weeks without underwear

wake up. whenever. put on swimsuit. grab towel. glance to make sure the sky is cloudless. stumble to find breakfast. eat on the beach, feet in the sand. swim. float. sit in sun. read. make perfect playlist. swim. find seafood for lunch. eat. find hammock. sit. swim. listen to aforementioned perfect playlist. find sun. swim in the ocean with joe and construct sand sculptures. maybe shower. do not put on underwear. find seafood for dinner. watch sunset. find bar. drink. sleep in bamboo hut on the beach. repeat for one week. travel for a week and a half. take a motorcycle roadtrip through the greenest greens, ocean towns, windy hill roads, in south india. visit a beach only accessible by boat. watch more sunsets. hang out with random anthropologists, canadians, germans and hungarians you meet along the way. stay in fort cochin with an indian family reminiscent of a past thai family. regain hope in humanity. attend a traditional kathakali performance. observe the use of traditional chinese fishing nets and south indian fishing customs. revel at elephants-clad-in-gold for a temple festival. look for coffee shops for journaling. fall in love with the beauty in the world, enthralled by wonder. take a train to the tip of india and watch the sun rise and set over 3 seas. sleep on the floor of the train with shawls to construct your bed. sweat throughout the day, like a westerner. visit the gandhi memorial, illustrating christian, hindu and muslim architecture. repeat the days without underwear for 5 days. swim at black sand beaches. frequent specific cafes and restaraunts. rent a houseboat, just for yourself, with a crew of 3 (1 chef and 2 boatmen) for a night on the keralan backwaters. drink beer. share camel lights with the boat crew. dive into the warmest fresh water you’ve ever felt. take a flight to delhi. ascertain luggage. meet sikh driver, the sight of whom feels like home, and return to mussoorie. repeat whenever possible.