With the World Cup comes intense passion when you’re surrounded by soccer fans to whom the sport is quite literally a religion. There are no fair weather fans here because Colombia is alive within you the moment the air fills your lungs and the yellow jersey is thrust upon you. So for the first time that Colombia has made it to the World Cup in 16 years, you can imagine what my life has been consumed of for the entire month of June. For the entire 90 minutes, I’m on the edge of my seat, gripping my fists and throwing myself into the air as the ball hits the back of the net. It’s crazy, brilliant chaos.
But at one point during the last game, something caught my attention. I was captured by the quick, lightening-like movement of the players feet but I was even more entranced as the slow motion clips showed on the screen. It almost gave me a hint of anxiety watching as the player’s foot painstakingly wrapped behind the leg of another’s and stuck there as his body kept moving toward the ground. The only thing I wanted was to speed up time to reassure that he would come out perfectly safe, even though I knew very well that this was already the outcome. After all, I had already watched it hadn’t I? But what if I missed something? What if his leg actually snapped in half and I just didn’t see it? So there I was glued to the screen watching a clip of the game at a snail’s pace just to make sure that, indeed, nothing damaging happened. And then I thought to myself that this feeling was familiar. It was something that I felt a lot lately. Much like the moments of playback, my life too often felt like it was playing in slow motion.
I want so desperately to speed my life up; to be able to look back on my service, perhaps, and think “what a ride that was.” But here I sit with anticipation, watching my story unfold not knowing exactly where it will go. My life is truly in slow motion. Will I escape safely like the soccer player in the game, or will I break my leg (figuratively that is, which might look more like a broken heart rather than an injured limb)? I have a dreamed envision of my service, but if I’ve learned anything in the past 10 months, things can certainly change.
They say that the one year mark is always the hardest moment for volunteers. It’s a great determining factor for those who decide that service is not for them or for those who choose to continue on the journey. To be honest, I’ve felt that pressure. I know what’s at home for me and I know what’s here, and believe me the scales are not balanced. It certainly doesn’t help when others are constantly saying “If it makes you happy then do it, if it doesn’t then don’t.” What does that even mean?? That’s a very surface level understanding to the word ‘commitment.’ There’s no depth in the easy way out, merely a simple escape to current struggles. Those who really understand me know that I need a push. They can put aside their own personal interests of wanting me to come back and encourage me to continue. Now that’s love.
As I was talking with my friend while watching the game, I couldn’t believe that she had been here for 22 months. My meager 10 months seemed minute in comparison. At this slow-motion pace how would I ever reach that? “You will,” she insisted. With that simple, straight forward answer I suppose she’s right. All in due time… But also like the soccer game, I can’t help but constantly second guess how the results will turn out. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
Peace Corps Galore: Colombia 