So here’s the deal. I am super mad at you, God. Angry, furious and extremely bitter. Why, God? Honestly, what are you thinking? I can’t do this again! Why do you have to take away every single person I love?
Tell me this, God. When is it your turn? When are you going to announce that it’s your turn to leave me? Or do you leave without goodbyes? I haven’t figured out yet what’s more painful.
I can’t do this. I’m supposed to delight in Your ways? I think Your ways suck.
- From my journal, May 23rd 2010
Yet here I am doing exactly what hurt me so much.
I have been here now for four weeks. Which means that I am leaving in four weeks. The girls know it. They ask me all the time, “Cuándo vas a salir?” When are you leaving? Because in a world of people coming – going – coming – going, that’s what they want to know: how long is this person even going to be here. How close they should let themselves get.
I know, because I was that girl. The one who asked everyone when they were going to leave. The one who spent my whole life wondering, not if, but when my friends were going to move to a different place. It’s interesting because in this sense, I have a lot more in common with the girls at the Oasis than I do with other TCKs. I’m weird. Most of us move at least four times before we turn 18. I didn’t. I never left – people just left me. And that’s the life of many of the Oasis girls too.
Teams come and go. Interns come and go. Missionaries come and go. And even some of the girls at the Oasis come and go.
The strange thing is that since I was never the one to come and go, I now want to. I have this idea in my head of what an “ideal” life would be – and it would not involve staying in one place. Three or four years, max. And then it would be on to somewhere new, the next country, another adventure. Thailand – India – Nigeria – Columbia – Amsterdam – Cambodia. Wanderlust. Fernweh. I almost feel like it’s in my nature.
Every time I’ve imagined this life of slowly making my way around the world, it seems perfect. Never getting bored with one place. Learning to speak ten languages. Literally becoming a citizen of the world. And certainly never staying in one place long enough to let anyone leave me. Nope, I’m done with that. Now I get to be the one to leave.
It hadn’t hit me until this summer, though, what this version of the “good life” really means. Yes, maybe it’s the perfect lifestyle for what I want. But since I really, really hope I end up working with kids in some form or another, it also means leaving a long train of hurt behind me, as I become one of the people that made my life miserable growing up. The person who, when asked when they are going to leave, will not be able to tell the sweet little kid “I’m not.” Because I will already be planning my next destination.
My issue now is that even though I’ve recognized the problem with my plan to “live the world” it doesn’t mean that I know what I’m going to do about it. I still want it. I want to move all the time. Selfishly I want to move so often that I can never let anyone else hurt me. All at the expense of other people, and at the expense of each kid I come to love.
I am a hypocrite.