This is a small post that’s pretty much for Kelly Anderson. If you’re Kelly, what’s up? If you’re not, read at your own risk.
The hardest thing for me about this trip since Spectra and I have been staying in hostels and moving from city to city is that terrible feeling of being left behind by the other people we’re staying with. Everyday there’s this procession of people departing for places unknown (to me) while I’m staying behind in wherever we are.
Let me be clear: I don’t know these people. Usually I’ve seen them around for a day or two, perhaps exchanged nods or “sorry”’s; at most I’ve had a brief chat with them. So feeling a pang of anything at all when they leave is ridiculous in just about every conceivable way. I’m fully aware of this. And yet…
There I was this morning watching Jody -- a person I’d had a single brief conversation about towels with the night before -- and whatever her boyfriend’s name was walking down the street with their packs on and I wistfully thought, “There they go. I’ll never see them again. I wonder how things will turn out for them?”
Weirder still, there were two couples in our room last night that I didn’t really see at all and were crazy loud getting ready for bed (e.g. blow drying hair at midnight when Jody and her dude were clearing sleeping) and kept turning all the lights on and off. Objectively I should have been thrilled when I realized they’d left but when I peaked around the corner to see if their stuff was still there and it wasn’t I felt... left behind.
It ridiculous. I must have an overdeveloped part of my brain that, I don’t know, wants to know people, or something. And yet there it is. Jody, her boyfriend, some loud people, and at least a dozen others have all left me. They’re all out there, somewhere, doing something (I presume) and Spectra and I are here in Kuala Lumpur sleeping in a concrete tube: left behind.
For The Record: this post represents Sawyer and Sawyer alone. Spectra hasn’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about.
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