Rope

I’m uncertain how I feel at this very moment. Unclear. I feel like throwing up. Anxious. My heart beating at an unusual pace. I feel nostalgic yet a little underwhelmed by it all. I’m worried I should be feeling something more, more depth, more grief. But I feel something. My nerves are edgy and I feel like I’m cutting a rope, a safety line into the past. The place that was home for two years, I leave it behind, all of it.

Crane made a point this morning, in a fit of random, inexplicable laughter. She said it’s strange that we perceive returned volunteers as magical beings that reside in a magical faraway land; a place that’s dream-like, a mirage, a fantastical place, unattainable, unreachable, out of the realm of comprehension. A place we could never be, because this is our home, our reality. She continued that soon I would one of those magical people, far, far away.

And we assume this other place is happy and all is wonderful. Like a familiar idea of the West.

I felt, thought, expected it to be a bigger event. Not necessarily festive or celebratory, but just bigger, more important. A bigger deal than it actually was, which felt more like throwing a rock in sand than in water. Nothing happen. My landlord, Mr. Singini, inspected the house , I handed over the keys, my neighbors kids raided the boxes of junk I left in the kitchen, and I picked some moringa leaves for dinner. That was it.

It was like any other day. But it was the last day. My last day, most likely, forever in that house. So many memories, good, bad. Bear recommended I spend some time alone in the empty house, which evoked a need to pray, strangely. It had a holy or vast greatness to it, the empty house, as if it was a shrine to memory, each brick an idol encompassing two years of life. I chanted three “oms,” as Bear recommended leaving good vibes for the next resident, and just walked around.

It was like walking around a temple. You feel something, but it’s intangible, it has no shape, form, or definition, and as a result you draw your mind and soul to feel what you believe should be felt in such a place. You draw something that is tangible, fathomable, like memory or love. But what you really feel you can never say, only knowing that something is there.

A lot of memories in that house. I remember the times I was scared, the times I was alone, the times I was sick, and the times I was truly happy. I remember laughing uncontrollably with Bear and Zebra. I remember all the times I spent exhausted, passed out on the mat or on the couch and just staring at the ceiling. Or watching the iron sheets as rain pounded the roof and water dripped down the troughs. I remember aimlessly watching the geckos, their unusual clicks and alien movements on the walls. Home.

Home for so long, you don’t know much else. There is a lump at the bottom of my throat and my chest feels heavy.