In Fiji, I seem to live my life in extremes. There have been days were I couldn’t possibly desire anything more than to simply be outside at sunset. The light at this time is my favorite part of the day. The air is crisp as the sun is dying down and there is a slight breeze, calling everyone outside. The girls sit on their stoops laughing or singing or gossiping, chewing on ice blocks. The boys are geared up to go play rugby and jog to the field barefoot. It is a time of calmness for me, when the heat off the road is no longer steaming. Pink light fills the sky and makes everything it falls upon seem soft. It sounds crazy, but sometimes it feels like I can taste that air, that light…it feeds my soul, fills me with happiness. I wish I could bottle it up and take it with me wherever I go.
Then there are days where I am at the complete opposite extreme, where I feel stuck and claustrophobic and everything goes wrong. Those days when the clouds trap all the heat, and all of a sudden it starts pouring buckets of rain and I am caught in town without an umbrella. My trip into town is disappointing, there is no mail in my mailbox, I go to the internet café, and there are no emails from home. So I make it down the dirt road, now a messy muddy slippery path, to a meeting I had scheduled weeks in advance only to find out that the person I was to meet with is out of town. I make my way back up the dirt road. My flip flops get stuck in the mud and one of them breaks. I squeeze my toes together and try to walk with my broken shoe as best I can. The last thing I want to get is hookworm. I go to the market wanting to buy eggs for dinner. Of course, “no more eggs, eggs finished” my market lady says. Admitting defeat, I truck it home, covered in mud. All I want to do once I get home is to take a shower and go to bed, but of course, there is no water. They always shut the water off when it rains. So I take a bucket bath and go to bed and because it’s been raining all day, I haven’t been able to sun my mattress, so I toss and turn as the bed bugs feast. I’m itchy. It’s only seven o’clock but I can’t possibly be conscious for another minute of this day. I curse under my breath, take a Benadryl and at some point in the night I fall asleep, surrendered.
Still, as my service is coming to an end, I can’t help but think of all the memories and life lessons that this place has offered me. Of the growth that has happened within me, of the stillness I’ve found in my mind and of the strength I’ve gained throughout. I have learned so much in the space and time of these two years…
I learned that the search for truth is a solitary and individual experience and that change is the only thing that is constant. I have learned to allow myself to move slowly and to give myself time for myself. I have learned to rely on my mind and on my hands and I have learned to give with sensitivity; to give love with no expectations, with no strings attached. I have witnessed kindness and generosity from people who have next to nothing. I have reduced the amount of material things in my life. I have experienced time and stopped moving through it blindly. I have discovered that laughter is universal, the gateway to building friendships... and that i need it every single day.
I have learned to do something of great purpose and to trust myself while in the midst of it. I have gained patience of enormous proportions, and also learned to recognize my limits. Most importantly, I have learned to flex my freedom by taking control of my life and being at peace with myself.
