just call me el nifto
More than a week after I developed this snotty cold, I finally took something to help clear me up. And now I’m sitting here with a pounding heart full of anxiety. I have turned to the internet for a distraction (as opposed to choosing the more grown up options of washing my underwear or ironing clothes). But it’s not helping. Now I long for contact from the non-Africa world. I wonder what exactly is at the Erotic Arts and Crafts fair. I’d really like to see Magic Slim and the Teardrops…they sound fun but I hardly recognize any other band names. Walking down cold
From one of my favourite books, Self by Yann Martel, after the main character has come back to
“I was amazed at how inconspicuous I was; by Turkish standards I was invisible. This played a good part in my high spirits. It was refreshing and liberating to walk down a street unnoticed, left alone with my day-dreams; to speak and be understood right away; to look around and feel a part of things.”
My comfort lately is the realization that if I had everything I wanted, including anonymity, this wouldn’t be Addis.