Culture shock

As I have mentioned before, I have lived in Latin America for about 5 years of my life. I always tell people that is where my heart is. I have gone back and forth between my life in white suburbia and Latin America more than 7 times.
When I went to live in Guatemala for the first time I remember how much it changed me. I was 14 and I had no idea what real poverty was. But then I found myself walking the streets of Zone 1 with some sister missionaries among the humble people of Guatemala. It was hard for me at first. I didn't know how to accept that dirty glass of juice that was made with water I knew I shouldn't be drinking. However, I always kept myself going by thinking about how I had a nice carpeted apartment with warm yellow light waiting for me. The cold cracked cement floors and florescent light was foreign to me and it made me uncomfortable. I hated myself for feeling that discomfort and so I pushed myself to get over it. I sought out opportunities to feel uncomfortable.
Little by little I was able to glide between both worlds and easily feel at home in each. When I lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina it was easy for me to live in that tiny apartment and take bucket showers.

I was able to eat what people offered me without being completely grossed out. But my family and home were still in my mind and I knew that I would be able to return to that comfort.






My trip to Bolivia has affected me in a deeper way than I thought. For the first time I was able to completely throw myself into Latin American life. This time, I didn't bring America with me. I was on my own. But I wasn't on my own.

The dear Barrigola family took me in under their wings and gave me some of the most genuine and pure love that I have ever had. I have been home for a month and I still miss them SO MUCH. I keep on thinking about them and their lives. How Eli had to work 15 hours a day and that her husband was hardly ever able to be home because of work. I think about how they had to send their son to live on his own in the city at age 12 so he could get a better high school education. Then I look at my blessed life and I feel guilt and sadness. Why me? Why not them? You'd think by now I would have learned how to deal with these emotions, but it is quite the opposite. Now I feel the tables have turned... now I feel uncomfortable in my privileged life and I keep on telling myself that I have a home in Latin America waiting for me.