I'm Moving On

And just like that, I transplanted my life from one country to another without a tear of regret. Well, there was one time I did cry, when I was saying goodbye to Mona. We were not the closest of friends but every Sabbath when we saw each other, she would smile real big and ask how I was doing. She was sweet and kind and I knew I would miss her. As she hugged me goodbye, she whispered in my ear, You are good for him. You are the best person to support him and be there for him. Tears welled up as I knew she understood. She had seen my romantic drama, years before, and she was one of the few who had supported me when I'd decided to say yes to the man who truly valued me and wanted to share his life with me. 

25 years ago, I took to the skies sobbing my way through the 20-minute flight to Larnaca International Airport in Cyprus. This time, as the plane lifted off, I barely gave a cursory glance to the crowded mountains in the distance. I'd already said goodbye years ago. When Covid and the crisis hit simultaneously, as I lost the community I'd so deeply craved, the connection was severed and never fully restored. I'd gone through depression so dark, I'd questioned my purpose in living over and over again. I'd experienced panic attacks in the grocery aisle; frozen and unable to make simple decisions such as whether to buy the cheese or wait until the next week when prices would likely sky-rocket again. So this time, I was ready to go. 

Then I landed in my new country. 

I tried to place it in some kind of context—the first day that we went exploring our new city. I marveled at the clean streets, easily accessible garbage cans, cars driving within painted lines on the highway, and variety of clean fresh fruit. I choked my way through the clouds of smoke and laughed along with the sea gulls that woke me in the morning. Was it like California, Cyprus, Holland, Lebanon, England? Which one was it more like? 

Then I realized—it was both and neither. 

And I decided that instead of trying to figure out which country it most resembled, I was going to let my new host country just be itself. Like me. 

Someone told me yesterday, Your American accent is really good. I couldn't tell you're not American. I laughed and thanked them. I knew I blended in, no matter which part of the world I was in, until I opened my mouth and couldn't speak the language or contextualize within the idioms of the day. It was okay though. I didn't have to be South Korean, Lebanese, Dutch, Mauritian, British, Kurdish, or American. I could simply be me. Identifying with all while not claiming patriotism to one. 

I sat at the kitchen table and reached for a sugar cube. Expertly popping it in my mouth and swirling it to the corner of my cheek, I sipped the dark tea. For tonight, this was me.