Despedida..or Not

I dreamt of Nicaragua last night.  I could see sunlight falling down through the pink and blue mosquito nets of my host family's house as I lay on a giant bed with all my Peace Corps friends (we all magically fit, as you can in dreams).  I could feel the dirt outside being warmed by the sun, feel my hands wringing out the pila water from my hair, and hear abuela pounding out tortillas.

Then I woke up, and I felt like crying.

The same thing happened when I arrived in Nicaragua.  I would dream of my parent's house and wake up trying not to cry.  I never thought it be the other way around.

People ask me why I chose to stay in Nicaragua an extra year, and the truth of it is that a big reason was that for the longest time I wasn't happy there.  My first year, especially my first six months, were the loneliest I have ever felt.  One of my Peace Corps friends described the kind of loneliness that we feel as something deeper than we've ever felt before.  For me, it felt bone deep, like the loneliness sat with me every waking hour, poisoning my body and mind.  I tried explaining this to some friends back home, and they said that yeah, sometimes they felt so lonely they had to turn on music in their house, but that then they felt better.

It was like telling a chronically depressed person that yeah, I totally get what you're going through, sometimes I get sad when I look at a picture of a sad puppy.

It's not the same thing.

Then something magical happened.  I found people in my town who actually wanted to be my friend.  Not the gringa's friend.  Not that white chick's friend.  Not the new Peace Corp volunteer's friend.  My friend. People who didn't constantly criticize what I did, because it's not what the previous volunteer did.  People who didn't make sexual advances out of the blue.  People who didn't give the stank eye when I told them I didn't know when I was next going to the states, so I couldn't really buy them that camera, MLB hat, etc. they wanted.  People who made me laugh, and who laughed at my odd jokes.  People who worried about me, and who I cried for when tragedy struck.  People who made me glad to be there.

And I felt cheated to have just one year of that.  So I stayed.  And I feel like a part of me still stayed behind when I left back in April (yes, it's taken me this long to write about it).  It's surprising how easy it is to slip back into my old routines, how real the danger of forgetting is.  Sometimes it feels like my time in Nicaragua really was just a dream.  But I never want to forget, especially not the bad times, because that's what made the good times so special; what made me stronger today than I knew I could be.  Also, what has given me a zero tolerance for bullshit (seriously ya'll, stop complaining about doing laundry in machines; imagine washing it by hand before you throw your pity party).

More than anything, I want to remember the people who made me so happy, and who I hope I touched as well.

This is Ili with her granddaughter, Leonela (and me).  She ran a comedor, always gave me an absurd amount of food, and made me laugh more than anyone in town.  One day, when her comedor was especially busy, and she was shorthanded, she "hired" me to be a waitress.  I did alright, until I put a glass of juice on the uneven part of the table, spilling it all over the customer.  After I apologized, mortified by what I'd done, we all laughed (even the guy), and she promptly fired me.

I've been remiss in updating this blog, mostly because it was hard to admit that I'm no longer in Nicaragua, but looking back  my photos, I see that I have so many more stories to tell.  So I'll be updating more often, with some photos and stories I haven't told yet.  Hopefully, when I'm feeling especially ambitious, I'll post some of my post-Peace Corps adventures to Panama, Ecuador, and back in the good ol' U.S. of A.  

There are still adventures, still travels, still stories left to tell.