. Maybe you don't realize how refreshing it was to share that with Mabel, right before I'm about to move out of her house and 8 hours away. Maybe it's a "you had to be there" kind of a story. You know what, though? You probably really did need to be there; you'd really have to be here to get any of this. No matter how many blogs I write, pictures I take, or letters and postcards I send home, you really need to be here to get it.
That's what I've learned over the course of my time in PST: I have to be here.
Present. Undistracted. Intentional. Whole-Heartedly. Compassionately. Here.
It's going to suck leaving Mabel, and further distancing myself from comforts I've found in my host community. It's going to suck having to figure out internet access and phone service and a new post office in my site, after spending nearly 4 weeks getting it down here. It's going to suck re-explaining being vegan and not drinking coffee to people. Despite the excitement, it's going to suck, again, for a little while.
What makes it more bearable this time around, though, is that I've already been through this process once in Panamá. If I learned anything from it the last time, it's that none of it is actually that bad: it just sucks, and then it doesn't. And the best way for it to not suck is to show up and be a part of things, to be mindful about when it's important to be present. And I've found that I'm actually pretty good at just that.
So, let it suck. Let people ask questions about my life choices. Let the humidity get up to 100% and mold my clothes. Let my phone not work for a week. Let the post office steal my passport copy again. Let new animals and insects keep me up at night. Let people try to feed me fish. Let the endless stream of small-talk ensue. Let me get lost trying to find a grocery store. Let the bus driver skip the stop I needed. Let it rain while I'm out for a walk.
Let it snow.
