So I haven't really kept up with this blog as much as I had hoped to. I am on break from school, back in Islamabad, lots of empty hours to fill with thoughts and such. I suppose I'll start with my travels.
When I was flying home, in the last, most painful stretch from Abu Dhabi to Islamabad, as I waited to board, a little boy rolled his suitcase past me and on his way turned his head right at me to ask, "Pakistani?" with the most curious of expressions. He had been eying me all the while and had waited for this exact moment to wrap up his investigation. I didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of his question despite the implicit response because he had asked me in Urdu or to be ashamed that he even had to ask.

I cannot decide if i love airports or despise them. Transit makes me question the idea of home a lot. When I am here, Savannah feels like a dream. When I am there, I romanticize here. I don't know where I belong anywhere or what life is mine to have. Airports and planes make me feel like I can be anywhere, be anyone, do anything. I love watching people rush past, like ants, to their gates. They look so small in the space where such great things happen, where man can fly.

I was flying home with many thoughts, blue eyes, blue blankets. My cousin, the sister I never had, had just given birth to a beautiful boy three days before. I couldn't wait to hold him and I was right, it was the single most sublime experience of my life as I felt the weight and warmth of his being in my arms. Childhood is so wonderful. You can be yourself without the pretense that comes from self-consciousness or from the awareness of consequences. Disillusionment comes much later, it creeps up on you while you are busy dreaming. Suddenly the weight of being begins to pull your feet on the ground and nothing is ever as easy or as beautifully simple again.

I could keep going but perhaps I should stop here for now. some photos follow.