Half way marks are hard. Hard, and ruthless, and exhausting.
Yesterday marked our half way point.
Today we are tired, and a little emotional, and a tiny bit raw.
Our husbands are feeling the stretch now, without us. Their days are familiarly long.
I am trying not to think about my usual breakfasts, or the smells and sounds of home.
Things I take for granted there I am beginning to miss.
Clean running water, recognisable food, English speaking shop owners.
And even as I think these thoughts I am painfully aware of how petty they are in comparison with what I have seen.
Today, as we climbed in a Tuk Tuk, headed back to our hotel pool, with bags from the markets in tow, we were surrounded by beggar women. Carrying their babies, pleading, "please ma'am, please ma'am".
What to do when faced with human suffering?
What can I do?
We emptied our purses, not knowing whether these women would be keeping the money we handed them, or if it would go to some hidden employer.
And we drove off, and while I may have averted my eyes, my heart stayed there watching.
I don't have answers.