Somebody call the WAHmbulance.

I've spent the past week and a half avoiding writing this, because I don't want to face the fact that this part of my journey is over and I am actually in New Jersey.

I cannot believe it was almost two weeks ago that I got into that taxi and drove away from the place I've come to call home.
After the countless times that I've watched other people leave Arusha, I was completely unprepared for my own departure.
My housemates were incredible and sweet, and made me feel so loved.
The cab ride to the airport felt like a dream. Like a really weird dream where you know you're dreaming and you're trying so hard to wake up but you just can't.
Holy crap, I didn't think I would get this emotional writing this.
But there is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina who would not be surprised at all that I'm sobbing.
There is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina whom I just want to hug and sit on the porch with and talk about our days and play stupid pranks with.

Time moves so strangely here. I feel like I just got home, and in some ways, I feel like I've been home for months. But I do not feel like I never left. I will never feel that way.
There are things that changed in my heart that are irreversible.
Never again will I be the same girl I was six months ago.
I came home with a lot of scars.
46 bug bite scars.
scars on my legs, on my knees, elbows, arms, face, and multiple bruises I have no explanation for.

But the real scars are the ones inside of me.
The ones that formed on my heart when I walked away from my kids.
The ones that represent all the memories I made, and the hard times I went through with my friends by my side.

My dear friend and room mate, Mane, wrote me a letter, and in it, she said;
      "I believe scars are the marks life leaves behind to help us remember what we have learned and lived, to remind us that we are strong and can overcome anything. They are the marks people we meet leave when they walk away, and help to remind us how important it is that they were present in that time."

She is so right.
I have scars.
All over my body.
And I also have a scar on the inside for ever single child that I love and every single mzungu I lived with who became like family to me.
I am so grateful for these scars.
They say all scars have a story, right?
I got a lot of stories.

This will be a process, living at home.
It is not easy to leave Africa and live in New Jersey.
It's weird.
That's the only word I can think of. I've been feeling weird since I got here.
But weird's not bad, and I know I'll be okay.
I have all my scars to get me through it.