Yo recuerdo

I remember the way the leather stuck to my legs in the humidity of the night of my arrival. A night inhaling - the deep breath of Sunday before another week was to begin, my final exhale of familiar air before the plunge.

And there I was, half there, part here, all the way in between (the second the world holds you above the water).  The sighs of San Jose settled on my skin, the noise of the city: a sensual merengue in my ears, my heart timidly following life's beckoning wave - still unsure - a child peeking from behind the steady legs of my plans. I remember Spanish strange on my lips, rolling the word around on my tongue, the flavor of every syllable. It once tasted of rust and hesitancy, now it is sharp and light: limon y confianza.

I remember her face the first time I shut the car door and turned into my future. Humble hands folded in front of her small frame, a smile that took its time - careful to promise me sincerity and the genuine love we would build. She was my Mother Mary, arms soon outstretched, her neck perfumed with incense, holding my lost world against her chest. And though the stale of airports was still tangled in my hair, she brushed it all away except the longing of my heart. She let this remain until I let her give me home. 

Now, I can decipher the lines of her face and clear the clouds of her tired eyes when she has spent the night catching her daughters' tears and worries, selfless and emptied, waking still above the covers. Earning her smile at breakfast- my day is complete before it has begun. Now, I cannot imagine the absence of her gesturing hands carefully correcting my vocabulary. 

I will wake slowly the first morning without her, and I will lie imagining her slippers outside her door, her hair down and sleepily unconcerned with the day's demands (my favorite). I will fall into the echoes of Sofie's "Voy!" when our mama tells her to come down to eat one more time. And I will wonder with conflicted tears hot in my eyes if she will pause by our doors, step into our empty rooms, sit on the bed I so carefully tried to make like her every morning. And maybe she will be imagining my small hands tucking the sheet back into perfect lines, maybe she will smile at my innocent and overwhelming need to please her. 

I will lie in a bed that is no longer familiar, imagining her, and maybe she will find a defiant curly hair on the pillowcase she can't yet take off the bed for fear of washing me away. 

I will lie there imagining her climbing beneath the covers, vulnerable with the need to hold me close one more time. 

I will lie there wondering when we will see each other again, and I will leave no room for the doubt of "if." 

My mother Ruth, my Mama Tica, my home in one soul that swallowed mine whole with love. A woman who has lost much, husband included, but in whom I have found the light of my way. 

I think now of how my head bent to my desk, defeated in homesickness after just two weeks when uncertainty still sat on my shoulders. If I could, I would grab that girl now, not to scold but simply to lift her chin and say, "No. Save this for when it is true. You'll be surprised to see for which home your heart truly cries." And she wouldn't believe me.

I think of the plane, my legs criss-crossed, curled into myself thousands of miles above the next chapter of my life waiting patiently below. 

I am happy here. Fulfilled. Do not let the sometimes sadness of my fingers at the keyboard deceive you with their unintentional myths of how I wish to return. It is true that sometimes my heart takes flight for home, but I cannot cage it from its treachery because then it would never spread its wings in this Costa Rican sun. 

My days have been filled with more than I can put to words: the comfort of a night with friends: a carton of milk, a pack of cookies, our childhood between us, bringing each other home. Long hours of Spanish practice until my head swims in the most beautiful slur of Spanglish, and I am overwhelmed by all I have learned. The knowledge that taxistas will respect you if you walk away from an unjust price. The brilliance of the sun after weeks of rain - the quiet fortitude of living through the rainy season. Spanish Skypes with my father, an unbelievable gift. Messages with my mother and putting our song on early in the morning as I get ready for class: dancing through the distance. Classes unafraid to reveal the injustice of human rights and discussions that ignite and inspire me. Messages from loved ones that keep me whole and determined, songs that bring memories of the coast and things that are old and new all at the same time. 

This is my life caught in a photograph, young, wide smile, arm carelessly wrapped around the world.