I have now been in Peru for more than a year and a half and find myself coasting along in Phase 4 of this roller coaster ride: “Acceptance.” This past February was a perfect example.

Standing in the Lima airport, a knot was forming in my stomach — a feeling many of us associate closely with airports, the anxiousness of a hard goodbye or a long overdue hello. My Parents Were Coming to Perú. We’d been planning the trip for months, and I could already picture the forthcoming collision of worlds and cultures.

A question has been on my mind. “Am I actually a minority here in Peru?” Like most questions, I see no clear answer , but the conversation begins with one word: privilege.

A week before Christmas, the school year here ended, along with it some youth volunteers’ hopes of having consistent work for a few months. Thankfully, vacaciones útiles is notorious for keeping both volunteers and students busy.

After the swearing-in ceremony, our whole training group promptly said our tough goodbyes, and we were bused off to our respective communities. Packed days of training alongside an incredible group of friends and PC staff instantaneously became relatively free days of pretending to have a clue of what I should be doing and what it means to be a Peace …