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.

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?

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.

Why waking up early can be rewarding

5:30 am: Silence usually spooks me before it stills me.

Regardless of the context - conversation, driving, trying to sleep, writing, studying - I generally need a fair amount of time to settle into silence.  There's something about the early morning hours, though, that renders all of that settling-time unnecessary.

In the interest of full disclosure: it could be the coffee, kicking in.

I'm strongly considering a refill.

But it could also be this hush, this undisturbed calm before all of the day's demands begin to clamor into the places where they ought to back off, thank you very much.

In which I remind myself about what matters

After the official end of term (which was the Friday before yesterday), the university gives students a week off before exams begin.  I call this the study week.

My upstairs neighbors call it the play-techno-music-that-shakes-the-walls-until-4-am week.

So on Thursday night, I braided my hair, slipped into bed, and thought, it would be nice if they would just go to bed so I could rest.  We all need to study.  Don't they know what really matters?

This is how I know

Someone asked me this evening, not unkindly, how I know you're proud of me...and the answer slipped out easily, as easily as my own name or a weary sigh at the close of the day.  With some answers, you don't have to think - you just know.

"Because she told me so.  All the time."

Will you forgive me for using the past tense?  I had to, although it feels wrong; people give me strange looks when I use the present tense.  Won't you just come back?  This is so complicated; I've never had to think about my verb tenses before.

My little corner of Galway

This afternoon is a remembering afternoon.

Everyone was always after you to exercise.  It hurts your knees, I know, but we just want you healthy, and some exercise is better than none at all, right?  You must know this.  But I'll bet you never knew that some of my favorite - yes, favorite - summer afternoons were spent walking with you in front of the house.

On the flip side, Commercial Street is plenty exciting.  I'm pretty sure that whoever came up with the phrase "thrill of the hunt" did it after a day of shopping on Commercial Street.  After years of exploring, I still don't know every little alleyway and shop - that's A.  (I never told you this - or her, for that matter - but I've always thought about saving her name for one of my children, if I have daughters.)

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.)

Irish dance and Dixie cups

Do you dance?

A friend suggested yesterday that I dance.  "Dance angry," she wrote to me, because that was clearly all I could manage in the midst of the panic - "but dance."  The five minutes I spent trusting her directions were tiring, but they also gave me a nudge: go back to class, Sonika.  You need to move.  She put it best: "You are a whole person: spirit, soul, and body.  Don't get so stuck in your head that you forget to involve your body and spirit."

So that's how I spent an hour of my evening today - moving.  In a dance class.  And it was an hour of stamping-my-feet angry, but perhaps that was the point.  €2 bought me the rush of pushing my body as far as it can go...and then further still.  Just focus for an hour, I told myself.  Make yourself focus for just one hour - focus on nothing but turnout, speed, and height on your toes.  You can do that.

Safe

I'm up too late (or early, perhaps) mulling over something N wrote to me a few nights ago.  It's giving me a headache, her whisper that your ashes will be kept in the grotto on the balcony.  You'll live beneath those tangled flowers you loved.

Do you remember that as a girl, I used to ask about the etches in your nails - where they came from?  And that I would play with the veins in your hands because it fascinated me to see them pop out like that?  You said that's how you knew I'd love the piano - because I "played" on those veins.  Confession time: I still do that now, but with my own hands.  Sometimes.  I once thought it was just restlessness - an absentminded habit - but now I remember why.

Come back

The River Corrib, on my way to campus.

I got out of bed this morning because I promised K I would go to school for one day.  I washed my hair, too, and it feels light and clean but is falling out in clumps.  Something told me it wouldn't be responsible of me to bike to class, so I walked and stopped a few times along the way because my calves were cramping.  It was a long walk and I vaguely remember a classmate passing me at one point.  She offered a few quick remarks - the ones people give because they don't know what else to say.  I know you meant well, friend, but you said, "time heals" and the rage bubbled up like kettle steam.  You're lucky that I was using all of my energy to focus on the walking.

It felt surreal to be in class; everyone was making the usual lewd jokes and carrying on intelligent discussions about a book I stopped reading on Sunday.  But 11 am finally came along, whereupon my professor walked my dazed little body to his colleague's office.  A kind woman named M made me tea and - thank goodness - did not say that "time heals", but that "time helps you get used to it".  She said she was proud of me for finally leaving the house (thank you for understanding how much effort it took), and then she asked about the funeral.

I missed it, M - it was Tuesday afternoon.  Cremation.  How do you do that, I wonder - reduce a whole person and a whole life to ashes in a jar?  

Fighting

The past few days have blurred together.  I think today is Wednesday.  My computer calendar agrees.

I remember that on Sunday night, I couldn't sleep.  I stole catnaps here and there and kept the music on.  (Please keep sending music.)  And since Sunday night, I've done nothing but sleep.  Why?  Well...my bed is safe.  My bed is warm.  No one dies in this safe, warm bed.

On Sunday night, I caught a few of my cousins on Skype, and we chatted some.  (They live all over the world, so someone was always online.)  The conversations weren't exactly cheery, obviously, but it still felt good to connect with them.  I know they love me.  I'm jealous that they got to fly to Bangalore from all over while I lay in bed on my left side and typed with my right hand...as if that might be enough.

Down to the wire...

Hello, friends!

Here’s my story in a nutshell: my name’s Sonika, and I’m a senior at Union College (Schenectady, NY) studying Biology and Music in the Leadership in Medicine (LIM) program.  This fall, I’m going to be studying abroad at the National University of Ireland, Galway.  This joint-degree “straight med” program is the main reason I’m going abroad at all…but more on that later.  First, a few tidbits about me: