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The breeze from my fan circulates through my somewhat small dorm room blowing my Spanish flag in a semi-patriotic way. It sits underneath my Holy Qur'an with tissue-paper pages adorned in Arabic and English verses that I sometimes read. I am not Muslim. Above that are pictures. The first is of some buildings with graffiti covered cement walls that climb up to some rusty scrap metal. On top of the tin walls are roofs with razor wire that is all too common in this Central American city. It does not look electrified like the razor wire that was on my house, but I guess that there's not much more to protect than broken ceramic roofing tiles. The ground is cluttered with cardboard, water bottles and other garbage that just got soaked by the daily afternoon "aguaceros". This was next to my bus-stop. The picture next to that is of a slightly decaying building with barred windows and signs that read “جوار” and “صيد لية”. The sky is dark with clouds that seem almost black that contrast with all of the white buildings, palm trees, and the tiny streets crowded with hijab and jalaba wearing street vendors selling dates, fruits, vegetables and freshly slaughtered chickens. After that picture is one in Toledo, Granada, some from Costa Rica, and some other random ones with friends. All of these pictures say a lot about me, much more than my two hundred forty three words can do.