I miss the comforts of home. The daily phone calls to my family, my fluffy green blanket, the rush of the ocean, hours spent in Powell’s, peanut butter banana sandwiches. Being sick has made it especially worse. With no internet and no energy to move to the living room to watch TV, I have basically been sitting around thinking. And since I have been here a good amount of time, this past week I have definitely wondered about why I decided to come, whether or not I really belong here, if this is the right time to be here, if I have what it takes to make it the whole year.
The past year in Portland could not have been any better. I have an incredible group of friends and family there. I absolutely loved my job at the elementary school. Besides all of that, I am completely in love with the city itself. The riverfront, Laurelhurst Park, my many many coffee shops. Food carts and Pioneer Square. For the first time in a few years I really felt at home, and for some reason I decided to change all of that.
Right as I have convinced myself that all of this was a huge mistake, my mom calls me to the living room, where she has my favorite tea, some crackers, and a movie waiting for me. Or my brother spends hours teaching me Spanish tongue twisters and cracking up at how difficult they are for me (tres tristes tigres tragaban trigo en un trigal…can’t even do it once). I walk down the street, distracted by the smell of delicious bread from my favorite panederia wafting through the air, and bump into a classmate or a friend and stop and chat for a minute. That night, as I get into bed, I am greeted by our little dog and my fluffy blue blanket. I’m finding my place here, slowly but surely.
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