Guilt
I always have a bit of difficulty
transitioning back to my home here in Arusha. I’m not alone in this, I know,
for I have heard some of my friends say the same. Once you’re here for a while,
you forget what it feels like to be home and you transition back to a
Tanzanian-Mzungu-normal. By far, this time back has certainly been the easiest
transition for me. When I initially moved to Arusha, the first three days were
actually nauseatingly stressful for me and the nights were sleeplessly
torturous. The second time I went home and came back, I had a breakdown
suddenly while doing crunches on the floor of my room. Weird, right? I was so
upset that I had an iphone and as I laid there on the ground, I promised myself
I sell the iphone and give the money away. (this iphone was later stolen, so
the universe works it all out…) The third time I went home and came back, there
was no emotional breakdown but I did find myself going out and drinking a lot
more than normal with old friends for the first week I was back. This is my
fourth and final time (at least for now) that I have gone home and will come
back. No tears, no desire to binge on chocolate or drinks, but there’s just
this guilt.
The first kind of guilt comes
from reevaluating what I want in life. When one comes to an African country as
a 20-something year old, you feel this sense of pride, of calling, of duty to
help fix this place. Of course, this is fueled by every one’s oo-ing and
ahh-ing when you tell them you’re going to Tanzania for two years. You land
here knowing that you’re going to CHANGE THE WORLD! For some time, I’ve gabbed
on about living here, or in Haiti, or in some hot and dirty place. But, at some
point since I’ve been here, I’ve come to accept that this may not be the path
for me. I do love this place, and I do love its challenges, but I struggle
emotionally even still with being away from the comforts of home. I start to
doubt my original noble goals, realize my human weaknesses, and the guilt sinks
in for not being stronger.
The second feeling of contrition
comes from that which I cannot control—my place of birth. At some point, I
started to wonder why I should have the luck to be born in America and have all
of the opportunities that I do, while the majority of Tanzanians never have the
hopes to leave East Africa, or even the country. Why, I could go and find an
apartment in downtown Atlanta, search for a job, and live in complete comfort
(and probably boredom, I might add). Ok, but I have the choice. But, I’m not sure if I could compete in the job market in
America these days, being a musician and all. Isn’t it better to be a prized
musician in a small city than another classically trained musician in a
metropolis? I’m not quite sure which is scarier to me, really.
I have an audition for graduate
school tomorrow, here in Arusha. I’m hoping it will take me to Finland to
get my masters next year. But, I’m nervous about the audition, and I’m sad to
be missing people from home, and then there’s this guilt on top of it all. Oh,
I forgot the third kind of guilt—why do I feel so sorry for myself when I have
SO much? Friends, family, very comfortable living, good clothes, money to go
see movies and eat out at restaurants, an awesome job, people who I love and
who love me, musical skill, an exciting and beautiful place to live. Seriously,
sometimes I wish someone would just come splash cold water in my face and say,
“dani! Wake up!”
Hmm... a few things come to mind.
ReplyDelete1. Starfish - we are all part of a solution - we all make a difference even if it is for just one being at one point in time.
2. The Dalai Lama (him or Gandhi; I forget which now) says holding on to hate is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die. Same thing with guilt - feeling like you should not have what you have won't give more to someone else.
3. Gratitude is a path of expansion that can help you find balance -but it takes time. In many cultures, they say maturity does not come until you reach your 50's - looking back and forward now; I'm inclined to say they are right. The early years truly are ones of turbulent formation - exploring what one has, figuring out what can be done and what cannot be done. Just never let anyone tell you you can't - because they don't know - it is always up to you.