Before I go to bed

I will just write a few lines. Although I always plan on writing something way more inspired and insightful. Really this blog just becomes more and more a small outlet for my emotional sighing. Every now and then. I should be writing about the village visits, all so confusing, draining, energizing, exciting, foreign at the same time. The women with pink nappy pins stuck in their hair. The men and women in their separate groups. The rain dripping through my tent sanctuary. The ospreys, always the ospreys. The posturing with bushknives. The jealousies. The surprises. The trail of empowerment. The three villages, all so very different. The favourite place, even better each time. Paradise islands. Zipping over the sea. Frigate birds soaring. A movement building and people coming together. Buai and beer on a Saturday morning. And…here I sit before I go to bed and wonder and feel so stuck in how to make a relationship work. How hard it all is. How much it all seems to have dissected me and laid bare all the yeuchy parts, the ones I don’t really want to see. Critical words. The fun disappeared. Just hard. All so confusing and all such a surprise as I really thought it was all so wonderful, like a dream come true. And the bubble has burst. And I don’t know what to do. I never imagined it would be like this. And yet there was that one dream. For now, I can only keep trying. And Ungakum felt so special again.