Ташаккуру Худо ҳафиз

This was by no means how I’d planned to end things. But this is how I started, and how I progressed these many weeks and months. So this seems more apt than anything else.

First, there were supposed to be another two months to take care of everything, tie up all the loose ends. 

Now, I’m looking at two weeks, and that’s the absolute maximum. Two weeks to see what’s left to see (albeit, not terribly much). Two weeks to say goodbyes. Two weeks to eat good osh and qurutob.

Second, the frantic nature of it all. Offices to visit, bills to pay, tickets to book, friends to meet up with, a family to say goodbye to; it’s almost too much. I don’t know where to begin, although I do know where it ends.

If it hasn't become clear already, things have come crashing down, as they often tend to do. Before, I planned to spend two months more in Dushanbe, teaching English, and getting to enjoy a country I've grown to truly and genuinely love. Instead, problems with visas and finances have given me until the middle of June (at the latest) to condense everything I still had planned, and then bolt back to the mother country, figurative tail between my legs, in defeat.

I don’t know how to feel. Anyone who’s talked to me in the last few hours might call me ‘angry’, ‘frustrated’, ‘depressed’, or something along those lines. And yeah, those feelings are definitely there. But after thinking about this for most of today (because there’s seriously nothing else to do while my passport is being withheld and I’m stretching each somoni for all it’s worth), I think I've figured out what the problem is: I’m scared.

Hell, I’m goddamn terrified. I’m terrified because these last nine months have been, without the doubt, the single greatest thing I have ever done with my life. Each and every day has been part of an adventure that I could’ve never imagined in a million years. Even now, the memories stand out:

I've been able to see some of the beautiful, if not otherworldly, scenery that I believe exists across two continents and eight countries. I've learned a language to the point that transitioning between it and my native tongue is something that can happen accidentally if I’m not careful. I've met everyone from missionaries to drug traffickers, and found all (but the bureaucrats) to be among the kindest and most genuine people I will likely ever have the pleasure to meet. I've been detained (but NOT arrested, huge difference there) by the secret police, been drunk enough to turn a colleague into a mistake before sobering up and turning them into one of the best friends I've ever had, thrown up in prison, and dislocated a finger/cracked bones fighting the dastardly Kyrgyz. I've had my breath taken away (in some cases literally) on the Roof of the World, by poetry so beautifully recited it brought tears to my eyes, and by a family that has metaphorically (although I don’t doubt it could be literally) fought to keep me around and in one piece.

These things, these experiences, of which the above are merely a summary, were just…I’m shockingly at a loss for words. I don’t know, and cannot say, whether this was a “life-changing” journey or not. I still think I’m a shithead, but that’s me. And maybe that’s ok. But my point is this is what I’m scared of. I've lived this life, knowing fully that it will be temporary, and now I crave more. And I’m horrified at the prospect that I’ll be crossing the Atlantic in a few weeks, never getting another opportunity to return, and that I’ll spend the rest of my life in “Fortress America”, my wanderlust tearing me apart from the inside-out.

But blog-writer (since I assume at least one of my readers doesn't know my name…I know, unlikely, but let me have my delusions), you might be saying, don’t be dramatic, of course you’ll leave America at some point! Well “reader” (since again, I’m pretending people have actually been reading this, a laughable idea, I know), first off, unless you’re offering me a job overseas, hush. Second, that might be true, but again, doing what? I have no real discernible skills, the language I've spent the last nine months intensively studying is spoken by three countries, two of which would arrest me on/soon after entry. So really, and I do mean really, what choices do I have?

I've never been one to consistently argue that things happen for a preordained reason. But after the failure of my State Department internship in Yerevan, all of my employment plans in Tajikistan, and attempts to travel to Iran, maybe there’s a reason I should go back home? Maybe it’s just coincidence that every plan I've had has fallen through? I do, however, know this. Even through all the depression, the sadness, the anger, the frustration, and the nerve-wracking tensions; I do not for a second regret a single thing about these last nine months.

Do I wish I could have done more? Of course.

Are there things I haven’t finished? Naturally.

But re-reading my memories of this place and thinking about the things not fit for post, I can’t help but laugh like a madman, until tears are streaming down my cheeks. This trip was amazing, my life here was amazing, and to hell with it, I’ll be back to Dushanbe. Can’t think of anything but the grave that’ll keep me away.

I only have to say this one more time, so let me finally explain what I've been saying all this time. First, we have “Ташаккур”, which means “Thank you”. The suffix “у” is just ‘and’, and finally ‘Худо ҳафез’ (which might need to be ‘Худо ҳафиз’, never said I was good at Cyrillic) literally means “God protect (you)”, but it translates to “Good bye”.

So to anyone out there in the cold, dark world of cyberspace who may be skimming this, know that you've reached the end. Of this adventure, in any case…

Truly to all of you: Ташаккуру Худо ҳафез/ ҳафиз