So the saga is over. I’d planned to do a second semester in Fiji, but I found myself ineligible. I am disappointed, of course, it means not only that I miss out on the project I had planned and a curriculum directly in line with my major that I was excited about—but the semester back home has already started and that means I cannot get financial aid for this semester and have nothing to do until August. I cannot now complete the major I had planned and that means changing my degree and five more semesters until I graduate. At first I just wanted to go home, but now I feel that I am not ready to go home and I do not know what I will do.

My visa for India is good for a year, and that means I have until August. I have bookings in Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore for the two weeks after the tour that I am now on ends. Perhaps I will come back to India after and go to Auroville, to an ashram, or to the Landour language school. My one concern is that I don’t really want to be on my own again. The thing that had stopped me from wanting to stay before, that made me want to go home, was being tired from being alone. I get frustrated and sad when I’m lonely and it isn’t good for me. But, I’m thinking more and more, I think I will stay in India for awhile, instead of going “home”. I am so close to making the decision that it is already made—I just have to say the words. I am afraid. It’s easy traveling with the group. When I am with other people I have no fear, even when I am the one taking charge—directing the rickshaw drivers, haggling in the market or whatever. But I do not like being alone.

If I stay, will I ever go back? I wonder about this. Surely I will have my moments when I wish for home, but it would be too tempting to just stay, I think. I will not ever get that kind of sickness where each step that I take is on my way home. Rather each step will be farther from the center until I return and find that “home” is no longer home. I am now on the brink, the point of no return, a cross roads. I cannot help but shun the well paved highway for the untraveled track but, I must wonder, what will become of me? I have already wandered too far to go back and fit into everyday humdrum society. I can never be happy with a comfortable nine to five job, benefits and retirement. I cannot be happy with ordinary existence. But what will I do? What can I make of this? I feel this push to do something with myself, to make something of myself, but I can’t settle down and must follow my wandering spirit. All who wander are not lost.

The Unreachable Star

My father asked me, relating to my last entry, if a pilgrimage was the same as a quest. Perhaps not all pilgrimages, perhaps not all quests—but I would have to say that yes, many are. Though they are not intrinsically the same, they share many of the same characteristics.

He reminded me of one of my favorite songs:
THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star

YES. Yes! This is exactly what I mean.
But remember: “You do not find the grail—the grail finds YOU.”

I’ve discovered that I’m on a pilgrimage. I didn’t intend to do this—it just kind of happened. Coincidentally, my final for the semester was on comparing my semester abroad to a pilgrimage—so I recognize the signs.

In my paper, I talked about pilgrimage as a rite of passage consisting of a leave-taking, a period of liminality, and a return. One takes off from all that has become familiar and safe to face mental and physical trials which act as a catalyst in our transformation from one state of being to the next. These rites of passage occur at threshold times in our lives: birth, between adolescence and adulthood, marriage, in becoming a parent, in leaving youth behind, and before death.

A pilgrimage is also a rite of passage and during the pilgrimage you experience all three stages. But what state of being are you leaving behind—and what will you become? Perhaps it only marks a certain stepping stone—afterward everything in your life is delineated as “before” this event—or “after.” Perhaps no further meaning is necessary. Perhaps this is because the journey itself makes its own meaning. To journey outward is also to journey inward. You go out into the wilderness alone, naked, and you enter into yourself and discover what you are really made of.

This is certainly true of each journey I have been on; however, in this case, south India has also been a pilgrimage in the usual sense as well. Beginning in Chennai and traveling down the coast—to Mahabalipuram, Chettinand, Ramashwarm and too many places with unpronounceable names, which I can’t just now recall—I’ve visited temple after temple and along the way seen uncountable pilgrims on my same route. Indians from all over—from north and south and east and west—have flocked here to pray in temple after temple. To make offerings, give thanks, and placate the gods. Maybe to find a husband, a wife, wealth, or happiness—maybe to find themselves. I haven’t seen may Westerners on this path, I can’t say why, and there’s always a great curiosity about what in the world I could be doing here. “Why?” I don’t have answers. I ask myself the same, every day.

I wonder, though, if I can ever come home. There’s a type of bird (swallows maybe?) that can never touch the earth. They must perch high up because if they landed on the ground they would never be able to take off again. I feel like that sometimes. Like I can never rest—though sometimes I am tired—but always, always this drive to keep on, to see what has never been seen before. Like Tennyson’s Ulysses:

Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

I’ve been traveling around south India. I’ve seen more amazing things then I can recount. I hired a car and driver (it’s not as expensive as you might imagine) and took off from Chennai about a week ago. I’ve visited numerous tourist sites and temples galore, but what I’ve actually been enjoying most is the driving.

Visited a lovely temple this morning, though I think my guide was a little put out—here I was in the midst of a temple that had been here since “the gods walked the earth” and I was busy freaking out over the baby goats!

On the road again—the roads here really do remind me of “home”

Passing tiny villages full of naked children and men wearing no shirts and lungis (skirt like sarong things). Lakes full of blooming lotus, rice paddies and groves of palm trees. After Rajasthan and the desert I’m loving how green and beautiful everything is here. In the villages every house has a “rangoli” on the doorstep—designs made of rice flour, some huge and intricate and some small and simple, many very complicated geometric designs and animal motifs. I’d like to come back and do a research project—or maybe just a photo journal of them, I find them fascinating and might start making my own (with chalk) on my doorstep when I go home. Not only are they pretty but they are supposed to be good juju and protective magic for the household, a sort of prayer. Very cool!

I’ve come to a conclusion, however, one I’m not entirely happy with—I don’t like traveling alone. As much as I want to be the crazy adventurous type, I don’t want to do it on my own. Nor do I really enjoy group travel, unless it is a very special group. No, what I really want is one or two like-minded people with the same interests and adventuresome spirit to travel the world with. As this isn’t likely to happen, I’m a little bummed out. In general, I can either travel alone and hope I get used to it—or stifle with an escorted group. Anyone know any alternatives?

I’ve been having an interesting time trying to feed myself here. The food is excellent—it’s just that I become a tourist attraction—me being the tourist and the locals spectating. Dinner is a huge pile of rice served on a banana leaf and six or seven different liquidy somethings in little cups. No silverware, this is fine. I’ve become used to eating with my hands. The locals put their whole hand in the rice, pour some liquidy stuff on, mush it all around and then somehow get a ball of the stuff in their mouths. I can’t bear to put that much of my hand in it—it’s kind of gross watching them with rice and goo all over up to the wrist—though I’m trying to step back and be groovy with cultural practices etc.. I eat like a north Indian. Dainty balls of rice, gently dipping in one of the cups and shoving it in my mouth with three fingers. But this is tricky with the rice—it doesn’t stay together well and ends up on my face, the table, the floor, or my plate. This is fine with me, but crowds of people gather to stare at me while I eat and LAUGH and I can’t stand it. I can ignore the stares (though they still make me uncomfortable) but the laughing gets to me! I want to shout at them—how would they feel if they came to the US and people pointed and laughed at them and poked fun? But I have to smile and deal with it.

I’m on the bus to Delhi now. I’m leaving so much behind: little hopes and big dreams. The self I was when I first came to India. The program center (the friends I’d found left day before yesterday) and the whole semester. The city I’d become familiar with. I am sad and a little afraid. I crave the adventure—but it terrifies me, too. I want to be the intrepid explorer, going where few dare to go, to see what no one has seen before and walking on distant shores no other foot has touched. Yet I am still shy, I still feel helpless to some degree, I still feel so young and so alone.

I am sad for the things left behing—chances never taken, words never said. I look forward to the future, to making it count. To regretting only the things I do not do, to taking what comes and becoming new every day. This growth is not a comfortable process—I must remember this. But when we stop growing we die, even if our bodies keep moving. To live a simple life is fine—but I cannot bear to waste my life in an office or at home. I can’t bear the idea of waking up one day, at sixty, at seventy, at eighty years old and thinking “this was it? This was all there was? This is all I did with my life?” I can’t bear the thought of being ordinary. Anything but ordinary—please?

Here I am begining another adventure. First to south India, then Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Fiji and, possibly, Tunisia as well.

It’s strange the things you can get used to. I realize, looking around, that Jaipur has become “comfortable” for me. I look back on the first day, being dropped of on MI Road, terrified of everything. I was afraid of strange rickshaw drivers and loyally called the same one for all of my errands. Because of this, I didn’t learn my way around until my ISP project. I’ve learned to haggle like a pro, swear in Hindi, and to be a lot stronger in asking for—or demanding—what I want. I’ve gained a lot of street smarts. Now that I’m leaving Jaipur, I guess I’ll see how much of this applies outside of the small area I’ve grown accustomed to.

I’m going to Tamil Nadu, where my Hindi is going to be useless and the culture is totally different. I’ll travel around for a while, then go to Kovalem to sit on the beach and do nothing for about a week and a half. Then I join a tour of south India (the parts I haven’t seen yet). At the end of January, I fly to Bangkok to travel through Thailand and Malaysia, and down all the way to Singapore before (hopefully) flying to Fiji.

I did well on my ISP, my work improved at the end, so I was told, so I think I have a good chance of going on to Fiji. At least, I haven’t received anything saying different.

I am melancholy. I am alone again. The world out there is huge and scary, despite how much I’ve learned and grown. I hate the thought of leaving India. It might be the closest I’ve felt to home. But I have no ties here. I didn’t find the great love I was searching for, only momentary delusions I was smart enough never to tell anyone about. I am still a seeker, and I still don’t know what I am looking for. Myself maybe. But since growth is a continuous process, “me” is an ever receding horizon, never reached. Where will this journey lead me?

It all happened so fast. I can’t believe the semester is over. Only in the last month or so did I feel like I started to get a handle on things, and only in the last week did I start to bond with the others—and now they are gone. I guess that’s the cyclical nature of things. Things end, but then there is a new beginning and we never know what tomorrow will bring.

I’ve been sick. Nothing life-threatening, as far as I can tell my only symptom is a really high fever. I had it on Wednesday—I felt like I was freezing to death, I couldn’t get warm and everything hurt. By morning, though I was still feeling tired and achy, the fever had gone down. I was getting better but yesterday I went out to the internet cafe to try to finish this paper and I guess I pushed myself too much because last night my fever was up around 103F and I was freezing and burning again. I resolved to go to the doctor in the morning—but by this morning the fever had gone down again.

There is an older woman in the family who owns the hotel. She was worried about me when I didn’t come for breakfast and knocked on my door. She doesn’t have much English but I communicated to her by hand signs that I was sick. She gave me some ayervedic medicine and some juice. With some misgivings, I took both. A few hours later, my temperature is normal again. I’m tired and dazed feeling, but otherwise feeling better—but terrified of spending another night like last night.

Another woman in the family, who has good English, told me that the whole family has had the same thing and that it lasts for only a couple of days. But that if my fever goes up again, to call for a doctor. I’m terrified of doctors at the best of times, and I’ve heard crazy things about the hospitals here—praying to god I don’t have to go. This couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time—Id’ been planning a shopping trip with my friend and her aunt for weeks now, and this paper is due in a few days and still needs work: formatting, and citations. But I’m fine, I think—don’t worry, so long as I don’t push it I should be ok—and my group comes back tomorrow—yay!

I’ve been making a list of things I would pay a lot of money to have, to see, or to be able to do right now—being sick made me a little homesick, I guess:

A walk in the redwoods
A trip to the beach—with no one else there
A foaming hot bubble bath with spa jets
Sushi!
Bagels with avocado, cream cheese, salt and pepper
Grilled shrimp with butter and garlic sauce
My mom
My friends from home
A decent hair brush
Hot water for as long as I want to shower
“Righteous babe” crepes from renatas
My kitty cats
My garden/pond—in fact, my house in general
Walk down a street and not be harassed
Be able to mail a package
A big fluffy bed with down comforter and huge fluffy pillows

The moon seems brighter here. A man once told me that he would remember me every time the moon was full and I was young enough, and silly enough to believe him. Even so, I laughed and asked if he would forget me for the rest of the month—I quoted Shakespeare to him—”oh swear not by the moon, the pale and inconstant moon who monthly waxes and wanes in her symmetry. Swear not by the moon, lest your love prove likewise variable.” Then and now I didn’t have the quote quite right, but close enough for the meaning. I wonder if he still looks at the moon and thinks of me even once a month—even though I am no longer in love with him, or the idea of him, anyway. Actually, I am glad we parted, he was not the man for me.

But the moon does seem brighter here. I think I’ve been watching too many Hindi movies—they’re giving me brain damage and making me think silly thoughts about people I shouldn’t (no—not him, another, and that’s the most I’ll ever mention about it. It’s just too embarrassing. I hardly know him–I might as well wish for the sun )

Back to reality, I’ve been in Jaipur for weeks now. I’ve had two sets of yoga teachers and an interesting time of it. I won’t talk about my project too much—just that everything is going well and I am in the final stages of editing my paper. At this point I’m tired of worrying about it and I just want to be done! I’m starting to hate the thing, though I am LOVING the Yoga. My first set of teachers taught me a lot about the philosophy, which is mostly Hindu philosophy and, as you might have noticed, quite in-line with my personal belief system. One of my frustrations was an inability to convince them that I actually knew what they were talking about and understood these concepts quite well! My second yoga teacher concentrates on the breathing and postures. The classes are quite similar to those I’ve had in the past and I am very happy with her.

I’ve made some friends! Yay! I’m quite excited they are both staying in the hotel I’m at. The first is a Tunisian girl who is doing a project on jewelry design. The second is an Indian girl who works for GM. Both of them are really nice and it is wonderful to have girlfriends again!

I can’t wait for this semester to be over! I’m tired of being stressed over it. Whatever happens will be for the best. If I go to Fiji, awesome, I want that. If I stay in India, that’s awesome and I want that, too. Either way I win. I know I am not how I’ve been perceived or what I’ve been told I am, I am sorry I let that get in the way of my studies. It will feel like a failure if I can’t go to Fiji, I can’t help it—I want SO badly to prove them wrong about me! However, I’ve grown a lot and I know a lot more about myself now. Though I never think I’m where I “should” be—I am proud to be who I am and that won’t change. Ok, enough with the same old BS.

But–doesn’t the moon seem brighter tonight?

So I came back to Jaipur. I had intended to continue my lessons in Hindustani Classical singing. I had been taking lessons all semester and I really liked the teacher. It seemed she also liked me, which was definitely a bonus. We had some language issues, but I think she said we were some of her best foreign students. “You sing just like Indian girls,” she said.

Only one problem—I couldn’t get a hold of her! I called her for two days and couldn’t get in touch with her. Nothing. When I finally did get through to her house I was told that she would be out of town until the next week. Having already “wasted” one week, I didn’t want to wait that long.

In desperation, I called the Yoga teacher that SIT uses for practicums. I have always been interested in Yoga, but have only been taking a formal class for about six months at home. Before then, I picked up different postures and techniques here and there. When I did finally enroll I found out that the warm up my dance teacher had used for us (I took dance from the age of six until I was ten or eleven) was itself yoga and utilized almost all of the same postures in a similar order. I’ve been enjoying it immensely. In fact, I’ve been missing it while I’ve been in India. SIT did have a Yoga practicum, but I was very busy trying to stay afloat in my classes and the distance of my house from school meant that I would have had to wake at 5AM. Instead, I used the extra 45mins for study (not that it seems to have helped much).

At any rate, I called the yoga teacher. Talking to her was like finding an oasis in the desert after one has been lost for some time. She was welcoming and kind to an extent that brought tears to my eyes. At last I had a project!

There’s a brass band outside my window playing Auld Lang Syne over and over.

I’ve learned to stop questioning these things.