Proven by a heavy case of food sickness, I'm not invincible after all. On my second to last night, I threw up (and more) for a solid 12 hours straight with small teeth-brushing intermittences. There are few things that make me want to be a spoiled princess with my mom at my beck and call more than when I'm sick. I reminisced about the days where I would lie in bed with a sterilized bucket, blankets galore, Gatorade, Saltine crackers and a tummy rubbing mom by my side (thank you Mama bear). My dorm room at my hostel was on the 3rd floor, which meant 2 floors, 4 flights of stairs and a hallway away from the common toilets (worlds away in barfers land). For normal circumstances, this is adequate distance from the smelly throne, but I did not have ordinary needs. I raced back and forth all night, hoping to make it to a target in time. In the morning, I dragged myself to get some bread and water to replenish my stomach, making only one "mess" on the way. I then sentenced myself to a full day of dorm-room arrest.
The only culprit that I can think of was a vegetarian buffet in the street market, but even that was thoroughly stir fried together in front of me. Of course it would happen in the most developed, western-friendly country on my journey. Here you have it my first case of food sickness leading to my first case of homesickness.