So. Let's see. What has been going on in my Costa Rican life?
Finally, slowly but surely, my relationship with my host family has warmed up a bit. I have no expectations of love or friendship, but there's a comfortable camaraderie between us now. I talk to my host mother Yaneth about my life and friendships and relationship, chat in Spanish, English, and Brunka with my host father Oscar (who I also sing with sometimes), banter with my little sister Nashaly in English (which she's learning rapidly) and Spanish, and have become pals with Carlos, the other boarder in the house.
Though there's no deep connection with those I live with, I've developed a true friendship with another family here in town, who as I mentioned in an earlier entry I now call 'mi segunda familia' (my second family.) I go over there pretty much every day-- sometimes several times a day-- and talk to them, play with the baby, snack with them, or just hang out together in the hammocks under their rancho. These are the people I feel closest to in Boruca-- Marisol, Juan, Damaris, Margarita, Sira, and the children. They know more of me and my heart than anyone else here in the indigenous territory (with the exception of Kelly, the awesome Peace Corps volunteer.) I am blessed to have them and know them.
I was sick a few weeks ago and had to stay in San Jose going to appointments (don't worry, I feel better now-- the sickness itself was a sidenote and isn't the point of this story.) The cool part of all of that medical adventure was that I got to explore the city by myself for a few days and discover corners of it to love. Of course, we're not supposed to do that... wandering about San Jose by ourselves. There's a high level of crime, and a lone gringa is a pretty typical target. Maybe I was lucky, maybe I was smart about it, who knows-- but I didn't get mugged, and I loved getting to know the city some more. I found a beautiful hole-in-the-wall used book store where I've now gone to trade books, and some thrift stores I've since revisited, and a park full of young people and musicians and greenery where I feel at peace. I finally have a(n albeit imperfect) map of the city in my brain and can use the bus system without getting completely lost. When I think about how scared I was to take a train from Germany to Austria a few years ago, and compare it to the independence I feel now, it makes me laugh. I have grown and learned so much-- and I have so much farther to go!
I wonder sometimes about how the people from my village will remember me... what they will say about me when I'm gone, what they will have learned from me, what the kids will think when they have fleeting memories of me as adults. I'm not the first gringa they've seen, the first tall gringa, the first tattoo'd gringa. I'm not their first Teacher. So what impression am I leaving? I hope that they remember my love of music, my laughter, my alternativeness, my interest in their language. I hope that they remember how to sign 'I love you'.
...on a slightly random note: here's one of my favorite pictures I've taken here this year. This wonderful elderly woman's name is Nicha and she lives on the side of a mountain here in Boruca in a hut on a farm. Her family is also one of the ones I've bonded with most. She's a natural model:
....so why is this entry titled 'The Concept of Home'? I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. So let's see where this thought process leads me...!
Boruca is, in a way, my home. DC is, in a way, my home. Germany and Austria are two of my heart-homes.
But I have moved too much to have one place that is mine. The one true home I feel in my brain is love, the love that I feel for those most important to me, and that home is strewn across miles and miles and continents and oceans, sent out by internet and phone and letter across the distance.
These past seven months have shown me that travel and saying goodbye doesn't get easier. They've shown me that I will not be able to continue like this much longer. They've shown me that I need to have a place, some kind of center, some kind of focus. The more I move, the more I will love, the more I will learn, the more I will ache for tranquility. I have conflicting needs within my soul-- the need to keep in motion and the need to stay, the need to be free and the need to belong, the need to love and the need to leave.
It's been a good seven months, an important seven months, and a very difficult seven months. It's been seven months of sun, rain, rice and beans, bugs, lesson plans, cold showers, chickens, dogs, loneliness, love, and friendship. I am older, tanner, multilingualer, and more patient. I have written poetry in Spanish, longed for German, revelled in English relief and connected through music.
I've lived. You've lived. Life has gone on.
... I think that I will only truly be able to comprehend this year and its significance in retrospect--if ever-- this is one of those times in my life where I'm feeling myself growing and changing so intensely that it's hard to stop and try to capture it into words.
But I guess that's the point of a blog, right?
So here I am, writing. And here you are, reading.
And thank you for that.
Besos!
Raquel
PS apparently when I speak in Spanish, I have a German accent. My brain likes this.
