White

My stomach is churning and eyes are watering. I just packed up my room. It is very white again. It is uncomfortable to be in alone, a white island.

On Saturday, I assembled some new IKEA furniture with my roommate—oh, the mighty power of women—and the old sideboards from the living room migrated to my bedroom. That meant that I was packing in, taking the books from my windowsill and putting them into the lockers, storing all the stacks of posters and pamphlets I have been shamelessly accumulating the past few months. Everything looked so seamless, so Swiss. I avoided thinking that I would be unpacking these same things and repacking them into my suitcase in less than a week, transforming back into an American Tourister, "like none of it ever was real."

This week has been difficult, my mind teetering on departing thoughts, as well as arriving again in Cincinnati. Wrapping up projects and writing cards; quite honestly, I don't have anything profound to say. My mind is racing so fast that it is blank, one big white blur.

Research shows that white can symbolize death. Some things that needed to be in my killed in my life have died in the past two weeks. This was painful, is painful (who am I kidding, the pain won't be over for awhile), but it was the right thing to do. White is also purity. Because of this death (and His death), I am pure, even if I don't feel like it. And purity can bring peace. I can't wait for this one. I am white, and I am ready for peace.

Welcome Amanda.