thank you for the space we shared

(<-- Us with our certificates and $1,000!!!)

I should have posted again before I finished Katimavik, but it was a pretty hectic emotional roller coaster for some of us, including me. I can safely say I've never had so much difficulty saying bye to a group of people. I wasn't sure how to express it, so this is what I came up with:

Just imagine the bonds created amongst your group. Imagine living with the same people for 9 months, and experiencing absolutely everything together. Then imagine arriving at the airport, rushing through security, and waiting anxiously as your group reconvenes. Hear the boarding calls, feel the nervousness of seeing your parents and friends back home, but become distracted by the sadness you feel knowing you have to part with your new family. The tears stream down your cheeks and confusion sets in - you hug each individual, embrace them a minute longer than usual because you know it could be the last physical contact you share for a long time, or for ever. The emptiness inside your chest deepens as you watch your best friends backs leaving towards their gate and disappearing through the doors. You don't remember the bus ride to the airport, or handing over a credit card when you've been told your bag is much too heavy. You can't put a finger on the last thing your project leader said to you, or what it felt like the first time you walked into your last house. You probably couldn't even tell someone what it felt like the first day of Katimavik, the first time you met your group. All you know is your group is gone, you're sitting in front of a Tim Horton's and wondering how the hell you got here. You face is a mess of salty dampness, the weight of your backpack on your shoulders doesn't exist because all you feel is the ache in your heart. You finally get the strength to stand, and a snap back to reality tells you people are staring. You walk towards your gate when boarding is called and absently hand the flight attendant your boarding pass. Five minutes later and you're in the plane, seated by the window, head leaned against the cold plastic siding. This is it: the day that you talked about since September 23, the day you said you'd never know what to expect until it happened. Truth is... you still don't know what you're feeling. And even as the plane roars to life and takes off, you don't have a chance to feel nervous because your mind is filled with memories of the past 9 months. The only thing keeping you strong is a fellow Katimavik-er sitting behind you. You don't talk, but just the presence is enough because there is at least one person on this plane who understands how you feel, even though he wasn't in your group. The seatbelt sign turns off, and you drown out the engine with your music. Relief eases the tension in your jaw and a sense of calm rushes through you."Wagon Wheel" comes on and a smile parts your lips because it reminds you of home... not a physical home, but a home that forms when a group of ten people come together.