Two Years

Today, amazingly enough, is not only Teachers' Day. It's also the two-year anniversary of my arrival in Ukraine. Time really flies.

Lately I've been noticing again things that have generally shifted to the background, no longer remarkable. On a bus to Simferopol last week (a purchasing try: I went with a friend to buy books for the new Resource Center), I found myself sitting in the dusty, rocking bus and watching the grey landscape roll by, the crows sweeping up in sheets from the harvested fields, the way I did a year and more ago. In my two more months here, how many more trips will I make to Simferopol? How many more times will I watch this landscape?

Walking from errand to errand in town, I remark again on the sidewalks. I'm going back to the land of smooth, even walkways, where I don't need to watch my every footstep. And I'm going back to the land of cars, of course. How much will I walk at all? I'd like to think that I'll still walk a lot, but am I fooling myself?

At school today I got flowers from classes that I don't even teach: classes I may have visited once, or taught in a previous year. My students know I'm leaving; they're sad when we talk about it, and everyone asks me--more often even than when I first arrived--Do you miss your homeland? Will you come back to visit?

The answer to the second question is easier: I'd like to, I say, but it's an expensive trip and I'm not sure when it will be possible.

The first question is more difficult. Yes, I miss America, but I'm also a little afraid of it. It will be so big and noisy and accessible. Funny to be intimidated by accessibility, but I am. I'm dazed and overwhelmed by my infrequent visits to Ukrainian grocery stores, and the biggest Ukrainian grocery store doesn't hold a candle to the average American one. I don't think I'll know what to do with myself.

At the same time, there are some things I want with a strange sort of craving, like a hunger. On that same trip to Simferopol last week, watching the sun come up, I suddenly really wished I were in a car, beginning a road trip, and that I could pull over at a gas station somewhere and buy a big coffee, and pour in some of that flavored creamer they sometimes have, and then get back on the road with a coffee at hand, and the steam from the coffee making the whole car smell good. And outside the sun would be coming up.

This was the first time since I got here that I've actually missed driving, and I pulled out my drivers' license (which I'd retrieved from a safe in Kyiv last time I was there, but not really looked at in two years) and realized that--contrary to what I'd thought--it did not expire in 2006, but in 2007. And I was so happy.

I haven't even mentioned family and friends, although of course I miss them, too. But there are people here that I'll miss when I'm gone. I've started thinking about gifts, and putting aside the things that I want to give to certain people when I leave. I'll give this book to Albina, and those two to Inna. What about all the children I work with? My debate kids especially. I need to do something for them, too.

I should probably throw myself a couple of goodbye parties, although that's a big expense and a fair amount of work to boot. I haven't decided about that yet.

So here I am, on my two year anniversary. I didn't even realize it until another volunteer sent me a message.

Time flies.