On June 1st students returned to Christava Mahilalayam, filling the corridors with the familiar, smiling faces I so greatly missed during the holiday. While the school’s reopening brings with it the less-loved aspects of teaching (after the first week, my voice is a bit tired), I am thrilled to return to my community and my routine. Yet, amid the joy of this reunion, conversations often turn to my quickly approaching departure and the task of saying goodbye.
After school I have been visiting the home of one of my students. This particular student used to live near U.C. College and, therefore, shared my bus stop. Because of her family’s close proximity to my apartment, I spent many afternoons at their home – enough that I began referring to them as my ‘pseudo host family.’ Recently they moved out of Aluva, increasing the commute from a five-minute walk to a half-hour drive. Thus, I now reach them by school bus. As I talked with my student and her parents over tea on Monday afternoon, the topic turned to my remaining days in India. We discussed our time together and the upcoming task of saying goodbye; by the end of the conversation, I found that my ‘host mom’ and I were both on the verge of tears. Two months suddenly feels so short.
A couple weeks ago I had to say my first goodbye: a friend from the Mandiram Society (Becca’s site) left for Utter Pradesh (UP) where he will be serving as a missionary for the next year. Just next to Delhi, UP is a two-day’s train journey from Kerala; they have different food, a different language, a different climate, and a different culture . . . In many ways, my friend’s year of service within his own country is comparable to mine in a foreign land. The weekend before he left for UP, my friend invited us (the other YAVs and me) to his home. We spent two days visiting with his family, eating delicious and exotic fruit (much of it straight from the back yard), and playing in the rain. On Sunday we worshipped with his home church and were able to celebrate in his commissioning. As I participated in the congregation’s prayers and watched them say goodbye, my thoughts drifted back to my own commissioning last August. At that point I was experiencing a mix of emotions - excitement, fear, sadness, anticipation. India was a great unknown, but I was coming with the support of a loving family and faith community.
Now it seems I have returned to that place of mixed emotions. I am excited to return home to friends and family, most of whom I will have not seen for eleven months. I am excited to begin the next phase of my life at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and The University of Texas at Austin’s School of Social Work. And, yes, I am excited for my skin color and my native tongue to be signs of belonging rather than signs of foreignness. Yet coming home means leaving another loving and supportive community and relationships I have come to truly cherish.
Last Sunday was Pentecost, a day when we celebrate the Spirit breaking down barriers and reaffirming our oneness as God’s people. Though a tongue of flame has not yet rested upon my shoulder enabling me to speak Malayalam (I’m still waiting), I have taken great comfort this year in a certain universal language. Hospitality and welcome, smiles and laughter, the wonder of children and the waves of strangers are all things that transcend cultural divides. These are the things that have helped create home in a foreign land.
By Sudie
Also published at www.sudieniesen.com
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