Being Homesick Under a Warm and Wet Sky

This week felt… different. Slow. Quiet. Heavy with rain. The kind of rain that doesn’t just fall but lingers — curling around the rooftops, tapping on windows, and filling the air with that soft, earthy smell that makes everything feel a little nostalgic. I think this week marks an important milestone in the study abroad experience — maybe you’ll pick up on why as you read.

School was fine — good, even. My classes are still going well, minus one slightly chaotic moment: I managed to lock myself out of the house and miss a class. Classic, right? Picture me sitting on the porch steps in the drizzle, backpack on, staring through the gate like a soaked golden retriever who made a bad decision. When Mamatica came home and saw me sitting there, she just laughed — the kind of laugh that says, “Ay, chica, of course this would happen.” Looking back, it was pretty funny. My professor was very understanding too. Honestly, between you and me, I think it was bound to happen eventually.

But the week wasn’t just rainy in the literal sense. Something else rolled in too — homesickness.

It’s strange, because it didn’t hit all at once. It was more like a quiet wave that snuck up on me. I caught myself missing things I didn’t realize I’d been taking for granted — my family, my friends, the comfort of being known. I wasn’t desperate to go home or anything like that (I mean, come on… I’m in Costa Rica), but I couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that settled in like fog.

Maybe that’s what I was missing most — being known. That effortless sense of belonging that doesn’t need words or explanations. Trying to describe it feels like stuttering through a speech, but that’s the best I can do at the moment. It just made me sadder than I expected, and I think it’s fair to say this week was a little bit of a funk. Still, I know this will pass. It’s all part of the rhythm of being here — the highs, the lows, and the long stretches in between. I’ve been living here for about two months now, and it hit me: this is the longest I’ve ever been away from home. So, I gave myself permission to slow down. I didn’t push myself to go out or be overly social. I just let myself be.

One morning, I made it out to brunch with my mentor, Andrea. We meet up once a week — she’s kind of like a spiritual anchor for me here, someone who listens deeply and doesn’t rush the conversation. That breakfast was exactly what I needed. The food was incredible (divine mora jam, I could write poetry about it), and talking with her made me feel a little lighter. Even though I definitely left very full. I even managed to grab lunch with some friends later that week, but for the most part, it was just me, my classes, and the girls of the red house.

Quick note: the girls of the red house (Mamatica, Anna, and me) — we’ve got a good thing going. It’s simple, sweet, and comforting. We cook, we talk, we exist in this cozy little rhythm that feels a lot like home, even when it isn’t.

Then Friday rolled around, and the calendar told me there was no more room for moping — there was a trip planned.

We were headed to Punta Leona, a beach on the Pacific. After a surprisingly smooth, and speedy, bus ride, we arrived at a beautiful hotel surrounded by rainforest. I swear, the place was overrun by monkeys. I’m not exaggerating — I saw one throw a stick at someone, another grab fruit straight out of a person’s hand like an old friend, and one tiny baby clinging to its mom’s back like something straight out of a nature documentary. I even saw my first wild toucan. It was stunning — a flash of color against the green, like a living brushstroke. I’ve always had a soft spot for birds, and that moment hit me more than I expected.

Of course, life being life, things took a bit of a turn. Somewhere between dinner and the morning, I ate something that didn’t sit right — and by Saturday morning, my stomach was waging a full-scale rebellion. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say Saturday morning was not glamorous. After some rest, water, and a very long shower, I managed to crawl back to life just as the skies opened up again. It poured the rest of the weekend, and most of our plans washed away with the rain.

Still, between the rain storms, I found small moments of calm — floating in the Pacific, watching waves roll in, listening to monkeys chatter in the distance. There’s something oddly grounding about realizing that even on the “off” days, you’re still somewhere incredible.

So, yes — it was a slow, momentarily awful, but ultimately restful weekend. Not at all what I expected, but maybe that’s the point. Pura vida, right?

I’m back to feeling better physically, though I’m still working through that homesick fog. If anyone has tips, seriously, send them my way. For now, I’m taking it one day at a time — watching the rain slide down the windows, savoring the sight of monkeys and toucans, and reminding myself to just keep swimming. Brighter days to come!

Pray for me and wish me luck!