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Thursday, October 20, 2011

Lost In Translation

How far would you go for love?

Its been 2 years since I returned from my stint in Central America. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about that time, or the thing I experienced, good or bad.
I wonder if I had a mental lapse in judgement, completely insane, naive, in love, or looking for a new adventure. I think it was a little bit of all of those things. Whatever it was, I learned whatever lesson I was suppose to learn.
Sometimes it seemed like a bad nightmare, and I would awake to think I was dreaming, this couldn't be my life at the moment. What the fuck was I doing?
I went down to Panama for a boy I met at a bar on vacation to Panama. He was  a skateboarder with model looks, and extremely charming. That's right, I went down there thinking that I had found the man of my dreams, and I would have so much fun, Going to the beach, reggae bands, islands, getting an apartment together, new friends, becoming fluent in Spanish, hey shit, maybe even get married!
What I thought was suppose to happen didn't.
Instead I found myself alone, broke, living in a youth hostel, then quickly moving in with 2 "ladies of the night" (I didn't know at the time) who also didn't tell me that they were on couchsurfing.org, which would explain the English chick with hairy armpits sleeping on a surfboard cover in the living room for 3 weeks. Or the guy from Argentina who made jewelry. I stood out as a neon sign as I looked nothing like the natives. Communication was even worse, suddenly I knew how people felt who didn't speak English that well and tried to order food, or ask for directions, or wonder why everyone is laughing but you.

Maybe I didn't do my research. No let me rephrase that. I didn't do my research at all, but I also was trusting and believed the sales pitch my former boyfriend told me. I didn't have a visa so working was pretty impossible, and for not much pay, but for some reason I always had enough money to buy beer (which was super cheap!)
Life sucked, yet I stayed thinking it would get better. People change, right? I would learn and fit in. Those earrings I found on his bedroom floor were his niece's I'm sure, right? Eventually the feral cats would stop having extremely loud sex outside my bedroom window so I could get some sleep. After a horrible trip on a sailboat to Colombia, which I lost at least 10lbs thanks to an extreme bought of the worst sea sickness ever. I still continued to stay. I spent my weekends laying on my creaky bed watching re-runs of Curb Your Enthusiasm, chain smoking, and waiting for him to call. I so wished that my Bill Murray would appear, or someone, someone to talk to. I would gladly be sea sick 1,000 times than to be alone just once.

Needless to say I made it back, it wasn't easy, but it was an experience. Its better to try and fail than to never try and spend your life wondering what would have happened.