Bring On The Song
Let's go to the beach,
get the sand through our feet
Bring on the wonder
Bring on the song
I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long"
- Bring On The Wonder, Susan Enan
A few months ago, I realized that parts of me were coming alive once more, that I hadn't even realized were asleep.
I lived in Costa Rica for six months learning Spanish, before moving to Ecuador. In CR, I lived with a Tico (Costa Rican) family. I paid rent each month. In the same house was up to two other students, plus my Tico 'Mom' and sister. The Dad and brother (father of the brother, divorced step-dad to the sister) lived next door. The family dynamic was confusing at best.
I had so many great experiences living in CR. It's a tiny country hemmed by beautiful coastlines and packed with interesting culture, food, and people. Living there was exciting yet also difficult in many ways. For instance, I had no choice about what I ate each day. The Mom of the house prepared each meal, which sounds great, except that she served huge portions which was rude not to eat. I had a few days of panic when I first arrived, sitting in front of heaping platefuls and thinking of a couple of people who said, "So they eat lots of rice and beans there? You're going to get fat!" (I didn't believe that statement, but still.)
If I wanted to bake something for the family or friends I had to approve it with the Mom a day in advance, and no more than once a week. She was very territorial about everything in the house, which is understandable, but also a strange adjustment when you're 28 and are consistently treated like a child. She was demanding about knowing everywhere I went and what I did. Once, I considered moving out and finding a new place to live, because for a week she was insistent that I had left the house early in the mornings - which I sometimes did to go running, but hadn't lately because of a hurt ankle - and never seemed to believe me when I assured her I hadn't gone anywhere, making things frigidly uncomfortable.
The Mom had her sweet moments, too, of course. I'm sure it must be difficult to always have strangers living her home: she made her living by housing students who were there studying Spanish. But the many screaming matches between her and her teenage daughter - usually about school - were hard to have to be around. Or the times she would reprimand me and other students about not unplugging the internet or anything else that could be unplugged, because she strictly believed in saving every bit (cent) of electricity (money) possible. Even though the TV was on nearly all day.
It was a unique time of making friends in a small environment. I quickly became close with fellow classmates, which led to moments of deep conversations and also strongly hurt feelings. We were an isolated group in many ways, only having the other people at the school.We had some amazing adventures. But when you only have a small handful of brand-new friends, it's easier to be hurt by careless comments and actions.
After I moved to Ecuador, it took a few weeks to find an apartment. When I did, it was perfect. I had been determined to live on my own - desiring freedom almost in the extreme after CR - yet instead, I met Rachel, a girl my age who had been in Ecuador almost three years and really wanted a roommate. We got along great and found an absolutely beautiful old apartment that was just right for two people. We picked out paint and bought furniture and made the place home. I love living here. Not long ago I realized how sorely I had missed buying my own food and cooking my own meals. I had missed having a real home, not just a bedroom whose desk might disappear some days, all the contents heaped on my bed, if the Mom wanted to use it. I had missed going barefoot. In CR everyone wears flip-flops, slippers, or socks all the time, because it's considered unsanitary and rude to be barefoot. This little thing grew tiring for me, a Texas girl who is used to long summers and bare feet. I had missed having a place to come home too at the end of the day where there is no screaming, no TV constantly on and no hoping it's okay to plug in the internet cable. No one reprimanding me for speaking English to a fellow student instead of Spanish. No being treated like a little girl who needs constant monitoring.
Most of all though, I missed this one simple thing: singing. I grew up in a musical home, with my Mom playing the piano and singing. Even when I lived in a house with six other people, I would sing when I did the dishes and got ready in the mornings (though mostly when others where in another part of the house from me). Every day, I would sing when I was alone in my car. Driving somewhere was my time to be completely free to sing at the top of my lungs as though I might burst apart or fly away. In Costa Rica, I never had that. There were always people around. Now, I can once again sing again while cleaning the kitchen - my lovely blue kitchen - and play music anytime I want. I sing while hanging up laundry or watering the plants. I sing while making coffee in the mornings, while boiling water and pouring into my French press. Again, usually it is when Rachel is not in the room with me, though that doesn't always matter. I miss times alone of driving and singing, yet have enough time alone in the house to belt as much as I want. Lungs full of air, throat full of sound. Burst apart or fly away.
It's good, I think, to have things taken away and realize the sweetness of their returning. It's good to miss things, just to learn their true value. It's good to feel the tingling joy of waking up after being in partial hibernation. Wake up, oh sleeper. It's time to sing.
"I can't see the stars anymore living here
Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear
Bring on the wonder
Bring on the song
I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long"
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