Skilna∂artàra

Sunday, January 17, 2010

I’m not the kind of person to freak out, but if I were, that would have been the Thursday before I left. More specifically, when I was at work thinking of all the things I needed to do and wanted to do before leaving, but couldn’t yet. The entire day was “lemmego lemmego lemmeGO!” Getting home to pack was probably the most excruciatingly long car ride I’ve ever gone through. Which is why I’m so grateful to Disa for coming over to keep me company and distract me from exploding in six different directions while trying to pack.

There’s a song I know, learned just over a year ago from a good friend, that Disa and I sing. It’s pretty simple, the words are:

Who can sail without the wind?

Who can row without oars?

Who can part from a friend beloved, without shedding tears?

I can sail without the wind,

I can row without oars,

Yet not part from a friend beloved without shedding tears.

There are translations into all sorts of different languages, but our favorite is the Icelandic- the last line (“without shedding tears”) is “kvatt han àn skilna∂artàra”, the last word meaning “tears of parting”. There’s a word, in Icelandic, for the tears you shed when you say goodbye to someone. Which, I think, is one of the most beautiful distinctions you could make, in a word. It’s a different kind of crying than, say, being hurt or sad or angry. The “tears of parting” deserve their own word because they’re separate from all the others. It’s a different thing.

I’m not the kind of person to cry, but if I were, that would have been Friday or Saturday night, after everyone left. More specifically, after I left everyone. When it all sank in. The entire day was trying to see my friends in Minneapolis, trying to fit in some last quality time without being rushed or too stressed out. It was easy saying goodbye to people from Mount Horeb- I’m used to not seeing them for months at a time. Even some of my closest friends I’m used to saying goodbye to- but it’s always been me that stays put. Minneapolis was harder. Even if I don’t see people that often, they’re always around, on campus, a short walk or bus ride away. And, of course, there’s always the all-consuming internet.

My family and my Minneapolis-family gave me a wonderful sendoff, though- Mom and Dad and Eliza and Bob and Julie and Lolo and Smack and Linda and Ray and Sophie, and we made pizzas and spoke French and listened to the kids’ band, and sang and played.... it was the perfect way to spend my last night here. (Especially after spending all day with my sister at the Mall of America- just in case I wasn’t ready to escape the grand old U.S. of A., here’s a double shot of Everything That’s Wrong With Our Modern Society to push me onto that plane) There was so much going on it was a wonderful distraction, which is good because I started to get that panicked, having-second-thoughts feeling that of course I’d never act on but is simply annoying and hard to ignore. By the time I went to bed I was so tired I was asleep before the pit in my stomach could get too ominous.

It’s cold here in the airport. It’s 2:30 pm, in Dulles International Terminal, and I’ve been here for about three hours. The plane leaves in another three hours. It’s miserable outside and I’m right next to the big windows. My necklace is cold against my skin- it keeps falling out of my sweatshirt now that I put it on a longer, more sturdy leather cord. I miss my purple scarf. Not that I could bring it along- I doubt it’ll be this chilly where I’m headed, and it certainly won’t be this rainy. Since this morning (which started at 3a.m.) I’ve seen snow, frost, fog, and rain- again, the perfect “this is why you’re going” sendoff. The other girls are on their cell phones. By “other girls”, that is to say, there are four of us that met up in Minneapolis on the 6 o’clock flight to Chicago, to here. There are other people, students, here waiting for the plane but I’m not sure if those groups are MSID or not. The four of us have been taking turns watching the luggage and going off to find food, shampoo, internet (No luck with the internet, though.) We’ve been sharing packing stories, what-did-you-bring, how-much-did-you-read, have-you-started-taking-your-malaria-pills, etc. It’s nice we’re all the same amount of prepared, it seems, and if one of us forgot something (computer adapters, bug spray, chocolate) someone else has got it.

I feel better, being with three friends, already. I don’t remember whose name belongs to whom, but it makes me realize we’ll be fine.

As time draws near my dearest dear, when you and I must part

How little do you know of the grief and woe in my poor aching heart

Tis but I suffer for your sake, you are my love so dear

I wish that I was gone with you, or you were staying here

I wish my breast was made of glass, wherein you might behold

For there your name lies wrote my dear, in letters made of gold

In letters made of gold my love, believe me when I say

You are the only one for me until my dying day

The blackest crow that ever flew would surely turn to white

If ever I prove false to you bright day will turn to night

Bright day will turn to night, my love, the elements will mourn

If ever I prove false to you, the seas will rage and burn...