Last night was our first dance class in Costa Rica together as a family. It was a private dance class consisting of basic Merengue and Salsa dance steps, and surprisingly, I enjoyed it, though I didn’t think that I would. I was exhausted and sweating afterwards, much like my parents, and did suppose that when we went home now that I would finally be able to enjoy the “comfort” of my chair. Instead, we went to yoga, which probably benefited me although I am beginning to think that I’m getting more tight rather than less tight the more yoga I do, contrary to the belief that I had when I started. I may have to postpone my dream of being a part time contortionist temporarily.
Yesterday night, yoga was taught by a completely different teacher. So far, there are three yoga teachers at this one school… How many more could there possibly be? Each class is different, depending on the teacher. I spent a good twenty minutes last night thinking about this, trying to differentiate between the different qualities that the different teachers focused on when I finally came to the conclusion that they all have different personalities. Honestly, all three of them use similar, if not the same movements during each class. But…. This can make a person feel secure, I suppose.
At the end of our class last night, our teacher told us that we would sit in a circle, join hands, and say “om” together. I was terribly confused by all this, and kept opening my eyes (I don’t think I was supposed to do that) and looking around at everyone else to see what they were doing. They had their eyes closed, and were saying “om”.
It’s interesting how simply not knowing the language can make the things that you usually have a passionate dislike for rather pleasing. For instance, going to a ballet class in Mexico. I don’t really like ballet that much, but I loved it there simply because I probably looked a tad like a fool, and felt a tad like one too.
Just last night, I was on my nineteenth day here. Hardly enough to justify a small celebration, but just enough to feel satisfied. Now, on the twentieth day, I can finally let myself reason that I’ve almost been here three weeks. About two days ago (I’m just guessing, I’m beginning to lose track of time.), I said that I’ve almost been here a month. My dad looked at me strange when I said this because, no, I’ve been here three weeks, not quite a month. I think I’m trying to convince myself that I’ve been here longer than I actually have, just for my own comfort.
Every day, I’ve been realizing, there’s a certain time, usually on a bus, when I think “this isn’t so bad, I can totally do this”. Usually, I can enjoy this feeling of determination and security for about five minutes, tops, before I start thinking, “never mind, screw this crud, I CANNOT do this any longer.” Then I start fidgeting. This feeling comes around at about three or four o’clock, I’m guessing, sometimes later, sometimes earlier, but every time, this is what happens.
I know that I will be able to make it, and that I’ll get over the fact that I don’t get to go home for three months eventually, but by that time, I’ll probably have one and a half months left or something. It’s horrible to think that I have another ¾ of a month left before I get to feel this comforting feeling full time, but I suppose I’ll have to be a toughie about things for that ¾ of a month.
Just three days ago, I was talking to my friend over Skype, which is easier said than done considering that there’s a good five second delay between when she says something, and when I hear it. She said that her parents were thinking about sending her to her grandparents house this next summer, for the whole summer. WHAT??? WHY???? I thought. She’s going to leave me for dead in Nebraska and go die without me in Iowa instead. This just sucks. THAT’S THE ONLY FREAKING TIME WE CAN JAM THOUGH!!!! I said to her in a flurry of goofy outrage.
“Well, Lydian, that’s what you’re doing to me right now” She said with a hint of grumpiness in her voice.
Dang. She had me. I‘m gone, and will be for a little while…. But it was different! Right? Who knows. It’s probably similar, but still. We both had a point there.
I know I probably had similar feelings like this when I was in Mexico, but I just don’t remember them. Hopefully, they will leave soon. I haven’t cried yet though. I think that maybe, just maybe, when I have an official breakdown, that things will start to be better, and I’ll get over it all. I’ll let you know when that happens, if it does.
(NOTE: This post was written when I was 12. I edited it in 2017 for grammatical errors and other technical stuff, but maintained the content to preserve my 12-year-old perspective)