March 23

Sometimes when I think of going home its like I'm plunged underwater-blue/green with lots of tiny, sparkly bubbles and white/lime skin. Puffed cheeks, lungs burning, brain frenzied-silent-and alien sounds.

I'm dizzy to falling.

Time here can go on forever. I am stagnant, standing, literally, in the waving golden grass, A month is counted by minutes, falling by unnoticed.

4 weeks left.

Sometimes-many times-perhaps most, when I think about it, except for this reverse-honeymoon period where everything's beautiful as new because its leaving-I long, I crave to be back in my own culture.

To be back, away from this web of lies and fake smiles-to where I can read a social situation.

To me away from Matar and his evil, lying eyes.

But maybe when I get back I will know that I fit in better here-sliding in the dirt like a snake and insulting with whips of my forked tongue./ And then I will invite Aliou and learn Wolof in graduate school and come back here.