Every time I've gone to an internet cafe everything feels very strange and claustrophobic. I get a tiny glimpse into a different life in the form of a screen, and a worn, sticky keyboard to try to tell the people I love that I am alive and well. My brain is working hard to reconcile all of the different places I am travelling and a brief mental trip to the US throws me off. Walking back to the hotel last time, all of the things I usually barely notice were so surreal, the man begging, rolling on the ground with no legs and the white donkey standing perfectly still in the middle of traffic.
I have spent less than 4 hours on the internet in the past month, which is a lovely break, but also makes the thought of a blog post entirely overwhelming. I have plenty to say, scribbled in margins and sketches and lists in notebooks, and I am now in a place where a flurry of writing seems much more possible and likely. On this blog I can see all the people who view it as tiny little bar graph blips from around the world, a good (if oddly formatted) reminder that there are people who would probably like to hear about what I am doing. I hope to say more in the next few days, but know that I am very much not dead, and for the most part also very happy.
Much love from Rishikesh, land of hilarious white yogis and breakfast stealing monkeys,