Jessalyn

Jessalyn
It was hot in Montevideo as we got onto the bus that was going to take us to the Ciudad Vieja (The Old Town.) I found a seat on the back of the bus and sat under an open window. I've never been to South America before, I've only studied spanish for two months (mas o menos,) and it was only my second day in Uruguay and even if this place becomes home, it isn't yet. As I was sitting there enjoying the smells and sounds of the city and thinking about what I could say to sum up who I am in a blogger's paragraph, a warm breeze hit my face and I felt a wave of comfort run over me as I was reminded of what I assumed to be home. But what I realized was that I wasn't reminded of my home in Texas but of the hot summer month I lived in Italy this past summer. At first it struck me as strange that the thought of my brief time in Italy was what was aroused to comforted me in this new place, but it caused me to reflect a little on life... and so I'll share with YOU what I found out about ME.

In January I picked up my life and moved it half way across the world to Oxford where I stayed for 5 months and in my time there I found myself in France, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Spain, Ireland, and Morocco and took a piece of each with me. Then I moved to Italy where I spent a month traveling and painting, and I met Tuscany through the smells of oil paint and the unexpected rain. I met my Dad in London on the last night of June and flew to Zambia to meet up with mom and bro to end what was the grandest of world tours... or so I thought. Even when I made it home in August I temporarily moved into an apartment attached onto my parents house had just enough time to get used to it before I made the decision to leave again.
The past year of my life I've been a wanderer, and in some ways displaced. On the bus I realized that I was no more or less at home at any of those places than I was here in Montevideo because even though I spent five months at some and only a month or a week at others, I made the choice in January last year to uproot myself and I haven't stopped moving since. How can I feel homesick when I keep my home with me? The people I have met and shared my experiences with, the people I love, and the people I should have loved better stay closer than a memory because when I walk into the courtyard at Casa ACU and the smell of open air reminds me the courtyard at a hostel in Morocco, the people I shared that sensory memory with aren't just a memory but they're here in smells, the sounds, and the sights of Uruguay.
If there is anything worth knowing about me that surely tells you something.


The wind blows where it wishes and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.
John 3:8

when I was little and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up I said "the wind."
I still say the wind.

Chao for now.
jessalyn