The smell of a freshly washed shirt is remarkably memorable. This particular shirt, along with a few others, is going into my carry-on. Each shirt I fold has the smell of home. I know they each smell like home because they have never left my hometown. I wonder when I arrive in Guatemala will they still smell like home? Will the reminisces  of home disappear to be replaced by my host village? I am trying to pack in every memory of home, but the lack of space is holding me back. It is hard to ensure that I have everything, because I’m literally going to a foreign place. I don’t know the climate, or how to pack for different altitudes. The packing list is so short.  I don’t want the weather playing games with me. So I’m preparing myself as much as possible for every weather “what if.”

Hasta luego,