Family

Being home is sometimes strange.  Yet this past week, I've had many opportunities to recognize the greatest blessing of being home... being with my family.

These are the people who realize just how crazy I am. Though my mother often thinks I'm perfect, it hasn't taken till now for her to be reminded of many of my flaws.  My brothers and I don't always get along. Life isn't golden every hour of the day.  Yet I have enjoyed, so very much, the time that I've had with my family these past two weeks (can you believe I've been home for that long).

We've had the chance to celebrate my brothers 25th birthday, and my dad's 50th. We've had pizza night and ice cream night.  My family has re-watched a few of their favorite movies from the past year so that I can see them, including over 4 hours last Wednesday to get in both halves of Harry Potter 7.  They taught me how to play Risk and slaughtered me both times we played (though I did do much better the second time).

It's been just two weeks. Sometimes it feels long, sometimes short. Yet in that time, regardless of it's apparent length, I have had the chance to just be with my family.  To get mad at people, or have people get mad at me, over a silly game of Phase 10. To have my dad take care of me after nearly passing out.  To talk.  I love my family, even if, and perhaps because, they get on my nerves every now and then.

Culture Shock

Over a year ago, I had to adjust from the clarity of American culture to what felt like the chaos of the Filipino culture.  It took only a matter of days for me to begin to feel comfortable with the difference.  Over the next several months, I learned the little nuances of the culture, like how it's not rude to say someone has gotten fat or thin, or how it's perfectly normal for a complete stranger to ask you were you are going and why.  I adjusted to the unusual-ness of people staring at me and believing me to be gorgeous for no reason beyond my pale skin and blue eyes.  I even learned how to explain (In hiligaynon) what a freckle is and how it won't come off no matter how long a little kid will scratch at it.  Amat-amat... I mean, little-by-little... I became Filipino, if not in appearance, in heart.

Now I have to do it again backwards.  Have you ever noticed how weird America is?  If you are inside of a building, it's cold, even if it's hot outside.  People keep their windows closed, you can't hear what's going on outside.  No one comes walking down the street selling balut and other local snacks.  And perhaps the most difficult, they all speak English.  I have to think really hard to make sure I don't use words like huya, gani, bawal, or sige.  I miss the Philippines. I miss rice. 

But don't get me wrong, America is amazing!  I get the blessed opportunity to adjust to the fact that hot water comes out of faucets.  You can flush toilet paper down the toilet.  And no one thinks you're weird if you want to eat cereal and milk for breakfast instead of rice. Oh- and stop lights!... they exist, AND they work. Isn't it beautiful.

Palangga ko and bansa ko, pero palangga ko man ang dating bansa ko. Gusto ko lang mag-ilonggo.

OUCH!

May 6, 2012

You know, it kinda hurts when a ton of bricks hits you.  Obviously, I've known that I'm close to going home, but I've done my best to ignore the fact.  Unfortunately, that fact has now slapped me in the face and refuses to go away. My mission is almost over and I can't really pretend otherwise anymore.  The mission president's wife asked me what I want for my "last supper," I've been sent my scheduled time for my departure interview, and my mom keeps asking me for all the details I don't want to think about (I love you, Mom!).  I can't pretend anymore.

It may seem strange to you, but leaving the mission is much harder than leaving America was.  When I walked away from my family in the airport, I knew it wouldn't be too long till I saw them again. When I saw the lights of LA disappear behind me as we flew out over the dark Pacific, I knew I'd be back eventually.  Before the week is up, I'll get on a bus and watch Kalibo slip away, not knowing if I'll ever see those people again.  Then I'll get on a plane and see the whole Philippines fade in the distance.  When I land, I won't be allowed to speak Hiligaynon anymore, no one will understand. I won't be able to use Tagalog or Aklanon or Kinaray-a, I only have one language option again. No one will stare at me, they won't shout and try to get my attention.  I'll be normal again. I'm not sure if I still know how to do that. 

It hurts. It really does. It hurts to know that it will all be over and I'll never get it again.  For the past 18 months, I've been an active part of helping people change their lives.  I've spent every waking minute thinking of how I can bring others closer to Christ.  I've been a missionary!  I only have one more week of it, and then it's gone.  I'm excited to go home, but I wish I could stay. I feel as much like I'm leaving my home as I feel like I'm going back to it. The next time I write, I'll be in America. It's just weird.

Kana ako, pero hasta sa panit lang, Pinay daw ako so sulod. Masakit ang pagpuli. Ayaw ko.