What we're here for.

I've been on the road for just over thee months. I would say that compared to many of the travelers that I've run into, three months isn't a terribly long travel time. For my own agenda and preferences, I think my soul would be happier if I multiplied this duration by, lets say, four. It's never enough time. I have had some hardship on the road, though. I have regularly encounter first-world debacles, like the hassle of living out of a backpack and using the ol' sniff test to see which shirt is clean or those minor annoyances of running out of clean clothes and wearing my bathing-suit bottoms - again. When I find myself jumping from place-to-place, country-to-country, where one Wat (temple) becomes just like another Wat and I'm becoming desensitized those sights and activities that really should be mind blowing, I ask myself, what did you come for?

This question screams in the back of my brain ever so loudly in midst of a problem that is a little more serious than typical travel girl problems, and when I find myself asking this question lately, admittedly, I've been left short on the answer. I've had to figure out the steps required to get back everything that is valuable to my life: Passport, phone, money, access to money, passport, Passport, PASSPORT; this has required an insane amount of work, where I've shamelessly, but with much guilt, reached out to Friends, Family and Friends of Family as well asking perfectly pleasant strangers, for help. I know I've taken years off my mum's life as well as greedily taken advantage of my older sisters up-all-nighters while nursing a newborn and begrudged her with my own frustrations and many, many tears. And when it becomes too much, I've slammed my younger sister with uncensored Facebook messages, forcing her to share some of the weight that I'm unable to carry with regards to my fears and concerns about essentially being stuck in a foreign country, without an end date or any way to get out. I'll leave well enough alone and provide a more detailed Post of the Case of the Stolen Blue Backpack (and all that is important to me) to a time where I'm less emotional.. But I'm genuinely grateful for the support system I've often taken for granted. I'm also curious to see if my mum will ever watch Hugo again to allow me to leave the country.

So, like I've said above, during the last ten days, I've found myself asking this question quite a bit, and admittedly, at my worst, coming up without an answer. This is until my crazy is calmed by the good vibes of fellow backpackers at the hostel I'm at. When we swap silly stories and reveal our own woes to one another, and those memories start flooding back. And, it's not those big events, like seeing Ankor Wat in Cambodia during sunrise or successfully hiking the Murapi Volcano in Indonesia. It's actually those little things that take more time to dig up up in my memory, but I'm sure will be fondly remembered spirituality when I'm back at home.

Happiness comes from having my very first beach camp fire while volunteering in Thailand. It's the famous Bed-Bus trip with my American travel soul-mate where we quite comfortably shared a single 'bed' for 20+ hours on our way to Laos, this was prior to another glorious event of cycling around the stunning countryside with a random dog following, and perhaps, protecting us. That trip brainlessly took place just shy of the sun setting and being forced to navigate with an iPhone torch. It wasn't so much as watching the sunrise on a Volcano on Christmas Day that I'll remember, but getting my ass completely and utterly kicked on the four hour hike up and still managing to make it up. My group and I breathlessly confided to one another that we're so exhausted we could die. When the sun came up, I was happily snuggling up between a girl from Singapore and our tour guild to try keep our body heat up, while smiling and saying that it wasn't so bad.. I absolutely loved traveling third-class with the locals, and finally finding and riding the Number Nine Bus (feeling like a local) while coming back from The Place that Started with an A, during the quick and dirty duration I wasn't soloing it in Asia. The trip to Ayutthaya was much less seamless but ultimately we were just as proud of that gong-show. Phnom Penh finally started looking up when myself and another Canadian (goddamn, that accent!) crashed (aka locals took pity on us as we stood outside blatantly staring at the scene), a celebration of a son briefly visiting home. I had my first taste of John Walker Black (huh?) as they kept spooning 'sauce' into our cups. I left feeling mind boggled and tipsy as it was revealed that we were actually rubbing shoulders with high powered politicians (we didn't seem to notice the security guards and ritzy cars as we entered the event) as we toasted one another, and everyone, and then danced with their wives.

So, despite my current lack of identity and the waves of frustration and fear that comes with it, when I sat across the woman representing the Canadian Embassy, which reminded me eerily of sitting on plastic chairs in a high-school hallway with plexi-glass between us and AirCon freezing me out, I pleaded with her, asking her multiple times to please help me get a passport that will let me keep going until February 14^th, please don't make me go back to Canada. I need just a bit more time to soak up a few more memories and let me love the life a lead. It's those things that make me feel alive, that's what I came for.

Kindly,

Kirstin

Sun all the time makes for a desert