I left Kathmandu on Friday night and came back to Dhaka.

Whilst I feel exceptionally fortunate to have changed my plans and left Kathmandu, I am acutely aware of the difficulties and pain the locals are facing.

I have a few mates still in Nepal today, and have heard that most of them are ok.

Well then, this isn’t what I wanted at all.

I have been longing to dance in the jungle to music that I understand, with my tribe. I need this. I miss this.  I can forget Dhaka and my life for a few wonderful nights and just dance and smile and be my normal self.

That’s my very best self.  Not this Dhaka version of me.

Riding on the back of a motorbike with a local through the night – warm wind making my eyes water, quiet darkness out in the open between the villages. This was my favourite thing to do during my last visit to Goa: elated, and excited – not knowing what adventures the night will give.

I feel like myself again. I am happy in this moment.

The driver abandons his car. I set out towards Kathmandu – I’m very quiet, the crowd lets me pass. The smell of burning tires makes me tense. The smoke is dark grey, and mixed with the dust, makes me cough. As I walk, I see groups of men with sticks pulling people off bicycles and motorbikes, lopping branches off trees to add to the burning tires. I keep walking.

I’ve been walking for a while now. Fifty meters ahead the crowd totally blocks the highway. Lots of sticks, smoke, and yelling.