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.