prolonging the magic

I'm sitting in the Singapore airport, in the same lounge where I wrote my first post from Asia so many months ago. Tuesday so far is not such a happy day, but since I'm flying backwards over the international date line, there are still eighteen hours in which it can redeem itself. Tuesday will end with me seeing my friends, my apartment, and the glorious California freeway system (never thought I would praise such a messed-up piece of civil engineering, but times change), so it should all work out. Right now, though, I'm something of a disaster. A thunderstorm is raging outside the airport, which is appropriate; it rained on our last two days at the beach in Sri Lanka, which was also somehow appropriate. I woke up in Sri Lanka yesterday morning, went to Colombo, and caught the midnight flight from Sri Lanka to Singapore. We got here at 6:30am, dropped Matt's luggage off at his hotel, and then had an extended breakfast. We had intended to go and find the funicular that my father has waxed so eloquent about, but we were both absolutely exhausted, and I at least no longer had the mental energy left to pretend to enjoy myself when the last remnants of my Indian experience were crumbling around my ears. So I left for the airport three hours earlier than I had to; Matt was perilously close to being inducted into the small, elite cadre of people who have seen me cry, but I managed to hold off tears with a litany of 'don't cry don't cry don't cry', at the expense of completely missing out on the goodbye because I couldn't concentrate on it. A taxi driver named Chua got inducted into the cadre instead, although I don't think he realized that it was a rare honor and so probably thought that I was insane instead. Considering that I had been on the verge of crying since dinner in Colombo the night before, I actually held it together remarkably well--no embarrasing sobs, just silent tears as I said goodbye to Asia through the car window.

This should not be taken as an indication that the whole vacation was an unholy amalgam of rain and tears--I had an absolutely fantastic time, which probably didn't help my current mood. The week in Sri Lanka was a week during which I avoided most thoughts about Hyderabad and the friends I've left behind; I also didn't think much about my return to California and the exciting but chaotic social swirl that awaits. So today I'm not only mourning the end of vacation and the return to work (which is also depressing), but also the end of six life-shaping months in India, the end of a fantastic little pseudo-collegiate expat group, and the end of my travels with Matt (who is returning to Dublin and who will not be in the California office within the next few months like everyone else). This post is all about the end, but soon there will be posts about beginnings: the beginning of a new blog (since saradoesindia doesn't make sense anymore), the beginning of a new season of the 'Shrimp or Feet' game, the beginning of new projects at work, the beginning of a whole bunch of dinners and parties and barbecues and movie screenings to make up for all the fun that I missed this summer. So, I'm going to use this absurdly-long plane ride to mourn the past, and hopefully I can land in California with a clear and happy heart.