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| The towering statue of Lenin, a leftover from Ukraine's days as part of the Soviet Union |
In early June, I was standing over the kitchen sink washing – and sometimes scrubbing vigorously at— the dried food that likely sat unwashed for longer than my mother would have deemed appropriate, but I wasn't focusing on the task at hand. Instead, my mind kept returning to a conversation I'd had just a few hours earlier with my site mate and fellow volunteer, Jake.
We were sitting at a nearby café eating what one could consider a farewell dinner of pizza and beer. In less than two days, I would board a plane in Kiev and go back to America for almost two weeks to attend my sister's wedding.
That's when Jake asked the question – no, not THAT question, but rather THE question that many PCVs, if not all, ponder from time to time.
"Are you nervous about going back?"
I was mid-bite. I don't quite remember what I was thinking two seconds before his question, but it was probably something close to, "I need to add eating real American pizza to my list of things to do when I return to the States."
After he asked the question, I quickly swallowed the bite and paused.
For the past month, I hadn't really thought about the answer to that question, even though only a few months before, it was practically the only thing on my mind.
So I stopped and thought, 'Am I nervous to go back home?'
When the subject had come up with my PCV friends a few months earlier, I'd half-seriously told them that it would be hard to come back again after driving my own car instead of walking everywhere, after eating real American pizza and Mexican food, after being able to gather 5-6 American friends on a whim for a dinner party… Then they would jokingly respond that not returning wasn't an option and if I decided to stay, they would simply come back to America, pack my bags and forcibly bring me back.
However, in the quiet of my one-room home in the school's hostel, my concerns were a bit more serious. Thanks to Facebook and life-saving emails from friends, I knew that life was marching on – their lives were marching on. But what about mine?
In January – in the dead of one of the harshest Ukrainian winters in decades – it was easy to dwell on what I was missing. My group of 100+ volunteers had arrived at our sites, at the places that would be home for the next two years. Most of us were cold, alone and constantly falling on the ice. It was lonely to say the least.
It didn't take much time at my school and city to know I was going to like it here but on the long, cold winter nights, the question was too easy – why am I here? I didn't feel like I was really making a difference at school, in my classes, with my students and teachers. There weren't any big plans for my two years of service; no big projects for me to tackle.
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| Me with Amy and her new husband, Morton |
Then as the snow and ice thawed, something changed, and it wasn't until Jake asked THE question that I really noticed it.
So, finally my very long pause ended and I answered him, "No, I'm not nervous to go back."
I began to tell him about the many plans that I have for the next school year and next summer for camps, programs, grants and more. While the next school year and summer are still several pages away on the calendar, I also have this summer to consider. I have to come back for three summer camps, but more importantly, I have to come back to my friends – both American and Ukrainian – and of course, to my students.
THAT was the change that I realized a few hours later over soapy water. I realized that going to America would be just like going to Egypt or India. It was a destination – a vacation – and at the end of that vacation, I would return to a job and friends; that I would return home again ... to Ukraine.
