Se fue el tiempo
I am more thankful than I have ever been in my life. I have family, friends, three homes for my heart (& counting), a mama here who changes my sheets, does my laundry, feeds me two free meals a day, holds me when I cry and gives me love. And I have a mama back home waiting to do all the same, especially the latter part.
In all of this though, sometimes in this life I have questioned Death, how it lingers and how it leaves its traces for me. My friend Landon Hill passed away on Thanksgiving morning. Within 24 hours, a rapid onset of bacterial meningitis took him from the health, smiling, intelligent guy I was so very lucky to know to a place very far away. And the space he so beautifully filled in this world is now so empty that many around me, many blessed enough to call him "best" friend cannot bear it. I hurt for them - so very truly- a tightness in my chest. I know the burn of tears born of resentment for the injustice of the way of life. I know the way knees feel after they hit the ground, weak under the weight of grief. I know the impossible circles of thought and the darkness of closed eyelids - trying to imagine the absence of a smile, of laughter, of breath. I know these things. Many nights they have shadowed the past few months, many nights have passed with their dark lullabies in my ears until sleep graciously freed me from their constant whispers. I hurt for those people who held Landon closer, whose struggle is just beginning.
With his passing, however, Landon has left me a new gratitude and eyes fresh before this world. Every morning since the news came to me, I have given thanks for awaking with my first conscious and clear thought. I give thanks for the gift of the opening of eyes, of taking the first breath of the day. There is something soft and simple about letting the hand of appreciation turn back the sheets.
I have only 18 days left in Costa Rica, and no matter how many times I write the numbers or stare at the calendar, I cannot give meaning to them. I never thought that time could be so heavy in my palms.
There are some moments, lonely hours of the night, the moon dimly discovering my sadness, in which I am ready to run to the arms of my father. I can feel his mustache against my cheek, the familiarity of his yesterday stubble and I remember being small in his lap. I remember little fingers holding both sides of his face. I loved the smoothness of his fresh shave; I loved the hero in my hands. Standing on my tip-toes to hug him around the neck, I will always be his "Nena," frozen in time with missing front teeth and all the admiration of the world in my eyes.
There are those moments when I would love to turn the corner of my San Jose street and walk right into the world of my home, the smell of my room, the sound of the dog and his toy, sharing the sofa with Mama and a fire in the fireplace prepared carefully just for us.
There are the moments for which I no longer want to wait, moments so lovingly awaited that they are already familiar friends in my mind: a camp Christmas party of friendship beyond definition; flour covered hands and faces; warmth that pours from both the oven and laughter; my sweet cat's purr across my legs with 6 years of comfort by my side while Casablanca fills my heart; the sound of dogs panting: one senile, one silly and our inevitable smiles, brilliant in weak winter light; tuxedo tails in my driveway and a white gloved hand I can't wait to hold. There are these moments that wait patiently, and then there are the moments I am living.
And I am living.
I am living and walking and breathing and learning and learning and learning in Costa Rica. I turn my face up to the Costa Rican rain, refuse my hood and let it water me that I may grow strong, if not tall. And with the sky's happy tears running rivers from my eyelashes to chin, I am nurtured.
I run and I run and my feet navigate the cracks and all the places sidewalks should be. But it is an adventure of life to chance an intersection, to leave laughter to ameliorate car horns and taxistas whose tongues have been gotten by the cat of my blown kiss. My feet are light, and I am coy, leaving the smell of morning bakeries in my wind.
Tonight, my eager heart could not resist the valley lights of San Jose and my feet set out before me on my second run of the day. Crossing the "pista" (our mini highway), I heard my name and looked to see Devon and John chasing me gleefully from the bar, bottles already in hand though the watch on my wrist read only 5:53. And with bookbags and beer, they joined me in my run, begging with every step for me to come to the bar tonight. As they grabbed my hands, hugged me and playfully wiped away my sweat from their faces afterward still calling me "Miss Beautiful," the sting in my eyes slowed my steps as I watched them and their laughter slip into the sunset, arms carefree around each others shoulders. And with this moment, my heart began what will be a long two weeks of whispers of all that I will miss.
I am more torn than I have ever been before. The edges are jagged and far from equal, parts of me are there, and parts are here. But what I really want is just to ride on love, to hover above and in around and it all.
I am panicked about the GRE, panicked about applications, panicked about internships, panicked about my senior thesis. Panic. Anxiety. Fear. These things come quietly with swords drawn, but this place, this life, has shielded me. And the thing is, I don't think it will go away. I think it will cover me and sit proudly on my skin for all to see and also fasten itself to my soul for the moments of despair that are all my own, moments that will lose their strength to my hope laced faith.
My heart has gone overflowing.
In all of this though, sometimes in this life I have questioned Death, how it lingers and how it leaves its traces for me. My friend Landon Hill passed away on Thanksgiving morning. Within 24 hours, a rapid onset of bacterial meningitis took him from the health, smiling, intelligent guy I was so very lucky to know to a place very far away. And the space he so beautifully filled in this world is now so empty that many around me, many blessed enough to call him "best" friend cannot bear it. I hurt for them - so very truly- a tightness in my chest. I know the burn of tears born of resentment for the injustice of the way of life. I know the way knees feel after they hit the ground, weak under the weight of grief. I know the impossible circles of thought and the darkness of closed eyelids - trying to imagine the absence of a smile, of laughter, of breath. I know these things. Many nights they have shadowed the past few months, many nights have passed with their dark lullabies in my ears until sleep graciously freed me from their constant whispers. I hurt for those people who held Landon closer, whose struggle is just beginning.
With his passing, however, Landon has left me a new gratitude and eyes fresh before this world. Every morning since the news came to me, I have given thanks for awaking with my first conscious and clear thought. I give thanks for the gift of the opening of eyes, of taking the first breath of the day. There is something soft and simple about letting the hand of appreciation turn back the sheets.
I have only 18 days left in Costa Rica, and no matter how many times I write the numbers or stare at the calendar, I cannot give meaning to them. I never thought that time could be so heavy in my palms.
There are some moments, lonely hours of the night, the moon dimly discovering my sadness, in which I am ready to run to the arms of my father. I can feel his mustache against my cheek, the familiarity of his yesterday stubble and I remember being small in his lap. I remember little fingers holding both sides of his face. I loved the smoothness of his fresh shave; I loved the hero in my hands. Standing on my tip-toes to hug him around the neck, I will always be his "Nena," frozen in time with missing front teeth and all the admiration of the world in my eyes.
There are those moments when I would love to turn the corner of my San Jose street and walk right into the world of my home, the smell of my room, the sound of the dog and his toy, sharing the sofa with Mama and a fire in the fireplace prepared carefully just for us.
There are the moments for which I no longer want to wait, moments so lovingly awaited that they are already familiar friends in my mind: a camp Christmas party of friendship beyond definition; flour covered hands and faces; warmth that pours from both the oven and laughter; my sweet cat's purr across my legs with 6 years of comfort by my side while Casablanca fills my heart; the sound of dogs panting: one senile, one silly and our inevitable smiles, brilliant in weak winter light; tuxedo tails in my driveway and a white gloved hand I can't wait to hold. There are these moments that wait patiently, and then there are the moments I am living.
And I am living.
I am living and walking and breathing and learning and learning and learning in Costa Rica. I turn my face up to the Costa Rican rain, refuse my hood and let it water me that I may grow strong, if not tall. And with the sky's happy tears running rivers from my eyelashes to chin, I am nurtured.
I run and I run and my feet navigate the cracks and all the places sidewalks should be. But it is an adventure of life to chance an intersection, to leave laughter to ameliorate car horns and taxistas whose tongues have been gotten by the cat of my blown kiss. My feet are light, and I am coy, leaving the smell of morning bakeries in my wind.
Tonight, my eager heart could not resist the valley lights of San Jose and my feet set out before me on my second run of the day. Crossing the "pista" (our mini highway), I heard my name and looked to see Devon and John chasing me gleefully from the bar, bottles already in hand though the watch on my wrist read only 5:53. And with bookbags and beer, they joined me in my run, begging with every step for me to come to the bar tonight. As they grabbed my hands, hugged me and playfully wiped away my sweat from their faces afterward still calling me "Miss Beautiful," the sting in my eyes slowed my steps as I watched them and their laughter slip into the sunset, arms carefree around each others shoulders. And with this moment, my heart began what will be a long two weeks of whispers of all that I will miss.
I am more torn than I have ever been before. The edges are jagged and far from equal, parts of me are there, and parts are here. But what I really want is just to ride on love, to hover above and in around and it all.
I am panicked about the GRE, panicked about applications, panicked about internships, panicked about my senior thesis. Panic. Anxiety. Fear. These things come quietly with swords drawn, but this place, this life, has shielded me. And the thing is, I don't think it will go away. I think it will cover me and sit proudly on my skin for all to see and also fasten itself to my soul for the moments of despair that are all my own, moments that will lose their strength to my hope laced faith.
My heart has gone overflowing.
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