PCV

Those three little letters can mean so many things. Many times as I said them over the years, I would mix up the last two items. I would naturally start calling them PVC's and now that I think of it, it could be fitting that we are compared to toilet plumbing. But I digress. I'm writing this today because I've had one of the best weekends out here with three lovely ladies who I worked with in Africa. They all live in the Bay Area and are just fabulous people. It was like we saw each other yesterday when in reality I hadn't seen them in 2 years almost. I love that about people who you meet overseas and have an amazing experience with. It is something I am thinking alot about as my brother transitions back from 14 months in the UK. It's the longest he has lived overseas and I am nervous for his re-entry into the US of A. It's not that I don't trust or believe in my brothers abilities, it's that I know how hard it is and this is where culture shock comes from. When someone goes overseas, you are expecting "weirdness." When you come home to your "home" country, you are not necessarily expecting the weirdness of it all. That's when the big Shock sneaks up behind you and hits you over the head. "Oh YEAH! YOU THINK ENGLAND AND AMERICA ARE THE SAME!! :::::bam::::" Good luck.

Now to bring myself back to the title of this post, PCVs are a strange breed. You willingly sign up to go live in a hut in a third world country for 2 years - electricity and running water optional. Sanity is lost along the way too. Shouldn't that be the first sign of telling us we've lost our minds? But no, we truck on...most people finishing two years, some people finishing three years of service. Last weekend, I noticed how that will ALWAYS be a huge part of me. There were three of us out at the bar in the Castro and it was as if we never left. And naturally the conversation topics were the same.