Embarking for Africa

Last summer at this time, I was in turmoil from the insecurities that fester in any first relationship doomed to fail. It was the last summer before we went off to college. We believed we loved each other, but we both knew we were too young to stay together forever. There was a time limit on our relationship. College and the start of our lives were within reach. Weirdly, I think that is what drove me to try so hard to keep our relationship together. I was stubborn in my attempts to prove to others, and mostly to myself that we could outlive our preset timeline.

Push came to shove; that September, I found myself, newly single, in an outdated dorm, navigating the start of a new chapter of life, but completely heartbroken. It felt stupid to be heartbroken over a relationship that, logically, I knew would end in time. Yet despite that, there I was, crying for hours on end and feeling completely stupid for it.

Going through a breakup is one of the most challenging experiences in life. Not because the event carries some deeply immense psychological weight that equates to experiencing death but actually because of the opposite. Breakups are one of the most insignificant events to be sad over. No one died. No one developed an incurable disease. There was no famine or war. All there was was time doing its vicious job of pushing life along and people apart. For that reason, it feels almost stupid and naive to mourn a relationship, and that stupidity and naivety are enough to begin hating yourself simply for mourning. I knew that in the grand scheme of things, this event would be one of the most insignificant in my life. I’d only spent four months with this person, so why was I still crying over it 6 months later? It was simply idiotic.

My dad always tells me that a true indication of a profoundly ingenious person is their ability to cope with and adapt to change. Those months spent grieving over a four-month relationship proved I leaned more toward the moronic side of the genius scale. I needed to find some new perspective– find something I knew mattered much more than the relationship I was grieving over. So, I turned to writing. Writing allowed me to create a space where mourning over the relationship was completely valid.

Through metaphors and analogies, I likened the relationship to that between day and night. Each couldn’t exist without the other. My mourning became romantic, like a novel – deep, philosophical, and no longer immature. That is when I decided to share my writing with others and made a blog. I designed a logo. I put up posters around my campus. I was devoted to the hobby. It gave me something to do. Something I knew mattered more to me than whatever else I was doing. Then things happened. My dorm flooded- long story. I met a new guy, and my blog disappeared along with my three-month paid subscription for the website on which I designed it.

Now, it's the following summer, and I have a different life. I am in a new relationship with a guy who feels like my best friend. I am about to become the life editor for the school newspaper, and I have a new job as a waitress. But I miss writing. I miss the romanticization of my life that makes reality taste sweet. It's time to evolve. In a few days, I will be in Nairobi, Kenya. I have already taken two weeks off work, received my yellow fever shot, and purchased a safari backpack. There is no backing out now. As a self-claimed city girl, the subtle unrest of a hustling city calls to me. But for this trip, I must leave that part of myself behind and embrace the natural calm of a place less populated by people and more by the exotic animals that roam the land. I will provide photos and commentary for all the things I see, feel, taste, and smell. Every encounter will be documented. Every sight will be marked. I will prove to myself that I can be a genius and adapt to my changing environment.