tomorrow morning
I'm awakened gently, seduced from sleep by the warmth of the rays from the early morning sun on my face and the miscellaneous signs of life taking place all around me. I stir in bed, but my eyes remain closed. I don't want to open them just yet. I want to enjoy this moment to its fullest, to savor every aspect of its existence, to pretend as though this is exactly how i'm going to wake up every day for the rest of my life.
Children are laughing. Little feet are slapping on the porch as they run right by my room. Someone is sweeping the courtyard, the swish of the broom nearly hypnotizing. Dishes are clinking in the kitchen and i can hear one of the staff kindly ordering a handful of curious children out of the house. I smell coffee.
Finally, reluctantly, i open my eyes. The sunlight is pouring through in such a way that it's making pictures on the floor with the shadows. Someone has drawn the curtains to the sliding glass doors that take up an entire wall in this room, leaving only the sheer drapery underneath so that i can see everything going on outside. Efraim is cleaning the pool, little Carlos at his side. One of the boys is feeding the dog in the backyard under the lime trees. And two of the smallest girls are sitting right outside my doors coloring and chattering in Spanish, where every few minutes another child skitters by shouting. Eventually, they start walking back the other way, hidden under enormous piles of clothing. It's laundry day.
I should probably get up.
I don't normally roll out of bed this late when i'm here (and really, it's still quite early), because every minute is precious and each one not spent with the children feels like a loss. But i feel the extra half-hour of sleep today will be worth it later when i've got the energy to give them my undivided attention for as long as they need it. You can't be lazy here. You don't want to be.
I take the world's fastest shower and hop into some clothes and wander down the empty hallway, past the kitchen and the living/dining area, and step through the open door into the day. I am immediately bombarded with children - one hugging my leg, one with his arm around my waist, and one jumping up and down with his hands outstretched towards me yelling, "Lléveme!" I bend forward and scoop him up in my arms and demand that he kiss my cheek. He does, and then i tickle him. The laughter that tumbles out of his mouth is beyond infectious and makes my heart swell.
This is the perfect morning, I think to myself, but this is only half true. When i'm in Colombia, every morning is the perfect morning. No, there's no thunderstorm, i didn't sleep till noon, and i won't be eating waffles for breakfast. I also technically woke up alone. But none of that really matters. It's true that i never know what to expect on any given morning when i'm here. I may be waking up at quarter to four. I may have to hand-wash thirty plastic dining chairs or fold laundry for thirty little bodies. I may be drinking papaya juice for the seventh day in a row. But it's all perfect, every bit of it, every time. Because everything holds meaning. Every morning i wake up and there's a purpose waiting for me, a sense of joy that there's much to be done and so many special people to do it with. I'm complete when i wake and i'm complete when i fall asleep, and even if my dreams are filled with worries and doubts and insecurities, with the dawn always comes a new completion.
When i'm back in the U.S., i don't experience this cycle very often. I suppose part of that stems from the fact that i honestly consider Colombia my home now and really, how could i expect to feel complete when i'm so far from home? But i hold on to the possibility, the hope that one day things will change and no matter where i am or what circumstances i'm under, i can wake up and think to myself, This is the perfect morning. And i can't help but wonder what that will look like tomorrow...a week from now...five years...ten years. Will i be alone or drinking papaya juice or watching the sun rise or cleaning up vomit? Will i be getting ready for work or crying because of a bad dream? Will i be making pancakes so big they'll have to be eaten straight off the table, syrup and all?
I don't know. All i know is, a wise man with a guitar once pointed out that tomorrow is a long time...so i hope my tomorrow is perfect.
Children are laughing. Little feet are slapping on the porch as they run right by my room. Someone is sweeping the courtyard, the swish of the broom nearly hypnotizing. Dishes are clinking in the kitchen and i can hear one of the staff kindly ordering a handful of curious children out of the house. I smell coffee.
Finally, reluctantly, i open my eyes. The sunlight is pouring through in such a way that it's making pictures on the floor with the shadows. Someone has drawn the curtains to the sliding glass doors that take up an entire wall in this room, leaving only the sheer drapery underneath so that i can see everything going on outside. Efraim is cleaning the pool, little Carlos at his side. One of the boys is feeding the dog in the backyard under the lime trees. And two of the smallest girls are sitting right outside my doors coloring and chattering in Spanish, where every few minutes another child skitters by shouting. Eventually, they start walking back the other way, hidden under enormous piles of clothing. It's laundry day.
I should probably get up.
I don't normally roll out of bed this late when i'm here (and really, it's still quite early), because every minute is precious and each one not spent with the children feels like a loss. But i feel the extra half-hour of sleep today will be worth it later when i've got the energy to give them my undivided attention for as long as they need it. You can't be lazy here. You don't want to be.
I take the world's fastest shower and hop into some clothes and wander down the empty hallway, past the kitchen and the living/dining area, and step through the open door into the day. I am immediately bombarded with children - one hugging my leg, one with his arm around my waist, and one jumping up and down with his hands outstretched towards me yelling, "Lléveme!" I bend forward and scoop him up in my arms and demand that he kiss my cheek. He does, and then i tickle him. The laughter that tumbles out of his mouth is beyond infectious and makes my heart swell.
This is the perfect morning, I think to myself, but this is only half true. When i'm in Colombia, every morning is the perfect morning. No, there's no thunderstorm, i didn't sleep till noon, and i won't be eating waffles for breakfast. I also technically woke up alone. But none of that really matters. It's true that i never know what to expect on any given morning when i'm here. I may be waking up at quarter to four. I may have to hand-wash thirty plastic dining chairs or fold laundry for thirty little bodies. I may be drinking papaya juice for the seventh day in a row. But it's all perfect, every bit of it, every time. Because everything holds meaning. Every morning i wake up and there's a purpose waiting for me, a sense of joy that there's much to be done and so many special people to do it with. I'm complete when i wake and i'm complete when i fall asleep, and even if my dreams are filled with worries and doubts and insecurities, with the dawn always comes a new completion.
When i'm back in the U.S., i don't experience this cycle very often. I suppose part of that stems from the fact that i honestly consider Colombia my home now and really, how could i expect to feel complete when i'm so far from home? But i hold on to the possibility, the hope that one day things will change and no matter where i am or what circumstances i'm under, i can wake up and think to myself, This is the perfect morning. And i can't help but wonder what that will look like tomorrow...a week from now...five years...ten years. Will i be alone or drinking papaya juice or watching the sun rise or cleaning up vomit? Will i be getting ready for work or crying because of a bad dream? Will i be making pancakes so big they'll have to be eaten straight off the table, syrup and all?
I don't know. All i know is, a wise man with a guitar once pointed out that tomorrow is a long time...so i hope my tomorrow is perfect.
posted by audrey at
10:50 PM
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