None of these have been enough to shake a sense of unease and personal tragedy from my own mind however. After an unsuccessful attempt to watch a film of some sort, I finally shut off the lights determined to sleep. It's easy to say what happened next was a panic attack, easy enough to chalk it up to hormones (that's a one-size fits all excuse for everything these days) but it didn't feel like that at the time. From this short distance of about 15 minutes, it feels right to call it a panic attack. I've been working on my ability to watch my emotions pass, like a scene in a movie, and not get too wrapped up in any one extremity (would be a helpful skill for getting through this school year. I have noticed improvement, definitely, or maybe it is just finally adapting to what has become one of my most bizarre professional years yet.) But overwhelmingly it was a sense of grief and loss. Butterflies. Powerlessness. Regret. Mostly just loss.
It happens often that I wonder if I am too sensitive for this world. I am easily overwhelmed by senseless waste, unequal abundance and innocence wounded. Motherhood intensified all of these emotions, and perhaps it is to be expected now again, this increased sensitivity. But it makes even the mundane difficult to get through. I waiver back and forth between opening up and digging deeper back into a small, safe and oh so private world. As my need for support grows, my desire to hide away increases.
I have a list of blog posts I intended to write, something about blue garlic- which greeted me as I unwrapped my lunch one afternoon- apparently safe to eat. And something about this photo- an endless array of cornflakes- so typical of Kinshasa, where stores start off having all wonder of things and eventually cave in to the one brand mentality. Nothing is really consistent in Kin, except of course cornflakes.
There are probably a few more ideas on my list, ideas that seem good at the time, but I can't make them go anywhere anymore. I am so caught up in this limbo of waiting. The last time I felt such pressure from the universe was just before I decided to come here. Nearly every aspect of my life had to cave in before I could simply get up and follow my dream. Luckily, I have thought often of that time and am able to face these moments with a sense of peace- delusional or not, time will tell.
I know that I am a hard one to initiate change and so must often be forced. I think I have mostly come to terms with the future path, certainly am excited and welcoming about much of it, but remain stuck in a wrapping up business kind of mode that hasn't allowed me to do much more than observe what's going on around me. Our last months in Kin. White butterfly season- they are so abundant you can barely walk without feeling as though you may step on one. Nabih even sighted several flying just above the rows of cornflakes. Senegalese shopkeepers in Victoire sporting all the latest in shoe fashion (and I only know this because the males in my life are obsessed with footwear, though I marvel at why and how it is a majority of Senegalese who seem to be selling in the markets and storefronts.)
None of these half thoughts really explain why I awoke with such a foreboding feeling, or why I am still awake now at 5 am, when the birds have signaled a new day. None of it explains the rush of tears, shortness of breath and terrible pounding grief. I would be happy to never find out. Here's to hoping all my friends are safe, here's to making it through another day in Africa.
