Finally

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted. If any of you were worried that I was dead or in some seedy Sri Lankan Prison, you can take that breath now. And stop thinking about divvying up all my things.

I would like to give a list of excuses as to why I haven't posted-- #3 would be that the power goes out almost daily for at least an hour, taking the internet with it-- but there is only 1, very simple, reason: I have not been journaling. There have been other things filling my time, like finishing the first book of Game of Thrones. Very good series so far, and spoilers (much like narcotics in Sri Lanka) will be punishable by death, so don't even think about it.

The truth is, if I wanted to journal, I could make time. Everything is so laid back in Sri Lanka that not a day goes by where I can't journal. Sure, some nights I go to bed with lofty intentions to write at least 1 page and wake up with my pen still uncapped in my hand and my journal splayed open faced on the floor next to my bed. But more than business or exhaustion, what's been stopping me has been motivation. I will go through a day and realize that everything that happened is either repetitive or not something I want to blog about, or even put into words for my own eyes only. I'm a little worried that "today I washed Rani and then worked in the garden" will get slightly monotonous. I want to focus on things that are more out of the ordinary (although who would have thought that scrubbing down a 4 ton animal in a Sri Lankan river would ever be described as "ordinary"). But some of the out of the ordinary things have been downright aggravating. I don't even want to think about them at the end of the day, let along bring them to life for all of you at home. But to not mention any of the bad gives this blog an incomplete picture, so here goes.

Please keep in mind throughout reading the following that I am extremely happy here and wouldn't trade the last 2 months of my life for anything. I am not describing things that fill my days, only things that make me hesitant to pick up a pen in the evening, even if the rest of the day has been amazing.

First of all, the honeymoon is over. I'm still happy here, but not everything (and certainly not everyone) is beautiful to me every day. When a group this large are all put in close living quarters for an extended period of time it can be very straining. About 30 of us are here now from all across the globe, a melting pot of ages, cultures, personalities, and ideals. The best thing about a group this large is that yuu're virtually guaranteed to find a couple people you really connect with (miss you, Amber!) and can talk to easily. There are, however, some drawbacks. On the flip side of the kindred spirits you're bound to find, there are going to be people whose personality just does not mesh with your own. This isn't necessarily even the hardest part for me, though. I find myself stretching a bit thin, trying to be there for anyone and everyone. I don't want anyone to feed ignored or left out, and I want to get to know everyone. With people coming, going, staying, and leaving, this is a bit harder than it sounds.

Trying to connect with everyone also leaves me vulnerable to being dissapointed if they turn out to have very different ideals than I do. If I feel like I've gotten along really well with someone it pains me a little bit to see them completely disinterested in Sri Lankan culture and ways. I don't really understand why someone would want to come to such an amazing country and make no effor to understand the culture of the people. I'm not even saying that everyone has to try to speak the language or anything extreme, but to try to abide by rules of modesty when outside Millennium seems like a no-brainer to me, and to not make fun of the locals to their faces. I don't care that they can't understand you, that's uncalled for.

There's also, as I suppose comes with the territory of 30 volunteers mostly around age 20, been a bit of drama. I feel like I'm in high school again some days. I don't think overmuch of it actually involves me (although rumors don't always reach back to their subject), but I get exhausted by them and the drama anyway. It's gotten a little better in the past couple weeks, but for a while I was having a very hard time with some of the socal aspects here. It's been a good test of my personal strength which I've been trying to work on since I've been here. I want to learn to let things go, something I've sturggled with my entire life. I'm definitely not there yet, and may never be, but I'm working on it and will continue trying to improve.

I have made many new friends since I've been here and would book this trip again in a heartbeat if given the opportunity, so I don't want any of you to think that any of this is to say that I'm not happy. In fact, I think I'm handling social interactions better than I do at home. I'm trying to keep an open heart even with people who don't think or act as I do.

The local people provide an interesting challenge too. Most of them seem so sweet and so genuinely excited to interact with a white person. The children are my favorite (who's surprised?) They get so animated when they see white people. I love walking through town smiling at everyone I pass, sometimes waving. The reaction is well worth the negligible effort it takes to make eye contact and smile. I do, however, occasionally come across someone I get a bad vibe from. I am challenged because I do not want to misjudge someone or be overly harsh, but I also don't want to get myself into any (more) sticky situations. I feel like the fact that I do make eye contact - a very important sign of respect in this culture - and smile at locals, making conversation if they engage me, gives me power when someone creepy comes along. To ignore the creepy man is treating him differently than I treat everyone else. He may not even notice, and may just think that I'm rude, but I know, and I feel empowered. Sometimes I know immediately that ignoring was the correct course: "Hey baby, what's your number?" or "Hello, madam, I need money because I am in a bad time..." I will ignore and if followed, turn around and sternly tell them to stop in their own language.

But then there are men that ask me "where are you from?" and "how do you like Sri Lanka?" or "how long are you here? First time?" When I get the creepy vibe from one of them, I do not have immediate confirmation of my gut reaction. Sometimes I will feel guilty for passing such quick judgement against them. One day this happened to me while I was on the but. They do say not to travel alone. A man sat down next to me and immediately my spidey sense was tingling. I wanted nothing more than to get up and change seats, but the bus was so crowded and I couldn't get out of my seat because he was in the isle seat blocking me in. I could have gotten out anyway, but I would have had to ask him to let me out and then end up standing for 3 hours instead of sitting. (In hindsight a highly preferable alternative) It would have been so obvious that I was just trying to get away from him, and I hadn't (yet) had proof that he was creepy, just a gut feeling. He began talking to me, but after exhausting his very minimal English and my even more minimal Sinhala, did not stop. I have no idea what he was saying for about a half hour where he was speaking to me, so I turned away from him, beginning to get very uncomfortable. All I got was that he was trying to get my phone number, that he was asking me once we reached our destination if I would get lunch with him, and where I was staying. (no, no, and boldface lie). The rest of the bus ride confirmed my gut feeling about this man.

You have 2 perfectly good knees of your own, there is no reason your hand needs to be on mine. And no, that's not an invitation to move your hand higher up my leg. I understand that the bus is crowded, but it's not so crowded that you need to lean your body against mine and press your arm against my chest. In hindsight I am so angry at myself for not being vocal or slapping him in the face, but in the moment it was so scary that I didn't know what to do. I contented myself with picking his hand off mine gingerly by a finger and putting it back in his own lap. A process I needed to repeat a couple more times. I see now that had I reacted strongly I'm sure that he would have had to stop and others on the bus would have been behind me, but at the time I wasn't sure what the fallout would have been, and I still had a long bus ride to go. When we got to our destination I jumped in the first tuk-tuk I saw, the only time I've ever gotten into a tuk-tuk without first negotiating a price.

It could have been so much worse, and I am very thankful that it wasn't. The experience also helped me realize that waiting longer for the next bus, or moving away and standing, as awkward as it may feel, is the correct course of action. The next time I was on a bus alone--I don't feel unsafe at all if I have someone with me, even just another young white girl--I was much more wary and assertive. I was able to effectively stave off any creepy men. I sat down next to one man who completely ignored me, a pleasant change. And who, when he saw a pregnant woman board the bus, immediately stood up and guided her on the lurching bus into his seat. There may be creeps in every culture, but there are also gentlemen.