Always grateful

I'll put it simply: today is not an easy day.  But something tells me you know.  Call it intuition, call it optimism, call it whatever...all I know is that it makes me smile.

Remember how we smiled?

Last night, I tried sleeping and ended up thinking instead.  If I could have crawled into your bed like I used to when I was a kid, I would have done just that.  When I couldn't sleep, I used to tiptoe down the hall into your room and snuggle in tight.  Your breathing was always soft, pulsing, steady, sure.  In the hollow of your neck, I often discovered the scent of lavender talcum powder…and that was enough.  I rested.  No one ever had to tell me I was a lucky girl.  So for a little while last night, I curled around my pillow to see if it might feel like summertime.  All I felt was a headache.

Lingering in memories isn't always a fruitful endeavor, I know.  But I also know that some of your best teaching moments were ones I only recognized in retrospect.  Remember the summer S and I took tennis lessons?  On the first morning, I heard the auto rumble in, bright and early, and I was wearing shorts that were...well, they were on the shorter side.  As we came downstairs, you said nothing, but I could see your discomfort.  “Everyone wears these at home,” I explained, but to no avail.  At the time, it was with a begrudging sort of sigh that I shuffled upstairs to change.  Now, I concede the point: maybe it was a little too much leg.  I'll admit that teenage Sonika wanted to be a little rebellious.  You, on the other hand, wanted to keep her safe from neighborhood ruffians and such.  Touché.

So it was with an odd mix of sadness and amusement that I left my bed last night and headed for the kitchen.  One mug of Swiss Miss later, I did drift off...for a few hours, anyway.  And this morning, I'm up trying to clear some space in my head before today's lectures fill it up again.

Because it’s been a year.  A year?  How?  The details seem too fresh to be a year old.  I was so far from home.  I remember how my breath caught when I saw that e-mail with no text, just a subject line: “CALL HOME NOW”.  I remember my roommate setting 2 pieces of Dove dark chocolate and green tea near my arm.  She was doing her best, and I was weeping at the dining room table.  I remember trying to pretend, through the haze: this isn't real...someone's just playing a mean trick on me.  I remember feeling too nauseous to eat, and writing instead...scrambling to catch the memories, lest they slip away somehow.

In the beginning, one thing I heard quite often from people was, "You'll be okay in the end."  This used to offend me; I worried that “being okay” might imply that I loved you less.  Man, how things have changed...

the obligatory first-day-of-school photo

For one thing, I've settled into med school at this point.  I mean, I know you know this, but I want to show you.  I want to show you my apartment, the lecture hall, the gross anatomy lab, the library table where I study - even the elevator I ride every morning.  (Yes, I remember how much I troubled you to exercise.  And yes, I always intend to take the stairs…but at 7 am?  Let’s be realistic here.)

And I want to show you all this because it brings me joy.  It's a joy we know - the kind that's perfect in all of its mundanity.  I stay up later than I should, flipping through flashcards and drinking too much coffee.  I have dissection instructors who make me want to be the best student they've ever seen.

And it's not all about work, either.  I've made some friends here, too - friends with sincere, genuine hearts.

There are a few others besides these two.  If you ask me, they're all pretty swell.

See?  I'm still a lucky girl.  And although this new life keeps me tired, it also keeps me challenged...and humbled...and grateful.  Always grateful.

There’s more to tell, of course.  (Won't there always be more?)  But for now, I want you to know that I’ve learned something important in this past year.  It's the kind of thing that outranks arterial anastomoses, nitrogen metabolism, and even clinical skills sessions.  (I know...what on earth could outrank clinical skills, right?)

I've learned about risk.

In all honesty, there was a time when happiness felt like a risk.  It was a natural, human, perfectly normal reaction.  But something has shifted, especially in the past few months.  I've learned that it’s acceptable – more honest, even – to risk holding grief and joy in one heart, at the same time.  As someone wisely pointed out to me a few days ago (albeit in a different context), if you don't risk, how can you ever move forward?

Don't misunderstand, now.  Today is not an easy day.  When you left, it broke my heart.  I wish we could sit by your window again, tea and Marie biscuits on the kitchen table, and talk about boys.  You had a way of making me feel like the most important person in the world.  So for as long as it takes, I'll light a candle for you.  That flame reminds me of how you always said I'd be amazing - that if I could take care of patients the way I tried to take care of you, I'd be amazing for sure.

But I’m okay, you know.  In fact, I’m better than okay - I'm happy.  Life isn’t perfect, but that’s no reason to stop until it might be.  I'll try not to cry today, because this isn't goodbye.  I love you as fiercely as I always have.  So keep watching me, please...stay with me.  For you, I'll be amazing.

Always,

your Sonam

The penultimate post

Since I've come home, life - in all of its to-do lists, color-coded schedules, and long-term agendas - has rushed forward to meet me.  In the spring, I'll need to start apartment-hunting.  On June 16, I'll graduate from college.  Two months later, I'll receive my white coat.

But I'll come to those bridges soon enough.  For now, a narrower focus will suffice.

Tomorrow marks two weeks since I arrived.  Two weeks.  And a week from then, I'll be moving back to Schenectady.  This is hard to believe.

Homebound, Part III: finally.

On the plane, just after I finished the second post in this series

Hi, friends.  Here's the last part of the story for you...

The rest of the flight went surprisingly smoothly...and I will admit that when I felt the wheels hit the ground, I bounced in my seat like a small child.  "I'm home!" I squealed to my seatmate, a graying old codger who surveyed my glee with obvious amusement.

In hindsight, perhaps having my camera out at Customs and Border Control wasn't the wisest decision...but hey, I was excited.

Because quiet time is precious

There is a little boy curling into my side, breathing soft and slow.  I wonder if he's dreaming of Spiderman.  Spiderman's his latest hero, you know.  How I've missed this...

I'm home...and it's good.  So good.

Homebound, Part I: camping out in Shannon

It felt a little strange to turn in my apartment key.

My bedroom for the past four months, stripped bare.

I spent my last few hours in the apartment writing some letters...

...but had to put that on hold when my friends came round to pick me up.

This is a quiet airport, friends.  It's literally me, three security guards, and the lanky guy napping at the departures desk.

To my Galway family

I love these two...but they're a little camera-shy.

To my dear Galway family:

Oh, gosh...I'm crying already :P

Business first: I'm leaving for Shannon around 6 pm tonight with M and R, and will hang out there until my first flight (to Manchester) leaves at 7 am tomorrow. I'll have two hours there and then it's 8 more to JFK...so if all goes well, I'll be in New York by 1:40 pm on Sunday (6:40 pm Galway time).

Now that that's out of the way...look, you all know by now that I like to write. And usually, I can find words. But in this case, words really aren't enough. Still, let me try...

Because my family's the bestest family

A few hours ago, I said goodbye to two friends who have become family.  Wow.  I thought I'd never have a reason to want to return to Galway...and then I met these two.  I'm going to miss them more than they know.

And then there's the whole community-family to which they introduced me.  Check this out: upon hearing that I needed a ride to the bus station, two (other) friends offered to drive me...all the way to Shannon.  Now, my flight leaves at 7 am...which means that they've offered to leave here at 2:30 am to get there by 4 am.  And then they're going to drive all the way back.  This, friends, is friendship, service, love...and it's crazy, but it's also true.

Distraction...or avoidance?

The periods of distraction are growing longer and longer.  This weekend, in fact, was one long loverly distraction.  Here are some specifics:

I baked a walnut-cinnamon apple crumble,

began to journal in this gift from one of my friends here,

and, on Sunday morning, sang (yes, sang!) soul-settling Christmas music with a family I will miss dearly.  (I wish I had a photo of us to post here for you - that, I suppose, will come in time.  But trust me - if I ever return to Galway, it will be to visit this family.)

Thank goodness she's here.

The room was spinning.  Spinning.

Where are my legs?

Let's backtrack.  At maybe 9 pm this past Saturday, I was knee-deep in a mental checklist for the next morning.  It probably wouldn't be responsible of me to bike all the way to Salthill.  My body's a little too beaten up to tackle those hills.  Surely someone could give me a lift to church.  After posting a Facebook message on the church page to see if anyone might be available, I left the laptop open on my bed.

The Sunday before this past weekend, I’d been in Derry, and the Sunday before that was the one I wish I could forget.  This was the first time in those two weeks that I was planning how to get to church the next morning.

I padded over to the dresser to plan an outfit – oh, it would be cute if I wore my new leg warmers with those jeans – and draped my choice over the back of my desk chair.  This chair is borrowed from the living room table, because my real desk chair has a loose bit of plastic that snags my clothes.

The North, Part II: we all need peace.

Saturday morning: The sauna was real.

So was the pool, and the (surprise) steam room.  Last night was like a Sunday afternoon at home; by 10:30 pm, I was thoroughly worn out and burrowed into the hotel comforter.  Had I not woken with a frenzied start at 4 am (and 4:30 am, and 5:15 am), it would have been a completely rejuvenating night.

Still, the sauna was real and warm and woody and I've breathed relaxation for the first time in days.

Dropping anchor

Today's one of those days when all I need is this:

Over the past six weeks, as I've explored what it means to live abroad, I've been on the lookout for reasons to be thankful.  Gratitude (when I can manage it) has an "anchoring" effect on me; when I don't make a conscious effort to embrace it, I'm liable to spin off in a thousand chaotic directions.

Me, a waitress?

It's true - I waited tables today.  It looks like no two days at CROI are going to be the same...

When I got there this afternoon, the building was positively bustling.  In the sea of staff rushing to and fro, the first thing I noticed as I shed my raincoat was the wall to my right, where two tables sagged with the weight of many, many plates.  And each plate had a slice of cheesecake on it.  Hang on there; isn't this supposed to be a cardiovascular health charity?  (I would later find out that the "cheesecakes" were posers - the caterers had had some Bailey's whipped cream on hand and decided that a little creativity was in order.)

Dublin, Part II: poetry in a pint

At 4:30 pm on Friday, I woke up with an imprint of my scarf on my cheek and the following graffiti on the wall outside my bus window:

It doesn't get any clearer than that, I thought groggily.  The excitement in the air was nearly tangible as the group trooped off the bus; as you might imagine, the Guinness Brewery visit is one of the most popular excursions on this entire term abroad.

First day on the job

Hello, friends!  I'm back in Galway now, after a jam-packed weekend in and around Dublin.  I'll be posting photos and stories about everything I experienced there in the next few days.  There's so much to tell, in fact, that I'll probably have to do it in parts.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying this quiet room for the last night I'll spend here (I'm moving tomorrow afternoon), and have almost caught up with all of the reading I thought I'd do during the many hours I spent on the bus this past weekend.

The day I leaned over the edge of a cliff

One new development, friends, before I tell you about my first class excursion:

Those of you who know anything about me know that dance is a surefire way to keep me happy...and I haven't done any real dancing in months, so imagine how glad I was to find the Dansoc at Socs Day.  This society offers weekly classes in a whole bunch of different styles (i.e. hip-hop, Irish dance, salsa, ballet, contemporary), which suits me just fine because I'm always raring to learn something new.  Anyway, the Dansoc had a meet-and-greet on Monday evening, so I gave myself permission to leave the library early that day.  As I mingled a bit and got a feel for the crowd, I was surprised by how quick the Irish students were to approach me and introduce themselves.  (Perhaps I've been too quick to judge them...)  Before I had to leave, I was able to watch a mini-demonstration given by one of the student teachers, and was quite impressed.  I can't wait to check out the classes!

Settling in

Hello, friends!  I'm writing to you this evening from a little niche I found in a corner of the library.  (By the way, nothing on the computer front has changed, but each day is a new day, right?)  Oh, and speaking of new developments, here's one: I'll be living in a different apartment by this time next week.  (There is, of course, a reason for this, but if you're interested in hearing the details, let's stick to a more private forum, like e-mail.)  My new address will be:

126 Gort na Coiribe

Headford Road

Galway, Ireland

Of nimble spirit and nimbler feet

Update: I got an A on this paper!

Friends, my posts may be a little sparse for a little while...because unfortunately, I opened my bag this morning to discover that my laptop has a crack in the corner of the screen that has rendered it useless. Repairing it will run me at least 100 euro, so I'm making calls and shopping around to see if I can find a rental or something to at least tide me over until I find a more lasting solution.  In the meantime, Teresa graciously lent me her laptop so I could back up my files onto her flash drive, and finish/submit a paper that is due this evening to Prof. Jenkins.  And after I submitted it (a few minutes ago), it occurred to me that you all might be interested in reading what I wrote for him.  The prompt was something along the lines of:

How would you, based on your experience of Galway during the past few weeks, define Irish music?

Mussels made of yarn

I went to the beach today!

This morning at the student center, I ran into two ERASMUS students (two girls - L from Germany and L from Italy) whom I met a few nights ago, and they suggested that we meet later that afternoon to make our way down to the bayside.  Although I was quite taken by the idea of leaving campus – especially to go to the beach – my knee-jerk reaction was to balk (internally).  I don’t know if I really want to hang out with these girls, I thought…and instantly, shame overtook me as I realized I was hesitating because I wasn’t sure that these potential friendships would “pay off”.  Take your eyes off yourself, I chided myself.  Quit thinking in terms of how your relationships can serve you; that’s no way to treat people.  You want friends?  This is how you make friends.  You’re only going to connect with people if you actually spend time with them…and you’ve got to keep your eyes on them, not yourself.  Get yourself off that high horse, girl – you could learn something today.  And even if you don’t, not all will be lost – I mean, you’re going to the beach!

Hakuna matata

When one of my friends (who studied abroad here last fall) found out that I had chosen Ireland, too, one of the things he told me to expect was an Irish housemate.  American universities, it seems, have figured that a good way to make American students mingle with/learn from Irish ones is to have them live together.  So Teresa and I waited, and Conor arrived on Sunday.  Now, I have to say that I wasn’t crazy about the idea of living (i.e. sharing my bathroom) with a boy – my closer friends know that this is just one of those things that I’ve always been very particular about.  Thankfully, Conor contradicts a lot of generalizations I often make about boys.  How, you ask?  He cooks.  He cleans.  He won’t allow either of us girls into the kitchen to help him.  He even fixed the three of us tea last night, before bed…and he does all of these things of his own volition.

I must admit…I’m impressed.

Moving to the rhythm

Time to go home!

When I rolled over in bed this morning, groping around on my nightstand so I could hit "snooze" on my cell phone alarm, this was the first thought that crossed my mind.  And then I realized - again - that until December, I’m here.  For the next fifteen weeks, I’m here, and so much that is important to me…is not.  In the grand scheme of things, four months isn't a very long time; that's certainly true.  But, you see: Rishi isn’t here.  My friends aren’t here (except for Teresa, of course, but there are other people, obviously.)  
My church isn’t here.  Union isn’t here.  My guitar isn’t here.