There needs to be personal space. There needs to be interaction with other people than these.
Two nights ago a bunch of kids and myself sat around a bonfire and sang some songs with the accompaniment of a guitar (something we are sorely missing). I met a girl named Rashida who lived in Little Falls and for half an hour, we were driving down 46 going to Six Brothers, drinking tea at Cafe Eclectic, window shopping at Willowbrook, and talking about what it's like to be here when we come from there. We stayed late by the lake with a few other people and had to jump the fence to come back in.
Yesterday morning they left. I hugged Rashida and Jack good-bye and I'm happy because now I have another place to stay in Boston and D.C.
I have a book on Kannada (local language) in my bag. I used some of it last night while we were making pizza. I've added a fair amount of words to my vocabulary now. Cheche danced with me, sang with me, and put on a big show in the kitchen. With the floor as her stage and only three of us and some appliances as an audience. She has a big spirit in that little body.
It rained last night. A powerful, beating rain. All of the smells of the earth drifted up and the air smells like clover.
I tried enjoying the downpour in my room after standing on the roof by myself for a little bit, but it was difficult because people kept coming in and out. I love going to sleep with a thunderstorm, lightning illuminating the whole room and winds shaking the windows.
People have a way of interacting with each other after occupying the same space for two months with no other outlet. It's not a productive way of interacting and it's not a helpful way. It's human, though - and I can say that all I want, but it's not helping right now.
I called Mom this morning to hear a familiar voice. I ended up crying and what is there to get into about that one? Nothing, really. It's just the effects of sharing the room the way I do, being on this trip the way I am, and everything/anything else. Mom said "I wish I could give you a hug." Yea, I wish she could too. I might not have a completely functioning relationship with her, but I have that at least.
In between the beautiful sunsets, interesting books, long conversations, tiring games of volleyball, trips to amazing places that make me smile and glad I'm in India, ... it can be frustrating here.
Two nights ago a bunch of kids and myself sat around a bonfire and sang some songs with the accompaniment of a guitar (something we are sorely missing). I met a girl named Rashida who lived in Little Falls and for half an hour, we were driving down 46 going to Six Brothers, drinking tea at Cafe Eclectic, window shopping at Willowbrook, and talking about what it's like to be here when we come from there. We stayed late by the lake with a few other people and had to jump the fence to come back in.
Yesterday morning they left. I hugged Rashida and Jack good-bye and I'm happy because now I have another place to stay in Boston and D.C.
I have a book on Kannada (local language) in my bag. I used some of it last night while we were making pizza. I've added a fair amount of words to my vocabulary now. Cheche danced with me, sang with me, and put on a big show in the kitchen. With the floor as her stage and only three of us and some appliances as an audience. She has a big spirit in that little body.
It rained last night. A powerful, beating rain. All of the smells of the earth drifted up and the air smells like clover.
I tried enjoying the downpour in my room after standing on the roof by myself for a little bit, but it was difficult because people kept coming in and out. I love going to sleep with a thunderstorm, lightning illuminating the whole room and winds shaking the windows.
People have a way of interacting with each other after occupying the same space for two months with no other outlet. It's not a productive way of interacting and it's not a helpful way. It's human, though - and I can say that all I want, but it's not helping right now.
I called Mom this morning to hear a familiar voice. I ended up crying and what is there to get into about that one? Nothing, really. It's just the effects of sharing the room the way I do, being on this trip the way I am, and everything/anything else. Mom said "I wish I could give you a hug." Yea, I wish she could too. I might not have a completely functioning relationship with her, but I have that at least.
In between the beautiful sunsets, interesting books, long conversations, tiring games of volleyball, trips to amazing places that make me smile and glad I'm in India, ... it can be frustrating here.
posted by Kate at Friday, March 03, 2006
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