There is no reason to start my blog today. Today is of no significance in relation to my upcoming trip to Sri Lanka where I will live for 15 months as a volunteer through VSO Canada.
Why start now, then? Well, it’s a rather miserable looking rainy Sunday and I’m trapped indoors, not by the weather but by the Sympatico repair person who is due here “some time on Sunday” to fix my broken Internet service. It should be noted that the aforementioned broken Internet service has never been UN-broken. From the moment I hooked it up three days ago, it hasn’t worked. I’m not a big fan of Sympatico right now.
To pass the time during my house arrest, I’ve been reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert in which the author embarks on a year-long trip to Italy (to eat), India (to pray) and Indonesia (to love). I just read a part of the book in which she talks about her morbid routine of calling her sister before getting on a plane to tell her she loves her… just in case. This got me thinking about my upcoming flight and my own morbid routine of writing goodbye letters to my closest family and friends that will be found after my fiery death.
I have to admit that I will be doing this again, with some earnest. First off, I have noticed in recent years that as my love of travel has grown I’ve developed a corresponding fear of flying. In fact, I think the fear is outpacing the love at a rate of about 3:2 now. I know that driving is more dangerous, but flying seems so much more blatant — a cheeky challenge to fate: “Look, Ma, no ground!” I spend a lot of my plane rides trying NOT to think about the obvious fact that something this big can’t possibly fly and is sure to kill me.
Second, I’m going to Sri Lanka where the Tamil Tigers and the Sinhalese Government are determined to blow each other off the face of the island. Heading to a place where random bombings have been taking place with a certain amount of frequency really puts into sharp relief the possibility that if I somehow survive the daily miracle that is aviation, I may not survive something as mundane as going to the market.
So yes, I’m a bit afraid. I’d be lying by omission if I didn’t admit that. I have been dedicating a fair amount of my prayers for the last two months to negotiating my safety abroad with God. Then three days ago, I experienced a little fear reprieve. Suddenly I was light again and felt confident that I’d be okay. When I first agreed to my placement with the Sewalanka Foundation (which sounds like a totally awesome opportunity that I’m very excited about), I had the same feeling of calm. Something in me said, “Sure there’s a war going on, but this isn’t how you’re going to die.” I was happy with that calm blanketing voice.
Since then, she has been replaced with an annoying haranguing pessimist who insists, “Aw, c’mon! This is EXACTLY the kind of way you’d die, Jo-Anne. All big and showy and making the news, yet trying to be all humble, with friends and family telling the reporters, “she was just over there trying to make a difference in the world.’ ” And I have to admit that for all her screechy panic, The Haranguer’s got a point. I know that Ms. Calm and The Haranguer will be battling it out over the next few weeks. I don’t see any recourse but to let them do so and just roll with whoever has the upper hand on a given day.
Frankly, and this will come as a surprise to no one, I’m not ready to die yet. Part of what is driving me to move half way around the world is, in fact, a love of this life I have. I’ve been really blessed – like unbelievably so – and I want others to have the same blessings that I do. For a large part of the world, there’s just no chance of that unless a bunch of the Haves give a little to the Have Nots.
It’s not going to be easy. It’s not easy now. I’m going to miss my mom and my friends like CRAZY (I’m sure there will be many a blog entry dedicated to that so I’m not going to say more on the subject here. Also, every time I allow myself to really think about it it makes me want to cry.) And I already find myself being nostalgic for winter – WINTER, FOR PETE’S SAKE! – not to mention cheese, hot showers, my hairdresser, The Shinwhackers (my soccer team), and sitcoms. But I hope that once I’m there I will get to celebrate Ms. Calm’s victory with her. And that Ms. Excitement and Ms. Adventure will drop in, join us and stay awhile.
P.S. The Sympatico guy, Zehran, came and set me up. He was lovely. I wish him good luck in his own adventures.
