Was to go on vacation and leave all the things that were wearing me thin behind. I was pessimistic about going with my family. Fear of fallouts and arguments. It turned out to be just the opposite of that. It felt as though once the airplane left ground we all leaned back and left the past and everything that was hurting and ripping and tearing at our inner selves behind.

The trip was indescribable. I took my pen and my notebook and managed not to write ONE thing down. I lived in the moments instead of trying to capture them for everyone else. I tasted it and lived it and loved it. In each morning I took a deep breath and let the warm tropical air fill me. In each cup of fresh coffee I tasted the pureness of simplicity. In each hug of “hello” and “it’s been so long” I relished being missed. In each smooth cold beer with lunch or that shot you weren’t supposed to be having with someone’s wife I realized how easy it is to just be happy. In each smile I found genuine affection. Every moment was mine to have. Every late night listening to my father string his guitar and sing his soul into the soft lull of the room I would breathe deep and remember that these are the things that mattered. When I watched my mom climb the path into the ruins after her surgery and when she reached the top and smiled my insides hurt from realizing that it was close to not happening. I watched my sister fill two buckets of cold water in order to take shower. I watched her try to carry them into the corridor but not before spilling it and falling into the puddle. I laughed as my brothers sprayed themselves with bug spray and drank out of ONLY water bottles.

We visited grave sights of relatives that have passed. We cried the same tears as my mom and dad knelt in front of their parents’ tombs. We brought flowers and cleaned their resting place off. We gave flowers to a little boy who was helping us so that he could put them on his mother’s grave. He told us of how she had died when a propane tank had exploded in their kitchen leaving him with only scars on the left side of his body and a father whom he hadn’t seen since she had died.

We played stupid road games when we were traveling and put things into each others nose when we were trying to nap. We took pictures of each other at random moments. I screamed when the frogs would jump out at us in the middle of the night as we were walking home. My sister almost knocked my aunt over when she thought she was being attacked by a monkey (my cousin had thrown a rock into the brush and made the sound of a screaming monkey). She jumped on my aunt who is not only in her early 60’s but whom is also only 4’ 11” and has a heart condition.

I cried when I saw my godmother at the airport. I cried when we visited my godfather’s grave. I cried when it was time to go. I cried. I laughed. I felt alive and torn and complete.

There were the questions of why I wasn’t married or had any children since I am one of the oldest of the cousins.

“Because you are all having them for me,” and they would laugh and I couldn’t look my mom in the eyes.

What can I write about? How can I find the “right” words and not use just “any” words to describe my trip. I think of why it had such an affect. I know people that have come and gone on the same trips to the same places and nothing has changed them. They come back to their cell phones, their computers, their fast life. Working fifty to eighty hour weeks to have it all while they miss everything pass them by. I think of how we were away from all that for two weeks and in coming back I feel so disoriented and sad. My mind is not focused on the same things as before I left. I feel apart from all that now.

I am still not here though I am here.

Today I woke up tired from working last night. I had to make a deposit at the bank for rent and wanted to clean up the kitchen a little before hitting the work place again tonight.

We took a drive and then had lunch at Chevy's over looking the bay. The sun was out and the air was crisp. We walked in and the familiar smell of margarita's and fresh tortillas hit my nose. I smiled a little thinking of the little memories that come with this particular restaurant.

We got into my roommates car after eating and he had put a new scent into the car that I could not place my nose on. Today, however as I sat in the backseat it hit me, the smell of vanilla. I asked him if that's what it was and he smiled giving me that look in the rear view mirror. It reminded me of massages and long slow kisses with someone who was forbidden because of the ring on her finger.

When we got home I opened the windows to let the smell of the day in to our little apartment. I cleaned the counters and did the dishes before sitting down to enjoy some relaxation before tackling my laundry. I have not packed or cleaned my room yet. I lit some incents to fill the air after all the cleaner that I used on the counter tops.

It smells relaxing. It smells musky and soft. Just the way I like it.  

I stole her number from my roommates phone while he was in the shower. I wanted to call and tell her that I was leaving for a little while. I was hoping to tell her things and see how she was doing. The number is no longer active. The only contact I had is now gone. The smell of my old oil brought her to mind when I went to go clean up my bathroom. So I dialed because three weeks ago when I was going through my brother's drama I needed someone to understand me. She never returned my call. Never called to see how I was doing.

I have never known an unsettled sadness to take me over this way. Not because I can't hear her voice but because everything we had is dead. Like a wilted flower against a flourishing garden. Dead and alone, left to be forgotten and pulled and thrown away. I'm sad that I can't share anything with her anymore.

Someday I will acknowledge that I am better without her. Someday I'll know and believe that someone out there will love me again.