I’m completely terrified. I ramble off this recording of what I’m going to be doing, telling people how I’m going to save the world, save the children with a hint of sarcasm that leaves us both wondering. Life is so comfortable here. It’s so easy. Why would I ever want to leave? Where is that urge that I’ve been feeling for the last few months propelling me forward? What happened to the desire that I was so sure of? The menial steps seemed easy. One task to overcome after another. Get Visa, stick me with the needle until I pass out on the floor- brag about this as evidence of my test of will to go against the norm. It was simple then. And now it’s a week and a half away. And I can still feel this swelling ball somewhere in my gut screaming at me for what I’m about to do.
It looks good on paper.
What a resume builder.
But how do I put down on a resume this fear that keeps consuming me? So worried that they’ll hate me. Is that really my biggest fear? To be labeled as a naïve white girl? But that’s who I am isn’t it? I guess it’s better to recognize it now and go in to it realizing that living there will pry apart my greatest insecurities. But maybe they are as apprehensive of me as I am of them. What does it mean to suffer? All I can do is be humble and hope that the rest will fall in to place.
I wonder what I’ll feel when the wheels hit the ground.
When I come in and find the weak water-pressure and the luxuries that I take for granted aren’t going to be mine for six months. I’ll live under the electric fence, will I ever get used to the fear? What does that do to a person? But I’m yearning for the culture shock. This living room is far too white, far too pristine.
Show me the dirt of the world. What a morbid thing.
I remember he told me about the refugee groupies— like vagabonds going from one emergency site to another. What is it in your soul that makes you feel like you must see the world’s suffering?
It’s like a sick social experiment of how much I can take. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Birthday… how much will it hurt? What toll is it going to take on this person I have become? But if it doesn’t kill me.. just don’t kill my spirit.
I’m so excited. I’m so.. speechless at what this is going to do to me- how this is going to change me. But my heart is like rapid fire when I think about it. The thought of staying makes me restless, makes the energy surge through my legs and I’m more terrified of being complacent than going. Help me make the decision I must.
She says it’s a world of contradictions, so yes I will be contradicted.
