WARNING: This is a rant.

This is a long and annoying rant. I want to talk about all of the great things in Madagascar, but I would be lying if I neglected to post any of the negative entries I’ve made. So here’s one of them. I’ll try to make this the first and last one that I post online, but I’m not making any promises. Skip over this entry if you’re not a fan of rants.

Being sick during the first week feels like adaptation. To be the first one to fall sick among the group is something I chalked up to bad luck.

Being sick during the second week is unpleasant. But one can hope that this is just your body finishing that adaption process and good things are to come.

Feeling healthy during the third week was like a trick and a tease. You almost remember what it feels like to feel normal. You’re ready to take on new challenges that aren’t things like eating a meal or going to the bathroom.

Falling ill again during the fourth week just feels like an endurance battle. I don’t remember what it feels like to be healthy or normal. I’m starting to feel hopeless and sulky. It’s difficult to tell yourself that it’ll get better or to focus on other things when sickness shows no signs of letting up.

I’ll be honest. I’m miserable. I’m constantly tired. I haven’t eaten a normal meal in several days. It’s hard. Maybe this is what bottoming out on the culture shock “W” feels like. Knowing this, it’s still difficult to tell myself things will get better when all I want to do is sleep on this horrible foam pad and eat food that’s imported, packaged or guaranteed not to make me sick.

Usually when travelling, I glaze over this period of time. I remember all of the great things and not the days, or weeks where I wanted nothing more than the comforts of home and a world without mosquitos, cockroaches and spiders everywhere. So instead, here I am documenting and preserving it.

I know it will get better, but for the time being, I just want to rant.

I want a toilet with an actual toilet seat.

I want a bed with a mattress.

I don’t want to eat the meat at dinner.

I don’t want to eat rice at every meal.

I want wireless internet access that connects quickly and is everywhere.

I get angry when vendors follow me trying to sell things.

I feel guilty when I get angry because I know they’re trying to make a living and vasha are their only market.

I get frustrated when child beggars ask me for money after I buy something because we both know that I have it.

Again, I feel guilty.

Sometimes I feel like experiences like this desensitize me to poverty.

This worries me.

I want to watch Hulu.

I want to be able to drink water out of a tap.

I hate boiled water.

It tastes like salt.

I want the seven mosquito bites on my foot to stop itching.

I want to be able to speak English to my host family.

I want to stop feeling guilty and Western for having these wants.

I want to be happy here.

I want to be left alone.

I want to blend-in in a crowd.

I don’t want to be a minority.

I feel like an ass for never considering what it felt like to be a minority.

I want to hide in Vasha land like Hotel Colbert and fancy restaurants and avoid immersion.

I want to kick myself for feeling this way.

I realize that this is perfectly normal.

I realize that this is actually what they mean when they talk about culture shock depression or whatnot.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

I want to be adaptable.

I thought I was adaptable.

What does adaptable even mean?

I want to not be in a constant state of nausea.

I want to want to try new things.

I do not want to be afraid of food.

I don’t want to have to hand wash my underwear.

I want a laundry machine.

I REALLY want a laundry machine. Even more than a real shower.

I feel like SUCH AN AMERICAN.

I guess I am one.

Or maybe everyone feels this way in a different place.

I feel better articulating these things. They’re not swirling around my head anymore. I feel less guilty for having these thoughts. Maybe next week I’ll  be happier? Or perhaps I’ll keep telling myself what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. How dramatic.

Again, apologies for this one. I just couldn’t help myself.