We are home, or at least, I am home, in the house where I grew up to pretend that it is Christmas again with my family.

The flight back was comically long, never ending, it seemed. I cried an obscene amount while watching "Flicka" (well, obscene considering it was Flicka).

I am jet lagged to an extent that I have never been jetlagged. I fall asleep by ten pm and am up at five, even after three days. I am a wee bit sick, and the thought of sugary foods makes me nauseous (extremely, extremely unusual).

Last night I cried for the first time since I returned. I cried because I was lucky enough to have experienced the last four weeks in India. Because I made strong, yet strange connections with amazing Montrealers who have effected me more than they know. Because I have so many questions about how art can be used, questions that can't be answered in any definite way. Because I have to start making some serious life decisions, and this experience has made them harder. Because I already miss the beautiful weather, the constant questions, the dancing and instruments. Because here in my hometown, I never fit in like I fit in there. Because travelling is difficult. Because I was tired, overwhelmed.

Lots of feelings, thoughts, ideas. I feel strong, I feel happy.

-M