Following last month’s flu, Vietnam gifted me with chicken pox this time. I’ve been in a little room in a little hospital in this little town called Buon Muot Thot for 8 days. The nurses are pretty and don’t speak English. I get good food delivered through a kind friend everyday. All day I eat, sleep, drink coconut water, watch movies, follow basketball, read some shit and sleep some more. It’s slightly worse than the hostel in Indore in that I’m sober all the time. The day seems endless.
When I tell them that I’ve had chicken pox as a little kid, they insist that I have a poor memory of some other disease. Thankfully the pox was mild, and I’m good now. But my friend refuses to believe that I can be good so soon. Since I have no home yet in my little town, I’m sitting here like an unwanted dirty (10 days unwashed) bag nobody wants to touch.
I remember the last time the chicken fucked me. I was pampered with attention and care. They ran neem leaves gently over my itching body, somebody fed me and there was someone to talk to all the time… thank you for everything! My friend tells me that I should forget that good life and I nod unwillingly. Now I have human interaction for 30 minutes a day, mostly involving Vietnamese that I don’t grasp. Being alone sucks sometimes, but it’s selfish to think of home when hungry and sick… I try not to.
23 November 2008
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