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Heading Home

Back to the States for a month

sunny 78 °F

I close my eyes and think of my journey ahead, from Lake Atitlan, to Guatemala City to Miami to DC to San Diego, then back to DC. It exhausts me to type it, let alone go through with it. As odd as it sounds, I am vaguely afraid to leave Guatemala, afraid that the magic I have found here won’t be here when I come back. Afraid the doors will snap shut and I will end up on the wrong side. I am afraid that I will not find my way back. It is irrational, I know. I can come back whenever I want. I even have a ticket for a month from now. Just get on a plane and be back, but still. I can’t imagine going home. I tell myself I have to go home someday, right? You can’t live here forever, right? I don’t see why not…

I feel like I’m in a time warp. I feel exhausted when I remember my last year in San Diego. Rushing to work, the grocery store, the bank, yoga, dinner, a meeting. The feeling of never catching up, fearing that I never would because there was so much to do and see and buy. But here, I have time in abundance. There is no one to catch up to, and I don’t have to be anywhere but here. I have no idea what is happening in the outside world, how political races are going, what wars or famines are being turned into ten-second news clips, what incredible new technologies are revolutionizing the way people communicate or shop. I haven’t worn a watch since February. I’m getting pretty good at telling time by the sun. I have fallen into this world effortlessly. I am in love with the landscape, the way the lake calmly moves in pretty waves, the way the volcanoes cough out white, puffy clouds of smoke. I love the quality of the light as the sun rises above the mountains in the morning, hitting the cool water and waking the rooster next door; and the dazzling display of orange hues as it falls on the other side a few hours later. I am in love with the simplicity of my life, my plain little house, the shelves empty of ornaments, the unadorned walls, the two pots I use to cook with, my hammock.

Everything about my life I left behind seems small and narrow in comparison with where I am now. Everything I imagine in that life is, for lack of a better word, a bit repulsive to me right now: a pretty house near the beach, a fancy car that I will hate because it guzzles gas, $8 drinks at happy hour filled with chatter and broken promises, “we should get together and catch up”. Sprinklers keeping the lawn green in the desert while we sit in air-conditioned offices, sealed off from the elements, safe and smug. Part of me knows this is unfair to my friends and family there, I get that, I was part of it for so long, but the rest of me doesn’t care. I can see only what I have now, right here, with Charlie, my pet rooster who feeds on my daily pile of scraps I leave for him daily and the local people surrounding me. I feel like I don’t want to go home yet. But I have to.

I’ll be back though…

Posted by luzygiovis 20:37 Archived in Guatemala Tagged air_travel

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