But now when I close my eyes, I hear the wind. A different wind. I hear the rusting of the leaves, the bouncing of the four square ball, and the chatter and fret of students running late to class. India is still so fresh in my mind. The ghost of Agora’s laughter, the tingle of Havelock’s sun, and even, perhaps most vibrantly the wretched smell of Dehli´s sewers. The trip is technically over, but the impact of the experience and the connections I made will last for a lifetime.
Closing my eyes will never be the same.
By Mariana Guzman-Casas