LOST AND LEAVING

Early phone calls this morning helped me to a bright start. I sit here now, anxious, looking at the belongings I've accumulated recently and wondering about how to carry them along. Being a nomad has made a utilitarian out of me. I don’t have much; in fact, I have almost nothing. Everything I did own I purged upon my departure from Grinnell. But still, I have some stuff. I wish I could live out of a suitcase. As it stands, I live out of two.

A new chapter, a new beginning; for the first time, I’ve started to see my time here as finite, as terminal. When next will I be able to read under the dappled shade of a tree in Stuyvesant Park (the Western half), or linger outside of St. Georges in the brisk morning air after Sunday service? No more curry cutlet lunches at Udon West, no more delicate desserts in a casual surrounding at Cha-An, no more green-tea cupcakes at Amai down the street. I’ll have to find new places!

And the worst part: no more 50% off yakiniku dinner specials at Gyu-kaku. How will I live?

But is that the extent of my connection to this country? Can commercial transactions and gluttony really summarize my attachment to this life? No, if only it were that easy. Leaving this country means leaving my connection to the people who matter the most to me, leaving the land of my mother-tongue (who, or what, am I without a means of communication?), leaving the ability to catch pop cultural references -- in other words, I leave everything behind, including my sense of self.

I’m so tired of this; I’ve been on the move for too long. All I’m looking for is a place to call home. A vain effort since I refuse to assimilate, refuse to belong (odd since the only thing I crave in life is acceptance), and consistently strive to go against the grain. It is in my nature to do so. And where does that leave me? Awash in a sea of uncertainty. I think they call it Europe. When I uproot myself (yet again), life as I know it will end. Who will I be(come)?

In a previous incarnation of this journal, I raised the question of where I saw myself in December. At that point, the future was entirely up in the air. I did actually conceive of the idea of my still being here, gainfully employed, looking forward to the holidays and to my first non-white Christmas in eons. I’m still uncertain about the path I’m about to traverse, but at least a path exists. I can’t even envision the finality of September 1st, a mere five days from now.