I have recently returned, via cloak and dagger, to the homeland. Sneaking hither (Mumbai) and thither (Frankfurt), I arrived in Toronto to much tumult and joyousness and chocolate. Did you know it’s Christmas? I had no idea until all of the Lufthansa stewardesses started yammering at me with their terrifying, Teutonic English with all of their “Merry Christmas!”es like it wasn’t the weirdest thing they could possibly say. Didn’t they know I had been in India, where Christmas isn’t A Thing? Didn’t they know I would need to be gently immersed in the hot, scalding bath of Western Civilization? It was cold, and I had no sweater, and I had no idea what to do with myself, either in Germany, or still now, here.
I am in a basement. I just ate a crisp, icy-cold apple, completely out of season, from an enormous refrigerator. There is snow on the ground, and Christmas in the air, and I really don’t know what to do about any of it. All of my friends are already in my grille. Their clamour and their elation at seeing me is appreciated, and no less overwhelming. (A salve: they all want to eat and drink with me. How long can I ride the wave of positive emotion to scoop free meals out of people? We shall see.)
While I try to fathom what the hell it means to be home, and begin looking forward into the dark, scary world out there for new jorbs and moneys and travels, I will write. I will edit photos. I will shove words together and artfully relay tales of the road for you, the hungry consumer. Did you know I lived in Korea? Did you know I just backpacked through Asia? The Meat People I know will grow tired of that shit in like a week — but you won’t! The entire purpose you’re here for is to read things that begin with thos very sentences. And boy howdy will I provide.
It’s good to be back. Holidays may hamper me, but prepare for the deluge. It begins soon.