So I’m back in Nablus, safe and sound. Most of you already know that from Facebook, although I know that not everyone uses social networking as a lifeline to the outside world. Perhaps when you don’t feel like you’re inside, it’s not necessary. That’s my deep thought for the day.
I’m rather tired after hearing a football match (soccer game) blasted outside my apartment into the early morning, complete with the requisite cheering and ruckus throughout, and the celebratory chanting and drag racing at the end. Having watched my fair share of Scooby Doo growing up, and having seen Real Madrid flags flying above the screen outside, I’m going to assume that Real Madrid is the team that won. I coulda sworn this whole town was Barca crazy, but I guess not.
Annnnnnddd, I’ve just lost any of my American readers with that last paragraph. Kudos if you’re still with me.
Anyhow, life is good here. It’s a bit odd the variety of emotions that come with such a move. I’d say it’s like… if every wave in the ocean were a different flavor of jello, and you were sitting in the surf with the waves splashing your face as they rolled in… it’s like that. I did mention how little sleep I’ve had, right?
There is logic behind it, though. After passing through security at DFW airport, suddenly all of my worries, fears, and apprehension were swept away by the feeling that I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing. A sudden return of my sense of self – the self that loves every last detail of the life she’s chosen. And upon exiting Ben Gurion, I sat waiting for the train to Tel Aviv, surrounded by people speaking a language I do not know and only vaguely certain of where I was going (I’d never taken the train from the airport)… and I felt like I’d finally reached home. The sense of comfort remained as I watched the rocky hills covered in thinly trunked trees, white brick homes, and olive groves pass us in the train. Then driving through Jerusalem and finally hearing and speaking Arabic, the feeling grew stronger. Watching the familiar scenery pass on the ride from Ramallah to Nablus, knowing the turns, recognizing as we passed through Hiwara, then the Balata refugee camp, then the street by my old apartment.
When I could finally text with my SIM cards from over here, I messaged the principal of my school to tell her of my arrival, and she responded, “Welcome home!” I certainly do feel like I’m home.
That just sounds like one flavor of jello, right? I didn’t mention that these feelings are spliced with the variety of pangs that come with the distance from my other home (a relative term, to be sure), the random fears of the unknown, the irritations that even the honeymoon feeling of coming back can’t wash over.
Anyhow, that’s my alive and well post. I’ll see if I can keep y’all updated with at least the frequency that I did last year.
As always, much love.
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| View from the balcony of my new place. |
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| Found this GIANT jar of pumpkin seeds in my dedicated kitchen cleaning yesterday. It's the size of two large bowling balls and perhaps the equivalent weight. None of the previous tenants from the last year had ever seen it, and I've never seen a pumpkin in Palestine. Odd. I've been told that by opening it I've released a ghost. |
PS – Gwen, glad that you enjoyed the updates last year. Hope you’ll enjoy them this year as well. :)
