A panic attack, 7am phone call to the US, two-hour yoga session, 8 person ladies' brunch complete with facials, makeovers and mimosas, and an hour-long massage. It's been quite a day already, and it's only 6pm.
Such is life in Kampala; it mirrors the weather. One moment it's sunny and bright, you're standing in front of some strange tropical plant bearing giant fruit, a butterfly lands on your nose.... ok maybe I'm getting carried away, but you get the point.... Then the wind picks up, you realize there are dark clouds funneling your way, thunder rumbles and you happen to be in the middle of a muddy overcrowded street with boda-bodas and matatus trying to run you over, the rain coming sideways and upside down, you have no umbrella to speak of, and your feet are orange-brown in clay mud and god-knows-what-else until you can figure out a way to get home.
Home.
I am ready to come home.
I admit it.
Unless something magical happens in the next couple months, I'm just tired of being here.
It's homesickness in a way, but it's more than that. I don't feel like it's unbearable to live here--just not ideal, or even mostly ideal. It seems the experience should by now offer more rewards than drawbacks. I'm just thinking it's not a very good fit. I'm having a very disparate experience to what I had while living in Ecuador.
I miss my friends. I miss IPA. I miss my dog. I miss normal grocery stores with options of food inside. I miss things operating somewhat efficiently. I miss concerts. I miss driving--oh god, I miss driving my car like _________(insert fitting clever simale here). I miss a bicycle with gears that shift, and a chain that stays on at least most of the time.
But more than the missing, I feel like I am missing the mark. Maybe there are more opportunities to be had here, but it doesn't seem to be falling into place. The job is blah. My exercise routine is difficult to maintain, sporadic at best. My diet is ridiculously overloaded with starchy carbs. My dating life is non-existant. My social life only slightly better, and only sometimes, because I happen to enjoy dancing, and eating... two things you can usually find other people to wrangle into participation.
The funny thing is that I don't really know what I'm going home to. My mom is moving to Arizona... it will be the first time living in Oregon with both parents in different states. I have friends, but not a set idea of who will be around to spend time with me, or what we will find. I'm not sure if I will do Mary Kay and some other part-time job, or if I need to get a full-time job, or even relocate. All of these unknowns are a bit overwhelming (hence the 7am panic attack) and part of me is still excited. I'm excited to see Portland with new eyes. I'm excited to plan the next step and have something to look forward to, knowing I came here and tried. Even if it didn't fit, I learned a bit more about myself. Maybe I travelled a few steps toward knowing what it is that makes me happy, and complete. I have a strong urge to fly home, settle back into a new routine that involves travelling into the beautiful wild places throughout the country, I haven't seen enough of Eastern Oregon, I'd like to get tickets for some outdoor music festivals, plan epic hikes... I'm excited to go home and re-explore what I grew to take for granted. My complacency, the devilish inner critic disguised as intelligent, objective, self-loathing seems to pull a dark cloud over much of what I've accomplished thus far in my life. That, paired with the actual dark clouds that hang over Portland for months on end can be draining.
I'm looking forward to going home for the most beautiful part of the year, to recharge, reconnect with friends, recount my toes, and pick a new dot on the globe to think about calling home.
Such is life in Kampala; it mirrors the weather. One moment it's sunny and bright, you're standing in front of some strange tropical plant bearing giant fruit, a butterfly lands on your nose.... ok maybe I'm getting carried away, but you get the point.... Then the wind picks up, you realize there are dark clouds funneling your way, thunder rumbles and you happen to be in the middle of a muddy overcrowded street with boda-bodas and matatus trying to run you over, the rain coming sideways and upside down, you have no umbrella to speak of, and your feet are orange-brown in clay mud and god-knows-what-else until you can figure out a way to get home.
Home.
I am ready to come home.
I admit it.
Unless something magical happens in the next couple months, I'm just tired of being here.
It's homesickness in a way, but it's more than that. I don't feel like it's unbearable to live here--just not ideal, or even mostly ideal. It seems the experience should by now offer more rewards than drawbacks. I'm just thinking it's not a very good fit. I'm having a very disparate experience to what I had while living in Ecuador.
I miss my friends. I miss IPA. I miss my dog. I miss normal grocery stores with options of food inside. I miss things operating somewhat efficiently. I miss concerts. I miss driving--oh god, I miss driving my car like _________(insert fitting clever simale here). I miss a bicycle with gears that shift, and a chain that stays on at least most of the time.
But more than the missing, I feel like I am missing the mark. Maybe there are more opportunities to be had here, but it doesn't seem to be falling into place. The job is blah. My exercise routine is difficult to maintain, sporadic at best. My diet is ridiculously overloaded with starchy carbs. My dating life is non-existant. My social life only slightly better, and only sometimes, because I happen to enjoy dancing, and eating... two things you can usually find other people to wrangle into participation.
The funny thing is that I don't really know what I'm going home to. My mom is moving to Arizona... it will be the first time living in Oregon with both parents in different states. I have friends, but not a set idea of who will be around to spend time with me, or what we will find. I'm not sure if I will do Mary Kay and some other part-time job, or if I need to get a full-time job, or even relocate. All of these unknowns are a bit overwhelming (hence the 7am panic attack) and part of me is still excited. I'm excited to see Portland with new eyes. I'm excited to plan the next step and have something to look forward to, knowing I came here and tried. Even if it didn't fit, I learned a bit more about myself. Maybe I travelled a few steps toward knowing what it is that makes me happy, and complete. I have a strong urge to fly home, settle back into a new routine that involves travelling into the beautiful wild places throughout the country, I haven't seen enough of Eastern Oregon, I'd like to get tickets for some outdoor music festivals, plan epic hikes... I'm excited to go home and re-explore what I grew to take for granted. My complacency, the devilish inner critic disguised as intelligent, objective, self-loathing seems to pull a dark cloud over much of what I've accomplished thus far in my life. That, paired with the actual dark clouds that hang over Portland for months on end can be draining.
I'm looking forward to going home for the most beautiful part of the year, to recharge, reconnect with friends, recount my toes, and pick a new dot on the globe to think about calling home.
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