I'll Remember The Way It Felt

I’ve put this one off because making sense of how this experience feels is a daunting task. 

It’s easy to tell you that when I remember Cape Town, I’ll remember the intense heat of the summers and the bitter cold of the winters. I’ll remember the absence of central heat and air conditioning. I’ll remember the sideways rain that pelted onto my skin like bullets. I’ll remember the refuge I found in my electric blanket on the coldest nights. I’ll remember the rays of the sunshine on my face when winter took a break for a few days. I'll remember the icy water of the ocean.

A stunning sunset in Strand

I’ll remember my uncomfortable mattress on the floor that I called my bed. I’ll remember the unfinished surfaces of our home – paint that absorbed moisture and wood that warped in water. I'll remember how the stairs shook when one climbed up or down. I’ll remember the click-click-click-click of the dial on our gas stove as it struggled to spark. I’ll remember the way my muscles burned while I climbed Eaton Road.

When I remember Cape Town, I’ll remember how it felt the first time I successfully gave a tourist directions. I’ll remember the surprise of unconsciously uttering South African vernacular. I’ll remember how proud I felt to show off my temporary home to visitors from My Old Kentucky Home.

Family photo on our game drive day trip

But how do I capture how it feels to walk into a coffee shop and be greeted by a freshly pulled Americano (for the American, the barista will say)? And how do I explain what it feels like to inhale the crisp, chilly morning air at the bottom of Table Mountain? How do I tell how it feels to run into people you know on the opposite side of the world from where you spent your first 23 years?

And how do I explain how it feels to fumble through conversations in English with refugees from across Africa? Or how it feels to celebrate their perfectly constructed compound sentence written in the present perfect verb tense? Or how it feels to explain to your students that you’ll leave soon, and that you’re not sure when you’ll be back? Or how it feels to hear someone yelling your name on Long Street, turn around, and find your student grinning ear to ear.

A photo from one of my classes last term.

When I remember Cape Town, I’ll remember all of those feelings. I’ll remember how insignificant I felt at the top of Table Mountain, at the tip of Cape Point, and at the shore of the ocean. I’ll remember how wide the world felt, how far away home seemed, and how encountering the smallest cultural difference can feel like walking into a wall. I’ll remember how it felt to be included, and how it felt to be excluded. I’ll remember how it felt to be different, and I’ll remember how it felt to be the same.

I’ll remember how it felt to arrive, and I’m sure I’ll remember how it felt to leave. For now, though, I’m still wrapping my mind around how it feels to miss people and places I haven’t even left yet.

When I think about Cape Town, I’ll remember the way it felt.