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| Some people are just better at enjoying the ride. |
I’ve been in a downward spiral for the past week and a half,
and it’s been very, very rough. Now well into my seventh week in India, I
assumed that my troubles were over. My first month was difficult, but I grew, I
adjusted, and I made peace with all the doubts and what-ifs. However, all the
negativity has just been swarming me since the beginning of September. I keep
asking myself, is India really the right place for me? Can I do this for 9
more months? Am I crazy for coming here? So many questions that have yet to be
answered.
On Monday the 10th, when I left school, I was in
the same state I’d been for about a week: I was on the verge of tears. My kind,
kind friends invited me out with them, but I declined, not wanting my bad mood
to ruin their good time. Instead, I walked.
Lately, long walks have been the only thing capable of
improving my mood. The sidewalks of Mumbai are all tiny disaster zones, home to
the homeless, bed of mangy stray dogs, storefront for the entrepreneurial fruit
seller, and toilet for the rest of the city. Needless to say, it’s quite
necessary to keep your wits about you when you go for a walk. Concentrating on
not going knee-deep in one of the open sewers is a really great way to get your
mind off things, I’ll be perfectly honest.
So I walked. The sun blazed overhead as I walked passed
familiar hang-outs, past landmarks, and past all things familiar until I was
good and lost. Oddly, I had come upon a posh little bakery, so I went inside,
ordered a bagel slathered in Nutella, and cried like an idiot for a few
minutes. Doubt lay like a crushing burden on my shoulders. What was I doing in
India? Why didn’t I choose someplace sane, someplace normal? I’ve been asking
myself those questions so often that they’re starting to go stale. I only
stayed for about thirty minutes—just enough time to eat, weep, and pay.
I left the restaurant and quickly realized that I was very lost.
My perspective changed a little then—being lost wasn’t a misfortune, it was an
opportunity. So I began to walk again, and each step soothed my heart and
calmed my mind until I could barely remember what I had been upset about. Even
though my sandals rubbed familiar sore spots on my feet, I started feeling
happier. Even the people around me seemed to transform from a homogenous and
intimidating sea of faces to a group of individuals who—quite like me—were
simply trying to make their way in this often-overwhelming but entirely unique
city. Feeling a little braver than I had felt in a very long time, I asked for
directions to the train station (in Hindi, no less!) I could only understand
the first line of instructions, so I would meander from street to street,
stopping in interesting shops and just generally wandering. Being lost was
somewhat cathartic. Not only did the long, warm afternoon allow me to explore
the streets of Mumbai, but it also gave me time to go through the avenues of my
fears, my worries, my hopes, and my goals. After asking about a dozen sleepy
security guards, sari-clad, aunties, and eager young schoolboys in crisp blue
uniforms, I was almost sad to see the station come into sight. In getting lost,
I had found so much more than my way.
