I’ve lived in my new apartment in my old life for almost a
month now. 21 days to be exact. As I settled into my life I realized that I
dreaded this. This version of me Im expected to be.
When I left for India I packed 4 pairs of shoes. Which, when
you’re traveling, is a lot. It was my all time favourite, worn out All Stars,
running shoes and two pairs of slops. I still have all four pairs of shoes. A
pair of slops was brought after one pair was stolen on an overnight bus trip
from Delhi to Dehradun. My friend hated the bumpy bus trip, but I was too excited to care. It was my first weekend trip away from Dehli.
I survived for 2 years without a stable home. With 4 pairs
of shoes. Without a stable job. And it was ok. I was ok. I was happy.
Contrary to what it seemed, I had enough of everything. I
had enough money to walk into a private medical clinic in India and Malawi and for a
couple of Rands get amazing treatment. Clean, friendly, helpful staff. Oh, and
medication included.
While unpacking I hanged my prayer flags in my kitchen/
dining room. It was the only thing on my wish list to buy in Nepal. I didn’t go
into Nepal with a list. Accommodation yes, but no expectation, no reason – just
curiosity. But it gave me the world: it gave me friendly school girls who offered random conversation, bus trips through hills of greenery, little towns with mud
huts and cows walking down the street and hours spend on the lake in Pokhora,
getting sunburned.
I’m not sure what I hoped I would find.
What life would entail this time around.
Im not sure if I thought that I would settle back into it.
But I made the choice.
I did the ‘right’ thing.
And now I don’t know why.
