I blinked. I shouldn't have, but as I've never been good at staring contests, it was inevitable. So it happened. My eyes closed for one last time in the land of smiles, and when I opened them I had no idea where I was, but I knew it wasn't home.
I've waited a long time to write to you, my Fabulous Five. I've been home for about a month now, but I just haven't quite been able to process it yet. I still wake up some mornings and wonder where I am. I still have mini anxiety attacks at random times while driving, panicking that I'm on the wrong side of the road. I still accidentally speak in the tone that is specially reserved for my sweet Thai babies, forgetting that people here can comprehend my English. I still have so many stories to tell, but I realize that I could never convey the memories as perfectly as they deserve to be told.
At the very mention of my Thai babies, I am taken back to my final moments with them. I'm not a crier, but I can't help but be brought to tears by the thought of our last week together. I didn't want to tell them I was leaving until the last possible moment because I knew I couldn't keep my composure. The same went for our family and friends in our community. We made it a point to continue on as normal until it was unavoidable. We went out to eat and danced and laughed and celebrated our togetherness, but were careful not to mention what was to come.
I stole every last possible moment I could. I was that crazy lady who holds on too long during a hug. I held their little faces in my hands while telling them how much I love them. I braided hair until I thought my fingers would fall off. I rocked them in my arms while singing old jazz songs. I rode my bicycle around school with four kiddos on the back and one in the basket. They were so confused when each of these silly little bits brought tears to my eyes. They could never comprehend the magnitude of my love for them or my sadness for leaving.
The morning of our departure, I rode my bicycle to school like always, but for the last time. I actively practiced meditation so as not to burst into tears at the thought of the coming moments. Never having a gift for meditation, I erupted almost immediately at first sight of the school. My favorite M1 students met me at the gate to give me a little teddy bear and handwritten note (both of which never leave my side) before I made my way up to the front of the morning assembly to say my official goodbye. None of my words were even the slightest bit recognizable (nor would they have been to even the most avid of English speakers) because of the onslaught of tears and emotion that overcame me. It was embarrassing for me to show so much emotion in public, but at the same time, I wanted them to understand just how much they had affected me, my life, my very purpose of living. I all but ran away from the scene, wanting to get out of there before just deciding to set up camp and stay forever, right there in the middle of that sweet little school with all my kiddos surrounding me. But I walked away because I had a bus to catch. I hugged my fellow teachers and continued on.
Then, I heard the little voices of "Teacha Cowsee!" behind me, and I turned around to the most beautiful scene of my life: all my babies running towards me. It was like something out of a movie. I cried a river as I hugged the necks of each and every one of those angels while they begged me to stay. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was to keep walking. We waved to each other until we vanished from sight, a scene that I carry in my mind every moment.
I got back to our place to load up the past year of our lives into Off's tiny little car. We crammed in with absolutely no room left and headed for the bus station, and got a few important last lessons in Thai on the way. As we were unloading his car, I looked up to see my five favorite fellow teachers coming to greet me one last time. "It was not enough," they said, in regards to our earlier goodbyes. We got our final tear filled hugs in before beginning our long journey home.
The next few days that followed are simply a blur in my mind now. I remember feeling every possible emotion to the highest degree. Flights were full, bags were heavy, stress was off the charts. Our journey took us to Singapore, which ended up being a blessing because it gave us the day to explore yet another beautiful new country. However, never have I been so miserably ready to be home. At certain points, I thought the moment would never come. It was so sweet when it finally did.
I can't tell you how it felt to step foot in America. I can't even tell you how it feels to be here now. After a month, I still have yet to process it. I think it's a part of my brain that I have blocked off to deal with at another time. I so often get asked "How was Thailand?" or "How does it feel to be back?" and my automated response is "I'm so sad to have left, but so happy to be home." However, if I can tell you the truth, I don't think I'm home yet.
I can now be found in north Alabama (more specifically at a perfect little coffee shop I've already sought out for paper grading and my last blog entry to you tonight). I've just taken a job at a middle school for the next 6 weeks (remainder of the school year) teaching English and journalism to 8th graders with whom I've already fallen in love after my two short days of being here. You'd be hard pressed to find nicer, more welcoming folks anywhere. It was a quick decision to take the job and move here, but it was undoubtedly the right one. It's weird to be in this place alone. Even in Thailand, I had Meredith by my side every step of the way. But I think these next six weeks are meant for me.
Some people have asked me why I didn't stay in Thailand since I loved it so much. The truth is I could've stayed forever, and that was the problem. I want to be scared. I want to keep pushing the boundaries. I want to keep discovering, learning, playing, changing, LOVING! And it's not to say that there wasn't more of that to be done in Thailand, but I have to keep moving. I've got so much more ground to cover.
Sometimes cliffs present themselves, and looking over to see what's beyond can be the most intimidating thing of all especially if the landing isn't within sight. Somehow, even though we know such a leap will land us safely into our next climb, a journey we welcome, it's still hard to let go. There's something really special about taking a risk and moving on though. My favorite moments are the ones after I've taken the risk. Secret little reasons of why I was supposed to take it revealed to me in their own time--minutes, days, months, years after I've jumped. It's the most exquisite thing in life, I think.
This is my farewell post to the most FABULOUS of Fives. I couldn't have asked for a better journey, and I'm beyond lucky to have gotten to share it with all of you--whomever you may be. I have no idea where my next adventure will take me, but I promise it won't be boring. I look forward to sharing more stories with you again someday, if you'll have me. Until next time, lovelies!
