Thumping music, strobe lights, foam machine, cowboy hat, and dancing like you just don’t care.

I miss morning yoga to the sound of waves. I miss the guy who sold mangoes for 50 cents from his tricicleta. I miss my kitchen boys, “Oy! Pan pita, hoy!” with greasy t-shirts and dark eyes that spoke louder than words.

I miss going to sleep with dirty feet from walking around barefoot all day. I miss the rasta guy who used to high-five me in the street and offer pot, even though he didn’t know my name and should have known that I’d refuse once again.

I miss sharing walks, chats, and $1.50 almuerzos with my sister.

I miss our friends who lived in the big barn next door and how they invited us over for homemade dinners, begged me to braid cornrows into their hair, and safely escorted us home after late nights at the discoteca.

I miss dropping into a big wave, and riding the break all the way to the beach. I miss waiting for waves with the locals who would joke and say that our surf skills were actually improving. I miss being mistaken as a local because of my dark skin and few convincing words of Spanish.

I miss my cumbersome longboard, the faded blue flower print and wobbly fin. I miss my special buddy who would play tag with me in the streets, twirl me on the dance floor, and always offer a sip of his mojito.

What am I doing here with the traffic, the giant mosquitoes, the mall-sized supermarkets? Here where I can’t survive without an apartment, a cell phone, a job, a vehicle, a ten-year plan… Here where I’ll be frowned upon if my clothes aren’t from REI or if I carry my belongings in plastic bags. Here where people go to gyms to lose weight because they sit at desk jobs all day playing solitaire and drinking their 2,000-calorie frappes. Here where people don’t introduce you to their friends, who introduce you to their friends, and so forth until you literally know everyone in town.

Diapers in the closet and toys in the tub, that’s I get for sharing an apartment with an old friend & her 2-year old son. I just completed my first week of job orientation at a children’s behavioral hospital; along with dozens of horror stories, we were taught how to de-escalate hostile situations dealing with aggressive, suicidal, and delusional youth. For the past month, I’ve been using a borrowed bicycle to get around town. Yesterday at work, somebody pried my lock apart and stole my bicycle.

Just when I thought I was getting my life together, walls started crumbling.

I yearn for the simple life like nobody’s business.