Been home now two weeks.Feels more like two months.
Memories of my nine and a half months in Ghana, eight of which were spent working with Journalists for Human Rights (JHR), come in flashes ... already feeling like ancient flashbacks, though some situations occurred less than a month ago.
I remember the devastating feeling in the pit of my belly as I said a sad goodbye outside Accra's Kotoka airport on July 16. Tears streaming down my face, my breath taken away by overwhelming sobs.
Fear enveloped me.
Fear of losing what I was leaving behind. Apprehensively questioning what could possibly lie ahead once back upon my homeland, Canada.
The anxiety hasn't ceased.
Only wish, instead of doubting, I could embrace this erratic and insecure transitional time in my life. After all, following resigning from a full-time job with salary plus benefits, and signing up for my JHR adventure in Ghana last July, what should I expect?
But the question "What are you going to do now?" referencing various areas of my life keeps creeping up in my mind and naturally out of the mouth's of everyone I meet; like a chilly, breathy whisper in my ear.
A clear "I don't know." is all I can say.
Is that okay?
In between the consistent "I don't knows" I have experienced much for the first time all over again.
Toronto's incredible skyline and shimmering high rise buildings hanging over me as I venture up Bay Street from Union Station. I gaze up awestruck like a true first-comer to any major city should do.
The rush of suits swerving around me, briefcases swinging, stone cold eyes staring ahead intently focused upon the minutes left to hop and squeeze onto that 905 GO-TRAIN. I struggle to keep up with that, once normal, rapid pace.
The realization during a bike ride that Toronto's east end boardwalk is actually quite beautiful on a warm summer's day and the beach isn't strewn with black polythene bags, or feet away from a clearly visible dumping ground, nor is anyone completing their morning constitution along its sidelines.
The odd use of the English language from a dinner party ... describing an overpriced bill as obscene and brutal. What are the true definitions of these words and is the feeling of being ripped off worthy of their use?
Then there's the 'typical' Toronto attitude encountered when a TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) streetcar driver rudely refuses a ticket bought before I left the country. I mouth back much, screaming out a sarcastic "Welcome Home to Toronto, Ontario!" for all on board to hear.
And, in contrast, the ultimate comfort in visiting adored family members, dear friends, respected former co-workers; sharing a memory, a West African experience, a joke, hug, perhaps a few tears. The realization just how much they were all missed.
Yes, it's been two weeks.
And, I am biding my time.
The cliche of reversed culture shock has settled in, as I attempt to settle back in.
I don't have a job.
I am broke. Dirt broke.
My 2007 taxes haven't been filed.
I have no where to live that I can call my own.
My 30th birthday falls in just over two months.
And, as of now, I don't have a return date to the country I just left and yearn for again in so many, many ways.
But, I'm okay.
I'll be okay.
And, isn't this how I planned it anyway?
Fear enveloped me.
Fear of losing what I was leaving behind. Apprehensively questioning what could possibly lie ahead once back upon my homeland, Canada.
The anxiety hasn't ceased.
Only wish, instead of doubting, I could embrace this erratic and insecure transitional time in my life. After all, following resigning from a full-time job with salary plus benefits, and signing up for my JHR adventure in Ghana last July, what should I expect?
But the question "What are you going to do now?" referencing various areas of my life keeps creeping up in my mind and naturally out of the mouth's of everyone I meet; like a chilly, breathy whisper in my ear.
A clear "I don't know." is all I can say.
Is that okay?
In between the consistent "I don't knows" I have experienced much for the first time all over again.
Toronto's incredible skyline and shimmering high rise buildings hanging over me as I venture up Bay Street from Union Station. I gaze up awestruck like a true first-comer to any major city should do.
The rush of suits swerving around me, briefcases swinging, stone cold eyes staring ahead intently focused upon the minutes left to hop and squeeze onto that 905 GO-TRAIN. I struggle to keep up with that, once normal, rapid pace.
The realization during a bike ride that Toronto's east end boardwalk is actually quite beautiful on a warm summer's day and the beach isn't strewn with black polythene bags, or feet away from a clearly visible dumping ground, nor is anyone completing their morning constitution along its sidelines.
The odd use of the English language from a dinner party ... describing an overpriced bill as obscene and brutal. What are the true definitions of these words and is the feeling of being ripped off worthy of their use?
Then there's the 'typical' Toronto attitude encountered when a TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) streetcar driver rudely refuses a ticket bought before I left the country. I mouth back much, screaming out a sarcastic "Welcome Home to Toronto, Ontario!" for all on board to hear.
And, in contrast, the ultimate comfort in visiting adored family members, dear friends, respected former co-workers; sharing a memory, a West African experience, a joke, hug, perhaps a few tears. The realization just how much they were all missed.
Yes, it's been two weeks.
And, I am biding my time.
The cliche of reversed culture shock has settled in, as I attempt to settle back in.
I don't have a job.
I am broke. Dirt broke.
My 2007 taxes haven't been filed.
I have no where to live that I can call my own.
My 30th birthday falls in just over two months.
And, as of now, I don't have a return date to the country I just left and yearn for again in so many, many ways.
But, I'm okay.
I'll be okay.
And, isn't this how I planned it anyway?
