It’s that time of year again.
The heat seems to come from below, bringing sopping air with it. The smells are pungent and human. Sweat. Dirt. Exhaust. Rooms with air conditioning seem sterile while rooms without seem dirty. It all awakens in me a desire I thought was fading.
The country has not treated me and mine well, of course. But I’m longing for it again. Why? I can’t figure it out.
I would lose family and friends again. I would miss out on all my geeky conversations. I would lose my financial stability. I would suffer ridiculous heat. I would trade my own powerful and comfortable culture for a foreign one.
But I’m yearning, still.
I could do it, of course. I could start packing and be gone when my lease runs out. There is nothing stopping me. I could get a job teaching English or raise money for some humanitarian project. And then I could live there again.
I could soak in the poetic Urdu. I could walk through fields of cotton and mangoes. I could drink chai with shopkeepers.
But do I want to?
So very much.
And not at all.
At the same time.
It’s not Doublethink. It’s Doublefeel.
And while I’m doublefeeling about being there, I’m also doublefeeling about being here.
What do you Doublefeel about?