Love letter, Nicaragua

Dear Nicaragua,

Words cannot express the sadness that has descended into my heart since entering the airport. I have but a handful of minutes until I must leave your embrace. I wish I could stay. From the very first moment my feet touched your ground I have felt an attachment. This attachment has grown from a mere curiosity  into a full blown love affair. How can one not fall in love?

Your lands are breathtaking. The towering volcanoes meet blanketing forests on the shores of your many waters. One corner to the next, within your wonderful borders, provides the seeker with diversity, adventure. Your lands are beautiful, but I must admit, they are not what has stolen my heart.

Your people have taken my heart captive, and I don’t care if I ever get it back. Your people love this country. They love the towering volcanoes and the blanketing forests. They love the endless shores and ever changing waters. They love la tierra and they want to share it with anyone who ventures in with an open heart. Amid the streets and intricate language of honks and whistles, the Nica people have poured their blood into the pulse of the country. That amount of blood, of sacrifice, has created an attachment unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if your people see themselves as one with the earth, you, their country. Out of this pairing has arisen a pride. This country, is their country, and they are proud to call it so.

By any means your people should be beaten down. Have you seen your history? Have you seen the bloodshed? Of course you have, my eyes are the eyes newly open. You are wise and knowing. Again by any means your people should hate me; hate people who come from my country. The same country responsible for much of your poverty, death, destruction, and manipulation. But I did not experience this.

I experienced a people of great kindness. I have survived in this country because of your wonderful people. People who stopped on the side of the road to help me. People who helped me when I was on the wrong bus. People who took time out of their busy day to walk with me, teach me about the rich culture.

I am leaving today. I must. My country is calling. My second home is in the mists of a war and I must fight. A fight that brought me broken to your doors. I entered your doors beaten, bloody, and almost broken. You with your lands, your people, and your culture have taken me into your hands and repaired me; set my broken soul in the cast of Nica.  But now that I’ve been repaired I need to go back to battle. I leave with every intention to return. I leave with your culture on my skin and your language on my lips. Farewell, my love, long will the nights be without you.

 

Until we meet again.

Besos

C

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