life without warning

I began this post mere hours before our worst fears were confirmed, we were being evacuated. Because of that, what you're about to read is a series of snippets along this journey that began a week ago today. You'll just get to experience this with me, every disjointed moment of processing, every time I thought I made some semblance of progress in understanding what what happening and wrote it down so I didn't forget, so I couldn't backslide, every time I was numb and knew the words would only come through my typing fingers, like they so often do. It's an ending that I'm not sure about yet. I can't decide if I should punctuate it with a semi-colon or a period, or If I should just wait in the hope that someone else will punctuate it for me. I know much is left to come, and surely it will flow through my fingers just as this has. With that, I'll get to it.

An ominous view on my last day in the office, hours before the city was quarantined to allow for mass disinfection.

Thursday, March 12th, 9:00 pm, sitting on the couch with Niku for what would be our final movie night

Two. Four. Six. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty-three.

Twenty-three, that's where we are right now. Four days, twenty-three infections, one death. The world is crumbling. It has been for a while, just from behind the television screen. Now, it's right here. It's crumbling around me.

We have heard little to nothing since Covid struck. Everything is rumor and the result of worried, scared people sitting and letting their minds wander while we wait for the next number. Everything is me, sitting here, letting my mind wander while I wait for some answers.

My eyes dry in the hope that I still had a few days and my determination to make them good ones.

See, not long ago, I was so caught up in the dread of a goodbye nearly a year away. This week, every day could well be my last in Çorovodë. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that I could be sitting, quarantined in my bedroom in Salina, KS, this time next week. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that the closure I would have had after having planned in detail every goodbye may never happen. That maybe I will just, simply fall of the face of the earth as I know it and enter back into one I hadn't planned to see for a long time.

It's strange really, the idea that the time table I had counted on as solid is, in fact, so very fragile. It's living every second in limbo where I don't know if I should prepare to quarantine myself and ride this out or start packing my bags. It's this internal fight with myself that I should do all the things on my Albania bucket list, but also that, if I do that, all of the sudden it feels so much more real.

Tuesday, March 17th, 11:00 am, somewhere above Iowa probably

It’s been five days since I got the email, four since I got the call, three since I said goodbye to a few of the people I love, and two since I boarded the first flight on this journey back home. Now, I’m sitting in a tiny airplane, looking out over the wing into the nothingness in the form of giant, white fluff, bound for Salina, KS.

I don’t really know how I feel. I can’t put my finger on it in any way. It’s just like a hollowness. I think I’m still in shock and just haven’t had the opportunity to fully process it. I walked away from Çorovodë in a daze. I had twelve hours to pack up my life and attempt to find closure, in neither was I successful. One of my suitcases is stranded in Albania because the getaway car wasn’t big enough. I left my apartment in shambles, all of the many things I had purchased to make my home feel like my own just strewn about.

My final Albanian lunch.

Thursday, March 19th, 5:45 am, only awake to catch my mom before she leaves for work because I need her to check over my resume

It all happened so fast. I don’t know where to go from here. I'm struggling in this sort of personal and professional limbo. Every fiber of my being longs for the life I left. My heart aches for the people and the place that was so suddenly ripped away. I want so badly to wake up from this dream. The hope that this too shall pass and that it shall pass quickly, that I'll get the call that there is a ticket ready for me if I want it. All the while, there is this nagging feeling that I am a burden. That regardless of the fact that the plot of this journey has effectively skipped the entirety of climactic action, gone directly to a very confusing and unsettling ending, and instead added a deleted scenes special feature that is set to release at a later date, it's over. Or is it?

Is it responsible for me to wait around for that call? I'm 25, and I just moved back in with my parents, all the plans I had to start applying for jobs, look for places to live, get a car, and start living my own adult life over the next year having been completely obliterated. So now I'm stuck with this dilemma. Do I call it and accept that my Peace Corps journey is just simply over, get a job and throw myself into a life here, tethering myself to it all the while? Or, do I wait? Do I give myself grace to have hope that I will get the chance to finish what I started? The problem is that I'm not ready to be home. I thought I had a year to figure out my next steps and make a plan to land on my feet when I walked off that plane. Instead, I collapsed into my father's arms, and I haven't been able to pick myself up since. Instead, I have realized my worst fears and become an adult mooch to my family, just hoping that my parents' grace won't run out before I can find some solid ground. (No pressure, guys)

Albania, I love you this much. I miss you way more.

I'm not sure what the answer is. It feels like I walked into a world where everything is on hold anyway. I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. Is it just allowing me to hold on to limbo in a way that will make the inevitable decision that much harder? Or is it giving me the time to process and grieve that I so desperately need? Does allowing myself to process and grieve admit defeat, though? Does finding peace with this mean that I'm letting go? I don't know.

There was a point where the tears stopped flowing. Perhaps it was simply dehydration, but more than that, amidst it all, there was a point where everything went numb. Maybe it was my mind flipping the mercy switch because my heart just couldn't take more anguish of the goodbye. I don't know.

All I know is that the past year of my life has been defined by uncertainty. That's the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. You just show up, give it your best when you can and give yourself grace when you need it, but at the end of the day, your life isn't your own. Suddenly the rules of the game take a swift 180 and land you on your butt, sobbing over the readings that would never get to your students.

The tradition is to ring the bell when you close your service. Obviously it was not meant to end.

It was radio silence for so long. Then I got that email that brought me to my knees. Originally we thought we were safe for the weekend, transportation in Albania is locked down after all. So, I sobbed myself to sleep, woke up parched and puffy-eyed, and set out to make the most of the few days that I had left. I refused to pack. I roamed the stone-laid streets, ate two very Albanian meals, and clung to the person who has grabbed hold of my heart in a way I could never have anticipated. When I got a call to check on my packing progress, I threw a couple of things in a bag after admitting that I had done absolutely nothing. That night, I got the call that the embassy cars were coming for me in 12 hours.

I threw everything I had in my suitcases with no rhyme or reason. I'm not sure where anything is, and I still can't bring myself to look. Unpacking feels like a task I just can't tackle right now. All I know is that I woke early that morning, determined to find the people I needed to say goodbye to, and walked out of my door to an empty city. There wasn't a soul in sight, not a store window bright. The car showed up, and I got in. I watched as Niku sobbed in the road, clung to his sobbing mother, and I was whisked away, just like that.

Moments after I got the email. Niku insisted that we take pictures both because "we don't have much more time to do so", but also because I "need to smile". This was the result, featuring a shirtless Niku because I snotted all over it.

This story doesn't have an ending, it's only over because I have nothing left to say. All I know is that life so often comes without warning. As it so often is, this post is just me needing to process, and doing it the only way I know how. Someday I hope to find resolution, whatever that may mean. Until then, I'll stay home and do my part in fighting what has brought the world as we know it to it's knees. For those of you reading this, remember the power that you have to help, but also the power you have to hurt, during these crucial moments. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay home. Stay hopeful. I know I will, even if it is punctuated by tears.

To be continued.

Until next time,

Mo