Changed
My grand summer adventure in Morocco is concluded. I have returned to America. But my journey has just begun, and I am not done with Morocco yet. In fact, there is much more ahead...
Last week, I awoke to a day in Marrakech of 108 degrees. I never needed an umbrella during the almost five weeks there, but the skies outside of my apartment looked ominously dark. I decided it was time to go. In a matter of hours, I changed my flight, packed my bags, tidied my apartment, lugged two suitcases and a carry-on down five flights of stairs, gave away perishable food to my apartment complex guard, turned in the keys, notified my teacher that I would not be able to make our evening lesson, texted my husband to pick me up at JFK that night, lugged my bags out to the avenue, hailed a taxi, and made my way to the airport. Deposited in the departures area by my cab driver, I was immediately approached by a stranger to assist with my bags, but I declined with a la, shukran because these are not airport employees but rather some of the many who are just trying to make a living, yet, I had learned that in most matters I could fend for myself. As I entered the terminal, the skies opened with a torrential deluge, thunder, and lightning, confirming for me that I had made the right decision. This was the day.
The first leg of the trip was filled with turbulence, giving my seat partner the dry heaves. I, on the other hand, managed calmly with a meditative inner peace acquired from knowing the difference between what can be controlled and what cannot. Changing in Casablanca, I was reminded that in other parts of the world, polite queuing to go through security and customs is not the norm, but now I know how to elbow my way through to fill in the empty spaces and inch my way forward in a crowd of travelers no matter the bottleneck at the front. I am grateful for the gift of letting go of what is not important.
And so, I bid farewell to my beloved Morocco with bittersweet tears, having accomplished what I set out to do - knowing enough Arabic to converse a little with locals and writing enough poetry to perhaps cobble together a small book - and learned what I'm truly capable of on my own. Within a few days after my return, I started talking about when I would go back, much to my dear husband's consternation. I know now that my purpose there is incomplete and returning is inevitable.
So I remain, one foot on each continent, an American as well as a Moroccan, a citizen of the world, a teacher as well as a writer, a Christian as well as a Muslim, both and all, no longer strictly mono-linguistic. I am changed. I am reminded of the adage, "You cannot step in the same river twice," meaning that the river is ever-evolving as the waters flow by, so a step forward from the same embankment on different days is a step forward into a different reality. I could not possibly be the same me after this. I could not possibly look at the world in the same way, and that's a good thing. My goals were met, but there is so much more to do with my one wild and precious life.
Last week, I awoke to a day in Marrakech of 108 degrees. I never needed an umbrella during the almost five weeks there, but the skies outside of my apartment looked ominously dark. I decided it was time to go. In a matter of hours, I changed my flight, packed my bags, tidied my apartment, lugged two suitcases and a carry-on down five flights of stairs, gave away perishable food to my apartment complex guard, turned in the keys, notified my teacher that I would not be able to make our evening lesson, texted my husband to pick me up at JFK that night, lugged my bags out to the avenue, hailed a taxi, and made my way to the airport. Deposited in the departures area by my cab driver, I was immediately approached by a stranger to assist with my bags, but I declined with a la, shukran because these are not airport employees but rather some of the many who are just trying to make a living, yet, I had learned that in most matters I could fend for myself. As I entered the terminal, the skies opened with a torrential deluge, thunder, and lightning, confirming for me that I had made the right decision. This was the day.
The first leg of the trip was filled with turbulence, giving my seat partner the dry heaves. I, on the other hand, managed calmly with a meditative inner peace acquired from knowing the difference between what can be controlled and what cannot. Changing in Casablanca, I was reminded that in other parts of the world, polite queuing to go through security and customs is not the norm, but now I know how to elbow my way through to fill in the empty spaces and inch my way forward in a crowd of travelers no matter the bottleneck at the front. I am grateful for the gift of letting go of what is not important.
And so, I bid farewell to my beloved Morocco with bittersweet tears, having accomplished what I set out to do - knowing enough Arabic to converse a little with locals and writing enough poetry to perhaps cobble together a small book - and learned what I'm truly capable of on my own. Within a few days after my return, I started talking about when I would go back, much to my dear husband's consternation. I know now that my purpose there is incomplete and returning is inevitable.
So I remain, one foot on each continent, an American as well as a Moroccan, a citizen of the world, a teacher as well as a writer, a Christian as well as a Muslim, both and all, no longer strictly mono-linguistic. I am changed. I am reminded of the adage, "You cannot step in the same river twice," meaning that the river is ever-evolving as the waters flow by, so a step forward from the same embankment on different days is a step forward into a different reality. I could not possibly be the same me after this. I could not possibly look at the world in the same way, and that's a good thing. My goals were met, but there is so much more to do with my one wild and precious life.
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