Stepping off the plane, I felt a swirl of emotion. Exhaustion, anxiety, confusion -- a general sense of being overwhelmed. It did not help that I was stuck atop a mountain of Xanax mixed within a pressurized cabin.
My clothes were still stained from the tears of desire, spilt the night before.
Is this a new beginning, or am I so trapped in the past that I can not unravel the cloud of chaos swirling around in my head?
1 minute past the immigration checkpoint and my friend Juan arrives in a shiny red truck. I am standing in the rain with my 90 liter backpack and a laptop. He is one of the few people in the world that I honestly trust.
I step in the truck and we drive through miles of roadway, passing cities and wasteland, until we arrive at his apartment tucked in some tiny corner off the main drag in the city of Santiago de Queretaro.