My Life, as portrayed in LOST ;)

In a fitting moment, Mom and I watched the series finale on the eve of my journey back to Guyana. Most questions answered, most loose ends tied up, purposes fulfilled… a contented ending.

LOST, if you didn’t follow it, is a 6-season TV show that revolves around the survivors of a plane crash on an island in the Pacific. We watch as each character is developed and as the qualities of the island are revealed. There’s a group of around a dozen survivors the show centers around, and then more, outside (“other”) characters come into the story, as well. As the flight survivors try to get home (contacting the outside world, getting a sub, a sailboat, etc.) we see just how special the island is – its electromagnetic forces have caught others’ attention and there are power plays on different local and global levels. It’s a combination of science fiction and man vs. science (and/or faith vs. doubt). The strange traits of the island are bizarre and entertaining, but it’s the actual people on the island that caught my attention the most.

The survivors’ lives before, during and after the Island were always lacking. When they came to the Island, they all were worn down, escaping something, searching for something. Their live's paths all led them to that point of reaching the island, the redeeming trait of each of them, despite past events or stunted expression. Whether they knew it or not, they were looking for something more. Once on the Island - even though they tried fervently for so long to get OFF it – they were changed, it made them blossom; they were given a second chance, they were made more complete for it. The Island and each other did this, though they didn’t realize it at the time, and most did not want to be there; they longed for the familiarity of their past life. While waiting for a way home, they made do with what they had, they learned how to function, survive, enjoy, they let go of past perspectives, made friendships and partnerships in ways they never imagined and witness some true world wonders.

The plot twists, as some actually got back home, trying to pick up where they left off. Though, they were still touched by the island and in need of the bonds created on the Island. It still was with them, and eventually, those that got home, went back. No longer the same person they were on that first flight, and certainly not the same as they were before leaving the Island; each had individually grown.

Though they had all lived their own lives during their time at home, there was no denying the influence of the Island. The plot twisted again, and due to time travel, they made it so it was as if they never even landed on the island (what (would have) happened when the plane reached its intended destination). In this alternate reality, they still found themselves pulled to each other, experiencing memories of a former, forgotten life on the island, until it all came together, it all added up. Things were how they were supposed to be – they had their old life/memories while carrying with them their experiences/memories/relationships from the Island, it added up to complete their story, to balance them out.

I decided the parallels between this whole PC service thing and LOST are too great to ignore.

Oh, I was so satisfied by the ending and the show as a whole – no matter how ‘out there’ it was. Masterful story-telling, masterful characters and masterful presented themes. Destiny, fear, challenge, love, sacrifice, completion. And yes, I feel a parallel to this story, at this particular point in my life. I’m sure the show has many general life predicaments applicable to many, but here’s how it relates to me: Two worlds, one person; when/where/how will those two worlds collide to complete the person? I have referred to these two different locations, the environments and my roles as ‘worlds’ before, and I stand by that.

Most of my memories, instead of vivid episodes, seem to be hazier, dreamlike states of mind wrapped around emotion. When in Guyana, a foreign place, I’d remember, to varying strengths, feelings of Home- love, security, boundaries, people, places, things. I carried them with me, knowing I had them, and that they were probably still there, but it became something only distantly related to me – I was somewhere new, with no one from my former life. I was a blank slate, I became someone (partially) new, all on my own. I’ve done well, and for that, I’m proud. I was changed, and the change became normal.

Coming home, then, after two years…
This trip home was a combining experience, encouraging my two worlds to collide. I was experiencing it from new eyes, with the influences and memories of Guyana, the carefree-ness, the confidence and happiness gained. I was in the car, going down a street, and could picture a savanna dirt road down there, the red dirt, the knee-length grassy middle part, the grr of the motorbike and breeze. I’d hear crickets and other bugs at home, but hear cicadas, howler monkeys and the Rupununi bugs at the same time.

I refreshed all old memories of streets, stores, sounds and ambiance of Home; its feeling was familiar, ingrained in me, timeless, just how I remember, how I remembered when I was Away. Despite any impatience I have with what I feel is its static and restrictive nature, I know I gain strength from Home, as well, and I have a purpose to fulfill there, too. Going home, I also gain back a little bit of who I was before. Before I left Home for my service, I sat in Mom’s living room chair, rubbing my hands over the arms, trying to memorize the feel. I whispered to Maggie “Don’t forget me.” The chair’s still there, still feeling the same way, Maggie still remembers me. Those things haven’t changed.

But I have. And no matter what end I’m at now, there’s longing for the other, in some ways, though also, the other seems as if the dream, the foreign place.

“One day a man dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was a man. Suddenly, he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakably a man. But he didn’t know if he was a man who had dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man.” – Chuang Tzu

~Happy Thanksgiving, America!~

Jessica's "Daily Affirmation"

I adore this video, I wish that adults could maintain such an enthusiasm. I think if we all gave ourselves a pep talk of this magnitude every day, there'd be a lot more getting done, and a lot more spirit while doing it.

I sometimes try to walk into the library in the morning and be overly enthusiastic. "OkAYYY, What's going on today?!!?!? It's gonna be a good day, all right, all right! Let's get some music playing in here!" It makes the librarians laugh, which serves it's purpose as enlivenment, but it also can help with theirs and my perspective of the day. Think/speak positive and you will be positive.

I also often ask friends to tell me something. Or tell me something good. Or tell me something fun. Again, it's as much for me as it is them.

We, as optimists, cling and continually bring forth the positive to help combat with the negative. Not ignore it, but overpower it.

And if we ever falter in doing so on our own, there's always Jessica's Daily Affirmation.

Strike me Once, Shame on You; Strike me 10 Times... Shame on me

Have you ever considered the life of a match? Its sole purpose is for one second - a mili-second, really - of time. Intense heating, quick incineration, then carelessly tossed aside. That’s the purpose of a match, so I don’t really feel sorry as I strike, light, use and discard one – it’s fulfilling its ignition duties and serving civilized society nobly, however coerced it may have been. But what about those matches you spend extra seconds on, just trying to get a spark, to no avail? You end up scraping off all the red stuff until you just pitch it away in an irritated huff. This infinitesimal little appliance gets reduced to merely a thick toothpick. How sad. Sorta. Well, it’s mostly just pathetic.

Toilet Talk; When you Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

There are three locations that feature flush toilets in the village: Caiman House, the Primary School, and Kaigan House (my house). What everyone else uses in the village are pit latrines, a wooden version of port-o-potties, which, of course, don't get emptied, just filled in and relocated once they've reached their quota.

Latrines have various levels of shelter, some being palm leaves on three sides and an open door in front, or perhaps a cloth covering as the door, that blows in the wind. Standard Red Cross-approved ones have four wooden walls, a zinc roof that's slanted to allow air flow at the top, and some wide boards with a circle cut to put your bottom. Not sure the standard depth.

Then, of course, there's always the 'go in the savanna' approach. Darkness is preferrable for this approach, if no darnkess, than a good bush or tree is desired. When you're on the move, going in front of or behind a vehicle suffices. Women will go squat together, especially at night, no need for modesties, it's all nature. (I've gotten pretty good at squat bathroom time, btw.)

We have a latrine behind Kaigan House, I use it on occasion. For a period of about a week, our toilet was clogged and we HAD to use it. I have access to toilet paper (House Proud!) that's not only perforated, but dusted with baby powder for a fresh smell and feel. But most people don't use TP. In other household latrines, you'll see sections of old books on the boards with the hole in it for sitting.

There seems to be some sort of elemtental statement in the act of wiping one's bottom with pages of written word. I just don't know what that statement is exactly.

Attachment Issues

Sometimes, looking at these kids, they're so cute and I adore them so much, I could cry.

Looking at the pics I've just taken a day or hours ago, I sort of shake up inside, already anticipating the goodbyes I'll have to say.

The children know how to make me laugh, intentionally or not. They have so much potential in them. I'm not used to working in such a classroom setting, I never did that back home. It was always brief visits to classrooms, working with small groups or individual children. I haven't had the opportunity to see them and work with them as a class, over multiple years.

I am invested in these kids' progress. I love taking the time to read to them, whether I am obliging their request, or they are obliging mine. Today, Wendy asked me "I want to read, Miss Sarah, just you and me." She and I had read many short, fun poems by Douglas Florian the other day, and I was impressed with how well she was reading and how she didn't get nervous or discouraged at stumbling. Two years ago, she was a quiet, unresponsive person to me.

Grade 6 has become a personal quest this year. We're getting to know each other, the students, Miss Eleanor and myself, to see how we can best work together. It's been a positive start, and I'm hoping next term will go even better, as we get them ready to take their exam to get into secondary school. These guys were strong students in Grade 4, with Maisie, some stayed involved in things last year, and now in Grade 6, Maisie and I have big plans for them; Eleanor is well into her teacher training as well, and has the potential to give them the attention needed. I hope we can all work together. As I told them I would be gone next week for meetings in Town, and how tomorrow is a holiday so I wouldn't come to their class, they were calling for me to come in today, instead. Getting to spend one-on-one time with most of them is exciting, trying to get them to work at home with attentive family members is exciting, as well. We're really hoping to get a high number of passes this year - not only that, but a high number who are more prepared to enter adolescence.

Helen, Shannon, Merisa, Cheryl, Rosana, Harrington, they'll have no problem. Michelle, Sathia, Alex, they could do it if they weren't so quiet. Lucilyn, Ednei, Meriza, Jacqueline, they could do it if they knew they could. Salman, Jason, they could do it if they got a little more serious and threw their personalities into their studies. Eloisesa and Michael can't hardly read, but they have such heart and zest to attempt whatever I put in front of them. Tachine and Devon need such basic attention, I want to see how they could perform if they were given it.

The nursery kids are so cute; I can't believe Grade 2 kids are already in Grade 2 - they were nursery kids when I first came. My first grade 6 class are big grade 8 kids now, I had the pleasure of reading a chapter book with them during lunch hour last month; Volda, Avalinda, Synesius, Jeremiah, Karoline all were such good readers. Jenkins, Odinan, Wreford are three boys with such impish personalities, they just need a little encouragement to be good big boys and get involved in the different development going on in the village...

I don't know how I'll be able to walk away from them all.