The Real Me

As evidenced by my short thesis on chicken life several posts back, my day to day here leaves me with plenty (sometimes too much) time to think and reflect. And lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my perception of reality through the lens of this experience. I know, that sounds pretentious, but stick with me.

I constantly find myself prefacing statements with “in real life”, such as “In real life I enjoy spending time outside.” Or “In real life I love being a teacher”. But suddenly it dawned on me that this is real life. I am not asleep or lying in a coma somewhere imagining all this (at least I hope I’m not)—this is real. And I suppose it’s due to the fact that this life I lead now is not my normal or my permanent set-up that I tend  to separate it from reality. But that is a foolish premise, because what I see and do and experience every day is very much a part of my reality, and will surely continue to shape me as an individual for the foreseeable future. Just because my current surroundings are wildly different from those waiting for me stateside does not negate or diminish their importance or value. 

But that got me thinking more about these seemingly parallel universes that I am living in between. One in which a magic metal box rinses and washes my clothes for me while I casually flip channels, and another where I beat my clothing with a wooden paddle. Which leading lady is the real me? Is there even an answer to that question? I think the deeper question here is:  are you the person you are while surrounded by the comforts of home or are you what’s left when everything is stripped away?

That last question has been lurking in the back of my brain for weeks, and I’m still not sure what the answer is. I’d like to say it’s the latter—that we, as people amount to our core belief systems and elements of character that cannot be altered by a change of scenery. However, while I’ve been here in Pohnpei for the past year (holy hell, has it really been that long?), I’ve encountered situations and experienced emotions that I never have before in America. In some of those times I behaved in “Christy” ways, handling circumstances in similar ways that I might have in America. But other times I completely surprised myself (in both good and bad ways) by my reactions. For example, in some ways I have become very shy since coming here; more soft-spoken, hesitant to join groups of people or speak to strangers, and preferring to spend quiet time alone. But at other times I can be incredibly self-assured; speaking my mind to figures of authority, sticking to my convictions, and being frighteningly direct in confrontation. Both of these alter-egos are very different from the “me” I remember. So is this now the “real me” or the “me” that I left behind?

I sometimes joke with some of the other Volunteers that I’m not sure any of us would be friends in real life (again, “real life”) if it weren’t for Peace Corps. Partly because it is likely we would never have met otherwise, but also because we are just dramatically different as individuals. But here we get along and function well as friends. This concept fascinates me. Do we adjust our criteria for friendship here because there is such a scarcity of candidates? (Probably.) Or do we change and evolve (perhaps temporarily) into the friend each other needs? (Also a possibility.) 

So then I come to a moderately satisfying conclusion: we are simply not the same people now as we were at the beginning. This seems obvious; of course being a Peace Corps Volunteer changes you. If you come out of this unchanged, I don’t think you did it right. But the more interesting question is what happens when the person you’ve become in the Peace Corps collides with the person you left behind in America at the end of two years? Do you revert back to what’s comfortable and familiar (leading to the confirmation that the person you were is the “real you”)? Or do you continue on, a stranger in your own life (implying that you are in fact what’s left once you’ve lost it all)? Which is right? Neither? Both? 

Maybe there is no way to define “the real you”. Maybe it is constantly changing and evolving without our noticing. Maybe. Maybe the real me is this girl I’ve become. The girl who squashes cockroaches without even looking up from her computer (true story: that just happened approximately 10 minutes ago). Or who watches a pig slaughter without even the slightest grimace. Or who can play with children and not notice that they’re naked. Or who can have long conversations with respected men who also have no teeth and are in dire need of a shower and not think it is strange. Maybe. 

But maybe I want to go back to a cockroach-free world where people wear clothes, practice proper hygiene, and refrain from killing animals in their backyards. Maybe I don’t want to accept these things as reality. 

How’s that for the “real me”?

Just some thoughts. Stay well over there in the “real world”.

--Christy