Reflection and Thanks
As graduation approaches, and I prepare for my summer break back in the U.S., I find myself sunk in nostalgia, joy, and thanks. Looking back over the past eight months, I realize that despite any ups and downs, they have been the best of my life. For the best months of my life I have many, many people to thank.
My last graduation, four years ago, was one of excitement and anticipation, but also sorrow and disappointment. As my dearest friends prepared to go out into the world to their lofty prospective universities, I was preparing to make the short trip downtown to the University of Kentucky, in the city I'd been born and raised. It was the fiscally responsible, albeit deeply unexciting choice, and I felt left behind, abandoned, and as though I'd failed the first test in making it out into the world. Having failed to begin blazing my trail into the unknown and the adventurous, I set about studying the most far-off lands and the most foreign customs, unaware that home was the first and greatest step in my journey into those very places. I blasted my way through as many credits, prerequisites, and requirements as I could, and saved up as much money as my not-so-thrifty nature would allow.
By the end of my second year at university I had several thousand dollars saved up and only 30 credits to graduation. I decided it was time to study abroad, to see if I could actually rough it in the place I had read about and studied for the last two years, with enough time left in university to change directions if necessary. I began looking up programs for summer study in the Middle East. Thanks to the Arab Spring two years before, the programs for the Middle East had been whittled down to two: Haifa, Israel, and Amman, Jordan. Israel did not suit my needs as it didn't offer Arabic courses, and it was quickly apparent that my only recourse was Jordan, of which I knew nearly nothing. After applying for the program I spent a good amount of time researching Jordan, and my burgeoning excitement for my first foray into the world outside of the east coast of the United States was quickly snuffed out. Though there were many articles praising the kindness of the people and the beauty of the terrain, the general consensus from western travelers was that it was dirty, very third world, and thoroughly unimpressive.
Still, by the time I set out, with the help of my supportive but wary parents and grandparents, the excitement for the unknown overtook me, and I was giddy as my first flight on a rickety CanadaAir plane took off. By the time we arrived in Amman, nearly 30 hours later, in the dead of night, the giddiness had subsided but had left me nonetheless with a sense of awe. We drove into the city, a sprawling masterpiece of hills and lights and minarets sparkling in the darkness, and it didn't take me long to realize that I was already in love. Six weeks compounded and nurtured this love, and at the end of my trip, I had decided that it would not be my last, and realized that though this chapter was over, my time in Jordan was not.
When I told my parents four months later that I was planning to move to Amman the following year, their heartbreak was palpable. Surrounded by war, and by a curtain of ignorance that much of the west is blanketed in when it comes to the Middle East, my parents were understandably concerned. Besides normal concern, there was the fact that our close knit family had never faced such a separation before. My six week journey to Jordan the summer before had been our longest separation, and it was one my parents and sister had heartily professed no interest in repeating. Though like all college students, I'd made the transition from completely dependent to slightly independent when I began university, for all intents and purposes I still lived in my childhood backyard, and I saw my parents at least once a week. The idea of a year of separation, and the fear that living so close to the looming threat of Syria's war might permanently separate us, was devastating for all of us, and I realized for the first time that following your heart can sometimes mean breaking it. Despite their anxieties, and the sorrow we all faced at the prolonged separation, my loving parents and sister lent me their support in every way their reservations would allow, and they guided me on my journey to this next chapter of my life in Jordan. They are always, eternally, the people for whom I am most grateful and to whom I am most indebted. They give me strength, and they taught me to follow my dreams, though I doubt they could ever have imagined I'd use the strength and determination they gave me to follow a dream that would take me so far from the warmth of the home we shared.
The next person I have to thank is Leah. Practically strangers when we first arrived in Amman two years ago, our desire to return to Jordan bonded us, and moving together across the world sealed our fate: we are bound to roam the world together, two nomads confiding our fears, loves, doubts, and hopes in one another, roughing the strong tides and waves as we weather through this life together, surrounded by friends, but sometimes quite alone in a strange land. In foreign lands she is a piece of home, and when I am home she is the reminder of all the things I have done, and all the things that are still in store.
Hasan. When I arrived in Jordan this past September, after a year of planning, longing, and dreaming of my return, I logically knew things wouldn't be the same. But knowing something can't quite prepare your heart for what's missing from the dream you've been dreaming for so long. We returned and found that many of our friends were gone, and on our own the real adventure wasn't hiking mountains or seeing wonders, but making a life out of nothing in a world so different from our own. While I mucked my way through the loneliness, confusion, and doubts of building a life as an expat, someone I never expected came along to help me shoulder the doubts and fears, and to remind me of my strength. Hasan became a partner, a best friend, and an adventure I hadn't expected to have, but one that was greater than I'd imagined.
Finally, there are so many people who have shown so much love, compassion, and friendship, who have weathered the good, the bad, and the sad with us on this journey. There are those back home, who have shown that no amount of distance or early morning calls can break the bonds of love, and there are those here, who have proved that it only takes honesty and a few hours conversation to make a lifelong friend. I have so many people to thank for the life I have here, so many who have given so much so selflessly, and who have reached out the hand of friendship and kindness to a stranger to whom they owe nothing, but give so much.
I have done spectacular things, things I never truly believed I'd do. I've trailed my hand through the Mediterranean on the shores of Beirut, the city that inspired my study of the Middle East. I've seen castles from the Crusades, and monasteries built into the sides of mountains, I've touched the rock where Jesus was laid to rest after the Crucifixion, climbed the great and ancient pyramids, and sailed the Nile. I've done so much more and have much more to do, and I am so, so unbelievably grateful. My greatest accomplishment isn't what I've done here but the fact that I got here, and I'm only here because of the people that love me that have helped me along the way. My parents, my sister, my Poppy, Connie, Grammy, Granny, aunts and uncles and sweet cousins, my darling Hasan, Leah, Rob, my friends from high school and college, Dr. Kelle Taha, my friends here in Jordan and those now scattered around the globe. Thank you, thank you, thank you all.
The unknown looms before me again as I prepare to graduate and set off on my journey into adulthood and the real world, but I have already made the biggest leap I can imagine, and the people I love have shown me that they will not let me fail, and they won't let me fall. I love Jordan, and all the adventures I have had here and I anticipate with joy all those I am yet to have, but what made these the best eight months of my life was all of the love and support I received, and learning that there are truly no bounds to the love of friends and family.
I love you all.
Until next time!
