(no subject)
these days i mostly think about loss. that doesn't mean i am sad.
tomorrow, i will have been in peru for exactly three months. it has felt both longer and shorter than that. i suppose things always circle in this confusing fashion. i wish they would give me a break.
i have about 4.5 months left. i hope to give those months a little water and sun and watch them bloom.
i could write pages about what i have seen here: the mountains that pierce the sky like angry fists; the weirdly delicate moss of cloud forests, viewed during a softly-bleeding sunset while standing atop piles of wood in the back of a flatbed truck; the dirty, plant-dipped waters of the amazon, which bernadette and lisa and i decided were dizzingly erotic. or i could write about making friends with the sweet chinese lady at the vegetarian restaurant on de la policia, and how the land we are building the comedor on is really just a pile of trash, and how the guard who watches our house has a killer mustache, and how it is really bizarre that we have a guard at all, and how i handed a half-eaten ice cream cone to some children playing in the market in iquitos, who thanked me and licked away at the bright pink, sticky mess.
i could write a lot. too much. i'll leave it at that. i miss people. i miss my sisters. christmas is coming. i miss lying on the wooden floor under the tree, pine needles in our hair, staring up at the colorwheel of lights and through the evergreen web of branches, heavy with ornaments. i miss home. can i still be having growing pains at this age?
i wonder if living gets harder and easier. i think it probably stays the same, more or less.
tomorrow, i will have been in peru for exactly three months. it has felt both longer and shorter than that. i suppose things always circle in this confusing fashion. i wish they would give me a break.
i have about 4.5 months left. i hope to give those months a little water and sun and watch them bloom.
i could write pages about what i have seen here: the mountains that pierce the sky like angry fists; the weirdly delicate moss of cloud forests, viewed during a softly-bleeding sunset while standing atop piles of wood in the back of a flatbed truck; the dirty, plant-dipped waters of the amazon, which bernadette and lisa and i decided were dizzingly erotic. or i could write about making friends with the sweet chinese lady at the vegetarian restaurant on de la policia, and how the land we are building the comedor on is really just a pile of trash, and how the guard who watches our house has a killer mustache, and how it is really bizarre that we have a guard at all, and how i handed a half-eaten ice cream cone to some children playing in the market in iquitos, who thanked me and licked away at the bright pink, sticky mess.
i could write a lot. too much. i'll leave it at that. i miss people. i miss my sisters. christmas is coming. i miss lying on the wooden floor under the tree, pine needles in our hair, staring up at the colorwheel of lights and through the evergreen web of branches, heavy with ornaments. i miss home. can i still be having growing pains at this age?
i wonder if living gets harder and easier. i think it probably stays the same, more or less.