Well, good folks, I am home. Or, more appropriately, my second home. It's been a week of cold showers (which I have evaded by boiling water in a pot and pouring it over me with a cup), falling asleep to the lull of a fan, and Patricia's cooking. I haven't been here in nearly six weeks, and my heart has missed this place dearly. However, I can tell you with full affirmation that I have not at all missed the sheer honesty of Nicaraguans.
Apparently, I gained weight over the holiday season. My size six jeans are still fitting comfortably, but, according to the Nicaraguans, it's "showing in my face".
Allow me to give you a few examples. If I were a less confident girl, I might be in shambles right now.
My friend Hazel came over for a slumber party last week, and we dressed up, fixed hair, makeup, all the girly essentials that one must go through in order to have a proper sleepover. She sat on my bed, picking up my shirts and carefully critiquing each one. She was gingerly handling my strapless pink shirt with a grimace on her face, "I don't like this one. It's ugly. It's too sexy." My quick response, per usual, was, "You told me I needed a new boyfriend. If I am going to accomplish that goal, I need a sexy shirt." Without missing a beat, Hazel replied, "If you want a boyfriend, you're going to need to lose some weight."
Benito, our truck driver, who is no jewel of body image himself, was standing behind me the other day, whispering with his counterpart, Hector, our bus driver. They were both giggling hysterically. I whipped around, demanding to know the course of their laughter. Grabbing my stomach, Benito managed to get the message out through his chuckles, "We've been needing an extra tire for the ford."
I took Tobias and Pablo, two of my dear hearts from the Villa, to the town pool. (That is a post all in itself, wait with bated breath for that one to come). I was stretched out on a towel, begging for the sun to kiss my body, as my friend Carolina pointed out to me, "You are whiter than a sheet of paper." So here I am, already a little... well, less than positive about my body image (to say the least), and Pablo came over to me, patting his protruding belly. "You're getting fat like me. Do you still run everyday?" he asked, as if this were just a normal conversation starter.
Though it is more than wonderful to be back, to feel the Nicaraguan soil beneath my toes, to have hands constantly reaching to hold mine, to have Spanish flow out of my mouth as if it were my own, to be reunited with friends who act as if six weeks apart has been an eternity... but it is not always nice to be back to honesty.
Someone get me a slim fast.
