A Lesson in Chaos Theory

My time in Bosnia thus far has impressed upon me one lesson  which I was already fully aware of, though had attempted to ignore as vigorously as possible: I am not in control (just writing that is painful). Due to a combination of situations at home, juggling two internships here, and trying (failing) to communicate with one supervisor who speaks a completely alien form of English (apparently ”potluck” means chipping in 50KM to buy an ugly candle holder, and you thought it meant bringing a dish to share, ha!) I was very ready to get away from it all by last Friday. In search of peace and solitude, I traveled to Jajce alone. My time there was marvelous, but I was still hounded by the nagging knowledge that no matter how far you travel, no matter how tiny and perfect the town is, and now matter how few friends you travel with (in my case none), you still cannot orchestrate every moment of your day. If you had snuck up on me at any point during this previous weekend, you would have heard me repeating my mantra ”I am not in control, and I am ok” or variations thereof, including:

”The bus is late, and I am ok”

”I forgot to write down the name and address of the hostel, and I am ok”

”This pekara doesn’t have anything that I can pronounce much less recognize, and I am ok”

”There is not a single map to be found in this entire town and for crying out loud why do bosnians hate maps so much, and I am ok”

”There is a thug-looking dude running around in his tighty-whities in my hostel, and I am ok”

”This Austrian kid keeps talking to me even though I am clearly pretending to be asleep, and I am ok”

”I can’t find the lady who is holding my passport and oh my god Toto I am never going to get back home, and I am ok”

”I just used all the money on my barbie-sized local phone to talk to my dad for less than one minute, and I am ok”

”I just laughed at previously-mentioned thug-undies man to his face when he said that he is a cardiovascular surgeon but he is being serious, and I am ok”

”This bus is absurdly late and I am never going to get back to Sarajevo and I don’t have any money on my barbie phone, and I am ok”

”My face is getting stuck in this permanently confused expression and I am going to spend the rest of my life looking bewildered like Brittany S. Pearce from Glee, and I am ok”

The good news is that I did get my passport back, and the scary naked surgeon finally put some pants on.



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