I'm writing this to keep away the tears. My parents just left for the airport in Delhi. It's not the first goodbye we share, and I've grown more acquainted with the sharp pain that comes in the moment of the last hug. I'm more familiar with the numbness that slowly overcomes me as I continue walking through security, writing that paper due tomorrow, or -in this case- telling the world how sad I am in the hopes that I'll press "publish" and it will go away.
I'm more acquainted with the pain of goodbyes than I was before I left for college. That doesn't make me any better at them, though. I'm so grateful that I have the kind of parents I'm sad to leave and that I'm lucky to spend time with.
I don't feel this way all the time. In fact, I'm only admitting to it now that they've left and I'm alone in the hotel room; at least, I feel alone even though soon I'll be sharing these thoughts with all of you.
When my parents first told me they wanted to come visit, in my mind I rolled my eyes eyes at them. This couldn't be. There's no way they could follow me halfway around the world.
India inspired the following words when I used to hear it named: magical, challenging, exotic, and more importantly, so far away that my parents couldn't possibly come visit. That was part of my logic for coming here. India's always drawn me for all the stereotypical reasons. It was also the place where a lot of my favorite authors are from, and consequently the place where some of my favorite books take place. More than this, however, I wanted to come here and find out what I'm made out of. I wanted to prove to myself that I can go out and make things happen for myself, by myself, that I can go camping for days on end and live out of a backpack and brave a continent I didn't know on my own, without parents to come and help me move out and top up my credit card when I'm in a tight spot. It's not that I'm ungrateful for their support; rather, I just needed to prove to myself that I could do something like this solely by virtue of my strength of character. I needed to feel less sheltered in order to feel that my achievements were real and not the product of that sheltered -and also incredibly fortunate-upbringing.
After setting out to do all of this, you can imagine my surprise when my parents first expressed interest in coming. There's no way they can come halfway around the world, I'd thought, and here they were, making reservations, telling me they didn't care much about what they saw as long as they saw me.
I love them. So much. I am the product of a hell lot of love and sacrifice and dedication, and the idea of them coming to visit me grew more appealing the sicker I became. Yes, there were all these things I wanted to prove to myself, but I'd still have three weeks after the program to travel on my own. More than that, it would be so nice to see their faces, to hug them, to have them bring me chocolate and good wine. They said they didn't care what they saw, but I did. After all, it was my spring break too. Not knowing what to expect, I bought plane tickets and made hotel reservations and before I could process what was happening I was at the airport in Delhi waiting for them.
They looked like they were scared shitless. And I did nothing to make it better over the next two days. Our first stop on our one day of Delhi sightseeing was Chandi Chowk and Jami Masjid, which were highlights of my own introduction to the city months before.
Throwing a bunch of jet-lagged, scared parents into the middle of tuk tuk madness and muslim men screaming at us to leave the mosque because it was time for prayers is not the best idea. A sack of potatoes on the back of a motorcycle hit my dad on the arm and gave him a bruise he still has ten days later. Sensing that I needed to remedy the situation, fast, I shepherded us into a cab and yelled out the first thing that came into my mind: "the imperial, please." There's not many places nicer than the Imperial Hotel in Delhi, and after a morning of cow shit and smells and harassment from tourist vultures, my parents needed a little air conditioning and peace. It strikes us now that this was the perfect way to experience all the extremes of India. Within a few hours we accessed the majestic and the unpleasant, the sterilized and the vibrant, the dirty and the pristine.
These few hours summarize the trip. Though so much was awaiting us, we experienced so many swings of the pendulum, finding ourselves nauseated in Varanasi and speechless in Narlai. Our trip really was like a pendulum swinging back and forth, often within seconds, sometimes taking days or hours to make its shift from enchanted to overwhelmed.
Saying goodbye was the final swing of our journey together. Tomorrow I return to Mcleod, to all those papers I've put off. As much as I thought my parents coming would constitute some sort of a sellout, I don't feel that anymore. I am fortunate my parents could come. And though they did bring me chocolate and wine and the ability to stay at hotels with real mattresses, I organized all of this for them so they could see what I see in India and understand what I'm living and the changes that being here demands of me, the changes I'm demanding from myself by being here.
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