Love is a Mental Illness
The craziest thing I have ever done for love is to give myself food poisoning in the middle of Tibet. It was the only way I could force the Chinese government bureacracy to release me from a group visa so I could fly back into the arms of my new-found love.
I remember the plane being delayed for a horribly long time. The Italian woman near me was popping sedatives to calm her nerves. I think she thought if we flew with China Air the wings might fall off. I was only worried about time - I had to get back to Kathmandu that day in order to spend a few precious hours with my lover before he had to depart. It was frustrating to look at the board and see that very single flight had been delayed. After two hours our plane finally arrived and I began to feel optimistic once more and when we were airborne I breathed a sigh of relief. The plan had worked and the drugs I had taken would take care of the remaining symptoms I was experiencing. Three days later I had scanned the menu for the most likely source of bacteria I could secure. One yak burger later and I needed only to make a trip to a local doctor, get some photos for my new visa papers, convince a cantankerous Dutch ex-pat to push the paperwork through...then voila, I had a way out.
We finally became airborne and climbed quickly toward the Himalaya range. Just as I was feeling triumphant the pilot announced that they had to turn the plane around and return to Lhasa due to the stormy conditions in Nepal. Amidst the cries of protest I became fired with silent rage. How could they do this? It took all my self-control not to storm the cockpit and insist that they land - storm or no storm. How could I get so close and be turned back? How could I spend hours clutching a toilet bowl only to be forced back by a play-it-safe pilot? What did I have to do to get what I want? I looked at my travelling companions with sudden contempt. They had no reason to be on that flight other than to avoid enduring the arduous Friendship Highway a second time. The Moroccon/Serbian guy was clearly rattled by the plane turning around so suddenly and was trying not to show it. I fanned everyone's fears with malicious glee by pointing out that we may not have enough fuel to get all the way back to Lhasa. Everyone paled further and looked out the window. I think they were waiting for the engines to stall and the wings to fall off. I then pointed out that we were flying at a lower altitude then before - was that a sign that we were going to make an emergency landing? The Moroccan/Serbian laughed nervously and tightened his seatbelt. With petulant satisfaction I sat back in my chair and began talking about famous air crashes. If I was going to suffer then everyone was going to suffer with me.
If I had a parachute I would have made a running leap for the exit while we were still flying over Kathmandu. Considering the sort of state I put everyone into I'm sure they would have helped me out the door.
When we arrived back at Lhasa we only had to wait half an hour before we set off again and to everyone's supreme relief we landed successfully.
Was it worth it? Well, it turns out he was actually mad about my sister and I was...well, just plain mad.
I know couples who have trundled along into love and marriage with all the drama and excitement of a fridge defrosting. But I could never be satisfied with something that doesn't demand a risk, a sacrifice, a bit of faith and a whole lot of craziness...love is a mental illness and I hope they never find a cure for me : )
