When I was 18, I lived in Uzbekistan for 6 months. It was, by far, the hardest period of my life. I was homesick. I was tired of cabbage soup and non. I was exhausted from trying to understand the fast mixture of Uzbek, Tajik, and Russian languages spoken everywhere I went. I was exhausted from forming foreign sentences just to buy some potatoes and carrots. The winter was cold with little to no insulation and the summer was hot with little to no fans. Inside, I grumbled and complained and wished I wasn’t there. I was a terrible sport. I hated it.
But when it actually was time to pack my suitcase and fly back to America, I felt like I do right now; like a big knot had formed in my stomach and I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to miss my flight and stay there because somewhere in all of the exhaustion, hatred, and difficulty, I had unknowingly come to love Uzbekistan. I remember taking one last tearful look at the land from the plane window and closing my eyes to try to savor every sight; every sound; every smell; every taste; everything. I remember my Uzbek mother hugging me and crying. I remember my Uzbek sisters holding my hands. I remember my last meal of osh. If I could do it all over again, I’d embrace the whole country with one swooping hug and love it to pieces…because I still miss it as if it were my homeland. Maybe in a way it is for no other reason than the fact that I left America as a girl and I came back as a woman. My life changed in Uzbekistan. For that reason alone, Uzbekistan will always be nestled in the bottom of my heart as one of my true loves and I know that I will always miss it for as long as I live.
So for tonight, I’m just savoring the memories and drowning in the ache.
Samples
Hats
Registan Square
Gossip
My Family
Hilola, Fatima opa, Shaxzoda, Bakram aka, and Farangiz
All of these and so much more, I miss.
add a comment
+ COMMENTS