The Invitation: Camila's Next Big Adventure

The constant drip of the faucet when the water pressure is too low can drive a JV insane.  Over 20 years ago my neighborhood, Habitat, was constructed by Habitat for Humanity. When it was built, this neighborhood was the last frontier of the city of Tacna. Beyond Habitat was dirt, farms, and somewhere out there, the Peruvian-Chilean border.   Today, Habitat stands strong as its own community and is no longer the last neighborhood as others have sprung up throughout the years, creeping further out into the desert. But even as Habitat has developed, there remains one point of contention in the neighborhood that has yet to be solved: water.   During summer, water cuts are normal throughout the city. We know that in our house we won’t even  get a trickle from our faucets past 11 am. We’re used to the rhythm of waking up early and filling as many buckets as we can so that we have water for the rest of our day.  But it’s winter now, turning into sp...

“Like teachers from the beginning of time, I got more out of these classes than my students.” - Twyla Tharp I have always been fascinated by dreams.   How is it that our brain can invent stories, people, places that we never seemed to encounter in our waking life? How is it that I can close my eyes and find myself in a world defying gravity, filled with things my rather mundane and ordinary imagination could never conceive of?   My dreams usually lean towards the fantastic: there’s magic; I’m invincible; I’m fighting to save the world. My nightmares are pretty darn terrifying.   But lately, in the past few months, I’ve begun to experience the most terrifying of nightmares, one that plagues me in my day to day life. In this nightmare I’m teaching a regular bunch of my students at Colegio Miguel Pro and I happen to teach SUPERLATIVES AND COMPARATIVES INCORRECTLY. My students confuse the two and can’t compare the heights of their favorite soccer pl...

“I’ll tell you now: YOU. CAN. NEVER. HIDE.” My worksite, Colegio Miguel Pro, is about three blocks from our house. On an average day, if I leave at about 7:53am and am not stopped by any neighbors or students, I arrive with a few minutes to spare before the bell rings. It’s a unique privilege to live and work in the same neighborhood, called Habitat. I know the faces I pass by on the street not only as my neighbors but the parents of the children I work with each and every day.   It’s sometimes hard to explain how intertwined Miguel Pro and the Habitat community are. It’s a unique experience to have at least one of my alumnos ( students) living in every house on my block. This closeness between my worksite and home usually means that my quiet afternoons are interrupted by the pounding of little fists on my door, hoping to come over and play a game of Uno. If I leave the window open in the evening I will no doubt have a small head poking through the bars ...

It’s been about two months since I returned from my Mes de Misión trip. I’d like to think it’s a perfect amount of time to recount my adventures in Talabaya with a little more objectivity and a lot of good humor.   Painting the picture: a group of about thirty teens head into the mountains on a mission month during their summer vacation. They will live together, prepare food together, and work side by side for the month of January in the town of Talabaya — an isolated town in the sierra with a population of 70. Their guides: one professor in his fifties and two very newly arrived gringas (Faith and I). To assist, some of the older teens of 18 or 19 years will serve as counselors as they have already participated in the program in previous years. The mission of Mes de Misión is to immerse these students into the life of a volunteer, to give them a taste of what it means to live at the service others. Now this is not a sleep-away camp. You are not give...

No, seriously, what is JVC? Over the past few months, as I have shared with family and friends about my upcoming departure, I have struggled to explain exactly what JVC is. More often than not interactions have gone as follows: Camila: I'll be volunteering for JVC for two years in Peru.  B: What's JVC? Camila: It stands for Jesuit Volunteer Corps.  B: So, like, you're a missionary or something? Often, I find myself justifying or trying to explain away the religious aspect of the program to many of my loved ones who either practice a different religion or none at all. My usual descriptor of JVC that tends to placate others and my own self-conscious state is:  "Peace Corps with a Jesuit twist."  I understand why someone might initially balk at the idea of serving with a catholic program for two years. For many years I struggled with my own sense of faith. The very idea of attending a Jesuit university had me squirming in discomfort and the applic...

I stand at the pinnacle, At the axis of dreams. I taste the salt in the air Watch as the wind erases my footsteps from the sand. Everything here is potential, Infinite possibilities spill out before me. Yet I remain frozen. Watching. Listening. A choice would destroy this moment, Bring me back to the finite world where my legs can only carry me as far as the next step. The sound of the sea washes over me, Mingling with the voices of a mother and her son As they scramble amidst the crumbling cliffside. We are so small, but our lives seem so big to us, Greater than the crashing of waves Or the setting of the sun. We feel to much And yet It is never enough. Just a drop of emotion in this vast universe. I stand at the pinnacle of my life, Watching the pelicans and gulls as they soar above the rocks, Watching as they desperately flap their wings to stay afloat beneath the midday sun. I am a speck on the horizon, A drop of life in the infinite universe, I feel the arm...

I saw God in the eyes of an old man, as my question about his café mexicano sparked nostalgia and a cascade of words to pour forth, recreating dusty memories to encompass and wrap themselves around the flavor of the drink I was holding. I felt God's touch in our kinship: the moment when he spoke of thatched huts, kind strangers, dusty roads, and that feeling you get when you soak in so much foreign life it feels like home. I touched his soul, or at least this man allowed me a glimpse that was so marvelous and rich I wanted to bare myself in the same way. But my words fell short of the reality I was experiencing. How can one begin to describe the overpowering current that pulls me onwards towards God's path? How could I honor this man and his experiences by comparing them with my own limited lifetime? JVC has opened a flood of possibilities. I am open and listening to God and the people around me: friends, family, especially strangers who respond to the siren call of shared exp...