I feel safe at home.
- canelaflames
- Oct 31
- 4 min read
This was an essay that I wrote in my bedroom in Costa Rica. I was wondering how I could consider some place home that I have only been a hand full of times. Although I am no longer there, the connection I felt has grown stronger. If the essay does not include locations, at the time, I was not telling people where I was. I can't wait to go back to Costa Rica. But, in the meantime, I will continue to write about how I have changed throughout this process. I plan to continue to heal.
I made it home and I don't mean Pennsylvania this time. How can a country I have only been to three times be the safest place in the world? Or, at least, that is how I perceive this country. There is a song called, God Is Real by India Arie. Essentially, she says in the song that she knows that God is real because all of this (the earth air water and flowers) is not by chance. I know that God is real because meeting my Tica familia could not have been happenstance. I just don't have the mental space to delegitimize the blessing of having someone you can text at 4am to say, I am on my way and they respond, "okay."
I am not saying that is exactly how it happened, but it is not too far off. And, true to form, before getting settled, I told everyone that I am their new daughter/sister/cousin/neighbor. This is one of those times that I am grateful for being a little... forward. In less than twenty-four hours, I convinced people I only met once to take me to get a tattoo and my nose pierced. I did all of that because I feel safe. In the midst of la tormenta, I asked myself, where was the last place I felt unbridled safety? And this is where (mind ya business) God landed me.
It is hard not to place meaning on everything. I prevent my mind from spiraling - does this mean I don't like my home country? Have I been searching for what I knew since my study abroad program? I knew this was where I wanted to be. It's just, no matter how far you run, you always run into yourself. Even though I skedaddled from home in the cover of night, all those issues I had back home are seeping from my pores. My skin is oozing with the painfully obvious fact that I have some healing I need to do.
To be honest, I feel like a failure. I have been reading... searching for answers in the back of every book. The problem is, I haven't found the answer to my deepest worries, concerns, or issues. And, not for lack of trying. I have painstakingly read and read and read, the same way Hamilton would write and write and… I am sure if you are a Hamilton fan you get the picture. Now that I know what I know, I don't even know if I like reading anymore. Reminds me of another India Arie song lyric where she says, the more I know, the less I understand. And what I know is that I know I need help.
Lately, people have asked me, "how can I help?" For the first time in my life, the honest answer is, I don't know. I simply want my community. Fuck. When it hit that everyone is spread out… all over the US, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic, Germany, and Spain (I even know a few people in Canada), I am fighting back tears because I don't want to accept this reality. I carry a piece of my loved ones and close friends with me. But why can't they be here physically? I miss their everyday presence; I just miss hugs. And... many other things....
I miss picking on people who know me well enough to know that I’m joking. I miss the baratone of my father's voice. I miss big ass Friendsgiving parties where we break out into the wobble. I miss cooking new recipes with others. I miss the familiarity of people and places I knew before leaving. But that brings me back to where I started. How can I miss a country I’ve only been to two times before this visit? How can I long for a family with whom I only spent one week? In that week I felt loved. I felt joy. I sang, and my husband knows that I do not sing for just anybody. How can there’s no place like home apply to a place I’ve been to for less than a third of my life?
I am safe. If home is wherever I live, does that mean the home I have been searching for is the one that is within me? As I write myself into a conclusion, I imagine that this part of my life means I must learn how to be comfortable in my skin... again. This time, as a mom. This time as a survivor. This time in my first and my second language. I am learning how to love myself in Spanish. I feel excited for the challenge. For the nuance of it all. Bring it on. I am home to recharge my batteries and to... learn to love me for who I truly am. I call this chapter of my life, rebuilding the home within me.
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