Saturday October 20th, 2012
9:30pm
A month has passed since Alice escaped from Wonderland, Dorothy awoke from Oz, Chelsea boarded an incredibly infuriating plane and traveled through 24 hours of agonizing economy class to find her way back home. But oddly enough, just like her fellow unstable, and possibly high, jet setters (they had to be high to wind up where they did, and the same could be said for me) upon returning home, everything seemed like a distant dream. Just hours after landing on familiar (and incredibly spotless) ground, I questioned if I was actually ever gone. It was the strangest feeling. Like when you can't remember if you locked the front door, or unplugged your curling iron. You run back into the house, only to find it unplugged and you questioning if you've had a minor stroke, or are experiencing early onset Alzheimer's. I was warned about the possibility of culture shock when returning to Canada, but this was something else. Fitting really. My entire summer was one un-expectation after another, why not complete it with yet another left field reaction.
'Returning culture shock' might be a tad exaggeration but there were definitely things that blew my mind over the first week of reuniting with my country. Everyday things that one would never think twice about while going about their cushy Canadian day. Fresh air. Oh heavenly father who art in a heaven I can actually see, free of smog and billowing pollution. I didn't smell a single thing when I left the airport. Not a single smell. Do you understand, I mean really understand, what it feels like to just breathe in air. Empty, scent free air. No you don't, because you spent your summer exactly where you are now. Your nose was not raped by a 30 smell orgy every time you left your also odour-some home....
I digress. Fresh air. Empty streets. Cool breezes. Friendly faces. Green grass. Quiet places. White people.
Home, sweet home.
And now here I am, sitting in my own bed, millions of miles away from what once was my Indian bed, returning to my daily routine. My blog. I do apologize for what may have seemed like a desertion on my part. I assure you it was not. More so time to reflect. To look back on my whirlwind country affair, and determine what exactly came of it. Where has it led me? And what do I do now?
People say that experiencing the world changes you. Traveling changes you. I don't agree. I don't believe that being somewhere foreign changes you, I think it just forces you to discover who you really are. It thrusts you into situations where you react as you. Not who you are depending on who you're with or what role you're playing in that moment, be it a friend, a wife, an employee. It's just you. Surrounded by strangers and strangeness. And in these moments you make decisions based on you. Just you. And this is the rawest form of yourself. Zero influence, just you, and your instinct, calling the shots, reacting naturally. It's like standing in a giant open field and life handing you a shovel and saying dig. So you do. With each experience and each moment you dig a hole. And then another. And you find things. Things about yourself. Things you may not have known, or maybe you did but hid under the comfort of your home. Sometimes what you find is good, sometimes you just dig up shit. I dug up a lot of shit. But what I learned is that it isn't about what you find, it's about what you do with what is discovered that defines your travels as worthwhile. Everyone loves to find gold, but when you do come across the shit, do you deal with it, or just cover up the hole and keep digging? It's incredible to see yourself react and live in ways you never anticipated you would. But it's even more incredible to see yourself learn from it. So maybe that's the change. Seeing the things you don't like and learning from them. Learning to like what you do see and change the things you don't. But then again, sometimes the shit is just there to help you appreciate the gold that much more. And trust me, I'm an expert in shit. I just spent 3 months in India.
But now I am home, and India has become a memory, one that will grow farther from my thoughts as time goes by. I am not a religious person (though Lord Krishna and I did get a little chummy during my stay) and I don't know if I quite believe that everything happens for a reason. But I do know that if this experience hadn't of been as challenging as it was, I never would have learned my strength. I have found my strength, the depth that it goes. I am a fighter. India has given me reason to fight and the endurance to keep fighting long after it's memory fades. I would be lying if I said I loved my experience, but I do appreciate it. It has brought to light a whole new world, around me and within me. This trip will become my past, but it will always be a part of me. The part of me that holds my strength. My persistence. My me.
9:30pm
A month has passed since Alice escaped from Wonderland, Dorothy awoke from Oz, Chelsea boarded an incredibly infuriating plane and traveled through 24 hours of agonizing economy class to find her way back home. But oddly enough, just like her fellow unstable, and possibly high, jet setters (they had to be high to wind up where they did, and the same could be said for me) upon returning home, everything seemed like a distant dream. Just hours after landing on familiar (and incredibly spotless) ground, I questioned if I was actually ever gone. It was the strangest feeling. Like when you can't remember if you locked the front door, or unplugged your curling iron. You run back into the house, only to find it unplugged and you questioning if you've had a minor stroke, or are experiencing early onset Alzheimer's. I was warned about the possibility of culture shock when returning to Canada, but this was something else. Fitting really. My entire summer was one un-expectation after another, why not complete it with yet another left field reaction.
'Returning culture shock' might be a tad exaggeration but there were definitely things that blew my mind over the first week of reuniting with my country. Everyday things that one would never think twice about while going about their cushy Canadian day. Fresh air. Oh heavenly father who art in a heaven I can actually see, free of smog and billowing pollution. I didn't smell a single thing when I left the airport. Not a single smell. Do you understand, I mean really understand, what it feels like to just breathe in air. Empty, scent free air. No you don't, because you spent your summer exactly where you are now. Your nose was not raped by a 30 smell orgy every time you left your also odour-some home....
I digress. Fresh air. Empty streets. Cool breezes. Friendly faces. Green grass. Quiet places. White people.
Home, sweet home.
And now here I am, sitting in my own bed, millions of miles away from what once was my Indian bed, returning to my daily routine. My blog. I do apologize for what may have seemed like a desertion on my part. I assure you it was not. More so time to reflect. To look back on my whirlwind country affair, and determine what exactly came of it. Where has it led me? And what do I do now?
People say that experiencing the world changes you. Traveling changes you. I don't agree. I don't believe that being somewhere foreign changes you, I think it just forces you to discover who you really are. It thrusts you into situations where you react as you. Not who you are depending on who you're with or what role you're playing in that moment, be it a friend, a wife, an employee. It's just you. Surrounded by strangers and strangeness. And in these moments you make decisions based on you. Just you. And this is the rawest form of yourself. Zero influence, just you, and your instinct, calling the shots, reacting naturally. It's like standing in a giant open field and life handing you a shovel and saying dig. So you do. With each experience and each moment you dig a hole. And then another. And you find things. Things about yourself. Things you may not have known, or maybe you did but hid under the comfort of your home. Sometimes what you find is good, sometimes you just dig up shit. I dug up a lot of shit. But what I learned is that it isn't about what you find, it's about what you do with what is discovered that defines your travels as worthwhile. Everyone loves to find gold, but when you do come across the shit, do you deal with it, or just cover up the hole and keep digging? It's incredible to see yourself react and live in ways you never anticipated you would. But it's even more incredible to see yourself learn from it. So maybe that's the change. Seeing the things you don't like and learning from them. Learning to like what you do see and change the things you don't. But then again, sometimes the shit is just there to help you appreciate the gold that much more. And trust me, I'm an expert in shit. I just spent 3 months in India.
But now I am home, and India has become a memory, one that will grow farther from my thoughts as time goes by. I am not a religious person (though Lord Krishna and I did get a little chummy during my stay) and I don't know if I quite believe that everything happens for a reason. But I do know that if this experience hadn't of been as challenging as it was, I never would have learned my strength. I have found my strength, the depth that it goes. I am a fighter. India has given me reason to fight and the endurance to keep fighting long after it's memory fades. I would be lying if I said I loved my experience, but I do appreciate it. It has brought to light a whole new world, around me and within me. This trip will become my past, but it will always be a part of me. The part of me that holds my strength. My persistence. My me.
