In Pieces

I expected waves of depression – interspersed moments of tears – for the first few days when I got back. I expected discontent, sadness, and despondency for at least a week. I expected that life wouldn’t return to normal immediately. 

I was prepared for my emotions; I had mentally analyzed the situations so that I felt I was as ready as I could be. I thought I had overestimated the amount of reverse culture shock I’d experience, and I was anxious to see if I was right. 

What I didn’t expect, however, was that my sadness would not come crashing down on me; rather, it comes when I least expect it. It comes when I am standing at work and say “yup” the same way my host brother and I joked in. It comes when I am visiting a friend and remind myself to ask before I throw the cherry pits into the yard. It comes when I am sitting at home and wait for my host mom’s voice to fill the porch. It comes when I am waking up in the morning and hear none of the familiar “village” sounds. It comes when I am shopping at Walmart and look at the apricots that are nowhere near Georgian standards.

I never expect it, which makes the feeling worse. The longing for Georgia rushes in, overwhelms me, and leaves just as quickly as it came. Instead of uncontrollable sobs, I am left with the feeling of holding myself together – like the memories threaten to break me apart. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and I’m left reeling. 

In the first few days, these moments were the hardest to understand and accept. It’s been a week now, and while they haven’t decreased in number or intensity, I am better able to anticipate their presence. When my mind moves to a certain train of thought, I know a sharp stab reminding how much I miss Georgia won’t be far behind. I wait for a moment while the ache for my second home washes over me, knowing that it will subdue soon, and I will be able to unclench my arms from their instinctive position around my stomach as I try to hold myself together for that one second.

I realize I’ll be back in two months, so it may seem a bit dramatic. Honestly, I don’t care. I’m away from my new normal. I’m away from my Georgian friends. I’m away from my Georgian church. I’m away from my Georgian family. And it sucks. Please don’t misunderstand me; I love being home. I love being around my family, my American friends, and McDonalds breakfast. But a piece of me is missing…a piece of me is still in Georgian.