Weary of Goodbyes

Today was a bit difficult. I found myself saying no to requests, withdrawing at mealtime (honestly, it gets tiring sometimes to eat every single meal with people), and feeling sad while simultaneously frustrated. After work I retreated to my room where I watched 3 episodes of Christy in a row while eating the last of my artifically-flavoured strawberry biscuits and cracking up sunflower seed hulls.

In the background, random gunshots from the valley mixed with distant fireworks, as the mosque's evening chant seemed to be louder than ever. The fan whirred fast but didn't manage to push away the humidity quickly enough to prevent it from sticking clammily to my face. I absentmindedly scratched the small itchy bumps between two fingers on my left hand, just four of more than 50 old and new bites scattered on my person. I was tired. Tired of this. 

Then I stumbled across a post on Facebook. Someone else was feeling tired too. We both belonged to a group that identified themselves as the travelers who never quite fit in and so a group had been created as a place of belonging. I hungrily sped through the thread, nodding as I found words that echoed my feelings, crying with relief that I wasn't alone. This was normal. Very normal, apparently. It even had a name. Expat Fatigue. Someone had written a post about it which I quickly opened to read.

There are days when I have such a strong sense of joy that I float through my day. Then there are days that I wake up and I know that I will need to be quiet in public and focus on making it through until I can go home and process. The joy is much quieter and sometimes even invisible though I know it never completely disappears. Someone who knew me during a time period last year when I was struggling remarked that they never realized I was having a hard time finding joy. I do a good job of hiding it and appearing to be happy. I can easily share my anger and frustration but I keep my pain and loneliness close. The first two simply add bricks to a wall I've carefully built around me for years while the last two could make the wall crumble in an instant.

I'm not sure why I chose this assignment. I see now that I stepped into yet another year of uncertainty which is not easy. It has to be a time of trusting that what I cannot see ahead will be good. For now I wait.

The song Here Comes Goodbye has been ringing in my head today. It's by Rascal Flatts and the song itself isn't what keeps repeating; it's a single phrase near the end of the song when the man looks down at the young child clutching his hand saying Are you ready? and quietly asks, What's it like? The child says softly, There's no more goodbyes. This is my wish. The wish of a TCK-grown-up-now-nomad weary of the goodbyes that have defined more than 35 years.

No more goodbyes.