Dios esta en la lluvia
My shoes slip on the sidewalk and every other step of this run is an act of faith. My bookbag faithfully slaps my back, my dress is plastered to my legs, the flower behind my ear falls somewhere when I turn the last corner to home. Water cascades down my face when I lift my hood, find the keys and pacify the lock with fumbling fingers.
I have not stopped laughing the whole way home. Neither a giggle or a belly laugh, but a pure joy somewhere in between that comes with the soft rhythm of waves. By the time I got through the door to Mama Tica asking in scattered spanish for a towel, Angel, Sofie and Mama Tica have joined in the laughter, one hand covering their comforting smiles, the other freeing me from my soaking jacket and shoes. I have never seen such beautiful rain. Running for no reason through the thunder, daring the lightning, spinning under the bravado of the dark sky. Everything just vibrant.
This past weekend was spent on an excursion to Puerto Viejo, an incredible town nestled on the Caribbean shore. A bus ride through the city, then the jungle and then we arrived in a night air heavy with salt and sensuality. The Afro-Spanish culture is enchanting, the mix of ticos and rastas. Music heavy with rhythm and soft vocals drew us into the Jammin Joint for supper. A pitcher of the best sangria I've ever had later, and our laughter is that of old friends amid hands slapping the worn wood of the table - a testament to our boundless joy of this adventure. Before the food, up the stairs come two Argentines with nothing but a guitar and a box drum. Having just watched Diarios de Motocicleta (Motorcycle Diaries) two days prior in class, my mind immediately envisioned that my own Che and Alberto had climbed into my life. Our Argentines were travelin through South and Central America simply sharing their music. The simplicity of their intimate duet, I swear the only things that existed in the world were that guitar and drum, culminated in the best version of "Lean on Me" that has ever fallen upon these ears. They closed with a native song from Argentina, and I was practically in tears at the sheer serendipity of this life.
The next morning was beyond anything that I could limit to the confined spaces of words. Snorkeling for the first time in the Caribbean Ocean - my heart's wings turned into fins and floated peacefully across heaven. Schools and schools of fish, colors more brilliant that the imagination allows, some half my body in size - even a perilous lionfish hidden in the coral. The only moment of sheer panic came when a school of fish scattered and calmly on her way came a nurse shark six feet in size in front of me. Breathing ceased, my heart put life on pause, and I could not fathom being that close to something so powerful.
There are so many moments here in which, plainly put, I cannot understand how very lucky I am. I would look up to clear my mask, look around and realize that this was just a normal Saturday afternoon in this life I've been given. I want to kiss the whole world in thanks. Get right down with the dirt and up in the sky and feel dirt and clouds on my lips.
The rest of our time in Puerto Viejo was spent swimming, tree-sitting, feeding stray mama dogs, and dancing with locals amid far too many tequila shots until we found ourselves talking the night away in slurred spanglish on the very top of our bus in the hotel parking lot. The unapologetic honesty of life as it should be lived overcame me on the tired bus ride home. Sand still on my feet, salt in my tangled curls, and a song heavy with the sound of home by Elton John on my iPod, and the tears came in my quiet front corner.
When I arrived home with pink cheeks and the skin of cafe, I was surprised at how easily comfort settled my nerves, allowing me to notice the genuine relief in Mama Tica's eyes as we rested under her care once more. Surprising her and the girls with gifts of the beach, reminiscing with Kyndra about our fresh adventures, the surprising comfort of homework waiting for me. Snapshots defining the night in which I opened myself to the realization that this is home now, and its greeting was soft on my chest as sleep took me away and promised these lessons would come slowly.
The days are coming calmly, one by one, and time's shadow falls beside me in our steady march toward the sun.
I have not stopped laughing the whole way home. Neither a giggle or a belly laugh, but a pure joy somewhere in between that comes with the soft rhythm of waves. By the time I got through the door to Mama Tica asking in scattered spanish for a towel, Angel, Sofie and Mama Tica have joined in the laughter, one hand covering their comforting smiles, the other freeing me from my soaking jacket and shoes. I have never seen such beautiful rain. Running for no reason through the thunder, daring the lightning, spinning under the bravado of the dark sky. Everything just vibrant.
This past weekend was spent on an excursion to Puerto Viejo, an incredible town nestled on the Caribbean shore. A bus ride through the city, then the jungle and then we arrived in a night air heavy with salt and sensuality. The Afro-Spanish culture is enchanting, the mix of ticos and rastas. Music heavy with rhythm and soft vocals drew us into the Jammin Joint for supper. A pitcher of the best sangria I've ever had later, and our laughter is that of old friends amid hands slapping the worn wood of the table - a testament to our boundless joy of this adventure. Before the food, up the stairs come two Argentines with nothing but a guitar and a box drum. Having just watched Diarios de Motocicleta (Motorcycle Diaries) two days prior in class, my mind immediately envisioned that my own Che and Alberto had climbed into my life. Our Argentines were travelin through South and Central America simply sharing their music. The simplicity of their intimate duet, I swear the only things that existed in the world were that guitar and drum, culminated in the best version of "Lean on Me" that has ever fallen upon these ears. They closed with a native song from Argentina, and I was practically in tears at the sheer serendipity of this life.
The next morning was beyond anything that I could limit to the confined spaces of words. Snorkeling for the first time in the Caribbean Ocean - my heart's wings turned into fins and floated peacefully across heaven. Schools and schools of fish, colors more brilliant that the imagination allows, some half my body in size - even a perilous lionfish hidden in the coral. The only moment of sheer panic came when a school of fish scattered and calmly on her way came a nurse shark six feet in size in front of me. Breathing ceased, my heart put life on pause, and I could not fathom being that close to something so powerful.
There are so many moments here in which, plainly put, I cannot understand how very lucky I am. I would look up to clear my mask, look around and realize that this was just a normal Saturday afternoon in this life I've been given. I want to kiss the whole world in thanks. Get right down with the dirt and up in the sky and feel dirt and clouds on my lips.
The rest of our time in Puerto Viejo was spent swimming, tree-sitting, feeding stray mama dogs, and dancing with locals amid far too many tequila shots until we found ourselves talking the night away in slurred spanglish on the very top of our bus in the hotel parking lot. The unapologetic honesty of life as it should be lived overcame me on the tired bus ride home. Sand still on my feet, salt in my tangled curls, and a song heavy with the sound of home by Elton John on my iPod, and the tears came in my quiet front corner.
When I arrived home with pink cheeks and the skin of cafe, I was surprised at how easily comfort settled my nerves, allowing me to notice the genuine relief in Mama Tica's eyes as we rested under her care once more. Surprising her and the girls with gifts of the beach, reminiscing with Kyndra about our fresh adventures, the surprising comfort of homework waiting for me. Snapshots defining the night in which I opened myself to the realization that this is home now, and its greeting was soft on my chest as sleep took me away and promised these lessons would come slowly.
The days are coming calmly, one by one, and time's shadow falls beside me in our steady march toward the sun.
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