Six people + nineteen suitcases + three flights + twenty-two hours in the sky = Our trip back to America.
Incredibly relieved to be back on solid ground, yet I still cannot believe I am here to stay. We arrived yesterday in the Dallas, to see our family waiting there, as always, with beaming smiles and squeaky clean white tennis shoes (toto, we're not in Madagascar anymore). To top off the first evening, we all headed to Don Pablo's Mexican restaurant (my mother's ultimate fantasy). In a flood of foody ecstacy I gorged myself with root beer and tortillas. Spirit was willing but flesh was weak, I vowed that last night was 'special' and not to become a habit; or else, "Hello, freshman 50!" After supper, I found myself standing outside the restaurant gazing aimlessly up at a giat electronic billboard flashing random bogus ads to world. I must have gotten lost in its light for quite a while, as I turned to find both my cousin and grandmother asking me what I was staring at and if I was alright. Most likely it was a combination of extreme jet lag, the 100 degree weather beating down upon me (in contrast to wintery Madagascar), and the shock of America that never fails to appear every time I return.
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