It's been over two years since I left Honduras. That year in Honduras felt long, the days so tangible but now stateside, I can’t recall how it’s already the end of July when I feel like summer just began. Ah, ni modo.

“Ni modo,” my favorite Spanish word, which means, if put politely, “Oh well, what can you do!” 

(Not so polite translation: F*** it).

I’ve been missing Honduras lately. If there’s any sense of greatness rising up in a person after volunteering for a year – no matter how much one tries to suppress it – it is all quickly swept away going through social media and seeing other volunteers now in your position with your favorite little child, experiencing a time that you thought was unique only to you. It’s humbling, and rightly so. Besides, at the end of the day I’m happy those kids still have someone to pick them up and swing them around in the field over and over again before heading in for dinner as I once did.

I listened to a podcast one night before bed this past year, and even though I can’t recall any of the details, the subject matter of the podcast or the speaker (I know, helpful!), I remember the interviewee talking about a weekend trip he had in Japan. He only spent two days there but he kept talking about how time is meaningless because he retreats to those days all of the time, reliving them years later. Similarly, I feel like I keep coming back to Honduras. In many ways I’m sure no one needs to hear much more about it but in other ways, I feel like I haven’t said anything at all.

So I’m working on a longer piece about my time in Honduras. I have a vague idea of what I’m trying to say but no idea if it will end up as a cohesive or meaningful essay. I still struggle with what tone I want my writing have. Sometimes in my desire to reflect, it feels melancholy. In my attempt to be honest about reality, it feels sad. In my desire to pace my words, I feel like I forget to say what I’m really thinking. But I’m getting closer. Closer to something intangible, to a tone that I’m trying to find or at least closer to a realization that my writing is not something that I control and an understanding that the end product will always look very different than what I had in mind.

This blog has been helpful in slowly learning to give up that control. At this point, it is not what I thought it would be but there’s something nice about saying, ni modo, and just showing up and seeing what words surface.

Anyway, in other news because I can’t post here like nothing is happening in America: I bought a stack of envelopes and stamps this past week and wrote my city council representatives in response to the police brutality being brought to light. It felt like a nominal effort, sure, but it was my first time doing so and I’m hoping to make a habit of it. This summer has been rough but as the glorious Roxane Gay says, “We have to do better than all this, 'The world is coming to an end.' The world is not coming to an end. The world is changing.” I’m a big proponent of staying hopeful but also a fervent proponent of hard work and sacrifice, being that change can never come without the two. So I’m hoping that we're all taking any time and privilege we have to do some hard work, to show up, to vote better, to volunteer, to mentor, to be active in our community, to reflect, to take breaks and care for ourselves, and then do it all over again.

Lots of love and #blacklivesmatter 100 x over.