I miss pomegranates.

Some days I miss pomegranates. I miss walking down busy Indian streets to the fruit stand I visited nearly every day.

I miss bringing fruit back to my temporary home and eating it with chai as I sat and watched the Ganga move.

I miss laughing with my students and eating dinner at places where I knew the server’s name.

I even miss all of those times I stepped in cow shit. 

My time in India was a challenge. It pushed me and drowned away fears I did not know I had. 

It uncovered flaws in my character and floated them to the surface.

I saw things that made my heart hurt and experienced a type of kindness I had not come to know in the States.

I called home crying and woke my mother up in the middle of the night because missing her would sometimes get too hard. 

What I’m trying to say is, I can write story after story of sorrow for you but buried inside of me are countless stories of joy. When I look back on my time in India I laugh, I cry and I feel the most brave. 

I hope my stories make you feel joyfully sad and terrifyingly brave and someday when you get the chance to do the thing you’ve always wanted, I hope you do it. 

I hope you let fear and bravery deep down into your stomach because those are the things you will remember. 

People will think you’re crazy, and sometimes you will think you’re crazy, but please do it anyway.