TheBanyanTree: Loner

[apmartin at canada.com]

I’ve always been a loner, more often than not
preferring my own company over group activities.  I
like people and enjoy spending time with family and
friends, but I need time away from everyone to process
my life experiences and to rejuvenate.  Psychologists
would label me an introvert.  There was a time I would
have felt diminished by the term because to many it
infers ‘less than.’  Human beings are, after all,
social creatures.  But I am a woman in her fifties now
and more accepting of who and what I am.  I find peace
in solitude and feel no shame.

Today, in July 2005, I am living alone in a foreign
country much as I did thirty years ago in 1975 when I
traveled to Israel and resided at Kibbutz Revivim, a
community of 350, in the Negev Desert for six months.  

Then, I was twenty-two with limited funds, and I lived
in a barracks style room with three Swedish volunteers.
 A bed, a backpack and a sliver of broken mirror on the
wall were my only possessions, but I climbed Masada,
visited a Bedouin camp in the desert, and swam in the
Dead Sea, the Red Sea and the Sea of Galilee (which is
actually a lake).  I learned to speak Hebrew, hitched a
ride to town on a tank, and celebrated Halloween in a
bomb shelter.  Six days a week I collected eggs from
18,000 hens until people in the communal dining room
reminded me of chickens and I had to get out.  While
living in Israel experiencing a different culture, I
felt truly alive.
 
Today, I have my own apartment in Antigua, Guatemala,
located on the second floor of a beautiful colonial
home downtown, only a block and a half from the central
park.  There are no high-rises in this city, in fact,
few structures have two floors.  Buildings and high
walls front directly onto the cobblestone streets, and
it is anyone’s guess what lies within.  
My residence is no different. From the street, one sees
only a yellow twenty-foot cement wall and massive
walnut double doors. Near them, a blind man slumps
against the wall, plastic bowl in hand, appealing to
passers-by, and two middle-aged men with buckets of
water and rags eke out a living cleaning and polishing
cars.  

I enter into a wide passageway of shiny, rust-colored
tiles.  Inside, several rooms lead off an open-air
courtyard with a fountain and numerous potted tropical
plants.  The bottom floor of this house is huge with
numerous bedrooms, a living room, formal dining room,
kitchen and an office.  It is much too large for one
person but my landlady, Rocio, a classy, Colombian
woman, lives alone.  With the help of a Mayan maid, she
keeps her massive home show-piece perfect.   

Antique wooden furniture, vases of white lilies and
objets d’art are carefully placed in a spotless sitting
room which I must pass through en route to the cement
stairs at the far end of the house which lead to my
‘space’.  

In comparison, my apartment is tiny.  I have a bedroom
and adjoining bathroom, a kitchenette which I can only
access by going outside, and a spacious sundeck with a
plastic table and chair set where I eat most of my
meals.  Volcano Agua looms to the south.  Volcanos
Acatenango and Fuego are also visible and on clear
days, I can see a trail of smoke and steam climbing
into the air above Fuego.  My small home with a great
view, a hot water shower, television and microwave is
luxury compared to how the majority of Guatemalans live.

During the past ten months, I visited Mayan pyramids
and archaeological sites, and witnessed pagan
ceremonies that would have terrified me when I was
younger.  I released endangered baby sea turtles in
Monterrico on the Pacific coast and pushed myself to my
physical limits by climbing Pacaya, an active volcano
(once is enough, thank you very much).  I became
accustomed to the sight of heavily armed police and the
military, and adjusted to living in a country where
life is more difficult in every way and violent death
fills the pages of the newspapers. Most importantly, I
have tried to make a difference in the lives of some of
Guatemala’s poorest children.  

Experiencing life in Central America, I again feel
truly alive.  There really is nothing more satisfying
than living one’s dreams. 

But here on my own, my subconscious has been mulling
things over.  I have realized I do not want to live
here permanently; I’m too far from my daughter,
Michelle.  

.....