Mid-service crisis is: crying on the bus ride home while wedged in between two very large men (and trying to hide it from them). Here’s a tip: if you put your head against the seat in front of you, you might be able to appear as if you are just sleeping. Here’s another tip: inexplicable sniffling may give you away.
I swear I’m OK.
I think everyone goes through this to some extent: when the nostalgia of home is coupled by a milestone and amplified by lots of alone time, things start to eat at you. Piropos. Noise. Loneliness. Dirt. Cold water. Sometimes no water. Trash. The inability to form a line. The inability to notice that I am carrying a lot of heavy things and I do not want to talk to you for twenty minutes about when I will be free to meet your mother because I don’t even know your name and I am sweating and have things to do.
I believe that the technical term for those who ignore social cues is “men that want to get into your pants.”
While I’m going through a bit of a rough patch, I don’t want to go home. This will pass. I will be busy. I’m starting a project that I’m very excited about, which I’ll write about if it works out. My family is coming in February and we’re going to the beach. I am going home for vacation at the end of April. I will be OK. But this is a part of my service, so here it is, laid out for you, unedited, un-beautified. It is what it is, and I will be OK.