Being the New Kid

This morning I woke up with a bad case of homesickness. I desperately wanted to call my family and friends and say, "I'm homesick. Let's go to breakfast or meet up later for dinner." I wanted it to be easy, to just be myself with people who love me.

But right now it's not that easy. See I'm the new kid. Each interaction I have with people in Prague feels pressured. I feel as though I have to be my best self each and every time.  

A million questions and judgements flurry through my mind while I'm with others. 

"Do they like me?"

"Why did I tell that story? I should have shared this one instead."

"Be open-minded. Take the time to listen."

"Why are you worrying about this when there are people with such 'bigger' things going on in their lives?"

And while all of this scurries across my conscious, another part of my mind desperately shouts, "Stop this. Just be you! They'll like you." 

This stage of feeling awkward and the wash of blue feelings will pass. What I need to do until it does is keep accepting the invitations here and just enjoy getting to know others. I need to reconnect with faraway friends and family to strengthen my sense of self.  And lastly treat myself with kindness.  That all sounds good but maybe for today, I just need to watch another episode of "Orange is the New Black," and go to bed early. Those are things I think I can do.

Home Revised

It seems like there's a trending topic with bloggers I follow lately. The concept of home. I wrote my own version while on my flight home from Mumbai to Chicago a week and a half ago. 

Then I was met at the airport with huge hugs. 

After just a few hours back in the the States, I realized my original "home" post needed a major rewrite.

Until I boarded the plane, I had called Dekalb, Illinois and Mumbai, India home. In DeKalb, home held memories of Christmas Eve traditions including matching jammies. In Mumbai, it facilitated escape from beautiful chaos. Both places created safety, peace and comfort. 

The final few weeks, I felt like I'd lost home. My sense of having a place had evaporated. 

Which is where?

I was in stuck in-between places Trying to accept that I'd spend the summer holding a pin to put onto my map.

But then unexpectedly, I found home. A bedroom in my parents' new house that was decorated less than 24 hours after 2 closings. 

My bedroom for the summer including cute throw pillows

A sister trip to Vancouver with the Goo. Watching soccer out with my parents. Spending a Saturday catching up with dear friends in Chicago. I realized that sometimes home isn't one place. It's not the place your parents lived for 28 years. Not the apartment you painted in vibrant hues in Mumbai. Home is anywhere and everywhere. It's where I make it.

For this summer, not only does Kermit have a home but I have one too. The uncertainty I'd struggled with the final few weeks of the school year in Bombay has been unexpectedly reattached. Stitched back into the place by the people I love. Thank you.

Crashes

Yesterday the walls came crashing down. Literally.

One of the cabinet doors in my kitchen broke away from the wall as I attempted to put away my freshly washed french press.

At the time I thought it was funny. The external, literal falling down of things around me. Lately it's felt like I've been driving in Mumbai again; trying to dodge collisions and this one I couldn't avoid.

Yesterday though, I shrugged it off, put in my School Dude request to have it repaired (Yes, I know I'm spoiled by only completing a brief online form to have a handyman come to my apartment and make the repair for free) and went about the remainder of my day.

About 11:30 this morning, though there was a pile up. This crash came in the form of a doorbell and a table.

My friend's movers arrived to pick up the table she bought from me.

The movers slide off their sandals, picked up the table and were out in again in moments. This move was perfect. A green light. After closing the door, I sat back down to work. My eyes glanced back to the lesson plan and suddenly, I started to cry. The collision A full on, noise making, eye squinting, boogery cry. I'd been hit.

Also when you move furniture you also realize just how dirty your walls are.

While washing my face, I realized this crash had nothing to do teaching but was all about my space. I'm a nester. My home space is important to me. It's sacred. This new emptiness made me feel as though the end had arrived.

The longer I live abroad though, I realize this is part of transitioning. It comes in waves. Today hit me. It wasn't so much about the thing. The table. It was about the people I'm saying goodbye to for a while.

Rather than wallowing in my sorrows in my emptier nest, I reached out to my friends who in an instant were there with understanding and support.

Friends quickly offered to move up our afternoon date. They arrived earlier. After lunch, manis and pedis and just some good talks and quality time with some of my girls; I'm no longer suffering from transition whiplash.

While I hope no more literal things come tumbling down around me, I do know that these collisions will be a part of the next few months ahead.

End note 1: In case you wondered, the French press was also a casualty. Shattered and not quite as shrug-off-able as the cabinet door.

End note 2: Yes we are riding in a rickshaw with a lampshade above our heads. All you need to know is that it made me feel better. 

A Prescription for Skies

A disease I've contracted from living in Mumbai blue sky-itis. It's main symptom is intense cravings for skies. For any shade of blue. Royal. Cobalt. Powder.

There are some days where I get my fix riding along in my commute home or occasionally from a walk along Arabian Sea. Most of the time though, I suffer without.

When I’m outside Mumbai I really notice the indigo. The azure. The midnight. 

Outside the city the blues are completely accessible. No partial view. No apartment high rises blocking them. Outside the city the blues are in their purest forms. No city lights interfering in their depth. 

When I escape the sky desert of Mumbai, I find ways to get a fix.

Lounging on the Koh Lanta's beaches and watching sky blues bleed into the sea.

Tilting my head back so far my neck starts to hurt in the salt flats of Gujarat.

 Filling up my memory card with photo after photo of the simple sky blues of Kashmir.

Admiring the brilliant sapphire skies that make the visible even in your photos in Istanbul.

I've become that girl, the annoying one, who notices the skies and interrupts conversations to share my noticing. I crave for the people I'm with to pause and marvel in their beauty. Most people oblige, nod in agreement and quickly the conversation continues. Some pause and support my silent appreciation. One even suggest a hashtag for my Instagram posts.

I linger longer in the blues and reap their curing powers.

Transitions Suck

Transitions suck.

They’re hard. I know what’s ahead. 

Packing. Saying goodbye.

Waiting. Sitting in between moments.

Being the new girl. Seeking possibilities.

I’ve done this before. I’ve watched family and friends navigate them.

New countries and cities. Jobs and marriages. Babies being born while loved ones grow older.

Sometimes we RSVP’d change and sometimes they’ve crashed our party.

I invited them. I invited change.

But right now it feels; I feel sad.  

Because I feel right here is right.

And that’s okay because it's just all part of this.