I returned to the States almost a month ago. Writing in English feels slightly unnatural, much less life in general. While of course I can seamlessly slide around through the mundaneness of this great country, it's little obscure things que hacen falta.

No pickup trucks with soundsystems in their flatbeds blasting politically-motivated reggaeton, síndicos/alcaldes/senadores begging for your vote.

No one chasing after you in the street trying to sell you avocados/their wife.

Everything appears kinda sterile here, especially in the suburbs of Boca Raton, Florida. Luckily I'm getting out of here in a few days, to return to my 'hood in Worcester. I get separation anxiety. It will also be interesting to return to my heavily Dominican New England neighborhood and see how many aspects of la cultura get translated.

I'm not quite sure if culture shock has set in; of course, I sometimes have to remind myself to speak English instead of Spanish. Aside from that, however, everything seems so easy here. Which feels strange, but I can vibe with it. I'm lazy. But I also vibe with constant challenge and thrill. Yo no sé.

Yes, I suck at blogging. This has been made apparent as over the last month I've posted exactly twice.

In other news, I'm done. We're finished. This life-changing semester has come to an end, and it feels more than slightly surreal. I emerged physically unscathed from the dark, dank, fetid, drippy tunnel that was my workload laid on me by CIEE-Santiago Service Learning, but otherwise utterly stimulated and mind-expanded, emotionally and intellectually.

My service project, which I had begun to write off as a total fluke, an ego-fluffer for your typical privileged white college student who believes he can really "make a difference", was received most warmly by Acción Callejera, which makes me think it wasn't such a fluke after all. Also, the fact that I came to be recognized and loved and asked after in El Fracatán had made the experience altogether more worthwhile.

And now, to celebrate my birthday (and the birthdays of two of my closest friends), me he ido a jugar pa la playa. Like what every other tourist comes to the D.R. to do. But I almost feel like I've earned it. Except that's a horrible way to think.

This place has taught me certain vital lessons. The one I pull out of my head most easily is the lesson of patience. We in the US of A (and Europe) are so conditioned to things moving smoothly, going just as we like them to, and we all seem to have forgotten that it's completely impossible to have control over our environment. Therefore we get physically uncomfortable when things don't run smoothly, when things don't go exactly the way we want them to. On the contrary, living in a country for four months where literally NOTHING runs smoothly has taught me (with a roundhouse punch in the face, or whatever that means) that we don't have control over jack shit. The only thing we can control is how we react to our environment and all the curveballs it will throw at us.

Also, I've learned that my pasty, freckled, fair skin renders me incompatible with a tropical climate. I am much better, biologically suited to cool, grey, overcast, chilly places, and plan to spend the vast majority of my future in such places.

I'm sure I've also learned some more profound lessons, that I just can't be bothered to put in writing at the moment.

Al fin y al cabo, I've left part of my soul here in the Dominican Republic. And I'm not expecting it back any time soon, if ever.