1/3/14:

I have a few messages for all of the people in this side of the world who marvel over my long legs. These also go out to all the passerby’s who have commented on how beautiful my super white legs are. Firstly, thanks. It may be a little strange that you keep starring and pointing at me, but you have in the past 6 months managed to give me a bit of an ego. This has begun to fade the impact of years of hearing tan is hot and watching all the short girls nab the tall guys.

However, there is something you guys don’t realize from a distance. Something that has been happening to my body while abroad that I will carry with me forever that has nothing to do with your compliments–the accumulation of an insane amount of travel scars. Now I’d like to call these battle scars, that makes me sound way more badass, but these long, white legs, are now showing signs of abuse from even the most mundane of occurrences. Bug bites, a shaving cut, scooter accident, hazardous dancing, walking down the street, it has all left its mark–a dark purple jagged reminder of the life I’ve lived and loved. There are now so many I’ve lost count. These travel scars are staring to claim land that was once populated by freckles and the landscape of my legs is starting to look like a battlefield.

I used to break bones (knock on wood) now I just cut myself all the time even when I don’t realize–I cut the top of my foot on glass dancing…I don’t even know how I accomplished that one. I’m not sure if it’s the air here, the bugs I co-inhabit with in these guesthouses, or just the traveler lifestyle, but everyone I have met has had a minor cut turn infected quicker than you can find one of the million pharmacies on every corner. Not even my 3 kg medical kit can help me now, it’s just a something you learn to accept as a strong probability. However, my legs are longer and whiter. This means more space to injure myself and more pronounced travel scars creating a mess of shades of pink and purple all over. This is just further exacerbated by the fact that I am what some might call “clumsy.”

So back to my original message to all my leg and skin color admirers. You don’t want what I have. Unless you manage to live in a bubble (which believe me people has been proposed to me a few times before) or want to look like are constantly on the wrong end of a Muay Thai fight, then embrace your tan shorter legs. And I guess if the Internet ceases to exist and my words are lost in the abyss one day, I can come up with some way cooler stories to tell you for why I look this way. Maybe I’ll put it out there as a new writing assignment to my 6 year old students and see what they come up with. Once upon a time, Ms. Gluckman gashed her leg open as she was being chased by a motorcycle gang of angry chickens….to be continued.

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