If you’ve been around for a bit, you know that I tend to laugh at my misfortunes, make jokes out of my setbacks, and move on with a smile on my face. However, even my outer happy-go-lucky self seems to have its limits, and these limits have been reached. This is not a happy post.

I have 187 hours left before I have to get on a plane that’s going to take me away from the life I’ve built for myself over the past 6 years, away from the people that have become my family, away from the place that has beome my home. The life I worked so hard for, gone. Just like that. It’s admittedly hard to stay positive this time.

“But think about the good things that come out of it!” I can hear you saying. And believe me, I’ve tried. I had a whole list of “positive” things that come out of me having to leave my home. It’s on my phone. The items are:

• no poison oak?
• .
• .
• .
• .

Yeah. That’s it. “No poison oak?” is the only thing I could come up with over four months, and even that has been busted because—surprise—I was told that there is poison oak where I’m headed.

“You can build a new life for yourself again!”

Oh, honey, no. I’ve done that here. This is my new life. This is what I’ve worked so hard for. This is the life I haven’t even dared to dream of before. And it’s ending.

“Okay, but there must be something you’re looking forward to.”

People often say things like this until they learn what and where I’ve come from and how incredibly much my community—the people that have become more of a family—and my home—home, here—mean for me.

My school counselor-turned-friend told me once or twice that I’m one of the most resilient people he’s ever met. Well, I don’t feel resilient right now. I feel small and insignificant and beaten down. I don’t want to sleep—it feels like a complete waste of time—but I also don’t see a reason in getting out of the bed in the morning.

This following weekend, I was supposed to see one of the people who mean the most to me in my life to say goodbye. A tragedy of no small proportions happened in their life and we won’t be able to see each other. Our last hug, therefore, had already happened on Saturday, April 2. It was a short one and I regret every second that I let go too early, expecting to see them once more.

The grief and loneliess of this situation is crushing. It’s like a mountain that keeps growing as I try to climb it, and I’m pretty sure that the top is so high up there’s no oxygen left—and I don’t have an oxygen tank ith me.

I know I wrote so many times about how important it is to keep going when things get tought but I never throught I would be in a place where I didn’t have a reason to. I managed an edless amount of constant hope-failure cycles with immigration only because I had a reason to keep on fighting. It was tought but giving up wasn’t an option because there was something to fight for. But I’ve lost that fight and all the reasons for it are staying here, which is soon to be “there, very far away, perhaps forever out of my reach.”

This was not a happy post but it was one that was very much needed. These struggles are as real as it gets and it didn’t feel right (and was downright impossible) to write and post anothe fun, elated, sunshine-filled post when the reality is so different. It felt like lying.

I might or might not post next Tuesday, the day before my departure. Next post is hopefully going to be a fun one; I’ve run a half marathon up in Utah, visited Zion NP, finally ran in Flagstaff, and a lot of other nice things. Hopefully I’ll be able to share them with you soon.

Lots of love,
—P