nostalgia

It's a peaceful Sunday afternoon here in Guatemala. I woke to the sound of my curtains flapping in the wind and had one of those moments where, even after all these months, I wasn't quite sure where I was.

Now I'm here, sitting on the floor with my computer and the comforting sounds of one of my old favorite albums, Transatlanticism, remembering. Remembering yesterday, when the marimba at a neighbor's birthday party was too loud to hear my movie over, remembering the beginning of this year when I was filled with wonder and confusion about this country I live in, remembering the Death Cab for Cutie concert my freshman year of college and how very, very far I've come since then.

Only a month left here. I can't believe it.

A whole month left here. So much to do.

Being assistant at another trial this week, climbing Pacaya for the third time (we're good friends now), a visit from my parents, project upon project, wedding showers, retreats, game nights and goodbye parties. Processing leaving this place I've known and loved for the past 9 months. Processing going home to the people I know and love there. Breathing.