I just never felt comfortable.
It certainly was not the beds, the beach, the staff, or the food. Quality is certainly important to these resorts. I rested well and ate even better. And at the same time, I was not feeling guilty knowing that many of the clients I have met and talked to know people who would literally beg for just a scrap of the leftover food I was too full to eat. (On a side note, I noticed I ate a lot less, demonstrating that Americans tend to eat more than is actually needed and all we need is a little training to teach out bodies so). No, my heart did not palpitate for each poor soul of this forgotten people. Don't call me sinful, I already know that.
But what was bothering me? I felt as though I should know and my answer always seemed to be right there ready to jump out and present itself, clearing up the massive confusion in my head. But it never came.
Until today.
I have to admit I was a little stressed about today. Just traveling with my parents, the confusion for them, and the responsibility for me, it can be a lot. And it also required me to actually plan, rather than just leaving them at a resort where every detail is planned and taken care of. But as we headed closer and closer to Santiago the stress began to lift. And finally, as if in one sweeping emotion comfort began to inundate my body. The undefinable stress that had been omnipresent in my bones and muscles, sapping energy and patience, disappeared. It happened as we came around a turn on the highway and the view, once of the sides of mountains with lush green palm trees and brush, opened up to the entire Cibao valley with Santiago off in the distance amidst the haze. I have seen the sight before, so the view certainly wasn't the cause of my relief. No, and this is not me being over dramatic, but the feeling I had was one that was ever familiar.
I was home.
The comforts of rice, beans, whole hearted conversations, honest and real faith, platanos, and bland food, have gotten to me. That is my normal life and I missed it. But that was only part of the problem. My body knows that my true "normal" life, i.e. what I grew up with, is back in America: the comforts of AC, my eating habits and my sleeping habits (and people that speak my language). And so to be in this resort merely confused me. I was become acclimated to a new normalcy but suddenly I placed myself into an environment of past familiarities and I felt extreme discomfort (poor, poor me). But in all seriousness, suddenly what had been normal to me was different and "new." Imagine the confusion that would bring.
But at the same time, the truth is that these emotions were exasperated by the conflicting desires of mine. I wanted to enjoy my time at the resort, but felt it went against my work and reasoning for being down here. It does: the resort stands for opulence, wealth, and enjoyment, whereas my work stands for work, struggles, and pain. Moreover, these resorts are for people who have no desire to understand or learn about a culture so rich in history, traditions, and stories. The Dominican Republic is more than bachata, merengue, and mamajuana. Yet these people head back to their respective countries to tell stories of how they learned how friendly and nice everyone in the DR is and that they absolutely loved the culture. They got but a taste. And so have I, but let's just say my pallet is a tad broader than the limited selection a resort can offer in seven days.
I enjoyed my time. But I am not sure I can ever look at the Caribbean the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment