Goodbye

There are two types of goodbyes. There is a kind of goodbye where you kiss the people you love, find your seat on the train, and look out the window and wave. And you think: “I’ll see you next Tuesday” or “I’ll see you at Christmas.” That kind of goodbye requires the type of waiting when you know something is coming, sooner rather than later. It’s like waiting for a party where you know you’ll see someone you like, or waiting for the evening bus that takes you home. And maybe you are sad, but you look out the window and wave and you feel okay.

But there is another kind of a goodbye, a kind of goodbye that I am all too familiar with at this moment as I sit in the middle of Budapest absolutely alone. There is a kind of goodbye that puts a fist in your heart when you get on the train; there is a kind of goodbye that will elicit tears at any given moment. The moment you think your tears are finished, you will look down at your lap while you’re drinking your coffee and you’ll realize that your eyes are wet. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you unable to do anything but look out the window on the train and play moments over and over again in your head. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you feel as if you are waiting for something, but you are not sure what. This is the kind of goodbye that is the most beautiful and the most terrible.

I said goodbye to Ukraine and got on the train to Budapest. The entire train ride, I imagined my mind was a video camera, and I rewound my mind to play back every moment of my time in Ukraine from the beginning. I remembered meeting Sydney in Budapest and running to each other as if we had known one another for a lifetime, though we had only met once before. I remember getting to Ukraine and feeling absolutely giddy that I was back in Eastern Europe. I remember going to the orphanage for the first time. I remember when Sydney fell down the stairs at a café and I had tears running down my face I was laughing so hard. I remember going on walks alone and being incandescently happy about being in Ukraine. I remember going on runs in the forest with my favorite Ukrainian; I remember every moment. I remember drinking tea in a little kitchen. I remember all of the people; never have I met so many incredibly loving people as I have in the past three months. I remember strong coffee and listening to the Ukrainian language. I remember walking home at nighttime along the river in the cold weather and having the wind bite my cheeks. I remember listening to music in my bed when I couldn’t sleep. I remember singing the ABC’s every day at the orphanage; I remember what the children’s faces look like when they try to focus. I remember Korchi, Zyna, Ivan, Sasha, and every beautiful, orphaned child I had the pleasure of meeting. I remember trying to speak Ukrainian. I remember my favorite coffee guy that sells coffee out of the back of a van. Every moment in Ukraine was worth remembering.

So, Ukraine: I am madly in love with you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for every beautiful, wonderful, sad, happy moment. I am the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you for teaching me the difference between stoicism and strength, between fragility and sensitivity.Thank you for your beautiful people; thank you for him, her and them. Let’s make this a “see you later” rather than a goodbye, shall we?

Love always,

Hannah

Lately

Lately: 

My little family (myself + roommate) gained another member...a puppy named Kira. 

Long train trip to spend a blissful four days with cousins in another city in Ukraine. 

Making Thanksgiving dinner (kind of) in Ukraine and feeling very thankful. 

Waking up to snow. 

Beginning the process of saying goodbye to my Ukrainian life. 

Soon, I will board a train and leave Ukraine behind. But until then, let's enjoy every moment, shall we? 

"Because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But, of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting case colorful, and her typeface bold." 

Today

Pack your bags for a city in Western Ukraine that nobody knows the name of. Pack your books, your black sweaters, and pictures of the ones you love. Kiss your mother and father goodbye; don’t look back when you get past security. Buy yourself a coffee and wait at the gate for your flight. Hold tightly to your passport and re-read your flight itinerary. Look around at the people sitting near you; where are they going? Are they sad? Wonder about them and wonder if they’re wondering about you. Try to distinguish the different languages being spoken. Board the plane and curl up next to the window. Breath in recycled air for ten hours. Listen to your music and read letters from home. Let a few tears escape, then brush them away because this time, you’re going at it alone. Touch down in Amsterdam and stretch your legs. Fight off sleep with books and small coffees. Board another plane and fly to Budapest. Accept a tea from the flight attendant and stumble over your words when she asks where you are from and where you are going. Walk around the city in a tired haze. Eat street market food. Feel your pulse quicken and think: “Tomorrow, I will be in Ukraine.” Go to sleep and wake up and board a train to the Ukrainian city that will be your home for the next few months. Make your home in a little flat. Let your books form a fortress around your bed; tape pictures of your dog and family next to your pillow. Think of yourself as the luckiest girl in the world. Take baths in the small bathtub and fall asleep with wet hair, wrapped in wool blankets. Learn the bus schedules and the idiosyncrasies of the tiny elevator. Train your heart to be gone. Remind yourself that you have chosen to be absent and your solitude is a beautiful thing. Remind yourself that you are young, beautiful, and you are allowed to fall in love with a different country. Walk the dusty, cobblestoned streets and listen to the men play music on the bridge. Sit alone in a café and drink coffee with milk. Pretend you are Ukrainian. Recognize the stray dogs you see every day. Nod a hello to the goat you see every morning. Barter for apples in broken Russian and burst into a charming fit on laughter when the old man gives them to you for free. Drink old red wine with new friends. Write to your mother and father and tell them that you miss them. Stand on the little Soviet balcony when you can’t sleep. Take a weekend train trip to another city; lay back on the tiny bed and feel irrationally happy about being in the middle of nowhere. Let people miss you. Meet new people. Pay attention. Write it all down, only for yourself. Sit down and write in the notebooks you brought from home. Don’t filter your thoughts; write down everything you have seen and everything you have heard. Learn how to teach English through trial and error. Sit on the floor of your bedroom and make crafts for the children. Make pumpkins and spiders out of construction paper. Fall in love with the kids at the orphanage even though you’ll be gone in a matter of months. Adore them even though you will soon be just another goodbye. Daydream about wrapping them in blankets and watching them watch Lion King for the first time. Let yourself be sad because you know that will never happen. Stop worrying about germs and let every kid grab your hand as much as they want. Sing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” forty thousand times. Wake up on a day that is not specifically special, do your morning routine, and come to the quiet realization that Ukraine feels like home. Think about how your heart will likely always be in two places now; and know that that is both a gift and a burden. Put off thinking about saying goodbye. 

Home (is where the coffee and books are)

Snapshots

PS...all of these pictures were taken by my friends Sydney and Vasya, who are amazing and wonderful.

Saturday Morning

This morning is the first morning in awhile that I've had completely to myself. It is the kind of morning where you open your eyes and stretch your body out and feel your toes crack and feel absolute bliss because you have no where you need to be and nobody you need to see. I woke up to a somewhat dreary morning, put on slippers and an oversized sweater that I keep next to my little bed, walked to the kitchen, and lit the stove with a match to begin brewing my coffee. It's quiet right now; I can look out the window of my flat and see stray dogs padding around the dumpsters and mothers walking to the market for Saturday shopping. I sat down with a small cup of very strong, dark coffee and I was looking back at the notebook I've been keeping throughout my time in Ukraine.

I found this excerpt towards the beginning of the notebook: "I like little lives. I like little apartments and people who go to work and come home to their family. I like good, purposeful work and being around the people I love. I like having my coffee; I like having my books. It's more than enough for me to have good work and a simple life. I think I could be happy forever in a small, Ukrainian town that nobody knows the name of..."

And that's true. I have developed such a deep appreciation for the tiniest things in my daily life, both in Ukraine and my life back in Oregon. People are all that really matter. I love the smallest of details about the people I am so lucky to have in my life. I almost feel spoiled that I have such wonderful people at home and I get to have wonderful people in Ukraine, too. It overwhelms me on a daily basis; how did I ever get so lucky to meet such good people so far away from home?

And though I feel incredibly lucky and blessed, I also feel sad. Because sometime in the not so very distant future, I will have to bid farewell to my life here and return home. But, I've learned that even though goodbyes are on the horizon, investing and loving those around me is STILL worth it. Adoring the children at the orphanage is still worth it, even though soon I'll just be another goodbye. If you're anything like me, whoever you are, you've been told that you're "too sensitive." And I'm here to tell you that whoever said that to you probably didn't notice and appreciate the tiniest, most beautiful details of this amazing life we get to live. Sensitivity is a beautiful thing, perhaps even a rare thing, and you don't need to apologize for it. Keep adoring those around you, keep noticing things, and keep pouring yourself into the cracks of other people. You'll have to say goodbye eventually, you will inevitably get hurt, but it is worth it and it is valuable.

So, here's to the remaining month (or so) of my wonderful, challenging, beautiful Ukrainian life. I plan to suck the marrow out of each and every day.

Midpoint

And so begins November...

Sydney and I had a sleepover last night. We sat at the little kitchen table in my home away from home, sipped wine, and talked about anything, everything, and nothing. Sometime during our conversation, I realized that October was coming to an end and it was time to say hello to November. It's now the midpoint of my Ukrainian adventure; one half of my journey has come to an end.

Being in the middle of something, whether it be a journey or otherwise, naturally brings about some kind of reflective, introspective attitude. I feel that now, especially when I think about how short the time is that I have left in Ukraine.

My mind works in snapshots, moments, and quotes. Every day of my little Ukrainian life, I think to myself: "Remember this, Hannah. Remember this moment." I keep a notebook next to my bed, and every night I write down things that my friends have said, things my students have done, and other little moments that I want to remember. These tiny things make up my life in Ukraine, and I never want to forget them.

I'd like to share some of those moments with you, whoever you are. Maybe it will give you a peek into the wonderful, challenging, beautiful life that I am so lucky to have in Ukraine.

So, here you go:

Sitting in the kitchen and drinking tea with Sydney, surrounded by scraps of paper and cutting out pumpkin after pumpkin after pumpkin for the students that we adore. Listening to the Amelie soundtrack and cracking the window to listen to the rain.

Waking up early and catching a train with my friend Vasya to go trail running outside of the city. Running for twenty miles and ending up in a village stuck in time in the middle of nowhere. Sharing a bar of chocolate while waiting for the bus to take us back to Uzghorod.

Arriving at the orphanage to find Sasha, a student who has a very special place in my heart, waiting to greet me. Swallowing back happy tears as he grabs my hand to lead me into the classroom.

Watching the earnest faces of the students at the orphanage as they repeat the alphabet back to me. Holding back giggles as they scream: "M!!! MICKEY MOUSE!!!"

Listening to Katya, an amazing woman and a graduate of the orphanage, tell her story over a pizza. Listening to Sydney ask her: "What is the one thing you would like to tell kids in America?" Sucking in a deep breath as Katya answered quietly: "Love your parents."

Collapsing into bed every night, feeling tired but content. Waking up each morning, listening to Lord Huron, and making coffee and black bread toast.

These are little moments, but they are things I want to always remember.

Cutting my hair, kissing my parents goodbye, and getting on that plane without looking back was the best decision of my life. There is great value in leaving behind what is familiar for what is true; there is value in greeting each day with open arms even if your arms are bruised and tired. There is great value in investing in others, regardless of whether you see the return for your work or not. There is good work to be done, and I am thankful for every day. So, if you're feeling low, stretch your arms above your head, put on your best jeans, and pull your hair back. There's good work to be done, coffee to drink, runs to go on, and people to meet. This is an amazing world that we live in.