The 50 Day Crisis

The smell of Blue Tokai’s Bibi Plantation coffee lingers in the air of my Polish and Indian friends’ room. We’ve had some milk to put in it, for once – something that I once took for granted but is now a luxury.  It’s 12:24 am on the 30^th March. The temperature is still close to a 30 and I feel a drop of sweat running down my stomach - the Maharasthrian summer has started. For far too many people, summer before monsoon means drought that takes away their livelihood – but in my own, individual, small world it means that graduation is coming. In my own, individual, small world it means that what once seemed like an eternity has begun to approach its end – my years in MUWCI.

Slowly, careful comments of the mortality of our time here have started to slip into the caf table discussions.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know, it’s scary.”

“I know man.”

(Or well, sometimes it’s more like an overtly excited comment from a first-year about their first-years. and then a panicky burst of frustration from a second-year.

“Hey, did you here about the zero year who-“

“NO.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I just got to know my firs-“

“I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT.”

“But they’re arriving and we need to plan for-“

“NOBODY’S ARRIVING. WE ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”)

Slowly, stocking up on food is becoming unnecessary and my sweaters are better off in my suitcase. Slowly, each morning seems to matter more than before. Every conversation and every face has become more full of details I want to remember.

I’m leaving India in 52 days. 51, in fact, since it’s past midnight at the moment - not that it really makes a difference - I mean, what is 24 hours gonna do in making me realize what the hell just happened.

So in 51 days, I’m putting on the blue and white cap that indicates my declaration as “ylioppilas” – meaning a high school graduate, or as our weird language puts it “an over-student”. In 51 days, I have spent 638 days in India, living with people from 60 different countries, on a hilltop in the valley of the Western Ghats mountain rage in rural Maharashtra, five kilometers from the closest village called Paud and two hours of bumpy roads from the 5-million city of Pune. In a tiny corner in Wada 3, geographically very far from the world but mentally closer than ever.

Ernakulam, Kochi (2016)

It sounds like an illusion, I know – and more often than not has also felt like it. Listening to guitars in different languages, dancing under flags from six different continents, watching the neon purple sun set right below your window and taking a 36-hour train across the country all sounds like some cliché roadtrip movie, before you remember that for the past two years, that’s been your life.

And funnily enough, reality has started to feel like an illusion as well. Normal life feels like an illusion. I mean, normal life, with breakfasts that I made myself? With 8-hour work shifts and not knowing which café to pick because there are too many to choose from? With a good night’s sleep under a fluffy duvet and – my god – a thick mattress? Normal life, with packed subways and 9 pm news? What is that? I don’t remember anymore.

All of that sounds like fun and games and dreamy days when you’re staying up for the fourth night in a row, trying to finish your millionth IB assignment and binging up on the coffee shop brownies that have already made you gain five kilos. That’s when you can’t wait for it. That’s when you’d give anything in the world to wake up in your own bed with absolutely no shits given about anything.

But then time flies, and suddenly you’re here. With half of a hundred mornings left. And it stops being funny, because that makes seven weeks - when I so clearly remember sitting on the edge of my bed, counting weeks until Christmas of my first year as I scrolled through my calendar. To be honest, I’ll probably get too scared to count soon enough, because let’s face it, it’s nerve wrecking as hell. I should probably just stop now and pretend like it’s not gonna end. Like this dream I’ve been living is actually a dream because I’m a coma patient and they’ve decided to pull the plugs. So I stay here forever.
Yeah, I've realized I tend to get more attached to places than people. 

But after all, that’s not how life works. After all, we knew it was gonna end, right? Right?!

Because there are 8-hour work shifts to do and college degrees to complete in American small towns and European capitals and South East Asian megalopolises, as we’ll soon see when we burst out of this bubble, scattering around the globe the same way we were spread around when we were all just strangers. There are breakfasts to eat with extended families and childhood friends. There are things that are hard and not so nice, but there are things that need to be done, and most of all, things that will make you realize why your years here were meaningful. There are greener meadows, as they say, but there are also better days and comfier beds and tastier coffee and after all, quite a lot more freedom and goals to achieve. (Although the 16-year old naïve me, standing at the gate of the Helsinki airport 1,5 years ago, boarding a plane to Mumbai, was very sure that I was on my way to freedom.)

It’s going to be incredibly scary to leave. I was never as scared to leave to India as I am to return home. On most nights, I have no idea what I will do without all this. Against all my expectations, I’m returning home (temporarily, duh) which was pretty much the worst outcome I could imagine when I stood by that gate in Helsinki in August 2015. Not getting into the prestigious US university I wanted was a hard hit for someone for whom the Finnish everyday life is the perfect epitome of mediocrity, dullness, monotonousness and detachedness. Humdrum with no great shakes. Settling.
But gladly, that most likely means I’m going towards the unknown again, just like I did when I was 16 and boarded that plane – and turns out, that the unknown can be quite good. Turns the unknown makes you discover things. And if I'm so afraid to not be doing something that pushes me to my extreme limits, if I'm so afraid to experience what I narrow-mindedly see as "failure" for myself - then maybe I should face those fears. Maybe I should live a bit of normality, if normality is outside of my comfort zone now. 

Because gladly, we cannot stay in an eternal dream. I’m pretty sure it would become quite nightmarish after a while - I'm quite done with showering with frogs, to be frank with you. I believe in everything having a purpose, and yes I'll soon look back to all of this and think "was it real?", and I'll scroll through the pictures and videos and unnecessary mass email chains and wonder why I ever let myself take it for granted. Yes I'll miss it like crazy, when I suddenly can't jump into my roommate's bed or go make coffee in Wada 4 or spend time with AC and good internet my friends in Wada 5. I'll look back and think damn, if I could spend another day watching the sunsets on top of the valley. I'll look back to everything and miss it like crazy - but I also know that it’s my time to go. 
Home? I don't know where that is anymore. But it's time to move forward again. 

And to be honest, despite my 50-day crisis, the weeks that remain will most likely be one of the best ones we’ve had so far. On Saturday’s Pune-trip I’m stocking up on coffee though – it’s game on towards the final exams. 

It's only the beginning, even if it's the beginning of the end.