I’m so over this.
A thick feather from some unknown foul floats through the air and lands with a rather big thud on my arm. Mistaking it for one of the many bugs and insects I’ve discovered in the past month my heart skips a thousand beats and I let out a huge gasp. My skin immediately itches and fingernails against salty skin I can’t seem to find out why. I’m so over this.
Bowls of rice for the umpteenth meal in a row, I’ve forgotten the simple indulgences of home, the thought of warm food against the tongue overwhelms my senses. I’m so over this. Pouring murky pond yuck disguised as bath water simply adds to the thick layers of grim already finding its home on my body. I’m so over this.
Brown eyes starring at me, looks of puzzlement and bewilderment stumped at my stutters, my struggles to teach something so basic to me, my own language. I’m so over this. The hot and humid air chocking my lungs as I drip sweat to the sandy classroom floor. I’m so over this.
I’m over this.
In truth, I’m not. In the blink of an eye these moments, this lifestyle I’ve grown so accustomed to, a lifestyle of somewhat primitive survival, with a single inhale and exhale it will all disappear. And those thoughts haunt me. I’m not over this.
I’ve come to savor these moments, these months. Like dark chocolate melting in the mouth, my senses tell me this is something not to rush through, not to let pass by. And the lessons are being learned. I’m becoming stronger with each passing day, not by my own strength and might, but by my dependence on the one who breathes life into my very own lunges.
I’m not over this.
In a matter of weeks I’ll be stepping off yet another plane, yet this time my feet will touch the shiny marble floors of American soil. The smell of animals defecating and trash burning will be replaced by the fragrances of fresh showers and overpriced perfumes and it will overwhelm my senses. With each sad goodbye and farewell hug, I’ll step away from the ones who’ve bridged the gap from strangers to family in a single year and into the arms of those who themselves will see a stranger before their very own eyes. And I savor each night on dirt covered floors, the march of ants across my arms, the dirty dog shaking fleas underneath my chair at the dinner table, the curious stares that erupt into cheers of the local school children, another entry into a journal of thankfulness. And I am thankful. I’m beyond thankful. I rest in thankfulness.
I’m not over this.
I want more and more with each day that passes, yet more is not granted to me. Instead the determination to reside in the transformed beats strong. The desire to carry these moments of sweet treasure underneath the cavities of my heart, and the will to push through and “finish strong” is stronger than ever. I’m not over this. Nor will I ever truly ever be.
(Photos taken by Jessica Gasperin)
