"What makes his world so hard to see clearly is not its strangeness but it's usualness. Familiarity can blind you too."

-Robert Pirsig, from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I’m disappointed in myself. I’ve nearly filled two 160-page paper journals since leaving Canada in August. The pages aren’t filled with African adventures or daily activities. It’s rare that I mention anything about what my life is like here.

Someone here asked me yesterday what I did on the weekend. I couldn’t remember. I hadn’t paid much attention. I still, no matter how hard I think, can’t remember what I did to fill my days.

The pages are filled up with thoughts about my boyfriend. They’re filled with thoughts about my fear of growing up and losing my Self. They’re filled with my feelings of getting older and wanting to be an adu1t , but being scared out of my mind about what that means. I write about everything BUT Africa.

Africa’s faded into the background now. Nothing seems new. I write about the things that go on inside my head instead of around me. I work here. I live here. I eat and shop and drink and talk and live my life in Africa. There are moments of every day where I look around and fully realize where I am, but they’re few and far between. I’ve become used to being here. I’m used to the pace and the people and the food and my house and the beach and the sandy roads. I’m used to the broken down bush taxis and the smell of burning garbage and open sewers (well, as much as one can be, I suppose... I don’t think anyone can ever fully get used to those smells).

The Familiarity is blinding me. I have a feeling that it’s when I leave this place that's when I’m going to appreciate my time here. When I look at the pictures I’ve taken and remember the people and places and things that I've seen, that’s when I’ll realize where I was and what I was doing.

Right now, it’s just my life. I’m having a really hard time living in the Moment. For one of the first times in my life, I’m living in the Future, and not the Past. I’m living for January 20, when I can see him again. (That sentence was hard to write. I’m ashamed of that fact. And the temptation to erase this entire paragraph is overwhelming, but I’m not going to, because I’m going to be honest.)

The Gambia is my favorite country I’ve ever been to. It’s my home, and sadly, I’ve taken it for granted. I’ve lost my focus.