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 last post

Some of you have only had time to pop in here occasionally.  And some of you have been walking with me since August.  Still others among you fall somewhere in-between.  But no matter where you land on this spectrum, I'm grateful to you.  Thank you.

When I began this blog, I did so with modest expectations and an admittedly chirpy intro.  (For goodness' sake, I used footnotes.)

As the months passed, I was continually surprised by how many of you were following me.  As I had expected, this space became a helpful place for me to process all that I was experiencing, especially after the end of October.  (Also, I scrapped the footnotes.)

Today, I write in an attempt to close this chapter with some grace.  A few friends in Galway have actually asked if I plan to continue the blog, because - imagine this - they like my writing.  I have toyed with the idea.  It might be a good way, after all, to keep them in the loop.  And writing is one of the best ways that I process.

Because I'm still in Galway

My bedroom door

Remember when I said I needed some time to be still?  Well, I found it.

My little nook

Whew.  And now I feel able to think a little more clearly.

Homebound, Part II: ready or not...

Hi, friends.  I'm sorry that I've been AWOL for a little while.  Being home has proved to be a greater shock than I anticipated.  I'm going to need some time to process...but in the meantime, here's some reading material.

The plane out of Shannon was tiny - it looked like a baby bush plane.  As I toted my bag across the airstrip, I thought, that thing's really too small to be carrying anyone anywhere.

There's the airport from my window.  And it's hardly visible because of the glare, but directly below those letters is the arrivals corridor where I remember standing in August.

Despite my apprehension, the hour sped by and I soon found myself in Manchester...or, to be more specific, at baggage claims in Manchester.  My bag's checked all the way through, though.  Where am I supposed to go?

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.

Because it's important to be real

On some mornings, it hits like a wave.  A tidal wave.  Out of nowhere.

I hadn't cried for days.

For days, I'd been preoccupied with "lasts": my last weekend with dear friends, my last time at church, my last hug with this person or that person.  They're bittersweet, these "lasts".  Each one pulls me away from the ones I'll miss, yet nudges me toward those whom I've been missing all this time.  And it's simple physics, isn't it?  Two equal and opposite forces, battling it out...and I'd been motionless, pleasantly lost in the distraction of it all.

A travel update and some puppy pictures

The clock is ticking.

My bus ticket to Shannon airport

My first flight (I have a layover in Manchester) leaves at 7 am on Sunday, and there are no buses that leave early enough on Sunday to get me there in time.  So I'll need to take a Saturday bus and camp out overnight in the airport.

What happens afterwards?

I'm 21 years old, and yet have been told that I sometimes read like a 35-year-old mother of two.  But there are days when I feel more like I'm 21-going-on-3: like today, for instance.  Today feels like a prime day to throw a toddler-sized tantrum because my heart hurts and that's not okay.

Don't get me wrong; I've traveled a long way since the end of October.  Getting out of bed used to be a chore.  But I've finished my exams and am now using these final days to reflect and process as much of the past four months as I can.

And by this time next week, I'll be home!  Yes.  This is a thrilling prospect indeed.

In fact, I'm halfway packed.

Good heavens, my brain is tired.

Let winter break begin.

Whew.

For better or worse, I learned and crammed and remembered and wrote as much as I could.  My results won't measure up to my standards, but I've known that for awhile.  Still, I tried and that's all anyone can ask of me - including myself.  Right?

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.)

Handling the "no"

Yesterday, 10:35 am: Saturday.

There is a measure of relief in Saturday.  All is quiet - so quiet, in fact, that I can hear the clock ticking away on the mantle.  We don't use it because it runs slowly unless it's on its back, where only the ceiling gets to know what time it is.  And when I sit still enough, stop the trembling, I'm surprised by what I sense: a heart, beating, a pulse, steady.  I don't even have to feel for it.

That's how grief used to be - like a pulse.

And nearly a month later, there is a measure of relief in what it's become.  These days, it's more like my breath.  It ebbs and flows, draws back for a moment before it crashes on the rocks.  In every day, though, it's always in the background...a reliable sort of soundtrack.

On Wednesday, I donated my old boots and promptly bought a new pair.  They weren't very expensive, friends, and I do like my heels.

An end-of-the-day toast

Here's to that second glass of wine...because a little more Merlot couldn't hurt, right?  (Right.)

Here's to an evening chock-full of the most mundane (read: satisfying) accomplishments - laundry, dishes, and laying out tomorrow's clothes.

Here's to using peppermint tea to ease a heart that now panics on a daily basis.  (I'm thinking that can't be good...)
Here's to a normal-ish weekend spent watching "The Lorax", horsing around with a puppy named Joey who likes to park himself on my feet, and helping to teach a Christmas song in junior church.

Here's Joey!  Isn't he a pretty puppy?

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 milkman

My friend Emily spent her October writing a series about rest - or, as she so endearingly dubbed it, hush.[1]  Now, I'm the type of person who's in constant pursuit of rest - yes, I mean sleep, but rest is broader than that.  Rest is different.  Rest - at least, for me - is more buoyed by perfect calm, more intertwined with joy and its lightness, more anchored by the hopeful heart.[2]  So as October slipped by, I eagerly followed, read, commented, absorbed the lessons she was teaching me, and delighted in walking beside her.

I almost finished October beside her, too.  But toward the end of that month, life dealt my family a rough hand.  The cards haven't been staying in my hands, either - on the contrary, they've been flying everywhere, bouncing off the walls.  And on examination, none of them say anything resembling rest.  (I may be asking too much when it hasn't even been two weeks yet, but like I said, this is a constant pursuit.)

Normal

As a junior, I was really lucky in the campus housing lottery and landed myself a "dingle".  (For any non-college students reading this, that's a single student living in a double, a room meant for two).  I had more space than I knew how to use.

And this was just my side.

This arrangement, which came without the company of a roommate, did get lonely sometimes, but it also gave this introvert the privacy she treasures.  It had a thermostat just for me and a carpeted floor beneath my toes.  It was able to contain all of the family and friends who surprised me there, on two separate occasions, for my twenty-first birthday.  The two beds gave me the freedom to have sleepovers whenever I wanted.

But do you want to know the best thing about that room?

I had my own bathroom.

Clinging

 The last few days have been relatively nondescript.  I’ve had a few Neurophysiology lectures (Endocrinology doesn’t begin until mid-October), and they’ve all been manageable.  I’ve spent some time keeping house - sweeping floors, taking out the trash, organizing cabinets and drawers, and the like.  Last night, I met Y and a few other people from the Salthill trip at a pub in town, just to scope out the nightlife around here.  (I found it to be moderately lively...but then, New York does set a pretty high standard in this arena.)  It was discouraging that I couldn’t spend my time developing my relationship with Y, because she had been drinking long before she arrived in town and so was in no state to talk about anything meaningful.  (I’ve long been aware, friends, that the bar scene is not for me.  If I’m going to have a drink, I’d prefer to do it with good friends, ideally in a setting that’s conducive to solid conversation and growth.)

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!

When can you come over again?

9:30 am: It's a quiet Saturday morning...and although the sky is decidedly overcast, the light in this warm living room is so soft that I don't mind.  This is the first day so far that I haven't had to be at campus in the morning for an orientation event, so I'm taking the chance to settle into the day.  Teresa and I are going to check out downtown Galway today...there's a farmer's market in Eyre Square (which is a transportation hub of sorts, analogous to Times Square) on the weekends, close to a church I'd like to scope out.  Oh, and speaking of churches, here are some photos of Galway Cathedral, a simply awe-inspiring church just off-campus:

This is what you see as soon as you walk through the doors.  It's a magnificent structure, really.