Cataracts, Christmas trees, and Crying

“I can see!  Look at the leaves! Did you know there are cracks in the ceiling?  What? There are wrinkles on my face! How did that happen?”  -My Uncle Gary on how he reacted after he had cataract surgery

I cried while putting the lights on the Christmas tree.

That was a new experience.  It made me angry.  Why am I crying?  I thought, Why can't I be enjoying this moment?  It has been two years since I decorated a Christmas tree, a tradition that I love, and I probably won't do again for two more years.  So why can't I just enjoy it?!

Is it because I am thinking about how I don't know when I'll get to do this again with my mom?  About how great all of this time is being with communities that love and support me, understand me and know me, and that I am going to leave again?  

Is it because of the consumerist culture that is the United States, especially flaunted in the season of Christmas?  Texting with my friends in Colombia who sometimes struggle to eat three meals a day while I wrap string after string of lights on a tree that we paid 30 bucks for... It's hard to make these realities come together in my head.

Is it because even though I am in Minnesota and happy to be with everyone here, I still miss everyone in Colombia?  That makes me feel guilty and confused.  When I am in Colombia, I miss everyone in the States, and when I am in the States, I miss everyone in Colombia.  Is it because I still can't figure out how to share what life is like in Colombia, the experiences I saw, the people I love with the people I love here?  And vice versa, I don't know how to share these experiences I am living now with the people I love in Colombia?

Is it because in this season that we talk so much of peace, I get so many emotions?  The term peace holds a new significance, a much more personal meaning, and conjures in my imagination the people I love deeply, sacrificing greatly in hopes of paving the way for peace.

Is it because on my road trip I opened my mind and heart to reflections that are complicated and painful?  People asked me great questions: What were the highlights?  What was the most challenging thing?  What is it exactly that you do?  Why doesn't the government just do their job?  What is it like working with people who have been victims?  How did the people treat you for being white?  How do you take care of yourself?  Do you have trauma?  Were you ever afraid?  Do you think there is hope?  What would peace look like there?

They are all good questions, and though I have reflected on most of them before, having so much time alone in the car to really get lost in my brain allowed me to open many doors deeper into these questions than I had before.  Just because I went deeper doesn't really mean I have any more answers, but I certainly feel like my uncle observing with his new eyes after surgery: Look at all of this everyone, he seems to yell, there are beautiful things and not so beautiful things, and changes that we didn't realize were happening over time. 

And that's exactly how I feel: there are so many beautiful things, horrific things, and transformations in me that I don't know how to share them or even understand them myself.

But that's the risk of reflection: one never knows what he/she will dig up.  It could be something beautiful or something one would rather not think about.  Either way, it is important.  And even when my thoughts arrive to those things that I'd rather not think about, it is good for me to stay in that uncomfortable space and figure out why I feel that way, what I can learn from it, how I can share it, and what I can do about it.  

So even though I'd rather decorate the tree while laughing, it's okay to cry a little, let my mom hug me, and eat enchiladas that my dad knew I wanted.  

Thanks Mom and Dad for loving me when I'm complicated.