The End.

I have day left in Honduras. I am feeling torn in two by this bittersweet binary.


On one hand:

I feel like I have been here forever. As silly as it may seem, some days I cannot even remember what 22 years of life felt like before this. Honestly. I think back to August when I first arrived, young and ready to face the world. I've seen so much since then and I don't feel like the same person. I've got growing pains. I'm too tired to work. My skin is too burned and my eyes are half-shut. I'm sick of inconsistency, inefficiency, inconvenience, monstrous bugs, disrespectful men, filthy everything, a power-tripping boss, frustrating double-standards, frequent running water/electricity outages, the exhausting task of controlling thirteen rambunctious (although adorable) four year olds, and trying to maintain relationships from what feels like a world away. I'm sick of every single thing being so difficult and I am just completely spent. So, I guess you could say I'm glad at the prospect of lighting out of here soon.


On the other hand:

I laugh to think about it all. I've got it made, really I do. I am head-over-heels in love with thirteen unique, fragile, and beautiful little humans. The best part? They love me back. Imagine that. They call me their teacher, but I've certainly learned much more from them. They have taught me to be patient (really, really, really patient), to laugh more, to dream big, and to love in a new way. As if it gets any better, I'm living in paradise. I like where I wake up and I spend my days freely. I've got a cottage so far up in the mountains that I breathe in the clouds. Fresh stucco and a coat of bright paint. Wide-open windows. A kitchen full of flies. Holes in my clothes. Every day is sunny with a chance of rain. My yard requires no cultivation and it offers every shade of green I could ever dream of. On the weekends, we jump in the river by my house. I collect all the coins that I find in a small clay pot, pocketing only the ones that face up. If ever I find a different place so picturesque, it should be another miracle. Sometimes I think I could stay here forever.



Already, I can feel myself romanticizing this chapter which is so suddenly closing. In polishing my memory, every moment somehow becomes more precious, however impossible to relive. I cannot say how I've gotten here, but I can say with confidence that it has been worth the trouble. I only know that experiencing it, in infinitesimal increments, has been the sweetest, saddest, most solemn and precious pockmark on my heart. Even awash with grief and riddled with lost illusions, nothing's ever felt so true.