The air was cold and dusty as I stepped off the plane and
climbed down rickety stairs onto a deserted runway. I had already been living
in the “decaying city” for over three months and yet, the shock was worse
because I knew what to expect. People pushed past me and burped in my face. I
cringed. Did I really just fly back to this place? At baggage claim a band of
smugglers had paid off the workers to release their
illegally/legally-imported-goods from Thailand first. So I sat on my cart for an hour before normal luggage finally started making the rounds. A taxi man
met me at the door, and smiled at my white skin, thinking he could make a
pretty penny; “1,000. Special price for you madam.” I scoffed back and said in
his native tongue, “I’m not stupid. I’ve lived here three months. It cost three
hundred.” He laughed and brought all this friends over. “This girl speaks [our
language],” he shouted. As usual they all gathered to shake my hand. But
I was in no mood to converse with strange men. Annoyed I demanded someone to
take me home. A gracious old man led me to his car, offering the going rate. 
As we left the airport and crossed the bridge, which
overlooks vast fields of dirt and trash, I caught a glimpse of the setting sun.
It was one of those mystical moments that only exist here in the land of spice
and chai. The billions of layers of pollution that separated my eyes from that burning ball of gas, allowed me to look straight into it’s heart. The sun was a
perfectly round circle, as if the sky was a coloring book left untouched except
for the very right hand corner, which was painted a brilliant brick red,
speckled with a hint of saffron.
It was as if God blew up my heart. I thought
back to the day before when I was sitting on a gorgeous island beach, receiving
the most magnificent massage as hot rain poured down from the heavens. Or three days before that when my
dearest friend and I were balancing on top of elephants as they showered us
from their trunks. We casually chilled on the neck of one named Mr. Joke, and
sang In the Jungle, as he strolled down
the street. I remembered sliding down a rock and off a waterfall after hiking
through the Thai jungle. But mostly I returned to those moments of breathing in
clean air, of looking at mountains peaks, or seeing my feet at the bottom of a
crystal clear ocean. And for a brief moment, I envied those working for justice
in a paradise place like Thailand. 
But as I stared into the spicy South Asian sun, burning ever
so softly into the slums of my city, I remembered why I was called here. Years
ago I prayed for God to send me where no one else wanted to go. I prayed I
would be a light in the darkest of places. I didn’t know then, but God would answer my prayers.
So I took a deep breath and walked back into the forgotten
city I call home.
