I miss...

I miss normalcy, which is strange for a girl who has always craved the strange, the new, the unseen. But Ecuador is no longer new, it's just an endless repetition of useless days and I find myself missing those moments, those early-20s-carefree moments that I'm supposed to be living right now, that I would be if I were not trapped here, in this place, alone.

I miss streets surrounded by tall buildings that aren't made of cement. I miss living in a country where there are not goats and pigs and chickens on buses and on every corner, where it is illegal to go to the bathroom in public, where I am not woken most mornings to the most horrible music my ears have ever had the displeasure of hearing. I miss highways, smooth stretches of road that aren't dirt and stone. I miss being able to walk a street at any point during the day and feel safe. I miss not feeling the need to carry a knife with me everywhere. I miss not assuming that everyone will rob or swindle me because I am different. I miss speaking English, my beautiful language, every day, the familiar words and syllables rolling off of my tongue with ease. I miss being articulate, and not a stumbling child, working her way through an unfamiliar language, slow and stupid.

I miss wanting to look pretty, doing all of those things I used to do: showering every day, blow drying my hair, putting in contacts, putting on makeup, picking out a nice outfit, feeling proud of how i look. Here I skulk in oversized clothes and glasses, my yellow hair tucked under a hat, trying to stem the tide of shouts and whistles that accompany any gringa any time she goes anywhere. I miss anonymity, being able to sit in the park on a sunny day and eat lunch, without some stranger sitting next to me and asking me the same 20 questions I always hear, or having gaggles of young people whisper and giggle and then whisper again. I miss walking down the street and not being a foot taller and ten million shades whiter than everyone else, the comfort of being surrounded by people who look like me. I miss knowing that, when a guy smiles in my direction, it's because he thinks I'm pretty, no matter my ethnicity or where I come from.

I miss being able to go to people's houses and refuse food; the force-feeding is what gave me amoebas in the first place. I miss living in a country where I won't get amoebas. I miss washing my dishes in a sink, not in a tub outside. I miss not having to boil my water and peel my tomatoes and soak my fruit in disinfectant. I miss always having electricity and hot water. I miss throwing toilet paper in the toilet and not in the wastebasket. I miss drying my clothes in a machine. I miss the gym, and taekwondo, the uniform and belt, the smooth movements, the strange korean words in my mouth.

I miss good restaurants, and Thai food, and sushi, and McDonalds, and Indian, and cheap Chinese that actually has flavor, and chain restaurants, and big breakfasts, and free refill drinks with ice. I miss large grocery stores where I can buy fresh ginger, and olive oil, and cheerios.

I miss my friends, the ones who really get me and don't proclaim "You're psychotic" when I nerd out to them. I miss my Char. I miss my family, my dog, my mom's hugs, shooting with my dad, cooking with my sister, laughing at Comedy Central with my brother.

I miss riding in cars. I miss American boys. I miss shy smiles across rooms. I miss taking my laptop to a coffee shop on a cold winter day when the snow is fat and heavy outside. I miss hot dance clubs where the bodies are packed so tightly and I am just one of many. I miss buying wine and getting giggly in restaurants. I miss sunny summer days when the air shines golden as the sun sets. I miss the crispness of fall, the first breath of spring, sitting on green campus lawns and glorying in the sun. I miss riding my bike everywhere.

I miss having a life outside of my house, the internet, a smattering of other volunteers, and the farmers I work with. I miss not being the creeper that Ecuador has made me. I miss having some shred of normalcy left inside of the tattered maze of my brain. I miss having friends that I can touch. I miss touch, human contact that isn't the brief dirt-encrusted handshake of a campesino. I miss hugs, so much that sometimes I enjoy massages just because someone is touching me in a kind and gentle way.

I miss feeling needed, wanted, in work, in life, in love. I miss having a purpose. I miss dates, and butterflies-in-the-stomach, and flirting, and hope. I miss inside jokes.

I miss being the girl I was before, that bright and witty girl with a strong group of friends, who cherished every day and felt indescribably blessed and lucky. I miss that girl. She is not here, and I don't think I will get her back again for a long time.