Читать книгу She Made Me Laugh - Stephanie Emmons - Страница 10

It must be 100 degrees in here! Can’t we get a fan? I think I’m going to pass out. Whose idea was this trip again? And what is that smell?”

These were some of the profound thoughts running through my head on my first day in India. I guess I had assumed I would be inspired by the natural beauty, excited about exploring and looking forward to tasting some local cuisine. But instead, all I could think of was how awful I felt.

Besides the obscene jet lag of ten and a half hours of time difference, the heat and humidity were making me nauseous, and we’d just landed an hour earlier. How, I wondered aloud, was I going to get through the next forty days like this? I was suddenly dizzy from a combination of heat, fatigue, the beginnings of a severe culture shock, and sleep-deprivation.

I’m sure my whining on the very first day did not bode well for Miriam, my friend and traveling buddy. If she was annoyed, though, she didn’t show it. In fact, she was a rock for me the entire time. Five years her senior, I had fully expected to be the one encouraging and supporting her when the going got tough in India. But pretty much without exception, it was she who saw me through some very difficult days.

As I would soon discover, those weeks in India would be the most emotionally trying times in my life. I think my difficulties had a lot to do with feeling insecure or unsafe, and not being in control. I like life to be predictable, to feel that I have a handle on things. Little did I know when we were leaving Ottawa, and excitement filled every fiber of my body, that those forty days and nights would be anything but predictable.

I just felt so lost. It was hard at times to keep from freaking out. I know this sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Some days I was convinced that if I didn’t get on a plane that very day and head straight for home, something disastrous would happen. I don’t know what I thought that disaster might be, but I was left with a feeling of ongoing anxiety just below the surface.

* * *

When I set foot for the first time on Indian soil, something wasn’t quite right. Yes, there was the wall of humidity and the pungent smell of something burning, and my churning stomach didn’t help. But that wasn’t it. Something was seriously wrong with me and I knew it from the first moment.

“Forty days.” I said aloud. “Forty days until I can get back on a plane and go home.”

Miriam looked at me and her face fell. I must have looked ashen, because she took my hand and began what would become her vigil of comfort and reassurance to me. Me! Who had so recently gushed to everyone back home about the great time we would have in India, about how many lives we would touch, and how we would say hello to Mother Teresa on their behalf. I had been such an ass. No. What really happened was that Miriam carried me throughout the trip and I know I would have thrown in the towel without her help. I was humbled to discover that at every turn, every snag, any little wrench in the works, I was thrown on my ear. I don’t think a day went by while in India that I didn’t question, complain to God, or try to bargain.

Why, God? Why?

Why did I have to come here?

Couldn’t you have picked a cooler country?

Can you make something happen so that I can go home early?

I just want to go home. Who knew you could be this miserable in a place called the City of Joy?