It's A Culture

The weather has been getting a lot cooler lately. There is a thing here where in the winter the sun may not be as hot but it's still strong. It still beats down on your neck and face. The masks that we are required to wear have actually been a good way to keep from being sunburned. I really hate wearing hats.

I have heard a lot of news from my old mission in Reno. My trainer, Elder Dalton, is now an AP. Just like his trainer, and the trainer before him. All of my (quote) heritage as a missionary are Polynesians serving in the Philippines. I wonder where that is going to end up. 

I also heard news from my last area that a lot of the people I used to work with are getting ready for baptism. I feel like I am always getting moved right before the good part happens. Right before I see the people I have come to love and share with enter into the covenant. But maybe that's what my role is. Maybe I'm a starter. It's not that I'm bad at finishing the job here, I just haven't had that experience yet.

I have had 2 of my friends from other missions say that their friends or cousins are serving in Paraguay. They tell me their names but I don't know them. Everything is so spread out, especially in my zone. Another name for Paraguay is la isla en tierra, an island in the land. But the real island here is how disconnected I feel from everything. It should be a good thing, but I still have the classic FOMO (fear of missing out) that everyone talks about. I spend a lot of time thinking because I sometimes can't express in Spanish my feelings to my companion or I am too exhausted.

My companion is Elder Cardozo and he is an amazing guy. He is 23 years old, and he is serving in his own mission. The transfer before this one he served in his own district. I can't imagine what it would be like serving in North Carolina, in my own hometown. Walking along the same roads, hearing the same names and faces pop up. I am lucky he is here. The mission needs people that speak Guarani. Right after the pandemic hit here the mission was emptied and then filled with natives. A huge bendicion as President Hansen called it.

Social media is banned in this mission but I still get a glimpse every now and then when working on our Facebook page responding to messages. It's amazing how much has passed by me without even noticing it.

One thing I have been thinking about lately is home. Not that I'm homesick but I don't really know what home means to me anymore. I left the mission from my home, where I grew up. My family moved to a new house, in a new city. My family is closer to that place, but where does that make my home? I think I sort have made my home the States in general. I miss walking along the aisles of an early morning Walmart run or seeing buildings larger than 2 stories. I miss drinking water straight out of the tap. (Ironically, you still don't do that in Laguna Beach, CA). Home is something that seems so foreign to me because every missionary finishing his mission says he's going BACK home. I am going to a place other than this mission one day but I call it home.

The language of this mission is a lot more than just Spanish or Guarani. It's a lot more than just words that you say. It's more of what you mean. It's the pitch of your voice. People move differently here. They laugh about different subjects. Things that make them sad are more meaningful. People don't talk about other people they talk mainly about their roles. For example I talked to someone who had just come from Brazil and he never used names in his stories. Just the role of what that person meant to him. Like the occupation. It's more than just a language.

It's a culture.