Wet socks.

I didn't want to see anymore. I had, had enough of travelling. I felt like it didn't suit me. I like to work, schedule coffee dates with friends, cook with an equipped kitchen. I like to feel settled and backpacking felt like the exact opposite of what I enjoy. It felt like a shirt that was itchy and was 2 sizes too small.

I wanted to go home.

We spent a week at a resort outside of Malaga, Spain that my mom gifted us with. She wanted us to relax for a week. Unfortunately this was when the horrific scene of the Mumbai attack unfolded and we had a t.v. at our disposal. I was glued to BBC. I felt everything but relaxed.

The night of November 26 I crawled into our comfortable seaside resort bed with fluffed pillows and shed tears for those dozen lives lost. It was senseless violence. When we woke in the morning the numbers of the dead had grown and kept growing.

Every time I turned the t.v. on my need to go home seemed to grow. I felt so far away. My longing to be close to everything I know and my fear of everything unknown was mounting. I had anxiety over catching a 2 hour bus to Gibraltar for God's sake!

In a month we are set to travel to New Delhi. But for a moment I second guessed this plan.

The moment was fleeting. I feel back to myself again.

We spent a night at the Madrid airport waiting for our 5 a.m. flight to Rome.

Roma greeted us with torrential downpours all day yesterday. But it was a good shower I needed to wash away the bad sentiments of travelling.

My socks, shoes and fears have now all dried. And I'm ready for more.