#Tangry (Tired and angry)

It's midnight on Thursday and I am awake because I am angry. I'm angry that two friends of ours no longer work at the parish for reasons I don't understand. I'm angry with the other volunteers for attitudes and beliefs outside of my control. I'm angry about the circumstances we witness day in and day out, and I am angry at the system that perpetuates them. But most of all I am angry with myself.

My latest emotional outburst has been triggered by an argument with my mom. The fact that we are 3 adults staying in a room smaller than my childhood bedroom, in a foreign country, and being forced to face our physical and intellectual limitations on a daily basis, has compounded these emotions to the point that I am seeking refuge in a LED screen at this late hour.

When my dad resurrected the blog, I really had no intention of making much of a contribution. We are only here for one week, I felt like I had already said what I had to say about my time here, and I have a proclivity for babbling (see previous posts re: incoherent tears). But tonight I'm pretty irritated, and it took me about 2 hours too long to realize that the person I am most upset with is myself.

At the risk of sounding trite, this week has been a whirlwind. I knew it would be. But I also knew where to set my expectations: I knew the area, I knew the staff, I knew people staying at the parish. I knew at least conversational Spanish. I knew the level of poverty to expect and both my role and inability to make it anything other than what it is. What I didn't know is how much I had forgotten.

It's easy to idealize things after they have happened. To package them up in a nice little box and remember them the way you choose. And to some extent I must have done that with my time here. Sure I got frustrated by my lack of command of the language—I was desperate in my desire to connect with the staff and with the people of Piura. Sure I was regularly irritated by some of the other volunteers that came down—their lack of awareness, sense of superiority and competitive possessiveness made me cranky on a semi-regular basis. Sure I remember coming home on many days and literally sobbing about what I had seen. But what I had forgotten was how much it all hurts.

And I am so angry at myself for forgetting. I'm angry with myself for letting my time in Piura be just my time in Piura—a neat summer before I re-started my real life in New York. I'm angry for letting myself believe that this is just a small part of my life that I can remember when it's convenient and when I have accrued 1 week of vacation. I'm angry for letting myself think that just because I spent a couple of summers here, I am friends with these people that I truly love but with whom I cannot fully communicate. And now I am angry at myself in advance, knowing that the literally starving 2 year old that I was heartbroken about yesterday may be a distant memory in a week.

I'm also angry at myself for not being fully present. For letting stressors of work, too much company, and that ever-persistent fear of bed bugs shadow the little time I have down here (living in the city has done nothing to normalize my anxieties on the latter). I'm angry and disappointed in myself for the frequency with which I check e-mail, Instagram and snapchat. And I'm angry with the lack of reliable internet to do the things I will eventually be angry about.

To top it all off, I'm angry about being angry. Contrary to what this post might imply, I actually hate being angry. It is my least favorite emotion. I think this is because it deals with one of my other least favorite things in the world: confrontation. To get over being angry, one has to confront whatever it is that is causing the emotion (if you know of any other way, I'm open to suggestions. See above re: avoiding confrontation).

Tonight I only have the energy to acknowledge that I am angry. Tomorrow I will work out the rest. 

Kathleen

Ps. It is worth noting that as I type, a nun who is staying at the compound just came by to say good night. I can't help but wonder what anger issues are keeping her awake at this late hour.

Pps. I just re-read for grammar and am already angry that I took Benadryl before deciding to word vomit. Re-structuring will have to wait until tomorrow.