2 am in Fraser, Colorado. It's winter and I'm asleep in my baby blue daybed with just enough blanket to keep from freezing. The wood burning stove that heats the entire house isn't doing its job. The chill in the air slaps me awake. It's so cold I can see my breath. So cold that when I ruffle the icy sheets, four little mice scurry out from the warm spot between my legs.
Mumbai, India, 1998. We are staying in a dilapidated guest house on the forth floor of a saffron colored building stained black with diesel fumes. The florescent light flickers above our heads. In the hallway, an emaciated man sleeps on a straw mat, a hand covering his eyes, his boney elbow pointing upward. For a second I think he's dead. For a second I think it won't be long until he is.
Hanoi International Airport, Vietnam 2009. I am on a small bus that is taking me and several others from the exit stairs of the plane to baggage claim area. I hold onto the center pole inside the bus, my other hand grasps the handle of my suitcase. I wear a green dress made especially for this day by a tailor I befriended in Danang. My heart races. To curb my anxiety I look around and smile at all the Vietnamese faces staring at me. I count the seconds. I smile. The bus stops and we all rush to get out. A few men ask if they can help me with my bag. They don't speak English, but I understand what they say through their gesticulations. These motions are somehow universal. I say cảm ơn and shake my head no. I enter the baggage claim area. My heart rate accelerates. I have an urge to poop. I look around and see the back of a white man's head. He wears a sky blue short-sleeved shirt. His hair is golden blonde and a little long. These moments are blurry. Either he turns to see me, or I turn to see him. There is too much adrenaline between us to hone in on the actions of the moment. It's all nerves and fear and adoration. But then we come into focus. I no longer need to poop. He is there. I am there. We are together. For the first time.
