Back to India
Today, Steve's 42nd birthday, Micah and I returned to India. We spent about 7 weeks in lovely Thailand, where the people are polite and quiet. The streets are clean and orderly. Now we are back in India. The airplane ride was enough to remind me of what I had missed. There were maybe 10 women on the plane full of men. I got a middle seat with a man who's elbows thought they were part of the middle seat also. The smell of b.o. permeated the plane as I walked to my seat. The man behind us belched loudly throughout the flight. People pressed the call button every 5 minutes.
It is dirty here. The sky is polluted. Our house feels dusty and dark. The street is full of rubbish. Drivers drive closer than they did when I left I think. And there is the beggar outside crying as he goes down the street outside our house. The fans make noise as they keep us cool. And our pillows seem old and gray.
Micah started to feel sick as we landed. By the time we were in the passport line he was feeling like he was going to lose it. By the time the passport agent had almost finished his passport and was about to begin mine, we needed to run to the bathroom. Once we got home he made several trips to the bathroom to get sick. Then he went to sleep. He semi woke up and came out and talked nonsense once and we thought he was delirious, but it turns out he was just sleeping.
It is good to be home. This is what home is. Being together in a place that is comfortable. And I can understand the language. The noises are familiar. The weather is nice. The birds are out. Even if it is dirtier than Thailand, it is still home.
It is dirty here. The sky is polluted. Our house feels dusty and dark. The street is full of rubbish. Drivers drive closer than they did when I left I think. And there is the beggar outside crying as he goes down the street outside our house. The fans make noise as they keep us cool. And our pillows seem old and gray.
Micah started to feel sick as we landed. By the time we were in the passport line he was feeling like he was going to lose it. By the time the passport agent had almost finished his passport and was about to begin mine, we needed to run to the bathroom. Once we got home he made several trips to the bathroom to get sick. Then he went to sleep. He semi woke up and came out and talked nonsense once and we thought he was delirious, but it turns out he was just sleeping.
It is good to be home. This is what home is. Being together in a place that is comfortable. And I can understand the language. The noises are familiar. The weather is nice. The birds are out. Even if it is dirtier than Thailand, it is still home.
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