BECOMING REAL
or
SELF-DECEPTION
I spent my hours in the plane reading about the history and culture
of India. But I miss a fundamental part of the guidebook that could
have saved me from a life lesson in my first day in Delhi... Anyhow,
there is something that guidebooks cannot capture clearly enough: the
cultural shock.
I have some pages in my notebook whilst I was few hours before my
destination. They reflect part of the anxiety and fear of regarding
myself as a solo traveler and a, probably, solo human being. I had
some flashbacks from these summer camps for kids. The first days,
I used to question what was my parents' purpose for leaving me alone
surrounded of unfamiliar people. Nevertheless, all those camps ended
with waterfalls of tears caused by the separation of what it had been
a fifteen days, friendship, a fifteen days connection, fifteen days
of love and fun. Next time one of us witness the tenderness of a
salty drop sliding through a seven year old cheek, combined by the
unnatural tension of a face distorted by sadness and pain, and
wrapped by the groans and hiccup of loss, think twice about the
amount of future that is being conditioned by a precise moment.
I also reflect about the way I was going out of my comfort zone with
the simple fact of having a dinner in the plane. The last time
something similar happened was when I went to New York in 2013 with
my flatmate. But this time, I had taken an eight hours flight and I
was having dinner by own. Tiny details that mean huge changes.
Then, after convincing myself that I should look tougher and don't
let myself get drown by self-destructive thoughts, I stared through
the window and get awed by the deepens of the darkness that surrounds
spaceships at night.
