It’s with a lot of regret that I look back at the past months and think of how much I’ve let you all down by not bringing the stories promised to you to the table.
It can only be excused with the blues. I had them big time. After everything that happened at the beginning of the year, as described in my final posts up until this point, I just couldn’t find a spark of light. I didn’t feel inspired to be publicly positive and all that would have come out would have been some very little drafted and aggressive social commentaries on the muddle I considered to be the world around me.
It wasn’t only the Typhoid fever, the loss of my beloved cat, friendships, money and something else dear to me that triggered it, but it was also the conditions of what I was traveling into and doing while I was away.
Travelers and tourists alike, especially those blogging about it, have as a habit to put a spin on everything they see and make every country beautiful, warm and safe. That is a truth with modifications. There are areas of beauty, hospitality and safety in practically every country you would have a vacation in, but as soon as you visit the slums or even live/spend most of your day there, the story changes. When I returned to Wales, everyone asked me how my travels were with huge excitement and expectations in their faces.
It’s the worst question I know. It’s almost as bad as the casual-not-really-interested-to-know ‘How are you?’.
When I look back at being away I smell urine and infections. I see junk, dead rats and young eyes with years of desperation. I hear the sounds of prostitution, child labour and prayers. I feel the strangling anxiety of being unsafe, paranoia, illness, depression and guilt. Guilt because this is nowhere close to my normal day – It’s their living condition and I’m there to help, not wrinkle my nose about it.
But I do wrinkle my nose and I tell everyone that the trip was okay. I get looks that asks me to elaborate, but I can’t. Because I can’t tell about the sunshine, the beaches and the wild parties. I experienced a minimal amount of those things and that was simply to keep my head above the water. It’s a few happy, serene and tranquil moments that I learned to treasure deep within. So deep I can hardly reach them myself within all the muddle.
But I did reach it. Somehow, by returning to everyone I love and everyone who loves me. Someone asked me the other day, are you happy again? And I could answer truthfully that I’m trying. I’m a little more happy every day – and this American adventure which I’m dying to tell you all about is really, really helping. It’s a much better feeling than lying in bed feeling like my previous travels punished me for wanting to help others.
So, if you’ve guessed it already, you guessed right. I will begin blogging again now when life is smiling back to me and I can give you a bit of sunshine in between all the rain that might still be splashed on the page – Let’s face it, this is supposed to be a philanthropic blog after all.
Speak soon, promise,
Christina Qvam aka not a ghost.
Today’s interesting note:
Upon my arrival to LA I received my own copy of the newly released book ‘Unselfish – Love thy neighbor as thy selfie’, compiled by Paul Parkinson. It’s a gem of a book and I’m beyond honoured to be in it! Unselfish is not a title I see myself as having thoroughly accomplished yet (particularly because of my shortcomings the past year), but I’ll always strive to deserve it and this book certainly will keep inspiring me to do so. Likewise, I hope it will inspire others.
You’ll find the book on:
Please share and join in a round of applause to the creators and all the people behind the other stories 👏