Life is Vulnerable

When I see people in the distance, I think it's her.

Just for a split second.

And then I have to take a moment. My mind gets all blurry and for a moment or two I can't quite figure out if I am in El Salvador or Costa Rica.

But then the sounds around me return and the people start moving again and I know I am in Costa Rica.

And it's not her. It's just another young 15 year old, or maybe someone a bit older.

It's like last week I couldn't feel. Or, maybe I didn't let myself. I tried to say the words out loud to a few people, but it didn't make sense to me.

And I kept burying and burying the emotions. Anyways, we're not supposed to show them in public places. Crying, being vulnerable, is for when you are home and alone and somewhere where they can't see you.

As I walked silently: up the stairs to my hostel, down the forested trails, inside the beautiful house of mosaic artwork, my mind was racing. I kept trying to figure it out. The why. The how.

And then I'd see the others and I'd come back to Costa Rica. To the trip. To the talks. To the figuring out of life. All while it is simultaneously being lost.

Sometimes, I wondered if I could've done something. Sometimes, I wished I would've said more.

Sometimes, I understand.

I don't know if that is wrong.

People are talking around me and I hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but I am not listening. My eyes are glued to my feet and suddenly it's happening again and I'm not sure if I am here or there.

I remember vividly the first time you brought me to your house. I didn't know I was going. I was wearing a long skirt and the same pair of slippery, broken sandals I had been wearing for a long time. Your little sister was there and so was my little curly-haired-love who often came with me everywhere. She was carrying a little bottle of juice. I don't know why I remember that.

I didn't know you lived so far away...well, in my eyes- it was a long walk. I couldn't believe you did that everyday to got to school.

We hiked up the mountainside. I was embarrassed, as I frequently lost my footing. You guys walked with ease- even the little ones in their plastic shoes.

I wished I was dressed differently and I was sweaty when I reached the top.

I remember your house. How it looked inside and the view from the back. I remember the fresco your Mom made me. I asked to see your sketch pad. You were a brilliant artist. You showed me your drawings. I loved them, especially the one of a little girl you drew.

We walked to the waterfalls together.

You were one of the first people I met from the place I now call my second home. You always came to our group meetings and even on the long walks to swim in the river.

In big groups, you didn't say much. Like me.

You loved to draw. Just like I do.

I remember how you were a great student. I remember when I taught classes to your school, you were always well-behaved. I liked when you smiled.

I'm still here, though, walking and looking at my feet.

It's weird. There's moments I look up and my surrounds overwhelm me with their natural beauty and fragrances and song. I forget about it all for a moment and I'm back here. You know, where I am right now. Smiling and looking around and appreciating this undeserving gift that the world has laid before me.

And then I glance at my feet and the outside drowns away and I'm vacuumed back up into this place where I can't help but try to crawl inside your mind and understand. And I'm digging and digging and I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I'm not really sure I'm supposed to be out there either.

And in my feet I see your feet. And in my eyes I am your eyes, looking down.

And I hear the quietness of your last footsteps. I see them.

And I don't know if they are landing lightly in peace. In freedom.

And I don't know if they are stepping deliberately. In pain. In sadness.

And I don't know if it's all a mistake.

And it's not my place to do this. I know that.

I just want you to know that I hear you.

I always did.

I could have shown it better. 

I saw you. I always did.

I want to be vulnerable now. And cry. I don't know who I am crying for. For me. Or for you. Or for everyone. For so many people. Even people who didn't even know you. Even people I don't even know well myself.

Now I am crying for different reasons and different people and different situations. It's like all the bandaids that have been covering hurt are falling off. How long have some of those been there?

There is something in these tears, though. Something is washing away. I can feel it leaving me.

And something else is staying behind. And in this moment of vulnerability I feel open and welcoming instead of weak and afraid. I can't explain it. But as I cry, I know this is what I need.

Life is so very vulnerable.

I'm not sure we every really understand that.

Until we become vulnerable, too.

________________________
Que tenga paz. Nunca la olvido.