The stage curtain has closed on this act: living in Mexico. During one of my final evenings, I watched baile folklorico at Bellas Artes in downtown Mexico City – original Mexican art in arguably the most important cultural venue in the country. The choreography was warm and close, the costumes were colorful, the movement told a story. It represented everything I have learned this beautiful country to be. The performers lined up to bow at the end, and the audience stood up to applaud. I couldn’t stop smiling, but I didn’t want it to end. Then, the music began for an encore. This time the performers pulled people from the audience to join in the dancing, and the mariachis played a song that cued everyone to spontaneously yell !viva! in unison. The entertainment became a communal effort. When the bonus piece ended, the audience stood to applaud again, but it still wasn’t over. After four full encores, the curtain finally closed. Each additional piece seemed to say, “why do you have to leave already?” The lights came on, and I slowly stepped my way through the row of seats toward the exit thinking of an answer to that question.

I have left already, back to the United States. My last few weeks in Mexico also felt like a series of encores. Those days were marked by many goodbye’s and despedida gatherings. One goodbye per person just isn’t enough in a place where relationships are the fabric of society. In a place where all efforts are communal and where relationships are not just a way of working, but a sense of identity, goodbye’s cannot just be a few, short words. In my final weeks, my friends and coworkers sent me off with words of blessing for my future and by sharing the ways they have learned with me over the past year. The extended goodbye’s invited me to think about all of the ways in which I’ve learned and grown, too.

 

In my rigidity, I’ve learned to let go of control and trust in people more than plans. In my black-white morality, I’ve learned to see the grey when the “best” resolution to conflict is not a realistic one. In my seriousness, I’ve learned that laughter is a tool for resilience and peacemaking. In my faith, I’ve learned to hope for truth-telling and reconciliation for a history of church violence against indigenous peoples. In my pride, I’ve learned to be humble and ask more questions than give answers.

 

“Why do you have to leave already?” The short answer is that in August, I’ll start working on an M.Div. at Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary in Elkhart, Indiana. The long answer isn’t as simple. It’s not easy leaving people that have taught me so much, and a place that has etched its own permanent piece of art in my memory. What is sure, though, is that I will bring all of the colors of Mexico with me in my mind and heart, even if I can’t be there every day. And Mexico, si Dios quiere nos volveremos a ver. God willing, we’ll see each other again.

 

 

(photos taken by Quinn Brenneke and Soleab Loun)