The Storm Before the Calm

There are few certainties in this life, few things that are simply inevitable.  We may not say for sure that tomorrow will proceed as planned, without any surprising obstacles or surprises.  We should not assume that if we fail to accomplish something today we would have another chance at the same success.  And we should never underestimate the concept of time and permanence.  You will never get the opportunity to relive this second of life.  What a thrilling idea, time. Without fail I can say with certainty that time is continuing to pass, and I can do absolutely nothing to slow it down.

 

I was sitting in the last stage of limbo. I was looking at the milky sunset sky through the floor to ceiling windowpanes in the Houston airport, and I remember wondering if the colors would be different in Nicaragua.  These past few weeks have been a blur of procrastinated packing and identifying which aspects of my past life I will be extending into my ambiguous future.   There is an idea that sometimes crosses my mind, it ever so often tickles the crux of my imagination, and I picture throwing all choices that brought me to this point into a shining silver trash bin, and proceeding empty, fresh, reinvigorated.  So often we fall into ruts of routines that we forget exist.  How easy it is to pull ourselves out.  How hard it is to realize we’re there in the first place.  These ruts are distracting, seemingly harmless, and amazingly comfortable.  Living a life of comfort is an understandable desire, but it can also be a highly restricting parameter.

 

My day of travel did not go as expected, simply because I chose not to assume any emotions that would follow exiting one world and entering another.  Even the segway of two flights, exit-row legroom, and complimentary cheeses could not prepare me for that transition.  On the plane entering Nicaragua I stared out the window at a black velvet expanse.  That’s the thing about night flights, in a new place you have no idea what you’ll wake up to.  This darkness was scattered with multicolored gems of light, strewn about in no apparent grid or linear fashion, a constellation of civilization.  Customs let me through without a second glance at my intended 300-day stay, and I stepped out into the thick, hot Managua air.  A man from Opportunity International, my new familia, picked my dad and I up in a silver truck.  I sat in the back seat as he loaded our luggage, and a young boy tapped on my window, begging for a crumb of my American gold.  We drove through narrow streets enclosed by brightly colored facades; large wooden doors faced with iron gates lent a taste of the wonders I imagined inside.   There were dogs everywhere.  They trotted across black busy streets with their noses to the ground, following the fairytale scent of asphalt food.  It was past ten at night and bikers continued to ride past sauntering pedestrians, as swerving stick shift cars avoided both walkers and cyclists by some miracle of nonchalant steering.  My dad conversed with our driver in Spanish, and I worked my tired mind furiously to piece together the shells of sentences.  We reached Granada, and the streets seemed tired and ominous to me. It all seemed so far away. All the people were surreal. These aren’t the people I know.  I settled into my hotel room with my dad, who was excited and alert as ever.  My mask of bravery had to last a while longer.  He stepped outside, leaving me alone to my terrifying thoughts.  What the hell are you doing here? This is not your home.  Ten months.  Ten months.  I opened my suitcase, a jumbled mess of articles of the life I left behind.  I saw it all there in that suitcase, the life I chose to change, no turning back. I swallowed my tears as I straightened my posture and faced myself in the mirror.  I told myself what everyone had been telling me for weeks.  What an experience you’re going to have.  You are brave.  You are amazing.  This is the best decision you’ve made so far.  Good job, Anna… Good job, Ana.   

 

A few moments ago I felt an internally clear sensation of progress.  It was one of those experiences that gave me reassurance, confidence, and pride.  I stood on the terra cotta tiles of my clean and comfortable hotel bathroom.  It consisted of a sink large enough for a small duck to sit statically, a toilet accompanied by a roll of thin toilet paper, and an exposed sunken shower with one faucet dial.  If I had one guess, it would be that the countries entire hot water supply was not directly connected to the singular dial in room 11 of L’Hotel Pergola in Granada.  Believe it or not, my first shower in Nicaragua is something I’ve been dreading for weeks.  Every time I took a fifteen-minute scalding hot shower in my comfortable American bathroom I would shiver at the thought of a limited to non-existent hot water supply. But alas, no need to fear.  I spent a 90-degree day walking the breathtakingly gorgeous streets of Granada, driving to and from the school gracious enough to employ me, and perusing the interiors of possible housing options for my next month in Granada.  Determined not to wear shorts, the give-away symbol of American tourism, I returned to my hotel room tired, full, and hot.  I disrobed, turned that dial with an assertive 180-degree twist, and placed my body under the barely warm streams of water.  Like most new and frightening experiences, there was an initial shock followed by adaptation, and eventual satisfaction.

 

My first day in Nicaragua is coming to a close, as all days do.  Just as inevitable as this day ending, tomorrow will begin, and eventually ten months will have come and gone.  The fear has left me for now, and I feel an intense calm. The languid pace of Nicaragua fits me like a glove, and I am at peace with my decision to accept any and all challenges that come with displacing myself in a foreign land.  At the end of this Nicaraguan day I am able to feel a warm breeze on my face, look to the stars, and be thankful for the beauty in today.