One Life One Encounter

It came as no surprise to me that the moment I stepped off the plane in Guate (what the locals lovingly call their país), I knew I was in for an adventure. The arrivals hall felt like stepping onto the field of a championship game—crowds cheering, balloons flying, entire families waving banners like their team had just won the World Cup. It seems every tío, abuela, and second cousin arrives home to a hero’s welcome.

Meanwhile, in the U.S., you grab your bags, hustle outside, and pray your ride hasn’t been bullied by airport security into making the dreaded “just one more loop.” Two very different worlds.

The air outside was warm and humid, wrapping around me like a damp blanket, and I immediately regretted wearing jeans. I never travel in jeans. They weren’t even supposed to come with me. But in a last-minute packing panic, when they wouldn’t fit in my bag, I put them on my body like a deeply questionable emotional support garment. Choices were made. Regrets were instant.

I had arranged a private driver—something I rarely do. The shared shuttles ran at inopportune times, and I didn’t want to spend time hanging around the airport waiting for one to show up. So I opted for the easier option- fully aware that this is a luxury that I won’t be taking advantage of much since I am on somewhat of a budget . Ariel, my driver, hopped out of his van with a grin big enough to cancel out every airport loop I’ve ever endured. He could’ve spoken English the whole ride from the capital to Antigua, but the second I said I was here to learn Spanish, he flipped to his native tongue. And somehow—I still can’t believe this—I followed along, carrying on a 90-minute conversation that didn’t end in charades. Growth already? Maybe.

We reached Spanish Academy Antigüeña, where Julio welcomed me, took my quetzales, and within minutes, Hector rolled up on a motorbike to bring me to my homestay. Normally, I love moto rides. But doing it with a 40L backpack on my back and a daypack in front of me felt like I was auditioning for a circus act no one asked to see. We bounced over the cobblestones, and I whispered a prayer that my luggage—and my dignity—would survive intact. I nearly tipped the moto over trying to get off of it- but that’s neither here nor there.

My room at the homestay is simple and comfortable. I peeled off my jeans with the urgency of a woman escaping a denim prison. I had a few hours to explore the city before returning to my homestay to have my first dinner with the rest of the family .The sun was dipping behind the volcanoes, dogs trotted through the streets with purpose, and the smell of grilled corn drifted through the air. But exhaustion hit me fast. Between travel, adrenaline, and the emotional chaos of uprooting my life, my body clocked out.

Dinner that night was lovely, though I couldn’t tell you what I ate. My brain was mush. I nodded politely, offered my best broken Spanish, and then took a lukewarm shower (I’m being very generous with that adjective) before collapsing into bed.

I woke up early the next morning like a kid on Christmas—if Christmas included homework and verb conjugations. It was my first day of school. Again. Five hours a day, five days a week. I strapped on my backpack and walked through the quiet, cobblestone streets, feeling strangely giddy.

Antigua in the morning is magic.
The volcanoes wearing their mist like scarves.
Women sweeping their front steps before the sun is fully up.
The smell of fresh tortillas, coffee, exhaust, and possibility.
Church bells ringing in the distance.
And the light—soft and pink—spilling across the ruins and rooftops.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to rush anywhere. I wasn’t trying to “maximize” the day or cram in experiences like I was racing a clock. I wasn’t here to prove anything. I wasn’t here to reinvent myself. I wasn’t here to be impressive.

I was just here.
Present.
Curious.
A little nervous.
And honestly? Calm.

It felt like my body had finally caught up to my life. Like I’d landed not just in a new country, but in the exact moment I was meant to be in.

And this morning, backpack on, heart open, walking toward a school where I won’t speak a word of English… I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time:

Ready.

Ready to learn.
Ready to explore.
Ready to be a beginner again.

-A