I open my eyes to the first glint of sun and can't recollect what day of the week it is ... for a good 5 minutes, on a daily basis. Complete blank. I lay there. The days are running together.
Ana Rebeca is my friend. She is an artist. A self-described artist by passion, teacher by profession. Mature for her age, and determined to break the “typical Dominican” mold, she marches to the beat of her own drum. Though she is Santo Domingo-born (and raised), something in Ana Rebeca screams of worldly, of a culture beyond the hustle and bustle of the city, and the culture of merengue, platano, and the family-oriented, strong-willed and always lively Dominican.
It’s hot. And everyone’s complaining about it. Funny, for people who have lived here all their lives, Dominicans don’t seem to tolerate the typical dry heat well. I don’t frequently notice the heat for some reason. Probably because I’m just passing by, as I have been for 10 years now. I can feel the sweat on my neck and the dampness of my pillow. Downstairs breakfast is underway and someone has come to visit. Everything seems to gradually kick in.
It’s been approximately 1 year, 7 months, and 8 days since I last took a gulp of that strange spirit called travel. You may not have noticed the change, but I did. And I think I’ve earned at least my first chip.
To be fair, I have traveled to Dominican Republic multiple times since 2010, but that’s my birthplace … so I don’t count it. And I did go to Costa Rica on a missions trip, but I don’t count that because that trip wasn’t about travel, or the people or exploring culture, but instead about service.
Why the exercise in sobriety, you ask?
