Home

It seems odd that I am in another country. I have to occasionally remind myself of the fact that I am in Nicaragua, far, far from my “home,” in a foreign culture speaking a foreign language. I have gotten used to and internalized (most) of the daily habits, customs, food, noises, and phrases of my family and community. I’m no longer afraid of public transportation, getting sick from eating or drinking strange things, walking alone in my town, running errands alone, taking bucket baths when we have no water, battling 5-inch-long cockroaches and asking strangers for directions (even though Nicaraguans are too proud to admit they don’t know so often lead us astray, but I’ll save that story for another time.) In fact, although I find myself feeling nostalgic for some things in Colorado, it is happening with less and less frequency. My definition of home isn’t changing per se, but perhaps morphing and growing to encompass a greater variety of feelings and smells and places. When I am having a rough day, the thought doesn’t cross my mind to be in Colorado; instead I long for my nica bed, my nica mom and sister, and the kinda weird but delicious maiz-and-soy-protein-ball-soup with vegetables my mom makes, to comfort me. It’s fun to step back and observe myself from a distance and the note the changes taking place. Just as I am getting more comfortable, we get our site assignments in 3 days. In three days we will know where we will be spending the next two years of our lives. It’s a strange concept for me to wrap my head around and I have spent hours and hours thinking about where I’ll be, who I’ll be near, how I’ll react if I get sent somewhere I don’t want to go, etc. The bottom line and the thing that matters most is that: I will be in Nicaragua. Somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter, right? I’ll be here, in this beautiful country, making my home, where ever I end up next.