The Quiet Good Things

Hi friends! First off, a little apology for getting this post out later than usual. I normally publish on Sunday nights, but tico time you know? More importantly, I just want to say how much I miss you. Whoever’s reading this, wherever you are, I really mean that.

This past week has been slow in the best way. And I’ve realized how much I love a slow week. The kind that sneaks up on you—not boring or empty, just steady, simple, and full of small, quiet moments that remind you life doesn’t always have to be rushing somewhere.

After Halloween, campus seemed to collectively exhale. The air felt softer somehow, like the city itself was catching its breath. Maybe everyone was still recovering from the excitement, but the week that followed unfolded gently.

One afternoon, I found myself crouched on the curb taking a picture of Pancha, the neighborhood’s most famous stray cat. She’s a little scruffy, always lounging somewhere new, and somehow manages to look both tired and majestic at the same time. The sky above me was painted in soft blues and that’s when it hit me—it was already Wednesday night. I blinked, almost startled. The week had drifted by without me realizing, slipping through my fingers like sand.

Every day that week, I saw Walter—my neighbor and unofficial Zapote friend. He’s got this big guava tree that refuses to stop producing fruit, and almost daily he finds me, somehow, whether I’m coming home from class or just walking down the street. He’ll pop out of nowhere with a grin and say, “¡Que tenga un buen día, Daniella!” . Sometimes he hands me a bunch of guavas, sometimes just a wave—but always the same warm sincerity. It’s funny how much those exchanges have come to matter so much to me. It’s like having a little piece of familiarity woven into the rhythm of my days here.

Lately, I’ve been feeling really at home in Zapote. I know my neighbors, I know where to get the best pan dulce, and I don’t even have to use my map anymore to get around. It’s hit me that I really live here. Costa Rica isn’t just somewhere I came to study—it’s become a home. There have been highs, lows, and plenty in between, but I’ve built something here that feels like mine.

The school week itself was easygoing—nothing dramatic or new to report. School here feels so different from the U.S. that sometimes it doesn’t even register that graduation is just over a month away.

By Thursday, I’d already decided I was staying in San José for the weekend. I had a few plans coming up, but honestly, I just like it here. Some people in my program don’t really love San José—they say it’s too busy, too loud—but for me, there’s something about this city that makes sense. It’s a little chaotic, a little rough around the edges, but it feels real. I’ve never felt more comfortable navigating a city on my own, which is wild considering how nervous I was when I first got here. I think I see parts of myself in San José: imperfect, unpredictable, but full of warmth if you take the time to look closer.

That Thursday night, Anna went out to the club, and I stayed home to play cards with Mamatica and Walter. (Yes, the same Walter from the guava tree.) He’s about the same age as her, lives alone, and spends his days sharing fruit and stories with whoever will listen. Not everyone understands him, but I do. I’ve always had a soft spot for older people—there’s something grounding about their humor, their calmness, their way of moving through the world without being in a rush. So yes, while everyone else was dancing under neon lights, I was sitting at a wooden table laughing over a card game, eating guava, and feeling perfectly content.

Friday began beautifully. I met Andrea for breakfast, and we caught up on everything—how school’s been, what I’ve been learning, what’s next. Then she told me something that made me light up: she and her husband are hoping to adopt a baby. As someone who was adopted myself (whoop whoop!), that touched me deeply. There’s a special kind of warmth in hearing someone say they want to give that kind of love to a child. No one but another adopted person knows the unique peace that comes from that—knowing someone wants to choose you, not out of obligation, but out of love. I left breakfast feeling full—of food, yes, but mostly of joy and gratitude.

The rest of Friday and into Saturday didn’t quite go as planned. I won’t get into details, but I wasn’t feeling great—mentally or physically. Sometimes, when you’re anxious, there are just days you have to quietly move through. And that’s okay. By Sunday morning, I was back on my feet, and ready to face the world again.

Andrea mentioned that Sunday was World Orphan Day and that there was a small festival in San José to celebrate local orphanages, foster programs, and adoption agencies. So I went. It was a small event—a few booths, some music, families laughing, volunteers chatting with kids—but it meant a lot to me. I walked around for a while, thanked people who dedicate their lives to helping kids like me, and just took it all in. There aren’t many people who truly understand what adoption feels like, but being there reminded me that even in a complicated world, there are still so many people trying to make it a little better.

That afternoon, as I headed back home through the city, I thought about how full my heart felt. Between Walter’s greetings, Pancha’s lazy strolls, Andrea’s kindness, and the strangers doing good work in quiet ways, life here in Zapote feels simple, steady, and good. And maybe that’s enough—to just notice the good and hold it close.

Pray for me and wish me luck!