Ghost Town

I can’t help but be really concerned by the thought that scampered across my mind alls of 40 minutes ago, the thought of “did that really happen?”  We’ve arrived home safe and sound back to Harbin, a beautiful and surprisingly refreshing 2°F greeted our faces as we stepped off the plane. Who knew that our campus would be so dark at 1am? Oh that’s right…we usually get locked in to our building at 10. Anyways…

The RA in me took care of things before we left for the airport. Fridge was cleared out and unplugged, as were all the other electronics in my apartment, things were {relatively} clean. That person three weeks ago wasn’t thinking ahead to the person I would be last night. A sleepy, physically tired, and cold human being, fumbling around the apartment with forty pounds of belongings, wondering why in God’s {great and powerful} name none of the lights work as I stagger about knocking into tables and chairs. Brilliant, Kayla. Brilliant.

My backpack and suitcase huddled together in the middle of the floor, and my refrigerator is dark, quiet, and empty: other than that, this place looks just how it always does. Everything else is normal, it’s like I didn’t even leave at all. In fact, where did I just come from?

Thailand.

I have a new shirt in my bag to prove that I was there, as well as some scabs on my arm from an encounter with some barbed wire (perhaps you heard…? :P) There is an ever so faint tan line on my legs from a day in the sun, and whilst unpacking I found a cookbook from a Thai cooking class that I took. Other than that, in this very moment it feels as though Thailand didn’t happen at all.

Why is this scary? Because some day in the nearer-ish future there is going to be a day where I step off an exceedingly long series of plane rides and I’ll stumble into my room with a suitcase and a backpack [and another suitcase and a duffel].That place will look just like it always did. Light blue carpeting, soft purple walls, an abundance of pictures and artwork, and trinkets of childhood scattered throughout the walls and dresser. It’s scary because I know that I know that I know that the thought of “China: did that really happen?” will scamper across my mind. For a hot two seconds I’ll convince myself that it was just a dream and be on my way…but life happened. What’s “familiar” has a special way of tricking our minds into thinking that we’ve always been there, or (worse) that nothing’s changed.

Reality check: China did happen. China is happening. I’ll never forget this year, these students, this experience…or will I? 

Maybe I just need some sleep.