One of the odd things that you must come to terms with when living in Vallarta, is that people die. It is a fact of life. Whether that happens at their own hand or by other means, is a different matter. But it happens, and it seems to me it happens a lot more here than it does in many other places.
I was chatting with a friend about this today, because, again, a beloved someone died last night.
I didn’t know him, but enough of my friends did that it affects me. You seemed to be a good person, Manny. You are missed already, by a lot of people, so to me that means you did something right. I’ve been thinking of you and yours today. I’m so sorry for everyone’s loss.
And earlier this week I learned that an acquaintance of mine, who’d been missing for a couple of months, was confirmed deceased in a car crash in late January. Again, closure for loved ones but just so hard and sad to see the end of another life.
I could name several more deaths I’ve experienced in the two short years I’ve been here. About 10. Death is everywhere in Vallarta.
But this is the other thing I was discussing with my friend: Life is everywhere here too.
In no uncertain terms, life comes up and grabs you here in Vallarta. It asks you to dance with it. It never stops flashing its bits at you, and it invented the “showing a little leg” routine. Life is your compadre here, and life is maybe even your BFF here. And the people who know, they come here. They come here to dance with it. Run with it. Smile with it. To hold it, and to be unfolded. To take dumbass selfies with it. Be one with it. Get sweaty with it.
They don’t want to build walls, but instead they maybe want to kick you square in the teeth with it.
And sometimes they even make their own Sriracha from scratch. Beetch.
I’m always sad to see you go, Friend, even if I didn’t know you well. Thank you for sharing a part of you, while you could. Good night and sweet dreams.
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