A year ago.

The other night, as a pile of friends and I sat out beneath the darkening evening sky, we discussed our various paths in life and where we thought they may take us. Far more fascinating, however, was the great difference in our lives three hundred and sixty five days ago. It was actually pretty staggering for some of us (me) to realize how far away from where we’d thought we would be.

A year ago, I:

had returned home from India

was on my second gap year

thought I would work for a small NGO not far from my family’s home that worked with street children (life got in the way)

thought I would work for a small NGO far far away from my family’s home that actually helped the LRA refugees (not Invisible Children) (it just never worked out)

thought I was on my way to study at the university of Cape Town (my application was cancelled because of my bizarre, strung-together, American education)

 

thought I would never leave my beautiful continent and all that it had taught me. I thought that I was destined to stay, that all the trouble I’d been through living there had been for the purpose of me staying there forever. America? who needs it.

 

And yet, here I am. Although it did take an awful lot to drag me away.

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