Equanimity

I’ve let my blog slip way behind. Allow me to catch you up to speed on my life. Before Tim finished his PC service he shook me from my lassitude and helped me transition back into Coqeloa after Amica’s death. At site happiness snuck up on me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy before,” Colin observed one casual day we were sitting on my floor, probably day dreaming about food. At first I felt pathetic that what seemed like a normal baseline of happiness was in fact significantly more than what I had been eradiating. It reminded me of my junior year in high school when I became bitter about life after Tony’s death and my mom said, “I lost my smile.” I programmed myself to self destruct and let my negativity lead me into bad decisions. The more you look the more you see. My eyes were opened early to the unfairness of death and I saw recklessness as a way to make the world disappear. In PC they tell you to have no expectations, which is cute of them to advise because it’s impossible. My application period took me about a year and a half; time built the adventure I anticipated. I worked and waited so long to get here, yet I wasn’t happy when I finally arrived. This is what I wanted? I felt stuck and trapped, and the count downs reminded me of my dooming commitment to 26 months. I saw time as the enemy. I was crossing off days of my life like a triumphant march to my own death. I eventually surrendered. I started to sing, “Time is on my side. Oh yes it is.” On what would have been a dreadfully boring day sitting outside the vacant nursing station I entertained myself by scrutinizing the windy day.

Within my yoga, Buddhism, and Hinduism studies I am culturing to admit that I am powerless over most of the realities of my life. In learning of my misery I listened to what brings me joy. My struggles became clear when I acknowledged my passion for power and strength. Maybe the Michael Jordan and Mia Ham commercial of switched talents proclaiming, “I can do anything you can do better,” describes my internal commitment to be strong headed. I like the praise of cut muscles, but strength goes deeper. My mom says I never take the easy road. I want the path less traveled, because it will present me with the opportunity to build gumption. There are so many literal clues of me trying to fight for control for internal revolution, which back fired. I was trying harder, when I needed to try easier. The art of equanimity allowed my frustrations to melt away. “Equanimity releases us from unrealistic expectations of what life should be and allows us to stay centered amid the inevitable highs and lows.” Without drama I am now along for the ride, meeting life as it meets me. Buddha taught that throughout our lives we should expect to encounter four specific joys, and their opposites:

1) Pleasure & Pain

2) Gain & Loss

3) Praise & Blame

4) Fame & Disrepute

The world conditions us to seek unchanging pleasure and we take it personally when we experience those natural negative feelings. What is wrong with me for feeling pain? If no pain was felt and only pleasure then that’s when there would be a real need for concern. The latent trait discovered in change through conflict is to surrender. I am coming face to face with my sociology to see myself in a lucid accepting manner, which sounds complicated, but I am sitting in it and simply breathing.

I have come to terms that I am not going to go out of my way to force feed education and healthy behavior interventions. Rather I am accepting the speed of change to migrate in its own time, when it is ready. Individuals are beginning to seek me out for health advice. “My stomach sticks out and I want to put it back in,” translates to abdominal exercises and discussing her diet. The months of June and July flowed, and I felt no need for control. For the most part I was alone and disengaged enough. My Mac book crashed, PCV group 88 finished their service, and residing PCV traveled back to the USA. I consciously made an effort to be more in the moment and positive. Throughout my life I have developed lots of interest and a desire to expand upon them. Here time is not a restraint, unless you are trying to leave. I dove head first into Mike’s awesome reading list, which I think has helped shaped a new brighter perspective of whom I am:

The Fountainhead – Ayn Rand
The Power of One – Brice Courtenay
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – Robert M. Pirsig
The Fight – Norman Mailer

By being more involved in the community it opened a lot of doors. I went to church and was invited to give a health talk at a local women’s group meeting. I sat through the screams to Jesus and paid my respects, whispering for his assistance to connect on some level. I was moved by their acceptance of a complete stranger, and surprised by my own composure. I resisted the erg to take a photo of a possessed woman placing her hand, with two thumbs on a forehead, while her other arm rose as an antenna to God. I shared homemade healthy oatmeal raisin cookies and gave an interactive nutrition talk relating it to religion.

Afterwards I was invited to a prayer session during the week. When I attended I was given the opportunity to answer questions about America and the Peace Corps. By the end of the night I was able to jot down a few learned Hindi words and contacts for playing on their soccer team. I was the only female to participate in a soccer tournament. Despite the borderline degrading request for me to chest the ball I think I gained some respect on the pitch. Days at the nursing station had purpose with catching up on dormant cases or school visits. Sumintra, my supervisor, dished out iron tablets and I questioned the children on the importance of iron in our diet. (I think I might be anemic, I’ve requested PC to send me some supplements for my not so green diet.) I tagged along with the dentist team to talk about the importance of teeth and winged a dance to make brushing your teeth more fun. I have given lessons to the older kids about HIV/AIDS using Aussie Aid cards that place activities in high, low, moderate, or no risk for contracting HIV. There is one card that has “kissing” and another that has “deep kissing”. The children had a good laugh when I puckered up and blew a few kisses. To get a response for the “deep kissing” card I turned around, crossed my arms to grip my back and wiggled to illustrating making out.

The difference in knowledge between the bush and urban children is fairly significant. Before Colin finished his PC service I spent a good amount of time with him, since his village Qelemumu was only an hour walk away. He had a friend, Natasha visit who is a tutor back in Russia. I was grateful for the advice she gave me and assistance when I was floundering to get the children to participate. I made the mistake of assuming that the school in the bush had the same baseline knowledge as the more urban schools. HIV/AIDs education is not a tremendous concern in Fiji, considering there are less than 2% known cases. That being said, I am sure it is under reported.

While staying at Qelemumu we went on beautiful guided hike. Along the way we had breaks and we came across what was in my eyes a jungle gym. I love climbing. The day I am too weak or lose my agility to climb a tree will be a sad day. At the apex of the mountain we had an American flag photo shoot. The view was dreamy. My favorite was seeing the faded lines that the clouds casted on the lush rolling land.

On the 4^th of July I was on outreach and brought along a puzzle of the United States and a book on Philadelphia. I made dank apple pie from scratch and shared in with my Coqeloa family, which we ate with our hands. I truly do feel like a part of the family. At night I typically go over to Sheila’s side of the house to have a few bilos (bowls) of kava. They’re a goofy family, so I fit in nicely. Sashi, Sheila’s daughter, adopted a pet goat, which they named Baba. Kiran, Sashi’s husband was given a wig for a present and adores it. He wears it as he walks his goats to the pasture, when we went to watch a soccer tournament in town, weeding in our garden we created together, and as a casual accessory. I want to develop a wig story.

At the end of July we had our MST (Mid Service Training) at the same location where we stayed our first week in Fiji. I had not seen most of my group since November 1^st and it was refreshing to see new familiar faces. We discussed our trials and tribulations and recharged each other. I think you can separate attitudes by the view point of, “Wow, I can’t believe we only have a year left,” or, “Shit, we still have another year.” I felt brightness, similar to a child that brought me back to naturalness. My jokes and demeanor added levity to the drag of some of the trainings. We finished training on a Friday and we had the weekend to play. Tricia did an amazing job of researching and organized through Fiji Surf School for a group of us to have lessons at Natadola Beach. It was the first time I saw a Fijian beach, crystal clear waters the way you imagine from Google images. In a trance I galloped into the water and realized as I was fully submerged that my cell phone was in my pocket. I wasn’t even upset, but simply discarded the broken phone and jumped back into bliss. Our instructors, Godfrey and Shay were a dynamic duo. We were guaranteed to stand up, or our money back, which wasn’t difficult with the foam boards. It was a magical day. I’m hooked. I want to be a surfer. The following day I was exposed to Cloud Break, the Mecca for surfers. I tread water to get a closer feel and look. I was able to go on a joy ride on the wave runner before being dropped off at the observation tower. Whipping through the ocean we caught a wave then we cut across to run parallel, in sync at speed with a surfer tearing it up. It was a perfect way to end a good month and keep me moving into August.

I experienced my first Indian funeral. My neighbor’s father died, from what they claim was blood cancer at the age of 68. He barely spoke English and my Hindi is equivalent to an infant’s dialogue, but he said I was respectful for my long skirts. Nearly everyone in the settlement came over to his house for a week of puja, religious ritual of making offerings to deities. His body was carried in by his sons on a bed of bamboo. Each son and their family placed a few drops of water in his mouth and smudged “chandan” on his third eye. When I asked about why they do this I was told because it is their culture. I guess I could google it. His wife will no longer wear the red bindi and wore white during the week of puja. Once his body was returned to the van to be incinerated the men returned to sit around the grog bowls while the women quietly chatted during their constant preparation to serve meals. For a good proportion of the time I sat in my head, but as the week progressed a group of girls pestered me with their relentless attention. They demanded to learn yoga poses, yet were resistant to understand the importance of breath and flow. One of the older girls recruited me to help her type her paper. I brought my laptop with a Type Master game to teach the home keys and had to monitor their aggression to learn. I suppose these are good problems.

The last day of the puja my soul sister and South Pacific neighbor came to visit me recently. Perri and I had an epic journey. I will have to leave you in suspense, because I need more time to digest everything and reflect. TO BE CONTINUED!