Finally got onto the train. The entire spectrum of emotions ran through me as I realised I had first gotten onto the wrong train in Varkala. Fear. anxiety, anger, regret, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-in-India-on-my-own, and finally I succumbed to something, and as the seconds ticked by and the train thundered on I understood that it didn't matter actually, the fact that I was lost. It was fine.
Because there is nothing I can't do
It wouldn't have mattered if I would have ended up in the completely wrong city, because in this moment of panic, I awoke to the realisation of my own strength. I realised that through this journey I have gathered enough "meat on my bones", enough experience to trust my own ability to survive. I can only recall having cried once or twice in India, or actually, maybe only once. I nearly but not quite, came to tears in Mumbai airport when I'd just arrived and waited for Carolin to show up for 4 hours. The only time I really cried was in Varkala when all the girls I liked so much got drunk and stoned and I could only slump down in despair, questioning youth, India and the mainstream experiences that the Ashram-hopping young people have.
I might have cried when I was sick as well, mostly because I have so damn bored with myself.
1 kommentar:
Insikt, dyrköpt, ovärderlig insikt.
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