Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Time for a Reality Check
I began to realize that I really needed to take the home leave that I had been postponing all these weeks. Emails from friends at home expressed their concern. I had been away for a long time, almost two years, and I didn’t write much, never called. Some friends flat out said that they were concerned that maybe I had gone crazy or had gone native or both.
Meanwhile, I had hesitations about going back. I had parents back home who’d gone through a bitter divorce some seven years earlier. My mother’s one-sided conversations still essentially consisted of her litany of what a bastard my father was. My father essentially was carrying on with his life as though waking up from life with my mother as though it were just a bad dream. I had a sister who was a hysteric, another one who was normal, but who infuriated my mother by marrying a non-Jewish man, and a poor younger brother who was likely traumatized by the rest of the family into immersing himself Orthodox Judaism.
Being away from it all, I always marveled over the calm, stress-free environment that I lived in. It may have been a bit boring, but nothing compared to the peace of mind that Tashkent offered. The flip side of that loneliness was the priceless peace of mind.
The end of my days culminated in the pure, sweet silence of cigarette smoke and the fizz of beer foam. My problems and responsibilities were few. I needed to wake up in the morning, feed myself and go to my job. Otherwise, I felt as though I didn’t really have any cares in the world. I would sit in my kitchen by the window and look at the sky and the stars and the moon. I hung a map of the stars and constellations next to the window and I would try to recognize them when I looked out the window. I would turn the phone ringer off most nights just to avoid phone calls from the US. But I forgot to turn it off that night. It was Yulia, who I had nearly forgotten about, nearly forgotten about that night I had held her close and danced with her that was almost a week or two earlier. I suddenly remembered that tomorrow was her birthday.
“You haven’t forgotten about my birthday, have you?” She asked. And I wished at that moment that she had forgotten about inviting me.
“Of course not,” I said, realizing that it was my destiny to go and I had no choice in the matter. ¶ 12:09 AM
I began to realize that I really needed to take the home leave that I had been postponing all these weeks. Emails from friends at home expressed their concern. I had been away for a long time, almost two years, and I didn’t write much, never called. Some friends flat out said that they were concerned that maybe I had gone crazy or had gone native or both.
Meanwhile, I had hesitations about going back. I had parents back home who’d gone through a bitter divorce some seven years earlier. My mother’s one-sided conversations still essentially consisted of her litany of what a bastard my father was. My father essentially was carrying on with his life as though waking up from life with my mother as though it were just a bad dream. I had a sister who was a hysteric, another one who was normal, but who infuriated my mother by marrying a non-Jewish man, and a poor younger brother who was likely traumatized by the rest of the family into immersing himself Orthodox Judaism.
Being away from it all, I always marveled over the calm, stress-free environment that I lived in. It may have been a bit boring, but nothing compared to the peace of mind that Tashkent offered. The flip side of that loneliness was the priceless peace of mind.
The end of my days culminated in the pure, sweet silence of cigarette smoke and the fizz of beer foam. My problems and responsibilities were few. I needed to wake up in the morning, feed myself and go to my job. Otherwise, I felt as though I didn’t really have any cares in the world. I would sit in my kitchen by the window and look at the sky and the stars and the moon. I hung a map of the stars and constellations next to the window and I would try to recognize them when I looked out the window. I would turn the phone ringer off most nights just to avoid phone calls from the US. But I forgot to turn it off that night. It was Yulia, who I had nearly forgotten about, nearly forgotten about that night I had held her close and danced with her that was almost a week or two earlier. I suddenly remembered that tomorrow was her birthday.
“You haven’t forgotten about my birthday, have you?” She asked. And I wished at that moment that she had forgotten about inviting me.
“Of course not,” I said, realizing that it was my destiny to go and I had no choice in the matter. ¶ 12:09 AM
