Home.  It usually means where you live.  In college it is often two places, your parents home and your dorm/apartment.  Right now I don’t know what the heck it means.  It feels like I have no homes, no one place where I am most comfortable with and knowledgeable about.  Or maybe I have three homes in Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Costa Rica.  But if I have so many homes how come I am frustrated that no one speaks Spanish here in New England.  Why am I so relieved to be able to throw toilet paper in the toilet?  Why am I annoyed that it is frigid, but at the same time so incredibly happy not to be constantly sweating?

Nowhere feels right but nowhere feels wrong either.  I feel like I am caught in this other dimension where I am happy to be home with my family but missing the family I created in Costa Rica.  I want to connect to everyone around me but I know that I will not be able to explain my experiences in any language.  The stories I have may seem epic and unsurpassable to me, but merely comical or interesting to other people.

I love being home.  I loved moving into my new apartment and jumping into coexistence with my new roommates.  I love falling back into the nine hour days at my job with lake sampling and sciencey lab work.  Yet none of it can ever compare to the waterfalls, wildlife, and people I was fortunate enough to encounter in Costa Rica.

I struggle the more time passes since I flew out of San Jose.  The memories seem far away.  The stories feel more like stories than pieces of my life.  When I talk of bungee jumping or scuba diving I question myself in my mind about whether it actually happened.  It feels so far away and so unreal in comparison with this rather mundane life that I have returned to.  It is sad, I try to talk to others about Costa Rica enough to let myself relive the escapades without boring others.  Pictures help the most.  I find myself scrolling through my pictures time after time.  I see pictures of my friends and imagine each of them leading their own lives in their own states far away from me.  I truly hope that I will be able to see many of them again.

Just a few nights ago I dreamed about leaving Costa Rica.  While it was wonderful to briefly be back there in that life changing country my subconscious self picked a terrible point t go back to.  The goodbyes were just as hard as they had been in real life and the tears poured down everyone’s faces again.  I woke up crying, sad that I had just had to say goodbye again to this family I had built.  Yet, at the same time I was the littlest bit happy that I had sort of gotten to see them again even if it was in my sleep for what was probably only a few seconds.

All in all, I miss the mangoes.  I miss the Buenos dias.  I miss the iguanas scuttling across the streets.  I miss Leche sitting in front of USAC at night as we gathered for fiestas.  I miss Spanish class every morning and plant documentaries on Monday afternoons.  I miss being sung Eye of the Tiger by a shaggy haired surfing instructor.  I miss sunsets on the beach.  I miss dinner in styrofoam containers being handed to me through the front gate.  I miss soccer on Wednesday nights as the ticos ran circles around us.  I miss the constant insults in Spanish as we danced poorly around the common area.  I miss Spanish swears being thrown around constantly, not seeming quite so strong in another language.  I miss getting big in the weight room.  I miss bumping along on smelly buses to exciting new destinations every weekend.  I miss conversing with people from all around the world in bug-infested hostels.  I miss the oceans, lakes, rivers, and waterfalls.  I miss the people who could make me laugh, the people who made me actually want to leave my room on the days I felt terribly homesick.  I miss the people who taught me about culture in southern Cali or about the flight schools in DC or about Christianity.  I miss the ticos who would text me in Spanish just to give me extra practice.  I miss the store owners who would repeat the cost of my snacks over and over until I came up with the right amount of change.  I miss Seuss as he guarded me from the “dangerous” male friends who would walk me home some nights.  I miss the long sweaty walks downtown just to mail one single letter.  I miss absolutely everything, even the ice cold showers and the waterfalls that came through my ceiling when the rainy season started.  Life will never be the same and I cannot wait to return to this magical country that has somehow managed to change me as a person.