Re-booked and leaving

I enjoy being by myself. Free from the opinions and thoughts of others. Free to think for yourself, to look out for yourself. At the current moment I find myself pondering the last two sentences of the book by J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, which is full of "phonies, mean guys, and psychoanalysts." The sentences went somewhat like this, please excuse any paraphrasing, but I don't have the book with me at the moment... "Don't ever tell anybody anything. You'll end up missing everybody." For some reason I just couldn't get those words out of my head. While alone, I find myself free from scorn, teasing, and judgement. It is not hard to be free when alone.

I missed my flight to JFK the other night. I was so tired I wanted to sit down in the middle of the terminal and refuse to move. Turns out my debit card was shut down. When I tried to get a few thousand rupees out of the ATM it mistook the request for several thousand USD and promptly shut the account down. Needless to say I was way up a creek without any paddles, because I had an extra item (my sitar) and both my bags were overweight. My blue duffel bag in particular, which had to weigh at least 40 kg. Around twice the limit. Smooth, I know. I can't wait to explain to immigration officials what is in there. "No sir, not too much Indian merchandise at all sir... tique?" Anyway, I missed my flight because I couldn't get the money in time. I got back to the Centaur Hotel and spent the night there. My ever helpful parents, who I called when I got to the hotel, arranged for my flight to be re-booked, thank god. I guarantee you it is going to be me having the emotional breakdown when I am received by my parents in New York. In fact, I have already though of a cliche phrase to utter when sobbing with my parents. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done", and it's the truth.

The Definition of home has become blurred for me. Just about the time I was getting ready to leave, I realized that I consider Hostel, the boys dorm, my home. Then I thought about my king-sized bed in my nice house back in the states. Where is home really? If it's where the heart is, then I no doubt have many homes. In that sense, India is now one of my homes. I have fallen in love with what little I have seen if it, and cannot wait to see more on the winter tour in January. From the crumby milkshakes and chicken burgers, to the white peaks of the Garhwali Himalaya and the steep hills of Mussoorie, I will leave a bit of my heart in this country.

It is now about five hours before I board an airplane and arrive home, after a 16 hour flight.

-Thom.