After a two week sabbatical from this blog, I am home. Southeast Asia was… well… very Asian. I wish that I could just sit down to this computer and type out everything I saw and felt during the last two weeks, but I just can’t. I don’t know if I’m even ready to personally process my trip, let alone share all the difficult details with all of cyberspace. I can say this, though: I am far more affected by the things I witnessed than I ever expected to be. I’ve seen the most desperate of poverty before. I talk about sexual abuse and forced prostitution every day. I already believed in the cause. But now its personal. I know places and faces. I know names and stories. I have seen it, felt it, heard it, held it, hugged it, rejoiced with it and cried with it. My soul mourns for the lost innocence of that culture and feels deeply the trauma of being ripped from it just as it was beginning to feel like home.
I promise to write again once jet lag fades a little, once some of the emotions have been boiled down, once normalcy, whatever that may look like now, resumes. But I saw what I saw and I can’t forget it. And what I saw changes everything.