Somewhere under the Rainbow

And the Oscar goes to… she’s laughing. It’s already night. The sun went down and we’re still in the kitchen that looks like a mess. A large chaos like a bomb went down on us. She wants to say my name but I’m calling hers out first. Teamwork. Since noon we’ve been cleaning the kitchen from scratch. Pots, pans, dishes of all kinds and shapes, glasses, cutlery, spoiled and fresh food, veggies, jams, cheeses and dairy products all around us. Electronic devices covered in dust and grease, knife blocks, bowls, empty bottles, oily dirty plastic containers everywhere it looks like we’ve just started when it took us an entire day to even get here. Uncountable washing clothes, sponges and scrubbing utensils surrounding us. I put on the next dish washing machine. No electricity the entire day, only cold water making it feel like the work became more rather than less. Hills of dirty laundry in the hallways, the washing machine off - no power. Scrubbing, cleaning, washing, cooking. 

I’m in Adjara with my new Georgian family. Everyone loves you, you won everyone’s heart over. I’m so happy you’re here. I needed someone like you. Finally I don’t feel alone anymore. It's Day 1. She’s smiling, we’re singing. She’s so positive with everything that she has to manage. Yes. please bring some of your friends, I’m sure they will be like you. I don’t mean to flatter you, but really I think so. She’s wonderful. From the moment I arrived, I felt so comfortable around her in her family. Always smiling, making sure you’re ok, seeing that you have everything you need, her positivity and attentiveness is a sheer blessing. Always people coming around visiting. Friends, family, the neighbor’s children, learning mathematics with the teacher from the next village. I join them to practice some Georgian. The kid’s English is better than mine, let alone Georgian. I feel like a child again, a student learning from the Georgian children. I love it. 

In the middle of nowhere I find myself in the offbeat Adjarian mountains not even close to any villages. The mountains are green, reminding me of the SriLankan jungle with their lushes plants. The insects are noisy and itchy, the air is humid, the sun coming out behind the clouds every now and then. I have my own room, all the space in the world to unfold and feel free like a bird. I feel like I’ve found a safe space where I can learn and be at peace for a while and experience Georgian life away from the turbulence of the cities and tourist spots. This is where I could start a new life. Between two worlds. Europe and Asia, halfway to India.

Halfway to India, as if my heart heard the call my tears start rolling down my face, breaking out again as if they were new. Fresh. Or maybe it was the song playing right when I come across our pictures. On the day one year. He is holding me in his arms, I feel how much I loved him, how safe I wanted to feel, how much I wanted to be loved by him in the same way, picturing my future with him. Deep inside my heart hoping for someone finally loving me the way I deserve with the same dedication I convey from my heart, willing to get to know me for who I am, wanting to carry me through life, finding out how my heart works, making sure I had everything I needed to be happy, appreciating me more than I myself do, looking through my mask, picking me up, holding me when I need to be held. It wasn't there. Seeing his face still hurts. Even if only in pictures. I wanted it to be true so badly yet I have no respect left for how he has treated throughout the months, again and again and I let him until I finally put an end to it. 

Oh I forgive you, you know not what you have done, 

Oh I forgive you, Now it's time for me to move on, 

Oh I forgive you, You cannot see right from wrong, 

Oh I Love you, always in my heart you'll live on

I drift away halfway further. India, so close, yet far. In between. I'm safe now. I can decide whenever, if I ever I wish to return or stay in right in the middle - in balance. Here. Half way to India. Two loves a year apart. Time for a new one. Only this time I want it all the way through. No more halfways.

Surrounded by these lovely people adopting me into their family, I am lucky enough once again that a safe space including family has found me. Lina, you can stay as long as you want. I wanted to tell you. I didn't want to tell you yesterday just yet. Her laughter again contagious. And away passes my lethargy from a year ago. I undertake my first excursion, exploring the surrounding mountains, on the hunt for the next waterfall... what else? Lina, alone in nature. Not always the best idea. I get lost, no map here. No roads marked. Listen to your intuition. Again and again I need to remind myself. Hanging on the next mountain in the bushes of the jungle, holding on to roots, pulling myself up, trying to climb the barbwire, to finally crawl on my fingertips up to the road. Checking the map again, sending me exactly the same way, through someone's private yard. I again open the wooden gates, pushing through the weed that seems to not have been cut for years. I try to force myself through the jungle again a different way that's no less dangerous. Until I finally decide to go back, scratched, a small cut on my finger, knees and ankles. I give up. I do not know the way anymore and just start walking a bigger road. I'm sweating, already exhausted and tired. Whatever it takes, I'm not going back without having seen the waterfall. Coming around the curve I see a car in front of a house with four Georgian men disinfecting their hands. I reach my finger through their car window, presenting my cut to get some disinfection. They immediately start talking to me - in Georgian. I start feeling so sad that I cannot understand a single word and communicate with them. They take me into their car and drive me all the way until the end of the rocky roads to the waterfall, not giving up the attempt to build communication with me. Next time I think to myself, I at least want to make sure I can say where I am from, introducing myself to a point that I don't have to drown in shame of not being able to express myself. I want this so much. When they drop me in front of the large waterfall, I thank them and walk excitedly towards the pool, between all the rocks, lush green plants and little springs. 

I need refreshment. I am almost alone despite the obligatory Georgian picnic table next to the waterfall under the trees, next to the stream. The view towards them is blocked by all the tropical plants, giving me the atmosphere of being completely by myself. I'm climbing over the rocks, leaving my clothes behind and crawl into the pool beneath the splashing waterfall. The rush is deafening my ears, the water spilling, flying all around. Perfect temperature for a little dip and paddling around. I love the sensation of cold water on my skin in these summer months. Slowly I get out again, resting for some minutes on a rock, the sun shortly coming out behind a cloud warming up my face. I feel the need to get going, no less tired and slowly becoming hungry. I start walking back up on the path, through the gates and back on the road. Another car is picking me. A couple that was with me by the waterfall. I try to check the map to see where we are going. Again I am lost. No way to find out if this is the right way. 

After a few minutes I decide to get out of the car as I don't wanna get too far into the wrong direction. I start walking, I turn around. I am not sure where to go. I turn back again. When I pass a Georgian man on the side of the road for the second time, I show him my phone and ask for directions. He's not sure what to tell me, especially with the language difficulties but he knows my host father. So I ask him to point the direction and start walking. On each junction again unsure of where to go I finally start recognizing bits and pieces, yet wondering how I got to where I was, wondering at what point I started circling around. Another car stopping me after a half hour, pointing me into the same direction, I'm hoping I will be on the right path. My appetite gradually rising, I can smell the fresh food from our kitchen already in my mind. Step by step I start recognizing places. I feel more confident and finally I am on the way straight back. Four and a half hours. Not the longest hike I've taken. Not the most difficult one either. Yet I did not plan on it. Feeling tired from the beginning without food, only planning some walk to the waterfall this was more than I had taken into account. And again it was all worth it. 

 

When I open the gate to what I call home for now, I feel like a warrior who just won a battle. My family is sitting on the long table on the panorama platform, covered with delicious foods. At least that part I had manifested right. Khatia welcoming me with a smile. You found it. You're coming just in time for eating. This I need. I jump into the shower since I started sweating on my way back becoming sticky again. Fresh and exhausted, I sit down on the table ready to take whatever I could get, stuffing fried potatoes, salad, home made stew, some local dairy dish and breads with butter in my mouth, not knowing where to start or when to end. Even when I start cleaning the kitchen, that again looks like a bomb has just hit from fifty visitors, I keep stuffing anything I find into my mouth. Another piece of bread, some cheese, my fingers in the dip saucers. Cleaning it all up, I feel full and worthy of rest. Only for so long though. My appetite will return in no more than two hours when I already feel ready to go to sleep.

In the end my energy returns when it's about midnight, my Georgian family as every night not going to sleep any earlier, yelling laughing downstairs. I have to adjust my wakening-sleeping cycle to their rhythm. Tomorrow I will start. Go to sleep late, wake up late. This shall be a good day to start when I wake up at 8am, knowing this is much too early. I go to the toilet and back to bed. When they start waking up, putting on the construction machinery in the garden the noise is putting me back into dreamland. Gradually I will adapt to the mentality. When I open my eyes at 10am I feel like this was all the sleep I needed. I go down and make coffee with my sister in the kitchen, cleaning up. Going back to bed just for a few more minutes. My mom calls. Again just in time for everything to bring together what I need, she offers me to take care of it, supporting me learning the language, staying here, supplying from home. For my insurance, planning my life with me, asking me if she could come next spring to see me, to explore the country. I am so happy. It feels like all the puzzle pieces, show up right as I made the next decision to stay with my lovely family some more as this is a great opportunity to step into a bit more stable and authentic local life instead of running to the next place in fear of standing still, missing out on something. Finally living a routine, a daily life in the country, with the people I love. I am learning. My whole mind is shifting to a completely new perspective on life. It feels safe. It feels exciting, it feels fulfilling. The little connections I have, creating the perfect dynamics for me.

My sister is sitting down next to me. I would start cooking now, peeling potatoes she says. I love this. I will come to help. She's such a ray of light, supporting anything it is I want to do. Going to the kitchen, cleaning up, I put on the music as every day, starting to sing along. When she enters the kitchen, she's laughing. You see only for this I love to have you here. Just watching you singing in the kitchen is enough, you didn't even have to do anything. That girl like her relatives clapping their hands whenever I'm singing in the kitchen, on the balcony, wherever it is like later that night asking me to sing again. That was the next decision that seems to serve me well. Staying. Another day passes like it only consists of minutes while we're frying veggies and potatoes, setting up all the table for the entire family, cleaning, talking, in synchronicity. 

Doing it all over again in the evening for the upcoming supra I wasn't aware of. I'm asking her if I can do anything. Her mother and her sitting on the couch refusing to move, not knowing and not wanting to cook. Yes Lina, I need a psychiatrist for this family. Her humor never ceasing. As every day it's full house. It's Friday. So we just get going and start peeling, cutting, cooking, frying all over again. She's peaking out through the window. Lina, look. I take a look as enthusiasm is getting hold of me right away when I see nature's spectacle. I grab my phone and run outside. An amazing rainbow is building across the valley with colors so intense I've barely experienced it before. Another one lightly forming above the main one like a reflection of the main one. I stand in the rain eagerly taking pictures. The air is fresh, it's been cloudy and sunny in a mix all day creating a perfectly refreshing surrounding. When we finish taking pictures, letting our excitement settle, we keep preparing the feast until I have covered the entire table with delicious dishes. The first time I am behind the scenes in the kitchen preparing a supra myself instead of watching it from the outside like an uninvolved spectator. I am not getting close to any disappointment in the course of the night, not running short of anything. Not food, not drinks, not the atmosphere, the stories, the toasts or kindness and inclusiveness that everyone shows. This takes me two years back to another rainy night in the deepest mountains with another Georgian family that saved me from the danger in the cold and rainy mountains, adopting me as their own.

As I sit down I again start filling my plate as if I haven't been fed in a day while my glasses are filled with beer and home made wine and our Tamada starts with the toast as I remember them from two years ago: in order, starting with the general moving to personal as the night passes. Everyone is relaxed and in a happy mood when they start singing the first polyphonic song and I am part of it. I wish my parents could see it. The air is fresh for the first time in weeks. I go up to get my sweater, grabbing my phone when I hear them singing. Finishing the first song the first toast goes to peace in the world and Sakartvelo, Sakartvelo lamazo as the next song is a hymn to the beauty of Georgia. He's looking at me: Lina do you have children? Another reminder of two years ago. The attempt to make me Georgian. Maybe you're Georgian. You should not let that girl leave. You love singing. We heard you on the balcony. You will see, the longer you stay, you will start too. You do yoga right? I put my leg behind my ear. They are laughing as the tamada is trying to pick up his leg from the floor, his beer belly hindering him. Everyone is laughing. 

Moving along with the songs they will be dedicated to the area of Adjara and their village while the toasts alongside go to the women, all the women in the world, Khatia, me being here, helping, asking me not to leave. Khatia is behind me, putting her hand on my shoulder. Then the toasts move to the people we choose as our family, friends, people we love, our parents, the people we've lost in our life, who passed away and not at last to LOVE and life itself. The tamada is telling a story about life: What is happiness? He asks. It is the sweet sadness of being alive, of being a human in this life. So what is sadness then? It means not being a human and having the chance of being alive. And so we toast to the luck of being humans and alive in each and every moment, whatever it may hold. 

Waking up the next day, I seem to have adapted to Georgian hours: half 11. I go down for the first time trying out: დილა მშვიდობისა. They're smiling at my attempt. Did you drink much wine? Seems they also get irritated by my new waking hours. I shake my head no and enter the kitchen for coffee and... swirling around  cleaning up the mess from last night or what's left. Singing along, drying cleaning, tidying up as if there was no ending, feeling so grateful to be part of this experience. Seems they're right. I keep singing all day long. დედა is coming inside the kitchen always happy to see me cleaning, hanging the laundry, going up and down, she comes to me, opening her arms to hug me. Very good she repeats over and over, smiling from her heart. I can see the love and gratitude in her eyes. I feel loved and appreciated for who I am not, not for only the work I'm doing but for what I am bringing all along. I sillily move around jerking my arms to both sides twisting my hips in high speed while the pelmeni are boiling - asking her earlier if it was ok for me to make them she answers: of course, asking it is not ok. She’s coming in and can’t stop laughing, joining me asking if there is music on she can’t hear. Seems I got too much energy that she usually has when she walks around singing as her way of communicating, dedicating her words to the beauty of life or she said some days before like…

… Lana summer time sadness. Ohoho... What does it even mean? Sadness? Happiness? The sweet sadness. Two sides of the same coin. Bittersweet. One cannot exist without the other. Isn't all the beauty of life inherent in that simple message?