Since I like to write, I like knowing interesting words and their meanings. I like to try to find impressive words and use them as much as I can. Out of all of the words I know, I have a favorite, and it probably isn't what you would expect. It isn't even an English word. It's a word I learned in Honduras, and used quite frequently. It is manana. Now I can already tell that this entire blog post is going to frustrate the editor in me because there is supposed to be a little squiggly line that I think is called a tilde over the first n, but I can't figure out how to make that happen correctly on my keyboard and I probably shouldn't waste away my day trying, so please ignore my incorrect grammar for the sake of getting my point across in a somewhat timely manner.
The reason I love this word so much is because of the meaning it holds. If you don't know, Manana means tomorrow in Spanish. But to the children in Honduras I was so lucky to meet, it means so much more than that. From the moment we arrived on the first day, they were already asking if we would be back the next day. The reaction they had when we said yes was one of excitement and happiness. For these children, knowing that we would be returning was a meaningful thing. I guess it's because they don't have a lot of people who they can consistently trust, but I could tell that something about us returning each day was very important to them. Countless times each day, children would look to me with a very serious look on their face and say the words I did not need a translator to help me understand. "Hasta manana?" They wanted to know if we would be back tomorrow. Being able to say yes was such a good feeling. It formed a bond that I can't really explain, but it felt as if we were someone these children could count on, which I think is something they desperately need.
From this simple word that was said so many times throughout those 10 days, I learned so much. I learned how important it is, especially to a child, to have someone you can count on. I learned to live in the moment and appreciate each day, because just as we could not be there with those children forever, no one will be on this earth forever.
On the last day, having to say that we would not be returning the next day was emotionally almost impossible to process for me. I missed my family, but my time in Honduras felt incomplete. I felt that God still had more for me to experience there. I knew immediately that I would do whatever it took to return again, and experience more tomorrows with those amazing children.
Manana is a word that, to me , is filled with hope. It reminds me of the bond I formed with the friends I met in Honduras and the lessons I learned from them