One is the Loneliest Number

The excursion to Messica last weekend left me exhausted, so despite the existence of several planned get-togethers around the country this weekend to celebrate St. Patrick's day, I opted to stay home, save for a Friday morning Tete City shopping excursion with Szasha.

It was a quiet weekend.

Saturday dawned cool and bright, with a cloudless sky warning of the hot day to come. I washed all my clothes, re-organized my kitchen, swept and mopped the floor, planned the coming week's lessons, played guitar, made a study plan, cooked a big pot of feijoada to eat from for the next few days, and wrote in my journal.

By this time, it was 10:00 a.m. Not even half the day gone, and my to-do list was empty. Many of my colleagues had left town to spend the weekend with their families in the city, leaving me with few people to talk to.

 I read, read, and read some more. In the space of two days, I read three books. I tackled my reading list with previously unmatched fervor, simply because it was the only thing I had left to do. Other than briefly talking with my mother on her birthday and the occasional "Bom dia" or "Como está?" to passers-by, my only source of conversation was with Poppy -- very one-sided.

Around 4 p.m. on Sunday afternoon, I thought to myself "I wonder if this is what solitary confinement is like?"

Isolation is something that we hear a lot about during training. They talk about being the only American for miles. They talk about the  overpowering "new-kid-at-school" feeling. They talk about the long evenings, where you're forced to pick up a hobby or risk insanity -- or worse, depression.

I'm very much the type of person that doesn't mind being alone. I spend most of my evenings here alone, and I quite enjoy them. After teaching 50-person classes all day, the quiet sanctuary of my house is welcoming -- and yet this morning, that very same sanctuary felt somehow suffocated. This morning I realized that I hadn't actually spoken to a real, live, person in over 24 hours. This morning, for no particular reason, I felt very isolated indeed.

And that's when the phone rang.

"Hey girl," said Lisa, "I was missing you a lot, so I thought I'd call and see what you're up to."

I smiled, feeling refreshed already.

"You have such perfect timing, you have no idea." I told her.

We didn't talk for long. Ten minutes, maybe, but it was enough.

Friends are widely acknowledged to be the cure for isolation. Talk to someone, says our manual. The friends I've made here are people I've known for less than six months, but already they feel like lifelong friends. There's something about what we've all gone through that binds us together -- our common experience turns new friends into old ones in an exceptionally short period of time.

As the afternoon approaches, I'm so thankful that I have class today. A room full of 50 people to talk to! Jackpot! (Added bonus: They have to listen to me!) But most of all, I'm thankful for Lisa and all the other people here who make the rough days smoother and the good days even better.