Though many a comrade has been counting the days and hours to the time we head back to America, it didn’t really occur to me that I had another life looming until the week after Easter when I joined the 40 other kids who flew with me out of Philly two years ago at a uber cute camp ground north of Chisinau.
Close of Service is a big deal. There are, we learned, dozens of forms to sign. Insurance deals to extend. Tests to take. Interviews to have. Reports to write. Tubes in which to poo – yep. Even as we arrived and were bonded together as a cohesive traveling whole by new toilet experiences, so do we leave.
Three days we spent learning about these, and took one of the tests. Two nights we spent drinking a good deal of cheap beer, eating sunflower seeds and soaking up each other personalities, swapping stories of all the crazy things we’d seen, done and had done to us.
Also, it may be the most photographed three days of the whole two year span. Becca lent out her camera to me and Miranda and others to culminate in hundreds of random photos of people enjoying the shit out of some sunshine and trampoline.
I’ve spent most of my two years avoiding most of these people. I was forcibly a hermit, and was suddenly regretful of it. Then I realized, two years ago we were all different people. I didn’t like most of the people who entered with me. Half way through I started hating myself. Then I started liking myself again, and now I love them. I know I can rely on them, all of them, to respond to any phone call or emergency or email or inquiry. By waxing aşa I risk losing all the cynicism modern comedy and life demands, but I don’t care anymore.
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