"But where is the school girl that used to be me?" -Joan Didion

I was riding my bike through the villages, it was 100 degrees, too hot to be on a bike, but almost too hot to sit still, every breath I took felt like a mouthful of hot water. We stopped in a village 40 kilometers away in a place that you can’t imagine growing up in because it’s made of sticks and stones and you would know everyone’s story by the age of two. There was one shop, a small store that sold coke, cold coke. The sugar and carbonation were a relief as was the condensation that poured into my hands. I wanted to take that plastic bottle and turn it upside down over my head and let the liquid brown sugar shower over my hair and face and onto my jersey and just bathe in the sticky cooln

Living

“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them

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