The Last Lap

This is it. It is the last lap of my Master's degree, of my time in graduate school (or so it seems at the moment). It is impossible to believe that in May I will graduate. the years have both ambled along and whooshed by. Some days, I remember in great detail. Others, they have sped by, leaving no memory but a blur of faces and voices and places over weeks and months and seasons. Hurtling towards graduation is my stock answer to every time someone asks how things are going. Hurtling is an appropriate word; it captures the speed and intensity of the feeling of this semester.



Almost two years, since I left home, friends, family, and a life that quite wasn't, and moved. I often find myself surprised by the things that have happened along the way, as if I wasn't quite expecting them. I do wonder what did I expect when I moved, in addition to a change in my life. I am finding this last lap hard. Harder than the others? It is difficult to tell. But yet again, I find myself at crossroads, trying to make life decisions, deciding, deciding, deciding always, what to do next, where to go, what to keep, what to leave behind, figuring out what does a life really mean? Adrift again.

I feel like I have tumbled into another world, through these past two winters, the first one whose harshness set an agreeable stage for all future winters. A world of classes, classes so different than the ones I ever attended. Where you were expected to had to speak up, introverted or not, whether you felt you had something meaningful to say. Where I was thrown into new ways of working and reminded of my old ways that I occasionally missed but largely forgot as I settled into new habits, enjoying many many things about them. A world of being an 'international', which in the beginning felt incredibly hard and lonely.I found my spiel, developed it, used it and then gave it up. I developed more of a spirit than I originally ever had. I learned about what mattered to me, what are the things I would pick a fight for and what I would overlook. I struggled with ideas of authenticity and happiness and success in the same way I have always through my entire life. I carried my sense of unbelonging, securely from one country to the other. I was so determined to not stand out, to fit in, that I forgot for a little while who I was. Until I had moved I had never known how soothing voices can be. Also, jarring. Until then I had never known how reassuring a cup of tea can be. I had forgotten how craven the need for warmth and company can be when it strikes you unexpectedly. I learned the hard way that a break is meaningless if you don't know how to or wish to take one (or don't have people to take a break with). Affection, love and friendships have enveloped me through the good days and bad. I have people I can call in the middle of the night and day and ask all sorts of silly and funny and heartbreaking questions. I come to surprises on my desk, I am loved.

I learned how spaces can cast a bad spell on you, like bad aura as they would say (living in a basement room that allows for little movement due to giant beds - I never knew what a queen size bed was till I was the owner of one, transferred home taped on the top of a car). I learned how much I love the sunny days and long walks, I found my love of sunlight streaming through the window, the joy of first rains and storms and the dust swirling to meet the blue skies. I made the radio my companion and podcasts a ritual. I learned to doubt my language. I internalized all those spoken and unspoken stereotypes. I compensated and overcompensated and still do, except now I get tired far more easily. There is only so much you can do. In a little over a month and a half, I will be done. It feels unreal, impossible, too soon. No one is asking me to write a neat little summary. Yet I feel this is necessary, for writing is memory for me. How else will I remember, when I take on the next sea and the storm hits :)?