Blame it on Reincarnation…

No, Thanks
Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not?

Really, that’s as good as an excuse as I can give you for this. I have no rhyme or reason for this.  I’ve had this reaction since I was a child.  The winner is India and the first runner up is Portugal.

India makes me sick.  Physically sick.  Imagine the worst illness you ever had in your life.  The one where you were wishing you could die and just get it over because it was so bad.  It goes past the old “Afraid you are going to live and afraid you are going to die” stage.  You just wanted it to end because you were so sick and so tired.   Now tell me the body feeling you got from remembering that illness.  It’s like our body holds  that memory and we feel a slight echo of that when we remember those events.   When I see pictures of India unless they are very modern, I get that feeling.  When I smell Indian food, I get that feeling.  When I smell certain incense I get that feeling.   The first time I walked into an Indian shop, I was about 11.  I got sick.  I had to leave the shop.

The only thing I can tell you is impressions that come with those feelings.  Of broad steps with bodies lying on it begging for things such as food, water and death and then I get the impression, I became one of those bodies.  Of being so sick, I just wanted to die and end this.  Of fear of never seeing home again.  But that’s all I get.  Impressions.  And I never want to visit that country, ever, because I know I’ll never come back or at least the part of my soul that remembers knows it won’t come back because I didn’t.  I have no proof.  Just feelings.

The next runner-up is Portugal.  Spain is sort of clumped in there but the aversion is there, like India but different.  Mud, dirt, drudgery, more mud, more dirt, the taste of gunpowder, and  cold.  And the  feeling that I should have bloody well kept my arse at home.   Unlike Indian food which I love the taste of but can’t stand the smell, I don’t  like the taste of Spanish or Portuguese dishes but the smell doesn’t bother me.  And unlike India, it’s not the feeling of being sick but the feeling of being tired and cold.

Neither of these make any sense nor do the feeling attached to them.  They just are and they have been the impressions I had of these countries ever since I found out they existed.  The feelings came with the country.   And one theme is constant.  I should have kept my arse at home.

The thought came to me as I wrote this that “Old Soldiers never die. They just reincarnate into younger soldiers.”