/ Exes and Oh My Gods

When you have spent too much time in a third world country, you find yourself seeking relief in maps years later forgetting that the happiest day of your life was the day you left. But when you leave, you find that for whatever reason, you miss that third world country. You start to remember the few nice things about it, even though that is where you got dysentery and nearly died, nearly got yourself strangled by asshole police and incomprehensible currencies, it is where you never said anything right, and people either laughed at you or kissed you inappropriately, and somehow you miss it. Worse, you tell everyone else how wonderful and terrific and quaint your third world country was, and not only that, but you try to convince them that they should go, as well, and you pull your sleeves down to hide the scars as you're pointing out where exactly on the map you got lost and where they can see the castle, though, really, it's nothing more than ruins. It is rough and undeveloped and cruel and natural, oh, and it is cheap, as long as you don't count the times you are robbed or ripped off or the cost of the doctor's visit, or the entire time from March to July when you couldn't bear to be seen on the streets anymore and blew all your budget on taxi fares and expensive, unfinished meals. Do you know that in third world countries they don't generally put the leftovers in boxes? You lose whatever you leave behind.

Would you like to see my photos? you ask. You ignore the sighs, the rolls of the eyes, and you see nothing unusual in this picture album you have put together glorifying all that misery. They don't smile in their culture, you answer. No, all the clothes are dark. That is the fashion. Yes, the beret was a bad idea. Bad ideas are part of the experience. You emphasize experience. Experience as a euphemism surpasses even interesting in its effectiveness.

But really, it was a third world country, and you're better off having left, they say, right before you ask them to leave. And it's kind of nice to look at old photos, and it's kind of nice to remember the good things, and it's kind of nice that you simply survived, they say at the door. But my god, if you think about going back, you are just hopelessly lost and insane. Because it is a third world country, and it will gladly take you back and treat you the exact same way, they say, from the car.

It is awful hard to change an entire country, you mumble, because you have heard this so many times.

Yes, they say to themselves on their way home, that's what makes it so interesting.