Es interesante. Le llamo mi mamá tica, pero mi relación con ella no siente como una relación entre madre e hija. Ni es como una amistad, ni una tutoría, ni ninguna otra relación convencional. Es algo único que no existiría en otro caso.
The other day I told a Costa Rica story to a girl I don't know well. I actually took myself a bit by surprise since I don't tend to bring up my year abroad as much. Costa Rican adventures are somehow being replaced by tales of scholarship applications and volleyball practices, by plans with my… Continue reading (and all that jazz)
The picture above is my host family and me on my host dad's birthday (hint: I'm the blonde). Judging from the shirts, it was also game day (yeah Heredia!). This is Part III of a post about the reality of living with a host family. You can read Part I about my first impression of… Continue reading Being Someone Else’s Daughter; Living with a Host Family, Part III
*Kerr Hall is the residence hall I worked in last year at the University of North Texas. Also known as the best residence hall on campus. This is Part II of a three-part post. You can read Part I here, and I'll post Part III in the near future! Time has passed since I moved… Continue reading You’re Not in Kerr Hall* Anymore; Living With a Host Family, Part II
This post is long overdue. I've been wanting to write it for a long time, but I've been waiting until I have a picture with my host family. I've finally decided that may not happen in the foreseeable future since I'm not exactly proactive in asking people to take pictures, and my host family is… Continue reading Moving in with Strangers: Living with a Host Family, Part I
Altamira, Costa Rica When I went: November, 2013 As a part of our study abroad program, we are required to do a week-long Global Engagement Project (GEP). Like any self-respecting young person, I was instantly suspicious of any kind of obligatory field trip. Also, since it was the week after the semester, I was kind of… Continue reading The Part of Costa Rica No One Knows Exists
When I left Costa Rica, I left a house full of people who are nice and fun, but who didn't see me grow up. I left a loud city, tiny stores and restaurants, cramped streets and a general feeling of claustrophobia. I left beautiful, unnaturally green mountains and trees and faces that always turn to… Continue reading Coming Home to a Foreign Country