My feet have not left Jamaican earth for nine months. Except when I am floating in the ocean, I guess. Does this count? This marks the longest stretch of time I have remained in one country for years, I think. Coming up to the nine month mark, I have been reflecting on this journey. The best characterization I can come up with, while cliched, is that the honeymoon with JA is over, but the relationship is growing into something stronger and better. I fell hard and fast for this place, for the very things that many people cannot cope with. The noise, the energy, the music, the food, the people. From the moment I landed in Kingston and exited the airport, I was taken: with the Blue Mountains presiding over the city like a protective grandfather, with the heat- and blossom-infused air, with the guttural, gleeful shouts and communications flowing amongst its people. Of the cities I have lived recently, I fell for this place like no other. Not like Washington, D.C., where I was infatuated with its stately architecture and the mysticism that surrounds the source of power of the most powerful nation in the world; not like Boston, where I was captivated by the history and sheer intellectual magic churning out of its hundreds of academic campuses, and certainly not my hometown of Ottawa, where I delight in the delicious freedom of doing yoga on Parliament Hill or the city’s physical beauty.

The best way I can describe my relationship with Kingston now is encapsulated in my journey to and from work. I do this trip 10 times a week, if I am at the office every day. Back in North America on my commute, I could tune out, whether it was on the T in Boston or in my car in suburban Ottawa. I could tune out because the same thing happened every day. I was Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Here, despite leaving the house at the same time every day, almost to the minute, at least one variable shifts every day. Whether it is something different on a crazy coaster ride or schoolgirls saying hi to me or the crazy dude on the corner trying to grab me, it is never predictable.

This is what I love. This is also what I struggle with. It is exhausting. Mostly, the harassment. I am loathe to complain, because I was warned. But I must always have my guard up. Because nothing is ever predictable, I can never zone out. I must regard every potential interaction with wariness. But I suppose my obsession with novelty outweighs the negative aspects of this lifestyle. At the same time that living here drains me, it recharges me. I return to my initial statement: the honeymoon is over. We were told in pre-country training that this would happen, and indeed, it has. My view of JA is now of a different hue and focus, mostly due to some scary and troubling experiences. But I am entering reality, I suppose, and reality is always the best place to be. Here and now. That is the best time and place in the universe and that is all we have. So now that this honeymoon is over, the ignorance of flaws and failures has expired, I am beginning to see JA as it really is. I am assembling who I need to be to survive here, discarding the idealistic imagery and tumbling to the ground. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Okay, maybe I would change one thing. It would be to arrest the breathlessness that comes with being homesick. It would be to stop the pain and powerlessness that comes with being so far from loved ones. It is a universal feeling, and it comes on at inappropriate times, causing your breath to catch in your throat when you see a loved one’s face in your mind, or tears to escape when you wonder if you will ever see an elderly relative again. But the time for me to visit home is approaching. My arms are itching for a hug, my lungs for an uncontrolled laugh and my heart for the love that awaits me there.