Pack Back. BackPack.

The pack on my back is now ready to transition yet again. This could be a long story, but I’ll make it short because right now its too painful to spell it all out/impossible, AND because I have only 14 more minutes in this internet café and I’m rupee BROKE.

I’m no longer frolicking about Europe. I’m exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally beat and I can’t even begin to explain one bit of it here and right now. I can just give you those few adverbs and hope that that suffices for the time being. I mean, I’m coming home, so you shouldn’t be worried!

This last few week has been so draining and it seems like all the CIEE kids are well ready to come home. Some thoughts on this point of leaving thing:

And the trees are underneath my clothes

Somewhere it doesn’t hurt not to be a rose

This escape in dance

I can’t touch my toes

I don’t wait for you to hold me, so

I grab a hold of the world

Banisters that are crumbling

Landslides and catacombs

A waterfall that is skin

A forehead decay

I’m leaving India

You’ve gotten into my soul in so many a profound way.

Leaving I’m not really leaving

Part of my hates you when I’m walking down the streets, Part of me falls to my knees.

Their toes were dangling 50 miles above the earth

And then they trudged through mud

And then they waited till they wouldn’t have to wait anymore.

It’s not that we hate India, but its just that India is so demanding. India beats me up; we have black eyes and broken teeth; we’re sweating blood and tearing through our skin

Blahblahblahe.e.r…………………. didn’t get anyfurther.

I though Sophie (the most) might appreciate these thoughts. Perhaps other CIEE kids can understand.

SophieBess left me this morning at 5am. I woke up and was totally shocked. I didn’t know what to do without her. I didn’t know what to do with an Indian world all by myself.

Walking through the streets of the city solo today was ridiculously more difficult than walking through the street with one other tall white girl, which is saying a lot. I got harassed and looked at maybe much more than without her, which is completely strange to me. Why is it that Indian people constantly stare at me? Is it because I intriguingly look somewhat Indian and somewhat not. I still don’t get it, and I don’t think that last explanation explains it all away. Is it just cultural that people stare at other people? Is it because I don’t look like “a lady”? Is it because I don’t dress completely Indian (no, that can’t be, because there are some Indian women who dress western)? The other day Sophie and I noticed a new discovery: there are very few women our age out on the streets/out in public. Maybe this contributes to why we’re such museum displays (?). Maybe that’s why I’M such a speciman: cause I’m independent and strong and I’m not a little cooped up lady and no I don’t wear pink and I’m not already married and I will not break if you touch me and yes I can stand this heat and YES I can walk the 4 miles instead of falling into your rickshawrip off trap because you know that since I don’t speak Hindi, I’m an NRI (Non Residential Indian) and therefore you can overcharge me up the wazoo!.

Sorry, but I have to go—time’s up. I’ll get back to this soon…probably not until I arrive back in the STL.

I fly from delhi to kolkata, kolkata to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Chicago, raph and em pick me up, I hang w/ them for a few days, and then I take a train from Bloomington back to STL. I know, TELL me about it. And KILL me.