Coming Home

My last night in Oaxaca really did not have an end; it quickly faded into the next day with just a 1 hour nap from 4 to 5 am. Our entire group seemed to end up trickling into Elefante sooner or later that night, where we all drank and danced and danced and drank well into the morning. I finally danced salsa, kicking myself for not dancing like this sooner, and eventually had to turn down the tequila as the night wore on. At 4 am I decided it was time to say goodbye and head home; I believe only 3 of our group of 10 actually ended up sleeping that night, though I wouldn't call what I had much of a sleep. It was more of a nap that just ended up disorienting me rather than giving me energy.

At 6 am I'm fighting with my suitcase, trying to get it into the back of the car, while my mom is getting into the front seat. We pick up Olivia and I'm reminded of the first day we came to Oaxaca; squished into a car with our moms in the front and suitcases on our laps because there is absolutely no more room. I wouldn't have been surprised if we had things falling out the windows. As we make our way to the airport in the pre-dawn of the morning, I'm watching Mexico fly by me, thinking that in only a couple hours, this road will be just a line in the dirt, then nothing at all.

The airport signs don't seem to phase me as the did coming to Mexico. I don't think I actually believe we're going home, and am further reminded of this when I say goodbye to my mom; it was much easier than I thought it would be. An "Adios," a hug, a wave, and there me and Olivia are, standing on the sidewalk, alone with our luggage, as the women that took care of us for 3 months drive out of sight. We silently grab our things and head into the airport, there meeting the rest of our group.

Finally, after waiting for several hours, going through security, and doing a dance as I left the airport bathroom (No more paying pesos! No more missing toilet seats! No more bringing my own toilet paper and using buckets filled with water to flush! NO MORE THROWING AWAY MY TOILET PAPER!!! GOODBYE MEXICAN BATHROOMS!) we board the plane. As I'm sitting in my seat, the flight attendant comes around and starts asking what we would like to drink. In English. And though I register this, I catch myself almost speaking to him in Spanish... ?Puede darme un pepsi? NO! This man speaks ENGLISH ONLY! I pause, speak English, then wonder why the heck it was so hard to speak English to him... I speak it all the time to my classmates. And then I realize. I speak English to my CLASSMATES. Anyone outside our group, any stranger we met, we always spoke to in Spanish. Speaking to this stranger in English really threw me off. And it was then that I started the strange process of re-entry.

The next thing that tells me that yes, we really are returning to the United States, is that when the snacks come around, the words on the wrapper are in English. I hold my snack and simply stare at it for several seconds. It's a small thing, but these words in English almost shock me, because I still can not believe I'll be home soon. And then I break out into a smile as I eat every one of those bagel chip things. I'm actually headed to an English-speaking place. I'm going back to the US. I'm going home. Amazing.

We fly for several hours, and soon I look down and see neighborhoods. Suburbs. Which is another shock to my system. Where I was in Oaxaca, people live with concrete walls between their homes, not wooden fences. The houses aren't in neat little rows with driveways, they're all jumbled and squished and anywhere they can be; brightly colored and all very different. I look at those suburbs, with its curving roads with cookie-cutter houses in rows on either side, and actually smile. Here's the trademark of America, right in front of my face. It's not that I like suburbs, it's just so weird to see these neat little rows of wooden houses, something I haven't seen in months. Then, I see an interstate highway. I really am back in the US.

We get off the plane and walk into the airport. Airports are odd places; they all look the same, very industrial and cold and clean. They are like the in-between worlds of countries, like limbo. There is nothing special about any one of them; they all look almost exactly the same. Gates and baggage claims and security and customs. But I take in the cold neatness of the airport and sigh. Here it is, the world between the one I just left and the one I'm going to. I'm that much closer to being home. When we arrive at the bathrooms, I cheer. Yay!! American bathrooms! HOW I'VE MISSED YOU! I've never been so ecstatic to take a pee! I throw my toilet paper into the toilet with an emphasis not often seen during this particular task and relish the idea that I in fact did NOT have to pay money to use this bathroom!

My time in the airport is full of culture shocks all around. While walking around, we realize several very vital things. Firstly, people can actually understand us when we talk now. In Mexico, we would talk about inappropriate things in public with no guilt; no one could understand us, so why be discrete about it? In this airport, we seem to be catching ourselves, realizing that yes, people will be disturbed if we mention what Kieren's host brother did last night, or who said what while they were drunk. The second thing we have to realize is that people do NOT speak Spanish outside our group, something we had all realized already but still hadn't really got a grasp on. I start talking to the guy behind the Panda Express counter in rapid spanish, because I had mentioned that we were returning from Mexico, and he asked, Como estas? I eventually realize that this guy knows very little Spanish, can not understand me, and just let me go on and on just to be polite. Embarassed, I go sit down with my group, where Beau does not let up on the making-fun-of-me phase. But while we're sitting there, eating our first fast food we've had in months, someone makes a comment about how no one is staring at us. We look up, and realize they're right. NO ONE is making eye contact with us. We were so used to being stared at in Mexico, that this was almost weird, but mostly a huge relief. I found myself being extremely grateful for Americans sense of privacy and independence. No more staring! Or whistling! Or cat-calling, or words being said to us as we walk by... Thank God. I never could get used to that part of Mexico. We also realize that most of the people in here are white, and though I feel almost ashamed saying it, I am relieved to see them. We are no longer standing out. We blend right in. We are anonymous, nothing special. I sigh with more relief.

As we're waiting for our next plane, Abby comes over to me, laughing hystarically. I ask her what happened.
"Okay so I just bought a salad over there and it cost 4 dollars and 45 cents, so I got out my wallet and gave her the 4 dollars and then just stared at my change. And then I looked up and the woman was staring at me, so I told her, 'I haven't used American money for awhile...' I couldn't remember how much the coins were worth! So the lady just took my change purse and counted out 45 cents..."
"Oh my god Abby." I laugh and roll my eyes.
"I know! I know." She shakes her head. Funny joke, Mexico.
Later, I ask Abby if I can use her phone to call Tyler. The first time I've used a cell phone since the last time I was in an airport, and the first time I've used an actual phone in probably 2 months. It is so good to hear his voice on the other end, and I can't stop appreciating the fact that I just called him randomly, on a phone, without having to coordinate a time to talk in advance. His voice was right there, whenever I wanted it. No skype cutting out on me, no waiting for him to get online. Again, amazing.

We board the plane and this time I prepared myself for all the English I knew was going to come at me. The flight is longer than the last one, and I listen to my music and watch out the window. The further north we go, the cloudier it gets. Of course. And soon I can't even see the ground, only cloud cover. So I wait, and chat politely with the lady next to me, and wait some more. I watch part of the movie. I try to sleep. I listen to my music. And suddenly the pilot announces taht we will begin our descent into Portland, Oregon. My heart does a little flip. And within 20 minutes, we descend below the cloud cover, and I see Oregon for the first time in 3 months.

I dont know if words are appropriate for describing how I feel in this moment. Oregon spreads out below me and all I can see see green. Everywhere. As far as I can see. And the lazy river winding around through that green. It's fresh, and clean, and absolutely beautiful. I see it and instantly I feel completely happy, like I have been missing a part of my heart and there it is, right below me. That emerald beauty that stretches out forever, leaving nothing untouched. I feel lighter, and jittery with the passion I feel for my home. I bounce up and down in my seat involuntarily, saying, "Oh my god, look how green it is! It's so pretty. Look!" I swear the woman next to me is staring at me like I'm crazy. Yeah... it's green... get over it weirdo. But I ignore her and simply stare at it, feeling like maybe I sucked in some helium and am going to float away. So beautiful, so beautiful.

We finally land, and as I leave the plane, in that little moment where you can feel the air outside before you walk into that tube that will take you into the airport, I pause for just a second. The air is cool, and crisp. It's different than in Chiapas, where it was a muggy cool. It feels wonderful. I continue into the airport, not really bothering to say goodbye to my group, the people I've spent the last 3 months with, as I head towards baggage claim, where I hope my family will be waiting. My family! I move faster as I think about this, finally seeing them again. I get to the other side of security and look around, wondering where they are. Suddenly someone calls my name, and it's not my family but my friend Karen running at me, who is coincidentally is there to drop off her mom at the same time. We hug each other tightly and I almost start crying at the familiarity of it... We've gone to school together since we were in 1st grade. But she has to go say goodbye to her mom, and my family still isn't here yet, so I head towards the baggage claim area, hopeing that maybe they're waiting there.

Suddenly 2 blurs of color are flying towards me, and they almost pass by before they turn abruptly and slam into either side of me. And I start laughing as my sisters yell and scream and hug and laugh and hug some more. A chorus of, "Oh my god!"s and "You're here!!" and "I've missed you!!" are swirling around my head as I try to keep them as close to me as I can. Soon we get untangled and I look up to see Brayden running towards me, full throttle, feet moving in little blurs, and suddenly I'm hugging him too. "Ash! W-w-w-where have you been?" Giggle, giggle, giggle. His stuttering is enhanced because he's so excited. I give him one of my little wheeling bags to pull, and he gets really excited, because it means that he's a big boy, not just a little 3-year-old, and pulls it to baggage claim for me, where I see Laurie and Dad and hug them too. I feel so happy, surrounded by my family, telling Brayden to calm down, holding hands with my sisters. Like this is how it's supposed to be.

We drive home down the freeway, and as soon as I see Mary's Peak, the mountain I see every day when I'm home, I start crying. Just a little bit, but I'm surprised I didn't start sooner. I can't believe how happy I am to be back. Mexico was a great experience and a ton of fun, but nothing can really compare to my home. Within the next few weeks, I find myself sliding back into my life here pretty easily. Driving for the first time was wonderful... no more relying on taxis or busses! Making my own food sucks, but what can you do? I see clean water in the ditches and I stop and stare. I see people on the side of the road picking up garbage and I'm amazed. I go to my dads house and sit in awe at how beautiful it is through my new eyes. I love being home.

I drive up to see Tyler the next day, even though we were supposed to quarantine ourselves after we got home in case we had the swine flu. I don't care. I go anyways. I get to his door and knock, and I'm nervous. My heart is beating fast. This is the first time I'll have seen him for so long. The first time I'll be able to hug him and be in the same room as him in ages. It doesn't seem real. When he opens the door, I basically throw myself at him and hug him for about 10 whole minutes, taking deep breaths, feeling his hand stroking my back, lips kissing my forehead. I back up for about a second and realize my hands are shaking... alot. So I decide it's a good idea to just keep hugging. "You're actually here. I can actually touch you." I say, over and over again. It seems incredible that 3 months have gone by, but here I am.

I do miss Mexico sometimes. The food, the clubs, the beach, the colonial buildings and music and people. The warmth... winter will come soon and I know I'll miss it then. Then again, there are things that I definitely do not miss. But perhaps every place is like that. When you live somewhere, that place opens up and shows you its good AND bad sides, but it gives the place a life of it's own, with character and stories. Always with the good and the bad; a rule that applies everywhere. When you live somewhere, you're not a tourist; you dont just glance at the beautiful surface and move along. That will teach you nothing. It's when you allow yourself to see the darkness that you truly can appreciate the light. Because of Mexico, I have learned many things, but the one I will always remember is to never forget the light of home.