What can I say–I miss them.
The tears pool and I think, “my cup runneth under.” In a new country, a new place, a new community where I haven’t yet found community. At least how I left it in San Diego. With friends and soul sisters and fellow travelers in the journey.
I’d trade the male attention and gawking and “chit chitting” noises from the men I pass in the street, and even the Spanish speaking, for a conversation with a real friend over coffee. For a heart to heart with someone who knows more than just my name and what country I’m from. For a reminder of who I was when I liked myself. Back in San Diego, where I was welcomed into so many circles, so many communities with love and acceptance I did not deserve. And I’m here in this town of transient tourists and do-gooders and missionaries and social entrepreneurs and travelers of every stripe, and I just miss home. Miss friends.
I miss the friends who changed my life. Who sang a song of love over me. Who loved me when I didn’t love me. Who live boldly and authentically and deeply. Who taught me to fight for my own heart. Who taught me to cradle their hearts and calm their fears. Who shifted my sarcastic spirit to one of encouragement, of uplifting, of truth telling. Who taught me how to be a friend.
And as I sit, missing and messy, I think of the people I see every day here in this town of transience. I think of their smiling and drinking and volcano climbing and volunteering and Spanish learning and how jealous I am of how happy they look, how comfortable. And I wonder if they have nights too of sitting, missing and messy.
I wonder how I can be a friend.