Salut and à Bientôt

Salut, I feel like I am retreading when I say that it is the beginning where you notice things you didn’t the first time. I have become a homebody, which is not an entirely bad thing to be. I have a large enough house that being a homebody is okay- with 13+ people currently in my company. Three guests left last week, so instead of 17, there are 14. It makes eating hard. 14 people all use one shower and one bathroom (there is an outhouse which is nice for toilet emergencies), and despite having in effect two bathrooms, I still find myself needing to wait a lot to use the bathroom. I said before that it can be grating and wearing to constantly be speaking Kyrgyz all the time. It has diluted due to my work, and I’ve found lots of time to be by myself and read, watch YouTube videos, etc. Being able to see other volunteers is nice too, so it’s never too lonely and it’s even harder to feel lonely in a house as busy and alive as mine.  This first blog post will be the beginning, but not the

Salut, This is going to be a long post, so I am sorry in advance.  Goodbyes are hard, as I’ve always said, and they’re hard when you know they’re approaching even more. I looked back at the last week of training with such mixed thoughts and emotions. Leaving Chuy and leaving my community was immensely difficult, I can’t deny that, but there was also anticipation. I’d felt like I’d been at a summer camp for a long time and now here was a graduation of sorts.  Last week, the week of August 21 and onwards, felt so surreal, like I was back in Ashu House or in the last week of being in Austin or Houston, watching the world shift slowly and I was watching it happen. The winding paths were changing, and just as quickly as I arrived in my village, I felt like I was leaving. I remember, almost so vividly, first arriving, and to now be leaving, felt unreal.  Last Monday was our last lesson, and even that felt like it wasn’t truly over. We ate our last lunch at my house, and we had lots of ma