That last attempt at cliché analogy about malaria is better said as feeling “delicate.” Hyper-emotional sensitive to my surroundings. I just want to crawl under a palm tree and hide from my airplane. Reverse culture-shock is never fun but always happens.
i wrote that to someone in a letter. well, a digital one. electronic, even.
Dear Paris:
I know you're the sophistication capital of the world, so please excuse my hanes white teeshirts and three pairs of jeans while im struggling to catch up at Zara, the only store I'll be able to afford. Also, I'd appreciate it if you didn't judge me breakfast choice of hot milk with sugar.
Merci bien.
Dear Dakar:
I know we tried so hard but we have to come to terms with the fact that I'll never be able to dance Mbalax. My knees just don't flail as fluidly as yours do. Yes Mama, I know the girl who stayed here last year could do it so well, but as you've reminded me, she was black, and who are we kidding, that made you love her more. No hard feelings.
Au revoir.
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