26 February 2026
Twenty days since my last diary entry. Twenty days that passed in a blur of English classes, being violently attacked by a monstrous flu virus, flights out of Turkey to Georgia, and sleeping in unfamiliar hostel beds while trying to recover — finally landing in Kutaisi.
Since it is still winter, the weather has kept me mostly indoors, and I haven’t yet had much time or energy to explore my new surroundings. Still battling a runny nose and feeling perpetually tired, the last few days have moved at a strangely slow pace. It is quiet here, with only a handful of travelers drifting through. The hostel is cozy — an old house converted to welcome those passing through for a night or three.
It has felt somewhat lonely after growing used to constant company in Goa and during my month in Gaziantep. For a while, it was comforting to have friends to share life with, rather than navigating everything alone. Now comes the familiar adjustment once again: new city, new bed, new food, new rhythm.
Not having the space for my usual morning yoga practice has been deeply frustrating. I feel most balanced when I can move my body consistently, breathe deeply, and maintain some form of routine. Without regular movement, I quickly start to feel heavy and lethargic. Rainy winter days in Kutaisi have made long walks less appealing, especially while this stubborn flu refuses to fully release its grip.
Work has also been unusually quiet. I will mostly be teaching English to the hostel owner’s two young daughters, but they have been away on a short holiday for much of the week. While I’m grateful for the unexpected rest, I find myself restless — caught between appreciating the stillness and yearning for something more stimulating than sleep, Netflix, and long hours spent gazing out the window.
When I sit idle for too long, a familiar nostalgia creeps in. I wonder whether I will find my people here in this city that is not unfriendly, yet not effortlessly warm either. Cold climate cultures carry a different rhythm from the ever-curious Indians or the naturally smiling Malaysians. When snow and icy temperatures make up at least part of their daily life, human interactions seem to change texture. Life unfolds differently when one is not living barefoot under tropical skies.
For now, I remain suspended in observation mode. I have yet to meet many locals or truly immerse myself in the scenery before forming any conclusions about my temporary home for the coming months.
What I do know is that I am eager to explore. Beautiful churches and monasteries await, along with canyons, forests, and distant mountains whispering quiet invitations. Spring already lingers faintly in the air, a few trees daring to display early blossoms. And with the eventual arrival of summer, who knows what new adventures may unfold.
