mal d'afrique

This might sound ridiculous, but life in London is hard right now. I have been in a melancholy mood for the past several days.

This is a city in which it is challenging - to say the least! - to keep a connection with nature, with a cause, with yourself. It is a concrete and asphault jungle, one in which it is so easy to get lost...

February in London is a wall of clouds.

I wish I could take advantage of all this city has to offer, but this year I have neither the money nor the time. And I'm left feeling selfish and a little ridiculous because even as I enjoy all these big city luxuries and try to appreciate them, I can't - or at least I don't. And oddly I am left missing the cold bucket baths, the filthy tired feet, and the rooster-induced sleep deprivation of the days I've spent in Africa. Hello again, Romanticization, my tired friend!

I know this is at least partially Mal d'Afrique - an old familiar feeling, one that is always uncomfortable and disconcerting. One that I love to hate... or hate to love? I'll never know.