(no subject)
I am (99%) taking this semester off to volunteer in Africa. I have all of the program information, my parents' approval and Noah's encouragement; I have a doctor's slip for the proper vaccinations; I have a restless heart and a deep curiosity for what lies beyond my often drunk, increasingly sad, ever materialistic bubble.
And I wonder. What are the "right" reasons to up and go to the most mysterious continent on the planet? Yes, I have always envisioned myself going to Africa. Perhaps it's the books I've read, the postcolonial childhoods I almost mistake for my own. And perhaps it's the movies, the hot, animalistic magic in fascinating images on the Discovery Channel, the word itself, Africa...
I used to imagine myself going after college. Joining the Peace Corps, championing women's empowerment and HIV awareness. Late this July, as the school year became a less distant threat and a more pressing issue (and I had yet to register for a single class) I began to think of what else to do. It's not that I want to drop out - I love school, I do. In fact, I love my school. I love the walk from the library to the campus rec center, I love the dark neighborhoods behind Woody's pizza, the frat boys who mingle with hippies and the raucous drunken gatherings that result. I like myself against the context of the CSU crowd. I like that I'm smart, that I party, and that I am not so like or so different from anyone else there. It's just that this year has presented me with a slate that is entirely blank socially, academically, everything-y and I am trying to determine how best to use it. Is this my golden opportunity to break from the convention I've feared all this time and just go?
I must let go of the idea of a parallel universe, because unless I do I will never do anything. Decisions are decisions, there is no right or wrong because it will not be any other way. I have this impossible notion that if I go to Africa, the parallel Grace that might have chosen to stay would adore fall semester at CSU, salvage the ashen relationship she has begun to miss and cherish so much in hindsight, accomplish remarkable things. And then of course, if I were to stay here, might I lie awake in Fort Collins on a Friday night, mascara caked beneath my eyes and liquor running its course through my limbs, wondering what I might be doing silhouetted against the red shock of morning sun in Ghana?
And I wonder. What are the "right" reasons to up and go to the most mysterious continent on the planet? Yes, I have always envisioned myself going to Africa. Perhaps it's the books I've read, the postcolonial childhoods I almost mistake for my own. And perhaps it's the movies, the hot, animalistic magic in fascinating images on the Discovery Channel, the word itself, Africa...
I used to imagine myself going after college. Joining the Peace Corps, championing women's empowerment and HIV awareness. Late this July, as the school year became a less distant threat and a more pressing issue (and I had yet to register for a single class) I began to think of what else to do. It's not that I want to drop out - I love school, I do. In fact, I love my school. I love the walk from the library to the campus rec center, I love the dark neighborhoods behind Woody's pizza, the frat boys who mingle with hippies and the raucous drunken gatherings that result. I like myself against the context of the CSU crowd. I like that I'm smart, that I party, and that I am not so like or so different from anyone else there. It's just that this year has presented me with a slate that is entirely blank socially, academically, everything-y and I am trying to determine how best to use it. Is this my golden opportunity to break from the convention I've feared all this time and just go?
I must let go of the idea of a parallel universe, because unless I do I will never do anything. Decisions are decisions, there is no right or wrong because it will not be any other way. I have this impossible notion that if I go to Africa, the parallel Grace that might have chosen to stay would adore fall semester at CSU, salvage the ashen relationship she has begun to miss and cherish so much in hindsight, accomplish remarkable things. And then of course, if I were to stay here, might I lie awake in Fort Collins on a Friday night, mascara caked beneath my eyes and liquor running its course through my limbs, wondering what I might be doing silhouetted against the red shock of morning sun in Ghana?