You know the rest of the phrase.
This afternoon, I noticed I've been a bit snappy with the girls--wanting to hide in my room for longer than normal and disregard the constant knocking and shouting of "Sistaaaaar! Maaarlaaaaa, Open please!"
Why was I so irritated? Had the girls been more disobedient than normal? Was the staff not doing what they were supposed to be doing?
No, the morning was really good, actually. I mean, the driver showed up late and all kids were 30 minutes late to school--whatever. That's normal by now. The girls who don't go to school were amazingly cooperative in sharing their computer for games. (The hope is to familiarize them with computers for potential job opportunities down the road.) Then I gave bike riding lessons to 2 kiddos, whose foster mom gave them their own bicycles for Christmas. The lessons were good, but also really intriguing. Whereas most "poor" kids in Ongole have their first bike ride at 2 months old (being cradled by their mom on the back, while the dad pedals) these kids probably had their first bicycle rides only a few months ago. They struggle with the balance thing, even with training wheels; they don't understand how to pedal when I remove my hands from their feet; the concept of steering alone is a huge challenge for them. So, today, we had steering lessons. It was both fun and funny; it was a good morning.
So what was it with me? Why, when I answered the door to the knocking and "Sistaaar!", did I have to take a deep breath and give the child/teenager a hug and remind them (and myself) that I loved them before I listened to what they had to say?
I decided to just sit in my room, pray, breathe, and think about what was wrong with me. And then I knew. For the first time since age 6, I am homesick. I'm guessing that watching most of the volunteers go home for the holidays has something to do with it, as does the stress of attempting to fill another foster mom's shoes. But I suppose being away for 6 months could be the reason in itself.
I laughed at my mom when she wiped away tears as she dropped me off at college. (Being away from Lebanon was what I'd been praying for for 7 years by that point.) I rolled my eyes at the airport last year as she held me tight like I was going to die in the 3 months I was away in India/Europe. (It was only 3 months.) I mean, I've tried to support and empathize with roommates and friends who have felt homesick throughout the years--I was that confused eight year old kid at church camp, hugging the crying bunkmate who missed home, I was the college kid who never went home just for the heck of it. But I just didn't "get it."
Now, I get it. I don't miss Lebanon or Columbia or Springfield. I don't miss ANY weather below 60 degrees. But I do miss quoting my parents' daily conversation at dinner. ("How was your day, honey?" "Oh, fiiine. (takes bite) How was yours?" "Good. I did X loads of laundry, cleaned X, and got to hold and play with Krista at the PSC.") I miss doing messy art projects with my nieces and nephews and keeping my 98% winning streak at Bananagrams. I miss 4 hour conversations and watching Bollywood movies with Mitali, and eating enormous Afghan meals with Mama, Roya, and Akbar. I miss doing the world's worst rendition of Chikni Chameli with Bekah. I miss welcoming foreigners to America, and driving my international student "red taxi." I miss talking with my grandpa and Netflix/foodie nights with my aunt, uncle, and Zeke.
I miss a few other things, too: like backyards and trails--or grass in general. Being able to hop in the car and just go. Being surrounded by fancy equipment at home and at work. Learning from experienced OTs on a daily basis. I miss being able to go to a gym and use weights instead of using my 3 year old. I miss going for a run in shorts. Mostly though, I miss having the people closest to me around me--the ones who get my sense of humor, the ones who know me best, the ones who can sense when I need to sit and talk for hours, or have a dance party, or paint, or attempt to make something spicy in the kitchen.
I'm very much not alone here--there are other Westerners, and with the number of children and staff in this house, it's more like I'm never alone. But I understand now what homesickness is. I am not saying all this as a "please comfort me" or "list a whole bunch of Bible verses to encourage me" kind of thing. I say all this because on this blog, I am trying to portray the most honest depiction of my life here in India. And this is just another part of the journey.
So, to everyone back home: I love you, and miss you.
This afternoon, I noticed I've been a bit snappy with the girls--wanting to hide in my room for longer than normal and disregard the constant knocking and shouting of "Sistaaaaar! Maaarlaaaaa, Open please!"
Why was I so irritated? Had the girls been more disobedient than normal? Was the staff not doing what they were supposed to be doing?
No, the morning was really good, actually. I mean, the driver showed up late and all kids were 30 minutes late to school--whatever. That's normal by now. The girls who don't go to school were amazingly cooperative in sharing their computer for games. (The hope is to familiarize them with computers for potential job opportunities down the road.) Then I gave bike riding lessons to 2 kiddos, whose foster mom gave them their own bicycles for Christmas. The lessons were good, but also really intriguing. Whereas most "poor" kids in Ongole have their first bike ride at 2 months old (being cradled by their mom on the back, while the dad pedals) these kids probably had their first bicycle rides only a few months ago. They struggle with the balance thing, even with training wheels; they don't understand how to pedal when I remove my hands from their feet; the concept of steering alone is a huge challenge for them. So, today, we had steering lessons. It was both fun and funny; it was a good morning.
So what was it with me? Why, when I answered the door to the knocking and "Sistaaar!", did I have to take a deep breath and give the child/teenager a hug and remind them (and myself) that I loved them before I listened to what they had to say?
I decided to just sit in my room, pray, breathe, and think about what was wrong with me. And then I knew. For the first time since age 6, I am homesick. I'm guessing that watching most of the volunteers go home for the holidays has something to do with it, as does the stress of attempting to fill another foster mom's shoes. But I suppose being away for 6 months could be the reason in itself.
I laughed at my mom when she wiped away tears as she dropped me off at college. (Being away from Lebanon was what I'd been praying for for 7 years by that point.) I rolled my eyes at the airport last year as she held me tight like I was going to die in the 3 months I was away in India/Europe. (It was only 3 months.) I mean, I've tried to support and empathize with roommates and friends who have felt homesick throughout the years--I was that confused eight year old kid at church camp, hugging the crying bunkmate who missed home, I was the college kid who never went home just for the heck of it. But I just didn't "get it."
Now, I get it. I don't miss Lebanon or Columbia or Springfield. I don't miss ANY weather below 60 degrees. But I do miss quoting my parents' daily conversation at dinner. ("How was your day, honey?" "Oh, fiiine. (takes bite) How was yours?" "Good. I did X loads of laundry, cleaned X, and got to hold and play with Krista at the PSC.") I miss doing messy art projects with my nieces and nephews and keeping my 98% winning streak at Bananagrams. I miss 4 hour conversations and watching Bollywood movies with Mitali, and eating enormous Afghan meals with Mama, Roya, and Akbar. I miss doing the world's worst rendition of Chikni Chameli with Bekah. I miss welcoming foreigners to America, and driving my international student "red taxi." I miss talking with my grandpa and Netflix/foodie nights with my aunt, uncle, and Zeke.
I miss a few other things, too: like backyards and trails--or grass in general. Being able to hop in the car and just go. Being surrounded by fancy equipment at home and at work. Learning from experienced OTs on a daily basis. I miss being able to go to a gym and use weights instead of using my 3 year old. I miss going for a run in shorts. Mostly though, I miss having the people closest to me around me--the ones who get my sense of humor, the ones who know me best, the ones who can sense when I need to sit and talk for hours, or have a dance party, or paint, or attempt to make something spicy in the kitchen.
I'm very much not alone here--there are other Westerners, and with the number of children and staff in this house, it's more like I'm never alone. But I understand now what homesickness is. I am not saying all this as a "please comfort me" or "list a whole bunch of Bible verses to encourage me" kind of thing. I say all this because on this blog, I am trying to portray the most honest depiction of my life here in India. And this is just another part of the journey.
So, to everyone back home: I love you, and miss you.
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