The Hardest Part

They say the first three months of your Peace Corps service are the hardest.

Part of it is getting acclimated. Another is being lonely. A lot of it is due to illness. And maybe even more to the language. Not to mention there's Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's. You don't know really what you will do for the next two years or even if you'll make it through. You wish you could close your eyes and wake up 24 months later with a shiny resume and laptop full of photos.

It's a period where little things that never bothered you before suddenly become daunting and impossible. Your highs are high, but your lows are low — like a severe sunburn with a cool, rich breeze or a sharp, quick slap.

Every day is a challenge to get up and leave your room. And some days you just don't.

Then, little by little, people start to know your name, and you make friends. You learn what will make you writhe in gastrointestinal agony and what you can get away with eating. Spanish falls from your mouth like an open faucet without much thought or self-criticism. Christmas, New Year's and Valentine's Day all pass. And you start to get an idea what you're doing and where you stand. Two years starts to shrink in your mind, and you think maybe you can do this after all.

And you start to laugh ... a whole lot more than you cry.

My first three months did not start well. A good friend was robbed the first day in our new capital city. Two others left shortly after because of safety issues in their sites. I got sick. Said goodbye to a guy I really loved. Got sicker. And just when I thought I was in the clear, another close volunteer — a mentor and an amazing friend — is leaving to go back to the United States. Piece by piece, my support system has been starting to chip away.

But I've visited over 100 families. Painted a world map. Survived a field trip with 30 teenagers to the beach. Attended birthdays, quinceñeras, graduations, weddings. Laid the ground work for campaigns against HIV and teen pregnancy. Made friends. Fought with my host relatives like I were part of the family. And spent several Sunday afternoons, running my fingers through white, powdery sand in front of crashing waves while I processed it all.

Peace Corps is nothing like I thought it was going to be. And I'm ok with it. It's better and worse in almost every way imaginable.

If the past three months have shown me anything, it's that, despite the lowest of lows and the roller coaster of emotion and sickness, this is where I want to be. And sickness, heartache, frustrations, loneliness ... are just small prices to pay for all the rest.

So I'll laugh ... for the next 21 months.