The Modern World, Part I: Decompressing

“Everyone here in the states seems to be going so fast. Everyone is racing their way through only there is no finish line.”
- Fenix C., posted in her blog after her 6 week South American tour

On Autobahn to Oz

Those of you that read this blog know that I went home for a spell during the last week of September until the 1^st week of October. The nature of that visit will be left for the next entry along with more coherent narrative, decorated with photos. At the moment, after a steady diet of everything, after the digestion and through the blur of what was a 10 day visit to the States; I am just now I am beginning to wrap my head around the experience…in what alcoholic’s call, “a moment of clarity”.

Never before in my history of travel had I ever felt like a stranger in my own country. Coming home has always brought a sigh of relief, a normalcy, as I’ve come to know it. But for what occurrences I attribute to my…change? upon my second trip to the States my sense of familiar ran as quickly as the current after a storm. I felt nervous, apprehensive and a little lost. Where my life ended in the developed world, everyone else’s continued. It was impossible to catch up, too much had gone on and we lacked the time and vocabulary to convey it all. I felt, as a developed nation, the US moves incredibly fast and no longer having my own niche carved out in that modern landscape made me feel more like a visitor on a 10 day Visa.

The times that did feel familiar were few: within the walls of my own home, my barrio, where two doors down lies the home of my grandmother, her home cooking always in the air, twenty minutes west, at the house of my other grandmother, were we food and conversation are never done without the other. I tried to be within those walls as much as possible because it was within that arena that I felt familiar. Running around the cemetery with my father, catching up at the local Starbuck’s with my mother…

The urban regional planning of Southern California was made for the automobile and thus, although it felt incredible exhilarating driving again, still just within a few days of driving I began to feel trapped inside my car going from one end to other, time moving inextricably fast. 20 minutes to get to point A, 35 to point B and the time it took to get back home all while traffic got worse and worse with each passing minute.

My younger brother maneuvered it all like I use to, pushing his body to the limits of exhaustion, his face, semi-permanently look of fatigue…I couldn’t keep up. But it was that time we had together, as exhaustive as it was for me, that I enjoyed most, for very personal reasons.

In El Salvador, they call the Eastern region the “Forgotten Zone” due to the results of the war, shoddy infrastructure, lack of development and floodings. Nothing could be farther from the truth for the United States. A more concentrated urban regional plan connected through an amazing subway system, the Virginia/DC area had a huge effect on me (the reason for the 2^nd visit to the US). But it wasn’t just the regional plan that had such an effect on me, what culture shock I lacked when I landed in Los Angeles I did have in Virginia/DC. The pulse I felt in this area within this hub of international exchange was more than just connected to the service/entertainment sector. I felt a more involved participation on a much more academic and political level. I felt more people understood what I was talking about when I talked about Peace Corps or my interests.

At home I tried to convey my Peace Corps experience but it was difficult for them to understand. How could they? The idealist couldn’t believe some of the things I said and the realists didn’t care. Many didn’t understand. For those that were little as two generations from their respected patria still couldn’t wrap their heads around it. The same could be said for many I met in DC but there was a social conscious for those that I met that nodding with an aspect of understand more than just out of respect.

Your Affectionate Volunteer,

SCRUTAPE