Breathe in Deep

It's June 14! my student exclaimed. It doesn't rain in winter; how does it rain now?

He stood by the narrow French window that opened sideways, peering out at the midsummer downpour. 

Can you smell the ground when it rains, Miss?

I smiled. Yes, it smells good.

He was worried the rain would last through lunchtime and they wouldn't be able to walk home after class. I reassured him that it would soon pass; I could see patches of blue off in the distance over the city's skyline. After a couple more moments of gazing at the rain, he returned to his seat to finish typing his cause-effect essay. 

I leaned against the wooden desk and breathed in deeply. This time, the falling rain didn't hint at African summer. Instead, I was transported to a misty Netherlands, looking out the bay window in my uncle's rijtjeshuis, as the crisp air filled my lungs. It smelled clean. 

I missed the Netherlands. I really really missed the Netherlands. Going back and forth for so many years, there for summers, holidays, I didn't understand the strong bond we were building until I went there with a boy. We signed civil papers in front of my two sets of aunts and uncles, danced a Kurdish dance with my 95-year old Oma, ate Dutch apple pie with whipped cream, and whisked through 5 countries in 10 days on our Airbnb honeymoon. 

It was only then that I realized. The Netherlands was my home. 

Will I end up resenting it when I go there? I wondered. I'd returned to Lebanon after so many years, only to find that I could not live here. Would I feel the same if I went to the Netherlands? 

I couldn't know for sure. I just knew that I ached to be there, walking the cobbled stone uneven sidewalks, pedalling with the week's groceries in saddlebags on each side, boiling potatoes and green beans to serve with gravy and applesauce for supper, and breathing in the crisp cold fall air. 

But we still had 7 years to go. Seven long long years. I'd made it through 6 here but the last 18 months had felt impossible. Could I manage another 7?

A glimpse of a life I had not yet lived flashed by. It had been a long time since I'd updated my bucket list. Maybe now it was time. Maybe this time, it would only include a few simple things. A small girl, a miniature bicycle leaning against potted plants in the window display, a smiling content husband. And lots of clean fresh air.