I have not changed out of my pajamas yet, its 1:45 pm, and at this point it useless to try and go anywhere. My day has not been a complete wash though. I should also mention it’s a Tuesday. Today my accomplishments include not only breakfasting and lunching, but I made vegetable soup stock and tomato sauce, of which I made with pasta for lunch. I finished reading a book and made my bed. I haven’t had a day like this since I got back from Nicaragua, and even in Nicaragua there was always something to do, because no one goes on vacation to sit around in their jams doing nothing…. Maybe they do but that was not our fate.

Firstly, I’d like to make note of the very short amount of time we have left for service. 8 Months from now, I will not be in Costa Rica but rather, hopefully, Colombia, with three very dear friends on our way, sort of haphazardly through South America. Talking with my friends here (read family) I realize how hard it will be to leave them, because just it coming up in conversation I immediately want to change topic. Deña and her daughters and adorable English speaking grandson; Kim, Amanda, her mom, dad and brother (who strangely enough looks like Chappy) and all our cooking/ baking adventures; Miriam and her husband Ivan and Ignacio, their perpetually adorable 13 year old son, and their house with 100 fish and an instant feeling of comfort when you walk in, and workouts with Miriam and her sister that make us laugh and cry in pain, but always come back for more; both of my host families, so very wonderful to me, that have accepted me and my weirdness, entirely and without question. I hope I never have to know what its like to not have them around. Even my roommate who puts washing machines in my “room” and without fail leaves me coffee in a disheveled kitchen every morning, is my family here. I don’t just have friends, I have people who have welcomed me into their homes and made me part of their conversations and celebrations. I have a sinking feeling that these next months will be full of days where I feel exceptionally proud to be here followed by days of sadness when I face the coming end.

Six months ago, I wasn’t able to see why anyone would extend; two years seemed like a reasonable amount of time for trial and error community development. But then this year, I am part of things, not just as a helper but an integral part in the execution of projects, my opinion is sought out and considered. My counterparts are my friends, who have seen me, whether they knew it or not, through some of the hardest days of my life and consequently a lot of my growing up. Even if extending to the end of the year is a viable option, it would just waylay the inevitable, this is not where all my family lives, not where I’ll make money and be with a boyfriend who has waited patiently by my side (figuratively) until I come home.

But what heartbreak to have two homes and know you can only live in one. 

I know this country like I know my own. I’ve been border to border and coast to coast and spend many an hour listlessly staring off in awe of its beautiful and extreme terrains. I know bus stops and farmers at farmers markets, as I should since I’ve lived here, really lived here for almost 20 months. Shortly after finally feeling like I’m not an outsider, like I have a place here, I have to get ready to leave it.

Its not like I didn’t know this was coming, I have been planning my departure and next steps for months now, down to considering what I’m selling, giving away and to who and what I’ll be throwing out. I also know I handle inevitable painful separations like pulling off a band-aid the wrong way, slowly and feeling everything. And I knew this would happen the same way. So I guessed surprised is at least one emotion I can say I don’t feel. 

So today I stayed in my pajamas all day, mostly because I have no real assignment today and I’ve been wanting to make tomato sauce before all the tomatoes I had went bad. Change will happen, I will leave, and life will go on without me here just like everywhere I’ve ever left. The sadness is not necessarily in this fact but in the fear that I’ll loose the touch with the connections I have made, knowing I won’t be next door for my host sister when she has “girly questions”, forgetting what it’s like to stand on my host moms front porch and watch the stars, or the sunset, or the neighbors blowing up giant fireworks 40 feet away. I’m sad that time erases the little things that hold your days together, the feeling of adventure living in another country, learning  new language and the look on people’s faces that  say “it’s ok I get what you mean, stop struggling”. I’m even sad to part with my beloved silence and time all to myself, to cook or clean or watch the same 30 movies over and over again, or write or read without feeling like I’m just wasting time, but rather purposefully spending it.

 There are many things to miss since I’ve nestled into my community probably more so than any other place I’ve lived in, as a way to feel part of it so far away from what was familiar. Maybe that’s what makes Peace Corps such the adventure. We land in the middle of the unknown and grab onto as much as we can to ground us again. Hardly is there such unknown in our culture and country that we are desperate to bring or create meaning in our lives, so that when we leave, we leave part of our soul there. But here we stand, holding onto meaning until it’s time to move on as all things do.