Sometimes it seems to me like the last eleven months were some kind of dream. I wake up in my gigantic bed, surrounded by pillows and covered in blankets, and I think “Did that even happen? Did I really just spend a whole year living in the Third World? Was it really just last month that I was sleeping on the ground and bathing in a river and wearing the same outfit everyday?”
Life has been happening so quickly ever since I hopped off the plane at LAX, and I haven’t had time to process it all. I haven’t had time to sit and really consider the ramifications of the last year of my life.
But then moments like today happen and I’m reminded, all too abruptly, that the World Race did happen.
I went to La Cantera this morning because I was in the area and I have a gift card that I’d love to buy a new outfit with (I forgot just how many of my clothes I gave away…). As soon as I pulled into the parking lot though, I realized just how bad of a decision it was to go to San Antonio’s most expensive mall on the Monday before Christmas.
I beelined for the store where my gift card’s from and tried really hard not to judge the insane Christmas shoppers who were filling their arms with hundreds of dollars in electronics and clothes. Once in the store, I went straight to the sale section and accessory rack. I picked out a cute necklace and then timidly turned over the tag to glance at the price.
It was $38. A necklace. For $38.
I put it back on the shelf, immediately left the store, and waded once more through the aggressive shoppers who seemed to waddle along with bags in both hands. I barely made it to the curb outside before tears started spilling over my cheeks.
I sat in my car and sobbed. In the moment, I wasn’t sure exactly why I was crying, but I just kept saying, “It was $38! *sobs* It was $38!” The older couple who got in their car next to mine must have surely thought I was crazy.
I just couldn’t stop thinking about the family we lived with on the mountain in Guatemala and how they ate tortillas everyday because they couldn’t afford much more; about eleven-year-old Janika in the Philippines whose parents couldn’t afford to buy her a birthday present so my friend and I spent our last few pesos to buy her some candy; or about those gypsies I worked with in Romania who live in a garbage dump.
I mean, I wanted to stop thinking about those things, but I couldn’t.
I know it’s not fair to judge America or to condemn holiday shoppers for their gluttony. And I don’t want to feel guilty when I spend six whole dollars on lunch for myself or buy a cute necklace with a gift card. But man, it’s so hard. It’s hard to live in the hustle and bustle of America, but still remember what it was like to live in slums and shacks. It’s hard to be gracious to people in the First World when all I can think about is my friends in the Third World. It’s hard to live life here when I’m still in the mindset of how to live there.
I guess this is just part of “re-entry”, and I know that. I know it will take time. But until then, I’ll be patient with other people, and with myself. I’ll re-learn how to live in America, only this time with a new heart and a new way of life. It will take time though, this I know. So don’t be alarmed if you see me crying in the cereal aisle at HEB.
