Best Player -1-

Around this time last year, I had no idea why I'd made the decision to drop off everything and move to Zambia. I didn't even know of this country. I think I was trying to escape something, something to do with esteem, something strong, something unspeakable, just like whenever you think of a flower, you presume it's fragrant, but as you draw your nose near, all you inhale is, but a smell of the  lingering cigarette smoke. Maybe yes, I got somehow tired of my life then.


It happened that same traditional way--farewell, good bye, take care. 


The flight, as I remembered, was both long and boring, even though I tried hard to make it a little fun by sending postcard at every stop. Unlike most long-distant travelers, I enjoy staring at the obnoxious little red spot on the GPS screen the whole time, figuring out where I was and which direction I was heading for--I'm always a good map reader.

24 hours flying, three stops, four meals, I finally arrived at my destination--Lusaka. I hadn't have much time appreciating the warm tropical breeze before I found myself in a pickup, where nobody spoke a word. In fact, no sound of human voice was needed. Everything you'd do was to gaze at the blue sky and velvet soft dark skinned people under the sun.