sieve

On sunny afternoons you can ride your bike in Rafaela with no jacket and without peddling, because it's so flat, and all the people you pass shout your name or give friendly waves (quite proportional to age...barring some brazen exceptions) as you go about your way. I've always got something to do. I still haven't been bored once in my life, and my brother Mark is still the only one who really gets that. While coasting today on the cobbled streets I listened to blink one eight two, had indeed gotten eagerly nostalgic to listen to them. Simple melodies from simpler days. In my head I translate some sentences to English from idiomatic Spanish and it just doesn't work. I'm there. And it's easier for me to take notes in literature class in Spanish, cause otherwise I lose the train of thought in silent translation.

All this and dusk is upon my days in Rafaela; in a few short hours (this Friday morning) I will be a goner to this town. Inertia never fails and I always fail to prepare mentally for change and give good goodbyes. I try, and get by. And though I've been fully aware I would be leaving on June 20th all along, only now is it beginning to dawn on me; only now do I realize that I will never have a job here again, I will never have a purpose over cobbled streets - perhaps I could visit - and how long ago those first few virgin days were, and how school seemed so difficult, and those Sundays I decided my Spanish had reached its plateau. But I ended up waking up one morning and realizing that I'd actually improved a lot, and teaching at school was actually very manageable and all the students loved me, no matter what age, and both of my families were literally perfect, and I will admit I wasn't surrounded by friends here but always had Guido and Thomas, and always made more friends on your given night. I travelled to destinations famous and exotic (Córdoba! Rio de Janeiro! Purmamarca!) and not (Las Varillas! Los Cardales!) across the continent, saw tons and ate and drank well for cheap, and basically had the craic at all of the above, whereever I so pleased. Plus, I'm bringing home a flippin puppy!

And so I am sad that's it's over and sad to leave and have failed as of yet to process the finality of my stay here. Because this, this leg, was really what it was all about. It was the front wheel of my South American tricycle. And my trip is not over yet, I still have tons left to do and see, and anyway would be lying if I said I couldn't fucking wait for Friday to roll around and board that bus with all my luggage and transplant my earthly existence once more, once more; but that doesn't change that this was the meat, hell it was the asado of what I worked for and claimed as my own. Was it worth it? Fuck yes.