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I’d forgotten how vivacious this city was. I’d forgotten how the air clings to your skin and how the sights and smells and sounds can overwhelm you the minute you step out of the airport.

I’d forgotten how jumbled the streets were. How cars weave in and out of each other with a precision normally saved for race-car drivers. I’d forgotten how the streets are shared by cars and motorcycles and cows and horses and bullock-carts and peddlers with merchandise and little boys with fruit carts and buses and trucks and bright yellow auto-rickshaws.

I’d forgotten how the sun beats down on your neck with sweltering, unforgiving heat. And I’d forgotten the dust, how clouds of it billow from swerving tires. How you can scrub and clean and scrub some more, and yet the dust will come right back. I’d forgotten the feeling of a cold shower after a long, hot day; how the dust and the grime and the heat and the sweatiness just melt away.

I’d forgotten how a mango really tastes, how the juice drips everywhere and the fibers melt in your mouth. How an entire room carries the rich aroma of mangos; how it lingers in the cracks and crevices for days.

I’d forgotten the pleasure this simple life brings. Away from the phones and computers and high-fructose corn syrup. I’d forgotten how healthy I could feel, how happy I could be.

But the instant I stepped off the plane, I remembered. It felt like I’d never left. It felt like I was home.

-May 18th