I sit in front of the fire and let the smoke wash over my eyes. It feels good to have tears fill them this way rather than raw emotion. The blur in my vision matching the sting in my heart, as the inevitable transition back to life in the States feels daunting.
We sit around the fire and commiserate, none of us strangers to the tug of war between two very different worlds. And as easy as it is to plan to switch over from one to the other, there's a period of time that leaves you blindly groping around for old familiarity.
The thing about Guatemala is, there's a way of life here that is easy to fall back into, but it takes a day or two. It's like impatiently waiting for your favorite old sweater to air dry before slipping it over your head. Once you're in it, all feels right in the world. Of course life isn't perfect here, and there's a whole new set of challenges, but that falls away during your honeymoon return.
You give up your own routine for a schedule that allows for more freedom but requires more patience.
You say goodbye to your everyday expectations and welcome the quirks and inconsistencies that live here in San Lucas.
And amid all the good, you trade in your conversations about your personal future, for conversations about mere survival of the transition back to the States. Because as soon as you fall into step with your rediscovered Guatemalan life, your beloved chapín way of living, you find yourself on a plane soaring into chaos and the biggest Guatemala hangover imaginable, not to be cured with Gatorade and Advil. For some of us it lasts 2 weeks, others felt it intermittently for a year.
You say goodbye to your everyday expectations and welcome the quirks and inconsistencies that live here in San Lucas.
And amid all the good, you trade in your conversations about your personal future, for conversations about mere survival of the transition back to the States. Because as soon as you fall into step with your rediscovered Guatemalan life, your beloved chapín way of living, you find yourself on a plane soaring into chaos and the biggest Guatemala hangover imaginable, not to be cured with Gatorade and Advil. For some of us it lasts 2 weeks, others felt it intermittently for a year.
Loved ones get it; you struggle.
Guatemalans get it; they're sad too.
Yet you feel more alone than ever. So you call the ones who truly understand, those who have made the leap from life to life and back again. You exchange "me too's" and never wish such painful longing on anyone.
Guatemalans get it; they're sad too.
Yet you feel more alone than ever. So you call the ones who truly understand, those who have made the leap from life to life and back again. You exchange "me too's" and never wish such painful longing on anyone.
Eventually things begin to revert to a new normal, and you hate it and you're thankful at the same time. Because you can't continue wishing to be somewhere you can't be permanently. You go to work and regain your old social habits, and old photos and memories still bring you to tears. Nostalgia becomes a shadow of the hangover you never really shake.
And in the end, you know it's always worth it and you'd do it all over again..
And so you do.