I’m irrevocably different than who I was four months ago. Sharper. More assertive. More selfish. More empathetic. Less willing to share myself, but more giving of myself. More okay with being a paradox, with being a crescendo of internal conflict that ebbs and flows and directly correlates with my need to write.
"Why do we have these places, these things, that settle into the folds of our minds like a new idea and eventually flatten out into its recesses, never forgotten but not prioritized?"
I shouldn't be taking solace in giant homemade breakfasts and fresh, strong coffee. I should actively be enjoying it.
"The surrounding scenery was incredible, kind of like being in a landscape snow globe before the scene is sealed in with glass."
"I'm from the United States, about 45 minutes outside Chicago, I'm volunteering as an English teacher, and I'll be here until October."
Noo thank you.
"You have half a lion head colored, why are you walking around?!"
"I've developed a dangerous habit of getting an after-work churro for the equivalent of 40 cents because the combi basically drops us off in front of a churro stand..."