The Bushwhackin' Index

Countries Visited: 14
Days Traveling: 206
Which is also... 6 months, 24 days
Number of Beds slept in: 64; (Tents: 3, Trains: 1, Other: 1)
Kilometers Traveled: 51,310 (yes, I calculated it)
Circumference of the Earth at its largest: 40,075 km
Currencies Used while traveling: 14
(US Dollar, British Pound, Euro, Moroccan Dirham, S. African Rand, Lesotho Loti, Swazi Lilangeni, Namibian Dollar, Botswanan Pula, Zambian Kwacha, Zimbabwean Dollar, Tanzanian Shilling, Malawian Kwacha, Mozambican Meticais.)
Languages in which I picked up at least 3 words: 7
(Spanish, Portuguese, Sosotho, Sotswana, Chichewa, Swahili, German)
Serious diseases picked up: 0 (thankfully)
Beers drunk: ~800
Unusual animals eaten: 5
(Zebra, Ostrich, Impala, Crocodile, Kudu)
Planes flown on: 12
Number of those I jumped out of: 1
Worst 3 hostels in Africa: Jambo Inn, Zanzibar; Youth Hostel, Casablanca; Shithole (name forgotten), Nkhata Bay. Honourable Mention: Kassuende Hotel, Tete
Best 3 Hostels in Africa: Mabuya Lodge, Lilongwe; Jollyboys, Livingstone; 1322 International, Pretoria

The Ghosts of my Back Yard

Being home is really strange. For a long time I haven't been in any kind of familiar environments, and now that I am, I'm not sure how to deal with it. I just went to sit in my backyard, and all these emotions and memories began to wash over me. I was looking at places where I used to run around pretending to be this or that, when I was a child, and I could almost see family members and friends who are no longer in my life. I saw spots where I know family pets, long gone now, are buried. I thought about various parties I hosted in my highschool years when parents were away, and remembered how I used to feel in those days, my beliefs and aspirations at the time. I saw my dad again. I felt the warm breeze wash over me and rustle through the trees. I felt incredibly lonely and so strange that I had to leave after a while.

The past and its memories are very comforting for a lot of people. For whatever reason, they make me feel, for lack of a better word, strange. Not good, not bad, just strange. I've had a good life and lots of good times on that patch of earth, which makes me wonder why the memories stored there are not purely 'good'. They say that change is one of the most difficult things for people to deal with - switching jobs, moving houses, death... Maybe being home, in a place that is a setting for so much of my past, is a stark reminder of how many things have changed over the years in my life.

I'm very happy to be home, and for the most part it's been very comforting. But without warning, sometimes I feel like a stranger and I hope it passes.