Closing Statements
The book of my life is turning another page, the chapter is coming to a close. In little more than a day, I will be (hopefully) on a flight back to Seattle with a proposterous quantity of luggage, dragged across six or seven different train lines throughout the morning and afternoon tomorrow. Luckily, tomorrow (Friday) is not all lost, because due to the international dateline time continuum, I will be able to relive most of Friday in Washington.
It’s a little weird, what I’m feeling right now. Or maybe it is weird that I lack many of the strong emotions that I would normally associate with departure or arrival: anticipating the time to come or mourning what is left behind. Rather, today I had one of the most pleasant walks in life that I have had. Just enjoying being outside in the sun, splashing my face with cool, fresh river water, watching the hawks climb the updrafts, and straining to see Mount Fuji through the haze (and failing). I did walk through Fuji Castle on the way back, which is neither a Castle, nor can you Fuji from it, but go through it I did. I am going to miss this place. The tranquility of the mountains and forests, even when fenced in by countless spiderwebs, is breathtaking. I have truly been able to sit and relax and have a true vacation. The key is focusing on the time you have, and living in that moment. The future and the past are abstract notions. It is the present where we can actually take a step or make a choice, and it is in the present where we must keep a constant vigil against the horrors and phantoms of the past and the tyrannical immediacy of the future. Of course, the urgent things of the future will soon be back on my doorstep, come home. It’s much easier to keep them at bay when in solitude from nearly everything.
I have decided that this will be my final post. I started this upon arrival in Thailand, and I will end it before I return to Seattle. The purpose was to inform and amuse and perplex you, to be sure, but it was also to encourage my own writing and flesh out the experiences and struggles and joys and doubts of life away from what I know. I have done that, for better or worse, and so the primary impetus for my writing is fading away even as I write this. I will continue writing, no doubt, but in a much different medium. I would like to try my hand at writing either a fairy tale or a myth – the scope of which I have not attempted to this point. But I think it is time to step out on a limb, make some mistakes, write bad prose just to have written something, and enjoy the creative splendors of writing. So that is my next step. As for what I have learned throughout my journeys, they are many and therefore difficult to enumerate. I will leave you with one: generosity. Not that I have learned to be generous, but that I have seen other people’s generosity in lavish quantities, and it is striking. Absolutely beautiful. I hope that I may learn true generosity as well. I’ll leave you with a snippet from our (Tom’s and my) hitchhiking journeys.
Taking the train to Kyoto is expensive. Trains are always expensive in Japan, and getting to Kyoto or Tokyo takes $70 or so each way for the slow train, and about $110 for the fast train. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by my thinning pocketbook, I convinced Tom that we should try hitchhiking to Kyoto both for adventure and to save a little money. So, we spent $20 to get out to Kakegawa on the train, saw the Castle there, and found a place to hitchhike. I had the first 15-minute shift, and to no avail. We did get several varied expressions from passerby: driving school instructors raised eyebrows, families with children would smile or wave, older people would pretend to not see us and try not to make eye contact, cute women would smile at us and drive on, Yakuza didn’t have much expression as they had sunglasses on, and younger guys would be genuinely amused and possibly give us a wordless “rock on”. Now it was Tom’s turn. After taking pictures for both of us, I sat down to wait a bit, and some guy in a van slammed to a halt. Tom’s crazy hitchhiking thumb had done it! The guy happened to be visiting his girlfriend in Kakegawa, and lived in Nagoya, about halfway to Kyoto. So we got in quite happily and we were off.
The traffic was horrid, however, as it was Silver Week (a 5 day weekend, and one of the best for good travel weather). A 2 hour car ride turned into 4 and a half. But our guide was rather chipper, and also had a great taste in music (neither Tom nor I disliked any of the stuff he played). There was one song (Human, The Killers) which had an amusing lyric we both enjoyed, “Are we human or are we dancers?” He drove us to a rest area, which on Japanese expressways are major things. There was a grocery store, several food stands, other various businesses, and a Starbucks. He insisted that he buy us coffee. It was absurd. And excellent. Afterwards he dropped us off at the Nagoya train station, and said farewell.
It was already dark, due to the excessive traffic, and we decided against trying to hitchhike in the dark, so we grabbed a capsule hotel and wandered around the city a bit. In the morning, we looked for a place close to the expressway, and to the local train there (it was a bit out there, but the local train was really cheap). After a number of shifts trying unsuccessfully to hitchhike in the sun, we sat down at the Italian restaurant next door for lunch. We were already a bit burned. So, afterwards, and after some advice from people about making our signs bigger, set about trying again. After another thirty minutes or more (under the shade of a bamboo), we gave up and decided that we would train for Kyoto.
On the way back, a guy in a car parked by the road said something to me that had “Kyoto” in it, so I motioned Tom to talk to him. Apparently, he had been on his way to the gym when he saw us two hours before, and saw us again after the gym, during our walk back. He thought we must need some help, so he offered to drive us to Kyoto. I didn’t exactly (or at all, except what was translated) understand the conversation. I still didn’t understand why he was going to Kyoto, as he lives in Nagoya. When it came out that he was going just because that was what we needed, we were shocked. Tom mouthed “Wow!” to me and I responded in unison. That’s a five-hour drive round trip. Amazing! Amazing that he even saw us twice. Call it fate, kismet, luck, providence, or grace (my favorite), it was certainly gracious of him. Incredibly generous. If I knew that was going to be the result, I would have thought twice about hitching – that’s quite a major inconvenience we’ve caused him. But he seemed happy to do it. Wow.
He dropped us off at Kyoto station and we said our goodbyes. We did have other little adventures there (like the one about there being no hotel vacancies upon our arrival), but this is the one that will stick with me.
The weekend was thoroughly enjoyable, though the heat really took it out of us. By Tuesday, we were exhausted. And for the record, we took the train back.
A brief respite.
It seems that the longer I take between successive posts, the more daunting the task of actually writing something. I feel that I must atone for the period of absence. But the creative personality in me ebbs and flows, and last week, and the week before, were veritable droughts in this writer’s ink. But they have been restful. There is something eerily peaceful about life in the mountains of Japan, especially when contrasted with The city (i.e. Tokyo). I am closing in on a good rhythm of life here – one of the first true vacations I have had. With Tom at work during the weekdays, I spend my time sleeping, resting, thinking, drinking probably a half gallon of tea every day, reading, writing, and going on adventures through the forested hills.
While writing is coming to life once again, and I have been able to pick up a number of correspondences and flush out my inbox, the greatest enjoyment is most definitely the random adventures. I am staying in a town of a thousand people, roughly, with Tom being the only other gaijin (foreigner) there. Another English-teaching gaijin (Jennifer) lives a village over, but other than, everyone in these parts is quite fully Japanese. A few speak more than a few words of English, but they are often quite shy about engaging in conversation, and I am content in solitude. For once. Usually it frightens me to some extent – I get most of my energy from being around people, and being alone too much can be draining. This time, though, I was really in need of a respite from the busy immediacies of life.
There are some fairly new highways up here that link these villages in the mountains with nearby (1 hour, 40 km) cities Hamamatsu and Shizuoka. (I am in Senzu, which can be found easily with google maps) There are plentiful older roads, which being much narrower and longer, have suffered disrepair due to their lack of use. Some of them had landslides over them (they occur with much regularity, and much of the hillsides have been reinforced with stone or concrete to lessen the risk), others were covered in moss and grasses. One that I happened across had been the victim of quite a large sinkhole, which no one happened to repair. In addition to these roads, there are also gravel forest-service roads (many of which you’re not supposed to drive on), one of which Tom took for a scenic route home. Not meant for little Monica (the name of the car he drives – model is called Minica), I think. There was the constant thuds from large rocks banging against the muffler, and even though it was not yet dark, visibility seemed less than actually driving at night. Fun, though. And we didn’t end up in a ravine, or down a sheer cliff, most thankfully.
But walking, I think, is my preferred route. It gives me time to think and reflect, take pictures, pray, or recite random bits of poetry, just composed. I came up with a couple that aren’t horrible. Not un-horrible enough to post here, of course, but they’re getting there. The tranquility of the cedar forests, laced with thickets of giant bamboo, is unlike anywhere I have been, with the exception of the Olympic Rain Forest (my family has an old house in Quinault). You could walk for days without seeing a soul. The river that flows by Tom’s place is also a wonder. Perhaps an ordinary river to some, for one who has spent too much time in the city (even one so green as Seattle), it is sheer beauty. I followed it for a ways today, found some nice skipping stones, almost fell in whilst hopping across dry rocks, and marveled at just how blue it was. I will miss Japan.
Well, except for the whole sitting on the floor bit. I don’t understand how they can do that. “My joints are freezing up!” Definitely a little bit of Japanese culture that I was not ready for. The cities are an oddity; compared with the subtle tea plantations and empty roads, the over-populated, dreary buildings and constantly pulsating advertisements were a bit much. It is true that I enjoyed sumo, very much so. We saw the first day of a tournament in Tokyo, which started with the most novice initiates and ended with the professional sumos, the last match being the face off of the grand champions of East and West. After the ceremonial beginnings and the throwing of salt (only the professionals could do this – and only they could wear the special samurai topknot), the match only lasts a few seconds (longer matches were rare, but exciting as well). Even with our long lunch break, saw probably 150 matches that day (there were about 220 total), though the best were the last 3 hours. I don’t think I would have appreciated it as much if we hadn’t seen the novices, but the number of various moves and winning techniques, as well as dramatic turnarounds were quite impressive. My favorite of the day was when Asashoryu (the 68th yokozuna) picked up his much larger competitor and through him quite a ways into the aisle, killing a camera (but luckily causing no major damage to the photographer, except maybe a headache the next day). If you go to Japan, see a sumo tournament. Then flee the city.
Back to the present, Tom has arrived back from work, and I think he might show me where a post office is, so I’m off. I think I’ll be back again before I leave Japan. Unless I get eaten by some crazy Japanese bears.
Crime & Punishment & Thailand
It seems like it has been forever since I’ve written something. But not in a bad way. Rather, I feel that the last couple of weeks in Chiang Mai have been the best, as I have been able to let go of all of my unaccomplished goals and future plans and simply focus on now, and the people around me. T. S. Eliot speaks of the dangers of spending too much time in the future and past in Four Quartets (Burnt Norton), and I heartily agree. I do it far too often. Nonetheless, some amount of planning and hoping for the future as well as reflecting on the past is good, as long as we do not fall too much into fantasy. In the coming weeks, I think I will be able to provide a balanced perspective of my time here in Thailand, but now is not really the time for that. I have something else in mind.
OFFICIAL SPOILER ALERT (if you haven’t yet read Crime & Punishment and still wish to, I wouldn’t read any more)
Crime and Punishment is a book I started enroute to Chiang mai, and finished a couple of hours ago. The scope of the book is far-reaching. I don’t think I have ever been so emotionally invested in the characters of this story then anything else I have read. And so often the emotions were quite unpleasant. The horror and disgust of the murder and the delirium and oblivion afterwards affected me greatly. I think much of it was due to similarities that I saw between myself and Raskolnikov.
While he was comtemplating the murder, isolated from everyone, alone in his tattered clothing and mockery of a room, half-crazed by the Petersburg summer, I was also alone, in Laos, in a hot, humid, windowless room, without access to phone or internet, crazed by the sun, and there I contemplated when I would have the courage to read the murder. The thought horrified me – am I capable of it? And it stretched me literally (that is, in terms of literature), as I began to question whether I was great – capable of describing such a murder and such a plot in excruciating detail. If I was a Napoleon, or simply an average man, as Raskolnikov thought of it. I crushed myself with philosophy.
The vacillations demonstrated clearly that I was not Napoleon; as Raskolnikov was unable to move beyond the initial step, it made him unworthy to have made that step. But I am not such an observer of the dialectic as he was. Nonetheless, it had a profound impact on me. Giving rise to a number of questions about faith and reason, the motivations behind what we do and why we do it, and whether it is justified. While I was horrified by the tragedy of the murder, it still served to implicate me. Am I really any better? I am not a monster, perhaps, but then neither was he. He was just following the logical conclusion of his reasoning. Though perhaps I am at times more akin to Marmeladov (the drunk), as I do things that I despise, knowing they are wrong. Yet I still willingly do them. Perhaps I am powerless to change such actions, but I do not see how that would pardon such behavior. I don’t think I got to the point of despising those around me, as Raskolnikov did, though I can definitely see a certain amount of arrogance and vanity in my behavior. Though it was not arrogance that dubbed me ‘Captain’.
Fate is a dramatic element of the story. There are simply too many ‘coincidences’ and too many moments where Raskolnikov is incredibly drawn to do certain things, not as if he knows he must do something. Rather, that he knows he will do it. It made me look at everything I ran into with a curious eye. Is this a coincidence, or is it fate? The most poingant example of this is when I finished the sixth act. I started reading in the airport terminal in Chiang Mai, boarded the plane to Bangkok, and sat in my seat. I finished that act – when he says to Ilya Petrovich “It was I who killed the official’s old widow…” – concurrently with the moment of weighlessness at takeoff. I set down the book, could certainly not think of reading the epilogue, but could only think to myself “and now I’m off to Siberia.” And so I fell deep into thought and then sleep.
The heroine of the story, Sofya (dear Sonechka), was brought to Raskolnikov by the artwork of fate. They simply knew they were going to be together for the rest of their lives. But Raskolnikov was still deep in his cyncism and despair. But then I read the epilogue. A few moments ago, in fact. And this day of rest for me was the same as that one, where Sofya’s love brings Raskolnikov to life. And I feel renewed, refreshed.
This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy Chiang Mai. Indeed I did. but I was also at times extremely apathetic and cyncial – those were many of my crimes there. But it was not what it could have been, due to my preconceptions. When I have time to reflect in Japan, I’m going to give some of my highlights there. But here I want to describe what I’ve really learned.
I told Sayre, before leaving, that I wanted to learn what it meant to be dependent. And I did. I learned what dependency was like, as I was dependent on others for language and transport. But more than that, I learned that I was already dependent, though dependent on someone I had not yet met. And that is a wearying thing. I don’t like travelling alone, though I love travelling. I need someone to travel with, to think with, and to banter with. If I really am going to spend my life (or part of it) overseas, I need to find a companion. Be it a hero (Razumikhin) or a heroine (Sofya), or both.
A paladin needs a party.
Slight Faux Pas
Today I thought that I would begin by taking the opportunity to describe a slight faux pas of mine last week (Revathi, thanks for the writing suggestion).
At my work here in Chiang Mai we often have company lunches which include basically everyone there. In the past we have done it on site, as we have a café setup and plenty of tables. On such occasions, it is generally informal. Buffet of yummy Thai food, haphazard arrangements of people everywhere (there’s a couple more people than there are chairs, so we utilize couches as well as the bar space (coffee bar, just to be clear. These aren’t three martini lunches. As a side note, I have grown rather fond of martinis while here – both gin and vodka. When I return I need to get good at making them, or just making mixed drinks in general. I’ll put that on my endless list).
This week, we had one of the big bosses come in from out of town. He’s really a stand up guy. Technically minded, yet down to earth, a clear leader, but not authoritarian, drinks straight espresso and likes Kimchi. (Friday night we went to a Korean restaurant which was quite phenomenal – and we had way too much fried bacon/fried Kimchi/roasted garlic/bean curd/hot pepper/lettuce sandwiches. Delicious!) Anyhow, for his first day here we all went to a local hotel (the Empress, I think) for their 100 Baht buffet lunch, and got an exceedingly long series of tables stacked end-to-end – enough to fit everyone in the company. The bosses had taken their seats, as had a couple of my Farang friends, so after briefly pondering where to sit, I take a place close to my Farang friends and call it good. Looking back, it could have been seen as rather arrogant. Hopefully it was either unnoticed or warranted only “Farang!” as a response. The reason it may have been seen as arrogant is that I, an intern (though my official title is Chief Hacker), had taken a seat very near the head of the table, and two seats down from my boss.
Looking down at the remaining two thirds of the table, was something not unlike musical chairs and rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock going on in unison. Recalling something I had read in a Thai culture book, it became immediately apparent that they were engaging in a particular form of small talk that is used for the one purpose of determining exactly where in the social pecking order you belonged. Since we all work at the same company, bosses of course beat their underlings, but when looking at different departments, you have the amount of time you have worked there as one metric, and how much you make as another (yes, they will actually ask “How much do you make, exactly?” and expect an exact figure). I’m not sure if age has a direct input in this sort of function (indirectly, of course, with the obvious implication of older people having generally worked here longer, with higher salaries, and greater likelihood of being bosses). So, after exchanging places half a dozen times and finding a general consensus that everyone was in the correct place relative to who they were standing next to.
In the end, it was all for naught, anyway, because the seats near the actual head of the table were empty, and with there being exactly one seat for everyone, some of those playing musical chairs ended up taking them anyway. My friend Wut, who ended up at the head, only had to endure a couple of jabs from the boss along the lines of “Thank you for volunteering to pay for lunch!” So no real faux pas, but only because of the number of Farang at the company. If it was a Thai company, I would probably have had the shame of getting up from my seat and moving, garnering an Epic Fail.
In other news, this is supposedly (or was) a restaurant in Seattle named “Chiang Mai”, which serves northern Thai food. If it still exists, I would recommend trying the Kao Soi (a northern noodles dish, and one of my personal favorites. Faeng is going to teach me how to cook it next weekend, and hopefully I’ll be able to replicate it back in Seattle). Oh, and do tell me where it is if you know of it.
You know the way white people feel about getting tan? It’s like that here, only WAY more so, in the other direction. Everyone wants to have white skin. I was watching some sort of Thai drama with Gai and Niki and some others, and at least two thirds of the commercials were about skin whitening. Through body wash or cream or voodoo (slight exaggeration?) or whatever, it was about skin whitening. Michael Jackson is (well, was) a success story here. You know tooth whitening commercials in the states, where they have a card with a gradient of colors, and claims such as ‘in two weeks, move four colors toward white’. They are exactly like that, only they hold up the card to their face, not their teeth. For someone who grew up with the concept of tan skin being desirable, it is a little bizarre. My Thai friends tell me that one reason Thai’s are so obsessed with Korea and Japan (Korea more so, at the moment), is that they have much lighter skin than the average Thai. I suppose a Ginger would be a golden god here.
I watched a little bit of Korean television, and saw my first bit of true eSports. I had no idea how big it is in Korea. Kind of a dream of mine, being a gaming superstar. I’m a bit old to start now, though. You really need to be physically and mentally peak condition to game at this level. The amount of time they spend practicing, developing strategies, and the talent that some of these gamers have is impressive. I am quite certain I would be left in the dust, even with a decade of practice. It’s refreshing to see eSports being brought up to the level of sports in the physical realm. But what am I to take from this? How will this impact my life for good? Maybe I’ll engineer a nice costume for SakuraCon. I think I’ll be Cid. Or maybe Cecil. (FF4 has a special place in my heart)
I was going to start a poll to see what everyone’s top three favorite things about Thailand, but I forgot after asking only two people. Maybe I can remind myself when I get back to work. And that’s enough rambling for one day. Sawat-dii-khap.
Cure for the Common Cold
So it’s Friday, you’ve got a headache from a less-than-productive week at work, you feel a bit sick to the stomach, and tired, so that all you really feel like doing is to sleep. What is the correct response?
Suit Up! (Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite ready for this part yet, because I didn’t go to the suit shop until the next day, but I still carried forward with the same general thrust) So I got out my best club clothes, which I seem to recall consisted of taking off the button-down I was wearing. So, I guess Suiting Down was the approach this day. Anyhow, after spending some time at a friend’s place eating brownies and drinking coke (which is better in Thailand), and trying to figure out how this weird RISK remake worked, then losing catastrophically (technically not true – we called the game because one of the players was leaving, and while I was in fourth place in terms of countries, I still had three troops on Great Britain. We just needed a last minute alliance to stop the red ‘axis of evil’ armies of Australia, and we could have succeeded, maybe), then I met up with Marvin and others at Monkey Club.
Monkey Club is one of the current favorites for the local college scene, and doesn’t have a Farang cover charge, which is always nice. I meet up with a bunch of random (mostly Thai) people, plus this crazy Swiss-Canadian guy from Vancouver (his accent was really … spasmic? eclectic? odd? Basically, every word he said seemed to have an accent all to itself, and completely unrelated to all the others. Yet, possibly due to that uniform difference, it worked for him). Still feeling a bit sick from earlier, I decide that what I really need is some Scotch! Thais are really, really into Scotch for some reason (as if you needed a reason), especially Johnny Walker, which comes in various labels: red, black, gold, green, and blue (in increasing order of price). At this point I had only had red and black, so I lobby excessively for green label, which goes for about twice that of black. A very smooth bit of blended whisky (note: Scotch whisky versus American whiskey), though as the Swissman pointed out, and I agree, it almost tasted like Bourbon. After throwing down some money and chanting “WOOO” a few times, the rest there agreed to going in on a bottle. A few drops of a bottle labeled ‘drink me’, and I’m already feeling larger than life!
We were hanging out in the restaurant area, reciting all the words we know in Thai (which was not overly many), including a number that we had heard but didn’t know what they meant (which included some definite profanity, which they were unwilling to translate but definitely laughed at). For instance, Phad Khing is a ginger dish. Phad Khii is not! Don’t order that at a restaurant. The only thing worse would be if they served it to you. After watching a bit of pool, I decided to have a foray into the club area of Monkey Club, which was epicly crazy. Absolutely packed with people and tiny tables of scotch and mixers. The hip-hop/techno/other DJ was on, and it was a bit of fun. Not enough room to dance, except for putting your hands above your head, or maybe a shimmy that no one will see. Don’t jump, though. You’ll land on someone’s girlfriend’s toes. Then while you’re apologizing to the bonny lass (with a smile and a flourish, of course), the bull gets a wee bit protective. Back to trying to dance in no space. A lot of cute girls around, but no room for the coup de grace (i.e. my killer dance moves), so I return to the table. It’s time to move to the next stage of the journey.
The next step, as has been the case recently when we’ve gone out… Wait… we haven’t actually gone out recently! So that is the reason that I have been so downspirited lately. Anyhow, the next step, as it should be, is to head off to Fabrique (rhymes with Geek). This one does have a Farang tax, unfortunately. I don’t know how much it is, however, due to (not inebriation) the fact that I’ve been there four times without paying it. It definitely helps to go in with Thai escorts. One side is the hip-hop room, which really covers anything pop and rock as well, which is at least as crowded as Monkey Club. The other side is the techno side, which has objects of wonder: strobe lights, lasers, and pedestals. Oh, and actual room to dance! I don’t know if any of you in Seattle have seen me dance to techno (that one night at Neighbors doesn’t count), but really, we should make a night of it when I get back. Actually, my best dancing starts after the point of exhuastion, halfway past the point of no return, when it’s just adrenaline, scotch, and vanity pushing my dancing forward. And other people dancing – that always makes it more fun. Waa or Oi or someone said they are probably singapore girls, whatever that means (I don’t think it has the same connotation as “essex girls”). Nonetheless, we all danced until like 3 am or so. And then went home, having a little bit of trouble walking (dancing is just so much easier, sometimes. I can be a klutz when walking) – due to exhaustion, of course.
So now it comes to the point of the night when you’re back home and want to do nothing except pass out. Which is why I spent the next 10 minutes brushing my teeth. Mmmmmmm. Not feeling a bit sick at this point – the dancing fix has cured all my ills. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. Anyways, after the teeth brushing (toothpaste is just so good, you know? I feel like brushing my teeth now), the best thing to do is have a water drinking contest with yourself. Not only is it impossible to lose, except when you accidentally pour water all over your chair instead of in the glass (luckily floors here are made of linoleum and the average drying time for anything in Thailand is about 3.7 seconds, so no big problem), but I only did that once, so no big deal. (I guess you could lose, if you used the tap water. That would be bad!) So drinking contest with yourself. The point, besides just being awesome, is to avert the dreaded hangover.
This is very similar to Arnold’s wine-fest workout: he and his body builder friends would work out until they passed out, then drink wine until they passed out, then work out until they passed out, etc., until the wine festival is over. Here, the difference is that you drink water till you pass out, and then you sleep until you pass out, your body will naturally wake you up in about two to three hours, then you repeat. When you wake up, you feel great! But you must be sure to get up the next day at a reasonable hour (no later than about noon). It’s one thing to not wake up with a hangover and actually do something. Quite another to wake up after dinnertime and exclaim “Haha, I avoided a hangover”, because you have also inadvertently avoided Saturday. That’s why you need to have a plan for the next day in advance. Something legendary. And what could be better than suit buying (different from and better than suit shopping)? Next time I’ll be truly ready to suit up. So, I got up at noon when my Bro called me to remind me to go suit buying. And thus ended my inital problem of un-awesomeness.
And so, to reward myself for being awesome, I slept 14 hours Saturday night.
Some new thoughts. Wait, did I write that last week?
I seem to recall a bit from the Genesee Diary, a journal of Henri Nouwen’s few months in a Trappist Monastery. It is a few weeks before returning to ‘the world’, and he is talking with his spiritual director. His complaint is that he is incredibly anxious for returning to life as it was, of everything that needs to happen, and how he will fit in all that. The reply from his director goes something like “you’re already there.” Meaning that his mind is no longer focused on life here, in the Monastery, but completely absorbed by the things and events of his return. I feel like I’m in a similar state.
I have barely over two weeks left in Chiang Mai, and I feel that I have not lived up to my own expectations. I failed at learning the language, at becoming as fit as I’d like, haven’t gotten a motorcycle yet (though I did find a helmet that almost fit), and I languished a bit at work. I would like to do a number of things before leaving – getting suits, seeing the baby panda at the zoo (there isn’t a newspaper or newscast without a panda reference), and maybe going to Monkey Club once or twice more. But I’m a bit cynical about that. So, perhaps in an effort to make up for lost time, I have already begun planning my crazy life when I return. (I’m always more optimistic for the future) Is this healthy? Perhaps in some degree, if tempered by reality. (which it isn’t)
I have a tendency to completely overload myself in Fall, die around November, subsist as undead for a month and a half, cut half of what I am doing for Winter Quarter, and vow never to do that again. Repeat. Ad Infinitum.
Well, I want to do a significant amount of research for grad school, am taking a lit class with Claire, am looking into taking language classes as well (the classes ideally will not impact my research output or available time at all), teaching the beginners lessons for swing kids for the quarter, host hep movie nights, prepare for and run the Seattle marathon in 4:00:00, learn and go out Bollywood dancing in addition to a steady swing diet, creatively cook twice a week, teach Sunday school for the pre-schoolers (one of the coolest age groups ever), do drums and sound for the evening Quest service, play guitar and sing much more often, finish my chainmaille shirt, see all of my wonderful Seattle friends (I already have several coffee/tea/wine/chocolate/chai/baking/dinner/lunch/breakfast/frisbee non-dates set up for when I return, which is bound only too increase as the date approaches), make new Seattle friends, perform the Bohemian National Polka and actually go to practices this time!, read the dozen or so novels on my short list, explore Seattle and its culture to a greater extent than I have in the previous five years here, and still find time for writing, drinking tea, and general relaxation. Sleep would be nice, too. That’s not too much, is it?
I know people that do that much stuff and more: Claire, Shayla, Gen, Radha, Cat, others… But my body refuses to waive the sleep requirement like they do. I couldn’t even pull an all nighter last quarter when I tried. I could try to try to go the other direction and slow down my life. I wouldn’t know what to pull out, though. I would feel like I’m wasting my life away if there is a single moment that isn’t filled with something. Perhaps living for three weeks in rural Japan will bring some balance to my plan.
I have had some good moments, even quite recently here. Thailand has certainly taught me thankfulness. Especially for family, but for friends and confidants as well. Wednesday was Mother’s Day for Thailand (which is also the Queen’s birthday), and I spent some time at a flower festival, part of which included lighting candles for the Queen’s birthday and then blowing them out and singing. I’ll hopefully post some pictures soon, as I have been slow in that. The Day certainly got me thinking a bit.
In Thai culture, parental love is very conditional. It is very common to hear phrases like, “If you do this, I won’t love you anymore.” The point, of course, is to convince your children to make good decisions, and it works to a certain extent – especially since Thai’s often live at home into their twenties, or until they are married (there is often a lot of parental pressure to marry). On the other hand, and this to me is hopelessly bleak, if you do one of those things, you can’t talk to your parents about it for fear of being unloved, rejected, and possibly disowned. So you are ruled by fear. Knowing that my parents will love me simply because I am their son, and not as a result of how pure or just my actions are, has been a great boon to me. It is an anchor for the soul – something that is deeply rooted in who I am. Talking to both Thais and Americans who haven’t grown up with that grips me with tears. I wish there was some way I could describe – rather, that they could experience – what has been given me. I am sincerely thankful for my parents. And I pray and hope for the reconciliation of others with their parents. But beyond prayer, I don’t know how to reach out, what words to say, how to be an active agent in bringing reconciliation to others.
And thus I huddle in the haze of non-resolution.
D
Postscript. I notice a trend to my writing. What starts out happy ends up melancholic. Though this one didn’t start start that happily. I think I have just had too much time to think and ponder whilst accomplishing nothing. Hmmmm. Reading my last post, it seems that I have repeated myself. Apparently my brain is in one of those infinite loops. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling sick. Not terribly sick, mind you, just sick enough to quote: ”Food Poisoning Scare Sweeps City”, “Some food got poisoned?”, “I’m a little nauseous, yah!” Hopefully this will account for my mandatory out-of-country illness. Probably not. If it’s anything like Greece, I’ll develop swine flu on the way to Japan, and then live out my ‘vacation’ in mandatory quarantine. Exciting! I am now genuinely amused. My brain is on crack. Okay, next post will be about some amusing topic, or I’ll give you full permission to call me Susan. Why Susan? Meh. What’s written is written. And I should stop writing before I write something truly insipid.
I have a better idea. You, the reader, should send me questions or comments or topics to give some direction to my writing, or at least restrain my madness. …this could go terribly wrong…
Indecision
Sitting here, trying to figure out what to right (write, that is – my brain is not working properly), listening to Hole. What??? I have Hole on my computer? You remember them – that Courtney Love band that was semi-popular in the late 90s. No? Well, at least you should remember Courtney Love – she was married to Kurt Kobain – and she could beat Stevie Nicks (singer from Fleetwood Mac) at a sing-like-a-goat contest any day of the week. Maybe that’s my problem. [Switches music] Ah, the bright, sweet melodies of Reminiscing. No, not Litter River Band. I’m not cool enough to have them on my computer. I meant that I am reminiscing – to semisonic. Certainly improved my attitude over that of the previous “Noise Rock” mindset. Yet, still wildly indecisive. This problem must have began before my media player strayed off course.
I have been a mixture of complacent, apathetic, and disappointed – primarily with myself. Before coming to Thailand, I had a great number of things to do, people to meet, and language to learn on my list. My Thai studying beforehand slowed to a crawl in the final month, and didn’t much pick up on arrival. It was briefly stimulated in the first couple of weeks, but after being frustrated with my ‘apparent lack of progress’ (to quote Darth Vader), I am in need of ‘new ways to motivate’ myself. I enjoy travel, and meeting new people, and learning languages. But right now, I can’t seem to get much joy out of it. Then again, I do on occasion have short seasons of discontent, regardless of where I am at, so this could be one of those. But so poorly timed! I’ve started enlisted the help of others to push me in learning Thai – and another major goal – motorcycle riding. But I don’t want to be cynical in response to their help, so pray I can pull out of this. The fact that I’m leaving Chiang Mai in little over three weeks has added a certain urgency to the whole situation.
On an upnote, Tee is done with his exams for a while, and I think we might hang out on Saturday. I guess the weekend is coming soon – time to recharge and rekindle some lost enthusiasm? Maybe I’ll go ahead and get those tailored suits I’ve always been talking about, or perhaps find a marble ballerina statue for Rival, or just go and do something sinister (like turning all the stop signs upside down, or tie unsuspecting Farang’s shoelaces together, or replace the sugar and salt Muwahahaha! HahahAAAHA! Ha Ha HA! This is me working on my evil laugh. Look up Dr. Horrible on youtube if you haven’t seen it. …and the psychosis has passed). Tried some Thai wine the other day – some made of strawberry and another made of Lichee. Better than I expected – a bit sweet, only 30 Baht for a glass (less than $1), and leaves you feeling a bit tipsy if you have one directly after a strenuous workout. As Rachael put it so elegantly, “But I digress. Naturally.”
At least I am momentarily amused. We’ll see how my remaining weeks here wrap up – more on the language and the riding (I should have a blog on just that – Thai drivers) later. But looing forward to the next year, I have come up with a fairly large question. What am I doing? I seem to be drifting along towards something in future, but not very deliberately, and with little certainty about the result. My previous plan to graduate grad school in three years and go do something in the Industry has been tempered by experiences in the Industry. Boeing was terrible. Movaci is a lot better, and I am doing what I had supposed I had wanted to do, but I can’t foresee myself wanting to do this for a long time (say, longer than a year or two). I just don’t like computers. Makes it hard when you’re a network engineer specializing in security. My other options are, well,
1) Be a professor. This route, due to my poor number of publications this last season and none this summer, would require spending a fourth year. But I won’t know whether I want to do this until after Winter quarter when I teach a class, and then will be too late for an acual decision.
2) Try to do something security related that doesn’t require you to work with computers. Wait, that doesn’t exist…
3) Pursue a career in literary criticism. This may be difficult due to my lack of experience, education, and several other factors. For instance, I have never done any literary criticism. Well, beyond “That book rocked!” Which isn’t cricism, for any reasonable definition of the word.
4) I would like to be a pastor at some point. But I don’t know how to connect that with where I am at currently. And for that it would be good to have more education. That is where my heart is – for people and for God. Exegesis is fun too. But as to not be burdensome, I want to support myself financially aside from that – thus completing the circle.
Completely unrelated to all of this, my current thought is to take some non-engineering classes when I get back to Seattle, and reflect a bit on where I want to go. I decided to take a class on Ancient and Classical Indian Literature with Claire, and am looking into taking a language class – current thoughts include Italian and Hebrew (French classes are full). Of course, this is with a full grad student research schedule, so I may be overextending myself. I would also like to dance, and spend time with people, experience more Seattle culture, finish T.S. Eliot and Harry Potter, keep up with guitar and singing and djembe, learn web development, attack my seemingly limitless tea reserves with a passion, get a motorcycle, keep up my training and run a marathon three days after Thanksgiving.
Sleep would be plus, too.
So, I further reinforce my habitual tendencies. I always try to do WAY too much in the Fall. (Oh, and I forgot about swing kids, chainmaille, and calligraphy.) Followed by completely gutting my schedule in the new year. I am certainly not indecisive about this bit. Perhaps I am indecisive about the un-habitual things – the new things – the things on the horizon – the future and all that. I want the optimal solution, not some heuristic, numerical approximation (my current vexation can be inferred by those who know how much I loathe ‘numerical’, ‘dynamical’, ‘geometrical’, and all other words that shouldn’t have ‘al’ added to the end)! I’m guessing the problem is NP-complete. (In not-quite layman parlance, that means hard). One of these days I’m going to have to write a blog post about morality, God, and complexity theory, but now is certainly not that day. I think the fear of being wrong – taking the “wrong” path is the primary reason for my indecision. The fear that everything I have worked for, striven towards, and looked forward to, will be shattered to pieces with one misstep. In reality, it is much more likely that the worst thing I can do is stay frozen, paralyzed. But telling myself that I should take a step is much different from actually taking one. Moving forward involves trust, which doesn’t come easily to me. Does it come naturally to others?
Well that is where I am at. Waiting to take the plunge. But which/when/where/how/what? Hopefully my practice of jumping off bridges will make this easier…
Running, Dialogue, and the Problem with Memory.
As I previously affirmed, this post is going to be about running. Not running for the purpose of running, but how it connects to various facets of life, and how it is remembered after the fact – the waves of impressions that it leaves after the initial splash.
Specifically, I’d like to reflect a bit on an experience of running. Not experience of running, but an experience of running. The ‘an’ is important. Writing about experience of running in a general fashion would be rather dull, and simply would not connect well to anything. This is about a singular experience of running.
It is natural, methinks, that regardless of what you believe, if you are assured of it, then your experience will underscore it, your personal empirical evidence will suggest it, and even the strongest tremors will serve to strengthen it. (Or destroy it completely.) Some would argue that it is because of our individual preconceptions, our logical presuppositions, that our beliefs can be strengthened regardless of our situation, and I find this largely true. From the standpoint of logic, if you start without presuppositions you can’t prove anything. You are left in an ‘objective’ position, though a completely useless one. What I am getting at, albeit roundaboutly, is about running, and about running intersecting with faith. A different person, with different beliefs (we all have them, even if it is the rejection of them), would certainly explain it differently and arrive at a conclusion disjoint from mine. But here is my story.
Last Sunday – the last one in July, that is, I had an inkling to hike up to Doi Suthep (specifically, Wat Prathat Doi Suthep – the temple on Doi Suthep, the mountain, but everyone abbreviates it). It was one of my trip goals to hike up to it, and I had a fleeting hope to run up to it by the time I left Chiang Mai. But my treadmill runs hadn’t reached 9 km yet, and this was 14 km, uphill the entire way (800 m elevation gain). So my current plan was to start at the bottom (there is a small temple there that marks the beginning – from where people make their pilgrimages, and from where the University students hike to achieve spiritual merit and luck for their year) and start running. As Barney Stintson describes a Marathon, (loosely quoted) “There’s nothing to it. Step 1: start running. There is no step 2.” But I wasn’t to that point of confidence in my ability run up the mountain yet. My plan was to start running, and then when I couldn’t, start walking. Then maybe I could try again right before I left Chiang Mai and get farther. Gai and Faeng dropped me off at the bottom, and drove up to wait for me at the top (which is good, because I certainly wasn’t going to run up AND down).
I start running. The first km is okay, though it mainly consists of finding a good, slow pace for the mountain, and working out all the kinks. It’s basically the warmup (I am not one of those individuals who stretch before I run – and I have some words for them, but not now), so I take it slow and steady, and by the end of it, my knees and ankles and back are not aching (I have problems with them occasionally, especially my knees, and was a bit afraid they were going to act up today), and I’m ready for some running.
And what a joy! After a month and a half of treadmill running, it is so great to be outside running where there is so many things more interesting to look at than Thai subtitled movies. The road winds up the mountain, cutting through jungle, which happens to give plenty of shade, though it is the late afternoon, so I don’t have to worry about that so much. There is a nice breeze, supplemented by my good pace, which has picked up a bit since the beginning.
After quite a while, I get rather, well, lonely. Running alone. And in my yearning for companionship, God starts up a little conversation. Not much, just a couple of running tips, but more than enough. Tighten your abs a bit. Take longer strides. Pull through the entire step, don’t just bounce. Slow down here. Speed up there. Raise your hands towards heaven. What??? Raise up your arms! Um… I don’t think I’m getting this right. Kind-of weird, yes? And people will see me, what will they think? Well, I guess I’m alone on the road right now. Okay. So I raise my arms up, my head up, and run. And I’m running faster and with more energy, focusing forward. And worshipping God.
This was one of those few and far between spiritual “mountaintop experiences” (the phrase itself did develop from actual mountaintop experiences, so don’t bemoan the pun) in my life. I would not say that they are the mainstay of my faith, which actually comes more from daily interaction with God. Not in the sense that I am praying to God, but that we are in dialogue together. I am not usually the initiator, in any case, and certainly not in this case. The mountaintops, as is seen throughout Genesis and Exodus and the story of Israel, is when God shows up and says “I am the Lord”, and people respond. Not to mention the joy and ecstasy and peace that is a result of this.
And unfortunately, the latter is often what we look back on in memory. The joy and peace and ecstasy. We yearn to have that again, but actually meeting God is secondary. We want the drug. And I think partly because of that, those experiences are far between. God would rather us yearn for relationship than yearning for some ecstatic experience. In memory, everything gets fuzzy, and the things that the most important at the time seem to become insignificant, and those that are less important pollute the memory. And so I felt it necessary to write before I had forgotten the important parts. The Israelites would make pillars of stones so that they would not forget. And yet they still forgot, repeatedly. Hopefully, I can maintain some true memory. But I’m guessing that is probably just vanity.
I got about halfway up the mountain, and came to the realization that I was halfway up the mountain. And hadn’t yet died. Well, that was certainly encouraging. So I kept on running. I figured (and was probably right) that if I stopped at any point I would be done, so I kept running. Continuing my dialogue with God, I found a good rhythm, and my running was good, so we starting talking about other things. Life, and the beautiful view of the city, and how loud the jungle sounded out here. Further in and further up.
About 3 km before the temple, I realized that I actually could finish, and that is when the pain really started hitting me. My legs were aching, I was really, really, really craving salt, my lungs always a step behind, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my hands. And as the crisis comes, the prayers and words multiply. The intermittent conversation becomes a deluge of words and emotions and even graces my vocal chords. God calls me to raise my hands again – which is quite hard, and my arms tire quickly – but I respond and do so. And I can once again fully fill my lungs with air. Sweet oxygen! But it isn’t enough for me. I want more – I want some assurance that God is there. Not just words – this hurts. So I pray for rain. And well, God humors me, some dark clouds roll in, and it mists for a few minutes. Ha! Well, I did truly start laughing. I should be content to have what I need – and that little bit was enough.
The very end – the 309 or 307 steps up to the temple were the hardest. By a lot. My lungs burned, and my legs wobbled like jelly, cause jam don’t shake like that. At that point, sentences were too much. Speaking was too much, and my prayer became two things: Help! and Your will. I tripped a number of times going up the steps, and even ran on all fours for a few of them. And, after I had nearly given up hope, with my own energy failing, I was given the extra little bit to reach the top. And the top was amazing.
Happiness, Joy, Peace, Ecstacy. All these I can use to describe what I felt at the top. But they wouldn’t really describe it well. Shalom? In the true Hebrew sense of the word. God’s peace. All the pain and straining up to that point had been forgotten in what came after. And that is a good reminder for all of us who strain forward. The pain is momentary. Focus on the things that truly matter.
A Trifecta of Four
First I must give a brief explanation of my absence from blogging. The Internet at my house is lame. The end.
Moving on to more important matters… a couple of posts ago, or facebook status updates ago, I cannot remember which, I said that I missed a number of things here in Thailand. Things that aren’t in Seattle. Coffee? Nope, they have coffee here, and it’s not half bad. Sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll? WOOOO! (see my post on Woo) Actually, not that. What I mentioned missing were cheese, wine, and chocolate – the trifecta. Apparently in talking to Sayre, I told him and Becca that they needed to have those in my stead. Sayre assured me today that they had them, and they were excellent. Well, while vicarious atonement holds true, it seems that vicarious chocolate eating doesn’t. So, I held fast to my yearning for such amazing things as these. In the past few weeks I have had okay chocolate, bad cheese (Feta with the texture of raw tofu or hard yogurt), and seen a bottle of Thai wine (which I haven’t had the opportunity to try yet, though it seems suspect). And so, foodhomesickness (which is much different than homefoodsickness) struck me.
On a different note, last night was incredible! (not meant to sound sexual in any way) But then, it really isn’t a different note, because it is still about food. Last night, after fitness, it was Mee’s turn to choose where to eat. She proposed Burger King, which is expensive here, though it tastes pretty close to the same as in the states, except the Coke tastes better. So I acquiesce. But on the way there, she has a stroke of genius and proposes Duke’s, a fancy Farang restaurant across the street from Burger King.
Walking through the door yields the enticing smell of wood-fired pizza. Mmmmm. But there is something else in the air. Yes, meat! That is what I have been missing! The missing piece of the triforce! Thai’s have meat in noodles or soup or rice, or they have like shish-kabobs, but they don’t just eat a big chunk of meat. We sit down, deciding to order multiple courses. Italian cheesy bread and ribs! for appetizers. The ribs were amazingly awesome – you can’t get them in Seattle awesome. I, being my indecisive self, failed repeatedly to decide between the Chianti and the Argentinian Malbec, but eventually settled on the South American red wine. Quite yummy – full bodied, not too tannic, smoky, with some blackberry. And then on to the main course: Italian style wood-fired pizza with Greek toppings and REAL feta! And to top it off, I ordered the most chocolately thing on the menu, which I believe was decadent chocolate brownie. This one was eye-closing good (chocolate loving ladies, you all know exactly what I mean). Yep, it was that good. So we finish the wine.
Now it is nearly midnight, and after a bottle of wine is not the best time to motorbike home. So we walk off through the night bazaar and I buy random things, being quite content with life and liberally spending money. So I came home with a black, silk robe with orange/golden dragons on it, along with some other trinkets. Interesting. Well, at least it is quite comfortable. Hopefully it will last longer than my fake Armani watch! Okay, gotta run.
I will add more posts later, and hopefully redevelop a decent rhythm again. Next one will assuredly be about running.
Home sweet home. Well, Chiang Mai, that is.
Having checked out of the guest house, I had an hour or so to get dinner. I linger a minute, then feel a strong urging to go down French cafe lane. As fate would have it, I ran into the same Farang that I stood in line next to at the Thai embassy. An older gentleman, half-Swiss half-Greek, born in Thailand, and after finishing the University in Switzerland, has lived in Thailand for 40 years. With him was his son (half-Thai). Having learned my lessons from the Indian gentleman on the way into Laos, I agreed to go with him to the embassy in a taxi (which turned out to be cheaper than a tuk-tuk, especially after the gentleman insisted on paying). After, of course, we sat down for a meal at Via Via. (V is not a sound that Thais can naturally make. It sounds like Wia Wia. Don’t know about Laos, though).
I even got to have some coke in this pepsi town (the glass it was poured in read pepsi). We sit down, and he can really get to talking. Talking about how the French are the worst tourists, Swiss are penultimate (both due to arrogance – who’d've thunk?), and that’s why he travels with his Greek passport. Anyhow, he also got to talking to about Thailand – the people, the government, the army, the banned book, and even the royal family (now, speaking against the royal family is a grave offense. The author of the banned book cannot return to Thailand without immediate prosecution, because the book speaks out against the royal family). Seems to be fairly disgruntled, though intelligent, and did give interesting conversation. But I won’t repeat his words, as I don’t agree with many of them, and I don’t want to say anything in an open forum I might regret.
It will certainly be a turbulent time when the King passes - he is over eighty, and has reigned over 60 years – basically since the end of The War. It will be up to his heir to maintain the balance (between monarchy, government, and army). The government is known for its corruption, though has little power to do much without the support of the army. The army certainly has the power to remove the government if it desires, though supreme executive power is in the hand of the King, assuming the army is obedient. And these in some way relate to the support of the populous, but I’m not sure how yet. Anyhow, I would prefer to not see a revolution here. Long live the King!
So we finish lunch and head out, grab our papers without trouble – and my 60 day visa! – and the taxi drops me off at the bus station around 1:15 pm. I quickly buy a bus ticket to Udonthani, which leaves at 2:00, as well as a half kilo of Dr. Seuss fruit. Sat down, with a constant barrage of drivers soliciting “tuk-tuk”. I can’t just sit and wait for a bus. A number of monks (four, I believe) sat down by me, smiled, and started talking to me. Practicing his english, which was actually quite good. Two of his comrades were also very interested in our conversation, and would often smile and make eye contact. A lot of eye contact. Is that blue eyeliner. Yes, Yes, it is.
Keep talking. The one I’m talking to informs me with a smile that his “two friends would like to ask me for ‘my info’ “, but they can’t speak English good enough. He laughs. They blush. Perhaps they didn’t have much time left before they were done being monks. Or perhaps they weren’texactly fulfilling their vows. Anyhow, the one I’m talking to wants to send me an email to keep practicing english. I am amused, so I acquiesce. I have a feeling I’m going to get three emails, though. Moments later, nearer to where my bus arrives, another guy starts hitting on me, and his English was decent. Either that, or he was just really friendly, and wanted to look at my sunglasses. Well, the cute British girls next to me assured me I didn’t look gay. Of course, that could be an insult, meaning that I don’t look good or take care of myself. “Doesn’t Own A Toothbrush!” or “Doesn’t Let My Scabs Heal” or “Not A People Person” or “Lacks Personal Hygiene” [ref. to Chris Farley - Motivational Speaker] Which at that point, would have been very true. Unshaven, dirty fingernails, but on the other hand I did have clean, pressed clothes and a sweet hat. I wasn’t yet the decrepit thing that emerged from the overnight VIP bus 18 hours later.
Enough travel for a little while – back to calm, normal, Thailand.
