Disconnect

Tomorrow I will return back to site after a two week conference with my cohort. For so many reasons, it was what I needed. I was given so much useful information about my job, my counterpart and I bonded even more than we already have, and my friends gave me the "American getaway" that truly re-energized me. 

This conference was also challenging for me. I started asking myself questions about what it means to be here, if I'm really meant for this job, and how I will cope with the overwhelming responsibilities that await me when I arrive back at site. 

I think all moments, the rejuvenating and the difficult, were moments that I needed for perspective. I don't have to be here. I heard that thought more times than I ever have this week, both in my head and spoken to me. It cuts me deep, that thought, because it's true. 

But it's also something I refuse to give into. Regardless of the hardships, this is what I am meant to be doing. There are peaks and there are valleys. I am in the valley now and I want to be transparent about that in this post. This job has not been perfect. But everything it has been is everything I need to accept. 

I wrote this poem in an attempt to navigate my feelings a bit. It felt good to write it, like I have a grasp on what's going on inside my mind. I wanted to share it to, again, be transparent, but also because I am proud of it. 

Reconnect is over. As my mom says, "time to go back to your reality." See you tomorrow, Hua Hin. 

It started with stitches.

A long, deep scar looped her head. Its teeth sunk into her skin, the red line raised and agitated. It was holding her together. It was tearing me apart. Breathe, it’s over now.

Then it was books.

Running my hands over the covers, holding its weight, wishing I could jump into its story without looking back. It was sanctity I asked for. It was sanctity I received. These pages will give me shelter now.

Soon it was coffee breaks.

Running out of conference rooms, leaving those questions behind me, drowning them with distractions and Ovaltine. It was the job I had to do. It was the job I didn’t do. Your mind is going farther than it should be.

Of course next came bottle openers. They were the edges of shelves, people’s belt buckles, or just other beers to be drunk later. 3 passes, then 4. My eyes start to crack as the sun comes up. It was another night offered. It was another night lost. I think I’ll start running now.

Not long after, it was pillows. Its softness held to my stomach as I rock back and forth, looking down but not speaking, hair on my arms raised from the cold. It was a fire I started. It was a fire I could not put out. Help me, mother, I cannot go home.

Stitches, books, coffee breaks, bottle openers, and pillows. Microphones, backpacks, broken glasses, teardrops, poured out whisky, and taxi cars. They swarmed in and thrusted out, and a shrieking silence rings in my brain.

Nothing came after that.