The Inevitable Goodbye

I just finished reading an incredible book, The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein, written from the point of view of a man's best friend, his loyal, wise, playful and spirited dog, Enzo. I highly recommend this book as it is an incredibly well-written story that reads very quickly. For all intents and purposes of this blog post, though, I mentioned the book so that I could take a well-used line from it: "The car goes where the eyes go."

Some of you already know, but others do not. Aaron and I will be cutting our time in India short and have plans to return to the States by the beginning of December at the latest. We will be returning to Texas to be with Aaron's mother to help her fight a good fight against breast cancer and recover fully, finally, and quickly. On this note, I would like to advise any woman (and man) reading this... family, friend, or otherwise... to cherish, respect, and protect your body. It is the bearer of your soul and with or without illness, deserves more time than what is given to it.

Leaving India to be with Mom was an easy decision to make. Returning to Texas was in the plans anyway. Coming to terms with India is the challenge and one that I personally think is the most daunting of my life.

As a person who seeks closure (ask my ex-boyfriends... I dragged them out for years), but still so whimsical and spontaneous, I am puzzled by the thoughts and emotions that have become a part of Indian life. What seems like so long ago, I wrote that the greatest advice that was given to me upon leaving for India was to let go. My fear, which I'm just now discovering, is that letting go will take place too late; that I will return back home and discover just how much better I could've done, how much more I could've seen, how much effort I could've given once I finally understood what it was I needed to let go of... but then, here I am. Here I am now in India. And am I dissatisfied with those things? Am I dissatisfied with what I have and haven't done, seen, or how much effort I have and have not given?

I don't think I am. But I don't know if I ever took that advice.

The plan is obviously to come back someday... sooner or later. We didn't see the Maldives and we're desperately trying to find a way to see the Taj Mahal before we go. But Mom's February visit has only been postponed and we will return. And with that in mind, it makes it easier to say goodbye.

But India, I can already tell, has different plans for me and I think that people who have been to India understand. There's a part of India that quickly and relentlessly becomes a part of your soul. It's not disguised as anything in particular- empathy, fascination, wisdom, spirituality- it's India, and India is all of it. There is something about this country that resonates in the physical senses and the spiritual and psychological realms of our lives. Any book written about or set in India can describe a part of it - the smells, the slums, the colors, the rich masala, the population density, the curious balance of simplicity and complexity in which people live. I can't pinpoint it... or maybe I have. This is my struggle. I will inevitably take India with me when I leave, but I haven't the slightest idea of what that means. I can only resort to the contrasts I've mentioned before. India is a foreign homeland, a familiar alien, a futuristic memory.

I feel what I'm trying to say. I just can't think it.

The only solace in leaving India, like anywhere really, is the firm belief (perhaps even knowledge) that I will return to this place. I will be back... and that is my closure.

The car goes where the eyes go.