Feb 23 - Surrender

I have left the Philippines and am now in New Zealand. A destination I had not even considered when I first set out on this journey. A rented station wagon was here waiting for me when I arrived. A small detail I had planned out when I first realized it was time to move on from Manila. Driving on the left side of the road feels less foreign, allowing more of my attention to drift towards my surroundings. So clean, lush green with overly saturated blue skies, a definite contrast to the smog and traffic filled streets that I had grown accustomed to in Manila. Whangarei, sitting two hours north of Auckland, is my targeted destination. I came to meet a couple of friends to begin an 8 day road trip down the north island. I am not sure what to expect with the 10 year age gap between me and my new companions, but I am welcoming the company.

Sarah, also from the states, has spent the past three and a half months traveling with her friend around New Zealand. I met Sarah last year during a very difficult time for me. I was three days removed from Nepal and attempting to transition back into western culture.

I remember laying on the truck bed of my parents' old SUV. I had borrowed it for that first week of June while attending a wilderness medicine course in Santa Barbara. My friends and family had welcomed me home the night before. We shared a meal and made small talk before everyone sat in silence as I moved to the front of the room and recalled all the dark secrets of Nepal. It was an emotional night. Surreal almost. Walking to the bathroom of that busy restaurant triggered quite a bit internally. Seeing all those happy faces of strangers that had no idea what I had just been through made me feel resentful. They didn't deserve it, but it's all I could feel that night. And even though I was surrounded by people that loved me, my combined circle of support, I felt alone in my experience. Convinced that anyone who didn't experience Nepal first hand would never understand what I was feeling or what I had gone through the two months prior.

I warned my family when I arrived that I was going to be distant and asked for their patience as I worked my way through the emotions of it all. It must have been difficult for them not knowing what I needed. But then again how could I tell them what I didn't know myself? I think many found it odd that I came all the way home just to leave the following day. But I didn't know how else to transition.. Telling my story and learning how to be more prepared should something like Nepal happen again felt like a good place to start. Which brings me back to that day in June.

I remember laying on that truck bed. Exhausted. Jet lagged. And mentally decompressing after my first day of training. There was still plenty of daylight left and several classmates sat at the table area to my right, laughing, socializing, and making plans for that evening. It was the first of nine nights of camping, a pivotal moment in social correctness. I caught myself glancing over at them several times intrigued by the distant conversations. I wanted to go over there. I really did. Yet I was paralyzed in the truck bed, staring out into the beautiful surroundings, but seeing nothing.

I mustered up the strength to call my friend Anupa in Australia. She had been with me in Nepal up until we rode to the airport together and boarded flights headed in different directions. She is the only reason I made it as long as I did. I stopped counting the number of times we cried together. But that afternoon, tears flowed one more time while admitting how difficult we were both finding it to transition back into our home environments.

"They'll never understand..."

"I spill my soul, yet I look into people's eyes and know that they don't feel what I do."

It took me several more of these conversations to finally understand that not many would. But on that day, I had experienced my first sense of relief. I may have felt alone where I sat in that moment, but I wasn't alone in my experience and that made a difference while learning to re-engage with my surroundings.

A voice called out my name from the distance. I opened my eyes and realized I had dozed off after talking to Anupa. It was evening now. The glow of the sun holding on to its final moments of the day. The voice belonged to one of my classmates. It was Sarah.

"We noticed you fell asleep. A few of us got together and cooked you dinner."

It took a while to register what was happening and to sputter out a response.

"That's very kind of you, but you really shouldn't have. I could have made something for myself."

To which she responded, "you helped all those people in Nepal.. The least you could do now is let us make you dinner". 

I still tear up thinking about that moment. Not just because of the act itself, but because of what it represented.

In life, we experience only what we are ready to. And in that moment, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see past the negative aspects of humanity. I saw too many underlying agendas in Nepal to trust people giving and helping others merely because it was the right thing to do. But as I mentioned in my last post, I still needed to understand what these judgements were telling me about myself. Why did I really stay and help? Was I naive to think that helping others would be a more positive experience? And why did I have such a hard time accepting help and support from others? Answers that would reveal themselves in time.

I tell this story not because I am meeting Sarah here in New Zealand. I tell it because of the message it brings. I believe we are all destined to face hardship and suffering at some point in our lives. Pain, anger, and sadness demand to be felt. So when they come for you, feel them deeply. Do not run, do not pretend they are not there. Do not pack them away thinking they will eventually go away. They will not. They are there for a reason. Surrender to them. Stay and wallow in the dark for as long as you need. You will know when it is time to leave. But while you are there, pay attention to yourself. The things that bring you comfort, the moments that upset you and make you close off, the self destructive behavior, things you think about when you're staring off into open space. Chances are those observations will point the way to the portions of yourself that need healing. Areas that run far deeper than the trauma or transition at hand. A day will then come when you are ready to stand again. And on that day, remember all those who offered you gifts of kindness to help ease your pain. Remember the people who were trying to move forward just like you were, who shared the same experiences and feelings as you did. Remember those that supported you just by being available and standing by your side. These people that offered you kindness and support in your time of darkness will be the ones who will lead you back. Not because of what they will do, but because of what they have already done. For they showed you that even in the moments when you couldn't see past your own pain, when everything felt negative and you were angry at the world.... The light was still there. Shining through each and every one of them waiting for you to come home..

Surrender.

Feb 16, 2016 - Beginning of the End

I'm currently in Vietnam. It's been a week since I arrived and am six hours away from heading back to Manila - a city that I've called home for the past six months. This was a quick trip, but it was also the first solo backpacking I've done since September. That's when I hit a wall and knew I could no longer travel. Something was wrong internally and that's what I've been working to figure out.

I came to see what it would feel like to be out in the world again. Back on the circuit of travelers and tourists. Last time I was here, I felt resentment and couldn't move past it. I wanted to go home and end this journey, but not for the right reasons. I was closed off to the world and desperate to make the emptyness go away. Something happened to me in Nepal. Something I couldn't fully understand until now. And so, after 10 months, it's finally time to continue this story.

So what happened after the earthquakes?

Perhaps I should start with where I left off...

Post Earthquake Blues

We spent three nights in that parking lot. When I returned to my hostel, I was uneasy and quite restless. I wasn't sure what to do, where to go, or if it was safe to stay in this building tucked deep back in a dark alleyway.

"You need to move." I thought to myself as I walked through a narrow walkway of fallen gravel. "A shifted brick could bring the surrounding buildings tumbling down..." At least that's what my gut was telling me. I was the only guest in the building and it was locked most of the time. Beats me why I decided to stay there. Perhaps it's because I had nowhere else to go. That and the allure of a bed and a pillow seemed to have masked the underlying risks.

It's difficult to explain the feeling of sitting in an empty building following the previous days events. Anxious I guess. Aftershocks would hit and I would run back to that parking lot. Helpless too. I didn't know anyone. At least anyone that would come looking for me if something did happen. I only knew a few people in the country and half of them were missing. I wanted to help, but didn't even know where to begin.

More than anything, I guess I felt guilty. I wondered endlessly why I had survived and others had not. Guilty that people at home were sending notes commending my bravery yet I felt I still had done nothing. Guilty for being there in a room with a roof over my head, a bag of chips in hand, and a bottle of water by my side when I knew others had lost everything. 

How could I sit there with a clear conscience and consume resources that others needed? I couldn't. And so I decided to leave.

I didn't tell many people that I had made that decision. But it came after doing research and reaching out to a few of the larger relief organizations already established in Nepal.

"Thank you for your interest, but unless you have medical training, search & rescue and/or disaster relief experience, we cannot work with you at this time."

This was the barrier that stopped me in my eager tracks. It was disappointing because in a way things felt exciting. We were sitting at the center point of an international disaster. The world was watching and I was there. I could see how many would view this as an opportunity, but I felt differently. If the world was telling me that I had none of the required skills or experience to help, then it was time to move on regardless of what I wanted for myself or what I thought I could do for others.

It was one thing deciding to leave. Actually getting out of the country turned out to be another story.

"Hello, my name is Jeff. I'm an American citizen"

"Sir we can't take your call right now, things are extremely..."

"I know but I just have a quick question regarding my passport that I turned in for renewal the day before the earthquake.."

"Sir that department is closed and probably will not open until next week at best, can you call back on Tuesday?"

I had four days before I could request to have my passport delivered to another country. It seemed odd, I had followed signs leading me up to this very point and here I was being asked to stay put for a few more days. The world may have been telling me to leave, but the universe seemed to be keeping me in place and nudging me to try harder.

I decided to send a few emails out. Shots in the dark really. Three notes to people who I thought might have a connection into an organization that could use my help even if that meant doing manual labor.

I got a lead that an orphanage in Kathmandu needed help with shelter. I didn't know the city or how to find them, but there had to be a way. I had one contact, my old trekking guide who seemed preoccupied up until the moment I shared the news of the orphans sleeping outside. Before we could even discuss a plan of action, the story was up on a group website calling all hands to assist.

"Everyone mobilize! The children need us!"

Suddenly I found myself a part of something bigger than myself. An operation called Sahayoga.

Beginning of the End

I spent a week sleeping on the floor at our headquarters - a flat nested in a part of Kathmandu close to the US Embassy. It wasn't the healthiest of environments. There were makeshift ashtrays everywhere. The smell of stale smoke lingering in the hallways. Piles of supplies mixed amongst clutter and trash. A piece of plastic wrap taped up on the wall with notes scribbled on it. I was preparing to post my blog at the time, laying there in one of the rooms taking advantage of a laptop a friend had leant me for the night. I was emotional. Teary eyed as I was forcing myself to think back through the events of the earthquake and to type them out in detail. It had been 10 days since the big one hit, yet it was my first time processing the experience. I didn't realize how quickly one could pack away trauma in the back of the mind, but it was there waiting for me. Waving its arms in an attempt to grab my attention as I tried to stay busy helping others. That's when I heard it. A scream so loud and horrifying that it echoed through the flat like a whistle in an empty room. The mid pitched vibrato almost as haunting as the deep grunting gasp for air that followed...

That day was the last time I posted on this blog. Everyone was coping with the disaster in their own ways. Myself included. And events happened that day that eventually brought our newly formed organization crashing down.

I cannot tell you someone else's story so will leave things vague. But personally, I was holding on by a thread and was forced to walk alone with all the donations of my friends and family being held against me. It was a difficult situation since it was the first time in my life that I had asked for any type of financial support from my personal network. It shouldn't have been about me at all, but the responses were overwhelming. At a point I wanted them to stop. Seeing all those names and notes of encouragement was a source of strength when I had a group to partner with. But they were also what brought me to my breaking point when I felt helpless and didn't know who to trust anymore.

I started a separate effort called Helping You Help Nepal. I figured if people wanted to contribute, at least they could do it separately while I fought to regain access to what had already come in.

A few days later the next big earthquake hit. It happened during a delivery and I thought I was going to die. Again... I caught myself almost wanting it this time.. Stranded for a day. Missing in the eyes of my loved ones. Sleeping under the stars next to the sacks of rice we had brought. I listened to the woman I was working with open up in tears about her abusive husband. The next day I was fixated on the faces of the people we were working with. The government representatives. The villagers themselves. Empty. Angry. Something changed within me that day. I went into autopilot. I was doing things - buying supplies, organizing, delivering, and writing updates... But I was numb.

After a month of relief work I couldn't see the good anymore. I felt myself going to a place that I wasn't sure I could come back from, so I shut the campaign down and made plans to go home. I couldn't see past the mistakes of others. Blind to what my judgements were trying to tell me about myself. Nepal was my ultimate lesson in humanity and I hated what I saw and felt. Anyone who talked to me when I got home heard just that. About the selfishness, the discrimination and deception behind the scenes. It's the opposite of what I expected the environment to be like while attempting to help others. I chose to go home because I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't travel anymore. In a way I felt cheated. I had stood by the kindness of the people, but in the end it didn't matter what was accomplished or how many people we reached. The kindness was no longer there. I lost faith in humanity and faith in myself. As if I was living this dream where everything had a silver lining and I had just been backhanded back into the reality of our true nature.

There's the truth. This is where I stood the day I returned to the States in June. A shadow of myself with so much weight being carried internally. Guilty that the universe had shown me my purpose and walking away from it all because I wasn't strong enough to stay longer.

Heavy, I know. And perhaps quite hard on myself. But that's why I waited so long to write about this. I needed to make sure I understood the lesson before subjecting others to the darkness that surrounded me. In hindsight, what happened to me is actually quite simple to explain. I got activated.

I had never considered the possibilty that trauma could initiate an alternate version of myself to appear. A version enslaved by all the unhealed portions of my personality. An alter ego that would run my life for the following six months.

This is the beginning of chapter 3 - the road home.