what to say.

Calcutta. Where do I even begin with this one. I am pretty much at a loss for words you guys. I'm nearing my 300th day on the road...and I still have over 40 days left. Whaatt?!

So rather than try to decipher anything, really, I will just post a little something from my journal because I don't think I can possibly try to reiterate anything more than that.

April 14th, Day Two Kolkata.

The sunlight illuminates everything in the morning, lighting up the streets, the chai-wallahs, rickshaws, women walking proudly in saris, Muslims greeting passersby. The sticky heat is refreshing in a new way, bringing me back to the insanity of India's third largest city. Sometime I really wonder what brought me here, to this place, at this exact moment in time. Time just rolls by, carrying me under the wind, and tumbling me along from one place to the next. Calcutta, again, is unlike anything I have seen or experienced in India so far, after nearly ten months away, I am once again swept off my feet.

The contrast between the beautiful and horrendous is as prevalent as the cab drivers looking for a passenger, patiently sitting on yellow rooftops lining the streets. The streets are filled from every nook and cranny, and every crevice and crack with life happening before my eyes. Small children sit crouched in corners on haunches, bathing under buckets of water, cascading across their shimmering dark skin. The men stand around in crowds, donning the beautiful blue checkered lungis-basically a wrap around skirt.

This is what I wrote the same day...I don't think I believe in God. I do believe in a higher being, something wrapped up and bound tightly within us, maybe just the magic of the universe, or maybe I just get uncomfortable when we all feel the need to put a name on it.

And this is the following day...

Everything seemed to go downhill the minute I woke up from a nap, because that seems like the only thing I am capable to do in this heat. I rolled myself out of bed and began the thirty minute walk to the Mother House, no longer in the comfort of my 'room' with a fan, but once again smack dab in the middle of Calcutta, there really is no escape.

I arrived at the house which was slowly filling with people and we began the orientation abruptly. Not even ten minutes had passed and I began feeling like I would faint, since you know that has become normal these days, I slowly crawled from my position on a table to the floor and leaned against the table leg. That just was not even enough and soon I was sprawled out on the grimy concrete floor while this Irish dude was giving his speech. I would have fainted otherwise, at least I know the signs now, right.

I noticed a group of girls when they entered the room, for the enormity of their group, especially when you travel alone and a group of four appears massive. Their presence in numbers immediately changed the atmosphere and took over the room. A few of them looked to be no older than 15 years old. When I was called to be next in line, I had to sit down on the only bench which was occupied by one such girl. We start chatting and I find out that low and behold, she is actually from Washington too. I was asking about their group, and i come to find out they are Youth Missionaries.

They are based in Pismo Beach California, and here they are as Catholic Youth Missionaries, "Spreading the Gospel," in India, a predominantly Hindu Nation. She asks if I have heard of their group, and think well obviously not, she continues to tell me how it was started 70 years ago by some amazing dude who had the brilliant idea to ship teenagers around the world, to developing countries, and preach the Gospel.

Well, praise the Lord my name was called soon after this conversation or I may have said something inappropriate. I knew when I came here there would be a lot of Catholics involved in the volunteering, so maybe it was mostly out of curiosity that I was drawn to this place. To see how the Catholic community functions in a Hindu Nation, with the Catholic Headquarters situated in a Muslim neighborhood of the city. Quite a mouth full.

So, I have come to the conclusion, that no, I do not believe in God. There you have it. I don't think I have ever uttered those words aloud to anyone, and now here they are in words, all over the Internet. I guess when you are dehydrated and on the verge of, well a lot of shit, anything can happen right. I think we might all be going a little crazy in India.

No more skirting around the issue like I have done for years. Yes I believe in something higher, but how about reaching out on a limb and not calling it God. Just today, in talking with other Westerners living and traveling in India, I think we have all concluded that until you come to India, it is pretty safe to say, You have no idea. Clearly, that's the case in most places, but I feel confident in saying that India feels different than any place on earth I have ever been, and it will knock you off your feet in a minute if you are not careful.

Maybe I only say this because after the near collapse at the house of God, and the close encounter with the missionaries, I was walking home and got lost again. So walking around trying to look like I own the place and pretending like I know exactly where I am going, when two older Indian men start aggressively approaching me. As they get up in my face they sputter out, ' fucking, fucking, fucking, i fucking you.' They walked confidently up to me and said this in my face, getting so close I could almost feel their spit land on my face and mix with my sweat.

Maybe it was because I just renounced God, or maybe it's because I am still in India, but either way it just makes me feel sick. Bottom line. The absolute worst part about encounters like this, and this is no where near the worst of the worst, is the instantaneous bubbling fear that boils up, rising to my face, spreading like a flame. I feel powerless, frightened, and alone. Not to mention disgusted. These men will never know that feeling. I know they mistreat their own women, but in a place where a woman's husband is barely allowed to see his own wife's face in public, the way they treat Western women is preposterous. Is this a sign that we really should be wearing burkha? Is that how extreme we have to get, or do we just accept the disrespect and move on without causing a scene. I don't know what to do.

I had my first day as a volunteer yesterday, and was supposed to be back this morning. I just felt too sick when I got there to stay, so a friendly Dutch girl helped me get back home, and now here I am trying to decipher what to write.

As for the volunteering, that is a whole new can of worms, literally, so I will have to let it settle for a few days and get back to you. Maybe just imagine all of the people in the worst condition you have ever seen, in your life, put them all in one room on empty cots lining the walls, and now walk in....that's where I am standing. Seriously, I may just be counting the days until I get to come home.

peace.