I am a normal human being.
I am.
Except for that time when some Americans came to dinner and all I wanted to do was ask the woman what it felt like to wear jeans. I haven’t worn them since leaving for the Race. And I don’t think I’ve worn anything longer than capris since Nepal.
I’m normal.
Except for the fact that I named the rat that lives in my closet and created a back-story for him so I won’t be afraid. (His name is Remy and he likes to cook…)
I shower like you do…
Except someone needs to boil the water first.
I spit my toothpaste into a ditch.
I climb rocks while wearing a skirt.
Motorbikes are my preferred method of transportation.
My shirts have permanent sweat stains.
Going to internet is an event.
I see babies, actually entire families riding on motorbikes. That’s normal.
I am normal.
Except for the fact that when I watch movies I pay more attention to the food the actors are eating than anything else.
It’s normal to go to someone’s house and be presented with a live chicken as a gift, right?
It’s normal to nearly have a breakdown because I just want to put on mascara to make me feel like a normal person but can’t because it’s stuck inside my bag and the zipper is broken. That’s normal, right?
It’s completely normal to have to turn off a movie because the rain is too loud on the tin roof.
It’s normal for me to prefer bucket showers…right?
It’s completely normal to sleep in a tent…inside the house.
It’s normal to get upset when rice is not part of the meal…because it’s something I can actually identify.
I am normal.
Because I have to defend myself from the mosquitoes and flies while also trying to aim correctly down a tiny cement hole.
And because I prefer sleeping in a tent because then at least I have my own room.
And because I ask questions like, “Who is the U.S. Secretary of State these days?” Actually I’m still not sure I know the answer to that question…
It’s normal to lead someone to lead someone to Christ while a chicken is pooping on the floor of the house.
I am a normal human being.
I am.
And maybe if I keep telling myself that it will be true…
When I get home in three months, you all better be ready for one weird girl.
