A week from today, at precisely 2:45 EST I will be boarding my plane to Newark, and then to Delhi.
ONE STINKING WEEK!
Do you know who isn’t prepared for this? Me, that’s who. I haven’t even unpacked my life from moving, I’m in no position to pack now! Not to mention that I don’t even know what to take. Never mind that I was given a packing list, and so many of you have made suggestion but I won’t be making decisions until I start putting stuff together, roughly 12…or more likely, 3 hours before my flight.
I just want to take this time today, and reflect on the fact that I have waited my entire life for this moment. Ever since I was 5 and I was given “Indian Barbie” because according to my grandmother “It looks like [me], dark thing that [I am]”.
Couple that with a heavy childhood infatuation (though I wouldn’t have admitted it, I loved his accent, plus his mom had a nose ring, that’s alarmingly cool to an impressionable child) to the little boy who sat next to me in grades 1 through 5 and looked like this:
But now, looks like this:
The unfairness of my not jumping that gun is astounding. Why did no one show me K3G when I was 10? I would have known!
I’ve been chatting to the other intern, and we’re both a little mystified. I know for me it won’t hit me until I’m shoved up against some Uncle for 18.5 hours on a plane watching Bollywood movies and trying, TRYING not to get my standard “trans-continental flying ulcer”. (Can you will that stuff away?)
Or, it will hit me when I actually walk out of the airport and have to get to my hotel and suddenly everyone is, well, Indian.
Goodness, I hope I don’t get overly excited and try to touch the taxi-wallah’s feet or something equally as awkward, because knowing me, I’d manage it.