I'm lying on the chilly blue tiles in my bedroom. The dust bunnies I missed during my not-so-thorough sweep are swirling around the room, enjoying the fan as much as I do. I can smell the now familiar sour scent that comes up from the bathroom drains. That's Cambodia, I explained to Christie a few nights ago. The karaoke bar down the street lends a song to the whole neighborhood at night. The slow bass dictates my heartbeat. I've stopped sweating now that the sun has been replaced with the yellowest moon. It's nice to slow down in the evening--to stand still long enough to realize that the body odor is your own, and that another shower is a definite necessity tonight.
I've traded in my make-up routine for a face free of cosmetics. My jewelry bag is still in my suitcase, unused. The once coiffed and sprayed adornment on my head is now just hair, falling as it pleases. A splash of sunscreen, a spritz of mozzy spray and I'm ready for the world. It's strange to see myself without warpaint and headdress, but I'm starting to recognize the face in the mirror.