Delicate dream filled twilight world: Transitioning back to life in the US

Unconsciously I lean over to throw my toilet paper in the trash and just as I’m about to drop it, I remember that I’m in the US. I mutter “gracias” under my breath as the waiter delivers my iced drink. Two days ago I got back to the US. Immediately my South American adventure seemed like a dream that happened world’s away in a place where swimming pool noodles and Christmas trees are sold together. Completely surreal.

Aside from the occasional reminders like accidentally ordering in Spanish, everything appears eerily unchanged. I quickly began to ask myself “have I really changed?” A comforting familiarity that was virtually nonexistent while abroad looms in the air. My apartment is littered with boxes I happily left behind. They are filled with old possessions like mixed CDs, school projects, unfinished books, dvd box sets, a bike helmet, dusty clothes, and photo albums. Inessential, they are reminders of old identities and memories that I can’t seem to part with. “Then you’re trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you” (Fight Club). Falling back into my old life is effortless just like floating down stream.

When someone asks, “How is it to be back?” or “How were your travels?” I’m not sure if they want a simple one-word answer like “nice” or if they are interested in hearing the truth. I get the feeling that they are looking for the short answer and the question is posed out of politeness. Regardless, I decide to answer the perfunctory question(s) truthfully, because I really want to know the answer myself. I hesitant though, because I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging or preachy.

I search for concise meaningful answer(s) but am unable to paraphrase 13 months for any question. My answers are based on erratically triggered recollections. Momentary flashbacks spontaneously surge from things like peeling an avocado, to hearing an Adele song, to smelling coffee, to feeling highly pressurized water rinse my skin. I give anecdotal answers. They are sporadic at best. In my native language ironically I painstakingly struggle to communicate while the listener struggles to relate. I feel like a foreigner lost in translation.

I have a strong desire to be reticent, since it seems so much easier. I could spare boring people and be certain that I don’t get misunderstood. Bewildered, I know something has changed…

"Como fue? no se decirte como fue no se explicarme que pasó pero de ti me enamoré Fue una luz que eliminó todo mi ser"

Learning to Let Go

In less than a week, I will leave the noisy, humid, exhilarating city of Buenos Aires and return to Texas. I will have been gone for exactly 13 months. As I was preparing to leave for Chile, I wrote this “. As the departure date February 22nd 2011 transforms from a distant daydream into an imminent reality, now that my plans and a dream of mine come to fruition, I feel a smorgasbord of contrastive emotions to include the following but not exclude unlisted emotions: excitement, anxiety, mania, fear, gratefulness, elation, disbelief, unworthiness, joy, phantasmagorical and nervousness. The internal sloshing has concocted some bewildering cocktails.” (I just had to look up phantasmagorical haha, neat word though doesn't really make sense. Actually, I would rephrase the sentence entirely but that's neither here nor there.)

Now 13 months later, I’m going through a similar process again. Only this time, the place I am returning to is much more familiar. I know exactly what my house will smell like and that the air-conditioning will be humming day and night at 70 degrees. I know the feeling of cold tile that I will be walking on. In spite of all this, my life in the US has become like a distant dream. When I think about how life changing has been, I can only hope that it will not all fade to black.