Formed and Transformed

In just a couple days, I will have been returned from my YAGM year for 7 months.

This realization dawning on me was accompanied by another realization: I’d been so caught up in the snowball that was my life since I returned to the US that I missed the 6-month mark.

In the four months since you last heard from me, I’ve processed more about my YAGM year and what it means to be on this side of it as well as my grandmother’s death. I completed the short-term substitute teaching preparation course. I started a Teaching English as a Foreign Language certification course. I stood up in a friend’s wedding. I got a tattoo and a puppy. I started antidepressants for the first time.

In other words, 2019 rolled into 2020 like a big ol’ unstoppable snowball.

I wouldn’t say that Argentina and my YAGM year are at the forefront of my mind these days, but I definitely catch whiffs of nostalgia and find myself yearning for the simplicity and the authenticity of life that I found there. Sometimes I miss greeting people with besos or speaking castellano all the time. I always say the “Our Father” in Spanish now, and today during mass I sang a couple verses of “Tu has venido a la orilla” instead of the English lyrics (Honestly, I can’t even remember the English title of the song…). But when I get caught up in the busyness of my US life and sigh to myself wishing I was back in Argentina, I have to remind myself that the life I lived there was a distorted reality.

Because of my role as a “short-term,” foreign voluneer, I was inherently protected from some (maybe even much) of the daily grind that Argentineans and immigrants to Argentina face in their daily lives. By no means was I working a full work week; I know my friends and colleagues led significantly busier lives as students or working professionals or parents than I did as a YAGM volunteer. My status as a YAGM volunteer who was only there for a little over ten months made it such that I never even had to deal with some of the things that my community members have to as part of their regular lives. While I certainly lived in Argentina and integrated at a fairly high level, there was still a gap between my experience and that of the native people or true immigrants.

I have to remind myself of this because it’s really easy to just miss my life in Argentina and say that my reality was easier and simpler there. And while that is true on face value, it does not take into account the fact that if I were to move back to Argentina on a more permanent basis, my life would be busier and I would need to begin to take on the responsibilities and burdens that come along with living someplace long-term. In this way, my YAGM year was a distorted reality because while I got to experience many aspects of living in Argentina, it was an incomplete picture that distorts the reality of living someplace long-term.

As I continue yield the fruits of my YAGM year, I try to remember what about my time in Argentina made my life so simple and so authentic and lean into that. Yes, the fact that I did not have a heavy work load was a factor, but it was not the only one. How do I maintain that simplicity and authenticity in my life now that I’m not in Argentina and especially as my schedule continues to fill up, both to U.S. and to “real-life” standards? One of the greatest challenges at this phase of my re-entry has been figuring out how to maintain the way I felt in Argentina and the way I approached life even though I am now in a completely different context.

I notice this coming out these days in the shift I’ve experienced in my priorties since I returned from Argentina. One of the things that governs me now is the desire to be as present as possible in everything that I do. Before Argentina, I was so consumed with ruminating over the past or worrying about the future, but now I live for the present. It shows up in big and small ways from intentionally making time to spend with family and friends to really enjoying a note from a friend or time playing with my dogs. I am also attentive to the concept of discernment. My path ahead is still not completely clear. I am very much in a phase of taking short-term assignments and positions as they come up, but I can feel that God is leading me to the right opportunities. I am trusting that God will lead me to what my work and my purpose are supposed to be and that those things will fulfill me and make me happy. Just applying these two concepts alone to my life here in the US has helped me live into that simplicity and authenticity that I so missed from my time in Argentina.

This shift in priorities is completely counter-cultural. In some ways I am still “stuck” in Argentina because my new perspective and priorities do not always align with US values or the way the US does things. It continues to impact me in different ways from resigning from a job whose values didn’t reflect my own to the increasing frequency with which I shut my phone off to detox from the social media and technology input and ground myself in the present moment. Sometimes this counter-cultural way of living is difficult, like when it shows up in the angst I feel toward unjust and inequitable systems that we run in our churches, nation, and world, but it also brings lots of peace as it guides me away from things not meant for me and toward my part in God’s plan.

It hurts a little to think that I was in Argentina last year. Considering how things snowballed from the moment I left Argentina until the very end of 2019, it feels very far away. Thankfully I’m reminded of how my YAGM year formed and transformed me, as we say in the YAGM community, each and every day as I continue to live my life guided by my new post-YAGM perspective.

❤ Gabriela

Keeping it Raw

Hi friends,

It’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me.

The first weekend of October, we had our YAGM re-entry retreat in which all YAGM from this year, regardless of their country group, who were able to attend gathered at the same place we had DIP for a few days of reconnecting, processing, and fellowship. Let me tell you, it felt weird being “back where it all started!” I thought about sharing a post with you after that weekend but decided to hold off until now because I knew I would be speaking at church just a few weeks later.

The reason you haven’t heard from me in about three months is because, truthfully, I haven’t really felt like I’ve been processing my departure from Argentina. Not on a conscious level anyway. I really tried to but just felt stuck.

Re-entry retreat was really helpful in getting me “un-stuck.” It was great to see so many YAGM friends again and be back in such a vibrant community that is on fire for Christ and for social justice. Although I still felt somewhat “behind” most of my friends in our grieving processes, in some ways, having to say good-bye to them that Sunday afternoon, not knowing if/when I would see each of them again, was a watershed moment that helped me to grieve, finally, the fact that I had left Argentina, that I had left a piece of myself behind that, and that I didn’t know if/when I would ever be back (even though I very much hope to return someday, sooner in this life rather than later).

It was also a relief to know that I was not alone. I was not the only one who looked back on my year in Argentina and wondered if it had really just happened. I was not the only one who was struggling to find her “most faithful next step.” I was not the only one carrying around a lot of angst for “the way things are” and her limited ability to change them. And while those feelings have not necessarily gone away since, it’s helped to know that I am not carrying the burden of them alone.

Another wonderful thing that happened during re-entry retreat was that I finally felt like singing and making music again. Since I returned from Argentina, I have rarely felt like doing either of those things. One of my first Sundays home, I tried to go to mass with my family but had to leave halfway through because I couldn’t handle the music rubbing at my raw parts.

The process of reintigrating to both church and church music has been just that: a process. Slowly I have returned to choir rehearsals. The first time I heard “10,000 Reasons” since I returned the only thing I could do was sit there and weep quietly. The first few choir rehearsals after that, I gradually drew closer. First, I had to be completely out of earshot of the piece. Then I could be in another room, hearing it from a distance, until finally I could be fully present in hearing it and eventually sing it.

But it wasn’t just that particular piece. My time singing with Septima and the community of San Timoteo opened the ears of my heart so profoundly that now I can’t help but hear the words and be touched by them. While I have just recently gotten to the point where I no longer get choked up even just talking about “10.000 Razones,” I still find myself welling up regularly whenever a particular lyric catches me. It’s like living in a state of extreme openness and sensitivity where even the slightest pressure on the raw parts sends up a flare.

So the fact that I finally felt, truly felt, like singing at YAGM retreat was absolutely freeing and healing. And I don’t mean to suggest that there were no tears involved because there were, they just suddenly felt different. Less pain, more healing.

So yesterday I finally made it to church for the first time since I returned from Argentina, and this is what I shared with my home parish:

“Good morning.

Where do you encounter Jesus?

My name is Gabrielle Laske. You may recognize me from the adult choir and as a cantor. In my twenty-three years of life and my nearly ten years at Holy Apostles, I have encountered Jesus in many places and in many ways. I most recently encountered Jesus in La Plata, Argentina where I served as a missionary for ten months.

During my time in Argentina, I became part of a small and tight-knit music ministry, the dynamics of which are much like a contemporary Christian band, at my home parish of San Timoteo. One of the first songs I learned in Spanish with my community in Argentina was “10.000 Razones.” You may have heard of it. We have been singing it quite often lately. In many ways, our band was the entry point for new encounters with Jesus through learning new music that was not in my native tongue, through putting a new spin on hymns that I’d heard so often they’d become rote, and through the relationships that we built amongst ourselves as friends and siblings in Christ. 

Like the disciples who encountered Christ on the road to Emmaus, I have now returned from whence I came to share the story of how I met Jesus along the way and how that very encounter changed me. In these few months since I returned from Argentina, I have found that the music my community shared with me touched me so deeply and opened me up to Christ in a whole new way, so much so that the language in which I pray has changed. So now, “10,000 Reasons” does not feel so much like my prayer as “10.000 Razones” does. When I say the Our Father now, it sounds something like this:

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre

Venga a nosotros tu reino y hagase tu voluntad asi en la tierra como en los cielos

El pan nuestro de cada dia danoslo hoy y 

perdona a nuestras deudas así como nosotros perdonamos a nuestros deudores

Y no nos dejes caer en la tentación, mas libranos del mal

Porque tuyo es el reino, el poder, y la gloria

Por los siglos de los siglos. Amen.

When you sing along with the hymns of the day, do those feel like your words, your prayer? Or do you not even hear the words coming from your lips? I’ve been a church musician from the age of six, and how many times have I fallen into the trap of wearing out a hymn and no longer hearing or truly believing what I am singing! But in light of my encounters with Jesus in Argentina, I now hear the words I am singing more clearly than before, so much so that it is difficult to sing prayerfully without becoming emotional.

How do you encounter Jesus?

During my time there I was also exposed to many different ways of praying that I wouldn’t have thought of before. The very first Sunday after I had arrived, my group of volunteers attended an ecumenical service at the L’Arche home in Buenos Aires where two of my friends would serve all year. At offering time, instead of a musical offering, several members of the congregation performed a dance. 

Other times, familiar aspects of prayer life were given a new perspective that provided new meaning such as when we followed Adolfo Perez Esquivel’s Stations of the Cross. Esquivel is an Argentine artist who placed the Stations of the Cross within the context of Latin American crises. His artwork and the accompanying commentary by Alistair McIntosh gave me new insights to both the passion of Christ and the region I was living in.

In whom do you encounter Jesus?

The other reason “10,000 Reasons” has been difficult for me to sing since my return to the States is the intimate connection it has to those in Argentina who love me deeply and whom I love deeply in return. Their hospitality, faithfulness, and friendship reflect to me the face of Christ. The parish of San Timoteo is small. The congregation on Sundays would be three to ten attendees. The gift in this was the opportunity to come to know everyone on a personal level, and during Prayers of the People and Communion, we would stand in a circle around our altar table. Communion was served such that each person received from the person on their left and served to the person on their right. I found myself looking into the eyes of Jesus both as I received and as I served His Communion.

I don’t think we have to go halfway across the world to revive and renew our prayer life and encounter Jesus, but something I learned from doing so is that there are ten million ways to pray and sometimes a simple shift in perspective or scenery is what it takes to unlock a new one that will create an encounter with Jesus and bring us closer to God. As I share with you “10.000 Razones” the way we play it at San Timoteo, I invite you to contemplate where, how, and in whom you encounter Christ. What are the languages that you are currently fluent in in your prayer life? What are some other possible languages that you could explore? I invite you to think outside the box. Another language could be American Sign Language or Malagasy. It could be painting. It could be spending time in a peaceful spot out in nature. 

If there are 10.000 razones to worship God, there are ten million ways to encounter Him. What will be yours?”

As easy as it was to share our story, it was also incredibly draining. By the time I was finished with mass 2/3 I was completely exhausted. But I can also feel in the aftermath that it was something I needed to do, even if I didn’t realize it, and that it has led to more healing and helped bridge the gap toward returning to church. It felt good to be back.

I also felt very embraced by the community in their reception of my sharing. During the first mass, I was overcome with emotion at presentation of the gifts when “10,000 Reasons” was shared again. At the sign of peace, a woman I didn’t know offered me a hug and a compassionate, “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time right now.” This is just one of many examples of how receptive and responsive people were to my vulnerability in sharing. In everything that has happened since I returned to the States, and believe me, it’s been a lot, and in my trying to stay afloat, sometimes in vain, amongst it all, I’d forgotten how much love my community has to give and how willing they are to share it.

After re-entry retreat and speaking at mass yesterday, I don’t think everything is magically “resolved.” Everyone was pretty straight up with us at re-entry about the fact that our YAGM years “broke” each of us in different ways and that brokenness will never be “fixed” because it’s not meant to be; we have work to do with it. So if you were to ask me what I’m doing now, it’s that. I’m trying to discern my “most faithful next step” and figure out how my particular brokenness is driving me to “Love God, Love Others, Transform Our World” (the motto of my home parish). I hope that my raw pieces maybe scab over a little, but that they still remain raw because that’s where the impetus for real change comes from. That’s what keeps us awake.

❤ Gabriela

Over the Rainbow

So, somehow I went from struggling to write my final newsletter to it being a little too long. I guess the good new is you all get a blog post out of it?

I’m going to be honest with you: writing this last newsletter has been really difficult because I haven’t really processed the fact that I’ve left Argentina. Yes, I know that I am no longer in Argentina, but beyond the obvious, I feel like I haven’t really processed it emotionally yet. The fact of the matter is I cannot divorce my grandmother’s death from my readjustment to life here in the U.S. Everything is muddied up inside me right now and with time, I will continue to tease my feelings apart bit by bit, but it’s not going to happen in time for the July 15 newsletter due date (and I know no one would expect it to), but sometimes I wish I could compartmentalize even for just a few minutes so that I can feel something, anything about the fact that I’m no longer in Argentina.

What do I feel about no longer being in Argentina, about having left the community that loved me and that I love? It feels something like this.

It feels like a hazy dream.

It’s like I was plucked from Argentina and dropped back in New Berlin such that I landed on my head and was left seeing stars.

In fact, the only place I seem to be processing it all is in my dreams: I keep dreaming about leaving Argentina.

To an extent, I anticipated this would happen. Once I knew Grandma was in hospice, it was only a matter of time before she passed, and I’d be coming home to a funeral, I knew my feelings about ending my time in Argentina would be shoved to the side while I dealt with the more pressing and finite matter of my grandmother’s death. The anticipation doesn’t make the reality any easier, of course. But even though I’m having trouble processing and I’ve been getting overwhelmed sometimes, I have already noticed some changes in myself, which is what I want to talk about today now that I’ve already explained where I am in my process emotionally and mentally.

One of the changes in myself that I have noticed is my own personal sense of time. I am much less in a hurry than I used to be. For example, the other day my family was all going to the dentist for our yearly check-ups, and when my mom came to let me know that it was time to go, my response was, “Do we have to go right now right now, or do we still have a few minutes?” While there is a chance that I may have possibly given this response pre-Argentina, I still noticed that I was noticeably less concerned about time and markedly less anxious about it than I used to be. In general, I have been more laid back about anything related to time, including less worried about whether or not things will get done “in time” and more trusting of the fact that they will and there’s no need to rush, than I used to be. My priorities have shifted to focus more on spending quality time with people and taking care of myself holistically than being busy and perfect and the early kind of punctual.

Another change I have noticed is that I feel more comfortable when I’m being more conservative with material goods and natural resources. For example, if my clothes aren’t dirty at the end of the day, I’ll leave them out to wear another day. Same with towels. I know this is may rub some people the wrong way, the thought of not immediately washing a shirt or towel, but after wearing pieces of clothing and using a towel multiple times before a wash for ten months, it feels excessive to me to one-and-done it (but please don’t take this as me being passive-aggressive and critical toward those who do that. Y’all are free to live your lives the way you want to just like I’m free to make this choice to be a little more conscious of resources now, although I do hope that what I’m saying helps you reflect on how you use your resources). These examples have a lot to do with water, which is the main resource I feel particularly sensitive to. So far in these first couple of weeks I’ve noticed that I’m more likely to turn the faucet off and on while I’m rinsing dishes in the sink or to cringe a little internally if I hear that someone else has left the tap on.

I touched on this a little in my last blog post, but my ability to handle the “subject to change” really has grown immensely over the past year and has already served me well in these first moments home. During the refreshments after Grandma’s funeral mass, we got a text from our neighbor saying that our power had gone out due to the storm. I initially was very stressed out by this because I’d just gone through the emotionally draining experience of saying goodbye to my grandmother, but after I got over that initial “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING?! THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE LAST THING I NEED IN MY LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!” moment, I shrugged my shoulders and embraced what I could not change, feeling very prepared after my time in Argentina. One thing Argentina certainly taught me is how to surrender to the things in life we have no control over: the weather, the power going out, etc. It’s no use worrying over those things (most of the time) or stressing out about them because they’ll be over or resolved in their own time, and they’re not the most important thing to be focused on anyway. In an odd way, coming home to the power outage that night was a little like a hug from Argentina as if Argentina was reminding me it was still there with me: it hadn’t left and it never would.

Finally, I’ve noticed the emotional tension, so to speak, that is present in general everyday American life. The impatience of people driving and people waiting in line at the store. The fast, move-it-or-lose-it pace of life. The stress that all of this brings on. I know that the stress I’ve felt over these past few weeks is partially due to feeling like I was plucked out of Argentina and plopped back down in New Berlin with no transition and straight in the middle of a funeral. Nevertheless, I’ve noticed that once I began driving, I very quickly reverted to my mild version of impatience and road rage. I’ve seen the world swirl around me at a dizzying pace compared to what I’d become accustomed to in Argentina and realized that if I don’t actively carve out time for myself and push back against that as I transition, I will run myself into the ground with exhaustion. I can feel the stress of all of the things I suddenly have to deal with now (or at least I think or feel like I have to deal with now).

This post is not meant to be me ragging on the U.S. nor me tooting my horn for changes I’ve noticed in myself that I consider to be positive. But I think it’s important to share both my cultural observations as I adjust back and the ways that I feel different now. I’m sure there are plenty of things that you all will notice about me that are different when you first see me and as you continue to spend time with me moving forward- you may even notice things that I didn’t even realize were different- but I’d like to think that it might be helpful (and even interesting) for you to hear from me what are the things that have caught my attention and felt different so far, especially considering I don’t really feel like I’m processing at all right now (although I probably am underneath it all).

Before I sign off for now, I just want to thank everyone again. You all have been so great. You’ve been great all year, but you’ve also been really great during these past few weeks with allowing me to have the space I need to take things at my own pace which I really appreciate. Thank you so much for being patient with me. I’m doing pretty okay emotionally, but I have to take things really slow right now. I am tired all the time, I can’t remember things very well right now, and sometimes I get very overwhelmed, to give you an idea of how the emotional toll of the past few weeks is manifesting itself. So thank you again for all of your love, support, prayers, patience, and gentleness. I can’t overstate how much they are continuing to help me work through this transition.

❤ Gabriela

For Such a Time as This

As many of you may already know, a week ago today I arrived back in the States five days early.

On Saturday, June 22, I arrived home from our final ensayo preparing for the next day’s culto and despedida (a going away celebration for me) to this message: “Please call me as soon as you can.” That message can never mean anything good, and that day was no exception. A few minutes later, I was on the phone with my parents receiving the heart-breaking news that my paternal grandmother had been moved into hospice care and given three more days to live.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of conversing with my family, my country coordinator, and my community in Argentina about if/when I might be able to leave early. Ultimately, I decided that the best thing for me to do was make peace with the likelihood that I would not make it home to see her alive again and instead have healthy and full goodbyes with my community in Argentina and only leave as early as I would need to make it home in time for the funeral. I was blessed both with a family who understood that I might not be able to drop everything and come running, who encouraged me to do what was best for me in my whole complicated situation even if it meant I would not be coming home, and with a country coordinator, cohort, and community who also supported me doing what I needed, even if it meant leaving them early and as quickly as possible.

Wednesday morning, June 26, my grandmother passed away. My entire community, both sending and hosting, rallied around me with love, support, and prayers and helped me execute the necessary logistics to allow for a departure on Friday night, June 28, five days early. I am grateful that, under the circumstances, the timing worked out such that I did not have to leave my community in La Plata early; I was able to go to Buenos Aires on Friday as planned for closing retreat, and I was able to spend some all-too-brief moments with my cohort and my country coordinator and her family, say goodbye to them, and be blessed by a small sending ceremony/service they gave me.

Needless to say my return to the U.S. has very much been a crash landing. In some ways I haven’t even quite processed that I’m back in the States and my year in Argentina is “over” (although a wise friend reminded me that neither experiences, my memories of my grandmother and my grief over her death nor my life in Argentina and now my loss in being separated from it, are ever truly over). What I chose to miss when I elected to come home the few days early was the closing retreat in which my cohort closed out their year beginning to process what this year has meant and preparing themselves for the transition back to life in the U.S. I would make the same choice again in a heartbeat, but missing that closing retreat, coming home five days earlier than I’d been mentally prepared for, and crash-landing into a funeral have all very much stalled my process in grieving my departure from Argentina. The best way I can describe it is that I currently feel very much like a car idling.

At this point, I feel both an abundance of words and an extreme lack of them as I continue to grapple with what it all means.  Hopefully in the next few weeks some pieces of the puzzle will become a little clearer, enough that I can share some of my thoughts with you in my final newsletter. Today I just want to talk a little bit about some of the incredible ways in which my grandmother’s death has intersected with my YAGM year beyond the fact that it brought me home early.

If you’ve been following along all year, you’ll know that one of my big overarching lessons has been that everything is “subject to change” or learning how to surrender. This lesson has come up several times throughout the year to the point that little by little, I’ve noticed my increased capacity for flexibility and adaptability. “Plot twists” that would have bowled me over in November were manageable in February, and in April, I could handle things I wouldn’t have been able to in February. That being said, my grandma passing away a week before I was scheduled to return to the U.S. was the biggest plot twist of them all, and I certainly feel that I would not have been able to handle it even a fraction of as well as I did if I hadn’t been “training” for it all year. Suddenly it seemed that every time I’d felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me and I’d had to figure out how to get back up on my feet, I was being prepared, even if only incrementally, for this major moment of not being in control and having to surrender to the moment and to God’s will even if I didn’t understand it or agree with it.

One of the other reasons that I was able to make peace with not making it home in time to see Grandma alive one last time was due to the blessing that is technology. On Monday, June 24, I was able to video call in via Facebook to keep vigil by her bedside with the rest of my family. At the beginning of the call, she was unresponsive, and by 1.5 to 2 hours in, we all were sure she was going to pass within twenty minutes. My aunt asked me if I would sing something. After playing the recording of Septima’s version of “Oh, criaturas del Señor” (“All Creatures of Our God and King”), I sang her several more hymns from our repertoire, including “El Señor es mi luz” (a setting of Psalm 27), “No tengas miedo,” “Cuan grande es Él” (“How Great Thou Art”), and the bilingual setting of Psalm 23 that I sang at “Songs That Shaped Me” last July. Those who were present in the room with her noted that the singing relaxed her, and I found great comfort in being able to turn to the songs I’d been singing all year. It now felt as if, in some ways, I’d been learning these songs all year “for such a time as this.”

Perhaps just as poignant was how some of these songs showed up later in the week for the burial and internment. The psalm for the funeral mass was Psalm 27, and when I asked if it had been chosen because I’d sung it that day at Grandma’s bedside, my dad said, “No, it’s one of Grandma’s favorite psalms. I thought that’s why it had been read last week.” He didn’t know that I’d asked my cousin to read Psalm 27 before I sang “El Señor es mi luz,” and when I chose to sing that hymn, I had chosen it because the lyrics seemed appropriate, not knowing that it was one of Grandma’s favorites. Similarly, at the internment, we sang a few hymns as the casket was lowered into the ground. The last hymn we sang, chosen by my aunt, was “How Great Thou Art,” “coincidentally” another one of the hymns I’d sung the week before at Grandma’s bedside.

Interestingly enough, a Bible verse that has come to mean a lot to me and that I’ve already talked about in the context of YAGM also came up during the funeral.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” -Romans 8:38-9 NIV

This verse first touched me when we sang a setting of it by Timothy C. Takach in Nordic Choir 2017-18. In my September newsletter, I talked about how our country coordinator offered it up as an alternative to Biblical texts that simply tell us “don’t be afraid.” Here it was again bringing me comfort in the midst of my grief and sorrow at my grandma’s funeral. How fitting that I heard it again on July 2, the day I was supposed to be leaving Argentina when the last time I remember hearing it was on my very first full day in Argentina: bookending the in-country portion of my YAGM year.

The last such “coincidence” I want to mention is this: during the funeral, particularly during Communion, there was a loud rainstorm outside. Immediately I felt Grandma’s presence. I heard her saying, “I’m here. I will always be here.” And in that moment, I knew I never needed to fear a storm again because it was Grandma in the storm and she would guide and protect me. The storm, instead of being a point of anxiety and fear as it had been throughout my YAGM year since I took that fall in late September, now brought comfort and peace.

I will probably be grappling with the fact that Grandma and I missed each other by just one week for a long time. In the past week, Papa has made it a point to make sure I know how proud Grandma was of what I was doing and that she had been counting down the days until I would get home and praying for my safe return. Even with as much peace as I have been blessed with amidst this difficult situation, I continue to struggle with the timing and to wonder why it had to be this way and why she couldn’t have had just one more week. Yet even in the midst of all that, these examples I’ve shared here have shown me how our journeys continue to take us places we’d never imagined. I never imagined my YAGM year would “end” with my flying home to Grandma’s funeral, but I also never imagined how God would “prepare” me for it and build me up within it anyway. It’s incredible to think that maybe one of the “whys” of my entire YAGM year is “for such a time as this.”

It feels weird to “sum it all up” here for you in a blog post knowing that what I have written here is vastly incomplete, oversimplified, and superficial between what I can put into words and what I can’t, but this has helped me continue to process Grandma’s passing, my leaving Argentina, and the intersection of the two. As you can see from this post, their intersection is more than just the fact that I came home a few days early for the funeral. These many points of intersection also help me to see Grandma’s passing as part of my YAGM year instead of the thing that abruptly ended it, bringing me more peace surrounding the early departure.

Before I sign off for now, I want to thank everyone for their love, support, and prayers during this transitional time especially in light of what happened with my grandmother. It has not been an easy two weeks, but I have felt very supported, loved, and free to take things at my own pace. I feel like I’ve generally been handling all the balls I’m juggling right now pretty well under the circumstances, but I am grateful for everyone’s patience and gentleness as I sometimes get very overwhelmed.

I’m hoping to share at least one more blog post with you all before I truly sign off, but I won’t make any promises since I’m not sure what these next few weeks have in store in terms of continuing to process and decompress. Either way, be looking forward to my last newsletter coming at you in the middle of the month.

Abrazos,

❤ Gabriela

Can We Please Just Talk About __________ for a Second?

At one point in time I was notorious for changing topics in conversation using the title of this post. Longest transition ever, right? Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about today: transitions. Specifically my ever-approaching transition back to life in the U.S.

About a month and a half ago, about halfway between our “Leaving Well” retreat in April and our imminent departure, our country coordinator shared with us a resource by former Mexico country coordinator Andrea Roske-Metcalfe suggesting that we write a letter to our U.S. communities about our thoughts and feelings about our upcoming transition back to life in the U.S. Roske-Metcalfe instructed us to write it raw and that we could go back later to process and edit it should we wish to share with our communities. She also wrote a list to the sending communities of YAGM, who are anxiously awaiting their return, of ten things that they can do to accompany their YAGM during this transitional time. Rather than share with you her exact list (some of her suggestions don’t reflect my experience), I’ve created my own instead:

~(Please) Don’t~

1. (Please) don’t ask me, “So, how was it?” This was a year of my life. I can’t reduce it to a one-word answer, and I don’t want to. I absolutely want to talk with you about my year, but I ask that if you want to hear more about my year, you ask me more specific questions about my work at Compartiendo un Sueño and/or San Timoteo, relationships in my community, cultural differences living in Argentina, or how this year impacted my faith, for example, among other things. You can bet that when I ask you questions about what happened in your life in my absence, I’m going to ask way more specific questions than simply “how was it”! Please don’t ask me to shrink my entire year into a sound byte.
2. (Please) don’t ask me immediately about what’s next for me. I’ll have just gotten back in the country and will be trying to get my head screwed on straight. I’ll tell you right now: I have no big plans for the immediate future. When I return to the U.S., my plan is to be gentle with myself as I readjust, spend lots of time with family and friends, look for a job, and continue discernment about what is next for me big picture (in that order). I’m not going to be in a position to think about, let alone talk about, “what’s next.” A variation on “So, what’s next?” that would be appropriate and welcome is to ask me instead “what are you up to now?” I’m generally trying to live a more present life, but especially during my first few weeks and months back in the U.S., it will be much easier for me to focus on and tell you what I’m up to in the present than what my next step in life “big picture” is.
3. (Please) don’t be offended if I’m sad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to be so happy to see you; I’ve spent this year missing you! But I’m also going to be grieving the separation from my community in Argentina. No matter how happy I am to be back with the people I’ve missed for a year, there will be some sadness too. My sadness does not mean I’m not happy to be back with you nor does it mean I love those I left behind in Argentina more than I love you. Remember that at various points in my YAGM year they accompanied me through bouts of homesickness missing all of you. At this point of the year, it’s your turn to accompany me through the homesickness of missing them (and it really will be a type of homesickness).
4. (Please) don’t assume my life has suddenly gotten better because I’ve returned to the U.S. Yes, I was engaging in a simpler lifestyle while I was living in Argentina, but I was not “roughing it.” I’ve had access to indoor plumbing and hot water for showers, among other things. The tap water is generally safe to drink, at least pretty much everywhere I’ve been. There are some things about my daily life that are different from the U.S., but they’re a different way of living, not a better or worse one.
5. (Please) don’t comment on my weight and/or body. This probably seems like a weird one to include and maybe even something that should go without saying, but every time I come home from being abroad, lots of well-meaning people can’t help but comment on how I’ve lost weight however they ultimately choose to put that into words (sometimes more flattering or life-affirming than others). I have lost weight this year. The fact that pretty much every pair of pants I have here in Argentina with me is threatening to slide clean off my hips is evidence of that. But one of the many gifts I’ve been given in this year is my ability to get in a healthier rhythm that has helped me embrace my body as it is. I’m happy to have lost some weight, but I’m also happy where I’m at even though I’m not remotely “thin”; the most important thing is I feel healthy and confident. I know comments about how good I look when I come home thinner are meant to build me up, but even though you don’t intend it, underneath is the suggestion that my “thinner” body is better than my “fatter” one. I used to live for these compliments because I felt like I’d achieved something (namely being more aesthetically pleasing to other people and therefore deserving of attention and praise) by coming home thinner until I realized how much shame is really lurking underneath. I’m kind of disgusted with how much I focus on a fear of gaining weight upon returning to the U.S. instead of focusing on how to just maintain a healthy lifestyle that works for me. There will be so many things to talk about when I get home, but my body and my weight are not one of them.

~Know~

1. Know that I might trip up with language from time to time. I’ve just spent ten months speaking castellano all day every day. Sometimes I can’t remember English words right away or need help remembering. Recent examples include not being able to remember the English word for “kitty litter” and, my personal favorite, saying “jungle sidewalk” when I couldn’t remember the word “path.” This is something that happens with bilingual people.
2. Know that I may get overwhelmed or stressed. There are going to be lots of things rushing at me in those first few days and weeks when I return. Even just hearing English all the time again may be an overwhelming amount of input. The sheer volume of the U.S. and all its Americaness may overwhelm me at first (especially considering my first full day in the U.S. will be Fourth of July). In some areas of my life I may even ultimately choose to live more simply than I did before my YAGM year (I’m already thinking about how likely it is that my room is going to be decluttered upon my return).
3. Know that it’s not possible to anticipate everything that may trigger me. The transition will be a vulnerable time filled with lots of emotions that could be triggered by any number of things. I can guess all I’d like about how I’m going to feel when exposed to certain things, but ultimately, those guesses will probably be useless because it’s normal to get caught off-guard and react at unexpected times or in unexpected ways.
4. Know that for the first little while, I’ll probably makes lots of cultural comparisons and tell lots of stories. Get ready to hear, “When I was in Argentina…” I’m sorry if this gets annoying, but know that this will dwindle off the longer I’m back and the more I incorporate my YAGM year into my sense of identity back on U.S. soil. Know that these stories are a part of my process of missing my community and life back in Argentina and working out who I am now “post-YAGM” and back in a U.S. context, as well as just stories of my everyday life, same as they would be if I’d been living in the U.S. all year. They’re not meant to be bragging about an “exotic adventure” I had all year.
5. Know that if I use words like “we” and “us” to refer to the people of Argentina as if I am still one of them, it’s not coming from a hoity-toity place of trying to separate myself from all of you. When someone returns from a substantial time abroad, it’s really easy to interpret this (as well as all of the cultural comparisons and stories they tell) as “Look at how cool I am. I’m so much better, more worldly, more cultured than you,” rubbing the experience in your face kind of behavior. But from the perspective of the person returning, I really have integrated myself into Argentine life and culture to the point that I do feel a sense of “we” and “us” with the people of Argentina. As I adjust to life back in the U.S., the balance between we-they and us-them will shift as I begin to feel more affinity with the U.S., but there may always be some remnants of the “we” mentality when I talk about Argentina. If you want to read more about this concept, I recommend returning to my January newsletter in which I first introduce it.

~Recognize~

1. Recognize that my YAGM year isn’t something I can just “shut off” because I’m back in the U.S. Part of my work as a YAGM is sharing stories, so this year will continue to be at the forefront of my mind, especially during my first few months back in the U.S.  I’m hoping to host a few events in my various communities within the first few months of my return to honor the story-telling part of my work and hopefully interest prospective future YAGM. My work won’t be over just because I’m back on U.S. soil.
2. Recognize that I’m not exactly the same person I was ten months ago. I haven’t been replaced by an alien by any means, but I have grown and changed. Some of that growth and change won’t even become apparent to me until I’m back in the U.S. and witness how my current self navigates an “old” context. Don’t expect me to be exactly the same as when I left.

All of these suggestions, or maybe you can consider them requests, for how to best accompany me through the transition back to life in the U.S., can be summed up thusly: Please be patient and gentle. Reverse culture shock is a real and difficult thing, and in my experience, it’s stronger the longer you’re in a different culture. Prior to this year, the longest I’d spent abroad was a little over four months (and those four+ months were divided between two cultures). I remember in the weeks following my return to the U.S. how out of place I felt and how achingly I yearned to be back in Europe despite how happy I also was to be back home. I also remember my first night back  approaching my mom holding two similar looking blue toothbrushes and asking her to identify which one was mine because I couldn’t remember. If that was after four+ months, less than half my YAGM year, I can only imagine how the reverse culture shock will hit me this time around.

As I said in my May newsletter, which featured a primer for this post that elaborated on #1 from the “(Please) Don’t” section of this post, we’re all going to have to be patient with one another. We’ll all be doing the best we can, and sometimes even our best will be awkward or uncomfortable and we won’t know what to do. The only thing to do will be to sit with it and to continue trying our best.

Some of you may be reading this post and thinking “oops! I’ve already biffed one (or more) of these things.” Worry not. I understand that you all are just trying to love on me and that sometimes, that gets a little messy. Many of the things I’ve included here aren’t necessarily intuitive if you’ve never been in my position, which is why I’ve included them here so that we can grow and transition together. You may feel the urge to beat yourself up a little if you biff one of these after reading this article. Again, worry not. I’m not going to be upset with you or anything. These suggestions/requests are merely a guideline for how to help this transition be as smooth as possible for me.

That being said, thank you for taking the time to read this and thank you in advance for your efforts to let what I’ve outlined here be your guide during the near future. This is going to be my last blog post while I’m still here in Argentina because I want to be able to focus on my goodbyes and all the moving pieces associated with my departure over the course of the next week. When I get back to the States, I will share about my last week in-country and my goodbyes via my blog and/or newsletter (remember that I’ll be sending my final newsletter in mid-July).

Until then, abrazos,

❤ Gabriela

The Circle of Life (Dear Future YAGM)

Dear future YAGM,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot. All year, you may be surprised to hear, but especially as we approached the Midway point and I thought of how a year ago, I was submitting my application or going to DIP or accepting my placement in the Argentina/Uruguay program… Even before I stepped foot in La Plata, I was aware that I was stepping into a legacy and that legacy became very apparent as my sites talked with fondness about the most recent volunteer and sometimes ones going back a few years before. Being so aware of what I was stepping into also made me aware that I would eventually be the past volunteer (that starting a week from tomorrow, I will be, which at present hurts me very much to write) whom the community tells tells stories about and whose shadow the new volunteer will have to make peace with.

It’s the circle of life.

I’ve given a lot of thought about what I’d like to share with you, what wisdom I want to impart. Earlier in my year, I wanted to give so much advice, tell so many stories- things that made me think along the way, “man, I wish someone had told me about that! I wish I would’ve known about that sooner,”- but since then I’ve come to realize that I didn’t really need to know almost all of the things I wished I had. So you’re just going to have to get over any frustration you feel when I tell you that I’m not going to tell you either. You’re just going to have to live your life and find out for yourself.

However, there are a few ways in which I think you can learn from my experience and that my pointers won’t take away from you experiencing your YAGM year for yourself. They’re mostly to do with packing (which, let’s be real, is the first major challenge between you saying “yes!” to the call and starting your YAGM year), so here goes:

Things I’m Glad I Brought

1. Blanket from University of Chicago housing: we stayed on the University of Chicago campus during our Chicago orientation, and at the end of the week, they told us we could keep the blanket we’d been using all week! I can’t guarantee you’ll run into such a sweet deal, but I’m so glad I kept mine (I figured I’d leave it behind at the airport if my bag ended up being overweight, which it didn’t). Centralized heating is not a thing in Argentina, so if you have access to heat, it will be via a space heater. In the hogar where I live, the space heater is in our living room, which means that was the only room that got heat. The extra blanket came in really handy, particularly during the end of the year when winter rolled around and my body was not prepared after adjusting to the heat of the Argentine summer!
2. Two collapsible hampers: they folded up super easy in my luggage for easy transport and gave me a place to put dirty laundry besides a random pile in the corner of my room. This was not on any list I received from anyone but rather a wise call on my mom’s part (thanks, Mom!).
3. Allergy medication: if you get any sort of seasonal allergies, bring a bottle of Claritin or Zyrtec. I can almost guarantee you they will be worse here. And do yourself a favor and take them with you when you go on retreat just to be safe.
4. Liquid body wash: if you strongly prefer liquid body wash to bar soap, bring some from home. Shampoo is easy to find in big bottles and at reasonable prices, but liquid body wash can be difficult to find and fairly expensive depending on where you live. In Oberá, for example, it was over 100 pesos cheaper than I ever found it near me.
5. Back-up battery: sometimes we lose power and it’s occasionally come in handy to be able to externally charge my phone.
6. Personal safety device: my dad first asked me to carry one 3.5 years ago when I went abroad for a lengthy stay for the first time studying abroad in Europe. At the time I wondered if it was overkill, but I’ve carried it with me both domestically and abroad since then, and while I’ve thankfully never had to use it, it has provided comfort knowing it’s there.

   

   The way it works is you pull out the little metal pin on the left (attached to the keychain part), and it makes a hecking hecking loud noise.

7. Access to library ebooks: with my library card, I was able to access ebooks at my home library in the U.S. through an app. I only needed WiFi to borrow and download the books and then could read them off WiFi at my leisure. This saved me more times than I can count this year (especially during the low-activity period of the summer)!

Things I Wish I’d Brought

1. (Above all else) a mid-size bag, bigger than a backpack but smaller than a suitcase: packing for retreats was often an interesting game because my backpack was too small for what I needed but even the smaller of my two suitcases (a Swiss gear rolling duffel- highly recommend, by the way) seemed too excessive. Something in the middle would have been just right.

These next few items I bought here or made do without but would’ve done better to just bring myself:

1. Umbrella: I thought a raincoat would be enough on its own and was mistaken.
2. Bug spray: I foolishly purposely did not pack this because it was conspicuously absent from our packing list (this is not me blaming my country coordinator, by the way; I fully accept my naivete in turning down my mom when she asked if I should take some).
3. Anti-itch cream: of course, if I didn’t bring bug spray in the first place, I didn’t bring anti-itch cream either. Luckily, Neosporin and aloe, both of which I did have, turned out to be great substitutes.
4. Flashlight (with extra batteries): this may very well have been an item I foolishly turned my mother down on only to learn my lesson. I’ve already mentioned the power outages. I think every member of our cohort has experienced them this year, some more frequently than others. I acquired a small flashlight by happy “accident” when our country coordinator gifted us each one at our April retreat, which has certainly come in handy on a few occasions since then, but I could’ve used one right from the beginning of the year.

These items I wish I’d brought MORE of because I used them all up or lost them and had to buy more (which generally is not a big deal other than it can potentially cut into your stipend of you need a lot):

1. Hair ties (you know how that goes)
2. Pens
3. Stud earrings: after keeping my cartilage piercing from closing for a month in Ghana two summers ago using a safety pin I sterilized each day because the one blocker I’d worn (and stupidly not brought extras, again, on purpose, thinking I wouldn’t need them) had washed out in the shower, I vowed to always travel with enough studs. After tragically losing some of my supply to a drain and others to normal, daily life, I did manage to make it (just barely, there are currently only two lone holdout survivors with twelve days to go), but I still wish I’d brought more.

And finally:

1. Extra flip-flops or duct tape: my flip-flops did the thing,

   

   You know, this thing

   and because duct tape doesn’t exist here, I couldn’t fix them properly. I tried with packing tape which was an annoyingly mediocre not-solution. Flip-flops around where I live cost 200-300 pesos (at the time of this posting), which I was not willing to spend, but you can get them for 100-150 pesos (again, at the time of this posting) near Retiro in Buenos Aires.

2. Hot/cold pack: you know, the kind that’s filled with herbs and stuff (or rice- probably better if it’s rice, trying to get it through security)? I chose to bring a heating pad instead because I wasn’t expecting a microwave (which, to be fair, we didn’t have in the hogar when I first arrived, but eventually one got moved upstairs from the guys’ part of the hogar), but I think it may have gotten fried by the voltage (which is why you should read the instructions on any electronics/appliances you’re planning on bringing before you go so you know if they’ll be compatible with the different electrical currency). The herb pack I could have laid on/near the space heater and used no problem.

Things I Wish I Hadn’t Brought

1. A watch: I forgot to pack it and my mom kindly mailed it to me at Chicago during orientation because I didn’t know I’d always be able to check my phone all the time. I was and you will be able to, so if you’re not a watch-wearer, now is not time to start. (Sorry for the trouble, Mom, but for some reason I was convinced I’d need a watch. I appreciate you!)
2. My tablet: I only partially regret this choice. I thought I was being so smart bringing my tablet with me instead of my laptop, and the tablet did generally serve me well. There were some times, however, when I wish I would’ve just brought the laptop with me, so for this reason I regret switching just to save space on something. And if you are going to bring a device you don’t typically use, make sure you have access to important documents such as resumes through Google docs or by emailing them to yourself before you go because you will want them later in your year when you start to think about what  life post-YAGM looks like for you. All of those types of files were saved on my laptop in Word, and my mom had to send them to me one day (God bless her) because I hadn’t made sure I had access to them before I left (another thing I feel fairly certain I’d thought about and then idiotically decided not to do).

Here are my last nuggets of wisdom about packing: don’t be embarrassed or self-conscious showing up to Chicago orientation with two full-sized suitcases if you need them; a lot of other YAGM will have them too. If you’re weighing your suitcase at home as you pack and keep ending up overweight, remove things that aren’t necessities or can be easily bought once you arrive. Both my suitcases, to my chagrin, miraculously weighed in about ten pounds under at O’Hare despite my fight with our home luggage scale that kept insisting that they were overweight. But ultimately, anything I had taken out and left at home I could live without or figure out when I got here! Finally, consider bringing things you can leave behind at the end of the year. For example, maybe a few hard copies of books that you can donate to the YAGM library after you finish reading them or underwear that can justifiably be thrown out at the end of the year (#holey).

And now for a few last pieces of advice that will hopefully serve you well in-country, specifically during the first few weeks and months while you are getting settled and adjusting:

1. Don’t convert everything. It’s tempting to look at prices and want to convert them to dollars but rarely will it help you. When I first arrived, that’s how I attempted to figure out my budget and whether or not I should buy a particular item. When I lived in Europe and used the pound or euro, it was a good guideline because the ratio was between 1:1 and 1:1.5, but because the Argentine peso is worth much less and is much more unstable than the U.S. dollar, you can’t determine an item’s worth in the Argentine economy based on U.S. standards. You have to get your bearings on the relative worth of items within the context of the Argentine peso.
2. Always carry a little bit of TP with you (and hand sanitizer if you’re a hand sanitizer person). Public restrooms are a rare occurrence, and even if you manage to find one, you’re not guaranteed TP or soap.
3. It’s normal to have stomach troubles when you first go someplace new, but if this persists, try switching to bottled water or boiling tap water, letting it cool, and then bottling it to drink. The tap water here is generally safe, but every now and then it may not be and even if it is, it may not agree with you.

And that’s it, friends. That’s what I have to tell you. Hopefully you find this helpful and will eventually stop cursing my name for luring you in with such a catchy title only to give you a few “lousy” packing tips. I’m confident that once you get partway through your YAGM year and have the brain space to think about what you want to say to the next gen YAGMs, you’ll get my vibe.

Anyway, before I go, I actually want to share one more golden piece of advice. If you listen to one thing from me and ignore the rest, let it be this: the best thing I did while preparing for my YAGM year was ask friends, family, and community members to write me letters to read throughout the year. I told them they could write a date on the envelope if they wanted me to open it on a specific day (people often chose holidays, but sometimes the meaning behind the dates they chose wasn’t apparent until I read the letter) or that any one without a date would be read on a day when I felt down or was missing home. I received such an overwhelming response, I had enough to read at least one every week for the entirety of my year! I have loved reading them, they really have meant a lot to me and have lifted me up, and I’ve enjoyed writing shout-outs in my newsletters so people could know when I’ve read theirs.

In this time as you prepare to embark on this “subject to change” adventure for God, I wish you moments filled with joy, love, and laughter with family and friends. If you haven’t gotten your placement yet, you will,

(the not knowing prepares you by the way, for all the flexibility and patience you’re going to need for when you arrive at your site placement). And try not to stalk former YAGM blogs too hard 😉

I’ll be praying for you,

Abrazos,

❤ Gabriela

Wisdom from Everyone’s Favorite Bear

 

The closer I get to leaving my community here in La Plata and then leaving Argentina a few days later, the more difficult it has become to untangle the web that is my thoughts and emotions. This particular blog post alone got two major makeovers before I felt good enough about what you’re reading now to publish it, and even so, this will probably be the shortest post you will ever read from me.

Even though a lot is going on with me internally that I can’t exactly bring out into words for you all, one feeling I’ve become increasingly more acquainted with is this certain pain in my chest.  There have been moments over the past few weeks especially when I just ache inside thinking about leaving my community here in Argentina. Sometimes it happens when I’m having ensayo with Flor and Franco and Juan and we’re jamming along and laughing and everything feels just right and I realize how much I’m going to miss it when it’s gone. Sometimes it comes when I’m alone in my room, like a sneak attack in the night.

Most of the time, I try to be thankful for the ache because it means that I found something so good in my life that I don’t want to lose it. It’s like the Winnie the Pooh quote at the beginning of this post: I’m lucky to have found people who care so much about me and people whom I care so much about that I don’t want to leave. But sometimes a little voice at the corner of my mind nags me, saying, “Why did you do this? You knew this would end this way, and yet you did it anyway. Why did you open yourself up knowing it would end in heartbreak?”

Because it’s worth it.

Yes, anytime we open ourselves up to let others in, we make ourselves vulnerable to the potential for hurt. But the love and companionship we’re able to give and receive when we open ourselves up to others is worth it. No matter how much it hurts sometimes these days or how much it’ll hurt when I say my goodbyes to my community in a little under two weeks and again when I get on a plane to the U.S. a few days after that, I can’t regret having shared in the lives of my community members here and inviting them in to share mine. I can’t regret the love, the frienship, and the accompaniment that I was able to give and receive by opening myself up this year.

I don’t know what God’s plan is for me or for us moving forward. There is nothing that tells me for sure we will ever see one another again, but I have faith and hope that we will. And even if that never comes to pass, I choose to believe that this is not the end of our story like the song “See You Again”“See You Again” by Carrie Underwood. In the meantime, I’m certainly thankful for technology and how it bridges distance, making the world, in some ways, only as wide as we want it to be.

Many nights nowadays I struggle to fall asleep because I’m plagued with various thoughts about my impending departure. Last night in particular, my mind kept me up with a parade of things I’m going to miss when I’m no longer living in Argentina, and while by no means is this list comprehensive, I’d like to share with you what came to mind last night:

1. Dulce de leche-filled donuts
2. Serving and receiving Communion “in the round”
3. Drinking mate
4. Saying the Our Father in castellano
5. Greeting everyone with besos
6. Going down the street to get empanadas
7. Standing in a circle, holding hands, and everyone getting a chance to offer their intentions during Prayers of the People

Like I said, this isn’t a comprehensive list. I try not to dwell too much on these kinds of things right now because I feel like they distract me from enjoying the time I have left, but even so, lots of thoughts about leaving continue to creep in and sometimes they will not be ignored.

This is probably one of my last blog posts as my year winds down. I have a few more planned and would not be surprised if something comes up during closing retreat and/or my transition back into the U.S., but I think for the time being, I’m a little stalled out while I process all my thoughts and feelings, not to mention how busy these last two weeks are going to be with lasts and goodbyes and packing.

Thanks for reading this short and sweet post and sticking with me all year,

❤ Gabriela

 

How Getting Buried Alive Dislodged a Plank in My Eye

I feel like I should start this post off by saying that nothing in the title of this post is literal. Considering my track record, I feel like people wouldn’t be surprised if I somehow got buried alive and subsequently had some sort of weird eye-related event, so let’s just save everyone the anxiety and say right off the bat that I’m fine and I’ve had no other bodily or nature-related mishaps lately. Now that that’s out of the way…

You know the feeling when you have a lot of thoughts and feelings, and inside, they’re somehow all in order and make sense to you and you know what they are, but you can’t figure out how to articulate them to someone else? That’s how I’ve felt about what’s in this post. But here goes…

Back in March, I talked about socioeconomics in “Living Simply Isn’t So Simple,” and I wanted to expand on that because in the past three months, my understanding and perspective has deepened and widened as I interact with them every day whether I’m aware of it or not. In that previous post, I’d briefly mentioned the inflation Argentina has been experiencing, how when we first arrived back in August, the Argentine peso crashed in value and has continued to slowly decline even more throughout my entire time here. Prices continue to rise as part of daily life. You never know when something you buy frequently is suddenly going to cost several pesos more. A standard eight-pack of pads that used to cost 22 pesos now costs 30. Most price jumps are 2-4 pesos, maybe 5, but this one is the highest I’ve seen among products I buy regularly and, in this case, cannot eliminate from my consumption. The highest price increase I’ve ever seen is the new 170-peso price to mail a standard letter to the U.S. to the 150 pesos it used to be. A few pesos here and there doesn’t sound too terrible, right? Except everything is going up by a few pesos and it doesn’t stop there: if the economy doesn’t turn around, everything will go up another couple pesos in a few weeks or months and so on and so forth.

It’s like an avalanche. In August when the value of the peso majorly dropped, that was the avalanche itself. Each time there’s a little spike of inflation, that is an aftershock, a little more snow that falls even though the avalanche itself is over. In between spikes of inflation, we walk around on eggshells, hoping that is the last of it, hoping we don’t get anymore snow piled on top of us.

Let me be clear: I have everything I need to live a healthy life. I am able to buy food and the hygiene products I need, and sometimes I still have some leftover for small indulgences. But it’s important for me to share that Argentina’s economy is suffering. Everything I said in “Living Simply Isn’t So Simple” is still true to my experience, but in these last few months especially, I’ve really seen and felt the effects of all the inflation. It affects richer and poorer, and we’re all getting buried little by little by snow that will eventually be too much to dig our way out of. The “wiggle room” I have in my budget after necessary expenses has continued to shrink over the past few months, in no small part due to inflation (although not solely due to inflation either), and I can only imagine how that might continue if I were staying in Argentina beyond the first few days of next month. I know how suffocated I feel on occasion; I can only imagine the asphyxiation that those with less economic resources than me are feeling in this economic climate.

Living in this context has made me more aware how needlessly unjust our economic systems are. There are enough resources in the world to go around, but they don’t because of one simple reason: greed. Argentina, for example, is a country that has enough resources to be self-sustaining, and yet there are people going hungry and people living on the streets because colonialism and imperialism set up systems of dependency that Argentina has no choice but to continue to comply with if they want to survive. Don’t believe me? Read Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano.

People are quick to say, “you just have  to work harder” (and by people, I mean those who usually have economic privilege often afforded to them from birth into a family of certain socioeconomic status or those who are able to advance easily in economic status because they have the resources to and/or do not face discrimination including but not limited to sexism, racism, homophobia, and xenophobia that prevents them from advancing). I don’t deny that hard work is a necessary component. But the decks are stacked, making it difficult or impossible to change one’s socioeconomic status even with hard work. Not seeing that is a side effect of having privilege and being able to “afford” not to see it. This is as true within a country when we talk about things like access to jobs with a living wage and to education leading to better job opportunities as it is when we look internationally at other economies and why they are the way they are.

In “Wildflower in a Bed of Roses,” the “box” I talked about not wanting to climb into is very much tied to economics. My YAGM year has made me realize how much I don’t want to “play the game” but also just how much I will need to, even if only temporarily, to survive this terrible machine the human race (largely white men if we look back at history) has created. The things that I want to do, that set my soul on fire, that I feel like are part of my “mission from God” don’t necessarily pay but often require money. It’s a catch-22.

How different life would be if the way to economic advancement wasn’t to go thousands of dollars in debt for the education that is supposedly the key. How different life would be if we fixed our broken systems so that everyone has access to a living wage regardless of what kind of job they work or anything else (remember that we need the jobs that make minimum wage today; without them, our communities would be at a standstill). How different life would be if everyone could work their preferred job because job access wasn’t a ladder that the privileged get to climb while everyone else has to fall in line behind. Think of how many other societal problems we’d change for the better because everyone would be happier, healthier, and able to provide for themselves and their families.

YAGM breaks you open if you let it. Sometimes you look at the broken pieces and wonder if you’ll ever put them back together when you look at broken systems that seem irredeemable. I’m definitely looking at our economic system in the U.S. through shards of broken glass. Before I came to YAGM, I was woefully ignorant about a lot of things (not that I’m perfect now; I still have plenty more to learn) because my socioeconomic status blinded me, but the voluntary poverty of the simple living component of the YAGM program opened my eyes. Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, I can’t unsee it. I have to either accept it or figure out how to change it.

This is where I have a lot of cognitive dissonance right now. I don’t accept the status quo, but I have to live with it until things change. I have to figure out how to perpetuate a more equitable system while acknowledging the reality that economics are a necessary element of survival and that I walk with a certain level of privilege when it comes to socioeconomics. I don’t have the answers for how to affect the changes our system so desperately needs (other than to support and vote for people that do), but I wish I did. In the meantime, the YAGM program gave me tools that will help me be a changemaker and advocate for social justice, and it did me the greatest service of all by removing the plank in my eye, the first step toward combating ignorance and affecting change for the common good.

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in  your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

-Matthew 7: 3-5 NIV

Someone asked me what the importance and value of this year is for me, and I think I would put this at the top of my list: having my world shaken up by earthquakes and avalanches (if you’ve been following along all year, you know I love nature imagery especially surrounding weather and storms) such that some of the planks in my eyes get dislodged. It is this miracle of new sight that gives me hope even when what I see sans-plank gives me every reason to be hopeless.

❤ Gabriela

Suggested reading: seriously, read Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano. It’s eye-opening (pun intended). I haven’t finished it quite yet- I have about 90 pages left to go- but I can confidently recommend it based on what I have read so far. It’s the kind of book that everyone should read because it is so inextricably linked to our shared humanity.

When You Can’t Look Away Anymore

Sometimes people ask me how I would describe the Argentine people, and I would definitely say “warm” (besos, anyone?). I would also say “vocal.” The reason I say Argentinians are vocal is because they aren’t afraid to share their opinions and stand up for what they believe in. I’ve seen this many times throughout the year through two common occurrences here: calle cortada and paro.

“Calle cortada” means “cut street” and is used to refer to when traffic cannot get through because of some blockage or another. Sometimes this is due to road work, but more often than not, it’s because there’s some sort of demonstration in the street. These demonstrations can be about any number of things. While I’ve been here, there have been demonstrations for femicide and legalizing abortion, for example.

I don’t know how many times I’ve run into this over the course of my year, but it’s been enough that it’s no longer surprising when it happens. As you know, I live in La Plata, Buenos Aires’s little sister. When Buenos Aires became the federal capital, they had to choose another city to be the capital of Buenos Aires province, and La Plata was the lucky winner. This means La Plata has a lot of government and bureaucratic buildings. Because of where I live in La Plata, the route I have to take to get to and from Compartiendo un Sueño, if there’s a demonstration, I almost certainly can’t avoid it; I have to take Avenida 7, one of the main thoroughfares of La Plata, past Plaza San Martín, the main plaza of La Plata, and many government buildings (in other words, prime sites for protests). Just a few weeks ago, I was walking to the bus stop to go to CuS when I had to turn around and go home because it was calle cortada and there was no way for me to know where to go to pick up the bus on its route avoiding that stretch of Avenida 7. If I’m on the bus coming back from CuS, and we run into calle cortada, I just have to get off on the next street over and walk a few extra blocks.

“Paro” means “strike.” The most common strikes I’ve seen are in transportation (as is the case in many parts of the world). In March, however, many public schools began the school year a few days late because teachers were on strike fighting for better pay. Below are pictures from when we talked about the importance of the teachers’ strike with the kids at CuS and made signs for the CuS founder to take with her to the protest:

“The kids of Compartiendo un Sueño think…
Marco: Teachers should make more because they work a lot. Their work is important because they teach.
Magno: Teachers are important because they teach children.
Ariana: Teachers are teaching us even while they’re in the streets protesting.
Gabi: Fighting for teachers is fighting for the future.
Fiorela: Teachers’ time isn’t irrelevant; it matters.
Agus & Male: We support teachers fighting for their rights.

Fighting for teachers is fighting for the future!

I don’t necessarily think the rate if paros is higher here than in other places throughout the country, but I do think it has a higher rate of calle cortada (although not higher than in Buenos Aires capital) due to all of the young people from the university mobilizing. In fact, La Plata has a history of social activism along with Buenos Aires capital as it was one of the places hit hardest by the military dictatorship (1976-83).

I’m not going to lie, calle cortada and paro interrupt my life. They’re another thing about my life here that make it nearly impossible to keep a “schedule” (#subjecttochange). I used to get so frustrated when I’d have to get off the bus on an unfamiliar street an extra five to eight blocks from home because it was calle cortada and the bus couldn’t get through to my stop. My frustration was partially due to the fact that I was generally overwhelmed and exhausted by everything and craving the safe, quiet solitude of my bedroom where I could replenish my severely depleted energy reserves and partially because I felt I’d been robbed of yet another moment of feeling “in control” when those moments were so few and far between to begin with. Not to mention the panic I would feel in those days when I was still learning my way around and the thought of having to navigate a previously uncharted route home sent my sympathetic nervous system into overdrive. Just the other week, I was at CuS when my co informed me that there might be calle cortada when I got back into La Plata because there was supposed to be a demonstration. On the bus home, as I made a plan for how I was going to get the rest of the way home safely in the dark, I thought about how glad I was this was happening now when I’d developed the skills to handle it instead of earlier in the year when I would’ve been terrified. Needless to say, I’ve now grown accustomed to this as a fact of life and now, most of my frustration comes from the fact that I always feel like I’m the last to know: like feriados, unless one of the girls I live with or someone at CuS or San Timoteo mention it, I have no idea it’s coming!

But if I’m being honest, at the beginning of the year, calle cortada and paro had the power to make me hopping mad. Like, “I don’t have time for this shit” mad. When I realized that my frustration was coming from a place of feeling inconvenienced, I also realized I needed an attitude adjustment. Yeah, I was being inconvenienced. That’s the whole point: the peaceful protest is meant to cause a disruption to draw attention to issues that matter and hopefully spark change. But this whole time, my American value of efficiency was rearing an ugly head. I don’t think efficiency is inherently bad, but I definitely saw that part of my cultural iceberg crashing up against a value that is antithetical to my own and had to deal with the aftershocks of that crash.

Now that I’m more used to calle cortada and paro and have evolved to sustain more fluidity and flexibility in my day-to-day life, I can see both calle cortada and paro as beautiful expressions of social activism. They are signs that the people of Argentina believe in justice and a better life, and they are willing to raise their voices and fight for their rights and beliefs. Sure, I’m still not thrilled that my day and my plans get disrupted, but I am thrilled to see such social consciousness here. Having my day interrupted by calle cortada and paro is a reminder that we are all connected. Sometimes I have the privilege to disconnect and not worry about certain things because they “don’t affect me personally” while others have no choice: they cannot look away. When my day is interrupted, I am jolted in my privilege, and even if just for a few minutes, I cannot look away either. Calle cortada and paro remind us that when we take care of one another, we all live better.

❤ Gabriela

Wildflower in a Bed of Roses

The Question has already started coming, and it’s just going to continue coming with more and more frequency as I get closer to coming home and then set foot on U.S. soil and then start “walking away from” this experience.

In December, I felt very sure that my next step would be to enroll in a grad program to become an English as a Second Language teacher. For most of the year, my favorite space at Compartiendo un Sueño has been escuela adultos on Friday mornings. It felt like a sign that I should switch the language when I get home and help those who want to learn English upon coming to the U.S. I haven’t completely forgotten about that possible path, but I’m not feeling as certain as I did months ago.

After feeling as called as I did to the YAGM program, it’s hard to go back to waiting for another call. I keep waiting to feel the way I felt with YAGM, to know the way I knew. And when it doesn’t come, I’m left wondering if I still have yet to be patient or if I’ve been straining too hard and somehow missed it.

Sometimes I think I could be a music director at a church. My journey with music started in the church many years ago, long before I knew much of anything about the stage or opera. Perhaps, in a way, my work this year as a part of the San Timoteo music team is about getting back to my roots. I love making music with our team and using our voices and instruments to make a joyful noise to the Lord. I feel something gently tugging me in that direction… until I remember that I’ll probably need to strengthen my piano skills and the light is instantaneously snuffed out. (It’s not that I’m unwilling to work hard or go back to school; it’s that I haven’t yet found the thing that’s given me the real “ganas.”) Then I start thinking about the years I spent directing youth/young adult musicals and how great it would be to do that all the time, or about enrolling in a university abroad for whatever it is I’m supposed to be studying (if only I knew what it was), or moving to Florida to work at Walt Disney World, or applying to another short-term volunteer program, and my paths seem to keep multiplying…

Miraculously, I’ve managed to stay pretty calm about this whole ”not having a plan” thing, which I feel really good about considering I’ve never really been in this position before. I’ve always had a pretty clear idea of where I’ve been headed or at least been choosing between a few more concrete options. But as I continue to reflect on where my path may be headed post-YAGM, I’ve realized that in some ways, this year has either shifted or drawn out what I want out of life, and this is reflected even in my worries and fears when I think about building a new life back in the U.S. upon my return. And I really do mean building because the last life I had was undergrad, which I’m obviously not returning to; I have to now figure out how to be a real adult in the real world. These are the worries and fears that swirl around my head now when I think about life after YAGM:

I’m terrified of ending up in a job that just sucks up my soul and getting stuck there (permanently) because it’s the only way to provide for myself.

I’m afraid I’ll be lost, wandering aimlessly throughout life, because I haven’t heard a call like the one that brought me to YAGM.

I’m afraid of having an unfulfilling, go-through-the-motions life because I can’t find a way to get paid to do what I’m passionate about.

When I think about the kinds of things that I’m passionate about and would want to do with my life in an ideal world, I feel like they don’t fit in a box, but I feel like I have to contort myself and shove myself inside the box anyway in order to “make it in the real (U.S.) world” and provide for myself (and eventually my family if I have one). My life here in Argentina has showed me that this box exists, and after living happily outside it all year, I have no desire to get in it. I think this is one of the ways that YAGM wrecks you: once you see a different way of living, you can’t ever unsee it. And if this other way of living unlocks your soul, why would you ever want to put it back in a cage? My job when I return to the U.S. is to figure out how to acknowledge the reality of the box and coexist with it while not betraying my authenticity by climbing inside it.

More than ever, I have a heart divided. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been blessed to leave pieces of my heart all over the world these past three years. You can bet that I’m leaving a huge piece here in the hands of many friends. Just as I am looking forward to returning to friends and family in the U.S. while simultaneously grieving leaving my friends and community here, when I look into my future, I want to settle in near my family but I also want to know more of the world intimately like I have this year. I’m still not sure how to reconcile those things, which is one of the reasons I need some more time to discern where my path is headed.

I’ve known for a long time that my path is not one well-traveled. The first time I was really aware of it was when I finally accepted partway through high school that I was meant to be an opera singer, not a Broadway star. I know I walk to the beat of my own drum. Most of the time, I’m perfectly content with that. But as I look at the possibilities before me, especially as I consider that they are maybe not “traditional” career paths or that they might not provide well or stably for me, I feel like a wildflower in a bed of roses. It’s beautiful to follow your own path, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes it’s really difficult to look around and realize you’re the only wildflower in the garden. To see that there’s no one “doing what you’re doing.” To be unable to look up to someone or commiserate with someone.

I think one of the reasons I’m not more worried about “how to adult” when I get back to the States is because “surviving” YAGM has given me a lot of confidence in what I’m able to do. In some ways, choosing to go to another country “by myself” for a year was one of the most extreme choices I could’ve made coming straight out of undergrad. I certainly didn’t do it alone, I had a lot of help and support, but in the end, it was me living this experience and overcoming the challenges that came along with it. If I can do that, why can’t I take on the challenges of becoming an adult in the U.S. (with the help of my support system, of course)?

I don’t mean to sound cocky. I know some things will be hard. I know some will even knock me backward onto my ass. I’m not expecting a total picnic, and I know the challenges I will face back in the U.S. will not all be identical to the ones I had here in Argentina. But I do feel that my experience this year has given me lots of useful skills that will help me in all areas of my life and that it has made me less anxious and afraid of what my future holds, regardless of whether I can see it from where I stand right now or not (and we all know I can’t).

Coming into this year, I kind of thought I’d leave this year with a really strong idea of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I thought something (I have no idea what exactly) would really inspire me and propel me forward into not only the next year, but my lifelong career. I realize how stupid this was now especially considering the last time I went into an experience expecting it to show me which fork in the road to take, I didn’t leave with any more clarity than I started with. But I think I’m leaving this year with something a little more important. Those fears I shared above highlight the kind of life I want to live: one that is purposeful and fulfilling. In other words, I want to do God’s work and live life wholeheartedly and fully present. I believe that knowing this will help guide me down the right path. The last time I didn’t get what I thought I wanted (an experience to churn out a road sign for where to go next), I eventually did end up headed exactly where I was meant to, and I believe that if I stay open through a continued process of discernment, that will happen again.

❤ Gabriela