MAHDI: Counting Down

I have 14 days. 336 hours. 20,160 minutes. 1,209,600 seconds until my adventure in Washington, D.C. comes to an end. My soon-to-be-used storage boxes lie in front of my door staring at me as I come and go. I hastily scribble a reminder on my notepad to schedule my exit interview for my internship. While I still have a precious two weeks in my adopted home, my friends trickle back from their own experiences abroad. We are assigned a reflective presentation on our time in Washington and what we have learned. I don’t really know where to start.

I’ll remember when I sat at my desk on a Wednesday, a brief released at 6 a.m. outlining the main point of U.S. President Obama’s budget neatly stapled on my desk. Rumors had been flying that a deal on the immigration bill was going to be presented soon. All of a sudden, word circulated that an announcement on gun control would be made by two senators from either side of the aisle, a press conference which would curiously coincide with Obama’s address. Was the bickering on every possible front exhilarating? Absolutely not. Was watching politics unfurl before my eyes and ears in the capital of the United States unforgettable? Yes.

I had the budget news conference unfolding on my laptop, with the development on background checks in purchasing guns playing on my desktop monitor. My understanding of what it takes to balance the budget is drawn from playing BudgetHero on my laptop as research for a class assignment. One would think it an obvious truth that deciding who and what receives funding would be difficult. Unfortunately, that fact becomes less relevant to those in favor of keeping education programs alive. That justification loses its meaning when there are students in search of jobs, the elderly in pursuit of adequate health care, voters awaiting tax reform and fierce debate over America’s defense spending going into the future as overseas commitments change. There was a dissonance between keeping track of remarks on entitlement programs and regulation on private gun sales, but I remember there was a split second when both men said “come together” simultaneously. I glanced up from my haphazard scribbles and smiled.

I’ll remember I left statistics and video editing behind to enjoy the Holi celebrations at George Washington University. Packets of colored powder were tossed in the crowd, the festivities officially began as everyone threw a handful of color in the air. Greens, blues and yellows seeped into my hair and arms. Water guns squirt water at squealing college students. Once the furor died down, students lay on the grass and sat on benches observing the aftermath. Human watercolors disappeared into the Washingtonian streets. On our walk back to Woodley Park, we drew stares from others on the pavements who were as as caked in paint; we made others do a double-take before going on with their Sunday afternoon.

I’ll remember my very first Washington Nationals baseball game against the Cincinnati Reds, and how we got to pose with one of the bobble-headed presidents (Thomas Jefferson, to be precise) before the game. I tried my first beef hot dog wrapped in pretzel dough, tossed to me in a matter of seconds from when I ordered it above the din around me. I know little to nothing about baseball, but I cheered whenever anything happened anyway. I identified different players by their outrageous facial hair.

I’ll remember my first tour of the Pentagon. Shepherded into smaller groups, we were taken down hallways, passing by employees doing everything from jogging to grocery shopping. We were told the Pentagon can fit more than 100 White Houses in its square footage. After being toured around, we stop for a moment in the reflection room dedicated to those who lost their lives in the September 11th terrorist attacks. There’s a bench in the center with the names of those who passed away in front of it. Even now, all these years later, it’s powerfully moving.

I’ll remember sitting in a dingy Italian restaurant reminiscent of an old Hollywood movie watching a live stream of the White House Correspondents’ Dinner while sipping strong coffee. By the end of Conan O’Brien’s speech, a tired waitress came up to us, the only two people in the restaurant, and politely but firmly said we had to leave. We watched the last minute outside with spotty wi-fi as two chauffeurs chuckled at us from their parked tinted cars. Standing away from the barrage of cars parked outside the hotel, women in gowns with men in tuxedos began to trickle out, some into cabs while some melted away into side streets. All of a sudden flashing lights illuminated the street. The President of the United States’s car drove right past us onto the closed streets ahead. Only in Washington. Perhaps one day we’ll be on the other side of those doors.

Above all, I’ll remember the other students and faculty who experienced it all with me. The people I’ve lived with since January, the people I’ve come to call my closest friends. People I’ve known for mere weeks of my lifetime I’ll consider friends for years. I know these memories wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re always told being abroad brings you closer to complete strangers than any other experience in college will. I didn’t go to an exotic corner of the world, but I will forever cherish my months in America’s capital.

Sofiya Mahdi is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences studying abroad in Washington, D.C. She can be reached atsofiya218@gmail.com.