The Last Goodbye

Would you like to have kids? Are you guys planning to have kids? When would you like to have kids? Would you want a boy or a girl?

Just the other day, a good friend of mine posted on Facebook wondering whether it was a safe place to be open and honest. I pondered his question. I was all too familiar with people who used Facebook as their mental regurgitation space to share all their personal and often dramatic issues. There was a reason I had less than 150 friends now on Facebook. On the other hand, he had a legitimate question. Could we be honest or was Facebook just another place to show a perfectly-lined-up life, just like when we came dressed in our Sabbath best to church?

Speaking of honesty, there is one thing that has been bothering me immensely lately. Just as people are ambivalent about whether or not to receive the vaccine, I have been grappling with whether or not to have children. I married late and am now in my 40s. Until now, God has not blessed us with children. At the same time, I have not been very proactive about following up with a fertility specialist or seeking fertility treatments. In all honesty, I am terrified about the thought of having children while I equally long to hold a little one in my arms and know they call me, and not some other woman, Mommy.

Before I met my husband, I was really good friends with Karen who had twin boys. I helped her take care of them since they were premies and had just come home from the hospital. We built a special bond and those little boys knew they were safe with me. When we would go to church and some loud woman would reach to hold one of the boys, they would bury their little head in my shoulder and I would calmly move out of reach. I watched them walk their first steps, rocked them to sleep, gave them their bottles, and held them on my lap when we went for a drive. I held their hand as they toddled about after church, played the fishing game with them, and helped decorate for their first birthday.

I was never one to go and pick up random children in church or stop and say hi to a little one I was passing in the grocery store, which my husband is constantly doing to my extreme embarrassment. I didn't want to disturb any family dynamics so I just watched wistfully from afar and wondered what it would be like to have my own little one. I marveled at how new mothers seemed so natural at what they did. Then Karen gave me the gift of spending time with and taking care of her twins and I realized that I could, indeed, do this.

I married. We talked about kids but never really seriously. Both of us coming from broken homes, both of us disenchanted with life, and both of us very much aware of the enormous difficulties in life, children were seemingly never in the cards for us.

I had known other couples who didn't have children and I had never asked them why they didn't have kids or jokingly suggested it was time for them to have kids. Yet the community around me was not as thoughtful or sensitive. For some reason every single person felt it was their God-given duty to ask me about my reproductive goals. Was I going to have kids, did I want a boy or girl, when did I want kids? It made no difference if we were just acquaintances; the questions came regardless.

Most of the time I dug my fingernail into the fleshy part of my thumb until it hurt so I would not cry. Then I would usually reply with God knows or look at them until they became as uncomfortable as I felt. I could not tell them honestly that I had dreamed of being a mommy since I was little. That I wanted to have twins. That I was terrified of trying to raise children in this impossible economic situation and in this world where abuse is rampant and morals have flown out the window.

Often some insensitive soul would look at my belly, the 12 kg I had gained from stress-eating during the pandemic's multiple lockdowns and economic crises that led to fuel and groceries skyrocketing, and remark, Are you pregnant? Not only did they remind me that my arms and heart were empty, they dug and twisted the spike with a comment that reminded me of my lack of self-control and poor eating habits.

I can honestly say I am thankful God has not given me a child because I would want to be able to guarantee them a comfortable life without too much pain or suffering and that I cannot do. I could not raise a child who would turn to me and ask, Why did you bring me into this difficult world? I could not be certain they would make right choices and live an upright life. I would not be able to raise a child who had serious health challenges and having a child at an older age significantly increased that risk.

Not every woman is comfortable to be honest about how she really feels. As women, we are taught to be subservient to all others around us. If someone asks us piercing personal questions, we feel we should answer them, rather than politely state that it is not their business to know. We worry more about their feelings when we do not consider our own. While it is true that when we actually speak out, it is not that difficult to be open, it takes courage and a safe space to speak. Even in my own openness, I have had well-meaning people try to justify others' questionings or tell me that God can bless me with a child if it is His will.

What if it isn't His will? Or what if I exercise my free will and choose not to have a child because I am thinking of the long-term consequences and how difficult this life will be for them? A child is not like a puppy who needs a little training, food and water, and love and then they are content. A child has to be intentionally nurtured and brought up to be a good citizen in society. I cannot choose to have a child just because toddlers are so cute.

So this is where I am. Caught between a longing and reality. Learning to be honest about what I wish while recognizing what can be. Struggling with the likelihood that it is too late. Then again, the TCK life is one of unfulfilled dreams so this is just another one I can add to the valise, then shut the lid and lock it tight.

One more goodbye.

Greatest Expectation

I managed to get him into a second doctoral program. Fully paid for. He beamed up at me as he shared what he felt was really good news for G. It was good news. I was happy for G as he was a personal friend of mine. At the same time, my heart crumbled just a little bit more. 

Some people have all the luck, flashed through my mind. I knew it wasn't true. Most people have difficulties in life but oh how my heart yearned to get into a doctoral program. I had so many ideas, so many directions I could go, so many areas I was passionate about. I had recently discovered that I loved teaching but was limited by my graduate studies as to what I could teach on the university level. I contemplated more master's level courses but found myself irritated and bored in class so I quit. I was ready for a challenge. I knew I could meet it and I knew I would grow immensely from it. I was confident that if I had the chance to complete a PhD, I would actually use the knowledge I had learned and continue building on it to thrive mentally and emotionally. 

I missed that. For years now, I felt stuck. The greatest expectation of me was being able to print business cards or schedule a Google Calendar meeting. Every now and then I joined an online webinar from another university—a writing workshop, a seminar on architecture and glass, diplomacy in the Middle East. Some were in my wheelhouse, others were completely foreign territory, but I reveled in the mind-stretching exercise to learn new terminology and expand my awareness of other topics. For an hour or so, I felt intelligent. 

I guess I cannot complain. There are many who have not even completed their bachelor's degree and are desperately searching for opportunities and finances to do so. I should be thankful for what I have earned. Yet the desire doesn't go away. I want to write books, read books, delve deep into psychology and understand adult TCKs and identity. If I could do anything in the world, I would complete a PhD in Psychology with a focus in TCKs so I could lecture, write, and counsel in a way that would give them tools to manage their many complexities born out of a life they did not choose. 

But that is just a pipe dream. For now.

2,966º Celsius

I sat at my desk, head buried in my hands, and cried. 

Thankful that my office was at the end of a quiet hallway and that my boss rarely disturbed me, I let the tears flow. With a Kleenex in hand, I sobbed quietly, waiting for the feeling to pass so I could resume my morning work. There was nothing I could do, after all. 

Perhaps that was why it all felt so terribly difficult. Because there was nothing I could do. I was stuck. In an impossible place. With no way out. 

That morning I had sent yet another email asking if there was an update on the maintenance request including an a/c unit for our little apartment. When we had moved in, we were told that the work was planned for a few months later. 6 months later I inquired and was told there was no time frame yet. 9 months after that, I sent another email reminder. Mid-May I was told it would take 4-6 weeks. 6 weeks later, I sent another inquiry about an update and was informed it would take a few weeks for the maintenance request to be completed and was asked to be patient. The a/c would not be installed before August because the budget had already been spent for the next month.

Patience. 

When you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, turn off the heat, and it tries to jump out, do you tell the frog Be patient? After all, if they wait just 30 minutes or more, the water will be less hot. Of course, the frog could be cooked by then, but that is not the point, is it? The point is to be patient. Endurance and all that. 

I texted my husband, sharing my frustration. He told me not to worry about it and that one day all things would be made right. But we are supposed to be Christians and if someone hits us on one cheek, we are supposed to turn our face so they can hit us on the other cheek too, I replied somewhat hopelessly. 

If that is what a religious community is like, then I don't want to be part of it was his astute reply. 

Lately it feels like I'm just sitting in a pot of boiling water all the time. I earn the equivalent of $2.25 an hour; I cannot exchange local currency into USD but the majority of services in the country now demand USD or local currency based on the black market exchange rate. My salary has doubled, thanks to the generosity of my employer, but prices have increased up to 10 times higher. I am limited in how much I can withdraw from my bank each week. Every time I go to the grocery store, prices have jumped, often quadrupling within a matter of days, so that our daily meals are becoming more and more simple. Even staples are increasing in price. Gas stations ration fuel, only allowing you to fill up 1/8 of a tank at a time, if they are even open. Often, after sitting an hour in a line that others try to cut into, we reach the front only to be told the gas has run out. Electricity shortages are starting to hit now so internet outages are a very real possibility. Covid still lurks as evidenced by masks required in all public indoor spaces. Protests against the country's crises lead to roads being blocked with burning tires. And on top of it all, the heat rises, metaphorically and literally. With no cooling system in sight. Least of all an a/c. 

Ironically, I grew up in Africa so my body knows how to adjust to heat. After my cry this morning, I reminded myself that I will not die. We have a fan, thankfully, and our basement apartment has thick walls so the heat does not hurt as much as if we were in a rooftop apartment. We will adjust to summer's sticky heat just as we adjust to the mold that creeps all over our walls during winter's moisture-laden storms. In the end, however, that is not why I cry. 

An air conditioner costs $238. Not much to invest in an employee but apparently, too much for this month and the next, maybe even the one after. And that is why I feel so discouraged. Because I am being told, you are not worth $238. Because it is one thing after another after another. When I'm not fighting lines at the gas station, searching for fruit that is not outrageously priced, or going to the ATM for the umpteenth time to check if they have cash so I can make a small withdrawal, I am sending email after email asking when the maintenance request will be done, when we can get a/c, when the reimbursements will come, when, when, when. And I'm told to be patient. 

According to The Atlantic, "If you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will (unfortunately) be hurt pretty badly before it manages to get out -- if it can. And if you put it into a pot of tepid water and then turn on the heat, it will scramble out as soon as it gets uncomfortably warm" (Fallows, 2006). 

Boiling water hurts. Sitting in boiling water time after time eventually leads to a feeling of hopelessness, just like in learned helplessness, where a person goes through stressful situations so many times they eventually, " come to believe that they are unable to control or change the situation, so they do not try — even when opportunities for change become available" (Leonard, 2019). 

There is hope. According to the same article, CBT that provides support, encouragement, positive and beneficial thoughts, ways to decrease feelings of helplessness and improved self-esteem will help someone overcome learned helplessness. The only problem is, what do you do when the place that sets you up for this behavior is unable to provide any of those positive reinforcements? 

Then you just cry. After that, you wipe your eyes, shut your heart, go into auto-pilot mode, and just get the work done. Because after all, there is nothing that you can do.

The Clown Cries

I navigate to the airline's website, typing it into the search bar in Google Chrome. The departure airport is already there; I just have to choose the arrival airport and travel dates. I know the airport code and quickly choose the dates for the umpteenth time. I find an itinerary and am about to select it when my fingers hesitate. My stomach is churning. I feel ill. I close the tab and look away from my monitor. I cannot do this. I know I have to, because I spent $540 to renew a piece of plastic; my mother has decided she wants to live the rest of her life in a country I do not want to return to; and I have a shopping list a mile long of things we cannot find here at reasonable prices. If I want to make gluten steaks for my husband, I have to book that ticket, step on that plane, suspend over ocean at nighttime, and sit in tiring airports for 11 hours in a row, so I can buy that gluten flour. 

But I cannot. 

Tchaikovsky's Violin Concert, Op. 35 does nothing to soothe my nerves. Nerves that have been rattled and frazzled for months now. Will it ever end? Two years seems like an eternity, even though I have lived here that twice over and more now. 

My ability to handle things is rapidly diminishing. I accept responsibilities only to quickly hand them back as I realize my world is narrowing by the hour. Loud music on the radio, potholes in the road, unexpected work requests, a peach that needs to be eaten, all becomes too much. I watch episode after episode of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, somehow finding solace in its consistency. 500 dollar question, then 1,000 thousand dollar, then 2,000 dollar and so forth. The game never changes. The questions do, but the structure is predictably the same. And perhaps that is what I need in my life right now. 

I got married, then the economic crisis struck, then the pandemic crisis, and through it all I was dealing with work stress and getting adjusted to married life. Never mind that it all happened in a foreign country where I do not speak the language and do not have a strong local support system. Of course we should add the guilt of a thousand years that whispers, You are a missionary, you are a TCK, you are a Christian, you should be able to handle all of this without a problem. You're not reading your Bible enough; that is why you don't know what to do. You're not trusting God enough; that is why you are feeling overwhelmed.

Perhaps that is true. There are days and sometimes weeks that I cannot read my Bible. I flip through the pages unseeing, cliche phrases that just don't seem to do it anymore, or prophecies that seem irrelevant to what I'm going through right now. I try to pray and sometimes I feel peace, but most of the times I feel anchorless, unsure the God I speak to can or will do anything. After all, the Christian is supposed to be grateful for all the difficulties in life because they come directly from the Father's hand, isn't that what we are taught in church? So sometimes I tell God honestly, I cannot speak to You right now. 

In the end, I return to writing. It is what calms me and keeps me somewhat held together. I will count my fingers, keep the classical station playing on YouTube, drink another bottle of water, and somehow hope I can manage to get up my courage to book that ticket. After all, I have to go.