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Place of Rebirth:India, Year:00, Day:1

Monday, March 3rd, 2008

Indian icon: The Hindustan Ambassador
http://blogs.bootsnall.com/vynckemichelle/files/2008/03/rimg1714.JPG

Every time you enter a new country alone and anonymous you are being reborn. The vigorous thud of the immigration stamp is the labour groan which propels you into a new life, passing through customs is the final passage through the cervix, the arrival hall with its bright lights and clamorous strangers, is the maternity ward before you alight into the real world. The stamp in your passport is your new birth date. The slate is wiped clean again, whatever came before has no relevance, regrets merely a lingering aftertaste of a previously consumed and digested life. You possess the burning clarity of an Old Testament prophet. Nobody knows you, nobody cares, anything is possible.

The feeling of abandoning yourself to the terrifying present can only be compared to jumping off a cliff. And yes, before you ask, I’ve done it, the knee scar is there as embarrassing reminder. Most people wisely decide against throwing themselves off cliffs, and instead take drugs to attain the same heady cocktail of fear and exhilaration.

Always one looking for bigger kicks, peaks and rushes, I buy a one way ticket to the unknown, and I’m high for months. In the long run it’s probably a cheaper, less harmful addiction, although just as socially unacceptable, especially if your habit continues after the grace period of your 20’s.

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