past. present. question mark.

even though i write about pie in the sky stuff, i really don't take myself too seriously--it will cause premature wrinkles or something...

I’m in another pondering kind of mood. I think it’s because I’m waiting for lunch, and my weekend in Bamako is totally over, and Kat is now safe and sound at her site, so we are all left to fend for ourselves until next time. Anyway, here we go.

I’ve been thinking a lot about right now. Sometimes I feel like I live in the vacuum, like I’m in this dream and I am going to wake up and be in my air conditioned bed in San Diego, under too many covers, with my family and dog eagerly awaiting me in the living room and a hot shower looming in the bathroom. It surprises me to hear about friends who are doing things, and siblings who are growing up. Meanwhile, this life I am living just seems so removed from all of that, and thus, so weird.

I was looking through my pictures just now, editing and fixing some of the recent ones, and then got sucked into a little walk down memory lane. I haven’t had a digital camera for long, but in that time I seem to have documented a lot. The big, the small, the still lives, the actual lives, friends, smiles, silly faces, multiple hairstyles and places, they are all there staring at me. Even that life surprises me, amazes me that I was there and lived separately from Mali and right now.

It’s funny I think. Here, I get a lot of questions about what I’m going to do after Peace Corps. It’s like everyone but me got the memo about how short two years really is. Sometimes I shrug. Sometimes I say that two years is a long time so I can figure it out. Sometimes I want to scream: SLEEP, EAT, HUG MY MOM!

Fellow PCVs talk about why we all thought joining the Peace Corps was a good idea. Malians and staff want to know what we are going to become. It’s funny though, few people talk about who we were. Sure, people ask where I’m from, and where my family and friends are. They ask about where I went to school and what I majored in. And then how in the world an art history major ended up sweating in Mali. And then we talk about Mali and the lack of chocolate and what we are going to do without our favorite fall TV series.

But not about who I was.

And granted. I’m not an entirely different person. I’m very much the same. But looking back through my pictures there was a time when I wore nail polish, rings, straightened by hair and had immaculate eye make up. I wore heels and skirts and liked to read fashion magazines as much as I like to read classic literature. I am a total gleeK and yet am really going to miss The Good Wife.  I take full responsibility for decorating my parent’s apartment, though my Mom is finishing it with fabulous taste all on her own (I like to think I taught her everything I know). And even though I know she thinks my room is a little much, I’m sure every time the door is open and the pictures and posters on the wall peek through, she smiles and thinks of me (and all my crap). I give fashion advice, shopping tips, and know every aisle of Target. To me, Barney’s will always be a store and not just a children’s television show.

Ok, so maybe that is totally materialistic and rather shallow. Or maybe really shallow.  But does that mean that it doesn’t matter anymore?  Does no one ask because no one wants to be reminded themselves?

I wonder what I will adapt to whenever I go home and what I will think is silly. I am totally going to kiss my washer and dryer, and stand in front of the fridge like I’m worshipping it. I am going to call my Mom everyday on an unlimited cell phone plan.

I think about reunions with the Goodfellas and us being so clean and put together. I wonder what we will think of ourselves and where we’ve been and what we’ve done, together and independently. I wonder if in our suits and cocktail attire we will still see ourselves in bandanas, cargo pants and Chacos, sweating and squinting in the Malian sun. And I wonder if in that moment, this vacuum of a life in Mali will seem like the realest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m going to move on from Peace Corps, this is destined to be a chapter in my life and not the whole book. It’s a chapter in the middle, flanked by a past of becoming a person who wanted to take the chance and go to Mali and see what I could do and who I would become. The 23 year old journey to get me here is important, even the scattered fashion magazines and pop culture knowledge does matter. And here I am. Ready to face today, tomorrow, and the big question mark that is my future.

But just once, can we talk nail polish colors and not grad school programs?  That would just be great. 

ahhh, to be a woman of leisure once more