As September rolls in, a wave of weird feelings overcomes me. Now and again the desire to listen to classical Nicaraguan music and dance folklore becomes a distraction in class. The need to pack everything up and head to the beach begins to dig at me as I sit in the library, and a craving for plantains and fried cheese makes everything at D2 seem bland and improper. September is the month of acute homesickness, of sudden desires to wear the heavy skirts of traditional dress.

Nicaragua, like most Central American countries, celebrates its independence on September 15. It is a time of cultural appreciation, a total immersion into what it means to be Nicaraguan and to celebrate the particularities of our nation. The intricacies of independence were removed from the holiday long ago, the Spanish empire long forgotten and left behind. It is, above all, a celebration of identity, a shared identity.

My childhood is littered with attempts at dancing folklore at my school’s independence show, futile attempts at making traditional food and soldiers escorting the flag to the beat of drums. I distinctly remember Ms. Juanita, my seventh grade civics teacher, telling colorful stories of great Nicaraguans that had fought against colonialism, imperialism and a thousand other-isms. Her storytelling skills are typical of civics or history teachers across the country, who seem to have an innate ability to bring to life the real stories of historical figures as well as the myths of Nicaraguan lore.

I can guarantee, should you meet any other Nicaraguans in your life, that all of us have a collective memory of patriotic acts, school bands and dances, as well as the colorful pyrotechnic displays of September. It is exactly that which I miss here at NYU Abu Dhabi.

This may be a gross generalization but it is a common belief that Central American countries are essentially all the same. I’ve heard many times that the flags of Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua are the same. I will not dispute the fact that we are all similar – most of Central America was just one country at one point. But there are certain things that even regional similarities cannot capture: a bond between countrymen that is hard to replicate. While Costa Ricans, Guatemalans, Hondurans and Mexicans at NYUAD all have at least one person to bond with, as a Nicaraguan, I am alone.

At times it has been lonely and daunting to be the only person from Nicaragua on campus. There are certain things you get used to when you’ve lived in the same place for most of your life. I took for granted that everyone would understand and relate to my experiences, or at least everyone from Latin America. I never thought idioms like “carreta en bajada” or “ideay” would be foreign even to Spanish-speaking people, or that some of the things I consider funny are simply too steeped in cultural context to be easily understood.

Although the happy glow of September has ebbed away with my increasing understanding of the complexities and problems of my country, I can’t help but feel nostalgic as I find myself away from home. I start to yearn for more people from home, for an embassy to host cultural events, for the particularities of our version of Spanish.

I have to confess the little bit of envy that surfaces when I hear other Latinos talk about their country-specific activities. Sometimes I just really want what they have: the ability to reference something and immediately be understood or to plan a country-specific event that includes more than one person.

In the end, however, the bonds between my fellow Nicaraguans back home have been matched by the bonds I’ve made with my fellow Latinos at NYUAD. I find little pieces of home in sneaking into Mexican embassy events or crashing the Costa Rican breakfast on campus. I have learned new traditions, like the Mexican Grito and the existence of incredibly dangerous towers of fireworks. I have new collective memories of being Latino at NYUAD that more than make up for being alone.

My first September away from home was a difficult transition. It was the birth of an independent cultural identity, one shared with a larger group of people that I’m happy to belong to.

Happy Independence Day to my new cultural family. ¡Viva Latinoamérica!