An excerpt from my journal. Written in Medellín, Colombia on February 27, six days before I left South America.
I miss this trip. I miss this trip in a way that hurts my heart. In a way, I don't even want to be away anymore. There is nothing that I really want to do. I have no agenda. I am just here killing time before I go home.
And why? Why am I still here wandering from city to city without motivation? Because going home earlier would mean the trip is over. Because leaving South America means that everything I've dreamed about - which has turned into a reality better than I ever imagined - is done.
When I think back on my trip, my last few weeks in Colombia will never be the ones I concentrate on. "My trip" will be the Wild Rovers and the Lokis. The treks and the bus rides. The theme parties. Sinead. Mona. Michael.
I can remember so many minor details of this trip perfectly. I can picture scenes in my head vividly. I can hear people's voices and laughs. I can remember exactly how I felt at certain times. I can remember smells and tastes. That is what I don't want to lose. I don't want to lose the feeling of what it's like to be here.
I can't imagine a time in the future that I will think back on this trip and not feel a wanting - a longing - to be back here.
Even with no water and road blocks and uncomfortable beds... 28 hour bus rides... not knowing the language. The experiene of being here makes any sacrifice worth it.
These have been the best months of my life. As I leave South America - in LESS than one week - I am devastated.
I miss this trip as if it were tangible. As if it were a person. I miss Sinead and I miss Mona in ways that physically pain me. The idea of not knowing when I'll ever see them again makes my heart race and butterflies form in my stomach.
But when I think about going home and the official end of the trip, the feeling is almost too much to bare. I feel it in every pore of my body. Thinking about the end of the trip as a whole turns the idea of not knowing when I'll see the girls into a reality. They didn't exist in my world before this trip. On the trip they were my world. Even though we split up a few weeks ago, they are still a part of this world. I came to know and love this world with them by my side. A tour guide once told us, "if you ever fall in love with place, I can guarantee you it is because of the people." Sinead and Mona are the reasons I fell in love - over and over again.
This trip has changed my life. The people. The places. The experiences. I go back home with a different outlook on the world.
I will miss everything about this trip. I am not one of those travelers who has gotten sick of the hostel scene. Sick of living out of a backpack. I'm the opposite, in fact. I've embraced it. I love it.
What I will miss most is the backpacker's attitude. Everyone is laid back. Everyone is friendly. I will miss the way I feel here. Other than a few specific instances, I have the same mood all the time. I am happy, content, relaxed. I have no responsibility to anyone but me. There are no chores I should be doing. There is nowhere I'm supposed to be. Someone I need to call. My whole life revolves around doing whatever I feel like - whatever I want in that moment. There are no outside forces.
As an adult, I think this is an extremely rare occurence. One that most adults don't feel - and even fewer feel for a prolonged period of time. I feel calm. Calm in a way children must feel. A calm I can not recall ever feeling in my adult life.
I don't know exactly when I got to this point. Slowly, I imagine, I stopped clinging to the idea of my old life. Stopped wondering what people were doing on Saturday night. Stopped wanting to know the details. Somewhere, somehow, this trip became my life.
Going home will feel unfamiliar. A world that was once mine. A world where I have had no idea what was happening on a day to day basis. A world I have missed five months of. And a world - I assume - that will be just like I left it.
Five months later, I will walk back in and it will welcome me like I never left. And though it is likely still the same, to me, it will feel foreign - like a favorite old jacket that was once comfortable but no longer fits. Because I, myself, have changed. I don't know when or how - it was never something major - but it happened and I can feel it.
I never thought I was homesick. I never was. But now I find myself thinking about home more and more. Not in a longing way. But I think about the things that make me happy. Things I haven't thought about in months. Maybe that IS homesick. I don't miss it in ways that hurt, but I miss it nonetheless.
I can't imagine this trip will ever become that - a nice memory. Something that makes me smile. No - it will create a pit in my stomach... a longing in my heart. It will be able to produce a laugh - a real laugh. It will draw emotion. Smell and tastes. Accents. Foods. Songs. Words. People. Objects. All of these things will bringing me back to a specific memory - a moment in time.
With less than one week, this trip is constantly on my mind. Scenes repeating themselves. I hear the voices, remember the smells, the food on the table, the music in the room. This trip is like an old friend. One I unwillingly said goodbye to - whose time was too short. I'm not ready to say goodbye to this trip, but this trip as I knew it is over. It's time to go home.
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