Fireworks explode across the night sky. City streets and brick houses appear below shooting sparks and colors. Not a soul sleeps. We watch in awe and excitement as the clock strikes midnight; it’s Christmas morning.
I joined Peace Corps knowing very little of what life or work would be like. Unlike some of my volunteer friends, I hadn’t dreamt of Peace Corps since I was little, and it was never part of some 10 year professional plan.
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.
Despite studying in a different state and two different countries, I’ve been privileged to never miss a Christmas at home with my family. Until this year, I was not aware of the comfort and joy that familiar friends, family, and traditions can bring during the holiday season.
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 …