learning to smile again

I first met David in the 7th grade at one of our classmate’s birthday parties. We were both uncomfortably lingering near the punch bowl as the majority of kids were on the dance floor in a line, grinding to “Temperature” and “Promiscuous.” 7th grade — oh, what a time. I feel like both songs still hit!

He scored the game-winning goal in the Regional Final our senior year. Instead of reveling with his teammates, he spotted me in the stands and leaped into my arms. This moment was captured by our local newspaper and a photo that has been framed and proudly displayed in all of my apartments ever since. We had all been set to be roommates at Virginia Tech until I changed my commitment on ‘signing day’ to the Gamecocks.

Over 15 years later, David remains one of my closest friends. Outside of the countless coming of age memories together, David’s most significant influence on my life has been teaching me to smile. Quite literally. As you can see from my senior year yearbook picture below, I was struggling in that department. One day he gave me a few pointers, and it clicked ever since. We still joke today how it transformed my social presence.

Now today, my alarm blares at 1:45 am. I have a hike scheduled at Mt. Batur, a Balinese volcano, to witness the sunrise. I’m all smiles despite the early hour. The summit of Mt. Batur reaches 1,717m. While I might have been a bit apprehensive in the past, my confidence is high after conquering the 4,000m elevation on the Inca Trail last month.

The car picked me up at around 2:15 am, followed by the rest of the group en route to our starting point. Our group immediately bonded on the ride. We engaged in lighthearted conversations about the present condition of the “American Dream”, the two-party system, Trump, Trudeau, and shared our travel stories. It was an exceptional conversation considering the early hour and our lack of caffeine.

Illwaad was one person in our group. She resides in Toronto and was enjoying her honeymoon with her husband. Right from the start of our conversations, it was evident that Illwaad was highly knowledgeable and had a knack for expressing her thoughts eloquently. It came as no surprise when we learned that she was a teacher.

We added more to the group as we began our 1,717m ascent at around 4:30am. I plan to write about the others we added to the pack in a future post, but needless to say the conversations continued to touch a breadth of topics. We all soon forgot how early it was and breezed to the top.

We arrived at the summit with roughly 30 minutes to spare before the sunrise. Our guides generously offered us banana sandwiches and a soothing cup of tea. I settled down beside Illwaad on the crater’s edge as we eagerly anticipated the sunrise.

As the initial rays of sunlight graced the horizon, I shared a fragment of my journey with Illwaad, explaining my presence in Bali and recounting the events of the past few months. In the tradition of many conversations with fellow travelers during my adventures, Illwaad, too, had undergone a similar experience.

Before meeting her husband, Illwaad had spent approximately 1.5 years contemplating the ‘what ifs’ of her previous relationship. It seized my attention, as this had essentially been the focal point of my energy over the past 5+ months. It had overwhelmed me, at times even immobilizing me and shrouding certain days in a heavy fog.

While the hues of orange and yellow intensified in the sky, she proceeded to impart her wisdom, stating, “Your heart heals, your happy where you are. Time heels all wounds as you remove yourself from the space that you could have done something different. You will be happy and content with yourself. Your smile gets better.”

I could sense the energy of the sunrise coursing through my body and my heart skipping a beat as I replayed her final words in my mind. I am grateful to have had so many wonderful experiences the past few months—climbing Machu Picchu, singing “Gimme Gimme” with my parents in Stockholm, first-row seats at a football match in Buenos Aires, the list goes on. However, I would be disingenuous if I claimed that a sincere smile had been a constant companion throughout.

In fact, one night in Buenos Aires, I met two guys at a subway-themed speakeasy called Uptown. We ended up having a great time (I thought), acting as fools on the dance floor with Latin American hits booming from the DJ booth. Out of the blue, one of the guys started making gestures to get my attention. For a moment, I was confused. I thought it was just a weird dance move. No judgement, of course. The other guy saw I was a bit perplexed and then yelled, “he’s telling you to smile, have fun!” I realized something.

I am currently oscillating between the bargaining and depression stages of grief. I’ve been immersed in all of these incredible experiences, yet I’ve been struggling to disentangle my grief from fully embracing the beauty right before me. “Living in the present” is easier said than done, but the spontaneous encouragement to smile from two strangers on the dance floor struck me profoundly. It was the awakening I didn’t realize I was seeking.

That’s why Illwaad’s last point, “your smile gets better” resonated with me the most. It had been a few weeks since that night in Buenos Aires, and I had been consciously trying to face my grief while also enjoying this once-in-a-lifetime journey.

Thanks to two strangers in Buenos Aires, I now tell myself “I see you, I feel you” as the feelings pass through my body, but I then continue to tell myself “let those feelings be, but listen to those hummingbirds as you walk and smile on the dance floor kid.” I can’t run away from those feelings; that’s a losing game, but accepting them has made it easier to look up, enjoy the view, and smile. I am learning to find the balance of these opposite emotions.

Since that night at Uptown, and my conversation with Illwaad, I am happy to say I have moments where my sincere smile has shown. Each authentic smile has served as a balm, providing a dose of healing as I navigate through these stages of grief.

I’m typing this post as I sit in my parents’ home now back from my month in Indonesia. My alma mater plays their first football game in an hour, and I am eagerly smiling from ear to ear with excitement.*

*we lost