Mirror, mirror, on the wall?

I splashed the water polluted with pesticides and un-ideal metals on my face, (not great for fighting the seven signs of aging, but at nineteen and this particular moment I really couldn't care less.) Instead of coming up with an inspiring self revelation as I looked in the mirror, I just have nothing. All I see is a face, lost in her own thoughts that are beginning to eat away at this once happy, bright and cheerful soul that used to dance and not wonder endlessly. It is a strange sight watching your vision disappear as the tears well up higher and higher and all that is left is a murky grey puddle to stare into. Without sounding too nostalgic, I feel like coming to India I have lost more of myself and found only things I do not like.
Currently this is nothing like the 'self-discovery' two month session one thought it may be. A little disappointing.
Being apart and away makes you doubt things no matter how sure of them you thought you were. I feared this. It is only natural though. This time it is myself I am reassuring.

ghd: O where art thou?

This close (imagine two fingers an inch apart) to chopping off my mane. Without a straightener this mop is just that. A mop. A wild beast that disagrees with being washed in a bucket twice a week if it's lucky.

Not many realise what we take for granted. (Don't have a winge, and say 'Just another self obsessed teenager trying to enlighten us on these little things we never appreciate.') Just hear me out. It is illegal for men not to wear helmets on motorbikes, yet it is legal for women. Sorry, right, I forgot our brains weren't as valuable. I have never been a feminist and I am beginning to feel like Kate Shephard, new and improved version. The water here has such high levels of DTS pesticide and metals that drinking it over a prolonged period of time can easily result in infertility and child defects, as well as upping your stakes for cancer. To boil it is not enough, it also must be filtered. Though I, value my baby maker enough that I will only drink bottled. There are power cuts everyday here from ten in the morning till at least two in the afternoon. There is no such thing as hot water out of a tap. Get real. As mentioned in an earlier post a shower here consists of a bucket and a jug containing the water you manually collected from the pump outside and manually heated with the heating rod, that will just casually electrocute you to death if you make the fatal mistake of testing the temperature of the water while it is still in there..turned ON. Dishes get washed with a constant trickle of water coming out of the tap. There are so many flies around while I write outside that I have given up brushing them off. So I look dark even if I haven't gotten a tan from my constant fly- blanket. Thanks guys.
My, I shall be more than happy to do dishes in hot water with detergent and a tea towel to dry them once I get home. My f***ing pleasure.

Hunger.

So hungry. I haven't really eaten properly for a day now, after throwing up a free lunch yesterday twice. Curry was never a favourite of mine the first time, let alone the second. And after much consideration of the reflection staring back at me in my laptop screen I have decided my collarbone is showing more than usual. Not ideal when I was skin bone and muscle to start with. Now the muscle has gone walkies. I knew I would end up resembling the children I sometimes teach.
Five children just walked into the front entrance of the house. I was told a couple of days ago these are the ones who reside in the slums just down the road. I was talking a well educated local called Onkar, who speaks good English and translates for me. I asked him to translate for me whether or not they like drawing whilst asking him whether there was any point me setting up some sort of pro gramme just for drawing simple things and teaching them the English word for them. They love to draw apparently but it is not just these children I am dealing with it is also their parents. You have to be here to believe this but according to Onkar it is a vicious cycle here. The parents will resent their children if they are given any more opportunities than they once had and therefore place more value on putting their children into laborious work from the youngest of ages. I am talking about seven years old. So, after they gathered much amusement from watching me punch info. into this bizarre device I decided I hadn't been carrying around four packets of stickers for nothing. There are five children so during my hunt for scissors and the end product being a knife I tactfully cut out one sticker each with the backing still on to give to these kids.
Reaction? More. You can't blame them I suppose.