My flight leaves tomorrow at noon, and I still feel nothing. I'm not excited; I'm not nervous; I'm just waiting for it to happen. I can't understand my complacency, but it's not an adjective I'd usually use to describe myself.
Both my parents have expressed their wishes - for me to stay in Seattle. But as much as I love it here, I'm going to India. I've read books, watched movies, seen pictures and heard friends' stories, but there's still that disconnect, that bit of lost sensory detail: the smells, the noises the way the people look at you, the energy, the harsh reality of another world that I crave. And I guess that's why I travel. I do wish this time I had more of a purpose (I went to China for a job and I went through Russia and Europe to return home after China), but India is just to sate my curiosity.
I'm a bit of a lost soul still looking for a passion that fulfills me and my bank account. In the meantime, I'm ready for my next adventure. I want to witness first-hand the head bobble and the sing-songy, colloquial English. I want to smell like the spices I've eaten from a street vendor's tasty treat. I want to be apart of another culture, even just for a day. So, I'm off.
