I wish I was still back in Mongolia. I miss it. I miss the hopeful feeling that I used to carry. The other night, I dreamt that I was in Mongolia at a party where we roasted meat and everyone spoke English and I felt welcome. It was winter and we ate all the meat and left nothing for Amaraa when she finally arrived, late, with her boyfriend in tow.
I also have vivid dreams of spectacular landscapes, rolling ocean waves, glistening deserts. These dreams are always accompanied by fear and trepidation but also an eerie fascination. I get lost, the ocean eats me up, I wander through deserted, dilapidated buildings and bump into people I haven't seen in years or have never seen. Maybe my mind is taunting me.