These past few days I've been having this reoccurring dream, this reoccurring nightmare. I'm still unsure which. In the dream, I wake up one morning in San Cristobal and out of nostalgia and stupidity, I book the soonest flight back home. In the dream there is no time frame, I do not take a 15 hour bus ride back to Cancun or spend the day on a flight back to Ontario. I simply decide I want to go home, and at home I am! Of course everyone is happy to see me and I reminisce on the people and places I've met and seen. The dream never seems to drag on. Like most dreams it starts just as quick as it ends. In this dream, I can never remember too much of anything, except for one feeling. A heavy feeling of heartbreak of regret. Of anxiousness. Is that a word?
Ehh, anyhow. I awake to a world unknown. With the covers pulled over my head, for a second, I am unsure of whether reality was really a dream, or dream a reality. I peel back the covers slowly each time and see the oak wood of my dresser next to me. A feeling of both disappointment and relief hovers over me. I'm unsure of whether to be happy I'm in San Cristobal or to feel sorrow for not being home.
I simply go on with my day.
Soon it will be a month since I have been in San Cristobal de las Casas. People come and go. People from Austria, Japan, Quebec, and all over Southern and Central America, my favorite are the Argentinians. Something about them, maybe it's in the water, but they are simply the sweetest, most hilarious people you'll ever meet, honest. Wait where was I going with this? Ahh yes, okay, over this past month I've seen so many come and go already. As most of the others locals are smart to not get too attached, I've seized to learn my lesson.
Whether I'm awake or asleep I have started to realize a change in me. A me I hardly recognized, due to a short hiatus. A me who appreciates the comforts of home, but more-so the nakedness of being all alone in a foreign place. A me who is once again happy. Not through alcohol, men or materials even. I am simply happy in my own atmosphere. Happy waking up each morning to a fresh brewed cup of cafe con leche from Yoli (the hostel mom) to Pancho's loud but welcoming voice echoing throughout the hostel each afternoon, and to sitting around the dinner table at night watching boot leg scary movies on the hostel's ancient television set. My life in San Cristobal is not that of daring adventure, or one of endless romance. Life here is simple. It is no Cancun, I admit, the nearest beach is 4 hours away, and the weather here, greedily changes it's mind often. The cats here are skinny, the clouds often hang low and every morning the cathedral bells ring loud.
Mom, this place is a utopia, sometimes I fear of waking up in High school Musical plastered sheets, and sometimes even in multicolored cobijas. At times I wish the two could collide, both paradise and reality.
Both High school Musical sheets and multicolored cobijas.