the inevitable GOODBYE
May 23rd, 2006. The day Nitzan left, and thus the first real difficult goodbye and slap-in-the-face-you-will-be-leaving-too realizations I’ve had so far. However, I know that I will see her, or at the very least stay in contact via email and phone in the years to come, and I know she is on her way to a great job and summer in Israel, where she feels so happy and at home. Saying goodbye to everyone at CEI today was… another story. I only cried twice – saying goodbye to two women (Louise and Tessy) I had grown quite close to and hadn’t even had enough time to really know – but otherwise I did okay. It’s never easy, and especially when I know pretty well that I will never see them again and even worse to think of how I’m leaving this modest organization (that can barely help anyone anyway) and their "la vie est dur" lives to return to all the luxuries and possibilities and hope that exists for me in the United States.
I am always second-guessing myself, thinking I am too soft and need to be a little more tough and insensitive for my own safety, or that I’ve gone too far and need to give more, listen more, sympathize more. I am constantly trying to find that balance, where I give enough but also protect myself against needy people who might demand too much. This alone may have been the most important lesson I’ll take with me from Morocco. But nevertheless I’m left with this empty feeling like I’m abandoning them, these people for whom I’ve come to care so much… and the feeling extends to my host family as well. I told Anne today that at this point I’m either entirely apathetic or perpetually on the verge of tears, and probably will be this way for the next week. Perhaps beyond as well.
Because, for all the moments that I struggled being here, struggled with the foreign lifestyle, foreign food, foreign religion, foreign language, and with virtually no one even among the Americans to support me or remind me of all that made me smile and laugh from my own home, I slowly made a home out this place. And at the end of the day, the truth remained that I chose to come here, to learn the things that I would never explore on my own and see sights that I would never otherwise demand to see. And I paid, this is true as well…. But over time faces and languages and religions became nearly as familiar as my own and it’s true, you can only feel like a foreigner for so long. It’s counter-intuitive to continue separating yourself from every color, scent, and sound surrounding you; eventually you take the inconspicuous, imperceptible step toward change. You adapt, you transition, and don’t look back until you’re faced again with those colors, scents, and sounds that you didn’t realize you had forgotten. And then, the prospect of stepping backward, rather than always pushing forward, is at the same time immensely comfortable and immensely inadequate. Perhaps this is why it is so much than just a goodbye.
I am always second-guessing myself, thinking I am too soft and need to be a little more tough and insensitive for my own safety, or that I’ve gone too far and need to give more, listen more, sympathize more. I am constantly trying to find that balance, where I give enough but also protect myself against needy people who might demand too much. This alone may have been the most important lesson I’ll take with me from Morocco. But nevertheless I’m left with this empty feeling like I’m abandoning them, these people for whom I’ve come to care so much… and the feeling extends to my host family as well. I told Anne today that at this point I’m either entirely apathetic or perpetually on the verge of tears, and probably will be this way for the next week. Perhaps beyond as well.
Because, for all the moments that I struggled being here, struggled with the foreign lifestyle, foreign food, foreign religion, foreign language, and with virtually no one even among the Americans to support me or remind me of all that made me smile and laugh from my own home, I slowly made a home out this place. And at the end of the day, the truth remained that I chose to come here, to learn the things that I would never explore on my own and see sights that I would never otherwise demand to see. And I paid, this is true as well…. But over time faces and languages and religions became nearly as familiar as my own and it’s true, you can only feel like a foreigner for so long. It’s counter-intuitive to continue separating yourself from every color, scent, and sound surrounding you; eventually you take the inconspicuous, imperceptible step toward change. You adapt, you transition, and don’t look back until you’re faced again with those colors, scents, and sounds that you didn’t realize you had forgotten. And then, the prospect of stepping backward, rather than always pushing forward, is at the same time immensely comfortable and immensely inadequate. Perhaps this is why it is so much than just a goodbye.
posted by IJA at 6:43 AM
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