Cuando llegaste? Por cuanto tiempo vas a estar? Cuando vas a regresar? | When did you arrive? How long are you here? When will you return? |
There are no words to describe the heart thumping anticipation, the tingling dance of nerves while waiting to surprise loved ones, after thousands of miles of separation. Words fall away as my memory revisits the reactions of the friends I had grown all too accustomed to missing. There is nothing like a hug from someone who wasn't expecting you. "Gracias por visitarnos." "Thank you for visiting us." A welcome home song sweeter than anything I've ever heard. "Gracias por recibirme otra vez." "Thank you for receiving me again." A response I sing back, as tears of gratitude collect in my eyes; happiness infused in each exchange. It is not all beautiful simplicity though, as the delicate dance of "when's" brings us back to reality: Without dates to declare, I have no comforting answers for either of us; no plane ticket to give weight to my promises to return again in the future. I am a visitor to my own home, and it makes us all uneasy. My friends understand as best they can, coming and going has been a part of our friendship from the beginning. Yet, somehow it doesn't feel any easier. What a paradox, to be missed even when standing right in front of someone.
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I inhale the stale air of the belly of an iron bird, as it transports me back to Guatemala. My bubble overlaps with the woman next to me. I wonder about her story, but only for a moment; for my eyes are heavy, and my journal entries barely legible. Having slept in Washington DC's airport, my mind is sluggish. Yet my heart pumps overtime, fresh waves of excitement overcome my senses, for every mile gained is a new celebration. My mental chats with Guatemala continue as I imagine my reunion that's quickly approaching. Somewhere in between a real dream and a day dream, I relive my experiences of San Lucas. The hugs, the laughs, the jokes dance alongside the heartbreak and challenges, a coexistence that always leaves me breathless. I hear the legs of the giant bird unfold as the wheels untuck themselves, preparing for landing. A strange and unprompted emotion makes it's way deep into my being -- an unsought happiness about being single. In the past, my independence has been celebrated and feared, an isolating experience that often made me question my normalcy. Yet there I sat, suspended in midair, completely and totally delighted by the love in my life that is all but romantic. I was struck by my contentment, an unparalleled satisfaction with falling in love with places and friends. A purity in that moment of happiness, one I can only attribute to coming home, both to Guatemala and myself.
I dig out my old workboots; the best $6 I ever spent at Goodwill. They're still caked in dust and cement, handstitched by the patience of a Guatemalan shopkeeper nicknamed Mamita. I smile, first thinking about how many miles they've seen, then roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of my emotional attachment to those old tan boots. Next I pull out my dingy red flannel, which I wore daily at the block construction project. The very site that was not only Boni's new house but where I took lessons in Spanish, Kachiqel, and confidence, where I built friendships that have lasted over years and miles, and where I found my San Lucas niche. Who knew another thriftstore find could hold such sacred significance? Bit by bit, I relocate my designated Guatemala clothes; each article, for the most part, has remained untouched since my last trip. As I unfold and refold, dust and memories fall from the creases, and an old familiar scent greets me. Packing for this trip is methodical, accompanied with sweet confidence that I won't need much. I'm charmed by the idea that I don't need a big suitcase; that my arms and legs will soon see sunlight, and my feet will only need two pairs of shoes. "I'm coming for your beautiful weather," I say in my head, one of many comments I internally offer. This is what packing to return looks like, a silent one-sided conversation with the country I've grown to love; a sense of overwhelming peace negotiating inexplicable excitement.
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Alexandra Rosetravel enthusiast. lover of yellowstone, coffee, and a good book. passionately curious. hopeful wanderer. Archives
January 2018
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