Earthquake awakes

The moment I arrive back at the farm I realise it is time to leave.

I cannot explain what it is that changed my mind. I have lived here for nine months; eight and a half months longer than expected. I have grown comfortable, collected things. I had envisioned staying here for a while longer.

And yet I feel totally displaced. It is as if my energy has exploded and is dispersed, hanging together just gently. It spreads wide over Central America and the lands I have just travelled, the spirits of my sister and my friend Sacha echoing from opposite ends. I have no doubt that my urge to leave is connected to this; to the fact that they are both unexpectedly in the area.

But there is something else. I look on the lake with a new awareness. An understanding, somehow, that Lake Atitlan could never be the one I am looking for.

Perhaps it is the remoteness. The contrast between here and the beautiful beach in El Salvador where I just left my sister. Or the people, the divide between native and traveller. There is a dark side lurking under every corner and a history steeped in blood.

Or perhaps it is the quaking of the land, a shaking that wakes me up at night. Sometimes I lie in bed and I cannot tell if it is the earth or my heartbeat that moves me.

In a sense I am disheartened. This was a real contender; this gorgeous lake that ticks so many boxes. I try not to look into it too deeply; apparently, I can only ever be loosely tethered to this earth.


The land around me slides. The lake before me rises. And in the middle there is me, shifting and moving, ever wandering.

I will follow through with my commitment the the farm. But inside that wind blows strong. I look at the water's surface, whipped into white peaks, and brace myself.