I'm Leaving on a Jetplane...

No, really, I am. Tomorrow night (Thursday) my flight leaves Joburg. Swazi Airlink is being liquidated, so the only other carrier between Manzini and Johannesburg, South African Airways, is swamped with passengers. So this leaves me with just one little detail to take care of: exactly how I'm going to get from Manzini to Joburg, a four-hour road trip. I'm still working on that one. Worst case scenario: I have to take a kombi and risk being late for my flight, and have to figure out how to get from the bus rank to the airport in Joburg. We'll see.

You might be in shock right now. I know I am. "How did it get this bad?" you ask. I'm asking myself the same thing at this very moment. The only thing I know is that this has been building for a very, very long time. I haven't written about everything on my blog, but suffice it to say that this has been the hardest year of my life and then some. I kept thinking that I could tough it out, which I've also been thinking for a very long time.

Then, yesterday morning during my run, which is when many of my epiphanies come, I had a thought. I asked myself, "Why are you fighting so hard? What are you fighting for?" Because that's what it has become: a struggle. Being here everyday has become an agonizing trial, a test, every second and minute are difficult and must be struggled through. And in this awful fight, it's me against the world.

And I'm losing. I think I've known this for awhile, but yesterday was when I was finally able to admit it to myself. After I asked myself what I'm actually fighting for, I realized that my remaining in Swaziland for a long time now has been about not being a quitter. Not giving up. Finishing what you started. Keeping up appearances. Trying to pretend like everything is okay. And it's been that way for so long that I can't really remember if it was ever about anything else.

I've never felt like I belonged here. Never felt like I had a purpose here. I never really knew what I was doing here, until it turned into just trying to make it until July when this would all be over and I could go home. And recently it just got to the point where I realized that it wasn't fair to other people if I remained here. Instead of simply putting on a pleasant face when interacting with people, like I've been doing for a long time, I started to not be able to muster up any enthusiasm or a smile, even a fake one. I'd been pretending for too long and I was sick of it.

So I've been ignoring people on the street, giving curt, barely polite, greetings, or not at all, and being really distant with my host family. And I realized that it's not acceptable for me to treat people like that. It's not who I am, it's not what they deserve, it's no way to treat a fellow human being. There is something very, very wrong.

So it was only by realizing my problems interacting with others that I was able to finally admit to myself that I'm not okay. I really am my own worst enemy. I knew that things were not right, but I also knew that I'm a strong person who can make it through a lot. So I just kept ignoring problems, and pushing and pushing myself through one day, and then the next. And the next, and the next and the next... I even knew that I was close to the edge, but I didn't know how close. Until now, when I'm leaving tomorrow morning and my chest constricts and there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I think about how to make it until then.

So I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I'm running off and not saying a proper goodbye to all the people who have been so kind to me. I feel like a failure. I've failed to hold up my part of the contract that I entered into for this year. I feel mean, because I know how many people I'm hurting by just leaving all of a sudden. I feel weak, because I couldn't make it.

Telling my host family that I'm leaving took every bit of that tiny little scrap of courage that I could muster up. Worst is that I can't even really explain clearly why on earth I decided to do such a crazy thing as get on a plane tomorrow and leave them. After all, it's taken how many paragraphs here, and you're probably still wondering what's going on. And your mother tongue is English. When I told my three-year-old sister that I was going to "eMelika" she asked if I would be coming back tomorrow. My response was to burst into tears.

Frankly and honestly, I'm a mess. And I partially blame myself for letting the situation get so completely out of control that this evacuation is necessary. A lot of it, obviously, is due to circumstances and others' actions which are outside my control. But I'm not even going to go there.

Finally, I apologize to you. I'm sorry for disappointing you. I'm sorry for shattering whatever illusions you may have held about me. I'm sorry for not being honest with you throughout.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...