It's hard to write a whole post about one sentence, but I think it's important, because that one sentence describes 90% of my thoughts at this point. In 21 days, I'll be walking through my front door in Denver. I'll be "home". Believe me when I say I'm excited, because there are things you come to miss like crazy after 10 months with out them. Sure, I'm excited to see my family and friends again, but do you know how much I miss waffles for breakfast, swinging in my hammock with a good book on summer afternoons, and the ability to wear a skirt without becoming more of a spectacle than my "blonde" hair already makes me? A lot. I miss those things, and so many others, more than you could possibly imagine.
Knowing that I'm so close to all of that sometimes makes me want to pack my bags and get on the next flight to the US. I've spent months trying to not think about all of the little things that I miss, because I knew they were too far away to be worth pining over. Now though, they're within reach, and my friends and I often talk about the things we'll eat and places we'll go as soon as we're back. There's something very comforting about hearing everyone "mmmm" along with you when you mention how much you're going to enjoy your first strip of bacon in 10 months. So as you can see, I have lots to look forward to about being back!
What was hard about leaving the US was knowing that I was trading everything that was familiar for a life that was one big question mark. What made it okay was that I knew that it wasn't forever and that I was beginning the biggest adventure of my life.
What makes this goodbye okay is that I'm excited about coming back. What's hard about it is that I'm also leaving home. Once again, I am leaving behind all of the things that are familiar, even in their foreignness. I am leaving my school, my friends, my daily bus route, and the places my friends and I always go to. I'm leaving my family and my house that have become my home. I'm leaving the music and language that I've fallen in love with. I'm leaving a culture that has taught me what it is to be different, but that has also showed me the satisfaction of being accepted. I'm leaving a country that caught me in its whirlwind of diversity and took a part of my heart in the process.
The hardest part is knowing that I can't come back. I don't mean that I wont come and visit, or that I'll never see any of the people I've met again. I will. What I mean is that I will never be able to come back to this year, the way things are now. I'll never be in school again, with my classmates. I'll never live with the same people or see the same group of friends everyday. There's a quote that I've fallen in love with recently, because it captures the part I haven't been able to put into words:
"You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place... like you'll not only miss the people you love, but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again."
- Azar Nafisi
I don't quite know how to explain how true this is. Maybe it's something you either understand or don't. I can tell that this won't be the only time in my life when I feel this way. I think it's something that comes with every ending/beginning. I felt it after my last play. I felt it on my last day of high school. I felt it when I got on the plane to Miami back in August. I feel it now, as I sit and try to process that the hardest and most rewarding year of my life will be over in three weeks.
I don't have answers. I can't tell myself or anyone else how to best to deal with this kind of situation. What I do is just live. I go to school, eat lunch with my family, and see my friends in the afternoons. I smile to myself when I get on the bus in the morning, because while being squished between too many uniformed kids was uncomfortable in the beginning, it's now seems strange to get a seat right away. I laugh when I go to the terminal and hear the bus company employees shouting "A Quito, a Quito, a Quito!", because as disorienting as it is to hear them all shouting over each other, they're actually quite helpful if you don't know which bus to take. I try not to get too annoyed when my classmates are all squealing and laughing at the top of their lungs, because I know that I'm going to miss their stupid jokes and obsession with boys when I'm gone. I've come to the point where I appreciate everything, simply because it's all become normal and I know it won't be my normal for much longer.
These kinds of things are always so bittersweet, but they're worth it. As a very wise person wrote on the bathroom wall of my favorite cafe:
"Life is better when you're traveling!"
Hasta luego,
Elisa
