I finally bought my plane ticket home for Christmas. It was obscenely expensive. But I know it will be worth it. I could use a little connection with my hometown, as usual.
I feel as if my state of mind is constantly balanced on this precarious little peak, arms outstretched, willing itself to maintain some sort of equillibrium. This balancing is difficult and time-consuming, and often fails, at which point I suddenly find myself plunging into a state of semi-despair, fighting off the most ridiculous sense of hopelessness.
I have the most extreme emotional reactions to the most mundane of everyday events. The other day I was the last to arrive to an over-crowded class, and the only seat that was left was all alone in the corner, and I was suddenly overcome with this enormous feeling of isolation. I had to leave the class, walk around a little bit, remind myself of things. Then yesterday I got in an argument with a taxi driver about the fare, and it took me two hours to get over the sense of having fallen from a great distance. It is so strange, being so tightly coiled all the time. I want to stretch myself out, relax, but I can't.
It makes me think that I will never be able to be completely happy in the life that I've chosen. I am twenty-seven, single, living in a strange culture; most of my friends are transitory; most everything is transitory. I need to be living in some small town, where I know everybody, where they all know me, where I can have a nice routine, a couple kids, and a house with a front porch. I need to put down feet to feel balanced. Instead I'm running all over the place, collecting degrees, experiences, and photographs, in a constant state of near-panic.
This is probably better. This life.