Monday, January 25, 2010

the first day

Paola is waiting for me with a big smile and a sign that reads “MONA, White Cloud”.
The first scent of Costa Rica sends me into a whirlwind - hard to describe the tropical smell- a combination of the dewy aroma of trees, flowers, organic fruits, mixed with a breeze of the ocean and mountains along with the breathtaking air of firewood and earth.

The sound is happy and bustling – various birds chirping and singing, roosters crackling and Spanish music playing in the background with the ever so often friendly greeting of a passerby “bonestais”.

Paola’s eyes are sparkling blue, her face is tanned from long hours in the outdoors, and her muscles are carved from her Tai Chi practice and her work on the farm. Her smile is radiant and contagious. “Are you alright?” She asks me in a light airy voice with a hint of Italian accent as we carry my luggages to her beat-up car. I can’t help but stare at her muscles, her flat chest, her strange Tai Chi attire and wonder to myself about how she would look in the real world - if she were to resume living in a regular society and strive for conventional beauty.

I sit in the car and let out a deep sigh. My journey to Costa Rica has been emotionally exhausting and physically strenuous, to say the least. I have not slept for two days – I’ve been in transit for 15 hours. My first flight from Toronto to Miami had an abnormal amount of turbulence. So much so that the flight attendants could not serve our complementary beverages and the pilot made an announcement for everyone to be careful!

At some point between clenched teeth and muscles I asked one of the flight attendants whether everything was alright. She replied “no, we cannot find good air, but please do not be concerned”. We exchanged fake frightened smiles. It did not help that the lady beside me kept muttering Jesus words. I was convinced that if our plane did not crash, I would surely die of a heart attack.
I tasted death in my mouth and felt fear settle in my bones. My mind wrestled with questions about why I chose to leave home and embark on a journey to a strange foreign land. My heart was wounded from the pain of leaving behind all of my comforts, my loving family, my supportive friends and the possibility of a few more weeks of togetherness with the man I love.

Only then, when my body was about to give in, when my heart was broken, when my spirit was fleeting, and when I thought I was face to face with death did I know for sure that I want to live.
As I was in a panic, a card fell out of my book. It was from Dorsa. Ninja doing Tai Chi. I laughed for a good ten minutes. The lady beside me thought I was crazy. First crying, then holding on for dear life and now laughing so hard for so long.

I faced a major flight delay (while in transit from Miami to Costa Rica), encountered customs problems (not a good idea to bring Persian rice wherever you travel, despite what mom tells you), had to carry four pieces of luggage through numerous security checks ( it didn’t help that I was traveling with American Airlines and that there were heightened security measures in place by the Americans due to a recent bomb threat, nor that my passport read that I was born in Iran) all the while struggling with an emotional and mental war waged inside me.

I was weak, vulnerable and weary as Paola and I made small chit chat. In an attempt to warn her about my state of mind, I began to tell her a little about the man I love – about our last conversation - when he looked me straight in the eyes and just as I thought that he would say his most romantic words to me he said firmly and sternly “Mona, I will never marry you. Not now, not in a year, not in two years.”

All I could do was gulp. Sit there in his car, moments before we parted and sip my tea and gulp down the lump in my throat.

“Why are you saying these things? Are you trying to protect me from myself? To ensure I move on?"

“No, I’m saying them because they’re true. I will not communicate with you. You should not wait for me. I will never marry you”.

“Don’t you think it would have been easier for me to have some hope”? My voice was now quivering and pleading.

“No it’s easier this way”.

I reached over to him, I hugged him goodbye to dismiss his cruel words. I told him that it would not be necessary for him to accompany me to the airport. Finally, in desperation I asked him if he wanted me to hate him.

He broke down into a sob. Between tears he told me “I’m already gonna miss the shit out of you, I don’t wanna worry about you too”. An exchange of compassion between us - I reached over and kissed him on the cheeks, and thanked him for his strength. He told me not to thank him and insisted on coming to the airport to see me off.

Back in the car with Paola, I try to explain my sense of loss, my despair, and my utter heartbreak. She says she understands as she has also experienced the joys of love and endured the sadness of its loss.

We stop to buy groceries in San Jose on our way to the little town of Santa Ana where my destination – the White Cloud Sanctuary- awaits. The supermarket looks like any other I’ve seen in Toronto, or in Germany or Iran. In a scattered fashion I walk around the aisles and try to purchase basic necessities- some vegetables, meat, rice, chicken, grapes, and olive oil. Paola is beside me, encouraging me and kindly assisting me. “You should purchase coffee. You have an espresso machine at the temple”. I think it odd, but I’m pleased to hear that.

We ride up the curves of the mountain on the thin road while cars and trucks whiz by and continue with our chit chat.

I drift back to our moment of goodbye.

“I love you” He whispers in my ear.

“I love you more” I whisper back, in a tremble. Our last embrace- awkward with my mom standing nearby and with people moving hurriedly around us. I’m soaked with a feeling of dread and sadness but like a robot I turn toward my cart of luggage and tread toward the security gate.

Paola interrupts my illusive thoughts “Ah, and here we are at the White Cloud” She says it with as much cheerfulness and enthusiasm as she can mustter, but I know that she is consumed in my aura of sadness which hangs in the air above us like a dark cloud. By the time we have arrived at the temple, which will be my headquarters for the duration of my stay, darkness has fallen around us.

Paola helps me unload my luggage and then she opens the doors to the temple. “This is where you’ll be staying”. Again, she does her best to sound optimistic. I step forward hesitantly and the wood under my feet cracks. I look up at the bamboo–made ceiling and then forward at the Chinese separator which divides the main space of the temple (common area) from the rustic bedroom, kitchen and washroom (my area) in the sanctuary. A surge of self-pity chokes me as the magnitute of my decision hits me like a ton of bricks - this is where I’ll be staying? In the middle of nowhere, on a mountain, in absolute darkness, with no one around, without a telephone, a television, a familiar face, without any shops, streets, people to see? I just cannot control my emotions anymore and I burst into tears in front of Paola. She leaves me to myself and tells me to get ready for a meditation session in an hour’s time.

I put on my Deepak Chopra CD and listen to the recital of Rumi poems. I try to think positive thoughts but I cannot do anything except to kneel down and sob uncontrollably. I change the CD to Bob Marley, reasoning with myself that the reggae melody will lift my mood. No such luck. It reminds me of the Orbit room in Toronto, where a live band plays reggae music for a small intimate crowd. The last time I was there was a week ago when he surprised me and arranged for all of our friends to meet there for my farewell.

I hear knocking on the door. Paola is back. She sees my chriveled body curled up on the floor, looks into my red eyes, touches my weeping face and suggests that perhaps I shouldn’t listen to music. "The Maestro is ready for you", she tells me.

2 comments:

  1. i am in tears, my heart is melting and missing you sooo bad, i just want to come through my screen and come hug you!! but i am sooooo proud of you for being so strong, please know that your in my thoughts everyday and i send you lots and lots of love and support.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm so glad you're keeping this blog. You told me once that you wanted to write a book someday, and I think this will be it. You're on an adventure, and you're full of emotion. I hope you'll continue writing down everything, not just so *I* can keep reading it, but so someday maybe millions of people can read it.

    Mona, at this moment in time, you're the bravest person I know. Brave doesn't mean not feeling afraid, it means feeling afraid and still going through with what you need to do.

    ReplyDelete