01.24.2020
My alarm sounds... for the third time. I check the clock: 4:45am. I’m running late. Looks like I’m not showering. I tilt my neck side to side, finding the rhythm to push myself off the bed and into the day. I descend my ladder slowly, creating a mental checklist of what to fill my tote with for my run into the center. Reusable bags. A notebook. My headphones. Wallet. House keys. Flashlight. Charger.
I head to the bathroom, contemplating a shower once again. Motion denied. Toothbrush bristles shimmy against my teeth, cold mountain water splashes the slumber from my face, and my ten fingers swim back through my hair. Ready. I walk five steps to my kitchen and pour a glass of water from the Brita pitcher Peace Corps so kindly provided me. Gulp. My eyes wander towards the bottom shelf where I keep my vitamins. Having only slept four hours, I’ll take whatever energy this B-Complex and Siberian Ginseng might provide. Gulp.
I open my front door to find my beautiful pup just opening his eyes, presumably confused why I would be waking him up at such an hour and, even more so, why breakfast seems like dinner without any sign of the sun in the sky. Arlie, my kitten, scurries in the door, asking to be fed. Long night out with his cat friends, probably. I pour them each a bowl of food, slip on my shoes, and head off.
I remain alert, shining a light down my path through the coffee field, heeding caution as I’ve made a couple of slithery friends in the past. I make it to the road. I look up to see a clear sky filled with stars. The sound of my shoes hitting the rocks brings me back to Earth. A few trucks fly by, kicking up dust as I wave to the bed full of peones, or seasonal workers in the business of picking coffee. For the minority not awake at this hour, the roosters exercise their birthright.
As I approach the bus stop, I’m reminded of what it feels like to walk into a lecture hall late. All eyes felt as curious minds wonder who could also be headed into town this morning. “Buenos días,” Good morning I say, greeting today’s morning crew. I sit down on the cement bench. The woman across from me has a suitcase propped up next to her and is holding a little white bunny. Interesting. Where might Alice be going? The other woman at the stop is wearing a long, beautiful yellow dress with accents of red, customary of indigenous women from Nicaragua. Many families come from Panama and Nicaragua during these times to pick coffee.
I see two young men coming towards the stop. Gringos, I think. The oversized backpacks and bouncy gait give it away. Wonder what version of that internal monologue others have when I’m coming down. 5:35am. I hear the rumble of the bus working its hardest up the steep hill. Five minutes late, but I’m not in any rush. “Cómo está, Carlos,” How are you, Carlos I say as I take a step into the bus and hand him my 2.000 colones bill. “Todo bien,” all good he responds as he hands me my change, 25 colones.
As we move down the mountain, a sweet smell in the air brings me back to my week in silence in Thailand just over a year ago now. The sun begins to rise, and as an orange film colors the sky, I’m reminded of the sweet yet sensitive passage of time. At that time, I couldn’t have dreamed of this bus or this beautiful Costa Rican sunrise. It’s humbling, the constant and overflowing uncertainty within each moment of life. Sometimes we try so hard to make everything predictable and calculable, but it’s simple moments like these I feel most alive. Now, to make my grocery list over the next hour and a half ride.
.
Comentarios