Rosy

At the beginning of my Peace Corps service, I was told that when the times get tough, I should remember
A) "You have bad days in America, too"
and B) "Everything eventually fades to a rosy hue."

The first quote got me through my two years of service. The second is a process, ongoing, and after nine months, still becoming real.

The Mozambique that exists in my mind is not necessarily the Mozambique that I lived in. Well, it is, minus the daily frustrations of living in a third world country (which is like saying, "You're perfect, except for all your many flaws."). The Moz that I remember is beautiful, tropical, full of great people and adventures to be had. This is the Moz, I think, that many RPCV's remember. This is why, regardless of how we left (whether we completed our full service, or left early), we miss it. Saudades. Sempre.

I never realized how much free time I had in Peace Corps (and just how valuable free time is). During my two years, I was able to learn to sew and read all the books I've been wanting to read forever but just hadn't had the time. Now...I have a sewing machine but I've only touched it once since I've been back and I can't remember that last time I read a book for leisure.

I'm afraid I've forgotten what it's like to just sit under the mango tree in the afternoon heat and just be. I think that if I were to sit on an esteira under a tree nowadays, I'd want to have my GMAT book with me so I could study, or my iPhone so that I could Instagram about it.

I see the pictures that current PCV's post and I miss the opportunities for fellowship, the day trips to visit other volunteers and tomar cha on their porch, the beach trips to escape the heat, the lunch meetups in the city over a plate of feijao and a deliciously cold Coke.

I miss creating my own work schedule, and essentially being my own boss. Skipping out on work because it's pouring outside is not an acceptable excuse when you have a car, and a set work schedule, and you live in America. (Speaking of rain, I miss when it's pouring outside and the pounding on the tin roof is so loud that I can't hear anything but it's okay I've got my cup of hot tea and my dogs inside with me.)

I griped about my living allowance coming late some months, but at least it was always came and I never had to worry that it wasn't enough to get me through. Whether I "earned" it or not, I had enough to buy the things I needed and then some.

I miss being independent and being "in the moment," riding in the back of that pickup truck, successfully telling off that creepy guy in Portuguese, bartering with the vegetable ladies at the market.

These are the things that surface in my memory. This is the Moz that I remember.

... Rosy.