Wild. That’s what I called myself in 2010 when I filled my cranberry red backpack to the brim, a one-way ticket to India burning in my hand.
I am a restless soul that can’t be caged. A dragon longing to spread her wings, spew fire on the earth, to leave my mark — show I was here and existed… Burn trails; guzzle life until my belly is overfull; howl at the moon cresting against a starry night.
But I’m also a solo woman. One who received quizzical stares at an airport in Shanghai, the border officer interrogating me on why I was alone.
Or when I walked on the side of the highway near Savarsai, India, being the only female foreigner within a 300 mile radius, to be stopped by a young couple asking me questions. Why aren’t you married? You are by yourself?
Why? Why? Why?