El Ritmo

I wore my cowboy boots today. Speaks for itself. 

The past few days have seen torrential downpours from both the clouds and my eyes. In the face of this isolating distance, I read and re-read the card that my dad so lovingly slipped into my carry on for me to find on the plane when I left. The familiarity of his handwriting seems to minimize the miles, lighten the loneliness. 

But honestly, after skyping my parents last night for the first time in five days, I feel incredible. The former words would not lead you to believe that I am in fact tucked cozily up in my room while an exciting rainstorm takes the stage outside my window, one of my favorite Juanes songs is playing and I am full of the happy knowledge of a new Costa Rican dish from my cooking class this afternoon. But these things are true and surrounding me. 
Though sadness may fall from my fingertips when I write, do not be fooled. There is an inescapable contentment here that wipes the worry from my forehead and steadies my shaking hands. 

My first serious spanish presentation this morning left me with the surprise that I am able to think on my feet in this language that no longer escapes me. And though I may have said "leg" instead of "rock" a couple of times (hey, "pierda" y "piedra"), it was such an enlightening experience.

What truly defines and carefully outlines these days is the overwhelming esperanza (hope) I feel following 6am runs before class around the city. I watch buses pass, full of people watching a gringa run by, a novelty in an otherwise typical ride to work. Step after step over the most cracked sidewalks I have ever seen, past the surprising bark of dogs that sends me sailing into the street, past Ticos whose eyes feel like hands in their searching, past the endless honking of taxis and the repetitive call of the tamales cart, around and around until I fly back home, suldada (sweaty) and soaking and ready for the day. 

My favorite Mama Tica smile is when I return, breathing hard over the words, with the face of a tomate, and tell her that I am a greeting (saludo) instead of sweaty and can't give her a kiss until I shower. Her laughter joins that of my endorphin elated mind which is unable to allow me the clarity of Spanish but blesses my morning. 

It is truly the little things here. Being able to help Angel with her homework simply because I have the newest version of Microsoft Words and finding out that we both love Juanes, Kyndra coming home with a Hershey bar surprise because she remembered that through my homesick tears I had joked about needing chocolate, this book of poetry from my profesora, and the love that can lie in a folded square of paper whose worn creases whisper of constant reading - a note full of sunshine. 

"Corazon contento."

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Demasiado tiempo

The letters do not recognize me. They gather into words, whispering, wary of my approach. I am a stranger they struggle to recognize through eyes clouded with absence and neglect. They trace the lines of my fingertips, slowly settling into the lines of palms that promise to hold them more gently, more closely, to not let them slip like grains of sand through hands too young to appreciate them.  Time places heavy kisses on my knuckles, one by one by one and my elbows feel awkward against this new table. My knees should be crossed and propped perfectly into the familiar corners under my desk. A desk now covered by pictures of faces foreign to mine, mementos of memories I did not make, homework that is not mine to finish before the sun rises. But those used to be crooked smiles of my parents, bracelets that adorned my wrists through adventures, notes of Spanglish from dear friends, mugs of tea carefully steeped by a woman who made herself my mother. My forearms ache for the strength ...
Read more

Home?

I woke up earlier than I should have on a Saturday. It feels like my body is still on East Coast time - I wake up early here feeling late morning in my bones. Other than the timelessness of mornings, I am surprised at the peace and the contentedness I feel about this move. After these past few weeks, I look back over my time in Columbia and realize that so many things came to a head there when I had time to rest, reflect, and feel. I was completely mentally tormented and in emotional turmoil in the days leading up to my departure and even for the first full day of the trip. I can see clearly now how the comfortable and familiar has kept me safe in my life. But I can also see how it has almost kept me standing still when everything was calling me to keep moving forward.  I can't quite put my finger on why & it sounds so dang cliche, but after driving through Montana and being here in Missoula, it feels like I am supposed to be here. Wholeheartedly, c...
Read more

Una mañana lluviosa

It has been a long time.  A very long time.  Sitting here I wonder how many windows have been mine to look from in my quiet and favored hours of morning? The rain reminds me of Costa Rica, of places too far to touch, places that leave the hands of my heart reaching, yearning.  My writing is rusty and my fingers fumble through letters, strangers begging their pardon for the time that weighs them down.  I uprooted my life, and I find myself standing in a shower of its pieces, bits of earth shaken from the tendrils of roots once tangled so deeply in the past.  I live in Boone once again.  Beautiful, familiar, ever-teaching, fulfilling, renewing, hopeful, soul-sustaning Boone.  I gave up a job for an essentially unpaid internship.  I left a clear path toward home for my other home.  I interviewed, packed, and arrived in these mountains without a means of income, without a place to live.  With my life in my car, I drove strai...
Read more