The best part of my day was bailing poopy mud out of a pond with a bucket until the fancy drainage waterfall worked and a swan dubbed it once more acceptable for swimming. The worst part was relizing that it is impossible to be you when you can't hold a conversation with the people around you and the people you meet. I have come so far from the me of twenty-six, fifteen, even ten years ago - from the shy and introverted girl, so unsure of her voice, of her self. I'm proud of the person I've grown into, proud to be friendly, proud to be funny in any company, proud to be confident enough to be proud of myself. And here I am again, feeling stupid when I'm not understood, and feeling isolated when I don't try.
But I wouldn't call it reverting. The things I've seen and done and felt between the past me and the present are still here, pulsing beneath this limited vocabulary. I'm not really the old me, because that me never lived away from home. That me never danced until sunrise, never half-assed an essay, never threw herself into an essay, never loved a boy. This is really just a reminder of how much I am growing and changing every day - a reminder that this phrase isn't just a proverbial sentiment for greeting cards and yearbook signatures. I'm energized and adventurous enough to jump into a country where I barely speak the language, and I'm almost immediately thrust into a whole new existence where that heartbeat of dancing, regret, passion, and love is only for me. Maybe this is a moment of listening. Maybe this is a moment of trust.
(... she wrote in English on her blog and posted for social network viewing.)
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