"To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward." ~Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender
If I remember it correctly, our last night started off with 2 Euro white wine and quickly moved on to red wine, sangria and finally a champagne toast. That last glass of sangria is what truly did me in and caused the sudden flow of tears and drunk dancing that ensued. But of course nothing goes better with drunk dancing than an 80 euro bottle of vodka, which is ok because I had to get rid of the last bit of them. Through out the night we reminisced of the evening before…the incident when Stephanie had her giant bag stolen from under our feet at Maoz in Sol. After the reminiscing and the dancing there was the puking.
Managing to empty the contents of my stomach all over my host mother’s pristine bathroom floor was surely no easy feat. First of all, I had eaten tortilla and I would cut off of my thumb for the deliciousness that is tortilla. Second, I didn’t dislike her that much. Though we disagreed at times and she was adamant about me eating rabbit though I am a vegetarian, I didn’t dislike her strongly. But I will admit the shear frustration of trying to conjugate verbs with a large glass of wine in my hand to tell her to please not iron my underwear. There was also the time that she yelled at me for taking much too long in the shower and for smoking out of my bedroom window. She was also meticulous about cleaning and once apologized because had it not been for a pesky doctor’s appointment and a hacking cough, she would’ve gotten around to cleaning. Lucky for her, I forgave her.
The flight home was a blur with crying and snot and customs. Munich has a lovely airport and you can smoke anywhere you want. It’s funny because at the time, I relished in the fact that I could smoke and drink anytime any place and no one gave a shit. On my walk to work this morning I damn near passed out from smelling smoke. Who smokes at ? But beyond the smoking and drinking, there were a solid 8 hours of Phantom of the Opera, which lead to the jet lag from hell and questioning what the hell “this shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S” means.
And that was it. Everything after is a blur, including a graduation ceremony featuring Daniel Akaka, during which I was only semi-conscious. Though I realize that all of these events occurred a year ago, it’s hard not to be nostalgic right now. It’s hard not to look back and remember how happy yet dreadful I felt. Most importantly scared and very broke.
I cannot even begin to recall the number of people that told me not to worry and how fucking awesome their 20’s were and that this was the best time of my life and all the general bullshit that was spewed, while I seriously contemplated moving to Canada or worse Albany because insurance is fucking ridiculous. But I don’t remember a single person telling me that it was ok to be worried or freaked the hell out, just a lot of patronizing and “there, there, COBRA payments aren’t that high.”
In the end, I would’ve much preferred honesty rather than lofty talk as to how wonderful everything would be. And in the end, I’m glad that I’ve been pretty honest with myself as to how trying things have been and know that things went relatively well, hell, better than expected. In hindsight I know that I’ve been really fucking lucky and that things – though often trying – will only get better.