“Ah, Lydia.
She was the most glorious creature
Under the su-un.
Guiess. DuBarry. Garbo.
Rolled into one.”

It's safe to say that a world without love is a terrible place, a world without sympathy is a terrible place, and a world full of neglect is a terrible place. It is safe to say Lydia's world was a terrible place. The youngest of three, second daughter, quiet, solace, and demure against stubborn, attention whoring and eccentric. She never stood a chance.

Everyone needs the chance at a new life. A new beginning to wash away the pain of the past.

Lydia Yoder stepped off of the plain at Dhaka airport and the wave of heat and humidity hit her like a brick wall. She was already in her shalwar camese so as to not stand out more than she already did. There is no experience quite like being the one single white woman for miles; the one person who might as well be wearing a T-Shirt saying “free green card.”

The broken walls in the claustrophobic hallway leading from the aeroplane to the terminal caused great gusts of wind to blow her hair around her face, blinding her as her orna began to strangle her slender neck. The oversized scarf culturally required to hang covering her chest that she felt would only cause trouble during her sporadic clumsy spells, would take some getting used to.

Despite being almost directly on the other side of the world, Lydia felt she could still hear her dad singing the song she so direly hated being named after, The Marx Brothers' 'Lydia the Tattooed Lady.' She mentally kicked herself, for the first time in her life, the song brought her comfort. She was eighteen, she had just finished high school, and was ready to begin her volunteer teaching.

The regular eight hour train ride from Dhaka to Danajpur was delayed an extra three hours. She was picked up from the train station by Dagfinn Østergaard, the headmaster of the school she would be teaching at. He loaded her bags onto the Vanguarri, and rode with her to the small gated compound she would be staying at for the weekend, before heading back to Dhaka for two weeks of language school.

Dagfinn, though technically plain, had a handsomeness that it seemed would never be touched by age. He carried himself with a certain humble elegance and grace, his quiet and gentle smile matched perfectly with his voice and manner. Though he was in fact handsome, Lydia did not think twice of him, what with her far more physically exotic taste in men, also, there was his seventeen years her senior.

The house she was staying in would be her own once she returned to Danajpur was small, cement and had a metal door painted the most peculiar shade of orange she had ever seen. She was surprised to see that after dropping her bags off in her house, and giving her the key, Dagfinn retreated to the house directly adjacent to Lydia's. Apparently he lived right next door.

Lydia was quite glad to see that Dagfinn would be living next door, it would provide all the bonuses of living platonicly with a man, without the scandal.

Lydia laid her bags on the floor, and crawled into her newly made bed. She didn't care who made it, only that it was. She immediately stripped of her orna, turned the ceiling fan on full, and closed her eyes and the jet lag set in. In a few hours someone would come to get her and bring her to get to know the school she would be teaching at this next year.

As Lydia slept, her mind drifted to thoughts of her family.

Father was a peaceful, calm, collected, stoic, loving man. An idealist who would rather turn a blind eye than acknowledge and deal with the fact that his children had problems; rather leave his children to their own destructive devices than teach them and help them. Because of work, he spent the beginning majority of her life gone, leaving Lydia at the mercy of those who connive, lie, and manipulate. Despite his absence mentally and physically her my life, he had been the one person to be sure all those long years there was happiness amongst the sorrow. In all honesty, because of certain comments and discussion over the years, she had begun to wonder if her father's interest in her life had not been to stem his nagging conscience and process through events of his own. She being his Guinea Pig if you will.

Mother was a unique creature, Lydia liked to think her a doppelganger. She could blend and hide in any new situation, could say whatever you wanted to hear and often whatever you hadn't wanted to hear in such a way that made you indebted to her. She connived and manipulated her way into situations of her choosing, taking the hurt of others upon herself, and making sure they knew it. Though she had a big heart for people, once backed into a corner, she lashed out with everything she had, leaving those who put her there, bleeding on the sidelines. The worst thing of mother's vicious nature was the fact that she could never remember saying or doing said things. Her vicious lashing out had become so second natured that she no longer even noticed, and how can you bring to light someone's folly when they don't know they've done something wrong?

James was the oldest, seven years Lydia senior with a mind like no other. His life long motto had always been “If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with B.S.” He had the power to command the minds of everyone he conversed with and yet to fade from said minds at his choosing. A dangerous combination. Though once stoic and peaceful, the darkness inside of him, a darkness that scared even Lydia, continually began to emerge more and more, clawing at the surface and stripping down his once calm and collected exterior, exposing his violent, fearful core. Everyone who knew him still held him in such high regard that they were unable to see the truth about who, or what he is becoming. His wife had Lydia's deepest pity.

Charlene was the oldest daughter, four years Lydia's senior and mother's favourite. She was a tiny beauty, able to command the attention and often devotion of an entire room simply upon entering, though Lydia still couldn't discern why. Charlene was easier to see through to her controlling, bitter, petty core, but still those who love her were completely devoted. One loved her or hated her, and Lydia was caught in the middle. She used people as her puppets, life being her giant doll house if you will, and once she sank her proverbial claws into you, you were her toy forever.

Despite all the hardship Lydia had navigated without their help, and the wisdom she had bestowed upon her family, they made it clear and out rite said that she would never be good enough, never be wise enough, and never be mature enough to even think on her own. Lydia's greatest fear was that she would forever be bound to them.

Father was born into an ex Amish family. Lydia's grand mother was a Yoder before she married a Yoder, and hers the same, etc. As you can imagine, her family had stayed true to their wonderful heritage. Her grandparents left the Amish church and raised their family in excommunication. Lydia's father's siblings were selfish and blatant.

Mother was born into a missionary home. German Baptists, her mother mirrored her mother perfectly and she hers. Lydia's grandfather suffered a series of would be fatal strokes, and was since half paralysed. Her mother's oldest sister was much like Lydia, and her youngest obsessed with living as a teen rather than being a mother to her children. Her brother left the family, disconnecting himself from everyone except Lydia and her brother, in order to save his emotionally damaged wife from his mother. The family said that they didn't understand, but Lydia understood perfectly that her grandmother was a snake.

Lydia awoke to a knock on her door, drenched in sweat, this time not only from the climate. As she forced herself up and out of bed, she wondered to herself whether she was recalling memories through a new-found veil understanding or of bitterness. As she picked up and adorned her orna, she concluded that they walked hand in hand. She unlocked the door and wondered also if the only reason she saw everything she did was because she was not afraid of the truth in the matter and her own flaws.

She opened the door to find a woman, in her late sixties smiling back at her. The rain had begun to pour while Lydia was sleeping, and her front yard was now submerged in a foot of water. The Bangladesh rainy season had begun.

“Well hello there,” The woman's thick Gloucestershire accent obscured the words for Lydia's ears as she strained to follow the woman's speech “I'm Fran, and I will be your tour guide on this short but grand adventure.” She was just so cute that Lydia had to fight the urge to giggle and hug the woman. Lydia fought to keep her adrenaline and excitement in check, despite her exhaustion. This would be the beginning of a grand adventure indeed.