What is it like to be you?
By Sara Surani, Corpus Christi, Texas, U.S.
Six months ago, I was living in and out of the Peruvian Amazon, working on storytelling and youth empowerment in remote jungle communities. Every moment was filled with uncertainty. I loved it.
When you’re in the jungle, you are consciously shedding your skin and letting go of trying to control what could happen. Light from the moon replaces electricity, and once useful iPhones transform into overpriced flashlights. Carefully outlined plans are thrown off by sudden downpours, and swarms of mosquitoes reschedule productivity. Disconnected from loved ones, the only way to connect is to knock on someone’s door and ask if they would like to walk by the river with you.
Amidst this constant uncertainty, I told myself that I could only have one fear. The fear I chose for myself was snakes. Everything else was surmountable. If my plan gets delayed for a few days? Fine, no snakes. If I fall in the river? Fine, as long as there are no snakes. If I wake up with a chicken on top of me? At least it is not a snake!
On my flight back from the jungle, I was in a state of euphoria. I was overjoyed to be living a dream I didn’t even know I had. Even my toes tingled with happiness.
The following day, still bubbling with ecstasy, I went to a conference where I met a kind guy from Brazil. We introduced ourselves over cold water and hot churros, and after a few silent moments he smiled and asked me, “What is it like to be you?” It was the first time a stranger had asked me something so profound.
Over the next five months, we continued exploring each other’s minds and souls. We visited each other and developed an intense relationship based on truth, who we are as people, and what makes our hearts sing.
I finally got funding to return to the jungle and made plans to visit him again. A few weeks later, I got news of a Dengue outbreak in the region where I was planning to work. We decided to push back the project by a month. A couple of days later, we heard about the coronavirus. We delayed it again.
The following day, Peru’s president announced that the country’s borders were closing within 24 hours, to control the spread of coronavirus. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was half in denial, half paralyzed with confusion. At midnight, I decided to head back to the U.S. I packed my laptop, books, journals, letters, and a painting my new friend had given me into a carry-on bag and left. I bought a ticket on the way to the airport. I told myself I would only be away a few weeks, at most.
But of course everything has changed: both my project and prospects of reuniting with a new love have been indefinitely delayed. I am back in my parents' house, where I haven’t lived since I was 18. The one thing I’ve been trying to anchor myself with, amidst all of this new uncertainty, is how to answer that question, “What is it like to be you?” I still don’t know. It changes every day. But at least there are no snakes.