The temperature in Winnipeg tonight is heading down to -35°C with the windchill. I had forgotten how cold it gets here, how cold the first 18 winters of my life were. As frigid as it is, there is something so satisfying about being indoors with a mug of hot chocolate, six kittens, a good book, and a view of the falling snowflakes out my window.
On days like these, when it is chilly and blanketed with white snow, I like to look at photos of my most recent overseas trip, the one that had months and months of sunshine and colours ranging from marigold to magenta to majorelle blue. Perhaps there is no country more colourful than India, and it is often images of India that I am drawn to first.
Though I’m definitely not in India anymore, recently my life has, in many ways, been just as colourful. I’ve started thinking about a trip to Central America next summer, started researching cultural studies programs in the UK, and been ridiculously busy with my friends and family. There are multiple Skype dates with people far away and multiple wine dates with people close by.
I remember arriving in Jaipur one unusually warm day in March, still totally entranced by all that India offered by way of sights and sounds, smells and tastes. I can remember climbing up that long path to the top of the fort, lumbering alongside painted elephants with pink toenails and sad eyes. I remember laughing with my travel partners, spinning in circles through the majestic white arches and being completely lost in that one moment, that only moment I knew. And I love that I have those memories on these kinds of nights, these cold and wintry nights. I love that I know I’ll make so many more of those same memories, wherever the future takes me.