So much has happened since I wrote you, and I know I had promised to send you more letters as we now finally have established this long due correspondence but the past two weeks have truly been eventful.
I learned to write and read Hindi, although in the pace of a snail but nevertheless I am now somewhat literate in the language of my roots. I got an apartment despite the odds, and in fact I am not moving too far away from your vibrant heart which makes me so extremely happy. My non-military service of 347 days have come to an end, and it was genuinely a fantastic experience that I will remember fondly; well perhaps just the most amazing bosses I had and also a good friend that I made there. I attended a Restaurant Day with my family, and my stomach thanked me for the Ethiopian, Spanish and Tibetan food I ate from the stalls that people had built for the beautiful day. I discovered new songs that I am now sharing with you. I even called the students health services to make an appointment, something I have prolonged too long. Just like writing to you, my dear.
So I have done quite good, for most of it. But you know me, there are always moments when I stop to think, overanalyse and it is always a frustrating rat race that leads nowhere. I have attempted to unlearn it, or at least endeavoured to make my mind less occupied without much success. And I think I have been doing it wrong for a very long time. All the problems I have with what I am or with you or the world and life, I go straight to putting them in them background. Pretending that I am working on the issues while in fact I just try to ignore them.
I guess with this trace I should learn to accept, and let her be in my care. To the extent she does not control my behaviour to the extent that I go frantic and race to image dozens of mostly horrifying scenarios.