Round Two
A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?
-Kahlil Gibran
I miss things. I was lying in bed Friday night, worn out from week two of Spanish intensivo and week three of “the dream.” I sat reading emails from recruitment, browsing pictures of friends, and anticipating the skype dates that awaited me in the morning. Amidst my kanoodling, I came upon a little known fact: I am roughly 5700 miles away from home. The pictures, the messages, the distance… I was overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the distance and how alone I am.
I have never been alone in this way. I sat in bed craving a s’more in front of Arley’s fireplace or an opportunity to facebook chat session with Veah while we sit next to each other in room 1. I needed a what’s-the-deal-with-boys/ Eliza-was-a tragedy-last-night session. I wanted a text message from my little brother or a scrub-worthy Tuesday afternoon with no class and one of Steve’s muffins. I scoured facebook, eagerly anticipating news of new members and updates on all the things 5700 miles of land and water and language separate me from. I started to tear up when it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a bowl of cereal or a cup of green tea in over 20 days… and with that, the last three weeks of fear and excitement, sadness and contentment poured out of me. I shut off my computer and I turned out the light and I stared out the window and I missed things.
I needed the tough moment. I usually do. Saturday was good - I still checked facebook twenty times for news of new girls, but letting the feelings out reinforced the opportunities I have to look forward to amidst all that is absent. I don’t get Steve’s muffins, I get mama’s paella every Sunday afternoon. I don’t get smore’s at Arley’s, I get churros y chocolate at Café Brasilia with Taryn. I can’t do campus tours because ‘tis the time for botellones, discotecas and late nights (well, early mornings actually). And scrub-worthy Tuesdays are actually scrub-worthy Fridays with no class. Nothing is replaced; new things are just temporarily included.
Yes, the ‘mountain’ is quite beautiful from the ‘valley’, more so than I realized while I dwelled upon it. I will continue to stand in awe and in yearning for the heights from which I have descended (to be nice and sappy and metaphorical) and I plan on scouring facebook on at least a (tri)weekly basis to remember the things that await me 5700 miles to the west. Saturday morning, however, found me staring out the window with a slightly different train of thought than that of the night before: its time to enjoy the valley that I have admired from the mountain for so long.