Jade and I were friends on Facebook before we were friends in real life. Our e-connection was per our same post college graduation plans (TFA in the RGV). One day, while procrastinating my senior thesis work, I was perusing Facebook and I noticed Jade posted a link to one of my favorite songs.
“Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.
I commented on the link, promising near nightly dates intermingled with dance parties and lesson planning as soon as we reached our (soon to be) new home.
Despite our placement in a region that spans 200 miles, Jade and I were offered teaching positions in schools 12 miles apart, in an area of the Valley laden with taco stands and carwashes. As suggested by TFA corps members before us, we chose to live on TFA Lane, a row of small houses on a locally owned ranch. Jade’s home was three houses away from my own.
Ignorantly, I expected my transition to the West Valley to be as graceful as the ranch we lived on. On the contrary, the day I arrived, anxiety accompanied me from sunrise to the lulling whispers before my heavy eyes conceded to the night. Although I mercilessly racked my spirit for enough energy to convene dance parties and hysterics, the burden of responsibility that I hadn’t quite mastered always victored over fun. During this time, I thought the only way to be successful was to deny feelings of insecurity, deny bouts of weakness, and pretend like I was immune to the stressors begging to infiltrate my soul.
Eventually, I turned to stone, bypassing recognition of every single emotion. I couldn’t cry or laugh or smile or even get angry. I could be, I could go in and I could go out, but I couldn’t feel anything.
A Facebook conversation with Jade revealed that she was feeling similarly. After a few baddduups of chatting, I zombied to her house for what would be one of many conversations commenced on her sand-colored suede sofa. After few exchanges, we were both crying. Doubts were expressed, desires to be elsewhere spoken. I was weak in her presence, but more importantly, I was truly me, shedding the unreasonable expectations I had created for myself.
I felt as if my soul was finding its way home. Our kindred spirits sang.
When I talk about whims and romance and the Universe, Jade doesn’t need justification or explanation. Rather, she adds depth to my understanding, offers light where darkness previously resided.
We’ve road tripped, eaten mango raspas drenched in chamoy and sprinkled with pickles, sat in dirt while undergoing a spiritual awakening at a West Texas concert, laughed to no avail (despite the embarrassment of our company). We’ve been angry and bitter, sad and depleted, but each moment has led to the furnishing of the home within, the home of my soul.
In unison with the tiny droplets of sweat that form on my fingers as I type, tears are flooding the outskirts of honey brown eyes. Perhaps the mist that clouds my sight is a result of my exhaustion, more believelably, though, it is likely the consideration of Jade and I’s inevitable separation.
The tears that fall are laden with gratitude, with light, with soulfulness. Although physical distance will soon span between us, my soul carries the stories created by the singing of our spirits.
Jade has taught me that loving is creating a home for my soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment