Tristeza

Word of the Day

vela- wake (but I'll explain how it's a little bit different)
chisme- gossip

"todo ha sufrido el lento vacio de sus manos, /y su respiracion ha gastado las cosas."
"everything has suffered the slow emptiness of his hands/ and his breathing has wasted things away." Pablo Neruda, Residencia en la Tierra (Residence on Earth)

Death has swooped in too close lately. It's cliqued, but its been a reminder that death is an inevitable part of life, one which I often decline to think about until it sneaks in and takes what it wants, remorselessly.

Last week, the world lost a tremendously adventurous public servant, diplomat Anne Smedinghoff, the older sister of one of my good friends from college, Regina. While working for the State Department in Afghanistan, her convoy was attacked as they went to deliver books to a school. While I never really got to know Anne, I always heard fascinating stories of her diplomatic escapades through Regina. They had such a beautiful bond. My heart goes out to their family and all those entangled in the violence of this long suffering, incredibly resilient country. http://annesmedinghoff.com/

Today, I am heartsick for a city I love and the victims of a cowardly attack. I have the most beautiful memory of the Boston Marathon last year. My friends Molly, Eric and I went to go support two of our friends who were running, Regina and Saumya. It was a sweltering Patriot's Day, but gorgeous, everything coming into bloom, a perfect symphony of nature crescendoeing with tremendous human effort. We made signs, and when Saumya appeared, we decided to run with her for a little bit. We were wearing flip flops, and not wearing running shorts. The crowd was cheering and we worked it a little bit. It was so exhilarating that we kept going with Saumya...for the last five miles of the race. I ended up running barefoot. We triumphantly crossed, blistered, brimming with endorphins, smiling at the insanity that friendship can bring you to. I choose to carry this image of the race with me, and I will not let it be sullied by today's horror. In it are so many of the elements that make modern Boston such an amazing city: friends from all over the country brought together by love of knowledge, far more diverse than their physical appearances would let on, coming together to challenge themselves just for the hell of it.  I hope that we will have the courage as a nation not let fear of terrorism further deprive of our liberties, of our dynamism, of our beautiful diversity, of everything positive that cities like Boston themselves represent.

Death has also been stalking this little pueblo. It is also a cliqued observation, but it seems to me sometimes that Nicaraguans seem more comfortable with death. Not to say that they grieve any less deeply, but merely differently. A grandmother of a neighbor died recently, but because I am out of the chisme loop, I didn't realize what had happened until I saw a lot of chairs gathered outside their home. Even then, it took me a long time to catch on: I thought it was a party, until most host family started commenting about what was going on.  Their house buzzed with activity all night long, with friends and family gathered all night long, almost joyfully. I heard a lot of laughter, and from across the wall, it was hard to distinguish from a more joyous occasion. Several other elderly members of San Miguel died this week as well. All this talk of death led to reminiscences: of past velas, velas during the war years, of battles up in the hills, of the ghosts of executed prisoners, of mercy, solidarity and vengeance.

Maybe Nicaraguans are more comfortable with death because unfortunately it touches their lives so much more than in a developed, peaceful country. Women sometimes recall their miscarriages or infant deaths when they tally up their children or recall numbers of siblings. My host brother remembers going to the Health Center as a young child to see the bodies that were brought in during the war years. In some small Nicaraguan towns, "death trucks" for lack of a better term, circulate around with news of those who have died, in lieu of a written obituary. School shuts down if anyone prominent dies. It is never far from the public realm, always on the tip of the tongue, bittersweet and weighty.

Despite the sadness of all of these events, striking so close to communities I am part of, it was amazing to see the way that people came together to respond.  In my tangled jungle of friends from college, quite literally strewn across the globe, it was beautiful to see the role of social media in spreading news, organizing responses. In tight-knit San Miguelito, rapidly changing, but decidedly not fully in the digital age, this support is still very physical, with visits, food and waiting. Death forces us to huddle together, whether in plastic chairs outside someone's house or around our computers and iPads, mining our brains for a way to express the sorrow that we feel and a way to support those left behind. It revitalizes weakening links, even as it robs us of our beloved.

On the subject of all this, I was forwarded a link to a really excellent blog by a former Tufts student that is a fantastic resource for those struggling to support friends in time of need.