A pretty ending for a pretty girl

This chapter of my life in Oaxaca was beautiful, and interestingly enough, the ending feels so cool to me. For some reason, I’m still here, yet it feels like the book has been closed—signed, sealed, and delivered. Closings are never easy, but when you trust yourself—heart and soul—to keep aligning with abundance and love, endings become bittersweet, knowing that even greater things are on their way.

And in a way, this bittersweet ending is filling my heart with a sense of accomplishment. I learned the lessons. I did the work. Met the people. Found the love. Made more peace with my uniqueness and self. It’s good that there’s pain—it means I loved. And wherever there’s love, there’s heartache.

Ever since I booked my ticket to India last month, I’ve been grieving this goodbye—the people, the land, my favorite spots, and my cozy little first casa, which I rented for just $270 a month. It was all mine!

This house had no hot water. Keep in mind, Mexico doesn’t have unlimited water, meaning while I shaved my legs, scrubbed my body, and washed my hair, I’d turn the water off—conserving the supply from the jugs above my house. I never ran out, but if I had, it wouldn’t have been a big deal—you just call a number, pay a small fee, and it gets refilled.

When I first got here, my bed was just a mattress with a sheet, two stubby pillows, and a terrible comforter. Eventually, I brought in two luscious pillows and shipped in bedding from Amazon… duh.

There are two couches facing each other—one blue, one a pullout that’s never been pulled out. Sometimes, when I lay on my blue couch and my tapestry doesn’t fully cover it, I get itchy. My kitchen sink and bathroom sink are one and the same. My desk and dining table? Also the same. My toilet sits right next to my shower, so when I shower, the toilet seat—and pretty much the entire bathroom floor—gets wet.

My kitchen consists of three shelves, a plug-in stove with two burners, a few pans and pots, and a refrigerator that barely reaches my knees. Next to my stove is a small table where I dry my dishes after chefing it up on my two-burner stove.

I have a corner near the side door where spiders apparently decide to go and die. I collect about 15–20 tiny black spiders daily. My front door has one mediocre lock—easy to break into if someone really wanted to. But the best part? There’s a 2–3 cm gap at the bottom, meaning anything can crawl in… which brings me to my next fact:

I have two lizards! I saw one come in through the door and panicked, but then I reminded myself—animals are friends too. My suitcase rests in the right front corner of my home, acting as a shelf that serves me so well. And I am beyond happy with what I have.

My 13-month backpacking journey pre-Oaxaca taught me that less is more, and I’m so grateful I’ve kept that lesson near and dear to my heart. Although I’ll dearly miss Oaxaca, this lifestyle, and the connections I’ve made, I’m excited for what’s to come—not just for myself, but for the ones I love here as well.

A pretty ending for a pretty girl—And an even more beautiful beginning for a beautiful girl. Cheers to Oaxaca!