So there I was, squatting over a hole in the ground, my stomach killing me, sweat pouring down my face (and every other part of my body), my backpack perched precariously on the one makeshift hook I could find in the bathroom stall (because there was absolutely no way I was going to set my bag down on THIS floor), watching the line of ants crawling on the wall inches from my face, trying desperately not to touch anything (made all the more difficult by the wet, slippery, uneven, unfinished floor) when I realized "I've reached a new low point in life."
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| Howra Train Station, Kolkata |
I'm sick. It's cripplingly hot and humid. My body is aching from carrying a bag that's definitely too heavy. No one can understand me either because they don't speak English at all or because my American accent makes no sense to them. To the numerous people who told me that everyone would speak English here, you are either dirty liars or you've never been to Kolkata. The looks of confusion and disbelief when I tell people I don't speak Hindi have become commonplace. The universal head nod greeting apparently isn't so universal after all because any time I try to say hi to someone by smiling and nodding my head, I'm greeted with looks of suspicion and contempt. All but one cab driver has tried to cheat me. And I'm completely alone halfway across the world from home.
Did I mentioned today is my 27th birthday? Happy birthday to me.
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| This smile is fake |
