when i first got home, everything felt surreal. i kept expecting to wake up on my bumpy couch in romania, pulling my hair up, and be heading to section 2 to see my kids. it is good to be home, and to see my family and friends again, and at the same time, i spend so many moments wishing i was still in romania. i loved romania. i love the culture. i love the people. and most of all, i love those children. my life now seems to have lost purpose it once had. life here seems frivolous. american lives are so complicated, and yet the web of complication is filled with superficial needs. i think that's what i learned the most while in romania: a huge dose of perspective. my first encounter with americans again was in the munich airport and on our plane from munich to chicago. americans are arrogant. americans are spoiled. and needy. and picky. and complain when things aren't just their way. it's obnoxious, really. do they realize what a blessing it is that they could even afford to be on the plane and traveling? obviously this is a generalization, and not all romanians are saints either. but the romanian life is a simple one, in most cases. the apartments in blocs are quite small. people live their lives in the moment, appreciating and reveling in any free time in evenings or weekends, because they work so hard for what they have. and really, they just live simply from day-to-day. our time spent there was lived simply, with a routine in place and occasional adventures. we were mostly removed from any modern technology, we often ran across funny sights to see that were foreign at the beginning, but familiar and natural to romania by the end.
the thing i've realized most since being home, is something that i knew i should expect from the beginning. no one can ever really understand the experiences i, and my group, have had. it's impossible to ever really explain what we went through, and the results of different situations. we can try, yes. but usually people are only interested for a short time before conversations take tangents in other directions. and even if you do have a captivated listener, explanations are not as easy as you would expect them to be. i was trying to tell my mom about some of the things that happened with my kids and in our day-to-day lives, and i found myself just getting frustrated because people and situations that meant so much to me or were so significant, can't be explained. you can explain a situation, but you can't explain an entire culture or a person's entire personality and the situation. until you've been there and seen it and can understand the romanian people and have learned of their culture, you can't really understand. not just the romanian culture, but the culture of section 2. explaining our interactions with the kids is impossible, because a milestone or event that was so huge to me, seems mostly insignificant from an american perspective. mostly, that's just it. things are hard to explain. i knew this was how it would be when i came home, and that my group had a way of understanding each other and our experiences that no one here could ever really fully understand, because that's just it. they were here, and we were there living a completely different life.
sometimes my family will ask about romania, or about different experiences we had. about the stories that never got told while i was away, usually about funny things my kids would do or other dramatics. and even though i have a listening ear, i find myself incapable of recounting in any form of eloquence the experiences i've had. at section 2, at the hospital, in the branch, and even simple encounters with romanians in general. i have no way to explain it that can make it understood to someone who hasn't been there, and therefore can never truly appreciate the perspective.
however, sometimes i think this factor of inexplicability and inability to recount the experiences is what makes them so special to me. there are so many experiences i had in romania. some good, some bad, some frustrating, some blissful, some so spiritual you could practically reach out and touch heaven before you-literally. so many moments shared while looking into the eyes of children and babies that i hold near and dear to my heart. moments and emotions that can't be explained, because there is no explanation. and in some ways, i think it's because these moments and experiences were so deep and monumental and filled with such insight, that they can't be shared. attempting to would be almost like casting pearls before swine--dirtying the experience by casting it before ears that couldn't ever appreciate it for it's true value. not because they don't want to, but because in this moment, they are incapable. these experiences were sacred. these experiences were real. and these are experiences, the good and the bad, that will forever remain close to my heart, most of which under lock and key in a treasure chest. only ever released in bits and pieces, if at all. and maybe that's what makes the experiences so valuable. they are completely and totally mine in every sense of the word.
some experiences are shared or understood by members of my group, because they were there experiencing similar things during the same time period with the same administration and general experiences, and yet some are not shared. some are completely and utterly mine, as i'm sure they have their own that are their completely their own. i'm starting to realize that that's what the romania experience is all about, for everyone that ever goes on this internship. you can understand each other because you're on the other side of the world together at the same organization in different, but similar, types of rooms full of children. in the end, though, every child is different. every group of children is different. they all have their own personalities and they all vary. our experience is similar in that we're with romanian children with disabilites, or in a sweaty hospital with babies or young children changing diapers in packed rooms. but when it comes down to experiences with child to child, that's what becomes the most personalized and where the most unique and precious experiences come from--the shared and personal moments. and that's what we share. we all have a treasure chest full of personal experiences that are similar, but still our own.
romania taught me perspective. and at the end of the day, my kids and the people i encountered and talked to in the hospital while changing diapers taught me more than i ever could have taught them. the lives of these kids are so simple, so restricted, and so routine. many of mine were trapped in bodies that can't walk, some that can hardly move at all. and yet, they smile. they smile and laugh when you come in the room, as you hold their hand, as you tickle them, even just because you're there. how many people do you know that are that content and easily satisfied? most of my kids were happy just to have someone there with them. talking to them, holding their hand, singing to them. it doesn't matter what you do. it matters that you were spending the time. true caring and love cannot be bought. it's about the time you spend showing that love. these kids have bigger hearts and personalities than most people that are blessed with a fully functioning mind and body.
every day i think about my kids. i think about the babies in the hospital whose diapers are going unchanged. i look at the time and think of what time it is in romania and what i'd be doing. i think about what my kids would be doing. what funny antics they could be pulling or the funny faces they could be making. every day i wish that i had just a few minutes more with them. to spoil them rotten with love. sometimes it was hard to feel like we made any difference at all. like there was even a point to us flying across the world. and yet, at the end of the day, if the only thing we did in romania was care about them and love them, that would be enough. if nothing else, i hope i was able to touch at least one life in some way or another, no matter how small. for that, i think, is the greatest success that could ever be imagined in life.
i feel the capacity to care is the thing which gives life its deepest significance.
pablo casals
too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word,
a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring,
all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
leo buscaglia
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