Well, hi there...
I was talking with Susan earlier this morning, and I said, “I think I’m going to send out a really heavy update email today...” and she looked at me and said “when are your updates not heavy?” But I guess that’s just it: Africa doesn’t entail a whole lot of lightness. Recently, and kind of always, I’ve had this huge sense of urgency... I always have to suck the most I can out of every possible moment. My friend Ryan once told me it’s the only thing I’m a perfectionist in. Well, in two and a half weeks I’ll be getting on a plane to Boston. I can’t even believe it, and I don’t understand how the last 5 months can feel like a lifetime and no time at all, at the very same time.
I’ve discovered that I really don’t like the fluidity of relationships or time, I hold on to things tightly and I don’t like it when dynamics change, but the truth of the matter is: things are and always will be changing… And if you’ve ever had to say goodbye to me, you know I always make a big spectacle of it, because I never want to leave things unsaid, because I know things will never go back to the way they were, because I hate leaving room for regret.
The whole situation reminds me of one of my favorite movies “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” If you’ve never seen it, the basic premise is about a procedure that is able to erase people from your memory. After the main characters’ (Joel and Clementine) break-up, the couple decides to erase each other. The movie mostly takes place in the sleeping mind of Joel, living through his last memories of Clementine as they are being systematically deleted. The movie does a phenomenal job depicting their relationship through Joel’s short and scattered rememberings, and is visually astounding as each scene literally crumbles and vanishes out of his mental grasp. It dives deep into the development of both of their characters, revealing the beautiful, the horrible, the uncomfortable, and the moving parts of their relationship. After a particularly fond memory is removed the unconscious Joel begins to regret his decision, and tries everything he can, trapped in his mind, to stop the procedure... trying to wake himself up, taking Clementine out of their original memory and hiding her deep inside other things from his past… but nothing works. Eventually they get to Montauk beach, standing together in the sand of the last memory he has, gazing upon the scene where they first met… “Well, this is it” Clementine says… Joel nods and helplessly asks her “What are we going to do?” she smiles, takes his hand and says “Enjoy it.” They morph into their roles, laughing, and running through their last minutes together, as the scene rapidly decays… the houses fall apart, the beach erodes, all the people disappear, the music crescendos until Joel is left alone.
Ok so that’s really dramatic, but I feel like life is going by at sonic speeds, and it only goes faster, (so I’ve been told a hundred times by my Dad)… and I feel like I’m standing, somehow omnisciently looking ahead at these next two and a half weeks, knowing that “this is it.”
Instead of memories being stripped from my mental grasp, I feel like time is ripping the actual moments from my physical grasp. And I’m so scared for these last 5 months of my life to become just a story, just an experience, just a memory… It’s not that I’m not looking forward to seeing my family and friends, taking a legit shower, Chipotle, or water accessibility, because I am… it’s just that I know in a few weeks I won’t be able to hold Ritah when I want to, I won’t have a huge hill to complain about, I won’t be able to laugh, cry, or be with the only people in the world that feel every ounce of what we’ve all been through, because after this, we all spiral to other places in the universe.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to one of our friends that did work in a really sketchy part of Uganda, bringing water to places with violent, feuding tribes, and as she described the danger, my mind eagerly raced to romanticize the adventure of it…. And almost as a response to the flicker in my eyes, she humbly and honestly admitted the disorders and the dysfunction that it has caused in her life. I distinctly remember wondering when my selfish, immature desire for cool stories would turn into disorder and dysfunction. And now, a few weeks later, I think I’ve arrived… the Africa I know now isn’t romantic, holding Charlie knowing that I can’t bring his parents back, or make sure people pay attention to him when he gets sick, saying that I love him when I’m leaving soon doesn’t appeal to me… the nobility of perseverance when people steal from us, and quit on us, when programs fail and we have to start over is no longer glamorous, it’s exhausting… loving people that don’t always love you back isn’t gratifying, it hurts…
It’s all made me really dwell upon the meaninglessness of life. We are but a breath in the grand scheme of things, and I will make no noticeable dent in the vastness of the ages… the efforts of CLD and every other non-profit in Africa, the dance parties, the full stomachs, the paid medical bills, the smiles, the heart-to-hearts, none of it really matters if you zoom out… and I’ve been sulking in that for a while, I’m still not completely over it, but I think it comes down to simple physics… because if everything is worthless, there must be an equal and opposite reaction screaming that everything is significant… if nothing matters, then everything matters, if it’s all ugly, then it’s all beautiful too… and because of free will we are able to choose how we look at an absolute… and even though it’s not everyday, today I choose the significant route…
Today, I walked through mud puddles, wearing flip-flops, so when I walked in the mud it flicked up on my legs and capris, dotting and staining my back side... I jumped around, danced, and held kids that have various worms, fungi, and were really really dirty. I sat in a church in the slums talking with our friend that we’ve empowered, Shakira, about our daily struggles, and I eavesdropped on Jeremy’s anti-dependency conversation with Pastor Godfrey... and I breathed it all in... my back hurts more than I can say, flies swarmed around the various small wounds on my legs, it was really hot, I probably look a mess (I’m avoiding mirrors though)... and I’m so sad that today is gone already...
The scene replays itself in my head... “This is it...” I want to bask in the crazy Kampala traffic, and walk more, because it seems to slow things down. I want to fully appreciate the places that make me relive my memories with Recheal. I want to capture the feeling of satisfaction at the end of the days that I don’t want to get out of bed, but I do anyway. And just fully absorb the conversations, the presence, the essence of the people I am privileged to live with. It’s just hard when I feel like the red African dirt is eroding beneath me, the walls of our house are crumbling, the kids are vanishing from my sight one-by-one, the drum beats are coming to an ultimate crescendo, and then I’ll step on that plane alone. Knowing that it’s going to happen doesn’t make it any easier, but it does make me more aware. Being the crazy person that I am, I deeply want to suffocate this situation I want to scream “what are we going to do?” I want to stop the flow of time, but I can’t do anything... so all that’s left is to enjoy it.
Here begins the sprint at the end of the race… no more side hugs, no more complaints, and no more “maybe tomorrow’s,” I’m going to live out this last leg stretched, and exhausted, not ignoring the pain, or the ridiculous annoyances, but embracing it, because I’ll miss it when it’s gone…
This is it,
Nicole
