an atheist in Costa Rica

I had a dream that I had to tell my host mom that I was an atheist last night. It’s weird, because I actually did tell her that in real life and it went pretty smoothly. In the dream, it was awful.

In real life, I spent six months sort of vaguely implying I was Christian, without saying anything explicit. I made a lot of ambiguous, agreeable noises when other people spoke of their faith. My host mom, like most Costa Ricans, is Catholic, but sort of lapsed, and I didn’t want to risk offending her, although I trusted she (unlike many other host families) wouldn’t try to convert me.

Then, one morning at breakfast, Andony mentioned something about the church service at school and how two of the other kids are atheist. I was curious about the role of religion in his school, but Dona Elisa interrupted and said, well, of course they believe in god. Gleefully contradictory, Andony was like, no, that is what ateo means, that you don’t believe in god. His grandmother was like, everybody believes in god, they just don’t go to church. Andony replied, but you don’t go to church. She said, I do sometimes! Anyway, I don’t need to anymore, I’m old. And I pray! If you want to go to church, I’ll take you.

I felt all the blood rush to my head and the gallo pinto turn to rock in my stomach, and I quietly said, “I’m an atheist.” Dona Elisa looked up at me sharply, and she said “but you believe in God.” I said, “no,” and she looked a little gobsmacked and didn’t reply. Afterwards, although I continued to feel a little nervous about having made that confession, she seemed to revert to an assumption of shared faith except for the times when she would avoid looking at me and deliver sermons (meant for me) to Andony or anyone else nearby, about how a person can not-believe, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t still there for that person.

I know why religion is important to her. I think she doesn’t think about it very much, it’s not an active, ever-present thing in her life, but she needs to know there’s something after death for the people she’s loved who have died. That’s why she assumes everybody believes the same, and that is part of why I didn’t want to admit to my atheism. I knew it would be a sort of confrontation, that I couldn’t bear to live in her house and tell her that I don’t think those people she loves are with god, because that’s not real.

Taste of home

With my recent successful production of black beans and Sopa Negra, I feel compelled to share a recipe that will give my future self lots of nostalgia and comfort should I ever need a reminder of the delicious food of Costa Rica (especially since the future looks bleak regarding those yearly return-trips I have fantasized about).

Black beans, of course, are ubiquitous daily fare in Costa Rica, but Sopa Negra was a special treat for me. My host mom made it for me on Wednesdays, when I left after lunch to study in the Grupo office and didn’t return until after class ended around 8pm. It’s super filling and super delicious.

100 Days Later

That can’t be true. 100 days? Stop it.

But really, I just spontaneously decided to update, and thought it would be cool to be able to say how many days it’s been since I left Costa Rica, so I counted and whoa. Nice round number there, huh.

My trip is on my mind all the time. I have a little less mentionitis about it than I did at the beginning, but I think about it all the time. The memories come back sometimes at random, very much like how memory is depicted on-screen– a flash of image cut between moments of daily life. It is actually like that, which is weird. Just a quick flashback to the busride from Sabanilla to downtown, or the walk from Letras to the Grupo office. For the most part, though, things like beach memories are becoming as unbelievable as they ever were before I was there. It was all too spectacular. And for all the vividness of the image-memory, I’m already forgetting other things. I’m so glad I have this blog to come back to, but it’s not entirely satisfying. I wish I’d written more, and about Nicaragua so much sooner!

But enough meta! Onwards to the recap of my last week abroad, when we went to Nicaragua!

Finding beauty in violent storms

Reblogged from CNN Photos:

Camille Seaman is known for her dramatic images of icebergs that reveal the beauty of these ancient yet threatened objects. She recently turned her attention to a different natural phenomenon, weather, and applied the same fine-art aesthetic to capture its power and brilliance.

Seaman credits her daughter with the inspiration for the series “The Big Cloud.” At 8 years old, she was watching a storm-chasing program on television when the idea hit her: “Mom, you should do that,” she said.

Read more… 437 more words

See you in 8 days, my beauties! Let's show the Costa Rican afternoon rainshowers how its done.

salud!

I sneeze all the freaking time here. At least a sneeze a day since January, and most mornings I wake up with minor sniffles. I think it’s allergies– really hoping it’s not due to the mold I found in my room the other day. I’m not trying to play that game!

Full disclosure: this entry was prompted by a big wet sneeze that dropped a big ole snot on my shirt. Definitely gross, surprising, also pretty hilarious.

nervous wreck

Yesterday I went with Alberta to the university to check our grades for the Medieval final exam and the class. We arrived at the professor’s office (wearing our crazy just-ran-out-of-the-house, been-studying-for-24-hours clothes) and realized that he, unlike the redacción professor, had not simply posted the grades on the door but was instead holding them hostage for a little conversation.

After we finished nervous barfing all over the hallway, we prepared ourselves for what we were about to face. Alberta went in first and came out three seconds later, looking relieved.

I went in and immediately started mouthwording. The (extremely nice) professor told me my grade (8) and gave me back my test, and I couldn’t just leave it with a “thanks, have a good summer.” Oh no. “Thanks so much, your class was really great, well, I mean it was super difficult and actually a little bit impossible, but it was so much better than Costa Rican literature because we’ve actually studied some of the medieval stuff in school before and most of it was online which was nice but I really enjoyed your lectures even though I would never want take this class if my university wasn’t demanding it, the credit transfer system is messed up and definitely problematic. Thanks haveagoodsummerbye!” And I ran out of the room before he could pick up his jaw off the floor.

Then I burst into tears. Alberta stared at me and then started laughing.

It was a tough semester.

To make matters so much better, by the time we left campus it was dark, so we decided to take the bus. A half hour later, the bus arrived, crammed to its bussy gills with tired people. For whatever reason, the extremely misguided driver allowed us on, despite the fact that I had about two square inches of the top step to stand on and only Alberta to hold onto. I latched on to her like a cosy parasite and we laughed about it, but LITTLE DID WE KNOW the fun was about to come to an end. The bus stopped. I teetered backwards on the precipice of the step and clutched Alyssa, she grabbed at the stability pole but lost her balance, and we fell into the (THANKFULLY GOODNESS GRACIOUSLY) closed bus door. As I felt it bending open under my weight, Alberta regained her grip on the pole and pulled herself back upright– taking me with her, since I was Not. Letting. Go. We got the helpless nervous giggles after that, and received not a single sympathetic smile but instead only tired people glares.

I decided it was OK to take the night off from studying CR lit and trying to write this stupid awful no good horrible spider paper.

And everything will change

In one week, I’ll be free of school in Costa Rica. I’ll turn in my final paper, take my final exam, and be done! Then I’ll have a week to travel, and the next Monday I’ll be home by nightfall. All the feels! It’s all very confusing.

Anywho, this past weekend I took a break from San José, packed up Cruz de Olvido, Arañitas, and my other texts to study, and hit the beach. I went to Playa Sámara with one other girl, and I realized I should have listened to Doña Swag all along when she described the beauty of the province of Guanacaste. I literally sat for 5 and a half hours and stared out the window of the bus, book open and unread on my lap. The scenery was interesting and gorgeous.

We stayed at Hostel Casa Brian, run by an eccentric ship’s-captain of a man who we’ll forever remember as one of the great characters of our travels in Costa Rica. A grizzled guy, with pale blue eyes and a salty beard, a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to reveal a seashell necklace on a leather cord, a little belly, and a fanny pack, he expressed strong opinions with strong words and he took great care of us. Unexpectedly picking us up at the bus stop, running back into town to buy our return tickets for us, setting out an elaborate breakfast each day, responding promptly and accurately to any question we might have, sharing his life stories (some of the best from his days as a fisherman off the coast of Canada), and caring for stray dogs: Brian and his hostel earned our highest recommendations.

Kansas

Yesterday I heard some interesting things.

It went from bad: “I honestly don’t think I could find Kansas on a map.”

To worse: “I’m sorry, I’m not saying everyone is, but the majority of people there are just backwards.”

So, since I’m still a little boily about that this morning, here’s a little rundown on why I’m in love with my home state and proud of it to boot, and why it’s worth fighting for when it’s under attack from anything from ignorant students to ignorant, conservative, misogynistic legislators in Topeka. Kansas, here’s to you from one of your own in Costa Rica.

• Special tribute to brave Amelia Earhart, from little Atchison, Kansas. 
• fields and fields of sunflowers. sunflowers lining the highway and turning their little faces to the sun. gold and blue and green!
• watercolor bison
• engrossing history, vitally important: the diverse Plains Indians and the sundance they had in common; Indian boarding school and the reclamation of education at Haskell; settlers shivering in their sod houses and quilting for survival- the epic struggle and great pains of westward expansion; peace on the Oregon Trail; The Underground Railroad and Lawrence Fire Station No. 4; Kansans on the bloody border fighting for the Free State; Dust and wind and drought and survival; Pendergast and violence and liquor and charity in KC; Truman and Eisenhower in DC; …1918 influenza in Haskell and Fort Riley; Brown v. Board; AMONG OTHERS.
• the beautiful look and sound and feel of the word Kansas, from the Kansa Native American tribe
• wheat bread! In 1990, Kansas wheat farmers produced enough wheat to make 33 billion loaves of bread, or enough to provide each person on earth with 6 loaves.
• The Flint Hills and the extraordinary beauty of the Plains, tall grass and little animals and wind and sky.

My Kansans, what have I forgotten?

ETA your contributions and Kansas loves:

• “July came on with that breathless, brilliant heat which makes the plains of Kansas and Nebraska the best corn country in the world. It seemed as if we could hear the corn growing in the night; under the stars one caught a faint crackling in the dewy, heavy-odoured corn fields where the feathered stalks stood so juicy and green.” –My Antonía, Willa Cather
• Not exactly about KS but appropriate to the current conditions there: ”The earth burns with the quenchless thirst of ages, and in the steel blue sky scarcely a cloud obstructs the relentless triumph of the sun.” –Churchill
• Big fat drops of sunny warm rain!
• “Kansas City’s general ease, its often brutal weather, its great restaurants, its neighborhoods tend to spark friendliness. It also tends to spark hopefulness. Some of the most optimistic people I know live in Kansas City. This, of course, includes Royals fans.”
• ^^ http://joeposnanski.blogspot.com/2012/07/kansas-city.html
• http://www.midwestliving.com/travel/destination/reasons-we-love-kansas/
• http://cnnphotos.blogs.cnn.com/2012/07/07/finding-beauty-in-violent-storms/?hpt=hp_c3

Well, this was unexpected.

I realized today, like a punch to the teeth, how hard it is going to be to leave this place. It is going to be horrible. I will be a wreck.

We are celebrating Karol’s birthday. The party started at 1:00 and is still going strong (8 hours later). There is fantastic, incredible live music– Guillermo and Jean-Marc and Jean-Marc’s band. Guitar and singing and drums and rainsticks. Trills rrrrRRRRrr! and Ai!s and clapping and stomping, then later some John Denver you fill up my seeeens-es like a sleepy blue ocean.

I love my host mom, and I really like her friends. Guillermo stuck by me for most of the party and we talked about his family and the three years he spent in Japan when he was first married. At one point, he said something about going to sign something and I went with him, thinking he meant a card for Karol.

Although I did think it was a little odd we were going outside and walking down the neighborhood, I didn’t realize my mistake until Guillermo was like …why are you following me? And then, while laughing really hard, he re-explained that he was going to sign some neighborhood committee petition. Then he hugged my shoulders and was like ‘it’s okay, nobody else knows, I used to agree to things all the time in Japanese without any idea what I was doing!”

Three of my mom’s best friends. Karol, my host sister, is in the black shirt on the end and Doña Elisa is standing behind everybody.

Later on in the evening, I was sitting in the kitchen with my mom’s friends while all the younger people sat around outside with the music, and I joked that the kitchen with the older ladies was the best place because you get first dibs on the food, but that I was expecting there to be better gossip. I said “chismeos” instead of “chismes” for gossip, so they all gave me blank faces except for Doña Yvonne, who laughed and started pointing people out to me, like “see the guy in the green shirt? we’re all wondering who his NEXT wife will be and where he’ll meet her, he’s always on the lookout, vea!” Then she told a story about a woman at an office party who got really angry when she finished all her alcohol and started accusing people of stealing it, and kept shouting “you don’t play with other people’s guaro!” And later, when Doña Yvonne left for the night, she besito’d me and said “one of these days we’ll sit down and gossip together for real!”

But I only have 22 days left! When will I get to gossip with Doña Yvonne? D: D: D: D: D: D: D:

yes, this.

“There is a certain amount of comfort and confidence that you gain with yourself when you go to this new place and start all over again, and a knowledge that — come what may in the rest of your life — you were capable of taking that leap and landing softly at least once.”

This really is an incredible knowledge to have. I would never want to go back to being the person I was before I had it.

“For the rest of your life, or at least it feels this way, you will spend your time in one place naggingly longing for the other, and waiting until you can get back for at least a few weeks and dive back into the person you were back there. It takes so much to carve out a new life for yourself somewhere new, and it can’t die simply because you’ve moved over a few time zones. The people that took you into their country and became your new family, they aren’t going to mean any less to you when you’re far away.”

Doña Swag and Isa and Zaida, Imma miss you guys. D: D: D:

I have not been abroad long enough to truly develop a different identity or to lose touch with my Kansas roots, but when I think about the anxiety I felt before embarking on this experience and I remember my pre-Costa Rica self, I do realize that I’ve changed, I’m different now.

“There will always be a part of you that is far away from its home and is lying dormant until it can breathe and live in full color back in the country where it belongs. To live in a new place is a beautiful, thrilling thing, and it can show you that you can be whoever you want — on your own terms. It can give you the gift of freedom, of new beginnings, of curiosity and excitement. But to start over, to get on that plane, doesn’t come without a price. You cannot be in two places at once, and from now on, you will always lay awake on certain nights and think of all the things you’re missing out on back home.”

And that, I think, expresses beautifully my satisfaction and contentment with my study abroad experience, but also why I will be glad to get on a plane and head on home.

 

What are your thoughts, those of you who have studied or lived abroad?

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/what-happens-when-you-live-abroad/