Burning Red

And that's when I knew. I was sitting on a sticky bus, on my way back from a weekend at the beach, and I wanted to cry. Everyone warned me “don't lead this boy on,” “protect your heart,” “don't make it serious.” But at that moment, as I stared out the fog-framed windows, I knew...it was too late.

His name was Hro. I had come to Costa Rica to do my Student Teaching and would be there a total of three months. A couple weeks in, on the way to a local concert, I saw him. I was in the car with my friend Maria Paula, waiting for some boys we were picking up. The first thing I saw was his shadow – broad and tall. I looked up as he was running his hand through his perfectly combed over hair, eyes sparking, laughing as he and his friend made their way to our car. We made eye contact through the window and I involuntarily stopped breathing.

As he walked around the front of the car, I caught my breath,

“Mari, who is that?”

“Hro...why?”
 

At that moment the car doors opened and the boys jumped in. As Mari introduced me, I flashed a smile at the adorable friend named Uribe, and then found myself unable to look away Hro's gaze.

“Hola.” He said with a rather shy smile.

“Hi.” I mustered, then I turned back around. Mortified.

_______________________________

So that is how we first met. I was warned against him, a few times. (Maria Paula, Maria, Mela...I wave my white flag of surrender). After the concert, he followed me on Instagram, left flirty comments, and floated to mind from time to time. It wasn't until one Sunday, standing alone, waiting for my ride after church, that someone tapped me on the shoulder. About a month after meeting him, he magically appeared before me. I was so excited to see him that I wrapped him in a huge hug. We stood there with sheepish smiles, and talked Spanglish for a moment before he had the audacity to ask for my number, which I gave to him, of course.

Later that week, while relaxing at home on a Thursday night, I invited him over to my host home. We had been trying to hang out all week, and it just so happened he was free the night I was making cookies (the key to any man's heart). We ate chocolate chips, showed each other pictures of our families, and shamelessly flirted the entire night. We spoke Spanglish, more Spanish than English, but somehow we understood each other perfectly. As I walked him out to his car and hugged him goodbye, we stood under the a perfectly full moon in the rich Costa Rican breeze, and suddenly I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's all those chick flicks, or maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me – irreguardless I looked up at him with my baby blues as the following words thoughtlessly poured from my mouth, “Hro, I feel like I want to kiss you.” To this day I am still amazing that at his rapid response as I motionlessly experienced the most electrifying kiss. Even now, as I reflect on it can't help but smile...it was perfect. He drove away, promised to text me, and I promptly walked inside and collapsed to the floor. What. Was. Happening.

The next week involved cuddle sessions, dates for ice cream and pizza, a late night tour of the city on his moto (don't tell Dr. Brittan!) and precious texts that I woke up to every morning. To say I was swept off my feet is an understatement. During my week vacation from school, I left for a short adventure with my gringa friend, Kat. We had a wonderfully amazing and hilarious time, but I'll admit I was restless to get back to a certain Tico who had remained in the back of my mind. On our bus ride back, I texted him something to the extent of, “There's a certain gringa excited to see a certain Tico very soon.” And he immediately replied, “A gringa who holds the heart of this Tico.” Ok, as I write it sounds cheesy, but in that moment a profound butterfly-like sensation made it's way from my heart to my toes. Subconsciously, I reached for my ipod and journal. After putting Taylor Swift's “Red” on repeat, I scribbled the excerpt you read above. It was then that I began to feel something more than “like” towards this romantical young man.

The next weeks were much of the perfect same. He as a gentleman – he would walk on the side of the street with the cars, insist on paying for everything, and held my hand...fingers intertwined. He took me to his house, introduced me to his family, and always texted me goodnight. His last adorable moments were the night before my last day of school. I was making cookies and notes for my students and he came over just to hang. We played tic-tac-toe, doodled tattoos we'll never get, and each wrote the each other a note, which I still have (but may end up throwing it in Cedar Lake – for those of you who know that story, I'm laughing with you. If you've never heard it, ask me sometime, you won't be sorry :).

My last weekend there, he wanted to go to the beach for a day. We planned it weeks in advance, and I was beyond excited. The day, however, ended with me sitting on a bus, deciding that I'm not in love with this Prince Charming after all. I'm thinking there may be another girl (or two), or maybe he became blatantly bi-polar overnight, but that day, everything was different. He wasn't excited to see me, he didn't hold my hand, he didn't make me laugh like he always did...and the sparkle in his eyes was gone. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he was just sick and tired. That was true, but the end fact was: he wasn't there. Even though he was right beside me all day, he was long gone. (This is the part where I had “I Knew You Were Trouble.” on repeat if that last line sounds familiar.) So it was there, on hot an sticky bus ride, equal to the one I took only a short month before, that I pulled back my heartstrings...one by one.

Although I was warned (several times) about getting heartbroken, I don't think that's what I am. I think my heart, ironically, is wiser than ever. Hro taught me so much: he gave me a glimpse of what a relationship looks like, set a standard of how I deserve to be treated, and confirmed that this little darling seriously isn't ready for anything serious. I have Taylor to thank for writing songs about me and my heart, that I still can't stop listening to.  More importantly, however, I am grateful to my Savior, because He knew I needed a little Hro in my life. For one month, for the first time in my life, I needed to be treated like a Princess. I needed to add a million bullet points to my “Liem John Gilmore III” list (what I named my future husband – God bless him). I needed to realize, again, that above all I am HIS Princess, and I am fine china.

I needed a taste of what's to come, and to surrender (again) to HIS perfect timing.

In closing,

“Loosing him was blue like I've never known

Missing him is dark gray all alone

Forgetting him is like trying to know somebody you've never met...

But loving him was red. Burning Red.”

-Taylor Swift Red

Xxoo,

From a not-heartbroken, optimistic, memories-filled, expectations heightened, stronger little darling

p.s. Hro, if you're reading this (or more likely if Uribe is translating it for you) just know that you're lucky you're out of range of my daddy's shot gun...but word on the street is he's building a missile. Watch. Yo. Back.

 

 

Adios, Miss. Britt!

As I sit down to write one of, if not my last, blog from Costa Rica – even here at my little cafe, with a grande latte, this. is. hard.
 

This one's about my school. Over the past three months I've been a Student Teacher in Mr. Valverde's 5^th grade class at International Christian School in Heredia, Costa Rica...with a bunch of rambunctious little munchkins. I could fill pages and pages of things they've taught me, ways they've made me laugh, and how they've loved on me. But, I think all I need to do to demonstrate this is recall the events of last Friday, my last day at school.
 

There was a blanket of sadness throughout the day as the students and I knowingly exchanged “the glance” that meant: “I can't believe you're leaving us” and “I'm so sorry I have to go.” The day before my teacher sent an email letting parents know that today would be my last, and I wrote a small paragraph thanking them for each of their children. Shockingly, this translated into the idea that we needed food, and lots of it. For, while exchanging sad glances, students and parents kept bringing in snacks and goodies that eventually accumulated into an entire feast.

 

That day, we ate fresh Chinese, chips, cookies, candy, ice cream, cake, brownies, and a whole slew of other things that made these fifth grade kittens jittery with sugar, all in my honor. It was incredible the way the parents had, in the past 24 hours, rallied together to create such an amazing celebration of my time spent there. After lunch, we all ran back to the room, where I assumed the impossible task of settling the kids down for lessons would begin. Instead, my teacher opened the closet in the front of the room, and one by one the students went up to the hiding place, grabbed their gift for me, and proudly presented it to my shocked self. Before I knew it, my desk was a mountain of coffee (of course), chocolate, flowers, hand-written cards, and other gifts, along with a blown up picture of all of us, that they had each signed. I. Was. Stunned.
 

As the day ended, I left them each with their own little note to remember me by – filled with a memory or two and the promise to never forget them. Well, that's what did it, and from them on came the waterworks. They all hugged and kissed me (even the boys, which never happens!) and promised to email/Facebook often.
 

As I sat down to collect my gifts, still in shock at the accumulation of them, my teacher asked me to run and give a message to someone in the teacher's lounge. I promptly went on my merry way, and entered to find balloons, signs, coffee, and more food. Thinking I was interrupting something important, I uttered, “excuse me...” and they all cheered, “Yay! She's here!” I stood there like an idiot and asked, “Wait, is this for me?” They all laughed and nodded. We ate more food, drank more coffee, and they said the most precious things while trying to convince me to return. It was wonderful.
 

To my (almost always) precious students: Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for making me laugh every day. Thank you for welcoming me to Costa Rica. Thank you for trying my patience, because it made me stronger =) Thank you for your love - I will never forget you!
 

To the staff/teachers at ICS: Words can't even describe my thanks to you. In these past three months you have made me feel so special – beyond what I deserve, and I can't thank God enough for each of you! You all hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for helping me get through each school day with laughs, coffee, and a break from the little humans. I will never forget your kindness. Until we meet again <3

I'll Be Seeing You,

From a little darling who's leaving a little piece of her heart in Costa Rica.

Xxoo

 

 

Errybody Kissin' Errybody

As an observer and receiver of perpetually new cultural differences and customs, I've decided to blog about one in particular...heaven knows it deserves a darling little blog or two...

I'm just going to say it straight – everybody is seriously kissing everybody down here. Now me, being a touchy-feely person, at first, did not mind this. However, I found myself in some strange and rather awkward encounters with this ever so normal complementary peck on the cheek. To put this in perspective – think about how occasionally awkward it is to meet someone for the first time anywhere. In the U.S., it's customary to shake hands, but even now, especially with people my age, the gesture seems too formal. Instead, we wave or mutter a polite “nice to meet you.”

The same is true for down here...apparently the younger generation sometimes feels it too formal to greet with a kiss, which is fine, if you understand these inaudible social cues, which I don't. Every time I meet someone my own age, I wait to see if they do the “lean in I'm about to mooch you” move, or just offer a friendly “mucho gusto.”

 When I first arrived in Costa Rica, kissing my host mom and brother was fine...but when I arrived at school and met my twenty-something, recently married, male teacher and he leaned in for a kiss, I was a smig taken aback. Not only that, but every time a mom comes into visit, he kisses her on the cheek, because it is honestly rude not to.

Two blunders come to mind with this whole kissy kissy situation. One time, when I went to the movies with my host mom (to see movie in Arabic with Spanish subtitles...that's a story for another day) we ran into an older couple whom she knew. She introduced them to me, and they spoke English. I immediately introduced myself and started asking questions about where they had traveled and how they learned English...but I never offered a kiss on the cheek. That's like meeting a precious old couple and forgetting to shake their hands. Oops.

The other blunder came when a father arrived at school to drop off his daughter's books. I opened the door and greeted him with a casual “Buenos Dias,” and then he leaned in...and I stood there. It was probably only a milla-second, but it seemed to me like an eternity before I realized that I, myself, needed to lean in and kiss his cheek. This was a FATHER of one of my STUDENTS...here I was trying to remember how to say “Who's father are you?” in Spanish and he was leaning in for the kill. Whoops-a-daises (said in a Notting Hill British accent).

My last thoughts on the subject are these: Tico men certainly are some lucky guys, within the first few seconds of meeting them, they receive a complimentary kiss. Secondly, if I kiss you when I return to the States...you're welcome ;)

Xxoo (litearlly),

A kissable little darling

When the Earth Quaked

It was a Wednesday just like any other day. I woke up after a short night of sleep, slapped on some make up, scarfed a delish breakfast from my host mom, walked my daily jaunt to where I get picked up, and prepared for another day of 5^th grade shenanigans. School starts promptly at 8, and as my cooperating teacher started the class off with devotions, I sat down to grade some composition notebooks. About 40 minutes later, as I prepared to take over and teach Reading, my teacher was taking a minute to explain to the class just how fragile and expensive the new “Interactive Board” in our classroom was. As we all looked at the screen, we couldn't help but notice that it started shaking ever so slightly. Some of the kids looked at me in the back of the classroom to see if I was playing a little joke, then we all directed out attention to the projector hanging from a pole from the ceiling of the classroom, which was definitely trembling. “Is that...?” my teacher started to say, and looked at me. Suddenly the entire earth started to move.

“Under your desks, under your desks!” Mr. Valverde yelled in a voice I had never heard before. Like magic, the students simultaneously scurried their little bodies under their desks. “Protect your head!” He yelled again.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to argue, so Miss. Brittan shoved herself under her desk too! (Which is the same size as the student's I might add). It was probably the longest thirty seconds of my life. There, on the ground, I looked at the white tile underfoot. It had turned to a big pan of jello, it was moving up and down, swaying back and forth, impossible to stand on.

I suddenly realized that my teacher had completely endangered himself attempting to save the expensive projector dangling from the ceiling. I started feeling rather silly for being the teacher and hiding under my desk, so I bravely decided to peek my head out and move the curtain from the window next to me. Outside I could see teachers and students who were on the playground had started to gather in circles and sit on the ground.

“Is it over?” My teacher asked as he looked at me. I shook my head “no,” as there was still a little movement felt.

A few more seconds allowed the foundation to stabilize and everyone made a line and paraded outside to wait. At this time, everyone counted their students and accounted for staff members. For the next half hour, parents called, emailed, and some came to pick up their kids. But I assure you that an hour later, we were all back in the classroom and learning was in full speed, like nothing had ever happened.

As I returned to my desk, I swear I felt another earthquake coming, but I was told later it was probably just a tremor. I did feel dizzy and have a headache for the rest of the day – I think the whole “tile turning to jello” thing really messed with my equilibrium. And honestly, as I sit here in my living room and write this, I'm getting a little queasy! There's something unnerving and unsettling about having one's foundation taken from you, from seeing something completely stable and reliable become unpredictable and threatening.

My host brother sent me a lovely “Welcome to Costa Rica” text later that day, and my host mom swears that the earthquake happened just because “Sarah es en Costa Rica!” All this little darling knows, is if that's my first and last earthquake experience, I'll be just fine.

The earthquake was originally estimated at 7.9, but later was downgraded to a 7.6 – the strongest to hit Costa Rica in about 20 years. Only two deaths have been linked with the earthquake, and the entire country is working together to repair buildings, roads, and houses that were in the effected areas – there was no damage where I live, thank the Lord! Since the initial earthquake on Wednesday there have been hundreds of small tremors, mostly in the northwestern part of the country, including a magnitude 5.6 that happened yesterday. Don't worry – I haven't felt a thing!

Who would have ever thought that after countless fire drills, tornado drills, even lock-down drills, I would be lacking in the basics of “Earthquake Procedure” … well, not anymore =)


All for now,

XXOO

"Visit a Haunted Hospital?" check.

 

pic from: http://paulcoffin.wordpress.com/2012/02/16/interesting-people-and-places/ 

So, if climbing a volcano wasn't enough (read yesterday's blog if you haven't yet!) on the way up to this volcano we passed what David (my CR brother) told me was a “Haunted House.” I laughed (and shuttered just a smig) as we passed by a huge dilapidated campus of large buildings. He then went on to explain that it used to be a hospital for tuberculosis patients (I shuttered again). How CREEPY!

After holding my breath as we passed by (one can never be too careful) I was speechless when we wound up in the parking lot of this apparently famous attraction on our way back down the mountain. With my host mother pleading that we not stop, the car swiftly turned in, and I grabbed my camera and uttered some prayers of protection as we entered the main wing.

It turns out that this “hospital” of countless buildings had been left to complete ruin. Graffiti littered the entire premises, and through the spookiness of the atmosphere, I had to admit there was something valuable about the history here. Granted, I was less than thrilled to be standing in rooms where hundreds of diseased people apparently bathed, ate, and died – but it was an experience non-the-less.

Some of the hallways were blocked off like this...



Creepy graffiti...



CR bro & cousin posing against one of the haunted hallways...

 The outside view...I kinda can't belive I went in there...

Apparently there's a leak...

I wanted to plant a flower! (that's just dirt, I promise)

I stood in the shower/bath...and then jumped out!

Naturally, there were BEAUTIFUL flowers on the ground - have to keep this popular attraction at it's prime!



Would you believe me if I told you that there was a nursing home now on the premesis...that's a grandpa making his way to dinner.  It looks so scary in hindsite!



Interestingly enough, when I mentioned that I had gone to this place to some of my CR acquaintances (too early to call them friends, I would say) they ALL knew what I was talking about and had a ridiculous stories to share. Therefore, my interest peeked: what WAS this place???

After some little light research (that I am SO glad I did AFTER visiting!), here are some rather intriguing facts (if your prone to shuddering like this little Darling, brace yourself!).

• Apparently the Carlos Duran Sanatorium served as a hospital for tuberculosis patients, an asylum, an orphanage, and a prison.
• It was shut down permanently in 1973 when the Irazu volcano erupted and damaged the structure. (that's the one I climbed!)
• A nun who used to care for patients, a woman with white hair and a blue dress, and a young girl have all been seen frequently on the premises, peering out of windows and walking the halls.

From: http://news.co.cr/most-haunted-place-in-costa-rica-duran-sanatorium-near-cartago/12214/

• It was visited by investigators of Ghost Hunters International who declared it paranormal, but not dangerous (phew?)
• It is considered the most haunted place in CR (go figure!)
• There are child-size hand prints on the walls that are said to “bleed” down them (I saw these – and although creepy, it didn't look like anything but dripping paint to me. It certainly added to the overall effect, though!)

From:http://www.villascostarica.com/blog/2011/03/haunted-costa-rica/

After watching the episode of Ghost Hunters online that was about this very cite, (and doing so while I was home alone!!!) I've had enough...it's all a bunch of mumbo jumbo if you ask me – but I certainly wouldn't visit after dark!

Meanwhile, I'm checking “Visiting the most haunted place in the country” off my CR Wish List. It was right there under “Spend all day relaxing on the beach.”

That's all for now – sure hope we can all sleep tonight!

XXOO

p.s. Saturday night our house got egged. I'm not reading into it.

The One When I Climbed the Volcano

“Today we are going to climb a volcano.”
 

Those were the words I heard when I woke up this past Saturday. The next thing I knew, I was on my way to the Irazu volcano in Costa Rica with my host mom, brother, cousin, and a full thermos of that famous CR java!

The drive took over an hour, but let me tell you that I was literally drinking in the sights. I couldn't stop taking pictures out the car window – it was so beautiful it almost hurt. All the way up the mountain I caught glimpses of the valley below, jam-packed with colorful houses and surrounded by open green fields. Above, the volcano was covered with jungle-like forests and rich farm lands.

 

About halfway up, we parked and leaned against a small fence to soak in this view. While eating fresh baked bread and drinking fresh coffee – none of us said a word for a long moment, and simply tried to take in this breath-taking view.

Before we started my CR brother, David, gave me this comforting warning: “It's hard to breathe up here, so if you get dizzy...scream.” Righto.

So, in my yoga pants and tennies (the very ones that got me through The Amazon and beyond) we were off! The trail was steep and windy – but scattered with beautiful wildlife that grew from the rich ashy soil. We climbed and climbed, came across an old native structure, stopped a time or two to catch our breath, but eventually came to a clearing above.

 

The entire time, everyone was raddling off in Spanish (much faster and more complicated than I could understand) so I literally had no idea how long this entire venture would take. Or if we were anywhere close. Or if we were climbing all the way to the lava. Or if we were going to set up camp for a few days. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other and enjoy God's creation around me.

 

Once we made it to the clearing, we weren't at the top, but high enough for clouds to start surrounding our area. The air was chilly but refreshingly clean, and after breathing it in for a few minutes, we were on our way back down (thankfully:).

Back at the car, we enjoyed apples and I made everyone take a few pictures together. We were all tired, but so invigorated by all the beauty we had just seen.

I enjoyed snapping even more pictures on our drive back down the volcano, and (to my delight) we ended up at a mall for dinner!

As the subway jingle “Eat Fresh” came to mind, I couldn't help but think, “Well, Subway, don't mind if I do.” And for the first time in about a week I enjoyed some pure American cuisine :)

 

Stay tuned to the next blog to hear about the Haunted House visit on the way back down the volcano! I'll post tomorrow!

XXOO

p.s.Thanks, Daddy, for your flannel - it loved the Volcano ;)