apparently - according to a travel journal i found - no one over 12-years-old wears t-shirts in india. so there goes my paul frank pink-kangaroo shirt and over half of my wardrobe selection.
i have lists of things to do and list of things to buy and lists of things to remember to put into lists. other than the insect repellent with DEET or new memory card for my digital camera or the plug converter/adapter for my battery charger—i also need to purchase some nicorette. (god help me.)
funnily, i’ve already found myself relishing my hot showers and bedbug-free bed (yes, bedbugs. which reminds me, i also need some permethrin fabric spray).
but most of these things are superficial. just the self-preservation and maintenance part of it all.
i’ve been more anxious about my (questionable) ability to keep my head together. i don’t mean to sound over-dramatic or overcomplicate matters—but this trip represents multiple layers of emotional challenges. traveling with my dad, who i adore and respect, will be very meaningful. but it means i'll be confronted with some usually-ignored issues—issues i’ll have to face for three weeks nonstop. without being able to retreat to my apartment. or taking refuge in elliot’s sweet goofiness. or grounding myself with the familiarity of friends.
the other night, for example, i dreamt that the indian missionaries found out about my blog - and somehow that meant they knew every last detail of my boring -ahem- sinful life. they were shaking their heads in disappointment. they thought i was shallow and lost. and i felt guilty. and hypocritical. and shame. like a scolded child.
it’s silly. i'm usually not a heavy-baggage kind-of girl. i should be more self-assured with who i am. and with my chameleon-like abilities. after all, i’ve had to balance two worlds my entire life: my actual “american” life vs. the life represented to my family and the armenian-christian community.
but it’s scary.
i feel like i’m going to have to emerge from this trip finally a grown-up. and leave some burdens behind.