I've been doing a lot of thinking in the past few days. One of the downfalls of this voyage is boredom. I have too much time to think about the future, and not enough time to focus on what I'm doing. I lack certain resources that I used to have, the most important one being friends. I have friends here, but nothing like my friends back home.
It's a strange kind of homesickness. I feel tired from all this missing. I haven't seen a large number of my male friends for literally coming up on two years. I have been away from BYU for so long, I find myself longing for it. Not necessarily all aspects of it, but certainly the clean campus, the world class facilities, and most of all, the people. I miss people.
And then, there's the friend group I had at institute back home; I miss people.
And my family! I miss having a family dinner, sitting around talking about nothing, watching movies, being calm...it has been so long. My parents have started planning a family vacation; I find myself day and night dreaming about reuniting with them on a beach somewhere in Cape Cod, remembering the purple van we named Flloyd, and the many many many family roadtrips we shared...sigh. Sick of this missing. It's boring and empty.
I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but I decided to say yes when my Syrian friend Malek asked me to be his girlfriend. We only see each other on campus, he's more respectful, kind, and interesting than 90% of the guys I've ever dated, we have similar standards and life goals, and I can learn a lot from this experience. Since dating him, my school work has improved and my feelings of loneliness have somewhat subsided.
Somewhere deep within, though, I feel dishonest. I don't want to lead him on; I want to marry in the temple, meaning, I can't marry a Muslim. Even though I made that very clear from the beginning, there is still something unsettling within. Maybe it comes from my ever-present thoughts about the future; I know that I am inevitably going to hurt him.
The worst part is that the hurtee is not the only one who feels pain, but also the hurter. I don't really want to think about these things very much.
The overwhelming feeling of this relationship is not doom and disaster, however. We sit and talk and talk and talk - amazing, considering neither of us speaks the other's language fluently! - about ideas, politics, people, books, religion, feelings, experiences, culture, langauge...it feels great to be his friend.
My other friends are my Arab sisters. I literally consider them sisters to me. I love them. I stayed up until 4:30 am talking with Sanaa the other night. When I told her I plan on coming to all of their weddings (one of the other sisters may get engaged before I leave Jordan! Her wedding would be next summer), she cried.
The other strong relationship I have here is with my Arab mom. She teaches me by example, she is kind, she works hard, and I love her. It will be hard to leave this place, but I am dying to at the same time. It's tiring, living this life. It's not my own, it's like I'm acting. I have this one chance to be a Jordanian, to live the culture, to have a boyfriend Arab-style (no real "dates", lots of SMS/phone contact, little to no physical contact), to follow the customs and traditions of this place, to freaking speak ARABIC all day long! Eat, sleep, breathe, live...is this me? Who am I anyway? And why is Arabic important to me? What will it bring me in the future? Who am I becoming? Is this Arab-Kate Kate? How can I be sure, either way?
Sigh. Heavy thoughts.
