Liberated But Lonely In Lima

Over the last few weeks, conversation between Julie and I has been getting more and more scarce. We have not been able to find many decent hostels with dorms for a while, so finding other people to hang out with has been difficult. We meet others on the same day tour, that sort of thing of course, but those interactions are always short and fleeting, and we have finally reached the stage where we are bored of each other and crave other company.

We've not stopped talking because we've argued, but I think it's simply because we are together all day, all week, and experience the exact same things that there is nothing new or different. Though we saw each other every other day back home, at least then we still had separate lives to keep ourselves entertained. And I've never been a good conversationalist. Though I say random and superficial things, I just don't have the talent to talk bullshit at ease for the sake of talking. I operate much better if someone else takes the lead in this department.

As we sat in more silence over lunch after seeing the Nazca lines, Julie finally voiced what we both noticed more and more acutely. She suggested we go our own ways for a while once we reached Lima, and though I hated the idea of splitting up for an unknown period of time, I agreed. Separation was something we had discussed a long time ago, back when we were in the planning stages of our trip, and we had agreed that should we have an argument or get sick of each other, we would do our own thing.

And so it happened.

Now I have very conflicted feelings about this. On the one hand, I hate it. I hate it and I fear it. I hate not knowing where she is or how she is. It's not that I don't think she can manage on her own, because she is far more an independent person than I am, but on my part, there is always that concern in the back of my head. The "What if?" when we are so far from home. I just worry, but I will admit, my negative feelings are mostly selfish.

I don't like being alone. True, there are times when I enjoy solitude so I can think through the jumble of thoughts that constantly plague my mind. In fact, I enjoy solitude quite a bit. But it is only enjoyable when I know that I can easily return to the lovely company of my family and friends when I'm ready. I don't deal very well with excessive solitude, especially when it is forced upon me. In those times, I tend to think far too much; more than I already do, and I have a great tendency to get lonely and depressed very quickly.

When we got on the bus to Lima, among urgent flurries of "You must board the bus now!", we discovered our tickets had been reissued and we were put in separate seats. It was like the definitive moment of the decision, as if a random third party of the bus company agreed that it was time for it as well, but already, it was too sudden for me.

So I had several hours to wallow over how soon I would be traveling alone in crazy dirty Lima, as everyone we had met described it. About an hour an a half south of the city, the sky turned dark and, in the melodrama which is so typical for me, I felt it physically. The smog from Lima seemed to reach out, covering every bit of blue sky, pulling me into an inevitable fate of missing Julie and home, which I think I subconsciously attached to her. Above, the sun disappeared, but I was glad to see evidence of it still, occasionally straining against the thinner pollution to grace a bit of its light so that it looked like a faint full moon.

As night and darkness descended upon me, I felt, so did Lima. We had arrived and it was time to explore it our separate ways.

I know it will be good for me to finally depend on myself and stop leaning on the comfortable crutch that is Julie's natural aptitude for direction and decision-making. Though I believe I could always accomplish some measure of independence, I've never had to.