Contextual Clairfication

When I was in grade 12 I took part in a Dominican Republic experience trip. A small group of high school students, an English teacher and my priest left Toronto for the D.R. for ten days. Before we left we had months of preparation, learning a bit of Spanish (nothing that I remembered or used) and a general overview of what we might expect to see.

As much as we were shown and told none of us really appreciated what it was we were going to see or hear. I do not intend to paint a picture of the poverty we saw, even though having seen their way of life was shocking. Rather I want to draw on my what I went through, what we went through, coming home as I believe it parallels my arrival in Toronto.

I received a message that made me feel as if my statement "Yet still, somehow, I wanted to be on the next plane back to Cork" needed a bit of context for clarification.

You see, during the prep period for the D.R. trip we poured over photo's of trips gone before us, heard from the students whom the photo's belonged to, saw video after video and read story after story. They did all this work to get us into the right frame of mind so we could be ready for what we saw.

But that wasn't the hardest part.

The hardest part was coming home.

We had spent little over a week in an alien environment, but that week effected us, all of us, more than we had expected.

Everything was the same. Canada, Ontario, Stratford, my high school, my friends, my teachers, my coaches my everything.

It wasn't that we thought it would be, or wouldn't be; it was, simply, the same. I had changed without knowing it, and seeing everyone and everything I knew and loved exactly the same put into perspective how much I had changed.

I had loved every bit of my week long journey and I wanted everyone to have had experience it with me. I wanted to be able to look them all the eye and have them understand what it was I saw and did and share in my experience.

But no one did, at least not outside the group of students whom I traveled with.

Now, my arrival home from Cork wasn't as drastic as this one was, but several of the emotions and observations and experiences were related. I saw things differently, I saw Canadians differently, I saw our lifestyles differently. I had grown so accustomed to the Irish landscape that where I'd grown up, or rather the country I call home was foreign to me.

I didn't want it to be foreign, I wanted it to be home. I wanted to be home, that was where I thought I was going. Instead I ended up in a foreign land, alien landscape and a world I no longer knew. I should have felt comfortable, but I didn't.

In fact I didn't feel comfortable until I saw the Kid trotting down the stairs outside gate 5 at the Skydome. Seeing him was seeing home, and I knew I would start to feel better.

Where the story goes from here is much happier. I am adjusting slowly, with the help of all my friends whom I've met up with along my way to the home farm. I go to see my sisters today, this evening rather, and tomorrow to see one play volleyball.

I am looking forward to it, my family and adjusting to Canadian culture. It's been hard, but I am getting there.

I no longer want to be on the next plane back to Cork, but I do want to be on one sometime soon.