This week my small group talked a little about questions or things about ourselves we can’t say or don’t ask out loud. We avoid this because of the fear of having to acknowledge the truth. We are afraid of saying things we already know about ourselves out loud because it makes it feel too real. It sucks when you have to come to terms with the reality of who you really are.
I interviewed with world race and one of the questions they asked was “why did I pick the route I picked?” I had no answer, all I could say was “that’s the route my eyes fell on as I looked at all my choices”. I couldn’t even remember what those countries were. I am sure I sounded really silly as I fumbled for a good answer. If I was honest, I would have told her my first thought was to pick the route of all Spanish speaking countries. Yet because of some fear I instead picked another list of countries that looked good.
Then on Wednesday I was asked by a girl in my small group if I wanted to go to Mexico for a short mission trip. My first thought was heck no; I don’t want to go to any Spanish speaking counties. I know… I’m a walking contradiction.
Today it was brought up again about going to Mexico or Guatemala during a church event. It was in moment of silence while I was home that the question came to mind: why don’t you want to go? You were born in Panama, how can you go to another country and avoid your own? I guess this is the question I couldn’t ask myself before. The answer is avoiding these countries because of the bad memories I had of seeing people living in poverty. Those countries hit too close to home. They remind me that I was born in poverty, and it is a life that I could have lived instead. The thing i couldn’t say out loud was I WAS ASHAMED OF MY ROOTS.
Living in Panama I have stories to share that most find intriguing. Yet for the most part for some odd reason I have been attaching this mental negativity with it. I was very fortunate that when I was a baby my mother married a man that took care of me as his own: he became my father. My father was in the Army and so happened to be stationed in Panama till I was in fourth grade. We moved to MD and that's where I started my fifth grade year.
When is the last time you have been in panama? I get that question a lot. The answer is the last time I was there I was in 6th grade. We went back to Panama for my older brother’s funeral. We were only there for two weeks. My mother has been asking me for years to visit Panama again with her and I always avoid it. I kept telling her “I was already there, send me to Spain”.
I spent 10 years in Panama and for some reason I only recycle all the bad memories I have of it in my mind. Growing up my mother always would send me out in the “real world” to stay with aunts that lived outside of the comforts of the little American military base. The short trips and summer spent with family were fun. However, I hated being there for more than a week because it lacked the comforts of home. I just hated the heat, no air conditioning, and the of huge bugs. I remember being at a house crying because the house had flying roaches that came out during the night. Those things were big and gross… I remember the stereo typical house with too many people and not enough beds. I remember seeing the “real ghetto” as my mom called it and it was a little traumatizing. Even though we just drove through one street, her stories and the thought that I could have grown up there stuck. These are the only bad memories I have of Panama and these are the reasons why I didn’t want to go back. Silly right?.....Another thing I have to say out loud. My mother is right, I AM REALLY SPOILED.
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