The Fourth of July

Last year, on Independence Day, I nearly forgot that it was a holiday. I didn’t take in the beach or go to the parade. I sat on my floor and cried.

It’s not easy to pack your life in two bags, especially who you have no idea what that new life will be like. But, eventually, I stuffed the bags to the brim and decided to enjoy my home nation on its celebrated day before I leave it.

Fireworks sparkled over the city and I sat with my mom, hand in hand, knowing that would be our last moment alone for a long time. The next day, my family took me to the airport and I was off, not to return for at least a year.

To be here now is another unreal feeling in an entire year of unreal. I never imagined that I would be home just a year later, but that’s what happened. I can’t even begin to summarize the last year, however, I tend to see a lot of sadness – a death of a friend, the evacuation, troubles with reenrollment and this flood. But those might be the markers, but the last year has been the most incredible of my life and, even with all the tribulations, it’s been one of the best.

Despite all things, I am happy with my life. I am in between Peace Corps services and I am producing my best reporting ever. I see friends and family, and for those I don’t, there are lengthy emails and phone calls.

I didn’t plan to be here, but nothing about this past year was planned, and that’s the true blessing.

Happy Fourth of July, my lovelies.


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