In the air

Dear friend,

I am on an airplane as I write this, en route from Bucharest to Paris, final destination: Albuquerque. Because of delays renewing my Romanian visa, I was unable to go to the States for Christmas as I had planned, and so I pushed back the trip with the hope of visiting family and friends in March. When the war started, I hesitated to go forward with buying the ticket, but ultimately decided to stick with my plan. As surreal and uncomfortable as it is, the truth is that life just keeps moving forward. If we wait until things are stable or certain, we will perhaps never stop waiting. 

As I was packing, I realized that the last time I left Romania was almost exactly two years ago, in the first weeks of a different crisis. That time, I was evacuated unexpectedly and against my deepest desires to stay put. That time, I wept on the flight to the States and wondered if anything would ever be the same again.

This time, I am leaving voluntarily, and with peace, and with a return ticket for early April. And yet I am still leaving in the midst of another series of uncertain and unsettling days. In the train station I passed a tent set up for Ukrainian refugees to receive support and guidance, and I walked past family after family being directed by volunteers in bright vests, and if my own little evacuation at the start of the pandemic was painful, I don’t know how any of them are still on their feet moving forward. But here they are. Here we all are. 

I don’t have much else to say at the moment, but in the next few days I do want to share with you a story that took place nearly two years ago today. It is an essay I was commissioned to write last year for Oh Magazine (my first commissioned piece!), and it’s a memory that is dear to me, especially now as the days feel uncertain and heavy once again. Maybe it will offer you a bit of hope too.

Love,

Jenna