Homecoming

As I write this, I am sitting on a boat bound for La Gomera, my island home of a year and a half that I left in a rush when our global nightmare began last March. As the pandemic roared toward us in March and the prognosis got worse every day, I made the decision to leave Spain and go back to America, largely motivated by the believe that I would be back by June to close out the school year and collect my things. I took only the things I couldn’t live without, and left the rest in its place in the apartment that I shared with Oscar. He stood vigil in our home (under a much stricter lockdown than America’s) as weeks turned to months and months turned into… well, a year and a half. Once June 2020 hit, I started to fully realize the magnitude of this thing, and that it wasn’t going to get better any time soon. Together over FaceTime each evening, we stared out over an abyss with no horizon, and distracted ourselves by talking about the future, like when he might come to America and all of the things we would do together. Looking back, I can’t believe the motivation and hope that we maintained in the fall and winter months, when the promise of vaccines wasn’t even fully realized yet.

In March, I got my second dose of the vaccine with my fellow educators and allowed my spirits to be lifted by the buzz about what summer might look like. When it came to international travel, though, I couldn’t identify any sort of hole that would allow me into the European Union. However, things changed once I spoke to a fellow Bowdoin and Fulbright alum, Camille, who also found love in her host country. She told me about a certificate that she was able to obtain as the unmarried partner of an EU citizen that would allow her entry to reunite with him. And it worked! So I took a shot in the dark and wrote an email to the Spanish consulate in DC, and much to my surprise, I got an affirmative answer after working hours. The process was incredibly simple and validating, like Spain genuinely cared about reuniting two hearts separated by borders. It stood in stark contrast to US policies, which we became familiar with while investigating the visa process for Oscar. 

With the certificate saved to my computer, I bought my flights but still didn’t fully let myself believe it might actually happen. I just put my head down and worked all spring, focusing on my job and keeping the idea of the trip close to my chest. Oscar and I started a countdown around ninety days, celebrating the diminishing number each day. As I look at my phone right now, the screen says 34 minutes. 

I wanted to write in this moment, because it feels monumental. It is monumental. I am standing in the light at the end of the tunnel that has kept me going since I hugged Oscar goodbye 15 months ago. As I flew in to Tenerife this morning, I marveled at the jagged coastline and thought about how different I felt the last time I saw it. I had timed my music just right to play the saddest part of the saddest song as we struck out over the ocean and left the islands behind. This time, I couldn’t stop smiling. I thought about all the life I lived in between those two moments, entrenching myself in two new school communities and working with a batch of incredible students and dedicated staff. Making a new home in a new place and celebrating a different kind of beauty. And through it all, the Canaries kept a firm grip on my heart. I am so excited to get back and spend a month in worship of landscapes, people, food, and the ocean, and I feel so lucky to have so many reasons to return.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…. I have an Oscar to hug!!!!