The heat; embracing, damp, sticky. The noise; cars honking, motorcicles screaming, the eardrums overload. The smell; sweet and sour, clove mixes gently with fumes, with fried rice and trash. The musquitos suck me dry, take advantage of my 'deet' free naivite. It is all part of this ever repeating homecoming ceremony; this experience of the senses.
Melancholy overcomes me for my fair skin will never be dark like theirs. Never will I go unnoticed. Never will I fit in. But my feet is in between the door and I intend to keep it there!
After a few days, my language skills rise to the surface. I can survive here...
Betah is the word they use here. At home, at ease. In all its weirdness, this country thrills me, gets under my skin.