Today was Sita’s thirtieth birthday – imagine that, having a daughter of 30! I remember having vague images of Sita turning 30 when she was still very little though it was mostly unimaginable in the same way that imagining the death of one’s parents is so very difficult.
I am sitting here contemplating Sita’s 30 years while listening to the music of her birth place, Senegal. The music pulls at my heart strings like any music with sweet associations does. I miss the warmth, colors, rhythm and freedom of Senegal, sitting here in our cold concrete house that a small stove is trying to heat. Outside it is getting cold and dark, there is no rhythm at the moment and people are dressed in variations of tan and grey, the national uniform for men, or black and blue, the national uniform for women. Yet I know that one day I will listen to Afghan music and be nostalgic in the same way. I will not think of the bad stuff then, only the good things.
Bad news came today from the girl we are trying to get to her school in Connecticut next school year. A terse email indicated that the family had changed its mind once again, now also forbidding email use. We brought her the Kindle and started fantasizing about her trip to the US in August, only 10 months from now. The school in CT must be roller-coastering along with her. They get excited about their new schoolmate and then hopes are dashed all around. I wonder how it feels like to be on this roller coaster while not living here. It is very much part of our experience here, but in CT it probably is not. How we deal with disappointment says much about our circumstances.
Disappointment is the stuff of everyday life here – as is the ecstasy of small victories.
Sylvia's Journal 
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