Let's be honest, I was facebook stalking today (like every day in a college student's life). I was doing some study abroad stalkage and am currently giggling over how the cycle continues, how it will continue, and how THANK GOD I'm over the initial shock and impact of life in and away from the infamous Maximo. What does this mean? It means the little chickabees who just got back from Nica are crying over how they're not there anymore. Just like we were, obviously. And oh how much the U.S. sucks, etc etc. Five months later here I am: still in touch with los necios chavalos, my closest SITers from the trip, and occasionally spamming our fearless leader with email. But as a wise gringa explained to me, Nicaragua is much more than from the panederia to Jicarito, or even the various places we went. We lived in a bubble, no matter how much we spiced it up.
When I was there, I fell in love with something beyond MT's laughter, or Luis's stupid songs, or even weekly dances at Chaman/Ache/Marcelo's/wherever. It was something better than riding in the back of a pickup truck for 45 minutes through the mountains, better than star gazing at the dock in Orinoco, better than stolen kisses in the darkness courtesy of Union Fenosa. And that, my friends, is why I'm going back. To find out why I'm in love.
Si pequeña es la Patria, uno grande la sueña. - Ruben Dario
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