They say, I could never go somewhere they don’t speak English and I say, but they do. They all do. They hear stories about the smell and I say, it’s true. It sometimes suffocates you, repulses you, turns your stomach but isn’t that so wonderful? They shake their heads no. They say, you’re glowing. You look so happy. Don’t you have jet lag. I say, I’m terribly depressed, I feel so incredibly lost here. To have jet lag your body has to think its a time. All my body knows is it has been awake for 48 hours. There is no time, only exhaustion. What made you choose India. I say, Where else could I have gone. If everything in your body is pulling you somewhere you should listen. I think of Korea and Japan. And I think of Peru and Belize. I think of Egypt. Africa whispers my name but it’s not a shout. I think of everywhere, lands I don’t fit in, lands where I am outside, what that means to feel at ease. What that means when I am in love with the specific loneliness of traveling alone. I watched Beginners tonight and he said, you can leave someone without ever moving. The film was beautiful and I cried alone on the couch. I ate salad for dinner. I didn’t do yoga or go running. I wallowed. I forgot to go to a dinner. I am a lot of times a bad friend and a lot of times I’m a great friend and I can only hope it evens out. I think of falling in love and I wonder if I can do it anymore. A lot of days I feel broken. Or, not broken but finished, all used up. As a girl you’re born with all the eggs for you entire life in your body, lined up like ducks. Once you run through those that’s it, there are no more chances. What if love is like that. What if falling in love is like that. You’re born with a predetermined amount of capabilities and if you love extra hard, too hard, that’s it. The relationship ends because you couldn’t fall in love with them in new ways and there is no next time because it’s all gone from inside you. I think that is the most honest thing one person could say to another. Humane? I don’t know. I stopped falling in love with you in new ways and this has to end because there are no more new beginnings. Honesty. I wonder if it was considered in the possibilities of the deadly sins. Honesty. Could be.
But back to India Its filthy and loud and there’s lacking sanitation like the plague isn’t a thing and you will be hit by a cab but somehow you will be the one apologizing profusely and nobody knows the names of streets and they aren’t labeled anyway but its so wonderful and alive and the noise and people don’t matter after the first hour and it’s so alive, breathe it in. They ask, What’s the best part of the trip and it comes down to moments. The Muslim taxi driver judging me for drinking but allowing me to ride in his cab because I hadn’t eaten meat or done drugs, he asks to turn on music and I say sure so it’s 3pm and bright sunshine and rice paddys and the sweet cows wandering and a watermelon farmer selling his goods on the side of the road and the Muslim taxi driver puts house music on. I smile and almost wish I was sharing the moment with somebody. It’s the market in Kolkata where a street beggar told me, You think you’re so clever but you’re not that clever. I turn to him and ask, So you think I am clever though, all straight faced and tell him to go fuck himself. It’s Mumbai meeting a Canadian who thinks Arizona is just below New York and I hug him even though that is probably not allowed in the temple. It’s being invited the share dinner with an Indian couple in Mysore. To much food shared family style in a restaurant thinking instead of saying you’re ready to die now I announce I’m finally ready to live. It’s being invited to eat dinner inside somebody’s home and going despite what could happen and eating one of the best meals of my life in their simple home. The day I got my picture taken with a hundred school children. The day I trusted my instincts and they paid off. The day finally left the guide book I wasn’t using anyway in the room I was staying in, shedding the safety blanket.
I cried getting on the plane in LAX because I didn’t believe in myself and I cried on the way home because, as cliche as it is, I found myself and I never wanted to go “home”. I had never felt more accepted than my time in India. I had never felt more like myself. I don’t want to forget that person, I don’t want to let her slip away. I’ve been back for almost three weeks now but the words haven’t been there, Ive struggled with the depression of this job and this life. I think I’m ready to talk about my time, ready to share myself with this world again. A hike, dinner and a party in the next 48 hours I hope I remember the girl who crossed the road holding a stranger’s hand believing everything I felt had previously led me astray had led me here and it was scary and thrilling and comfortable and then you just put your trust in them and cross the damn street.
Please go back to your regular scheduled killing yourself now. I’ll stop with this self help self love now. But go to India. You won’t regret it.
