A Melancholy Transition -- Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

Anna and Nele have left the Forest. And I'm pretty devastated about it. Those two contributed so much laughter, love, sass, and snark. It was hard to not see them at breakfast this morning, Nele with her bright red scarf and Anna with her perfectly tied bandana and tamed lioness hair. Both with morning hugs and smiles for everyone. 

"It's okay, we'll meet again,"  Nele tried to comfort me as she hugged me goodbye

"Yeah, but... but I love us now," I stubbornly refused to be consoled. 

This group is just so perfect. Nele, Anna, James, Blue, Tammo, Maile, and me. I don't want us to change. I don't want to look forward to meeting at another time in another situation with another dynamic. I just want more of this. 

 

People come and people go, Bourget. Life is an exercise of constant flux, change, transition.

Some transitions are just much more painful than others. 

And this one sucks. Sucks. Balls.  

I'm going to let myself be sad about it. I like feeling sad. Sadness means that these girls meant something to me. That this group meant something to me. And that kinda makes me want to cherish the sadness I feel.

Nele. I'll miss your artistic touch. How everything you happened upon became more beautiful.  

Anna. I'll miss your sincerity. Your ability to speak your mind. All the time. And how you could make anyone, everyone laugh at the drop of a hat. Again and again and again.

We all sat around a small bonfire for our last night together, and Tammo and I played songs we'd written for Nele and Anna. One to the tune of "Hallelujah" (because Nele hated when I played it on my ukulele), and one to the tune of "I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love with You," by Tom Waits (because it's the only music I know that Anna actually enjoys).

Yup. This is why I'm learning to play the ukulele. So I can serenade my friends with sentimental roasts. This will be my specialty.

I wrote many, many verses for my two volunteer buddies. The verses came easily, as these two women possessed personalities which made space for ample writing material. One of the many verses for Nele was:

We all loved your yoga classes,

'Cos unlike Aimee, you didn't kick our asses.

With gentle grace and skill you have inspired us.

Your warm heart made the Forest sing,

As through the leaves, your voice would ring,

While belting Justin Bieber from the shower... 

Nele. I'll miss how you always spoke to me in German. And how you'd keep speaking to me in German, even when I would interrupt you with, "Nele... I don't speak German." 

You just wanted me to feel included. And maybe after I learn Spanish (if that ever happens), I'll learn German. Just for you.

I'll miss how you were the glitter goddess, sharing sparkles with everyone in the Forest (I loved your glitter, even though James said it wasn't biodegradable and got stuck in the floorboards of the yoga shalas).

The Forest won't be the same without you. Of course. That's a given. But I struggle to think I'll enjoy it as much without you, regardless of how "awesome" the people are who step into your abandoned shoes (also, the red sneakers you forgot are still hanging by the washing station).

You've carved out places for yourselves in the Forest and in our hearts. Or, my heart. I can't personally vouch for the hearts of the other volunteers and staff.  

But I'm pretty sure we're all feeling your absence. And already pining for your return.
 

"Aimee, send Anna a message," Tammo said on our way to town this morning. "Tell her that she's played with our emotions long enough and that she needs to come back already."

"I wish."

These are the pros and cons of staying in one place for a long time. Getting to make these meaningful connections with people, and then having to watch them go. We'll see how long I can watch people like Nele and Anna go.