Tourist Trap

I dont know how to begin, so I will just barge into it, vulgarily and with absolutely no poetry or art in it. Such an intense, fun and wonderful month deserves an entry in this little corner of cyberspace.
I still do not know how exactly, but it changed me; it must have. I lived so many different things all at once, I didnt have time to fully digest how much I was experiencing, how much I was moving (forward or backward, Im not to judge for the moment). What I wonder is, after all this movement, all this twisting and turning, did it just change me for the time being (for those 28 days, that is), or will it leave its funny little print on me indefinitely? And I use the word “funny” because I cannot say if it is good or bad.
Some things I would like to keep: the lack of fear, for example. But how do you just go from being afraid of so many things you cannot even put a name to them, to not being so? Its easy to be brave when you are already on the run. I dont even think thats really courage, thats just bullshit. Assuming a different, more free, more fun, version of yourself while in another country when you dont know anyone is easy. If you can do all that while living your life (your real life, not a vacation that ultimately lasts one or two seconds), then you really are brave. I want to be like that. I just dont know if I can.
How do I put in words how much I want to be there, right now? I loved everything about it, even the things I didnt really like, I loved them just because they were part of the whole experience. I loved everyone… some people more than others. Right now, though, it all seems so close to me; too close at times. I want to wake up and be in my tiny, ugly bed at the McGill dorm again. I want to wake up and prepare myself a crappy cereal breakfast and go down my hill (yes, I nicknamed it as MY HILL) and get a Second Cup (haha, I never actually ordered a second one) and go to class, talk about Michael Jackson, emos and hockey, and laugh about how british Sarah is and gossip for a while and then go roam around the city and fall in love with every single violinist I see on the streets. I want to go out at night to a place I think Im never going to like and end up having a great time, drinking the worst tequila ever and switching from spanish to english to french with all the wrong people.
I want to be there again. I want to be the stupid tourist with her big map and clumsiness with coins and camera on hand all the time and inaccuracy with weather and clothes. I want to basically climb up my hill soaking wet from the rain, with a soar throat from screaming my love to Ben Harper, tired from a long day, and do my laundry at 12 in the morning while eating a heated wrap I bought in the supermarket because Im too lazy to cook or prepare anything.

The problem is, I already had the time given to me for all that. Now Im back to reality. And what is MY reality, anyway, now that I’ve lived all those things? What is my attitude towards life, towards school, towards friends supposed to be? It feels like it should change, because a lot inside me has, but how? I do not feel like a part of this life anymore, at least not now. But my fantasy self is not my life either. Right now I have a sort of spiritual, sentimental jetlag. I am in no time zone at all.

“…and the road finally gave me back, but I dont think I’ll unpack, ’cause I’m not sure if I live here anymore”



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