thank u, next

When technology fails and hearts break

On Saturday, June 1, in between last walks and final drinks, my phone stops working.

Today is supposed to be my last day in Sofia, sad partings at the coliving hotel I had volunteered at — or, worked at in exchange for a room — for the last two months.

I sit at the bar after most have left, delaying the finale. Let me just charge my phone before I go, I tell the bartender. The most brutal reality of nomad life, I’ve learned, is the goodbyes. To leave parts of you as parting gifts in every new home you create, held by all the people who have kept it warm. My fingers clasp around Sofia’s parting gift, not ready to loosen my grip.

I send a text to a friend, telling him that, maybe, I will change my plans to stay in Sofia a little longer. I’ll just miss it too much, I think. And as soon as that message is sent, my phone stops working. I try to close my messaging app to open up Maps. I’m stuck. I try turning my phone off. It refuses. I try charging it. No, it tells me — it doesn’t want to leave Sofia either.

I look over at my friend J., a dad from Belgium making a new home in Bulgaria. Two weeks ago, J. had consoled me while I locked the door to my room for days, spiraling over a messed up job interview. I look to him now. How do I move without my phone?

J. and I spend the next hour walking around Sofia’s Studentski neighborhood, peering through phone shop windows for signs of life on a Saturday evening. We see K., an American who became my thought partner during the Kendrick vs. Drake beef. K. points us in another direction. Still, we find nothing. Knowing we’re out of hope for the night, we call M., a Sofia local who we remember used to repair phones. Sit tight for tonight, he says. I’ll pick up your phone in the morning.

A convenient excuse to drink until sunrise, J. gives me his room for the night. Another friend, S., offers me a place to stay for the rest of the week. With no reason to leave, I stay in Sofia a little longer.

The love tastes different in the homes you build as a nomad. Isolated, you cling to the friends you’ve made to make sense of a new world. Excited, you flash-create a lifetime of shared experiences to reminisce on. Unencumbered by who you should be, you reveal hidden secrets and in-process truths — because if they judge you for it, you’ll never see them again, and if they love you for it, you’ve found a kindred soul in this unknown place.

This community — this love — makes even the most unexpected places special. I had worried about my time in Eastern Europe, searching “Black + Eastern Europe” on Reddit for weeks prior to my arrival. I arrived cautiously into Bulgaria, with zero knowledge of the culture — looking for nothing and expecting even less. But while I was looking for nothing, I found complex flavors, unbelievable history, and the warmest people. I found hospitality that reminded me of cups of tea and second dinner plates. Bulgaria became a country I’d yearn to return to. It became a home.

Today is Thursday. Tomorrow, again, I will leave Sofia.

Yesterday, we gathered to say goodbye to another friend, H., flying back home to Brazil.

I hate this hour, she says, as we all nod in agreement.

I’m hoping you’ll be like Zefan, jokes T. We’ll think you’re leaving, but you’ll stay another week.

We all laugh, and I try to hold back my sadness. Grateful for my extra week, I still don’t want to leave Sofia.

But I think about my first night in Istanbul, heartbroken about how much I missed Nepal. Or when I sat on a plane to Portugal, terrified that I made a mistake by leaving Buenos Aires. Or my last night in Chachapoyas, after my friends and I had added night after night to our reservations, not wanting to leave our charming Peruvian mountain town. All of these places were also home.

So, I’ll leave Sofia tomorrow, with the hope that I’ll find home again. The most brutal reality of nomad life, I’ve learned, is the goodbyes.

Graduation season in Sofia, with students sharing their own goodbyes outside the iconic Aleksander Nevski Cathedral.