Sunny days, keeping the clouds away...

The assumption that Mara is having a good time is a pretty safe one, a fact I'm glad of, since I'm making that self-same assumption with all of the vim and vigor running spare and free in my turgid veins.

Not remembering when it was that she last updated, I can't be expected to remember what has happened in her life since such a time, but I will note that today she was at the beach, and frolicked in the surf, ate fish and chips from a roadside stand that gave her a mild stomachache, and, um, purchased a massively cool blue scarf-wrap sort of apparatus with black flowers printed upon it.

Other than that, we cannot personally speak for Mara.

So I'll speak for myself. Today I did, in fact, go to the beach with Hans and Leighanna and the parents. It was cool. The fish and chips were good but they did make me feel sort of icky for a little while, but that's alright. The scarf thing is a sarong that I really have no idea how to wear, but it's pretty, and I think it's funny that Hans referred to it as an apparatus. I don't really even know what an apparatus is, so I'll Google it.

Definitions of apparatus on the Web:

equipment designed to serve a specific function

(anatomy) a group of body parts that work together to perform a given function; "the breathing apparatus"

I feel better now.

In six hours we are leaving for the airport. I will cry. But you know, it's odd. Part of me really doesn't want to leave, because I love these people so much, and I really have enjoyed my time here. But I have an established home, obviously, and there are people there that I also love and that I haven't seen in what feels like a long, long time. I feel this odd combination of missing the friends I have back home and wanting to stay with the friends that are here, and it's been a long time since I felt that. Hans and Leighanna are like my family, but I have a family. If I were given the choice, no strings attached, I would still choose to go home. I miss my home.

Let the world crash, love can take it...

Morning is coming.

Mara Tenille Dickens
The Butterfly Child