“Get ready for a great two years!” says the note, pasted somewhere in my closet with blue colored tape and dated in smeared, sparkly ink: August 17, 2013.sentimental bullshit.I meant to keep a journal with me, but the entries are sparse, gaps of two months between each penned pageDidn’t take pictures because I’m a shit photographer and, besides, they say I’ll “always have the memories”

625 days behind me and 19 in front, and here is a list of the—


  1. The way the sky looks on a clear night, laying on the football field and feeling like the darkness and the stars might swallow me up if I don’t keep my feet on the ground
  2. Dancing at midnight in the library on a school night, shorts and a t-shirt and no shoes, feet cold on the linoleum floor
  3. Climbing up above town in the afternoon, a bottle of wine smuggled under our clothes, tipsy and watching the blue fade into orange into black. We aren’t supposed to walk back alone after the sun sets, but we do anyway
  4. Those days when I don’t have the energy to get out of bed, when the fear and guilt takes all the air from my lungs and I can’t cry or speak or breathe, feels like something is pressing on my throat but I don’t know what or how to get it off

A longer list, of course, is the—


  1. The girl who came here, a suitcase in each hand and a yearbook from home in her backpack. She wanted to be a doctor. She believed in “multicultural discussion” (whatever that is) and perfection. Ha.
  2. How it feels to have no regrets–can’t leave here without them, we’ll pack them up along with our old shirts and photographs when we leave: things we wish we’d done, people we should have loved. We are too scared of the temporary
  3. Last Friday night
  4. Why I still feel sad
  5. When I forgot that I would miss this place, this land of perpetual summer and speaking broken Spanish and cigarettes on the roof

There is no grand sense of closure, being 19 days away from goodbye.

Two years is too short.

Two years is too long.

It is almost the end—but then, it has always been almost the end.

Hasta el final.


UWC Costa Rica


Een Reactie op “THE END/EL FINAL

  1. Oh lieve Eleanor, wat voel ik met je mee. Je gevoelens zijn zo herkenbaar…. Wat fijn dat je die voor altijd en overal met je mee zult dragen. Sterkte!!! En natuurlijk: een dikke knuffel van Rosa

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