Things Change

It is 1pm and I am sitting in my borrowed plastic chair at my borrowed plastic table filling out a grant application to build a play area for the local elementary school. I am drinking dark steaming coffee out of a brand new mug (I broke the other one a few days ago...so some things don't change). Its one of those afternoons where the sky is dark and looming, and every few minutes it tries to convince me that a downpour is imminent. But I know better now. I will leave the clothes hanging in the gentle breeze until the late afternoon, when the sun will subside to the cloud's demands and the rain will hit the roof so hard that not even the cicadas will be heard. 

Some things have certainly changed. Hot coffee never sounded good on hot afternoons, until it did. The coffee alone makes me sweat, but I don't mind because the caffeine helps prepare me for my favorite part of day. When the sun begins to set, and the sky paints itself with blues, reds, pinks, oranges, and my favorite - purples. The temperature settles into a comfortable 80-something degrees and the breeze gently passes leaving behind a slight chill. The first breeze of the late afternoon always makes my arms break out in goose bumps, not from the cold, but from the anticipation.

I still crack my knuckles though. That hasn't changed.

I don't chew ice anymore, the lasting effect of my prolonged fridgelessness.

I always knew that I loved hammocks. I do miss plush overstuffed sofas and down comforters. But it was a solid trade. 

Local fresh produce. If I want lemons (which are green outside and orange inside), I go to the tree down by the stream. Oranges and cassava come from the neighbor two doors down. There are platano trees in my side yard and coconuts and mangos in the back yard. Eggs come from my host mom's hens, and natilla (its sour cream like, but better) and cheese from her cows. Fish come from the river, or a long afternoon bike ride to the Tilaperia. Papaya, corn, passion fruit and the like are common gifts from neighbors after a late afternoon visit. I still shop at grocery stores, but I have developed a gratitude for local and fresh produce.

I never do my hair. So if you see me when I'm visiting, be kind with the "Are you leaving the house like that?" comments. 

My feet are always dirty. Actually, now that I think about it, perhaps the doesn't represent any big change. 

I speak Spanish now. And when I speak English it is usually with other Spanish speakers, so I throw in Spanish vocabulary casually. I will probably continue to do this and find myself lost searching for forgotten English words.

I have adjusted (adopted, internalized) to a slower pace of life, that is more focused on people and less focussed on accomplishments. Work is important, and no one who makes their living farming will tell you otherwise. But there seem to be secret corners of time, that once found, can only be filled with personal connection.

I will probably say "Upe," instead of knocking on doors. I will lean in to kiss your cheek to say hello. I will say "Ciao," instead of goodbye. I will ask for "Permiso," when getting up from the table, and answer "Excuse me" with "Propio."

As I stare down the days approaching on the calendar and contemplate stepping onto the plane that will temporarily whisk me away from my familiar - I just thought it deserved to be said. Things change. I look forward to sitting down with you, and learning how you have changed....and how you haven't.

Saying Goodbye and Returning Home

Tico 22 set our alarm clocks, crawled into our unfamiliar hotel beds and tried to catch a few winks of sleep before our early morning flight. Sitting in the lobby at 2am the next morning, dreary eyed and anxious I began a journey with 32 strangers. Over two years later, only 22 of us have held on for the ride, a rather fitting number. In the months of April, May and June our journey will come to an end. We have fulfilled our 27 month commitment. My Rural Community Development peers have become my adopted family. We celebrate holidays together, we support each other in times of need, and we make the daily phone calls- just to check in. I am grateful to each an everyone one of them, in ways they know and will probably never know.

Saying goodbye to my fellow volunteers was difficult. I am excited to begin my new journey as an extension 3rd year volunteer, but every time I look at my cell phone and pass by all of the numbers that represent friends who I can no longer send a text to, or meet up with in San Jose, I feel disconnected. Life in my site continues as normal, English classes, grant writing, computer classes and the like. But every once and a while I stop and think about my adopted family, who are now back in the United States, eating delicious foods, hugging family and confronting the uncertainties of life. They have always been the people who understood me, they knew what culture shock felt like, how frustrating language learning was, how challenging isolation could be, and how exhausting it can be playing the motivator. And now they are undergoing new challenges and readjustments. And I am in my house, washing dishes, wishing it would rain.

I am lucky that there are other volunteers in my region, and I am looking forward to further developing friendships with them. And I have wonderful relationships in my community. So I will be fine, in this next year I will have the opportunity to work with motivated community members, execute important development projects and delve even further into rural Costa Rican life. And I wish my adopted family the best of luck, we may drift apart as the years pass on, but you will always be part of my transformation in Costa Rica.