It's Not You, It's Me...

… the hardest sentence to explain or make sense of to anyone you’re separating from.  I have finally decided to move out of my host family’s. It’s been great, but it is high time that I  found a place of my own.

I’ve been back in Armenia since around 10pm on January 2^nd. I had to, once again, say goodbye to my friends and family. My girlfriends from home sat around my kitchen table one last time and laughed our heads off, putting off that ‘goodbye’ as long as possible. Just thinking about it makes me miss them.  I smoked my last ever cigarette with my long time comrade in this activity on my porch, then watched as they drove away in their separate cars. See, I have this sinking feeling that by the time I return to America, most of them will have moved out of town. Our accessibility to one another will really never be the same. This feeling, that an era is over, has been ever present in my life recently. 

On my way out of town, I stopped at my niece’s home to give her a birthday present, sing Happy Birthday and hit the road. At the airport my mother cried equally as hard as the first time and my father was as stoic as ever. It was definitely interesting to be heading back alone this time around. When I checked in, the lady asked if I was willing to volunteer for a later flight that evening and that I would be compensated for my time. I agreed and walked away with $400 in flight credits. Here I come exotic yoga retreat this summer!

Stepping out of the airport outside the capital city was certainly surreal. There was a part of me afraid I had forgotten all my Armenian, but when I opened my mouth to speak, I was happily surprised that not all had been lost. I met my friend at the Peace Corps office and then headed back out with him. We crashed at another volunteers place that night and then returned back to the city. The next two nights were spent at a hotel with my closest friend here, to celebrate her 24^th birthday. We had a grand old time and the next night attended a dinner hosted by Foreign Service Officers to offer us information on the life of a diplomat.

The next afternoon as I sat in the taxi on my way back to Malishka, it occurred to me that I had literally not been there in a month. A little anxiety started to kick in, and I realized that I didn’t want to return to anyone. While it was nice to have people there, with a fire going and hot food waiting – I also just wanted to crash. I wanted to walk in the door, drop my bags, change into sweatpants and call my mother. Yet, these options were not available to me. They were waiting for me, they were excited to see me and wanted to sit and hear all about my trip. I gave them their presents and we chatted a little bit over dinner. Luckily, by the time I had returned the week-long Nor Tari celebrations were coming to an end. The last thing I wanted was to walk into a house full of guests, or even meet a single new person after living out of a suitcase for a month, and being on the go for the last week.

When I woke the next morning, the gnawing feeling that I wanted a place of my own began to intensify.  Even before coming to Armenia, I had figured that by spring I would find a house for myself. Yet, this was different. Being home for that long of a time, made me keenly aware of how many sacrifices I truly had been making in the ways of personal space and freedom. The freedom to eat –guiltlessly- at anytime that I chose, freedom to come and go as I please with no explanation and the personal space to do yoga in one room, eat in another, sleep in yet another and never interfere with another person's doings.

I want these things. I want these things, bad. There are so many daily stresses, that at the end of each one, I simply want to decompress. No matter how long I am here, that will never be able to fully happen while living with a host family. Now that I have finally expressed this to my family, I feel a little better knowing that things are moving in that direction.

Today I returned to school for the first time. The weather has turned from mild to your typical uncomfortably cold winter in the last week. Siranush informed me on Sunday that we would not teach Monday, but that we would meet and decide if we are going to hold classes or not this week. In the morning, her mentor - a very senior individual in the school- came to walk with us. She told me that it had already been decided school would not be held this week. It felt like business as usual upon entering the front doors of the school and the wonderfully warm welcome I received from the rest of the teachers was heart warming. I got big hugs and kisses, wide grins and the feeling that I had genuinely been missed.

Tthis last week back hasn't been easy. I was excited to be here when I first landed and I don't regret for a second going home (even for that amount of time), but it has been emotionally taxing this last week. In some ways, it feels as though I am back in the game, after a healed injury, with new sneakers to break in. It hurts, and I'm getting blisters where the skin had softened. Yet, this game is not entirely new and hardship is a game I've defeated in the past. I'm keeping my head up, and milking my close relationships for what their worth. Tomorrow, I will travel to see my friend Brian and then Thursday head North for the first time for my New York bestie's 25th birthday. I look forward to getting some good pictures for my next video!! And if you haven't yet seen the video I made, check it out here.

Quote of the week: "I'm not tryna hear any a that sissy shit!"
Song of the Week: Flight Facilities "Clair de lune (ft. christine hoberg)"