never the right (amount of) time to say goodbye

A phone call that doesn’t end with a proper “Goodbye, I love you” gives me a chair pulled out from under type of feeling.

For the past few months my parents have kept in touch by calling my Moroccan cell phone using calling cards. This seems to be the most sensible option because telephone rates would be ridiculously expensive and calling through Skype is the type of thing that’s two steps too technologically advanced for mom and dad. The calling card, while practical, has the unfortunate problem of a minute warning: You have one minute left. Cue panic button. Like a nervous high school student taking the SATs, my parents and I rush to fill in all the bubbles before time is up… Weather? Beautiful. Studies? Going. Host family? Well. Money? Enough. News? None. Be careful? Will do. The phone cuts out, typically mid-word, and I silently mouth four words to give closure to the conversation. One of the things I look forward to most upon returning is a properly ended phone call.

I am now struggling to write a paper after spending an entire semester having done little to no work. Not that I’m complaining. Just giving you an update on Rohini in Rabat sitting at home with an open computer and blank Word document. Motivation, if you’re out there, please find your way to my fingers.