Getting a grip on my Asian adventures

I know, fellow bloggers, I promised you a blow by blow account of my Asian adventures. But since my feet hit African soil not so many moons ago I’ve been in a rushed panic to get on with life. So I apologise if my blog posts are sporadic and don’t make a helluva lot of sense, I’m still trying to come to terms with it all.
I was just thinking about Japan and it feels like a million years ago, when it was this January! The streets of Kyoto and surrounding mountains were covered with snow, deer attacked my clothes, I slept with monks who moved like ninjas in a temple in one of the holiest places on earth.
I’m struggling to wrap my head around all the coolness I’ve experienced, the kindness of strangers, the delicious taste of ramen noodles and meat on sticks.
This opens a can of worms, because then I remember all the places I’ve visited all at once, and a sensory stream of sounds and smells and tastes bamboozle me over the edge till I’m cowering under my desk in the twilight hours and feeling homesick for what I do not know.
It’s been tough coming back. When I entered the gates at Oliver Tambo and the friendly mama welcomed me back after two and a half years of having no roots to pull at, I cried and cried for the whole terminal to see. My heart broke with relief to be home. But the same feeling came with other overflooding feelings of remorse, fear, lingering self-doubt, yearnings for the fetal position under a desk.
What the hell am I doing with my life? What do I want to do?
I feel like a drug addict, if I can only get that one fix all will be well.
Last night I dreamed about my students in South Korea. It only hit me recently that I will never go back and I will never see them again. It’s a beautiful sadness, the love I felt for people I knew for such a short time.

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