It’s been 185 days since K left. In an earlier post, I said that after awhile, the pain of the absence assimilates inside- and that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yesterday, I missed K so fiercely; I was surprised at the extent of which I missed him. Normally, when I’m upset or sad, I think about all the things I have to be thankful for, and to be happy about. Counting my blessings didn’t help, and my emotions went from bad to worse as the day wore on. The highpoint of my day was meeting my mentoree for the first time. The low point was being pulled over by a police officer, and getting a non-moving violation for having an out-of-state license when I’ve been living in current state well past the 90 days allowed.
After the day was said and done, I called K, who though he is heading out and will be inaccessible for several weeks, fortunately my call was able to go through. Even 9000 miles away, he’s able to make things better.
I miss him.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Bitterness
In the previous post, I mentioned that I’m not going to be stagnant in life while I wait for K to return. Almost immediately following his departure, things started changing. I found a new job a month after he left and then I moved to a different apartment, in a different part of the city. There have also been other changes, like hiring a personal trainer a few days a week, preparing for my licensure exam, and a bit of traveling.
Of course, staying busy is a distraction, but I miss K. Always. After a while, I think the feeling of missing something assimilates inside, and it becomes part of the norm. And there’s always this bit of anger-resentment mixture that I feel. My cousin was away from her fiancé this past summer for six weeks, and she acted like it was the end of the world. Six weeks. I try to be sympathetic, but really my feelings are “suck it the f*ck up, it’s less than two months. Try two years.” Yeah, a tad bitter, I know.
Of course, staying busy is a distraction, but I miss K. Always. After a while, I think the feeling of missing something assimilates inside, and it becomes part of the norm. And there’s always this bit of anger-resentment mixture that I feel. My cousin was away from her fiancé this past summer for six weeks, and she acted like it was the end of the world. Six weeks. I try to be sympathetic, but really my feelings are “suck it the f*ck up, it’s less than two months. Try two years.” Yeah, a tad bitter, I know.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Now and Later
K's gone. He's been gone for 91 days. Ahh, to measure our seperation in days doesn't really seem to do the distance and time justice.
But before he left, we made a conscious effort to do as much as possible with each other. We jammed in trips, activities, even a trip to the ER all in the name of the camel strategy. Make as many memories as possible together, in hopes it'll help with the time we're apart.
Oh, and we got engaged. And had a wonderful party in my hometown.
So, 91 days apart, and hundreds more to go, I've come to the decision that I will not/ can not put my life on hold while I wait for K. I miss him immensely, but there's nothing we can do to be together for the next 21 months. So, better make the best out of a rotten situation.
But before he left, we made a conscious effort to do as much as possible with each other. We jammed in trips, activities, even a trip to the ER all in the name of the camel strategy. Make as many memories as possible together, in hopes it'll help with the time we're apart.
Oh, and we got engaged. And had a wonderful party in my hometown.
So, 91 days apart, and hundreds more to go, I've come to the decision that I will not/ can not put my life on hold while I wait for K. I miss him immensely, but there's nothing we can do to be together for the next 21 months. So, better make the best out of a rotten situation.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
32 Days
It’s thirty-two days left. . and emotions are flying high. Last night, there was a huge eruption, and I still feel so horrible about it. Last night played out with more drama than even an episode of Real Housewives: New Jersey. I told my friend, Lindsay, that I had definitely had my “flip the table” moment.
I forgave him for what happened prior to the fight, and he forgave me.
But it still doesn’t feel right.
And I wonder if things are just being so fractured that they can’t be put back together?
This is the first relationship where I feel like I’ve invested so much, and a lot is on the line. If our relationship isn’t “feeling right” how do I just move 4,000 miles away from everyone I know and love to be with him?
We have long-shot odds:
Different cultures
Different religions
Different nationalities
Different professions
Different geographical locations
He’s going to be a field biologist in a remote country, where communication is limited. I’m a social worker in a city, where communication is always available.
I keep thinking that this separation is going to be so hard on . . . . well, me. I mean, obviously, I like him more than he likes me, and I like to get attention from him, so I’ll miss him most. Plus, I’ll be living in the same apartment we shared, going to the same places we frequented, so reminders of his (lack of) presence will be everywhere.
With all of our differences, the immense geographical distance, and the recent fighting, how is it going to work out?
I forgave him for what happened prior to the fight, and he forgave me.
But it still doesn’t feel right.
And I wonder if things are just being so fractured that they can’t be put back together?
This is the first relationship where I feel like I’ve invested so much, and a lot is on the line. If our relationship isn’t “feeling right” how do I just move 4,000 miles away from everyone I know and love to be with him?
We have long-shot odds:
Different cultures
Different religions
Different nationalities
Different professions
Different geographical locations
He’s going to be a field biologist in a remote country, where communication is limited. I’m a social worker in a city, where communication is always available.
I keep thinking that this separation is going to be so hard on . . . . well, me. I mean, obviously, I like him more than he likes me, and I like to get attention from him, so I’ll miss him most. Plus, I’ll be living in the same apartment we shared, going to the same places we frequented, so reminders of his (lack of) presence will be everywhere.
With all of our differences, the immense geographical distance, and the recent fighting, how is it going to work out?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Mirror Reflection
I was walking to my car on my lunch break, and passed by a mirrored window. I did a double take, as I didn’t recognize the person looking back at me.
Surprisingly, my hair looked good, courtesy of a blowout yesterday at the salon. But where did the dark circles under my eyes come from? And the red blotches on my face?
I haven’t been sleeping through the night, and what little sleep I do get is not restful. I have these weird dreams almost every night. Weird-like-on-vicodin-weird. I thought I wasn’t going to bed early enough, but I’ve made it a point to go to bed by 11 nearly every night this week. I unplug my laptop, no drinks after 7, and only take relaxing books to bed, but no use.
I think the culprit may be K.
The study is directly off the bedroom and K’s under deadlines right now, so he stays up late working. He pulls the pocket door closed and uses headphones, but I still struggle to fall asleep and when he comes to bed I always wake up.
We’ve tried a couple of things to help my sleeping, but none of them seem to be working. I’m such a light sleeper, just about anything wakes me up. The lack of sleep gets progressively worse as the week goes by, and by today, Thursday, I’m a walking zombie. And then I think about how our time together is so limited. . . .and I guess I’ll go on being a walking zombie, with great hair.
But it also makes me wonder (silently, to myself) when did I get so old? In undergrad, I could function on 3 hours of sleep for days at a time, and unlike my roommate Barb, I was not in the middle of a manic episode. I remember helping my mom open her bakery at 4am, working at the bakery, then going to my part-time job, then going to class, then going to hang out or study then going drinking, then sleeping a few hours and doing it all over again. Hmmm. . . maybe I was in the middle of a manic episode.
Surprisingly, my hair looked good, courtesy of a blowout yesterday at the salon. But where did the dark circles under my eyes come from? And the red blotches on my face?
I haven’t been sleeping through the night, and what little sleep I do get is not restful. I have these weird dreams almost every night. Weird-like-on-vicodin-weird. I thought I wasn’t going to bed early enough, but I’ve made it a point to go to bed by 11 nearly every night this week. I unplug my laptop, no drinks after 7, and only take relaxing books to bed, but no use.
I think the culprit may be K.
The study is directly off the bedroom and K’s under deadlines right now, so he stays up late working. He pulls the pocket door closed and uses headphones, but I still struggle to fall asleep and when he comes to bed I always wake up.
We’ve tried a couple of things to help my sleeping, but none of them seem to be working. I’m such a light sleeper, just about anything wakes me up. The lack of sleep gets progressively worse as the week goes by, and by today, Thursday, I’m a walking zombie. And then I think about how our time together is so limited. . . .and I guess I’ll go on being a walking zombie, with great hair.
But it also makes me wonder (silently, to myself) when did I get so old? In undergrad, I could function on 3 hours of sleep for days at a time, and unlike my roommate Barb, I was not in the middle of a manic episode. I remember helping my mom open her bakery at 4am, working at the bakery, then going to my part-time job, then going to class, then going to hang out or study then going drinking, then sleeping a few hours and doing it all over again. Hmmm. . . maybe I was in the middle of a manic episode.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Life Happens.
I’ve heard that trite saying “life is what happens when you’re busy making plans,” and it always slightly annoyed me. The thing is, it’s true. I can make a detailed, step-by-step plan and work toward its implementation and boom the tidal waves of life wash the plans away. Looking back, I never thought my life would be here. Here: living on my own away from my tight-knit family and close friends, finding the love of my life that didn’t match the image in my head, contemplating moving literally half-way across the world to hold on to that happiness. And while I might join K eventually in PNG, he is leaving in 47 days. Alone. Without me.
I am always in a mad rush to make the most out of our days together. I protect our time together fiercely and I won’t allow myself to feel guilty for putting other things on the back burner. He is finishing up his coursework and I have a job, so of course, we can’t be together nonstop, but we make time in the evenings and on weekends. I have a mental list of things I want us to do together and he is always taking photos of us. We load the photos and often review and laugh at them. I’ve put together a small album that he can take back with him and it’s small enough to pack in his field bag for when he is gone for months at a time in the wild, remote jungle.
All that being said, last week I had a meltdown.
Now, in my family, I’m the litmus test of meltdowns. I define the term. I’m not proud of this, just stating the fact.
Scenario: A close friend of mine’s mother, Mrs. F,. had been battling lung cancer. She was diagnosed at Christmas 2008 and went into remission last spring. Unfortunately, the cancer returned the first of the year and ravaged her body and mind within months. By the beginning of April, the cancer had spread to her brain and pituitary gland. Mrs. F. went into hospice and in just two weeks, ironically on my mother’s birthday, passed away. I took two days off work to travel to the visitation and funeral. When I told my mom about the trip, she insisted I come home, and I tried to explain to her I just had enough time to go to the funeral and not travel four extra hours. . . and I felt immensely guilty.
The night before I was to leave to travel for the funeral, K and I went to a concert he had bought tickets to a while ago, and even though I didn’t want to go, we went. It was a bad time had by all, so bad I wished I had gone home and done laundry at my local Hispanic-Pakistani Laundromat.
In the morning, when I had to leave, I was late, K and I were both still annoyed from the events last night, I didn’t have clean clothes, I hadn’t showered, my hair would put Don King’s to shame, I was sad, I felt guilty, I was overwhelmed, I didn’t want to go.
I had a meltdown. Tears, hysteria, whining, yelling, etc. It was one of those moments that make reality television shows so addicting. The train wreck moments.
K and I got through it and soon I was calm enough to put the pieces back together and head to the visitation.
The funeral had a profound impact on me. Mr. and Mrs. F. had been married for over 36 years. The grief was etched so profoundly on Mr. F.’s face, and the sadness so deep in his eyes, I couldn’t approach him. I didn’t know how to say I was sorry for his loss, when sorry isn’t even the same realm of his grief. And Mrs. F. was deeply loved; nearly 1,000 people attended her funeral. When we left the funeral to drive to the cemetery, hundreds of people stood out in the rain, in a line with their hands held above us as we passed, praying. There are some images that stay in one’s mind forever, and that is one that will stay in mine.
I was gone for three days and on the third day I left early in the morning. When I surprised K by arriving home earlier than planned, seeing how his smile to me spread across his whole face made me so happy.
I may want to plan an elaborate wedding, or design the perfect house. I always wanted to be married by 28 and have my first baby at 30.
What happens while making all these plans is life; the births, the deaths, the love, the forgiveness, the unexpected, the unplanned. The way life happens is much better than any way I could have planned it.
I am always in a mad rush to make the most out of our days together. I protect our time together fiercely and I won’t allow myself to feel guilty for putting other things on the back burner. He is finishing up his coursework and I have a job, so of course, we can’t be together nonstop, but we make time in the evenings and on weekends. I have a mental list of things I want us to do together and he is always taking photos of us. We load the photos and often review and laugh at them. I’ve put together a small album that he can take back with him and it’s small enough to pack in his field bag for when he is gone for months at a time in the wild, remote jungle.
All that being said, last week I had a meltdown.
Now, in my family, I’m the litmus test of meltdowns. I define the term. I’m not proud of this, just stating the fact.
Scenario: A close friend of mine’s mother, Mrs. F,. had been battling lung cancer. She was diagnosed at Christmas 2008 and went into remission last spring. Unfortunately, the cancer returned the first of the year and ravaged her body and mind within months. By the beginning of April, the cancer had spread to her brain and pituitary gland. Mrs. F. went into hospice and in just two weeks, ironically on my mother’s birthday, passed away. I took two days off work to travel to the visitation and funeral. When I told my mom about the trip, she insisted I come home, and I tried to explain to her I just had enough time to go to the funeral and not travel four extra hours. . . and I felt immensely guilty.
The night before I was to leave to travel for the funeral, K and I went to a concert he had bought tickets to a while ago, and even though I didn’t want to go, we went. It was a bad time had by all, so bad I wished I had gone home and done laundry at my local Hispanic-Pakistani Laundromat.
In the morning, when I had to leave, I was late, K and I were both still annoyed from the events last night, I didn’t have clean clothes, I hadn’t showered, my hair would put Don King’s to shame, I was sad, I felt guilty, I was overwhelmed, I didn’t want to go.
I had a meltdown. Tears, hysteria, whining, yelling, etc. It was one of those moments that make reality television shows so addicting. The train wreck moments.
K and I got through it and soon I was calm enough to put the pieces back together and head to the visitation.
The funeral had a profound impact on me. Mr. and Mrs. F. had been married for over 36 years. The grief was etched so profoundly on Mr. F.’s face, and the sadness so deep in his eyes, I couldn’t approach him. I didn’t know how to say I was sorry for his loss, when sorry isn’t even the same realm of his grief. And Mrs. F. was deeply loved; nearly 1,000 people attended her funeral. When we left the funeral to drive to the cemetery, hundreds of people stood out in the rain, in a line with their hands held above us as we passed, praying. There are some images that stay in one’s mind forever, and that is one that will stay in mine.
I was gone for three days and on the third day I left early in the morning. When I surprised K by arriving home earlier than planned, seeing how his smile to me spread across his whole face made me so happy.
I may want to plan an elaborate wedding, or design the perfect house. I always wanted to be married by 28 and have my first baby at 30.
What happens while making all these plans is life; the births, the deaths, the love, the forgiveness, the unexpected, the unplanned. The way life happens is much better than any way I could have planned it.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Two Years.
I remember sitting in class and thinking how handsome this man looked. And sexy. But as soon as my thoughts strayed, I quickly admonished myself and pushed the directions of those thoughts away. And I resolved to let him go, and didn’t think (too much) about him.
While I had sent him a simple friend request on Facebook, he responded with a message: “Hi Jessica, how are you doing? Thanks for being friends. I hope you did well this past semester. Stay Warm! K.”
Innocent enough. We traded emails back and forth for the next couple of days, trying to come up with a time to meet for coffee so I could pump him for information on his home country. Of course, he asked about my boyfriend, and I told him about the relationship (leaving out the rocky bits). I sent him a last message two days before Christmas as I was preparing to travel back to my hometown for the holidays.
While in my hometown, I was consumed with taking care of my mom and trying to make the holidays special. Unfortunately, the tension between my long distance boyfriend and me was mounting. We had “taken a break” a few months before, and looking back, that’s really when the relationship should have ended completely. However, like a good social worker, I was bound and determined to see this relationship to the very, very end. Every interaction we had was stressful, filled with conflict and left me feeling awful.
After an uneventful New Year’s with my family, the next day I took the red-eye bus back. The scheduled departure was at 12am, but I had to get there earlier to purchase a ticket and ensure a seat. Friends dropped me, I purchased a ticket and waited. Using my phone, for the first time in days, I checked my Facebook. There was a message from K, wishing me a happy New Year and safe travels. Out of boredom, I emailed him back. We began a long exchange of emails as I traveled across the Midwest. Later, he would reveal to me that he was to excited to sleep even though it was very late. We discussed books we had read, places we had been, things we liked to do- all very benign, but his messages helped make the traveling and leaving my still-sick mom.
Our messages continued through the night and on until the next day. I arrived at my apartment in the morning, and promptly went to bed. When I awoke, there was another message waiting for me from K. His messages were beginning to take on a flirtatious nature, which I ignored. We had agreed to meet Wednesday for coffee to talk about his home country. I smiled to myself when he suggested we have dinner instead of coffee. We exchanged numbers, and within minutes he text me to say good night. Of course, this led to me calling him and we talked late into the night.
The next day was Monday, and by the time I’d arrived at my office, he had sent me a morning text. Our communication via text continued through out the day, and by the afternoon we had agreed to meet for coffee that evening.
The evening went very well. I immediately felt comfortable with him. He’s a great storyteller, and he listens and is attentive.
I knew before we went a step further I would have to officially end things with the long-distance relationship. I had tried to call him on Sunday to end things, but he was traveling and didn’t have cell reception. I got a hold of him Tuesday morning and we talked while I drove to work. We both agreed that we just weren’t a good match for each other and that the relationship should have ended months before, but neither one of us wanted to let it go easily. We also decided to remain friends, to talk occasionally and to assist the other if it was ever needed. In the end, it was a very amicable split. As a good friend of mine has instructed me to always at least try to find one “takeaway” from every situation, the “takeaway” here was: Long-distance relationships are hard and I don’t want another one.
Once that relationship was over, I felt free to pursue whatever it was between K and me.
Amazing.
We began spending time together and we fit so seamlessly into one another’s lives. While I’m high maintenance, he’s laid back. While I’m prone to break-downs, he’s calm, steady. He has these beautiful eyes that are always drinking in his surroundings; noticing the details. He’s quick with a compliment and quicker with hugs and kisses. He’s compassionate for others in a way I’ve rarely seen.
Late one night, K and I were discussing future plans, and he said he wanted to meet my family before April. I questioned why specifically April.
He answered, “So they have time to know me before I take you back home with me in May.”
“Why are you taking me back with you in May?” I asked.
“I have to leave the US in May and return to Papua New Guinea. I’ll be gone for two years.”
While I had sent him a simple friend request on Facebook, he responded with a message: “Hi Jessica, how are you doing? Thanks for being friends. I hope you did well this past semester. Stay Warm! K.”
Innocent enough. We traded emails back and forth for the next couple of days, trying to come up with a time to meet for coffee so I could pump him for information on his home country. Of course, he asked about my boyfriend, and I told him about the relationship (leaving out the rocky bits). I sent him a last message two days before Christmas as I was preparing to travel back to my hometown for the holidays.
While in my hometown, I was consumed with taking care of my mom and trying to make the holidays special. Unfortunately, the tension between my long distance boyfriend and me was mounting. We had “taken a break” a few months before, and looking back, that’s really when the relationship should have ended completely. However, like a good social worker, I was bound and determined to see this relationship to the very, very end. Every interaction we had was stressful, filled with conflict and left me feeling awful.
After an uneventful New Year’s with my family, the next day I took the red-eye bus back. The scheduled departure was at 12am, but I had to get there earlier to purchase a ticket and ensure a seat. Friends dropped me, I purchased a ticket and waited. Using my phone, for the first time in days, I checked my Facebook. There was a message from K, wishing me a happy New Year and safe travels. Out of boredom, I emailed him back. We began a long exchange of emails as I traveled across the Midwest. Later, he would reveal to me that he was to excited to sleep even though it was very late. We discussed books we had read, places we had been, things we liked to do- all very benign, but his messages helped make the traveling and leaving my still-sick mom.
Our messages continued through the night and on until the next day. I arrived at my apartment in the morning, and promptly went to bed. When I awoke, there was another message waiting for me from K. His messages were beginning to take on a flirtatious nature, which I ignored. We had agreed to meet Wednesday for coffee to talk about his home country. I smiled to myself when he suggested we have dinner instead of coffee. We exchanged numbers, and within minutes he text me to say good night. Of course, this led to me calling him and we talked late into the night.
The next day was Monday, and by the time I’d arrived at my office, he had sent me a morning text. Our communication via text continued through out the day, and by the afternoon we had agreed to meet for coffee that evening.
The evening went very well. I immediately felt comfortable with him. He’s a great storyteller, and he listens and is attentive.
I knew before we went a step further I would have to officially end things with the long-distance relationship. I had tried to call him on Sunday to end things, but he was traveling and didn’t have cell reception. I got a hold of him Tuesday morning and we talked while I drove to work. We both agreed that we just weren’t a good match for each other and that the relationship should have ended months before, but neither one of us wanted to let it go easily. We also decided to remain friends, to talk occasionally and to assist the other if it was ever needed. In the end, it was a very amicable split. As a good friend of mine has instructed me to always at least try to find one “takeaway” from every situation, the “takeaway” here was: Long-distance relationships are hard and I don’t want another one.
Once that relationship was over, I felt free to pursue whatever it was between K and me.
Amazing.
We began spending time together and we fit so seamlessly into one another’s lives. While I’m high maintenance, he’s laid back. While I’m prone to break-downs, he’s calm, steady. He has these beautiful eyes that are always drinking in his surroundings; noticing the details. He’s quick with a compliment and quicker with hugs and kisses. He’s compassionate for others in a way I’ve rarely seen.
Late one night, K and I were discussing future plans, and he said he wanted to meet my family before April. I questioned why specifically April.
He answered, “So they have time to know me before I take you back home with me in May.”
“Why are you taking me back with you in May?” I asked.
“I have to leave the US in May and return to Papua New Guinea. I’ll be gone for two years.”
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
8,446 Miles
Something you should know about me: I believe in fate and I’m superstitious.
I also can’t bear to say goodbye.
I thought if I started a blog, I might be able to handle the messiness of being apart. Let me recap and start from the beginning, as starting in the middle is nowhere to begin in any story.
I grew up. . . .well, no, I won’t start at the very beginning, but just early enough to paint the scene. I moved to a moderate-size Midwestern city in August 2007. I had received a small (eat-Aldi’s-spaghetti-three-times-a-week-and-always-late-on-the-rent-size) scholarship to start a master’s degree program in social work. With less than $100 in my pocket (my checking account was overdrawn) I drove my beat-up, unairconditioned Subaru 400 miles in 100+ degree heat to start a new adventure.
An adventure it was, albeit exciting, but most days it was hard. The kind of hard that made me want to give up, drop out and move back home to the safety and security of my family and friends. My first semester was especially difficult- my mom suffered a heart attack just weeks after my arrival at school, the financial aid package I was promised failed to arrive until the semester was half-over, and the course work was not what I had bargained for, nor was the unfriendliness I encountered in my program.
I did what any girl in my position would do- I sucked it up, got a part-time job and moved in with an apartment full of Asians to cut my living expenses in half. While living with an apartment full of Asians may have seemed economical at the time, in the long-run it cost me much more in things that cannot be valued in dollars or yuan.
It took me two-and-a-half years to complete my master’s degree in social work. And in that time, I managed to:
Lose my scholarship
Move four times
Date men from 3 different continents
Gain my scholarship back
Find infatuation
Complete 800+ hours of practicum
Looking at that list, it’s not even a small overview of what really happened. By that I mean the things that had me calling my best friend in the middle of the night, sobbing that it was over, and time for me to pack up. Or the things that left me content and with that accomplished feeling deep inside of me. More to come on the trials and tribulations of graduate school later.
While being in the middle of the journey, the end seemed so far. However, before I knew it, my two final semesters in graduate school were before me. I wanted to go abroad to finish my practicum hours and few remaining course hours. Of course, 89% of my desire to go abroad was because of a boy, and only the remaining 11% was of my own true desire. As fate would have it, my plans fell through and I was not able to get the money to study abroad. At the time, when my plans were unraveling, I was disappointed, but other plans were taking shape. Trust me, I bucked these new plans as hard as I could and resigned myself to be unhappy and make the least out of the situation.
In my final semester, I was juggling a lot. I had completed my practicum hours and was hired on full-time by the agency. While working, I was in the midst of completing coursework at two different universities; neither one the university I had attended for my previous coursework. I was taking four courses, working full-time and trying to keep a long-distance relationship a float. It was a miserable semester, and my only mission was to keep myself afloat. Gone was my typical overachieving personality, replaced with a “mediocre isn’t just okay, it’s what I want” mentality.
In the middle of the chaos and whirlwind of just trying to get to the end, my mom almost died. I received one of those calls that you never want. A week prior to this phone call, my mom had been in the hospital for what was suspected to be another heart attack. She was fine, doing well, a routine valve replacement would have her in the hospital for less than a week. But due to complications, that plan was ditched, and a more serious and urgent plan was needed.
I remember sitting at my office, late, on a night I had class, trying to finish a paper due in just an hour. My friend had brought her laptop to my mom’s hospital room and I was able to Skype with her. Something wasn’t right. I could tell. My mom looked as though she had been crying and there was a strained silence as three of my friends stood around my mom’s hospital bed. I ended Skype and something felt unsettled and I began to look at plane tickets.
My fears were confirmed when my friend called in just a few minutes after ending Skype.
“Jessica, you have to come home right away. Your mom is having another heart attack and the doctors can’t wait to do surgery after the allergy testing. They have to do a bypass and valve replacement immediately. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
My mom did make it. But not without complications. Her lungs failed following the surgery and she was in ICU for a week on a ventilator and bi-pap machine. When she woke up, she couldn’t see. Doctors told her that it was temporary, that her vision would improve eventually. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case, and a diagnoses 5 months after surgery would confirm my mother’s worst fears- she was left permanently blind from the surgery.
While my mom was recovering, I had to go back and try to finish my coursework and catch up on assignments at my job. I had no energy and didn’t care, just as long as I graduated. I missed many classes and the professors seemed uncaring about my situation, one even demanded the actual plane ticket and phone numbers of my mom’s hospital to confirm my absence. And of course, the long-term relationship began to fall apart; constant fighting, arguing, broken promises and the relationship would end and restart a dozen times a month. In the middle of this relationship, my boyfriend’s father attained a position at a NGO in a small South Pacific country. Ironically, I remembered someone from one of my classes having said he was from that very country.
The next time the class met where the man had said he was from that small country in the South Pacific, I did what Ialways seem to do best, I approached a near stranger and abruptly said “Hey! Are you from Papua New Guinea?” He confirmed this and I told him I had questions about his country, for which he nodded and took his seat in the back of the over-crowded classroom. The next class session, I sat next to him. He didn’t smile or talk and at the end of the class he’d rush out of the room. For the remaining of the semester, he did this and we barely greeted each other. One time, he did suggest we trade emails, but then he rushed out of class without the exchange occurring. On the last day of class, the students gave presentations and I caught his name. Yes, I hadn’t even known his name! At the end of class, he again rushed out. I wrote his name down and put it away in my notebook.
My relationship with my then-boyfriend had deteriorated severely. He became occupied about his impending move to Papua New Guinea and while talking I mentioned my classmate that was from there. He urged me to email him and ask questions about the country.
I found his name in my notebook, and of course, I facebooked him. Within a few hours he returned my message.
Now, I’ve brought you to the beginning.
I also can’t bear to say goodbye.
I thought if I started a blog, I might be able to handle the messiness of being apart. Let me recap and start from the beginning, as starting in the middle is nowhere to begin in any story.
I grew up. . . .well, no, I won’t start at the very beginning, but just early enough to paint the scene. I moved to a moderate-size Midwestern city in August 2007. I had received a small (eat-Aldi’s-spaghetti-three-times-a-week-and-always-late-on-the-rent-size) scholarship to start a master’s degree program in social work. With less than $100 in my pocket (my checking account was overdrawn) I drove my beat-up, unairconditioned Subaru 400 miles in 100+ degree heat to start a new adventure.
An adventure it was, albeit exciting, but most days it was hard. The kind of hard that made me want to give up, drop out and move back home to the safety and security of my family and friends. My first semester was especially difficult- my mom suffered a heart attack just weeks after my arrival at school, the financial aid package I was promised failed to arrive until the semester was half-over, and the course work was not what I had bargained for, nor was the unfriendliness I encountered in my program.
I did what any girl in my position would do- I sucked it up, got a part-time job and moved in with an apartment full of Asians to cut my living expenses in half. While living with an apartment full of Asians may have seemed economical at the time, in the long-run it cost me much more in things that cannot be valued in dollars or yuan.
It took me two-and-a-half years to complete my master’s degree in social work. And in that time, I managed to:
Lose my scholarship
Move four times
Date men from 3 different continents
Gain my scholarship back
Find infatuation
Complete 800+ hours of practicum
Looking at that list, it’s not even a small overview of what really happened. By that I mean the things that had me calling my best friend in the middle of the night, sobbing that it was over, and time for me to pack up. Or the things that left me content and with that accomplished feeling deep inside of me. More to come on the trials and tribulations of graduate school later.
While being in the middle of the journey, the end seemed so far. However, before I knew it, my two final semesters in graduate school were before me. I wanted to go abroad to finish my practicum hours and few remaining course hours. Of course, 89% of my desire to go abroad was because of a boy, and only the remaining 11% was of my own true desire. As fate would have it, my plans fell through and I was not able to get the money to study abroad. At the time, when my plans were unraveling, I was disappointed, but other plans were taking shape. Trust me, I bucked these new plans as hard as I could and resigned myself to be unhappy and make the least out of the situation.
In my final semester, I was juggling a lot. I had completed my practicum hours and was hired on full-time by the agency. While working, I was in the midst of completing coursework at two different universities; neither one the university I had attended for my previous coursework. I was taking four courses, working full-time and trying to keep a long-distance relationship a float. It was a miserable semester, and my only mission was to keep myself afloat. Gone was my typical overachieving personality, replaced with a “mediocre isn’t just okay, it’s what I want” mentality.
In the middle of the chaos and whirlwind of just trying to get to the end, my mom almost died. I received one of those calls that you never want. A week prior to this phone call, my mom had been in the hospital for what was suspected to be another heart attack. She was fine, doing well, a routine valve replacement would have her in the hospital for less than a week. But due to complications, that plan was ditched, and a more serious and urgent plan was needed.
I remember sitting at my office, late, on a night I had class, trying to finish a paper due in just an hour. My friend had brought her laptop to my mom’s hospital room and I was able to Skype with her. Something wasn’t right. I could tell. My mom looked as though she had been crying and there was a strained silence as three of my friends stood around my mom’s hospital bed. I ended Skype and something felt unsettled and I began to look at plane tickets.
My fears were confirmed when my friend called in just a few minutes after ending Skype.
“Jessica, you have to come home right away. Your mom is having another heart attack and the doctors can’t wait to do surgery after the allergy testing. They have to do a bypass and valve replacement immediately. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
My mom did make it. But not without complications. Her lungs failed following the surgery and she was in ICU for a week on a ventilator and bi-pap machine. When she woke up, she couldn’t see. Doctors told her that it was temporary, that her vision would improve eventually. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case, and a diagnoses 5 months after surgery would confirm my mother’s worst fears- she was left permanently blind from the surgery.
While my mom was recovering, I had to go back and try to finish my coursework and catch up on assignments at my job. I had no energy and didn’t care, just as long as I graduated. I missed many classes and the professors seemed uncaring about my situation, one even demanded the actual plane ticket and phone numbers of my mom’s hospital to confirm my absence. And of course, the long-term relationship began to fall apart; constant fighting, arguing, broken promises and the relationship would end and restart a dozen times a month. In the middle of this relationship, my boyfriend’s father attained a position at a NGO in a small South Pacific country. Ironically, I remembered someone from one of my classes having said he was from that very country.
The next time the class met where the man had said he was from that small country in the South Pacific, I did what Ialways seem to do best, I approached a near stranger and abruptly said “Hey! Are you from Papua New Guinea?” He confirmed this and I told him I had questions about his country, for which he nodded and took his seat in the back of the over-crowded classroom. The next class session, I sat next to him. He didn’t smile or talk and at the end of the class he’d rush out of the room. For the remaining of the semester, he did this and we barely greeted each other. One time, he did suggest we trade emails, but then he rushed out of class without the exchange occurring. On the last day of class, the students gave presentations and I caught his name. Yes, I hadn’t even known his name! At the end of class, he again rushed out. I wrote his name down and put it away in my notebook.
My relationship with my then-boyfriend had deteriorated severely. He became occupied about his impending move to Papua New Guinea and while talking I mentioned my classmate that was from there. He urged me to email him and ask questions about the country.
I found his name in my notebook, and of course, I facebooked him. Within a few hours he returned my message.
Now, I’ve brought you to the beginning.
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