Jeydelyn's New Perspective
If you need some reading on this Monday morning, check out this story of immersion from Program Assistant, Jeydelyn Martinez. Her story is a reflection on her experiences in Mexico and the lessons she learned from them.
It’s been nearly 3 years and counting since I last stepped on the beautiful soil of Jalisco, Mexico. But I remember it like it was yesterday…
It was only four-o’clock in the morning and already I had to get up, groggy from a sleepless night. But, I couldn’t help it, I had been too anxious. My mind kept pondering back to the thought of what México was going to be like. Excitement, and at the same time worry, consumed me, as the constant reports of the gruesome violence in some of its states seemed to always float back to my mind. I started to seriously doubt if spending a whole twenty-four hours between the airport and traveling in a car to our destination was worth it. But, I experienced things few get the chance to see or appreciate. I saw the beauty of Mexico, the poverty in which people lived, and still, they came to me with open arms. This made me treasure the little things I have like running water, and made me realize that material things can’t make a person happy.
I had been prepared months in advanced for the conditions we would be living in. There was absolutely no sugarcoating it. My stepfather explained to me that we wouldn’t have running water. We would take baths with the buckets of water, which we would have to fetch from the well outside of his mother’s home. He also told me that there would be flies, and all type of insects everywhere at all times, it was inevitable. He warned me about bringing any expensive shoes or clothing, as the probability that they would be destroyed either by the rocky roads, the dirt, or the rain was likely. Even though he explained this to me in vivid detail, a part of me didn’t want to believe him. He was one to exaggerate so I pushed away his advisory warning and counted down the days until I would reach the ranch, called La Mazata. In my first week there, I experienced my first real culture shock.
When we drove up to house, it wasn’t at all what I expected. It was as big as a large high school classroom, with two separate bedrooms that had no doors. The kitchen was very long and narrow on dusty, cracked concrete floors. To my surprise and shock there was a toilet in the bathroom, but to my discontent it did not flush unless you manually did it. Generously enough, we got to share a bedroom with my parents. They slept on one bed, while my sister and I slept on the other. Through this we managed to keep the little privacy that was given. After all, more then fifteen plus family members came to stay in the tiny home interchangeably. Some slept on the floors on a mattress, or in their cars, so I was grateful with what I got. And still with so little, I got so much. I made friends; I completely engrossed myself into the culture by trying new foods and learning classic Mexican style dances. I learned to live without a washer or dryer, my iPod, my cellular phone, or TV. But, I didn’t need any of it because the nature in which we were surrounded and the kindness and warmth of the people I met were more than enough.
I can honestly say that I woke up with a smile and went to sleep still content. I laughed more than I ever did for two weeks straight and I lived stress-free for the first time since I started high school. Everyday was a new adventure, and I had this grand appetite to live, that I had thought I lost. I will never be able to forget the hospitality or the love that was shown to me. Two weeks at first seemed like an eternity but at the end it wasn’t enough. As I embraced my stepfather’s family members I couldn’t help but cry, because I felt as if I were leaving my own family behind. As we started our journey towards the airport, I looked at the green, grandiose mountains that surrounded the ranch and bid my farewell, promising I would return. Even as I sit here, with commodities such as the computer in which I type on or the iPod with which I listen to music on or the toilet that I can flush, I can’t help but feel a part of me is missing. I miss living simply because, honestly, I can say I was happy. I know in my heart that I can live without many things and that living a different life isn’t scary at all. Its life changing, but in a good way. In a great way.
And so as I continue to further educate myself about what social justice is, what it means to live a dignified life, I can’t help but remember the wonderful people I met in Mexico. Where are they now? Living simply does not usually mean that the people we encounter are living a dignified life. So, where as a society do we go to assure people are living dignified, just lives, and in positive communities? It is not a question that can be so easily answered, nor something we can find immediate solutions to. But, at least lets not ignore the reality, but start exploring it, even if we don’t know where to start. I stared exploring this reality of living a dignified, just life three years ago, not even knowing that a small town in Mexico would have the ability to finally open my eyes.
