I just passed a girl on the street who had a striped white and black shirt with a hot pink collar and the words written over her breasts, "NO TURNING BACK." I don't know how my eyes found their way looking at them (the words and breasts), but I find the breasts significant nevertheless.
There is no turning back for me. I will be on a plane in about seven hours heading first to Armenia, then London, then Chicago, then to a Geo.-Eliot-gone-wrong province of Northern California. I shaved my head this morning and bought a few Kyrgyz things at the bazaar that I will miss. I passed in all my paperwork to the bureaukrats, and I only owed the government $10.15 in the end. I thought, for whatever reason, that it would be more. I had my medical examination. I was deemed healthy, clean, and ready for reimmigration.
I talked to Ms Holly Pattenden on the telephone from her desk in London. Although she will be unable to visit me, she insists that I can still stay with her there when I am able and ready.
I have no sense of time. I have a flourescent, pulsating aether in my brain where only a few days ago I had a static resolve. Too many things have gone wrong/right to have brought me to this point. It's not a question of good or evil as much as letting life work itself out while I readjust and enjoy the things that I left behind when I came to Kyrgyzstan.
My time here ended before I thought it would. What continues is my inherent magnetism toward adventure, my curiosity in the world, and a naturally Epicurean propulsion. My strength is infinite, I have learned. I am not as insane as I once thought. I even might have something to say. I am convinced that I have something to do. To find out what happens, read the next blog which I will entitle in the air on the way back to America. I hereby retire this blog. Die young and stay pretty. -MJ
