Connecting to People

Tracy left for America the other day. She was a Fulbright student living in Morocco with her husband and two cats. I arrived at her house that night and was greeted by the Moroccan family that she spent time with. It was strange, looking at the house that she had been living in for the past eight months, to see the boxes on the floor, the emptiness of the main salon and the kitchen, and the cats bundled up in carrying cages. tracy had made small boxes of things for everyone who we call, "The Er Rachidia Family", a group of Fulbright scholars, Peace Corps Volunteers, and Moroccans who spend a lot of time together in the Er Rachidia area. I was thrilled when I learned that Tracy had given me what, to most people, would be a few years' supply of American, Asian, and English teas, and to me, would probably be drunk nonstop within a few days.

"I'll try to keep in touch!" I said.
"How?' She asked, "You don't have Facebook."
"We'll send you a message when you get into America." Another Volunteer said.
"Yes."
"Marcus, maybe if you get back on Facebook, one day, we can get back in touch."
"I can send emails."

As I stood to the side and watched as Tracy tearfully said goodbye to each person, I truly felt that we were some family saying goodbye to one of its members. I wondered about my decision to leave Facebook. I still stand by it.
Another thing that I had noticed was the mother of the Moroccan side of our family. She normally was much more energetic, but tonight, she sat silently in the corner of the room and stared off into the distance.

A few days later, I went over to this woman's house. The main salon was slightly smaller than Tracy's, but the paint, though older and more worn, was the same yellowish-gray color. Red cushions surrounded a small wooden table, and kitten wrestled on the floor and nibbled on chicken heads that her son got from the butcher.

"Salam." I said, "Labas?"
"Labas, Hamdullah." She replied, but she still had that strange look on her face.
"Labas?" I asked again, with more emphasis.

She sighed. I watched as she began to pick up small objects to clean up the parlor. Even though she turned away from me, I knew what she was thinking. I know what sadness looks like, and I know what it does to one's face. Sadness softens one's face, as though it wants to fade away and not be seen. It whitens the silhouette and drains it of color.

"Tracy tdu s Merika."
"eyeh." I replied.

She sighed again, held up a small photo book, and then began to cry. She reached down, pulled up the bottom of her headscarf, and then wiped the tears from her eyes. She handed me the book, and I opened it to the picture of her wedding day, where she was leaning against a wall while her husband looked on. As I looked at the photograph, I noticed how their faces, filled with happiness, had more shape than the face of this woman who sat before me. I leaned over and sat the book on the cushion where she normally sat, and watched as the woman's face slowly took shape again. She realized that, in a way, there was always going to be a part of Tracy here, in this salon, in the form of memories that the two of them shared.

In Buddhism, I have been taught about accepting the inevitable when it comes to relationships. The Buddha taught that one should view all phenomena as though it were a feather landing in your hand. You keep your palm open, so that it can land, and let it remain open, so that when the time comes for it to leave on the next gust of wind, it doesn't poke you or get damaged. There is a part of me that is grateful for this teaching, but sometimes, it makes me wonder if I am unconsciously separating myself from something that is utterly human. I like Tracy, and I hope to keep up emails with her, but I know she has a life to live. We all do. Sometimes, our lives bring us together for a while, and sometimes, it slowly separates us. That doesn't mean that we can't enjoy the time we spent together. I want to make use of every moment that we have. I don't want to live my life assuming that someone will always be in my life. I don't want to take those moments for granted anymore. Any one of us can be separated from one another in a multitude of ways - work, falling out, a move, and yes, even death. Accepting that, I feel that I am accepting a very real part of existence. And it makes me feel as though I am appreciating every moment that I have.