lostintawantinsuyu

[lostintawantinsuyu]

November 27, 12:36 PM

It just hit me—tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

I was so focused on figuring out where I am and how I got here that I hadn’t even thought about it. Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I won’t be there. No turkey, no mashed potatoes, no pie. No laughter around the table, no arguing over football, no second helpings of stuffing. And no family.

I always complained about Thanksgiving being too chaotic—too loud, too much. Now, I’d give anything to hear my dad’s bad jokes or watch my little niece knock over a drink. I never imagined I’d spend it sitting on a rock, looking out at an ancient world I don’t belong to.

I can hear distant voices from the marketplace, but they don’t bring me any comfort. It feels so surreal that they’re preparing for their daily lives while I’m sitting here mourning a holiday no one else even knows about.

I sketched the view to try and distract myself, but it only made me miss home more. I don’t know how to make sense of this yet.

If I get through tonight, maybe I’ll try to make something of tomorrow. It won’t be Thanksgiving, but it’ll be something. I hope.

[lostintawantinsuyu]

November 27, 12:12 PM

I don’t know what came over me, but curiosity got the better of caution. I’ve crept closer to the city below—still keeping a safe distance—and found a spot behind a large boulder overlooking what looks like a bustling marketplace.

From here, I can see the people. They’re dressed in colorful woven fabrics, their patterns intricate and vibrant. Some carry baskets on their backs; others are arranging clay pots and what look like corn and potatoes on blankets. Children dart between the stalls, laughing, while older men and women speak in tones I can’t understand. There’s a rhythm to their movements, a harmony that feels ancient and unshakable.

I can also see a large stone structure dominating the plaza—maybe a temple? There’s smoke rising from its peak, and I think I heard a deep, resonating hum earlier, like chanting. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever they’re doing is sacred. I don’t belong here.

But I can’t leave yet. Not without learning more.

For now, I’ve sketched what I can see (messy, I know—I’m shaking). I’ll stay hidden and watch a little longer. I need to figure out if it’s safe to approach—or if they’ll see me as some kind of intruder. My biggest fear? They won’t understand my language… or worse, they will.

I’ll decide what to do next once I feel less like a deer caught in headlights.

[See attached sketch.]

[lostintawantinsuyu]

November 27

I barely have time to think, let alone process this madness, but I need to write something down before I lose it all.

This morning—if it even is morning—I woke up on a ridge overlooking this…civilization. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, maybe from altitude sickness. But no, it’s real. There are terraces stretched across the mountains, layered like a staircase for giants, and at the center of it all, a sprawling city. Smoke rises from fires, and the sun glints off stones carved with a precision that puts modern architects to shame.

I grabbed a stick and sketched the scene in the dirt before finding this scrap of paper in my jacket. It’s messy, rushed—like my brain right now.

I don’t know how or why, but I’ve landed in the Incan Empire. The date? November 27, or at least that’s what my watch says. No one here knows I exist yet. I’m not sure whether to be grateful or terrified.

[See attached sketch.]

I’ll explore when I stop shaking. If I stop shaking.