It’s been a long while, dear family and friends, and I’m not sure anyone will even want to keep up with this little slice of the internet now that I am writing from Oregon. But I did think I should share a few thoughts and tidbits. 

If I may, I’ll start with some things I didn’t exactly do “on the books” my last few months in Panama. One of which was climbing Volcan. For my avid readers you might recall that Volcan is the only volcano in Panama and also a town I had visited in my first few months in the wonderful province I ended up in: Chiriqui. Volcan is famous for its midnight hike to watch the sunrise. Just as high and wonderful as Japan’s Fuji San (unbeknownst to me until after the hike when I googled it).

Panama’s school year is different from the states in that it starts in March and ends in December. So usually Volunteers have most of December- the end of February to chill and do summer camps. I spoke out the few “legal” ones I attended but (hello office staff if you’re reading this please don’t hate me) I did attend a few more than I told the office. Mainly because I couldn’t get the “real” time off because I had already blown my load on one week long camp (it’s all politics and red tape stuff and I was really over it). David was UNBEARABLY hot as it was the summer months and I was still expected to be at the university because there was a summer term but there was no English classes so I was sitting around a lot working on hypothetical projects and being stood up by professors my counterpart INSISTED I meet with who didn’t want to work with me. Politics. Red tape. So I left a lot in a fit of rebellion to actually go help where I was wanted to feel good about myself. I’d like to pause here for a second and reflect that this altruistic nature and my helping other volunteers over staying in my own school as miserable as I was is not what the Peace Corps stands for. I did not do right. I was not in the right… But it felt better to support fellow PCVs than sit in an air conditioned office everyday staring at the same blank wall over planning for things that were very unlikely to ever happen. I go into all this great self absolving detail because I wanted to mention one particularly cool weekend I helped with: International Women’s Day in the Comarca.

My friend Emily was (is and still would be) SUPER volunteer. She jumped into her community head first and was ready to do all the hard and frustrating work. Not every day was good, I’m sure, but that’s not my story to tell. From the two times I visited her, what I saw was the true Peace Corps experience in the way that I had wanted. She lived in a small wood house with no lights, she had a 30 min hike into her site after a 20 min drive in the back of a pick up with some very questionable men staring at anything without skin the same color and tried to use the fact that 20 people were crammed into the bed of a truck as an excuse to cop a feel… Not all of that sounds appealing and in all honestly it was rather frustrating for even me just to visit… but it also opened up to the most beautiful place of just untouched land (all in all it was also very sad to see the way indegenous people live due to lack of resources and funding but that is another rant). I visited her twice to help her with “Women’s Night”, the second time I didn’t mention it to the office… But if you’ll stay with me, darling readers, I’ll tell you why this tangent is so worth it. Emily is one of the biggest and most powerful advocates I’ve ever met for gender equality and rights. She jumps into discussions ready to learn and expand minds. She is patient and kind and passionate. She lived in an indegenous community that is usually so reserved and quiet and she started a women’s night that was REGULARLY attended. While that might not seem like a feat to many people-it was. These women showed up and at first took a long time to coax out of their shells but soon enough they were joking and talking about previous nights, they were enjoying popcorn and learning about their own bodies and how to stay hygienic, they were bringing their daughters to play and listen how to speak english. Everytime I went to her site I left feeling as if I could take on the world. To her last Women’s Night (Thanks COVID) well over 30 women showed up to laugh and share (reservedly) what they like about being women and how important it is to love yourself. I could go on and on about how she clearly changed the life of her community’s women but more importantly she changed mine. She was always there to answer questions I had and was too nervous or prideful to ask other people about gender equality and transgender norms/struggles. She sat with me and sang a barbie song. She openly talked about hurtful things in her life so I could understand her and sat and listened to me while I cried about things I didn’t think I’d share with anyone. She is an amazing woman, friend, ally and confidant. She is someone I met by chance and she will never not be in my life again. RANT OVER- all this to say I did illegal things over the summer… What can I say? I’m a born rebel.

Now, if you’ll also recall my new friend Kate towards the end of my time. She was a bright young woman on a fulbright scholarship. I knew we would work ok together but I never expected to become friends outside of school but… here we are. We had a high level student that in class one day was explaining (trying to use superlatives: good, better, best; more, most) how easy it was to climb Volcan. This came to that and Kate and I agreed that we were straight up not enjoying our time staring at walls over the summer and decided to take a little trip, casually, to the top of Volcan! Her boyfriend, Kate and myself all set off to climb from the Boquete side (the safer side) because it is one drivable (for very rough terrain cars) trail all the way up and therefore is an easy path easy to see and navigate over night. We set off around 9:30pm.

We got off to a pretty good start. All chatting and laughing and it was soon apparent that someone in the group was not in as great of shape as two others. I’ll give you a clue, she has two thumbs and is typing this way too late at night. Kate and Edward would walk ahead and wait for me then continue when they were sure I wasn’t dead. It was peaceful tho, and I prefer hiking alone in all honesty: it gives me a chance to talk to myself and make up stories. I do some of my best thinking walking alone in the woods. But this was no ordinary jaunt uphill. This is 11,000km straight up… in the snow… both ways… well at least one of those things. It was the first time in my life of hiking that I considered giving up. I was mildly altitude sick and for sure wildly underprepared. But spoiler alert: I made it. I thought a lot about my next year in panama. I was thinking about a friend who was coming in a few months and the trip I had planned with her. I was thinking about my future and what I really wanted to do. I was making up scenarios that would never happen in my head about love, life, career and so on. I now and have always been the proud supreme leader of Kallie World and there is no better time to create than when you are walking alone in the dead of night. 

I wish I could describe the silence. Normally there is some noise; the whistling wind, or slight breeze blowing a leaf, a small woodland creature foraging or partying at a disco (i’m not a zoologist), some form of bug playing its melodic mating tune… but at some point the silence was the loudest sound. I heard my steps and breathing and felt my insignificance in the world. People would find me eventually, I would probably be missed… but at that time, on the trail alone, all I could think about was how very small I am in this world.

The last 4km were the hardest and easiest. At one point I could have sworn it was flat and I was convinced I would be there soon. I was long by myself at this time happily chattering away to myself. Then a massive hill came, and just as soon as I got to the top and wanted to give up, it flattened out and then dipped minorly. Then a huge downhill came and I worried that I had missed the summit somehow… I still have 2 km to go. The very last kilometer was what I think Sisyphus deals with. It was so steep that at some points I had to physically lift my very sore and already hurting right leg. My hips hurt so badly that I stopped every few feet and worried about the loose rock. No tears fell from my eyes but I won’t say I didn’t let a sob or two escape my lips… Sheer stubbornness and the fact that I had friends clearly at the top already got me to the summit. But did you read that? I made it. Now… you get to the top and it’s all electrical stuff and large poles and confusion… but eventually we found the smallish path that leads to the rocky place where the famous cross (cruce) at the top of the hill is. We tried to scale it in the dark but as I had to physically grab my right leg to move it more than 6 inches off the ground I patted myself on the back for making it where I did and told myself my life was way more precious than an Instagram photo. I sat on a rock halfway to the cruce and watched what I came for-the sunrise. 

Before I get into that, have you seen stars from the top of a volcano? This was my second time and let me tell you, while I still haven’t been fortunate enough to see the Northern Lights, seeing these stars is one of the most transcendent things I’ve witnessed. There are just… an unfathomable amount. If I thought the silence made me feel small, imagine the silence accompanying the brilliance of the very miniscule portion of the universe you are able to see… I sat on that rock for a while. I’d like to say I figured out some secret of myself or life or love or whatever… but truth be told I was FREEZING from the sweat and sudden lack of movement. I was in so much pain that it overtook all my other senses and I will admit the thought “Omg can we go yet?” crossed my mind more than I’m proud of. It was so so beautiful, but I was so so ready to be done (another spoiler alert I should’ve enjoyed that rest while I could’ve). The sun slowly slowly made its way up. More people joined us (idk where they came from) but all stayed relatively quiet. I heard whispers of french and german and Japanese as people walked by me to get to the cruce. Everyone whispered as if we were at the movies and I loved it… the solidarity of hikers is silence at the summit. 

The beauty and purpose to hike at night is to see this magnificent sunrise and the other kicker is on a clear day you’re supposed to be able to see both the caribbean sea and pacific ocean. It wasn’t super clear and I like to pretend some of the cloud shapes were the ocean but still… it was breathtaking. Eventually we decided to make our way down. We (didn’t bring enough water: if you want to hike Volcan bring twice the amount of water you THINK you need… maybe even a little more than that) had a red bull, a candy bar and headed back down. 

Whoever said it’s the climb that’ll kill you is a dirty rotten liar. It was the descent that is the silent killer. If I were to be in purgatory, it would be descending that friggin stack of rock. Every switch back looked the same and every one I thought “we are closer” but really we didn’t move. I swear we went in circles for at least 6 hours. Every minute felt like an hour and maybe it was the giant blisters, maybe it was that my toe nail kept jamming into my boot, maybe it is that my 30 year old knees don’t do well, maybe it was the loose gravel going straight down… I’m not sure. All I know is that I kept thinking “I FRIGGIN CLIMBED THIS?!” Both as a source of pride and disbelief. In the first 4km descent I was surprised to find the “flat” areas were all steady declines that weren’t anything to sniff at! The 7 hours up I blacked out in my mind (or very well physically too at some points) but the 4 hour descent is seared into my memory. Every person we passed on their way up I wanted to tell them to turn around, that it wasn’t worth it. (side note if you’re ever going to climb do it at night, it gets HOT early and it was unbearable going down I can’t imagine going up in that heat) One person was RUNNING up it though and I almost pushed him out of spite… Not surprisingly Kate and Edward were much faster than me. I talked to myself again but this time it was more scenarios in which I was angry with someone. I used that made up anger to get me down the mountain. I will say I am most proud that I never fell: I almost did a few times and my groin muscle will attest to that-but I never physically fell. Probably because while Kate and Edward practically ran down I took my sweeeeet time.

Now after all this rambling if you’re still with me-I didn’t just tell this story to brag about how not in shape-in shape I was, but to liken the last 4km to my last 4 months (POETIC, RIGHT?) I had some hard months in Panama but was genuinely looking forward to my second year. It only hit me a few weeks ago that I was robbed of it. When I explain to people I was in the Peace Corps I’m not entirely sure I really feel that I was. One year wasn’t enough. I left during a tumultuous time in which I wanted to change my mind set and also lay some groundwork for students and professors. I was developing friendships that were cut short. I was learning things about myself and what my body does in the humidity (not a great example…). All of those things were stolen from me. While I don’t believe in comparison of others lives, I know that everyone is going through stuff with this pandemic and I am not trying to say mine is worse, simply trying to explain my own adventure and path. My last four months have passed in a blur. There have been times when I felt like I was on that hill again just going and going like the energizer bunny that doesn’t know when to give itself a mental health day: I forced myself out of bed, I forced myself to play piano or write in my journal or whatever. But I was also forced (legally?) to stay inside and I formed this unhealthy attachment and “safe space” in my own house. Once things started to relax and I got to go see my sister or drive around… I felt this deep separation anxiety from my home. I didn’t want to stay out past 7, I felt weird sitting in a car, I felt withdrawn from conversation and people I love, I made excuses to not facetime or see people. It was truly an uphill battle that I’m not quite out of. I think I’m on that final downhill where I’m not sure I missed the summit or not. But I am still going. I am giving myself more grace now, but in all honesty it’s a hard thing to balance: trying to be kind to yourself for being sad but not wanting to be sucked into a depression so forcing yourself to do things… It’s a work in progress but it’s still progress! I am here! I am doing it! I climbed (my second) stupid volcano for goodness’ sake! In the coming weeks I’ll have a bit more of a schedule and I’m looking forward to starting.

My plan had always been to come home after Peace Corps and start to think about roots in the shape of school. I am on that path now but the year I lost feels like a great loss to me. I know that I can go back or go back abroad eventually but that isn’t where my trail is leading me right now. I mourn the year that I don’t get, but I am also thinking back fondly and appreciating the time I did get.

These are the experiences I won’t forget in my life. The sheer difficulty, the pain, the joy, the pride, the sorrow, the cold, the heat, the love, the made up stories in my head, the view, and particularly the last 4km.

I should end it there all poetically but I want to really drive it home how I tied that in… tell me I’m good, tell me I’m good, tell me I’m good, tell me I’m good! 

I will probably continue this blog but maybe not as frequently. If you’re no longer interested feel free to stop the alerts or what have you. I supposed I’ll talk about normal things or perhaps post some writing if I feel like sharing. Please let me know what you’d like to hear as I start to grow these surface level roots! Ya esta.