Thursday, January 12th 2012
COS (Closure of Service) is a temptress, a yearning made all the more sweet by the nature of the wait, a tantalizing essence of June & summer & shades of green –gentle winds & cool waters & rebirth, of freedom, of hope. The future is a riot of colors & senses, a glimmer of opened windows & calm nights lit by the moon & stars. . . With each passing day, the American skies will paint themselves more blue. The flowers will begin to awaken, the birds will yield to the will of instinct that pulls them home.
But I can dream. . . I definitely oscillate back & forth between waiting & ecstasy, between the boredom of the prospect of five more months & the carefree nonchalance that a tree-hugging, barefoot, tie dye wearing hippie might exude –if there were any trees to hug. I sometimes shy away from & yet become more intrigued by Sadie & Brian who make this life look & seem so easy. If I had to choose a mantra for them, I'd certainly risk the cliché of “Don't worry, be happy.”
Perhaps these next five months will further solidify the patience that Peace Corps has thus far instilled within me. I waltz through the three week long wait for a much anticipated letter or care package from home. I'm okay with quiet nights & days in my village. I have little drive to cavort off to the aimag, & less desire still to visit UB (currently plunged into a glory of -40°F). Yet if I'm being truthful, I will say that I wouldn't miss the lost time if I were to blink & awaken in a haze mid-March.
I revel in throwing finished things away. It's as though each used-up spice container, each too-holey sock, & each burned-down candle are conspiring with me to leave this place. Every tea packet, empty bottle of hot sauce, every vacant vitamin container, every dead pen –its ink spilled into flowing cursive upon a page– it's as though I'm somehow moving closer. I become more free, less burdened, I can congratulate myself on watercolors well-painted, envelopes well-addressed, shoes well-walked, as I lessen the amount of material items that surround me.
I look forward to going home, heading to my dressers with trash bags in hand, & tossing clothing I haven't worn in two years into them. I won't miss the countless jeans & T-shirts as I haven't missed them at all while I've been here. I can't wait to donate them to charity. & my shoes, my wonderful & mostly impractical collection of shoes! Albeit a small menagerie consisting perhaps of twenty-odd pairs, I relish the vision of my old Chuck Taylors flying from my hands, the worn second-hand boots making their way back to the thrift store, my final farewell to the plaid ballet flats & the Puma gym shoes. Adieu, adieu, but goodness knows my red heels, knee-high moccasins, & sage green wedges aren't going anywhere (except perhaps out to dinner or to the bar).
I'm coming home! I'm going to relish a hot shower every night & then drench my skin in Bath & Body Works lotion. I'm going to sleep on freshly-laundered sheets, I'm going to relax by the light of a Yankee candle. I'm going to visit friends & colleagues & favorite restaurants & bars with joy in my heart (& laden with souvenirs in my open arms). I'm going to go to that little dive on the lake in Wisconsin with my Mom & Dad, & eat a salad with a big, cold glass of Guinness while chatting with the smiling blonde waitress who bade me luck before I came here. It was the same meal I had when I went there last. & we'll laugh & look out the big windows onto the water, clouds reflected in the waves as the sky softens to allow the sun to lazily dip below the trees, & a warm breeze will gently lift the napkins on the table & cause the tealights to flicker, dancing lively in their glass holders.
I'll awaken to the warm light of a patriotic summer sun & walk barefoot downstairs to the patio where Dad & Jim have coffee already brewing on the fire, just like cowboys would make it, in a blue speckled camping kettle. I'll interpret the sound of lawn mowers as music. & I'll sit on a cushioned lawn chair & smile. I'm coming home.
0 comments:
Post a Comment