The sun rises
despite the best efforts of the clouds.
A new day introduces
itself.
Being outside
Before this weekend, I could confine memories of camping to the next six sentences, plus four sentence fragments: One small, blurry reflection of a weekend in college that involved white water rafting. The Ocoee River. I’m sure I was the weakest link. I’m not even sure how I ended up agreeing to go.
Another memory is with my parents, too many years ago to count. It’s a pleasant enough memory, but the details are fuzzy. I’m sure there was a tent … And, some vienna sausages … I should ask my dad. He would remember.
Despite these faint memories, I remember equating life in India to camping on more than one occasion. You know, no dishwasher. No air conditioner. Mosquitos. Humidity hair. Same, same.
Forward and Back
The rocks were covered with green moss.
Above and below.
The water broke in white puffs.
Forward and back.
I opened my eyes.
They blinked in submission to the sun.
But I didn’t care.
It began that day.
Learning to live
Sometimes it’s better not to think too much.
I am the worst kind of planner — the kind who thinks it’s actually possible to have a perfect plan, the kind who feels a sense of failure when the plan doesn’t work, thinking if I could only plan a bit better, I would always be in control of everything and everyone life would always be comfortable and pain-free.
If I had thought about all of the things that could go wrong on my adventure in the city, I wouldn’t have met the guy from East Africa who was waiting for bus #36 or noticed that Psychadeli Cafe was selling freshly made masala dosas for $6 (by the way, these cost like 50 cents in India and my mouth is watering just thinking about them). I also wouldn’t have stood at the wrong bus stop for 30 minutes wondering why my bus never showed and remembering how to assess my safety and considered the challenges homeless people must face. Continue reading “Learning to live”
Does it really rain every day?
No.
