Puzzle Pieces

I am back on American soil. Have been for almost a week now and it's been more or less what I expected it to be. The familiar sights and sounds, the small things that have thrown me off (e.g. free refills and water) and sliding right back into the American way of life. This year has been a crazy ride and I can't quite find all my thoughts yet but I do want to write this down before I forget.

When I was thinking about returning to the United States throughout the year, a common theme surfaced in my head: how I'm going to look to other people after year. Not physically, of course, I don't think looks change that much in a year but I am so fearful of how my behaviors will look to someone who wasn't along for the ride. Even explaining a story to someone interested can end up sounding like a bragging Spiel. I don't want to be that guy, but it seems almost impossible not to be if I ever want anyone to know what I went through during the year. Finding no solution, I supposed it'd have to be a trial by fire.

So far I've passed.

This week was filled with reunions and there will be many more as I head back from New York to home sweet home in the heart of North Carolina. What's shocked me the most about this time being back is how quickly things with people I hadn't seen in almost a year and activities I haven't done in that same span of time seemed relatively comfortable. I may be an outlier but it was as if I activated the multitasking app on an iPhone; the moment I shifted back to the America app, things continued running the way I remember them.

In absolutely no manner does this mean there aren't things I see as uncomfortable and "oddly" out of place but I haven't yet faced those battles myself. I should thank my friends for that, we didn't skip a beat and it makes things so much better before I can get absorbed into my own thoughts of self-loathing and Germany-missing. There are so many parts of myself that I left back in Germany, I managed to haul a suitcase full of crap back with me but there are plenty of things that I couldn't throw over my shoulder before hopping onto that 787. I think I've started to realize this is simply how my life will be led. I deliberately found a second home, a land that I looked at and consciously thought, "this place looks awesome, let's start dedicating time to it." What else did I expect?

I used a Voldemort reference and Horcruxes all the way back in Deutschland but I think that's kind of how my spirit feels. There's a sliver of Clifford just roaming Germany waiting for its host to return. Certainly the sliver wandering around America is refreshed to have its host back, uncertain for how long he will stick around this time and curious as to how he will react to being in a land where the smallest nuances make the biggest cultural differences.

Yet, despite this duality that may seem troubling, it's fascinating to see my behavior since our return journey. There's more of me to be expressed and to interact with. I catch myself (more times than I might like to admit to a psychiatrist) talking to myself in German, as if I want to have a conversation with German Clifford. The one who's all those miles away just lingering, waiting. Is this a phenomenon of the well traveled bunch? I imagine the personality as a large puzzle, each piece has a dedicated spot; core traits taking their positions at the respective corners of the board.

What if, however, there were multiple puzzle pieces for each spot of the board? Two pieces that fit perfectly into each spot and corner, all completing the puzzle in perfect symmetry. There are two different ways Clifford would act if he were, say, stepping onto a basketball court with a bunch of strangers. German Clifford would, not because he's unfriendly or lacks curiosity, simply walk on the court and start playing. American Clifford would smile, say hello, ask how often these guys played here, not necessarily because he's super friendly and curious. I know this because I've been both.

Now what though? I am certain that as I place puzzle pieces in their spots as I prepare to face each day some aspects of my German Horcrux self will float into their well-deserved niche without a second notice. The red, white and blue pieces are sometimes switched with the black, red and yellow pieces.  I was gone for a year; a long enough time that I adopted habits that are not, necessarily, "normal" for American standards. Perhaps I should prepare a speech explaining to each and every person somewhere along the lines of, "Oh sorry, I was in Germany for a year, I'm just getting back into the swing of this American life. You guys do it so differently over here." Then I sound like that guy all over again.

Maybe I'll just have to get better at puzzles.

Such Sweet Sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

-Romeo & Juliet (Act II. Scene II)

I have never really been the emotional type. Graduation from high school was a natural step. The people I wanted to see again, I was sure I would see again and the people I'd been acquainted with...well if we crossed paths it'd be nice to see you again but I wasn't going to have a conniption about it. College was pretty much the same, I had my group of friends who I know I'll stay close with (the same group I talk to on a daily basis even all the way across the Atlantic Ocean) after everything was said and done and those subsidiary friends, who were going to get a text every now and then, they were just that. This is all to say I have never really had to go through what I'm going through now.

William Shakespeare (or any collection of writers who created Romeo & Juliet) once informed us of the sweet sorrow of parting. I can relate to this oxymoronic statement perfectly; it seems me and my buddy William have more in common than a keen way with words. The reason Juliet told Romeo that parting with him was a sweet yet sorrowful action was, perhaps, because she was implying that doing anything with Romeo brought pleasure to her brain. I had a sort of Juliet moment this evening. 

Today was my last Lacrosse practice in Münster and while most of the two and a half hours I spent with the team were completely normal, it was when I was saying my goodbyes that the emotions really started to hit me. Perhaps this is how you are supposed to feel when faced with separation, but it was a wholly new feeling for me. This is my family, there was never a dark enough time, a painful enough, difficult enough time in my stay in Germany that I couldn't look ahead to the next practice and think, "At least I'll be with the team soon." As much as a crutch as one can have in a foreign situation, that was my Lacrosse team.

And so, although I have tried my best to remain emotionally guarded, and although they know I regard them very highly, I let myself become the emotional type. I don't know, maybe it's because this seems so definite. High school never seemed like a true parting ceremony because I still have a home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 27517 that I return to religiously. College was the same. I know I have a home at The House and my "family" travels with me wherever I go, even if merely by telephone. This, too, may end up fostering relationships that last a lifetime, I have no doubt that there are friendships and family bonds I have made during this year that will continue to bud and grow, that was never a concern. The real issue for me, the real concern and trigger that caused the wave of emotion to come over me is that it's so much more definite. This may literally have been the last time I see some of those faces again, the last time I catch a pass from a teammate or yell instructions, in frustration, at a great friend. It's something that hasn't ever hit me as hard as this time around and it might be because I have always had a sense of understanding that there would be a next time. 

There isn't quite such a sense of "next time" with Münster, Westfalen, Deutschland, Postleitzahl 48151. I can say as much as I want that I'll be back, and I truly believe I will, I know in my heart of hearts I will, but unlike Chapel Hill, which barring me peeling over and making a premature trip to the pearly gates will be graced with my presence once more, I can't be certain. That's a beauty of life that I think I've developed in this year. We are so used to knowing everything, having a plan and executing the plan in the exact manner that we drew it up. We are disappointed when our plans don't pan out the way we wanted them to and we see ourselves as failures when things change or veer off course. This year has been one of spontaneity, of trust and of leaping off the cliffs and looking once I've landed, thankful that it was only a five foot drop every time my feet touched down soundly on the ground. 

Maybe that's the entire lesson I'm trying to teach myself as my fingers rapidly dash across the keyboard, searching for an answer that I've yet to find. The ground here is solid. It has been a tough ride, a hard journey, far away from my family, far away from every soul I'd previously called a friend but it's finally over. The car has stopped and we're slowly unpacking our luggage, a sigh of relief escaped somewhere from the back seat and the keys were pulled out of the ignition as we finally reached our destination. I glance over the driver's seat to see everything that was left in the rear view and smile, relieved that I finally made it to where I wanted to be, where I thought I'd be after all this time. Then I realize I have to turn back, head back home, back to where the journey started. 

There's nothing wrong with a return journey, it's just that this ground, this destination is so solid. The peace and quiet of a still engine and the knowledge that a vehicle has finally been able to settle down after being pushed to the brink to get to this firmament. "Are we there yet" someone whines from the back, and just as I want to answer yes, the destination changes. It will be exhausting, long and full of trouble and toil heading back from where I came, and the sights, sounds, and hitch hikers I picked up along the way are sure to be etched into my memory as the mile markers pass by. 

And as much as I'm sure that I'll be ready for another road trip, the roads of life are ever changing. So I keep the image I saw in my rear view locked into my memory, in case the car breaks down along the way. 

Verdeutsch dich!

Twenty-five days. Three plus weeks. 

Had someone asked me at the beginning of this project of mine if I'd have been able to take a twenty-five day hiatus from writing I would have looked at them utterly insulted. How dare they assume I would even take a one day hiatus! But I did, and it was lovely because I was starting to feel a bunch of convolution in my ideas. So please forgive me for my negligence and let me continue to tell my story...! 

I got a message from a future PPPler via Facebook recently and it helped me get my mind back on track more than anything else could have. The questions were the innocuous concerns of a young person preparing to up and relocate at the drop of a hat. I was more than happy to oblige but it got me thinking about the re-relocating. 

There are less days for me here in Europe (24) than my hiatus, and if I manage to not blog in that time period, just know that you would have missed my exodus from Germany. Perhaps, however, it would be better if I didn't write anything else for the next month and a day and just let it all fester until that fateful July 17th when I say goodbye to my Schatz Deutschland for yet another time. You'd think a thing like separation would be like aged wines: if you mean it becomes sour, painful to swallow and unappealing vinegar, it does; if you mean it gets more appealing and exciting with age, it don't. Ten bucks to anyone who can identify the improved movie reference without the internet. But I'm not here to talk about separation, I'm here to talk about reunion, about expectations and about being a stranger in my own land. 

We were in Berlin for our ending seminar just a week ago. Along with a number of other amazing opportunities, our entire program stormed the US Embassy, I'm talking 350 young people (the other couple high school branches decided to tag along with us, all the while ruining my perception of their age range) taking over the US Embassy. It was a harmless little gesture but something that made me realize just how German I have become. I'd just finished drinking a can of Canada Dry and, in the midst of chatting it up with friends on the green American soil of the Embassy, I wanted to toss it out. I casually walked inside certain I'd be able to find some sort of place to toss out my can and to no avail I finally asked the kind American woman working there. Surely she would be able to get me out of my dilemma, after all she was an employed woman, she probably got this question all the time. She would answer it quickly and I'd be on my way. Easy as pie. 

"Oh, there's a trash can right around the corner." 

Just like that, everything clicked in my head. I was in America. A trash can? A universal disposal device. It doesn't matter what you want to throw away, you just toss it in a trash can and your worries are over. I mean the thing even managed to produce R2-D2, of course it could solve the problems of an empty Canada Dry container. The real issue is, I couldn't believe myself. What kind of answer was that...how "un-German" of this woman was it to offer up a trash can to throw away my precious aluminum. I swallowed my German pride and threw the damned thing in the container and with all the hypocricy of Judas I smiled a bit. This was a conflict of self that I'd never experienced before, something amazing I couldn't foresee a year ago. 

For any of us who speak both German and English, we know that there's a nice little combination of the two called Denglish. It's a fun thing to do, spit out a German word in an English sentence or spit out an English word in a German sentence. Sometimes there just aren't the passende Wörter for what we're trying to express. This is, of course a gift and a curse. The ability to spit out a word in either language and have everyone understand it is not only fun, it sometimes is the only way to get a point across. I think I've Denglished myself pretty well too. That meaning there are plenty of parts of myself that have become more "German" than "American" and it's something I am increasingly interested to see translate back in the US of A. 

I can imagine being irritated by some of the things Americans love to do. The funny thing is, I can't for the life of me tell you exactly what things they'll be. Will it be something as small as watching someone throw a can away or as big as thinking the way that certain Americans act, dress, or carry out their lives is seriously odd. I catch myself saying things to people I wouldn't have said before this year. German forces you to be direct, it forces you to get out your feelings in a way that isn't so sugary and nice as I'm used to as an American. Instead of "you could have done that better" it's "you did that wrong." This is, of course, ok with me, else I wouldn't have picked a country like Germany as a prime candidate to split my being into two. 

Perhaps this is something that happens everywhere someone goes. I'm sure when I moved from Chapel Hill to Atlanta there were plenty of things/habits/opinions I picked up along the way but maybe since the two cities are vaguely similar it wasn't something that hit me as hard or perhaps since I could travel between the two cities whenever I wanted to I never really had a moment of clarity like the R2-D2 incident at the US Embassy. I am, however, very fascinated to see what things from Germany stick with me once I hit the ol' dusty trail back to the West. 

I've already got the recycling thing down packed.