doubt distorts

i cried trying to hold it in causing that ridiculous, successive hiccup-suction-cup breathing. i was seven years old again. i wanted to crawl into a private part of the world and release, but i live communally and other teachers were scurrying to gather their belongings to leave on the lancha (boat) that i too was to board, weekend bound. as i packed, my new roommate had asked if i was ok, said i had looked sad all day. questions poking a hole in a dyke that soon couldn't be mended. i missed the lancha.

under the protection of my mosquito net, i cradled myself. for the first time i appreciated my new room, a cave compared to my previous room with two walls of netting. for the first time, i found comfort in not being exposed. there, my leaking of sadness became a surrendering of a dream. it was possible that i wouldn't be paid for my new position as a teacher. i would have to find work else where.

while i was gone, on an extended break, the director of the entire project fired three of the guatemalan teachers because she wants as many volunteers as possible. in addition, no longer will a boat be leaving every day to pick up kids from surrounding villages. all in the name of decreasing expenses. the director of the school and the on-sight director of the project can not confirm the pay i was offered in november. no body has any real control except seño angie, the director of the entire project who, we all agree, is crazy. as i wait for her response which has been delayed by her unexpected trip to honduras, the others tell me relax. they comfort me reminding me that i am cheap labor, cheaper than a guatemalan teacher. i don't mind being on the other side of the immigration issue; i expect this as a foreigner desiring pay in another country. what weakens me are angie's porous words. i lose faith in myself. i see the dissolving of a dream as a reflection of my feeble heart. in the darkness i blame myself.

it took a good cry to be able to lift myself out of bed and walk outside.